Classic Poem

The Count Arnaud! the Count Arnaud!
To the wars now he will go.

“Tell us, then, brave chevalier,
When will you again be here?”

“For Saint John's feast,” Count Arnaud said,
“I shall come back, alive or dead.”

But on the morn of Saint John's Day
Count Arnaud is far away.

His mother climbs to the tower window,
And straight three horsemen she has seen;
On either hand a stranger knight,
And good Count Arnaud rides between.

“I know by the stepping of his steed
That Arnaud rides in misery;
I know by the rein in his bridle-hand
My son comes sad and ill to me.”

“O mother, quickly make my bed,
I cannot wait,” Count Arnaud said.

“Oh, make the pillows soft for me,
But do not let my lady see.”

“O Count Arnaud, your lady true
Has borne a fair young son to you.”

“Not for one child nor for twain,
Shall I ever rise again.”

“Mother, what sound is that below?
It seems like prayers for Count Arnaud.”

“A happy mother in childbed
Need not listen when prayers are said.”

“Why are the church-bells ringing all?”
“To-morrow is high festival.”

“Since to-morrow is a great feast,
Tell me, mother, which robe is best?”

“A woman whose baby is newborn
Should wear black robes the morrow morn.”

“What is that letter? give it me!
It is Count Arnaud's seal I see!”

“'T is nothing, nothing, let it pass;
A young mother should go to mass.”

Just as his wife to mass is come,
They lay Count Arnaud in his tomb.

“Daughter, daughter, we must be gone,
The child may wake and cry alone.”

“Keep my keys, my baby keep,
I may not come, tho' he should weep.

“Open, holy earth,” she said,
“I would speak here with my dead.

“Holy earth, be closed again;
With my husband I remain.”