From the gatehouse spread the gardens, girt by
marble statues round,
Where the yew-tree's sable hedges, by rich belts of
flowers were bound.

Further still, the great deer forest reared its emerald
walls on high,
Beneath the calm broad river wandered, sapphire
blue as summer sky,
In the distance past the ploughmen, mill and
smithy, park and stile,
Crept the high road, white and glaring, winding on
mile after mile.

II

Half a dozen silken suitors followed pretty Lady
Mabel,
Smirking, simpering, bowing, prating, past each
oriel and gable,
Waving plumes and fluttering satins—one alone,
now three, then two,
They paced the lozenge-paven terrace, by the close-
clipped walls of yew.

Young Sir Roger Wildrake Fenton, rich in fallow,
moor, and fen,
Old Sir Francis, proud and stately, with his well-
filled park and pen,
Then the Welsh knight, Griffith Wynkin, rather
curved about the leg,
Bragging coarsely of his stables, and his brown mare,
"Little Meg."

Next to them Sir Brian Bulstrode, fiery red about the
face,
Then that lawyer, Master Vellums, proud of money,
not of race;
Last of all that noisy fopling, Marmaduke Macgillivray,
Talking nonsense, or loud ranting lines from Shirley's
latest play.

One was fixing firm his feather, with a shrill uneasy
laugh,
One his scented glove was pulling, or was tying up his
scarf;
One was stooping, gay adjusting fluttering ribbons
on his knee,
Or was merry, disentangling chains and badges two
or three.

One proposed full cups of clary; one cried out to
"boot and horse;"
The lawyer he was recommending "no eviction, if by
force;"
The fop was picking clove carnations for the Lady
Mabel's hair,
Vowing by "Sir Phœbus' chariot" that she was
"excelling fair."

Far behind them, lone and musing, sober-garbed
and very sad,
Paced a poet-student, sunken-cheeked and thin; the
lad
By his mistress was unnoticed, by the pages held at
scorn:
He stood upon that terrace-walk the unhappiest
creature born.

Careless the lady paced along, her train borne up by
twice three pages;
The falcon on her little wrist fretted in pretty wanton
rages.
One cord of pearls alone she wore, twisted around
her hair;
Whene'er she moved a breath of spring filled all the
amorous air.

Vain the sighs of "Queen and Goddess," "Dian
chaste," as "Dian cold,"
Mabel walked in silent anger past the beds of
flowering gold;
Not a look she gave of greeting to that base,
unworthy crew
Swirling round her train of satin o'er the soft grass
bloomed with dew.

III

Suddenly beside a fountain on her lovers Mabel
turned,
A maiden blush was on her cheek, her eyes with
anger burned.
"Villain suitors!" cried the lady, "eating up my
poor estate;
I, Penelope unguarded, still for a deliverer wait.

"Is there no one really loves me? none to free me
from these knaves?
From their insolence release me—none to chase away
these slaves?—
Smell-feasts, who with churlish clamour, seek my
poor defenceless hand,
Only that they may the sooner gnaw into my gold
and land?"

Silent stood that flock of suitors, not one sought to
lead the rest;
But each one, sullen, flung his cloak athwart his
craven breast
Then stepped the gentle student-boy before those
recreant men,
And drew his sword, and cried aloud, "Back each
one to his den!"

Then every face grew black to hear that bitterness
of speech,
From every gilded sheath flashed out the angry
sword of each:
"Let's whip this bookworm, poor and hungry, to his
scurvy garret lair,
To read his Ovid's wanton songs, and pine and
scribble there."

Then as a traveller would turn to brush the gnats
away,
The lover strode, his eyes flashed red, as royal stag
at bay;
He would not draw his sword for fear to fright the
lady fair,
But leapt and seized the foremost man, his strong
hand in his hair.

He wrapped his cloak around his arm, he smote
among their swords,
Striking hard and sturdy buffets on the mouths of
those proud lords;
Snapping blades and tearing mantles, like a lion at
his meal,
Laughing at the stab of dagger and the flashing of
their steel.

From one he tore his feathered hat, from one he
rent his cloak,
Though blood ran out and daubed his face, still fell
his angry stroke.