Some time he sat, the scroll upon his knees,
His beard and hands wet with the dew of these;
Then said he to the lords that wondered round,
"How say ye, sirs, these came of goodly ground,
What if we lodge next year upon such soil ?"

All winter they made ready with much toil,
And heard these men that stayed within their doors
Concerning Latin land make great discourse-
About great Rome, ruined in many a space,
But yet with half her palaces in place,
And of the church built up of temple stones
Upon the burying place of Peter's bones;
And of a window wide, which therein was,
Set with Christ's picture painted on thin glass,
And Paul and Peter kneeling at his feet,
And written under words of Scripture sweet.
The King called to a priest, and said, "God wot,
We here make humble prayers in wooden cot;
Think ye this coloured chapel a fair house
Towards which before you all I make these vows,
That twelve gold images shall shortly stand
Of Christ's great saints on right and on left hand,
So let your prayers go all for such an hour."
But this he said in lust of spoil and power;
For evil men look somewhile for a glance
From God, and are fain of his countenance;
These be his pious servants in their needs,

Go He but with them through their days and deeds!
And so this king with great gifts would engage
An ally for his spring-time pilgrimage.
But God, whose fingers winnow wheat from chaff,
Took note of this, and by Himself did laugh,
And said: I will be with him to his death;
As ships that are blown on by the wind's breath
Through all their voyage, and broken
at last,
up,
At harbour-mouth he shall be overcast.'

Leaving no one at home nor any goods,
They passed into the mountain solitudes,
And it fell out that in the Easter week
They entered on the soil which they did seek,
And slowly overflowed the pleasant plains
A multitude of men and many wains;
They found a silence over all the land,
Therein was no man seen with lance in hand;
The villages were all burnt black with flame,
Tame things were as the wild, and wild as tame;
The vines unpruned, the meadow-grass unmown,
And corn self-sown among the stubble grown.
Pevia people dared to keep their gate,

For which they were nigh slain with heavy fate,
When, yielding after three years' siege, the King
Was wroth with them, and swore a bitter thing,
Saying "What do these stubborn loons to hold
Their town, which hath small silver and less gold?
In all this land there is full little gain,
That Lombard men to get it must be slain."
But after, on the stone way as he rode,
His great horse fell down, being iron shod,

And moved not, though they beat him where he laid
With lance-butts. Then were his knights all afraid,
Saying "Lord King, it is a sign he loth
Not of it; but put off thy cruel oath,
For these be Christian folk who dwell herein,
Whose hair may not be hurt without sore sin;"
And so the King did not as he had sworn,
In little space they all were overborne,
And there was in the land no need of arms,
But orchards pruned and tillage of rich farms.

Right glad were they of this fair Church of Rome
When the King's vow into their ears did come,
And spake between their times of services
With pleasant thoughts of these twelve images,
And hewed about the chancel wall a place
Where they might stand before the people's face;
But when the land had peace, and seasons went,
And these came not, to know the King's intent
They sent a holy man, who came to him
And said: "Lord King, has thy great vow grown dim
Through these few days? or has thy heart grown cold
Concerning the twelve saints, well graved in gold,
To be for Peter's church thy precious dole,
And whiten the red sin from out thy soul."
Then laughed this lord-"Thou doest well to prate
Of golden gifts an hundred pounds in weight,
When in this land one scarce shall gather up
Enough to fashion out a drinking cup.

Did I not quit me of that other vow
For love of you, therefore absolve ye now
This one for sake of me." This sin the King
Did, deeming it a pleasurable thing
To keep his treasure by his ready wit
For his house and the ornament of it.

Lord ALBOIN had to wife one ROSAMOND,
A small lithe woman of the land beyond.
The white snow walls, the spoil of wars long since,
Which blotted out the Gepida; their prince,
Her sire, when he had slain, he took his skull
For a deep bowl, which, when he waxed dull
Of mood, and heavy half-way in his drink,
He filled with cold wine to the bony brink,
And the draught straightway stirred his blood right-
well,

Loosening his lips with tales they loved to tell,
Legends of all the fields and the wild times
Of youth, and cruel glories that were crimes.

This Gepid princess was of beauty rare
And cloaked her shoulders in her yellow hair,
With a faint moving colour in her flesh,
And a most delicately woven mesh

Of veins seen through it, like blue threads of sky
Dividing beds of cloud dipped in soft dye,
In all her fairness was no stain or fleck;

The beads of blood in her smooth arm and neck
Were not more difficult to hold, than each
Subtle beauty of her slipping through my speech.
A mouth most mutable of little lips,

Eyes like blue water wherein sunlight dips,
Whose moteless beam, all beauteous though it shone,
Seemed something hard, and glittered like a stone.
She had great store of silken robes to fold
On her, and sandals small with clasps of gold,
And twisted brooches of the cunning smith,
And rings to mail her wrists and fingers with,
And chambers lightened from the west and south,
And dainty meats and morsels for her mouth.
She walked with gracious growth about her knees
Of fruited luxury and flowery ease,
Like a child pressing through the deep warm way
Of meadow grass, and plucking the seed spray
And blossom blades and spear stems for its toys;
She gathered these in sheafs of summer joys.
Her palace-garden was filled full of flowers;
Therein were thickets hollowed out in bowers,
Where she would sit when birds were not astir
At noon, listening unto some lute player,
Or monkish man that lightened weary ways
With old songs and strange tales of Roman days.

She loved her lord, he was so great in fight
And fair in face, she loved him in Hate's spite;
She hated him, because of her sire slain,
With hate edged with a little bosom pain
Of love, but most because of the white cup
Set down at his right-hand when he did sup;
She had nigh stabbed him often in his sleep,
But looking on him lying, could not keep

Her looks from beauty breaking through the dawn,
Her eyes from his full eyelids overdrawn.
She heard him often at his festivals,

When full of wine his words came through the walls,
Call to his knights, with biting jest and jibe,
And tell again the story of her tribe,
And fill the cup and tell the tale of it,
How the smith was nigh driven from his wit,
When the King sent a head with flesh and hair,
Requiring it again a vessel fair.

Then she would lie all night-time motionless,
And in the morning bid her maidens dress
Her, and sit all day shuddering in the sun,
And dreaming how her vengeance might be done.
But in the evening came, so straight and tall,
His face and fearless heart beyond them all
Her lord, with laughter at some little wound-
Some hurt chanced in the hunt, that bled unbound,
Of which till now he had been unaware,
And lifting up the skeins of her silk hair
Would swear "By Peter and great Paul I hold
My lady's locks as heavy as thread gold,
Even as their depth with such a light is lit,
Here are some little links to weigh with it,"
Hanging a twisted chain about her neck,
Or other ornament wherewith to deck
Her shining shape, so exquisitely sheathed
In armour of all beauty; then she breathed
A long, low breath, and took between her hands
His curling hair, and from the height it stands
Draws down his head, even till it lies upon
Her breast, heart-beaten, his own favourite one.

Her heart was built into two perfect cells:
In one a day of softness streams, and dwells;
Windowed to the white light and warmth of suns,
The sweetness of whose season overruns
The senses, in its doorways, deep with flowers,
Was shed the summer-light of happy hours
Within its porches, perfect with the rays
And flowing foliage of delightful days;
Pleasure oft netted her beneath its charm,
And shook the sweet spear in its lifted arm.
The other was a cavern all unlit,

A cold stream flowed along the length of it;
Her spirit there, sitting beside the brink,
And laving frozen feet, would plot and think;
Working in stony sorrows, hafted with
Deep hate, her thoughts became a dagger-smith,
A leopardess full soft of foot and throat,
With tooth and talon hidden in her coat,
She was, that in the sunlight loves to bask
And to be smoothly stroked; a lovely mask
Of gentleness her fierceness did enwrap,
Of softly-licking mouth, which yet would snap
Upon the hand which it caressed, if drawn
Too soon or rudely from its fearful fawn.

King ALBOIN feasted in the Easter time,
As was his custom, listening to the rhyme
That one had written of the deeds bygone
Done in that season; and he turned to one

At meat and drink is more a pleasant thing." Ay," quoth the king, "it is a chilly theme, Ill suited to be jesting on, I deem;

Fill me the cup, it is a merry head,

Full of blithe thought and shrewd sayings unsaid;
He that hath wine in mouth hath a wise word
Spoken to himself and by none other heard."
This HELMICHIS sat at the King's right hand;
There was no greater knight in all the land;
He was the shield-bearer; a stern sad man;
Worn with much war, already his beard ran
Down grey by black, silent and ill at ease
Save when he held his horse between his knees,
One who loved not to keep at home and house,
But came unto these feastings with bent brows.
Of late he was not pleased to see his lord
Leave in its sheath too long an idle sword
He held a woman as of little worth,
And sparingly inclioed to love or mirth.
He turned half, and spake him with a sucer,
"This is sore matter for your lady's ear,
Lord King; thereof she surely hath offence."
For he saw her among her bower maidens,
Where they sat at a little balcony,
Wax white a space and withdraw suddenly,
Then the King drank, and roared with face red,
I tell you, Sir HELMICHIS, by God's head,
From this same cup of CUNIMUND the Queen
Shall pledge me here, whereby there shall be scen
What is the love of me that she has sworn,
That will not shrink to hold all else to scorn.'
For wine had made him mad. Then in the hall
There was a sudden stay of noise: they all
Deemed it a heavy thing that he should make
The Queen, in lieu of cup, in her hands take
Her father's head, as it were glass or stone,
And put her lips against the bleachen bone;
So they sat whispering and wondering.
A page, that waited on his plate, to bring
The lady ROSAMOND he quickly sent;
And she hath come, with little feet that went
Falteringly: "Let my lord"-thus did she speak-
"Do no hard thing with me, who am but weak:
Let my lord think I am but weak and small,
And put me not to shame before them all."
Then the King drew her near him with a kiss,
Saying: For love's sake, sweet, pledge me in this!"
And held the bowl by force against her face
Till she had drunk of it. There in his place
He stayed till morn, keeping glad carnival
Even till the sun was striped upon the wall,
And wist no more of this that he had done,
Nor that his death drew near.

This is but menial work for his great knights
To sit, still laughing at such sorry slights.
It is maids' work for his princes to sit
All day with loyal laugh at his fool's wit.
He wallows in his wine, while near and far
In vain there wait him many works of war.
Sir HELMICHIS, here is a door which hath
Through it a short and softly level path---

A door which ye may pass through with bare head, And in short while come crowned!" When she had said,

She pulled a panel sliding in the wood,

And showed him a bed-chamber, and there stood
A bed, and upon it the King was lain
In a deep sleep. He pushed it shut again,
And answered her with fair words of his faith,
And how he could not suffer his lord's scaith,
Yet saying that it was in sooth foul stain
Upon her honour, and no royal reign

To sit and drink from set to rise of sun

Nay, start not forth! a little blood were sweet
That one should spoil a king of his choice meat.
Piteous it is that a great knight be hung

For sweet love's sake, which through his strength hath stung;

There is a choice between the twain of you,
And hours of time to make it are but few;
If ye be worthy soon it shall be shown
Of a queen's bosom, or of a king's throne.
There is a two-fold kingdom in your sword-
Of love and Lombard men shall ye be lord.
It is an easy deed: shrink not from it:
Are ye so drawn to gallows-tree and pit?
Fear not, men weary would be one and all
Rid of this sluggard king who sits in hall.
It is your death or his: methinks the choice
May be well chosen without pleading voice."
PEREDEO let first one swift thought pass
To leave this woman slain upon the grass,
But soon came back to pride and hardihood,

It were best Lombard men had other king.

So he departed, and did not the thing

Which the Queen would, but in his heart and head
The green and growing thought of it was bred.
Then she went out, and sat some whiles alone
Within an arbour, interlaced and grown
Of branches twisted to a summer-house.
Upon the sides thereof were many boughs,
And spring was tender in them. Many a nest,
A bird with speckled eggs against her breast,
And buds there were, with but one little place
Among the leaves left clear for the sun's rays,
That waited meekly bent upon their stem,
For the short space when he would visit them.
Yet the sweet season throbbed not in her veins,
But shooting frosts, and fires of many pains;
Colour of leaf and the new learning note
Of birds she heeded not, but in her throat
There was a dusty ache; her face was pressed
Upon her hands, and her eyes dark; each breast
Shut fast upon the other, and, close barred
To things without, her heart beat slow and hard,
Labouring like a slave chained to the oar
Of life, who knows no hope of any shore.

There was a lord at court, PEREDEO,
Who lived a sumptuous life and loved much show,
Valiant and fond of power, yet caring best
In raiment rich to keep him decked and dressed;
Light of his word and false at his own need,
Who could laugh through deep hate; fertile of deed
Against his enemies, and much beloved

Of women was he, though he had much proved
Their love, and as it fell out about then
He was enamoured of a bower-maiden,
One near the Queen (who of this had aware)
Resembling her, and like her in her hair,

And moulded in her shape, and middle-height,
Who kept a tender tryst with him by night.
Now this Queen, given over to her rage,
Did a thing difficult to put on page;
She met this Lord PEREDEO at eve,

And with shut mouth and soft kiss did deceive
Him in grown garden ways all deep and dark,
Till, holding him to her, she whispered: "Hark,
Fair lord, deem ye your life a certain thing,
Taking in arms the wife of a great king?
Short space there be before ye shall be slain,
I wot with death it is your limbs have lain :

That ALBOIN should be slain in some quick way,
And spake with her of fitting mode and day.
So was his death decided by these two;
And now the carlier stars were twinkling through
The thatch of leaves, but of their lights few found
A perfect path, or ever touched the ground,
But strewed all night their beams in pleasant places,
And nestled half-way down the orchard mazes.

That night HELMICHIS sleepless was in bed-
A thought unwonted busy in his head,
Whispering how sweet it was when the Queen's eyes
Had turned and dwelt upon him in strange wise;
"Tis a hard truth, but so it was, at last
His churlishness was taken at a cast;
This queen-woman, so fair, and small, and lithe,
Had bound his spirit with the strong wet withe
Of a great love, and he rose up at morn
With his faith from him like a garment torn,
And going to the palace spoke with her
In a small chamber, about noon-time: "Sir,
It would have been more well if yesterday
Your mood had said what now it deigns to say:
The thing we spoke of shortly shall be done,
More prompt to succour me there was found one."

He trembled there at her harsh word: she saw
He loved her well, and that she was his law,
And said within her, "This PEREDEO
Will thrust me from him when he may do so,
Hath he the power." Then, where HELMICHIS stood,
She softly looked, with colour of much blood;
So that he came nigh her, and with rude speech,
Told of his love: with gladness each by each
She heard the words, and let him take her close,
And kiss her where her breathing river flows,
Saying unto him: "It is well, my sweet,
Another smooth the pathway for our feet,
For Lombard men will scarce endure the reign
Of him by whom King ALBOIN be slain."

Sun-heat and wine being heavy in his head
King ALBOIN then was laid upon his bed,
And, nerveless and half-naked, through the noon
He slept, lulled by an inarticulate tune,
Sung softly by the Queen, who there did bring,
As was her wont, her frame of silk-working;
At the bed's head his sheathed sword was lain,
She quickly took a many-threaded skein,

And, without pause or break in her low lilt,
She twisted it from scabbard unto hilt,
And stealing forth, whispered PEREDEO,
Who waited on a stair that led below,

So that none came that way; but the doomed King,
Woke up and turned, soon as she ceased to sing,
And seeing there the sword with the red thread
About the handle, a half-dream was fed

By it, wherein he wondered how a mark

Of blood was there, though all the blade was dark
With stain of slaughter, none came ever nigh
Or wet his hand; but this, so bright, so high,
So close his grasp, Oh! must be from his heart,
It is his own, and wakes him with a start,
To start again, seeing PEREDEO,

With cheeks all pale and shining sword held low,
Come towards him quickly, while stood still beyond,
With tigerish eyes fixed on him, ROSAMOND.
An instant's look told him too much-told all;
He leapt, and snatched his weapon from the wall;
Maddened to find that it betrayed him too,
He dashed it down, and seized a stool, which flew
From his strong hand, and but a hairs'-breadth more
The traitor's brains had spattered wall and floor;
But it passed by, and with one horrid thrust
Those lion-limbs sank shaking to the dust.

ALBOIN is dead-may Mary him befriend!
Christ cleanse him clean! his was a baleful end;
In him the Gospel text was preached plain
"Who slays with sword by sword himself is slain,"
Cruel in youth, and scoffing in full age,
God was provoked war with him to wage.
He slew a king, and cast away his bones,
To lie upon the earth like any stones,
Taking his head to be a banquet-bowl,
Lest God should gather them unto their soul.
From a great vow, being paid price and worth

In full, the fairest kingdom of all the earth,
He went back, deeming it a pleasant thing

The exarch was one by name LONGINUS,

Who was well pleased his power should shelter thus
One fair and famed, and Queen to King ALBOIN,
With treasure of much gold and silver coin;
But loved not well the knights, least HELMICHIS,
Who stood between him and the joy of this;
So spake he to the woman, saying: "Queen,
To be the love of traitors is but mean;

I am a prince none shall put from his place
More worthy of thy dower of wealth and face."
This ROSAMOND being given up to sin
Rendered to him the thing which he would win,
HELMICHIS' murder was agreed betwixt
The two, and with his drink a poison mixed,
Which she brought to him coming from his bath:
"Shall not my lord assuage the thirst he hath ?"
So said she, and he took in hands the cup,
And quaffed it slowly; but not yet drunk up
He felt the cold and creeping chill in him,
And looking on her with eye growing dim
Saw in her pale fierce face the deed confessed;
Holding a dagger-point against her breast,
Between the isles whereon he loved to lie,
He made her drink the deadly remnant dry,
And both of them fell dead upon the floor.

Then wrote this exarch to the Emperor,
Telling him of these things with much deceit,
And sending PEREDEO to his feet.
And this great lord, to make a merry mime,
Fought in the circus at some feasting time,
And slew two lions for the multitude,
Who marvelled that a man should be so thewed.
TIBERIUS Vexed to see his lions dead
Like any sheep worried by wolves, and said:
"Is he so strong of hands? Methinks 'twere fit
To blunt this edge-sword ere we play with it."
So he bade put his eyes out, ere they brought
Him to do homage; but PEREDEO Sought

Yet for all this our Father him forgave;

They sang some services his soul to save,

At Peter's Church, and kept the yearly date With mourning mass and music consecrate.

In Lombard kingdom there is turbulence,
Nobles and men of note are all fled thence,
And common people know not which lord is,
Proud PEREDEO or haughty HELMICHIS.
These with Queen ROSAMOND keep, each of each
Distrustful. With fair words and double speech
She coaxes peace between them, till she band
Round her the Gepida within the land;
These gather to their Queen; but the dismayed,
Ere they fled far, marvelled they were afraid,
And hearing these two lords with ROSAMOND
Plotted alone, they entered in a bond
To battle without fear or faction, till
They were subdued or slain, when by the will
Of all they would make choice of a new lord
To rule the land, in quietude restored.
So were these three full soon discomfited,
And, gathering up the treasure, swiftly fled
Ravenna-wards, roving all night and day
Until they reached it by the river way.

Short writing shall suffice their tale to tell,
For all their haste drawing nigh death and hell.

That were great chamberlains, led him towards
The throne; swiftly ere any was aware

He stabbed them both, so all fell on him there
And slew him in the palace; for his eyes
Like Samson had he of men's lives good price.

And Paul the Deacon told the tale I tell,
Quietly writing in his convent cell
At Monte Cassius, and his book says
The requiem of Rome, and blood-red rays
Pour down his pages a last lurid light
On times fast closing into lampless night.
Great Rome is gone, and years are whirled like leaves
Into waste places, and a colour cleaves

To each one as it falls, and most fall dead;
With famine brown, blood-wet with wars, and red

Or ashen-grey with pestilence; from treen
Of time how few are shed that keep their green!
Look on the latest-blown, where yet it lies,
Stained o'er and shrivelled with all deathful dyes;
But it is gone; let us have better hope
That buds unfolded may more fairly ope.
Gracious is God, who in his hollow hand
Fosters thus far our own well-faring land,
By His good grace may never more become
For us such scribe as PAULUS unto Rome.

New Zealand.