Meanwhile the Queen, affairs of state being done, Went through the gardens with one dame alone Seeking for Ogier, whom at last she found Laid sleeping on the daisy-sprinkled ground. Dreaming, I know not what, of other days. Then on him for a while the Queen did gaze, Drawing sweet poison from the lovely sight, Then to her fellow turned, "The Ancient Knight— What means he by this word of his?" she said; "He were well mated with some lovely maid Just pondering on the late-heard name of love." "Softly, my lady, he begins to move," Her fellow said, a woman old and grey; "Look now, his arms are of another day; None know him or his deeds; thy squire just said He asked about the state of men long dead; I fear what he may be; look, seest thou not That ring that on one finger he has got, Where figures strange upon the gold are wrought: God grant that he from hell has not been brought For our confusion, in this doleful war, Who surely in enough of trouble are Without such help;" then the Queen turned aside Awhile, her drawn and troubled face to hide, For lurking dread this speech within her stirred; But yet she said, "Thou sayest a foolish word, This man is come against our enemies To fight for us." Then down upon her knees Fell the old woman by the sleeping knight, And from his hand she drew with fingers light The wondrous ring, and scarce again could rise Ere 'neath the trembling Queen's bewildered eyes The change began; his golden hair turned white, His smooth cheek wrinkled, and his breathing light Was turned to troublous struggling for his breath, And on his shrunk lips lay the hand of death; And, scarce less pale than he, the trembling Queen Stood thinking on the beauty she had seen And longed for, but a little while ago, Yet with her terror still her love did grow, And she began to weep as though she saw Her beauty e'en to such an ending draw. And 'neath her tears waking he oped his eyes, And strove to speak, but nought but gasping sighs His lips could utter; then he tried to reach His hand to them, as though he would beseech The gift of what was his: but all the while The crone gazed on them with an evil smile, Then holding toward the Queen that wondrous ring, She said, "Why weep'st thou? having this fair thing, Thou, losing nought the beauty that thou hast, May'st watch the vainly struggling world go past, Thyself unchanged." The Queen put forth her hand And took the ring, and there awhile did stand And strove to think of it, but still in her Such all-absorbing longings love did stir, So young she was, of death she could not think, Or what a cup eld gives to man to drink; Yet on her finger had she set the ring When now the life that hitherto did cling To Ogier's heart seemed fading quite away, And scarcely breathing with shut eyes he lay. Then, kneeling down, she murmured piteously, "Ah, wilt thou love me if I give it thee, And thou grow'st young again? what should I do If with the eyes thou thus shalt gain anew Thou shouldst look scorn on me?" But with that word The hedge behind her, by the west wind stirred, Cast fear into her heart of some one nigh, And therewith on his finger hastily She set the ring, then rose and stood apart A little way, and in her doubtful heart With love and fear was mixed desire of life. But standing so, a look with great scorn rife The elder woman, turning, cast on her, Pointing to Ogier, who began to stir; She looked, and all she erst saw now did seem To have been nothing but a hideous dream, As fair and young he rose from off the ground And cast a dazed and puzzled look around, Like one just waked from sleep in some strange place; But soon his grave eyes rested on her face, And turned yet graver seeing her so pale, And that her eyes were pregnant with some tale Of love and fear; she 'neath his eyes the while Forced her pale lips to semblance of a smile, And said, "O Ancient Knight, thou sleepest then? While through this poor land range the heathen men Unmet of any but my King and Lord: Nay, let us see the deeds of thine old sword." "Queen," said he, "bid me then unto this work, And certes I behind no wall would lurk, Nor send for succour, while a scanty folk Still followed after me to break the yoke: I pray thee grace for sleeping, and were fain That I might rather never sleep again Then have such wretched dreams as I e'en now Have waked from." Lovelier she seemed to grow Unto him as he spoke; fresh colour came Into her face, as though for some sweet shame, While she with tearful eyes beheld him so, That somewhat even must his burnt cheek glow, His heart beat faster. But again she said, "Nay, will dreams burden such a mighty head? Then may I too have pardon for a dream: Last night in sleep I saw thee, who didst seem To be the King of France; and thou and I Were sitting at some great festivity Within the many-peopled gold-hung place." The blush of shame was gone as on his face She gazed, and saw him read her meaning clear And knew that no cold words she had to fear, But rather that for softer speech he yearned. Therefore, with love alone her smooth cheek burned; Her parted lips were hungry for his kiss, She trembled at the near approaching bliss; Nathless, she checked her love a little while, Because she felt the old dame's curious smile Upon her, and she said, "O Ancient Knight, If I then read my last night's dream aright, Thou art come here our very help to be, Perchance to give my husband back to me; Come then, if thou this land art fain to save, And show the wisdom thou must surely have Unto my council; I will give thee then What charge I may among my valiant men; And certes thou wilt do so well herein, That, ere long, something greater shalt thou win: Come, then, deliverer of my throne and land, And let me touch for once thy mighty hand With these weak fingers." As she spoke, she met His eager hand, and all things did forget But for one moment, for too wise were they To cast the coming years of joy away; Then with her other hand her gown she raised And led him thence, and o'er her shoulder gazed At her old follower with a doubtful smile, As though to say, "Be wise, I know thy guile!" But slowly she behind the lovers walked, Muttering, "So be it! thou shalt not be balked Of thy desire; be merry! I am wise, Nor will I rob thee of thy Paradise For any other than myself; and thou May'st even happen to have had enow Of this new love, before I get the ring, And I may work for thee no evil thing."

Now ye shall know that the old chronicle, Wherein I read all this, doth duly tell Of all the gallant deeds that Ogier did, There may ye read them; nor let me be chid If I therefore say little of these things, Because the thought of Avallon still clings Unto my heart, and scarcely can I bear To think of that long, dragging, useless year, Through which, with dulled and glimmering memory, Ogier was grown content to live and die Like other men; but this I have to say, That in the council chamber on that day The Old Knight showed his wisdom well enow, While fainter still with love the Queen did grow Hearing his words, beholding his grey eyes Flashing with fire of warlike memories; Yea, at the last he seemed so wise indeed That she could give him now the charge, to lead One wing of the great army that set out From Paris' gates, midst many a wavering shout, Midst trembling prayers, and unchecked wails and tears, And slender hopes and unresisted fears.

Now ere he went, upon his bed he lay, Newly awakened at the dawn of day, Gathering perplexed thoughts of many a thing, When, midst the carol that the birds did sing Unto the coming of the hopeful sun, He heard a sudden lovesome song begun 'Twixt two young voices in the garden green, That seemed indeed the farewell of the Queen.

SONG.

HAEC.

In the white-flowered hawthorn brake, Love, be merry for my sake; Twine the blossoms in my hair, Kiss me where I am most fair— Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

ILLE.

Nay, the garlanded gold hair Hides thee where thou art most fair; Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow— Ah, sweet love, I have thee now! Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

HAEC

Shall we weep for a dead day, Or set Sorrow in our way? Hidden by my golden hair, Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear? Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

ILLE.

Weep, O Love, the days that flit, Now, while I can feel thy breath, Then may I remember it Sad and old, and near my death. Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

Soothed by the pleasure that the music brought And sweet desire, and vague and dreamy thought Of happiness it seemed to promise him, He lay and listened till his eyes grew dim, And o'er him 'gan forgetfulness to creep Till in the growing light he lay asleep, Nor woke until the clanging trumpet-blast Had summoned him all thought away to cast: Yet one more joy of love indeed he had Ere with the battle's noise he was made glad; For, as on that May morning forth they rode And passed before the Queen's most fair abode, There at a window was she waiting them In fair attire with gold in every hem, And as the Ancient Knight beneath her passed A wreath of flowering white-thorn down she cast, And looked farewell to him, and forth he set Thinking of all the pleasure he should get From love and war, forgetting Avallon And all that lovely life so lightly won; Yea, now indeed the earthly life o'erpast Ere on the loadstone rock his ship was cast Was waxing dim, nor yet at all he learned To 'scape the fire that erst his heart had burned. And he forgat his deeds, forgat his fame, Forgat the letters of his ancient name As one waked fully shall forget a dream, That once to him a wondrous tale did seem.

Now I, though writing here no chronicle E'en as I said, must nathless shortly tell That, ere the army Rouen's gates could gain By a broad arrow had the King been slain, And helpless now the wretched country lay Beneath the yoke, until the glorious day When Ogier fell at last upon the foe, And scattered them as helplessly as though They had been beaten men without a name: So when to Paris town once more he came Few folk the memory of the King did keep Within their hearts, and if the folk did weep At his returning, 'twas for joy indeed That such a man had risen at their need To work for them so great deliverance, And loud they called on him for King of France.

But if the Queen's heart were the more a-flame For all that she had heard of his great fame, I know not; rather with some hidden dread Of coming fate, she heard her lord was dead, And her false dream seemed coming true at last, For the clear sky of love seemed overcast With clouds of God's great judgments, and the fear Of hate and final parting drawing near. So now when he before her throne did stand Amidst the throng as saviour of the land, And she her eyes to his kind eyes did raise, And there before all her own love must praise; Then did she fall a-weeping, and folk said, "See, how she sorrows for the newly dead! Amidst our joy she needs must think of him; Let be, full surely shall her grief wax dim And she shall wed again." So passed the year, While Ogier set himself the land to clear Of broken remnants of the heathen men, And at the last, when May-time came again, Must he be crowned King of the twice-saved land, And at the altar take the fair Queen's hand And wed her for his own. And now by this Had he forgotten clean the woe and bliss Of his old life, and still was he made glad As other men; and hopes and fears he had As others, and bethought him not at all Of what strange days upon him yet should fall When he should live and these again be dead.

Now drew the time round when he should be wed, And in his palace on his bed he lay Upon the dawning of the very day: 'Twixt sleep and waking was he, and could hear E'en at that hour, through the bright morn and clear, The hammering of the folk who toiled to make Some well-wrought stages for the pageant's sake, Though hardly yet the sparrows had begun To twitter o'er the coming of the sun, Nor through the palace did a creature move. There in the sweet entanglement of love Midst languid thoughts of greater bliss he lay, Remembering no more of that other day Than the hot noon remembereth of the night, Than summer thinketh of the winter white. In that sweet hour he heard a voice that cried, "Ogier, Ogier!" then, opening his eyes wide, And rising on his elbow, gazed around, And strange to him and empty was the sound Of his own name; "Whom callest thou?" he said "For I, the man who lie upon this bed, Am Charles of France, and shall be King to-day, But in a year that now is passed away The Ancient Knight they called me: who is this, Thou callest Ogier, then, what deeds are his? And who art thou?" But at that word a sigh, As of one grieved, came from some place anigh His bed-side, and a soft voice spake again, "This Ogier once was great amongst great men; To Italy a helpless hostage led; He saved the King when the false Lombard fled, Bore forth the Oriflamme and gained the day; Charlot he brought back, whom men led away, And fought a day-long fight with Caraheu. The ravager of Rome his right hand slew; Nor did he fear the might of Charlemaine, Who for a dreary year beset in vain His lonely castle; yet at last caught then, And shut in hold, needs must he come again To give an unhoped great deliverance Unto the burdened helpless land of France: Denmark he gained thereafter, and he wore The crown of England drawn from trouble sore; At Tyre then he reigned, and Babylon With mighty deeds he from the foemen won; And when scarce aught could give him greater fame, He left the world still thinking on his name. "These things did Ogier, and these things didst thou, Nor will I call thee by a new name now Since I have spoken words of love to thee— Ogier, Ogier, dost thou remember me, E'en if thou hast no thought of that past time Before thou camest to our happy clime?"

As this was said, his mazed eyes saw indeed A lovely woman clad in dainty weed Beside his bed, and many a thought was stirred Within his heart by that last plaintive word, Though nought he said, but waited what should come "Love," said she, "I am here to bring thee home; Well hast thou done all that thou cam'st to do, And if thou bidest here, for something new Will folk begin to cry, and all thy fame Shall then avail thee but for greater blame; Thy love shall cease to love thee, and the earth Thou lovest now shall be of little worth While still thou keepest life, abhorring it Behold, in men's lives that so quickly flit Thus is it, how then shall it be with thee, Who some faint image of eternity Hast gained through me?—alas, thou heedest not! On all these changing things thine heart is hot— Take then this gift that I have brought from far, And then may'st thou remember what we are; The lover and the loved from long ago." He trembled, and more memory seemed to grow Within his heart as he beheld her stand, Holding a glittering crown in her right hand: "Ogier," she said, "arise and do on thee The emblems of thy worldly sovereignty, For we must pass o'er many a sea this morn." He rose, and in the glittering tunic worn By Charlemaine he clad himself, and took The ivory hand, that Charlemaine once shook Over the people's heads in days of old; Then on his feet he set the shoes of gold. And o'er his shoulders threw the mantle fair, And set the gold crown on his golden hair: Then on the royal chair he sat him down, As though he deemed the elders of the town Should come to audience; and in all he seemed To do these things e'en as a man who dreamed.

And now adown the Seine the golden sun Shone out, as toward him drew that lovely one And took from off his head the royal crown, And, smiling, on the pillow laid it down And said, "Lie there, O crown of Charlemaine, Worn by a mighty man, and worn in vain, Because he died, and all the things he did Were changed before his face by earth was hid; A better crown I have for my love's head, Whereby he yet shall live, when all are dead His hand has helped." Then on his head she set The wondrous crown, and said, "Forget, forget! Forget these weary things, for thou hast much Of happiness to think of." At that touch He rose, a happy light gleamed in his eyes; And smitten by the rush of memories, He stammered out, "O love! how came we here? What do we in this land of Death and Fear? Have I not been from thee a weary while? Let us return—I dreamed about the isle; I dreamed of other years of strife and pain, Of new years full of struggles long and vain." She took him by the hand and said, "Come, love, I am not changed;" and therewith did they move Unto the door, and through the sleeping place Swiftly they went, and still was Ogier's face Turned on her beauty, and no thought was his Except the dear returning of his bliss. But at the threshold of the palace-gate That opened to them, she awhile did wait, And turned her eyes unto the rippling Seine And said, "O love, behold it once again!" He turned, and gazed upon the city grey Smit by the gold of that sweet morn of May; He heard faint noises as of wakening folk As on their heads his day of glory broke; He heard the changing rush of the swift stream Against the bridge-piers. All was grown a dream His work was over, his reward was come, Why should he loiter longer from his home?

A little while she watched him silently, Then beckoned him to follow with a sigh, And, raising up the raiment from her feet, Across the threshold stepped into the street; One moment on the twain the low sun shone, And then the place was void, and they were gone How I know not; but this I know indeed, That in whatso great trouble or sore need The land of France since that fair day has been, No more the sword of Ogier has she seen.

* * * * *

Such was the tale he told of Avallon. E'en such an one as in days past had won His youthful heart to think upon the quest; But to those old hearts nigh in reach of rest, Not much to be desired now it seemed— Perchance the heart that of such things had dreamed Had found no words in this death-laden tongue We speak on earth, wherewith they might be sung; Perchance the changing years that changed his heart E'en in the words of that old tale had part, Changing its sweet to bitter, to despair The foolish hope that once had glittered there— Or think, that in some bay of that far home They then had sat, and watched the green waves come Up to their feet with many promises; Or the light wind midst blossom-laden trees, In the sweet Spring had weighted many a word Of no worth now, and many a hope had stirred Long dead for ever. Howsoe'er that be Among strange folk they now sat quietly, As though that tale with them had nought to do, As though its hopes and fears were something new But though, indeed, the outworn, dwindled band Had no tears left for that once longed-for land, The very wind must moan for their decay, And from the sky, grown dull, and low, and grey, Cold tears must fall upon the lonely field, That such fair golden hopes erewhile did yield; And on the blackening woods, wherein the doves Sat silent now, forgetful of their loves. Yet, since a little life at least was left, They were not yet of every joy bereft, For long ago was past the agony, Midst which they found that they indeed must die; And now well-nigh as much their pain was past As though death's veil already had been cast Over their heads—so, midst some little mirth, They watched the dark night hide the gloomy earth.



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Transcriber's Notes:

Passages in italics are indicated by underscore.

Page "118" has been corrected to "112" in the Contents.

Some quotes are opened with marks but are not closed and, since they require interpretation, have been left open as presented in the original text.

THE END