Ballad of the Christmas Tryst

“It’s hey! my merry huntsman, With hound and hawk and horn, Where hie ye to the hunting This crispy Christmas morn?” “It’s ho! mine ancient gossip, To Wildmere wood I go, To seek beneath the boughs of Yule The roebuck and the roe.” “It’s ha! my merry huntsman, A cunning tongue have ye; With deer ye keep no Christmas tryst Beneath the greenwood-tree.” “It’s hist! mine ancient gossip, I prithee, speak me low, Lest they that love me not should hear To Wildmere wood I go.” “It’s list! my merry huntsman, They wot thy coming well, And wait thee where the pathway dips To cross the birken dell.” “It’s good! mine ancient gossip, How many may there be Betwixt me and my Christmas tryst Beneath the greenwood-tree?” “It’s hark! my merry huntsman, There’s Bernard of the Bow, Sir Egbert of the Crooked Arm, And Giles of Clariveaux; “There’s Giles, my merry huntsman, The wiliest of men, Brother in blood, though black his heart, To one whose name ye ken.” “Gramercy! ancient gossip, And shall these stay my foot? Then may the House of Hardigrave Be withered to the root!” He gave his page his hound in leash, His hawk and eke his horn, And gaily did he onward ride Beneath the Christmas morn. And now the birken dell was won, And now the shallow ford, And now he heard the scabbard ring Its answer to the sword. And forth from out the coppice deep Rode Bernard of the Bow, Sir Egbert of the Crooked Arm, And Giles of Clariveaux. Small parley was there then, God wot, But bickering of steel, And down clashed Bernard of the Bow Beneath his charger’s heel. And Egbert of the Crooked Arm Reeled sidewise as he knew The sharp bite of a falchion’s point His stricken harness through. Then clear rang out the huntsman’s shout, Right merrily cried he, “God’s with the son of Hardigrave Who loves La Belle Marie!” Oh, deep cursed Giles of Clariveaux To hear his sister’s name, While ’neath his vizor burned his eyes Like orbs of evil flame! “Have at thee, Hardigrave!” he hissed, “This riding thou shalt rue!” And round them like a fiery mist The spiteful sparks outflew. ’Twas parry, cut and countercut, And fiercer-faced the while Grew treacherous Giles of Clariveaux To mark the huntsman’s smile. And seeing he was sore beset, That urgent grew his need, He aimed a caitiff’s coward blow To maim his foeman’s steed. But vain that cruel, craven thrust, For whiles he strove to rein The shoulder of his sword-arm Was riven half in twain. * * * * * O starling in the thicket, see Where, eyes with love aglow, Adown the forest pathway goes The rose of Clariveaux! And hearken, O ye holly boughs! And, O ye larches, list! It is the song of one who rides To keep his Christmas tryst.