Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SIR HUGH AND THE SWANS (KUNG VON DER ROSEN, BRUGES, 1488), by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SIR HUGH AND THE SWANS (KUNG VON DER ROSEN, BRUGES, 1488), by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The wintry nights in flanders
Last Line: Sir hugh o' the rose lies dead.
Alternate Author Name(s): Duclaux, Madame Emile; Darmesteter, Mary; Robinson, A. Mary F.
Subject(s): Flanders, Belgium


THE wintry nights in Flanders
Lie thick about the grass;
We stole between the sentinels,
They never saw us pass.

The mist was blue on field and fen,
And ridged the dykes with white;
The camp-fires of the soldiers
Burned holes into the night.

They could not see us through the mirk:
We saw them in the glow.
A price was on our either head
And stealthy did we go.

We crept along the inner banks
Close to the waters grey --
We reached the castle at dawn, the castle
Where Max in prison lay.

(We blew the golden trumpets all
For joy, a year agone:
"Long live the King o' the Romans!"
The people cried as one.

Now, for the king in prison,
There's two will dare to die.
There's Hugh o' the Rose, the Jester,
Sir Hugh o' the Rose, and I.)

We came upon the castle moat
As the dawn was weak and grey:
"There's still an hour," quoth Hugh o' the Rose
"An hour till break of day.

"Give me the files, the muted files,
Give me the rope to fling;
I'll swim to the prison window,
And hand them to the king.

"I'll swim to the castle and back, Sir John,
Before the morn is light,
And we'll both lie hid i' the rushes here
Till we take the boat to-night."

We tied the files, we tied the rope,
In a little leather sack.
Sir Hugh struck off from the mirky bank,
The satchel on his back.

I watched him cleave the wan water --
A bold swimmer was he.
My heart beat high in my bosom,
For I thought the king was free.

I watched him shoot the middle stream
And reach the other side --
"Fling up the rope," the king cried out --
That never should have cried.

The sun uprist beyond the dyke:
It was a deadly gleam.
The startled swans that sleep i' the moat
Began to whir and scream.

Woe's me, that saw them stretch their necks
And hiss, as traitors do;
I saw them arch their evil wings
And strike and stun Sir Hugh.

The king looked out o' the window bars,
And he was sad belike;
But I could not see my lord the king
For the drowned face in the dyke.

The sleepy warders woke and stirred,
"The swans are mad in the moat!"
I lifted up Sir Hugh o' the Rose
And laid him in the boat.

I made him a sark of rushes,
With stones at the feet and head....
In the deepest dyke of Flanders
Sir Hugh o' the Rose lies dead.





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