It hurts right sorely. Is it not pitiful Our souls should be so bound about with flesh Even when they leap and smite with wings and feet, The least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes, Turns them to tears and words? Ah my sweet knight, You have the better of us that weave and weep While the blithe battle blows upon your eyes Like rain and wind; yet I remember too When this last year the fight at Corrichie Reddened the rushes with stained fen-water, I rode with my good men and took delight, Feeling the sweet clear wind upon my eyes And rainy soft smells blown upon my face In riding: then the great fight jarred and joined, And the sound stung me right through heart and all;For I was here, see, gazing off the hills, In the wet air; our housings were all wet, And not a plume stood stiffly past the ear But flapped between the bridle and the neck;And under us we saw the battle go Like running water; I could see by fits Some helm the rain fell shining off, some flag Snap from the staff, shorn through or broken short In the man's falling: yea, one seemed to catch The very grasp of tumbled men at men, Teeth clenched in throats, hands riveted in hair, Tearing the life out with no help of swords.
And all the clamor seemed to shine, the light Seemed to shout as a man doth; twice I laughed--I tell you, twice my heart swelled out with thirst To be into the battle; see, fair lord, I swear it seemed I might have made a knight, And yet the simple bracing of a belt Makes me cry out; this is too pitiful, This dusty half of us made up with fears.--Have you been ever quite so glad to fight As I have thought men must? pray you, speak truth.
CHASTELARD.
Yea, when the time came, there caught hold of me Such pleasure in the head and hands and blood As may be kindled under loving lips:
Crossing the ferry once to the Clerks' Field, I mind how the plashing noise of Seine Put fire into my face for joy, and how My blood kept measure with the swinging boat Till we touched land, all for the sake of that Which should be soon.
QUEEN.
Her name, for God's love, sir;
You slew your friend for love's sake? nay, the name.
CHASTELARD.
Faith, I forget.
QUEEN.
Now by the faith I have You have no faith to swear by.
CHASTELARD.
A good sword:
We left him quiet after a thrust or twain.
QUEEN.
I would I had been at hand and marked them off As the maids did when we played singing games:
You outwent me at rhyming; but for faith, We fight best there. I would I had seen you fight.
CHASTELARD.
I would you had; his play was worth an eye;
He made some gallant way before that pass Which made me way through him.
QUEEN.
Would I saw that--
How did you slay him?
CHASTELARD.
A clean pass--this way;
Right in the side here, where the blood has root.
His wrist went round in pushing, see you, thus, Or he had pierced me.
QUEEN.
Yea, I see, sweet knight.
I have a mind to love you for his sake;
Would I had seen.
CHASTELARD.
Hugues de Marsillac--
I have the name now; 't was a goodly one Before he changed it for a dusty name.
QUEEN.
Talk not of death; I would hear living talk Of good live swords and good strokes struck withal, Brave battles and the mirth of mingling men, Not of cold names you greet a dead man with.
You are yet young for fighting; but in fight Have you never caught a wound?
CHASTELARD.
Yea, twice or so:
The first time in a little outlying field (My first field) at the sleepy gray of dawn, They found us drowsy, fumbling at our girths, And rode us down by heaps; I took a hurt Here in the shoulder.
QUEEN.
Ah, I mind well now;
Did you not ride a day's space afterward, Having two wounds? yea, Dandelot it was, That Dandelot took word of it. I know, Sitting at meat when the news came to us I had nigh swooned but for those Florence eyes Slanting my way with sleek lids drawn up close--Yea, and she said, the Italian brokeress, She said such men were good for great queens' love.
I would you might die, when you come to die, Like a knight slain. Pray God we make good ends.
For love too, love dies hard or easily, But some way dies on some day, ere we die.
CHASTELARD.
You made a song once of old flowers and loves, Will you not sing that rather? 't is long gone Since you sang last.
QUEEN.
I had rather sigh than sing And sleep than sigh; 't is long since verily, But I will once more sing; ay, thus it was.
[Sings.]
1.
J'ai vu faner bien des choses, Mainte feuille aller au vent.
En songeant aux vieilles roses, J'ai pleure souvent.
2.
Vois-tu dans les roses mortes Amour qui sourit cache?
O mon amant, a nos portes L'as-tu vu couche?
3.
As-tu vu jamais au monde Venus chasser et courir?
Fille de l'onde, avec l'onde Doit-elle mourir?
4.
Aux jours de neige et de givre L'amour s'effeuille et s'endort;Avec mai doit-il revivre, Ou bien est-il mort?
5.
Qui sait ou s'en vont les roses?
Qui sai ou s'en va le vent?
En songeant a telles choses, J'ai pleure souvent.
