In the Saddle: A Collection of Poems on Horseback-Riding. Various

      Down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up silently, —

      Toll slowly.

      And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes

      Which he could not bear to see.

      Quoth he, "Get thee from this strife, – and the sweet saints bless thy life!" —

      Toll slowly.

      "In this hour, I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed —

      But no more of my noble wife."

      Quoth she, "Meekly have I done all thy biddings under sun: " —

      Toll slowly.

      "But by all my womanhood, which is proved so true and good,

      I will never do this one.

      "Now by womanhood's degree, and by wifehood's verity," —

      Toll slowly.

      "In this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed,

      Thou hast also need of me.

      "By this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardiè," —

      Toll slowly.

      "If, this hour, on castle-wall, can be room for steed from stall,

      Shall be also room for me.

      "So the sweet saints with me be" (did she utter solemnly), —

      Toll slowly.

      "If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride,

      He shall ride the same with me."

      Oh, he sprang up in the selle, and he laughed out bitter-well, —

      Toll slowly.

      "Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves,

      To hear chime a vesper-bell?"

      She clang closer to his knee – "Ay, beneath the cypress-tree!" —

      Toll slowly.

      "Mock me not, for otherwhere than along the greenwood fair,

      Have I ridden fast with thee!

      "Fast I rode with new-made vows, from my angry kinsman's house!"

      Toll slowly.

      "What! and would you men should reck that I dared more for love's sake

      As a bride than as a spouse?

      "What, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before all," —

      Toll slowly.

      "That a bride may keep your side while through castle-gate you ride,

      Yet eschew the castle-wall?"

      Ho! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing, —

      Toll slowly.

      With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in —

      Shrieks of doing and undoing!

      Twice he wrung her hands in twain, but the small hands closed again, —

      Toll slowly.

      Back he reined the steed – back, back! but she trailed along his track

      With a frantic clasp and strain.

      Evermore the foemen pour through the crash of window and door, —

      Toll slowly.

      And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of "kill!" and "flee!"

      Strike up clear amid the roar.

      Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, – but they closed and clung again, —

      Toll slowly.

      Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood,

      In a spasm of deathly pain.

      She clung wild and she clung mute, – with her shuddering lips half-shut, —

      Toll slowly.

      Her head fallen as half in swound, – hair and knee swept on the ground, —

      She clung wild to stirrup and foot.

      Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone, —

      Toll slowly.

      Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind,

      Whence a hundred feet went down.

      And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode,

      Toll slowly.

      "Friends, and brothers! save my wife! – Pardon, sweet, in change for life, —

      But I ride alone to God."

      Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame, —

      Toll slowly.

      She upsprang, she rose upright, – in his selle she sate in sight,

      By her love she overcame.

      And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest, —

      Toll slowly.

      "Ring," she cried, "O vesper-bell, in the beechwood's old chapelle!

      But the passing-bell rings best."

      They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose – in vain, —

      Toll slowly.

      For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air,

      On the last verge rears amain.

      Now he hangs, the rocks between – and his nostrils curdle in, —

      Toll slowly.

      Now he shivers head and hoof – and the flakes of foam fall off;

      And his face grows fierce and thin!

      And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go, —

      Toll slowly.

      And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony

      Of the headlong death below, —

      And, "Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, "i' the old chapelle!" —

      Toll slowly.

      Then back-toppling, crashing back, – a dead weight flung out to wrack,

      Horse and riders overfell.