Edward Tennant
GIVE you good day, Sir Knight,
And whither may you be bound ?
Methinks I could read your hand, Sir Knight,
As sure as the world is round. ‘
‘What do you lack, you Palmer old ?
And what would you have wi’ me ?
Will you give me word of my true- love
That sails across the sea ? ‘
‘ Give me your hand, Sir Knight,
I’ll riddle you all in one,
I see a ship that is fair and tall
But mariners see I none.
‘ And the sails are ripp’d like the finest veil
That ever ha’ deck’d a bride-
And yet is the sea as molten bronze
And the sky full clear and wide .’
‘Where be the mariners, tell me now
You Palmer wrinkled and old,
And where is my rose – petal lady- love
With her maidens and spearmen bold ? ‘
Patience, O patience , Sir Knight,
I wot that your lady fair
Is singing before her mirror bright
As she plaits her elfin hair.’
‘ Riddle me true and riddle me swift
You Palmer bent and gray,
Where be the men and the hand- maidens
With whom she sailed away ? ‘
‘ I see a storm , Sir Knight,
And the waves sing in mine ears,
And mariners sink and bubbles rise
From the maids and the men wi ‘ spears. ‘
‘ And where was my love when the storm was high
You palsied heavy – eyed Sage ? ‘
‘ I wot she brewed a draught, Sir Knight,
And conned a runic page,
‘And now upon this stricken barque
Alone, your lady fair
Still sits before her mirror bright
And plaits her elfin hair.’
‘ If this be true, you Palmer wise,
Now by my knighthood dear
How shall my true – love win to port
With never a soul to steer ? ‘
‘Nay, have no fear, Sir Knight,
And look not so askance,
I feel a breeze that softly blows
Toward the land of France.’
‘ These are good tidings , russet man,
Would you could riddle me
Of what my gilliflower dreams
Adrifting on the sea ? ‘
‘ Now pardum notum ! good Sir Knight,
Both when the tempest roared,
And now when softly glides the ship,
She thinks upon her lord,
‘ And verily , Sir Knight,
To shew her love burns true,
I wot she hath an image made
And fashioned it of you.’
‘ These are strange things, you peddling Seer,
Of which you bring me word,
I thought my love a simple maid
As any singing bird. ‘
‘ Listen awhile, Sir Knight,
I see your true- love stand
Beside a crucible-she holds
Your image in her hand,
‘ She dips her finger and she makes
Upon your waxen face
Some figure that I wot not of,
— Doubtless some sign of grace. ‘
‘ Now peace, you babbling Palmer !
My head is like to burst
Wi’ standing i ‘ the sun too long.
Where may I quench my thirst ? ‘
‘Softly I pray Sir Knight,
Behold ! your lady fair
Places around your waxen gorge
A strand of plaited hair,
‘ What may this vision mean, Sir Knight ?
Your image high she hangs
Until a beam, good lack ! Sir Knight,
You seem in mortal pangs ! ‘
‘ Now Holy Jesu save-my throat !
For I do clearly see
How hath this harlot seared my soul
With hellish sorcery !
‘ I cannot breathe-‘ fore God—I hang !
O Mary shrive my soul !
My heart is like the hissing ice,
My throat a thirsty coal .’
Poperinghe,
April, 1916.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem crafts an eerie and mysterious narrative steeped in medieval imagery and supernatural tension. It follows a knight’s encounter with a cryptic old palmer who foretells grim events surrounding the knight’s distant lady-love. The story unfolds as a blend of chivalric romance, dark prophecy, and supernatural dread.
The dialogue between the knight and the palmer sets the stage for an unsettling revelation. The knight’s initial optimism about his love and her voyage turns into horror as the palmer reveals that the lady, adrift on a doomed ship, engages in arcane rituals. The vivid descriptions of the mariners’ fate and the lady’s calm detachment before her mirror evoke a stark contrast between chaos and her strange, composed isolation.
The imagery of the lady’s actions with the crucible and the wax effigy sharpens the poem’s sinister tone. Her crafting of the knight’s likeness, coupled with the ritualistic symbolism, suggests themes of obsession, manipulation, and betrayal. The knight’s growing paranoia culminates in his visceral description of his throat tightening and his body succumbing to imagined pangs. This vivid, almost tactile depiction of suffering aligns with the poem’s gothic undertones, leaving a lasting sense of unease.
The poem’s rhyme and rhythm carry a medieval ballad’s cadence, which enhances its mythical and timeless quality. However, its themes resonate with the anxieties of wartime 1916, where distance, loyalty, and the unseen dangers of love and trust could easily mirror the uncertainties of the battlefield and the home front.
The narrative’s ambiguity—whether the palmer speaks truth or spins a tale to prey on the knight’s fears—adds to its haunting nature. The poem ultimately explores how love, trust, and fear can intertwine and unravel, leaving the reader pondering the cost of devotion and the power of imagination to consume and destroy.