The Moated Manse

I.     And now once more we stood within the walls     Of her old manor near the riverside;     Dead leaves lay rotting in its empty halls,     And here and there the ivy could not hide     The year-old scars, made by the Royalists' balls,     Around the doorway, where so many died     In that last effort to defend the stair,     When Rupert, like a demon, entered there.     II.     The basest Cavalier who yet wore spurs     Or drew a sword, I count him; with his grave     Eyes 'neath his plumed hat like a wolf's whom curs     Rouse, to their harm, within a forest cave;     And hair like harvest; and a voice like verse     For smoothness. Ay, a handsome man and brave! -     Brave? - who would question it! although 't is true     He warred with one weak woman and her few.     III.     Lady Isolda of the Moated Manse,     Whom here, that very noon, it happened me     To meet near her old home. A single glance     Told me 't was she. I marveled much to see     How lovely still she was! as fair, perchance,     As when Red Rupert thrust her brutally, -     Her long hair loosened, - down the shattered stair,     And cast her, shrieking, 'mid his followers there.     IV.     "She is for you! Take her! I promised it!     She is for you!" - he shouted, as he flung     Her in their midst. Then, on her poor hands (split,     And beaten by his dagger when she clung     Resisting him) and knees, she crept a bit     Nearer his feet and begged for death. No tongue     Can tell the way he turned from her and cursed,     Then bade his men draw lots for which were first.     V.     I saw it all from that low parapet,     Where, bullet-wounded in the hip and head,     I lay face-upward in the whispering wet,     Exhausted 'mid the dead and left for dead.     We had held out two days without a let     Against these bandits. You could trace with red,     From room to room, how we resisted hard     Since the great door crashed in to their petard.     VI.     The rain revived me, and I leaned with pain     And saw her lying there, all soiled and splashed     And miserable; on her cheek a stain,     A dull red bruise, made when his hand had dashed     Her down upon the stones; the wretched rain     Dripped from her dark hair; and her hands were gashed. -     Oh, for a musket or a petronel     With which to send his devil's soul to hell!     VII.     But helpless there I lay, no weapon near,     Only the useless sword I could not reach     His traitor's heart with, while I chafed to hear     The laugh, the insult and the villain speech     Of him to her. Oh, God! could I but clear     The height between and, hanging like a leech,     My fingers at his throat, there tear his base     Vile tongue out, yea, and lash it in his face!     VIII.     But, badly wounded, what could I but weep     With rage and pity of my helplessness     And her misfortune! Could I only creep     A little nearer so that she might guess     I was not dead; that I my life would keep     But to avenge her! - Oh, the wild distress     Of that last moment when, half-dead, I saw     Them mount and bear her swooning through the shaw.     IX.     Long time I lay unconscious. It befell     Some woodsmen found me, having heard the sound     Of fighting cease that, for two days, made dell     And dingle echo; ventured on the ground     For plunder; and it had not then gone well     With me, I fear, had not their leader found     That in some way I would repay his care;     So bore me to his hut and nursed me there.     X.     How roughly kind he was. For weeks I hung     'Twixt life and death; health, like a varying, sick,     And fluttering pendulum, now this way swung,     Now that, until at last its querulous tick     Beat out life's usual time, and slowly rung     The long loud hours that exclaimed, "Be quick! -     Arise - Go forth! - Hear how her black wrongs call! -     Make them the salve to cure thy wounds withal!"     XI.     They were my balsam: for, ere autumn came,     Weak still, but over eager to be gone,     I took my leave of him. A little lame     From that hip-wound, and somewhat thin and wan,     I sought the village. Here I heard her name     And shame's made one. How Rupert passed one dawn,     And she among his troopers rode - astride     Like any man - pale-faced and feverish-eyed.     XII.     Which way these took they pointed, and I went     Like fire after. Oh, the thought was good     That they were on before! And much it meant     To know she lived still; she, whose image stood     Ever before me, making turbulent     Each heart-beat with her wrongs, that were fierce food     Unto my hate that, "Courage!" cried, "Rest not!     Think of her there, and let thy haste be hot!"     XIII.     But months passed by and still I had not found:     Yet here and there, as wearily I sought,     I caught some news: how he had held his ground     Against the Roundhead troops; or how he'd fought     Then fled, returned and conquered. Like a hound,     Questing a boar, I followed; but was brought     Never to see my quarry. Day by day     It seemed that Satan kept him from my way.     XIV.     A woman rode beside him, so they said,     A fair-faced wanton, mounted like a man -     Isolda! - my Isolda! - better dead,     Yea, dead and damned! than thus the courtesan,     Bold, unreluctant, of such men! A dread,     That such should be, unmanned me. Doubt began     To whisper at my heart. - But I was mad,     To insult her with such thoughts, whose love I had.     XV.     At last one day I rested in a glade     Near that same woodland which I lay in when     Sore wounded; and, while sitting in the shade     Of an old beech - what! did I dream, or men     Like Rupert's own ride near me? and a maid -     Isolda or her spirit! - Wildly then     I rose and, shouting, leapt upon my horse;     Unsheathed my sword and rode across their course.     XVI.     Mainly I looked for Rupert, and by name     Challenged him forth: - "Dog! dost thou hide behind? -     Insulter of women! Coward! save where shame     And rapine call thee! God at last is kind,     And my sword waits!" - Like an upbeating flame,     My voice rose to a windy shout; and blind     I seemed to sit, till, with an outstretched hand,     Isolda rode before me from that band.     XVII.     "Gerald!" she cried; not as a heart surprised     With gladness that the loved, deemed dead, still lives;     But like the heart that long hath realized     Only misfortune and to fortune gives     No confidence, though it be recognized     As good. She spoke: "Lo, we are fugitives.     Rupert is slain. And I am going home."     Then like a child asked simply, "Wilt thou come?...     XVIII.     "Oh, I have suffered, Gerald, oh, my God!     What shame, what vileness! Once my soul was clean -     Stained and defiled behold it! - I have trod     Sad ways of hell and horror. I have seen     And lived all depths of lust. Yet, oh, my God!     Blameless I hold myself of what hath been,     Though through it all, yea, this thou too must know,     I loved him! my betrayer and thy foe!"     XIX.     Sobbing she spoke as if but half awake,     Her eyes far-fixed beyond me, far beyond     All hope of mine. - So it was for his sake,     His love, that she had suffered!... blind and fond,     For what return!... And I to nurse a snake,     And never dream its nature would respond     With some such fang of venom! 'T was for this     That I had ventured all, to find her his!     XX.     At first half-stunned I stood; then blood and brain,     Like two stern judges, who had slept, awoke,     Rose up and thundered, "Slay her!" Every vein     And nerve responded, "Slay her at a stroke!" -     And I had done it, but my heart again,     Like a strong captain in a tumult, spoke,     And the fierce discord fell. And quietly     I sheathed my sword and said, "I'll go with thee."     XXI.     But this was my reward for all I'd borne,     My loyalty and love! To see her eyes     Hollow from tears for him; her pale cheeks worn     With grief for him; to know them all for lies,     Her vows of faith to me; to come forlorn,     Where I had hoped to come on Paradise,     On Hell's black gulf; and, as if not enough,     Soiled as she was and outcast, still to love!     XXII.     Then rode one ruffian from the rest, clay-flecked     From spur to plume with hurry; seized my rein,     And - "What art thou," demanded, "who hast checked     Our way, and challenged?" - Then, with some disdain,     Isolda, "Sir, my kinsman did expect     Your captain here. What honor may remain     To me I pledge for him. Hold off thy hands!     He but attends me to the Moated Manse."     XXIII.     We rode in silence. And at twilight came     Into the Moated Manse. - Great clouds had grown     Up in the West, on which the sunset's flame     Lay like the hand of slaughter. - Very lone     Its rooms and halls: a splintered door that, lame,     Swung on one hinge; a cabinet o'erthrown;     Or arras torn; or blood-stain turning wan,     Showed us the way the battle once had gone.     XXIV.     We reached the tower-chamber towards the West,     In which on that dark day she thought to hide     From Rupert when, at last, 't was manifest     We could not hold the Manse. There was no pride     In her deep eyes now; nor did scorn invest     Her with such dignity as once defied     Him bursting in to find her standing here     Prepared to die like some dog-hunted deer.     XXV.     She took my hand, and, as if naught of love     Had ever been between us, said, - "All know     The madness of that day when with his glove     He struck then slew my brother, and brought woe     On all our house; and thou, incensed above     The rest, came here, and made my foe thy foe.     But he had left. 'T was then I promised thee     My hand, but, ah! my heart was gone from me.     XXVI.     "Yea, he had won me, this same Rupert, when     He was our guest. - Thou know'st how gallantry     And beauty can make heroes of all men     To us weak women! - And so secretly     I vowed to be his wife. It happened then     My brother found him in some villainy;     The insult followed; he was killed ... and thou     Dost still remember how I made a vow.     XXVII.     "But still this man pursued me, and I held     Firm to my vow, albeit I loved him still,     Unknown to all, with all the love unquelled     Of first impressions, and against my will.     At last despair of winning me compelled     Him to the oath he swore: He would not kill,     But take me living and would make my life     A living death. No man should make me wife.     XXVIII.     The war, that now consumes us, did, indeed,     Give him occasion. - I had not been warned,     When down he came against me in the lead     Of his marauders. With thy help I scorned     His mad attacks two days. I would not plead     Nor parley with him, who came hoofed and horned,     Like Satan's self in soul, and, with his aid,     Took this strong house and kept the oath he made.     XXIX.     "Months passed. Alas! it needs not here to tell     What often thou hast heard - Of how he led     His troopers here now there; nor what befell     Me of dishonor. Oft I wished me dead,     Loathing my life, than which the nether hell     Hath less of horror ... So we fought or fled     From place to place until a year had passed,     And Parliament forces hemmed us in at last.     XXX.     "Yea, I had only lived for this - to right     With death my wrongs sometime. And love and hate     Contended in my bosom when, that night     Before the fight that should decide our fate,     I entered where he slept. There was no light     Save of the stars to see by. Long and late     I leaned above him there, yet could not kill -     Hate raised the dagger but love held it still.     XXXI.     "The woman in me conquered. What a slave     To our emotions are we! To relent     At this long-waited moment! - Wave on wave     Of pitying weakness swept me, and I bent     And kissed his face. Then prayed to God; and gave     My trust to God; and left to God th' event. -     I never looked on Rupert's face again,     For in that morning's combat - he was slain.     XXXII.     "Out of defeat escaped some scant three score     Of all his followers. And night and day     They fled; and while the Roundheads pressed them sore,     And in their road, good as a fortress, lay     The Moated Manse, where their three score or more     Might well hold out, I pointed them the way.     And they are come, amid its wrecks to end     The crime begun here. - Thou must go, my friend!     XXXIII.     "Go quickly! For the time approaches when     Destruction must arrive. - Oh, well I know     All thou wouldst say to me. - What boots it then? -     I tell thee thou must go, that thou must go! -     Yea, dost thou think I'd have thee die 'mid men     Like these, for such an one as I! - No! no! -     Thy life is clean. Thou shalt not cast away     Thy clean life for my soiled one. Go, I pray!"     XXXIV.     She ceased. I spoke - I know not what it was.     Then took her hand and kissed it and so said -     "Thou art my promised wife. Thou hast no cause     That is not mine. I love thee. We will wed.     I love thee. Come!" - A moment did she pause,     Then shook her head and sighed, "My heart is dead.     This can not be. Behold, that way is thine.     I will not let thee share this way that's mine."     XXXV.     Then turning from me ere I could prevent     Passed like a shadow from the shadowy room,     Leaving my soul in shadow ... Naught was meant     By my sweet flower of love then! bloom by bloom     I'd watched it wither; then its fragrance went,     And naught was left now. - It was dark as doom,     And bells were tolling far off through the rain,     When from that house I turned my face again.     XXXVI.     Then in the night a trumpet; and the dull     Close thud of horse and clash of Puritan arms;     And glimmering helms swept by me. Sorrowful     I stood and waited till upon the storm's     Black breast, the Manse, a burning carbuncle,     Blazed like a battle-beacon, and alarms     Of onslaught clanged around it; then, like one     Who bears with him God's curse, I galloped on.