Madison Cawein

NIGHT, they say, is no man’s friend:

And at night he met his end

In the woods of Trebizend.

Hate crouched near him as he strode

Down the darkness of the road,

Where my lord seemed some huge toad.

Eyes of murder glared and burned

At each bend of road he turned,

Or where wild the torrent churned.

And with Death we stood and stared

From the bush as by he fared;

But he never looked or cared.

He went singing; and a rose

Lay upon his heart’s repose

With what thoughts of her—who knows?

He had done no other wrong

But to sing a simple song—

“I have loved you, loved you long.”

And my lady smiled and sighed;

Gave a rose and looked moist-eyed,

And forgot she was a bride.

And my lord saw; gave commands.

I was of his robber bands:

Love should perish at our hands.

Young the knight was. He should sing

Nevermore of love and spring,

Or of any gentle thing.

When he stole at midnight’s hour

To my lady’s forest bower,

We were hidden near the tower.

In the woods of Trebizend

There he met an evil end:

Night, you know, is no man’s friend.

He had fought in fort and field;

Borne for years a stainless shield,

And in strength to none would yield.

But we seized him unaware;

Bound and hung and stripped him bare;

Left him to the wild boars there.

Never has my lady known.

But she often sits alone,

Weeping when my lord is gone.

Night, they say, is no man’s friend:

In the woods of Trebizend

There he met an evil end.

Now my old lord sleeps in peace,

While my lady—each one sees—

Waits, and keeps her memories.

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