Oscar Fay Adams - The Rape of the Tarts lyrics

ARGUMENT. The Queen of Hearts, She made some tarts All on a summer's day; The Knave of Hearts, He stole those tarts And carried them away! The Queen of Hearts, She missed those tarts And griev'd for them full sore; The Knave of Hearts Brought back those tarts, And vow'd he'd steal no more! Isolt, the Cornish Queen, in those dark days When Mark, her unlov'd lord, had brought her back From woodland lodge where Tristram bode with her The space of one revolving moon, but now Was past to Brittany, where the white hands Of one with name like hers, Isolt, had snar'd Him with their gleam, so changeful-hearted he, Fell into bitter musings lasting long, And vexed thereby the sullen Mark, who growl'd His anger from behind his tangled beard, The more resentful that she took no heed. So months went by, until at last there dawn'd A summer morn on wave-washt Cornwall fair And sweet as odorous white lilies are, And sweet indeed to Queen Isolt, who lay With silken broider'd hangings round her bed Facing the morn. Far off the ripple broke Upon the beach unheard, but flasht in air Its silver, and in palace court the birds Of morning sang. Then to herself the Queen: "Lo, absent Tristram is not all in all To me, Mark's wife. There yet abides in life Something of worth, tho' Tristram be not here." The saying pleas'd her, and she turn'd it o'er. "Something of worth, tho' Tristram be not here." Then rising from the couch which Mark had left Ere rose the sun from out the Cornish sea, She call'd her waiting maidens to their task, And paus'd before two gowns the damsels brought, As doubtful how she should array herself. One of green samite, o'er which wander'd strings Of gleaming pearls, in mazy pattern set, So that the eye wearied to follow, held Her but such space while one with even breath Might count a dozen; then her glance upon The other fell, a silken robe of blue Shot thro' and thro' with shimmering silver lights. And this her choice at length for that day's wear, Not unforgetful how Sir Tristram lov'd To see her in it; and, when her waiting maids Had rob'd her, slowly mov'd she down the stair, And, after morning hunger stay'd, she past To where the palace cooks and scullions bode, In kitchen vast, whence royal dainties came. All sweetness seem'd her face, and music seem'd Her voice, when she entreated one to bring His cook's white apron for her royal use, And when her maids had clad her in it, none Could think her other than a gracious Queen, Since nothing of her royal grace was hid. So following her fancy's lead, she bade The men about her bring the wheaten meal And all the kitchen tools she glibly nam'd, And place before her on a cross-legg'd stand Of smoke-gloom'd oak; and then her round white arms She plung'd up to the elbows in the meal, Her red lips murm'ring, It will serve." Then, while The cooks and scullions stood with hands on hips And mouths agape to watch, she deftly mov'd About her task, and not with awkwardness, As one unus'd to kitchen toil or cares, But with all grace, such grace as won all hearts, And, ere they knew her purpose, saw before Their eyes row after row of pastry moulds, As shapely as the hands that made, and these The Queen herself in heated oven placed, And, while these brown'd in torrid darkness, sang,-- For sweetly could Isolt of Ireland sing: "Ay, ay, O ay,--the winds that fan the fire! Fair tarts in prospect, tarts before me here! Ay, ay, O ay,--and tarts were my desire, And one was not enough, and one was dear: Ay, ay, O ay,--the winds that move so fast! And one was far, and one tart was nigher, And one will never bake, and one will last. Ay, ay, O ay, the winds that fan the fire!" Far up among the oaken rafters rang Her voice, and clear as is the tinkling fall Of water over rocks that chafe its course, And all within the kitchen felt such stir Within the blood as when the joyous wine Sweet summer music makes along the veins. Then one, to whom she signal'd when the strain Was ended, open threw the oven doors, And drew from warm concealment into light The tarts and bore them to Isolt, who straight Within the cup-like hollow of the tarts One after other placed with golden spoon, On which were graven deep the Cornish arms, The lucent jellies quivering like leaf Of aspen when all else is still, and sound And other motion dead within the wood. This done she bade the cooks have careful charge Of these, her tarts, till she should send, then past-- Her cook's white apron doft--upward to halls Befitting her fair presence more, and, sleep And summer both at once a**ailing, slept. Now on the selfsame morning fair Etarre, Awaking with Sir Pelleas's sword across Her throat and Gawain's, felt her fancy turn To him who might have slain her, sleeping, yet Forbore because of former love, and said To him who lay beside her, false Gawain, "Go hence, and see me nevermore!" The Prince, Who deem'd he knew all women's changeful ways, Laught lightly, and essayed to kiss, as oft Before, the warm white hollow of her throat. But she, recoiling, flasht such sudden wrath He, too, drew back, and slowly rose and heard From lips grown stern, from lips his own had prest, The sentence, "Go! and see me never more." Then he, much marveling on women's ways, Obey'd, and went with slow, reluctant feet Without, and mounted horse, and past across The courtyard and thro' postern portal, past Down garden slopes with musky breathings fill'd, To where the gates, wide open, led to fields And far beyond them forest shades. Thro' these He went and wander'd on to where the walls Of Mark's great palace rose across his view. Then, for the summer noon was hot, he drew His rein beneath a giant oak that made A welcome shadow near the gate, and mus'd Yet more on changeful women's ways till came On vagrant breeze a whiff of pastry thence And woke a sudden hunger in his breast. Meanwhile in hall Isolt of Ireland slept, And slumb'rous summer silence crept o'er all The serving men and maids, till one whose care Had been the tarts to watch, a lad in years But few and wits as scant as years, awak'd From dream unquiet, and awaking, saw The Prince Gawain through kitchen gliding soft, Bearing the great, tart-laden dish. Whereat The lad rose, terror stricken, shrieking loud, "The tarts." Again, and like a descant, "Gone! The tarts." Loud shrill'd the cry thro'out the court, And each took up the words till rang from wall To wall the mournful echo: "Gone, the tarts!" Fast swell'd the cry and louder with each voice That wail'd the theft until the Queen awak'd And hearing what had happ'd felt her heart sink And visions toothsome of the well-bak'd tarts For royal supper fade to naught, and sat To tears abandon'd and to grief a prey. But false Gawain to saddle leaping, tarts In dish upborne, saw all the rabble rout Of palace kitchen fast behind pursue, And one in saddle follow'd while the rest The shrill cry echo'd, "O, the tarts! the tarts!" Forth from the gates the chase was had until The steed of Prince Gawain stumbl'd and threw Him, bearing still the unspill'd tarts, upon A gra**y bank where those who follow'd found And brought him, still tart-laden, to Isolt. Naught said Gawain to temper his disgrace, But let his eye a moment rest upon The Queen, an eye that many maidens lov'd, Then fall demurely on the toothsome tarts. That she, mov'd somewhat by his grace and glance, That admiration show'd, forgave the theft, And thinking: "Lo, a goodly man he seems Since Tristram is not by," upon him laid But two conditions. First that never should He enter kitchen more in act to steal, And on his knee, down-dropping at her feet, With many oaths the courteous Gawain swore To keep from deeds like this thro' all his life; The next that he should stay and eat with her. So, nothing loth, the Prince of Courtesy stay'd And ate with her the savory, toothsome tarts For all an incense-breathing afternoon, Till one in haste appear'd when sank the sun, Crying, "I crave thy pardon, Queen, thy lord Is near." Thereat Gawain, warn'd by a look Which ray'd from out her heavy-lidded eyes, Departed with a word of farewell said, And past to his own land, while she prepar'd To meet King Mark returning from the chase.