Story and Song of Black Roderick

Story and Song of Black
Roderick

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Title: The Story and Song of Black Roderick
Author: Dora Sigerson
Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9483] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on October 5,
2003]
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THE STORY AND SONG OF BLACK RODERICK
By Dora Sigerson

1906

This is the story of Black Earl Roderick, the story and the song of his
pride and of his humbling; of the bitterness of his heart, and of the love
that came to it at last; of his threatened destruction, and the strange and
wonderful way of his salvation.
So shall I begin and tell.
He left his gray castle at the dawn of the morning, and with many a
knight to bear him company rode, not eager and swift, like a prince
who went to find a treasure, but steady and slow, as we should go to
meet sorrow. Not one of the hundred men who followed dared to lilt a
lay or fling a laughing jest from his mouth. All rode silent among their
gay trappings, for so saith a song:
_It was the Black Earl Roderick Who rode towards the south; The
frown was heavy on his brow, The sneer upon his mouth._
_Behind him rode a hundred men All gay with plume and spear; But
not a one did lilt a song His weary way to cheer._
_So stern was Black Earl Roderick Upon his wedding-day, To none he
spake a single word Who met him on his way._
And of those that passed him as he went there were none who dared to
bid him God-speed, and only one whispered at all; she was Mora of the
Knowledge, who was picking herbs in a lonely place and saw him ride.
"There goeth the hunter," said she; "'tis a white doe that thou wouldst
kill. High hanging to thee, my lord, upon a windy day!"

And of all the flying things he met in his going, one only dared to put
pain upon him, and she was a honeybee who stabbed his cheek with her
sword.
"Would I could slay thee," she cried, "ere thou rob the hive of its
honey!"
And of all the creeping things that passed him on his way, only one
tried to stay him; she was the bramble who cast her thorn across his
path so his steed wellnigh stumbled.
"Would I could make thee fall, Black Earl, who now art so high, ere
thou rob fruit from the branch!"
Only one living thing upon the mountains saw him go without
mourning, and he was the red weasel who took the world as he found it.
"Tears will not heal a wound," saith he, "but they will quench a fire.
Thy hive is in danger, bee," quoth he. "Bramble, thy flowers are
scattered and thy fruit lost."
But the Black Earl did not heed or hear anything outside his own
thoughts. They were sharper than the bee's sword and less easy to cast
aside than the entrapping bramble.
When he reached the castle wherein his bride did dwell, he blew three
blasts upon the horn that hung beside the gate, and in answer to his call
a voice cried out to him. But what it said I shall sing thee, lest thou
grow weary of my prose:
_"Come in, come in, Earl Roderick, Come in or you be late; The priest
is ready in his stole. The wedding guests await."_
_And then the stern Earl Roderick From his fierce steed came down;
The sneer still curled upon his lip, His eyes still held the frown._
_He strode right haughtily and quick Into