THE STUDENT'S TALE
EMMA AND EGINHARD
When Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne, In the free schools of Aix, how kings should reign, And with them taught the children of the poor How subjects should be patient and endure, He touched the lips of some, as best befit, With honey from the hives of Holy Writ; Others intoxicated with the wine Of ancient history, sweet but less divine; Some with the wholesome fruits of grammar fed; Others with mysteries of the stars o'er-head, That hang suspended in the vaulted sky Like lamps in some fair palace vast and high.
In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see That Saxon monk, with hood and rosary, With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and book, And mingled lore and reverence in his look, Or hear the cloister and the court repeat The measured footfalls of his sandaled feet, Or watch him with the pupils of his school, Gentle of speech, but absolute of rule.
Among them, always earliest in his place. Was Eginhard, a youth of Frankish race, Whose face was bright with flashes that forerun The splendors of a yet unrisen sun. To him all things were possible, and seemed Not what he had accomplished, but had dreamed, And what were tasks to others were his play, The pastime of an idle holiday.
Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael's, said, With many a shrug and shaking of the head, Surely some demon must possess the lad, Who showed more wit than ever schoolboy had, And learned his Trivium thus without the rod; But Alcuin said it was the grace of God.
Thus he grew up, in Logic point-device, Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhetoric nice; Science of Numbers, Geometric art, And lore of Stars, and Music knew by heart; A Minnesinger, long before the times Of those who sang their love in Suabian rhymes.
The Emperor, when he heard this good report Of Eginhard much buzzed about the court, Said to himself, "This stripling seems to be Purposely sent into the world for me; He shall become my scribe, and shall be schooled In all the arts whereby the world is ruled." Thus did the gentle Eginhard attain To honor in the court of Charlemagne; Became the sovereign's favorite, his right hand, So that his fame was great in all the land, And all men loved him for his modest grace And comeliness of figure and of face. An inmate of the palace, yet recluse, A man of books, yet sacred from abuse Among the armed knights with spur on heel, The tramp of horses and the clang of steel; And as the Emperor promised he was schooled In all the arts by which the world is ruled. But the one art supreme, whose law is fate, The Emperor never dreamed of till too late.
Home from her convent to the palace came The lovely Princess Emma, whose sweet name, Whispered by seneschal or sung by bard, Had often touched the soul of Eginhard. He saw her from his window, as in state She came, by knights attended through the gate; He saw her at the banquet of that day, Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as May; He saw her in the garden, as she strayed Among the flowers of summer with her maid, And said to him, "O Eginhard, disclose The meaning and the mystery of the rose"; And trembling he made answer: "In good sooth, Its mystery is love, its meaning youth!"
How can I tell the signals and the signs By which one heart another heart divines? How can I tell the many thousand ways By which it keeps the secret it betrays?
O mystery of love! O strange romance! Among the Peers and Paladins of France, Shining in steel, and prancing on gay steeds, Noble by birth, yet nobler by great deeds, The Princess Emma had no words nor looks But for this clerk, this man of thought and books.