Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TRYST OF QUEEN HYNDE, by WILLIAM SHARP


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRYST OF QUEEN HYNDE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Queen hynde was in the rowan-wood with scarlet fruit aflame
Last Line: "the old king's son, they say; mayhap; he has gillander's eyes."
Alternate Author Name(s): Macleod, Fiona
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Jealousy; Love; Murder; Unfaithfulness; Infidelity; Adultery; Inconstancy


Queen Hynde was in the rowan-wood with scarlet fruit aflame,
Her face was as the berries were, one sun-hot wave of shame.

With scythes of fire the August sun mowed down vast swathes of shade:
With blazing eyes the waiting queen stared on her steel-blue blade.

"What, thirsty hound," she muttered low, "with thirst you flash and gleam:
Bide, bide a wee, my bonnie hound, I'll show ye soon a stream!"

The sun had tossed against the West his broken scythes of fire
When Lord Gillanders bowed before his Queen and Sweet Desire.

She did not give him smile or kiss; her hand she did not give:
"But are ye come for death," she said, "or are ye come to live?"

Gillanders reined and looked at her: "Hynde, Queen and Love," he said,
"I wooed in love, I come in love, to this the tryst we made:

"Why are your eyes so fierce and wild? why is your face so white?
I love you with all my love," he said, "by day and by night."

"What o' the word that's come to me, of how my lord's to wed
The lilywhite maid o' one that has a gold crown on his head?

"What o' the word that yesternight ye wantoned with my name,
And on a windy scorn let loose the blown leaf o' my shame?"

The Lord Gillanders looked at her, and never a word said he,
But sprang from off his great black horse and sank upon his knee.

"This is my love," said white Queen Hynde, "and this, and this, and this"—
Four times she stabbed him to the heart while she his lips did kiss.

She left him in the darkling wood: and as she rode she sang
(The little notes swirled in and out amid the horsehoof clang)

My love was sweet, was sweet, was sweet, but not so sweet as now!
A deep long sleep my sweet love has beneath the rowan-bough.

They let her in, they lifted swords, his head each one did bare:
Slowly she bowed, slowly she passed, slowly she clomb the stair:

Her little son she lifted up, and whispered 'neath his cries—
"The old king's son, they say; mayhap; he has Gillander's eyes."





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