Collected Poems - LightNovelsOnl.com
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You know, you know, how perilous a road My Marian must ride if Huntingdon Tramples the forest-laws beneath his heel And, in the thin disguise of Robin Hood, Succours the Saxon outlaws, makes his house A refuge for them, lavishes his wealth To feed their sick and needy.
[_The SHERIFF and two of his men appear in the great doorway out of sight of the guests._]
SHERIFF
[_Whispering._]
Not yet! keep back!
One of you go--see that the guards are set!
He must not slip us.
FITZWALTER
Oh, I know his heart Is gold, but this is not an age of gold; And those who have must keep, or lose the power Even to help themselves. No--he must doff His green disguise of Robin Hood for ever, And wear his natural coat of Huntingdon.
ROBIN
Ah, which is the disguise? Day after day We rise and put our social armour on, A different mask for every friend; but steel Always to case our hearts. We are all so wrapped, So swathed, so m.u.f.fled in habitual thought That now I swear we do not know our souls Or bodies from their winding-sheets; but Custom, Custom, the great G.o.d Custom, all day long Shovels the dirt upon us where we lie Buried alive and dreaming that we stand Upright and royal. Sir, I have great doubts About this world, doubts if we have the right To sit down here for this betrothal feast And gorge ourselves with plenty, when we know That for the sc.r.a.ps and crumbs which we let fall And never miss, children would kiss our hands And women weep in grat.i.tude. Suppose A man fell wounded at your gates, you'd not Pa.s.s on and smile and leave him there to die.
And can a few short miles of distance blind you?
Miles, nay, a furlong is enough to close The gates of mercy. Must we thrust our hands Into the wounds before we can believe?
Oh, is our sight so thick and gross? We came, We saw, we conquered with the Conqueror.
We gave ourselves broad lands; and when our king Desired a wider hunting ground we set Hundreds of Saxon homes a-blaze and tossed Women and children back into the fire If they but wrung their hands against our will.
And so we made our forest, and its leaves Were pitiful, more pitiful than man.
They gave our homeless victims the same refuge And happy hiding place they give the birds And foxes. Then we made our forest-laws, And he that dared to hunt, even for food, Even on the ground where we had burned his hut, The ground we had drenched with his own kindred's blood, Poor foolish churl, why, we put out his eyes With red-hot irons, cut off both his hands, Torture him with such horrors that ... Christ G.o.d, How can I help but fight against it all?
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
Ah, gossips, if the Conqueror had but burned Everything with four walls, hut, castle, palace, And turned the whole wide world into a forest, Drenched us with may, we might be happy then!
With sweet blue wood-smoke curling thro' the boughs, And just a pigeon's flap to break the silence, And ferns, of course, there's much to make men happy.
Well, well, the forest conquers at the last!
I saw a thistle in the castle courtyard, A purple thistle breaking thro' the pavement, Yesterday; and it's wonderful how soon Some creepers pick these old grey walls to pieces.
These nunneries and these monasteries now, They don't spring up like flowers, so I suppose Old mother Nature wins the race at last.
FITZWALTER
Robin, my heart is with you, but I know A hundred ages will not change this earth.
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
[_With a candle in his hand._]
Gossip, suppose the sun goes out like this.
Pouf!
[_Blows it out._]
Stranger things have happened.
FITZWALTER
Silence, fool!...
So, if you share your wealth with all the world Earth will be none the better, and my poor girl Will suffer for it. Where you got the gold You have already lavished on the poor Heaven knows.
FRIAR TUCK
Oh, by the ma.s.s and the sweet moon Of Sherwood, so do I? That's none so hard A riddle!
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
Ah, Friar Tuck, we know, we know!
Under the hawthorn bough, and at the foot Of rainbows, that's where fairies hide their gold.
Cut me a silver penny out of the moon Next time you're there.
[_Whispers._]
Now tell me, have you brought Your quarter-staff?
FRIAR TUCK
[_Whispering._]
Hus.h.!.+ hush.
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
Oh, mum's the word!
I see it!
FITZWALTER
Believe me, Robin, there's one way And only one--patience! When Lion-Heart Comes home from the Crusade, he will not brook This blot upon our chivalry. Prince John Is dangerous to a heart like yours. Beware Of rousing him. Meanwhile, your troth holds good; But, till the King comes home from the Crusade You must not claim your bride.
ROBIN
So be it, then....
When the great King comes home from the Crusade!...
FITZWALTER
Meanwhile for Marian's sake and mine, I pray Do nothing rash.
[_Enter WIDOW SCARLET. She goes up to ROBIN HOOD._]
WIDOW SCARLET
Are you that Robin Hood They call the poor man's friend?
ROBIN
