The Song of Rorek

TWAS on the night of Michaelmas that lordly Orloff’s heir
Wed with the noble Russian maid, Dimitry’s daughter fair.

With mirth and song, and love and wine, that was a royal day ;
The banners streamed, the halls were hung in black and gold array.

The Twelve Apostles stood in brass, each with a flambeau bright,
To blaze with holy altar sheen throughout the festive night.

The rings were changed, the tabor rolled, the Kyrie was said ;
The boyard father drew his sword, and pierced the loaf of bread.

Soon as the priest did drain his cup, and put his pipe aside,
He wiped his lip upon his sleeve, and kissed the blushing bride.

That very night to Novgorod must hasten bride and heir,
And Count Dimitry bid them well with robe and bell prepare.

And when from feast and wedding-guest they parted at the door,
He bade two hunters ride behind, two hunters ride before.

“ Look to your carbines, men,” he called, “ and gird your ready knives.”
With one accord they all replied, “We pledge thee with our lives!”

I was the haiduk of that night, and vowed, by horses fleet,
Our sleigh must shoot with arrow speed behind the coursers’ feet.

We journeyed speedy, werst by werst, with bell and song and glee,
And I, upon my postal-horn, blew many a melody.

I blew farewell to Minka mine, and bid the strain retire
Where she sat winding flaxen thread beside the kitchen fire.

We rode, and rode, by hollow pass, by glen and mountain-side,
And with each bell soft accents fell from lips of bonny bride.

The night was drear, the night was chill, the night was lone and bright ;
Before us streamed the polar rays in green and golden light.

The gypsy thieves were in their dens ; the owl moaned in the trees ;
The wind-mill circled merrily, obedient to the breeze.

Shrill piped the blast in birchen boughs, and mocked the snowy shroud,
Thrice ran a hare across our track ; thrice croaked a raven loud!

The horses pawed the frigid sands, and drove them with the wind ;
We left the village gallows-tree full thirty wersts behind.

We rode, and rode, by forest shade, by brake and river-side ;
And as we rode I heard the kiss of groom and bonny bride.

I heard again, — a boding strain; I heard it, all too well;
A neigh, a shout, a groan, a howl, — then heavy curses fell.

Our horses pricked their wary ears, and bounded with affright ;
From forest kennels picket wolves were baying in the night.

“Haiduk, haiduk, — the lash, —the steeds, — the wolves!
— ” the lady cried ; The wily baron clutched his blade, and murmured to the bride : —

“ This all is but a moonlight hunt; the starveling hounds shall bleed,
And you shall be the tourney’s queen, to crown the gallant deed ! ”

The moon it crept behind a cloud, as covered by a storm ;
And the gray cloud became a wolf, a monster wolf in form.

“Gramercy, Mother of our Lord, — gramercy in our needs!”
Hold well together hand and thong, — hold well, ye sturdy steeds!

Like unto Tartar cavalry the wolf battalion sped ;
Ungunned, unspurred, but well to horse, and sharpened well to head.

The pines stood by, the stars looked on, and listless fell the snow ;
The breeze made merry with the trees, nor heeded wolf nor woe.

Now cracked the carbines, — bleeding beasts were rolling here and there;
’Twas Hash and shot and howl, — and yet the wolves were everywhere.

No more they mustered in our wake, their legion ranged beside.
was steed for speed, and wolf for steed, and wolf for lord and bride.

In vain I cited Christian saints, I called Mahomet near ;
Methought though all the saints did fail, the Prophet would appear.

A moment, and pursuit is stayed, — they tear their wounded kind;
A moment, — then the hellish pack did follow close behind.

The baron silent rose amain, by danger unappalled.
“ Strive for your lives, with guns and knives,” the mounted guardsmen called.

The lady muttered agony, with crucifix and beads;
The wolves were snapping by her side, and leaping at our steeds.

My limbs were numb, my senses dumb, nor reason held its place ;
I fell beneath two glaring orbs, within a gaunt embrace.

I roused to hear a volley fired, to hear a martial shout ;
And when I oped my stricken eyes the wolves were all to rout.

A hundred scouting Cossacks met and slew the deadly foe ;
Fourscore of wolves in throes of death lay bleeding in the snow.

Our lady rested in a swoon, our lord was stained with gore ;
But none could tell of what befell the trusty hunters four.