Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon

Contents:
Author: Adam Lindsay Gordon

SCENE [VII]
A Room in the Castle.

HUGO and ERIC. Early morning.

Hugo:
The morn is fair, the weary miles
Will shorten ’neath the summer’s wiles;
Pomona in the orchard smiles,
And in the meadow, Flora!
And I have roused a chosen band
For escort through the troubled land;
And shaken Elspeth by the hand,
And said farewell to Thora.
Comrade and kinsman — for thou art
Comrade and kin to me — we part
Ere nightfall, if at once we start,
We gain the dead Count’s castle.
The roads are fair, the days are fine,
Ere long I hope to reach the Rhine.
Forsooth, no friend to me or mine
Is that same Abbot Basil;
I thought he wronged us by his greed.
My father sign’d a foolish deed
For lack of gold in time of need,
And thus our lands went by us;
Yet wrong on our side may have been:
As far as my will goes, I ween,
’Tis past, the grudge that lay between
Us twain. Men call him pious —
And I have prosper’d much since then,
And gain’d for one lost acre ten;
And even the ancient house and glen
Rebought with purchase-money.
He, too, is wealthy; he has got
By churchly rights a fertile spot,
A land of corn and wine, I wot,
A land of milk and honey.
Now, Eric, change thy plans and ride
With us; thou hast no ties, no bride.

Eric:
Nay, ties I have, and time and tide,
Thou knowest, wait for no man;
And I go north; God’s blessing shuns
The dwellings of forgetful sons,
That proverb he may read who runs,
In Christian lore or Roman.
My good old mother she hath heard,
For twelve long months, from me no word;
At thought of her my heart is stirr’d,
And even mine eyes grow moister.
Greet Ursula from me; her fame
Is known to all. A nobler dame,
Since days of Clovis, ne’er became
The inmate of a cloister.
Our paths diverge, yet we may go
Together for a league or so;
I, too, will join thy band below
When thou thy bugle windest.
[Eric goes out.]

Hugo:
From weaknesses we stand afar,
On us unpleasantly they jar;
And yet the stoutest-hearted are
The gentlest and the kindest.
My mother loved me tenderly;
Alas! her only son was I.
I shudder’d, but my lids were dry,
By death made orphan newly.
A braver man than me, I swear,
Who never comprehended fear,
Scarce names his mother, and the tear,
Unbidden, springs unruly.

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Chicago: Adam Lindsay Gordon, "Scene [VII] a Room in the Castle.," Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon, ed. Keil, Heinrich, 1822-1894 and trans. Seaton, R. C. in Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon (New York: George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892), Original Sources, accessed September 20, 2018, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=CJVE4QL28AUDRYI.

MLA: Gordon, Adam Lindsay. "Scene [VII] a Room in the Castle." Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon, edited by Keil, Heinrich, 1822-1894, and translated by Seaton, R. C., in Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon, New York, George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Original Sources. 20 Sep. 2018. www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=CJVE4QL28AUDRYI.

Harvard: Gordon, AL, 'Scene [VII] a Room in the Castle.' in Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon, ed. and trans. . cited in ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Poems of Adam Lindsay Gordon, George E. Wood, New York. Original Sources, retrieved 20 September 2018, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=CJVE4QL28AUDRYI.