I Berold was clinging anear; I prayed for myself and quaked with fear, He knew her face and he heard her cry, And back with the current's force they reel 'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float, But he rose and stood in the rocking boat. Low the poor ship leaned on the tide: He reached an oar to her from below, But now from the ship some spied the boat, And "Saved!" was the cry from many a throat. And down to the boat they leaped and fell: The Prince that was and the King to come, Despite of all England's bended knee He was a Prince of lust and pride; When he should be King, he oft would vow, God only knows where his soul did wake, By none but me can the tale be told, (Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.) And now the end came o'er the waters' womb With prayers in vain and curses in vain, And what were men and what was a ship I Berold was down in the sea; And passing strange though the thing may be, Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand And blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam And high do the bells of Rouen beat These things and the like were heard and shown And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem, The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, And in a strait grasp my arms did span The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, "O I am Godefroy de l'Aigle hight, And son I am to a belted knight." "And I am Berold the butcher's son Who slays the beasts in Rouen town." Then cried we upon God's name, as we But lo! a third man rose o'er the wave, He clutched to the yard with panting stare, He clung, and "What of the Prince?" quoth he. And soul with soul again in that space And each knew each, as the moments sped, And every still star overhead Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead. And the hours passed; till the noble's son "O farewell, friend, for I can no more!" Three hundred souls were all lost but one, At last the morning rose on the sea Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat; The sun was high o'er the eastern brim That day I told my tale to a priest, And with the priest I thence did fare We spoke with the King's high chamberlain, And round us ever there crowded fast And who so bold that might tell the thing Much woe I learnt in their communing. The King had watched with a heart sore stirred And still to all his court would he say, "What keeps my son so long away?” And they said: "The ports lie far and wide "And England's cliffs are not more white Than her women are, and scarce so light Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright; "And in some port that he reached from France The Prince has lingered for his pleasaùnce." But once the King asked: "What distant cry And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie! And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest When the sea-mew misses its young from the nest?" 'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread, Albeit they knew not what they said: But who should speak to-day of the thing Then pondering much they found a way, And the King sat with a heart sore stirred, |