The Flight Of The Duchess

I.     Youre my friend:     I was the man the Duke spoke to;     I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;     So heres the tale from beginning to end,     My friend! II.     Ours is a great wild country:     If you climb to our castles top,     I dont see where your eye can stop;     For when youve 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     Down the other side again     To another greater, wilder country,     Thats one vast red drear burnt-up plain,     Branched through and through with many a vein     Whence irons dug, and coppers dealt;     Look right, look left, look straight before,     Beneath they mine, above they smelt,     Copper-ore and iron-ore,     And forge and furnace mould and melt,     And so on, more and ever more,     Till at the last, for a bounding belt,     Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea-shore,     And the whole is our Dukes country! III.     I was born the day this present Duke was     (And O, says the song, ere I was old!)     In the castle where the other Duke was     (When I was happy and young, not old!)     I in the Kennel, he in the Bower:     We are of like age to an hour.     My father was huntsman in that day;     Who has not heard my father say     That, when a boar was brought to bay,     Three times, four times out of five,     With his huntspear hed contrive     To get the killing-place transfixed,     And pin him true, both eyes betwixt?     And thats why the old Duke would rather     He lost a salt-pit than my father,     And loved to have him ever in call;     Thats why my father stood in the hall     When the old Duke brought his infant out     To show the people, and while they passed     The wondrous bantling round about,     Was first to start at the outside blast     As the Kaisers courier blew his horn     Just a month after the babe was born.     And, quoth the Kaisers courier, since     The Duke has got an heir, our Prince     Needs the Dukes self at his side:     The Duke looked down and seemed to wince,     But he thought of wars oer 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.     The more was his comfort when he died     At next years end, in a velvet suit,     With a gilt glove on his hand, his foot     In a silken shoe for a leather boot,     Petticoated like a herald,     In a chamher next to an ante-room,     Where he breathed the breath of page and groom,     What he called stink, and they, perfume:     They should have set him on red Berold     Mad with pride, like fire to manage!     They should have got his cheek fresh tannage     Such a day as to-day in the merry sunshine!     Had they stuck on his fist a rough-foot merlin!     (Hark, the winds on the heath at its game!     Oh for a noble falcon-lanner     To flap each broad wing like a banner,     And turn in the wind, and dance like flame!)     Had they broached a white-beer cask from Berlin     Or if you incline to prescribe mere wine     Put to his lips, when they saw him pine,     A cup of our own Moldavia fine,     Cotnar for instance, green as May sorrel     And ropy with sweet, we shall not quarrel. IV.     So, at home, the sick tall yellow Duchess     Was left with the infant in her clutches,     She being the daughter of God knows who:     And now was the time to revisit her tribe.     Abroad and afar they went, the two,     And let our people rail and gibe     At the empty Hall and extinguished fire,     As loud as we liked, but ever in vain,     Till after long years we had our desire,     And back came the Duke and his mother again. V.     And he came back the pertest little ape     That ever affronted human shape;     Full of his travel, struck at himself.     Youd say, he despised our bluff old ways?     Not he! For in Paris they told the elf     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 joys self, but the joy of his showing it,     Nor for the prides 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     On a lathy horse, all legs and length,     With blood for bone, all speed, no strength;     They should have set him on red Berold     With the red eye slow consuming in fire,     And the thin stiff ear like an abbey-spire! VI.     Well, such as he was, he must marry, we heard:     And out of a convent, at the word,     Came the lady, in time of spring.     Oh, old thoughts they cling, they cling!     That day, I know, with a dozen oaths     I clad myself in thick hunting-clothes     Fit for the chase of urox or buffle     In winter-time when you need to muffle.     But the Duke had a mind we should cut a figure,     And so we saw the lady arrive:     My friend, I have seen a white crane bigger!     She was the smallest lady alive,     Made in a piece of natures madness,     Too small, almost, for the life and gladness     That over-filled her, as some hive     Out of the bears reach on the high trees     Is crowded with its safe merry bees:     In truth, she was not hard to please!     Up she looked, down she looked, round at the mead,     Straight at the castle, thats best indeed     To look at from outside the walls:     As for us, styled the serfs and thralls,     She as much thanked me as if she had said it,     (With her eyes, do you understand?)     Because I patted her horse while I led it;     And Max, who rode on her other hand,     Said, no bird flew past but she inquired     What its true name was, nor ever seemed tired     If that was an eagle she saw hover,     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 Norward;     And up, like a weary yawn, with its pullies     Went, in a shriek, the rusty portcullis;     And, like a glad sky the north-wind sullies,     The ladys face stopped its play,     As if her first hair had grown grey     For such things must begin some one day! VII.     In a day or two she was well again;     As who should say, You labour in vain!     This is all a jest against God, who meant     I should ever be, as I am, content     And glad in his sight; therefore, glad I will be.     So, smiling as at first went she. VIII.     She was active, stirring, all fire     Could not rest, could not tire     To a stone she might have given life!     (I myself loved once, in my day)     For a shepherds, miners, huntsmans wife,     (I had a wife, I know what I say)     Never in all the world such an one!     And here was plenty to be done,     And she that could do it, great or small,     She was to do nothing at all.     There was already this man in his post,     This in his station, and that in his office,     And the Dukes plan admitted a wife, at most,     To meet his eye, with the other trophies,     Now outside the hall, now in it,     To sit thus, stand thus, see and be seen,     At the proper place in the proper minute,     And die away the life between.     And it was amusing enough, each infraction     Of rule (but for after-sadness that came)     To hear the consummate self-satisfaction     With which the young Duke and the old dame     Would let her advise, and criticise,     And, being a fool, instruct the wise,     And, child-like, parcel out praise or blame:     They bore it all in complacent guise,     As though an artificer, after contriving     A wheel-work image as if it were living,     Should find with delight it could motion to strike him!     So found the Duke, and his mother like him     The Lady hardly got a rebuff     That had not been contemptuous enough,     With his cursed smirk, as he nodded applause,     And kept off the old mother-cats claws. IX.     So, the little lady grew silent and thin,     Paling and ever paling,     As the way is with a hid chagrin;     And the Duke perceived that she was ailing,     And said in his heart, Tis done to spite me,     But I shall find in my power to right me!     Dont swear, friend the old one, many a year,     Is in hell, and the Dukes self . . . you shall hear. X.     Well, early in autumn, at first winter-warning,     When the stag had to break with his foot, of a morning,     A drinking-hole out of the fresh tender ice     That covered the pond till the sun, in a trice,     Loosening it, let out a ripple of gold,     And another and another, and faster and faster,     Till, dimpling to blindness, the wide water rolled:     Then it so chanced that the Duke our master     Asked himself what were the pleasures in season,     And found, since the calendar bade him be hearty,     He should do the Middle Age no treason     In resolving on a hunting-party.     Always provided, old books showed the way of it!     What meant old poets by their strictures?     And when old poets had said their say of it,     How taught old painters in their pictures?     We must revert to the proper channels,     Workings in tapestry, paintings on panels,     And gather up woodcrafts authentic traditions:     Here was food for our various ambitions,     As on each case, exactly stated     To encourage your dog, now, the properest chirrup,     Or best prayer to Saint Hubert on mounting your stirrup     We of the house hold took thought and debated.     Blessed was he whose back ached with the jerkin     His sire was wont to do forest-work in;     Blesseder he who nobly sunk ohs     And ahs while he tugged on his grand-sires trunk-hose;     What signified hats if they had no rims on,     Each slouching before and behind like the scallop,     And able to serve at sea for a shallop,     Loaded with lacquer and looped with crimson?     So that the deer now, to make a short rhyme ont,     What with our Venerers, Prickers and Yerderers,     Might hope for real hunters at length and not murderers,     And oh the Dukes tailor he had a hot time ont! XI.     Now you must know that when the first dizziness     Of flap-hats and buff-coats and jack-boots subsided,     The Duke put this question, The Dukes part provided,     Had not the Duchess some share in the business?     For out of the mouth of two or three witnesses     Did he establish all fit-or-unfitnesses:     And, after much laying of heads together,     Somebodys cap got a notable feather     By the announcement with proper unction     That he had discovered the ladys function;     Since ancient authors gave this tenet,     When horns wind a mort and the deer is at siege,     Let the dame of the castle prick forth on her jennet,     And, with water to wash the hands of her liege     In a clean ewer with a fair toweling,      Let her preside at the disemboweling.     Now, my friend, if you had so little religion     As to catch a hawk, some falcon-lanner,     And thrust her broad wings like a banner     Into a coop for a vulgar pigeon;     And if day by day and week by week     You cut her claws, and sealed her eyes,     And clipped her wings, and tied her beak,     Would it cause you any great surprise     If, when you decided to give her an airing,     You found she needed a little preparing?     I say, should you be such a curmudgeon,     If she clung to the perch, as to take it in dudgeon?     Yet when the Duke to his lady signified,     Just a day before, as he judged most dignified,     In what a pleasure she was to participate,     And, instead of leaping wide in flashes,     Her eyes just lifted their long lashes,     As if pressed by fatigue even he could not dissipate,     And duly acknowledged the Dukes forethought,     But spoke of her health, if her health were worth aught,     Of the weight by day and the watch by night,     And much wrong now that used to be right,     So, thanking him, declined the hunting,     Was conduct ever more affronting?     With all the ceremony settled     With the towel ready, and the sewer     Polishing up his oldest ewer,     And the jennet pitched upon, a piebald,     Black-barred, cream-coated and pink eye-balled,     No wonder if the Duke was nettled     And when she persisted nevertheless,     Well, I suppose heres the time to confess     That there ran half round our ladys chamber     A balcony none of the hardest to clamber;     And that Jacynth the tire-woman, ready in waiting,     Stayed in call outside, what need of relating?     And since Jacynth was like a June rose, why, a fervent     Adorer of Jacynth of course was your servant;     And if she had the habit to peep through the casement,     How could I keep at any vast distance?     And so, as I say, on the ladys persistence,     The Duke, dumb-stricken with amazement,     Stood for a while in a sultry smother,     And then, with a smile that partook of the awful,     Turned her over to his yellow mother     To learn what was held decorous and lawful;     And the mother smelt blood with a cat-like instinct,     As her cheek quick whitened thro all its quince-tinct     Oh, but the lady heard the whole truth at once!     What meant she? Who was she? Her duty and station,     The wisdom of age and the folly of youth, at once,     Its decent regard and its fitting relation     In brief, my friend, set all the devils in hell free     And turn them out to carouse in a belfry     And treat the priests to a fifty-part canon,     And then you may guess how that tongue of hers ran on!     Well, somehow or other it ended at last     And, licking her whiskers, out she passed;     And after her, making (he hoped) a face     Like Emperor Nero or Sultan Saladin,     Stalked the Dukes self with the austere grace     Of ancient hero or modern paladin,     From door to staircase oh such a solemn     Unbending of the vertebral column! XII.     However, at sunrise our company mustered;     And here was the huntsman bidding unkennel,     And there neath his bonnet the pricker blustered,     With feather dank as a bough of wet fennel;     For the court-yard walls were filled with fog     You might have cut as an axe chops a log     Like so much wool for colour and bulkiness;     And out rode the Duke in a perfect sulkiness,     Since, before breakfast, a man feels but queasily,     And a sinking at the lower abdomen     Begins the day with indifferent omen:     And lo, as he looked around uneasily,     The sun ploughed the fog up and drove it asunder     This way and that from the valley under;     And, looking through the court-yard arch,     Down in the valley, what should meet him     But a troop of Gipsies on their march?     No doubt with the annual gifts to greet him. XIII.     Now, in your land, Gipsies reach you, only     After reaching all lands beside;     North they go, South they go, trooping or lonely,     And still, as they travel far and wide,     Catch they and keep now a trace here, trace there,     That puts you in mind of a place here, a place there.     But with us, I believe they rise out of the ground,     And nowhere else, I take it, are found     With the earth-tint yet so freshly embrowned:     Born, no doubt, like insects which breed on     The very fruit they are meant to feed on.     For the earth not a use to which they dont turn it,     The ore that grows in the mountains womb,     Or the sand in the pits like a honeycomb,     They sift and soften it, bake it and burn it     Whether they weld you, for instance, a snaffle     With side-bars never a brute can baffle;     Or a lock thats a puzzle of wards within wards;     Or, if your colts fore-foot inclines to curve inwards,     Horseshoes they hammer which turn on a swivel     And wont allow the hoof to shrivel.     Then they cast bells like the shell of the winkle     That keep a stout heart in the ram with their tinkle;     But the sand they pinch and pound it like otters;     Commend me to Gipsy glass-makers and potters!     Glasses theyll blow you, crystal-clear,     Where just a faint cloud of rose shall appear,     As if in pure water you dropped and let die     A bruised black-blooded mulberry;     And that other sort, their crowning pride,     With long white threads distinct inside,     Like the lake-flowers fibrous roots which dangle     Loose such a length and never tangle,     Where the bold sword-lily cuts the clear waters,     And the cup-lily couches with all the white daughters:     Such are the works they put their hand to,     The uses they turn and twist iron and sand to.     And these made the troop, which our Duke saw sally     Toward his castle from out of the valley,     Men and women, like new-hatched spiders,     Come out with the morning to greet our riders.     And up they wound till they reached the ditch,     Whereat all stopped save one, a witch     That I knew, as she hobbled from the group,     By her gait, directly, and her stoop,     I, whom Jacynth was used to importune     To let that same witch tell us our fortune.     The oldest Gipsy then above ground;     And, sure as the autumn season came round,     She paid us a visit for profit or pastime,     And every time, as she swore, for the last time.     And presently she was seen to sidle     Up to the Duke till she touched his bridle,     So that the horse of a sudden reared up     As under its nose the old witch peered up     With her worn-out eyes, or rather eye-holes     Of no use now but to gather brine,     And began a kind of level whine     Such as they used to sing to their viols     When their ditties they go grinding     Up and down with nobody minding:     And then, as of old, at the end of the humming     Her usual presents were forthcoming     A dog-whistle blowing the fiercest of trebles,     (Just a sea-shore stone holding a dozen fine pebbles,)     Or a porcelain mouth-piece to screw on a pipe-end,     And so she awaited her annual stipend.     But this time, the Duke would scarcely vouchsafe     A word in reply; and in vain she felt     With twitching fingers at her belt     For the purse of sleek pine-martin pelt,     Ready to put what he gave in her pouch safe,     Till, either to quicken his apprehension,     Or possibly with an after-intention,     She was come, she said, to pay her duty     To the new Duchess, the youthful beauty.     No sooner had she named his lady,     Than a shine lit up the face so shady,     And its smirk returned with a novel meaning     For it struck him, the babe just wanted weaning;     If one gave her a taste of what life was and sorrow,     She, foolish to-day, would be wiser tomorrow;     And who so fit a teacher of trouble     As this sordid crone bent well-nigh double?     So, glancing at her wolf-skin vesture,     (If such it was, for they grow so hirsute     That their own fleece serves for natural fur-suit)     He was contrasting, twas plain from his gesture,     The life of the lady so flower-like and delicate     With the loathsome squalor of this helicat.     I, in brief, was the man the Duke beckoned     From out of the throng, and while I drew near     He told the crone as I since have reckoned     By the way he bent and spoke into her ear     With circumspection and mystery,     The main of the Ladys history,     Her frowardness and ingratitude:     And for all the crones submissive attitude     I could see round her mouth the loose plaits tightening,     And her brow with assenting intelligence brightening,     As though she engaged with hearty good-will     Whatever he now might enjoin to fulfil,     And promised the lady a thorough frightening.     And so, just giving her a glimpse     Of a purse, with the air of a man who imps     The wing of the hawk that shall fetch the hernshaw,     He bade me take the Gipsy mother     And set her telling some story or other     Of hill or dale, oak-wood or fernshaw,     To wile away a weary hour     For the lady left alone in her bower,     Whose mind and body craved exertion     And yet shrank from all better diversion. XIV.     Then clapping heel to his horse, the mere curvetter,     Out rode the Duke, and after his hollo     Horses and hounds swept, huntsman and servitor,     And back I turned and bade the crone follow.     And what makes me confident whats to be told you     Had all along been of this crones devising,     Is, that, on looking round sharply, behold you,     There was a novelty quick as surprising:     For first, she had shot up a full head in stature,     And her step kept pace with mine nor faultered,     As if age had foregone its usurpature,     And the ignoble mien was wholly altered,     And the face looked quite of another nature,     And the change reached too, whatever the change meant,     Her shaggy wolf-skin cloaks arrangement:     For where its tatters hung loose like sedges,     Gold coins were glittering on the edges,     Like the band-roll strung with tomans     Which proves the veil a Persian womans:     And under her brow, like a snails horns newly     Come out as after the rain he paces,     Two unmistakeable eye-points duly     Live and aware looked out of their places.     So, we went and found Jacynth at the entry     Of the ladys chamber standing sentry;     I told the command and produced my companion,     And Jacynth rejoiced to admit any one,     For since last night, by the same token,     Not a single word had the lady spoken:     They went in both to the presence together,     While I in the balcony watched the weather. XV.     And now, what took place at the very first of all,     I cannot tell, as I never could learn it:     Jacynth constantly wished a curse to fall     On that little head of hers and burn it,     If she knew how she came to drop so soundly     Asleep of a sudden and there continue     The whole time sleeping as profoundly     As one of the boars my father would pin you     Twixt the eyes where life holds garrison,     Jacynth forgive me the comparison!     But where I begin my own narration     Is a little after I took my station     To breathe the fresh air from the balcony,     And, having in those days a falcon eye,     To follow the hunt thro the open country,     From where the bushes thinlier crested     The hillocks, to a plain wheres not one tree.     When, in a moment, my ear was arrested     By was it singing, or was it saying,     Or a strange musical instrument playing     In the chamber? and to be certain     I pushed the lattice, pulled the curtain,     And there lay Jacynth asleep,     Yet as if a watch she tried to keep,     In a rosy sleep along the floor     With her head against the door;     While in the midst, on the seat of state,     Was a queen the Gipsy woman late,     With head and face downbent     On the Ladys head and face intent:     For, coiled at her feet like a child at ease,     The lady sate between her knees     And oer them the Ladys clasped hands met,     And on those hands her chin was set,     And her upturned face met the face of the crone     Wherein the eyes had grown and grown     As if she could double and quadruple     At pleasure the play of either pupil     Very like, by her hands slow fanning,     As up and down like a gor-crows flappers     They moved to measure, or bell-clappers.     I said Is it blessing, is it banning,     Do they applaud you or burlesque you?     Those hands and fingers with no flesh on?     But, just as I thought to spring in to the rescue,     At once I was stopped by the ladys expression:     For it was life her eyes were drinking     From the crones wide pair above unwinking,     Lifes pure fire received without shrinking,     Into the heart and breast whose heaving     Told you no single drop they were leaving,     Life, that filling her, passed redundant     Into her very hair, back swerving     Over each shoulder, loose and abundant,     As her head thrown back showed the white throat curving;     And the very tresses shared in the pleasure,     Moving to the mystic measure,     Bounding as the bosom bounded.     I stopped short, more and more confounded,     As still her cheeks burned and eyes glistened,     As she listened and she listened,     When all at once a hand detained me,     The selfsame contagion gained me,     And I kept time to the wondrous chime,     Making out words and prose and rhyme,     Till it seemed that the music furled     Its wings like a task fulfilled, and dropped     From under the words it first had propped,     And left them midway in the world,     Word took word as hand takes hand,     I could hear at last, and understand,     And when I held the unbroken thread,     The Gipsy said:     And so at last we find my tribe.     And so I set thee in the midst,     And to one and all of them describe     What thou saidst and what thou didst,     Our long and terrible journey through,     And all thou art ready to say and do     In the trials that remain:     I trace them the vein and the other vein     That meet on thy brow and part again,     Making our rapid mystic mark;     And I bid my people prove and probe     Each eyes profound and glorious globe     Till they detect the kindred spark     In those depths so dear and dark,     Like the spots that snap and burst and flee,     Circling over the midnight sea.     And on that round young cheek of thine     I make them recognize the tinge,     As when of the costly scarlet wine     They drip so much as will impinge     And spread in a thinnest scale afloat     One thick gold drop from the olives coat     Over a silver plate whose sheen     Still thro the mixture shall be seen.     For so I prove thee, to one and all,     Fit, when my people ope their breast,     To see the sign, and hear the call,     And take the vow, and stand the test     Which adds one more child to the rest     When the breast is bare and the arms are wide,     And the world is left outside.     For there is probation to decree,     And many and long must the trials be     Thou shalt victoriously endure,     If that brow is true and those eyes are sure;     Like a jewel-finders fierce assay     Of the prize he dug from its mountain-tomb     Let once the vindicating ray     Leap out amid the anxious gloom,     And steel and fire have done their part     And the prize falls on its finders heart;     So, trial after trial past,     Wilt thou fall at the very last     Breathless, half in trance     With the thrill of the great deliverance,     Into our arms for evermore;     And thou shalt know, those arms once curled     About thee, what we knew before,     How love is the only good in the world.     Henceforth be loved as heart can love,     Or brain devise, or hand approve!     Stand up, look below,     It is our life at thy feet we throw     To step with into light and joy;     Not a power of life but we employ     To satisfy thy natures want;     Art thou the tree that props the plant,     Or the climbing plant that seeks the tree     Canst thou help us, must we help thee?     If any two creatures grew into one,     They would do more than the world has done.     Though each apart were never so weak,     Ye vainly through the world should seek     For the knowledge and the might     Which in such union grew their right:     So, to approach at least that end,     And blend, as much as may be, blend     Thee with us or us with thee,     As climbing plant or propping tree,     Shall some one deck thee, over and down,     Up and about, with blossoms and leaves?     Fix his hearts fruit for thy garland crown,     Cling with his soul as the gourd-vine cleaves,     Die on thy boughs and disappear     While not a leaf of thine is sere?     Or is the other fate in store,     And art thou fitted to adore,     To give thy wondrous self away,     And take a stronger natures sway?     I foresee and could foretell     Thy future portion, sure and well     But those passionate eyes speak true, speak true,     Let them say what thou shalt do!     Only be sure thy daily life,     In its peace or in its strife,     Never shall be unobserved:     We pursue thy whole career,     And hope for it, or doubt, or fear,     Lo, hast thou kept thy path or swerved,     We are beside thee in all thy ways,     With our blame, with our praise,     Our shame to feel, our pride to show,     Glad, angry but indifferent, no!     Whether it be thy lot to go,     For the good of us all, where the haters meet     In the crowded citys horrible street;     Or thou step alone through the morass     Where never sound yet was     Save the dry quick clap of the storks bill,     For the air is still, and the water still,     When the blue breast of the dipping coot     Dives under, and all is mute.     So, at the last shall come old age,     Decrepit as befits that stage;     How else wouldst thou retire apart     With the hoarded memories of thy heart,     And gather all to the very least     Of the fragments of lifes earlier feast,     Let fall through eagerness to find     The crowning dainties yet behind?     Ponder on the entire past     Laid together thus at last,     When the twilight helps to fuse     The first fresh with the faded hues,     And the outline of the whole,     As round eves shades their framework roll,     Grandly fronts for once thy soul.     And then as, mid the dark, a glean     Of yet another morning breaks,     And like the hand which ends a dream,     Death, with the might of his sunbeam,     Touches the flesh and the soul awakes,     Then     Ay, then indeed something would happen!     But what? For here her voice changed like a birds;     There grew more of the music and less of the words;     Had Jacynth only been by me to clap pen     To paper and put you down every syllable     With those clever clerkly fingers,     All Ive forgotten as well as what lingers     In this old brain of mine thats but ill able     To give you even this poor version     Of the speech I spoil, as it were, with stammering     More fault of those who had the hammering     Of prosody into me and syntax,     And did it, not with hobnails but tintacks!     But to return from this excursion,     Just, do you mark, when the song was sweetest,     The peace most deep and the charm completest,     There came, shall I say, a snap     And the charm vanished!     And my sense returned, so strangely banished,     And, starting as from a nap,     I knew the crone was bewitching my lady,     With Jacynth asleep; and but one spring made I     Down from the casement, round to the portal,     Another minute and I had entered,     When the door opened, and more than mortal     Stood, with a face where to my mind centred     All beauties I ever saw or shall see,     The Duchess: I stopped as if struck by palsy.     She was so different, happy and beautiful,     I felt at once that all was best,     And that I had nothing to do, for the rest,     But wait her commands, obey and be dutiful.     Not that, in fact, there was any commanding;     I saw the glory of her eye,     And the brows height and the breasts expanding,     And I was hers to live or to die.     As for finding what she wanted,     You know God Almighty granted     Such little signs should serve wild creatures     To tell one another all their desires,     So that each knows what his friend requires,     And does its bidding without teachers.     I preceded her; the crone     Followed silent and alone;     I spoke to her, but she merely jabbered     In the old style; both her eyes had slunk     Back to their pits; her stature shrunk;     In short, the soul in its body sunk     Like a blade sent home to its scabbard.     We descended, I preceding;     Crossed the court with nobody heeding,     All the world was at the chase,     The courtyard like a desert-place,     The stable emptied of its small fry;     I saddled myself the very palfrey     I remember patting while it carried her,     The day she arrived and the Duke married her.     And, do you know, though its easy deceiving     Oneself in such matters, I cant help believing     The lady had not forgotten it either,     And knew the poor devil so much beneath her     Would have been only too glad for her service     To dance on hot ploughshares like a Turk dervise,     But, unable to pay proper duty where owing it,     Was reduced to that pitiful method of showing it:     For though the moment I began setting     His saddle on my own nag of Berolds begetting,     (Not that I meant to be obtrusive)     She stopped me, while his rug was shifting,     By a single rapid fingers lifting,     And, with a gesture kind but conclusive,     And a little shake of the head, refused me,     I say, although she never used me,     Yet when she was mounted, the Gipsy behind her,     And I ventured to remind her,     I suppose with a voice of less steadiness     Than usual, for my feeling exceeded me,     Something to the effect that I was in readiness     Whenever God should please she needed me,     Then, do you know, her face looked down on me     With a look that placed a crown on me,     And she felt in her bosom, mark, her bosom     And, as a flower-tree drops its blossom,     Dropped me ah, had it been a purse     Of silver, my friend, or gold thats worse,     Why, you see, as soon as I found myself     So understood, that a true heart so may gain     Such a reward, I should have gone home again,     Kissed Jacynth, and soberly drowned myself!     It was a little plait of hair     Such as friends in a convent make     To wear, each for the others sake,     This, see, which at my breast I wear,     Ever did (rather to Jacynths grudgment),     And ever shall, till the Day of Judgment.     And then, and then, to cut short, this is idle,     These are feelings it is not good to foster,     I pushed the gate wide, she shook the bridle,     And the palfrey bounded, and so we lost her. XVI.     When the liquors out, why clink the cannakin?     I did think to describe you the panic in     The redoubtable breast of our master the mannikin,     And what was the pitch of his mothers yellowness,     How she turned as a shark to snap the spare-rib     Clean off, sailors say, from a pearl-diving Carib,     When she heard, what she called the flight of the feloness     But it seems such childs play,     What they said and did with the lady away!     And to dance on, when weve lost the music,     Always made me and no doubt makes you sick.     Nay, to my mind, the worlds face looked so stern     As that sweet form disappeared through the postern,     She that kept it in constant good humour,     It ought to have stopped; there seemed nothing to do more.     But the world thought otherwise and went on,     And my heads one that its spite was spent on:     Thirty years are fled since that morning,     And with them all my heads adorning.     Nor did the old Duchess die outright,     As you expect, of suppressed spite,     The natural end of every adder     Not suffered to empty its poison-bladder:     But she and her son agreed, I take it,     That no one should touch on the story to wake it,     For the wound in the Dukes pride rankled fiery,     So, they made no search and small inquiry     And when fresh Gipsies have paid us a visit, Ive     Noticed the couple were never inquisitive,     But told them theyre folks the Duke dont want here,     And bade them make haste and cross the frontier.     Brief, the Duchess was gone and the Duke was glad of it,     And the old one was in the young ones stead,     And took, in her place, the households head,     And a blessed time the household had of it!     And were I not, as a man may say, cautious     How I trench, more than needs, on the nauseous,     I could favour you with sundry touches     Of the paint-smutches with which the Duchess     Heightened the mellowness of her cheeks yellowness     (To get on faster) until at last her     Cheek grew to be one master-plaster     Of mucus and focus from mere use of ceruse     In short, she grew from scalp to udder     Just the object to make you shudder. XVII.     Youre my friend     What a thing friendship is, world without end!     How it gives the heart and soul a stir-up     As if somebody broached you a glorious runlet,     And poured out, all lovelily, sparklingly, sunlit,     Our green Moldavia, the streaky syrup,     Cotnar as old as the time of the Druids     Friendship may match with that monarch of fluids;     Each supples a dry brain, fills you its ins-and-outs,     Gives your lifes hour-glass a shake when the thin sand doubts     Whether to run on or stop short, and guarantees     Age is not all made of stark sloth and arrant ease!     I have seen my little Lady once more,     Jacynth, the Gipsy, Berold, and the rest of it,     For to me spoke the Duke, as I told you before;     I always wanted to make a clean breast of it:     And now it is made why, my hearts blood, that went trickle,     Trickle, but anon, in such muddy driblets,     Is pumped up brisk now, through the main ventricle,     And genially floats me about the giblets.     Ill tell you what I intend to do:     I must see this fellow his sad life thro     He is our Duke, after all,     And I, as he says, but a serf and thrall.     My father was born here, and I inherit     His fame, a chain he bound his son with;     Could I pay in a lump I should prefer it,     But theres no mine to blow up and get done with:     So, I must stay till the end of the chapter:     For, as to our middle-age-manners-adapter,     Be it a thing to be glad on or sorry on,     Some day or other, his head in a morion     And breast in a hauberk, his heels hell kick up,     Slain by an onslaught fierce of hiccup.     And then, when red doth the sword of our Duke rust,     And its leathern sheath lie oergrown with a blue crust,     Then I shall scrape together my earnings;     For, you see, in the churchyard Jacynth reposes,     And our children all went the way of the roses     Its a long lane that knows no turnings     One needs but little tackle to travel in;     So, just one stout cloak shall I indue:     And for a stall, what beats the javelin     With which his boars my father pinned you?     And then, for a purpose you shall hear presently,     Taking some Cotnar, a tight plump skinful,     I shall go journeying, who but I, pleasantly!     Sorrow is vain and despondency sinful.     Whats a mans age? He must hurry more, thats all;     Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.     When we mind labour, then only, were too old     What age had Methusalem when he begat Saul?     And at last, as its haven some buffeted ship sees,     (Come all the way from the north-parts with sperm oil)     I hope to get safely out of the turmoil     And arrive one day at the land of the Gipsies,     And find my lady, or hear the last news of her     From some old thief and son of Lucifer,     His forehead chapleted green with wreathy hop,     Sunburned all over like an thiop:     And when my Cotnar begins to operate     And the tongue of the rogue to run at a proper rate,     And our wine-skin, tight once, shows each flaccid dent,     I shall drop in with as if by accident     You never knew, then, how it all ended,     What fortune good or bad attended     The little lady your Queen befriended?     And when thats told me, whats remaining?     This worlds too hard for my explaining     The same wise judge of matters equine     Who still preferred some slim four-year-old     To the big-boned stock of mighty Berold,     And for strong Cotnar drank French weak wine,     He also must be such a ladys scorner!     Smooth Jacob still robs homely Esau:     Now up, now down, the worlds one see-saw.     So, I shall find out some snug corner     Under a hedge, like Orson the wood-knight,     Turn myself round and bid the world good night;     And sleep a sound sleep till the trumpets blowing     Wakes me (unless priests cheat us laymen)     To a world where will be no furtiner throwing     Pearls before swine that cant value them. Amen!