Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE COUNTESS GOES TO THE HUNT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The countess said, I will go to the hunt
Last Line: And the mourning wind bore her guilty ghost.


The Countess said, "I will go to the hunt.
I've a clever hand and a steady seat.
The day is dull with my lord afield --
I'll follow him on my palfrey fleet."

She thrust aside her 'broidery frame;
"I'm weary of stitching, I confess.
This castle's still as the grave. Heigh-ho!
Tire me, wench, in my riding dress."

They hooked her mantle of cedar-green;
Her hair, bright ambush of laughing loves,
They coaxed to the mesh of a golden net;
Laced her sandals and brought her gloves.

Old Oswald muttered a doubtful word,
Knit his brows, and babbled of rain,
Whispered the groom, and they agreed
The Countess' mare showed a fetlock strain.

"Would you mew me home for lack of a mount?
Saddle me Dirck -- ods blood!" she bade;
Cowed the twain with a haughty glance,
Flung a coin to the stable lad.

Dirck's proud hoof on the draw-bridge rang,
Set the pace for her merry train.
On they thundered through tilth and town
Trampling pasture and bloom and grain.

At noon the Countess, in swift caprice,
Fared alone through a wayside farm.
"I'll see how my peasants live," she said --
Spied a maid in the Earl's fond arm!

Young she was and fair she was,
Slim as a lily and sweet as spring.
Red as a wound on her finger glowed
The Earl's great ruby, a priceless thing.

She saw the Earl, her liege, her man,
Drop his lips to the flower-fresh face.
Swayed she then like a smitten tree,
Swooned and fell in a bosky place.

Asked a favorite maid, "Did you see how they live?
You are fagged and white -- and your coif's awry."
"I saw how they live -- and love," she said,
"I wonder how such vermin die.

"I've lost my fancy to see the chase --
There's a cruel sun -- I've a migraine, Merle.
Fie! May a Countess not change her mind?
Why do you stare? We'll be homing, girl."

Grief in the castle, its head laid low,
A seizure swift and a silent wife;
Tearless she sits by the Earl's great bed
While he wrestles sore for his waning life.

A whisper breathes from his pallid lips,
"Love, lean close -- all-dear, all-true.
Kiss me, Claire -- my life -- it slips.
One trust there is I must leave to you.

"A child I had by a yeoman's maid --
The mother's gone, but my daughter lives.
I dared not tell you -- I was afraid.
Will you prove me now how a wife forgives?

"She wears my ring -- old Oswald knows --"
Her hard face softened, was quick with pain.
The latest gleam of the setting sun
Lit the arras with saffron stain.

"Now Jesus pardon the sin I've done!"
The Countess cried, "If I had but known!
My lord, my love, I pledge my word
The lass shall be as my very own."

She kissed and blessed him -- she fled the room.
"Oswald -- come! There is urgent need.
Fetch the maiden from Durley Grange --
Ride like the fiends -- go speed! Go speed!"

The aged vassal stood grim, root-fast;
Braved the woman with scornful look.
"You've slain the Earl, and you've slain his child.
You are damned and lost, by the Holy Book!

"Your minion here waits his promised fee;
I forced the varlet -- he has confessed.
The maid is dead by his dastard hand,
A shaft from the copse in her stainless breast."

A vial she drew from her jewelled pouch --
Quaffed dark drops like a festal toast.
"I follow my lord again," she sighed,
And the mourning wind bore her guilty ghost.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net