Collected Poems - LightNovelsOnl.com
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I thought I heard a voice.
LITTLE JOHN
'Twas only Shadow-of-a-Leaf again. He talks For hours among the ferns, plays with the flowers, And whispers to the mice, perfectly happy!
SCARLET
I cannot rest for thinking that some harm Hath chanced to Robin. Call him yet once more.
[_LITTLE JOHN blows his bugle. All is silent. They stand listening._]
SCENE III. _A gloomy cell. ROBIN bound. PRINCE JOHN and two mercenaries.
A low narrow door in the background, small barred window on the left._
PRINCE JOHN
[_To the Mercenaries._]
Leave us a moment. I have private matters To lay before this friend of all the poor.
You may begin to build the door up now, So that you do not wall me in with him.
[_The two men begin filling up the doorway with rude blocks of masonry._]
So now, my good green foot-pad, you are trapped At last, trapped in the practice of your trade!
Trapped, as you took your stolen Norman gold To what was it--a widow, or Saxon serf With eye put out for breaking forest laws?
You hold with them, it seems. Your dainty soul Sickens at our gross penalties; and so We'll not inflict them on your n.o.ble self, Although we have the power. There's not a soul Can ever tell where Robin Hood is gone.
These walls will never echo it.
[_He taps the wall with his sword._]
And yet There surely must be finer ways to torture So fine a soul as yours. Was it not you Who gave me like a fairing to my brother With lofty condescension in your eyes; And shall I call my mercenaries in And bid them burn your eyes out with hot irons?
Richard is gone--he'll never hear of it!
An Earl that plays the robber disappears, That's all. Most like he died in some low scuffle Out in the greenwood. I am half inclined To call for red-hot irons after all, So that your sympathy with Saxon churls May be more deep, you understand; and then It would be sweet for you, alone and blind, To know that you could never in this life See Marian's face again. But no--that's bad.
Bad art to put hope's eyes out. It destroys Half a man's fear to rob him of his hope.
No; you shall drink the dregs of it. Hope shall die More exquisite a death. Robin, my friend, You understand that, when I quit your presence, This bare blank cell becomes your living tomb.
Do you not comprehend? It's none so hard.
The doorway will be built up. There will be No door, you understand, but just a wall, Some six feet thick, of solid masonry.
n.o.body will disturb you, even to bring Water or food. You'll starve--see--like a rat, Bricked up and buried. But you'll have time to think Of how I tread a measure at the masque To-night, with Marian, while her wide eyes wonder Where Robin is--and old Fitzwalter smiles And bids his girl be gracious to the Prince For his land's sake. Ah, ha! you wince at that!
Will you not speak a word before I go?
Speak, d.a.m.n you!
[_He strikes ROBIN across the face with his glove. ROBIN remains silent._]
Six days hence, if you keep watch At yonder window (you'll be hungry then) You may catch sight of Marian and Prince John Wandering into the gardens down below.
You will be hungry then; perhaps you'll strive To call to us, or stretch a meagre arm Through those strong bars; but then you know the height Is very great--no voice can reach to the earth: This is the topmost cell in my Dark Tower.
Men look like ants below there. I shall say To Marian, See that creature waving there High up above us, level with the clouds, Is it not like a winter-shrivelled fly?
And she will laugh; and I will pluck her roses.
And then--and then--there are a hundred ways, You know, to touch a woman's blood with thoughts Beyond its lawful limits. Ha! ha! ha!
By G.o.d, you almost spoke to me, I think.
Touches at twilight, whispers in the dark, Sweet sympathetic murmurs o'er the loss Of her so thoughtless Robin, do you think Maid Marian will be quite so hard to win When princes come to woo? There will be none To interrupt us then. Time will be mine To practise all the amorous arts of Ovid, And, at the last--
ROBIN Will you not free my hands?
You have your sword. But I would like to fight you Here, with my naked hands. I want no more.
PRINCE JOHN
Ha! ha! At last the sullen speaks.
That's all I wanted. I have struck you in the face.
Is't not enough? You can't repay that blow.
ROBIN
Bury, me down in h.e.l.l and I'll repay it The day you die, across your lying mouth That spoke of my true lady, I will repay it, Before the face of G.o.d!
PRINCE JOHN
[_Laughing._]
Meanwhile, for me Till you repay that blow, there is the mouth Of Marian, the sweet honey-making mouth That shall forestall your phantom blow with balm.
Oh, you'll go mad too soon if I delay.
I am glad you spoke. Farewell, the masons wait.
And I must not be late for Marian.
[_Exit thro' the small aperture now left in the doorway. It is rapidly closed and sounds of heavy masonry being piled against it are heard. ROBIN tries to free his hands and after an effort, succeeds. He hurls himself against the doorway, and finds it hopeless. He turns to the window, peers through it for a moment, then suddenly unwinds a scarf from his neck, ties it to one of the bars and stands to one side._]
ROBIN Too high a shot for most of my good bowmen!
What's that? A miss?
[_He looks thro' the window._]
Good lad, he'll try again!
[_He stands at the side once more and an arrow comes thro' the window._]
Why, that's like magic!
[_He pulls up the thread attached to it._]
Softly, or 'twill break!-- Ah, now 'tis st.u.r.dy cord.
--I'll make it fast.
But, how to break these bars!
St. Nicholas, There's someone climbing. He must have a head Of iron, and the lightness of a cat!
Downward is bad enough, but up is more Than mortal! Who the devil can it be?
Thank G.o.d, it's growing dark. But what a risk!
None of my merry men could e'en attempt it.
