That still she sate in her tower alone,
And in that melancholy gloom,
When for her mother she made her moan,
She wish'd her father too in the tomb.
She watches the pilgrims and poor who wait For daily food at her father's gate.
"I would some Knight were there," thought she, "Disguised in pilgrim-weeds for me! For Aymerique's blessing I would not stay, Nor he nor his leman should say me nay, But I with him would wend away."
She watches her handmaid the pittance deal,
They took their dole and went away;
But yonder is one who lingers still
As though he had something in his will,
Some secret which he fain would say ;
And close to the portal she sees him go,
He talks with her handmaid in accents low;
Oh then she thought that time went slow,
And long were the minutes that she must wait
Till her handmaid came from the castle-gate.
From the castle-gate her handmaid came, And told her that a Knight was there, Who sought to speak with Abba the fair, Count Aymerique's beautiful daughter and heir.
She bade the stranger to her bower;
His stature was tall, his features bold;
A goodlier form might never maid
At tilt or tourney hope to see;
And though in pilgrim-weeds arrayed,
Yet noble in his weeds was he,
And did his arms in them enfold
As they were robes of royalty.
He told his name to the high-born fair,
He said that vengeance led him there;
"Now aid me, lady dear," quoth he,
"To smite the adultress in her pride;
Your wrongs and mine avenged shall be,
And I will take you for my bride."
He pledged the word of a true Knight,
From out the weeds his hand he drew ;
She took the hand that Garci gave,
And then she knew his tale was true,
For she saw the warrior's hand so white, And she knew the fame of the beautiful Knight.
'Tis the hour of noon,
The bell of the convent hath done,
And the Sexts are begun ;
The Count and his leman are gone to their meat.
They look to their pages, and lo they see
Where Abba, a stranger so long before,
The ewer, and bason, and napkin bore;
She came and knelt on her bended knee,
And first to her father minister'd she;
Count Aymerique look'd on his daughter down,
He look'd on her then without a frown.
And next to the Lady Argentine
Humbly she went and knelt ;
The Lady Argentine the while
A haughty wonder felt;
Her face put on an evil smile;
"I little thought that I should see
The Lady Abba kneel to me
In service of love and courtesy !
Count Aymerique," the leman cried,
"Is she weary of her solitude,
Or hath she quell'd her pride?
Abba no angry word replied, She only raised her eyes and cried, "Let not the Lady Argentine Be wroth at ministry of mine!" She look'd at Aymerique and sigh'd; "My father will not frown, I ween, That Abba again at his board should be seen!" Then Aymerique raised her from her knee, And kiss'd her eyes, and bade her be The daughter she was wont to be.
The wine hath warm'd Count Aymerique,
That mood his crafty daughter knew ;
She came and kiss'd her father's cheek,
And stroked his beard with gentle hand,
And winning eye and action bland,
As she in childhood used to do.
"A boon! Count Aymerique," quoth she;
"If I have found favour in thy sight,
Let me sleep at my father's feet to-night.
Grant this," quoth she, "so I shall see
That you will let your Abba be
The daughter she was wont to be."
With asking eye did Abba speak,
Her voice was soft and sweet;
The wine had warm'd Count Aymerique,
And when the hour of rest was come, She lay at her father's feet.
In Aymerique's arms the adult'ress lay,
Their talk was of the distant day,
How they from Garci fled away
In the silent hour of night;
And then amid their wanton play
They mock'd the beautiful Knight.
Far, far away his castle lay,
The weary road of many a day;
"And travel long," they said, "to him,
It seem'd, was small delight;
And he belike was loth with blood
To stain his hands so white."
They little thought that Garci then
Heard every scornful word!
They little thought the avenging hand
Was on the avenging sword!
Fearless, unpenitent, unblest,
Without a prayer they sunk to rest,
The adulterer on the leman's breast.
Then Abba, listening still in fear, To hear the breathing long and slow, At length the appointed signal gave, And Garci rose and struck the blow. One blow sufficed for Aymerique, . He made no moan, he utter'd no groan; But his death-start waken'd Argentine,
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