Star over Bethlehem (11 page)

I have gathered in gold from the Spanish Main

With the help of my mariners bold.

But never a child of my flesh and blood,

When I shall be dead and gone,

Oh! never a King of the Tudor blood

Shall sit upon England's throne …

I have saved my land from the dreaded foe,

My fleet will be known to fame,

And many a ship has sailed to the West

In Gloriana's name!

I was menaced by Spain before I was born

In the months, oh! mother most dear,

When my father defied those powers twain,

The curse of the Church and the might of Spain,

To keep the oath he had sworn!

And Katharine, raging, invoked her God,

And appealed both far and near,

And fostered the plan of leer and of nod

Which brought you down to the bier …

So is it written in ages past

With a woman's smile as bait,

A King shall risk his very soul

And change a nation's fate …

Did you never fear, oh! mother of mine,

When you played on a King's desire,

When first of a queenly rank you dreamed,

And subtly plotted and boldly schemed

To further your high design?

Did you never dread that the hand which crowned

Could cast you down in the mire,

That a love so swift might be swiftly drowned,

And a King might love—and tire?

Oh! red were your lips as you smiled in his face,

And red was your hair as fire!

And red was the band around your neck

As you met your doom so dire …

An Oath I swore!—and the Pride of Spain

Is driftwood along my coast!

I was not too royal to scheme and to smile,

To pay with a promise—and dally awhile—

Till I changed my mind again …

Your
blood, oh! mother, which gave me might,

(Not that of the Tudor host,)

And a woman's game that was played aright

Is Elizabeth Tudor's boast.

'Tis perilous work to trifle with France …

To jest with Spain may be death …

But I played my part with a woman's guile

And never a catch in my breath!

I have hated most women—but
one
above all,

(No matter her rank or name,)

Fair was her face, and her fame spread wide

When in France she dwelt as a royal bride

Ere she sailed to her fate and fall.

The lure of her beauty drew all mankind

Like a moth to the candle flame …

They brought me the warrant to sign … and I signed

With a flourish my royal name!

(But oh! to think that when I am gone

And laid in my grave so low,

The Crown which rests on my royal head

Shall adorn a Stewart's false brow!)

She had fostered a plan to seize my throne,

Conspiring with Rome and Spain,

She had aimed at my life, so they said—what then?

It was never fear that drove my pen!

(
Who have never a child of my own …
)

But the jealous rage that naught can slake

Of a woman who loved in vain …

And she shall die for her beauty's sake!

Who has loved—and been loved again!

(There are gallants thronging around my throne,

And many a maiden fair,

But the maids who come to Elizabeth's court

Must coif Saint Catherine's hair!)

I am Queen of England! I rule unafraid!

(But never a son of my own …)

I have gowns in plenty, and jewels rare,

With many a wench to tire my hair,

And they call me a painted jade!

But many a ship in Elizabeth's name

Shall open up seas unknown …

And I shall share in my Children's fame

Who have never a child of my own …

 

B
ELLS
are ringing o'er the sea,

The gentle bells of Brittany.

Rock the cradle to and fro,

Croon a lullaby so low,

Mark the cross upon her brow,

She is Christ's for ever now.

(White thy tiny hands, my dove,

Small and white and made for love.

Love to wake, and love to keep …)

Rock the cradle, let her sleep,

While the bells ring out and say

That a child was born today!

Bells are tolling o'er the sea,

The woeful bells of Brittany.

Rock the cradle lest she wake,

Learn who died for her sweet sake.

Mark a cross upon that brow,

Which shall sleep for ever now.

(Dark thy downy head, my sweet,

Motherless the world to meet,

Fold thy little hands in sleep …)

Rock the cradle lest she weep,

While the bells toll on and say

That a mother died today …

 

M
Y
Lord and I upon a hill

Looked out across the sea

And watched the gulls that wheel and turn

And circle endlessly.

And Lo, my Lord was lost in thought

Until to him I said:

“Thy thoughts are very far away

From her thou soon shalt wed.

“In Cornwall, at Queen Isolt's court

The maids are fair to see

Fairer are they, my Lord, perchance

Than those of Brittany.”

Then Tristan stayed in thought awhile,

Then smiled and answered me:

“There is no maid at Isolt's court

One half as fair as thee.”

My Lord and I upon a hill

Looked out to sea a while.

I doubt not … yet I would I knew

What lay behind his smile …

My Lord and I in Brittany

Looked out across the sea,

And oh, his thoughts, his wand'ring thoughts,

Were far away from me.

 

S
HEILA
, dark Sheila, what is it that you're seeing?

What is it that you're seeing, that you're seeing in the fire?

I see a lad that loves me … And I see a lad that leaves me …

And a third lad, a Shadow Lad …
(
and he's the lad that grieves me
)

And whatever I am seeing,

There's no fearing and no fleeing …

But whatever I am seeing, it is not my heart's desire …

Sheila, dark Sheila, with whom will you be roaming?

With whom will you be roaming when the summer day has flown?

A lad there is who loved me—but loves me now no longer,

A lad there is who left me
(
and oh! his love grows stronger!
)

But wherever I go roaming,

You shall never find me homing,

For wherever I go roaming, I must wander all alone …

“Sheila, dark Sheila, will you listen to my pleading?

Will you listen to my pleading, will you recompense my pain?

For I'm the lad who loved you, the lad who so deceived you.

I left you for another girl, and oh! I fear I grieved you!

But if you'll hear my pleading

As across the moor you're speeding,

Oh! if you'll hear my pleading, I'll return to you again.”

“Sheila, dark Sheila, will you hearken to my calling?

Will you hearken to my calling, as I call from far away?

For I'm the lad that left you (but never could forget you),

And I'm the lad that loved you from the very hour he met you!

And if you'll hear my calling

As the shades of night are falling,

Oh! if you'll hear my calling, I'll be yours alone alway!”

But Sheila, dark Sheila, is out upon the moorland.

She's out upon the moorland where the heather meets the sky!

And the lads shall never find her, for there's one walks by her side there,

A Stranger Lad, a Shadow Lad, who would not be denied there …

She turned her to his calling

As the shades of night were falling,

She turned her to his calling … and she answered to his Cry …

 

T
HE
King, he went a-walking, one merry morn in May.

The King, he laid him down to rest, and fell asleep, they say.

And when he woke, 'twas even,

(The hour of magic mood,)

And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, was dancing in the wood.

The King, he gave a banquet to all the flowers (save one),

With hungry eyes he watched them, a-seeking one alone.

The Rose was there in satin,

The Lily with green hood,

But Bluebell, wild Bluebell, only dances in the wood.

The King, he frowned in anger, his hand upon his sword.

He sent his men to seize her, and bring her to their Lord.

With silken cords they bound her,

Before the King she stood,

Bluebell, wild Bluebell, who dances in the wood.

The King, he rose to greet her, the maid he'd sworn to wed.

The King, he took his golden crown and set it on her head.

And then he paled and shivered,

The courtiers gazed in fear,

At Bluebell, grey Bluebell, so pale and ghostly there.

“O King, your crown is heavy, 'twould bow my head with care.

Your palace walls would shut me in, who live as free as air.

The wind, he is my lover,

The sun my lover too,

And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, shall ne'er be Queen to you.”

The King, he mourned a twelvemonth, and none could ease his pain.

The King, he went a-walking a-down a lovers' lane.

He laid aside his golden crown,

Into the wood went he,

Where Bluebell, wild Bluebell, dances ever wild and free.

 

B
RING
me my lute and let me play

A bygone ballad of yesterday.

Four knights there were from far away

(Ring out, my lute, on a chord so gay!)

Four knights who came to kiss my hand

From the East and the West

And the far Northland.

And one from the South …

Who kissed my mouth …

And stole my heart away …

Bring me my lute and let me sing

A ballad of yore with the old gay ring.

Out in the West the sun dies red

(Where does my true love lay his head?)

Four knights who came from o'er the sea,

One I hold, and one holds me.

And one I never again shall see …

Who came from the South

And kissed my mouth,

And stole my heart away …

Lost in the West is the setting sun,

Take then my lute, the tale is done!

 

Oh! who shall see the Spinners?

The silent white-robed Spinners?

The tender cruel Spinners

As they spin the Thread of Dreams?