Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SIR ELIDUC; A LAY OF MARIE, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SIR ELIDUC; A LAY OF MARIE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Touch ye the harp with tender hand
Last Line: By man was never known!
Alternate Author Name(s): Delta
Subject(s): Farewell; Hearts; Love - Loss Of; Marie De France (12th Century); Marriage; Parting; Weddings; Husbands; Wives


FITTE FIRST.

I.

TOUCH ye the harp with tender hand,
And gently let its music flow,
While softly, sadly the Minstrel sings
An olden tale of love and woe:—
Three hundred years have come and gone,
As dewdrops shine and disappear,
Since first 'twas sung by fair Marie
To Henry's royal ear.

II.

The stately knight, young Eliduc,
As alone in hall he sate,
Beheld the page of Elizabeth,
At eve, beside his gate.
"Come hither—hither, thou page of court,
What would the King with me?"
The boy held the love-gifts on his arm,
As he lowly bent on knee.

III.

"I bear this gay gold ring, Sir Knight,
And robe of miniver;
Greets thee by these, my ladye bright,
And bids thee think of her."
To and fro strode Eliduc,
To and fro he paced the floor,
Then put the gift-ring on his hand,
And the robe his shoulders o'er.

IV.

To and fro strode Eliduc;
Anon with folded arms he stood;
Then brush'd the hall with hurried step,
Like one in doubtful mood.
At length he bit his nether lip,
Breathed deep, with downcast head;
For a moment paused in torturing thought,
To the boy then, sighing, said,—

V.

"Go back—haste back, my little foot-page,
To the palace straight repair,
And tell the Princess Elizabeth
That I will think of her."
The little page knelt, the little page rose
From the rushes whereon he knelt,
And hied him thence—but who may tell
What Eliduc then felt?

VI.

Brave Eliduc is woe-begone,
A cloud o'erhangs his eyes,
And though in fame he hath rivals none,
By the wild sea-shore lie sighs.
He stands upon the barren rock,
He listens to the shrieking mew,
Until the evening star is out,
And earth is moist with dew.

VII.

But the King hath sent, the Knight is gone
Where he sat at chess in hall;
At the chequer-board play'd a stranger lord,
Behind stood his daughter tall.
"Why, daughter, dove Elizabeth,
Greet ye not this noble knight?
'Tis the same who hath our kingdom saved,
And quell'd our foes in fight."

VIII.

Elizabeth stretch'd forth her white soft hand,
And with Eliduc down she stray'd
By the tapestried wall of that long-arch'd hall,
While at board her father play'd.
In a window'd niche at length they stood,
The fair one and the brave,
Both sorrowful and in pensive mood,
Both silent as the grave;

IX.

Till the ladye faltering spake,—" Sir Knight,
Words are ill befitting me;
But were the world at my behest,
I would wed no mate but thee."
"Sweet princess fair," said Eliduc,
As he dropp'd her proffer'd hand,
"I am pledged by the oath of a leal true knight,
To return to my native land;

X.

"And thou knowest, flower, that not with me
Canst thou leave this realm to roam,
For thou art the sole child of its crown,
Which thou must wear at home."
"'Tis nay, 'tis nay, Sir Eliduc—
This heart is thine, this hand is free;
And if thou spurn'st me not away,
I will cross the waves with thee!"

XI.

She stood before him beautiful,
Like a lily pure by a lake;
With deep-drawn sighs, and dovelike eyes;
O, his heart was like to break!
"My bird of beauty," said Eliduc,
"I am summon'd across the sea;
But blithely sing in thy father's halls,
Till I come back for thee.

XII.

"O yes—O yes! my fair Princess,
In hopeful peace and pleasure rest."
Then the love-sick heart of Elizabeth
Leapt for joy within its nest;
And returning to her sire the king,
Sir Eliduc 'gan say,—
"To the shores of my native Brittanie
I am summon'd hence away.

XIII.

"Thy realm, great king, is now at rest;
Thy foes are all o'ercome;
While the jars and the wars of my own dear land
Call all her children home.
At the throne, where sign'd was my exile,
All the knaves who cross'd my way
Have own'd the shame of their perjured words,
And for my presence pray:

XIV.

"Well, well I knew the carpet knights
For their gentle selves should fear,
When o'er them gleam'd the Flanders axe,
"And Brabant's threatening spear."
"Sir Eliduc," replied the King,
"Thy worth may none gainsay;
In the gloom of war thou earnest to us,
And leavest us peace to-day."

XV.

The King bade the royal galleys wait
At Totness, by the shore,
To the plains of France with sword and lance
To escort the brave knight o'er.
With golden gleam the pennants stream'd;
In foam the blue waves curl'd;
On deck stood the bearded halberdiers,
And the snow-white sails unfurl'd.

XVI.

From the echoing streets of Exeter
March'd a thousand men and more,
With banners, and unbeaver'd all,
Following Eliduc to the shore.
There is never a knight in Loegria
Can match with this stranger knight,
At feat of courtly tournament,
Or on blood-red field of fight.

XVII.

Elizabeth gazed from the turret high,
And she saw him on the plain
Departing 'mid bright clumps of spears,
While pages held each rein;
And toll the bells went, tant-a-roll;
And she heard the trampling crowd,
And the trumpets' bray, and the loud huzza,
And the neigh of a war-horse proud.

XVIII.

Passion and pride now lifted up
Her heart within her breast,
But doubt and fear anon drew near,
And down her spirit press'd;
Then, turning, she sank upon her couch,
And wrung her hands, and sighed,—
"O, would that Sir Eliduc were back
To woo me for his bride!

XIX.

"Like the rainbow to the clearing air,
Like the bird to the vernal tree,
Like spring's first flowers 'mid woodland bowers
To the honey-thirsting bee;
Like Salem to the pilgrim's sight,
When his feet are travel-sore,
Come the thoughts of thy return, dear love,
My longing spirit o'er!"

FITTE SECOND.

I.

O, sad was the song of Gildeluec
As she sate within her bower,
Beguiling, with her dulcimer,
The solitary hour.
"Was it a voice?" she rose and cried,
"Or what step comes here in quest?"
The door flew wide—'twas Sir Eliduc,
And she fell upon his breast.

II.

"Welcome, welcome! my husband dear!"
Aye she clasped his neck and cried;
"All heavy and drear have lagg'd the hours
Since thou didst sail the tide.
Bring wine and bread, let the board be spread,
Bid the silence of our halls rejoice!"
"Heaven bless thee, fair Gildeluec!"
Quod the knight, with a low sad voice.

III.

"And comest thou hither with heart of grief,
My lord, my loved?" the lady said.
"Thou know'st that our land is o'errun with foes,"
Sigh'd the knight, with downcast head.
"Thou art weary, and here wilt rest to-night,
And at morning to the king"———
"Nay," answer'd he, "I must leave this roof
Ere the bells of vesper ring."

IV.

"When life was young, Gildeluec,
To me thou gavest thy hand;
There was no flower like thee, sweet love,
In all this blooming land.
And dost thou call me cruel now?
Then surely am I changed;
Deem'st thou that broken is my vow,
Or my heart from thine estranged?"

V.

"As the snow," cried noble Gildeluec,
"On the Alps, I know thee pure;
Like the roots o' the everlasting hills,
Thy faith is firm and sure;
Then go—go—go to the battle-field,
'Tis thy country calls for thee;
When our foes have before thee fallen or fled,
Return to peace and me!"

VI.

His steed at the portal neighing paw'd;
Sir Eliduc donn'd his mail,
His figured casque, with its morion black,
And steel-barr'd aventayle.
He clasp'd her form—he snatch'd one kiss—
By their threshold cypress-tree;
Bade all the saints his dame to bless,
Then off through the woods rode he.

VII.

The nights they pass'd and the days they pass'd,
Heavy and lone they fell,
As Gildeluec pined for the bugle blast
Which her lord's return should tell.
Yet heard she how o'er vanquish'd foes
Had his banner victorious flown,
While the fame of his name, like a sweet west wind,
Through his native land was blown.

VIII.

Did the trumpet of battle arouse his heart,
As it aroused in days of yore?
Did he think of his mate, lone watching late,
For his coming, at her bower door?
No more—no more the battle toils
Did Sir Eliduc's bosom cheer;
And if he thought of Gildeluec,
'Twas with grief, and shame, and fear.

IX.

For o'er his soul, like an April gust,
To waken the young flowers driven,
Came the thoughts of Elizabeth, sad and pale,
Like a seraph that pined for Heaven.
He knew her lovely as May morning,
Pure, chaste, as the new-fallen snow;
And could he leave uncheer'd to break,
A heart that loved him so?

X.

To have told her of his wedded state,
When her heart and hopes were high;
To have told her of his Bretagne mate
Were to have bidden her die.
He mused on her matchless loveliness,
On her bright, bold, artless mind;
But alas! his heart, like Noah's dove,
No haven of rest could find!

FITTE THIRD.

I.

The barque is launch'd—before the prow
The hissing billows of foam divide;
And Sir Eliduc sails for Elizabeth,
Whatever fate betide.
Fresh blew the breeze—soon the waste wide seas
By that bounding barque were cross'd,
And at Totness, with the purple dawn,
He lay beside the coast.

II.

Beneath the sheltering rocks they moor'd,
In a wild lone woodland cove:
"Now haste thy message, page," he cried,
"To the ladye of my love,
And tell her that for her we wait,
'Mid this forest by the sea;
Linger till eve by the palace gate,
And hurry her thence with thee."

III.

Without stop or stay, the fleet page away
O'er moor and o'er meadow ran,
Till he saw young Elizabeth, 'mid the shrubs
And flowers of the palace lawn.
And he hath knelt and whisper'd there,
And she hath heard and sigh'd,—
Lo! he waits in the copse by the postern-gate
Till the grey of eventide.

IV.

When but one star shone like a torch
On departing daylight's tomb,
To the wistful page she comes—she came
Like an angel through the gloom.
With light quick step like a startled fawn,
She hasten'd her through the grove,
A short, warm mantle, with ermined fringe,
Thrown her splendid dress above.

V.

With harness bright for the path bedight,
The ready palfrey stood;
The page seized hold of the silken rein,
And away they hied through the wood.
'Neath the linden tree watch'd Eliduc,
Behind was moor'd his barque;
But he leapt to his feet when Elizabeth
Came riding up through the dark.

VI.

"Welcome, welcome, my love, my life! "—
In a moment, within his arms
Lay the heaving breast of the young princess,
In the bloom of her virgin charms.
"To sea, to sea, my mariners!"
The white sails are unfurl'd;
Behind the barque the land withdrew,
Before the white waves curl'd.

VII.

O, bliss of bliss—a lovely night!—
The winds breathed gently free,
The stars, a galaxy of light,
Shower'd fire upon the sea;
And on and on, they bore and bore,
The beauteous and the brave,
Till green Bretagne displayed its shore,
Like a cloud above the wave.

VIII.

Sudden changed the sky—a tempest fierce
Fell brooding; and lo! the gale,
Like an evil spirit from Hell let loose,
Split the mast and rent the sail.
And the mountain waves rear'd their crested heads,
And the lightnings scorch'd the sky,
And the mariners on their patron saints
In supplication cry.

IX.

But from the helm, with upraised arm
An old man leapt, and said,—
"On St Clement and St Nicolas, sirs,
In vain ye call for aid,—
On Mary Mother in vain ye call—
All, Sir Eliduc, for thee
Hath the wrath of Heaven o'ertaken us;
Throw thy paramour in the sea,—

X.

"And return, return to thy wedded wife!"
"Wedded wife!" pale Elizabeth cried,
With a shriek gave up her startled life,
And fell dead by his side.
He held her wrist—her lips he kiss'd—
No word his fate deplored;
But Sir Eliduc seized the old man's waist,
And toss'd him overboard.

XI.

'Twas silence all: the wild winds fell,
And the clouds dispersed away;
All the stars grew pale, save the morning star
That heralded the day:
With a bubbling groan the old man sank;
The mariners sat with in-drawn breath;
To Bretagne's shore the vessel bore—
'Twas like a ship of death.

XII.

'Twas silence all: the brightening east
Proclaim'd the coming day;
With many a shriek, from crag and creek
The sea-mews skimm'd the bay;
While sad and silent they glide along
Till the beetling shore they reach,
Then, with dead Elizabeth in his arms,
Strode Eliduc from the beach.

FITTE FOURTH.

I.

"Why mournest thou thus, Sir Eliduc?
What is thy cause of woe?
Why these stifled sighs and heavy eyes?
Sure of yore it was not so;
And why so often, Sir Eliduc,
Dost thou thread the woods alone?"
The knight look'd up on Gildeluec,
But answering word spake none.

II.

The knight was a gallant knight, the first
In battle-field or festive hall;
The knight is an alter'd man, he hangs
His cuirass on the wall:
Within its kennel yells the hound;
The prison'd falcon pines away;
The steed neighs from his stall, as if
To chide his lord's delay.

III.

At peep of morn, 'mid thick green woods,
Sir Eliduc to stray is gone;
There is no music in human voice—
He loves to be alone.
At fall of eve, 'neath the rising moon,
Through the tangled walks he strays;
The heart of Gildeluec almost broke
To behold his alter'd ways.

IV.

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,"
To her page the ladye said,
"Thou must after thy sorrowing master go,
And track him through the glade."
The page he went, the page he came;
By her bower the ladye stood—
"What news, what news, my faithful lad,
Bringest thou from dark green wood?"

V.

"From turn to turn," replied the page,
"I lurk'd Sir Eliduc's path to see;
And at length he enter'd the hermit's cell,
Beneath the chestnut tree;
And while he mourn'd that cell within,
I listen'd the door beside,
And heard him say,—'O, murder'd love,
Would for thee that I had died!

VI.

" 'To me thou gavest thy love, for me
Didst leave thy father's land;
And I have given thee but a grave
Upon this foreign strand!
And oh! and oh! had'st thou but seen,
And loved some worthier mate;
And oh! for thy hapless death, and oh!
My miserable fate!' "

VII.

Sir Eliduc came home—he sate
With his elbow leant on knee;
He spoke not a word of wail, nor sigh'd,
Though bow'd to earth was he.
"Oh, tell me why, Sir Eliduc,
Thou peak'st, and pin'st, and roam'st astray?"—
"Ask the tree, by the forky lightnings scathed,
Why wither its boughs away!

VIII.

"Ask the forest oak why down it falls
Beneath the woodman's stroke;
Ask life, when death the tyrant calls,
Why it yields to such a yoke."
Through the wood, in morning's solitude,
Gildeluec roam'd alone,
And knock'd at the door of the hermitage,
But answer back came none.

IX.

With a beating heart, and trembling hand,
The wicket latch she raised,
And in as she went, with timid eyes,
Through its twilight gloom she gazed.
Why starts she back? She sees a couch
With coverlet of snow;
She lifted it up in her wonderment,
And a lady slept below!

X

She slept—but 'twas the sleep of death.
Ah! nothing could compare
With the sparkling of her jewell'd robes,
And the pearls in her raven hair,
Save her form—and that was quite divine!
She look'd as of Heaven she dream'd,
While the lustre of her loveliness
Like a halo round her stream'd.

XI.

But waned from her lip was the cherry red;
Her silk robe was her swathing shroud;
And her eyes were closed in dim eclipse,
Like stars behind a cloud.
Was nought on earth so beautiful!
Gildeluec sigh'd,—" Ah me!
No wonder, seeing what thou hast been,
My lord's heart turn'd to thee!

XII.

"Then farewell love—and farewell ye,
The vanities of life!
O would, fair light, that thou hadst lived
To shine his peerless wife!
As it is, I'll love the sun no more,
Let to others his beams be given;
I'll seal mine ears to the sounds of earth,
And give my heart to Heaven!"

XIII.

The cloister hath another nun,
The gentlest, purest, holiest there;
Before the crucifix, morn and eve,
She kneels in fervent prayer:
Her thoughts are of the things above,
Her dreams have all a blest abode,
Where, 'midst the bowers of Paradise,
White angels walk with God.

XIV.

Sir Eliduc sits in a lonely home;
He hath built a marble tomb,
And within it laid the foreign maid
In the wild wood's central gloom;
With railings of gold he hath railed it round,
Beside the hermit's mossy cell;
He hath lock'd it with a silver key,
And bidden a last farewell.

XV.

'Twas a lone, sequester'd place; thro' boughs
The sky o'erhead was seen;
And wild vines ran the stems about,
And festooning ivy green;
'Twas a favourite haunt for nightingales,
Singing the moonlight through;
And by day the living emerald shade
Echo'd the stock-dove's coo.

XVI.

'Twas one of Nature's shrines: the birds
And beasts came flocking there—
The golden pheasant, and vocal lark,
And squirrel, and hart, and hare;
But scarce a footstep breaks the gloom,
The long still season lone;
Rains, winds, and sunbeams kiss the tomb—
But Sir Eliduc is gone!

XVII.

The war-steed neighs—but not from stall—
Caparison'd by the gate;
The cuirass hangs not on the wall,
As it hath hung of late:
His own keen hands have wiped away
The red rust from his sword,
Which again sends out a silvery gleam,
As if it knew its lord.

XVIII.

'Twas a glorious, glowing September eve,
As the knight rode down the dale;
The broad low sun shone along the land,
And kiss'd his burnish'd mail;
Hawk, hound, and horse roam masterless—
His serving-men grow grey—
His roofs are moss'd;—'tis twenty years
Since the warrior went away!

XIX.

A thousand friends had Sir Eliduc—
The brave, the noble, and the wise;
And each asks each, but of his fate
No answering tongue replies.
Arm'd cap-a-pie went Eliduc,
From his proud ancestral towers alone;
But whither he went, or where he died,
By man was never known!





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