All mine, lords, for ever! help who may help henceforth I am but helpless: too surely meseemeth He seeth me not, and knoweth no more Me that have loved him. Woe worth the while, Pharamond, That men should love aught, love always as I loved! Mother and sister and the sweetling that scorned me, The wind of the autumn-tide over them sweepeth, All are departed, but this one, the dear one-- I should die or he died and be no more alone, But God's hatred hangs round me, and the life and the glory That grew with my waning life fade now before it, And leaving no pity depart through the void. A COUNCILLOR This is a sight full sorry to see These tears of an elder! But soft now, one cometh. MASTER OLIVER The feet of the king: will ye speak or begone? A NORTHERN LORD I will speak at the least, whoever keeps silence, For well it may be that the voice of a stranger Shall break through his dreaming better than thine; And lo now a word in my mouth is a-coming, That the king well may hearken: how sayst thou, fair master, Whose name now I mind not, wilt thou have me essay it? MASTER OLIVER Try whatso thou wilt, things may not be worser. [_Enter KING._ Behold, how he cometh weighed down by his woe! (_To the KING_) All hail, lord and master! wilt thou hearken a little These lords high in honour whose hearts are full heavy Because thy heart sickeneth and knoweth no joy?-- (_To the COUNCILLORS_) Ah, see you! all silent, his eyes set and dreary, His lips moving a little--how may I behold it? THE NORTHERN LORD May I speak, king? dost hearken? many matters I have To deal with or death. I have honoured thee duly Down in the north there; a great name I have held thee; Rough hand in the field, ready righter of wrong, Reckless of danger, but recking of pity. But now--is it false what the chapmen have told us, And are thy fair robes all thou hast of a king? Is it bragging and lies, that thou beardless and tender Weptst not when they brought thy slain father before thee, Trembledst not when the leaguer that lay round thy city Made a light for these windows, a noise for thy pillow? Is it lies what men told us of thy singing and laughter As thou layst in thy lair fled away from lost battle? Is it lies how ye met in the depths of the mountains, And a handful rushed down and made nought of an army? Those tales of your luck, like the tide at its turning, Trusty and sure howso slowly it cometh, Are they lies? Is it lies of wide lands in the world, How they sent thee great men to lie low at thy footstool In five years thenceforward, and thou still a youth? Are they lies, these fair tidings, or what see thy lords here-- Some love-sick girl's brother caught up by that sickness, As one street beggar catches the pest from his neighbour? KING PHARAMOND What words are these of lies and love-sickness? Why am I lonely among all this brawling? O foster-father, is all faith departed That this hateful face should be staring upon me? THE NORTHERN LORD