BRITTANY: ITS PEOPLE AND ITS POEMS.

FOURTH ARTICLE.—CONCLUSION.

Like the Cambrian bards, their brethren of Armorica sang the triumphs and misfortunes of their country, and the deeds of her defenders, during the twelve centuries that they were governed by chiefs of their own race. The great names of Arthur,[156] of Morvan Lez-Breiz, of Alan Barbe Torte, and of Nomenöe, offered stirring subjects for the inspiration of the bards. In a former number, we gave “The March of Arthur,” of which the original, with the exception of the last two lines, bears every stamp of antiquity, and probably dates from the VIth century. The epic of “Lez-Breiz,” of which we proceed to give a translation of the fragments still extant, is about two centuries later.

Morvan, Machtiern or Viscount of Léon, son of a Konan, or crowned chief, was famous in the IXth century as one of the maintainers of Breton independence against the encroachments of the Franks under Louis le Débonnaire, and received from his grateful countrymen the surname of “Lez” or “Lezou Breiz”—the Stay, or the Hammer, of Brittany.

The story of Lez-Breiz, in a weakened and modified form, exists in Wales in the fragmentary ballad of Peredur.

MORVAN LEZ-BREIZ.

Part I.

THE DEPARTURE.

I.

Wandered forth the young child Lez-Breiz From his mother’s side,

Early on a summer morning, Through the forest wide.

There the shade and sunlight glancing On the armor played

Of a mounted knight, advancing Through the greenwood glade.

Under spreading oaks and beeches Rode the steel-clad knight,

Till his warlike splendors nearer Flashed on Morvan’s sight.

“‘Tis the great Archangel Michael,” Thought the child, and then

Straight he crossed himself devoutly, Ere he gazed again.

Down upon his knees in wonder Fell the trembling boy;

“O my lord! my lord S. Michael, Work me not annoy!”

“Nay, boy, no more lord S. Michael Than a serf am I;

But a dubbed and belted knight, sooth, That I’ll not deny.”

“Never saw I belted knight, nor Heard of, till this day.”

“That am I: say, hast thou seen none Like me pass this way?”

“Nay, first answer me, I pray thee: This, what may it be?”

“‘Tis my lance, wherewith I wound all Whom it liketh me.

“But this weighty club far better Than my lance I prize;

Whoso dares provoke my ange With one blow he dies.”

“What this dish of steel, which thou, sir, On thine arm dost wield?”

“Dish, child! ‘Tis nor steel nor dish: It is my silver shield!”

“Mock me not, sir knight, for silver Moneys more than one

I have handled: this is larger Than an oven-stone.

What may be the coat you wear, like Iron strong and hard?”

“‘Tis my steel cuirass: from sword-strokes Safely this can guard.”

“Were the roes thus clad in harness, Hard to kill were they!

Tell me, were you born, lord knight, just As you are to-day?”

Thereupon the old knight, laughing, Shook his sides with glee.

“Then what wizard clad you thus, if So it might not be?”

“He alone the right who claimeth.” “Who, then, has the right?”

“Me my lord the Count of Quimper In my armor dight.

Now, boy, answer in thy turn: hath One passed by this way

Like to me?”—“‘Tis even so, as Thou, my lord, dost say.”

II.

The child ran home in eager haste; Leapt on his mother’s knee.

‘Ma Mammik, ah! you do not know” (He said, with boyish glee):

“You cannot guess what I have seen, What I have seen to-day!

My lord S. Michael in the church Is not so grand, so gay.

“A man so bright, so beautiful, I ne’er before have seen.”

“Nay, son, more fair than angels are No man hath ever been.”

“Pardon me, mother, but you err: These knights (men call them so)

Are fairer. I would be as they, And after them will go.”

Then thrice the mother, at these words, Fell fainting to the ground:

While Morvan to the stable went, Nor once his head turned round.

A wretched beast he found therein, Then mounted, and away;

Bidding farewell to none, he sped, He sped without delay.

After the noble knight went he, Urging his steed forlorn

T’wards Quimper, from the manor old, The home where he was born.

Part II.

THE RETURN.

Marvelled much Sir Morvan Lez-Breiz, Now a knight renowned;

Famous, among warriors famous All the country round,—

Marvelled much Sir Morvan Lez-Breiz, When, in ten years’ time,

To his home once more returning, In his manhood’s prime,

Brambles he beheld, and nettles, Springing wild and free

In the court and on the threshold, Desolate to see.

Thickly clung the clustering ivy O’er the ruined wall,

And a poor, blind, aged woman Answered to his call.

“Canst thou, worthy grandame, give me Lodging for the night?”

“Willingly, my lord, but ‘twill be Neither fair nor bright.

Ever since the child went wandering, Wandering far away,

Young and headstrong, has the manor Fallen to decay.”

Scarcely had she finished speaking, When a damsel fair,

When a damsel fair came slowly Down the broken stair.

And she sadly gazed upon him, Through her tears she gazed:

“Wherefore, maiden, art thou weeping?” Lez-Breiz asked, amazed.

“Why, my lord knight, I am weeping Freely will I say:

Of your age I have a brother. Long since gone away.

Forth he went to be a warrior, Ten long years ago;

So, whene’er a knight I see, my Heart is full of woe.

“Therefore ever am I weeping When a knight I see,

For I think, my little brother, Where, ah! where is he?”

“Had you, then, one only brother, Gentle maiden? say:

And your mother? prithee tell me Have you none, I pray?”

“Have I yet another brother In the world? Ah! no;

But and if he be in heaven, That I do not know.

Thither passed away my mother, Who for sorrow died

When he left us. I have now my Nurse, and none beside.

“There, beyond the door, my mother’s Bed you still may see:

And her arm-chair by the hearth-stone, Where ‘twas wont to be.

Her blest cross I wear—the only Comfort left to me.”

Groaned so deeply Seigneur Lez-Breiz That the maiden said,

“You, lord knight, have lost a mother? Your heart, too, has bled?”

“Lost my mother have I truly: Her myself I slew!”

“In the name of heaven, then, sir, Who and what are you?”

“I am Morvan, son of Konan: Lez-Breiz named am I,

Sister mine.” The young girl trembled As one like to die.

Both his arms the brother folded Round his sister dear,

And the maiden fondly kissed him, Shedding many a tear.

“Long, my brother, have we lost thee, Since God let thee go;

He again to me has led thee, Having willed it so.

Blest my brother, blest be he, Who has pity had on me!”

Part III.

I.

With Lez-Breiz be the victory! Lez-Breiz the Breton knight

Goes forth with Lorgnez to engage In single-handed fight.

Heav’n grant that in the combat fierce Victorious he may be,

And send good news to gladden all The folk of Brittany.

Said Lez-Breiz to his young esquire, “Awake, my page; arise:

Furbish my helm, my sword, my shield And lance, in heedful wise.

To crimson them with Frankish blood Forth am I fain to go;

By help of heaven and my two arms, The Franks to leap I’ll show.”

“Oh! bid me also, my good lord, Go with you, I implore.”

“Ah! what would thy poor mother say, Shouldst thou return no more?

If on the ground thy blood should flow, Who then would be her stay?”

“Oh! if you love me, my good lord, You will not say me nay.

“But let me follow in the fight; The Franks I do not fear:

My heart is firm; my steel is sharp And true, my master dear.

And let who list lay blame on me, Where you go, there go I;

And where you fight, there I will fight, Whether I live or die.”

II.

Forth to the combat Lez-Breiz went, With his young page, till he

Came to S. Anne of Armor, when Into the church went he.

“O blesséd lady, sweet S. Anne, In youth to thee I came

To pay my homage, and to crave The shelter of thy name.

“I had not reached my twenty years, Yet twenty fights had seen,

And every one, O lady blest, Won by thine aid had been.

If to my own land yet again It may be granted me

Safe to return, I give this gift, Mother S. Anne, to thee:

“With cord of wax encompassed thrice These very walls shall be;

Thrice round the churchyard and the church, When I my home shall see.

And I will offer thee, S. Anne, A goodly banner fair

Of velvet and white satin wrought, And staff of ivory rare.

“And likewise seven silver bells Shall in the belfry swing,

Which merrily above thy head By night and day shall ring.

And for thy holy-water stoup, Thrice on my knees I’ll go,

Water to fetch from where the stream Doth clearest, purest flow.”

“Go, Lez-Breiz, fearless to the fight, I will be with thee, noble knight.”

III.

Hear ye? ‘Tis Lez-Breiz who arrives: He comes, ye need not doubt,

With goodly number in his rear Of steel-clad warriors stout.

Hold! on a small white ass he rides, Bridled with hempen cord;

And all his suite one little page Who followeth his lord!

And yet he is a mighty man As any that draw sword.

Now, when the squire of Lez-Breiz saw Them onward nearer ride,

He closer pressed and closer to The knight his master’s side.

“See you, my lord? ‘Tis Lorgnez comes, And with him warriors ten,

And ten surround him as he rides, Followed again by ten.

“Round by the chestnut woods they come: Alas, my master dear,

Against such fearful odds to fight Will cost us much, I fear.”

“When once they taste my polished steel, Then thou fell soon shalt see,

Though now they number thirty men, How many left will be.

“Strike against mine thy sword, my page, Then march we forward, and engage.”

IV.

“Ha! Chevalier Lez-Breiz: good-day to thee.”

“Ha! Chevalier Lorgnez: the same from me.”

“Is it alone thou comest to the fight?”

“Nay, sooth, I am not come alone, sir knight: S. Anne herself is with me, lady bright.”

“I from the king come forth to-day: He bids me take thy life away.”

“Thy king I scorn, as I scorn thee, Thy sword, and all thine armed menie: Return ‘mid womankind to be, And wear gilt garments gallantly At Paris; and begone from me!

“Sir Lez-Breiz, say to me, I pray, In what wood saw you first the day? The meanest serf that eats my bread Shall make your helm leap off your head.”

Then Lez-Breiz swift his good sword drew:

“The son shall make full well to rue Him who the father never knew.”

V.

In friendly wise the hermit spake, As at his door he stood—

To the young page of Lez-Breiz spake The hermit of the wood:

“Thou speed’st apace the forest through, Thine armor dashed with blood:

Come to my hermitage, my child, Come in for rest and food;

Come in and wash thy stains away.” Thus spake that hermit good.

“Nay, father, this is not the time For me to eat or rest:

A fountain in all haste I seek At my poor lord’s behest.

So sorely is my master spent With most unequal strife

That well it is from this affray That he escapes with life.

“Lie thirteen knights, Sir Lorgnez first, Beneath him, slain to-day;

And I as many overcame: The rest all ran away.”

VI.

Breton at heart he had not been Who had not laughed to see

The green grass red with Frankish blood, As red as it could be;

While near the slain sate Lord Lez-Breiz, Resting him wearily.

And he had been no Christian, sure Who wept not to behold

The tears from Lez-Breiz’ eyes that fell, And dropped upon the mould,

All in the church of good S. Anne, Where, on his bended knee,

Weeping he thanked the patroness Of his own Brittany.

“Mother S. Anne, all thanks to you, All thanks to you I give:

‘Twas in your might I fought the fight, Still, thanks to you, I live.”

VII.

This combat fierce to keep in mind Is sung this goodly song;

In honor of the brave Lez-Breiz May Bretons sing it long!

Sing it in chorus everywhere, And all men in the gladness share.

Part IV.

THE MOOR OF THE KING.

Said to his lords the Frankish king, The Frankish king one day:

“True homage he will render who For me shall Lez-Breiz slay.

Naught doth he but my warriors kill, And aye, with all his might,

My power withstands, nor ceaseth he Against me still to fight.”

Now, when the king’s Moor heard these words, Before the king spake he:

“True homage have I rendered oft And pledge of loyalty;

But since another pledge you crave And warranty, O sire,

The knight Lez-Breiz shall furnish me With that which you desire.

And if to-morrow I should fail Sir Lez-Breiz’ head to bring,

With pleasure offer I mine own Unto my lord the king.”

Now, scarcely had the morrow dawned, When swift the young squire ran

To find his master. “O my lord!’ (The trembling page began,)

“The giant Moor defiance flings Against my lord to-day.”

“Defiance? be it so: I’ll answer Him as best I may.”

“Ah! my dear lord, then know you not He fights with demon charms?”

“He doth? Then Heaven’s aid be ours, And blessing on our arms.

Haste thee, equip my good black steed, Whilst I my armor don.”

“Pardon, my lord, your charger black You will not fight upon.

“Within the royal stables stand Three steeds, and from the three

One must you choose: pray listen to A secret thing from me.

I learnt it from an ancient clerk, Right holy, sooth, was he,

A man of good and saintly ways, If any such there be.

“Do not thou take the charger white, Nor yet take thou the bay,

But the black steed between them both Take forth and lead away;

For that the king’s own Moor himself Hath tamed with his own hand:

Trust me, and mount it when you go The giant to withstand.

“And when into the royal hall The Moor shall enter, he

Will throw his mantle on the ground: Let yours suspended be:

If under his your garment lay, Doubled his might would be.

When the black giant draws anear, Then fail not with your lance

To make the sign of holy cross, Or ever he advance.

And when he rushes full of rage And fury on my lord,

Receive him on its point, the lance Will break not, trust my word.

By aid of heaven and your two arms, Naught will avail his paynim charms.”

By aid of Heaven and his two arms, The trusty lance brake not

When they against each other rode In fierce encounter hot:

When in the hall they dashed amain To onset, breast to breast,

Steel against steel, as lightning swift, With lances firm in rest.

The Frankish king sat on his throne, ’Mid lords of high degree,

To watch the fight. “Hold firm,” he said, “Black Raven of the Sea!

Courage! hold firm, thou Raven bold, And plume this merle for me.”

Then, as the tempest breaks upon The corsair, so the Moor,

With furious might and giant weight, Down upon Lez-Breiz bore;

His lance in thousand splinters flew, And, with one mighty bound,

Unhorsed by that dread shock, he fell And rolled upon the ground.

And when they found themselves afoot, Then each, with all his might,

Fell on the other furiously In close and deadly fight.

The sword-strokes, falling thick as hail, Rang through the palace halls,

With sounding blows upon the mail That shook the very walls.

At every clashing of their arms A thousand sparks leapt out,

Like red-hot iron from the forge, Beaten by armorer stout.

At last, through one unguarded joint, The Breton’s sword made way

And pierced the giant’s heart. He fell, And bled his life away.

Forthwith, when Morvan Lez-Breiz saw His Moorish foe lie dead,

His foot he placed upon his breast, And straight cut off his head.

He hung it by the grisly beard His saddle-bow unto;

And, for its stains of Moorish blood, His sword away he threw.

Upon his good steed then he sprang, He sprang without delay,

And, followed by his page, went forth Upon his homeward way.

When home, he hung aloft, Upon his gateway high,

The hideous head with grinning teeth In sight of passers-by.

And now the warriors said, Behold! A mighty man indeed

Is Lez-Breiz, stay of Brittany In every time of need.

Whereto Lord Lez-Breiz answered straight: “I twenty fights have seen,

And twenty thousand armèd men By me have vanquished been;

“Yet never was I so beset, So hardly pressed before,

Until this last encounter when I slew the giant Moor.

S. Anne, my dearest mother, thou Dost wonders work for me,

Wherefore, ‘twixt Ind and Léguer, I A church will build to thee.”

Part V.

THE KING.

Behold! Sir Lez-Breiz goes to meet The king himself to-day.

Who brings five thousand horsemen brave To aid him in the fray.

But, hark! before he rideth forth, A peal of thunder dread

Rolls through the echoing skies, and breaks Above Sir Lez-Breiz’ head.

His gentle squire lent anxious heed That omen ill unto:

“In heaven’s name, my lord, I pray

Stay you at home. This opening day Augurs not well for you.”

“What, then, my page? Abide at home? Nay, that can never be.

The order I have given to march, And, therefore, march must we.

And I will march while spark of life Remains alight in me,

Until that king of forest land Beneath my heel I see.”

This hearing, sprang his sister dear Up to his bridle-rein.

“My brother, go not forth, for ne’er Wilt thou return again.

Then wherefore, brother, thus to meet Thy death wouldst thou be gone?

For wert thou slain, I should be left Alone, thy only one.

“The White Horse of the Sea behold I see upon the shore;

A monstrous serpent him around Entwineth more and more.

Behind, his flanks are interlaced By two terrific rings;

Around his body, neck, and legs The hideous monster clings.

“The hapless creature, stifled, scorched, On his hind feet uprears,

Turns back his head, and with his teeth The serpent’s throat he tears.

The monster gaping wide, his tongue— His triple tongue—darts forth,

Fiery and pois’nous, rolls his eyes And hisses, mad with wrath.

“But, ah! his snakelings, venomous brood, To aid him swarm around;

The strife is all unequal: fly While thou art safe and sound.”

“Nay, let the Franks by thousands come; From death I do not flee.”

E’en as he spake, already far, Far from his home was he.

Part VI.

THE HERMIT.

I.

In his cell at midnight sleeping, Lay the hermit of Helléan;

When upon his door three blows fell, With a little pause between.

“Open to me, holy hermit, Open unto me thy door;

Here a place of refuge seeking, Let me lie upon thy floor.

“Icy cold the wind is blowing From the bitter Frankish land;

From the sea it blows, ice-laden: Bid me not without to stand.

“‘Tis the hour when flocks are folded, Cattle herded in the stall:

E’en wild beasts and savage creatures Cease to wander, sheltered all.”

“Who comes thus at midnight, seeking Entrance at my lonely door?”

“One to Brittany, his country, Known full well in dangers sore;

In her day of anguish, Lez-Breiz, Armor’s Help, the name I bore.”

“Nay, my door I will not open; A seditious one are you,

Who against the Lord’s anointed Oft have earned a rebel’s due.”

“I seditious? Heaven is witness None am I of rebel crew.

Whoso dares to call me traitor, He the slander well shall rue.

Cursèd be the Frankish people, Cursed their king, and traitors, too!

“Yes; the Franks are coward traitors! Else the victory were mine.”

“Man, beware! nor friend nor foeman Curse thou: ‘tis no right of thine.

“And the king, the Lord’s anointed, Least of all be curst by thee.”

“Say you so? Nay rather, soothly, Satan’s own anointed he:

Brittany by Heaven’s anointed Devastated ne’er would be.

“But the silver of the demon Goes the ancient Pol to shoe;[157]

Yet unshod is Pol, and ever Silver is he fain to sue.

“Come, then, venerable hermit, Open unto me thy door.

But a stone whereon to rest me, This I ask, and ask no more.”

“Nay, I cannot bid thee enter, Lest the Franks should work me woe.”[158]

“Open! or the door itself I Down upon thy floor will throw.”

Hearing this, the ancient hermit Sprang from off his lowly bed,

Lit in haste a torch of resin, And forthwith to open sped.

Opens, but recoils with horror, Back recoils with horror dread:

Lez-Breiz’ spectre slowly enters, Bearing in both hands his head.

Of his eyes the hollow sockets Gleam with fierce and fiery light,

Wildly rolling; pale, the hermit Trembles at the fearful sight.

“Silence! then, old Christian, fear not, Since ‘tis highest Heaven’s decree

That the Franks should take my head off For a time: so let it be.

“Me have they decapitated. But to thee, behold, ‘tis given

Forthwith to recapitate me: Wilt thou do the will of Heaven?”

“If, in sooth, high Heaven permits me To recapitate my lord,

With good will I do so, proving By my very deed my word;

For right well have you defended Bretons by your knightly sword.

“Thus I place upon your shoulders Once again your severed head:

Be, my son, recapitated, In the Name all spirits dread.”

By the power of holy water Freely sprinkled him upon,

Back to very manhood changing Lez-Breiz stood—the spectre gone.

When the spectre thus had vanished, Changed to veritable man:

“With me now you must hard penance Do,” the hermit sage began.

“You a leaden cloak fast soldered Round your neck must henceforth wear,

Wear for seven years, and daily Other penance must you bear.

“Daily, at the hour of noontide, Fasting, you must wend your way.

Up to yonder mountain summit: There a little stream doth play.

From that little mountain streamlet, Water you must bear away.”

“Holy hermit, only say What your will, and I obey.”

When the seven years were ended, Bared his heels were to the bone,

Where the leaden cloak had worn them; Long and grey his hair had grown.

Grey his beard flowed o’er his girdle; Any who his form had seen

Had a hoary oak-tree thought him, Which for sev’n years dead had been.

None who Lez-Breiz met had known him, Altered thus in face and mien.

One there was alone who knew him Through the wood a lady bright,

Through the greenwood swiftly passing, Clad in garb of purest white,

Stayed her steps and wept, beholding Lez-Breiz in so piteous plight.

“Is it thou, my dear son Lez-Breiz? Lez-Breiz, is it thou indeed?

Come, my child, that I may free thee From thy burden sore, with speed.

“Let me with my golden scissors Sever this thy heavy chain.

I thy mother, Anue of Armor, Come to end thy lengthened pain.”

II.

A month and seven years had flown, When Lez-Breiz’ faithful squire

Throughout the land his master sought, With love that cannot tire.

And as he rode by Helléan’s wood, He to himself did sigh:

“Though I have slain his murderer, yet My dear lord lost have I.”

Then to him from the forest came A wild and plaintive neigh,

Whereat his horse, with answering cry,

Snuffing the wind, his head thrown high, Sped, with a bound, away.

Away they sped the greenwood through, Until they reached the spot

Where the black steed of Lez-Breiz stood, But them he heeded not.

The charger stood the fountain by, He neither drank nor fed;

But with his hoofs he tore the ground, With sad and downcast head;

Then raised it, neighing dismally, He wept, so some men said.

“Tell me, O venerable sire, Who to the fountain come,

Who is it that beneath this mound Sleeps in his narrow home?”

“Lez-Breiz it is who lies at rest, Here in this lonely spot.

Famed will he be through Brittany Till Brittany is not.

He with a shout shall wake one early day,[159] And chase the hated Frankish hosts away.”

Of the two warriors mentioned in the poem, the first is unknown except under the opprobrious epithet of “Lorgnez,” or “the leper.” The “Moor of the King” appears to have been one of those whom Louis took captive, after having conquered the city of Barcelona, and retained in his service. With regard to the avenging of his master’s death by the esquire, tradition relates that, at the moment when a Frankish warrior named Cosl struck off the Breton’s head, the esquire of Morvan pierced his back with a mortal wound. According to Ermold Nigel, a Frankish monk who accompanied the army of Louis, the head of Morvan was carried to the monk Witchar, who, when he had washed away the blood and combed the hair, recognized the features to be those of Lez-Breiz. He also relates that the body was carried away by the Franks, and that Louis le Débonnaire thought proper himself to arrange the ceremonies for its sepulture, doubtless with the intent to guard his tomb from the rebellious piety of the Bretons. The popular belief declared, as it has done with regard to other heroes, and in other lands, that from his unknown grave he should one day awake, and restore to his country the independence of which his death had deprived her. Seven years after the death of Morvan and the consequent subjugation of Brittany, Guiomarc’h, another viscount of Leon, of the race of Lez-Breiz, in 818 again roused his country to arms, and, after a vigorous struggle, succeeded in throwing off the foreign domination so hateful to his countrymen.

Nomenöe, one of the most astute as well as determined of the Breton kings, after deceiving Charles le Chauve for some time by a feigned submission, suddenly threw off the mask, drove the Franks beyond the Oust and Vilaine, seized the cities of Nantes and Rennes—which have ever since formed a part of Brittany—and delivered his countrymen from the tribute which they had been compelled to pay to the French king. M. Augustin Thierry considers the following description of the event which occasioned the deliverance of Brittany to be “a poem of remarkable beauty, full of allusions to manners of a remote epoch, ... and a vividly symbolical picture of the prolonged inaction and the sudden awakening of the patriot prince when he judged the right moment to have come.”

The fierce exultation of the poet when the head of the Intendant is swept off to complete the lacking weight, recalls the words of Lez-Breiz not many years before: “Can I but see this Frankish king, he shall have what he asks. I will pay tribute with my sword!”

“Si fortuna daret possim quo cernere regem, Proque tributali hæc ferrea dona dedissem.”[160]

THE TRIBUTE OF NOMENÖE.

(Drouk-kinnig Neumenoiou), A.D. 841.

Cut is the gold-herb.[161] Lo, the misty rain Forthwith in steam-like clouds drives o’er the plain.

Argad! To war!

I.

Spake the great chief: “From the heights of the mountains of Arez, Mildew and mist for the space of three weeks have passed o’er us, Mildew and mist from the land that lies over the mountains:

“Still from the land of the Franks, more and more, thickly driving, So that in no wise my eyes can behold him returning, Karo, my son, for whose coming from thence I am watching.”

“Tell me, good merchant, who travellest all the land over, Hast thou no tidings to tell me of him, my son Karo?” “May be so, Father of Arez, but where and what does he?”

“He, wise of head, strong of heart, with the chariots departed, Drawn by three horses abreast, into Rennes with the tribute, Bearing among them the toll in full weight of the Bretons.”

“Chief, if your son bore the tribute, in vain you expect him: Each hundred pounds’ weight of silver was found to be lacking, Lacking by three when they weighed it: whereon the Intendant

“Cried out, ‘O vassal, thy head shall make up the scant measure!’ Straight, with his sword swept his head off, and then, by the long hair Taking it up, he has thrown it down into the balance.”

Hearing these tidings, the aged chief fell, nigh to swooning, Heavily fell on the rock, with his long white hair hiding, Hiding his face, groaning, “Karo, my son! my son Karo!”

II.

The aged chief is journeying with all his kith and kin, Till he to Nomenöe’s castle strong the way doth win.

“Say, porter at the castle gate, your lord, is he at home?”

“Or be it so, or be it not, to him may no harm come!”

E’en as he spake, his lord came riding through the portal strong, Returning from the chase, his fierce hounds scouring swift along; His bow he carried in his hand, and o’er his shoulder slung A wild boar of the forest, huge, all dead and bleeding, hung.

“Good-day to you, brave mountaineers, and father, first to thee. What tidings bring you, or what is it you would ask of me?”

“We come to learn if Justice lives—if God in heaven there be: We come to learn if still there is a chief in Brittany.”

“Sure, I believe that God in heaven ever dwells on high; And, so far as I can be, chief of Brittany am I.”

“Who will be, can; and he who can will drive the Franks away, Will chase the Franks, defend the land, vengeance on vengeance pay.

“My son and me he will avenge: the living and the dead: Karo, my child, from whom the Franks have stricken off his head. The excommunicated Franks, who pity know nor truth, Have slain him in the early flower and beauty of his youth.

“His head, so fair with golden hair, they threw to make the weight, They threw it in the balance, and have left me desolate.” Then thick and fast the tears fell from the father’s aged eyes, And glittered down his long and silvery beard in piteous wise; They sparkled like the morning dew upon the aspen white, When earliest sunbeams wake them into gems of quiv’ring light.

When Nomenöe that beheld, a fearful oath he swore:

“By this boar’s head, and by the dart wherewith I pierced the boar, I swear my country to avenge ere many hours be o’er: Nor will I wash away the blood from thee, my crimsoned hand, Till I have washed the bleeding wounds of thee, my injured land.”

III.

The thing which Nomenöe did no chief hath done before: With sacks to fill with pebble-stones he went down to the shore: Pebbles and flints for tribute to the bald-head Frankish king: No chief but only Nomenöe e’er hath done this thing.

He shod his horse with silver shoes, turned backwards every one, And he himself to pay the tribute forth to Rennes is gone, Prince that he is: no chief but he did ever this before, And never chief will do the like again for evermore.

“Ho, warden! open wide your gates! wide open let them be, That I may enter into Rennes as it beseemeth me. Hither come I, Lord Nomenöe, bringing store of gold: My chariots all are filled therewith as full as they can hold.”

“Descend, O chief! my lord, descend, and enter in, I pray; Enter the castle, and command your chariots here to stay, And in the hands of your esquires your white steed leave below, While you ascend to supper; but you first would wash, I trow: Hark! even now to horn the water[162] do the cornets blow.”

“All in good time, my lord, I wash: be first the tribute weighed.” The first sack brought they, well tied up, the weight in full it made. The second sack was eke the same, and then the third they threw Into the scales. Oh! oh! there lacks the weight that here is due!

When the Intendant that beheld, quick stretched he forth his hands All eagerly upon the sack, to loose the knotted bands.

“Hold! Sir Intendant, I will cut the fastening with my sword.” And swift it from the scabbard leapt ere he had said the word.

Upon the crouching Frank it fell, it fell with might and main, Clean from his shoulders swept his head, and cut the balance chain. Then rolled the head the scales into, and weighed the balance down.

“Stop the assassin—stop!” they cried all wildly through the town.

He flies! he flies! The torches bring; haste! follow him with speed!

“Ha! bring your links to light my way—the night is dark indeed. The night is dark, the road is ice: ‘twill spoil your gilded shoes Of leather blue so fair bedecked, and ye your toil shall lose; For ne’er again your scales of gold shall you, for evermore, Use to weigh flints from Brittany and pebbles from her shore.”