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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339803" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Legend of Lady Gertrude</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Fallen the lofty halls, where vassal crowds<br>Drank in the dawn of Gertrude's natal day.<br>The dungeon roof an Alpine snow-wreath shrouds,<br>The strong, wild eagle's eyrie in the clouds—<br>The robber-baron's nest—is swept away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Bare is the mountain brow of lordly towers;<br>Only the sunbeams stay, the moon and stars,<br>The faithful saxifrage and gentian flowers,<br>The silvery mist, and soft, white, crystal showers,<br>And torrents rushing through their rocky bars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>More than three hundred years ago, the flag<br>Charged with that dread device, an Alpine bear—<br>By many storm-winds rent—a grim, grey rag—<br>Floated above the castle on the crag,<br>Above the last whose heads were shelter'd there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>He was the proudest of an ancient race,<br>The fiercest of the robber chieftain's band,<br>That haughty Freiherr, with the iron face:<br>And she—his lady-sister, by God's grace—<br>The sweetest, gentlest maiden in the land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>'Twas a rude nest for such a tender bird,<br>That lonely fortress, with its warrior-lord.<br>Aye drunken revels the night-stillness stirred;<br>From morn till eve the battle-cries were heard,<br>The sound of jingling spur and clanking sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>And Lady Gertrude was both young and fair,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A mark for lawless hearts and roving eyes,—<br>With sweet, grave face, and amber-tinted hair,<br>And a low voice soft-thrilling through the air,<br>Filling it full of subtlest melodies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>But the great baron, proudest of his line,<br>Fetter'd, with jealous care, his white dove's wing;<br>Guarded his treasure in an inner shrine,<br>Till such a day as knightly hands should twine<br>Her slender fingers with the marriage-ring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>From all her household rights was she debarred—<br>Her chair and place within the castle-hall,<br>Her palfrey's saddle in the castle-yard,<br>Her nursing ministries when blows fell hard<br>In border struggles—she was kept from all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>A stone-paved chamber, and the parapet<br>Opening above its winding turret-stair;<br>The castle-chapel, where few men were met,—<br>Round these the brother's boundaries were set.<br>The sweet child-sister was so very fair!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>She had her faithful nurse, her doves, her lute,<br>Her broidery and her distaff, and the hound—<br>Best prized of all—the grand, half-human brute,<br>Who aye watched near her, beautiful and mute,<br>With ears love-quicken'd, listening from the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>But the wild bird, so honourably caged,<br>Grew sick and sad in its captivity;<br>Longed—like those hills which time nor storm had aged,<br>And those deep glens where Danube waters raged—<br>In God's own wind and sunshine to be free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>And on a day, when she had seen them ride,<br>Baron and troopers, on some border raid,<br>Wooed by the glory of the summer tide,<br>The hound's soft-slouching footstep at her side,<br>Adown the valley Lady Gertrude stray'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>Adown the crag, whose shadow, still and black,<br>Lay like the death-sleep on a mountain pool;<br>Through rocky glen, by silvery torrent's track,<br>Through forest glade, 'neath wild vines, fluttering back<br>From softest zephyr kisses, green and cool.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>E'en till the woods and hamlets down below,<br>And summer meadows, were all broad and clear;<br>The river, moving statelily and slow,<br>A crimson ribbon in the sunset glow—<br>The dim, white, distant city strangely near.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>She sat her down, a-weary, on the ground,<br>With tremulous long-drawn breath and wistful eyes;<br>Caress'd the velvet muzzle of the hound,<br>And listen'd vainly for some little sound<br>To come up from her world of mysteries.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>She had forgotten of the time and place,<br>When clank of warrior's harness smote her dream.<br>A growl, a spring, a shadow on her face,<br>And one strode up, with slow and stately pace,<br>And stood before her in the soft sun-gleam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.<br>An armèd knight, in noblest knightly guise,<br>From golden spur to golden dragon-crest;<br>Through open vizor gazing with surprise<br>Into the fair, flush'd face and startled eyes,<br>While horse and hound stood watchfully at rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.<br>The sun went down, and, with long, stealthy stride,<br>The shadows came, blurring the summer light;<br>And there was none the lady's step to guide<br>Up the lost pathway on the mountain-side—<br>None to protect her but this stranger knight!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX.<br>He placed her gently on his dappled grey,<br>Clothed in his mantle—for the air was chill;<br>He led her all the long and devious way,<br>Through glens, where starless night held royal sway,<br>And vine-tressed woodlands, where the leaves were still:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX.<br>Through pathless ravines, where swift waters roll'd;<br>Up dark crag-ramparts, perilously steep,<br>Where eagles and a she-bear watch'd the fold;—<br>Facing the mountain breezes, clear and cold—<br>In shy, sweet silence, eloquent and deep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI.<br>Holding his charger by the bridle-rein,<br>He led her through the robber-chieftain's lands;<br>Led her, unchallenged by the baron's train,<br>E'en to the low-brow'd castle-gate again,<br>And there he humbly knelt to kiss her hands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXII.<br>Brave lips, o'er tender palms bent down so low,<br>Silent and reverent, as it were to bless—<br>'Twas e'en a knightly love they did bestow,<br>Love true as steel and undefiled as snow;<br>No common courtesy, no light caress.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII.<br>He rode away; and she to turret-lair<br>Sped, swift and trembling, like a hunted doe.<br>But wherefore, on the loopholed winding stair<br>Knelt she till morning, weeping, watching there?—<br>Because he was her brother's deadliest foe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV.<br>Because the golden dragon's blood had mixt<br>In all those mountain streams, had dyed the grass<br>Now trodden for her sake; because betwixt<br>Those two proud barons such a gulf was fixt<br>As never bridge of peace might overpass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV.<br>A bitter, passionate feud, that was begun<br>In ages long forgotten, and bequeath'd<br>With those rich baronies by sire to son—<br>A sacred charge, a great work never done,<br>A sharp and fiery weapon never sheath'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI.<br>Yet, e'er a month slipped by, as summer slips<br>On noiseless wings, another kiss was laid,<br>Not on white palms or rosy finger-tips,<br>But softly on shut eyes and quivering lips;<br>And vows were sealèd in the forest glade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII.<br>The robber baron, who had hedged about<br>That fairest blossom of the sacred plant,<br>Saw he the insolent mailèd hand stretch'd out<br>To break down all his barriers, strong and stout?<br>Knew he aught of that gracious covenant?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII.<br>His pride serenely slept. Nor did it wake<br>Till, in amaze, he saw his enemy stand<br>In his own castle, praying him to take<br>The pledge of peace for Lady Gertrude's sake—<br>Praying him humbly for the lady's hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX.<br>Slowly the knitted brows grew fierce and black;<br>Slowly the eagle eyes began to shine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Sir knight,” he said, “I pray you get you back.<br>But one hour—and the Bears are on your track.<br>There's naught but fire and sword 'twixt mine and thine.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX.<br>And then the doors were barred on every side<br>Upon the innocent traitor, who had done<br>Such doubly-shameful despite to his pride.<br>Mocking, “I'll satisfy your heart,” he cried,<br>“An' you will have a husband, pretty one!”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI.<br>Yet did she send a message stealthily,<br>Spurred by the torture of this ominous threat.<br>“Thou wilt not suffer it?” she said. And he,<br>“Fear not. To-morrow will I come for thee,—<br>At eve to-morrow, when the sun has set.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXII.<br>And on the morrow, when the autumn light<br>Of red and gold had faded into grey,<br>She heard his signal up the echoing height,<br>Like hoarse owl-whistle, quivering through the night;<br>And in the dark she softly slipped away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIII.<br>Her faithful nurse, with trembling hands, untwined<br>The new-forged fetters and drew back the bars.<br>The hound look'd up into her face, and whined,<br>And scratch'd the door; he would not stay behind.<br>And so she went—watch'd only by the stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIV.<br>Adown the mountain passes, with wing'd feet<br>And bright, blank eyes—her hand fast clutch'd around<br>A ragged slip of myrtle, white and sweet;<br>The hound beside her, velvet-footed, fleet<br>And silent, with his muzzle to the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXV.<br>The knight was waiting, with his dappled steed,<br>Hard by the black brink of the waveless pool.<br>In his strong, tender arms—now safe indeed—<br>She cross'd the valley, with the wild bird's speed,<br>Fanned by the whispering night-wind, clear and cool.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVI.<br>Away—away—far from the trysting-place—<br>Over the blood-stain'd border-lands at last!<br>One wandering hind alone beheld the race;<br>A sudden rush—a shadow on his face—<br>A glint of golden scales—and she was past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVII.<br>She felt the shadow of a mighty wall,<br>And then the glow of torchlight, and again<br>The gloom of cloister'd stair and passage, fall<br>Upon her vacant eyes. She heard a call;<br>And, in the echoing mountains, its refrain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVIII.<br>Then all around her a great silence lay;<br>She knew not why, nor greatly seem'd to care,<br>Till, in low tones, she heard the baron say,<br>“Hast thou confess'd, my little one, to-day?”—<br>The while he weaved the myrtle in her hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIX.<br>She glanced up suddenly, in blank amaze;<br>And then remember'd. 'Twas an altar, hung<br>With silk and rich embroidery, met her gaze;<br>'Twas perfumed, waxen altar-tapers' blaze<br>On her chill'd face and troubled spirit flung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XL.<br>A holy father, with his open book,<br>Stood by the threshold of the chapel door.<br>Slowly, with bated breath and hands that shook,<br>Soft-clasped together—drawn with but a look—<br>She went, and knelt down humbly on the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLI.<br>The baron left her, lowly crouching there,<br>Her bright, starred tresses trailing on the stones;<br>And waited, kneeling on the altar-stair—<br>Holding his sword-hilt to his lips, in prayer—<br>The while she pleaded in her tremulous tones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLII.<br>A warning voice upon the still air dwelt,<br>A long, low cry of mingled hope and dread;—<br>A pause—a solemn silence—and she felt<br>The sweet absolving whisper as she knelt,<br>And hands of blessing covering her head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLIII.<br>The knight arose in silence, with a brow<br>Haughty and pale; and, softly drawing nigh,—<br>Love, life, and death in the new “I and thou”—<br>He gave and took each solemn marriage vow,<br>With all his arm'd retainers standing by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLIV.<br>The soft light fell upon their faces—still,<br>And calm, and full of rest. None now to part<br>The golden link between them!—naught to chill<br>The blest assurance that the father's will<br>Laid hand in hand, and gather'd heart to heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLV.<br>And so 'twas done. Each finger now had worn<br>The rings that aye ring'd in the double life;<br>From each the pledge had been withdrawn in turn,<br>As one by one the hallow'd oaths were sworn;<br>And Lady Gertrude was the baron's wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLVI.<br>He led her to her chamber, when the glow<br>Of dawn began to quicken earth and sky;<br>They watch'd the rosy wine-cup overflow<br>The pale, cool, silvery track upon the snow<br>Of Alpine crests, uplifted far and high.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLVII.<br>They saw the mountain floodgates open'd wide,<br>The downward streaming of unfetter'd day;<br>In blessed stillness, standing side by side—<br>Stillness that told how they were satisfied,<br>Those hearts whereon the new-born glamour lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLVIII.<br>And then, down cloister'd aisle and sculptured stair,<br>Through open courts, all bathed in shining mist,<br>They pass'd together, knight and lady fair;<br>She with the matron's coif upon her hair,<br>Her golden hair by lip and finger kiss'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLIX.<br>He throned her proudly in his castle hall,<br>High on the daïs above the festive board,<br>'Neath shields and pennons drooping from the wall;<br>And they below the salt rose, one and all,<br>To greet the bride of their puissant lord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">L.<br>Loud were the shouts, and fair with smiling grace<br>The blue eyes of the lady baroness;<br>And bright and eager was the haughty face<br>Of her brave husband, towering in his place,<br>Yet aye low-stooping for a mute caress.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LI.<br>There came a sudden pause—a thunder-cloud,<br>Darkening the sunshine of the golden noon—<br>An ominous stillness in the armèd crowd,<br>While slowly stiffening lips, all stern and proud,<br>Shut in the kindly laughter—all too soon!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LII.<br>“To arms! To arms!” A passionate crimson flush<br>Rose, sank, and blanched the fair face of the bride.<br>“To arms!” The cry smote sharply on the hush,<br>And broke it;—all was one tumultuous rush—<br>“The Bears have cross'd the border-land!” they cried.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIII.<br>But a few hours had Lady Gertrude dwelt<br>With her dear lord. Sad honours now were hers,<br>With white, hot hands she clasp'd his silver belt;<br>She held his dinted shield and sword; and knelt,<br>Like lowly squire, to don his golden spurs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIV.<br>“Thou wilt not fight with him?—thou wilt forbear<br>For my sake?” So she pleaded, while the sun<br>Shone on her falling tears—each tear a prayer.<br>He whisper'd gravely, as he kissed her hair,<br>“I know not if I can, my little one.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LV.<br>She held his hands, with infinite mute desire<br>To hold him back; then watch'd him to the field<br>With hungry, feverish eyes that could not tire,<br>Till sunny space absorb'd the fitful fire<br>Of the bright dragons on his crest and shield.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LVI.<br>When he was gone—quite gone—she crept away,<br>Back to the castle chapel, still and dim;<br>And knelt where he had knelt but yesterday,<br>Low on the altar step, to watch and pray—<br>To pour her heart out for the love of him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LVII.<br>Her bower-maidens sat alone and spun<br>The while she pray'd, the terror-stricken wife.<br>The long hours slowly wanèd, one by one,<br>And evening came, and, with the setting sun,<br>The sudden darkness that eclipsed her life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LVIII.<br>She listen'd, and she heard the sound at last,—<br>The ominous pause, the heavy, clanging tread;<br>She saw the strange, long shadow weirdly cast<br>Upon the floor, the red blood streaming fast,<br>The dear face grey and stiffen'd;—he was dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIX.<br>“Ay, dead, my lady baroness; and slain<br>By him you call your brother. Curses light<br>Upon his caitiff soul! Ah, 'tis in vain<br>To murmur thus,—he will not hear again—<br>He cannot heed your whisperings to-night.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LX.<br>She lay down on her bridal couch—the stone<br>Whereon he lay in his eternal rest;<br>They, pitying, pass'd out, leaving her alone,<br>To kiss the rigid lips, and cry, and moan,<br>With her white face upon his bleeding breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXI.<br>'Twas night—wakeful, restless, troubled night,<br>Both wild and soft—fair;<br>With clouds fast flying through the domheight,<br>And shrieking winds, and silvery shining light,<br>And clear bells piercing the transparent air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXII.<br>Down vale and fell a lonely figure stray'd,—<br>Now a dark shadow on the moonlit ground,<br>Now flickering white and ghostly in the shade<br>Of haunted glen and scented forest-glade—<br>A woman, watched and followed by a hound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXIII.<br>'Twas Lady Gertrude, widow'd and forlorn,<br>Returning to the wild birds' mountain nest;<br>Sent out with smiling insult and with scorn,<br>And creeping to the home where she was born,<br>To hide her sorrow, to lie down and rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXIV.<br>She reach'd the gate and cross'd the castle-yard,<br>And stood upon the threshold, chill'd with fear.<br>The baron rose and faced her, breathing hard:<br>“Troopers,” he thunder'd, “let the doors be barred<br>And double-barred!—we'll have no traitors here.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXV.<br>Such was her welcome. As she turn'd away,<br>Groping with sightless eyes and hands outspread,<br>The hound, unnoticed, slowly made his way<br>Along the hall, as if in track of prey,<br>With glistening teeth and stealthy velvet tread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXVI.<br>There was no clarion cry, none heard the sound<br>Of knightly challenge, till the champion rose,<br>Avenging. Lo! they saw upon the ground<br>The baron struggling with the savage hound,<br>And grim death grimly waiting for the close!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXVII.<br>'Twas done. He lay there unassoilzied, dead,<br>Ere scarcely fell'd by the relentless paws.<br>And the fierce hound, with painful, limping tread,<br>Was following still where Lady Gertrude led,<br>His own red life-blood dripping from his jaws.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXVIII.<br>'Neath shadowy glades, with moonbeams interlaced,<br>Through valleys, at day—dawning, soft and dim,<br>Up mountain steeps at sunrise—uplands paced<br>By her dead lord in childhood—she retraced<br>The long miles stretching betwixt her and him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXIX.<br>She reach'd the castle, ere the torches' glare<br>Had wanèd in the brightness of the sky—<br>Another lord than hers was feasting there!<br>She shudder'd at the sounds that fill'd the air,<br>Of drunken laughter and loud revelry,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXX.<br>And softly up the cloister'd stairs she crept,<br>Back to the lonely chapel, where all sound<br>Of human life in solemn silence slept.<br>With weary heart and noiseless feet she stept<br>Beneath the doorway into hallow'd ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXXI.<br>Low at the altar, wrapped in slumber sweet<br>And still and deep, her murder'd lord lay here;<br>With waxen tapers at his head and feet—<br>Forcing reluctant darkness to retreat—<br>And cross-embroider'd pall upon his bier.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXXII.<br>The blood-hound blindly stumbled, and fell prone<br>Across the threshold. Something came and prest<br>His huge head downward, stiffening him to stone.<br>And Lady Gertrude, passing up alone,<br>Spread her white arms above the baron's breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXXIII.<br>The weapons which his lowly coffin bore—<br>His sword and spurs, his helm and shield and belt—<br>Like him, to rest from battle evermore,<br>Whose long-drawn shadows barred the chapel floor,—<br>She kiss'd them, for his dear sake, as she knelt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXXIV.<br>She laid her cheek upon the velvet pall,<br>With one long, quivering sigh; and tried to creep<br>Where the soft shadow of the rood would fall,<br>'Mid light of sunrise and of tapers tall,<br>Upon them both, and there she fell asleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LXXV.<br>She woke no more. But where her track had been,<br>On that last night, became a haunted ground.<br>And when the wild wind blows upon the sheen<br>Of summer moonlight, there may still be seen<br>The phantom of a lady and a hound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ada+Cambridge">Ada Cambridge</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339803" data-title="The Legend of Lady Gertrude de Ada Cambridge" data-description="I.
Fallen the lofty halls, where vassal crowds
Drank in the dawn of Gertrude's natal day.
The dungeon roof an Alpine snow-wreath shrouds,
The strong, wild eagle's eyrie in the clouds—
The robber-baron's nest—is swept away.

II.
Bare is the mou..."></div>
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