Within the merry greenwood,
At dawning of the day,
Four-and-twenty armed men
In silent ambush lay.
They wait like couchant leopards,
Their eager eyes they strain,
And look towards the lonely glade,
Towards the distant plain.
Naught see they but the golden corn
Slow waving in the sun,
Naught see they but the misty hills
And uplands bare and dun.
The rustle of the forest leaves,
The trampling of the deer,
The chirp of birds upon the boughs,
Are all the sounds they hear.
But hark! they catch the thrilling notes
Of a distant bugle horn
Come pealing through the wild ravine,
By the morning breezes borne:
Lower they stooped, and anxiously
Their laboured breath they drew,
And clutched their brands with nervous hands—
Their quarry is in view,
Attended by a single squire,
Slow riding up the glen,
Unconscious that his path's beset
By armed and desperate men;
A brave gerfalcon on his wrist,
The bugle on his breast,
The sunlight gleaming brightly on
His nodding plume and crest.
Not clad in steel, from head to heel
In satin rich arrayed,
With his trusty sword, Pokurna's lord
Is riding through the glade,
To see his falcon proudly soar
And strike, he comes so far;
In peaceful guise he rideth on,
Nor dreams of blood or war.
All sudden from their ambush
The treacherous foemen rose,
With vengeful eyes and glittering arms,
With spears and bended bows:
And ere the chief could draw his blade,
They hemmed him darkly round,
And plucked him from his frightened steed,
And bore him to the ground.
The king sat on a gorgeous throne,
All rough with ruddy gold,
Begirt with many a haughty peer,
And warriors stern and bold;
With many a vassal-prince around,
For they had come from far
To pay their homage to their lord,
The sovereign of Marwar.
With fetters on his manly hands,
Within that hostile ring,
With dauntless look the chief appeared
Before his angry king.
For he had often vaunted thus,
In public and alone,
'Within my dagger's sheath I hold
This kingdom's royal throne.'
Before his angry king he stood,
The king he had defied,
Nor quailed he 'neath that princely glance
Nor vailed his brow of pride;
Though bent on him were fiery eyes,
And looks of rage and hate,
He stood as calm as if he were
Within his castle gate.
The monarch spoke, his words rang out
In accents stern and clear,
'Ha! traitor, insolent and keen,
At last we have thee here;
Where now are all thy boastings vain,
Amidst thy men of war?
Say, where is now the sheath which holds
The fortunes of Marwar?'
Oh! grimly turned Pokurna's lord,
And loud and long laughed he,
Then waved his hand towards the prince
And answered loftily:
'I left it with my gallant son,
Within Pokurna's hall;
Tremble, false prince, for sure he will
Avenge his father's fall!'
The monarch's swarthy cheeks grew pale,
The lightning filled his eye:
'And dar'st thou, rebel, even here,
Thy sovereign lord defy?
Ho, soldiers! drag the traitor out,
And ere the close of day
Let his foul carcase feed the dogs
Upon the public way.'
Oh! gaily in a golden shower
The setting sunlight falls
Upon the waste of glinting sand
Which girds Pokurna's walls.
The warder paced the battlements,
With heavy steps and slow,
And from within arose a cry,
A wail of grief and woe.
There noble dames shed heart-wrung tears,
And rent their glossy hair,
And cried aloud for him, the dead,
And beat their bosoms bare.
And cursed with bitter, bitter words
The prince at whose command
Was foully slain their noble chief,
The bravest in the land.
Far different was the scene within
That castle's ancient hall,
Where, 'neath the glorious banners
Which graced the blackened wall,
Five hundred mailed warriors
And chiefs of high emprise
Around their youthful leader stood,
With stern yet moistened eyes.
They bared at once their shining blades
And lifted them on high,
And swore a deep and deadly oath
To avenge their lord or die.
Full well their solemn oath they kept
In many a mortal fray,
And sorely rued that haughty prince
The deed he did that day.