---

Adam Lindsay Gordon - Ashtaroth: A Dramatic Lyric
Work rating: Medium

1 2 3 4 
Ursula: 
Bad enough thou art, Sir Norman, 
 Yet thou wilt not do 
This thing. Shame! — on men make war, man, 
 Not on women few. 

Eric: 
Heed her not — her life she barters, 
 Of her free accord, 
For her faith; and, doubtless, martyrs 
 Have their own reward. 

Ursula: 
In the Church`s cause thy father 
 Never grudged his blade — 
Hugo, did he rue it? 

Orion: Rather! 
 He was poorly paid. 

Hugo: 
Abbess, this is not my doing; 
 I have said my say; 
How can I avert the ruin, 
 Even for a day, 
Since they count two hundred fairly, 
 While we count a score; 
And thine own retainers barely 
 Count a dozen more? 

Agatha (kneeling to Ursula): 
Ah! forgive me, Lady Abbess, 
 Bless me ere I go; 
She who under sod and slab is 
 Lying, cold and low, 
Scarce would turn away in anger 
 From a child so frail; 
Not dear life, but deadly danger, 
 Makes her daughter quail. 

Hugo: 
Eric, will those faces tearful 
 To God`s judgment seat 
Haunt us? 

Eric: Death is not so fearful. 

Hugo: No, but life is sweet — 
Sweet for once, to me, though sinful. 

Orion (to Hugo): Earth is scant of bliss; 
Wisest he who takes his skinful 
 When the chance is his. 

(To Ursula): 
Lady Abbess! stay and welcome 
 Osric`s savage crew; 
Yet when pains of death and hell come, 
 Thou thy choice may`st rue. 

Ursula (to Orion): 
What dost thou `neath roof-trees sacred? 
 Man or fiend, depart! 

Orion: 
Dame, thy tongue is sharp and acrid, 
 Yet I bear the smart. 

Ursula (advancing and raising up a crucifix): 
I conjure thee by this symbol 
 Leave us! 
                    [Orion goes out hastily.] 

Hugo: Ha! the knave, 
He has made an exit nimble; 
 Abbess! thou art brave. 
Yet once gone, we`re past recalling, 
 Let no blame be mine. 
See, thy sisters` tears are falling 
 Fast, and so are thine. 

Ursula: 
Fare you well! The teardrop splashes 
 Vainly on the ice. 
Ye will sorrow o`er our ashes 
 And your cowardice. 

Eric: 
Sorry am I, yet my sorrow 
 Cannot alter fate; 
Should Prince Otto come to-morrow, 
 He will come too late. 

Hugo: 
Nay, old comrade, she hath spoken 
 Words we must not hear; 
Shall we pause for sign or token — 
 Taunted twice with fear? 
Yonder, hilt to hilt adjusted, 
Stand the swords in which we trusted 
Years ago. Their blades have rusted, 
 So, perchance, have we. 
Ursula! thy words may shame us, 
Yet we once were counted famous, 
Morituri, salutamus, 
 Aut victuri, te! [They go out.] 


SCENE — The Outskirts of Rudolph`s Camp. 

RUDOLPH, OSRIC, and DAGOBERT. HUGO. 


Rudolph: 
Lord Hugo! thy speech is madness; 
 Thou hast tax`d our patience too far; 
We offer`d thee peace — with gladness, 
 We gladly accept thy war. 

Dagobert: 
And the clemency we extended 
 To thee and thine we recall; 
And the treaty `twixt us is ended — 
 We are ready to storm the wall. 

Osric: 
Now tear yon parchment to tatters; 
 Thou shalt make no further use 
Of our safeguard; the wind that scatters 
 The scroll shall scatter the truce. 

Hugo: 
Jarl Osric, to save the spilling 
 Of blood, and the waste of life, 
I am willing, if thou art willing, 
 With thee to decide this strife; 
Let thy comrades draw their force back; 
 I defy thee to single fight, 
I will meet thee on foot or horseback, 
 And God shall defend the right. 

Rudolph: 
No single combat shall settle 
 This strife; thou art overbold — 
Thou hast put us all on our mettle, 
 Now the game in our hands we hold. 

Dagobert: 
Our lances round thee have hover`d, 
 Have seen where thy fellows bide; 
Thy weakness we have discover`d, 
 Thy nakedness we have spied. 

Osric: 
And hearken, knight, to my story — 
 When sack`d are the convent shrines, 
When the convent thresholds are gory, 
 And quaff`d are the convent wines: 
When our beasts with pillage are laden, 
 And the clouds of our black smoke rise 
From yon tower, one fair-haired maiden 
 Is singled as Osric`s prize. 
I will fit her with chain and collar 
 Of red gold, studded with pearls; 
With bracelet of gold, Sir Scholar, 
 The queen of my captive girls. 

Hugo (savagely): 
May the Most High God of battles 
 The Lord and Ruler of fights, 
Who breaketh the shield that rattles, 
 Who snappeth the sword that smites, 
In whose hands are footmen and horsemen, 
 At whose breath they conquer or flee, 
Never show me His mercy, Norseman! 
 If I show mercy to thee. 

Osric: 
What, ho! art thou drunk, Sir Norman? 
 Has the wine made thy pale cheek red? 
Now, I swear by Odin and Thor, man, 
 Already I count thee dead. 

Rudolph: 
I crave thy pardon for baulking 
 The flood of thine eloquence, 
But thou canst not scare us with talking, 
 I therefore pray thee go hence. 

Osric: 
Though I may not take up thy gauntlet, 
 Should we meet where the steel strikes fire, 
`Twixt thy casque and thy charger`s frontlet 
 The choice will perplex thy squire. 

Hugo: 
When the Norman rowels are goading, 
 When glitters the Norman glaive, 
Thou shalt call upon Thor and Odin: 
 They shall not hear thee nor save. 
"Should we meet!" Aye, the chance may fall so, 
 In the furious battle drive, 
So may God deal with me — more, also! 
 If we separate, both alive! 


SCENE — The Court-yard of the Old Farm. 

EUSTACE and other followers of HUGO and ERIC lounging about. 
Enter THURSTON hastily, with swords under his arm. 


Thurston: 
Now saddle your horses and girth them tight, 
And see that your weapons are sharp and bright. 
Come, lads, get ready as fast as you can. 

Eustace: 
Why, what`s this bustle about, old man? 

Thurston: 
Well, it seems Lord Hugo has changed his mind, 
As the weathercock veers with the shifting wind; 
He has gone in person to Osric`s camp, 
To tell him to pack up his tents and tramp! 
But I guess he won`t. 

Eustace: Then I hope he will, 
They are plenty to eat us, as well as to kill. 

Ralph: 
And I hope he won`t — I begin to feel 
A longing to moisten my thirsty steel. 
                    [They begin to saddle and make preparations 
                    for a skirmish.] 

Thurston: 
I`ve a couple of blades to look to here. 
In their scabbards I scarcely could make them stir 
At first, but I`ll sharpen them both ere long. 

A Man-at-arms: 
Hurrah for a skirmish! Who`ll give us a song? 

Thurston (sings, cleaning and sharpening): 
Hurrah! for the sword! I hold one here, 
 And I scour at the rust and say, 
`Tis the umpire this, and the arbiter, 
 That settles in the fairest way; 
For it stays false tongues and it cools hot blood, 
 And it lowers the proud one`s crest; 
And the law of the land is sometimes good, 
 But the law of the sword is best. 
In all disputes `tis the shortest plan, 
 The surest and best appeal; — 
What else can decide between man and man? 

(Chorus of all): 
 Hurrah! for the bright blue steel! 

Thurston (sings): 
Hurrah! for the sword of Hugo, our lord! 
 `Tis a trusty friend and a true; 
It has held its own on a grassy sward, 
 When its blade shone bright and blue, 
Though it never has stricken in anger hard, 
 And has scarcely been cleansed from rust, 
Since the day when it broke through Harold`s guard 
 With our favourite cut and thrust; 
Yet Osric`s crown will look somewhat red, 
 And his brain will be apt to reel, 
Should the trenchant blade come down on his head — 

(Chorus of all): 
 Hurrah! for the bright blue steel! 

Thurston (sings): 
Hurrah! for the sword of our ally bold, 
 It has done good service to him; 
It has held its own on an open wold, 
 When its edge was in keener trim. 
It may baffle the plots of the wisest skull, 
 It may slacken the strongest limb, 
Make the brains full of forethought void and null, 
 And the eyes full of far-sight dim; 
And the hasty hands are content to wait, 
 And the knees are compelled to kneel, 
Where it falls with the weight of a downstroke straight — 

(Chorus of all): 
 Hurrah! for the bright blue steel! 

Thurston (sings): 
Hurrah! for the sword — I`ve one of my own; 
 And I think I may safely say, 
Give my enemy his, let us stand alone, 
 And our quarrel shall end one way; 
One way or the other — it matters not much, 
 So the question be fairly tried. 
Oh! peacemaker good, bringing peace with a touch, 
 Thy clients will be satisfied. 
As a judge, thou dost judge — as a witness, attest, 
 And thou settest thy hand and seal, 
And the winner is blest, and the loser at rest — 

(Chorus of all): 
 Hurrah! for the bright blue steel! 
                    [Hugo and Eric enter during the last verse 
                    of the song.] 

Hugo: 
Boot and saddle, old friend, 
Their defiance they send; 
Time is short — make an end 
    Of thy song. 
Let the sword in this fight 
Strike as hard for the right 
As it once struck for might 
    Leagued with wrong. 

Ha! Rollo, thou champest 
Thy bridle and stampest, 
For the rush of the tempest 
    Dost long? 
Ho! the kites will grow fatter 
On the corpses we scatter, 
In the paths where we shatter 
    Their throng. 

Where Osric, the craven, 
Hath reared the black raven 
`Gainst monks that are shaven 
    And cowl`d: 
Where the Teuton and Hun sit, 
In the track of our onset, 
Will the wolves, ere the sunset, 
    Have howl`d. 

Retribution is good, 
They have revell`d in blood, 
Like the wolves of the wood 
    They have prowl`d. 
Birds of prey they have been, 
And of carrion unclean, 
And their own nests (I ween) 
    They have foul`d. 

Eric: 
Two messengers since 
Yestermorn have gone hence, 
And ere long will the Prince 
    Bring relief. 
Shall we pause? — they are ten 
To our one, but their men 
Are ill-arm`d, and scarce ken 
    Their own chief; 
And for this we give thanks: 
Their disorderly ranks, 
If assail`d in the flanks, 
    Will as lief 
Run as fight — loons and lords. 

Hugo: 
Mount your steeds! draw your swords! 
Take your places! My words 
    Shall be brief: 
Ride round by the valley, 
Through pass and gorge sally — 
The linden trees rally 
    Beneath. 
Then, Eric and Thurston, 
Their ranks while we burst on, 
Try which will be first on 
    The heath. 

(Aside) 
Look again, mother mine, 
Through the happy starshine, 
For my sins dost thou pine? 
    With my breath, 
See! thy pangs are all done, 
For the life of thy son: 
Thou shalt never feel one 
    For his death. 

                    [They all go out but Hugo, who lingers to tighten 
                    his girths. Orion appears suddenly in the gateway.] 

Orion: 
Stay, friend! I keep guard on 
Thy soul`s gates; hold hard on 
Thy horse. Hope of pardon 
    Hath fled! 
Bethink once, I crave thee, 
Can recklessness save thee? 
Hell sooner will have thee 
    Instead. 

Hugo: 
Back! My soul, tempest-toss`d, 
Hath her Rubicon cross`d, 
She shall fly — saved or lost! 
    Void of dread! 
Sharper pang than the steel, 
Thou, oh, serpent! shalt feel, 
Should I set the bruised heel 
    On thy head. 
                    [He rides out.] 


SCENE — A Room in the Convent Tower Overlooking the Gate. 

URSULA at the window. AGATHA and Nuns crouching or kneeling in a corner. 


Ursula: 
See, Ellinor! Agatha! Anna! 
 While yet for the ladders they wait, 
Jarl Osric hath rear`d the black banner 
 Within a few yards of the gate; 
It faces our window, the raven, 
 The badge of the cruel sea-kings, 
That has carried to harbour and haven 
 Destruction and death on its wings. 
Beneath us they throng, the fierce Norsemen, 
 The pikemen of Rudolph behind 
Are mustered, and Dagobert`s horsemen 
 With faces to rearward inclined; 
Come last, on their coursers broad-chested, 
 Rough-coated, short-pastern`d and strong, 
Their casques with white plumes thickly crested, 
 Their lances barb-headed and long: 
They come through the shades of the linden, 
 Fleet riders and war-horses hot: 
The Normans, our friends — we have sinn`d in 
 Our selfishness, sisters, I wot — 
They come to add slaughter to slaughter, 
 Their handful can ne`er stem the tide 
Of our foes, and our fate were but shorter 
 Without them. How fiercely they ride! 
And "Hugo of Normandy!" "Hugo!" 
 "A rescue! a rescue!" rings loud, 
And right on the many the few go! 
 A sway and a swerve of the crowd! 
A springing and sparkling of sword-blades! 
 A crashing and `countering of steeds! 
And the white feathers fly `neath their broad blades 
 Like foam-flakes! the spear-shafts like reeds! 

A Nun (to Agatha): 
Pray, sister! 

Agatha: Alas! I have striven 
 To pray, but the lips move in vain 
When the heart with such terror is riven. 
 Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again! 

Ursula: 
As leaves fall by wintry gusts scatter`d, 
 As fall by the sickle ripe ears, 
As the pines by the whirlwind fall shatter`d, 
 As shatter`d by bolt fall the firs — 
To the right hand they fall, to the left hand 
 They yield! They go down! they give back! 
And their ranks are divided and cleft, and 
 Dispers`d and destroy`d in the track! 
Where, stirrup to stirrup, and bridle 
 To bridle, down-trampling the slain! 
Our friends, wielding swords never idle, 
 Hew bloody and desperate lane 
Through pikemen, so crowded together 
 They scarce for their pikes can find room, 
Led by Hugo`s gilt crest, the tall feather 
 Of Thurston, and Eric`s black plume! 

A Nun (to Agatha): 
Pray, sister! 

Agatha: First pray thou that heaven 
 Will lift this dull weight from my brain, 
That crushes like crime unforgiven. 
 Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again! 

Ursula: 
Close under the gates men are fighting 
 On foot where the raven is rear`d! 
`Neath that sword-stroke, through helm and skull smiting, 
 Jarl Osric falls, cloven to the beard! 
And Hugo, the hilt firmly grasping, 
 His heel on the throat of his foe, 
Wrenches back. I can hear the dull rasping, 
 The steel through the bone grating low! 
And the raven rocks! Thurston has landed 
 Two strokes, well directed and hard, 
On the standard pole, wielding, two-handed, 
 A blade crimson`d up to the guard. 
Like the mast cut in two by the lightning, 
 The black banner topples and falls! 
Bewildering! back-scattering! affright`ning! 
 It clears a wide space next the walls. 

A Nun (to Agatha): 
Pray, sister! 

Agatha: Does the sinner unshriven, 
 With naught beyond this life to gain, 
Pray for mercy on earth or in heaven? 
 Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again! 

Ursula: 
The gates are flung open, and straightway, 
 By Ambrose and Cyril led on, 
Our own men rush out through the gateway; 
 One charge, and the entrance is won! 
No! our foes block the gate and endeavour 
 To force their way in! Oath and yell, 
Shout and war-cry wax wilder than ever! 
 Those children of Odin fight well; 
And my ears are confused by the crashing, 
 The jarring, the discord, the din; 
And mine eyes are perplex`d by the flashing 
 Of fierce lights that ceaselessly spin; 
So when thunder to thunder is calling, 
 Quick flash follows flash in the shade, 
So leaping and flashing and falling, 
 Blade flashes and follows on blade! 
While the sward, newly plough`d, freshly painted, 
 Grows purple with blood of the slain, 
And slippery! Has Agatha fainted? 

Agatha: 
 Not so, Lady Abbess! Look again! 

Ursula: 
No more from the window; in the old years 
 I have look`d upon strife. Now I go 
To the court-yard to rally our soldiers 
 As I may — face to face with the foe. 
                    [She goes out.] 


SCENE — A Room in the Convent. 

THURSTON seated near a small fire. 


     Enter EUSTACE. 

Eustace: 
We have come through this skirmish with hardly a scratch. 

Thurston: 
And without us, I fancy, they have a full batch 
Of sick men to look to. Those robbers accurs`d 
Will soon put our soundest on terms with our worst. 
Nathless I`d have bartered, with never a frown, 
Ten years for those seconds when Osric went down. 
Where`s Ethelwolf? 

Eustace: Dying. 

Thurston: And Reginald? 

Eustace: Dead. 
And Ralph is disabled, and Rudolph is sped. 
He may last till midnight — not longer. Nor Tyrrel, 
Nor Brian will ever see sunrise. 

Thurston: That Cyril, 
The monk, is a very respectable fighter. 

Eustace: 
Not bad for a monk. Yet our loss had been lighter 
Had he and his fellows thrown open the gate 
A little more quickly. And now, spite of fate, 
With thirty picked soldiers their siege we might weather, 
But the Abbess is worth all the rest put together. 
                    [Enter Ursula.] 

Thurston: 
Here she comes. 

Ursula: Can I speak with your lord? 

Eustace: `Tis too late, 
He was dead when we carried him in at the gate. 

Thurston: 
Nay, he spoke after that, for I heard him myself; 
But he won`t speak again, he must lie on his shelf. 

Ursula: 
Alas! is he dead, then? 

Thurston: As dead as St. Paul. 
And what then? to-morrow we, too, one and all, 
Die, to fatten these ravenous carrion birds. 
I knelt down by Hugo and heard his last words: 
"How heavy the night hangs — how wild the waves dash; 
Say a mass for my soul — and give Rollo a mash." 

Ursula: 
Nay, Thurston, thou jestest. 

Thurston: Ask Eric. I swear 
We listened and caught every syllable clear. 

Eustace: 
Why, his horse was slain, too. 

Thurston: `Neath the linden trees grey, 
Ere the onset, young Henry rode Rollo away; 
He will hasten the Prince, and they may reach your gate 
To-morrow — though to-morrow for us is too late. 
Hugo rode the boy`s mare, and she`s dead — if you like — 
Disembowel`d by the thrust of a freebooter`s pike. 

Eustace: 
Neither Henry nor Rollo we ever shall see. 

Ursula: 
But we may hold the walls till to-morrow. 

Thurston: Not we. 
In an hour or less, having rallied their force, 
They`ll storm your old building — and take it, of course, 
Since of us, who alone in war`s science are skill`d, 
One-third are disabled, and two-thirds are kill`d. 

Ursula: 
Art thou hurt? 

Thurston: At present I feel well enough, 
But your water is brackish, unwholesome and rough; 
Bring a flask of your wine, dame, for Eustace and I, 
Let us gaily give battle and merrily die. 
                    [Enter Eric, with arm in sling.] 

Eric: 
Thou art safe, Lady Abbess! The convent is safe! 
To be robbed of their prey how the ravens will chafe! 
The vanguard of Otto is looming in sight! 
At the sheen of their spears, see! thy foemen take flight, 
Their foremost are scarce half a mile from the wall. 

Thurston: 
Bring the wine, lest those Germans should swallow it all. 


SCENE — The Chapel of the Convent. 


Dirge of the Monks: 
Earth to earth, and dust to dust, 
 Ashes unto ashes go. 
Judge not. He who judgeth just, 
 Judgeth merciful also. 
Earthly penitence hath fled, 
 Earthly sin hath ceased to be; 
Pile the sods on heart and head, 
 Miserere Domine! 

         Hominum et angelorum, 
          Domine! precamur te 
         Ut immemor sis malorum — 
          Miserere Domine! 
                    (Miserere!) 

Will the fruits of life brought forth, 
 Pride and greed, and wrath and lust, 
Profit in the day of wrath, 
 When the dust returns to dust? 
Evil flower and thorny fruit 
 Load the wild and worthless tree. 
Lo! the axe is at the root, 
 Miserere Domine! 

         Spes, fidesque, caritasque, 
          Frustra fatigant per se, 
         Frustra virtus, forsque, fasque, 
          Miserere Domine! 
                    (Miserere!) 

Fair without and foul within, 
 When the honey`d husks are reft 
From the bitter sweets of sin, 
 Bitterness alone is left; 
Yet the wayward soul hath striven 
 Mostly hell`s ally to be, 
In the strife `twixt hell and heaven, 
 Miserere Domine! 

         Heu! heu! herba latet anguis — 
          Caro herba — carni vae — 
         Solum purgat, Christi sanguis, 
          Miserere Domine! 
                    (Miserere!) 

Pray that in the doubtful fight 
 Man may win through sore distress, 
By His goodness infinite, 
 And His mercy fathomless. 
Pray for one more of the weary, 
 Head bow`d down and bended knee, 
Swell the requiem, Miserere! 
 Miserere Domine! 

         Bonum, malum, qui fecisti 
          Mali imploramus te, 
         Salve fratrem, causa Christi, 
          Miserere Domine! 
                    (Miserere!)
Source
The script ran 0.006 seconds.