LITMIR.BIZ

      From Blois to Senlis, wave by wave, roll'd on the Norman flood,

      And Frank on Frank went drifting down the weltering tide of blood;

      There was not left in all the land a castle wall to fire,

      And not a wife but wailed a lord, a child but mourned a sire.

      To Charles the king, the mitred monks, the mailed barons flew,

      While, shaking earth, behind them strode the thunder march of Rou.

      "O King," then cried those barons bold, "in vain are mace and mail,

      We fall before the Norman axe, as corn before the hail."

      "And vainly," cried the pious monks, "by Mary's shrine we kneel,

      For prayers, like arrows, glance aside, against the Norman teel."

      The barons groaned, the shavelings wept, while near and nearer drew,

      As death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of Rou.

      Then said King Charles, "Where thousands fail, what king can stand alone,

      The strength of kings is in the men that gather round the throne.

      When war dismays my barons bold, 'tis time for war to cease;

      When Heaven forsakes my pious monks, the will of Heaven is peace.

      Go forth, my monks, with mass and rood the Norman camp unto,

      And to the fold, with shepherd crook, entice this grisly Rou."

      "I'll give him all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure,

      And Gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast and sure:

      Let him but kiss the Christian cross, and sheathe the heathen sword,

      And hold the lands I cannot keep, a fief from Charles his lord."

      Forth went the pastors of the Church, the Shepherd's work to do,

      And wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of Rou.

      Psalm-chanting came the shaven monks, within the camp of dread;

      Amidst his warriors, Norman Rou stood taller by the head.

      Out spoke the Frank Archbishop then, a priest devout and sage,

      "When peace and plenty wait thy word, what need of war and rage?

      Why waste a land as fair as aught beneath the arch of blue,

      Which might be thine to sow and reap?"—Thus saith the King to Rou.

      "'I'll give thee all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure,

      And Gille, my fairest child, as bride, to bind thee fast and sure;

      If then but kneel to Christ our God, and sheathe thy paynim sword,

      And hold thy land, the Church's son, a fief from Charles thy lord."

      The Norman on his warriors looked—to counsel they withdrew;

      The saints took pity on the Franks, and moved the soul of Rou.

      So back he strode and thus he spoke, to that Archbishop meek:

      "I take the land thy king bestows from Eure to Michael-peak,

      I take the maid, or foul or fair, a bargain with the toast,

      And for thy creed, a sea-king's gods are those that give the most.

      So hie thee back, and tell thy chief to make his proffer true,

      And he shall find a docile son, and ye a saint in Rou."

      So o'er the border stream of Epte came Rou the Norman, where,

      Begirt with barons, sat the King, enthroned at green St. Clair;

      He placed his hand in Charles's hand,—loud shouted all the throng,

      But tears were in King Charles's eyes—the grip of Rou was strong.

      "Now kiss the foot," the Bishop said, "that homage still is due;"

      Then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim convert, Rou.

       Rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the mast;

      "I saidHe takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring;

      The Normans scowl; he tilts the throne, and backwards falls the King.

      Loud laugh the joyous Norman men—pale stare the Franks aghast;

      And I would adore a God, but not a mortal too;

      The foot that fled before a foe let cowards kiss!" said Rou.