Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE COUNT OF MIRANDEL, by CLINTON SCOLLARD Poet's Biography First Line: Said the count of mirandel Last Line: "I have filched somewhat of heaven!" Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Elopements; Love Affairs | ||||||||
Said the Count of Mirandel, "If it's truth that the Fathers tell, (And who would question a priest?) I am just as sure of Hell As the Bishop is of his feast When the long lean Lent has ceased. So, for a little leaven, To ease my bed in Hell I must filch somewhat of Heaven!" At the mass he would not bow, The Count of Mirandel; And he stood with lifted brow At the raising of the Host; So the wrathful Bishop swore By the Rood and the Holy Ghost, And all of the saints as well, He would brook the mien no more Of the Count of Mirandel. He was the doughtiest blade That dwelt at the Bishop's court; And you could not say his forte Was the sword-thrust, or the dance, Or the couching of a lance, Or the witching way he played The lute, or sang, or yet The manner in which he made Ballade and chansonette; For he did them all so well Each seemed the veriest sport To the Count of Mirandel. One deathless creed he had, The passionate creed of Love; And the shining text thereof Was the Bishop's flower-like niece, The Demoiselle Avice. And, forsooth, his heart was sad If the round of a day went by When he might not feel the spell Of the love-light of her eye; And she! -- no tongue can tell How she answered sigh for sigh To the Count of Mirandel. Now into the Bishop's brain There had drifted never a gleam Of the love that bound these twain, Or their golden summer dream Had been closed by a dungeon-cell Long, long before for the swain, -- For the Count of Mirandel. It chanced on the very day When the angry Bishop swore That the count, with his scoffing way, Should darken his court no more (Despite his pressing needs Of a man of fearless deeds,) Gossip, the prying dame, To the Bishop's chamber came; And if for the youth before It had boded far from well, Faith, now there was danger sore For the Count of Mirandel! Danger! -- it was no bar, For he loved it next to Love! He scented it afar As the questing hawk the dove. He could gaze upon its face With a suave and steady smile; He could meet it with a grace That was cloak to a subtle wile. He looked upon it now, And his laugh rang like a bell; There was no cloud on the brow Of the Count of Mirandel! There came grim guards to his room, With halberd and helmet-plume; "In the Bishop's name!" they cried, And entered. Naught but gloom, And the casement open wide! There was scurrying to and fro, Clamor and torchlight's glow, And the Bishop raged, -- "My niece, The Demoiselle Avice, Bid her be brought below; She shall answer -- mark me well! -- For this monstrous, mad caprice, For this Count of Mirandel!" Fate laughs at kings, 't is said, And it laughs at Bishops, too! To the roof-tree's very lead The women, a trembling crew, Searched all of the palace through; But they found no hair of the head Of the flower-fair Demoiselle; And they sought the Bishop dread -- (There was nothing else to do, Though they shook as under a spell!) "We fear, your Grace, she has fled With the Count of Mirandel!" Said the Count of Mirandel, Sitting within his tower, To the lovely Demoiselle, At the shut of the sunset hour, "They had doomed my soul, Ma Belle, (They who wield the rod, So they deem, of the great Lord God!) So, for a little leaven, To ease my path to Hell, I have filched somewhat of Heaven!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOUBLE SPHERE, CLOVEN SPHERE by NORMAN DUBIE A MONTH IN SUMMER by CAROLYN KIZER OAXACA 1925 by KENNETH REXROTH SOTTOPORTICO SAN ZACCARIA by KENNETH REXROTH APOLLO AT LAX by KAREN SWENSON IT'S ME, I'M NOT HOME by REETIKA VAZIRANI |
|