River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine
And she promised to wed, if he shouldn’t be dead,
When the Christians had settled the Paynim.
He must go there, he said; but she wanted, instead,
By her apron-string still to detain him.
XI.
But he’d promised to go, and he would, and he must
(These men are such obstinate cattle!),
So his heart to her keeping the lover did trust,
And set off, like a man, to the battle.
XII.
He went, and he came, and sustained his great name,
For when was a Fowle e’er behindhand?
And returned to receive the sweet laurels of fame
From his Ida’s most willing and kind hand.
XIII.
When a man’s seeking _laurels_, to keep him at _bay_
Is a deed most exceedingly cruel,
So we’ll hasten our baron along on his way
To the casket which held his bright jewel.
XIV.
Lofty and high were the Montmolon towers,
And fortified, too, beyond measure,
Lest any bold lord of the neighbouring powers
Should harry the Montmolon treasure.
XV.
Sir {232}Roderick gazed on the gloomy old wall,
Which the ivy was slowly corroding,
When a sight met his eyes which his heart did appal,
And fill with a fearful foreboding.
XVI.
Where the Montmolon banner of old used to wave,
And merrily flaunt in the breezes,
No banner hung now--all was still as the grave,
Or the form that death’s quietude seizes.
XVII.
The place looked so bleak--‘tis a sad thing to speak,
But sad things sometimes must be spoken;
And the winds they did shriek through that castle antique,
For there wasn’t a window unbroken!
XVIII.
The mark of a foe did Sir Roderick know
Full well--far too well to mistake it;
And he groaned deep and low, in sad accents of woe,
Ere he turned round his horse to forsake it.
XIX.
But he stopped; for a groan quite as sad as his own
Seemed to come from the shrubberies near him,
And an old man he spied, sitting there all alone,
Who appeared in no manner to fear him.
XX.
He approached, and affright half gave way to delight
At the chance his lost bride to regain her,
When he recognised quite, in this dolorous wight,
A Montmolon former retainer.
XXI.
“Old {233}man!” he cried out, “what’s this fuss all about?
And has there been any disaster?
You seemed crippled, no doubt: is’t rheumatics or gout?
And where are your mistress and master?”
XXII.
With a guttural sigh, like one going to die,
The man raised him up on his knees, and
Thus made him reply, though the news, by-the-bye,
He scarce could get out of his weasand.
XXIII.
“I’ve a sad tale to crack. Noble sir, you’ve come back
To a house sacked from basement to attics;
Too long do I lack kitchen chimney and jack
For gout--let alone the rheumatics!
XXIV.
“I speak but with pain, for I’m slaughtered and slain
(Just look at my garments all gory),
But my breath I would fain a while longer retain
Till I’ve told you our terrible story.
XXV.
“Fair Ida, I fear, you will scarcely find here,
Though the room which was hers still you may see,
For ‘tis nearly a year since with bow and with spear
Hither hastened Sir Marmaduke Tracy.
XXVI.
“With soldiers in scores, ammunition, and stores,
He attacked our unfortunate village;
He battered our doors [‘twas the greatest of bores).
And allowed all his people to pillage.
XXVII.
“When {234}the storm ‘gan to lower, folks fled to the tower,
Young and old the same thing very soon did;
We did all in our power, and young Ida’s own bower
Was turned into a ward for the wounded.
XXVIII.
“For months four or five we continued to strive;
None ventured on shirking or shamming,
Till one-half of our hive were no longer alive--
Consumed between firing and famine.
XXIX.
“When our lord ‘gainst the rout could no longer hold out,
He gave in, like a sensible covey;
No food was about, save one bottle of stout,
Half a loaf, and a pot of anchovy.
XXX.
“Then at length did we let (though with wondrous regret)
Sir Marmaduke through the portcullis;
And the treatment we met no one there will forget,
Unless he a regular gull is.
XXXI.
“The Tracy began, and took ev’ry tenth man ‘
Of the Baron of Montmolon’s people,
Saying, ‘Fly, if ye can, for ye soon will be dan--
Cling from top of the neighbouring steeple.
XXXII.
“‘Since ye foolishly list, Tracy’s arms to resist,
Ye shall see how his mercy shall treat ye;
And your wives shall be kissed, if by them ye are missed
In your homes, while the carrion eat ye.’
XXXIII.
“His {235}men had the knack; not a rope was too slack,
Not a victim could loosen or slip cord.
Our baron looked black; but his arms ‘hind his back
Were fastened together with whipcord.
XXXIV.
“He hanged these poor chaps, but I fancy that, perhaps,
The other men’s lot was the sorest;
Without clothes, shoes, or caps, but with plenty of slaps,
He turned them adrift in the forest.
XXXV.
“Some starved, sank, and died; some few went beside
Themselves with cold, hunger, and sorrow.
‘Twas little you spied of the Montmolon pride,
When you looked at this place on the morrow.
XXXVI.
“That truculent Goth, Sir Tracy, took both
Our lord and his beautiful daughter.
‘To wed me,’ he quoth, ‘though the damsel be loth,
To reason I soon shall have brought her.’
XXXVII.
“I, escaping from hurt, more by chance than desert
(My brother on Tracy’s estate is),
Have lived, I assert, sitting here in the dirt,
Upon nothing but berries and praties.
XXXVIII.
“I was wounded, indeed; don’t you see how I bleed?
And I’ve had ne’er a surgeon, which _is_ hard;
But my master’s sad need, and the loss of his breed,
‘Tis _that_, sir, which sticks in my gizzard.
XXXIX.
“My {236}strength ‘gins to fail: want of beef and of ale
(How well I remember the brewin’!)
My frame doth assail; but I’ve told you the tale,
And your eyes may behold the sad ruin.”
XL.
He stopped: faint and sore, he could utter no more,
But sank on the ground, softly sighing;
His troubles were o’er: he was turned of four-score,
And was dead ere he knew he was dying.
XLI.
Sir Roderick stood at the tidings aghast:
Sad change from glad anticipation;
But he spoke out at last; not too loud or too fast,
But in accents of deep indignation.
XLII.
“By all that is holy, by all that is blue,
By the eyes of adorable Ida,
Sir Marmaduke Tracy shall bitterly rue
The moment when first he espied her!
XLIII.
“I vow and declare, and I solemnly swear,
That, fearless of dagger or bullet,
I’ll rout out that bear from his murderous lair,
And slit his detestable gullet.
XLIV.
“My life to the project henceforth I devote;
All else to this _one_ shall knock under,
Till I fasten my hand on his treacherous throat
And tear the vile spoiler asunder!
XLV.
“When {237}next here I tread, it shall be to be wed;
But I mustn’t stay now any longer;
This old fellow’s dead--there’s no more to be said,
He has perished of wounds and of hunger.”
XLVI.
Then he turned his horse round (who sprang off with a bound,
Accustomed in battle to dash on),
And with clattering sound, galloped over the ground
In a most irrepressible passion.
XLVII.
Two months had elapsed since that terrible day
When the Montmolon castle was taken,
And the baron and Ida were carried away
With small prospect of “saving their bacon.”
XLVIII.
The Tracy had taken them off to the rock
On which his own castle was builded;
Which, he boasted, was safe from an enemy’s shock,
Whatever his valour or skill did.
XLIX.
Glenlighton its name; ’twas a beautiful place,
As you saw when you came nigh and nigher it;
But delectable Ida averted her face,
Too wrapt in her grief to admire it.
L.
Arrived, they were placed in a large suite of rooms,
Locked up, and a strong guard set by ‘em,
And for weeks they saw none but retainers and grooms,
Who were ordered with food to supply ‘em.
LI.
For {238}Sir Marmaduke Tracy had reason to ride
To some lord’s in the neighbouring valley:
Ere he thought of a bride, he the spoils must divide
With the friends who’d connived at his sally.
LII.
But returning (too soon!) one fine morning in June,
When brightly and warmly the sun shone,
He came whistling a tune all along the saloon,
And joined the small party at luncheon.
LIII.
“Now, Baron,” quoth he, “prithee hearken to me:
To escape you may shortly the way see:
If you e’er would be free, you must quickly agree,
That your daughter becomes Lady Tracy.
LIV.
“I am elderly, true; it were better for you
That death hadn’t taken my son John.
But refuse! if you do, why, the day you shall rue
In a most insalubrious dungeon.”
LV.
Says the Baron, “I burn your assault to return,
And, spite of your luncheons and _he_ cook,
My child will soon learn your proposals to spurn,
You lubberly son of a sea-cook!
LVI.
“The battle you’ve won, vile son of a gun,
Though more by your cunning than merit;
But, much though you’ve done, I can tell you that none
Can break the true Montmolon spirit.
LVII.
“Sir {239}Guy de la Vaux, I assuredly know,
Will avenge the foul trick that you’ve played me;
And the Lord Montereaux to my rescue will go,
Though houseless and homeless you’ve made me.
LVIII.
“No daughter of mine to a man will incline
Who has murdered her father’s retainers.
Those are _my_ views in fine; my brave girl, I opine,
Will in language more pretty explain hers!”
LIX.
Then Ida, “Papa, all your sentiments are
My own--you are always so ready.
And besides, much I fear, that though mighty in war,
Sir Marmaduke’s rather unsteady.
LX.
“And I’m bound to declare, though hardly I dare
(And my courage is quite down at zero),
For _another_ I care, and it wouldn’t be fair
To give up my faithful young hero.
LXI.
“I met him, you know, nearly five years ago,
Abroad, at the Henley regatta,
So I’m bound to reply to Sir Marmaduke ‘No,’
Although his attentions may flatter.”
LXII.
The Tracy laughed loud at the maiden so proud,
But, says he, “Come, a truce to your chaffing;
It must be allowed that you don’t seem much cowed,