Part 7 (2/2)

War-dimmed grew his gear, Grim his visage; in fear Listened Mahound his cheer Deep in h.e.l.l.

Fled his legions to hear Gobertz the knight draw near.

Now he closeth the year In Compostell.

Offering there hath he made Saint James, candles him paid, Gold on the shrine hath laid; Now Gobertz Is for Toulouse, where that maid Tibors wonned unafraid Of Love and his accolade That breaketh hearts.

He rode north and by east, Nor rider spared he nor beast, Nor tempered spur till at least Forth of Spain; Not for ma.s.s-bell nor priest, For fast-day nor yet for feast Stayed he, till voyage ceased In Aquitaine.

Now remaineth to tell What this Gobertz befell When that he sought hostel In his land.

Dined he well, drank he well, Envy then had somedeal With women free in _bordel_ For to spend.

In poor _alberc_ goeth he Where bought pleasure may be, Careless proffereth fee For his bliss.

O Gobertz, look to thee.

Such a sight shalt thou see Will make the red blood to flee Thy heart, ywis.

Fair woman they bring him in Shamefast in her burning sin, All afire is his skin _Par amors_.

Look not of her look to win, Dare not lift up her chin, Gobertz; in that soiled fond thing Lo, Tibors!

”O love, O love, out, alas!

That it should come to this pa.s.s, And thou be even as I was In green youth, Whenas delight and solace Served I with wantonness, And burned anon like the gra.s.s To this ruth!”

But then lift she her sad eyes, Gray like wet morning skies, That wait the sun to arise, Tears to amend.

”Gobertz, _amic_,” so she cries, ”By Jesus' agonies. .h.i.ther come I by lies Of false friend.

”Sir Richart de Laund he hight, Who fair promised me plight Of word and ring, on a night Of no fame; So then evilly bright Had his will and delight Of me, and fled unrequite For my shame!

”Alas, and now to my thought Flieth the woe that I wrought Thee, Gobertz, that distraught Thou didst fare.

Now a vile thing of nought Fare I that once was so haught And free, and could not be taught By thy care.”

But Gobertz seeth no less Her honour and her sweetness, Soon her small hand to kiss Taketh he, Saying, ”Now for that stress Drave thee here thou shalt bless G.o.d, for so ending this Thy penury.”

Yet she would bid him away, Seeking her sooth to say, In what woful array She was cast.

”Nay,” said he, ”but, sweet may, Here must we bide until day: Then to church and to pray Go we fast.”

Now then to all his talent, Seeing how he was bent, Him the comfort she lent Of her mind.

Cried Gobertz, well content, ”If love by dreariment Cometh, that was well spent, As I find.”

Thereafter somewhat they slept, When to his arms she had crept For comfort, and freely wept Sin away.

Up betimes then he leapt, Calling her name: forth she stept Meek, disposed, to accept What he say.

By hill road taketh he her To the gray nuns of Beaucaire, There to shred off her hair And take veil.

Himself to cloister will fare Monk to be, with good care For their two souls. May his pray'r Them avail!

_1911._

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