________________________________________________
_
THURSTON, RALPH, EUSTACE, and other followers of HUGO,
seated at a long table. HAROLD seated apart.
Thurston.
Who is that stranger, dark and tall,
On the wooden settle next to the wall--
Mountebank, pilgrim, or wandering bard?
Eustace.
To define his calling is somewhat hard;
Lady Thora has taken him by the hand
Because he has come from the Holy Land.
Pilgrims and palmers are all the rage
With her, since she shared in that pilgrimage
With Hugo. The stranger came yesterday,
And would have gone on, but she bade him stay.
Besides, he sings in the Danish tongue
The songs she has heard in her childhood sung.
That's all I know of him, good or bad;
In my own opinion he's somewhat mad.
You must raise your voice if you speak with him,
And he answers as though his senses were dim.
Thurston
(to Harold):
Good-morrow, sir stranger.
Harold.
Good-morrow, friend.
Thurston.
Where do you come from? and whither wend?
Harold.
I have travelled of late with the setting sun
At my back; and as soon as my task is done
I purpose to turn my face to the north--
Yet we know not what a day may bring forth.
Thurston.
Indeed we don't.
(To Eustace, aside):
Nay, I know him now
By that ugly scar that crosses his brow;
And the less we say to him the better.
Your judgment is right to the very letter--
The man is mad.
Eustace.
But harmless, I think;
He eats but little, eschews strong drink,
And only speaks when spoken to first.
Thurston.
Harmless or not, he was once the worst
And bitterest foe Lord Hugo had;
And yet his story is somewhat sad.
Eustace.
May I hear it?
Thurston.
Nay, I never reveal
What concerns me not. Our lord may conceal
Or divulge at pleasure his own affairs,--
Not even his comrade Eric shares
His secrets; though Eric thinks him wise,
Which is more than I do, for I despise
That foolish science he learnt in Rome.
He dreams and mopes when he sits at home,
And now he's not much better abroad;
'Tis hard to follow so tame a lord.
'Twixt us two, he won't be worth a rush
If he will persist in his studies----
Eustace.
Hush!
Ralph has persuaded our guest to sing.
Thurston.
I have known the day when his voice would ring
Till the rafters echoed.
Eustace.
'Tis pleasant still,
Though far too feeble this hall to fill.
Harold
(sings):
On the current, where the wide
Windings of the river
Eddy to the North Sea tide,
Shall I in my shallop glide,
As I have done at her side?
Never! never! never!
In the forest, where the firs,
Pines, and larches quiver
To the northern breeze that stirs,
Shall my lips be press'd to hers,
As they were in by-gone years?
Never! never! never!
In the battle on the plain,
Where the lance-shafts shiver,
And the sword-strokes fall like rain,
Shall I bear her scarf again
As I have done--not in vain?
Never! never! never!
In a fairer, brighter land,
Where the saints rest ever,
Shall I once more see her stand,
White, amidst a white-robed band,
Harp and palm-branch in her hand?
Never! never! never! _
Read next: Scene 6. The Same
Read previous: Scene 4. The Castle in Normandy
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