"Alas, and now to my thought
Flieth the woe that I wrought
Thee, Gobertz, that distraught
Thou didst fare.
Now a vile thing of nought
Fare I that once was so haught
And free, and could not be taught
By thy care."
But Gobertz seeth no less
Her honour and her sweetness,
Soon her small hand to kiss
Taketh he,
Saying, "Now for that stress
Drave thee here thou shalt bless
God, for so ending this
Thy penury."
Yet she would bid him away,
Seeking her sooth to say,
In what woful array
She was cast.
"Nay," said he, "but, sweet may,
Here must we bide until day:
Then to church and to pray
Go we fast."
Now then to all his talént,
Seeing how he was bent,
Him the comfort she lent
Of her mind.
Cried Gobertz, well content,
"If love by dreariment
Cometh, that was well spent,
As I find."
Thereafter somewhat they slept,
When to his arms she had crept
For comfort, and freely wept
Sin away.
Up betimes then he leapt,
Calling her name: forth she stept
Meek, disposed, to accept
What he say.
By hill road taketh he her
To the gray nuns of Beaucaire,
There to shred off her hair
And take veil.
Himself to cloister will fare
Monk to be, with good care
For their two souls. May his pray'r
Them avail!
1911.
[1] I owe the substance of this lai to my friend Ezra Pound, who unearthed it, ψαμάθῳ εἰλυμένα πολλῇ, in some Provençal repertory.