Long Will

by Florence Converse

  I

  The Lark and the Cuckoo

  There were a many singers on the hill-top. They twittered in thegorse; they whistled from the old hawthorn tree, amid the white may;they sprang to heaven, shaking off melody in their flight; and one,russet-clad, lay at his length against the green slope, murmuringEnglish in his throat.

  "'T was in a May morning," he said, "'T was in a May morning,"--and heloitered over the words and drew out the "morwening" very long andsweet. Then, because there was a singing mote of a lark in the mistyblue above him, his own song dropped back into his breast, and hewaited.

  He was young and lank, and his hair was yellow-red. He followed thelark up into the bright heaven with wide, unblinking eyes. The birdfell to earth; somewhere unseen a cuckoo chanted. Three sheep on thebrow of the hill moved forward, slowly feeding.

  "'T was on a May morning, on the Ma'vern Hills," whispered the singer,"on the Ma'vern Hills;" and he fell in a dream.

  The Great Hill of the Malverns stood over against the dreamer, a bare,up-climbing majesty, a vasty cone, making its goal in long greenstrides. Below, a wrinkle hinted a pass, and on the high flat saddlebetween the Great Hill and the Small, the grass was trodden, albeitnot worn away. A bell called softly from a valley hidden eastward; andup from the southwest, slantwise across a corner of the hill, a childcame running into the dream, a gay lad in scarlet hosen and a greenshort coat, and shoes of fine leather. His eyes made a wonderment inhis face, but his lips curled a smile at the wonder. A dark elf-lockdanced on his forehead.

  The dreamer moved no whit, but waited, level-eyed.

  "What be these tricks?" cried the child in a voice betwixt a laugh anda gasp. "I saw thee from yonder hill, and thou wert distant a day'sjourney. Then the bell rang, and lo! I am here before the clapper 'sswung to rest."

  He in the russet smiled, but answered nothing.

  The little lad looked down and studied him. "I 've missed my way," hesaid.

  "What is thy way?"

  "'T was the way o' the hunt, but marry, now 't is the way of a gooddinner,--and that 's a short road to the Priory. I am of PrinceLionel's train."

  "Ay," returned the other, as who should say, "No need to tell methat;" and he added presently, "The hunt is below in the King'sForest; how art thou strayed? Thou 'rt midway the top o' the GreatHill."

  The child laughed, but, though his eyes were merry, yet were they shy,and the red mounted to his brow. He came a pace nearer.

  "I made a little rondel to my lady; and it must be as my thought flewup, so clomb my feet likewise, and I was not aware."

  He plaited his fingers in his belt and flushed a deeper red, halfproud and half dismayed of his confession. "I trust thee for a secretman, shepherd," he added.

  The eyes of the dreamer laughed, but his lips were circumspect. He satup and nursed his knee with his two long arms.

  "Ay, of a truth, a secret man, young master; but no shepherd," heanswered.

  The little lad eyed him, and questioned with a child's simplicity,"What art thou, then?"

  The youth looked onward to the Great Hill. "I know not, yet," he said.

  So for a little space he sat, forgetful of his questioner, until thechild came close and sat beside him, laying one hand upon his arm andlooking up to his face thoughtfully.

  "Thou long brown man, it may be thou 'rt a poet," he said at last.

  "It may well be," the dreamer acquiesced, and never turned his eyesfrom the green hill.

  "In London, at the court of the king, there be poets," the childcontinued; "but thou art of quite other fashion. Who is thylady-love?"

  "Saint Truth," the brown boy answered gravely.

  "Saint--Truth!" repeated the child; "and is she dead, then?"

  "Nay, I trow not; God forbid!"

  "I marvel that thy lady chide thee not for thy mean apparel. In Londonis not a friar plays his wanton lute beneath a chamber window but hegoeth better clad than thou."

  "Hark you, young master, I follow not the friars!" the dreamer criedwith a stern lip. "And for my lady, she careth for naught but that mycoat be honestly come by. So far as I may discover, she hath not herabode in the king's palace."

  "Forsooth, a strange lady!" said the child; and then, leaning his headagainst that other's shoulder, "Poet, tell me a tale."

  "I pipe not for lordings, little master," the youth returned, angeryet burning in his eyes.

  "Nay, then, I 'm no lord," laughed the child; "my father is a vintnerin London. He hath got me in Prince Lionel's household by favour ofthe king; for that the king loveth his merchants of the city; and wellhe may, my father saith. There be others, lordings, among the childrenof the household; but I am none. I am a plain man like to thee, poet."

  The dreamer shook his head with a mournful smile. "Not so close to thesoil, master merchant, not so close to the soil. I smell o' thefurrow."

  "Nay, I 'm no merchant, neither," the lad protested. "Hark in thineear, thou long brown stranger,--and I 'll call thee brother! My ladysaith I 'll be a poet. She 's a most wise and lovely lady. Come,--tellme a tale!"

  "I am no troubadour," sighed the brown youth; "I know one tale only,and that is over long for a summer day."

  But the child was angered; his eyes flashed, and he clenched one handand flung it backward, menacing:--

  "I 'll believe thou mockest me," he cried. "Lying tongue! No poetthou, but a lazy hind."

  Then the gray, smouldering eyes of the dreamer shot fire, and a longbrown arm jerked the lad to his knees.

  "I tell no lies. My lady is Saint Truth," the dreamer said. "Poet orno poet, as thou wilt, I 'll not gainsay thee. But a truthtellerever."

  A little lamb that strayed near by looked up with startled face, andscampered down the hill, crying "Ba-a-a!" The huntsman's note camewinding up from the green depths. The child arose and dusted hisknees.

  "There be poets that yet lie amazingly,--and boast thereof," heobserved shrewdly; "but now I rede thy riddle of Saint Truth. 'T is asweet jest. I love thee for it, and by that I know thee for a poet.Tell me thy tale, and we 'll be friends again. Of a surety thou art nohind; Prince Lionel's self is not more haughty of mien than thou. Singthen, poet,--smile!"

  The dreamer cleared his brow but half unwillingly: "Who could notchoose but smile on such a teasing lad?" he asked; and then, "My taleis but begun, and what the end shall be, or whether there be anend,--who shall say? Hearken!

  In a summer season when soft was the sun, I set me in a shepherd's coat as I a shepherd were; In the habit of a hermit, yet unholy of works, Wandered I wide in this world wonders to hear. But in a May morning on Malvern Hills There befel me a wonder, wonderful methought it; I was weary of wandering and went me to rest Under a broad bank by a burn side, And as I lay and leaned and looked on the waters, I slumbered in a sleep"--

  "No, no! not thus, not thus!" cried out the child on a sudden; "neverthus! An thou come to court they 'll not hearken thy long slowmeasures. Thou shalt make thy verses the French way, with rhyme. Needsmust thou learn this manner of the French ere thou come to court."

  "I have no mind to come to court," the dreamer answered. "I have nomind to learn the manner of the French. There be a many souls inEngland that know not such light songs. It is for them I sing,--forthe poor folk in cots. Think you that a poet may sing only for kings?"

  "Nay, I trow he singeth neither for kings, nor for any manner wight,but for his own soul's health," quoth the child right solemnly; "andyet, 't were well for him if he have the good will of a king. Myrhymes will not match an my belly be empty. But tell on thy tale. Ilike thine old fashion of singing."

  And he listened the while the poet told of a high tower called Truth,and an evil place to the north, where the devil dwelleth,--and a greatplain between. And here foregathered all kind of people that ever werein this world,--pardoners, and merchants, and knights, and friars, andcooks crying "Hot pies--hot!"--and fine ladies. And all these listened
to Repentance that preached them a sermon.

  The child laughed out aloud. "Thy men are puppets, O poet!" he cried."Where is the breath of life in them? Didst never see a man, that thoucanst make him so like to a wooden doll? The stone abbot down yonder,on his tomb in the Priory, is more alive than these. Hast seen theMiracle Play in Paul's Churchyard at Whitsuntide? There will be acrowd alive for thee. Hast never seen the 'prentices breaking eachother his pate of a holiday in London streets? There be men! Thine area string o' names my lord Bishop might be a-reading before the altarto shame their owners."

  "Men be but little more than names for me, young master. I dwell amongthe hills. I know the sheep, the birds I know,--and Brother Owyn inthe Priory, that learned me to sing."

  Again the child laughed. "And wilt thou sing o' the bare hill-tops,and the sheep? Poets must sing of a fair launde where flowretsblossom,--of a green pleasaunce,--of my lady's garden. But here 's awaste! What wilt find for a song? And under, in the King's Forest, 'tis a fearsome place at nightfall. Come thou to court, to London,brother. I 'll show thee the king's gardens. I 'll show thee men! I'll teach thee the French manner."

  A lark ran up the sky a-caroling, and the child and the dreamer waitedwith their two heads thrown backward, watching. Then, when the birdwas nested, the child leaped up and waved his little arms, his eyesshone, and "I 'll sing like to that one," he cried; "I 'll soar veryhigh, and sing, and sing, the world beneath me one ear to hearken. Letus be larks, brother!"

  But the dreamer shook his head. "I am the cuckoo. I sing but twonotes, and them over and over," he answered mournfully.

  The little lad caught up the fantasy and played with it betwixt hisripples of sweet laughter. "A brown bird, and it singeth hid,--twosoft and lovely notes. Nay, come thou to London and turn nightingale."

  "Alas!" said the dreamer, and again, "Alas!"

  And the Priory bell rang soft in the valley, ten clear strokes.

  "Dinner!" exclaimed the child, "and my lady's rondel lacking of threerhymes!"

  "Yon 's the pass," said the dreamer, "between the two hills. 'T is astraight road."

  "Ay, and a long one, is 't? And the monks feed fast, and clean theplatter."

  "Nay, 't is nearer than thou deem'st. Thy legs will carry thee to thegate ere the first dish is empty. The mist that is ever on Ma'vernHills, even though the sun shine, maketh a near thing stand afar off.Haste thee! And hearken; to-night, an thou 'lt have a merry tale of aGreen Knight and Sir Gawaine of Arthur's Court, see thou beseechBrother Owyn. Himself hath been a knight one while."

  The lad was twinkling down the pass, when he turned about, and "Godkeep thee, cuckoo!" quoth he.

  "God keep thee, little lark!" said the dreamer.