The Poet's Tale - The Wayside Inn - Part Third

CHARLEMAGNE     Olger the Dane and Desiderio,     King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower     Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains,     League after league of harvests, to the foot     Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach     A mighty army, thronging all the roads     That led into the city.    And the King     Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth     As hostage at the court of France, and knew     The Emperor's form and face "Is Charlemagne     Among that host?"    And Olger answered: "No."     And still the innumerable multitude     Flowed onward and increased, until the King     Cried in amazement: "Surely Charlemagne     Is coming in the midst of all these knights!"     And Olger answered slowly: "No; not yet;     He will not come so soon."    Then much disturbed     King Desiderio asked: "What shall we do,     if he approach with a still greater army!"     And Olger answered: "When he shall appear,     You will behold what manner of man he is;     But what will then befall us I know not."     Then came the guard that never knew repose,     The Paladins of France; and at the sight     The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried:     "This must be Charlemagne!" and as before     Did Olger answer: "No; not yet, not yet."     And then appeared in panoply complete     The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests     Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts     And Desiderio could no more endure     The light of day, nor yet encounter death,     But sobbed aloud and said: "Let us go down     And hide us in the bosom of the earth,     Far from the sight and anger of a foe     So terrible as this!"    And Olger said:     "When you behold the harvests in the fields     Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino     Lashing the city walls with iron waves,     Then may you know that Charlemagne is come.     And even as he spake, in the northwest,     Lo! there uprose a black and threatening cloud,     Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms     Upon the people pent up in the city;     A light more terrible than any darkness;     And Charlemagne appeared;--a Man of Iron!     His helmet was of iron, and his gloves     Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves     And tassets were of iron, and his shield.     In his left hand he held an iron spear,     In his right hand his sword invincible.     The horse he rode on had the strength of iron,     And color of iron.    All who went before him     Beside him and behind him, his whole host,     Were armed with iron, and their hearts within them     Were stronger than the armor that they wore.     The fields and all the roads were filled with iron,     And points of iron glistened in the sun     And shed a terror through the city streets.     This at a single glance Olger the Dane     Saw from the tower, and turning to the King     Exclaimed in haste: "Behold! this is the man     You looked for with such eagerness!" and then     Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet.     INTERLUDE     Well pleased all listened to the tale,     That drew, the Student said, its pith     And marrow from the ancient myth     Of some one with an iron flail;     Or that portentous Man of Brass     Hephaestus made in days of yore,     Who stalked about the Cretan shore,     And saw the ships appear and pass,     And threw stones at the Argonauts,     Being filled with indiscriminate ire     That tangled and perplexed his thoughts;     But, like a hospitable host,     When strangers landed on the coast,     Heated himself red-hot with fire,     And hugged them in his arms, and pressed     Their bodies to his burning breast.     The Poet answered: "No, not thus     The legend rose; it sprang at first     Out of the hunger and the thirst     In all men for the marvellous.     And thus it filled and satisfied     The imagination of mankind,     And this ideal to the mind     Was truer than historic fact.     Fancy enlarged and multiplied     The tenors of the awful name     Of Charlemagne, till he became     Armipotent in every act,     And, clothed in mystery, appeared     Not what men saw, but what they feared.     Besides, unless my memory fail,     Your some one with an iron flail     Is not an ancient myth at all,     But comes much later on the scene     As Talus in the Faerie Queene,     The iron groom of Artegall,     Who threshed out falsehood and deceit,     And truth upheld, and righted wrong,     As was, as is the swallow, fleet,     And as the lion is, was strong."     The Theologian said: "Perchance     Your chronicler in writing this     Had in his mind the Anabasis,     Where Xenophon describes the advance     Of Artaxerxes to the fight;     At first the low gray cloud of dust,     And then a blackness o'er the fields     As of a passing thunder-gust,     Then flash of brazen armor bright,     And ranks of men, and spears up-thrust,     Bowmen and troops with wicker shields,     And cavalry equipped in white,     And chariots ranged in front of these     With scythes upon their axle-trees."     To this the Student answered: "Well,     I also have a tale to tell     Of Charlemagne; a tale that throws     A softer light, more tinged with rose,     Than your grim apparition cast     Upon the darkness of the past.     Listen, and hear in English rhyme     What the good Monk of Lauresheim     Gives as the gossip of his time,     In mediaeval Latin prose."