Classic Poem

A KING rode hunting in the wood;
His bugle sounded on the lawn;
He rode in merry hunter's mood
Till ripe day mellowed from the dawn,
Nor met in green-leafed solitude
With antlered stag, sleek doe, or fawn.

But when his good steed neighed to smell
Thro' sultry noon the longed-for wave,
And leaped adown a ferny dell
Where burst a brooklet from a cave,
'Twas there he met, as legends tell,
A damsel willow-slim and grave.

She showed so bright his courser gazed,
Forgetful of his thirst, across
The rippling brook; the hound, amazed,
Paused dewlap deep in fern and moss,
Won from his scent; where jewels blazed,
The monarch touched his dagger's cross:

“If thou art thing of spell and charm,
Avaunt, sweet eyes, and locks of gold!
A Christian knight thou canst not harm.
But, an thou be of mortal mould,
I swear by sword and good right arm
I'll kiss those red lips' witching fold.”

“What wilt thou give to grace the kiss?”
She asked, with such sweet majesty,
He answered swift, “For such a bliss
I'd share my kingly crown with thee!”
“That guerdon still would prove amiss;
No crown can buy dear love,” quoth she.

“Then would I give my pleasant land,
My kingdom, fallow-field and wood,
High spirèd cities, to thy hand
My falcon with her jewelled hood.”
“And all might not dear love command,”
She said. Blew round the monarch's mood

From sun to storm. “It is not thine,
Disdainful damsel, to refuse
To me those lips of ruddy wine—
A king shall kiss where he may choose!”
She tranquil said, “And leave still mine
The love that coward kiss must lose!”

'Twas sun again. The monarch stood
Beside her, clasped her willow waist;
The noontide sunbeams smote the wood,
The brooklet by sweet winds was chased:
“My heart for thine, for by the Rood
By love alone can love be graced!”