I do remember, being in Rouen then
With Gerbert, my grave master in those days,
How Mano came from Italy with men
And letters from Count Thurold; so to raise
For the Count's service succours fresh from home,
And render back to him his warlike praise
The Normans had been wont at large to roam
Boldly in Italy; but now were pent,
Behind Count Thurold's banner, in their nome
Thurold had struggled vainly, and was spent:
And now came Mano, his most valiant knight,
To Richard, our young duke, with this intent.
Gerbert received Sir Mano with delight,
And question made, to know how all things were,
And would have had him tarry there the night
But when Sir Mano doth in terms declare
How quick the post that public need requires,
He bids him on his journey forth to fare:
And I was summoned, at his brief desires,
To be his guide for the remainder way
Therefore we left behind his knights and squires
And took the road, whither Duke Richard lay
In Lion forest, bent on royal sport:
Thus forth we fared, and made no more delay
He seemed a strong young man, of gracious port,
But wondrous pale; not so full fleshed as those
Whom we had left in hasting to the court —
The twenty southern knights whom Thurold chose,
Now sitting weary in their armour all
In Rouen; his features hung together close,
Making a look most grave; a heavy fall
Of dark uncurling hair flowed either side:
Upon his horse he sat erect and tall,
And onward held throughout the toilsome ride
With little speech, though in the thick-set wood
His weary horse oft stumbled in his stride.
Yet noted I, observing what I could,
Sometimes a fierceness mounted in his eyes,
Or sullen glaze, like to that blinking hood
Which in the perched owl's orbs by daylight lies:
And oftentimes he sang some little song
Which at the moment in his heart might rise:
And strangely sent it he the road along,
Though seeming only muttered in his beard:
These things I noted in that warrior strong.
Moreover, when the way with words we cheered,
Which was not oft, conversing socially,
His laughter like a hurricane I heard.
Kindly upon me sometimes looked his eye,
But silently amid the solitude
For the more part journeyed the knight and I
Alert was he to help me in the wood,
And comfort felt I in his mightiness,
And well I deemed of him, as wise and good.
And when his curving thigh the sell did press,
And his high breast answered his shoulders flat,
Ah, then my lowliness did I confess!
For doubt rose in me, were I like to that,
So mighty and so swift, so sinewy made,
Whether I should to Christ be dedicate
And other thoughts did my sad heart invade,
Of which I make not speech. — Such was this knight,
Who sought from Italy the Norman aid
Upon a filly rode a damsel light
Not from his rein a rood, whom he had brought
From Italy: Diantha was she hight;
Sweet to behold, but yet a thing of naught,
As from this history shall be allowed,
Tyrannous, false, and full of evil thought.
Thurold's young daughter she, who little showed
Of maidenness, though but of years fifteen,
But with her wildness vexed us on the road
For I remember, in the clearings green
Of the thick forest, when we chanced to pass,
If peasant youths standing to gaze were seen,
Or exercising games upon the grass,
Ready was she to talk with them and jest,
Or drove amidst, as if by chance it was,
To mock them flying, while the wind abreast
Ruffled her gown, and showed her little shoe.
Often she turned on me, and me distressed,
So cold her look, her eyes so hard and blue,
Her voice so bitter, and her face so clear
At times from Mano some rebuke she drew
Which in a scornful silence she would hear.
With Gerbert, my grave master in those days,
How Mano came from Italy with men
And letters from Count Thurold; so to raise
For the Count's service succours fresh from home,
And render back to him his warlike praise
The Normans had been wont at large to roam
Boldly in Italy; but now were pent,
Behind Count Thurold's banner, in their nome
Thurold had struggled vainly, and was spent:
And now came Mano, his most valiant knight,
To Richard, our young duke, with this intent.
Gerbert received Sir Mano with delight,
And question made, to know how all things were,
And would have had him tarry there the night
But when Sir Mano doth in terms declare
How quick the post that public need requires,
He bids him on his journey forth to fare:
And I was summoned, at his brief desires,
To be his guide for the remainder way
Therefore we left behind his knights and squires
And took the road, whither Duke Richard lay
In Lion forest, bent on royal sport:
Thus forth we fared, and made no more delay
He seemed a strong young man, of gracious port,
But wondrous pale; not so full fleshed as those
Whom we had left in hasting to the court —
The twenty southern knights whom Thurold chose,
Now sitting weary in their armour all
In Rouen; his features hung together close,
Making a look most grave; a heavy fall
Of dark uncurling hair flowed either side:
Upon his horse he sat erect and tall,
And onward held throughout the toilsome ride
With little speech, though in the thick-set wood
His weary horse oft stumbled in his stride.
Yet noted I, observing what I could,
Sometimes a fierceness mounted in his eyes,
Or sullen glaze, like to that blinking hood
Which in the perched owl's orbs by daylight lies:
And oftentimes he sang some little song
Which at the moment in his heart might rise:
And strangely sent it he the road along,
Though seeming only muttered in his beard:
These things I noted in that warrior strong.
Moreover, when the way with words we cheered,
Which was not oft, conversing socially,
His laughter like a hurricane I heard.
Kindly upon me sometimes looked his eye,
But silently amid the solitude
For the more part journeyed the knight and I
Alert was he to help me in the wood,
And comfort felt I in his mightiness,
And well I deemed of him, as wise and good.
And when his curving thigh the sell did press,
And his high breast answered his shoulders flat,
Ah, then my lowliness did I confess!
For doubt rose in me, were I like to that,
So mighty and so swift, so sinewy made,
Whether I should to Christ be dedicate
And other thoughts did my sad heart invade,
Of which I make not speech. — Such was this knight,
Who sought from Italy the Norman aid
Upon a filly rode a damsel light
Not from his rein a rood, whom he had brought
From Italy: Diantha was she hight;
Sweet to behold, but yet a thing of naught,
As from this history shall be allowed,
Tyrannous, false, and full of evil thought.
Thurold's young daughter she, who little showed
Of maidenness, though but of years fifteen,
But with her wildness vexed us on the road
For I remember, in the clearings green
Of the thick forest, when we chanced to pass,
If peasant youths standing to gaze were seen,
Or exercising games upon the grass,
Ready was she to talk with them and jest,
Or drove amidst, as if by chance it was,
To mock them flying, while the wind abreast
Ruffled her gown, and showed her little shoe.
Often she turned on me, and me distressed,
So cold her look, her eyes so hard and blue,
Her voice so bitter, and her face so clear
At times from Mano some rebuke she drew
Which in a scornful silence she would hear.