“It’s hey! my merry huntsman,
With hound and hawk and horn,
Where hie ye to the hunting
This crispy Christmas morn?”
“It’s ho! mine ancient gossip,
To Wildmere wood I go,
To seek beneath the boughs of Yule
The roebuck and the roe.”
“It’s ha! my merry huntsman,
A cunning tongue have ye;
With deer ye keep no Christmas tryst
Beneath the greenwood-tree.”
“It’s hist! mine ancient gossip,
I prithee, speak me low,
Lest they that love me not should hear
To Wildmere wood I go.”
“It’s list! my merry huntsman,
They wot thy coming well,
And wait thee where the pathway dips
To cross the birken dell.{52}”
“It’s good! mine ancient gossip,
How many may there be
Betwixt me and my Christmas tryst
Beneath the greenwood-tree?”
“It’s hark! my merry huntsman,
There’s Bernard of the Bow,
Sir Egbert of the Crooked Arm,
And Giles of Clariveaux;
“There’s Giles, my merry huntsman,
The wiliest of men,
Brother in blood, though black his heart,
To one whose name ye ken.”
“Gramercy! ancient gossip,
And shall these stay my foot?
Then may the House of Hardigrave
Be withered to the root!”
He gave his page his hound in leash,
His hawk and eke his horn,
And gaily did he onward ride
Beneath the Christmas morn.
And now the birken dell was won,
And now the shallow ford,
And now he heard the scabbard ring
Its answer to the sword.{53}
And forth from out the coppice deep
Rode Bernard of the Bow,
Sir Egbert of the Crooked Arm,
And Giles of Clariveaux.
Small parley was there then, God wot,
But bickering of steel,
And down clashed Bernard of the Bow
Beneath his charger’s heel.
And Egbert of the Crooked Arm
Reeled sidewise as he knew
The sharp bite of a falchion’s point
His stricken harness through.
Then clear rang out the huntsman’s shout,
Right merrily cried he,
“God’s with the son of Hardigrave
Who loves La Belle Marie!”
Oh, deep cursed Giles of Clariveaux
To hear his sister’s name,
While ’neath his vizor burned his eyes
Like orbs of evil flame!
“Have at thee, Hardigrave!” he hissed,
“This riding thou shalt rue!”
And round them like a fiery mist
The spiteful sparks outflew.{54}
’Twas parry, cut and countercut,
And fiercer-faced the while
Grew treacherous Giles of Clariveaux
To mark the huntsman’s smile.
And seeing he was sore beset,
That urgent grew his need,
He aimed a caitiff’s coward blow
To maim his foeman’s steed.
But vain that cruel, craven thrust,
For whiles he strove to rein
The shoulder of his sword-arm
Was riven half in twain.
* * * * *
O starling in the thicket, see
Where, eyes with love aglow,
Adown the forest pathway goes
The rose of Clariveaux!
And hearken, O ye holly boughs!
And, O ye larches, list!
It is the song of one who rides
To keep his Christmas tryst.
{55}