Part 6 (2/2)

And Richard, at his bidding, filled his hunting-pouch with provisions for the way, and went before, leading the little Northern nag, which the Count bestrode. He bore himself bravely under the weight of a rider whose feet nearly grazed the turf on each side.

Slowly they wound through the tangled wood. ”Stay, I will lighten thy burden for thee,” said Robert, ”if thou hast not left the bottle behind. Here's to the fair Bertha. What, thou wilt not drink? Then thou hast resigned her;--she is not worth a thought. Thou wilt not peril thy life to see her again, the false one who careth not for thee. Now depart, and when the king's wrath is overpast, I will beseech him for thee. Leave thy cause in a brother's hands.” But Richard went not back, though, when they came to the edge of the wood, they beheld the king's train advancing in the broad highway.

”Fly, Richard; escape while thou mayest!” cried Robert, yet offered he not the horse for the greater speed. ”Found on English ground, thou diest a felon's death. Disgrace not thy family. Carest thou not for life?” he cried, pursuing Richard, who stinted not, nor stayed, at the sight of the king, but the rather hasted forward.

”What is life to me?” said Richard. ”Let the king do with me as he will.” He strode onward proudly, with folded arms, offering himself to the view of Edward, who as yet saw him not, or only as a forester.

”Halt at least that I may spur on and implore for thee,” said Robert, for he hoped that he might deliver him a prisoner to some one in attendance, that he should not come to speech of the king.

With this wily purpose, he galloped forward. A shout arose, ”The traitor! The traitor!” He was made prisoner by no gentle hands, and, at a nod from the king, found himself led away to the rear, but not far removed.

He looked about for Richard. Could he not yet wave him back? Should the king see that n.o.ble face, he must be moved to mercy, at least so far as to give him audience. The brothers know not yet that all is reversed. Robert sees a man in russet clothing kneel at the king's stirrup; he sees the royal hand extended to raise him; he sees many press forward eager to welcome the wanderer. He turns away, sick at the sight.

One look more. Bertha has thrown herself into the arms of his hated brother. He tears his beard; he curses his own natal day, and the stars that presided over his birth and destiny.

Yet must he look once more, though to an envious soul the sight of a brother's happiness is like the torment of purgatorial fire. Richard is standing with his hand extended towards him. He is pleading the cause of the mean and cowardly enemy who betrayed him. He pities and forgives him; he even loves him still, for is he not his brother? As the eyes of the king and of all the surrounding crowd are turned on him, burning shame subdues the warring pa.s.sions that fill the heart of Robert, and a faint emotion of grat.i.tude brings a tear to fall upon his hot cheek. Something of old, childish love awakes in his bosom, like dew in a dry land.

The king granted Richard's prayer, the more readily because his anger was smothered by contempt. The t.i.tle and inheritance returned to the heir, who was worthy his ancient name. Robert, to the day of his death, lived on his brother's bounty, harmless, the rather that the king's decree had gone forth that in no case should he be Richard's successor, or inherit aught from him.

NOTE.--Here ends the tale, but by patient research we have discovered one verse of an ancient ballad, supposed to have the same tradition for its subject. It is preserved in a curious collection of fragmentary poetry, to be found in most private libraries, and, in its more ancient and valuable editions, in the repositories of antiquaries. It stands, in the modern copy which we possess, as follows:--

Richard and Robert were two pretty men; Both laid abed till the clock struck ten.

Up jumps Robert, and looks at the sky; ”Oho, brother Richard, the sun's very high!

You go before, with the bottle and bag, And I'll come behind, on little Jack nag.”

THE SEA.

”We sent him to school, we set him to learn a trade, we sent him far back into the country; but it was of no use, he must go to sea.”--THE GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.

A child was ever haunted by a thought of mystery, Of the dark, sh.o.r.eless, desolate, heaving and moaning sea, Which round about the cold, still earth goes drifting to and fro, As a mother, holding her dead child, swayeth herself with woe.

In all the jar and bustle and hurrying of trade, Through the hoa.r.s.e, distracting din by rattling pavements made, There sounded ever in his ear a low and solemn moan, And his soul grew sick with listening to that deep undertone.

He wandered from the busy streets, he wandered far away, To where the dim old forest stands, and in its shadows lay, And listened to the song it sang; but its murmurs seemed to be The whispered echo of the sad, sweet warbling of the sea.

His soul grew sick with longing, and shadowy and dim Seemed all the beauty of the land, and all its joys, to him,-- Its mountains vast, its forests old. He only longed to be Away upon the measureless, unfathomed, restless sea.

Thither he went. The foam-capped waves yet beat upon the strand, With a low and solemn murmuring that none may understand; And he lieth drifting to and fro, amid the ocean's roar, With the drifting tide he loved to hear, but shall hear never more.

And thus we all are haunted,--there soundeth in our ear, A low and restless moaning, that we struggle not to hear.

Yet still it soundeth, the faint cry of the dark deeps of the soul,-- Dark, barren, restless, as the sea which doth for ever roll Hither and thither, bearing still some half-shaped form of good, The flickering shadow of the moon upon the ”moon-led flood.”

And ever, 'mid all the joys and weary cares of life, Through the dull sleep of sluggishness, and clangor of the strife, We hear the low, deep murmuring of that Infinity Which stretcheth round us dim and vast, as wraps the earth the sea.

And in the twilight dimness, in silence and alone, The soul is almost startled by the power of its solemn tone.

When we view the fairest works of Nature and of Art, They ever fill with longings, never satisfy, the heart; But, like the lines of weed and sh.e.l.ls that stretch along the beach, And show how far the flowing tide and the high waters reach, They seem like barriers to hold back, like weedy lines, to show How far into this busy world the waves of beauty flow.

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