THE WHITE SHIP. DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. HENRY I. OF ENGLAND.-25TH NOV., 1120. Henry I. was the youngest son of William the Conqueror. When his eldest brother, King William II., was killed on a hunting party, Henry immediately had himself crowned in order to deprive of the throne his brother Robert, who was then absent on a Crusade. While returning from France to England, Henry's only children, a son and a daughter, were drowned with three hundred followers. The poem is represented as the narrative of the only survivor of the wreck of their vessel, the White Ship. By none but me can the tale be told, Yet the tale can be told by none but me. King Henry held it as life's whole gain 'Twas so in my youth I heard men say, King Henry of England's realm was he, The times had changed when on either coast 'Clerkly Harry was all his boast. Of ruthless strokes full many an one He had struck to crown himself and his son; And when to the chase his court would crowd, But all the chiefs of the English land And next with his son he sailed to France And every baron in Normandy 'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day had come When the King and the Prince might journey home: For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear, Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the King,— And he held to the King, in all men's sight, "Liege Lord! my father guided the ship "And cried: "By this clasp I claim command O'er every rood of English land!' "He was borne to the realm you rule o'er now "And thither I'll bear, an' it be my due, "The famed White Ship is mine in the bay, From Harfleur's harbor she sails to-day, "With masts fair-pennoned as Norman spears And with fifty well-tried mariners." Quoth the King: “My ships are chosen each one, But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son. "My son and daughter and fellowship Shall cross the water in the White Ship." The King set sail with the eve's south wind, The Prince and all his, a princely show, With noble knights and with ladies fair, And I, Berold, was the meanest hind The Prince was a lawless, shameless youth; And now he cried: "Bring wine from below, "Our speed shall o'ertake my father's flight The rowers made good cheer without check; The night was light, and they danced on the deck. But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay, The sails were set, and the oars kept tune Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped As white as a lily glimmered she Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea. And the Prince cried, "Friends, 'tis the hour to sing! Is a songbird's course so swift on the wing?" And under the winter stars' still throng, From brown throats, white throats, merry and strong, The knights and ladies raised a song. A song,-nay, a shriek that rent the sky, An instant shriek that sprang to the shock 'Tis said that afar-a shrill strange sigh- Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm 'Mid all those folk that the waves must whelm. A great King's heir for the waves to whelm, The ship was eager and sucked athirst, And like the moil around a sinking cup, A moment the pilot's senses spin, The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din, Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in. A few friends leaped with him, standing near. "Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!" "What! none to be saved but these and I?" Out of the churn of the choking ship, Which the gulf grapples and the waves strip, They struck with the strained oars' flash and dip. 'Twas then o'er the splitting bulwarks' brim The Prince's sister screamed to him. He gazed aloft, still rowing apace, And through the whirled surf he knew her face. To the toppling decks clave one and all, As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall. I, Berold, was clinging anear; I prayed for myself and quaked with fear, He knew her face and he heard her cry, And back with the current's force they reel 'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float, But he rose and stood in the rocking boat. Low the poor ship leaned on the tide: He reached an oar to her from below, But now from the ship some spied the boat, And down to the boat they leaped and fell: The Prince that was and the King to come, Despite of all England's bended knee He was a Prince of lust and pride; When he should be King, he oft would vow, God only knows where his soul did wake, By none but me can the tale be told, |