Robert Stephen Hawker

The Scroll

“BRING me,” he said, “that scribe of fame,
Symeon el Siddekah his name:
With parchment skin, and pen in hand,
I would devise my Cornish land.

“Seven goodly manors, fair and wide,
Stretch from the sea to Tamar side:
And Bien-aimé, my hall and bower,
Nestles beneath tall Stratton Tower.

“All these I render to my God,
By seal and signet, knife and sod:
I give and grant to church and poor,
In franc-almoign forevermore.

“Choose ye seven men among the just,
And bid them hold my lands in trust;
On Michael’s morn, and Mary’s day,
To deal the dole, and watch and pray.

“Then bear me coldly o’er the deep,
Mid my own people I would sleep:
Their hearts shall melt, their prayers will breathe,
Where he who loved them rests beneath.

“Mould me in stone as here I lie,
My face upturned to Syria’s sky:
Carve ye this good sword at my side,
And write the legend, ‘True and tried.’

“Let mass be said, and requiem sung;
And that sweet chime I loved be rung:
Those sounds along the northern wall
Shall thrill me like a trumpet-call.”

Thus said he, and at set of sun
The bold Crusader’s race was run.
Seek ye his ruined hall and bower?
Then stand beneath tall Stratton Tower.