B. L. Add. MS. 45,298A, ff. 43v-44v

                    The Captive

For many, many days together
          The wind blew steady from the East,
For many days in the calm clear weather
          The clouds went westward from the East.

For many days we rode together,
          Yet met we neither friend, nor foe,
For many days in the dry clear weather
          And still the eastern wind did blow.

We saw the trees in the hot bright weather
          Stand clear, with shadows very black,
[f. 44] As freely we rode on together
          With helms unlaced, and bridles slack.

And often as we rode together,
          We, looking down the green-banked stream,
Saw flowers in the sunny weather
          And saw the bubble-making bream.

And in the night lay down together[,]
           Above our heads we hung the rood,
Or watched all-armed in the dewy weather
          The while the moon did watch the wood.

Our spears stood bright and thick together[,]
          Straight out the banners streamed behind,
As we galloped on in the summer weather
          With faces turned toward the wind.

Our spears sank down in rest together--
          For thick we saw the Pagans ride,
I saw his face in the clear, clear weather,
          He rode that last time by my side.

The foe stood still on the bridge together[.]
          Hurrah! our trumpets sang out loud,
Their cymbals clashed in sunny weather
          O! the light blue sky with never a cloud.

Shout, for the crash as we met together!
          Shout, for the splintering of the spears!
For the swords leaping up in the bright, bright weather!
          For the turban that the straight-sword tears[.]

[f. 44v] There, as we rolled and writhed together,
          I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the clear, bright weather
          I saw him reel and fall back dead
[Possibly crossed out] Madly I fought, as we fought together]

I and the slayer met together,
          O! vainly, vainly he reined back,
As he caught my eye in the clear, bring weather,
          Shout, for his fixed eyes, and hold so slack!

They bound my blood stained hands together
          They bound the dead one by my side,
Then on we rode in the summer weather,
          With clash of cymbals did we ride.

We ride no more, no more together,
          My dungeon bars are thick and strong,
I take no heed of any weather,          
          The sweet saints grant I live not long.

From The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine, May 1856

For many, many days together
          The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
          About the time of our Lady’s Feast.

For many days we rode together,
          Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
          Steadily did the East wind blow.

We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,

          Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
          With helms unlaced and bridles slack.

And often as we rode together,
          We, looking down the green-bank’d stream,

Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
          And saw the bubble-making bream.

And in the night lay down together,
          And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch’d night-long in the dewy weather,

The while the moon did watch the wood.

Our spears stood bright and thick together,
          Straight out the banners stream’d behind,
As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
          With faces turn'd towards the wind.

Down sank our three-score spears together,
          As thick we saw the pagans ride;
His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
          Shone out that last time by my side.

Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,

          It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
          The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.

There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
           I threw my arms above my head,

For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
          I saw him reel and fall back dead.

I and the slayer met together,
          He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,

          Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.

Madly I fought as we fought together,
           In vain: the little Christian band
The Pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather,
           The wild waves drown low-lying land.

They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
          They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
          With clash of cymbals did we ride.

We ride no more, no more together;

          My prison-bars are thick and strong,
I take no heed of any weather,
          The sweet Saints grant I live not long.

From The Defence of Guenevere, 1858

Riding Together.

For many, many days together
          The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
          About the time of our Lady’s Feast.

For many days we rode together,
          Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
          Steadily did the East wind blow.

We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,

          Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
          With helms unlaced and bridles slack.

And often as we rode together,
          We, looking down the green-bank’d stream,

Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
          And saw the bubble-making bream.

And in the night lay down together,
          And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch’d night-long in the dewy weather,

The while the moon did watch the wood.

Our spears stood bright and thick together,
          Straight out the banners stream’d behind,

[p. 167]

As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
          With faces turn'd towards the wind.

Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,

          It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
          The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.

There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
           I threw my arms above my head,

For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
          I saw him reel and fall back dead.

I and the slayer met together,
          He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, 

          Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.

Madly I fought as we fought together,
           In vain, the little Christian band
The Pagans drowned, as in stormy weather,
           The wild waves drown low-lying land.

They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
          They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
          With clash of cymbals did we ride.

We ride no more, no more together;