A BALLAD OF KING RICHARD

King Richard wiped the wine from his lips

And laughed full scornfully;

“Oh, I care not a bit for King Philip's wit,

Nor the honour of France,” quoth he;

“And I care not a straw for Austria's wrath,

And little of Templars reck;

If I lead not this host, by the Holy Ghost,

May my head be struck from my neck.”

King Richard drank, and swore in his cups

— And a mighty man was he —

“Let the mongrels yap, I care not a rap,

I am Richard the Lion,” quoth he.

The news went forth to the King of France

And the Dukes of high degree,

How Richard had sworn that no man born

Should lead the armies but he.

The Kings were wroth at King Richard's words

That were carried to them that day;

“Does he make a mock of our ancient stock,

This king of an hour?” quoth they.

“This bastard son of a bastard sire

The standard first would plant

On the city's walls when Jerusalem falls;

Must we this honour grant?

“Not so; if Christ would have Richard lead,

Let Christ give grace to his arms.

We will stand aside from the battle pride

And the fury of war's alarms.

“Our men are sick and outnumbered sore,

And words from home reveal

That our country cries for our governance wise;

We will look to our country's weal.

“For we came to fight for a Holy Cause,

Not dance to an upstart king;

The cause must wait for Richard the Great,

For our weapons down we fling.”

Breathless and hushed the messengers spoke

As they told King Richard the news

How the kings were set and the council met,

And the kings to fight refuse.

Louder than ever laughed the King

In the depths of his golden beard.

“God rest my soul, I will reach the goal,

And show if Richard's afeared;

“I will plant my flag amidst this camp

As a token seen of all;

Nor Austria's lance, nor the frown of France,

Shall make its splendour fall.”

So the sultry breezes of Ascalon

Saluted the lions three,

And Austria frowned from his camping ground,

And cursed right bitterly.

“Shall this bastard son of a bastard sire

Boast he o'erruleth me?

By the Holy Cross, be it living loss,

This shame shall never be.”

So he planted his banner firm and fast,

And it floated high and free,

On the selfsame mound in the Christian ground

Flew eagle and lions three.

Word they brought to Richard the King

Where in his tent he lay,

“Lo, Austria's hand on the lion's land

Has loosed the eagle,” said they.

Richard arose and strode in haste

— Oh the banners floated free —

“Ill eagles fare in the lion's lair,

Take down your banner,” quoth he.

But word for word the Archduke gave.

He answered, “Eagles fly;

Let the lion keep to the fields and sheep,

To the eagle leave the sky.”

“Do you give me words?” cried Richard the King;

“Ho, now, at your words I laugh.”

And he tore the flag like a worthless rag,

And he wrenched and splintered the staff,

And he set his foot on the silken flag,

His foot on Austria's fame;

With a swordless hip, yet a smiling lip,

He mocked the eagle's shame.

( Oh, Richard the Lion, woe is me

For the sorrow your deed shall bring,

For the dungeon walls, and the gloom that falls

On the heart of Richard the King;

For the long despair of the prison dark,

And the traffic in lordly things,

When the Austrian sold for an Emperor's gold

The son of the English kings. )

But Richard laughed in the noonday sun

That beats on Palestine.

And Leopold turned, while in hate he burned

Against Plantagenet's line;

He trusted not in his own right arm,

But justice cried from France,

And France spake fair, but he did not dare

Withstand King Richard's glance.

Sullenly Austria turned from the Kings

And back to his tents went he;

And the lions of gold above Richard the bold

Floated alone and free.