The Escape of Count Fernan Gonsalez

They have carried afar into Navarre the great Count of Castille,
And they have bound him sorely, they have bound him hand and heel;
The tidings up the mountains go, and down among the valleys,
"To the rescue! to the rescue, ho! they have ta'en Fernan Gonsalez."—

A noble knight of Normandy was riding through Navarre,
For Christ his hope he came to cope with the Moorish scymitar;
To the Alcaydé of the Tower, in secret thus said he,
"These bezaunts fair with thee I'll share, so I this lord may see."—

The Alcaydé was full joyful, he took the gold full soon,
And he brought him to the dungeon, ere the rising of the moon;
He let him out at morning, at the grey light of the prime,
But many words between these lords had pass'd within that time.

The Norman knight rides swiftly, for he hath made him bowne
To a king that is full joyous, and to a feastful town;
For there is joy and feasting, because that lord is ta'en,—
King Garci in his dungeon holds the doughtiest lord in Spain.

The Norman feasts among the guests, but at the evening tide
He speaks to Garci's daughter, within her bower aside;
"Now God forgive us, lady, and God his mother dear,
For on a day of sorrow we have been blithe of cheer.

"The Moors may well be joyful, but great should be our grief,
For Spain has lost her guardian, when Castille has lost her chief;
The Moorish host is pouring like a river o'er the land,
Curse on the Christian fetters that bind Gonsalez' hand!

"Gonsalez loves thee, lady, he loved thee long ago,
But little is the kindness that for his love you show;
The curse that lies on Caba's head, it may be shared by thee—
Arise, let love with love be paid, and set Gonsalez free."—

The lady answered little, but at the mirk of night,
When all her maids are sleeping, she hath risen and ta'en her flight;
She hath tempted the Alcaydé with her jewels and her gold,
And unto her his prisoner that jailer false hath sold.

She took Gonsalez by the hand at the dawning of the day,
She said, "Upon the heath you stand, before you lies your way;
But if I to my father go, alas! what must I do?
My father will be angry—I fain would go with you."—

He hath kissed the Infanta, he hath kiss'd her, brow and cheek,
And lovingly together the forest path they seek;
Till in the greenwood hunting they met a lordly priest,
With his bugle at his girdle, and his hawk upon his wrist.

"Now stop! now stop!" the priest he said, (he knew them both right well,)
"Now stop, and pay your ransom, or I your flight will tell;
Now stop, thou fair Infanta, for if my words you scorn,
I'll give warning to the foresters with the blowing of my horn."—

The base priest's word Gonsalez heard, "Now, by the rood!" on he,
"A hundred deaths I'll suffer, or ere this thing shall be."—
But in his ear she whisper'd, she whisper'd soft and slow,
And to the priest she beckon'd within the wood to go.

It was ill with Count Gonsalez, the fetters press'd his knees,
Yet as he could he follow'd within the shady trees—
"For help, for help, Gonsalez!—for help," he hears her cry,
"God aiding, fast I'll hold thee, until my lord come nigh."

He has come within the thicket, there lay they on the green,
And he has pluck'd from off the grass the false priest's javelin;
Firm by the throat she held him bound, down went the weapon sheer,
Down through his body to the ground, even as the boar ye spear.

They wrapp'd him in his mantle, and left him there to bleed,
And all that day they held their way; his palfrey served their need;—
Till to their ears a sound did come, might fill their hearts with dread,
A steady whisper on the breeze, and horsemen's heavy tread.

The Infanta trembled in the wood, but forth the Count did go,
And, gazing wide, a troop descried upon the bridge below;
"Gramercy!" quoth Gonsalez—"or else my sight is gone,
Methinks I know the pennon yon sun is shining on.

"Come forth, come forth, Infanta, mine own true men they be,
Come forth, and see my banner, and cry Castille! with me;
My merry men draw near me, I see my pennon shine,
Their swords shine bright, Infanta, and every blade is thine."—