Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/242

 216 A. MARY F. ROBINSON

��BELGIUM THE BAR-LASS

The night was still. The King sat with the Queen. She sang. Her maidens spun. A peaceful scene.

Sudden, wild echoes shake the castle wall. Their foes come crashing through the outer hall.

They rush like thunder down the gallery floor. . . . . . Someone has stolen the bolt that bars the door!

No pin to hold the loops, no stick, no stave. Nothing ! An open door, an open grave !

Then Catherine Bar-lass thrust her naked arm (A girl's arm, white as milk, alive and warm)

Right through the loops from which the bolt was

gone : " 'Twill hold (she said) until they break the bone —

My King, you have one instant to prepare!" She said no more, because the thrust was there.

��Oft have I heard that tale of Scotland's King The Poet, and Kate the Bar-lass. (Men will sing

�� �