They made a bier of the broken bough, The sauch, and the aspin gray, A lady came to that lonely bower, She bathed him in the Lady-Well, They row'd him in a lily-sheet, And the gray friars sung the dead man's mass, They buried him at the mirk midnight, They dug his grave but a bare foot deep, And they cover'd him o'er with the heather-flower, A gray friar stay'd upon the grave, And sang till the morning tide, And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, While the Headless Cross shall bide. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Through utter drought all dumb we stood! And cried, A sail, a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all See! see! (I cried,) she tacks no more Hither to work us weal! Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel! The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well-nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun. And straight the sun was fleck'd with bars, Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud,) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the sun, Like restless gossameres? Are those her ribs through which the sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a Death? and are there two? Is Death that Woman's mate? Her lips were red, her looks were free, The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; "The game is done! I've, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The sun's run dips! the stars rush out : With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark. We listen'd and look'd sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seem'd to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright star, Within the nether tip. A GENTLE knight was pricking on the plain, Yclad in mighty arms and silver shield, Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, The cruel marks of many a bloody field; Yet arms till that time did he never wield: His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, As much disdaining to the curb to yield: Full jolly knight he seem'd, and fair did sit, As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit. And on his breast a bloody cross he bore, The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead, as living, ever him adored: Upon his shield the like was also scored, For sovereign hope, which in his help he had. |