That horrible black scaffold drest The stapled block... God sink the rest! No part in aught they hope or fear! But shall bear God and Man my cry— THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS OU'RE my friend: You I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too; So here's the tale from beginning to end, My friend! Ours is a great wild country: If you climb to our castle's top, I don't see where your eye can stop; For when you've passed the cornfield country, Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed, And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract, And cattle-tract to open-chase, And open-chase to the very base Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace, Round about, solemn and slow, One by one, row after row, Up and up the pine trees go, So, like black priests up, and so To another greater, wilder country, THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain, Look right, look left, look straight before,- And forge and furnace mould and melt, Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea-shore, I was born the day this present Duke was- We are of like age to an hour. My father was huntsman in that day; Was first to start at the outside blast VOL. II 209 P The Duke looked down and seemed to wince, But he thought of wars o'er the world wide, Castles a-fire, men on their march, The toppling tower, the crashing arch; And up he looked, and awhile he eyed The row of crests and shields and banners Of all achievements after all manners, And "ay," said the Duke with a surly pride. In a chamber next to an ante-room, groom page and What he called stink, and they, perfume: To flap each broad wing like a banner, Cotnar for instance, green as May sorrel So, at home, the sick tall yellow Duchess And now was the time to revisit her tribe. And let our people rail and gibe And back came the Duke and his mother again. And he came back the pertest little ape You'd say, he despised our bluff old ways? Our rough North land was the Land of Lays, The one good thing left in evil days; Since the Mid-Age was the Heroic Time, And only in wild nooks like ours Could you taste of it yet as in its prime, And see true castles, with proper towers, Young-hearted women, old-minded men, And manners now as manners were then. So, all that the old Dukes had been, without knowing it This Duke would fain know he was, without being it; 'Twas not for the joy's self, but the joy of his showing it, Nor for the pride's self, but the pride of our seeing it, He revived all usages thoroughly worn-out, The souls of them fumed-forth, the hearts of them torn-out: And chief in the chase his neck he perilled Well, such as he was, he must marry, we heard: Came the lady, in time of spring. My friend, I have seen a white crane bigger! Out of the bears' reach on the high trees Up she looked, down she looked, round at the Straight at the castle, that's best indeed To look at from outside the walls: As for us, styled the "serfs and thralls," What its true name was, nor ever seemed tired— And the green and grey bird on the field was the plover, When suddenly appeared the Duke: And as down she sprung, the small foot pointed On to my hand, as with a rebuke, And as if his backbone were not jointed, The Duke stepped rather aside than forward, And welcomed her with his grandest smile; And, mind you, his mother all the while Chilled in the rear, like a wind to Nor'ward; |