Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE GAGE, by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE GAGE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lady jane, o lady jane!
Last Line: Beloved as well as loving.
Alternate Author Name(s): Ramal, Walter; De La Mare, Walter


'Lady Jane, O Lady Jane!
Your hound hath broken bounds again,
And chased my timorous deer, O;
If him I see,
That hour he'll dee;
My brakes shall be his bier, O.'

'Hoots! lord, speak not so proud to me!
My hound, I trow, is fleet and free,
He's welcome to your deer, O;
Shoot, shoot you may,
He'll gang his way,
Your threats we nothing fear, O.'

He's fetched him in, he's laid him low,
Drips his lifeblood red and slow,
Darkens his dreary eye, O;
'Here is your beast,
And now at least
My herds in peace shall lie, O.'

'"In peace!" my lord, O mark me well!
For what my jolly hound befell
You shall sup twenty-fold, O!
For every tooth
Of his, i'sooth,
A stag in pawn I hold, O.

'Huntsman and horn, huntsman and horn,
Shall scour your heaths and coverts lorn,
Baying them shrill and clear, O:
But lone and still
Shall lift each hill,
Each valley wan and sere, O.

'Ride up you may, ride down you may,
Lonely or trooped, by night or day,
One ghost shall haunt you ever:
Bird, beast, and game
Shall dread the same,
The fish of lake and river.'

Her cheek burns angry as the rose,
Her eye with wrath and pity flows:
She gazes fierce and round, O.
'Dear Lord!' he says,
'What loveliness
To waste upon a hound, O!

'I'd give my stags, my hills and dales,
My stormcocks and my nightingales
To have undone this deed, O;
For deep beneath
My heart is death
Which for her love doth bleed, O.'

He wanders up, he wanders down,
On foot, on horse, by night and noon;
His lands are bleak and drear, O;
Forsook his dales
Of nightingales,
Forsook his moors of deer, O.

Forsook his heart, ah me! of mirth;
There's nothing precious left on earth;
All happy dreams seem vain, O,
Save where remote
The moonbeams gloat,
And sleeps the lovely Jane, O.

But happed one eve alone he went,
Gnawing his beard in dreariment --
Lo! from a thicket hidden,
Lovely as flower
In April hour,
Steps forth a form unbidden.

'Get ye now down, my lord, to me!
I'm troubled so I'm like to dee,'
She cries, 'twixt joy and grief, O;
'The hound is dead,
When all is said,
But love is past belief, O.

'Nights, nights I've lain your lands to see,
Forlorn and still -- and all for me,
All for a foolish curse, O;
Pride may be well,
But truth to tell,
To live unloved is worse, O!'

In faith, this lord, in that lone dale,
Hears now a sweeter nightingale,
And lairs a tenderer deer, O;
His sorrow goes
Like mountain snows
In waters sweet and clear, O!

And now, what hound is this that fleet
Comes fawning to his mistress' feet,
And's bid forgive a master?
How swiftly love
May grief remove,
How happy make disaster!

Ay, as it were a bud did break
To loveliness for pity's sake,
So she in beauty moving
Rides at his hand
Across his land,
Beloved as well as loving.





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