The Wayland-Dietrich Saga
Love, I have served you long,
No pity had you;
You know no good but wrong
Came to me from you.....
Love, I accuse you not,
But at least send me
Peace, and torment me not;
Or, I pray end me.
Peyrols, have you forgot
Your high-born Lady?
Love's command, was it not,
Made her fair greet you?
Yet is your heart so light,
Though you sing sweetly,
She is forgotten quite.....
Your songs belie you.
Love, I adore my Dame
Since first I met her,
Yet would I guard her name
Lest blame beset her.
Now is the black hour come,
Lovers go weeping.
Saladin far from home
Fond hearts is sweeping.
Into the net of war!......
I hate to grieve her,
She whom I love the more
Now I must leave her.
Faithful and true alway
To my sweet Lady
Am I, yet may not stay
When Duty calls me.
Peyrols, do what you will,
What shall avail it?
Say! Can your arm and skill
Storm the Tower David?
Hearken to my advice,
Sing and amuse you,
Take not the Cross, be wise.....
The Kings don't want you.
They and the Barons all
Are busy quarrelling.
Lest evil you befall
Avoid their bickering....
Love, I did never fail
You....Well you know it...
Yet duty must prevail,
To my name I owe it.
May Heaven save us all,
Our peril light'ning!
Make the Kings friends withal,
Keep them from fighting:
Lest the Turks mock us all,
When they our folly see;
Yet, let what will befall,
Peyrols shall never flee!
Then good Sir Stephen laughted outright and said,
"A fine song and well sung!" Though Bertrand growled,
"Let not the Kings hear thy right daring lay,
Lest thou lack tongue and heart to sing again.".....
But, said the Queen, and smiling drew a ring
From off her slender finger, "Thou sing'st well
And truly, Minstrel mine.....Take now this ring
And wear it for thy lady's sake and mine.....
Vidal, sing thou....And, prithee Sir, attempt
Some stirring ditty that our Castellan
May look less sourly on us," Whispered she....
Vidal bowed low; he cast upon one side
His four-stringed mandore which was like a lute,
And took a viol; then a martial chord
Struck on its well-tuned strings, so boldly sang: (16)
Well pleased am I when comes sweet Spring,
That makes the leaves and flow'rets blow;
And pleased am I when echoing ring
The birds' notes clear and soft and low
In woodlands trilling......
But oh I love to see around
Tents and pavilions crowd the ground;
Leaps my heart thrilling
To mark on the open plain where bound
Horsemen and steeds in armour found.
Pleased am I too when a good Lord
Shows himself foremost to charge down,
Armed, mounted, fearless, o'er the sward....
'Tis heart'ning thing to take a town
With his brave chivalry....
And when he in the Camp doth win,
Each man of them should be sworn in
To follow eagerly;
For no man proves of warfare fain,
Till many blows he has giv'n and ta'en.
It pleaseth me when Knights charge, routing
Foes, thus makes them take to flight,
Great noise of men together shouting
Doth please me well...... 'Tis my delight.....
With joy my heart doth beat
When the Castle strong they batter,
Crumbling walls they tumbling scatter;
When in fierce strife men meet,
Round about the foss they clatter,
High mound, palisades, they shatter.
I tell ye, Sirs, that naught me cheers.....
Nor feasting, drinking, sleeping, chatt'ring....
Like the call to charge, 'Up, Chevaliers!'
From the two sides, 'Engage, and at them!'
Neighing steeds in thick dust pass,
Writhing men 'Aid, Aid!' are crying,
In the foss I see them lying,
High and low strewn on the grass.....
There are piled up dead and dying,
Who to scale the trench were trying.
Lances, brands and helms all bloodstained,
Shields, defaced, to pieces broken,
Shew fight begun and long maintained.
See! where fierce strife doth betoken
Many vassals raging met....
See! Steeds of dead and wounded flying!
See! In the mingled fight men dying!
Each highborn noble's set
To cleave his foeman's arms and head,
Preferring him not live, but dead.
Barons! Place your burghs in gage....
Castle, village, town or city....
Before in warfare ye engage.
Go, my page, and prithee, swiftly,
Tell the Lord of Yea and Nay (17)
Peace too long hath held her sway,
Let it end, as doth my ditty.
Said then Queen Berengaria, "Bravo, Sir!
A gallant song indeed"......Sir Bertrand said
With a grim smile, "Certes, I have heard worse,
Is it thine own, Sir?" But Pierre Vidal laughed,
"Thy namesake made this ong, he called de Born".....
Whereat the Castellan with a quick shrug
Turned angrily away, then, flashing round,
Glared at Pierre's laughing face, "Sing'st thou his songs,
Who has been and still is our King's worst foe?
Rank impudence thou shewest!" But the Queen
Called Vidal to her side, and gave him then
A chain of gold; "King Richard honours aye
A poet, friend or foe, and I in thee
Thus honour Bertrand, the brave Knight of Born."
Said the young Count St. Gilles, heir of Toulouse,
"Is there not one of us knows a good tale
Of feats of daring or of devilry?
I'm tired of songs, however fine they be".....
Spake bluff Sir Stephen Turnham, the good Knight,
Who was at one time Treasurer of the King,
Then did command the galley of the Queen,
16. Vidal's Song. From the original Provencal, said to be by Bertrand deoBorn. [Back]
17. K. Richard I. whom Bertrand de Born considered changeable and uncertain. [Back]
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