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."THE STUDENT'S TALE
EMMA AND EGINHARD
When Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne, In the free schools of Aix, how kings should reign, And with them taught the children of the poor How subjects should be patient and endure, He touched the lips of some, as best befit, With honey from the hives of Holy Writ;Others intoxicated with the wine Of ancient history, sweet but less divine;Some with the wholesome fruits of grammar fed;Others with mysteries of the stars o'er-head, That hang suspended in the vaulted sky Like lamps in some fair palace vast and high.
In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see That Saxon monk, with hood and rosary, With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and book, And mingled lore and reverence in his look, Or hear the cloister and the court repeat The measured footfalls of his sandaled feet, Or watch him with the pupils of his school, Gentle of speech, but absolute of rule.
Among them, always earliest in his place.
Was Eginhard, a youth of Frankish race, Whose face was bright with flashes that forerun The splendors of a yet unrisen sun.
To him all things were possible, and seemed Not what he had accomplished, but had dreamed, And what were tasks to others were his play, The pastime of an idle holiday.
Smaragdo, Abbot of St.Michael's, said, With many a shrug and shaking of the head, Surely some demon must possess the lad, Who showed more wit than ever schoolboy had, And learned his Trivium thus without the rod;But Alcuin said it was the grace of God.
Thus he grew up, in Logic point-device, Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhetoric nice;Science of Numbers, Geometric art, And lore of Stars, and Music knew by heart;A Minnesinger, long before the times Of those who sang their love in Suabian rhymes.
The Emperor, when he heard this good report Of Eginhard much buzzed about the court, Said to bimself, "This stripling seems to be Purposely sent into the world for me;He shall become my scribe, and shall be schooled In all the arts whereby the world is ruled."Thus did the gentle Eginhard attain To honor in the court of Charlemagne;Became the sovereign's favorite, his right hand, So that his fame was great in all the land, And all men loved him for his modest grace And comeliness of figure and of face.
An inmate of the palace, yet recluse, A man of books, yet sacred from abuse Among the armed knights with spur on heel, The tramp of horses and the clang of steel;And as the Emperor promised he was schooled In all the arts by which the world is ruled.
But the one art supreme, whose law is fate, The Emperor never dreamed of till too late.
Home from her convent to the palace came The lovely Princess Emma, whose sweet name, Whispered by seneschal or sung by bard, Had often touched the soul of Eginhard.
He saw her from his window, as in state She came, by knights attended through the gate;He saw her at the banquet of that day, Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as May;He saw her in the garden, as she strayed Among the flowers of summer with her maid, And said to him, "O Eginhard, disclose The meaning and the mystery of the rose";And trembling he made answer: "In good sooth, Its mystery is love, its meaning youth!"How can I tell the signals and the signs By which one heart another heart divines?
How can I tell the many thousand ways By which it keeps the secret it betrays?
O mystery of love! O strange romance!
Among the Peers and Paladins of France, Shining in steel, and prancing on gay steeds, Noble by birth, yet nobler by great deeds, The Princess Emma had no words nor looks But for this clerk, this man of thought and books.
The summer passed, the autumn came; the stalks Of lilies blackened in the garden walks;The leaves fell, russet-golden and blood-red, Love-letters thought the poet fancy-led, Or Jove descending in a shower of gold Into the lap of Danae of old;For poets cherish many a strange conceit, And love transmutes all nature by its heat.
No more the garden lessons, nor the dark And hurried meetings in the twilight park;But now the studious lamp, and the delights Of firesides in the silent winter nights, And watching from his window hour by hour The light that burned in Princess Emma's tower.
At length one night, while musing by the fire, O'ercome at last by his insane desire,--For what will reckless love not do and dare?--He crossed the court, and climbed the winding stair, With some feigned message in the Emperor's name;But when he to the lady's presence came He knelt down at her feet, until she laid Her hand upon him, like a naked blade, And whispered in his ear: "Arise, Sir Knight, To my heart's level, O my heart's delight."And there he lingered till the crowing cock, The Alectryon of the farmyard and the flock, Sang his aubade with lusty voice and clear, To tell the sleeping world that dawn was near.
And then they parted; but at parting, lo!
