Part 15 (1/2)
The western sky was red as blood, Darker grew the oaken-wood; ”Thief and carle, where are ye gone?
Why are we in the wood alone?
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
”What is the sound of this mighty horn?
Ah, G.o.d! that ever I was born!
The basnets flash from tree to tree; Show me, thou Christ, the way to flee!”
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
Boncoeur it was with fifty men; Maltete was but one to ten, And his own folk prayed for grace, With empty hands in that lone place.
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
”Grace shall ye have,” Boncoeur said, ”All of you but Evil-head.”
Lowly could that great lord be, Who could pray so well as he?
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
Then could Maltete howl and cry, Little will he had to die.
Soft was his speech, now it was late, But who had will to save Maltete?
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
They brought him to the house again, And toward the road he looked in vain.
Lonely and bare was the great highway, Under the gathering moonlight grey.
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
They took off his gilt basnet, That he should die there was no let; They took off his coat of steel, A d.a.m.ned man he well might feel.
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
”Will ye all be rich as kings, Lacking naught of all good things?”
”Nothing do we lack this eve; When thou art dead, how can we grieve?”
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
”Let me drink water ere I die, None henceforth comes my lips anigh.”
They brought it him in that bowl of wood.
He said, ”This is but poor men's blood!”
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
They brought it him in the cup of gold.
He said, ”The women I have sold Have wept it full of salt for me; I shall die gaping thirstily.”
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
On the threshold of that poor homestead They smote off his evil head; They set it high on a great spear, And rode away with merry cheer.
_Deus est Deus pauperum._
At the dawn, in lordly state, They rode to Maltete's castle-gate.
”Whoso willeth laud to win, Make haste to let your masters in!”