A STORY OF OLDEN TIME.
29
And yet small blame, for who e'er lived with him that loved him not?
And never sign or word of mine hath wearied him, I wot,
For from the first my heart its lot accepted, understood;
I saw that of the things he had he gave me what he could.
No lady in the Marches sees for pleasure or for state
So fair a train of servitors upon her bidding wait;
I never lacked for page in bower, for minstrel in the hall,
For gentle merlin on my wrist, or palfrey in the stall,
Robe, gaud, and gem, each costly gift that on love's altar lies,
Were mine, but never with them that which only sanctifies;
And he perhaps who gave them all did never guess or know
(For loving hearts run fast, and eyes unloving read them slow),
That I had cast them from me fain, so might I but have found
The greeting that he gave to serf, the look he gave his hound,
The smile and largesse he flung down unto a vassal old,—
Fain had I gathered up the one and doubled him the gold.
And never sign or word of mine hath wearied him, I wot,
For from the first my heart its lot accepted, understood;
I saw that of the things he had he gave me what he could.
No lady in the Marches sees for pleasure or for state
So fair a train of servitors upon her bidding wait;
I never lacked for page in bower, for minstrel in the hall,
For gentle merlin on my wrist, or palfrey in the stall,
Robe, gaud, and gem, each costly gift that on love's altar lies,
Were mine, but never with them that which only sanctifies;
And he perhaps who gave them all did never guess or know
(For loving hearts run fast, and eyes unloving read them slow),
That I had cast them from me fain, so might I but have found
The greeting that he gave to serf, the look he gave his hound,
The smile and largesse he flung down unto a vassal old,—
Fain had I gathered up the one and doubled him the gold.
