Merrily though he carrieth two,
And one hath sometimes great ado
To sit while o'er the ruts he goes,
Nor clasp the other doubly close, 30
Who cannot choose but turn, and
then-

Why, if none see, he clasps again.
'Ah,' thinks the lady, as she looks
Through tears and smiles with half-
rebukes,

'Ah, must my father break his heart? For surely now we never part.'

Behind, some furlong off, and 'twixt

Those winding oaks with poplars mixed,

Come two upon a second steed,

Male, too, and female; not indeed 40
The female young and fair as t'other:
She is the page's honoured mother.
Much talk they on the road;—at least
Much talks the mother; while the
beast

Pulls at the hedges as he goes,
Pricking oft his tossing nose;
And the page, though listening, sees
Newts in the brooks and nests in trees.
Lastly a hound, tongue-lolling, courses
To and fro 'twixt both the horses, 50
Giving now some weasel chase,
And loving now his master's face,
And so with many a turn and run
Goes twenty furlongs to their one.

This riding double was no crime
In the first great Edward's time;
No brave man thought himself dis-
graced

60

By two fair arms about his waist;
Nor did the lady blush vermilion,
Dancing on the lover's pillion.
Why? Because all modes and actions
Bowed not then to Vulgar Fractions;
Nor were tested all resources
By the power to purchase horses.

Many a steed yet won had he,
Our lover, in his chivalry;

42 page's] male's most 1842.

For, in sooth, full half his rents Were ransoms gained in tournaments;

But all, save these, were gone at present.

Ah! the green lane still was pleasant.

Hope was theirs. For one sweet

71

hour Did they, last night, in bliss devour Each other's questions, answers, eyes, Nor ever for divine surprise Could take a proper breath, much less The supper brought in hastiness By the glad little gaping page; While rose meantime his mother sage To wait upon the lady sweet, And snore discreetly on the seat 80 In the oriel of the room, Whence gleamed her

through the gloom.

night-cap

Then parted they to lie awake
For transport, spite of all heart-ache:
For heaven's in any roof that covers,
Any one same night, two lovers;
They may be divided still;
They may want, in all but will;
But they know that each is there,
Each just parted, each in prayer; 90
Each more close, because apart,
And every thought clasped heart to
heart.

Alas! in vain their hearts agree: Good must seem good, as well as be; And lest a spot should stain his flower For blushing in a brideless bower, Sir William with the lark must rise, And bear, but whither bear?-his prize :

Not to Sir Grey's, for that were scorn; Not to Sir Guy's, to live forlorn; 100 Not to some abbey's jealous care, For Heaven would try to wed her there;

But to a dame that served the Queen, His aunt, and no mean dame I ween,A dame of rank, a dame of honour, Adame (mayearth lie green upon her!)

81 oriel] window 1842.

That felt for nature, love, and truth,
And hated old age pawing youth:
One that at no time held wrong right,
Yet somehow took a dear delight 110
By secret measures, sweet and strong,
In giving right a zest of wrong.
To her Sir William brings his Anne
Three hours before the feast began,
But first has sent his page to spy
How day has dawned with old Sir
Guy.

The page scarce vanished, reappears,
His eyes wide open as their ears,
And tells how all the beards are there :
All; every mump of quivering hair,
Come back with groan, and back with
stare,

To set Sir Guy upon the rack,
And find the lady not come back.

121

Out went the beards by a side door; The great one rolled apart once more, And, as the King had given command,

In rode a couple, hand in hand,
Who made the stillness stiller :-he
A man to grace all jeopardy;
And all a lovely comfort, she.
The stalwart youth bestrode a steed,
A Barbary, the King's own breed ;
The lady graced her palfrey still, 231
Sweet beast, that ever hath his will,
And paceth now, beside his lord,
Straight for the King at the high
board,

Till sharp the riders halt, and wait
The speaking of the crowned state,-
The knight with reverential eyes,
Whose grateful hope no claim implies:
The lady in a bashful glow,

Her bosom billowing to and fro. 240

'Welcome! Sir William de la Barre,'

The monarch cried; a right good

On their knees are two alone;
The palfrey and the barb have

gone:

280

And then arose those two beside,
And the music from its pride
Falls into a beauteous prayer,
Like an angel quitting air;
And the King and his soft Queen
Smile upon those two serene,
Whom the priest, accosting bland,
Puts, full willing, hand in hand.
Ah scarcely even King and Queen
Did they then perceive, I ween,
Nor well to after-memory call,
How they went from out that hall. 290
What more? Sir Guy, and then Sir
Grey,

Died each upon a fine spring day; And, in their hatred of things small, Left him, now wanting nothing, all: (All which, at least, that mighty claw

Permitted them, yclept the law.)
The daughter wept, and wept the