Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II. | Page 7

would make his moan,?And when he whisper'd any word I knew,?If I was present, for to pleasure him,?Then made I repetition of the same.?'Cordova,' quoth he faintly, 'Cordova,'?'T was the first word he mutter'd. 'Ay, we know,'?Quoth I, 'the stoutness of that fight ye made?Against the Moors and their Mahometry,?And dispossess'd the men of fame, the fierce?Khalifs of Cordova--thy home belike,?Thy city. A fair city Cordova.'
Then after many days, while his wound healed,?He with abundant seemly sign set forth?His thanks, but as for language had we none,?And oft he strove and failed to let us know?Some wish he had, but could not, so a week,?Two weeks went by. Then Rosamund my girl,?Hearing her mother plain on this, she saith,?'So please you, madam, show the enemy?A Psalter in our English tongue, and fetch?And give him that same book my father found?Wrapped in the ensign. Are they not the same?Those holy words? The Spaniard being devout,?He needs must know them.'
'Peace, thou pretty fool!?Is this a time to teach an alien tongue?'?Her mother made for answer. 'He is sick,?The Spaniard.' 'Cry you mercy,' quoth my girl,?'But I did think 't were easy to let show?How both the Psalters are of meaning like;?If he know Latin, and 't is like he doth,?So might he choose a verse to tell his thought.'
Then said I (ay, I did!) 'The girl shall try,'?And straight I took her to the Spaniard's side,?And he, admiring at her, all his face?Changed to a joy that almost showed as fear,?So innocent holy she did look, so grave?Her pitiful eyes.
She sat beside his bed,?He covered with the ensign yet; and took?And showed the Psalters both, and she did speak?Her English words, but gazing was enough?For him at her sweet dimple, her blue eyes?That shone, her English blushes. Rosamund,?My beautiful dear child. He did but gaze,?And not perceive her meaning till she touched?His hand, and in her Psalter showed the word.
Then was all light to him; he laughed for joy,?And took the Latin Missal. O full soon,?Alas, how soon, one read the other's thought!?Before she left him, she had learned his name?Alonzo, told him hers, and found the care?Made night and day uneasy--Cordova,?There dwelt his father, there his kin, nor knew?Whether he lived or died, whether in thrall?To the Islanders for lack of ransom pined?Or rued the galling yoke of slavery.
So did he cast him on our kindness. I--?And care not who may know it--I was kind,?And for that our stout Queen did think foul scorn?To kill the Spanish prisoners, and to guard?So many could not, liefer being to rid?Our country of them than to spite their own,?I made him as I might that matter learn,?Eking scant Latin with my daughter's wit,?And told him men let forth and driven forth?Did crowd our harbours for the ports of Spain,?By one of whom, he, with good aid of mine,?Should let his tidings go, and I plucked forth?His ducats that a meet reward might be.?Then he, the water standing in his eyes,?Made old King David's words due thanks convey.
Then Rosamund, this all made plain, arose?And curtsey'd to the Spaniard. Ah, methinks?I yet behold her, gracious, innocent,?And flaxen-haired, and blushing maidenly,?When turning she retired, and his black eyes,?That hunger'd after her, did follow on;?And I bethought me, 'Thou shalt see no more,?Thou goodly enemy, my one ewe lamb.'
O, I would make short work of this. The wound?Healed, and the Spaniard rose, then could he stand,?And then about his chamber walk at ease.
Now we had counsell'd how to have him home,?And that same trading vessel beating up?The Irish Channel at my will, that same?I charter'd for to serve me in the war,?Next was I minded should mine enemy?Deliver to his father, and his land.?Daily we looked for her, till in our cove,?Upon that morn when first the Spaniard walked,?Behold her rocking; and I hasted down?And left him waiting in the house.
Woe 's me!?All being ready speed I home, and lo?My Rosamund, that by the Spaniard sat?Upon a cushion'd settle, book in hand.?I needs must think how in the deep alcove?Thick chequer'd shadows of the window-glass?Did fall across her kirtle and her locks,?For I did see her thus no more.
She held?Her Psalter, and he his, and slowly read?Till he would stop her at the needed word.?'O well is thee,' she read, my Rosamund,?'O well is thee, and happy shalt thou be.?Thy wife--' and there he stopped her, and he took?And kissed her hand, and show'd in 's own a ring,?Taking no heed of me, no heed at all.
Then I burst forth, the choler red i' my face?When I did see her blush, and put it on.?'Give me,' quoth I, and Rosamund, afraid,?Gave me the ring. I set my heel on it,?Crushed it, and sent the rubies scattering forth,?And did in righteous anger storm at him.?'What! what!' quoth I, 'before