MASTER OLIVER

Yea, Theobald the Constable had watched but unduly;
We were taken unwares, and wild fleeing there was
O’er black rock and white snow—­shall such times come again, son?

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, full surely they shall; have thou courage, my fosterer!—­
Day came thronging on day, month thrust month aside,
Amid battle and strife and the murder of glory,
And still oft and oft to that land was I led
And still through all longing I young in Love’s dealings,
Never called it a pain:  though, the battle passed over,
The council determined, back again came my craving: 
I knew not the pain, but I knew all the pleasure,
When now, as the clouds o’er my fortune were parting,
I felt myself waxing in might and in wisdom;
And no city welcomed the Freed and the Freer,
And no mighty army fell back before rumour
Of Pharamond’s coming, but her heart bid me thither,
And the blithest and kindest of kingfolk ye knew me. 
Then came the high tide of deliverance upon us,
When surely if we in the red field had fallen
The stocks and the stones would have risen to avenge us. 
—­Then waned my sweet vision midst glory’s fulfilment,
And still with its waning, hot waxed my desire: 
And did ye not note then that the glad-hearted Pharamond
Was grown a stern man, a fierce king, it may be? 
Did ye deem it the growth of my manhood, the hardening
Of battle and murder and treason about me? 
Nay, nay, it was love’s pain, first named and first noted
When a long time went past, and I might not behold her. 
—­Thou rememberest a year agone now, when the legate
Of the Lord of the Waters brought here a broad letter
Full of prayers for good peace and our friendship thenceforward—­
—­He who erst set a price on the lost head of Pharamond—­
How I bade him stand up on his feet and be merry,
Eat his meat by my side and drink out of my beaker,
In memory of days when my meat was but little
And my drink drunk in haste between saddle and straw. 
But lo! midst of my triumph, as I noted the feigning
Of the last foeman humbled, and the hall fell a murmuring,
And blithely the horns blew, Be glad, spring prevaileth,
—­As I sat there and changed not, my soul saw a vision: 
All folk faded away, and my love that I long for
Came with raiment a-rustling along the hall pavement,
Drawing near to the high-seat, with hands held out a little,
Till her hallowed eyes drew me a space into heaven,
And her lips moved to whisper, ‘Come, love, for I weary!’
Then she turned and went from me, and I heard her feet falling
On the floor of the hall, e’en as though it were empty
Of all folk but us twain in the hush of the dawning. 
Then again, all was gone, and I sat there a smiling
On the faint-smiling legate, as the hall windows quivered