Matthew Arnold — The Church of Brou: The Castle

Down the Savoy valleys sounding,        &nbspEchoing round this castle old, 'Mid the distant mountain-chalets        &nbspHark! what bell for church is toll'd? In the bright October morning        &nbspSavoy's Duke had left his bride. From the castle, past the drawbridge,        &nbspFlow'd the hunters' merry tide. Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering;        &nbspGay, her smiling lord to greet, From her mullion'd chamber-casement        &nbspSmiles the Duchess Marguerite. From Vienna, by the Danube,        &nbspHere she came, a bride, in spring. Now the autumn crisps the forest;        &nbspHunters gather, bugles ring. Hounds are pulling, prickers swearing,        &nbspHorses fret, and boar-spears glance. Off!—They sweep the marshy forests,        &nbspWestward, on the side of France. Hark! the game's on foot; they scatter!—        &nbspDown the forest-ridings lone, Furious, single horsemen gallop——        &nbspHark! a shout—a crash—a groan! Pale and breathless, came the hunters;        &nbspOn the turf dead lies the boar— God! the Duke lies stretch'd beside him,        &nbspSenseless, weltering in his gore. In the dull October evening,        &nbspDown the leaf-strewn forest-road, To the castle, past the drawbridge,        &nbspCame the hunters with their load. In the hall, with sconces blazing,        &nbspLadies waiting round her seat, Clothed in smiles, beneath the daïs        &nbspSate the Duchess Marguerite. Hark! below the gates unbarring!        &nbspTramp of men and quick commands! "—'Tis my lord come back from hunting—"        &nbspAnd the Duchess claps her hands. Slow and tired, came the hunters—        &nbspStopp'd in darkness in the court. "—Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters!        &nbspTo the hall! What sport? What sport?"— Slow they enter'd with their master;        &nbspIn the hall they laid him down. On his coat were leaves and blood-stains,        &nbspOn his brow an angry frown. Dead her princely youthful husband        &nbspLay before his youthful wife, Bloody, 'neath the flaring sconces—        &nbspAnd the sight froze all her life. In Vienna, by the Danube,        &nbspKings hold revel, gallants meet. Gay of old amid the gayest        &nbspWas the Duchess Marguerite. In Vienna, by the Danube,        &nbspFeast and dance her youth beguiled. Till that hour she never sorrow'd;        &nbspBut from then she never smiled. 'Mid the Savoy mountain valleys        &nbspFar from town or haunt of man, Stands a lonely church, unfinish'd,        &nbspWhich the Duchess Maud began; Old, that Duchess stern began it,        &nbspIn gray age, with palsied hands; But she died while it was building,        &nbspAnd the Church unfinish'd stands— Stands as erst the builders left it,        &nbspWhen she sank into her grave; Mountain greensward paves the chancel,        &nbspHarebells flower in the nave "—In my castle all is sorrow,"        &nbspSaid the Duchess Marguerite then; "Guide me, some one, to the mountain!        &nbspWe will build the Church again."— Sandall'd palmers, faring homeward,        &nbspAustrian knights from Syria came. "—Austrian wanderers bring, O warders!        &nbspHomage to your Austrian dame." From the gate the warders answer'd:        &nbsp"—Gone, O knights, is she you knew! Dead our Duke, and gone his Duchess;        &nbspSeek her at the Church of Brou!"— Austrian knights and much-worn palmers        &nbspClimb the winding mountain-way— Reach the valley, where the Fabric        &nbspRises higher day by day. Stones are sawing, hammers ringing;        &nbspOn the work the bright sun shines, In the Savoy mountain-meadows,        &nbspBy the stream, below the pines. On her palfrey white the Duchess        &nbspSate and watch'd her working train— Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders,        &nbspGerman masons, smiths from Spain. Clad in black, on her white palfrey,        &nbspHer old architect beside— There they found her in the mountains,        &nbspMorn and noon and eventide. There she sate, and watch'd the builders,        &nbspTill the Church was roof'd and done. Last of all, the builders rear'd her        &nbspIn the nave a tomb of stone. On the tomb two forms they sculptured,        &nbspLifelike in the marble pale— One, the Duke in helm and armour;        &nbspOne, the Duchess in her veil. Round the tomb the carved stone fretwork        &nbspWas at Easter-tide put on. Then the Duchess closed her labours;        &nbspAnd she died at the St. John.