Maiden and the Knight (Revised)
In daystar’s last rays of setting light,
fair beauty grieved her lonely plight.
Awaiting cares own brief twilight,
and laden saturnine of despair.
For there’s none who would save her.
Save one, who boldly was braver,
who sought win gift of her favour,
In that, which he dares for to ply.
For she was held in towers high keep.
Kept maiden: too distressed for sleep,
still plotted on how she’d somehow leap,
To her death, on those rocks far below.
For she was now, a bridal young troth,
to northern laird whom she did so loath,
which would give naught to them both?
But poniard’s end to anguish and sorrow.
But morning it brought newness of light,
its strange reflect, shone dazzlingly bright,
from burnished arms: approach of a knight,
As his war horse and he came into keep’s sight.
For it excited an extremums good cheer,
as lone Crusader’s hero drew near,
was said his efforts they held no peer,
in hot clime of a Saladin’s gore.
Endeavours man at peak of his power,
spoke naught of battles reckoning glower,
for he was their man of history’s hour,
and as such was their honoured guest.
Yet with an eagle's long sighted power,
that knight he spied, held high in the tower,
the beauty inlay of that golden haired flower,
held captive at her lord’s own command.
The laird, he too, it seems, had duly arrived.
Just as the lord between them had so connived,
the maiden's bliss to be so deprived,
in nuptials of that very next day.
A great feast it began, in castle’s main yard.
In which, were gathered, his own loyal guard,
Who joined in waggery’s ill duty’s regard,
‘til Porto’s puncheon lay drained again.
The knight slipped out, quietly ignored,
as his host lay bemused by wine he adored.
Damned by devil of Porto’s own gourd,
and he by such a living of luxuries lorded.
Outside the high and castles rough wall,
Wherein a maid’s tear did care to fall,
With gentle craft of soughs night bird call,
The knight wooed her to edge of the wall.
His arrow was shot, with long silken thread,
To which a rope was tightening sped,
Which she tied to her oaken great bed,
And to her joy: escaping it led.
They rode there hard by moon lit beam,
Now fearing hate’s pursuing scheme,
Where hounds endeavour to break up their dream,
Less they could cross-far sanctuary’s stream.
They rode and they rode like a devil possessed.
For they knew theirs were ne’er a journey of rest.
To get them safe to Wales was their relentless quest.
Afore sun gave aid to a pursuit’s request.
Those bloodhounds bayed from that far distant hill.
For they enjoyed their chase and all of its thrill.
‘Til hunters closed in for the ultimate kill,
or chained in misery, a lord’s pleasure of will.
Yet those wild hills of Wales still beckoned the pair,
for theirs was living they wished to share,
to seek safe refuge that no Norman would dare.
They sped to welcomes they hoped to share,
and pay their homage to Llewellyn’s new care.
Copyright 2013 © Ronald W. Hull and Mor Inchrory
7/6/13
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the story, the rhymne, and especially the olde, English wording,
absolutly brilliant, thanks for sharing it.
Steve.
Stay well and keep writing
Eddy
well penned
Peace be with you
William
Wonderful enchanting visions.
Beautifully penned!
Lady Mary Ann
a beloved fairy tale
which I dearly love
..very well done,
Ron and Mor!
Lady Vivian
However, on examining Ron’s original version I noticed that it contained an element of anapaestic feet that gave it a certain character.
Therefore, not wishing to lose it, I followed through where appropriate with anapaestic line endings.
In answer to E. Phillips’ question. “Porto” or Oporto in English is the town in Portugal world famous for its production of port.
A puncheon is a very large barrel use to store and convey it contents.
Port having been introduced by the Normans, England then imported much of its production.
Hence, when a puncheon lay dry, it imbibers would most certainly be in a bit of a stupor.
A favourite drink of mine as a youth was Black Velvets Three quarters Guinness one quarter Port.
The pavement had a peculiar habit of coming up to meet you after four or five of those.
Riding my motor bike home certainly was fun.
Mor.
Who is Porto?
What's his puncheon?
How did it get drained?
He wasn't the keeper of the key to Maid Mary's chastity belt was 'e?
Just askin'.
Love ya!
Jane
So... this revision must be absolutely... MORE GOODER !!!
Sage