The Bandits Death
By Alfred Lord Tennyson
To Sir Walter Scott...
O GREAT AND GALLANT SCOTT,
TRUE GENTLEMAN, HEART, BLOOD AND BONE,
I WOULD IT HAD BEEN MY LOT
TO HAVE SEEN THEE, AND HEARD THEE, AND KNOWN.
Sir, do you see this dagger? nay, why do you start aside?
I was not going to stab you, tho I am the Bandits bride.
You have set a price on his head: I may claim it without a lie.
What have I here in the cloth? I will show it you by-and-by.
Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief summer of bliss.
But the Bandit had wood me in vain, and he stabbd my Piero with this.
And he draggd me up there to his cave in the mountain, and there one day
He had left his dagger behind him. I found it. I hid it away.
For he reekd with the blood of Piero; his kisses were red with his crime,
And I cried to the Saints to avenge me. They heard, they bided their time.
In a while I bore him a son, and he loved to dandle the child,
And that was a link between us; but Ito be reconciled?
No, by the Mother of God, tho I think I hated him less,
Andwell, if I sinnd last night, I will find the Priest and confess.
Listen! we three were alone in the dell at the close of the clay.
I was lilting a song to the babe, and it laughd like a dawn in May.
Then on a sudden we saw your soldiers crossing the ridge,
And he caught my little one from me: we dipt down under the bridge
By the great dead pineyou know itand heard as we crouchd below,
The clatter of arms, and voices, and men passing to and fro.
Black was the night when we crept awaynot a star in the sky
Hushd as the heart of the grave, till the little one utterd a cry.
I whisperd give it to me, but he would not answer methen
He gript it so hard by the throat that the boy never cried again.
We returnd to his cavethe link was brokenhe sobbd and he wept,
And cursed himself; then he yawnd, for the wretch could sleep, and he slept
Ay, till dawn stole into the cave, and a ray red as blood
Glanced on the strangled faceI could make Sleep Death, if I would
Glared on at the murderd son, and the murderous father at rest, . . .
I drove the blade that had slain my husband thrice thro his breast.
He was loved at least by his dog: it was chaind, but its horrible yell
She has killd him, has killd him, has killd him rang out all down thro the dell,
Till I felt I could end myself too with the daggerso deafend and dazed
Take it, and save me from it ! I fled. I was all but crazed
With the grief that gnawd at my heart, and the weight that draggd at my hand;
But thanks to the Blessed Saints that I came on none of his band;
And the band will be scatterd now their gallant captain is dead,
For I with this dagger of hisdo you doubt me? Here is his head !