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  The White Ship

A Ballad

by

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

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The original holograph Manuscript

composed during the years 1878 to 1880

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First printed in ”Ballads and Sonnets“

1881



      1

• By none but me can the tale be told,
• The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
• ( Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
• 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
• Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
• ( The sea hath no King but God alone)

• King Henry held it as life's whole gain
• That after his death his son should reign.

• 'Twas so in my youth I heard men say,
• 10And my old age calls it back today.

• King Henry of England's realm was he,
• And Henry Duke of Normandy.

• The times had changed when on either coast
• “Clerkly Harry” was all his boast.

• Of ruthless strokes full many an one
• He had struck to crown himself and his son;
• And his elder brother's eyes were gone.

• But all the chiefs of the English land
• Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand.

• 20And next with his son he sailed to France
• To claim the Norman allegiance:

• And every baron in Normandy
• Had taken the oath of fealty.

• 'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day had come
• When the King & the Prince might journey home:

• For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear,
• And Christmas now was drawing near.

• Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the King;—
• A pilot famous in sea-faring;

• 30And he held to the King, in all men's sight,
• A mark of gold for his tribute's right.

• ”Liege Lord! my father guided the ship
• From whose boat your father's foot did slip
• When he caught the English soil in his grip,

• “And cried,” By this clasp I claim command
• O'er every rood of English land!”

• “He was borne to the realm you rule o'er now
• In that ship with the archer carved at her prow:

• “And thither I'll bear, an' it be my due,
• 40Your father's son and his grandson too.

• “The famed White Ship is mine in the bay;
• From Harfleur's harbour she sails today,

• With masts fair-pennon'd as Norman spears
• And with fifty well-tried mariners.”

• Quoth the King: “My ships are chos'n each one,
• But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son.

• “My son and daughter and fellowship
• Shall cross the water in the White Ship.”

• The King set sail with the eve's south wind,
• And soon he left that coast behind.

• The Prince and all his, a princely show,
• 50Remained in the good White Ship to go.

• With noble knights and with ladies fair,
• With courtiers and sailors gathered there,
• Three hundred living souls we were:

• And I Berold was the meanest hind
• In all that train to the Prince assign'd.

• The Prince was a lawless shameless youth;
• From his father's loins he sprang without ruth:

• Eighteen years till then he had seen,
• And the devil's dues in him were eighteen.

• 60And now he cried: “Bring wine from below;
• Let the sailors revel ere yet they row:

• “Our speed shall o'ertake my father's flight
• Though we sail from the harbour at midnight.”

• The rowers made good cheer without check,
• The lords and ladies obeyed his beck;
• The night was light, and they danced on the deck.

• But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay,
• And the White Ship furrowed the water-way.

• The sails were set, and the oars kept tune
• 70To the double flight of the ship and the moon:

• Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped
• Till she flew as the spirit flies from the dead:

• As white as a lily glimmered she
• Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea.

• And the Prince cried, ”Friends, 'tis the hour to sing!
• Is a songbird's course so swift on the wing?”

• And under the winter stars' still throng,
• From brown throats, white throats, merry & strong,
• The knights and the ladies raised a song.

• 80A song,—nay, a shriek that rent the sky,
• That leaped o'er the deep!—the grievous cry
• Of three hundred living that now must die.

• An instant shriek that sprang to the shock
• As the ship's keel felt the sunken rock.

• 'Tis said that afar—a shrill strange sigh—
• The King's ships heard it and knew not why.

• Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm
• 'Mid all those folk that the waves must whelm.

• A great King's heir for the waves to whelm,
• 90And the helpless pilot pale at the helm!

• The ship was eager and sucked athirst
• As a swimming bladder fills when pierc'd;

• And like the moil round a sinking cup,
• The waters against her crowded up.

• A moment the pilot's senses spin,—
• The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din,
• Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in.

• A few friends leaped with him, standing near.
• “Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!”

• “What! none to be saved but these and I?”
• 100“Row, row as you'd live! All here must die.”

• Out of the churn of the choking ship,
• Which the gulf grapples and the waves strip,
• They struck with the strained oars' flash & dip.

• 'Twas then o'er the splitting bulwarks' brim
• The Prince's sister screamed to him.

• He turned about, still rowing apace,
• And through the whirled surf he knew her face.

• To the toppling decks clave one and all
• As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall.

• 110I Berold was clinging anear;
• I prayed for myself and quaked with fear,
• But I saw his eyes as he looked at her.

• He knew her face and he heard her cry,
• And he said, “Put back! she must not die!”

• And back through the flying foam they reel
• Like a leaf that scuds in a water-wheel.

• 'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float,
• But he rose and stood in the rocking boat.

• Prone the poor ship leaned on the tide:
• 120O'er the naked keel as she best might slide,
• The sister toiled to the brother's side.

• He reached an oar to her from below,
• And stiffened his arms to clutch her so.

• But now from the ship some spied the boat,
• And “Saved!” was the cry from many a throat:

• And down to the boat they leaped and fell:
• It turned as a bucket turns in a well,
• And nothing was there but the surge & swell.

• The Prince that was and the King to come,
• 130There in an instant gone to his doom,

• Despite of all England's bended knee
• And maugre the Norman fealty!

• He was a Prince of lust and pride;
• He showed no grace till the hour he died.

• When he should be King, he oft would vow,
• He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough.
• O'er him the ships score their furrows now.

• God only knows where his soul did wake,
• But I saw him die for his sister's sake.

• 140By none but me can the tale be told,
• The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
• ( Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
• 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
• Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
• ( The sea hath no King but God alone.)

• And now the end came o'er the waters' womb
• Like the last great Day that's yet to come.

• With prayers in vain and curses in vain,
• The White Ship sundered on the mid-main:

• 150And what were men and what was a ship
• Were toys and splinters in the sea's grip.

• I Berold was down in the sea;
• And passing strange though the thing may be,
• Of dreams then known I remember me.

• Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand
• When morning lights the sails to land:

• And blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam
• When mothers call the children home:

• And high do the bells of Rouen beat
• 170When the Body of Christ goes down the street.

• These things and the like were heard & shown
• In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone;

• And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem,
• And not these things, to be all a dream.

• The ship was gone and the crowd was gone,
• And the deep shuddered & the moon shone:

• And in a strait grasp my arms did span
• The mainyard split from the mast where it ran;
• And on it with me was another man.

• 180Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky,
• We told our names, that man and I.

• “O I am Godefroy de l'Aigle hight,
• And son I am to a belted knight.”

• “And I am Berold the butcher's son
• Who slays the beasts in Rouen town.”

• Then cried we upon God's name, as we
• Did drift on the bitter winter sea.

• But lo! a third man rose o'er the wave,
• And we said, “Thank God! us three may He save!”

• 190He clutched to the yard with panting stare,
• And we looked & knew Fitz-Stephen there.

• He clung, and “What of the Prince?” quoth he.
• “Lost, lost!” we cried. He cried, “Woe on me!”
• And loosed his hold & sank through the sea.

• And soul with soul again in that space
• We two were together face to face:

• And each knew each, as the moments sped,
• Less for one living than for one dead:

• And every still star overhead
• 200Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead.

• And the hours passed; till the noble's son
• Sighed, “God be thy help! my strength's foredone!—

• “O farewell, friend, for I can no more!”
• “Christ take thee!” I moaned; & his life was o'er.

• Three hundred souls were all lost but one,
• And I drifted over the sea alone.

• At last the morning rose o'er the sea
• Like an angel's wing that beat tow'rds me.

• Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat;
• 210Half dead I hung, and might nothing note
• Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat.

• The sun was high o'er the eastern brim
• As I praised God and gave thanks to Him.

• That day I told my tale to a priest,
• Who charged me, till the shrift were releas'd,
• That I should keep it in mine own breast.

• And with the priest I thence did fare
• To King Henry's court at Winchester.

• We spoke with the King's high chamberlain,
• 220And he wept and mourned again & again,
• As if his own son had been slain:

• And round us ever there crowded fast
• Great men with faces all aghast:

• And who so bold that might tell the thing
• Which now they knew to their lord the King?
• Much woe I learnt in their communing.

• The King had watched with a heart sore stirr'd
• For two whole days, and this was the third:

• And still to all his court would he say,
• 230“What keeps my son so long away?”

• And they said:— “The ports lie far and wide
• That skirt the swell of the English tide;

• “And England's cliffs are not more white
• Than her women are, and scarce so light
• Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;

• “And in some port that he reached from France
• The Prince has lingered for his pleasaùnce.”

• But once the King asked: “What distant cry
• Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?”

• 240And one said: “With suchlike shouts, pardie!
• Do the fishers fling their nets at sea.”

• And one: “Who knows not the shrieking quest
• When the sea-mew misses its young from the nest?”

• 'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread,
• Albeit they knew not what they said:

• But who should speak today of the thing
• That all knew there except the King?

• Then pondering much they found a way,
• And met round the King's high seat that day:

• 250And the King sat with a heart sore stirr'd,
• And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.

• 'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware
• Of a little boy with golden hair,

• As bright as the golden poppy is
• That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:

• Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring,
• And his garb black like the raven's wing.

• Nothing heard but his foot through the hall,
• For now the lords were silent all.

• 260And the King wondered, and said, “Alack!
• Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?

• “Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall
• As though my court were a funeral?”

• Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,
• And looked up weeping in the King's face.

• “O wherefore black, O King, ye may say,
• For white is the hue of death today.

• “Your son and all his fellowship
• Lie in the Sea's bed with the White Ship.”

• 270King Henry fell as a man struck dead;
• And speechless still he stared from his bed
• When to him next day my rede I read.

• There's many an hour must needs beguile
• A King's high heart that he should smile,—

• Full many a lordly hour, full fain
• Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:—

• But this King never smiled again.

• By none but me can the tale be told,
• The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
• 280( Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
• 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
• Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
• ( The sea hath no King but God alone.)

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