Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Ballad of the Goodly Fere
By Ezra Pound
H
For the priests and the gallows tree?
Aye lover he was of brawny men,
O’ ships and the open sea.
His smile was good to see,
“First let these go!” quo’ our Goodly Fere,
“Or I’ll see ye damned,” says he.
And the scorn of his laugh rang free,
“Why took ye not me when I walked about
Alone in the town?” says he.
When we last made company.
No capon priest was the Goodly Fere,
But a man o’ men was he.
Wi’ a bundle o’ cords swung free,
That they took the high and holy house
For their pawn and treasury.
Though they write it cunningly;
No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere
But aye loved the open sea.
They are fools to the last degree.
“I’ll go to the feast,” quo’ our Goodly Fere,
“Though I go to the gallows tree.”
And wake the dead,” says he.
“Ye shall see one thing to master all:
’Tis how a brave man dies on the tree.”
That bade us his brothers be.
I ha’ seen him cow a thousand men.
I have seen him upon the tree.
And the blood gushed hot and free.
The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue,
But never a cry cried he.
On the hills o’ Galilee.
They whined as he walked out calm between,
Wi’ his eyes like the gray o’ the sea.
With the winds unleashed and free,
Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret
Wi’ twey words spoke suddently.
A mate of the wind and sea.
If they think they ha’ slain our Goodly Fere
They are fools eternally.
Sin’ they nailed him to the tree.