Volume 20 — Roger The Rich.33
Reading edition
Roger The Rich.33
A Ballad.
Dedicated, Without Permission, To Victor Emanuel.
God prospereth King Stephen!
His sway is o'er the land.
The Empress Maud hath bowed her head;
Her knights are slain, her armies fled,
Herself beneath his hand!
God prospereth King Stephen!
The land is all his own.
From north to south, from east to west,
The whole wide kingdom is at rest—
Firm sits he on his throne.
God prospereth King Stephen!
Yet he hath cast his eye
On the rich lands of Sherbourn, spread
O'er many a hill and kie-cropt mead,
And many a bosky lea.
King Stephen sware a grimly oath—
God wis he kept it true:
“Since Roger Niger (bishop then)
Hath led against us armèd men,
Roger shall dearly rue!”
[pg 136]
Roger hath lands and riches too,
Marks forty thousand told;
And well I wot the monarch's vow
Hath less to do with justice now
Than with the bishop's gold.
Roger hath to Devizes ta'en
His wealth with all his speed;
Stout men-at-arms, and billmen true,
And bowmen armed with sturdy yew,
Attend him in his need.
Now he hath stored his fortelace well
With beeves and sheep and grain.
He standeth on his topmost tower;
And sayeth in the pride of power,
The king shall knock in vain!
What, O my knights! the monarch cries,
Shall he thus brave our wrath?
Shake forth our banner to the blast,
And gather round us, liegemen fast;
We'll sweep him from our path!
The king, with mighty following,
Hath sat before the tower;
But massy walls and valiant hearts
Have nobly played their several parts—
The bishop mocks his power!
And loudly sware King Stephen then
A fearful oath to hear:
“Build me a gallows-tree before
The haughty prelate's guarded door;
This yet shall cost him dear.”
Now they have built the gallows-tree,
And raised it in the air—
Its height is forty feet and three,
A laidly thing it is to see—
And led his nephew there.
Roger the bishop stands and sees
Young Roger led to die—
The nephew he had reared with care,
His only sister's son and heir:
A tear steals from his eye.
Now he hath turned him to his knights;
His words are sad and low:
“God wot I am an old man now;
He layeth sorrow on my brow,
He willeth I should go.
My nephew hath his course to run,
And mine is near its close.
I straight will render up my lands,
My gold shall pass from out mine hands—
I'll yield me to my foe!
[pg 137]
But as God lives he prospereth not
King Stephen's arms again;
His latest triumph he hath won.
Henceforth his is a setting sun;
His efforts shall be vain!
God prospereth not King Stephen now—
The Empress Maud hath fled;
Fitz-Empress Henry snatcheth now
The golden circlet from the brow,
The glory from his head.
God prospereth not King Stephen's arms—
Anjou is in the field,
And Winchester and Gloucester band
To wrest the sceptre from his hand,
And vanquished he must yield.
God prospereth not King Stephen's cause—
Henry is named his heir;
Still may he sit upon the throne
Weakness forbids him call his own,
In sorrow and despair.
God prospereth not his family—
Eustace, his only son,
Pines from that moment, droops his head,
And, withering like a flower, is dead,
And his last prop is gone.
God prospereth not King Stephen's health—
His heart is stricken sore;
Sleep shunneth now his eyes by night;
His days are stricken with a blight;
He smileth now no more.
And still 'tis said God prospereth not
The holder of those lands,
And Sarum's heirs ne'er live to claim
The heritage of land and name—
It slippeth from their hands;
For one, 'tis said, hath fallen by chance;
Another falls in strife;
A father's hand unwitting smote
Another scion through the throat;
Law claims another's life.
God prospereth not that family—
Two hundred years have sped,
And still the bishop's curse clings fast,
As fell and fatal to the last
As when those words were said.
Then the Third Edward rendered back
Unto the church its own,
And the broad lands to Robert gave
(Thou'lt see it figured on his grave);
And now the curse is gone!
[pg 138]