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Blacklow Hill-May, 1312
HEN Edward lay a-dying At Burgh-upon-the-sands, He called his son before him, And spake his last commands. "If thou recall Piers Gaveston, I banished over sea, Though I have loved thee dearly, My curse shall rest on thee!"
The young man promised, weeping, To do his father's will; Then passed away the spirit, And all the camp was still.
But ere the dirge was chanted, And earth to earth was borne, The rash young King had broken The oath so lately sworn.
He loved the handsome Gaveston With love that had no bounds; Better than wife or kingdom, Better than hawk or hounds; None else could give good counsel, None else could make him gay; Life seemed to have no sunshine If Gaveston were away.
He lured him back to England By many a tempting bait- A county to maintain him, Niece Margaret for his mate; The first seat in the council, The right hand at the board, A share in all his pleasures, The spending of his hoard.
The proud old English barons, De Lucy and Warenne, The Bigods, and the Bohuns, Were justly wrathful then. ""Out on this nameless upstart, Made in a moment great; What has he done for England?
How has he served the state?"
The people, too, despised him, For every village hind Knows that a noble title Proves not a noble mind.
They would not do him homage, Because they plainly saw He, in his peacock feathe s, Was but a common daw.
He called the Earl of Warwick The "black dog of Ardenne;" And other nicknames gave he To England's greatest men.
Such saucy jests and insults Amused the foolish King Who little thought what sorrow And trouble they would bring.
Proud Warwick heard and answere "Go, tell that Gascon wight, If I'm the dog he calls me, Then he shall feel my bite And then he swore terrific, By all the bones of Guy, "Through every nook of England We'll chase him till he die!"
They hunted him through Yorkshire, And past St. Cuthbert's shrine; They drove him from the fortress Which frowns beside the Tyne; A collier bore him seaward, To Scarbro's wave-worn steep, Where yet the castle ruins Look proudly o'er the deep.
They lured him from his refuge By many a promise fair, They bore him off in triumph O'er Derwent, Ouse, and Aire; All through the pleasant Midlands, By bushes white with May, By meadows full of cowslips, Earl Pembroke led the way.
At Deddington, by Cherwell, They drew the bridle rein, "Now, by my faith," said Pembroke, "Here shalt thou safe remain; I go to see my Countess, Whom long I've wished to see; May my good name be blighted If mischief comes to thee!"
A rough voice broke his slumbers, - "Arise and come below!"
Who was it now that called him?
Wasi: a friend or foe?
He threw his blazoned surcoat Over his shirt of chain, He donned the crested helmet He ne'er would use again.