THE STAFF AND SCRIP

'WHO rules these lands?' the Pilgrim said. 'Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.'

'And who has thus harried them?' he said.

'It was Duke Luke did this:

God's ban be his !'

The Pilgrim said: 'Where is your house? I'll rest there, with your will.'

'You've but to climb these blackened boughs

And you'll see it over the hill,

For it burns still.'

'Which road, to seek your Queen?' said he.

'Nay, nay, but with some wound

You'll fly back hither, it may be,

And by your blood i' the ground
My place be found.'

'Friend, stay in peace. God keep your head,

And mine, where I will go;

For He is here and there,' he said.

He passed the hill-side, slow,

And stood below.

The Queen sat idle by her loom :

She heard the arras stir,

And looked up sadly through the room

The sweetness sickened her

Of musk and myrrh.

Her women, standing two and two,
In silence combed the fleece.
The Pilgrim said, 'Peace be with you,
Lady;' and bent his knees.

She answered, 'Peace.'

Her eyes were like the wave within;
Like water-reeds the poise

Of her soft body, dainty thin;

And like the water's noise

Her plaintive voice.

For him, the stream had never well'd

In desert tracts malign

So sweet; nor had he ever felt

So faint in the sunshine

Of Palestine.

Right so, he knew that he saw weep
Each night through every dream
The Queen's own face, confused in sleep
With visages supreme

Not known to him.

'Lady,' he said, 'your lands lie burnt

And waste to meet your foe

All fear this I have seen and learnt.

:

Say that it shall be so,

And I will go.'

She gazed at him. 'Your cause is just,

For I have heard the same:'

He said: 'God's strength shall be my trust.

Fall it to good or grame,

'Tis in His name.'

'Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead.

Why should you toil to break

A grave, and fall therein ?' she said.

He did not pause but spake :

'For my vow's sake.'

'Can such vows be, Sir-to God's ear,

Not to God's will?' 'My vow

Remains

God heard me there as here,'

He said with reverent brow,

'Both then and now.'

They gazed together, he and she,
The minute while he spoke ;
And when he ceased, she suddenly
Looked round upon her folk
As though she woke.

'Fight, Sir,' she said; 'my prayers in pain Shall be your fellowship.'

He whispered one among her train,

'To-morrow bid her keep

This staff and scrip.'

She sent him a sharp sword, whose belt

About his body there

As sweet as her own arms he felt.

He kissed its blade, all bare,

Instead of her.

She sent him a green

banner wrought

With one white lily stem,

To bind his lance with when he fought.

She sent him a white shield, whereon

She bade that he should trace

His will. He blent fair hues that shone,

And in a golden space

He kissed her face.

Born of the day that died, that eve

Now dying sank to rest;

As he, in likewise taking leave,

Once with a heaving breast

Looked to the west.