Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life

Count Louis was for horse and arms; And if its beacon waved, For love; but ladies had not charms To match a danger braved.

III.

On battlefields he was the bow Bestrung to fly the shaft: In idle hours his heart would flow As winds on currents waft.

IV.

His blood was of those warrior tribes That streamed from morning's fire, Whom now with traps and now with bribes The wily Council wire.

V.

Archduchess Anne the Council ruled, Count Louis his great dame; And woe to both when one had cooled! Little was she to blame.

VI.

Among her chiefs who spun their plots, Old Kraken stood the sword: As sharp his wits for cutting knots Of babble he abhorred.

VII.

He reverenced her name and line, Nor other merit had Save soldierwise to wait her sign, And do the deed she bade.

VIII.

He saw her hand jump at her side Ere royally she smiled On Louis and his fair young bride Where courtly ranks defiled.

IX.

That was a moment when a shock Through the procession ran, And thrilled the plumes, and stayed the clock, Yet smiled Archduchess Anne.

X.

No touch gave she to hound in leash, No wink to sword in sheath: She seemed a woman scarce of flesh; Above it, or beneath.

XI.

Old Kraken spied with kennelled snarl, His Lady deemed disgraced. He footed as on burning marl, When out of Hall he paced.

XII.

'Twas seen he hammered striding legs, And stopped, and strode again. Now Vengeance has a brood of eggs, But Patience must be hen.

XIII.

Too slow are they for wrath to hatch, Too hot for time to rear. Old Kraken kept unwinking watch; He marked his day appear.

XIV.

He neighed a laugh, though moods were rough With standards in revolt: His nostrils took the news for snuff, His smacking lips for salt.

XV.

Count Louis' wavy cock's plumes led His troops of black-haired manes, A rebel; and old Kraken sped To front him on the plains.

XVI.

Then camp opposed to camp did they Fret earth with panther claws For signal of a bloody day, Each reading from the Laws.

XVII.

'Forfend it, heaven!' Count Louis cried, 'And let the righteous plead: My country is a willing bride, Was never slave decreed.

XVIII.

'Not we for thirst of blood appeal To sword and slaughter cursed; We have God's blessing on our steel, Do we our pleading first.'

XIX.

Count Louis, soul of chivalry, Put trust in plighted word; By starlight on the broad brown lea, To bar the strife he spurred.

XX.

Across his breast a crimson spot, That in a quiver glowed, The ruddy crested camp-fires shot, As he to darkness rode.

XXI.

He rode while omens called, beware Old Kraken's pledge of faith! A smile and waving hand in air, And outward flew the wraith.

XXII.