Poems by Adam Lindsay Gordon Part 43

SCENE--A Room in the Convent Tower Overlooking the Gate.

URSULA at the window. AGATHA and Nuns crouching or kneeling in a corner.

Ursula: See, Ellinor! Agatha! Anna!

While yet for the ladders they wait, Jarl Osric hath rear'd the black banner Within a few yards of the gate; It faces our window, the raven, The badge of the cruel sea-kings, That has carried to harbour and haven Destruction and death on its wings.

Beneath us they throng, the fierce Nors.e.m.e.n, The pikemen of Rudolph behind Are mustered, and Dagobert's hors.e.m.e.n With faces to rearward inclined; Come last, on their coursers broad-chested, Rough-coated, short-pastern'd and strong, Their casques with white plumes thickly crested, Their lances barb-headed and long: They come through the shades of the linden, Fleet riders and war-horses hot: The Normans, our friends--we have sinn'd in Our selfishness, sisters, I wot-- They come to add slaughter to slaughter, Their handful can ne'er stem the tide Of our foes, and our fate were but shorter Without them. How fiercely they ride!

And "Hugo of Normandy!" "Hugo!"

"A rescue! a rescue!" rings loud, And right on the many the few go!

A sway and a swerve of the crowd!

A springing and sparkling of sword-blades!

A cras.h.i.+ng and 'countering of steeds!

And the white feathers fly 'neath their broad blades Like foam-flakes! the spear-shafts like reeds!

A Nun (to Agatha): Pray, sister!

Agatha: Alas! I have striven To pray, but the lips move in vain When the heart with such terror is riven.

Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again!

Ursula: As leaves fall by wintry gusts scatter'd, As fall by the sickle ripe ears, As the pines by the whirlwind fall shatter'd, As shatter'd by bolt fall the firs-- To the right hand they fall, to the left hand They yield! They go down! they give back!

And their ranks are divided and cleft, and Dispers'd and destroy'd in the track!

Where, stirrup to stirrup, and bridle To bridle, down-trampling the slain!

Our friends, wielding swords never idle, Hew b.l.o.o.d.y and desperate lane Through pikemen, so crowded together They scarce for their pikes can find room, Led by Hugo's gilt crest, the tall feather Of Thurston, and Eric's black plume!

A Nun (to Agatha): Pray, sister!

Agatha: First pray thou that heaven Will lift this dull weight from my brain, That crushes like crime unforgiven.

Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again!

Ursula: Close under the gates men are fighting On foot where the raven is rear'd!

'Neath that sword-stroke, through helm and skull smiting, Jarl Osric falls, cloven to the beard!

And Hugo, the hilt firmly grasping, His heel on the throat of his foe, Wrenches back. I can hear the dull rasping, The steel through the bone grating low!

And the raven rocks! Thurston has landed Two strokes, well directed and hard, On the standard pole, wielding, two-handed, A blade crimson'd up to the guard.

Like the mast cut in two by the lightning, The black banner topples and falls!

Bewildering! back-scattering! affright'ning!

It clears a wide s.p.a.ce next the walls.

A Nun (to Agatha): Pray, sister!

Agatha: Does the sinner unshriven, With naught beyond this life to gain, Pray for mercy on earth or in heaven?

Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again!

Ursula: The gates are flung open, and straightway, By Ambrose and Cyril led on, Our own men rush out through the gateway; One charge, and the entrance is won!

No! our foes block the gate and endeavour To force their way in! Oath and yell, Shout and war-cry wax wilder than ever!

Those children of Odin fight well; And my ears are confused by the cras.h.i.+ng, The jarring, the discord, the din; And mine eyes are perplex'd by the flas.h.i.+ng Of fierce lights that ceaselessly spin; So when thunder to thunder is calling, Quick flash follows flash in the shade, So leaping and flas.h.i.+ng and falling, Blade flashes and follows on blade!

While the sward, newly plough'd, freshly painted, Grows purple with blood of the slain, And slippery! Has Agatha fainted?

Agatha: Not so, Lady Abbess! Look again!

Ursula: No more from the window; in the old years I have look'd upon strife. Now I go To the court-yard to rally our soldiers As I may--face to face with the foe.

[She goes out.]

SCENE--A Room in the Convent.

THURSTON seated near a small fire.

Enter EUSTACE.

Eustace: We have come through this skirmish with hardly a scratch.

Thurston: And without us, I fancy, they have a full batch Of sick men to look to. Those robbers accurs'd Will soon put our soundest on terms with our worst.

Nathless I'd have bartered, with never a frown, Ten years for those seconds when Osric went down.

Where's Ethelwolf?

Eustace: Dying.

Thurston: And Reginald?

Eustace: Dead.

And Ralph is disabled, and Rudolph is sped.

He may last till midnight--not longer. Nor Tyrrel, Nor Brian will ever see sunrise.

Thurston: That Cyril, The monk, is a very respectable fighter.

Eustace: Not bad for a monk. Yet our loss had been lighter Had he and his fellows thrown open the gate A little more quickly. And now, spite of fate, With thirty picked soldiers their siege we might weather, But the Abbess is worth all the rest put together.

[Enter Ursula.]

Thurston: Here she comes.

Ursula: Can I speak with your lord?

Eustace: 'Tis too late, He was dead when we carried him in at the gate.

Thurston: Nay, he spoke after that, for I heard him myself; But he won't speak again, he must lie on his shelf.

Ursula: Alas! is he dead, then?

Thurston: As dead as St. Paul.

And what then? to-morrow we, too, one and all, Die, to fatten these ravenous carrion birds.

I knelt down by Hugo and heard his last words: "How heavy the night hangs--how wild the waves dash; Say a ma.s.s for my soul--and give Rollo a mash."

Ursula: Nay, Thurston, thou jestest.

Thurston: Ask Eric. I swear We listened and caught every syllable clear.

Eustace: Why, his horse was slain, too.