The Lady In The Tower Poem by David Lewis Paget

Some years long since, though best forgot
I travelled to a country squire,
I'd not seen him since Grammar School
We'd shared those years of learning, dire!
But as young men we'd grown apart
For he had titles, grounds to claim
While I was just a journeyman,
My friend, his name was Daniel Crane.

He owned most of the Bailiwick
And lived alone in quiet content,
His home was known as Motte House
The moat as dry as tongues in Lent,
The carriage took me to his step
Where he had waited long for me,
And we had laughed in merriment
Old friends, to see how changed were we.

The house, a rambling Tudor style
Had more rooms than a grand hotel,
He showed me to a guest room, then
Went down and rang the dinner bell.
I laughed to see the platter laid
By his own hand, the cook had left,
We dined on beef, potatoes mashed,
And drenched down with some vinaigrette.

For wine, he favoured Hock at first
Then claret, we disposed of that,
So when the plates were empty, he
Went down to fetch the Port, a vat!
We tapped it off, grew merrier
Stormed up and down the ancient hall
Reciting verse, our favourite
'Childe Harold' was the first recalled.

For Byron was in London then,
A lion, there at Holland House,
With Lady Caro William
His scandals multiplied so fast,
We roared at passages of verse
Assailing poor virginity,
And drank his health, that he'd be worse
We felt our consanguinity.

'You have not married yet, I see, '
I mentioned to my friend at last,
He shook his head, looked moody,
And I hastened then to fill his glass.
By midnight, with a looser tongue
He told me what had caused his pain
And I grew troubled as he spoke
His darkness then, did Daniel Crane.

Up on the hill a castle stood
With crenellated towers and keep,
We looked up from the balcony
To see it grim, and dark and bleak,
A light shone in the topmost tower
A faint but flickered candlelight,
'It's there the girl that once I loved
Is locked and chained, kept out of sight.'

I held my breath at this, and saw
A glint of tear at either eye,
He turned to go inside, his face
Averted, though I heard him sigh;
'The Baron Fitzwulf mutters there,
As crazy as a lord may be,
He has the syphilis, I heard,
His line, back to infinity.'

'His daughter Joan, I played with once
When still a child, ' - (I barely stirred) ,
'Played 'catch' out in the summer months
Among the butterflies, and birds;
She'd laugh and chase me for a kiss,
A forward wench, she led the play,
Got down and lent her body there
We'd tumble in the new mown hay.'

'But she was just turned seventeen
Her mother died, brought on her cares,
They say the Baron pushed her there,
She tumbled down a flight of stairs.
Her neck was broken, instant death,
And Joan distraught beyond belief,
I showed up at the funeral,
And once they'd gone, I laid a wreath.'

'I never saw my Joan again,
They said she raved, had gone insane,
Some doctor they had brought for her
Said it was humours of the brain.
He locked her in that dingy tower
The one they call the Battle Keep,
I often hear her cry out loud
On nights I find it hard to sleep.'

I'd been there just a week, and then
I heard a piercing cry one night
Like all the demons fled from hell
Pursued her in the candlelight,
'You can't go on like this, ' I said,
As Daniel tore his hair, and cried;
'My God, I can't! ' he said, and then
'I'll free her first, make her my bride! '

One night the moon went in behind
A stormcloud, and the rain came down,
We donned our coats, and took some tools
And walked across the rolling down.
The Castle stood, its shadow formed
An inky blackness, lost to sight,
And there we found the servants' door
And gained admittance in the night.

The stairway was of rotted stone,
One foot askance and we were lost,
We mounted slowly up the keep
The prize above would pay the cost;
The door was triple locked and barred,
We cut the chain and burst the lock,
When from within we heard a growl
Like some dread beast, chained to a rock.

The door flew wide, and in he went
His arms outstretched to claim his love,
I caught a glimpse of her, untamed,
She flew at him, arms raised above,
But then she slashed and tore at him
And screamed her hatred in his face,
'If not for you, my mother dear
Would still be living in this place! '

She ripped his throat wide open then,
He fell, and bled all on the floor,
I caught and bound her in the chain
We'd taken from the prison door;
The Baron came, and tore his hair
'I thought that it might come to this!
I saved her from the hangman when
She pushed her mother down the stairs.'

There was no saving her again,
The magistrates took her away
I stood and watched at Newgate when
They launched her to eternity;
Her mother had forbade the match,
Joan pushed her then, in rage and pain,
And blamed him then; he never knew,
My friend who loved her, Daniel Crane.

5 May 2009