Stephen Vincent Benet

Here you will find the Long Poem Three Day's Ride of poet Stephen Vincent Benet

Three Day's Ride

'From Belton Castle to Solway side, 
Hard by the bridge, is three days' ride.' 

We had fled full fast from her father's keep, 
And the time was come that we must sleep. 

The first day was an ecstasy, 
A golden mist, a burgeoning tree; 
We rode like gods through a world new-made, 
The hawthorn scented hill and glade, 
A faint, still sweetness in the air-- 
And, oh, her face and the wind in her hair! 
And the steady beat of our good steeds' hooves, 
Bearing us northward, strong and fast, 
To my high black tower, stark to the blast, 
Like a swimmer stripped where the Solway moves. 

And ever, riding, we chanted a song, 
Challenging Fortune, loud and long, 
'From Belton Castle to Solway side, 
Strive as you may, is three days' ride!' 

She slept for an hour, wrapped in my cloak, 
And I watched her till the morning broke; 
The second day--and a harsher land, 
And grey bare hills on either hand; 
A surly land and a sullen folk, 
And a fog that came like bitter smoke. 

The road wound on like a twisted snake, 
And our horses sobbed as they topped the brake. 
Till we sprang to earth at Wyvern Fen, 
Where fresh steeds stamped, and were off again. 

Weary and sleepless, bruised and worn, 
We still had strength for laughter and scorn; 
Love held us up through the mire and mist, 
Love fed us, while we clasped and kissed, 
And still we sang as the night closed in, 
Stealthy and slow as a hidden sin, 
'From Belton Castle to Solway side, 
Ride how you will, is three days' ride.' 

My love drooped low on the black mare's back, 
Drowned in her hair . . . the reins went slack . . . 
Yet she could not sleep, save to dream bad dreams 
And wake all trembling, till at last 
Her golden head lay on my breast. 

At last we saw the first faint gleams 
Of day. Dawn broke. A sickly light 
Came from the withered sun--a blight 
Was on the land, and poisonous mist 
Shrouded the rotting trees, unkissed 
By any wind, and the black crags glared 
Like sightless, awful faces, spared 
From death to live accursed for aye. 

Dragging slow chains the hours went by. 
We rode on, drunk and drugged with sleep, 
Too deadly weary now to say 
Whether our horses kept the way 
Or no--like slaves stretched on a heap 
Of poisoned arrows. Every limb 
Shot with sharp pain; pain seemed to swim 
Like a red cloud before our eyes. . . . 

The mist broke, and a moment showed, 
Sharp as the Devil's oxen-goad, 
The spear-points where the hot chase rode. 

Idly I watched them dance and rise 
Till white wreaths wiped them out again . . . 
My love jerked at the bridle rein; 
The black mare, dying, broke her heart 
In one swift gallop; for my part 
I dozed; and ever in my brain, 
Four hoofs of fire beat out refrain, 
A dirge to light us down to death, 
A silly rhyme that saith and saith, 
'From Belton Castle to Solway side, 
Though great hearts break, is three days' ride!' 
The black mare staggered, reeled and fell, 
Bearing my love down . . . a great bell 
Began to toll . . . and sudden fire 
Flared at me from the road, a pyre 
It seemed, to burn our bodies in . . . 
And I fell down, far down, within 
The pit's mouth . . . and my brain went blind. . . . 

I woke--a cold sun rose behind 
Black evil hills--my love knelt near 
Beside a stream, her golden hair 
Streaming across the grass--below 
The Solway eddied to and fro, 
White with fierce whirlpools . . . my love turned. . . . 
Thank God, some hours of joy are burned 
Into the mind, and will remain, 
Fierce-blazing still, in spite of pain! 

They came behind us as we kissed, 
Stealthily from the dripping mist, 
Her brothers and their evil band. 
They bound me fast and made me stand. 
They forced her down upon her knees. 
She did not strive or cry or call, 
But knelt there dumb before them all-- 
I could not turn away my eyes-- 
There was no fear upon her face, 
Although they slew her in that place. 
The daggers rent and tore her breast 
Like dogs that snarl above a kill, 
Her proud face gazed above them still, 
Seeking rest--Oh, seeking rest! 
The blood swept like a crimson dress 
Over her bosom's nakedness, 
A curtain for her weary eyes, 
A muffling-cloth to stop her sighs . . . 

And she was gone--and a red thing lay 
Silent on the trampled clay. 

Beneath my horse my feet are bound, 
My hands are bound behind my back, 
I feel the sinews start to crack-- 
And ever to the hoof-beats' sound, 
As we draw near the gallows-tree, 
Where I shall hang right speedily, 
A crazy tune rings in my brain, 
Four hoofs of fire tramp the refrain, 
Crashing clear o'er the roaring crowd, 
Steadily galloping, strong and loud, 
'From Belton Cas