Adams, Oscar Fay

Thomas and Vivien

1. ARGUMENT.
2. Tom, Tom, the piper’s son,
3. Stole a pig and away he ran.
4. The pig was eat, and Tom was beat
5. And Tom went crying down the street.
6.  
7. THOMAS the young, Thomas the mischievous,
8. Thomas the dark-brow’d lad of Camelot,
9. After a day of mirth and reveling
10. At court, in which, tho’ oft rebuk’d, his voice
11. Had ever mingl’d, louder than the rest,
12. And shriller than the storm-drave seabird’s cry,
13. None within a triple-window’d room
14. That in his father’s dwelling faced the east,
15. Upon his bed, ere sleep her wings had wav’d
16. Above him, lay and meditated much
17. In what new mischief he should next engage;
18. Then, ere conclusion harmful could be reach’d,
19. Slipt into sleep, and dreaming, past to fields
20. Where youth and mischief held high holiday.
21.  
22. Sole son was he of old Sir Guy; a man
23. Of stature humble, but of wisdom great,
24. Who now was counted of the Table Round,
25. But in his youth, as some could still recall,
26. Ere from the land of Cameliard he came,
27. The sometime piper to its lord and King
28. Leodogran, ‘gainst whom the heathen warr’d;
29. But after, when the peerless Guinevere,
30. The daughter of Leodogran, had been
31. By holy Dubric to King Arthur wed,
32. Had past to Camelot; and there by dint
33. Of faithful service in a humble place,
34. But more because the King the fire of truth
35. And nobleness perceiv’d in him and lov’d
36. Him for it, was now made knight, and brightly shone
37. In burnisht armor at King Arthur’s court.
38. With him the King had counsel many times,
39. For knowledge deep of men and things Sir Guy
40. Possest, and year my year his wisdom grew
41. The riper as his head grew white. But since
42. To no man living perfect wisdom comes
43. It hapt therefore, that in one thing, not small,
44. Sir Guy, the sage was wanting, and the King
45. To him had that day put a question hard.
46.  
47. “How chances it, Sir Guy,” had Arthur said,
48. “That thou whom all men reverently call
49. The wisest of our court, now Merlin lies
50. A pris’ner in the wood of Broceliande,
51. Hast fail’d, or so it seemeth to our eyes,
52. To rule and govern well thine only son?”
53. He ceas’d and then, from out a passage close
54. Beside, a woman came and stood before
55. And cried:
56. “O King, who never yet wouldst see
57. And willingly, injustice done to aught,
58. Hearken to me. But now my son, in years
59. Scarce ten and slender as a flower, was set
60. Upon and beaten by a lad, the son,
61. It hap’neth, of thy wisest knight, Sir Guy,
62. And therefore may it please thee, noble King,
63. To see that this young Thomas, for so him
64. They call, be dealt with sternly, as is sure
65. His due.”
66. She spoke in haste, not seeing him
67. Who stood beside the king, and courteously
68. Made Arthur answer to her, and she went
69. From out the kingly presence glad of heart.
70. When the last echo of her steps had ceas’d,
71. The King again to his companion turn’d
72. Repeating in the glances of his eyes
73. The question that before was ask’d with lips.
74. Stroking his chin in thought, Sir Guy abode
75. In silence for a space, then, sudden, flasht
76. A face of mirthful radiance on the King,
77. And begg’d his lord would listen to a tale.
78. “Full willingly, Sir Guy,” replied the King,
79. And smooth’d the gilded dragon on his robe.
80.  
81. “A peasant in the land of Cameliard,”
82. Began Sir Guy, “a slender living won
83. By keeping ducks and geese, and round his hut
84. Their constant screams and quackings harshly rang
85. From earliest hours,—sweet music to his ears.
86. One spring it chanced that from the nest two geese
87. Came off at once leading their callow young.
88. One mother proudly walk’d in front of ten
89. Yellow as gold, and all submissively
90. They follow’d where she led, nor seem’d to dream
91. Of will apart from hers. The other goose
92. Was mother of but one, and this one black
93. And wayward, such as never had been seen.
94. In vain the mother strove obedience
95. From this to gain; and oft her comrades shook
96. Their heads, foreboding ills that lay in wait
97. For errant goslings that obey’d no law.
98. At last the mother strove no more but left
99. Her single gosling to its own wild will:
100. But when a year had gone the peasant saw
101. No finer bird amongst his flock than this
102. Of which such dire prediction had been made.
103. But she that led abroad her brood of ten
104. Ere summer ended saw them fall a prey
105. To enemies that lurkt in grass and pool,
106. And one by one they slowly disappear’d
107. Till autumn came and found her desolate.”
108.  
109. “A clever tale,” here spoke the King, and smil’d
110. “But all things are not rul’d by accident,
111. Sir Guy, and seldom from the thorns do men
112. Attempt the purple-cluster’d grape to pluck,
113. And this Sir Guy, the wise, should know as well,
114. Or better, even, than the King himself.”
115. Then, rising, Arthur past with thoughtful step
116. Unto the bower of Guinevere, his Queen.
117.  
118. Thomas the young, Thomas the mischievous,
119. Awak’ning on the morrow from his sleep,
120. Beheld from out the windows of his room
121. A sight that fill’d his bosom with delight,
122. For while as down the narrow street he glanced,
123. A well-fed sow, attended by the train
124. Of youthful swine that made her litter small,
125. With grunts of deep content slow rang’d along.
126. A moment only gaz’d the lad, then stole
127. With soundless steps down the long stair, and peer’d
128. Into the street without. In narrow lines
129. Thro’ rifts between high houses shone the sun
130. And lay in golden bars across the street.
131. A soft breeze lifted banners from the walls
132. And tost them lightly in the air. Scarce had
133. The city wak’d, and only here and there
134. An early-risen scullion, rubbing eyes
135. In which the sleep yet linger’d, went his way
136. To morning task. The lagging steps of these
137. And noise of swine the only sounds that stirr’d
138. The silence of the town. All cautiously
139. The lad with careful feet, on mischief bent
140. Crept toward the trustful, unsuspicious swine,
141. But, as his shadow fell across a bar
142. Of gold, the mother felt the danger near,
143. And, shrieking, fled, with all her litter’d tribe
144. At heels. But one, the smallest, tenderest
145. Of all, because less swift of foot than all
146. The rest, the ruthless Thomas seiz’d and bore
147. Triumphant to his friend, the palace cook,
148. The twain intending later on the pig
149. To dine.
150. Ill reckon’d they, the knavish pair,
151. For wily Vivien thro’ her lattice saw
152. The theft, and so, because she lov’d to tell
153. A tale, and more because the lad had been
154. Full oft a torment to her, later went
155. And told King Arthur what the son of Guy
156. Had done. The blameless King when he her tale
157. In silence heard, not doubting that for once
158. She spoke the truth, bade some one call Sir Guy
159. And Tom, and summon likewise all the court.
160. When this was done the King upon Sir Guy
161. Bent brows of sudden wrath and said:
162. “Thy one
163. Black gosling,’ O Sir Guy, in growing up
164. To be the chiefest goose, or what thou wilt,
165. Of all his time, is like, I fear me much,
166. To prove a very fruitful source of ill
167. Among the youth of tender age at court.”
168. To this in humbleness Sir Guy replied:
169. “It may be as thou sayest; therefore do
170. Unto him as thou wilt.”
171. Then call’d the King.
172. Sir Kay, the seneschal, and gave command
173. That at the stroke of noon Sir Kay should lay
174. On thieving Thomas full twelve stripes with rod
175. Of season’d birch; and hearing this, a smile
176. Of joy ran round the court, and no one rais’d
177. A voice of pity, for none pitied him.
178. Then as Sir Kay the luckless Thomas led
179. From out the presence of the court and King,
180. The wily Vivien past to where the cooks
181. And scullions bode and singling out the one
182. She knew to be the friend of Thomas, drew
183. From him with all her wondrous woman’s art
184. The after hist’ry of the stolen pig.
185. Won by the damsel’s smile, before he knew,
186. The cook, a simple knave and all unus’d
187. To arts like these of Vivien’s, promise gave
188. That he at noon the roasted pig would place
189. Upon the table in her private bower,
190. For on such fare full well she lov’d to dine.
191. The promise made again she smil’d and seem’d
192. As innocently fair as Enid, wife
193. To Prince Geraint, and, dazzl’d by such grace
194. To him, a kitchen servingman, he stood
195. With floury hands on hips and open mouth,
196. And wide eyes staring as she past without.
197.  
198. Thomas the young, Thomas the mischievous,
199. With dark anticipation watcht the sun
200. As rapidly it clomb the morning sky,
201. And much too short the time till from the tow’rs
202. Was clasht the hour of noon, but to the maid
203. The hours paced slow, and oft she sigh’d for noon
204. Impatiently exclaiming to herself
205. That never had been known a morn so long.
206. But when, on platter hot, the cook the pig
207. Brought in, her humor chang’d and thereupon
208. Grew all as sweet as breath of flowers in June.
209. Low bow’d the man as she within his palm
210. A gold’n token slipt from fingers white,
211. The while he heard her voice his cooking praise,
212. And felt the magic of her presence near
213. And vainly wish’d himself of her degree;
214. For breath of scandal soiling Vivien’s name
215. Had not so far as palace kitchen blown,
216. And therefore deem’d he still the damsel pure.
217.  
218. Long linger’d she o’er this her fav’rite dish,
219. And none the less ’twas sweet to her who knew
220. That high above the tumult of the streets
221. Below, in direful anguish, rang the shrieks
222. Of Tom.