Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/703

. 13, 1862.] He went out of the surgery, leaving John Massingbird talking to his brother.

“On business,” John Massingbird had said. Was it to ask him about the mesne profits?—when he could refund them?—to tell him he would be sued, unless he did refund them? Lionel did not know: but he had been expecting John Massingbird to take some such steps.

In going back home, choosing the near cross-field way, as Jan often did, Lionel suddenly came upon Mrs. Peckaby, seated on the stump of a tree, in a very disconsolate fashion. To witness her thus, off the watch for the white animal that might be arriving before her door, surprised Lionel.

“I’m a’most sick of it, sir,” she said. “I’m sick to the heart with looking and watching. My brain gets weary and my eyes gets tired. The white quadruple don’t come, and Peckaby, he’s a-rowing at me everlastin’. I’m come out here for a bit o’ peace.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to give the white donkey up for a bad job, Mrs. Peckaby?”

“Give it up!” she uttered, aghast. “Give up going to New Jerusalem on a white donkey! No, sir, that would be a misfortin’ in life!”

Lionel smiled sadly as he left her.

“There are worse misfortunes in life, Mrs. Peckaby, than the not going to New Jerusalem on a white donkey.”

Arlec’s towers a knight went forth,

In burnished steel ’yclad,

Sad-coloured trappings on his horse,

No cognisance he had.

No badge, his visor closely barred,

His lineage none might tell;

And on his shield his sole device—

“Passants! Priez pour Elle.”

All for a lightsome ladye’s love

He took his lance in hand,

And left fair Arlec’s pointed towers

For wooded Brocelande.

What time it chanced he saw a knight,

By two knights sorely pressed,

Pour elle!” he cried, and spurred his steed,

And put his lance in rest.

The craven twain fled, and the knight

Bade him his good name tell;

“Messer! en remembrance de moy,”

He saith, “Priez pour Elle.”

The while his lightsome ladye rode,

Under the green woods free,

On milk-white steed chasing the deer,

With gallant lovers three.

He cheered a pilgrim faint with dole,

Whose words in blessings fell;

He knelt, but craved no benison,

He saith, “Priez pour Elle.”

And in her bower his ladye love

Braided her hair with pearls,

And smiled upon a gentle page,

Smoothing his sunny curls.

He met a knight in Brocelande,

On mounted Destrière,

Dragged at his side a lovely maid,

Tied by her knotted hair.

Swords flash, the base knight wounded falls,

Free is the Damoiselle;

En guerdon mande ce qui vëu,”

He saith, “Priez pour Elle.”

In a chapelle his ladye-love

The while her sins confessed,

Her dove-like eyes pierce Monseigneur

Thro’ rochet, alb, and vest.

Fighting for old King Marcomar,

He won him back his crown;

They bore him from the tented plain,

And gently laid him down.

With helm unlaced, visor unbarred,

He sees the light of day,

All leechcraft vain, wounded to death,

His life-blood ebbs away.

The while his lightsome ladye-love

Twisted a scarlet twine,

A bonnie bird perched on her wrist

And broke the slender line.

Gentil oiseau! gentil oiseau!

Viens sur mes jolis doigts,

Sçavoir nouvelles des amants

T’es venu maintes fois.

Sçavoir lequel est occidé,

Monseigneur ou Messire

Nenni, mon beau page fidèle,

Gentil oiseau! faites ouïr!”

Ne Monseigneur, ne beau Messer,

Ne gentil Dameret,

Royne d’amour, belle Yseult,

Pour toy trépasserait.

Plus sainct étez que Monseigneur

Plus loyal que Messire,

Plus beau que gentil Dameret,

Etez ton Chevalier!”