there breathes through it my breath

OF PHARAMOND THE FREED

Scene: In the Kings Chamber of Audience.

MASTER OLIVER and many LORDS and COUNCILLORS.

Fair Master Oliver, thou who at all times Mayst open thy heart to our lord and master, Tell us what tidings thou hast to deliver; For our hearts are grown heavy, and where shall we turn to If thus the king's glory, our gain and salvation, Must go down the wind amid gloom and despairing?

Little may be looked for, fair lords, in my story, To lighten your hearts of the load lying on them. For nine days the king hath slept not an hour, And taketh no heed of soft words or beseeching. Yea, look you, my lords, if a body late dead In the lips and the cheeks should gain some little colour, And arise and wend forth with no change in the eyes, And wander about as if seeking its soul—     Lo, e'en so sad is my lord and my master; Yea, e'en so far hath his soul drifted from us.

What say the leeches? Is all their skill left them?

Nay, they bade lead him to hunt and to tilting, To set him on high in the throne of his honour To judge heavy deeds: bade him handle the tiller, And drive through the sea with the wind at its wildest; All things he was wont to hold kingly and good. So we led out his steed and he straight leapt upon him With no word, and no looking to right nor to left, And into the forest we fared as aforetime:     Fast on the king followed, and cheered without stinting The hounds to the strife till the bear stood at bay; Then there he alone by the beech-trees alighted; Barehanded, unarmoured, he handled the spear-shaft, And blew up the death on the horn of his father; Yet still in his eyes was no look of rejoicing, And no life in his lips; but I likened him rather To King Nimrod carved fair on the back of the high-seat When the candles are dying, and the high moon is streaming Through window and luffer white on the lone pavement Whence the guests are departed in the hall of the palace.—     —Rode we home heavily, he with his rein loose, Feet hanging free from the stirrups, and staring At a clot of the bear's blood that stained his green kirtle;—     Unkingly, unhappy, he rode his ways homeward.

Was this all ye tried, or have ye more tidings? For the wall tottereth not at first stroke of the 

 Prev. P 10/54 next