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 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BUCHANAN. With 
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 THE CITY OF DREAM 
 
 an ®pic 3Poem 
 
 W
 
 The Wayside Inn.
 
 THE 
 
 CITY OF DREAM 
 
 'Bn <Sm IPoem 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 
 'The old creeds vanish, giving place to new ; 
 Read here what paths God's pilgrims now pursue ' 
 
 LONDON 
 
 CHATTO d- WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 1888 
 
 [T/w Right 0/ Translation is Rescrrcii]
 
 KNIVER6ITY OF CALIFORNU 
 SAMA BARBARA 
 
 ^efi>g CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Dedication ...... ix 
 
 Argument ...... xiii 
 
 THE CITY OF DREAM. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 Setting Forth ..... i 
 
 BOOK II. 
 Strangers and Pilgrims ... 27 
 
 BOOK III. 
 Eglantine ...... 51 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 Within Christopolis .... 68 
 
 c
 
 vi Contents. 
 
 BOOK V. , ^ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Within the Gate .... 87 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 The Calvaries . . . . .104 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 The Wayside Inn .... 121 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 The Outcast, Esau .... 141 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 The Groves of Faun . . . .174 
 
 BOOK X. 
 The Amphitheatre .... 203 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 The Valley of Dead Gods . . 222
 
 Contents. 
 
 Vll 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 The Inconceivable 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BOOK XIII. 
 
 The Open Way 
 
 271 
 
 BOOK XIV. 
 The City Without God 
 
 291 
 
 BOOK XV. 
 The Celestial Ocean . 
 
 L'JlNVOl .... 
 
 334 
 359 
 
 ■' ' ^'^'^i-^<£r~Y ^
 
 INDEX TO THE SONGS. 
 
 Jesus of Nazareth . . . . , 
 
 Mary Magdalen .... 
 
 ' O child, where wilt thou rest?' 
 
 ' Come again, come back to me ' 
 
 ' I have sought Thee, and not found Thee ' 
 
 Proserpine ..... 
 
 Song of Esau ..... 
 
 ' Kiss, dream, and die ! ' . 
 
 ' Black is the night, but blacker my despair 
 
 'Dead man : clammy, cold, and white' 
 
 ' Hark ! I am call'd away ' 
 
 * Little herd-boy sitting there ' . 
 
 ' Where the buttercups so sweet ' 
 
 ' I am lifted on the wind ' 
 
 ' The woof that I weave not ' . 
 
 ' Pleasant blows the growing grain ' 
 
 ' Forget me not ' , . . 
 
 L Envoi : *0 blessed Death !' . 
 
 PAGE 
 42 
 
 +4 
 60 
 
 136 
 138 
 
 179 
 
 234 
 249 
 252 
 
 253 
 
 266 
 
 268 
 
 274 
 
 359
 
 Denication* 
 
 TO THE SJINTED SPIRIT OF 
 JOHN BUNTJN. 
 
 O Teller of the Fairy Tale Divine, 
 How bright a dream was thine, — 
 
 Wherein God's City shining as a star 
 Gleam'd silently from far 
 
 O'er haunted wastes, where Pilgrims pale as death 
 Toil'd slow, with bated breath ! 
 
 Like children at thy knees we gather'd all, 
 
 Man, maiden, great and small ; 
 Tho' death was nigh and snow was on our hair, 
 
 Yet still we gather'd there, 
 Feeling upon our cheeks blow sweet and bland 
 
 A breath from Fairyland ! 
 
 The sunless Book, held ever on thy knee. 
 
 Grew magical thro' thee ; 
 Touch'd by thy wand the fountain of our fear 
 
 Sprang bright and crystal clear ; 
 Thy right hand held a lily flower most fair, 
 
 And holly deck'd thy hair.
 
 Dedication. 
 
 Of Giants and of Monsters thou didst tell, 
 
 Fiends, and the Pit of Hell 
 Of Angels that like swallows manifold 
 
 Fly round God's eaves of gold ; 
 Of God Himself, the Spirit those adore, 
 
 Throned in the City's core ! 
 
 O fairy Tale Divine ! O gentle quest 
 
 Of Christian and the rest ! 
 What wonder if we love it to the last, 
 
 Tho' childish faith be past. 
 What marvel if it changes not, but seems 
 
 The pleasantest of dreams ? 
 
 Far other paths we follow — colder creeds 
 
 Answer our spirits' needs — 
 The gentle dream is done ; — 'neath life's sad shades, 
 
 The fabled City fades :— 
 The God within it, shooting from his throne, 
 
 Falls, like a meteor stone ! 
 
 So much is lost, yet still we mortals sad • 
 
 Despair not or grow mad. 
 But still search on, in hope to find full blest 
 
 The City of our quest ; — 
 New guides to lead ; below, new lights of love, 
 
 And grander Gods, above. 
 
 And while of this strange latter quest I sing, 
 
 First to thy skirts I cling 
 Like to a child, and in thy face I look 
 
 As in a gentle book, 
 And all thy happy lore and fancies wise 
 
 I gather from thine eyes.
 
 Dedication. xi 
 
 Tho' that first faith in Fairyland hath fled, 
 
 Its glory is not dead ; 
 And the' the lesser truth exists no more, 
 
 Yet in thy sweet Tale's core 
 The higher truth of poesy divine 
 
 For evermore shall shine. 
 
 There dwells within all creeds of mortal birth, 
 
 That die and fall to earth, 
 A higher element, a spark most bright 
 
 Of primal truth and light ; — 
 No creed is wholly false, old creed or new, 
 
 Since none is wholly true. 
 
 Wherefore we Pilgrims bless thee as we go 
 
 With feeble feet and slow ; 
 Light of forgotten Fairyland still lies 
 
 Upon our cheeks and eyes ; 
 And somewhere in the starry waste doth gleam 
 
 The City of our Dream !
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 /~\NE Ishmael, born in an earthly City beside the sea, 
 having heard strange tidings of a Heavenly City, 
 sets forth to seek the same ; and as he fares forth he is 
 blindfolded by Evangelist, and given a Holy Book ; reading 
 which Book, he wanders on terrified and blindfold, until, 
 coming by chance to the house of one Iconoclast, he is re- 
 lieved of the bandage covering his eyes, and led to an 
 eminence, whence he beholds all the Pilgritns of the World. 
 Quitting Evangelist, he encounters Pitiful, and is directed 
 towards the City of Christopolis, but in the crowded high- 
 way leading thitherward he meets Eglantine, who warns 
 him that Christopolis is not the City of his quest. Tet 
 nevertheless he proceeds thither in his new friend's company. 
 He wanders through Christopolis and sees strange sights 
 therein ; but being denounced for unbelief and heresy, he 
 takes refuge beyond a great Gate dividing the City into 
 two parts. Wise men accost him and warn him that peace 
 and assurance are to be found only in the Book given him 
 by Evangelist ; but this in his perversity he denies, and 
 casting away the Book is again denounced as unbelieving.
 
 xiv Argument. 
 
 and driven out of the City into the dreary region beyond it. 
 His talk with one Merciful, who beseeches him in vain 
 to pause and pray. Flying on he knows not whither, he 
 encounters rain and tempest, and takes shelter in a woeful 
 Wayside Inn, where he meets the outcasts of all the creeds. 
 His journey thence through the night, and his meeting with 
 the wild horseman Esau, who carries him to the Groves of 
 Faun, watched over by the shepherd Thyrsis and his child, 
 a maid of surpassing beauty. Led by Thyrsis, he sees the 
 Vales of Vain Delight, and after drinking of the Waters oj 
 Oblivion, beholds the living apparition of the Greek god 
 Eros. He sails with Eros over strange waters, and comes 
 betimes to an Amphitheatre among mountains, where he 
 witnesses the sacrificial tragedy of Cheiron, and the tran- 
 substantiation of Eros. He passes through the Valley of 
 Dead Gods, and finds there his townsman Faith lying dead 
 and cold. Tet he dies not, but finds himself on a wan 
 wayside, close to a rain-worn Cross, and holds speech with 
 Sylvan, leaving whom he climbs again upward among 
 mountains and shelters with the Hermit of the Mere. 
 Thereon one Nightshade leads him up the highest peaks and 
 shows him the Spectre of the Inconceivable ; after which 
 sight of wonder he finds himself worn and old, but emerges 
 presently in full daylight on the Open Way, whence, after 
 parleying with Lateral and zvith Microcos, he is guided by 
 a gentle stranger to the gates of the City builded zvithout 
 God, His weary wanderings and experiences in that same
 
 Argument. xv 
 
 City, latest and fairest of any built by Man, till the hour 
 when, sickened and afraid, he forsakes it and flies on into 
 the region of Monsters and strange births of Time. At 
 last, in the winter of his pilgrimage, he beholds the old 
 man Masterful, who becomes his guide to the brink of the 
 Celestial Ocean ; and now, standing on those mysterious 
 shores, the highest peak of earth, he sees a Ship of Souls ; 
 but as it vanishes in the ccerulean haze, he awakens, and 
 knows that all he hath seen — yea, all his spirit'' s life-long 
 quest — hath been only a Dream within a Dream.
 
 THE CITY OF DREAM. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 SETTING FORTH. 
 
 TN the noontide of my days I had a dream, 
 
 "*■ And in my dream, which seem'd no dream at all, 
 
 I saw these things which here are written down. 
 
 And first methought, with terror on my heart, 
 I fled, like many a pilgrim theretofore, 
 From a dark City built beside the sea, 
 Crying, ' I cannot any longer bear 
 The tumult and the terror and the tears, 
 The sadness, of the City where I dwell j 
 Sad is the wailing of the waters, sad 
 The comino; and the ffoino- of the sun, 
 
 D DO ' 
 
 And sad the homeless echoes of the streets. 
 Since I have heard that up among the hills 
 
 ^n B
 
 2 The City of 'Dream, [bk. 
 
 There stands the City christen'd Beautiful, 
 Green sited, golden, and with heaven above it 
 Soft as the shining of an angel's hair ; 
 And thither comes not rain, or wind, or snow. 
 Nor the bleak blowing of Euroclydon, 
 Nor moans of many miserable men.' 
 
 Now in my dream meseem'd that I had known 
 A melancholy neighbour, old and blind, 
 Named Faith, led by a beauteous snow-white hound, 
 Named Peace ; and this same Faith, grown worn 
 
 and weak 
 With wandering up and down the weary ways, 
 Had one day learn'd, high up among the hills. 
 Strange tidings of the City Beautiful, 
 And heard in sooth a far-off melody 
 Of harps and lutes, blown from the heavenly gate. 
 Now, when he spake of this, upon his face 
 There grew a gleam like moonlight upon water, 
 Sweet with exceeding sadness; and at last, 
 Though blind, he had left his lonely home again. 
 And stolen across the valleys silently 
 At midnight ; and he had return'd no more. 
 
 Him, after many melancholy days. 
 
 And many wrestlings with a darkening doubt.
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 3 
 
 I, Ishmael (lone descendant of a race 
 Who chased the mirage among desert sands), 
 Foljow'd in fear ; and lo ! I fled with speed 
 Like one who flees before some dreadful beast ; 
 But just beyond our town I met with one 
 Clad in white robes and named Evangelist, 
 Who, at the threshold of his summer dwelling. 
 Girt round by plenteous harvest, sat and smiled ; 
 To whom I cried : 
 
 * O thou who sittest here 
 In thy fair garden girt by golden glebe. 
 Instruct me (for thy beard is white and wise) 
 Which is the pathway to the heavenly City 
 Call'd Beautiful, first of the Land of Light?' 
 
 Then said Evangelist, with courteous smile: 
 ' O Pilgrim, close thine eyes, and wander on ; 
 One Faith precedes thee, blind, led by a hound, 
 Else trusting God ; and when thou stumblest, rise ; 
 And when thou comest among thorns and flints. 
 Praise God and pray; and when in some deep 
 
 slough 
 Thou flounderest, bless God and struggle through. 
 But chief, be warn'd, to walk with close-shut eyes 
 Is safest, seeing our twin eyes of flesh
 
 4 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Mislead us, and a thousand evil things 
 
 Are made for our temptation. Grant me grace ; 
 
 And 1 will give thee this brave Book to read, 
 
 And for the further safety of thy soul 
 
 Will bind this blessed bandage o'er thine eyes, 
 
 To keep thy sight from evil. Though thine eyes 
 
 Be blind from s^e.m'y forward^ ne'ertheless 
 
 Look down thou canst while wanderins;, and glean 
 
 The wisdom of the Book.' 
 
 A space I paused, 
 Gazing into his coldly happy eyes, 
 Then cried: 'But thou? — O master, answer me! — 
 Art thou content here in the dales to dwell. 
 Nor climb thyself the heavenly heights whereon 
 The wondrous City stands ?' 
 
 Then with a smile 
 As soft, as still, as is the snake of fire 
 Coil'd up and flickering on some happy hearth, 
 Evangelist replied : 'My post is here, 
 Not on the mountains, nor a rocky place ; 
 He whom I serve hath given me this my task 
 To blindfold pilgrims and to point them on ; 
 This house is His, this porch with roses hung. 
 These golden fields ; nor can I quit my post 
 Until He sends His own dark Angel down.'
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 5 
 
 And on my head methought Evangelist 
 Placed his soft hands in blessing ; and my soul, 
 With one long sigh, one glance at the blue heaven, 
 Assented ; and methought Evangelist 
 Did blindfold me, and set me on my way. 
 And place the Book within my hands to read, 
 Then softly singing in the summer sheen, 
 Cried, ' Courage ! ' as I wander'd from his sight. 
 
 And as I wander'd on, not seeing whither, 
 But trusting in some heavenly hand to guide, 
 I, casting down my gaze upon the Book, 
 Read these things, and was little comforted : — 
 
 In six days God the Lord made heaven and earth. 
 And rested from His labours on the seventh ; 
 Dividing firmament from firmament. 
 Fishes He made, and flesh, and flying birds. 
 And, lastly, Man ; next, from a rib of Man, 
 Woman. These twain He in a garden set, 
 Naked, and glad, and innocent of heart; 
 But in the centre of the garden placed 
 A Tree for their temptation. Thither came 
 The ancient snake upon his belly crawling. 
 And bade the woman pluck the fruit and eat. 
 And first the woman ate, and then the man,
 
 6 I'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And knew their nakedness, and were ashamed ; 
 And furthermore an Angel with a sword 
 Drave them from Eden into the sunless waste. 
 
 From these twain had the generations come, 
 The million generations of the earth, 
 Bearing the burthen of that primal sin; 
 And whatsoever man is born on earth 
 Is born unto the issues of that sin, 
 Albeit each step he takes is predestined. 
 
 Further, I read the legend of the Flood, 
 Of Noah and of the building of an Ark, 
 And how the Maker (as a craftsman oft 
 Rejects a piece of labour ill begun) 
 Destroy 'd His first work and began again 
 With sorrow and the symbol of the Dove. 
 
 Much, furthermore,' I read of the first race 
 Of shepherds, Abraham's race and Jacob's race; 
 And of the chosen people God deliver'd 
 Out of the land of bondage. Portents burnt. 
 Strange omens came, wild scenes and faces flash'd 
 Before me, and I ever seem'd to hear 
 The rustle of the serpent ; till I heard 
 The voice of David cursing to his harp
 
 I.] Setting Forth. ' \ 
 
 His enemies, and smiting hip and thigh, 
 
 And holding up his blood-stain'd hands to God, 
 
 And ever across my soul a vision flash'd 
 
 Of a most direful Form with robes of fire, 
 
 A footfall loud as many chariots, 
 
 A voice like thunder on a mountain-top. 
 
 And nostrils drinking up with joy divine 
 
 The crimson sacrifice of flesh and blood j 
 
 And ever as I read I felt my soul 
 
 Shake with exceeding fear, and stumbled on 
 
 With fleeter footsteps ; and I fled for hours 
 
 Ere, with a fascination deep as death, 
 
 I cast my gaze upon the Book again. 
 
 And now I read of pale and wild-eyed kings. 
 
 Of sounding trumpets and of clarions, 
 
 The clash of hosts in carnage, and the shriek 
 
 Of haggard prophets standing on the heights, 
 
 And urging on the host as men urge hounds ; 
 
 As in a mirror, darkly, I beheld 
 
 The generations drift like vapour past. 
 
 Driven westward by a whirlwind, while on high 
 
 The Breath Divine like fire came and went ; 
 
 And, suddenly, the storm-cloud of the world 
 
 Uplifted, — there was light — stillness and death j
 
 8 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 All nature lay as one vast battle-field, 
 
 And cities numberless lay desolate. 
 
 And crowns were strewn about and broken swords, 
 
 And everywhere the vulture and the raven 
 
 Pick'd at the eyeballs of slain kings and churls ; 
 
 And through the world a crimson river of blood 
 
 Ran streaming, till it wash'd the feet of God. 
 
 These things I gather'd, trembling like a leaf, 
 And moaning, ' God of Thunder ! save my soul ! 
 Destroy me not, Destroyer ! Pity me, 
 O Pitiless, but let Thine anger pass ! ' 
 
 And now, methought that I had left my home 
 Behind me, and was far beyond the town. 
 When, suddenly, I heard upon my path 
 A crowd of people hearkening to one 
 Who raised his voice aloud and prophesied. 
 'Who speaks?' I ask'd; and one, with low, deep 
 
 laugh. 
 Said, ' Only our old prophet. Hurricane : 
 He began early, and the people applauded ; 
 But now the matter hath outgrown his wits, 
 And newer lights are risen.' Whereon I said: 
 ' Methinks I know the man ; he hath a house 
 Within a suburb of our town, and ever
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 9 
 
 He mocketh all his neighbours and the poor, 
 And praises only God, and priests, and kings.' 
 
 And in my dream I heard him, Hurricane, 
 Railing aloud to those who flock'd around: 
 
 ' Scum of the Maker's scorn, what seek ye here ? 
 
 Go, thou whose sin is black, and kiss the lash ; 
 
 Haste, thou whose skin is white, and strike for kings. 
 
 O miserable generation, foam 
 
 That flashes from the Maker's chariot-wheels, 
 
 What do you crave for, shrieking for a sign ? 
 
 See yonder o'er your heads the sun and stars 
 
 Hang like bright apples on the Eternal Tree, 
 
 And day comes, and the night is wonderful. 
 
 And aeon after ason, 'spite your groans. 
 
 The eternal Order stands. What seek ye, worms? 
 
 To shake away the slime of that first curse, 
 
 Spoken when ye were fashion'd out of dust ? 
 
 It is the mission of the worm to crawl ; 
 
 No snake is he, and cannot even sting 
 
 The heel that bruises him. Crawl on for ever ; 
 
 Obey your masters here and yonder in heaven — 
 
 Ye cannot slough your sin or quit your curse.' 
 
 Then a voice deep and rough, as from the throat 
 Of some strong wight, responded :
 
 lo 'The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 ' Softly, master ! 
 What profit comes of railing ? We who hear. 
 An we were worms indeed, might creep and die; 
 But being men, we deem thycounsel blind. 
 And all thy words as impotent as sparks 
 Blown by the bellows from my smithy fire. 
 Nay, those thou bidst us honour are (I swear 
 By Tubal Cain, the founder of my craft !) 
 The plagues of this green earth, I know them well, 
 I rate them, I ! the monsters of this earth, 
 Blind priests and prophets blind, and blindest kings, 
 And conquerors slaying in the name of God." 
 
 Then Hurricane made answer, while a groan 
 Went through the inmost ranks of those who heard: 
 ' I tell you, ye are dust of evil, things 
 For mighty powers to work with. God is strength. 
 His blessing makes strong men, and they are strong 
 Who blister you and bind you to your doom. 
 Black slaves and white. Worms, do ye rave of 
 
 rights? 
 I tell you. He who fashion'd you for pain, 
 And set you in a sad and sunless world. 
 Scatters your rights as the eternal sea 
 Loosens the fading foam-bells from its hair. 
 What man cried out, " There is no God at all ? "
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 1 1 
 
 I swear to you, by sun, and stars, and moon, 
 By hunger, by starvation and disease. 
 By death, that there is God omnipotent, 
 Awful, a King, a strong God ! yea, indeed, 
 The Maker of the whirlwind and the worm, 
 The judgment waiting in the heavens o'erhead, 
 The vengeance burning in the earth beneath, 
 The end of sin, the doom no man eludes, 
 Not even at the very gates of death !' 
 
 Now in my dream 1 shudder'd, for methought 
 I heard the living echo of the Book ; 
 So, sick and sad at heart, I turn'd away. 
 And hasten'd, desolate, I knew not whither. 
 
 Methought I wander'd on and on, for long, 
 Shadow'd with sorrow, smitten through with sin, 
 Not heeding whither, blindfold, caring not 
 If the next step of my sad pilgrimage 
 Should be into some nameless, open grave. 
 But as I crept across the darken'd earth. 
 O'er which the sad sky shed a sobbing rain. 
 One cried to me, * Poor soul, take shelter 
 
 here ! ' 
 And following the summons of the voice 
 I felt the cold touch of an outstretch'd hand.
 
 12 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Which led me darkly through an open door. 
 Up steps of stone, into some unknown dwelling. 
 
 Then said I, pale, blindfolded, Book in hand: 
 
 ' Who spake ? whose hand was that which led me 
 
 hither ? 
 And what strange dwelling have I enter'd in ?' 
 And sharper, shriller than an eunuch's voice 
 One answer'd, * But for that same blinding band 
 Across thine eyes thou for thyself couldst see — 
 Perchance, good man, my name is known to thee. 
 Iconoclast, — called sometimes " Gibe-at-God," 
 Whose name hath travell'd over the wide earth.' 
 
 Then all my spirit darken'd for a moment, 
 For I had heard the name said under breath 
 With Satan's and with Moloch's and with Baal's, 
 And my young soul had loathed the man who 
 
 mock'd 
 All that the world deems holy. But as I stood, 
 Troubled and timorous, he did laugh aloud, 
 Saying : 
 
 ' My name hath reach'd thee, I perceive. 
 And, though thou deem'st it evil, I have hope 
 To gain thy good opinion presently .... 
 Whence dost thou come ? and whither dost thou go ? '
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 13 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 I come from yonder City beside the sea, 
 And seek the Beautiful City of the Lord. 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 And dost thou think to gain that City's gate 
 (If such a city there be, which travellers doubt) 
 Blindfolded, with that bandage on thine eyes ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Yea, verily ; for a good man set it there. 
 Evangelist. — But wherefore dost thou laugh ? 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 foolish Pilgrim, wherefore did thy Lord, 
 Whoever made thee, or receives from thee 
 Credit for having made thee, give thee sight, 
 If thou consentest not to look, or see ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 1 know not. These are mysteries. Yet I know, 
 Evangelist did bid me journey thus.
 
 14 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 I know the fellow, a fat trencher slave, 
 He wears no bandage, he, nor goeth forth 
 On pilgrimage, but sitteth in the sun, 
 Right prosperous, and eyes his golden glebe. 
 O fool, to be persuaded by this priest 
 Out of thy birthright ; to be blind and dark ; 
 The sun to see not, or the stars and moon, 
 Or any light that shines ; to turn thy face 
 Into the tomb of dead intelligence ; 
 To quit mortality and be a mole ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 My townsman. Faith, precedes me : he is blind, 
 And yet he journeys safely through the land. 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 Leave faith to Faith ; since the good, simple soul 
 Is eyeless, let his other senses thrive ! 
 But thou hast eyes, and eyes were given thee 
 To see with ; that to doubt, were blasphemy ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Why should I see ? This Book held in my hand 
 
 Assures me 'tis a miserable world. 
 
 Base, burthen'd, and most bleak to look upon.
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 15 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 See for thyself! Wherefore consult a Book 
 Upon a point of eyesight ? Look, and see ! 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 I dare not. I am stricken dumb and sad, 
 After the testimony written here. 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 If there be misery in the ways thou treadest. 
 If this thine earth be wretched and unclean. 
 It is because so many walk in blindness, 
 And read the dreary gospel written there. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 How may that be? God fashion'd all things well ; 
 And only by man's sin did all grow sad. 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 Assuredly ; God fashion'd all things well. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 And all had still been well had man not eaten 
 The bitter Tree of Knowledge, and been shamed.
 
 1 6 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 Softly, good friend ; that is the one good tree 
 
 Adam ne'er tasted, not to speak of Eve 
 
 Or any wiser woman. Cast that Book 
 
 Over thy shoulder ! Leave the dreary dream ; 
 
 Forswear the apple and the fig-leaf; cease 
 
 To credit fables old of fire and flood ; 
 
 Quit gloomy visions and crude eastern nights 
 
 Of legendary horror : in a word, 
 
 Cast off thy bandage and thine ignorance, 
 
 And look abroad upon thy destiny ! 
 
 So saying, with one quick movement of his hand. 
 
 Iconoclast did snatch from off my brows 
 
 The bandage placed there by Evangelist ; 
 
 And lo ! I scream'd, and with my trembling fingers 
 
 Cover'd mine eyes, then, trembling like a leaf. 
 
 Perused the stranger's face, and saw it full 
 
 Of manv wrinkles, and a snake-like sneer 
 
 Playing about the edges of the lips. 
 
 And it was noon, noon of a cold grey day, 
 
 A silvern, melancholy light in heaven. 
 
 All calm, the prospects and the distances 
 
 Sharp and distinct to vision, but no sun.
 
 I.] Setting Forth. ij 
 
 ' Where am I ?' next I murmur'd ; and, ' Behold,' 
 
 Answer'd that other, 'on an eminence 
 
 Thou standest, named Mount Clear; for all the 
 
 air 
 Is crystal pure, and hither rise no mists. 
 Follow me higher ; far above my dwelling 
 I have built a solitary garden-seat, 
 Commanding a great prospect o'er the earth.' 
 Methought I follow'd, and we gain'd the 
 
 height, 
 And, full of wonder now, I look'd abroad. 
 
 I saw great valleys and green watery wastes, 
 Deep-shelter'd woods and marshes full of mist. 
 And rivers winding seaward ; then, mine eyes 
 Following the winding rivers, I beheld. 
 Far away, silent, solemn, grey, and still. 
 The waters of the Ocean ; and thereon 
 Sat, like a sea-bird on the ribbed sand, 
 A City that I knew to be mine own ; 
 But following the windings of the coast 
 1 beheld other Cities like mine own. 
 All hungrily set beside the wash of waves, 
 Looking expectant, seaward ; and from each 
 Came solitary figures as of men. 
 Mere specks upon the highways and the fields, 
 
 c
 
 1 8 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 All toiling, as it seem'd, with constant feet 
 To those green slopes whereon I stood at gaze. 
 
 Then as I look'd, and wonder'd, in mine ear 
 The old man murmur'd : ' Lo, thou lookest on 
 The Cities of the Nations of the Earth, 
 Each crouching by the sad shores of the Sea 
 Infinite, dreadful, mighty, without bound ; 
 And in each City thou dost look upon 
 A different legend and a different God 
 Lengthen man's misery and make him mad ; 
 Further, from City unto City have gone 
 Tidings of that same City Beautiful 
 Thou seekest ; at the gate of each there sits 
 An arch-priest, like thine own Evangelist, 
 Blindfolding those who wearily set forth ; 
 And these, the Pilgrims thou beholdest now 
 As specks afar, go stumbling sadly on j 
 And if they perish not upon the way, 
 As ninety-nine in every hundred perish, 
 Hither among the hills of ironstone 
 They, slowly ascending, by such hands as mine 
 Are of their blinded ignorance relieved.' 
 
 Whereat I cried, in bitterness of heart: 
 ' I see, but seeing comfort find I none,
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 19 
 
 But all thou showest me is sick and sad, 
 
 For lo ! the things I fled from, the sad Earth, 
 
 The melancholy City, the grey Heaven, 
 
 And the vast silence of the unfathomed Sea !' 
 
 And turning to Iconoclast, I cried : 
 
 'Thy words are shallow, and thy counsel blind ! 
 
 Lo ! thou hast snatch'd the bandage from my eyes. 
 
 And I perceive the fables of the Book ; 
 
 What shall I do, and whither shall I go?' 
 
 ' Haste homeward ! ' smiling said Iconoclast ; 
 ' Back to thine earthly City, work thy work, 
 And dream of Cities in the clouds no more.' 
 
 But with a moan, uplifting hands, I cried: 
 ' Whither, oh whither ? To return is Death, 
 For mine own City is dreadful, and the Sea 
 Hath voices, and the homeless winds of woe 
 Wander with white feet wearily on the deep ; 
 And every slope beside the sea is green 
 With the dead generations ; and I seek 
 A City fairer and not perishable. 
 Peaceable and holy, in the Land of Light !' 
 
 Then did Iconoclast, with bitter scorn, 
 
 Cry : ' 'Tis an infant moaning for the moon, 
 
 For the moon's phantom in the running brook.
 
 20 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 fool ! there is no City Beautiful 
 
 Beyond these Cities of the Earth thou seest!' 
 
 But turning now my back upon the Sea, 
 
 And on my native City, I beheld 
 
 A mighty land of hills. There, far away, 
 
 Beyond the pastoral regions at my feet, 
 
 Beyond the quiet lanes and wayside wells. 
 
 Rose mountains, darken'd by deep woods of pine, 
 
 With air-hung bridges spanning cataracts, 
 
 And rainbows o'er the waters hovering ; 
 
 A4ists moved, celestial shadows came and went. 
 
 While higher, dim against the blue, there rose 
 
 Peaks soft as sleep, white with eternal snow. 
 
 ' What land is that T I question'd ; and the other 
 Answer'd : ' I know not ; nay, nor seek to know ; 
 For those be perilous regions, with an air 
 Too thin for man to breathe ; yet many, I wis. 
 Have travell'd thither (O the weary way !), 
 But never a one hath hither come again. 
 And how they fared I know not, yet I dream 
 That never one doth reach those frigid heights. 
 But on the crags and 'mid the pathless woods 
 They perish, and the skeleton hands of Frost 
 Cling to them, breaking up their bleaching 
 bones ! '
 
 I.] Setting Forth. li 
 
 But now I cried : ' O fool that I have been 
 To talk with such a shallow soul so long ! 
 A scoffing voice like to the mocking-bird's. 
 The dreary echo of a hollow sound 
 Bred in an empty heart. For, lo ! I see 
 The land afar, and, though the ways be dire. 
 Thither I fare, since, far among the heights, 
 Beyond the scoffer's voice, beyond these vales. 
 Beyond the weary wailings of the sea. 
 First in its place the Heavenly City stands !' 
 
 So stood I trembling in the act to go. 
 
 When grey Iconoclast, with cynic sneer. 
 
 Not angry, cried : ' Stay yet ! — I had forgot ! 
 
 Not far beyond these valleys lies indeed 
 
 A City wondrous smiling to the sight 
 
 Like that which thou art seeking. In its streets 
 
 Full many a prosperous pilgrim findeth peace.' 
 
 And, smiling bitterly, as if in scorn, 
 
 He added : ' O'er the mighty earth its fame 
 
 Hath travell'd on four winds! Who hath not heard 
 
 Of this same City of Christopolis ?' 
 
 Then I uplcapt i' the air and waved my hands. 
 'The name! the name! — He built itwith Hisblood! — 
 I charge thee on thy life, point out the way ! ' 
 'Thou canst not miss it,' said Iconoclast j
 
 22 The City of Dream. bk.. 
 
 ' For if the milestone or the finger-post 
 Should fail thee, only seek the open road, 
 And there beshrew me if thou meetest not 
 With many of its priestly citizens, 
 Who will direct thee onward willingly. 
 Still, if thou lovest wisdom, be advised — 
 Turn back and hasten home, Christopolis, 
 Methinks, is not the City of thy quest.' 
 
 ' How knowest thou that ? ' 1 cried, full eagerly. 
 ' Hast thou thyself fared thither ?' 
 
 ' Verily,' 
 Answered the greybeard ; ' more, within its streets 
 I first drew breath ! ' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 I understand thee not. 
 Born there, and yet, alas ! thou sittest here ? 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 I could not choose. She from whose womb I came, 
 
 More mighty than my yet unwoven will. 
 
 Would have it so! — and thus on golden streets 
 
 I ran, and under golden fanes I played, 
 
 And in the splendour of Christopolis 
 
 1 fed and throve, till, weary of so much light. 
 
 While yet a fleet-heel'd boy I fled away.
 
 I,] Setting Forth. 23 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Fled ? From thy birthplace ? from thy happiness ? 
 
 fool, to quit the paths and ways of peace ! 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 1 was not peaceful in those peaceful ways, 
 I did not love my birthplace. So I fled. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Was it not fair ? 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 Most fair. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 And holy ? 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 In sooth, 
 My nurses said so much. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Yet thou art here ! 
 
 Iconoclast. 
 
 I loved my freedom better far than fanes: 
 Within those scented shrines I could not breathe.
 
 24 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Besides, the people were idolaters, — 
 Fools of the fig-leaf, blind inheritors 
 Of that sad symbol of a slaughter'd God. 
 I left them, and I came to warn the world 
 Against the follies I had left behind. 
 Or haply now and then with this weak arm 
 To aid some miserable human thing 
 Their citizens have hunted even hither !' 
 
 He added, with a strange and inward smile : 
 * Go thither, if thou wilt — seek out its gates — 
 Remember that I warn'd thee 'twas in vain.' 
 
 More might his lips have spoken garrulously. 
 But swiftly down the silent heights I ran. 
 Thrusting the Book into my breast ; and now 
 Methought my soul was wroth against the man. 
 Iconoclast. Most fleet of foot I fled. 
 Until I reach'd the shadowy vale below, 
 Through whose green heart there wound a dusty 
 
 way 
 Where many men and women came and went. 
 But as I leapt a brook to gain the road, 
 Suddenly on mine ears there swept a sound, 
 A tumult, then a tramp of horses' feet, 
 Sharp yelp of hounds, and all the cries o' the chase.
 
 I.] Setting Forth. 25 
 
 Wondering I stood, and lo ! across the meads, 
 There came a naked man who shriek'd for dread, 
 Speeding as swift as any dappled deer ; 
 And close behind him silent blood-hounds ran, 
 Swiftly, with crimson nostrils to the ground ; 
 And after these came a great company, 
 Priests in red robes, and hoary crowned Kings, 
 And pallid Queens with grey and golden hair. 
 With countless savage slaves that ran afoot. 
 And huntsmen, shrieking, 'In the name of God !' 
 And much I fear'd the hounds behind the man, 
 Lolling their crimson tongues to drink his life; 
 And lo ! they would have caught and rent the 
 
 man. 
 But, suddenly, he sprang with one swift bound 
 Over the threshold of a house of stone, 
 A lowly place white-visaged like a shrine, 
 That at the corner of a little wood 
 Stood with a spire that pointed up to heaven. 
 Therein he leapt and vanish'd through a door 
 That stands for ever open ; and the train 
 Were following when there rose beneath the porch 
 • A figure like an angel with one hand 
 Outreaching; and they dare not enter in. 
 But with a sullen roar, clashing like waves. 
 Broke at the threshold, foam'd, and were repell'd.
 
 26 The City of Dream. [bk. i. 
 
 Then, gazing past the Spirit, I beheld 
 
 A chancel and an altar, and the man, 
 
 With panting mouth and wild eyes backward gazing, 
 
 Cast prone before the altar, faint with fear ; 
 
 And further, full of wonder, raising eyes, 
 
 I read these words written above the porch — 
 
 ' Iconoclast hath built this church to God !' 
 
 Then did I pray and weep, crying aloud: 
 
 ' Lord, let me judge not, since Thou art my Judge, 
 
 For I perceive an angel bright doth guard 
 
 The Temple of the Scoffer, and the same 
 
 May be Thy servant, though his place be set 
 
 Outside Thy City, in a rocky place.' 
 
 Then turning, I gazed upward, and behold ! 
 
 On the cold eminence above my head, 
 
 I saw Iconoclast in milk-white robes 
 
 Walkino; with sunlight on his reverent hair; 
 
 And as he walk'd upon the golden sward 
 
 He scatter'd seeds and call'd, and many doves. 
 
 That rear'd their young beneath his lonely eaves, 
 
 Came fluttering down in answer to his call, 
 
 Making a snow around him, and were fed.
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS. 
 
 \ ND now my path was on a public road, 
 -^ -^ And where I walk'd methought the weary air 
 Was full of lamentations ; for the sick 
 Lay on the roadside basking in the sun, 
 The leper with his sores, the paralysed 
 Moveless as stone, the halt and lame and blind, 
 And many beggars pluck'd me by the sleeve, 
 And when I fled shriek'd curses after me ; 
 And my tears fell, and my knees knock'd together, 
 And I fled faster, crying : ' That first curse 
 Still darkens all ! Oh, City Beautiful, 
 Where art thou ? — for these ways are sad to tread.' 
 
 Even as I spake I heard a gentle voice 
 Close by me saying, ' Good morrow, gentle Sir ; 
 'Tis sweet and pleasant weather;' and I cried, 
 Ouickly, not looking in his face who spake: 
 ' I am in haste, and cannot pause for speech — 
 Farewell !' but, lo, the other touch'd my arm,
 
 28 ^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Saying : ' One word, I prithee, ere thou fliest. 
 In yonder village, Poppythorpe by name — 
 Pastor I dwell — my name is Pitiful, 
 I know thine errand. Prithee, since 'tis late, 
 Accept the shelter of my roof this night.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 I cannot rest. A wind behind me blows, 
 And like a cloud I travel darkly on. 
 
 Pitiful. 
 
 And whither away ? — Stay, from thy wayworn face 
 I guess j — thou goest to Christopolis ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Again that name. Oh help me ! Guide me thither. 
 
 Pitiful. 
 
 Most gladly. But, if thou wilt trust in me. 
 Rest for to-night, to-morrow fare afresh ; 
 From hence the City is a weary way. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 God help me ! — I would fain not rest at all 
 Until the hunger of my heart is fed. 
 But tell me of those wretched on the road ? 
 Whence have they come, and whither do they go ?
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 2^ 
 
 Pitiful. 
 
 Those wretched are but Pilgrims like thyself — 
 They, too, are crawling to Christopolis. 
 Ah, look not on them, or thy heart may fail — 
 For few will ever gain the golden Gate. 
 
 Then all my force was broken, and I leant 
 
 Heavily on the arm of my sad guide, 
 
 A pale tall wight with soft eyes red from tears, 
 
 And through a wicket gate across the fields 
 
 We pass'd, and came unto a lowly house, — 
 
 A peaceful house beside a running rill ; 
 
 And Pitiful did bring me food and milk ; 
 
 And Sentiment and Sensibility, 
 
 His two grave daughters, made me up a bed 
 
 Deep, soft, and drowsy; that same night, methought, 
 
 I slept therein ; upon the morrow morn 
 
 Rose languid, and went forth upon my way. 
 
 The road was busy still with eager folk, 
 Coming and going, but I saw them not. 
 For I bethought me of the blessed Book, 
 And drew it from my heart, and as I walk'd 
 I read its solemn pages once again.
 
 3© The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And now I read a tale so sad and sweet, 
 That all the darker matter of the Book 
 Dissolved away like mists around a star. 
 And I forgot the thunders of the Word 
 Spoken in Sinai to the bloody tribe, 
 Seeing a white Shape rise with heavenly eyes 
 By the still sleeping Lake of Galilee — 
 And Him, that Shape, the sick, and halt, and lame, 
 The miserable millions of the earth, 
 Follow'd in joy ; and by His side walk'd women. 
 Tall and most fair, fair flowers that grew 'mong 
 
 thorns 
 Like to the Huleh lilyj and the earth 
 Blossom'd beneath the kiss of His bright feet. 
 But, suddenly, out of the gathering cloud 
 Above the footsteps of that Man Divine, 
 Jehovah's eyes, bloodthirsty, terrible, 
 Flash'd at the pallid, patient, upraised face ; 
 And He, the Paraclete, the Son, the Lamb, 
 Trembled and held His hand upon His heart, 
 Crying : ' O God, My God, if it may be. 
 Have mercy on Me, do not shed My blood ! ' 
 Whereon, methought, before my sight there swam 
 A vision of a nio-ht sown thick with stars 
 Like leopard spots, the deep dead dark below, 
 The flashes of the torches round a town.
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 31 
 
 And the shrill sound of that last victim's shriek 
 To an omnipotent and vengeful God. 
 
 Now as I read, methought I stopp'd mine ears, 
 And fled in horror from the thoughts that surged 
 Within mine own sad soul : and all the earth 
 Seem'd hateful to me, yea, the scent of flowers. 
 The savour of the new-mown hay, the breath 
 Of browsing sheep and kine, all odour of life, 
 Grew sick and sacrificial ; yea, mine eyes 
 Shed tears like blood; and my soul sicken'd, saying: 
 *■ How should this God have mercy upon men. 
 Seeing He spared not His anointed Son ? ' 
 
 Aloud I spake in agony of heart. 
 
 And as I ceased there came unto my side 
 
 One clad in crimson, bearing in his hand 
 
 A snow-white staff; and Time upon his hair 
 
 Had snow'd full long, but in his jet-black eyes 
 
 There burn'd a bitter and a baleful light. 
 
 ' Peace !' cried he, lifting up his wand on high : 
 
 ' Peace — thou blasphemest !' 
 
 Starting like a thief, 
 To have my thoughts so angrily surprised, 
 I gazed into the other's angry face 
 In question, but, ere yet my lips could speak,
 
 32 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 That other, sinking lower his shrill voice, 
 Proceeded : 
 
 ' What art thou, that thou shouldst judge 
 The cruelty or mercy of the Lord ? 
 A Pilgrim, by the hunger in thy face — 
 Perchance a Pilgrim to Christopolis ? 
 Nay, silence yet — and pluck not at my robe — 
 My guess was right, and to Christopolis 
 Indeed thou farest ; thank the Lord thy God 
 They heard thee not who ope and shut the Gate, 
 Else surely would they never let thee in. 
 For less than thou hast harbour'd in thy heart 
 We hunted down a human wolf last night, 
 And would have slain him as a sacrifice. 
 
 But that an evil soirit interposed ! ' 
 
 * ' 
 
 Then did I tremble, for in him who spake 
 I recognised one of that huntino; train 
 Whom I beheld upon the level meads 
 That hour I parted from Iconoclast. 
 Wherefore my heart woke in me angrily, 
 And in a low and hitter voice I said, 
 ' I saw that chase,— and blest the holy form 
 Who from your cruelty deliver'd him.' 
 
 White as sheet-lightning flash'd that other's face, 
 And his voice trembled crying : ' Once again
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 23 
 
 Thou dost blaspheme ! He did deny God's justice, 
 And God in justice gave him to our hands.' 
 
 * Nay then,' I answered, ' God, for such a deed, 
 Was much too pitiful,' 
 
 ' Fool ! ' the other cried, 
 ' Did yonder semblance cheat thee ? Did thine eyes 
 Fail to perceive that yonder seeming shrine, 
 Erected by accurst Iconoclast, 
 Was but the brilliant-colour'd mouth of Hell ? 
 And did Iconoclast (for I perceive 
 Thy lips have talk'd w^ith that arch-enemy !) 
 So cheat thy vision that thou knew^'st him not 
 For what he, is, black Belial and a fiend ? 
 I tell thee, though his hair be white as snow, 
 His face most holy, sweet,- and venerable. 
 He is the procurer of Satan's self; 
 And those white doves thou saw'st around his 
 
 head 
 Devils attendant, taking from his hand 
 The crumbs of guile, the seed of blasphemy ! 
 His spell is on thee yet — his seal is there. 
 Over thine eyelids, — down upon thy knees. 
 Pray God to shrive thee from thy hateful sin 
 Of that dark speech with the abominable, 
 
 D
 
 34 ^'^^^ ^^0' of Tire am. [bk. 
 
 And even yet thy sinful soul may see 
 The light and glory of Christopolis.' 
 
 Then spirit-shaken, broken, and appall'd, 
 Part by the horror in the stranger's eyes. 
 Part by the dim and darken'd memory 
 Of what my soul had read within the Book, 
 I cried aloud, and fell upon my knees, 
 And o'er my head the multitudinous clouds 
 Took dark and formless likenesses of One 
 Down-looking in His wrath \ and as I pray'd, 
 I did remember how Iconoclast 
 Had blacken'd and reviled the Holy Book, 
 And wickedly blasphemed the very God. 
 Wherefore I moan'd : ' Forgive me, Holy One ! 
 By Thy Son's blood forgive me, for 1 knew not 
 With what false tongue I spake.' 
 
 Then to my feet 
 Uprising, tottering as one drunk with wine, 
 I still beheld the stranger watching me 
 With cold, calm eyes. 'What man art thou?' I 
 
 cried, 
 * How shall I know that thou too art not false, 
 Some devil in disguise ?' 
 
 Full scornfully 
 The other smiled. ' By this same garb I wear,
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. ^S 
 
 And by this wand I wave within my hand, 
 
 Know then my priestly rank and privilege. 
 
 My name is Direful, and high-priest am I 
 
 Within the Holy City, where I preach 
 
 God's thunders and the li^ihtning-s of the Cross. 
 
 And if thou askest humbly, with strong sense 
 
 Of thine own undeserving, I perchance 
 
 May help thee through the golden City's Gates.' 
 
 'Thou!' — cried I — 'thou!^ then with a sob I 
 
 said, 
 Clutching the pallid priest's red raiment-hem, 
 ' Is it not written that those Gates stand wide 
 To all whose souls are weary and would rest ?' 
 
 ' To all whose souls are weary of their sin,' 
 
 The other said, ' and seek to glorify 
 
 His name who built the City with His blood.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 O pole-star of our sleepless sea of pain — ■ 
 Still shines He there ? 
 
 Direful. 
 
 Whom meanest thou ?
 
 ^6 'T/ie City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Christ the King ! 
 
 Direful. 
 
 He reigns for ever through His deputies, 
 Christ's Vicars, Servants, and anointed Kings — 
 These to His glory day and night upraise 
 Hosannahs, building with their blessed hands 
 Temples, and fanes, and shrines of purest gold. 
 There mayst thou, as a fringe upon the skirt 
 Of His bright glory, hang for evermore, 
 Swayed into rapture by each heavenly throb 
 Of that divine and ever-bleeding Heart, 
 Which even as a raiment weareth those 
 Who do partake its glory and believe. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Ah me ! if this be sooth, what shall I do 
 To win such rapture and deserve the same ? 
 
 Direful. 
 
 Deserve it thou canst never, but perchance, 
 Thine own iniquities remembering, 
 Thou yet mayst win it. First, mark well — this gift 
 Comes from no merit and no power of thine.
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 37 
 
 Who, if God used thee after thy deserts, 
 Would now be trembling in eternal flame. 
 Or 'neath His heel be crushed to nothingness ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 What have I done to merit such a doom? 
 
 Direful. 
 Done ? — sum it in two little words — thou art. 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 If that be sin, God made me, and I am. 
 
 Direful. 
 
 God, in His mercy, suffers thee to crawl 
 
 As He doth suffer worms and creeping things; 
 
 God, in His justice, might obliterate 
 
 Thee and all creatures living from the earth. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Not so ; that duty the created owes 
 
 To the Creator, the Creator, too, 
 
 Owes the created. God hath given me life, 
 
 I thank my God if life a blessing is, 
 
 How may I bless Him if it proves a curse ?
 
 38 'The City of Dream. [bi 
 
 Direful. 
 Fool ! juggle not with words, lest the red levin 
 Fall down and blast thee. Rather on thy knees 
 Crave, as a boon, from the All-Terrible, 
 What thou mayst ne'er solicit as a right. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 I pray ! I pray ! Father, Thou hear'st, I pray ! 
 Nay, have I not by gracious words and deeds, 
 By holy living, love for all my kind, 
 Pray'd to and praised, loved goodness for Thy 
 sake ? 
 
 Direful. 
 Nay, neither words, nor deeds, nor love avail — 
 They are but other names for vanity — 
 Only believe and thou mayst gain the Gate. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Instruct me flirther. What must I believe ? 
 
 Direful. 
 
 In God Triune, yet One — in God the Father, 
 In God the Son, and. God the Holy Ghost — 
 In God's eternal Book, and in His Church ; 
 In God's fair City, builded urider Heaven, 
 And rear'd upon the hundred thrones of Hell !
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 39 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Why not } Belief is easy. Only show 
 The City and its Gateway, and I swear 
 No soul shall flout me for my lack of faith ! 
 Yea, take me to divine Christopolis — 
 Let me be sure that shining City is — 
 Let me upon its fair perfections gaze — 
 And I will own indeed so blest a place 
 Transcends my best deserving, and will thank 
 That gracious God, who made me what I am, 
 For giving me this precious gift of life ! 
 
 Thus speaking we had wander'd slowly on 
 
 A little way upon the dusty road ; 
 
 But now behind us, riding hastily 
 
 There came that glorious hunting company 
 
 Which sought to slay the lonely hunted man. 
 
 And unto him who spake with me there strode 
 
 A slave, who held an empty-saddled steed 
 
 Bitted with gold and bright caparison'd ; 
 
 Him Direful beckon'd, then to me he turn'd, 
 
 Crying, ' Fare forward l^there beyond the hill 
 
 Lieth the shining City of thy quest.' 
 
 So saying, lightly to his seat he sprang, 
 
 And in the track of that same huntino- throno; 
 
 Prick'd on his ea";er steed.
 
 40 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Then, sighing deep, 
 I gazed around me, on the weary way 
 Strewn with the weary and the miserable. 
 And every face was lighted with the flame 
 Of famine; yea, and all like bloodshot stars 
 Shone forward the one way ; but ah ! the limbs 
 Were feeble, and the weary feet were sore, 
 And some upon the wayside fell and moan'd, 
 And many lay as white and cold as stone 
 With thin hands cross'd in prayer upon their rags. 
 Meantime there flash'd along on fiery wheels 
 Full many a glorious company which bare 
 Aloft the crimson Cross, and mighty priests 
 Glode by on steeds bridled with glittering gold, 
 And delicate wantons on white palfreys pass'd 
 With soft eyes downcast as they told their beads, 
 And few of these on those who fell and died 
 Look'd down, but seem'd with all their spirits bent 
 To reach the orolden Gate ere fall of night — 
 Only the priests stoop'd sometimes o'er the dead. 
 And made the hurried sign o' the Cross, and went. 
 
 Now as I gazed and sicken'd in despair. 
 Because my force within seem'd failing fast, 
 I met two glittering upturn'd eyes 
 That from the wayside grass regarded me ;
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 41 
 
 And lo ! I saw, upon two crutches leaning, 
 
 A cripple youth with gold hair like a maid's, 
 
 A pale face thin as is a skeleton's, 
 
 And thin soft hands, blue-vein'd and waxen white ; 
 
 And pitiful and weak he would have seemM 
 
 But for the light within his eyes, which shone 
 
 iMost starlike yet most baleful, fraught with flame 
 
 That ne'er was kindled in a vestal shrine. 
 
 He meeting now my gaze of wonder, smiled. 
 
 And such a smile wear wicked elfin things 
 
 That in the lustre of the moonlight live 
 
 And dance i' the starry dew. ' Well met,' he cried. 
 
 In shrillest treble sharp as any bell, 
 
 ' Well met, good Pilgrim ! Stand a space, I pray, 
 
 Yea, stand, and buy a song.' 
 
 Then did I mark 
 He bare within his hand long printed strings 
 Of ballads, and, as ballad-singers use, 
 Stood with his arms outreaching and intoning 
 Praise of his wares. 
 
 ' I prithee, Pilgrim, buy! 
 Songs of all sorts I carry — songs for maids, 
 For sucking souls, for folks on pilgrimage, 
 Songs of Satanas and of Christ the King — 
 Come, buy, buy, buy ; for with the thrift o' the 
 sale
 
 42 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 I hope betimes to buy myself an ass, 
 Mounted whereon, full gallop, I may gain 
 The golden Gates, nor rot upon the road 
 With those who fare a-foot/ 
 
 And, while his eyes 
 Gleam'd wickedly and merrily, he clear'd 
 His throat, and in an elfin voice he sang : — 
 
 JESUS OF NAZARETH. 
 
 Tomb'd from the heavenly blue. 
 Who lies in dreamless death ? 
 The Jew, 
 Jesus of Nazareth ! 
 
 Shrouded in black He lies. 
 He doth not stir a limb. 
 His eyes 
 Closed up like pansies dim. 
 
 The old creeds and the new 
 
 He blest with his sweet breath. 
 This Jew, 
 Jesus of Nazareth ! 
 
 His brows with thorns are bound. 
 His hands and feet are lead ; 
 All round 
 His tomb the sands stretch red.
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. ■ 43 
 
 Oh, hark ! who sobs, who sighs 
 Around His place of death — 
 ' Arise, 
 Jesus of Nazareth !' 
 
 O'er head, like birds on wing, 
 
 Float shapes in white robes drest ; 
 They sing, 
 But cannot break His rest. 
 
 They sing for Christ's dear sake ; 
 ' The hour is here,' each saith ; 
 
 ' Awake, 
 Jesus of Nazareth ! ' 
 
 Silent he sleeps, thorn-crown'd. 
 He doth not hear or stir. 
 No sound 
 Comes from his sepulchre. 
 
 'Awake !' those angels sing; 
 'Arise, and vanquish Death, 
 O King! 
 Jesus of Nazareth!' 
 
 Too late ! — where no light creeps 
 Lies the pale vanquish'd one — 
 He sleeps 
 Sound, for His dream is done !
 
 44 " '^^^^ City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 Tomb'd from the heavenly blue. 
 Sleeps, with no stir, no breath, 
 The Jew, 
 Jesus of Nazareth ! 
 
 Some stood and listen'd, others cross'd themselves 
 And hurried past, one shriek'd out, 'Antichrist !' 
 And as he ceased a troop of hooded forms. 
 Women black-stoled, with crosses in their hands, 
 Passed swiftly by, and some at him who sang 
 Glanced sidelong, laughino- with a sign obscene : 
 Answering that sign the cripple sang again : — 
 
 MARY MAGDALEN. 
 
 I saw in the Holy City, when all the people slept. 
 The shape of a woeful woman, who look'd at heaven, and 
 wept. 
 
 Loose o'er her naked shoulders trembled her night-black 
 
 hair; 
 Her robe was ragged and rent, and her feet were bleeding 
 
 and bare. 
 
 And, lo ! in her hands she carried a vessel with spices 
 
 sweet. 
 And she cried, ' Where art Thou, Master } I come to 
 
 anoint Thy feet.'
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 45 
 
 Then I touch'd her on the shoulder, * What thing art 
 
 thou ? ' I said ; 
 And she stood and gazed upon me with eyes Hke the eyes 
 
 of the dead. 
 
 But I saw the painted colour flash on her cheeks and lips, 
 While she stood and felt in the vessel with tremulous 
 finger-tips. 
 
 And she answer'd never a word, but stood in the lonely 
 
 light 
 With the evil of earth upon her, and the darkness of death 
 
 and night. 
 
 And I knew her then by her beauty, her sin and the sign 
 
 of her shame. 
 And touch'd her again more gently, and sadly named her 
 
 name. 
 
 She heard, and she did not answer; but her tears began to 
 
 fall. 
 And again, ' Where art Thou, Master?' I heard her thin 
 
 voice call. 
 
 And she would have straightway left me, but I held her 
 
 fast, and said. 
 While the chili wind moan'd around us, and the stars 
 
 shone overhead.
 
 46 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 * O Mary, where is thy Master ? Where does He hide 
 
 His face ? 
 The world awaits His coming, but knows not the time or 
 the place. 
 
 *0 Mary, lead me to Him — He loved thee deep and 
 
 true, 
 Since thou hast risen to find Him, He must be risen 
 
 too.' 
 
 Then the painted lips made answer, while the dead eyes 
 gazed on me, 
 
 * I have sought Him all through His City, and yonder in 
 
 Galilee. 
 
 * I have sought Him and not found Him, I have search'd 
 
 in every land, 
 Though the door of the tomb was open, and the shroud 
 lay shrunk in the sand. 
 
 ' Long through the years I waited, there in the shade of 
 
 the tomb. 
 Then I rose and went to meet Him, out in the world's 
 
 great gloom. 
 
 'And I took pollution with me, wherever my footsteps 
 
 came, 
 Yea, I shook my sin on the cities, my sin and the signs of 
 
 my shame.
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 47 
 
 * Yet I knew if I could find Him, and kneel and anoint 
 
 His feet. 
 That His gentle hands would bless me, and our eyes at 
 
 last would meet, 
 
 'And my sin would fall and leave me, and peace would 
 
 fill my breast, 
 And there in the tomb He rose from, I could lie me down 
 
 and rest.' 
 
 Tall in the moonht City, pale as some statue of stone. 
 With the evil of earth upon her, she stood and she made 
 her moan. 
 
 And away on the lonely bridges, or on the brink of the 
 
 stream. 
 The pale street-walker heard her, a voice like a voice in a 
 
 dream. 
 
 For, lo ! in her hands she carried a vessel with spices 
 
 sweet. 
 And she cried, 'Where art Thou, Master ? I come to 
 
 anoint Thy feet.' 
 
 Then my living force fell from me, and I stood and 
 
 watch'd her go 
 From shrine to shrine in the daylight, with feeble feet and 
 
 slow.
 
 48 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And the stars look'd down in sorrow, and the earth lay 
 
 black beneath, 
 And the sleeping City was cover'd with shadows of night 
 
 and death. 
 
 While I heard the faint voice wailing afar in the stony 
 
 street, 
 * Where art Thou, Master, Master ? I come to anoint 
 
 Thy feet.' 
 
 Then said I, creeping close to him who sang, 
 ' God help thy folly ! Surely thou dost frame 
 Lays for mad moonlight things, not mortal men 
 Who soberly on holy business fare, 
 
 Seeking the solemn City ' In my face 
 
 The cripple laugh'd, then with forefinger lean 
 
 Outstretching, and his great eyes glittering, 
 
 He cried, ' Who prates of moonshine ? He who 
 
 seeks 
 The moonshine City?' 
 
 Then I turn'd away, 
 And with a darken'd face was passing on, 
 Much anger on my heart, when, suddenly 
 Sinking his voice, while his great eyes grew fill'd 
 With tearful dew, the singer cried, ' Fare on ! 
 God help thee^ brother — God make sure for thee 
 The City of thy dream !'
 
 II.] Strangers and Pilgrims. 49 
 
 My sad soul stirr'd 
 By that new tone of pity in the voice, 
 I paused again, and, on the crippled form 
 Glancing in wonder and in tenderness, 
 Said, ' I have strength, and I shall gain the Gate ! 
 But thou?'' 
 
 Again the cripple's lineaments 
 Changed into wickedness and mockery. 
 And loud he laugh'd, as shrill as elfins laugh 
 Seated in fairy rings under the moon, 
 And elfin-like he seem'd from head to foot, 
 While on his cheek and in his lustrous eyes 
 The pallid moon-dew gleam'd. 'Hie on!' he 
 
 cried i 
 ' Fly thou as fast as any roe, be sure 
 That I shall reach that ne'er-discover'd bourne 
 As soon as thou ! ' 
 
 Thereon I turn'd my back 
 And set my face against the steepening hill ; 
 And, as I climb'd among the climbing folk, 
 I heard the cripple's voice afar behind 
 Singing a weird and wondrous melody ; 
 And even when I heard the voice no more 
 The sound was ringing in my heart and brain, 
 Like wicked music heard at dead of night 
 Within some fairy circle by the sea. 
 
 £
 
 50 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 II. 
 
 But still I fared with never-faltering feet. 
 Nor rested, till I gain'd the height and saw, 
 Far down below me, strangely glittering, 
 A valley like a cloud, and in its midst 
 A shining light that sparkled like a star.
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 EGLANTINE. 
 
 OW, presently I saw the countless spires 
 Like fiery fingers pointing up to heaven. 
 And 'neath the spires were gleaming cupolas. 
 Columns of marble under roofs of gold, 
 Netted together in the summer haze, 
 And lower yet, like golden rivers, ran 
 The streets and byways, winding serpentine. 
 Still was the heaven o'erhead, and sunset-lit ; 
 One white cloud, pausing like a canopy, 
 Enroof'd the wonder of a thousand domes. 
 
 And now the highway that my footsteps trod 
 Grew populous, and every face was set 
 Towards the hot sunshine of the shining walls 
 And lo, methought, with joy, ' At last I see 
 The City of my dream ! ' 
 
 Even as I spake, 
 The river of life upraised mc, surging back
 
 52 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 To let a glorious company sweep by, 
 And struggling in the stream I recognised 
 Another hunting throng like that which sought 
 To feast its hounds upon the naked man : — 
 Kings in their crowns, Queens in their golden hair. 
 Priests in red garments, filleted with gold, 
 Huntsmen with hounds, and couriers that a-foot 
 Ran crying, ' Way there ! in the name of God !' 
 Beneath the fierce tramp of their horses' hoofs 
 Some fell, and groan'd ; they paused not, but swept 
 
 on ; 
 And after those were vanish'd with a blare 
 Of trumpets, into the far City's gate. 
 Came other trains as shining and as swift, 
 Until mine eyes were dazzled utterly. 
 Then, casting eyes on those surrounding me. 
 Many in rags I saw, who shriek'd for alms, 
 And some that sturdily strode on with wares. 
 Others that danced and sang, and others still 
 That dragg'd their feeble limbs along in pain. 
 But here and there, with crosses sewn in silk 
 Upon their bosoms, walk'd mysterious men, 
 To whose long skirts the halt and maim'd did cling. 
 Though still they heeded not, but in a trance 
 Walk'd on with eyes upon the far-off^ spires. 
 Then did I wonder, looking eagerly
 
 III.] Eglantine. 53 
 
 For one of friendlier aspect than the rest 
 Whom I might question ; but each man I mark'd 
 Seem'd struggling forward with no other thought 
 Than how to gain the shining shelter first. 
 
 Swept onward swiftly in mine own despite, 
 
 As in a sultry sea I gasp'd for breath, 
 
 Until, the highway widening as it went, 
 
 I saw upon its side a grassy knoll, 
 
 Whereon, down-gazing at the passing folk. 
 
 Sat one most strangely dight in Eastern wise. 
 
 With robe and caftan girdled round his waist. 
 
 His feet bare, in his hand a leafy branch. 
 
 A wight he was of less than common height. 
 
 With world-worn face, and eyes suffused with diCw 
 
 Of easy tears, but when he spake his voice 
 
 Was like a fountain in a shady place. 
 
 Now, as he spake, some laugh'd, and others cursed. 
 
 Shaking their clenched fists into his face ; 
 
 But most went by unheeding and unseeing. 
 
 But, as two ships made in the self-same land, 
 
 Although they meet amid a fleet of sail. 
 
 By some strange signal or mysterious sign 
 
 At once do know each other and exchange 
 
 Kind greetings in mid-ocean, so it chanced 
 
 That I and this same curious wayfarer
 
 54 ^^^ City ofDream. [bk. 
 
 Finding our eyes meet suddenly together, 
 Smiled kindly on each other unaware ; — 
 And though I ne'er had seen the face before, 
 Methought ' Thank God, at last I find a friend' — 
 So struggling from the throng, with elbow-thrust, 
 Amid the cries and blows of those I push'd, 
 I fought my way unto the stranger's side. 
 Him did I greet, and instantly he smiled 
 A brother's answer, and full soon we stood 
 In gracious converse, looking on the throng 
 That like a river roll'd beneath our feet. 
 And on the glistening celestial towers. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 A mighty company ! and each one there 
 Bearing his own dumb huno;er in his heart. 
 God grant they find the loving cheer they seek 
 In yonder City ; but, in sooth, I fear 
 It is too small to feed so many mouths. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 O tell me — for I hunger to know all — 
 And thou of that same City art, methinks, 
 A happy and a blest inhabitant ; 
 See I God's City ? — Name its name to me, 
 For I have dream'd it over many years.
 
 III.] Eglantine. 55 
 
 Stranger. 
 Thou seest the City of Christopolis. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Rejoice ! — the sweet name echoes in my heart! — 
 It is indeed the City of my dream ! 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Be not so sure. All those who journey thither 
 Conceive the same until they enter in, 
 But, having entered, many exchange their mirth 
 For lamentation, even as / have done. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Thou dwell'st there ? Thou dost know it ? 'Tis 
 ^ thy home ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Home have I none — even as the field-mouse makes 
 Her brittle dwelling in the fallow-field. 
 Alone, unfriended, houseless I abide — 
 There's not a door in yonder shining place 
 Would open to receive me ; not a space
 
 ^6 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 In the necropolis that stands hard by 
 Wherein my weary bones might find a grave. 
 I went there, and I sought a refuge, friend ; 
 The glimmer of the gold-heaps dazzled me, 
 And I crept out upon the open earth. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 What curse is on thee, then? — what blight of 
 
 sin ? — 
 Thou art not tainted ? Even if thou art. 
 Repent, and be forgiven, and enter in. 
 
 The stranger smiled, and somewhat bitterly, 
 
 With petulant ring in his low voice, replied : — 
 
 ' I have repented ; but 'tis not my sin 
 
 That makes me exile from Christopolis. 
 
 Long years ago, a melancholy Man, 
 
 Who went abroad and wrought in love for men, 
 
 Was crucified upon the very spot 
 
 Where stands the midmost Church and inmost 
 
 shrine. 
 This place a desert was in those old days, 
 But of that martyr's seed hath sprung like wheat 
 This golden harvest of a thousand spires ; 
 And by his name the City is called, and now
 
 III.] Eglantine. 57 
 
 The hosts within it hail the martyr'd " King," 
 Yea, " King of Kings, Almighty, Very God," 
 And drag to death and direful punishment 
 All heretics who kneel not at his tomb. 
 Now mark me, though I love his memory. 
 Because of his abundant charities. 
 And still the more because they martyr'd him, 
 I will not give to any man of earth 
 The worship I reserve for very God.' 
 
 Whereat I cried, 'Blaspheme not! Thou dost 
 
 speak 
 Of Christ the King ! Wilt thou not worship 
 
 Him ? 
 Oh, look on yonder glittering domes and spires, 
 Those shining temples of a thousand shrines. 
 He built them all ! — He made this blessed home 
 For pilgrims, yea, He built it with His blood ! 
 Yet in thy folly thou denyest Him !' 
 
 So saying, with mine ever-hungry eyes 
 Fix'd on the far-ofF flame, I hurried on. 
 Moving in haste along the quiet knolls. 
 The other foUow'd, keeping pace with me. 
 And still the wonder of the City grew, 
 While all my soul in rapture drank it in.
 
 58 The City of Dr earn. [bk. 
 
 Till pausing, dizzy with mine own delight, 
 Panting, with hand held hard upon my heart, 
 I cried aloud, 
 
 ' Oh, yea ! It is indeed 
 The City of my quest ! So great, so fair, 
 I pictured it, a miracle of light. 
 Dost thou not bless the hand that fashion'd thus 
 A haven where all weary souls may rest ? 
 Aye, call Him God, or King, or what thou wilt. 
 Dost thou not bless Him for this wondrous work 
 Which in itself betokens Him divine?' 
 
 I ceased ; but with a sudden wail of pain 
 
 The other threw his arms into the air. 
 
 Crying, ' Though golden in the light of day, 
 
 And all enwrought it be with earthly gems, 
 
 Thy sepulchre, O murdered Nazarene, 
 
 Is still thy sepulchre !' and, suddenly 
 
 Turning upon me with a fever'd face. 
 
 He added, ' Even as wondrous faery gold, 
 
 Gather'd in secret by a maiden's hand, 
 
 Turneth to ashes and to wither'd leaves. 
 
 So shall that City soon become to thee. 
 
 Christ's City, sayest thou ? Christ's? Christopolis? 
 
 If that be Christ's I call my curse on Christ 
 
 Who built it to profane humanity !'
 
 Ill,] Eglantine. 59 
 
 Then shrank I from his side, as one that shrinks 
 From tongues of fire, and, horror in mine eyes, 
 Gazed at that other, greatly wondering ; 
 And as I stood, a pilgrim hastening by 
 Cried out, 'Avoid that man ! It is a snake ! 
 He speaks for thy perdition!' 
 
 Suddenly 
 The stranger's face grew calm, the wind of 
 
 wrath 
 Pass'd from it, leaving it as sweet and bright 
 As still seas after storm. Upon his heart 
 He press'd his hand, saying, ' Forgive me, 
 
 friend. 
 How should ?ny curse avail ?' and, lo ! I thought, 
 ' I will not leave him for a little yet — 
 Perchance my faith (for, ah ! my faith is great. 
 Beholding now the very City's walls) 
 May lead him from the dolour of his ways.' 
 
 And soon, methought, we twain together moved 
 By secret paths across the open fields 
 To the fair City ; and the paths we took 
 Were almost solitary, for the throng 
 Of pilgrims kept the great and dusty road. 
 Green were the fields with grass, and sv/eet with 
 thyme,
 
 Go 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And there were silver runlets everywhere 
 O'er which the willow hung her tacsell'd locks, 
 And song-birds sang, for it was summer time, 
 And o'er the grass, in green and golden mail, 
 The grasshoppers were leaping, and o'er head 
 A lark, pulsating in the warm still air, 
 Scatter'd sweet song like dewdrops from her 
 wings. 
 
 And now, albeit we had not turn'd a step. 
 But held our eyes still on the golden Gates, 
 The City seem'd more faint and far away, 
 Lost in the golden tremor of the heat. 
 For as we went, from flowery field to field, 
 I seem'd to hear the stranger's gentle voice 
 Singino; unto me in no human tones 
 A sweet sons; that the soul alone mio-ht hear : — 
 
 O child, where wilt thou rest? — 
 There on the mountain's breast. 
 Where, on a crag of stone 
 
 The eagle builds her nest ? 
 Or in this softer zone. 
 
 Where sweet, warm winds o' the west 
 Through flowery bowers are blown? 
 
 O brightest soul and best. 
 
 Where wilt thou rest?
 
 III.] Eglantine. 6r 
 
 Oh, why make longer flight. 
 Flying from morn to night ? 
 Oh, wherefore wander away. 
 
 When thou wilt find it best. 
 To fold thy wings and stay ? 
 
 Child, in mine arms be prest. 
 Soul, do not longer stray ; 
 
 Here, on thy mother's breast. 
 
 Canst thou not rest? 
 
 At last we rested under a green tree, 
 Close to the gentle bubbling of a brook 
 Wherein a lamb, with shadow in the pool 
 Wool-white and soft, was drinking quietly — 
 And smiling down, 1 said, *A heavenly place ! 
 The very air beyond Christopolis 
 Is sweeten'd with the holy City's breath.' 
 Then, turning to the stranger, I exclaim'd — 
 ' Unhappy one ! fain would I know thy name. 
 Thy nurture, and thy history more at length. 
 Tell me — perchance I may persuade thee then 
 To pass unto the blessed Gate with me. 
 And ask forgiveness of its Lord and Kino;.' 
 
 I ceased in wonder ; for the other lay 
 Smiling like one in a deep trance, his face 
 Looking to heaven through the tremulous boughs,
 
 62 'The City of Dremn. [bk. 
 
 His eyes grown soft with dew of deepest joy, 
 
 The light of Nature flowing on his frame 
 
 Bright and baptismal. * Friend,' the musical voice 
 
 Answer'd, now thrilling like the skylark's song, 
 
 ' The law which made me and the law I keep 
 
 Absolve me, and my sins are all forgiven. 
 
 I take them not to market in the town, 
 
 I put no price upon them, vaunt them not ; 
 
 I bring them hither, under a green tree. 
 
 And the sun drinks them, and my soul is shriven. 
 
 Oh, blest were men if to the quiet heart 
 
 Of their great Mother they crept oftener : 
 
 Her arms are ever open, her great hope 
 
 As inexhaustible as the sweet milk 
 
 With which she feeds innumerable young ; 
 
 And pillow'd here, upon her own bright breast, 
 
 Safe through all issues I can pity those 
 
 Who waste their substance in Christopolis.' 
 
 Amazed I cried, ' If I conceive thee right. 
 Wiser is he who lieth in a dream. 
 Idly revolting, drowsy, indolent. 
 
 Than he who like his fellows fareth on ? 
 
 These fields are sweet — 'tis bright and golden 
 
 weather — 
 But when the cold rain cometh, and the snow.
 
 III.] Eglantine. 6^ 
 
 Where wilt thou house ? ' 
 
 Smiling, he answer'd me : 
 ' Where do the raven and the wood-dove house, 
 And all things through all seasons ? He who made 
 Will evermore preserve me. Knowest thou 
 Whose feet trod o'er these fields to make them 
 
 fair, 
 Whose soft hand hung those boughs with orient gold, 
 Whose finger mark'd the curves of yonder brook, 
 Setting it loose and teaching it to flow 
 Like a thing living, singing on for ever ? — 
 The Kings of Kings !' 
 
 *Dost thou believe on Him? — 
 Come, then, where He awaits thee, in the walls 
 His chosen have uprear'd.' 
 
 ' I tell thee, friend,' 
 Answer'd the gentle dreamer darkening, 
 ' I know that City to the topmost spire, 
 And though a thousand kings keep wassail there 
 He dwelleth not among them. Men uprear'd 
 That City, calling it Christopolis, 
 And marvellously it hath grown and thriven. 
 But, long ere that or any City arose. 
 These and a million greener fields and woods 
 Were fashion'd j how, I know not, but 'twas done ; 
 And in the dead of night, miraculously,
 
 64. ^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Before man was, the golden wonder grev/. 
 
 Then Man was made — a bright and naked thing 
 
 That in the sunshine Hke an antelope 
 
 Leapt in the swiftness of his liberty ; 
 
 And as the small birds choose their mates, he chose 
 
 A creature bright and naked like himself, ' 
 
 And in the greenwood boughs they made their nest 
 
 And rear'd their callow young, singing for joy. 
 
 This was man's golden age ; his race increased, 
 
 Drank the free sunshine, hunger'd, and wt^re fed. 
 
 And knew not superstition or disease. 
 
 With the first building of a human house 
 
 Against the innocent air and the sweet rain, 
 
 The age of fire began, which hath indeed 
 
 Not yet fulfiU'd its fierce and fatal course. 
 
 For on the hearth they kindled cruel flame, 
 
 And out of flame have sprung by slow degrees. 
 
 Self-multiplying, self-engendering. 
 
 The fiery scorpions of unholy arts 
 
 Innumerable that afflict mankind. 
 
 And priests at last arose, and out of fire 
 
 They fashion'd the Creator and Avenger 
 
 Who with a thousand names pollutes the earth ; 
 
 Who built up yonder City ; who usurps 
 
 The name and privilege of deity ; 
 
 Who slew the Adam in humanity
 
 III.] Eglantine. 65 
 
 And crucified the Christ ; whose thousand spires 
 Shoot yonder up like forks of primal flame 
 Staining the blue sky and the snow-white cloud ; 
 Who makes that evil which was fashion'd good, 
 And blurs the crystal of Eternity.' 
 
 Then did I think, ' He raves !' but gently said, 
 ' These things thou say'st are hard to understand.' 
 
 ' Tread through the mazes of Christopolis, 
 And thou shalt understand them, marvelling 
 What brought thee hither on so fond a quest j' 
 And rising, with his eyes in anger fix'd 
 On the great dazzle of the far-olF domes, 
 Across the gentle fields he wander'd on. 
 But, following him, I whisper'd in his ear : 
 ' Much hast thou told me, but thou hast not told 
 That v/hich I ask'd — thy name and history ?' 
 
 ' My name is Eglantine,' the man replied ; 
 
 He added, ' Brief is my soul's history : 
 
 A crying out for light that hath not shone, 
 
 A sowing of sweet seeds that will not spring, 
 
 A prayer, a tumult, and an ecstasy. 
 
 But come ! I see thy foolish soul is bent 
 
 Still to fare onward to Christopolis ? 
 
 F
 
 66 T/ie City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Come, then, und see, as I have seen, the Tomb 
 Paven with pain and crowned with a Cross.' 
 
 Through fields with orchids sprinkled, under banks 
 
 Trellis'd with honeysuckle and sweet-briar. 
 
 By sweetly flowing runlets, now we pass'd. 
 
 And with mine eager eyes fix'd still like stars 
 
 Upon the far-ofF Gate, I noted not 
 
 That as we went the fields and the green ways 
 
 Grew v/anner and the waving grass less green, 
 
 Until we came upon that open waste 
 
 Which lieth all around the mighty City, 
 
 And through the heart of which the highway winds 
 
 Up to the western walls. 
 
 Upon a tract 
 Of lonely stone doth stand Christopolis, 
 And all around for leagues the rocks and sands 
 Stretch bleak and bare ; and not a bird thereon 
 Flieth, save kite and crow ; and here and there. 
 At intervals, black Crosses point the path, 
 And whitely strewn at every Cross's feet 
 There bleach the bones of pilgrims who have died. 
 
 But if the waste was bare around about 
 What did I heed, since now at every step 
 I saw the City growing fairer far ;
 
 Ill 
 
 ,] Eglantine. 67 
 
 The spires and arches all innumerable 
 Flashing their flame at heaven ; a million roofs 
 Of gold and silver mirroring the skies ; 
 Windows of pearl in sunlight glistening 
 Prismatic ; temples and cathedrals blent 
 In one large lustre of delight and dream ; 
 And presently there came a solemn sound 
 Of many organs playing, of deep voices 
 Uplifted in a strange celestial hymn, 
 So that the City stirr'd like one great heart 
 In solemn throbs of happiness and praise.
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 WITHIN CHRISTOPOLIS. 
 
 A GAIN we trod the highway, midst the crowd, 
 ■^ ■*■ Close to the western walls. At last we stood 
 Close to the very Gate. 
 
 The Gate was broad 
 For those who rode a-horse or swiftly drave 
 Their golden chariots through, but narrow indeed 
 The pathways were for those who fared a-foot ; 
 And on the walls stood priests, from head to heel 
 Enswath'd in scarlet and in gold, and bearing 
 Crosses of silver in their outstretch'd hands; 
 Who cried, ' Be welcome, ye who enter in !' 
 But now I shrank afraid, for o'er the Gate 
 A naked Form with pierced hands and feet, 
 Carven colossal in red agate stone, 
 Hung awful, w^ith a crown upon His head. 
 
 But soon the surge of strugglers sent us on 
 Along the narrow path and past the priests,
 
 BK. IV.] Within Christopolis. 69 
 
 Who saw us not, for all their eyes were fix'd 
 
 Upon a lion-headed Conqueror, 
 
 Who, with his moaning captives in his train 
 
 And bloody warriors round him, enter'd in. 
 
 But as the stranger in his Eastern raiment 
 
 Was passing, one cried, 'Stay!' and named his 
 
 name : 
 Another, ' Scourge him back !' but Eglantine 
 Sped on, and, running, joined me presently ; 
 While all the priests forgot him, welcoming 
 With smiles a lean and senile King who came 
 Barefoot, in sackcloth, with a sickly smile 
 Of false humility. Behind walk'd slaves. 
 Carrying his crown and sceptre. 
 
 Hast thou stood 
 Within some vast cathedral's organ-loft 
 While the great organ throbs, the stone walls stir, 
 The thunder of the deep ecstatic bass 
 Trembles like earthquake underfoot, the flame 
 Of the bright silvern flutes shoots heavenward. 
 And music like a darkness and a flame 
 Gathers and kindles, wrapping in its cloud 
 The great cathedral to its upmost spire ? 
 Ev'n so, but more immeasurably strange, 
 Throbb'd solemn music through Christopolis ; 
 And all my soul grew sick with rapturous awe
 
 yo The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 As slov/ly to the sound I moved along, 
 Amid the shining temples, silver shrines, 
 Solemn cathedrals, shadowy cloister walls. 
 Under the golden roofs, beneath the spires 
 With fiery fingers pointing up at Heaven. 
 Far overhead, from glittering dome to dome, 
 Flew doves, so high in air they seem'd as small 
 As winged butterflies, and mid the courts 
 Paven with bright mosaic and with pearl, 
 Wallc'd, wrapt in saintly robes of amethyst. 
 Processions of the holy, singing psalms, 
 While smoke of incense swung in censers bright 
 Blew round them, rosy as a sunset cloud. 
 
 From a great temple's open door there came 
 Wafts of rich perfume, and we enter'd in 
 To music of its own deep organ-heart ; 
 And all within was glorious, brightly hung 
 With pictures fairer than a poet's dream : 
 The King as infant in his golden hair, 
 Madonna mother smiling through her tears. 
 With forms and faces most ineffable 
 Of pale dead saints crowned with aureoles. 
 But as the ruby brightens to the core 
 The temple to its inmost kindled on, 
 And there, around a fiery flashing shrine,
 
 IV.] Within Christopolis. 71 
 
 Grave priests in white and crimson kindled flame 
 And chaunted, moving slowly to and fro. 
 Over their heads a naked bleeding Christ, 
 Like that above the City's mighty Gate, 
 Hung painted with a wan and wistful smile. 
 
 From door to door we pass'd, from shrine to shrine, 
 
 Dazzled with sight and sound ; my happy eyes 
 
 So feeding on each wonder of the way 
 
 That they perceived not at each temple's porch 
 
 Black heaps of crouching men and v/omen, clad 
 
 In rags, who clutch'd me as I enter'd in. 
 
 At last one held me by the robe, and cried 
 
 ' For Christ's sake, stay!' and, turning, I perceived 
 
 A piteous skeleton that lived and spake ; 
 
 Through his black sockets, like a lamp within. 
 
 His soul burnt with a faint and feverish fire. 
 
 ' What thing art thou ?' I cried. 
 
 And to my cry 
 No answer came but these despairing words, 
 'Bread! Give me bread!' 
 
 When, like a house of cards. 
 The v/retch sank down again amid his rags, 
 Sv/ooning. 
 
 Then I perceived that round about 
 Were scatter'd many thousand such as he ;
 
 72 'The City of Tiream. [bk. 
 
 Face downward, lying on the paven ways, 
 Crawlino; like things unclean. 
 
 Aghast I stood, 
 As if the fiery levin at my feet 
 Had fallen and flamed ; and pausing thus I saw 
 Stealing before me to a choral strain 
 A choir of women pale in black array'd ; 
 And many look'd upon me vacantly 
 With rayless eyes whence the sweet light had fled; 
 But one white wanton tall and golden-hair'd 
 Laugh'd low and laughing made a sign obscene. 
 I started back as from a blow. 
 
 * Behold!' 
 Low spake the gentle eremite my guide, 
 'Behold the City of Christopolis. 
 Over these streets when they were desert sands 
 The gentle Founder of the City walk'd 
 Barefooted, with a beggar's staff and scrip, 
 Saying, " Abandon pride and follow me !" 
 I tell thee, friend, were that pale Paraclete 
 To tread these shining streets this very hour 
 He would not find a spot to rest His head ! 
 Above His ashes they have built their pride 
 Higher than Nineveh or Babylon; 
 And mighty craftsmen from a hundred lands 
 Have flock'd to raise these temples for His tomb.
 
 IV,] Within Christopolis. 73 
 
 Behold it ! beautiful, yet still a tomb ! 
 For Him, and for a million such as He ! 
 Arise, ye dead !' 
 
 He stood erect and cried, 
 Waving wild hands above him, and his cry 
 Seem'd answer'd. From the darken'd temple-door?, 
 From secret byways and from sunless lanes. 
 As if uprising from the very earth. 
 Innumerable wretches wrapt in rags, 
 Famish'd for food, and crippled by disease, 
 Crawl'd out into the sun ! Like one that sees 
 Legions of spectres round his midnight bed, 
 I stood, appall'd and pale ; — around my path 
 They swarm'd like locusts: many knelt and wail'd. 
 Crying for alms ; but others cross'd themselves, 
 Smiling ; and some, in ghastly merriment, 
 Hooted, and moan'd, or utter'd woeful hymns. 
 ' It is a festival,' said Eglantine, 
 ' That brings these things unclean from out their 
 
 holes — 
 A Hunt of Kings, with bloody Priests for hounds, 
 Will chase a heretic across the town.' 
 
 Even as he spake there gather'd on my sense 
 A sullen murmur as of mighty crowds ; 
 And soon, as riseth up the ocean-tide
 
 74 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Filling each creek and cavern with its waves, 
 The streets, the open places, and the squares, 
 Were throng'd with living souls. Around my form 
 They wash'd like waters, ever lifting me. 
 Surging me hither and thither eagerly ; 
 And on the roofs, and on the belfry-towers. 
 And in the stained windows of the shrines. 
 They throng'd — a foam of faces flashing white 
 Above me, hungry for the coming show. 
 But Priests with scour2;es stood along; the road 
 Beating the people back ; and Priests on high 
 Rang bells, and sang ; and Priests amid the crowd 
 Mingled as thick as blood-red poppies blowing 
 Amid the yellow grain in harvest fields. 
 
 At last a cry arose, ' They come ! They come ! ' 
 
 Now far away along the mighty street 
 
 The pageant came : first, fleeter than the pard. 
 
 The hunted man, not naked like that other 
 
 Who found the temple of Iconoclast, 
 
 But like a priest in crimson raimented 
 
 And on his heaving breast a snow-white Cross — 
 
 Tall was he, sinewy as a mountain deer, 
 
 And back behind him blew his reverend hair. 
 
 And white his face was, set in agony.
 
 IV.] Within Christopolis. 75 
 
 With eyes that loolc'd behind him fearfully. 
 Swift thro' the throng pass'd, and all the crowd 
 Shriek'd out in hate, even wretches in their rags 
 Calling a curse upon him. Close behind 
 Lagg'd his pursuers : — first, the panting pack 
 With blood-shot eyes and teeth prepared to tear, 
 So hideous in their lost humanity 
 They seem'd not mortal men but hounds indeed ; 
 And after them, with gleaming swords and 
 
 spears, 
 Gallop'd on foaming steeds the eager Kings, 
 Each King a hideous dwarf with robe and crown. 
 With Queens among them whose large lustful eyes 
 Hunger'd for blood. 
 
 Then, as I stood and gazed, 
 I saw a thing so glorious that it seem'd 
 A wondrous rainbow fallen in the street ; 
 For in the centre of the company, 
 Upraised supreme beneath a panoply, 
 Sat one so old and dumb at first he seem'd 
 A heathen idol from the banks of Ind — 
 White was his hair as snow, infirm his frame 
 Pillow'd upon a bed of purple dye. 
 And looking on him one might deem him dead, 
 Save for the senile glimmer in the eyes 
 That ever look'd about them vacantly —
 
 76 The City of 'Dream, [bk. 
 
 Around him broke a blood-red surge of Priests 
 Wildly uplifting and upbearing him, 
 And ever chaunting, as they led him on, 
 ' O holy ! holy ! ' 
 
 ' Whose is yonder shape ? ' 
 I questioned ; and the gentle voice spake low : — 
 ' He hath a hundred names ; — in ancient times, 
 With mad idolatry, they called him Baal ; 
 Usurper and inheritor is he 
 Of Him who built the City long ago.' 
 
 Past swept the train, that Idol in its midst, 
 The vast crowd like a torrent following, — 
 But suddenly the hunters paused, the tide 
 Of life wash'd back from some dark barrier, 
 And high on air there rose a bitter cry 
 That he they hunted had escaped their wrath 
 And taken refuge deep in sanctuary. 
 
 Then forward journeying by slow degrees. 
 We twain, I, Ishmael, and my gentle guide, 
 Came to a mighty square girt round about 
 With towers and temples multitudinous ; 
 And at the centre of the square there stood, 
 Close-shut, a brazen Gate encalender'd 
 With awful shapes and legends of the Cross ;
 
 IV.] Within Christopolis. 77 
 
 And baffled at this Gate like angry waves, 
 
 The Kings, the Oueens, and many thousand Priests, 
 
 Stood clamouring in the sunlight, angrily, 
 
 'What meaneth this?' I whisper'd — 'Whither 
 
 now 
 Hath fled the man ? ' — and Eglantine replied, 
 * I did not tell thee what is simple sooth — 
 This gracious City of Christopolis, 
 One as it seemeth, indivisible, 
 A corporal City shining in the sun. 
 Is twain in soul and substance. Cities twain 
 Divided by that brazen Gate thou seest 5 
 And citizens who dwell beyond that gate 
 Approve not yonder Idol or his slaves. 
 Nor love so deep the pomp of masonry, 
 Old custom, or the habit of the Priest. 
 Nay, what is holy sooth beyond the Gate 
 Within this square may be foul blasphemy ! 
 He gain'd the Gate — they open'd ; — ^rzy to God 
 That he may there find peace ! ' 
 
 Loudly he spake, 
 In tones of one accustom'd to propound, 
 And many round him listen'd to his words, 
 Whispering among each other. As he ceased 
 There came up panting one of those red hounds 
 Fixing a fever'd eye upon his face.
 
 7 8 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And crying, ' Have I found thee lingering here ? — 
 
 A snake ! A snake ! — we thrust him forth before, 
 
 But here he crawls again !' — and suddenly 
 
 He thrust his hand out seizing Eglantine, 
 
 And beckon'd to his comrades clustering round 
 
 Like hungry wolves that dog the wounded deer. 
 
 ' Back ! — touch me not ! ' he cried, and shook him off. 
 
 But round him flocking rude and ravenous 
 
 They cried, * To judgment!' — and before he wist 
 
 They dragg'd him to that circle of pale Kings 
 
 Baffled and clamorous for a victim, now 
 
 The hunted had escaped beyond the Gate ; 
 
 And in the midst sat wan and woe begone 
 
 That hoary human Idol on its throne, 
 
 Clad head to foot in crimson and in gold, 
 
 Yet pitiful, with its poor witless eyes 
 
 And threads of hoary hair. 
 
 'A snake ! a snake !' 
 All shrieked, upleaping and uplifting him. 
 But calmer, colder than the evening star 
 He shone amongst them, shaking them away. 
 ' Come to thy Judge ! ' they cried — and with a smile 
 He answer'd, ' Peace ! — where is he ? I will come 
 Before him willingly !' — A hundred hands 
 Uppointing at the Idol, cried, ' Behold !' 
 But folding his thin arms across his breast.
 
 IV.] Within Christopolis. 79 
 
 And fixino- on the senile face a gaze 
 
 Of Utter pity and more piteous scorn : 
 
 ' That ! — God have mercy on the Judge and judged 
 
 If that poor worm be mine ! ' 
 
 'A heretic !' 
 Clamoured a thousand throats; those hundred Kings 
 Prick'd up their ears and listen'd eagerly ; 
 The red hounds leapt and panted scenting prey — 
 The pale Queens smiled, prepared for cruel sport — 
 While that wan Idol, tottering as he stirr'd, 
 RoU'd hollow eyeballs at the empty air 
 And shook a sceptre in his palsied hands. 
 Then, stepping forward from the crimson ranks, 
 While all the crowd was hush'd to hear him speak, 
 Stood one as gaunt as any skeleton 
 Bearing a sable cross in his right hand ; 
 Who, fixing chilly eyes on Eglantine, 
 Thus question'd, ' Hear'st thou, man ! — Dost thou 
 
 deny 
 Our master's right to judge thee ?' 
 
 Eglantine. 
 
 I deny 
 That Image, yet denying pity him 
 For his weak age and poor humanity.
 
 8o The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 
 Dost thou deny the heir elect o' the King ? 
 Now shall I catch thee tripping, for perchance 
 Thou dost deny the Lord our King Himself? 
 
 Eglantine. 
 
 Instruct me further, for I know not yet, 
 Since Kings are many, of what King ye speak ? 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 
 Of Him who was from all Eternity, 
 Who clothed Himself in likeness of a man, 
 Who died, with His red blood upbuilt the City 
 And sealed it with His name, Christopolis. 
 
 Eglantine. 
 
 I have not seen Him, and I know Him not ; 
 But if a god be judged like man by works. 
 And thy God fashion'd this Christopolis, 
 I do deny Him, and reject Him too. 
 As much as I reject that Spectre there. 
 
 Rose from the throats of all that multitude 
 A shriek of horror and of cruelty.
 
 IV 
 
 ,] Within Christopolis. 8 1 
 
 The red hounds wail'd, the Kings drew out their 
 
 swords, 
 While I did close mine eyes in agony 
 Fearing to see that gentle brother slain. 
 But still serene as any star his face 
 Smiled and made calm the tempest once again, 
 While with uplifted hand and quivering lips. 
 Pallid with rage, the Inquisitor spake on. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 
 Now I perceive thee atheist as thou art — 
 Dost thou believe in any King that is ? 
 
 Eglantine. 
 I know not. What is he thou callest King ? 
 
 lNQ_yiSITOR. 
 
 The Maker of the heavens and the earth. 
 Dumb monsters and the seeing soul of man : 
 The first strange Force, the first and last Supreme, 
 Shaper of all things, and Artificer. 
 
 Eglantine. 
 
 Some things are evil — if He fashion'd evil, 
 Ajid leaves it evil, then I know Him not. 
 
 G
 
 82 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Inquisitor, 
 
 If He made evil (and thou^ too, art evil) 
 
 To be a testimony unto good. 
 
 Answer me straight — dost thou believe on Him ? 
 
 Eglantine. 
 
 Nay, give me breath, and I will answer thee 
 According to the measure of my seeing. 
 Thou questionest if I believe i' the King ? 
 I do believe in Law and Light and Love, 
 If these be He, I do believe in Him ; 
 And in mine Elder Brother I believe 
 Because He sufFer'd and His voice is sweet, 
 But though He was the fairest of us all, 
 A mortal like myself He lived and died ; 
 And when I wander out in yonder fields. 
 Under the opening arch of yonder heaven, 
 Beyond the fatal shadows of these Kings, 
 Beyond the City's dark idolatries, 
 A Spirit uplifts my hair, anoints mine eyes. 
 Sweetens my sight, and, if this Spirit be He, 
 With all my heart I do believe in Him ; 
 And when in peace I close mine eyes and watch 
 The calm reflection of all shining things
 
 IV.] Within Christopolis. 83 
 
 Mirror'd within me as within a brook, 
 
 And feel the scatter'd images of hfe. 
 
 Like broken shadows in a pool, unite 
 
 To lineaments most mystic and divine, 
 
 I do believe, I verily believe, 
 
 For God is with me, and the face of God 
 
 Looks from the secret places of my soul. 
 
 Thus much I know, and knowing question not; 
 
 But more than this I cannot comprehend. 
 
 The Everlasting and Imperishable 
 
 Eludes me, as the sight of the sweet stars 
 
 That shine uncomprehended yet serene j 
 
 For nightly, silently, their eyes unclose. 
 
 And whoso sees their light, and gazes on it 
 
 Till wonder turns to rapture, seemeth ever. 
 
 Like one that reads all secrets in Love's eyes. 
 
 Swooning upon the verge of certainty — 
 
 Another look, another flash, it seems 
 
 And all God's mystery will be reveal'd, 
 
 But very silently they close again. 
 
 Shutting their secret 'neath their silvern lids. 
 
 And looking inward with a million orbs 
 
 On the Unfathomable far within 
 
 Their spheres, as is the soul within the soul. 
 
 God is their secret; — but I turn to Earth, 
 
 My Mother, and in her dark fond face I gaze,
 
 84 "^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Still questioning until at last I find 
 Her secret, and its sweetest name is Love : 
 And this one word she murmurs secretly 
 Into the ears of birds and beasts and men ; 
 And sometimes, listening to her, as she lies 
 Twining her lilies in her hair, and watching 
 Her blind eyes as they glimmer up to heaven, 
 I dream this word she whispers to herself 
 Is yet another mystic name of God. 
 
 More would his lips have spoken, but the shriek 
 Of 'Atheist! Atheist!' drown'd his gentle 
 
 voice — 
 And as around some gentle boat at sea 
 Riseth a sudden storm of sharp-tooth'd waves. 
 So rose that company of Priests and Kings ; 
 And as a boat is wash'd and whirl'd and 
 
 driven 
 'Mid angry breakers, from beyond my sight 
 The dreamer's fair frail form was borne away, — 
 Yet ever and anon I saw his face 
 Arise seraphic 'mid the blood-red sea. 
 Undaunted, undespairing, and as yet 
 Unharm'd ! The tumult rose. Kings, Priests, 
 
 and Slaves, 
 Were mix'd confusedly, as to and fro
 
 IV.] Within Christopolis. 85 
 
 The great crowd eddied ; and I sought in vain 
 To reach the dreamer's side and speak with him ; 
 But when I call'd his name despairingly, 
 A hundred hands were lifted on myself, 
 A hundred fingers trembled at my throat, 
 And voices shrielc'd, 'Another — death to him !' 
 Back was I fiercely driven, step by step, 
 And more than once I stagger'd to my knees. 
 My raiment rent, my body bruised and beaten, 
 My spirit like a lamp swung in a storm 
 Blurr'd, darken'd, shedding only straggling beams 
 Of feeble sense. ' Almighty King,' I moan'd, 
 ' Is this thy City?' 
 
 As I spake the words 
 I stagger'd to that mighty brazen Gate, 
 And looking up I saw enwrought thereon 
 These words — *• Knock here if thou wouldst 
 
 enter in.' 
 I turn'd once more, and saw the people's faces 
 Flashing in fury round me — swords and staves 
 Uplifted — arms outstretching for my throat : 
 Sick with that sight, I knock'd, and ere I knew 
 The Gate swung open — hands outreaching grasp'd 
 My fainting form and dragg'd me swiftly in j — 
 And as a bark out of an angry sea 
 Ploughs round a promontory into calm.
 
 86 
 
 The City of 'Dream. [bk. iv. 
 
 Then slips on silent where all winds are dead 
 
 Into a quiet haven in the bay, 
 
 I found myself beyond the brazen Gate, 
 
 Panting, unharm'd, while from my awe-struck ears, 
 
 Miraculously, instantaneously, 
 
 The murmur of that tumult died away.
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 WITHIN THE GATE. 
 
 BREATHLESS, a space I paused, breathless and 
 blind, 
 Then slowly as a wight that wakes from sleep 
 Gazed round me ; and behold I found myself 
 Within a great quadrangle dark and still, 
 Uplooking on the other side o' the Gate 
 Whereon was written in a fiery scroll : 
 ' No path- — beware the manv-headed Beast !' 
 And gather'd round me as I shuddering stood 
 I saw a group of silent men in black. 
 Sad-featured, holding each an open book. 
 'Where am I now?' I murmur'd vacantly. 
 One of those strangers with a pensive smile 
 Answer'd, ' In safety, friend ! within this Gate 
 They cannot harm thee. Welcome, weary one. 
 To the blest shelter of Christopolis.' 
 
 Whereat I cried : ' Accursed be the name, 
 Which lured me from blue heaven and the sweet 
 fields !
 
 88 ^ he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 For he was wise who warn'd me ere I came, 
 And now I know the City as it is, 
 Not holy like the City of my dream. 
 But evil, cruel, dreary, and defiled.' 
 ' Blaspheme not,' said that other ; ' yet in sooth 
 We pardon thee thy rash and ribald speech, 
 For thou hast seen the City's evil side. 
 Beyond that Gate there reigneth Antichrist 
 In likeness of the foul and loathsome Beast, 
 But here, in verity, thy storm-toss'd heart 
 May rest in peace.' 
 
 And now, within my dream, 
 Methought I wander'd on with those grave men, 
 And listen'd, hoping, yet in half despair. 
 To their soft speech. Less golden and less bright 
 The City seem'd upon its thither side. 
 For everywhere upon the sunless streets 
 Dark temples and black-arch'd cathedrals cast 
 A solemn shadow, and the light within 
 Was sadder-temper'd and more soul-subduing, 
 And solemner the mighty music seem'd 
 That sigh'd through every crevice like a sea. 
 Yet overhead the same bright fingers shot 
 Their flames at heaven, and the white doves flew. 
 And patient look'd the azure light of heaven 
 Fretted by domes and arches numberless
 
 v.] Within the Gate. 89 
 
 Yet brooding most serene. 
 
 But now my soul 
 Did scent for evil with a keener sense, 
 And that fair-seeming show of sight and sound 
 O'ercame me not, but ever I look'd abroad 
 In sorrow and mistrust ; and soon indeed 
 My search was answer'd ; for I saw again. 
 Low-lying near the black cathedral doors. 
 Forms of the wretched writhing in their rags, 
 And peering in through the wide-open doors 
 I saw the shapes of Kings bright-raimented 
 Who knelt at prayer. Then turning unto those 
 Who led me, bitterly I smiled and said : 
 *Meseems ye have kept your carrion and your 
 
 Kings, 
 As they have yonder — Plainly I perceive 
 That still I walk within Christopolis !' 
 
 One answer'd : ' God forbid that we should miss 
 Their company who are divinely crown'd ; 
 And for the poor, hath not the King of Kings 
 Enjoin'd upon His servants to have these 
 For ever with them ?' 
 
 'Tell me roundly then. 
 What must he do who would within this Gate
 
 90 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Be deem'd a good and lawful citizen ? 
 Must he bow down to Idols such as those 
 They carry yonder ? Must he quake at Priests ? 
 And, if he must be judged, who judgeth him ?' 
 
 ' Good man, thou knowest little of this place 
 
 If thou dost dream that we who dwell herein 
 
 Will kneel to any Idol or accept 
 
 The will of perishable Priests or Kings. 
 
 Upon that score we parted first with those 
 
 Our neighbours, choosing here to dwell apart. 
 
 Be one of us, and surely thou shalt bow 
 
 Neither to Idol nor to mortal man. 
 
 Nor shalt thou quake at any mortal judge ; 
 
 Nay, shouldst thou need a judge that judge 
 
 shall be 
 Thine own good conscience and the City^s law.' 
 
 Then did I brighten, somewhat comforted, 
 Yet nothing now could waken in my soul 
 That old first faith wherewith I saw from far 
 The flashing of the City's thousand spires — 
 And to myself I said : ' A bootless dream, 
 A dreary City and a bootless dream, 
 If this be all !^ So with a heavy heart 
 I look'd upon the temples and the shrines.
 
 v.] Within the Gate. ( 
 
 And heard the solemn music welling forth, 
 And saw the quiet folk that cam.e and went. 
 Silent and quick, like bees that throng i' the hive. 
 
 Now, as I wander'd musing, I beheld 
 One who sat singing at a temple door, 
 His face illumined, turning soft with tears 
 Upward and sunward ; and the song he sang 
 Was low and hush'd as is the nio;htino;ale's 
 Just as the dusky curtain of a cloud 
 Is drawn across the bright brow of the moon ; 
 And, lo ! I listen'd, for it seem'd the song 
 Came from the deep heart of mine own despair, 
 And tears were in mine eyes before it ceased. 
 
 Come again, come back to me, 
 
 White-wing'd throng of childish Hours, 
 Lead me on from lea to lea. 
 
 Ankle-deep in meadow-flowers; 
 Set a lily in my hand. 
 
 Weave wild pansies in my hair. 
 Through a green and golden land 
 
 Lead me on with fancies fair. 
 White-wing'd Spirits, come again, — 
 
 Heal my pain ! 
 Through the shadows of the rain 
 Come again !
 
 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Come again, and by me sit 
 
 As you sat that summer day, 
 Seeing through the mists of heat 
 
 This great City far away. 
 Golden glow'd its magic fires 
 
 Far across the valleys green. 
 Heavenward flash'd its thousand spires, 
 
 Silent, trembling, faintly seen. 
 Show thy visions once again, 
 White-wing'd train ! 
 With the dream I dream'd in vain, 
 Come again ! 
 
 Come again, and lead me back 
 
 To the fields and meadows sweet. 
 Softly, by the self-same track 
 
 Follow'd by my coming feet ; 
 From the City's gates set free. 
 
 Backward to the gates of morn — 
 Every backward step will be 
 
 Brighter, fairer, less forlorn. 
 Lead me ! let me reach again 
 
 Wood and lane — 
 Lead me to your green domain 
 Once again. 
 
 Come again ! — but, O sweet Hours ! 
 
 If ye come not ere I die, 
 Find me dead, with bands of flowers 
 
 Lift me up from where I lie.
 
 v.] Within the Gate. ^i^ 
 
 Take me to the woodland place 
 
 Where I linger'd long ago. 
 Set soft kisses on my face. 
 
 Singing, as ye lay me low — 
 Let me slumber there again. 
 
 Far from pain — 
 Waking up with weary brain. 
 Ne'er again ! 
 
 Methought that as that song of sad despair 
 Rose like a murmuring fountain, all the place 
 Darken'd as when the sun is lost in clouds ; 
 And from the temples, from the clustering dwellings. 
 There rose in answer one great wail of pain. 
 Which breaking like a wave was spent in tears ; 
 And, lo ! mine own tears fell, for I remember'd 
 The meadows where I wander'd when a child, 
 The baptism of my love new born in joy 
 And looking on a sun-illumined world. 
 Then one of those grave dwellers in the City, 
 Turning upon me dark and ominous eyes, 
 Said, ' 'Tis the music which the Snake did 
 
 weave 
 To mock the first of man when he had fallen — ■ 
 Self-pity is the mournful slave of sin ; 
 Do thou beware in time !' whereon I cried, 
 'A light is lost that never will return :
 
 94 '^^^^ City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 What canst thou give me now to heal the heart 
 Made desolate as dust ?' 
 
 ' Pray ! ' 
 
 *■ I have pray'd ! ' 
 'Wait!' 
 
 'I have waited !' 
 
 * ' If thy spirit fail, 
 
 Turn to the living wonder of the Word !' 
 
 Then I perceived that he with whom I spake 
 Held in his hand an open Book like that 
 I bare within my breast ; and gazing round 
 I saw that every shape within those streets 
 Did hold a Book wide open as he walk'd, 
 Reading aloud and muttering to himself 
 Prayer, parable, and psalm. Wherefore I cried, 
 ' I know that comfort ; it was given for bread. 
 But turn'd to bitterest wormwood long ago ! ' 
 Then ere I knew it I was circled round 
 With faces terrible and white as death, 
 And one, a hoary wight with eyes of fire, 
 Shriek'd, 'Strike him down, O thunderbolt of 
 God!
 
 v.] Within the Gate. 95 
 
 He doth deny Thine everlasting Word!' 
 But one, more gentle, interposing, said: 
 'Silence, and list unto him. Pilgrim, speak ; 
 Dost thou deny God's message unto men?' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Nay, I deny it not, but I have heard 
 That message, and I find no comfort there. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 No comfort in the justice of the Lord ? 
 No succour in the mercy of the Son ? 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 Sad is that justice, woeful is the mercy, 
 Most dark, the testimon\- of the Book ; 
 But yonder, out beyond the City's wall, 
 The sun shines golden, and the earth is merry. 
 And only here the grievous shadow lies. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 The shadow of thy sin, which sin is death. 
 Answer again : Believest thou the Book?
 
 96 1'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 As I believe in thunders and in storm. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Dost thou reject all other testimonies, 
 Holding this only as the voice of God ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Nay, for I hear it as the voice of men. 
 
 Stranger. 
 Dost thou believe these vi^onders written down ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Nay, for among them many are most sad, 
 Some are incredible, and all most strange. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Rejectest thou the Book's own testimony, 
 That all these mysteries are truths divine ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 No book can testify unto itself; 
 
 Nor is that Book a living voice at all !
 
 v.] Within the Gate. 97 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 These tokens testify to Word and Book: 
 The lights of Heaven and Hell; the voice of God 
 Heard in the beating of the human heart ; 
 Christ's burial ; last, His rising from the grave. 
 Denyest thou these ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Heaven have I fail'd to find ; 
 Hell have I found on earth, and in thy City ; 
 The voice of mine own soul rejects the voice 
 I once did hear in my affrighted heart ; 
 I do believe Christ's burial, but, alas ! 
 Why is the gentle promise unfulfill'd ? 
 Why doth the world's pale Martyr rest unrisen ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 In spirit He hath risen — lo. His City, 
 To testify His prescience and His power. 
 
 Ev'n as he spake, there pass'd along the street 
 A host of armed men in black array'd. 
 Led on by one who rode a sable steed 
 And wore a helmet shapen like a crown; 
 
 H
 
 98 "The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 These to Jehovah as they march'd did raise 
 
 A sullen hymn of praise for victory, 
 
 And some w^ere to the ankles shod in blood. 
 
 But many as they march'd did gravely read 
 
 The open pages of the Holy Book. 
 
 ' What men are these ? ' I ask'd, and one 
 
 replied : 
 ' Warriors of Christ, who walk about the world 
 Slaying and smiting in the blessed Name ! ' 
 
 Then, laughing low in bitterness of heart, 
 I saw the doors and casements opening wide, 
 And faces thronging with a wicked joy 
 To welcome back the warriors of the Lord. 
 Moreover, as I gazed, mine eyes could m.ark 
 Dark chambers full of grave and silent men 
 Who sat at ebon tables counting gold, 
 And 'mid the golden heaps that each did pile 
 The open Scripture lay ; and down the streets 
 Came men who waved their hands, and cried, 
 
 ' Repent ! ' 
 And here and there, in lonely darken'd places, 
 The Tree of man's invention rose and swung 
 With human fruitage dead and horrible ; 
 And 'neath that Tree more woeful voices rose. 
 Crying, ' Repent and die ! Repent and die ! '
 
 v.] Within the Gate. 99 
 
 And million voices echoed back the sound, 
 And even those silent men who counted gold 
 Moan'd answer from the darkness of their dens. 
 
 Then cried I, ' He was wise who warn'd me, 
 
 saying, 
 " Thy sepulchre, O bleeding Nazarene, 
 Is still thy sepulchre !" Thy dream was peace, 
 But lo, destruction, sorrow, and a sword ; 
 Thy prayer was for the poor and meek of heart. 
 But lo, the golden gloom and dust of pride ; 
 Thy creed was mercy for the worst and best, 
 But lo ! the hideous Tree and not the Cross ; 
 Thy light was sunshine and a shining place. 
 But, lo ! deep dread and darkness of the Book/ 
 And turning to those men who follow'd me, 
 ' The black leaves of the Book are blossomless. 
 And of its upas-fruit whoever eats 
 Bears wormwood in his heart for evermore.' 
 
 * Blasphemer !' answer'd one in night-black 
 
 robes. 
 And hollow-eyed as Famine throned on graves ; 
 ' The Gospel which is wormwood in the mouth 
 Is honey being eaten and consumed. 
 Evil are mortals, evil is the world,
 
 lOO The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Evil are all things man hath written down ; 
 But this one thing is absolutely good : 
 Read it, and live ; cast it away, and die,' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 I'll read no more ; — fairer to me by far 
 That Book I read, not understanding yet, 
 Upon the lonely shores where I was born. 
 
 Citizen. 
 What Book is that ? and written by whose hand ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 By God's in the beginning ; on its front 
 He set the stars for signs, the sun for seal ; 
 Golden the letters, bright the shining pages, 
 Holy the natural gospel, of the earth ; 
 Blessed tenfold the language of that Book 
 For ever open ; blessed he who reads 
 The leaf that ever blossoms ever turn'd ! 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 This Book I hold doth prove that other dust ; 
 Its brightness is a fleshly sin and snare.
 
 v.] Within the Gate. loi 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 He made it ; left it open for our seeing. 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 The shadow of the primal sin remains. 
 There, on the fallen rose-leaves of the world, 
 The snake crawls, as in Eden long ago. 
 
 Upon me, as he spake, methought there fell 
 A shadow like that shadow which he fear'd; 
 And in its midst, as in some night of storm 
 The crested billows flash with gleams of foam, 
 The faces of those sombre citizens 
 Glimmer'd around. Mad with mine own despair 
 I stood as on some dreary promontory 
 Looking on tempest of a sunless sea — 
 'Behold the Book!' I cried, while from my 
 
 breast 
 I drew it forth and held it high in air ; 
 * Here in mine bosom it hath lain for long, 
 Chiller than ice and heavy as a stone ; 
 I cast it back as bread upon the waters — 
 Uplift it, wear it on his heart who will, 
 Henceforward I reject it utterly.' 
 
 ML'HARY
 
 I02 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 So saying I threw it from me, while a shriek 
 
 Of horror rose from that black crowd of men ; 
 
 And ere I knew it I was circled round 
 
 With living waters rising high in wrath 
 
 To drown and to devour and dash me down. 
 
 ' Death to him ! to the foul blasphemer, death !' 
 
 ' Wrath to the wretch who doth reject the Word ! ' 
 
 'Ah, Satan, Satan !' rose the murderous cries, 
 
 While all in vain I sought to shield my head 
 
 Against a shower of ever-increasing blows ; 
 
 And, lo I again, I saw the doors and casements 
 
 Were open, and wild faces looking forth. 
 
 And warriors pointed at me with their swords. 
 
 And women rushing with dishevell'd hair 
 
 Shriek'd * Vengeance!' till meseem'd before my feet 
 
 The very pit of Hell was yawning wide. 
 
 While flame flash'd up, and smoke of fire arose. 
 
 Scorching my sense and blotting from my sight 
 
 The towers and temples of Christopolis. 
 
 But as I struggled crying out on God, 
 Methought that one in raiment white and fair 
 Strode to me through the horror of the crowd 
 And held me up from falling, while the cry 
 Grew louder, ' Cast him out beyond the Gate ! 
 Slay him, and cast him forth !' and as a straw
 
 v.] Within the Gate. 103 
 
 Is lifted on a torrent, I was raised, 
 And wildly, darkly, desolately driven 
 I knew not whither. From the earth still rose 
 Darkness and fire ; fire from the heavens overhead 
 Seem'd following; baleful fire did wrap me round 
 As with red raiment — but that succouring hand 
 Still held me, and a low voice in mine ear 
 Cried, * Courage,' as I drifted dumbly on. 
 
 From street to street, from lane to lane, methought 
 They drove me, bruised and bleeding, till I reach'd 
 Another Gate, which on its hinges swinging 
 Open'd to let me pass, then with a clang 
 Did shut its soot-black jaws behind my back. 
 While from within I heard the sullen roar 
 Of those dark waters which had cast me forth.
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 THE CALVARIES. 
 
 A T last methought I paused, and deathly pale, 
 ■*■ ■*■ My raiment rent, my body bruised with blows, 
 Turn'd to my rescuer with questioning eyes 
 And would have spoken, but the other cried, 
 *■ Hush for a space, lest thou be overheard ! ' 
 And not until our feet had flown full far, 
 Down empty byways and down darken'd lanes, 
 Nor till the populous walks were far behind 
 And we were deep in flowers and meadow-grass 
 Of quiet uplands, did we pause again. 
 And now the star of evening had arisen 
 Set like a sapphire in the shadowy west, 
 And slow crows waver'd homeward silently 
 With sleepy waft of wing, and all was still, 
 Only the far-off murmur of the City 
 Came like the distant thunder of a sea. 
 
 Then pausing, I upon my gentle guide 
 Gazed closely, and beheld a face benign, 
 Sweeten'd with many sorrows, sweetest eyes
 
 BK. VI.] 'The Calvaries. 105 
 
 Weary and weak with their own gentleness, 
 And lips sweet too, yet close together set 
 With sad resolve. Tall was the stranger's height, 
 His gestures noble, but his shoulders stoop'd 
 With some dark burthen not beheld of eyes ; 
 And ever in his breast did creep his hand. 
 As if to still the tumult of his heart. 
 Yet, gazing on his garb, I shrank away 
 Sick and afraid, for lo ! upon his breast 
 Glimmer'd the crimson Cross of those fierce Priests, 
 And clad he was like many in the City 
 In a white robe that swept unto his feet. 
 
 Darkly I cried, ' Avaunt ! I know thee not ! 
 I deem'd thee good, but thou art even as those 
 Who stoned me, thronging at my throat like 
 
 wolves, 
 And sought my life ; ' when, with a smile as 
 
 bright 
 As had the vesper star above his head, 
 ' Friend, be at peace ! ' the gentle stranger cried, 
 ' Nor fear mine office, by the Cross I wear ! ' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 That Cross affrights my vision — pluck it off. 
 And I shall know thou art a man indeed.
 
 io6 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Stranger. 
 
 I cannot, since I am God's Priest elect; 
 Nay, rather in the Name of Him who bare 
 A Cross hke this I bid thee love the sign. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Carry thy firebrand back into the City, 
 
 T loathe it ! Evil is the sign, and still 
 
 Evil its wearers wheresoe'er they walk ! 
 
 Art thou a Priest ? My curse upon thy head ! 
 
 Avoid me ! — to thy brethren — get thee gone ! 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Until thy heart is calm'd I cannot go ; 
 Nor will I leave thee till thou hearest me. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Thou heardst me — I proclaim'd it in the City — 
 False are your fables, false your boasted creeds. 
 Falsest of all your spirits and your lives. 
 There is no truth in any land at all 
 Ye darken, sitting by the side of Kings. 
 
 Stranger. 
 False Priests are false, and these thine eyes have seen.
 
 VI.] 'The Calvaries. 107 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 AH Priests are false, for falsehood is their creed. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Phrase me my creed ; if thou canst prove it false 
 I promise thee I will abandon it. 
 
 > 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 How shall I name it ? Which of many names 
 Shall fit it now ? Guile, Fraud, Hypocrisy, 
 Blood-thirst and Blood-shed, Persecution, Pride, 
 Mammon — in one word sum it. Vanity. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Friend, thou hast miss'd the mark. Our creed is 
 Love. 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 I know that jargon. Spare it; for I know it. 
 The wolf wears wool, and calls himself a lamb. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Heed not our garb, or what we call ourselves — 
 Yea, judge not what we seem, but what we are.
 
 io8 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 That have I done ; so is my judgment proved ; 
 For they who flaunt your banners in Love's name 
 Pursued me, stoned me on from street to street, 
 And would have slain me with their bloody hands. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 In sooth they would, had help not intervened. 
 
 I know them well j my friend, they have stoned me! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 They do not spare each other, I believe ; 
 
 But even as wolves, when no poor sheep is near. 
 
 They fall upon each other and devour. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Bitter thou art, o'er bitter, yet thy words. 
 Though harsh as wormwood, are in measure just, 
 For many Priests are false, and follow ill 
 The Scripture they propound to foolish flocks. 
 Yet mark me well ; though many sought by force 
 To win the soul they could not win by words, 
 'Twas for thy soul they wrought, to save thy soul, 
 And insomuch, though blind, they wrought in love.
 
 VI 
 
 .] 'The Calvaries. 109 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Smiling and slaying ! hungry for my life ! 
 O Sophist ! now I know thee Priest indeed. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Pause yet. I love their deeds no more than thou, 
 Yet rather would believe them doubly blind 
 (For blindness may be crime, but is not sin) 
 Than wholly base and hypocritical. 
 Grant that they sought thy death — through death 
 
 they sought 
 To win thy spirit to eternal life ! 
 Thou laughest, and mad mockery in thine eyes 
 Burneth with bloodshot beams. Resolve me now — 
 Dost thou deny that these same Priests are blind ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 To good, I grant thee, but for this world's goods 
 Who have a sense so keen ; and wheresoe'er 
 Hath crawl'd this glittering serpent of a Church 
 All men may know it by these tokens twain — 
 Blood-marks, and next, its slimy trail of gold. 
 Blind are ye to the sun and moon and stars, 
 To good, and to the beggar at your gates ; 
 But unto usury ye are not blind j
 
 iio The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And into murderous eyes of Queens and Kings 
 Your eyes can look approval, while your mouths 
 Intone fond hymns to tyranny and war ; 
 And unto raiment rich, and glittering coins, 
 And houses hung with crimson and with gold, 
 And harlots beckoning in their golden hair, 
 Methinks all mortals know ye are not blind ! 
 
 Thus spake I in the tempest of my heart. 
 Now pacing up and down with fever'd steps 
 The twilight-shadow'd lanes beyond the City ; 
 And now the eyes of heaven were opening. 
 And in dark woods hard by the nightingales 
 Sang softly up the slow and lingering moon. 
 And, hurrying my footsteps, soon I came 
 To where four roads did meet to make a cross, 
 And in the centre of the way I saw, 
 Dim, livid, silhouetted on the sky, 
 A Calvary, and thereupon a Christ 
 Most rudely sculptured out of crimson stone. 
 
 Thereon, methought, I halted shuddering, 
 
 Gazed, then shrank back, and cover'd up mine eyes, 
 
 When once again I noted at my side 
 
 That white-robed stranger and upon mine ear 
 
 Again the melancholy accents fell.
 
 VI.] I^he Calvaries. 1 1 1 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Why shrinkest thou ? Kneel down and ease thy 
 heart. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Peace, peace ! I will not worship wood or stone. 
 Who set that image here to block the way ? 
 Nay,spare thine answer; theywho wrought this thing 
 Are those who stoned me from Christopolis — 
 Thy brethren ! Not the honeysuckled lanes, 
 The twilight-shadow'd meadows sweet with flowers, 
 The violet-sprinkled ways and underwoods, 
 Not Nature's self, not the still solitude, 
 Are free from this pollution dark as death, 
 This common horror of idolatry. 
 
 Stranger. 
 Knowest thou whose shape is carven on that cross ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 The Man Divine whom Priests of Judah slew. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 The Man Divine who still is hourly slain 
 Wherever sin is thought or wrong is done.
 
 112 I'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 O brother, keep me by thy side a space, 
 
 And, looking on that symbol, hark to me. 
 
 Him did they stone, like thee and me ; and yet — 
 
 Mark this. He loved them, dying for their sake. 
 
 Blame them, if they are worthy of thy blame. 
 
 Lament them, in so far as they have fallen 
 
 From the divine ideal they propound ; 
 
 But still remember this, amidst thy blame — 
 
 They rear'd that Cross and set that symbol there ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 To what avail ? To darken earth's sweet ways ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 To hold forth hope to every living man. 
 
 To be a protestation and a power 
 
 Against their own defilement if defiled. 
 
 'Tis something to uprear a mighty truth, 
 
 Though from its eminence the weak will falls ; 
 
 'Tis much to plant a beacon on the sea, 
 
 Though they who plant it lose their hold and drown. 
 
 Were each Priest evil in an evil world. 
 
 This would not prove that fair ideal false 
 
 Which for the common gaze they find and prove. 
 
 Brother, hadst thou but watch'd this place with me
 
 VI. J 'The Calvaries. 113 
 
 By night-time, in the silence of the night ! 
 
 For out of yonder City, as if ashamed, 
 
 Sad human creatures creep with hooded heads 
 
 And falling at the feet of Calvary, 
 
 Scarce conscious of each other's presence, weep 
 
 Such tears as yonder Christ deems worth a world. 
 
 And moonlight falling on their haggard faces 
 
 Hath shown the lineaments of cruel Kings 
 
 Set side by side with beggars in their rags. 
 
 And pale Queer.s, naked, crownless, grovelling close 
 
 To harlots with dishevell'd locks of gold. 
 
 And conscience-stricken Priests that beat their 
 
 breasts 
 With bitterest ululations of despair. 
 
 Then did I smile, and cry, ' I doubt thee not ! 
 What then ? Next dawn thy Kings were on their 
 
 thrones, 
 Thy Queens were crown'd, thy harlots plied their 
 
 trade. 
 Thy beggars craved for bread and gnaw'd a stone. 
 Thy Priests were glorious in their gold and gems, 
 And all the City busy as before. 
 Such conscience is an owl that flies by night, 
 No sweet white dove that moves abroad by day ; 
 And he who in the sunlight brazens best 
 
 I
 
 114 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Is the worst coward in night's creeping time.' 
 
 I added this, moreover, ' Since so far 
 
 Thy feet have follow'd, and since, furthermore, 
 
 I owe thee something for my weary life, 
 
 I will accost thee in a gentler mood, 
 
 Seeking thy soul's conversion even as thou 
 
 Hast sought for mine ; but first I fain would know 
 
 Thy name, thine o3ice, and thy quality.' 
 
 Whereon the other smiling, better pleased, 
 ' My name is Merciful, the Priest of Christ, 
 And yonder in Christopolis I dwell 
 Half hated by my brethren and half fear'd. 
 Because I help the Pilgrims passing by 
 And lead them hither unto Calvary.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Art thou not shamed to wear the garb they wear. 
 Seeing their deeds profane it terribly \ 
 
 Merciful. 
 
 Not so. If they fulfil their office ill. 
 That doth not prove the office evil too : 
 And wearing this white dress of sanctity 
 I work as one that hath authority, 
 And better help poor Pilgrims passing by.
 
 VI.] T'he Calvaries. 115 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Thus far, thou workest good. Now, answer 
 
 me — 
 Dost thou beheve the fables of the Book ? 
 
 Merciful. 
 Not in the letter, but essentially. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Dost thou believe that still by one'man's fall 
 We mortal men are lost and overthrown ; 
 But yet, since God did make Himself a Man, 
 Attesting this by many miracles. 
 Through God's own Death the world may still be 
 saved.? 
 
 Merciful. 
 
 1 do believe these things symbolically, 
 As I believe the symbol of that Cross. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Did Jesus live and die in Galilee ? 
 
 Did He work miracles and raise the dead .'' 
 
 Was Jesus God, and could God Jesus die ?
 
 ii6 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Merciful. 
 
 I will not fliU into that trap of words, 
 
 Which, grimly smiling, thou hast laid for me, 
 
 But I will answer thee as best I may. 
 
 Clearly, and with no touch of sophistry, 
 
 ' Did Jesus live ? ' I know a sweet Word lives, 
 
 Coming like benediction on the sense 
 
 Where'er Love walks uplooking heavenward, 
 
 And since no Word is spoken without lips. 
 
 Hearing that Word I know He lived and breathed. 
 
 ' Did Jesus die ? '' On every wayside cross, 
 
 In every market-place and solitude, 
 
 I see a symbol of a wondrous death ; 
 
 And, since each symbol doth its substance prove. 
 
 How should I not believe that Jesus died ? 
 
 ' Did He work miracles and raise the dead ? ' 
 
 ' Was Jesus God ? ' — Here is my timid sense 
 
 Lost in a silence and a mystery — 
 
 And yet I know, by every breath I breathe, 
 
 The Mighty and the Merciful are one : 
 
 The morning dew that scarcely bends the flowers 
 
 Inhaled to heaven becomes the lightning flash 
 
 That lights all heaven ere noon. 'Could Jesus 
 
 die?' 
 If Death be Life, and Life Eternity,
 
 VI.] 'The Calvaries. 1 1 7 
 
 If Death be but the image of a change, 
 Perchance even God might take the image on, 
 And in the splendour of His pity, die. 
 
 So spake the gentle Priest, his mild blue eye 
 Dewy with love for all men and for God, 
 But I did answer with a hollow laugh 
 Deep as a raven's croak, that echoed on 
 Through all the architraves of that blue vault 
 Above us bent. ' God help thee, man !' I cried ; 
 ' For thou art pleased as any yearling babe 
 With playthings that thou canst not understand. 
 Fables and symbols dazzle thy twain eyes, 
 And phantasies of loving sentiment 
 Puzzle thy reason and perplex thy will. 
 Wiser are they who on the tripod sit, 
 Intoning oracles and studying 
 The dry dull letter of theology, 
 Than they who, like to thee and such as thou, 
 Are drunken with its gentle images.' 
 
 ' Kneel !' answer'd Merciful ; ' perchance in prayer 
 Thine eyes may be unveil'd.' 
 
 But I replied. 
 Pointing at that pale Calvary which loom'd 
 Dim and gigantic in the starry light,
 
 1 1 8 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 ' 1 will not kneel to yonder shape of stone, 
 If by the name of God thou callest it ; 
 But if thou call'st it Man, Man crucified, 
 Man martyr'd, I will kneel, not worshipping, 
 But clinging to an Elder Brother's feet. 
 And calling on the sweetest saddest soul 
 That ever walk'd with bleeding limbs of clay 
 These solitary shades beneath the stars. 
 He found it not, the City that I seek. 
 He came and went upon His quest in vain. 
 And crucified upon His path by Priests 
 Became a portent and a piteous sign 
 On the great highway of man's pilgrimage ; 
 And though the memory of His love is sweet, 
 The shadow of Him is cruel and full fraught 
 With tearfullest despairs ; and wheresoe'er 
 We wander, we are haunted out of hope 
 By this pale Martyr with His heavenly eyes. 
 Born brightest and loved least of all the sons 
 Of God the Father ! Could I 'scape the sight 
 Methinks that I could fare along in peace ! ' 
 
 ' Never,' cried Merciful, ' where'er thou fliest. 
 Wilt thou escape it ? Search where'er thou 
 
 wilt. 
 Follow what path thou choosest, soon or late
 
 VI.] The Calvaries. 1 1 9 
 
 With that red Cross thou wilt come face to face 
 When least thou dreamest. On the desert sands, 
 On the sad shores of the sea, upon the scroll 
 Of the star-printed heavens, on every flovver 
 That blossoms, on each thing that flies or creeps 
 'Tis made — the sign is made, the Cross is 
 
 made — 
 That cipher which whoever reads can read 
 The riddle of the worlds.' 
 
 So saying, he fell 
 Low kneeling at the foot of Calvary, 
 And praying aloud ; and overhead indeed 
 The awful sacrificial lineaments 
 Seem'd soften'd in the moonlight, looking- down 
 As if they smiled. Darkly I turn'd away 
 Heartsick, first wafting to that sculptured form 
 One look of love and pity. 
 
 Silently, 
 In meditation deep as my despair, 
 I follow'd the dark road I knew not whither, 
 As desolate as lo wandering ; 
 And like another Argus following. 
 Blue heaven with all its myriad eyes on mine 
 Brooded ; and wayside scents of honeysuckle 
 Came to my nostrils from the darken'd fields, 
 And glowworms glimmer'd through the dewy grass,
 
 I20 The City of 'Dream. [bk, vi. 
 
 And all was sweet and still ; but evermore, 
 
 At intervals, on either side I saw 
 
 New Calvaries upon the lonely road 
 
 And sculptured Christs outstretching stony arms.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 THE WAYSIDE INN. 
 
 "VTOW as I walk'd I mused . . . 
 
 -*■ ^ 'The Priest spake well 
 
 The Cross is everywhere, and read aright 
 
 Is Nature's riddle ; well, I read it thus — 
 
 Silent progressions to new powers of pain 
 
 Through cruel asons of blood-sacrifice. 
 
 For life is based upon the law of death, 
 
 And death is surely evil ; wherefore, then. 
 
 All life seems evil. To each thing that lives 
 
 Is given, without a choice, this destiny — 
 
 To be a slayer or a sufferer, 
 
 A tyrant or a martyr ; to be weak 
 
 Or cruel ; to range Nature like a hawk, 
 
 Or fall in cruel talons like a dove; 
 
 And of these twain, where both are evil things. 
 
 That Cross decrees that martyrdom is best. 
 
 What then ? Shall I praise God for martyrdom ? 
 
 Nay ! — I can drink the poison cup and die. 
 
 But bitter is the blessing I would call 
 
 On Him who mix'd it with His fatal Hand.'
 
 122 I'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The path I follow'd now was dark as death, 
 And overhead the ever-gathering clouds 
 Were charged with rain j the piteous stars were 
 
 gone, 
 Blown out like tapers in a mighty wind 
 That wheel'd in maddening circles round the moon; 
 And deeper into the dark vaporous void 
 The moon did burn her way till she was hid 
 And nothing but the cloudy night remain'd. 
 Then the great wind descended, and, it seem'd. 
 In answer to it every wayside Christ 
 Stretch'd arms and shriek'd. Suddenly, with a groan. 
 The vials of the storm were open'd ! 
 
 Then 
 The rain fell, and the waters of the rain 
 Stream'd like a torrent ; and across the shafts 
 Sheet-lightning glimmer'd ghastly, while afar 
 The storm-vex'd breakers of Eternity 
 Thunder'd. 
 
 In that great darkness of the storm 
 Wildly I fled, and, lo ! my pilgrim's robes, 
 Drench'd with the raindrops, like damp cerements 
 
 clung 
 Around my weary limbs ; and whither I went 
 I knew not, but as one within a maze 
 Drave hither and thither, with my lifted arms
 
 VII 
 
 ,] 'The Wayside Inn. 1 23 
 
 Shielding my face against the stinging lash 
 
 Of rains and winds. Methought my hour was come, 
 
 For oft upon the soaking earth I fell, 
 
 Moaning aloud ; yet ever again I rose 
 
 And struggled on ; even so amid a sea 
 
 Of dark and dreadful waters strikes and strives 
 
 Some 'swimmer, half unconscious that he swims, 
 
 Yet with the dim brute habit of the sense 
 
 Fighting for life he knows not why or how, 
 
 Nor v/hither on the mighty billows' breast 
 
 His form is roll'd ! 
 
 But ever and anon 
 When, like a lanthorn dim and rain-beaten 
 That flasheth sometimes to a feeble flame, 
 My dark mind into memory was illumed, 
 I thought, ' Despair ! I cannot last the night ! 
 Ah, would that I had stay'd with that pale Priest, 
 Seeking for comfort where he findeth it. 
 Yea, better his half-hearted company 
 Than to be drifting in the tempest here. 
 Alone, despairing, haunted, woe-begone. 
 He cannot hear me. Shall I call on Christ, 
 His Master ? — Christ ! Adonai ! — He is dumb, 
 Dumb in His silent sculptured agony — 
 Dead! dead!' 
 
 I would have fallen with a shriek,
 
 T24 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 But suddenly across my aching eyes 
 
 There shot a bloodshot light as of some fire 
 
 Amid the waste. I stood, and strain'd my gaze 
 
 Into the darkness. Steady as a star 
 
 The glimmer grew, shining from far away 
 
 With slant moist beams on the black walls of rain. 
 
 Lured by the lonely ray I struggled on. 
 
 Faint, stumbling, soaking, panting, overpower'd. 
 
 But brighter as I went the glimmer grew, 
 
 And soon I saw it from the casement came 
 
 Of a dark dwelling on the weary waste. 
 
 Forlorn the dwelling stood, and on its roof 
 
 The rain smote with a cheerless leaden sound, 
 
 And in the front of it, on creaking chains. 
 
 There swung a sign. Then did my heart upleap. 
 
 Rejoicing once again in hope to feel 
 
 The touch of human hands, to hear the sound 
 
 Of human voices; and I cried aloud, 
 
 ' Thank God at least for this lone hostelry. 
 
 But for its friendly help I should have died.' 
 
 So saying, I knock'd, and as I knock'd I heard. 
 Faint, far within, a sound of revelry 
 From distant rooms ; but still the cruel rain 
 Smote on me, and above my head the sign
 
 VII.] 'The JVay side Inn. 125 
 
 Moan'd like a corse In chains. I knock'd again 
 
 More clamorously, striking with my staff — 
 
 And soon I heard the shuffling of slow feet 
 
 Approaching. Hearing this, I knock'd the more. 
 
 And then, with creak and groan of locks and keys, 
 
 The door swung open, and before mine eyes 
 
 Loom'd a great lobby in the midst of which 
 
 A marble-featured serving-maiden stood, 
 
 Sleepy, half yawning, holding in her hand 
 
 A dismal light. Bloodless her cheeks and cold, 
 
 Her hair a golden white, her eyes dead blue, 
 
 Her stature tali, and thin her shrunken limbs 
 
 And chilly hands. 'Welcome!' she murmur'd low. 
 
 Not marking me she welcomed but with eyes 
 
 All vacant starinp; out into the night, 
 
 ' Who keeps this house ?' I question'd, rushing in, 
 
 And as she closed and lock'd the oaken door 
 
 The maiden answer'd with a far-off look, 
 
 Like one that speaks with ghosts, ' My master, sir, 
 
 Host Moth ; and we are full of company 
 
 This night, and all the seasons of the year.' 
 
 Even then, along the lobby shuffling came 
 The lean and faded keeper of the inn, 
 A wight not old, but rheumatic and lame, 
 With wrinkled parchment skin, and jet-black eyes
 
 126 I' he City of Dream, [bk. 
 
 Full of shrewd greed and knowledge of the world ; 
 
 And in a voice of harsh and sombre cheer 
 
 He croak'd, ' Despair, show in the gentleman — 
 
 Methinks another Pilgrim from the City ? 
 
 Thy servant, sir ! Alack, how wet thou art ! — 
 
 No night for man or beast to be abroad. 
 
 Ho there ! more faggots in the supper-room, 
 
 The gentleman is cold ; but charily, wench, 
 
 No waste, no waste, for firewood groweth dear. 
 
 And these be pinching times/ 
 
 So saying, he rubb'd 
 His feeble hands together, chuckling low 
 A sordid welcome, while a shudder ran, 
 Half pain, half pity, through my chilly veins. 
 To see the lean old body clad in rags — 
 A dreary host, methought ; and as I thought, 
 I glanced around me on the great dark walls 
 All hung with worm-eat tapestry that stirr'd 
 In the chill airs that crept about the house; 
 For through great crannies in the old inn's walls 
 Came wind and wet, and oftentimes the place 
 Shook with the blast. 
 
 ' How callest thou thine inn } ' 
 I ask'd, still shaking ofF the clammy rain 
 And stamping on the chilly paven floor — 
 * Methinks 'tis very ancient ? '
 
 VII 
 
 .] 'The Wayside Inn, 1 27 
 
 *Yea, indeed,' 
 Answer'd that lean and grim anatomy ; 
 ' None older in the land — an ancient house, 
 Good sir, from immemorial time an inn. 
 Thou sawest the sign — a skull enwrought with roses, 
 And wrought into a wine-cup ruby rimm'd ? 
 My father's father's father set it there.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Thou seemest full of guests. Thine inn must thrive. 
 
 '' Host. 
 
 Thrive ? yea, with thrift ! We lie too far away. 
 Too lone i' the waste, for many travellers ; 
 And they who come, good lack, are mostly poor. 
 Penniless men with burthens on their backs 
 And little in their pouches, save us all ! 
 Once on a time, in my good grandsire's day, 
 The house throve well, and at that very door 
 King Cruel and full many a mighty man 
 Lighted, a-hunting here upon the waste. 
 But now the house decays. Alack, alack ! 
 Sometimes methinks 'twill fall about mine ears. 
 What then ? I have no kin to leave it to. 
 And if it lasts my little lapse of time
 
 128 'T' he City of T>r earn. [bk. 
 
 Why, I shall be content ! ' 
 
 Thus murraur'd he, 
 Ushering into a mighty bed-chamber 
 His shivering guest ; and on the hearth thereof 
 The marble maid strew'd firewood down and sought 
 To light a fire, but all the wood was wet, 
 And with her cold thin lips she blew the flame 
 To make it glow, while mine host chatter'd on, 
 
 ' This, master, is the only empty room- 
 Kept mostly for great guests, but since the house 
 Is full, 'tis thine. Upon that very bed 
 King Cruel himself hath slept, and good Priest 
 
 Guile 
 Before they made him Pope. I'll leave thee, sir. 
 When thou art ready thou shalt sup below 
 In pleasant company.' 
 
 Then methought within 
 That antique room I stood alone and dried 
 My raiment at the faint and flickering fire ; 
 And in the chill blue candlelight the room 
 Loom'd with vast shadows of the lonely bed, 
 The heavy hangings, and dim tapestries ; 
 And there were painted pictures on the walls, 
 Old portraits, faint and scarce distinguishable 
 With very age — of monarchs in their crowns,
 
 VII.] "The Wayside Inn. 129 
 
 Imperial victors filleted with bay, 
 And pallid queens. ' A melancholy place,' 
 I murmur'd ; ' yet 'tis better than the storm 
 That wails without ! ' 
 
 Down through that house torlorn 
 I wended, till I reach'd a festal room, 
 Oak-panel'd, lighted with a pleasant fire, 
 And therewithin a supper-table spread 
 With bakemeats cold, chill cates, and weak wan 
 
 wines. 
 There, waited on by that pale handmaiden, 
 I supp'd amid a silent company 
 Of" travellers, for no man spake a word. 
 But when the board was clear'd and drinks were 
 
 served. 
 Around the fa2;2;ot fire all drew their seats : 
 And stealing in, a tankard in his hand. 
 The host made one, and fondled his thin knees. 
 And now I had leisure calmly to survey 
 My still companions looming like to ghosts 
 In the red firelight of the lonely inn. 
 
 They seem'd of every clime beneath the sun, 
 And clad in every garb, but all, it seem'd, 
 Were melancholy men, and some in sooth 
 
 K
 
 I JO '^ he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Were less than shadows, houseless and forlorn ; 
 And in the eyes of most was dim desire 
 And dumb despair; and upon one another 
 They scarcely gazed, but in the dreary fire 
 Look'd seeking faces. For a time their hearts. 
 In the dim silence of that dreary room, 
 Tick'd audibly, like a company of clocks, 
 But soon the host upspake, and sought to spread 
 A feeble cheer. 
 
 ' Come, gentlemen, be merry ! 
 More faggots — strew them on the hearth. Despair ! 
 All here are friends and Pilgrims ; let's be merry ! ' 
 And turning round to one who by his dress 
 And grizzled beard did seem a travelling ^^^^ 
 He added, ' Master Isaac, thou art dull ! 
 What cheer i' the town to-day? How thriveth 
 trade ? ' 
 
 ' 111, master,' answer'd, with his heavy eyes 
 
 Still on the fire, the Jew itinerant : 
 
 ' I'he accursed of Canaan in the temples reign. 
 
 And he who by the God of Judah swears 
 
 Hath little thrift. I saw a merry sight : 
 
 Another Pilgrim stoned for followino- 
 
 The dream their Master, the dead Nazarene, 
 
 Preach'd for a sign. Could he not hold his peace.
 
 VII.] 'The Wayside Inn. 131 
 
 And smile, as / do, spitting o'er my head 
 In secret, for a curse upon the place ? ' 
 
 Even as he spake I started, listening. 
 As if I heard the sound of mine own name. 
 But ere my lips could speak, another voice 
 Came from the circle, shrill and petulant : 
 
 ' I saw the sight, and laugh'd with aching sides. 
 They would have let an atheist pass in peace, 
 But him they stoned. Poor fool ! he went in rags, 
 Seeking the moonshine City those same priests 
 Preach, laughing in their sleeves.' 
 
 A dreary laugh 
 Ran through the circle as he spoke, but none 
 Lifted his vacant vision from the lire. 
 Then I, now glancing at the speaker's face. 
 Cold, calm, and bitter, lighted with a sneer, 
 Answer'd — 
 
 ' I am that man of whom you speak — 
 What moves thy mirth ? ' 
 
 ' Thy folly,' grimly said 
 The other ; and the circle laugh'd again. 
 But with a cunning and insidious smile 
 The Jew cried, interposing, ' Softly, friends ! 
 Be civil to the gentleman, who is
 
 132 l^he City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 A rebel like yourselves, hating as much 
 Those cruel scarecrows of authority.' 
 Then, turning with a crafty look to me, 
 He added quietly — ' Thy pardon, sir ! 
 A Pilgrim unto Dreamland, I perceive ? ' 
 
 Whereat I answer'd, frowning sullenly — 
 ' Nay, to the tomb ! And as I live, meseems, 
 In this lone hostel's black sarcophagus, 
 I reach my journey's end, and stand amid 
 My fellow corpses ! ' 
 
 As I spake the word, 
 There started up out of that company 
 A youth with wild large eyes and hair like 
 
 straw, 
 Lean as some creature from the sepulchre. 
 The firelio;ht flashing on his hueless cheeks. 
 Waving his arms above his head, and crying, 
 
 *A tomb ! it IS a tomb, and we the dust 
 Cast down within it — dead ! for on our orbs 
 Falleth no sunlight and no gentle dew, 
 Nor any baptism shed by Christ or God, 
 The Phantoms that we follow'd once in quest ! 
 To-day is as to-morrov/, and we reck
 
 VII 
 
 ,] 'The Wayside Inn. 133 
 
 No touch of Time, but moulder, coffin'd close, 
 Far from the wholesome stars !^ — and as the 
 
 maid 
 Pass'd coldly, on her ghastly face he fix'd 
 His wild, lack-lustre eye : ' Fill, fill, sweet 
 
 wench ; 
 Let the ghosts sit upon their graves and drink ; 
 And come thou close and sit upon my knee, 
 That I may kiss thy clammy lips and smooth 
 Thy chilly golden hair ! ' 
 
 He sank again, 
 Fixing his eyes anew upon the fire. 
 Whilst the Jew whisper'd softly in mine ears : 
 * 'Tis Master Deadheart, the mad poet, sir ; 
 Heed not his raving ! Once upon a time 
 He was a Pilgrim like thyself, but now 
 He dwelleth in the middle of the waste. 
 Within a dismal castle, ivy-hung 
 And haunted by the owls.' 
 
 But I replied, 
 ' There's method in his madness. Unto him 
 God is not, therefore he is surely dead. 
 And as he saith, a corpse, for God is Life.' 
 
 Then spake again he who had laugh'd before 
 At my dark plight, between his firm-set teeth
 
 1 34 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Hissing the words and smiling : 
 
 ' Who is this 
 That prates of God ? Another Phantom-hunter ! 
 Another Pilgrim after the All Good, 
 Who sees not all is evil, even the goad 
 Of selfish hope that pricks him feebly on?' 
 
 The tone was gentler than the words, and 
 
 spake 
 Pity supreme and sorrow infinite, 
 Wherefore not angrily did I reply : 
 ' I love to know their names with whom I 
 
 speak, 
 First tell me thine, and I may answer thee ?' 
 
 * Why not ?' replied the other quietly ; 
 
 * Our host doth know my name as that of one 
 That plainly saith his say and pays his score. 
 My name is Wormwood, and hard by this place 
 I keep a school for Pilgrims not too old 
 
 To learn of me ! ' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Come, school me if thou wilt! 
 Thou sayst that all is evil — prove thy saying.
 
 VII 
 
 ,] 'The Wayside Inn. 135 
 
 Wormwood. 
 Why should I prove what thine own simple heart 
 Is chiming ? Prove the sound of funeral bells, 
 The trump of wars, the moans of martyrdom ! 
 Man, like the beast^ is evil utterly. 
 And man is highest of all things that be. 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 Man highest? Aye, of creatures, if thou wilt, 
 And I will grant he hath an evil heart ; 
 But higher far than Man is very God. 
 
 Wormwood. 
 How ? Is the Phantom greater than the Fact ? 
 The Shadow than the Substance casting it ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Not so } and therefore God is more than Man. 
 
 Wormwood. 
 Wrong at the catch — for Man is more than God ; 
 For out of Man, the creature of Man's heart, 
 Colossal image of Man's entity, 
 Comes God ; and therefore, friend, thou followest 
 Thine own dark shadow which thou deem'st divine. 
 And since Man's heart is evil (as indeed
 
 136 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Thou hast admitted now in fair round speech). 
 Evil is God whom thou imaginest ! 
 
 The speaker laugh'd, and of that company 
 Many laugh'd too, and I was answering him. 
 When suddenly a hollow voice exclaim'd, 
 'A song ! a song !' and rising from his seat 
 With flashing eyes the maniac Poet sang : 
 
 I have sought Thee, and not found Thee, 
 I have woo'd Thee, and not won Thee — 
 
 Wrap Thy gloomy veil around Thee, 
 Keep Thy starry mantle on Thee — 
 
 I am chamber'd far below Thee, 
 
 And I seek no more to know Thee. 
 
 Of my lips are made red blossoms ; 
 
 Of my hair long grass is woven ; 
 From the soft soil of my bosoms 
 
 Springeth myrrh ; my heart is cloven, 
 And enrooted there, close clinging, 
 Is a blood-red poppy springing. 
 
 There is nothing of me wasted. 
 
 Of my blood sweet dews are fashion'd. 
 
 All is mixed and manifested 
 In a mystery unimpassion'd. 
 
 I am lost and faded wholly, 
 
 Save these eyes, that now close slowly.
 
 VII.] The Wayside Inn. 137 
 
 And these eyes, though darkly glazing, 
 With the spirit that looks through them. 
 
 Both before and after gazing 
 
 While the misty rains bedew them. 
 
 From the sod still yearn full faintly 
 
 For Thy shining soft and saintly. 
 
 They are closing, they are shading. 
 
 With the seeing they inherit — 
 But Thou fadest with their fading, 
 
 Thou art changing, mighty Spirit — 
 And the end of their soft passion 
 Is Thine own annihilation ! 
 
 All join'd the wild refrain, till with the sound 
 
 The old inn shook. 'Well sung!' exclaim'd mine 
 
 host, 
 And stirr'd the feeble embers of the fire; 
 And in the calm that follow'd, turning to me, 
 The Jew smiled quietly and spake again : — 
 
 'Good friend, since life is short, and man's heart 
 
 evil, 
 And death so near at every path we tread, 
 Is it not best to clutch the goods we have. 
 To trade, to barter, and to keep with thrift, 
 Than to go wandering into mystic lands 
 Seeking the City that can ne'er be seen ?
 
 138 The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 Put out of sight that bleeding Nazarene 
 • Whose shadow haunts our highways everywhere, 
 And, faith, the land we dwell in is a land 
 Gracious and green and pleasant to the eye. 
 Jew am I, but apostate from the God 
 Who thunder'd upon Sinai, and indeed 
 I love no form of thunder, but affect 
 Calm dealings and smooth greetings with the world. 
 For this is sure — that we are evil all. 
 Earth-tainted, man and woman, beast and bird. 
 We prey on one another, high and low ; 
 And if we cheat ourselves with phantasies, 
 We miss the little thrift of time we have 
 And perish ere our prime.' 
 
 '• Most excellent,' 
 Cried Wormwood ; ' carpe diem — eat and live — 
 To-morrow thou shalt die ;' and suddenly 
 He rose and sung a would-be merry tune: 
 
 Pour, Proserpine, thy purple wine 
 
 Into this crystal cup. 
 And wreathe my head with poppies red. 
 
 While thus I drink it up. 
 Then, marble bride, sir by my side. 
 
 With large eyes fix'd in sorrow. 
 To-night we'll feast, and on thy breast 
 
 I'll place my head to-morrow.
 
 VII. 
 
 T'he Wayside Inn. 139 
 
 Pale Proserpine, short space is mine 
 
 To taste the happy hours. 
 For thou hast spread my quiet bed. 
 
 And strewn it deep in flowers. 
 O grant me grace a little space. 
 
 And shroud that face of sorrow. 
 Till dawn of day I will be gay. 
 
 For I'll be thine to-morrow. 
 
 Ami not thine, pale Proserpine, 
 
 My bride with hair of jet? 
 Our bridal night is taking flight. 
 
 But we'll not slumber yet ; 
 Pour on, pour deep ! before I sleep 
 
 One hour of mirth I'll borrow — 
 Upon thy breast, in haggard rest, 
 
 I'll place my head to-morrow. 
 
 He ceased, and stillness on the circle came, 
 Like silence after thunder, and again 
 All gazed v/ith dreary eyeballs on the fire. 
 But now the chill and rainy dawn crept in 
 And lighted all those faces with its beam. 
 ' To bed ! ' cried one, and shivering I arose, 
 And through great lobbies colder than the tomb, 
 And up great carven stairs with curtains hung, 
 I follow'd that pale handmaiden, who bare 
 A chilly wind-blown lamp, until again
 
 i4o 'The City of Dream. [bk. vir. 
 
 I stood v/ithin the antique bedchamber, 
 And settino; down the ]i2;ht the maiden fix'd 
 Her stony eyes on mine and said ' Good-night;' 
 Then with no sound of footsteps flitted off, 
 And left me all alone. 
 
 Long time I paced 
 The dreary chamber, haunted by the sound 
 Of mine own footfalls, then I laid me down, 
 Not praying unto God as theretofore. 
 In the great bed, and by my bedside set 
 The rushlio-ht burnina: low ; and all around 
 The pallid pictures on the mouldering walls 
 Look'd at me silently and seem'd to smile. 
 While quietly the great bed's canopy 
 Outstretch'd in rustling folds above my head. 
 But as my senses faded one by one 
 I seem'd to see those pallid Kings and Queens 
 Descend and flit across the oaken floor 
 With marble faces and blue rayless eyes ; 
 And that dark canopy above became 
 A Christ upon His Cross, outstretching arms 
 And bending down to look into my face 
 With eyes of dumb, dead, infinite despair.
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 THE OUTCAST, ESAU. 
 
 /^ DREARY dawn ! from drearier dreams 1 
 
 ^^ woke, 
 
 And found it gently creeping through the pane 
 
 And shedding dusky silver on the floor; 
 
 Whereon I rose, and slipping down the stairs. 
 
 From chilly gallery to gallery, 
 
 I stole until I reach'd the ghostly hall ; 
 
 Yet, early as it was, Host Moth was up 
 
 And shivering in his slippers at the door, 
 
 For folk were bearing in upon a bier 
 
 A ragged woman and her newborn child, 
 
 Both dead, found frozen on the waste hard by, 
 
 And the lean host was chiding querulously, 
 
 Bidding them take their ghastly load elsewhere, 
 
 Nor mar his custom with a sight so sad ; — 
 
 So intent was he, he scarcely seem'd to heed 
 
 My greeting, but he clutch'd with eager hand 
 
 The reckoning I tosl him as I pass'd.
 
 142 T^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Then out again upon the dreary waste 
 I passed slow-footed, while a chilly wind 
 Blew up along the black horizon line 
 Dusk streaks of crimson like dead burnish'd leaves, 
 And through their fluttering folds a gusty film 
 Sparkled and melted into crystal dew. 
 Then I was 'ware that straight across the waste 
 There ran a dreary and an open way, 
 With gloomy reaches of the sunless moor, 
 And lonely tarns alive with ommous light, 
 Stretching on either side ; and by the tarns 
 The bittern boom'd and the gray night-hern cried. 
 And high in air against the dreary gleam 
 A string of black swans waver'd to the south ; 
 But presently, as the dull daylight grew, 
 I encounter'd men and women on the road 
 Coming and going ; all were closely wrapt. 
 With eyes that sought the ground, but some strode by 
 With frowning brows and haggard sleepless eyes : 
 A melancholy race they seem'd indeed 
 Of toilers on the moorland and the marsh. 
 One I accosted, a tall, woeful man, 
 Gaunt, clad in rags, and shivering in the cold. 
 And question'd of the City and whither led 
 That dreary open way ; and for a space 
 He answer'd not, but as a dumb man tries
 
 VIII.] I^he Outcast^ Esau. 143 
 
 With foam-froth'd tongue to gather shreds of speech, 
 Stood muttering, with his blanlc eyes gazing at me 
 In wonder, but at last he found a voice. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 A City, master ? Nay, I know of none. 
 And in this country I was born and bred. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 But whither runs this road across the waste ? 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Far as a man may walk until he drops, 
 
 And farther, league on league of loneliness. 
 
 It leadeth — whither I know not, since my toil 
 
 Keepeth me busy here upon the heath ; 
 
 But yonder to the right a rugged path 
 
 Winds to the mountains, where, I have heard, there 
 
 dwells 
 A race of moonstruck madmen, mountaineers. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Alas ! and toilest thou upon the ground. 
 Nor seekest to be wandering far away. 
 Upward and heavenward to the radiant place 
 Where stands the City of God ?
 
 1 44 T^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 I know not God, 
 Nor any City of so strange a name ; 
 Yet I have often heard my granddam tell 
 (When I was but a child) of some bright place 
 Where folk might cease their weary work and 
 
 rest ; 
 But, master, she died mad ! My father saith. 
 Who reared me up and made me toil for bread, 
 That they are mad folk too who pass this way, 
 Clad like thyself in pilgrim's robes and shoon, 
 Seeking that City and calling out on God. 
 
 I left him standing like a marble man, 
 
 With humbled head and heavily hanging brow, 
 
 And wander'd on ; and when my weary feet 
 
 Had gone a little space, I backward gazed. 
 
 And saw him gazing dumbly after me 
 
 With vacant eyeballs ; and the daylight grew ; 
 
 And many others pass'd with looks as dull. 
 
 Faces as blank, and tread as sorrowful. 
 
 And all seem'd little cheer'd by the dim dawn. 
 
 But crawl'd to some dark taskwork on the waste ; 
 
 But some that pass'd on horseback carried loads 
 
 Of corn and gold, as to some dreary mart.
 
 VIII.] 'The Outcast^ Esau. 145 
 
 Deep darkness seal'd mine eyelids for a time, 
 And when they open'd, opening still in dream, 
 Amid mysterious shadows drifting by 
 Confused and imageless, methought my form 
 Now shone deep hidden, like a stormy, moon ; 
 And fast I seem'd to fly, as seems the moon 
 Through the swift tempest-rack to plough her 
 
 way. 
 Yet stirs not, but beholds the vaporous drift 
 Floating and flying round her luminous feet. 
 Nor could my troubled eyes distinguish well 
 What land I walk'd in, or to what far bourne 
 My slow feet fared, though dimly I discern'd 
 A weary waste it was without a road. 
 Figure of man, or sign of any star, 
 
 Meseem'd that weary years had pass'd away 
 
 Since first upon that lonely waste I fared. 
 
 For ever struggling, yet for evermore 
 
 As stationary as the storm-vex'd moon ; 
 
 And endless seem'd the heavy space of time. 
 
 At last, as in the growing light of day 
 
 The night-clouds thin, and in white wreaths of 
 
 smoke. 
 Soon kindled into crimson, float away, 
 The shadows that across me darkly stream'd 
 
 L
 
 146 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Grew fainter, melted, brighten'd, and dissolved, 
 Till every shade was fled, the prospect clear, 
 And once again I paused upon the path, 
 Standing and gazing round me, solitary, 
 'Mid dusky gleams of dawn. 
 
 Now, fixr away 
 I saw the flashing of Christopolis 
 Bright and remote as is a phantom city 
 Seen in the sunset, and as sunset towers 
 Crumble to golden vapour and are lost 
 Strangely and quickly of their own bright will. 
 So flash'd the holy City's walls and spires 
 Dissolved by distance. 'Tween Christopolis 
 And my now lingering feet stretch'd waste on 
 
 waste. 
 Weary, forlorn, abandon'd, without bound. 
 With never wood or gentle cynosure. 
 Or flash of silver stream, or human dwelling, 
 To break its infinite monotony. 
 There had I linger'd, thence my feet had fiired, 
 I knew not how ; for all the way was dark 
 Behind me, dim the sense and memory. 
 And dimly sad ; and all my wandering thither 
 \Vas like an evil ill-rcmember'd dream j 
 Nor yet of that forlornest solitude
 
 VIII.] The Outcast, Esau. 147 
 
 My feet were free, for round about me still 
 Its dreary prospect dawn'd. 
 
 While thus I stood 
 Dejected, leaning heavy on my staff, 
 I faintly heard, far off across the heath, 
 The sound of horse's hoofs, which ever came 
 Nearer and nearer ; till mine eyes beheld 
 Approaching, swift as any storm-swept cloud, 
 A horseman with his wild hair backward streaming, 
 His hands outre.;ching o'er his horse's mane ; 
 Quickly he came, and from the ground beneath 
 Shot sparks of fire, for mighty was his steed 
 Beyond all common steeds that stride the earth, 
 Maned like a comet, and as black as clouds 
 That blot a comet's path ; 
 And though its back was bare and 'tween its 
 
 teeth 
 It bare no bit, most tamely it obey'd 
 The white hand twisted in its trembling mane ; 
 And ever with its bright eye backward flashing 
 Neigh'd to the murmur of its rider's mouth. 
 And ever sprang more swiftly on and on 
 The more his hand caress'd. Onward it came; 
 And now I saw that he who strode the steed 
 Was slight and white and woman-like of form. 
 Though on his pallid cheek there burn'd resolve
 
 148 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Of mighty men ; and his blue eye was fix'd 
 
 On vacancy, so that he noted not 
 
 The figure of the Pilgrim on his way ; 
 
 And he was flashing past with fair face set 
 
 Like any star, when with one mighty bound 
 
 The steed leapt back, its nostrils flashing fire, 
 
 And striking up the sward with horny hoofs 
 
 Stood quivering. Starting from his trance, like one 
 
 Shaken from quiet sleep, the rider turn'd 
 
 His face on mine, and, lo, that face was stern 
 
 In pallor, and his dove-like eye became 
 
 Keen as an eagle's fix'd upon its prey. 
 
 ' What man art thou ? ' he question'd ; and I 
 
 said. 
 Dejected, sick from very weariness, 
 Scarce lifting up my head, ' See for thyself! 
 A Pilgrim well-nigh spent ! ' 
 
 The horseman's face 
 Grew brighter, though he laugh'd a bitter laugh, 
 Then leaping from his seat but holding still 
 His black steed's mane, quickly across the ground 
 He pass'd, and coming close he gazed for long 
 Into my face ; then lightly laugh'd again. 
 Saying, ' Well met ! Methinks I know thee now, 
 Or else thy dreary cheek belies thy soul — 
 Thou comest from Christopolis ! How now .''
 
 VIII.] "The Outcast^ Esau. 149 
 
 Hast thou been stoned i' the town, and have thy 
 
 robes 
 Been rent, and thou cast forth beyond the gate ? 
 Answer, and fear not ! I who question thus 
 Am outcast like thyself 
 
 Then did T tell, 
 In hurried accents panting out my pain, 
 My hope, my dream, my weary life-long quest. 
 And all my sorrow in Christopolis ; 
 And how for many days and nights my feet 
 Had struggled in the darkness of the waste ; 
 And how my light was lost, my strength nigh 
 
 spent. 
 My path all solitary ; yea, how no Christ 
 Could bring me comfort, and no God at all 
 Could bring me peace — ' Because,' I murmur'd 
 
 low, 
 ' My heart is dead ! ' 
 
 Again that stranger laugh'd. 
 And, answering him, the jet-black steed threw up 
 His head and through great nostrils neigh'd aloud. 
 Then cried he, ' Toiler on the ground, too low 
 Thou crawlest, even as a creeping thing. 
 But knowest thou mef Whereon I answer'd, 
 
 ' Nay,' 
 And looking up more eagerly, beheld
 
 150 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The light of starry eyes that shook with dew 
 Of their exceeding lustre, wondrously. 
 
 Then the clear voice, in accents sweet as song, 
 Cried, ' Christ they crucified, and thee they 
 
 stoned, 
 And me tliey would have given to the fire — 
 Esau am I, call'd even after him 
 Whom smooth slv Jacob of his birthri'^ht robb'd 
 In times of old. Another Jacob sits 
 In the high places of Christopolis, 
 Eating; my substance. Long- asio I rode 
 Into their Temples, overcasting them 
 Who at the bloody altars mlnister'd ; 
 And in their market-places I proclaim'd 
 Their god an idol and their creed a lie ; 
 And in the madness of mine own despair 
 Wassail I held, with lemans at my side, 
 In the dark centre of their midmost shrine. 
 And there they found me and shrieking " Anti- 
 Christ!" 
 They w^ould have slain me, but my steed was nigh, 
 And on his back I sprang with laugh full shrill, 
 Trampled their priests as dust beneath my feet. 
 And through their dark throngs plunged, till once 
 again
 
 VIII.] 'T'he Outcast^ Esau. 151 
 
 On the fair waste I wander'd.' 
 
 Then I said, 
 ' Where dwellest thou ? ' 
 
 ' Where doth the swift wind dwell, 
 Ihat on the high places and on the low, 
 Homeless for ever, ever is found and lost ? 
 Even as the wind am I ; the lonely woods. 
 The torrents, the great solitary meres, 
 Know me, and through their solitude I sail 
 Even as amid the tempest sails the crane. 
 All these have voices, crying as I pass 
 Compassionless, alone ; and from their speech 
 And silent looks I have drunk, deeper joy 
 Than ever in any temple rear'd by hands 
 The soul of man hath known. Wilt riJe with me ? 
 O Pilgrim, wilt thou ride ? ' 
 
 So saying, he sprang 
 Again upon his mighty sinewy steed. 
 Which leapt for very joy beneath his weight. 
 And holding out his white hand eagerly. 
 He murmur'd, ' Come ! ' Then cried I, hesitating, 
 ' But whither t Knowest thou that fair City I seek, 
 Or any place of peace ? ' 
 
 ' Ask not, but come,' 
 Answer'd that other, while his black steed rear'd 
 In act to paw the air and bound along —
 
 1^2 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And ere I knew it I had ta'en the hand, 
 And leaping on the steed was clinging tight 
 To that pale horseman, who with wild laugh 
 
 cried, 
 * Away ! away ! ' 
 
 As from a tense-strung bow 
 Whistles the winged shaft, or as a star 
 Shoots into space, the sable steed upleapt 
 And bounded on ; so swift its fiery speed. 
 That to its rider pale I clung in fear, 
 While underneath 1 saw the billowy heath 
 Rush by me like a boiling whirling tide. 
 I seem'd as one uplifted high in air. 
 Sailing through ever-drifting clouds, between 
 The regions of the flower and of the star, 
 And for a time my head swam dizzily 
 And in a trance of speed I closed mine eyes. 
 Then in mine ears I seem'd to hear the rush 
 Of many winds, the cry of many streams, 
 The crash of many clouds ; yet evermore 
 I felt the beating of the horse's hoofs 
 Beneath me, and its breathing like the sound 
 Of fire blown from a forge. 
 
 At first my soul 
 Shrunk trembling, but betimes a new desire 
 Uprose within my heart and in mine eyes
 
 VIII.] 'The Outcast^ Esau. 1 53 
 
 Soon sparkled while they open'd gazing round ; 
 
 And I beheld with wild ecstatic thrills 
 
 New prospects flashing past as dark as dream : 
 
 For through a mighty wood of firs and pines 
 
 Shapen like harps, wherefrom the rising wind 
 
 Drew wails of wild and wondrous melody, 
 
 The steed was speeding ; and the stars had risen, 
 
 Cold-sparkling through the jet-black naked boughs ; 
 
 And far before us in our headlong track 
 
 Great torrents flash'd round gash'd and gaunt 
 
 ravines ; 
 And higher glimmer'd rocks and crags and peaks, 
 O'er which, with blood-red beams, 'mid driving 
 
 clouds 
 The windy moon was rising. 
 
 Once again, 
 I question'd, looking on the rider's face 
 Which glimmer'd in the moonlight dim as death, 
 ' Whither, O whither ? ' 
 
 And the answer came. 
 Not in cold speech or chilly undertone, 
 But musically, in a wild strange song, 
 To which the sobbing of the torrents round, 
 The moaning of the wind among the pines. 
 The beating of the horse's thunderous feet, 
 Kept strange accord.
 
 1^4 '^^^^ City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Winds of the mountain, mingle with my crying, 
 Clouds of the tempest, flee as I am flying, 
 Gods of the cloudland, Christus and Apollo, 
 Follow, O follow ! 
 
 Through the dark valleys, up the misty mountains. 
 Over the black wastes, past the gleaming fountains. 
 Praying not, hoping not resting nor abiding, 
 Lo, I am riding ! 
 
 Who now shall name me? who shall find and bind me? 
 Daylight before me, and darkness behind me. 
 E'en as a black crane down the winds of heaven 
 Fast I am driven. 
 
 Clangour and anger of elements are round me, 
 Torture has clasp'd me, cruelty has crown'd me. 
 Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her — 
 Fast speed I thither ! 
 
 Not 'neath the greenwood, not where roses blossom. 
 Not on the green vale on a loving bosom. 
 Not on the sea-sands, not across the billow. 
 Seek I a pillow ! 
 
 Gods of the storm-cloud, drifting darkly yonder. 
 Point fiery hands and mock me as I wander, 
 Gods of the forest glimmer out upon me. 
 Shrink back and shun me !
 
 v^iii.] 'The Outcast^ Esau. 155 
 
 Gods, let them follow ! — gods, for I defy them ! 
 They call me, mock me ; but I gallop by them — 
 If they would find me, touch me, whisper to me. 
 Let them pursue me ! 
 
 Faster, O faster ! Darker and more dreary 
 Groweth the pathway, yet I am not weary — 
 Gods, 1 defy them ! gods, I can unmake them. 
 Bruise them and break them ! 
 
 White steed of wonder, with thy feet of thunder. 
 Find out their temples, tread their high-priests under, — 
 Leave them behind thee — if their gods speed after. 
 Mock them with laughter. 
 
 Who standeth yonder, in white raiment reaching 
 Down to His bare feet? who stands there beseeching? 
 Hark how He crieth, beck'ning with his finger, 
 ' Linger, O linger !' 
 
 Shall a god grieve me ? shall a phantom win mc ? 
 Nay — by the wild wind around and o'er and in me — 
 Be his name Vishnu, Christus, or Apollo — 
 Let the god follow ! 
 
 Clangour and anger of elements are round me. 
 Torture has clasp'd me, cruelty has crown'd me, 
 Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her — 
 Fast speed I thither !
 
 156 l^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And as the singer sang, 
 Dark hooded creatures, moving through the woods 
 In black processions, paused and echoed him ; 
 And on their faces fell the livid light, 
 While to the wind-blown boughs they lifted hands; 
 And from the torrent's bed a spirit shriek'd 
 With eldritch cry. Still the black steed plunged on, 
 And as it went it seem'd that spectral hands 
 Were stretch'd to tear its rider from his seat, 
 But laughing low he urged his eager steed, 
 And from his beauty those frail phantoms fell 
 Like flakes of cloud blown into gleaming air 
 By the soft breathing of some patient star. 
 Then upward, through the desolate ravines, 
 Past flashing cataracts and torrent pools, 
 Along dim ledges that in silence lean'd 
 O'er horrible abysses dimly lit 
 By mirror'd moons, the horseman held his way, 
 Until he came unto a lonely sward 
 As bright and green as verdure softly trod 
 By elfin feet, which high among the crags 
 Stretch'd in the moonlight. Li-ke some abbey old 
 Around whose crumbling walls and buttresses 
 The ivy frosted white by moonlight twines. 
 And whose deep floor of deep green grass is rough 
 With fragments of old shrines and mossy gravec.
 
 VIII.] The Outcast, Esau. ic^-j 
 
 This lone spot seem'd ; for round the stone-:trevvn 
 
 grass 
 The dark crags rose like builded walls and towers 
 All dark and desolate and ivy twined, 
 And through the open arches overhead 
 The moon and stars shone in. 
 
 Here from his seat, 
 (While I, too, leapt upon the grassy ground,) 
 Dark Esau lighted, and relinquishing 
 His grasp upon the mighty horse's mane. 
 Cried: 'Feed thy fill!' and o'er the silvern 
 
 gra:s, 
 Casting a shade gigantic, slowly walk'd 
 The black steed, feeding gently as it went. 
 ' Behold my Temple !' upward pointing cried 
 That pallid wanderer — ' hark how the wind 
 Intoneth with deep organ-voice amid 
 These ivied lofts, and see how wondrously 
 With spectral hand that white moon lifts the 
 
 Ho.t! 
 Hither, when I am sick of wandering 
 Like some dark spirit up and down the earth, 
 I come by night, and pant my passing prayer 
 To Him who made the tempest which ere long 
 Shall gnaw the heartstrings of Christopolis ! 
 Hither the white Christ comes not, nor His priests,
 
 158 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Nor any feet of slaves ; and here thy soul 
 May rest a space and worship at its will 
 Whatever god thou choosest, or indeed, 
 I\lay make an idol of its own despair. 
 And kneeling, pray to that !'' 
 
 The wild wind wail'd, 
 The dark clouds drifted even as driving waves 
 Over the moon, while 'mid the ivied crags 
 The screech-owl cried. Then said I, shivering, 
 Yet feeling still my eager heart abeat 
 With all the ecstasy of that mad ride, 
 * A'lost cheerless is thy Temple ! — and its god 
 Only the god o' the storm ! ' 
 
 'Cheerless, perchance,^ 
 Answer'd the outcact one, ' yet not unblect — 
 For lo ! 'tis gentle, and its altar-stones 
 Cemented are with no poor innocent blooa 
 Drawn from the throat of lambs or lamb-. ike 
 
 men ; 
 And from its porches Lazarus is not driven ; 
 And in its inmost shrines the priests of Baal 
 Are not upheaping gold. Better such cheer, 
 Though bitter as the bruised heart of Love, 
 Than merry music of a thousand choirs 
 Drowning the moans of sad humanity; 
 Than glory of a thousand golden shrines,
 
 VIII.] The Outcast^ Esau. 159 
 
 Each one of which shuts up within its folds 
 
 A thousand hearts still beating and still bleeding ! 
 
 This is my Temple ; and its god, thou sayst, 
 
 Is but the Storm-god ? — Blessings on that god ! 
 
 Upon his burning eyes and night-black hair, 
 
 His dark breath and the fire around his feet ! 
 
 For rock'd in his wild arms the soul of man 
 
 May find the comfort of divine unrest. 
 
 O, who could dwell upon the dreary earth, 
 
 Hark to the wretched wailing, and behold 
 
 The terror and the anarchy of Nature, 
 
 And keep his heart from breaking, did he never 
 
 Upleap and rush into the whirl of things. 
 
 And like a wild cloud driven up and down 
 
 Ease the mad motion of his life in tears ? 
 
 My Storm-god — hear him cry ! my god o' the 
 
 winds. 
 List to him, list ! — for as he murmureth there 
 He murmur'd to the wind-blown tribes o' the 
 
 Jew! — 
 More holy he than yonder hungry Lamb, 
 Who, pale and impotent in gentleness, 
 Sits in His niche complacent and beholds 
 Those hecatombs of broken hearts which priesir. 
 In blood-red robes adjusted smilingly, 
 Pile on His altars !'
 
 i6o The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 All erect he stood, 
 Pale as an angel in the white-heat gleam 
 Of Heaven's central sun, and from his eyes 
 Gleam'd light now lovely and now terrible ; 
 And in the cloudy wrack above his head 
 Answer'd the Storm-god with a clangour of wind 
 Like far-ofF thunder. 
 
 Silent for a space 
 I waited, for the words within my heart 
 Woke awful echoes, but at last I spake, 
 Saying : ' Yea, there is wisdom in thy words — 
 Better to wander up and down the world 
 All outcast, or in Nature's stormy fanes 
 To pray in protestation and despair. 
 Than in Christopolis with priests and slaves 
 To gnaw the frozen crust of a cold creed 
 Amid the brazen glory of a lie. 
 Yet am I weary of much storm, and fain 
 To rest by quiet waters. Blest be thou. 
 If thou canst guide me thither,' 
 
 Passionately 
 The wanderer laugh'd, brushing with thin white 
 
 hand 
 The long hair blown into his burning eyes — 
 ' By quiet waters ? I have search'd the world 
 And found them not j yea, not from Zion hill,
 
 VIII.] "The Outcast^ Esau. i6i 
 
 Nor from the brighter sides of Helicon, 
 Such waters flow ; — and all that I have seen 
 Are stony to the sight, and to the taste 
 Most bitter ! ' 
 
 ' Woe is me ! If this be so. 
 Where shall we rest our feet ? ' 
 
 ' Rest not at all,' 
 He answer'd. ' Doth the cloud rest, or the stream, 
 Or sun, or star, or any shape that moves 
 Still onward, by its dim will piloted, 
 As solitary as the soul of man ? 
 Be thou a meteor blown from place to place. 
 Still testifying up and down the earth 
 Against the power that made thee miserable ; 
 Then die ! soul-sure thou hast not lived in vain. 
 If with thy hand ere dying thou hast smitten 
 Some hateful Altar down !' 
 
 Then did I cry. 
 In darkness and in agony and despair : 
 * O misery ! Is there no light at all 
 To guide my footsteps on ? What country lies 
 Beyond these hills ?' 
 
 Answer'd the Wanderer : 
 ' A land of Shepherds — in the vales beyond 
 The flocks of Faunus feed. — Why, how thy face 
 Is shining !' 
 
 M
 
 1 62 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 Lead me thither — very sweet 
 The name is, and methinks the land is fair, 
 A shepherd there 'mong shepherds I will hear 
 The brook flow, see the sheep upon the heights 
 Trickling like silvern streams; — and, if I can, 
 Forget mine own mad quest. 
 
 Esau. 
 
 Mount, if thou wilt. 
 And I will lead thee thither; but remember 
 They knee strange gods. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Strange gods ? 
 
 Esau, 
 
 Yea, strange and dead. 
 Still bleeding, with a dove upon his lips, 
 Down its bright streams the slain Adonis floats ; 
 'Mid its deep umbrage Faunus lies his length 
 Strewn by the robin redbreast and the wren 
 With gentle leaves; and in some dumb, dark mere, 
 With all the lustrous ooze about his hair, 
 Lies drowned Pan !
 
 VIII.] l!he Outcast, Esau. 163 
 
 The Pilgrim 
 
 Sweet gods ! I know them well. 
 Surely the land wherein they sleep is blest, 
 A land of peace ; surely thy stormy soul 
 Might there have found its place of rest \ 
 
 Esau. 
 
 The dead 
 Shall never have my worship ! Fair indeed 
 The land is, and amid its woods and vales 
 A space I wander'd, till its flowery breath, * 
 Rich as the breathing of a summer rose, 
 Oppress'd my soul to swooning. So again 
 I rode into the tempest of the world ! 
 Better to be weariest-winged cloud 
 That to and fro about the shoreless heaven 
 Flieth without a spot to rest its feet ; 
 Better to be the weariest wave that breaks 
 iVIoaning and dying on Thought's shoreless sea, 
 Than the supremest blossom born i' the wood 
 And like a snow-flake shed upon the ground ! 
 Oh, I have rested in a hundred bowers. 
 And should have dream'd to death a thousand times. 
 But that the clarion of mine own despair 
 Found me and woke me. For this head of mine
 
 164 '^^^ City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Earth finds no pillow ! — I have cradled it 
 On breasts of women warm with wildest love. 
 And sighing low, ' Here is my heaven at last,' 
 I have sunken dovi^n into delicious sleep ; 
 But lo ! the very billowing of those breasts, 
 The very come-and-go of Love's own heart. 
 Hath w^aken'd me ! — with every hot pulse beating 
 I have risen, and, upspringing to my feet, 
 Heard the far trumpet blowing ! 
 
 . As he spake, 
 His face flash'd like a star, and, raising hands 
 To the dark, dripping wrack above his head, 
 He trembled as a tree in the mad wind 
 Of his wild words; then whistling to his steed, — 
 Which came unto him tame as any hound. 
 With foot that paw'd the ground and eyes of fire, — 
 He cried : ' To horse ; and onward ! ' 
 
 To his seat 
 Smiling he leapt, and, hesitating not, 
 I follow'd, clinging round his slender waist 
 With eager hands ; and swiftly once again 
 The lonely ride began. 
 
 Meseem'd we rode 
 For many nights and days, yet day and night 
 Were strangely mingled, and my senses lost
 
 VIII. ] T^he Outcast^ Esau. 165 
 
 True count of time. Through desolate ravines, 
 O'er lonely mountain-peaks, and down the beds 
 Of vanish'd torrents, our strange pathway lay ; 
 And fleeter than the feet of swift izzards 
 That twinkle on the Pyrenean crags 
 Where never man may creep or sheep may crawl, 
 The feet of that swift steed, from spot to spot. 
 Moved, never slipping and for ever sure. 
 Ever above us moan'd the winds and moved 
 The clouds wind-driven ; ever with low voice 
 Dark Esau sang j and in his songs he named 
 The death-star and the birth-star and the signs 
 Of Adam, and of Christ, and Antichrist ; 
 And sometimes of dark woods and waters wild, 
 And of the snow upon the mountain-tops. 
 He wove wild runes, and scatter'd them like 
 
 flowers 
 Under the trampling footsteps of the storm. 
 
 So rode we on and on. At last, meseem'd 
 The pace grew slower, the steed's fiery breath 
 More gentle, while upon my face there fell 
 A warmth like sunlight. Gazing round, I saw 
 That we were riding down a green hillside, 
 Flowers and grass were growing underfoot, 
 The summer sun was shining, and a lark
 
 1 66 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Uprose before the horse's very feet, 
 Singing ! 
 
 Still slower grew the dark steed's pace. 
 And now upon the brightening sward his hoofs 
 Fell soft as fruit that falleth from the bough ; 
 While Esau, ceasing his mad minstrelsy, 
 Relax'd his hold upon the flowing mane, 
 And with his chin sunk forward on his breast, 
 Frown'd darkly, in a dream. 
 
 Beneath us lay 
 A mighty Valley, darkenM everywhere 
 With woods primaeval, whose umbrageous tops 
 RoU'd with the great wind darkly, like a sea ; 
 And waves of shadow travell'd softly on 
 Far as the eye could see across the boughs, 
 And upward came a murmur deep and sweet, 
 Such as he hears who stands on ocean sands 
 On some divine, dark day of emerald calm. 
 And when we rode into the greenness stretch'd 
 Beneath us, and along the dappled shades 
 Crept slowly on a carpet mossy and dark, 
 It seemed still as if with charmed lives 
 We walk'd some wondrous bottom of the Deep. 
 For pallid flowers and mighty purple weeds, 
 Such as bestrew the Ocean, round us grew.
 
 VIII.] The Outcast, Esau. 167 
 
 Soft stirring as with motions of the ooze ; 
 And far above, the boughs did break like waves 
 To foam of flowers and sunlight, with a sound 
 Solemn, afar off, faint as in a dream ! 
 
 Now ever lull'd by that deep melody, 
 Dark Esau held his chin upon his breast, 
 And gazing neither right nor left, rode on 
 With deeper frown. So stole we slowly on 
 Through that green shade. 
 
 Suddenly on our ears 
 There came a sound of sylvan melody. 
 Deep, like the lover's lute ; and 'mid that sound 
 A voice rose clear and sparkling as a fountain 
 Upleaping from some nest of greenery. 
 Dark Esau raised his head, and his twain eyes 
 Grew luminous as any serpent's orbs. 
 Watching a space of sunlight bright as gold 
 Which open'd through the boughs before his path. 
 And soon meseem'd into that sunny space 
 Slowly he rode, and dazzled in the gleam. 
 Stood glorified and shading both his brows ; 
 And there, beside the sparkle of a stream, 
 I saw a Shepherd and a Shepherdess 
 Sit smiling ; and upon a shepherd's pipe 
 The wight play'd soft and low, while loud and clear.
 
 i68 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Sitting and clasping hands around her knees, 
 And gazing at the gHmmer overhead, 
 The Maiden sang ! 
 
 Dark were the Shepherd's locks, 
 'Threaded with silvern grey, and on his face 
 A brownness as of ripen'd fruitage lay ; 
 And though the fever of his youth was past, 
 His black eyes flash'd with some deep inner fire 
 Wherein his heart was burning. O'er his brow 
 A fillet green he wore j around his form 
 A mantle azure as the open heaven. 
 And wrought with lilies like to heavenly stars ; 
 Dark shoon upon his feet, and by his side 
 There lay a gentle crook Arcadian. 
 Him did I quickliest mark, and whisper'd low: 
 ^ What wight is he that plays ?' — and Esau said, 
 Now smiling darkly and in mockery : 
 ' Thyrsis, the shepherd of the flocks of Faun ; 
 He saw Diana pass one summer night 
 In all the wonder of her nakedness. 
 He was a boy then, but his hair that hour 
 Was silver'd ; since that hour he hath not smiled, 
 But on his cheek the wonder of that sight 
 Still flashes flame ! ' He added, while his eye 
 Kindled to feverish rapture : ' Turn thine eyes 
 On her who sings beside him in the sun !
 
 VIII.] The Outcast^ Esau. 169 
 
 Was ever hamadryad half so fair? 
 
 He found her even hke any fallen flower 
 
 In the warm heart o' the wood one summer night, 
 
 And wanton spirits whisper'd in his ear 
 
 That she was Dian's child. He took the babe, 
 
 And rear'd her as his own ; and there she sits 
 
 Fairer than Dian's self!' 
 
 Fairer, indeed. 
 Than any woman of a woman born 
 Was that strange Shepherdess. Her face was bright 
 As sunlight, but her lips were poppy-red. 
 And o'er her brows and alabaster limbs 
 The lilies and the roses interblent 
 In that full glory. Raven-black her hair. 
 And black her brows o'er azure eyes that swam 
 With passionate and never-ceasing fires 
 Deep hidden 'neath her snows ; most brilliantly 
 They burnt, but with no trembling, fitful light. 
 Nay, rather, steady as two vestal stars j 
 And though their flame was passionately bright. 
 Soul-' trancing, soul-consuming, yet it seem'd 
 Most virginal and sweetly terrible, 
 Chaste with the splendour of an appetite 
 That never could be fed on food of earth. 
 Or stoop to quench its chastity with less 
 Than perfect godhead.
 
 lyo The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 As the steed drew near, 
 She ceased her song, and fix'd on Esau's face 
 Her melting eyes ; and paler than the dead 
 He turn'd, his lips like ashes, and his hand 
 Held heavily on his heart. She did not stir, 
 Nor smile, nor did her shining features change ; 
 But quietly the elder Shepherd rose 
 And stood erect, but leaning on his crook 
 In silence, while dark Esau, with a smile, 
 Grim as the smile upon a corpse's face, 
 Forced from his heart a hollow laugh, and cried : 
 ' Ho, Thyrsis ! see, what guest I bring to thee ! 
 Another Pilgrim sick of Christ and God, 
 And eager for the clammy kiss of Earth — 
 Aye, or content, if thou wilt have it so. 
 To sleep on Dian's breast ! ' 
 
 The Shepherd raised 
 His hand in deprecation, answering low; 
 ' Blaspheme not, Esau ! she thou namest is 
 Too holy for thy lips !' — then courteously 
 Turning to me, who now upon the grass 
 Had leapt with eager feet, he bow'd his head. 
 Saying, ' Be welcome ! May thy soul find rest 
 In these green shades ! ' 
 
 But Esau, with his eyes 
 Still fix'd upon the maiden feverishly,
 
 VIII.] l!he Outcast^ Esau. 171 
 
 Echoed him : ' Rest ! God help him ! Rest with 
 
 theer 
 ' Why not?^ the Shepherd said, not angrily, 
 But softly as the rippling runlet falls. 
 The other answer'd not, but laugh'd aloud, 
 And pointed with his fingers mockingly 
 At the pale Maiden, who unto her feet 
 Rose like a spirit, shining, with no sound. 
 
 Then Esau cried, with quick laugh like a shriek, 
 ' Away !' — and as the laughter left his lips. 
 The steed sprang on across the golden glade 
 And plunged into the umbrage suddenly ; 
 But ere it faded Esau's pallid face 
 Cast one last look behind on her who shone 
 Still as a star. 
 
 Softly the Shepherd sigh'd. 
 And to the questioning look upon my face 
 Made answer : ' Dian, give that wanderer peace ! 
 None other, god or goddess, ever can ! 
 I see thou marvellest much at his wild words. 
 And wilder looks. — Sir, 'tis the old, sad tale. 
 He loved my child, whom I in reverence 
 Named Dian, after Dian the divine, 
 The holy ministress of these dark woods. 
 He loved her, as full many a wight hath done,
 
 172 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 But never upon any man that lives 
 
 She smileth, and methinks the good gods will 
 
 That she shall die a maid !' 
 
 Then did my soul 
 Marvel in sooth to hear the names of gods 
 Falling so simply from the Shepherd's tongue ; — 
 For reverently, with lowly-lidded eyne, 
 The Shepherd spake, and reverently his child 
 Gazed upward, like to one who seeth afar 
 The dewy star-point of an angers-'wing. 
 Wherefore I murmur'd, half to those who heard, 
 Half to myself: 'Gods! — but the gods are 
 
 dead ! ' 
 And Thyrsis answer'd : ' As the pallid Christ, 
 Swathen in burial linen icy cold, 
 Sepulchred deep, and sealed with a stone, 
 Yet walking from His grave, and withering 
 The grass of centuries with feet of fire. 
 As He is dead, so they ! If He abides, 
 They are not lost ! — and though the eye of Faith 
 Hath grown too dim to trace their forms divine. 
 The gods survive, heirs of their own green realm. 
 Inheritors of immortality ! 
 For this is fatal : — to be beautiful. 
 Is to be thrice divine, as Dian is !'
 
 VI 
 
 II.] 'The Outcast^ Esau. 173 
 
 And as he named the blessed name again 
 His face shone with its pale beatitude. 
 
 * But come !' he cried — ''dwell with us for a space, 
 And I will guide thee through our woodland realm, 
 And tell thee of its secrets one by one. 
 The fever of the world is on thy face, 
 The wormwood of the Priest is on thy heart ; 
 And here by quiet waters thou shalt brood 
 On shapes of beauty till thy thought becomes 
 As beautiful as that it broodeth on.' 
 
 He ceased ; I answer'd not ; my soul was wrapt 
 
 In contemplation of the flower-crown'd Maid, 
 
 Who turning on me, softly as a star 
 
 Opens in heaven, all the dreamful light 
 
 Of her still face, stood gazing into mine 
 
 With all the wonder of immortal eyes 
 
 Tremulous with unutterable desire 
 
 That never could be fed. Then, even as one 
 
 Under enchantment, spell-bound by that face, 
 
 Still gazing on it in a burning awe. 
 
 In a low voice I answer'd, ' I will stay 1'
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 THE GROVES OF FAUN. 
 
 OTILL listening to that stately Eremite, 
 
 ^ Aiid gently gazing on the snowy Maid 
 
 Who glided on before us golden-hair'd, 
 
 We pass'd into a mighty forest grove, 
 
 When on mine eager ears there swept a sound 
 
 Of birds innumerable on leafy boughs 
 
 Singing aloud ! — and as we softly trod 
 
 The mossy carpet of the broad bright glade, 
 
 With trees of ancient growth on either side, 
 
 We suddenly beheld a group of forms, 
 
 That, clustering before us on the sward, 
 
 With large, brown, lustrous eyes fix'd full on ours, 
 
 Stood like a startled flock of fallow-deer 
 
 Prepared to spring away ; yet shaped like men 
 
 Were these, though hairy were their limbs, their feet 
 
 Cloven like feet of swine, and all their ears, 
 
 That larse and hairy twinkled in the sun, 
 
 Prick'd up to listen. Golden shone the light 
 
 Upon them, and their shadows on the sward
 
 IX.] 'The Groves of Faun. 175 
 
 Were softly strewn, as thither with quick cry 
 Hasten'd the Maid j but, ere into their midst 
 Her feet could spring, they ev'n as startled deer 
 Leapt, flitted, vanish'd, with a faint, wild cry. 
 Like human laughter on a hill-top heard. 
 Forlorn and indistinct ; but as their shapes 
 Vanish'd afar, deep down the emerald glade 
 A thousand sylvan echoes answer'd them. 
 And from the leaves on either side the way 
 Innumerable faces flasR'd, as fair 
 As ever wood-nyniph wore. Then did I know 
 Those glades were haunted by the flocks of Faun ; 
 The Satyr dwelt there, and the Sylvan throng. 
 And in the wood's hot heart the Naiad fill'd 
 The hollow of her white outstretched hand 
 With drops of summer dew. 
 
 And as I went 
 I gladden'd more ; for never groves of earth 
 Were half so fair as those wherein I trod. 
 Statues of marble, mystically wrought, 
 Gleam'd in the open spaces cool and white 
 As shapes of snow; and here and there were strewn 
 The ruin'd steps of marble white and red, 
 Or broken marble columns moss-bestain'd. 
 That show'd where once a Temple had been raised
 
 176 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 To Pan or Faunus, or some lesser god 
 
 Of wood or stream ; and though those temples fair 
 
 Were overthrown, the Spirits unto whom 
 
 They had been raised were there, and merry amid 
 
 The ruins of the shrine, 
 
 ' I know them well,' 
 I murmur'd, smiling, ' these enchanted groves, 
 Where Faunus leads his legions ruminant ; 
 And where Selene, with soft silvern feet, 
 Walks every summer night; and well I know 
 They are but conjurations of the sense 
 Which sees them — shadows, neither less nor more, 
 Of Nature's primal joy.' 
 
 The Shepherd smiled. 
 And said: *The substance, not the shadow. These, 
 And all such joyous images as these, 
 Are elemental — weary were the world 
 Whence they were wholly flown. Once on a time 
 They peopled the wide earth, and man might mark 
 At every roadside, and by every door, 
 Flower-crown'd Priapus, the fair child of Pan, 
 Close kin to Love and Death ; but now they haunt 
 Only the places of the solitude 
 Where mortals seldom creep. Seen or unseen. 
 Known or unknown, they are immortal, part
 
 IX 
 
 .] 'The Groves of Faun. 177 
 
 Of that eternal youth and happiness 
 
 Which first created them, and whence they draw 
 
 Their bri^-htness and their being.' 
 
 Silently 
 We wander'd on^ and now our footsteps fell 
 In scented shade. From every nook i' the leaves 
 A Spirit peep'd ; o'erhead from every bough 
 A Spirit sang ! — and ever and anon. 
 Out of the flower-enwoven and emerald gloom, 
 White arms were waved, while voices soft as sleep 
 Did whisper, ' Come ! ' Calm through the throng- 
 ing flov/ers 
 Whose honey'd sweets were crushed against his lips, 
 The Shepherd trod. The bright light fell subdued 
 Upon the snow of his divine grey hair, , 
 
 And every woodland Spirit that upsprang 
 To clasp him in her warm and naked arms, 
 Gazed for a moment in his solemn eyes. 
 Then like a fountain falling sank in shame 
 To kiss his feet. The marble Maiden moved 
 Untouch'd by any of the glittering beams. 
 Pure as a dewdrop the light gleams upon 
 Yet cannot drink, while lost in light my soul 
 Sprang from its sheath of sorrow, and in the sun 
 Hover'd like any golden butterfly ! 
 
 N
 
 178 The City of Dream. [bk, 
 
 I leapt i' the joyful air, I laugh'd aloud, 
 
 I stretch'd mine arms to every flashing form, 
 
 I kiss'd fair faces fading into flowers, 
 
 I drank the sunshine down like golden wine ; 
 
 And, lastly, sinking on a rainbow'd bank, 
 
 O'er-canopied- by faces, forms, and eyes, 
 
 That chano-ed and changed toradiantfruit and flowers 
 
 With every breathing of the summer wind, 
 
 I cried, ' Farewell ! Leave me to linger here. 
 
 My quest was vain, but oh, these bowers are blest ! 
 
 I'll roam no further ! ' 
 
 * Rise ! ' the old man said ; 
 * Who linger in these vales of vain delight 
 Perish betimes ; it is thy privilege 
 To share as doth a master, not a slave, 
 Fair Nature's primal joy ! On every side 
 See scatter'd those who lie too wholly lost 
 Ever to rise again.' And all around. 
 Across the tangled paths on every side, 
 I saw indeed that many mortal shapes 
 Were fallen like o'er-ripe fruit ; and many of these 
 Were clad as if for heavenly pilgrimage. 
 Yea, arm'd with staff and scrip; but o'er them bent 
 Women so lustrous and so sweetly pale 
 They seem'd of marble and moonlight interblent.
 
 IX,] The Groves of Faun. 179 
 
 And yet so bright and warm in nakedness 
 They seem'd of living flesh. Ah, God, to see 
 Their syren faces, dead-eyed like the Sphynx, 
 Yet lustrous-cheek'd, with bright vermilion lips 
 Like poppy-flowers ! Yet sadder still than theirs 
 The faces that below them on the grass 
 Flash'd amorous of the very breath they drew ! 
 Pale youths and students Time had snow'd upon ; 
 Gaunt poets, clasping to their cold breast-bones 
 Their harps of gold ; and hunters, clad in green, 
 Gross-mouth'd and lewd 3 and kings, that profFer'd 
 
 crowns 
 For one cold kiss; and senile aged men. 
 Who shook like palsied leaves upon the tree 
 With every thrill of sylvan melody 
 That breathed beneath the overhanging boughs. 
 These things beholding, to my feet I sprang 
 With piteous cry, and as I gazed around 
 Low voices from the scented darkness sang, 
 In slumbrous human tones : — 
 
 Kiss, dream, and die ! — love, let thy lips divine 
 In one long heavenly kiss be seal'd to mine, 
 
 While singing low the fiovvcr-crown'd Hours steal by — 
 Thy beauty warms my blood like wondrous wine — 
 While yet the sun hangs still in yonder sky. 
 Kiss, dream, and die !
 
 i8o T'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Dream, — while I kiss ! — Dream, in these happy bowers. 
 
 Thy naked limbs and body strewn with flowers. 
 Thy being scented thro' with balmy bhss — 
 Dream, love, of heavenly light and golden showers. 
 Melting to touch of lips, like this — and this — 
 Dream, while I kiss ! 
 
 Kiss, while I dream ! — Kiss with thy clinging lips. 
 With clasp of hands and thrill of finger-tips. 
 
 With breasts that heave and fall, with eyes that beam — 
 Long, hngering, as the wild-bee clings and sips. 
 Deep, as the rose-branch trail'd in the hot stream, — 
 Kiss, while I dream ! 
 
 Kiss, dream, and die ! — Love, after life comes Death, 
 No spirit to rapture reawakeneth 
 
 When once Love's sun hath sunk in yonder sky — 
 Cling closer, drink my being, drain my breath, — 
 Soul answering soul, in one last rapturous sigh. 
 Kiss, dream, and die ! 
 
 As the voice ceased, 
 There flash'd across the haunted forest-path 
 A flock so strange that even the happy Maid 
 Stood still, and gazed. A Spirit led the way 
 Like Bacchus crov/n'd with grapes and leaves of 
 
 vme, 
 And winged too like Love ; but underneath 
 The falling tresses of his golden hair
 
 IX.] The Groves of Faun. i8i 
 
 A death's head smiled ; on a white steed he rode 
 
 Caparison'd with gold ; and at his back 
 
 The tumult follow'd — Satyrs, Nymphs, and Fauns, 
 
 Pale Queens with crowns ; dishevell'd naked maids ; 
 
 Priapus next, the laughing garden-god, 
 
 Raining ripe fruit around and leaves of gold ; 
 
 Then Ethiop dancers, clashing cymbals bright ; 
 
 And after them, supreme among the rest, 
 
 A livid Conqueror like Caesar's self 
 
 With wild beasts chained to his chariot-wheels ; 
 
 Behind him drunken legions blood-bestain'd, 
 
 With captives wailing in their midst. These 
 
 pass'd; 
 Then, mounted on a jet-black stallion's back, 
 Herodias, bearing in her naked lap 
 A hoary, bleeding head ; and after her 
 A troop commingled from all times and climes — 
 Pale knights in armour, on whose shoulders sat 
 Nixes or elves ; goths, mighty-limb'd and grim ; 
 Pale monks, with hollow cheeks and lean long 
 
 hands; 
 Nuns from the cloister, whose wild, hectic cheeks 
 Burn'd red as blood between their ghastly bands ; 
 And bringing up the rear a hideous flock 
 Of idiot children, twisted with disease. 
 And Iau2:hir1«; in a mad and mindless mirth.
 
 i82 T'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And gazing after them with gentle eyes 
 The old man sigh'd : ' They follow Death, not 
 
 Love ! — 
 From every corner of the populous earth 
 They come to mar that primal happiness 
 Which is the root of being !' 
 
 But I cried. 
 Raising my hands : ' Is it not pitiful ? 
 Is it not hateful and most pitiful ? 
 Lo, out of every innocent bower of flowers. 
 And out of every bed where Love may sleep, 
 The Shape with " Thanatos " upon its brow 
 Dreadfully peeps ! Why may not Man be glad. 
 Forgetting death and darkness for an hour ? 
 Is it so evil to be happy ? Nay ! 
 Yet the one cup God proffers to his seed 
 Is wormwood, wormwood !' 
 
 As I spake the Maid, 
 Coming upon a little mossy well, 
 That fill'd up softly as a dewy eye 
 And ever look'd at heaven through azure tears. 
 Stood white as any lamb upon the brink. 
 And on her dim sweet double down below 
 Dropt leaves and flowers, and smiled for joy to see
 
 IX.] 'The Groves of Faun. 183 
 
 Her image broken into flakes of snow. 
 
 But ever mingling beautiful again 
 
 Whene'er the soft shower ceased. While on her 
 
 face. 
 Serene yet masterful in innocence, 
 I gazed in awe, the old man answer'd me : 
 ' Ev'n as the Gorgon mother ate her young. 
 Nature for ever feeds on and consumes 
 Those creatures who, too frail to quit her breast, 
 Miss the full height and privilege of Man ! 
 I say again that Man was made supreme, 
 Radiant and strong, to conquer with a smile 
 The transports that he shares ; 
 And he by wisdom or by innocence 
 May conquer if he will ; 
 And surely he who learns to conquer Love 
 Hath learnt to conquer Death ! Behold my child ! 
 See where she stands like marble 'mid the beam 
 That beats so brightly on her sinless brows. 
 As she is, must thy soul be — if thy soul 
 Would read our creed aright.' 
 
 But I return'd. 
 
 Bitterly smiling, ' She ? thine icicle ! 
 
 Cold to the kiss of Man, what knoweth she 
 
 Of love or joy ?'
 
 184 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Still as a star her face 
 Turn'd full upon me, with a beam so sad. 
 So strange in sorrow and divine despair, 
 My heart within me shook ; and though she had 
 
 heard 
 She spake not, but moved onward silently ; 
 And sinking low his voice, and following her, 
 Her foster-father cried : 
 
 ' Is there no joy 
 But riot ? Is there no immortal love 
 To make eternal hunger sweeter far 
 Than lustful feasts ? O blind and wayward one, 
 Hadst thou but seen what these sad eyes have seen. 
 The passionate eternal purity 
 Walking these shadowy woods with silvern feet ! 
 I bear the lifelong glory in my heart. 
 And with the splendour of its own despair 
 My soul is glad ! ' 
 
 I answer'd him again, 
 Still mocking, * Keep thy vision ! — she, perchance, 
 Some night may look on hers ! ' 
 
 *By night and day,' 
 Return'd the Shepherd very solemnly, 
 * By night and day my child beholdeth him.
 
 IX.] The Groves cf Faun. 185 
 
 And quencheth all the fiery flame o' the sense 
 
 Against his image, and is sadly glad. 
 
 Perchance ere long thine eyes may see him too, 
 
 And kiss his holy feet as she hath done. 
 
 But now,' he added, looking sadly down 
 
 On the bright bowers around him, ' stay not here ; 
 
 For if thou dost, we twain must part, and thou 
 
 Fade back to flower, or dwindle back to beast, 
 
 As these thou seest are doing momently. 
 
 Come !' And he held me gently with his hand. 
 
 And drew me softly on. Like one that sleeps, 
 
 And sleeping seems to totter heavy-eyed 
 
 Through woods of poppy and rank hellebore, 
 
 Feebly I moved ; my head swam ; on my lips 
 
 Linger'd sour savours as of dregs of wine. 
 
 And all my soul with sick and shameful thirst 
 
 Woke, as a drunkard after deep debauch 
 
 Wakes to the shiver of a glimmering dawn. 
 
 In vain ripe fruits were crush'd against my lips. 
 
 In vain the branches with their blossom'd arms 
 
 Entwined around me ; vainly in my face 
 
 The naked dryad and the wood-nymph laugh'd. 
 
 Past these I drave as fiercely as a ship 
 
 Before the beating of a bitter wind. 
 
 And crushing fruit and blossom under foot. 
 
 Tearing the tangled tracery apart.
 
 1 86 The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 I wander'd on for hours. Nor did I pause 
 
 Till from that wondrous Grove my feet had pass'd, 
 
 And once again in open glades we stood 
 
 Under the azure canopy of heaven. 
 
 Now I beheld we stood upon the bank 
 
 Of a broad river flowing along between 
 
 Deep banks of flowering ferns and daffodils — 
 
 A gentle river winding far away 
 
 Under green trees that hung their laden boughs 
 
 And shed their fruits upon it lavishly ; 
 
 Yet cool the water seem'd, and silvern bright 
 
 As any star, and on the boughs above it 
 
 Sat doves as white as snow, brooding for joy, — 
 
 And by its brim one crane of glittering gold 
 
 With bright shade lengthening from the pensive 
 
 light 
 Stood, knee-deep in the mosses of the marge. 
 Slowly my sense grew clear. ' What place is 
 
 this?' 
 I murmur'd ; ' Say, what place divine is this — 
 God's home, or Love's, or Death's ! ' but in mine ear 
 The gentle voice replied, ' Question no more, 
 But at the brink stoop down, and bathe thy brows ; 
 And if thou thirstest, drink ! ' . So on the marge 
 I stoop'd, and in my hollow'd hand did lift
 
 IX.] 'J^he Groves of Faun. 187 
 
 The waters, scattering them upon my face, 
 And tasting ; and the fever from my frame 
 Fell like an unclean robe, and stretching arms 
 I, like a man rejoicing in his strength, 
 Stood calm and new-baptized. Tall by the lake 
 The old man tower'd, and I beheld his face 
 Was shining as an angel's, with new light 
 Of rapture in his eyes; and by his side 
 The Maid, with lips apart and eager eyes. 
 Stood bathed in glory of her golden hair 
 And the great sunlight that encircled her ! 
 
 Scarce had I drunk, when I was ware of One 
 
 Who through the green glades by the river's brim 
 
 Walk'd, like a slow star sailing through the clouds 
 
 Of tvv^ilight; yea the face of him afar 
 
 Shone starlike, and around his coming feet 
 
 The moon-dew shone. As white and still he seem'd 
 
 As some fair form of marble brought to life 
 
 And gliding in the glory of a dream; 
 
 But from his frame, at every step he took. 
 
 Shot light which never yet from marble gleam'd, 
 
 And splendour that was never seen in stone. 
 
 For raiment, backward from his shoulders blown, 
 
 He wore a scarf diaphanous; round his form 
 
 A chlamys of the whitest woof of lambs j
 
 1 88 The City cf Bream. [bk. 
 
 But all uncover'd was his golden hair, 
 
 His feet unsandall'd. 'Who is this that comes ? ' 
 
 Trembling I cried. But suddenly on "his knees 
 
 The old man fell, with head submissive bent 
 
 In gentle adoration. Then, methought: 
 
 * The City of my Dream is close at hand, 
 
 And this is He who comes to lead me thither! ' 
 
 And wonder'd much that while the old man knelt. 
 
 The Maid leapt forward with outreaching arms, 
 
 And with less fear than hath a yeanling lamb 
 
 Feeling its mother on a mead in May, 
 
 Thrust out her hand and took his hand who came 
 
 And brightenino; in his bri2:htness led him on 
 
 With birdlike cries. Then I perceived her face 
 
 Now smiling glorified, and straight I knew 
 
 That she was gazing on the lonely love 
 
 Of her young soul; that all her maiden dream 
 
 Was shining there in substance, fairer far 
 
 Than star or flower; that on his face she fed 
 
 In palpitating awe, so strange, so deep, 
 
 She did not even kiss the holy hand 
 
 She held within her own. 
 
 ' Who comes ? who comes ? ' 
 I murmured to the old man once again ; 
 'A god — the messenger of gods — his name ?
 
 IX.] I^he Groves of Faun. 189 
 
 He smileth ; mine eyes dazzle in the light 
 Of his bright smiling ! ' And the other cried, 
 Not rising, 'To thy knees! and veil thine eyes, 
 Lest the ecstatic ray his presence sheds 
 Blind thee apace! He hath a thousand names, 
 All sweet; but in these glades his holiest name 
 Is Eros! ' ' Eros ! ' rapturously I sighed; 
 And tottering as one drunken in the sun, 
 Fell at his feet who came ; and the pale Maid, 
 Upleaping in the brightness, fountain-like, 
 Cried, ' Eros! Eros!' leading Eros on. 
 While the birds sang and every echo rang. 
 
 There was a pause, as when in golden June 
 
 The heavens, the glassy waters, and the hills 
 
 Throb wrapt in mists of heat as in a dream, 
 
 So that the humming of the tiniest gnat 
 
 Is heard while in the moted ray it swings, — 
 
 There was a pause and silence for a space, 
 
 But soon the Shepherd, rising reverently, 
 
 Cried : ' Master of these golden groves of Faun, 
 
 All hail ! Unto thy sacred place I bring 
 
 A Pilgrim from the dusty tracts of Time, 
 
 A seeker of the secret Beautiful 
 
 No ear hath heard ; and from the summer bowers. 
 
 The gardens, and the glades of vain delight,
 
 190 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Latest he comes, still fever'd from the flush 
 
 Of those bright bowers. Him to thy feet I bring, 
 
 And if his soul be worthy, thou perchance 
 
 Mayst heal his pain !' He ceased; and on the air 
 
 There rose the thrill of the divinest voice 
 
 That ever on a starry midnight charm'd 
 
 The swooning sense of lovers unto dream, — 
 
 A voice divine, and in a tongue divine 
 
 It spake, — such Greek, such honey'd liquid Greek 
 
 As Psyche heard that night beneath the stars 
 
 She threw her rose-hung casement open wide 
 
 And stood with lamp uplifted, welcoming 
 
 Her love, storm-beaten in his saffron veil. 
 
 ' What seeks he ?' ask'd the voice ; and lo ! I cried, 
 
 Uplifting not mine eyes : ' O gentle God, 
 
 Surely I seek that City Beautiful 
 
 From whence thou comest ! Dead I fancied thee, 
 
 Fallen with that glorious umbrage of dead gods 
 
 Which doth bestrew the forest paths of Greece ; 
 
 And since thou livest, I can seek no guide 
 
 More beautiful than thou !' Whereon again, 
 
 Burning like amber in the golden beam, 
 
 That nightingale of deities replied, 
 
 ' O child of man, can the Immortal die ? 
 
 To love, is to endure; and lo, I am; 
 
 But from that City Beautiful thou namest
 
 IX.] The Groves of Faun. 191 
 
 I come not, and I cannot guide thy steps 
 
 Thither, nor further than mine own fair realm.' 
 
 Smiling I answer'd, rising to my feet : 
 
 * If this thy realm is, Spirit Paramount, 
 
 Let me abide within it close to thee! 
 
 Peace dwelleth here, and Light; and here at last, 
 
 As in a crystal mirror, I perceive 
 
 The clouds and forms of being stream subdued 
 
 Through azure voids of immortality.' 
 
 ' Come, then,' said Eros, smiling beautiful ; 
 
 'And for a season I will lead thy feet. 
 
 That thou mayst know my secret realm and me ! ' 
 
 And as he spake he waved his shining hand, 
 
 And lo, the cluster'd lilies of the stream 
 
 Again were parted by invisible airs. 
 
 And through the waters came a shallop slight. 
 
 Drawn by white swans that cleft the crystal mere 
 
 With webbed feet as soft as oiled leaves. 
 
 And in the shallop's brow a blood- red star 
 
 Burnt wondrous, with its image in the mere 
 
 Broken mid ripples into rubied lines. 
 
 Slow to the bank it came, and there it paused. 
 
 So slight, so small, it seem'd no mortal shape 
 
 Might float upon the crystal mere therein; 
 
 And Eros pointed, silent, to the boat.
 
 igi 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 But I, half turning to my grey-halr'd guide, 
 Question'd with outstretch'd hands and glance of 
 
 eyes, 
 *And thou?' 
 
 The Shepherd smiled, with gentle hand 
 Restraining now the Maid, who, stretching arms, 
 Would fain have follow'd that diviner Form 
 On whom her eyes were fasten'd, ring in ring 
 Enlarging, like the iris-eyes of doves. 
 ' Farewell ! ' he said ; ' further I fare not, friend ! 
 For whosoever sails that crystal stream 
 Must with the golden godhead sail alone. 
 My path winds homeward, back to the sunny glades 
 Where first we met. Farewell ! a long farewell ! 
 If ever backward through these groves of Faun 
 Thou comest, seek that Valley where I dwell, 
 And tell me of thy quest !' 
 
 Methought I raised 
 The Maid, and set upon her brow the seal 
 Of one long kiss ; but me she heeded not. 
 Gazing in fascination deep as Death 
 On that calm god ; then, stooping low, I kiss'd 
 The Shepherd's hand, and enter'd the bright boat 
 That on the shallow margin of the river 
 Did droop the glory of its rubied star 
 Like some bright water-flower. Beneath my weight
 
 IX 
 
 ] The Groves of Faun. 1 93 
 
 The shallop trembled, but it bare me up ; 
 And slowly through the shallows lily-sown 
 It moved, pulsating on the throbbing stream 
 As white and warm as bosoms of the swans 
 That drew it. In its wake the godhead swam, 
 Gold-crown'd ; and from beneath the mere his limbs 
 Gleam'd, like the flashing of a salmon's sides. 
 
 Slowly it seem'd to sail, yet swiftly now 
 
 The shore receded, till the Man and Maid 
 
 Beyond the mists of brightness disappear'd, 
 
 And ever till they faded utterly 
 
 Moveless the Maiden's face as any star 
 
 Shone tremulous with innocent desire. 
 
 And when they vanish'd, from the vanish'd shore 
 
 There came a quick and solitary cry 
 
 That wither'd on the wind. 
 
 Then forth we fared. 
 Till nought was seen around us or above 
 But golden glory of the golden Day 
 Reflected from the bosom of the mere 
 As from a blinding shield ; and, lo ! my sense 
 Grew lost in dizziness and deep delight : 
 All things I saw as in a dazzling dream, 
 And drooping o'er them drowsily gazed down 
 Into the crystal depths whereon I saii'd. 
 
 o
 
 194 '^^''■^ City of Dream. [ 
 
 BK. 
 
 Then was I 'ware that underneath me throbb'd 
 Strange vistas, dim and wonderful, wherein 
 The' great ghost of the burning sun did shine 
 Subdued and dim, amid a heaven as blue. 
 As blue and deep, as that which burnt o'erhead ; 
 And in the under-void like gold-fish gleam'd 
 Innumerable Spirits of the lake, 
 Naked, blown hither and thither light as leaves. 
 With lilies in their hands, their eyes half closed, 
 Their hair like drifting weeds ; thick as the flowers 
 Above^ they floated ; near the surface some, 
 And others far away as films of cloud 
 In that deep under-heaven ; but all their eyes 
 Were softly upturn'd, as unto some strange star, 
 To him v/ho in the shallop's glittering wake 
 Swam ^mid the light of his lone loveliness. 
 
 Then all grew dim ! I closed my heated eyes. 
 Like one who on a summer hill lies down 
 Face upward, blinded by the burning blue. 
 And in my ears there grew a dreamy hum 
 Of lark-like song. The heaven above mv head, 
 The heaven below my feet, swam swiftly by. 
 Till clouds and birds and flowers and water-elves 
 Were blent to one bright flash of rainbow light 
 Bewilderino; the sense. And now I swam
 
 IX.] 'The Groves of Faun. 195 
 
 By jewell'd islands smother'd deep in flowers 
 
 Glassily mirror'd in the golden river ; 
 
 And from the isles blue-plumaged warblers humm'd, 
 
 Swinging to boughs of purple, yellow, and green, 
 
 Their pendent nests of down j and on the banks, 
 
 Dim-shaded by the umbrage and the flowers, 
 
 Sat naked fauns who fluted to the swans 
 
 On pipes of reeds, while in the purple shallows. 
 
 Wading knee-deep, listen'd the golden cranes, 
 
 And walking upon floating lotus-leaves 
 
 The red jacana scream'd. 
 
 Still paramount 
 Shone Eros, piloting with lily hand 
 His shallop through the waters wonderful. 
 And wheresoe'er he went his brightness fell 
 Celestial, turning all the saffron pools 
 To crimson and to purple and to gold. 
 Calm were his eyes and steadfast, with a light 
 Which in a face of aspect less divine 
 Would have seem'd sad, and on his brows there lay 
 A golden shadow of celestial thought. 
 
 Thus in my dream I saw him floating on. 
 While, with dim eyes of rapture downward turn'd, 
 I feasted on his beauty silently ; 
 And under him the strange abysses swoon'd,
 
 1 96 "The City of Dream. [ 
 
 BK. 
 
 And o'er his head the azure heaven stoop'd down ; 
 And even as a snow^-white steed that runs 
 Pleased with its burthen, merrily hasting on, 
 The river rambled on from bank to bank, 
 In curves of splendour winding serpentine. 
 
 Betimes it broaden'd into bright lagoons 
 Sown with innumerable crimson isles ; 
 And merrily on the mossy banks there ran. 
 Pelting each other with ripe fruits and flowers, 
 Bright troops of naked nymphs and cupidons 
 With golden bows ; and o'er them in the air 
 Floated glad butterflies and gleaming; doves ; 
 And ever to the rippling of the river 
 Rose melody of unseen voices, blown 
 From the serene abysms far beneath ; 
 And other voices answer'd from the isles. 
 And from the banks, and from the snow-white 
 
 clouds 
 That, flowing with the flowing of the stream. 
 Trembled and changed, like shapes with lilied hands 
 
 Now one green island stretch'd across the stream, 
 Paven with purple and with emerald. 
 And walking there, all wondrous in white robes. 
 Moved troops of virgins singing solemnly
 
 IX.] 'The Groves of Faun. i(^-j 
 
 To lutes of amber and to harps of gold. 
 Among them, resting on a flowery bank, 
 ■ Sat one like Bacchus, roses in his hair, 
 His cheeks most pale with summer melancholy. 
 Fondling a digress that with sleepy eyes 
 Nestled her mottled head into his palm. 
 O'er head an eagle hover'd with his mate, 
 And rising slov/ on great wind-v/innowing wings 
 Faded into the sunset, silently. 
 
 Now gazing on these wondrous scenes methought : 
 ' This is enchantment, and these things I see 
 Only the figures of an antique Joy, 
 Unreal as shapes in an enchanter's glass 
 And hollow as a pleasure snatch'd in sleep.' 
 Suddenly, strangely, answering my thought, 
 And smiling with a strange excess of light, 
 Murmur'd that God my Guide : ' Fly from thy 
 
 dream. 
 And it shall last for ever; cherish it, 
 And it shall wither in thy cherishing ! 
 These things are phantasies and images 
 As thou and I are imaged phantasies; 
 But if the primal joy of Earth is real, 
 And if thou sharest deep that primal joy, 
 These phantasies are real — not false, but true.'
 
 198 T'he City of Dream. [ bk. 
 
 Then did I cry, 'If these fair shapes be true, 
 No dream is false.' And Eros answer'd me : 
 'All things are true save Sin and Sin's despair, 
 All lovely thoughts abide imperishable, 
 Though countless generations pass and Jie ! ' 
 
 The wonder deepen'd. Earth and Heaven seem'd 
 
 blent 
 In one still rapture, for their beating hearts 
 Were prest like breasts of lovers, close together ; 
 And in the love-embrace of Heaven and Earth, 
 The river, ever-smiling, wound and wound; 
 And as in beauteous galleries of Art 
 Picture on picture swooneth past the sense, 
 Marble with marble mingles mystically, 
 Till all is one wild rapture of the eves, 
 E'en so that pageant on the river's banks 
 Went drifting by to sound of shawms and songs. 
 Bright isles with white nymphs cover'd ; 
 
 promontories 
 Whereon immortal nakednesses lay 
 Singing aloud and playing on amber lutes ; 
 Vistas of woodland, on whose shaven lawns 
 The satyrs danced with swift alternate feet. 
 Came, faded, changed ; and ever far below 
 In the dim under-heaven floated fair
 
 IX.] 'The Groves of Faun. 199 
 
 Those Spirits singing ; and ever far above 
 Those Spirits slight as flecks of whitest clouds 
 Still singing floated ; and the same still v^^ay 
 The river floated did the heavens move on. 
 Till all seem'd drawn in a swift drift of dream 
 To some consummate wonder yet unseen. 
 
 And now, the river narrowing once again, 
 
 We stole 'neath forest umbrage which o'erhead 
 
 Mingled outstretching arms from either bank. 
 
 And woven in the green transparent roof 
 
 Were glorious creepers like the lian-flower. 
 
 And flowers that ran like many-colour'd snakes 
 
 Turning and trembling from green bough to bough; 
 
 And in the glowing river glass'd with speed 
 
 This intertangled golden tracery 
 
 Was mirror'd leaf by leaf and flower by flower, 
 
 For ever changing and ever flitting past. 
 
 Thus gliding, suddenly we floated forth 
 
 Upon a broad lagoon as red as blood, 
 
 Stained with sunset ; and no creature stirr'd 
 
 Upon or round the water, but on high 
 
 A vulture hover'd dwindled to a speck ; 
 
 And on the shallow marge one silent Shape 
 
 Hung like a leafless tree, with hoary head 
 
 Dejected o'er the crimson pool beneath ;
 
 200 The City of Drea-r/i. [ 
 
 BK, 
 
 And no man would have wist that dark Shape 
 
 lived ; — 
 Till suddenly into the great lagoon 
 The shallop sail'd, and the white swans that drew it 
 Were crimson'd, oaring on through crimson pools 
 And casting purple shadows. Then behold ! 
 That crimson light on him who drave the bark 
 Fell as the shafts of sunset round a star, 
 Encircling, touching, but suffusing not 
 The shining silvern marble of his limbs ; 
 And that dark Shape that brooded o'er the stream 
 Stirr'd, lifting up a face miraculous 
 As of some lonely godhead ! Cold as stone, 
 Formlessly fair as some upheaven rock 
 Behung with weary weeds and mosses dark, 
 That face was ; and the flashing of that face 
 Was as the breaking of a sad sea-wave, 
 Desolate, silent, on some lonely shore ! 
 
 Then Eros as he passed across the pool 
 Upraised up his shining head, and softly named 
 Three times the name of 'Pan j' and that large Shape, 
 His face upturning sadly to the light, 
 Reveal'd the peace of two great awful eyes 
 Made heavenly by the starlight of a smile ; 
 And as he smiled, the stillness of the place
 
 IX.] The Groves of Faun. 201 
 
 Was broken, and the notes of nightingales 
 
 Fell soft as spray of roseleaves on the air, 
 
 And once again the waters far beneath 
 
 Were peopled, and the clouds moved on again 
 
 In their slow drift of dream they knew not whither; 
 
 But Eros swiftly pass'd, and once again 
 
 The brooding godhead, sinking in his place, 
 
 Hung large and shadowy like a mighty tree 
 
 Above the brightness of that still lagoon. 
 
 And now methought that far away there rose 
 Beautiful mountains stain'd with purple shades 
 And pinnacled with peaks of glittering ice, 
 And o'er the frosted crystal of the peaks 
 The trembling splendour of the lover's star 
 Shone like a sapphire. Thitherward now crept. 
 Slowly, in bright and many-colour'd curves. 
 That river, hastening with a living will, 
 With happy murmurs like a living thing ; 
 And soon it turn'd its soft and flowery steps 
 Into the bosom of great woods that lay 
 Under the mountains. Peaceful on its breast 
 Shadows now fell, while still gnats humm'd, and 
 
 flowers 
 Closed up their leaves i' the dew ; and thro' the 
 
 leaves,
 
 202 T^he City of Dream. [bk. ix. 
 
 With radiance faintly drawn as spiders' webs, 
 Trembled the twilight of the lover's star. 
 At last, against a mossy shore, thick strewn 
 With violets dewy-eyed, the shallop paused, 
 And Eros, wading to the grassy bank 
 Under the shadow of the forest trees. 
 Cried ' Come ! ' — and silently I follow'd him 
 Into the sunless silence of the woods.
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 THE AMPHITHEATRE. 
 
 AND in my dream, which seem'd no dream at 
 all, 
 Methought I follow'd my celestial Guide 
 From path to path, from emerald glade to glade ; 
 And ever as we went, methought the path 
 Grew with the summer shadows silenter, 
 While overhead from the great azure folds 
 Began to stray the peaceful flocks of stars. 
 
 Now I perceived before that Spirit's feet 
 
 A light like moonlight running, and I heard, 
 
 Far away, mystically, in my dream. 
 
 The song of deep-embower'd nightingales. 
 
 Along the woodland path on either side 
 
 There glimmer'd marble hermae crown'd with 
 
 flowers. 
 And mid the boughs hung many-colour'd lamps 
 Like fruit of amber^ crimson, purple, and gold.
 
 204 ^^^s City of D7'eam. [ 
 
 BK. 
 
 Last on mine ears there fell a sudden sound 
 
 Like shepherds piping or like fountains falling, 
 
 A sound that gather'd volume, and became 
 
 As music of innumerable harps 
 
 And lutes and mulEed drums, and therewithal 
 
 A heavy distant hum as of a crowd 
 
 Of living men together gathering. 
 
 Then did I mark that all the forest way 
 Was thronging unaware with hooded shapes 
 Who moved in the direction of that sound; 
 Shadows they seem'd, yet living ; and as they 
 
 went 
 They to each other spake in quick low tones 
 And hurried their dark feet as if in haste. 
 Tall in their midst shone that fair God my Guide, 
 To whom I whisper'd as we stole along, 
 'What Shapes are these ? ' and ' Pilgrims like thyself/ 
 The Spirit cried; ' but hush, for we are nigh 
 The midmost of the Shrine.' Ev'n as he spake, 
 Out of the shadow of the woods we stept, 
 While on our ears the murmur of the crowd 
 Grew to low thunder, as of waves that wash 
 Silent, in darkness, up some ocean strand; 
 And lo! we saw before us thick as waves 
 Thousands that gather'd in their pilgrims' weeds
 
 X.] T'he Amphitheatre. 205 
 
 Within a mighty Amphitheatre 
 
 Hewn in a hollow of the grassy hills, — 
 
 And faces like the foam-fleck'd sides of waves, 
 
 Before some wind of wonder blowing there, 
 
 Flash'd all one way and multitudinous 
 
 Far as the eye could see or ears could hear. 
 
 Watching a far-off curtain, on whose folds 
 
 Twowords in fire were written: 'EPOS. ANAFKH.' 
 
 More vast that crowded Amphitheatre 
 
 Than any hewn in olden time by man, 
 
 And round it, and before it, and beyond 
 
 That curtain, gather'd crags and monoliths 
 
 All rising up to peaks of glittering snow 
 
 And in a starry daylight darkening. 
 
 Amid that murmur as of sullen seas 
 Fair Eros moved, and of the shadowy throng 
 Not one look'd round to gaze, while I and he 
 Crept to a place, and finding seats of stone 
 Rested, with eager crowds on either side; 
 And then I heard a shadow at my back 
 Murmur some question in an antique speech. 
 And unto his another voice replied 
 ' B/jort<oc' — then the murmur of that throng 
 Was changed to quick sounds in the same sweet 
 speech
 
 10 6 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Spoken as music by my guide divine. 
 But as I prick'd mine ears to list for more 
 There came a solemn silence, and behold, 
 Suddenly, to a sound of lutes and drums, 
 The curtain dark descended. 
 
 Far away, 
 Upon a sward as green as emerald, 
 There sat, with wine-gourd lying at his side, 
 Wild poppies tangled in his hoary hair, 
 Silenos,— at whose feet a naked nymph 
 Lay prone with chin propt in her hollow'd hands 
 Uplooking in his face and reading there 
 Deep-wrinkled chronicles as soft as sleep; 
 And overhead among the wild ravines. 
 On patches of green emerald, leapt his goats. 
 While far above the sunshine swept like wind 
 Across the darkness of the untrodden peaks. 
 To the low music of an unseen choir 
 Silenos smiling spake, and as he spake 
 The white goats leapt, the soft light stirr'd 
 
 o'erhead, 
 Thewhiteclouds wander'd through the peaceful blue. 
 For of much peace he told, of golden fields. 
 Of shepherds in dim dales Arcadian, 
 Of gods that gather'd the still stars like sheep 
 Dawn after dawn to shut them in their folds
 
 X.] 'The Am-phitheatre. 207 
 
 And every dawn did loose them once again, 
 
 Of vintage and of fruitage, and of Love's 
 
 Ripe kisses stolen in the reaping time. 
 
 Sweet was his voice, and sweet that mimic scene — 
 
 So sweet I could have look'd and heark'd for ever; 
 
 And on that sight the throng was hungering, 
 
 When suddenly the choral music ceased, 
 
 And wearily up the mountains came a wight 
 
 Clad like a pilgrim of an antique land. 
 
 Tall was he, yet of human height, but there. 
 
 Upon that mighty stage, he seemed as small 
 
 As pixies be that play in beds of flowers ; ' 
 
 And him Silenos greeted, and those twain 
 
 Sat on the grassy carpet flower-bestrewn ; 
 
 And then the stranger told a seaman's tale 
 
 Of heroes sailing in their winged ships 
 
 To flash on Troia like a locust-swarm. 
 
 And among those he named his own fair name — 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 Not as in the nether world. 
 Within some bright and lamp-lit theatre. 
 The drama calmly moves from scene to scene. 
 And actors speak their measured cadences 
 And make their exits and their entrances, 
 Not thus did that colossal spectacle 
 Flow on ; but as a bright kaleidoscope
 
 2o8 'The City of Dream, [bk. 
 
 Is shaken in the hand, and with no will 
 
 Trembles, dissolves, in ever-wondrous change, 
 The scenes upon that mighty stage did fade, 
 While the deep voices of the unseen choir 
 Were rising, falling, all within my dream. 
 So, even as that grey-hair'd Marinere 
 Spake with Silenos on the mountain side, 
 All strangely vanish'd ; and before our sight, 
 To martial music blown through tubes oi brass 
 The Grecian phalanx brighten'd, and afar, 
 Beyond the Grecian tents as white as snow. 
 The towers of Ilium crumbling like a cloud 
 Burnt brazen in the sunset. Suddenly 
 The shining phalanx and the snovz-white tents 
 Shrunk up like leaves, and in their stead the earth 
 Was strewn with brightness of a thousand flowers 
 Mid which a great pavilion lily-white 
 Bloom'd, — in its centre, seated like a queen, 
 Helena ! Oh, the wonder of that face. 
 That miracle of lissome loveliness. 
 That ripe red rose of womanhood supreme ! 
 More fair she seem'd, seen thus from far away, 
 Than Cytherea rising from the sea 
 Or seated naked on the lover's star 
 Strewing the seas beneath her silvern feet 
 With pearls and emeralds all a summer night !
 
 X.] 'The Amphitheatre. 209 
 
 And from her body and from her breath there came 
 Waft of rich odours that o'erpower'd the sense, 
 And all around, strewn thick as fallen leaves, 
 Were kings and warriors with dishevell'd hair 
 Kissing her naked feet and with mad eyes 
 Uplookingin her face ! 
 
 Then did I cry : 
 ' O happy Earth, where seed like this is^sown, 
 And grows to such a womanhood divine ! 
 Before the glory of that one fair face 
 Gods die, gods fade, there is no god but Love !' 
 And turning, I beheld each face that gazed 
 Was shining as anointed, for the throng 
 Was drinking all the sight with rapturous eyes ; 
 But like a marble statue in his place 
 Stood that pale god my guide — as stone to flesh 
 His beauty that had seem'd so warm before 
 Was to that woman's on the mimic stage. 
 And ever on her face he fix'd his eyes 
 With hunger of a pity infinite ! 
 There was a silence as of summer seas; 
 The heart stood still, while brighter and more bright 
 That glory grew, — till, like a chrysolite, 
 It dazzled all those upward-looking eyes : 
 Then slowly, softly, silent as a cloud. 
 Veiling that miracle of womanhood 
 
 P
 
 2IO 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The curtain rose. 
 
 There was a sultry pause, 
 Such as there comes on summer days of calm. 
 When every leaf doth seem to hold its breath 
 And in the golden mirror of the pool 
 The lily's shadow lies like alabaster. 
 Each creature in that mighty company 
 Half closing^heavy eyelids, brooded o'er 
 His own thick heart-beats ; only Eros stood 
 Calm, mute as marble, very fair and pale, 
 Folding his arms, and on the curtain dark 
 Reading his own sweet name ! 
 
 Again there came 
 Vibrations of low music, strangely blown 
 From out the very hollows of the earth ; 
 These quicken'd, trembled, till there wildly rose 
 The shrieking sharp of flutes innumerable, 
 To which once more, curling black folds to earth, 
 The curtain fell. And lo ! on that great stage 
 Gleam'd Argos, and the statues of the gods 
 Looming phantasmic in a blood-red moon. 
 And Clytemnestra on the palace-roof 
 Uplifting to dark heavens sown sick with stars 
 A face fix'd white in one avenging spasm 
 Of murderous pallor ; and her stature seem'd 
 Gigantic, on the high cothurnus raised \
 
 X.] T^he Amphitheatre. 1 1 1 
 
 And not a feature of the woman changed, 
 
 AH kept one horror of the mask they were, 
 
 Yea not until afar the beal-fire burn'd 
 
 On Ida, did she speak, descending slow. 
 
 And like low thunder, from the mask's thick tube. 
 
 Her voice was wafted onward to mine ear. 
 
 But as she spake that midnight air was cloven 
 
 By such a shriek as only once on earth 
 
 Was heard by mortal ears. — Cassandra wail'd ! 
 
 It seem'd as if in answer to that wail 
 Chaos had come and all the graves of old 
 Given up their dead; for suddenly the stage 
 Was cover'd with gigantic shrouded shapes. 
 Who stood and raised their hands to heaven and 
 
 shriek'd ! 
 And in the dim, low light of blood-red stars 
 Tower'd Agamemnon bleeding from his wounds ; 
 Iphigenia, like a spectre pale. 
 Half kneeling, hands uplifted, at his feet; 
 Orestes, with a dagger in his grip. 
 Clutching the marble woman, while she shrieked : 
 * Hold, child ! strike not this bosom whence so oft 
 With toothless gums thy mouth hath drunk the 
 
 milk;' 
 Eleokles, with fratricidal knife ;
 
 212 The City of 'Dream. [bk, 
 
 CEdipus groping for his daughter's hand, 
 And white as any lamb that Virgin's self; 
 And in the background, glaring with cold eyes. 
 Dumb as a pack of lean and hungry wolves 
 Full of blood-hunger, the Eumenides ! 
 
 A wind of horror o'er that gathering grew. 
 
 And lo! I shiver'd like a rain-wash'd leaf. 
 
 While from the throats of those pale spectres came 
 
 Fierce supplications and anathemas 
 
 On Zeus, and that pale skeleton that broods 
 
 For ever at his footstool. Anarchy. 
 
 * God ! God ! ' they shriek'd, and ever as they shriek'd 
 
 They gnash'd their teeth and rent their luminous 
 
 robes 
 And wept anew. Meseem'd it was a sight 
 Too much for human vision to endure ! 
 Suddenly, as a black cloud swallowing up 
 Pale meteors of the midnight, once again 
 Uprose the curtain. 
 
 Then in a low voice, 
 Still shuddering with that horror past, I spake : 
 *Hear'st thou that cry, which from the dark 
 
 beginning 
 Pale souls, fate-stricken, have cast up at heaven? 
 How shall these things have peace?' and in mine ears
 
 X.] 'T'he Amphitheatre. 21 j 
 
 'Twas answer'd : ' As the innumerable waves 
 
 Sink after tempest to completest calm, 
 
 For surcease of the mighty tumult pass'd, 
 
 So these wild waifs of being grow subdued 
 
 To subtle music of sublime despairs; 
 
 For out of wrath comes love, and out of pain 
 
 Dumb resignation brooding like a dove 
 
 On sunless waters, and of unbelief 
 
 Is born a faith more precious and divine 
 
 Than e'er blind Ignorance with his mother's milk 
 
 Suck'd smiling down! But, hark !' and as he 
 
 spake. 
 There came a twittering as of birds on boughs, 
 A music as of rain pattering on leaves ; 
 And to this murmur the great curtain fell. 
 Revealing slopes of greenest emerald 
 By shallow rivulets fed with flashing falls, 
 And far away soft throbb'd the evening star, 
 And everywhere across those pastures sweet 
 Moved Lambs as white as snow ! Then as I gazed 
 I heard Apollo singing on the heights 
 A shepherd's song divine, and as he sang 
 Those lambs their faces to the light upturn'd, 
 And each was human : a sweet woman's face. 
 With large still heavenly eyes wherein there swam 
 Dews of a dark desire ; and lo, I knew
 
 214 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The daughter of Colonos, golden-hair'd, 
 
 Electra, still and pensive as a star, 
 
 Alcestis pallid from the kiss of Death, 
 
 The daughters of Danaos, and the seed 
 
 Of Epaphos and lo ; and, behold ! 
 
 Quietly through those mystical green meads 
 
 Stole the fair Heifer's self, as white as snow, 
 
 Star-vision'd, woman-faced, miraculous, 
 
 Come after many wanderings to such peace 
 
 As only Love's immortals ever know. 
 
 Then dowii the mountain-sides, a tiger-skin 
 
 Back from his shoulders blowing, lute in hand. 
 
 As brown as any mortal mountaineer, 
 
 Apollo, the glad Shepherd, hastening came. 
 
 And cried, ' Rejoice ! rejoice ! for Zeus is dead !' 
 
 And from a thousand throats those lambs did seem 
 
 To bleat in human tones, while lo raised 
 
 Her moon-like head and utter'd her sad heart 
 
 In one rejoicing cry ! Then did I turn 
 
 My startled eyes on Eros questioning, 
 
 And found his face like all those faces round 
 
 Was shining as anointed, while his eyes 
 
 Were fix'd on that great stage whence thrill'd a 
 
 voice 
 Which murmur'd on : * Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice ! 
 Now shall the sad flocks of Humanity
 
 X.] T^he Amphitheatre. 215 
 
 At last find peace ! ' 
 
 In mine own heart of hearts 
 I echoed, * Peace ! ' and that great company 
 Breathed as a forest's multitudinous leaves 
 Breathe balmily after rain ; but suddenly 
 That scene kaleidoscopic changed once more, 
 Came then a thunder as of gathering clouds, 
 Flashing of torrents down black mountain-sides, 
 A storm, a troubled darkness, in whose midst 
 A voice went crying aloud, 'Zeus is! — Zeus reigns !' 
 And then, the darkness vanishing, behold ! 
 The scene show'd mountains to whose snowy peaks 
 Fierce cataracts frozen in the act to fall 
 Clung chain'd in ice, — and in the midst thereof 
 Gigantic, silent in his agony, 
 With all the still cold heaven above his head, 
 Prometheus Purkaieus ! 
 
 Meseem'd he slept : 
 His eyes were softly closed, and he smiled 
 Like one who sleeps yet dreams j and his white hair 
 Had grown through long eternities of pain 
 Down to his feet, clothing his limbs like wool, 
 And the fierce wedge of adamant that pierced 
 His breast and vitals was with countless years 
 Rusted blood-red, and hoary all he seem'd 
 As those ice-ribbed peaks that hemm'd him round.
 
 ii6 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Transfixed were his mighty feet and hands, 
 As when by Kratos and dark Bias nail'd 
 To those hard rocks, and brightly yet he bled, 
 For silently the fountains of his heart 
 Distill'd their blood like dew ! 
 
 Sad was that sight, 
 And yet I gazed upon it with sweet joy. 
 For round the head of that great Sufferer, 
 And on his face, and on his closed lids, 
 There brooded peace most absolute and power 
 Sublimely self-subdued. Afar away 
 Came voices of the Okeanides, 
 Singing their sad primaeval seabirds' song; 
 And listening with quick spiritual ears, 
 Methought I heard, faint as a sound in sleep. 
 The murmur of these deep eternal seas 
 Which wash for ever the weary feet of Earth. 
 
 Then up those desolate heights, from ledge to ledge 
 Of living granite, came a godlike shape. 
 Gigantic, yet smooth-flesh'd and young of limb. 
 With eagle-eye that faced the midday sun 
 And shrunk not, leading slowly (as one leads 
 A wounded horse that falters with its pain). 
 An aged Centaur, — man from brow to breast, 
 Bearded and mighty-brow'd and venerable,
 
 X.] 'The Amphitheatre. 217 
 
 But bodied like some grey and mighty steed ; 
 And lo, I knew the first was Herakles, 
 The second Cheiron ; and behold, this last 
 Was faint thro' one green wound upon his breast, 
 Deep, bloody, and he stagger'd as he came, 
 And ofttimes fell upon his quivering knees 
 And moan'd aloud, beating the solid rock 
 With hoofs of iron into sparks of fire. 
 
 Thereon, I turn'd to Eros questioning : 
 * Why Cometh Cheiron led by Herakles ? ' 
 And Eros, on whose face there shone a light 
 New and ecstatic as the rising moon, 
 Answer'd : ' Until another immortal god 
 Contentedly shall take the cup of death. 
 Taking his stand in that pale Sufferer's place, 
 Prometheus must abide and drink his doom ; 
 But Cheiron, weary from his wound and weak. 
 Elects to perish in that pale god's stead. 
 And hither cometh led by Herakles, 
 That so the prophecy may be fulfilled.' 
 
 And lo, amid the rocks of that ravine. 
 Face unto face with that pale Sufferer, 
 Uprose those twain, and slowly at the sound 
 Prometheus woke, and shaking from his eyes
 
 21 8 The City of Bream. [ 
 
 BK. 
 
 Eternities of the white bhnding hair. 
 
 Gazed in their faces dumbly, even as one 
 
 Who wakes confusedly and mingles still 
 
 That which he sees and that which he hath 
 
 dream'd. 
 But Herakles cried loud with clarion-voice 
 * Prometheus !' and the Titan stared and smiled, 
 Remembering ; but as his woeful eyes 
 Fell upon Cheiron's ghastly lineaments. 
 He trembled, moaning, ' Who is he that stands 
 Beside thee, bleeding ?' — and the god replied, 
 ' Cheiron the Centaur, come to take thy place. 
 To wear thy chains, to suffer, and to die ! ' 
 
 Suddenly, for a moment, that strange scene 
 Was blotted from the vision, and there rose 
 A sound as if of many fountains leaping, 
 Of many wild winds blowing, of many voices 
 Uplifted in a troublous melody ; 
 And when the darkness melted, and again 
 That portent gather'd on the straining sight. 
 The moon was out and stars serenely bright. 
 And Herakles had freed Prometheus, — 
 Who, standing awful in the moonlight, gazed 
 Around him with a sad and stony stare. 
 And whiter now he seem'd than any snow,
 
 X.] The Amphitheatre. 219 
 
 Clothed in the sorrow of his hoary hairs. 
 
 Then, as his chains fell from him with a clang 
 
 Of sullen iron, from afar away 
 
 There came a cry, ' Prometheus is free — 
 
 Rejoice! Rejoice!' and through those wild ravines 
 
 From crag to crag, the weary echoes moan'd 
 
 ' Rejoice !' but pallid still Prometheus stood 
 
 Chattering his teeth, while slowly Herakles 
 
 Led Cheiron to the rock of sacrifice. 
 
 Lifting the chains. 
 
 Even then the dark still air 
 Was pierced by such a shriek as froze the blood, 
 Shook reason on her throne and palsied will — 
 A shriek of eldritch laughter ; and, behold ! 
 There suddenly swarm'd in upon that stage 
 Pigmies innumerable, dragging in 
 A mighty Cross of blackest ebony ! 
 As swift as thought they set it in the chasm. 
 Where for eternities of misery 
 The Titan wail'd, and still they laugh'd aloud. 
 That the deep chasms of the mountain rung. 
 Then all the stars shrunk up, and the pale moon 
 Grew red and shrivell'd, but round Cheiron's brow 
 Swam suddenly a luminous aureole ! 
 And, lo, his face seem'd changed, and it grew young. 
 And, as it changed, his nether limbs of beast
 
 110 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Swoon'd into limbs of white humanity, — 
 And lo, I knew him for that Man Divine 
 Whose wan face gazeth from the cloudy Book 
 With wistful eyes ! Beneath the mighty Cross, 
 Crouch'd like a lion couchant hoary-hair'd, 
 Prometheus waited, while invisible hands 
 Raised up that other to his place of pain. 
 Then did the laughter cease, as Herakles 
 Transfix'd him thro' the shuddering hands and feet, 
 When dropping chin upon his breast he moan'd, 
 * My god, my god, hast thou forsaken me ? ' 
 
 Thrill'd thro' the core of that great multitude 
 
 A moan of deep insufferable woe ! 
 
 And I, with heavy hand upon my heart, 
 
 Turn'd unto Eros ; turning, saw him stand 
 
 Transfigured — on his hands and on his feet 
 
 Stigmata red and bloody — round his head 
 
 An aureole such as that other wore ; 
 
 And on the Crucified he fix'd his eyes. 
 
 And still the Crucified gazed down upon him. 
 
 And each was as the image of the other ! 
 
 Two faces, far asunder, yet the same, 
 
 Two faces, one upon that mighty stage, 
 
 One in the midst of that vast multitude. 
 
 Shone silent, and the moon was white on both !
 
 •] 
 
 The Amphitheatre. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It was a sight too sad for mortal soul 
 To look upon and live. I shriek'd and swoon'dj 
 And dropt upon the earth as still as stone ; 
 While all that pageant and that multitude 
 Pass'd into night as if they had not been !
 
 I 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF DEAD GODS. 
 
 WOKE : the night had fallen — the scene had 
 
 changed — 
 And living yet, I wander'd darkly on. 
 
 Alone within a Valley lone as death, 
 Alone thro' all around me shapes like men 
 Pass'd wailing, and their crying in mine ears 
 Was as the waves of ocean when they wash 
 On sunless arctic shores of rock and ice, 
 I wander'd, and at every step I took 
 The shadows of the night grew baleful'er ; 
 Yet dimly I discern'd on every side 
 Black mountains rising up to blacker skies. 
 And hither and thither forked lights that flash'd 
 O'er gulfs of dread new-riven j and methought 
 The path I trode was strewn on every side 
 With tombs of stone and marble sepulchres. 
 Out of whose darkness look'd the sheeted dead,
 
 BK. XI.] 'The Valley of Dead Gods. 223 
 
 Moaning j and oft I paused in act to fall 
 
 Into some open grave, and looking down 
 
 Saw skulls and bleaching bones and snakelike ghosts 
 
 That crawl'd among them. Then in soul's despair 
 
 I call'd aloud on God, and all around 
 
 Thunder like hideous laughter answer'd me, 
 
 And from the throat of every open grave 
 
 Came shrieks and ululation. 
 
 Blacker yet 
 The Valley grew, until in soul's despair 
 I paused, and, looking upward, saw the heights 
 Alive with pallid meteors, that like snakes 
 Crawl'd on the ground, or rose like wan-eyed ghosts 
 In glimmering shrouds, or plunged into the abyss 
 And vanish'd ; and the wailing all around 
 Grew thick as clangour of waves that smite each 
 
 other. 
 Clash back, and smite again ; and suddenly 
 I saw a blood-red star aloft in heaven 
 Shoot from its sphere, and fall, and after that 
 Another and another, till all the air 
 Was luminous and dreadful, sown with drops 
 Of flame, like blood ! Then, as I upward gazed, 
 There came a shape in pilgrim's weeds like mine, 
 Who touch'd my arm und mumbled in mine car 
 With voice that seemed faint and far away :
 
 224 '^^^^ ^'^ty of Dream. [bk. 
 
 ' They fall ! they fall ! as thick as leaves they fall. 
 Unpeopling all the starry thrones of heaven. 
 Rejoice ! rejoice ! ' And when I question'd him 
 Of that strange Valley where I walk'd in dread, 
 He answer'd, laughing feebly in his throat, 
 ' The Valley of the shadows of dead gods ! 
 Rejoice ! rejoice ! the gods are fallen, are fallen ! ' 
 
 Phantom he seem'd where all was phantom-like, 
 Yet human. As he spoke, those open graves 
 Echo'd his cheerless laugh, and the white stones 
 Chatter'd like teeth, and from the heights a voice 
 Answer'd, ' Rejoice — the gods are fallen, are fallen ! ' 
 Then, pointing with his hand at that red rain 
 Which ever fell from heaven, ' Behold !' he cried, 
 * Another and another and another ! 
 Eternity has closed its gates upon them, 
 Homeless they haunt the void, and fall, and fall ! ' 
 
 Then horror closed upon me like a hand 
 
 Clutching mine entrails, while I wander'd on 
 
 In darkness visible ; and at my back 
 
 That greybeard follow'd, wailing, ' Fallen, fallen ! ' 
 
 And presently I saw a sheeted form. 
 
 Who sat upon a sepulchre, and struck 
 
 A harp of gold and sang : golden his hair,
 
 xr.J T^he Valley of Dead Gods. 225 
 
 Above a thin face wasted into bone, 
 
 And large regretful eyes ; and lo ! his limbs 
 
 Within the open shroud were wasted not 
 
 But beautiful as marble, and his arms 
 
 As marble too ; and round about him danced 
 
 Wild ghosts of naked witches in a ring, 
 
 Who sang, ' Apollo ! hail, all hail Apollo !' 
 
 Then tore their hair and fell upon the ground 
 
 And shriek'd aloud ; and overhead the clouds 
 
 Were riven and sullen peals of thunder shook 
 
 The empty thrones of heaven. Shuddering I pass'd, 
 
 And came unto a fiery space wherein 
 
 Two forms were struggling in a fierce embrace — 
 
 One bright and beautiful, one black as night 
 
 And winged like an eagle ; and around 
 
 Monsters, like hideous idols wrought in stone, 
 
 Yet living, hover'd, uttering shrieks and cries. 
 
 And lo ! the first, who wore a golden crown 
 
 And robes of white and crimson like a king, 
 
 O'ercame and would have slain the night-black foe 
 
 But that he spread his great wings monster-wise 
 
 And shrieking fled ! — Pallid with victory. 
 
 Yet ring'd around by frantic shapes of fear. 
 
 The bright god stood a moment's space and held 
 
 A dagger like the sacrificial knife 
 
 Up skyward 5 from the wold wild voices wail'd
 
 226 T'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 His name, the BudJha, while a lightning-flash 
 Illumed him head to foot in blinding flame, 
 And underneath his feet the earth was riven. 
 And lo ! he bared his bosom white as snow, 
 Sheathing the knife therein, and with a moan 
 Fell prone upon his face, — while those fierce forms 
 Crept nearer, hovering o'er him where he lay 
 Like vultures hovering round a bleeding lamb ! 
 
 night of wonder ! Thro' that vale accurst 
 
 1 wander'd, struggling thro' strange seas of souls 
 That thicken'd on my path like ocean-waves ; 
 And all the place was troubled and alive 
 
 With dreadful simulacra of the gods 
 
 And ghosts of men ; and wheresoe'er I trode 
 
 The earth was still torn open into graves. 
 
 I saw, methought, on a dark mountain-side 
 
 Legions of ghosts that surged and broke to foam 
 
 Of waving banners and of hooked swords 
 
 Around a Sepulchre, wherein there sat 
 
 One with black eyeballs and a beard of snow. 
 
 Who smote his hands together and cried aloud, 
 
 *• Allah il allah ! ' — and the crowds around 
 
 Echoed the name of Allah, and above 
 
 The thunders answer'd Allah, while, behold !
 
 XI.] 'The Valley of Dead Gods. ii"] 
 
 The heavens, blown open high above the peaks, 
 
 Reveal'd in bloodiest mirage multitudes 
 
 Of phantom armies, struggling, multiplying, 
 
 Coming for ever, ever vanishing. 
 
 With waving banners and with hooked swords. 
 
 Like those who heard the voice and named the Name 
 
 On that dark mountain-side ! 
 
 Then in my dream 
 I saw the spirits of departed gods 
 Sweep by like changing forms within the fires 
 Of -/Etna, when the forked tongues of flame 
 Shoot skyward and the lava boils and foams 
 Down the bright shuddering slopes ; so thick and fast 
 They came and went and changed ; and I beheld 
 Astarte, with her nude dishevell'd train 
 Of women-worshippers who smote their breasts 
 And wept and wail'd j Moloch and Baal, two shapes 
 Inform and monstrous, follow'd by a throng 
 Of kings in purple and of slaves in rags 
 And Ethiops clashing cymbals ; black-eyed Thor, 
 Bearded and strong, stript naked to the waist. 
 Girt round with eager cyclops while he swung 
 His hammer near the furnace burning red 
 In a black mountain cavern, — all his face 
 Gleaming, his form illumed from head to foot 
 With subterranean fires ; Thammuz pale.
 
 228 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Walking through glades of moonlight like a ghost ; 
 Lucifer, serpent-crested, clad in mail. 
 Shaking his sword at heaven, and with his foot 
 Set on a writhing dracron : and all I saw 
 Vanish'd and came again, and vanishing 
 Gave place to more, — chaos of gods and ghosts 
 Confusedly appearing and departing ; 
 Every strange shape that Superstition weaves. 
 That man or fiend hath fashion'd : Gordons dire. 
 Chimeras, kobolds, witches, pixies, elves. 
 Undines, and vampires, — intermix'd with these. 
 Saints calendar'd and martyr'd ; naked nuns 
 Embraced by satyrs stoled and shaven-crown'd, 
 Goat-footed ; sable-stoled astrologers, 
 Waited upon by grinning apes and trolds 
 And wizards waving wands : so that my soul 
 Was sicken'd and my fever-thicken'd blood 
 Paused in me and surcharged my fearful heart 
 Until it ceased to beat : and as I fled 
 Weeping, all faded like a tempest-cloud, 
 Ajid lonely in the night before my face " 
 I saw the form of the eternal Sphynx 
 Dreadfully brooding with cold pitiless eyes 
 Fix'd upon mine, and round it momently 
 Sheet-lightning play'd, and 'tween its stony claws 
 It held a woman's naked bleeding corpse
 
 XI.] I' he Valley of Dead Gods. ii<^ 
 
 From which the shroud had fallen, and from its 
 
 throat 
 There came a murmur like the whole world's 
 
 moan, 
 Thunder of doom and uttermost despair ! 
 
 Frozen to stone, I stood and gazed and gazed, 
 Dead-eyed as that vast Shape ! 
 
 The Vision pass'd 
 Like vapour from a mirror. Night again. 
 With one black wing of tempest, blotted out 
 That portent ; and before my face I saw 
 A pale god with a dove upon his wrist. 
 Sitting upon a tomb and singing low 
 Some strange sweet song of summer ; then, with 
 
 tears, 
 He named the name of his fair brother Christ, 
 And search'd the gloom with bright blue heavenly 
 
 eyes, 
 And listen'd for a coming ; and methought 
 I heard a sound of wailing, and, behold ! 
 Along the valley came three woman-forms 
 Supporting One who seemed sick and spent, 
 A crown of thorns upon his bleeding brow, 
 Blood-drops upon his pierced feet and hands, 
 And in his dexter hand a lanthorn-light
 
 230 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 That flicker'd in the wind ; and as they came, 
 These women wail'd aloud, ' He hath arisen !' 
 And joyfully his blue-eyed brother rose 
 To greet him coming, but shrank back beholding 
 The thin grey hair, the worn and weary cheeks, 
 The pale lacklustre orbs of him who came 
 Unwitting whither, — wearied out and spent 
 With centuries of sorrow and despair. 
 
 But Balder cried, uplooking in his face, 
 
 ' O brother, hast thou risen ?' and that other, 
 
 Moving his head feebly from side to side. 
 
 And groping with his hands, moan'd, ' Risen ! 
 
 risen ! ' 
 Like one who dying murmurs to himself 
 Some echo from the weepers who surround 
 His piteous bed of doom j and as he spake. 
 His eyes grew dimmer, and his bearded chin 
 Fell forward on his breast, and like a corpse 
 He swung upheld by those wan women who wail'd 
 ' Rejoice ! for Christ hath risen !' 
 
 Then methought. 
 While Heaven and Hell moan'd answer to each 
 
 other. 
 And throngs of gods like wolves around a fire 
 Gather'd, and earth as far as eye could see
 
 XI.] The Valley of Dead Gods. 231 
 
 Was one wild sea of open graves, that broke 
 To foam of dead shapes shining in their shrouds, 
 I heard a voice out of the darkness calling 
 And weary voices answering as it sang : — 
 
 Black is the night, but blacker my despair ; 
 The world is dark — I walk I know not where ; 
 
 Yet phantoms beckon still, and I pursue — 
 Phantoms, still phantoms ! there they loom — and there ! 
 
 Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ? 
 
 One strikes — before the blow I bend full weak ; 
 One beckoning smiles, but fades in act to speak ; 
 
 One with a clammy touch doth chill me thro' — 
 See ! they join hands in circle, while I shriek, 
 
 Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ? 
 
 Dark and gigantic, one, with crimson hands 
 Upstretch'd in protestation, frowning stands. 
 
 While tears like blood his night-black cheeks bedew — 
 He tears his hair, he sinks in shifting sands — 
 
 Adonai ! Lord 1 art thou a Phantom, too ? 
 
 The sad, the glad, the hideous, and the bright. 
 The kings of darkness, and the lords of light. 
 
 The shapes I loved, the forms whose wrath I flew. 
 Now wail together in eternal night — 
 
 Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too?
 
 232 The City of Dream. [ 
 
 BK. 
 
 FaH'n from their spheres, subdued and overthrown, 
 Yet living yet, they make their ceaseless moan. 
 
 Where never grass waves green or skies are blue — 
 Theirs is the realm of shades, the sunless zone. 
 
 Where thou, O Master, weeping wanderest too ! 
 
 O Master, is it thou thy servant sees, 
 
 Cast down and conquer'd, smitten to thy knees? 
 
 Ah, woe ! for thou wast fair when life was new — 
 Adonai ! Lord ! and art thou even as these ? 
 
 A shape forlorn and lost, a Phantom too ? 
 
 Black is the night, but blacker my despair ; 
 The world is dark — I walk I know not where ; 
 
 Yet phantoms beckon still, and I pursue ! 
 Phantoms, still phantoms ! there they loom — and there ! 
 
 Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ? 
 
 And while the voices wail'd, I watch'd his face 
 Who swung in anguish to and fro, upheld 
 By those wan women ; and the face was blank 
 And bloodless, his eyes sightless, and his jaw 
 Hung heavy as lead ; and still the women cried 
 ' Rejoice ! for He hath risen !' but when at last 
 The music of those voices died away. 
 He slipt from their thin hands and with a spasm 
 Shot forward on his face and lay as dead. 
 Still as a stone, while all the mighty vale
 
 xr.] The Valley of Dead Gods. 233 
 
 Was shaken as by earthquake, and afar 
 
 The solid night-black heavens were riven as rocks, 
 
 And thunder ansvi^er'd thunder ! 
 
 Then the waves 
 Of darkness breaking on me like a sea 
 Seem'd to o'erwhelm me, and I sank and sank 
 Down, down to unknown depths of black despair, 
 Till sense and feeling fail'd me and methought 
 The end of all was come ; but when again 
 Life flow'd within me, I was wandering still 
 In that sad Valley ; and all forms and shapes 
 Had vanish'd, and the place was sleeping calm 
 Under a piteous moonlight. Overhead 
 The ebon peaks touch'd the cold heavens, alive 
 With stars like feeble specks of silver sand. 
 And all the heavens and the sad space beneath 
 Were silent as a sepulchre ! 
 
 Forlorn 
 And broken-hearted, then I wander'd on, 
 With tombs and open graves on either side. 
 Weeping nor wailing, but subdued to calm 
 Of weariest despair; and no thing stirr'd 
 Around me, but full tide of silence fill'd 
 The shoreless earth and heaven j when suddenly 
 I saw before me, lying on the path. 
 One like myself in dreary pilgrim's weeds,
 
 234 '^^^ City of Dream. [bk, 
 
 Fall'n prone upon his face ; and stooping down, 
 
 I turn'd his wan face upward to the light, 
 
 And knewhim, — Faith, my townsman, cold and dead! 
 
 His blind eyes glazed with the frosty film, 
 
 Cold icicles in his white hair and beard. 
 
 His right hand gripping still the empty leash 
 
 Which oncehadheldhlsbeauteoussnow-whitehound, 
 
 Now fled for ever to some sunless cave 
 
 To wail in desolation. Then my force 
 
 Fell from me, and my miserable eyes 
 
 Shed tears like blood, and, broken utterly, 
 
 I took the poor grey head between my knees, 
 
 Making a pillow, and with gentle hand 
 
 Smoothing the piteous hair, murmur'd aloud 
 
 A sad song sung by women in our town 
 
 While weaving long white raiment for the dead. 
 
 When the corpse-candles burn and all the night 
 
 Time throbs the minutes like a beating heart 
 
 To those who weep and wait. 
 
 And thus I sang : — 
 
 Dead man, clammy cold and white. 
 With thy twain hands clench'd so tight. 
 With thy red heart and thy brain 
 Silent in surcease of pain. 
 Wherefore still in strange surprise 
 Fix thine eyes ?
 
 XI.] '^he Valley of Dead Gods. 235 
 
 Glass'd to mirror some strange ray 
 Gleaming ghostwise in the day, 
 Staring silent, in amaze, 
 Dead man, glimmereth thy gaze, 
 Glazing through thy cold grey hair 
 With sick stare. 
 
 Not on men, and not on me. 
 Not on aught the living see, 
 Gazest thou — but still, alas ! 
 Thou perceivest something pass 
 I perceive not, tho' its thrill 
 Cometh chill. 
 
 Dead man, dead man, take repose ! 
 Since thy twain eyes will not close, 
 I will shut them softly over 
 With the waxen lids for cover ; 
 Look no more upon the sun — 
 All is done ! 
 
 And singing thus I knew (within my dream) 
 
 That all the gods were dead, and Death was King, 
 
 For all the woeful Valley once again 
 
 Grew populous with silent ghostly shapes 
 
 Tumultuously moving, like a sea ; 
 
 And gazing thro' my tears I saw, within 
 
 The heart of that black valley, a Form that rose 
 
 Gigantic, crag-like, frosted o'er and o'er
 
 236 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 With the cold crystals of eternity, 
 
 Yet naked as a skeleton ; and, lo ! 
 
 I knew the shape and lineaments of Death, 
 
 Lord of the gods and chaos, first and last 
 
 Of portents and of phantoms : huge he rose, 
 
 Swarm'd on by that tumultuous tide of ghosts 
 
 Which broke around his feet ; and round him 
 
 stretch'd 
 The realm of tears and silence, and above him 
 Heaven open'd, — an abyss of nothingness 
 Far as Despair could see or Hope could w^ing !
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 THE INCONCEIVABLE. 
 
 ADDER than night, and sunless as the grave, 
 ^^ Was that strange darkness clouding soul and 
 
 sense ; 
 But when I saw the hving light again, 
 And felt the blood within me crawling cold 
 As drops of quicksilver from vein to vein, 
 
 1 stood alone upon a wan wayside 
 Watching the crimson eyeballs of the Dawn. 
 
 Darnels and nettles gather'd bosom-deep 
 Around a rain-worn Cross whereon there clung 
 No shape of flesh or stone, but from beneath 
 Came a white glimmer as of bleaching bones ; 
 And on the Cross a lonely raven sat 
 Preening his ragged plumage silently ; 
 And all around were bare and leafless woods 
 Through which the sunshafts straggled crimson 
 
 red ; 
 And crouching in the shadow of the Cross
 
 238 'The City of Dream. [ 
 
 BK, 
 
 Three spectral Women wrapt in ragged weeds 
 Sat moaning ; and of these the first was old, 
 With hair as white as wool blown loose and wild 
 Around her ; and the second woman bare 
 A lighter load of years, with jet-black hair 
 Just touch'd with hoarfrost ; but the third was young, 
 With eyes of pallid speedwell-blue, and hair 
 Pure golden raining round her ripe round arms 
 And naked breasts. And unto these I spake, 
 Remembering that beauteous god, my guide. 
 And question'd them of Eros, if their eyes 
 Had seen him pass that way along the woods 
 Quitting the woeful Valley of dead gods ? 
 
 And one said : ' He who suckled at my breast 
 Is dead and cold, and walks the world no more ; ' 
 The second said : * The vineyard is destroyed ; 
 The Master of the vineyard sleeps for ever;' 
 And the third said : ' He whom I loved, whose feet 
 I wash'd and then anointed, at whose tomb 
 I have knock'd aloud for countless weary years. 
 Is dead, and hath not risen ;' and all the three 
 Lifted their voices wailing piteously. 
 
 Ev'n as I look'd and listen'd woe-begone 
 I heard a voice behind me murmurino;
 
 X I r . ] l^he Inconceivable. 2j^ 
 
 'Good morrow 5 ' and quickly turning I beheld 
 A gentle wight, who wore around his form 
 A pleasant woodland robe of grassy green, 
 Brown shoon upon his feet, and in his hand 
 Carried a staff enwound with ferns and flowers ; 
 And when I question'd 'Who are these who weep ?' 
 Upon those women wailing 'neath the cross 
 He gazed in pity, not in pain like mine. 
 And answer'd, — 
 
 * Outcasts from the world. Poor leaves ! 
 Fall'n with the rain that beats upon a grave.' 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 Methinks I know them. Yesternight I saw 
 These shadows, 'mong the shadows of dead gods. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Comest thou from thence ? Well may thy cheek 
 
 be pale. 
 Thy look wayworn and desolate, thy soul 
 Haunted and woeful. Hast thou wander'd far ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Yea, thither and hither, from Christopolis. "
 
 240 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 And whither goest thou? From the darkness 
 
 yonder. 
 Surely to some new sunshine ? Comfort, friend ! 
 The wailing of these wanderers cannot drown 
 The music of the mountains and the streams, 
 And scarce a stone's-throw from this piteous 
 
 place 
 The sunshine falls on crystal rivulets 
 And warms the snowy fleece of leaping lambs ! 
 
 Clear was his voice, yet dreamy-toned and deep 
 
 As is the wood-dove's cooing when it broods 
 
 On its warm heartbeats ; and his face, though 
 
 grave. 
 Was brown as ripen'd fruit and wore no shade 
 Of fear or sorrow ; and even as he spake 
 The morning brighten'd, and from far away 
 The silver clarion of the Spring was blown 
 To wake the drowsy world. 'Alas !' I cried, 
 'How shall the sunshine and the dawn avail. 
 Since the sweet gods that made creation glad 
 Are flown, and Eros, sweetest and most blest. 
 Bends weeping o'er his Brethren slain and cold 
 in yonder Valley of Divine Despair ?'
 
 XII.] T^he Inconceivable. 241 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Take comfort. Though the many pass away. 
 The One abides; God bends o'er these dead gods. 
 And smiles them into everlasting sleep. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Sleep ? But they sleep not ! Weary ghosts, they 
 
 haunt 
 That Valley, and the ears of weary men 
 Can hear them wailing from the gates of Death ; 
 And lo, without their open sepulchres, 
 In every land beneath the sun and stars, 
 Women like these prolong and echo back 
 The piteous ululation. Woe is me ! 
 Where shall I find a place on all the earth 
 That is not haunted and disconsolate r 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Walk these green woods with me, and thou shalt hear 
 The merry music of the waking world ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 What is thy name, and wherefore, dwelling here, 
 So close to that dread Valley, canst thou keep 
 A mien so peaceful and a voice so calm ? 
 
 R
 
 242 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Sylvan they name me, after some brave god 
 Who found my mother sleeping in the shade, 
 Naked and warm and drowsy from her bath 
 In a great slumberous pool, and in his arms 
 Clasp'd her before she woke and quicken'd in her 
 A newer life, mine own ; and when I lived 
 And drank the light, she told me with a smile 
 That she had never seen my father's face. 
 Yet knew by many a sign of leaf and flower 
 Some godhead had embraced her as she slept ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Didst thou not say but now, the gods were dead ? 
 
 Sylvan. 
 
 The gods of soirow, but the gods of joy 
 Ever abide where'er the woods are green 
 And sunlight merry. Every flower and tree 
 Shares light and life with them, and is divine. 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 A phantasy ! With such a phantasy 
 
 They sought to cheat me in the groves of Faun.
 
 XII.] 'The Inconceivable. 243 
 
 Sylvan. 
 
 The many pass away, but Pan abides. 
 
 And him we worship in these peaceful woods. 
 
 Now, as he spake, those forms beneath the Cross 
 Grew fainter, and their dreary voices ceased. 
 Creeping from underneath with scented arms 
 A honeysuckle and a rose-tree twined 
 Their tendrils round the Cross, and overspread it 
 With tender bells and blooms ; and as I gazed 
 Meseem'd they lived and laugh'd to feel the life 
 Sparkling within them, while their scented breath 
 Perfumed the air I drew ; while all around, 
 As at the touch of a magician's wand, 
 The woodland kindled into emerald flame, 
 The grass along the sward ran bright and green, 
 O'erhead the morning skies broke bright and 
 
 blue. 
 And the great sun became the golden heart 
 Of the violet of heaven. And Sylvan said : 
 ' Yea, verily the many gods are dead. 
 Yet that which was their life and quicken'd them 
 Breaks into summer blossom o'er their graves.' 
 Whereon I answer'd, walking sadly on 
 Beside him down the gladdening greenwood glade.
 
 244 '^^^ ^^^y of Dream. [bk. 
 
 'Christopolls remains, and in its core 
 
 Death sits, a crimson King ; and hitherward, 
 
 And yonder far as the wide gates of dawn. 
 
 His sceptre rules both gods and thinking things 
 
 As well as tree and flower ; and high as heaven. 
 
 He sets as sign of his sad sovereignty 
 
 The empty Cross !' But Sylvan, smiling, said : 
 
 * Death is the servant of the One we serve. 
 
 Whose breathing fills the world with light and life,' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Name me his name, that I may understand. 
 
 Sylvan. 
 Nameless and formless is that Life Divine. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Hast thou not known him with thine eyes and ears ? 
 
 Sylvan. 
 He dwells for evermore but dimly guessed. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 A riddle, like the riddle of the Cross !
 
 XII.] 'The Inconceivable. 2^^ 
 
 Sylvan. 
 
 A certitude, like thine own beating heart ! 
 The Ever-changing yet Unchangeable 
 Haunts His creation as the breath within 
 Thy body, and as the blood within thy veins : 
 Moves in the mountains, fills the surging seas. 
 Melts in the storm-cloud and becomes the dew 
 That dims the lover's eyes. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Meseems I read 
 Thine easy riddle. He thou worshippest 
 Is shapeless as the blue ethereal air ; 
 Not God who builds a City for his own, 
 But that blind force whereby all cities fall ? 
 
 Sylvan. 
 
 What He destroys he evermore renews, — 
 As He renews the flowers and forest-trees. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Can he renew this desolate heart of dust 
 Failing away within me as the seed 
 That rots and falls away within the shell ?
 
 246 'J'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Can he roll back the sun and summon back 
 The boy who gladden'd in the morning time ? 
 Can he bring back the gods whom he has slain. 
 Sweetest and best the god of flesh and blood 
 For whom those three wan women weep and wail ? 
 
 Sylvan. 
 
 He can do more. With every dawn of day 
 He recreates — 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 The mirage of a world ! 
 O peace, for he thou fondly worshippest 
 Is not the God I seek, but him 1 fly. 
 
 We wander'd on, and all around us grew 
 
 Full sweetness of the summer. Green and elad 
 
 The prospects brighten'd round us, and I saw 
 
 Beyond the emerald reaches of the glade 
 
 A leafy valley, meadows, groves, and streams, 
 
 With fountains sparkling and upleaping lambs j 
 
 And here and there a lonely human form 
 
 Flitted across the sunlight and was gone j 
 
 Yet for the rest the place was solitary 
 
 And full of strange and solitary sounds —
 
 XII.] The Inconceivable. 247 
 
 The wood-dove's brooding call, the whispering rill 
 
 Half drown'd in rustling leaves, the lambkin's cry 
 
 Distant and drowsy, and from time to time 
 
 A far-off human call. Upon my heart 
 
 Fell a warm heaviness and dreamy sense 
 
 Of happiness fantastic and unreal. 
 
 When, looking back, I saw along the glade 
 
 Those three wan Women slowly following 
 
 In silence, and the pathway as they came 
 
 Was sunless, dark, and chill. *Alas !' I said, 
 
 *This valley where you dwell is haunted, too, 
 
 By the dim ghosts of goddesses and gods ;' 
 
 And as I spake we left the woods behind 
 
 And came 'mong grassy slopes that wander'd on 
 
 To pastoral mountains green and beautiful 
 
 Crown'd by the golden noontide. Here I paused 
 
 And pointing upward cried, ' What land lies yonder ? ' 
 
 And Sylvan said, 'A beauteous mountain land 
 
 Of Shepherds ; but at every height you climb 
 
 The air grows chillier, till beneath your feet 
 
 Crumble the stainless crystals of the snow. 
 
 Be warn'd and fare no further. Rest content 
 
 Here in the lap of summer, laden ever 
 
 With roses of the dawn.' 
 
 And as he spake 
 The sunlight brighten'd, and the leaping lambs
 
 248 'The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 Cried faintly, and the cuckoo call'd her name. 
 
 Deep hidden in the sunlight's golden cage ; 
 
 And round my feet the warm grass crept like moss, 
 
 Warm, green, and living, and the golden glades 
 
 Kindled and blossom'd, — yet afar away 
 
 Behind me still I saw those three wan Shapes 
 
 Outlooking from the greenness of the woods. 
 
 'Stay!' cried he, as I faced the steep ascent 
 And hasten'd heavenward ; but, mine eager heart 
 Fill'd with the summer as a cup with wine, 
 Renew'd and strong, I left him standing there 
 'Mong those bright pastures ; and as sings a lark 
 For bliss of the glad beating of the wings 
 That waft it upward, so methought my soul 
 Ran over gladly, and 'twas thus I sang : — 
 
 Hark, I am call'd away ! 
 Fain would my spirit stay. 
 Here, where the cuckoos call. 
 Here, where the fountains play 
 From dawn to evenfall. 
 Here, where the white flocks stray. 
 With the blue sky spanning all! 
 Here, where the world is May, 
 Fain would I rest, grow grey, — 
 But nay, ah nay!
 
 XII.] The Inconceivable. 249 
 
 Birds on the greenwood spray 
 Flit through the green and the gre}, 
 Flocks on the green slopes cry, 
 Softly the streams glance by. 
 All things are merry and gay 
 Under the morning sky; 
 Sweet smiles the world to-day, 
 Yet must I wander away? 
 Ah yea, ah yea! 
 
 A motion all things obey, 
 A breath in the cloud and the clay, 
 A stir in the fountain that springs, 
 A sound in the bird that sings. 
 From dawn to death of day 
 Quick in the heart of things! 
 All changes, and naught can stay; 
 Blown like a breath o' the spray, 
 I must away ! 
 
 Ah, would that I could stay ! 
 Yet, as those clouds obey 
 Winds that behind them blow 
 (See them, how soft, how slow, 
 Thro' the still heavens they stray !), 
 Onward I too must go ! 
 No space to pause, to pray. 
 But heavenward, even as they, 
 I must away!
 
 250 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And now methought I came into that land 
 
 Of pastoral mountains, with green summer cones. 
 
 Forests of pine and fir upon their flanks, 
 
 And waterfalls that flashing silver feet 
 
 Leapt with wild laughter into dark ravines; 
 
 A land of sheep and shepherds; o'er the slopes 
 
 The snow-white flockswere spilt like broken streams, 
 
 While faintly overhead against the blue 
 
 Sounded a shepherd's horn. In sooth, it seem'd 
 
 A green, a peaceful, and a pleasant land! 
 
 Climbing the shoulder of a sunlit hill, 
 
 Oft gazing back on him I had left behind 
 
 Dwindled by distance to a pigmy's size, 
 
 I reach'd a solitary cottage door, 
 
 And there a mountain maid with gentle eyes 
 
 Gave me sweet welcome, placed me in the porch. 
 
 And brought me mountain cheer — brown bread and 
 
 milk. 
 Around my seat flock'd children flaxen-hair'd. 
 Brown men, barefooted maids, and wise-eyed dogs ; 
 And when I question'd of that peaceful land, 
 And of the City throned in solitude 
 Somewhere amid the silence of the hills, 
 They look'd at one another wondering 
 And could not understand. But one, a wight,
 
 xii,] 'The Inconceivable. 251 
 
 Grey-hair'd yet lithe, in goatskin mantle clad, 
 
 Said: 'Master, I have wander'd, man and boy. 
 
 These hills for seventy years, and seen no City, 
 
 Save only cities in the sunset clouds 
 
 Or in the miraoie of the rainbow'd heights: 
 
 Be warn'd by me, — turn back, or rest thee here; 
 
 The crags are perilous without a guide.' 
 
 I answer'd: 'God my Guide and Shepherd is; 
 
 I need no other;' and I took my staff. 
 
 And bidding them farewell, I hasten'd on; 
 
 And as I climb'd the hill look'd back once more 
 
 And saw them cluster'd — children, men, and maids — 
 
 Watching me as I wander'd up the heights. 
 
 Then, faring onward towards the mountain-tops, 
 
 I saw a herdboy like an antique Faun 
 
 Sitting upon a knoll, and piping sweet. 
 
 While round about him leapt his yeanling lambs 
 
 And gentle mountain echoes answer'd him. 
 
 Bare was his neck and brown, his cheek more red 
 
 Than are the berries of the mountain ash, 
 
 His hair like golden flax, his voice as clear 
 
 As cuckoos crying round the lake-lilies 
 
 That open'd on the mountain mere close by. 
 
 Him for a little space I gazed upon. 
 
 Then greeted with a smile and question'd him,
 
 252 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Singing my question from a merry heart, 
 Till, smiling too and singing, he replied: — 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Little Herdboy, sitting there, 
 With the sunshine on thy hair, 
 And thy flocks so white and still 
 Spilt around thee on the hill. 
 Tell me true, in thy sweet speech. 
 Of the City I would reach. 
 
 'Tis a City of God's Light 
 Most imperishably bright. 
 And its gates are golden all, — 
 And at dawn and evenfall 
 They grow ruby-bright and blest 
 To the east and to the west. 
 
 Here, among the hills it lies, 
 Like a lamb with lustrous eyes 
 Lying at the Shepherd's feet ; 
 And the breath of it is sweet. 
 As it rises from the sward 
 To the nostrils of the Lord ! 
 
 Little Herdboy, tell me right. 
 Hast thou seen it from thy height? 
 For it lieth up this way. 
 And at dawn or death of day 
 Thou hast surely seen it shine 
 With the light that is divine.?
 
 XII.] 'The Inconceivable. ii^2> 
 
 The Little Herdboy. 
 
 Where the buttercups so sweet 
 Dust with gold my naked feet. 
 Where the grass grows green and long, 
 Sit I here and sing my song. 
 And the brown bird cries 'Cuckoo ' 
 Under skies for ever blue! 
 
 Now and then, while I sing loud. 
 Flits a little fleecy cloud. 
 And uplooking I behold 
 How it turns to rain of gold. 
 Falling lightly, while around 
 Comes the stir of its soft sound! 
 
 Bright above and dim below 
 
 Is the many-colour'd Bow; 
 
 'Tis the only light I mark, 
 
 Till the mountain-tops grow dark. 
 
 And uplooking I espy 
 
 Shining glow-worms in the sky ; 
 
 Then I hear the runlet's call. 
 And the voice o' the waterfall 
 Growing louder, and 'tis cold 
 As I guide my flocks to fold ; 
 But no City, great or small. 
 Have I ever seen at all! 
 
 So, sighing deep, I pass'd upon my way, 
 Not strengthen'd, but more spiritually calm
 
 254 The City of Dream, [bk. 
 
 Because the little herdboy's voice was sweet; 
 
 And now my pathway by a streamlet ran, 
 
 And in the midst upon a mossy stone 
 
 Sat the white-breasted ouzel of the brook, 
 
 Plunging with soft chirp ever and anon 
 
 Into the crystal pool beneath her feet, 
 
 And rising dripping dewily to her throne 
 
 In the mid stream; and at the streamlet's brink 
 
 A lamb stood drinking, and I saw beneath 
 
 The stainless shadow broken tremulously 
 
 'Mid troubled shallows into flakes of snow. 
 
 Then, journeying ever upward, I beheld 
 
 The crags and rocks and air-hung precipices 
 
 Redden in sunset, and above the peaks, 
 
 Upon a bed of crimson duskly gleam'd 
 
 The argent sickle of the beamless morn ; 
 
 And lo, the winds had fallen and curl'd themselves 
 
 Like tired-out hounds in hollows of the hills. 
 
 Restlessly sleeping but from time to time 
 
 Audibly breathing; and deep stillness lay 
 
 Upon the mountains and the darkening slopes 
 
 Beneath their snows, and the low far-off moan 
 
 Of torrents deepening that stillness came 
 
 From the untrodden heights. 
 
 Huns: like a shield
 
 XII.] '^he Inconceivable, 255 
 
 Midway between the valley and the peaks 
 There lay a lone and melancholy mere; 
 And in its glass the hills beheld themselves 
 Misting the image with their vaporous breath. 
 Hither, while yet the sunset lit the crags, 
 Mirror'd below tho' it had faded long 
 From the dark hollows and the mere itself, 
 I came, and sitting on its margin watch'd 
 The faint light fade below me, softly changing 
 From pink to crimson, and from crimson dark 
 To darker purple, while one quiet star 
 Crawl'd like a shining insect of the depths 
 Upon the azure bottom of the mere. 
 Ev'n as I sat and mused I heard a voice 
 Behind me. Quickly turning I perceived 
 A gray grave mortal like a mountaineer 
 With crook and leathern shoon, his stature tall, 
 His shoulders stooping, and his eyes cast down 
 As if to read a book upon the ground; 
 Who gently greeted me, and courteously. 
 Like one mild-vestured in authority, 
 Welcomed me to that solitary place. 
 
 *What man art thou?' I ask'd. 'A friend,' he said, 
 'To all who cross this way on pilgrimage. 
 My name is Peaceful, call'd by simple folk
 
 2^6 The City of Tire am, [bk. 
 
 The Hermit of the Mere.' 
 
 'A lonely place,' 
 I answer'd; 'lonely, yet most, beautiful! 
 Its calm and loveliness are on thy brow, 
 Its music in thy voice which sounds to me 
 Soft as a fountain falling. Hast thou found 
 Here, up among the hills, the Gaje wherein 
 The pearl which passeth understanding lies, 
 And which for evermore with restless feet 
 We world-worn pilgrims seek?' 
 
 Upon my fece 
 Fixing the untroubled splendour of his eyes, 
 'Be comforted,' he said, 'for thou hast reach'd 
 Those heights where the Seraphic Shepherd guides 
 The world's sad flocks to their eternal fold ; 
 Thou seekest God. His stainless Temple stands 
 Among these mountains!' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Dwelling here alone, 
 Hast thou beheld Him with thy living eyes.? 
 
 Peaceful. 
 
 I have beheld the flowers o' the earth and sky. 
 The stately clouds that march and countermarch, 
 The shining spheres ; these evermore fulfil
 
 XII,] 'The Inconceivable. 257 
 
 His ministrations ; radiant is the Light 
 That covers up his face as with a veil ; 
 Soft is the shadow He in stooping casts 
 Nightly to bless the still and sleeping world ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 The God I seek is not so solitary ; 
 
 He hath built a City for His worshippers ! 
 
 Peaceful. 
 
 Nay, friend ; for he who seeks the living God 
 Must seek Him in the gentle solitude. 
 Here doth His presence brood in peace for ever 
 Still as the silence on the mountain-tops j 
 And he who findeth it, as 1 have found, 
 Must leave the flocks of men, and dwell alone. 
 
 Ev'n as he spake, and hush'd in awe I shrank 
 As one that shrinks and dreads the sudden birth 
 Of some miraculous divine event. 
 There pass'd across the scene we gazed upon 
 A mist like sudden breath : cloud follow'd cloud, 
 And underneath the mountains and the mere 
 Blacken'd, till utter darkness of the night 
 Enwrapt us fold on fold ; when, suddenly, 
 
 s
 
 258 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Out of the vapour rolling down the peaks 
 Red lightning came, before whose glaring spear 
 The Thunder, like a wounded monster, crouch'd 
 And shook with echoing groans ! 
 
 And with that change 
 My spirit changed within me, from deep dread 
 Back to familiar trouble and unrest ; 
 But as I stood and wonder'd, hesitating, 
 Methought that grave and gentle mountaineer 
 Did lead me to the shelter of his hut 
 Built by the lonely mere ; and there we sat 
 Together, while the tempest crash'd without 
 And rain made leaden music on the roof j 
 A flickering lamp of oil our only light, 
 Which served to show the peace upon his face, 
 The unrest on mine ; when, marvelling much to 
 
 mark 
 His mien of gentleness and happiness, 
 I brake the silence, thus : — 
 
 ' Aye me ! methinks 
 There is no resting-place or succour here 
 Amono; these mountains ! Needless 'twere to 
 
 climb 
 So high to find the calm and storm of God. 
 But 'tis the promised City that I seek — 
 A City of clear sunlight and sweet air.
 
 XII.] The Inconceivable. 259 
 
 Not darkness, and a mystery, and a change, 
 Fretting the spirit with primaeval fear.' 
 
 *0 friend,' he answer'd, ' I who speak have found 
 
 Peace passing understanding in my home 
 
 In this great solitude. What seek'st thou more ? 
 
 Is 't not enough to feel for evermore 
 
 The present of the fair Artificer 
 
 Who made the holy heavens and the earth 
 
 And all within them ? Cari His living breath 
 
 Not still thee, but thou criest for a sign ?' 
 
 Thereon I rose, and striding to the door, 
 Look'd forth into the night ; and, lo, the storm 
 Had pass'd away, leaving that mountain air 
 The calmer for its coming — the blue void 
 Was sown with stars like snowdrops ; on the mere, 
 Filmy with mist and moonlight, luminously 
 Like living things their bright reflections stirr'd ; 
 And all the pathos and the peace of heaven 
 Was pour'd upon the world in pensive beams. 
 
 Then rising too the hermit join'd me there. 
 And, looking upward with me, gently said : 
 * Still is the night and peaceful once again. 
 Have patience — so shalt thou^ too, lie and bask
 
 2 6o The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Under the beams of God. Come in and rest ; 
 To-morrow, if thou wilt, fare forth again, 
 But be my guest this night !' 
 
 He led me in. 
 And on the hearth he strew'd a simple bed 
 Of rushes dry and sweetly-scented fern, 
 Whereon I sighing threw my wearied limbs. 
 And for a time I toss'd in dark unrest, 
 But slept at last ; and when I open'd eyes 
 The merry light was flooding all the place. 
 And mountain, mere, and torrent were rejoicing 
 In the new dawn of day. 
 
 Then in the hut 
 We twain broke bread together and join'd hands 
 In fellowship of love ; but when he sought 
 To urge me to remain in that still land, 
 A hermit like himself, I seized my staff 
 And pointed to the mountain-tops that flash'd 
 Their kindled peaks above us. 
 
 'Yonder lies 
 The path that I must follow, though it lead 
 To utter darkness and to death,' I cried. 
 ' Nor deem my soul ungrateful for this help 
 Wherewith, most gentle and benign of friends. 
 Thou hast sought to cheer my spectre-troubled way. 
 But what thou dreamest I can never dream
 
 XII.] The Inconceivable. 261 
 
 By these still waters ; what thou dost behold 
 I, haunted out of patience, out of peace, 
 By that wild mirage of a heavenly City, 
 I, faint from a dark Valley of dead gods. 
 Behold not ; what thou findest mirror'd brightly 
 Within thee as within that gentle mere, 
 Alas, I cannot find, being darken'd ever 
 And clouded with a fear : wherefore our ways 
 Part gently, and my lips must say farewell.' 
 
 *So be it,' he answer'd. 'As the bow was bent 
 The dart must speed ; pray Heaven thy soul at last 
 May hit its lonely mark ! But since thy path 
 Is upward; I will guide thee for a space 
 Through yonder desolate and dark ravines. 
 High up among them, under shadowy crags, 
 One who once wander'd in the sun with me, 
 Nightshade by name, a lonely mountaineer, 
 Hath of a rocky cavern made his home. 
 He knows the loneliest summits and the heights 
 Familiar with the morning, and perchance 
 May help thy footsteps onward, where the peaks 
 Grow steep and perilous ! ' 
 
 So side by side 
 We wander'd on together till we past 
 From sunlight to the shadow of the hills ;
 
 262 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And as we went he spake in stately speech 
 
 Of pleasures that made glad his hermitage — 
 
 Of moonrise and the wonders of the mere. 
 
 Of flowers and stars, white lambs, and lamb-like men ; 
 
 So that I linger'd listening to his words. 
 
 And oftentimes glanced back with doubting eyes 
 
 On the bright waters and his happy home. 
 
 But now the clarion of the winds was blown 
 From height to hei2;ht, and flir above our heads 
 A sunbeam, springing godlike on a crag, 
 Stood tremulous, pausing between earth and heaven ; 
 And my feet hasten'd, and I felt once more 
 The motion of the life within my veins 
 Driftino; with wind and light and mist and cloud. 
 Dark was the way, my path a torrent's bed 
 Dried up to spots of dusty quicksilver 
 And strewn with fallen rocks ; but eagerly 
 I hasten'd, till at last my gentle guide 
 Paused, pointing, and I saw beneath a rock 
 One Nightshade sitting with lacklustre eyes 
 Gazing upon the ground and counting thoughts 
 Like one who telleth beads. 
 
 And for a space 
 He saw us not, though standing near his seat 
 We watched him ; but at last, like one that wakes
 
 XII.] The Inconceivable. 162 
 
 Out of a heavy sleep, he turn'd his head, 
 Saw us, and welcomed with a dreamful smile. 
 Him Peaceful greeted, and deliver'd forth 
 My name and errand, — when that other rose, 
 Grasping my outstretch'd hand in both of his, 
 And peer'd into my face like one that reads 
 A dark and mystic book. 
 
 * Pilgrim of God,' 
 He murmur'd, 'welcome to these lonely crags, 
 Wherein, with mystic sounds of death and birth, 
 The chaos of the Elemental stirs 
 To Thought ineffable ! ' 
 
 Even as he spake 
 He seem'd to fall again into a trance. 
 Whereon the other gently smiling said, 
 *Go with him ! even as the swift izzard. 
 Which safely walks the sword-edge of the cliffs. 
 Or as some angel-led somnambulist 
 Who falters not where waking men would fall. 
 He knows the paths of peril.' 
 
 Then once more 
 We two wrung hands and blessing one another 
 Parted. And lightly downward Peaceful ran 
 Until he left the shade of the ravine 
 And stood in golden sunlight far away 
 Uplooking, waved his hand, and from my sight
 
 264 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Vanish'd for ever. 
 
 Then to the other turning, 
 
 I told him of my quest and soul's desire 
 
 For certainty and peace ; 'But surely now,' 
 
 I added, ' surely now the end is near. 
 
 And I shall share the heavenly sight which fills 
 
 Thy face with rapture of mysterious dream ! ' 
 
 He answer'd not, but, muttering to himself, 
 
 Walk'd upward, choosing a dark path which seem'd 
 
 To wander right into the stony heart 
 
 Of those wild mountains : soon the riven rocks 
 
 Rose o'er us, leaving only one blue space, 
 
 A hand's breadth wide, to show the open heaven ; 
 
 And as one lying in an empty well 
 
 May, though full daylight burns beyond it, see 
 
 Stars circling in their orbits, I beheld 
 
 On that blue patch of space above my head 
 
 The gleam of constellations. Darker yet 
 
 The pathway grew, and now on every side 
 
 Gulfs yawn'd, abysses blacken'd, caverns deep 
 
 Open'd into the hollow of the crags, 
 
 And down the abysses cataracts leapt with hair 
 
 Foam-white that flash'd behind them, and there came 
 
 A sound and motion as of wings of birds 
 
 Beating the darkness ; so that unaware 
 
 My head swam, and methought I should have fallen
 
 XII.] The Inconceivable. 26^ 
 
 Into the precipices under us, 
 
 But even as I totter'd Nightshade's hand 
 
 Grasp'd and upheld me. 
 
 * Courage!' he exclaim'd, 
 'And fear not ; what thou dreadest is the abyss 
 Of thought within thee ! Follow fearlessly^ 
 And look not downward !' 
 
 Crag was piled on crag 
 Above us, precipice on precipice 
 Swam dizzily beneath us ; but as one 
 Who clings to a magician's robe, I gript 
 My Guide, and walk'd in safety till we gain'd 
 A place of caverns where like living ghosts 
 Wild shadows came and went; and in the void 
 Above those caverns lay an open space 
 Night-black and scrawl'd with starry zodiac signs ; 
 And faint lights of the far-off universe 
 Came, went, and came again, and in the void 
 The tremulous pulses of the eternal Light 
 Were visibly throbbing ! 
 
 Shuddering and afraid, 
 I cried, 'What realm is this ? and who are these 
 That are as living things and come and go ?' 
 And Nightshade answer'd : ''Tis the peaceful realm 
 Where with her crying children darkly dwells 
 The midnight mother. Meditation ;
 
 i66 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And what thou now dost see, or seem to see, 
 Is the dim conflict of unconscious shapes 
 In act to be !' And as he spake he pass'd 
 Into the shadow of a cave wherein 
 There sat a creature shapen like a man 
 But wan as any moonbeam ; and methought 
 Its face was misted with a vaporous veil 
 Through which its eyes shone dimly, while its lips 
 Moved to wild music, and 'twas thus it sang . — 
 
 I am lifted on the wind 
 
 Of a thought as fleet as fire. 
 No foothold can I find. 
 
 But the wings of my desire 
 Beat the troubled air and gleam 
 With the dripping dews of dream ! 
 
 I can hear the deep low thunder 
 Of the strong wheels of the sun, 
 
 I can see the green earth under, 
 As a golden ball is spun. 
 
 Rolling softly round and round 
 
 To a sweet and showery sound. 
 
 Life and Death unto my seeing 
 
 Are as vapours roll'd afar. 
 Through their folds the sea of Being, 
 
 With God's secret like a star 
 Shining o'er it, dark doth beat 
 'Nealh the winds below my feet.
 
 xn.] 'The Inconceivable. 16 j 
 
 I am tranced into fear 
 
 Of mine own swift-striking wings, 
 For I hover darkly here. 
 
 And the mystic cloud of things 
 Swims around me, and my brain 
 Trembles drenched with their rain. 
 
 And I cannot pause to think, 
 
 But my wings must beat and beat ; 
 
 If I pause for breath I sink 
 To the Ocean at my feet — 
 
 With the wings of my desire. 
 
 On a wind as swift as fire, 
 
 I must struggle ; and my thought 
 
 Gathers naught from my soul's sight-^ 
 
 Only shadows star-enwrought. 
 
 Death and Birth and Dawn and Night, 
 
 And the soft ecstatic motion 
 
 Of the Star above the Ocean. 
 
 Could I pause a little space. 
 
 Could I pause a space and listening, 
 
 With that starlight on my face. 
 See it glistening and glistening, 
 
 I could comprehend full plain 
 
 All the spirit seeks in vain. 
 
 But the wind whereon I sail 
 
 Is as terrible as fire. 
 And I walk the winds, but fail 
 
 With the wings of my desire.
 
 L 
 
 268 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And I swoon and seem to sink 
 On the mighty Ocean's brink. 
 
 And the cold breath of that Ocean 
 
 Lingers wildly in my hair. 
 And that strange Star's rhythmic motion 
 
 Soothes my passionate despair. 
 And on that one Star I call. 
 As I fall and fall and fall ! 
 
 The wild strain ceasing, from the caves and crags 
 There came the cries of other piteous voices 
 Blent in one murmur like the clangour cold 
 Of numerous ocean waves ; and as I paused 
 In terror, watching those phantasmic shapes, 
 One like a naked man pass'd by me shrieking 
 And plunged to some black gulf that yawn'd beneath; 
 And standing on the verge of the abyss 
 Another, like the spirit of the torrent. 
 Paused gazing upward with great sightless eyes. 
 And pointed at the lights of heaven, and moan'd: — 
 
 The Woof that I weave not 
 
 Thou wearest and weavest. 
 The Thought I conceive not 
 
 Thou darkly conceivest ; 
 The wind and the rain. 
 
 The night and the morrow. 
 The rapture of pain 
 
 Fading slowly to sorrow.
 
 xii.] I^he "Inconceivable. iG<) 
 
 The dream and the deed. 
 
 The calm and the storm. 
 The flower and the seed. 
 
 Are thy Thought and thy Form. 
 I die, yet depart not, 
 
 I am bound, yet soar free. 
 Thou art and thou art not. 
 
 And ever shalt be ! 
 
 Ev'n as he spake there flash'd across the peaks 
 
 A Spectre such as timid cragsmen see 
 
 Flashing upon the Brocken overhead : 
 
 So near, it Ht the chasms and the peaks, 
 
 So far, it seem'd a comet far aw^ay ! 
 
 Clear yet transparent, pale though phosphorescent, 
 
 It stream'd across the darkness terribly, 
 
 Fading and changing ; now^ a formless thing, 
 
 Trembling and meteoric, then, a space, 
 
 Bright as a w^inged beast of burning gold ; 
 
 Then kindling into human lineaments. 
 
 Wild locks, outstretching hands ; and then again 
 
 Melting to fiery vapour and departing 
 
 Sw^ift as a shooting star ; and as it changed 
 
 Those spirits from their caves peer'd out and v^^ail'd, 
 
 And splendour as of sunrise lit the crags 
 
 And show'd the continents and seas beneath. 
 
 The silver'd map of the dark sleeping world ;
 
 270 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And thunders from the heavens and earth beneath 
 Clash'd loud together, and the face of night 
 Was hidden, and from out the depths of life 
 There came the moans of countless weary men. 
 
 'Behold,' cried Nightshade, lit from head to feet 
 By that strange miracle of light, 'Behold 
 The Spectre of the Inconceivable ! 
 The Light that flaming on the shuddering; sense 
 
 DO O 
 
 Within us fades, but flash'd from soul to soul 
 
 Illumes that infinite ocean of sad thought 
 
 We sail and sail for ever and find no shore ! 
 
 The Dream, the Dream ! The Light that is the Life 
 
 Within us and without us, yet eludes 
 
 Our guessing — fades and changes, and is gone !' 
 
 Ev'n as he spake the light illumining 
 His form grew dimmer, and his face shone pale. 
 The shadows deepen'd, and the stars again 
 Lifted their silvern lids to gaze upon us, 
 While like a meteor that strange Portent fled 
 And darkness dwelt upon the lonely peaks.
 
 BOOK XIII. 
 
 THE OPEN WAT. 
 
 "1X7 HEN I awaken'd, wakening still in dream, 
 ' ' Methought that I was frail and bent with 
 years, 
 And on a road that wound through a o-reen vale 
 Slowly I trod, with pilgrim's staff and scrip, 
 While far away o'er dimly lightening hills 
 The rosy hand of Dawn closed softly o'er 
 One fluttering moth-like star ; and as the light 
 Grew clearer, on a bank I sat me down 
 To watch the coming day, and rest and muse. 
 ' Another day ' (ev'n thus my musings ran) 
 'Another coming of a dewy day 
 After a night of pain ! Once more above 
 The radiant rose of heaven openeth. 
 Petal by petal, glimmering in the dew ; 
 Once more the lark arises paramount ; 
 Once more the clouds move like a flock of sheep 
 Shepherded by the gentle summer wind.
 
 272 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The darkness is behind me, and I wake. 
 The way winds fresh before me, and I live. 
 O God ! O Father ! if indeed Thou art, 
 
 Face beyond the Phantom ! much I fear 
 My feet fail, while Thy City yet is far ! 
 The world is green as ever, and the way 
 Sweeter by reason of those perils past ; 
 Yet on my hair the snow falls, in mine eyes 
 Thy dust is blown. Now I perceive full well 
 
 1 set my soul upon a life-long quest 
 Which faileth if I pause before the end, 
 
 And yet my strength fails and my feet are sore 
 And surely I grow gray before my time. 
 Now of my weary journey nought remains 
 But babble of voices, glimmering of ghosts, 
 Tumult of shadows, with an under-sense 
 Of fair progressions moving to dim ends 
 Across a sad and problem-haunted world. 
 Much certes have I learn'd to make me wise. 
 Little to make me glad ; yet now I see 
 The green earth dripping balmy from the bath 
 Of orient, smiling ; but my soul for smiles 
 Is now too weary. Once my soul rejoiced 
 To drink the breath of each new dawn, to feel 
 The passion and the radiant power of life, 
 But now 'tis otherwise. The mask of Nature
 
 XIII.] 'The Open Way, 273 
 
 Is beautiful — yea, far more beautiful 
 
 Than aught that I have known in happy dreams, 
 
 Yet seeing that I know it for a mask, 
 
 I love it less \ and through its sockets shine 
 
 The Eyes behind, with portent horrible 
 
 And dangerous expectation. Help me, Lord ! 
 
 For 1 am sick and weary of the way.' 
 
 O bright the morning came, as brightly shining 
 Upon the trembling murtherer's raised hair 
 As on the little clench'd hand of the babe 
 Smiling in sleep ! softly the white clouds sail'd, 
 Edged with vermilion, to the east ; the mists 
 Rose like white altar-smoke from that green vale, 
 The forests stirr'd with numerous leafy gleams. 
 The birch unbound her shining hair, the oak 
 Shone in his tawny mail, and from the wood 
 The brook sprang laughing ; and above the fields 
 The lark rose, singing that same song it sang 
 On Adam's nuptial morn ! Fresh, fair, and green, 
 Glisten'd that valley — only here and there 
 A little fold of morning vapour clung 
 To curtam yet some dewy mystery ; 
 But through these folds of mist peep'd shining 
 
 spires, 
 Fir tops as green as emerald, rookeries 
 
 T
 
 274 '^^^ ^^^y of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Loud with the cawing rooks. In the damp fields 
 The mottled cattle gleam'd, while o'er the style 
 The shepherd, yawning with a fresh red face, 
 Came ankle-deep in dew. 
 
 Then I beheld 
 The vale was populous, for here and there 
 In straight lines upward through the dead still air 
 The smoke of quaint and red-tiled hamlets rose. 
 And mossy bridges arch'd like maidens' feet 
 Spann'd still canals whereon, by stout steeds drawn. 
 Moved broad boats piled with yellow scented hay. 
 And soon my heart took cheer, and as I went, 
 Half sad, half merry, to myself I sang 
 This ditty of the sunshine and the dawn : — 
 
 Pleasant blows the growing grain. 
 Golden, scented with the rain ; 
 Pleasant soundeth the lark's song 
 O'er the open way. 
 
 Pleasant are the passing folk. 
 Russet gown and crimson cloak. 
 To and fro they pass along 
 Ail the summer day. 
 
 I can hear the church bells sound 
 From the happy thorpes around ; 
 Men and maidens, old and young, 
 
 Flock afield full gay.
 
 XIII.] T^he Open Way. ly ^ 
 
 Sweet is sunshine on the lea. 
 Sweet it is to hear and see. 
 
 Sweet it were to join the throng. 
 If my soul could stay ! 
 
 So sang I, hastening by the open road. 
 
 And all my heart was quicken'd twentyfold 
 
 Because of brightness and a pleasant place ; 
 
 But even as I sang I overtook 
 
 A wight who walking slowly seem'd to brood 
 
 In potent meditation, downcast-eyed. 
 
 And with no sign I would have pass'd him by, 
 
 Scarce noting the calm brow and clear-cut cheeks, 
 
 Had not the stranger raised his eyes and smiled 
 
 Calm greeting such as fellow-scholars gave. 
 
 Half absently, when pacing slow within 
 
 The groves of Academe ; whereat, indeed. 
 
 My feet began to pause unconsciously, 
 
 And my looks question'd of the pale cold face, 
 
 The dreamless eyes, the calm unruffled brow, — 
 
 For all was restless trouble in my soul. 
 
 Yet these seem'd peaceful as a woodland well. 
 
 Now, seeing my perplexity, once more 
 
 The stranger smiled, saying : 'Good morrow, Sir, — 
 
 A scholar, I presume ? and by thy guise 
 
 A dweller in some city by the sea ?
 
 276 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 But wherefore in such haste ?' 
 
 Then I replied : 
 'Because the hunger and the thirst divine 
 Consume me, and with sleepless feet I seek 
 The City of the Lord.' 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Nay, pardon me — 
 What City, friend ? and furthermore, what Lord ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 The Lord of Light, whose name is Beautiful. 
 Thou smilest. Is thy soul so desolate 
 That it hath never heard the name of God ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Not so. I know the names of God full well. 
 But which god ? There are many, I believe. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 There is one God which made the heavens and earth, 
 The air, the water, all that in them is. 
 
 Stranger. 
 In sooth ? Hast thou beheld Him with thine eyes ?
 
 XIII.] 'The Open Way. 277 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Nay ; none may look upon His face and live. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Thou hast not seen Him yet thou sayest He is, 
 He whom thou hast not seen ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 I say again, 
 No mortal may behold Him and endure. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 If thou hast not beheld Him for thyself, 
 
 How knowest thou that \ Upon what testimony ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Upon the testimony of His works — 
 
 Yonder wide heaven, this green-hollow'd earth ; 
 
 His footprints on the rocks and on the sands ; 
 
 His finger-touch o' nights when I sleep sound 
 
 (Yet start on being touch'd and waken up 
 
 With empty arms!); His seal on dead men's 
 
 graves; 
 His signs, His portents, His solemnities.
 
 278 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 'Tis strange ; for I have search'd as close as thou, 
 
 Deeper than most, aided by such wise lore 
 
 As lieth in the circles of the schools — 
 
 I have found naught, vv^here thou hast found so much. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Dost thou deny Him ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Nay, by Epicurus ! 
 Logician am I and philosopher : 
 What, on the one side, cannot be affirm'd, 
 Can never be denied, upon the other. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 I will accost thee in a rounder way. — 
 
 Canst thou keep calm, canst thou sleep sound o' 
 
 nights. 
 Indifferent whether there be God or no ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 And I will answer thee as roundly, friend. 
 But first, permit me to disclose my name, 
 My calling, and the business I pursue.
 
 xrii.] 'The Open Way. 279 
 
 I am a scholar, christen'd Lateral, 
 
 Truth-speaker, dweller on the open way. 
 
 Much have I read in books, and more in men, 
 
 Far have I wander'd, deeply have I weigh'd 
 
 The words and ways of pilgrims passing by ; 
 
 And much, I grant thee, they have blown abroad 
 
 This rumour of a City and a God : 
 
 Sometimes a City and a God ; ofttimes 
 
 A God without a City ; but a God 
 
 Invariably. Nay, in earlier days 
 
 I was beguiled out of the open way 
 
 To seek Him : in full daylight, diligently, 
 
 I sought Him, and I swear I found Him not ; 
 
 Nor did I seek Him blindly, nor by night. 
 
 But in full daylight, on the public road. 
 
 I do not say. He is not ; this I say : 
 
 To me He is not, being thus unseen. 
 
 And thou hast said. None may behold this God, 
 
 Because the sight would wither up the eyes ; 
 
 But as I am a scholar, I affirm 
 
 There is no sight of all that I have seen 
 
 So dazzling that mine orbs endured it not. 
 
 What can be seen is harmless to the eyes. 
 
 Since what the eyes can see the eyes can bear.' 
 
 Thereon I mused (methought) with darken'd brow.
 
 28o The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Then said : ' Dost thou know one Iconoclast ? 
 Meseems that thou hast learn'd his lessons 
 well.' 
 
 But Lateral cried, with wave of his white 
 
 hand, 
 ' I know the man thou meanest — know of him 
 Much good, some ill — but they would stone him 
 
 here. 
 Where I walk free, upon the open way. 
 He gibes at all things, I at no thing gibe, 
 But measure all men's problems logically, 
 Not mocking, but in truthful reverence.' 
 
 We twain, thus talking, wander'd side by 
 
 side, 
 And groups of men and women pass'd us by 
 In silence, as on harvest labour bent, 
 And many greeted Lateral by name. 
 Then as the toilworn congregation grew, 
 I ask'd, 'What folk are these who come and 
 
 go ?' 
 And Lateral in a low voice replied : 
 'Friend, some of these are Pilgrims like thyself 
 Whom I most courteously have spoken with. 
 Persuading them, whatever they believe.
 
 XIII.] 'The Open Way. 281 
 
 That labour near the open way is best ; 
 And lo ! they leave the riddle of the gods 
 And quench their sad desires in blessed toil.' 
 
 Whereon I cried: 'Hast thou search'd every- 
 where?' 
 And 'Yea,' said Lateral ; when solemnly, 
 With mine uplifted finger pointing back, 
 I cried : ' Raise now thine eyes to yonder peaks 
 Of mountain crested with eternal snow — 
 Hast thou sought thereF' And Lateral answer'd : 
 
 'Nay! 
 I am a dalesman, no mad mountaineer, 
 Nor do I deem a God, if God there be. 
 Would hang His glory like an icicle 
 Out of the common sunlight !' 
 
 ' Raise thine eyes,' 
 I answer'd, in a whisper thick with awe ; 
 ' Hast never, in the darkness, seen His feet 
 Flash yonder, like the flashing of a star ? 
 Or 'midst the hush of a still frosty night 
 Hast thou not seen Him from afar, swathed 
 
 round 
 With moonlight, lying like a corpse asleep 
 Upon the silence of the untrodden peaks, 
 With lights innumerable round His head
 
 282 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Blowing blue i' the wind ? or hast thou never 
 
 mark'd 
 A motion, the white waving of a Hand ?' 
 
 Then Lateral, discerning in mine eyes 
 Who spake the tumult of a maniac pain, 
 Gently replied : 'I should have told thee, friend, 
 I am close-vision'd : what I see full nigh, 
 I see full clear, but these poor eyes of mine 
 Have never reach'd to the cold realm of ghosts.' 
 
 Then did I laugh in scorn. ' Blind human mole. 
 Dull burrower in the darkness ! not for thee 
 God's glimmer, or the secret of the stars. 
 I see in thee the sexton of the creeds — 
 A cold and humourous knave, with never a guess 
 Beyond his spade and the cold skull it strikes 
 In digging his own grave. But fare thee well — 
 Our paths part here.' 
 
 I spake, and on I ran. 
 Leaving the pallid scholar far behind. 
 
 And as I pass'd along the open way, 
 I met on every side the drowsy stare 
 Of bovine human faces, heard the hum 
 Of hollow human voices ; here and there
 
 XIII.] T^he Open Way. 283 
 
 From bushy thickets peep'd a peaceful spire, 
 And oftentimes a church-bell rang, and folk 
 Came thronging unto prayer. 
 
 Then, slackening pace. 
 Darkling I mused. ' They toil, and pray together 
 In intervals of toil ; and yet meseems 
 Their toil and prayer are cold mechanic things, 
 Since on no face there lieth any light 
 Of expectation, hope, or bright resolve. 
 Happy they seem ; and happy are the beasts 
 They yoke for labour in the water'd meads ; 
 And with the reverent habit of the sense 
 They soothe the solemn motions of the soul.' 
 And, looking round, on every side I sought 
 Some pilgrim w^ith a heaven-seeking face. 
 But found none : only harvest- hoping eyes, 
 And lips compress'd with thoughts of golden gain. 
 
 At last, grown weary of the open way, 
 
 I turn'd aside, prest through a quickset hedge. 
 
 And over meads that rose to sunny slopes 
 
 Began with careless idle feet to fare ; 
 
 But resting on my staff from time to time. 
 
 Drawing deep breath, I watch'd the winding road 
 
 Crowded with men and women of the vale. 
 
 Sweet were the slopes I trod with grass and thyme,
 
 284 T^he City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 And cool the clear air blew from bank to bank 
 Of crowsfoot flowers ; and as I went I cried : 
 * O gladder this than is the open way, 
 The common level road of tilth and toil — 
 For men are foolish, weak, and miserable. 
 Gazing straight downward like to blindest beasts, 
 Yoked to the ploughshare and prick'd forward ever 
 By base ignoble goads ! ' 
 
 Even as I spake, 
 I saw, upon a green bank in the sun 
 Beside a running brook, a curious wight 
 Who lying on his belly half asleep 
 Heard the brook gurgle in a gentle dream. 
 Yet read or seem'd to read an open Book 
 Set among scatter'd lilies on the grass. 
 He, looking upward as I slowly came, 
 Smiled like an infant or a heathen god 
 Calm and complacent in its gilded niche, 
 And nodded greeting supercilious 
 With half-shut eyes ; and him I gazed upon 
 Awhile in silence, breathing from the ascent. 
 Then question'd : — 
 
 ' Who art thou that lyest here 
 Close to the tumult of the open way, 
 Lord of thyself and pitiful to scorn 
 Of those who all around thee like to bees
 
 XIII 
 
 .] 'The Open Way. 285 
 
 Throng in and out the hive ? What man art thou, 
 And what is that great Book which thou dost 
 read?' 
 
 Then smiling softly, with the studied scorn 
 
 Of perfect courtesy, the man replied : 
 
 ' I am a student, Microcos by name, 
 
 Who, scorning babble and the popular voice. 
 
 Dwell in the certainty of summer meads 
 
 Scarce vex'd by fear of thunder ; and in this 
 
 Book- 
 Observe it — old it is and worm-eaten — 
 Writ in the common tongue and therewithal 
 Dear to the common folk, I smiling read 
 Strange, sweet, old tales of God.' Thereon I said. 
 Stretching mine arms out with a weary cry : 
 ' Thou art the man I seek, for surely thou 
 Must know the magic that makes conscience clear, 
 And as with nard and frankincense anoints 
 The sad worn feet of Woe. Unfold to me 
 Thy knowledge and the knowledge of thy Book.' 
 
 But Microcos uplifted a white hand 
 In protestation. ' Friend,' he said, ' be calm. 
 Dark on thy tired eyes lies dust of earth, 
 And on thy tongue the echoes of the road
 
 286 T'he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Ring hollow yet. Mark me, the sweet blue sky 
 Was ne'er yet mirror'd in a broken water ! 
 And for the blessed knowledge thou dost seek 
 Calm is the consecration ! Sit awhile 
 Beside me on the greensward by the brook. 
 And mark the white clouds sailing overhead. 
 The blue sky misted with its own soft breathing. 
 Then while the brook sings and from yonder 
 
 comes 
 Subdued by distance the deep hum of men, 
 Let us together read a little space 
 The Legend of the Book.' 
 
 Methought I stretch'd 
 My weary limbs upon the velvet sward. 
 And watch'd the white clouds sailing overhead. 
 The blue sky misted with its own soft breathing ; 
 Then listen'd to the murmur of the brook, 
 And heard the cries of mortals faint as dream, 
 While in a low voice Microcos intoned, 
 With white forefinger on the stained page. 
 But scarcely had he turn'd one fluttering leaf, 
 When with a moan of wonder and of pain 
 I leapt up, wildly crying : ' Peace ! O peace ! 
 'Tis the same Legend I so oft have read — 
 The same dark Legend that hath made men mad — 
 No more, no more !'
 
 XIII.] T^he Open Way. 287 
 
 MiCROCOS. 
 
 Now verily T perceive 
 The w^ays of unbelief have darken'd thee. 
 Sweet is the Book, read sweetly, in sweet 
 
 weather. 
 O listen, and thy soul will be at peace. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Peace ! Who names peace ? O man ! the words 
 
 thou readest 
 Are as a whirlwind on a battle plain, 
 And every letter on that printed page 
 Is red as blood. How canst thou sit and smile. 
 And 'mid that carnage of the stained leaves 
 Sit as a dove that o'er its own voice broods 
 Perch'd on the red mouth of a murther'd man ? 
 
 MiCROCOS. 
 
 Meseems the Book is very beautiful. 
 
 Read in the light of Beauty, beautifully. 
 
 It tells of God, who framed the heavens and 
 
 earth. 
 Who made Himself a sorrow and a sword. 
 Who lash'd Euroclydon unto his grip, 
 And 'mid the fiery smoke of sacrifice
 
 288 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Sat as the Sphynx with cold eternal eyes 
 Outlooking on his pallid worshippers. 
 Nay, further, of that same strange God it tells 
 Who clothed Himself with our humanity 
 As with a garment, drank the running brook, 
 And pass'd, a wan Shape waving feeble hands, 
 Silently thro' the very gates of Death ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 That God I seek ! O if these things be true, 
 Instruct me — let me look upon His face ! 
 Thou smilest. Read the riddle of thy smile. 
 
 MiCROCOS. 
 
 I smile because thou comest fresh from paths 
 
 Where Literal and Lateral (the drones !) 
 
 Interpret the dry letter of the Book. 
 
 I tell thee, friend (now hear and be at peace !), 
 
 These things are phantasies and images 
 
 As unsubstantial as the dream I dream 
 
 Stretch'd here beside the babbling of the brook ; 
 
 Yet sweeter, being dream : yea, no less sweet 
 
 Than moonlight, or the wonder of the flower, 
 
 Or aught of beautiful or terrible 
 
 That haunts the reo-ions of the earth or air.
 
 XIII.] The Open Way. 289 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Where is this God ? I care not by what name 
 Ye know Him- — Beautiful or Terrible ? 
 Where is this God ? and is He God at all ? 
 
 MiCROCOS. 
 
 I have not seen Him, and I know Him not. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Dost thou believe He is ? or dost thou read 
 
 A fable, disbelieving that He is ? 
 
 For either all that Book is dust and lies, 
 
 Or else there was a Father and a Son — 
 
 A cruel Father and an outcast Son 
 
 The story of whose tears on this sad earth 
 
 Is there in words of wonder written down. 
 
 But with a dreamy smile the wight replied : 
 ' These things I understand not ; this I know — 
 Sweet is the Book, read sweetly, in sweet weather. 
 I prithee quit my sunshine !' Thereupon 
 He turn'd his back, and on his elbows leaning, 
 Smiled and read on, — while with a bitter cry 
 I left him, and ascended the green hill 
 Close to whose feet he lay. 
 
 u
 
 290 The City of Dream. [ 
 
 BK, 
 
 Meseem'd I climb'd 
 Through verdurous ways for hours until I reach'd 
 The grassy summit ; there methought I found 
 A man in ragged raiment all alone ; 
 And lo, his face was set as is a star 
 In contemplation of some far-off thing 
 Down in a valley underneath his feet. 
 Nor when I near'd him did he turn or speak. 
 But sadly gazed ; and following his gaze 
 Mine eyes saw nothing but afar away 
 What seem'd a shining cloud. 
 
 I touch'd his arm 
 And question'd : ' What is that thou gazest on ?' 
 
 And he replied, not looking in my face : 
 
 * The City without God, where I was born.'
 
 BOOK XIV. 
 
 rHE CITT WITHOUT GOD. 
 
 EAUTEOUS and young, yet bent as with the 
 load 
 
 Of weary years, pale as a wintry May 
 When lingering frosts silver the path that leads 
 To brightness of the flowering summer meads. 
 Was he who spake : his locks of tender gold 
 Sadden'd with gleams of grey, his great blue eyes 
 Pallid and dim with melancholy light. 
 His voice forlorn yet sweet ; and by a chain 
 He held a snow-white lamb that stood beside him 
 And gently lick'd his thin transparent hand. 
 
 I echoed him : ' The City without God ! 
 Alas ! what City ?' ' Yonder,' he replied, 
 ' Behold it gladdening in the light of day !' 
 
 So saying, he pointed downward, and behold ! 
 I saw the gleam of shining roofs and walls 
 Below me on the plain ; and fair they seem'd
 
 292 "The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 As any upbuilt by hands, and thitherward 
 
 Ran divers ways with thronging crowds that 
 
 seem'd, 
 Seen from that hilltop, small as creeping ants. 
 He stood as moveless as a marble man 
 Down gazing, while I question'd : ' Weary years 
 I have sought the City of God and found it not. 
 Who built this other underneath God's heaven ?' 
 
 He answer'd, keeping still his misted eyes 
 Fix'd on the vision : ' They who built the City 
 First laid the shadowy ghosts of all the gods, 
 And, lastly, God the Father's ; then they 
 
 wrought 
 Beneath the empty void and drain'd the marsh, 
 And out of earth quarried the marble bones 
 Of buried aeons, and with blood and tears 
 Cemented them together, and at last. 
 Strange as a dream, the City of Man uprose.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 How fair it seems ! yea, even fairer far 
 Than the proud City of Christopolis ! 
 And thither hasten crowds as eagerly 
 As happy people making holiday !
 
 XIV.] 'The City without God. 293 
 
 The Stranger. 
 
 From every corner of the earth they throng, 
 
 Hearing the joyful music of the bells 
 
 Proclaiming that the reign of God is done ! 
 
 I woke to that same music long ago, 
 
 Nor wonder'd, tho' mine ears had never heard 
 
 The name of any God, nor knew of any, 
 
 Save the great Spirit of Man ; and when I ran 
 
 A child along the golden streets, and saw 
 
 The air alive with shining argosies. 
 
 The ways all beautiful, the temples fiU'd 
 
 With sunshine and with music, I rejoiced 
 
 As only children may ; but presently, 
 
 Ere yet I grew to the full height of man, 
 
 There came a wight in pilgrim's weeds like thine 
 
 Who told me of strange Cities far away 
 
 Where God still reign'd, and of the woeful Valley 
 
 Still haunted by the shadows of dead gods. 
 
 And suddenly, out of a gate in heaven, 
 
 A piteous Face Divine look'd down upon me 
 
 And vanished ; and from that dark hour I knew 
 
 No gladness in the shining of the sun. 
 
 His voice was as a cry upon a mountain 
 Far off and faint, yet clear j and as he ended
 
 294 '^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 He turn'd his eyes upon me, dim with tears, 
 
 Then said : ' Retrace thy steps and hasten back ! 
 
 Better the woefulest cities thou hast seen 
 
 Than yonder happy City of Despair !' 
 
 Whereat I cried : ' Since in Christopolis 
 
 No comfort dwells, but only (as I have seen) 
 
 A blood-red crucifix upon a grave. 
 
 And since my weary flight has ranged the world. 
 
 Seeking in vain a City upbuilt by God, 
 
 I will go down to yonder City of Man 
 
 And therewithin find some calm place of rest ; 
 
 For they who built it up so bright and fair 
 
 Must of all men be closest kin to gods 
 
 In love, in wisdom, and in mastery.' 
 
 He answer'd : ' Search the City if thou wilt. 
 And I will guide thee thither ; yet be warn'd^ — 
 No Pilgrim God hath haunted out of hope 
 Ever abides among those shining walls ; 
 For if they slay him not, or if he 'scapes 
 Their melancholy prisons of the mad, 
 He flies into the wastes beyond the City 
 And nevermore returns.' 
 
 Then side by side 
 We pass'd descending towards the open way 
 Crowded with wayfarers ; and as we went
 
 xrv.] The City without God. 295 
 
 The splendour of the City dazzled me 
 Like the great golden lilies of the dawn j 
 And presently we reach'd the living river 
 Which swept us onward till I saw full clear 
 The marvel of the domes that man had built. 
 
 Even as I paused in wonder, crying aloud 
 ' Rejoice ! for, lo, I have found at last a City 
 More beauteous far than any built by gods !' 
 I turn'd to share my joy with that pale wight 
 Who had led me thither, but his face and form 
 Had vanish'd in the crowd surrounding me, 
 And into those bright streets I pass'd alone. 
 
 Thus wandering on I joyfully discern'd 
 
 The white and shining walls, the flashing roofs, 
 
 Of that great City ; not so fair, meseem'd, 
 
 As far-off splendours of Christopolis, 
 
 Yet stately, calm, and beautiful indeed. 
 
 With marble palaces in stately squares. 
 
 Broad streets with glad green trees on either side. 
 
 Bright gardens, leaping fountains, temples, fanes. 
 
 Observatories lifted high in air 
 
 Near to the sun and stars, — all beauty and grace 
 
 Of earthly cities builded up by hands ; 
 
 No walls it had, nor gates of brass or stone,
 
 296 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 But mighty avenues on either side 
 Where all might enter in ; and as I went 
 I pass'd the citizens in snowy robes 
 Going and coming calmly in the sun. 
 
 Brighter, and ever brighter, as I went 
 
 Grew the full sunlight of the shining place ; 
 
 And as I wander'd through the bright broad streets 
 
 With leafy colonnades on either side. 
 
 And saw the stately white-robed citizens, 
 
 Peaceful and gentle, moving to and fro. 
 
 And watch'd o'erhead the many-colour'd ships 
 
 Winged like eagles sailing hither and thither, 
 
 My sorrow lessen'd and my fears grew cold. 
 
 For surely never City of the earth 
 
 Was brighter and more fair ! — Down every street 
 
 A cooling rivulet ran, and in the squares 
 
 Bright fountains sparkled ; and where'er I walk'd 
 
 The library, the gymnasium, and the bath 
 
 Were open to the sun ; virgins and youths 
 
 Swung in the golden air like winged things, 
 
 Or in the crystal waters plunged and swam. 
 
 Or raced with oiled limbs from goal to goal ; 
 
 And in the hush'd and shadowy libraries, 
 
 Or in the galleries of painted art. 
 
 Or in the dusk museum, neophytes
 
 XIV.] 'The City ivithout Gcd. 297 
 
 Walk'd undisturb'd ; and never sound of war, 
 Clarion or trumpet, cry of Priest or King, 
 Came to disturb the City's summer peace ; 
 And never a sick face made the sunlight sad, 
 And never a blind face hunger'd for the light. 
 And never a form that u^as not strong and fair 
 Walk'd in the brightness of those golden streets. 
 
 Then thought I, ' F'airer at least and happier 
 
 This City is than vv^as Christopolis, 
 
 For all that dwell herein are strong and free !' 
 
 And as I spake I saw afar away 
 
 The reddening sunset and the approaching night ; 
 
 When, suddenly, ere the dark night could fall, 
 
 Radiance like sunlight from a thousand lamps 
 
 Flooded the bosom of the wondrous City 
 
 And made it bright as dawn ! 
 
 Methought I sat 
 Out in the brightness of a mighty square, 
 And watch'd the light and airy argosies 
 Quietly sailing 'gainst the shadow'd sky, 
 Now rising, now descending, even as birds. 
 With some fresh freight of men beneath their wings ; 
 But as I mused I heard a sudden roar 
 As of a tide of life fast flowing thither. 
 And soon a crowd of white-robed citizens
 
 298 T^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Surged wildly round me, bearing in their midst 
 That pallid wight whom I had mark'd at morn 
 Leading his flower-deck'd lamb ; and many hands 
 Were reach'd unto him, to grasp or strike him down, 
 And crying wildly to my side he ran 
 And saying, ' Help me, brother ! ' fell and knelt. 
 Grasping my robe. 
 
 Then, as the crowd swept down, 
 I faced them, saying, ' Stand back, and touch him not ! 
 Children of freedom, citizens of peace, 
 Why are your spirits vex'd against this man ?' 
 Then one, a reverent wight with beard like snow, 
 Stepp'd from their ranks and answer'd : ' Give him 
 
 to us ! 
 He hath profaned our temples, and is mad.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 What would ye with him ? Back, and answer me ! 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 Strange to this City must thou be indeed, 
 Not knowing that its rulers, holy men, 
 Endure not in the shrines or public ways 
 The hideousness of disease or pestilence, 
 Nor any sight of moral leprosy.
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 299 
 
 Nor any form of spiritual taint 
 
 Whereof men surely die. Give up the man j 
 
 We shall not slay him, but deliver him 
 
 To those w^ho in our public hospitals 
 
 Are the approved physicians of the soul. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Name me his madness ere I yield him up, 
 And give me proof of his profanity. 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 The proof is simple. Through our streets he walk'd 
 
 Crying on some w^ild spectre of the brain. 
 
 Yea, naming an old name of little meaning. 
 
 The name of God, v^^hich (as our granddames tell) 
 
 Was in the olden times of ignorance 
 
 By nurses used to quiet children with ; 
 
 Moreover, having enter'd unperceived 
 
 One of our holy Hospitals of Birth 
 
 Wherein the wheat is winnow'd from the tare, 
 
 The strong life from the weak, he straightway 
 
 raved 
 And in the name of that same God blasphemed ! 
 
 Then stooping down to him who clutch'd my robe,
 
 300 The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 I question'd saying, 'Brother, are these things 
 
 true ? ' 
 And like a man whose face is blanched still 
 From some strancre sight of horror infinite. 
 He wail'd reply : — 
 
 ' Ah, God ! it haunts me still ! 
 The darken'd hall, the devils stoled in black, 
 The cries of little children newly born. 
 And from the distant darkness the low moans 
 Of woeful mothers ! Brother, stoop thy head 
 And listen ! — As they bare the sweet babes in, 
 Methought they look'd like angels newly fallen, 
 Tender as rose-leaves, from the hands of God ; 
 And some were strong, and drew great draughts of 
 
 life. 
 And these they spared ; but some were weak and 
 
 frail. 
 Poor little waifs with sad dim heavenly eyes. 
 And these, being tried with delicate instruments. 
 Were straightway still'd, and quickly swept away 
 Like useless leaves, for instant burial ; 
 And some were blind, and since they could not see. 
 They threw them into darkness with the rest ! 
 Then, brother, looking on that piteous sight, 
 Seeing the little children cast away, 
 I hid my face, and call'd aloud on God !
 
 XIV.] I'he City without God. 301 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 You hear him. Yea, he raves ! And such as he, 
 In name of that effete and loathsome Christ 
 Who made of this sweet world a lazar-house, 
 Would swarm our streets with sick and halt and lame, 
 And give our precious birthright to the blind ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Take heed, lest thou thyself blaspheme and rave \ 
 
 ClTIZ2N. 
 
 How now ? Dost thou defend and justify him ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Would 'twere as easy a task to justify 
 
 Meters and measurers of the flesh and soul ; 
 
 For if these things he saith be true indeed 
 
 'Tis your archpriests who are surely mad, not he ; 
 
 For who, beholding any thing new-born, 
 
 Be it fair or frail, happy or miserable. 
 
 Shall say what soul may grow from such a seed ? 
 
 And who shall know but the infirmest flesh, 
 
 Though dark and dumb as any chrysalis, 
 
 May hold the strongest and the surest wings 
 
 That ever rose to the clear air of heaven ?
 
 302 "The City of Tire am. [bk. 
 
 Nay, who shall tell what light we cannot see 
 Whose orbs see only earth and earthly things 
 Steals through the darken'd casements of those eyes 
 Whereon the Hand divine hath drawn a veil ? 
 
 Citizen, 
 Beware to echo him and share his blame ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 He cried to God, and God shall hear his cry ! 
 
 I join my voice to his, and cry a curse 
 
 On this your City, fouler far to God 
 
 (If these sad things he saith be true indeed) 
 
 Than Sodom, which He did destroy by fire ! 
 
 Citizen. 
 Another madman ! Brethren, grasp them both ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Yea, seize us and destroy us, since ye slay 
 The little crying helpless seed of Him 
 Who in His pity made Himself a Child ! 
 O God, Who made the lambkin and the babe. 
 And fiU'd the great heart of the martyr'd babe 
 With human dews of love and gentleness.
 
 XIV.] 'The City without God. 303 
 
 So that He grew the help and friend of man — 
 
 God, whose smile was for the sick and sad. 
 The halt, the lame, the wretched, and the blind, 
 Put out Thy hand to help Thy little ones, 
 
 And gnaw to death with Thine avenging worms 
 This Herod of the Cities in its pride ! 
 
 Ev'n as I spake, with frantic prayers and cries. 
 Clasping that hunted brother in my arms. 
 They swept upon us and despite our shrieks 
 Tore us asunder, trampled under foot 
 The flower-fed lamb that gentle wanderer led, 
 And swept me cruelly I knew not whither. 
 Struggling amidst their throng, methought I swoon'd; 
 And when I open'd startled eyes once more 
 Methought that I was lying chain'd and bound 
 Within some lonely madhouse of the City ! 
 
 How strange it seem'd that, ere my sense grew clear, 
 My eyesight ready to distinguish shapes, 
 
 1 lay and listen'd to an old sweet hymn 
 Sung o'er my cradle when a little child ! 
 
 And then I heard a sound like m-urmur'd prayer. 
 And louder singing as of angel-choirs. 
 Then, looking round, I saw that I was lying 
 Within a large and dimly-lighted hall,
 
 304 T^f'is City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And all around were human shapes like mine — 
 Women and men, some chain'd as I was chain'd. 
 And others moving ghostlike to and fro j 
 And from the throats of some of these there came 
 The murmur I had heard of hymn and prayer. 
 Gentle they seem'd, save one or two who shriek'd, 
 Gnash'd teeth, or tore their hair, crying aloud 
 Upon the God of Thunder. Some stood wrapt 
 Their eyes on some strange vision and their arms 
 Wildly outreaching; others knelt at prayer j 
 A few moved to and fro, with eyes cast down, 
 Musing and pale ; and many told their beads. 
 Bare was the place — no picture hanging there, 
 Or any fair device to please the gaze j 
 But on the whitewash'd wall the mad folks' hands 
 Had written strange old names — of God the Lord, 
 Christ Jesus, Mary Mother, and the Saints ; 
 And crouching in a corner one poor soul, 
 Dreaming aloud and muttering to himself. 
 Had drawn in charcoal Death the Skeleton, 
 Buddha as black as night but radiant-wing'd. 
 And Christ, with hanging head, upon His Cross. 
 
 Wondering and pitying I gazed around 
 Seeking some friendly face ; and I beheld. 
 Standing close by me in a saffron robe,
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 305 
 
 A maiden like Madonna heavenly-eyed, 
 Her white hands folded meekly on her breast, 
 Praying and looking upward in a dream. 
 To her I spake, demanding reverently 
 What place it was wherein I prison'd lay, 
 And who my weary fellow-sufferers were 
 That in that dreary building flock'd together ? 
 
 ' Dear brother,' she replied, ' this is the place 
 Wherein those weary wights who are mad past cure 
 Are prison'd from the sunshine and sweet air ; 
 All here are pilgrims like thyself, who seek 
 God and God's City, with assurance sweet 
 Of life immortal and eternal peace.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Then these are mad folk, and I, too, am mad ? 
 And yet, meseems, though some are sad and wild, 
 Many are smiling, bright and well-content. 
 
 The Maiden. 
 
 Because each night, when all the doors are closed. 
 Fair angels fresh from heaven enter here j 
 Yea, even Christ the Lord doth often come 
 To comfort them in their extremity. 
 
 I gazed upon her wondering, and methought
 
 jo6 The City of 'Dream, [bk. 
 
 Her azure eyes were strange and sweetly wild, 
 And patiently her bosom rose and fell 
 With some disturbing rapture of the soul ; 
 Wherefore I cried: — 
 
 'Alas ! they are mad indeed ! 
 Since they behold what is not, and perceive 
 That Phantom Christ whose other name is Death !* 
 
 The Maiden, 
 
 Nay, they behold the eternal Light and Life, 
 Whose earthly name is Christ the Crucified ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Yet tell me, wherefore are they prison'd here ? 
 
 The Maiden. 
 
 Because the rulers of the City hold 
 
 That they are lepers, who, being suffer'd forth, 
 
 And speaking with the people in the streets. 
 
 Would spread their souls' disease a hundredfold. 
 
 If any man doth breathe the Name Divine, 
 
 Or seeing strange visions tell what he hath seen. 
 
 Or speak of lands of dream beyond the grave, 
 
 Straightway they lead him here, to these dark halls. 
 
 For inquisition. 
 
 Even as she spake
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 307 
 
 The inquisitors appear'd, grave men and old 
 
 Array'd in solemn black, and usher'd in 
 
 By ceremonious guardians of the place ; 
 
 But, save myself, methought, none heeded them, 
 
 All those pale prisoners being intent in prayer, 
 
 Or singing aloud, or tranced into dream. 
 
 Then one, a keeper of the prison, led 
 
 The inquisitors to the corner where I lay, 
 
 And touching me upon the shoulder cried 
 
 * Stand up! and hearken!' — and still chain'd I 
 
 rose 
 And faced them, while with calm and pitying eyes 
 They coldly read my face for testimony. 
 Then one said, smiling, ' Fear not ! since we come 
 To heal thee, not to harm thee, if perchance 
 Thy grievous malady admits a cure. 
 Thou art one of those who darkening in a dream 
 See visions, and beyond these clouds of Time 
 Some phantom City builded upon air?' 
 
 Then I, forewarn'd and cunning to escape. 
 Smiled also : ' So they said who left me here ; 
 And perad venture, when I first set forth 
 On the sad pilgrimage which brought me hither, 
 I saw such phantoms, dream'd such dreams, and 
 raved ;
 
 3o8 The City of Dream. [ 
 
 BK. 
 
 But now, alas ! the euphrasy of pain 
 
 Hath purged mine eyes of that ancestral rheum, 
 
 And what my soul once saw I see no more.' 
 
 ' How now ? ' I heard them mutter among them- 
 selves, 
 'The man perchance is saner than we thought.' 
 And looking in my face, another said, 
 ' Be sure, if thou art heal'd of thy disease 
 Thou shalt escape these chains and wander free. 
 Now answer ! — What is highest of living things ?' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Man ; since he is the chief and lord of all. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 Whence comes he ? whither goes he .'' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Out of dust 
 He Cometh, and full soon to dust returns. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 
 When Death hath broken the light vase of life, 
 What then remaineth ?
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 309 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Ashes in an urn. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 Think! When the body is dust, doth naught survive? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Those thoughts v^^hich are the heirloom of us all, 
 The Spirit of Man w^hich lives though men pass by. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 
 Look round upon these souls u^hich share thy prison — 
 What are they ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Madmen. 
 
 Inquisitor. 
 
 Yea ; but wherefore mad f 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Because they see a Shadow^ on the w^orld, 
 Namely, the Shadow^ of Death, and call it God ; 
 Because their prayers like fountains flash at heaven 
 And fall unanswer'd back upon the ground ;
 
 jio . The City of Dream, [bk. 
 
 Because they, travelling in a desert place, 
 Behold the mirage of a City of Dream ! 
 
 Then I perceived they look'd at one another. 
 Smiling well pleased, and presently they said : 
 'The man is surely harmless — let him go !' 
 And straightway I was free ; but as I moved 
 In act to leave the place, the mad folk throng'd 
 Around me, crying the name of God aloud. 
 Rebuking and upbraiding ; and one, the maid 
 With whom I first had spoken, moan'd in mine ear, 
 * God help thee ! Since thou hast denied thy God, 
 Who now shall be thy succour and thy stay ?' 
 As sick of soul and shamed I crept away, 
 I heard behind me from the madhouse walls 
 The murmur of a fountain of strong prayer. 
 Voices that sang, ' Hosannah to the Lord ! 
 He hath built His City, and He calls us thither !* 
 And once again it seem'd the cradle-hymn 
 That I had heard when I was lying a babe 
 Fresh from the shores of some celestial sea ; 
 Wherefore my eyes grew dim with piteous tears. 
 And bowing down my head, I sobb'd aloud. 
 
 But bright as Hesper in the morning beams 
 The City sparkled — square and street and mart 
 Busy and merry, throng'd with white-robed crowds,
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 3 1 1 
 
 The blue air bright with happy argosies. 
 
 The water full of swimmers swift and nude, 
 
 The fountains leaping, and the hearts of all 
 
 Leaping in unison, while from countless choirs 
 
 A merry music rang ! But all my soul 
 
 Was weary of gladness, and I long'd, methought, 
 
 To be alone with God ; and seeing pass 
 
 One whose grave eyes seem'd sadder than the rest, 
 
 I touch'd him on the arm and said unto him, 
 
 ' Prithee, are there no Temples in this City, 
 
 Wherein a soul worn out on pilgrimage 
 
 May rest a space and pray ?' and he replied, 
 
 ' Yea, truly — there are many — and yonder stands 
 
 One of our fairest ' — pointing as he spake ; 
 
 And I beheld a mighty edifice. 
 
 Its dome of azure enwrought with golden signs. 
 
 Stars, constellations, jewell'd galaxies, 
 
 And changeful symbols of the zodiac ; 
 
 Over the columns of the portico 
 
 A frieze in marble — strong Asclepios 
 
 Pictured Apollo-like in godlike strength. 
 
 Dispensing herbs and healing crowds of sick, — 
 
 To a\r]Bivuv kol to tvepyertlvf 
 
 Written in golden letters underneath. 
 
 I climb'd the marble steps, and pushing back
 
 3 1 2 'The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The curtain on the threshold, enter'd in ; 
 
 And in an instant, as one quits the sun 
 
 And steals 'mid umbrage where the lio;ht is strain'd 
 
 Thro' blood-red blooms and alabaster leaves, 
 
 I found myself alone in solemn shades. 
 
 Facing me to the eastward, whence the day 
 
 Crept thro' a stained window (figuring 
 
 The Sun himself burnino- with golden beams 
 
 And lighting globes of green and amethyst), 
 
 A solemn Altar, upon which there stood 
 
 The golden image of a sleeping Child, 
 
 And bending o'er the cradle where he lay 
 
 A Skeleton of silver, ruby-eyed ; 
 
 And round the solemn place, to left and right. 
 
 Were many-colour'd windows limn'd whereon 
 
 Instead of saints were wise men of the earth — 
 
 Physicians azure-robed, astronomers 
 
 With stars for crowns, pale bards in singing robes. 
 
 And women like the sibyl, book in hand. 
 
 From some mysterious heart of this fair shrine 
 
 A solemn organ music slowly throbb'd. 
 
 With deep pulsations, like the sound o' the sea. 
 
 Then spirit-broken, awed and wondering, 
 
 I cast myself upon my face and pray'd ; 
 
 And while I lay, methought, an unseen choir 
 
 Sang of primaeval darkness suddenly
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 313 
 
 Struck by the golden ploughshare of the sun, 
 
 Of kindling azure fields where softly fell 
 
 The nebulous seeds that blossom'd into worlds. 
 
 Of dark transfigurations changing slowly 
 
 From rock to flower, from flower to things of life, 
 
 And through the mystic scale, from beasts to man ; 
 
 And lo ! meseem'd a darkness and despair, 
 
 O'ermastering, awe-compelling, creeping down 
 
 Like clouds that blacken from the mountain-peaks 
 
 And shroud the peaceful valleys, stole upon me, 
 
 And swathed my soul in dread before I knew. 
 
 So that I could not pray, nor knew indeed 
 
 What spirit to pray to or what god to praise, 
 
 For all I felt within and over me 
 
 Was some blind sense of demiurgic doom 
 
 Feeling with strange progressions up to life. 
 
 Then breaking, as a wave that breaks and goes ! 
 
 Then cried I : ' Spirit of Man, if spirit thou art 
 
 That in this Temple broodest like a cloud. 
 
 Blind Spirit of Doom and Mystery and Change, 
 
 How shall 1 apprehend thee? Wrap thyself 
 
 In humble niiment of some awful god. 
 
 And I shall know thee ; clothe thy ghost divine 
 
 In piteous limbs of white humanity. 
 
 Speak with a human whisper in mine ear. 
 
 And rest thy human hand upon my hair,
 
 314 "^^^ City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And I shall feel thy touch, and worship thee ; 
 Come down, O God ! if thou art quick not dead, 
 And walk as other gods have walk'd the world 
 With tread that thunders or with feet that bleed, 
 That I may feel thee pass and bow to thee — 
 For who shall worship darkness deep as death, 
 And silence still as stone, and dreariest dread, 
 Faceless and eyeless, formless, without bound ?' 
 Thus praying, I was startled by a voice, 
 Angry though feeble, crying in mine ear, 
 ' Arise ! profane not with a foolish cry 
 This Temple of the Law!' and looking up, 
 I saw a woman very grey and old 
 Leaning upon a stafFand gazing at me : 
 Her robe all black and wrought with starry signs 
 Like those upon the Temple's azure dome. 
 Her hair as white as wool, her wrinkled face 
 As blank and ashen-grey as is the Sphinx ; 
 So strange and sinister her look, she seem'd 
 One of the fabled Mothers who for ever 
 Intone Cimmerean runes of death and birth. 
 
 * What woman art thou r" I cried, and she replied, 
 ' A Virgin of the Temple ; one whose task 
 'Tis to preserve the altar clean and pure. 
 And sweep the floor of dust. I heard thee praying
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 3 1 5 
 
 And came to warn thee hence ; for prayers like thine 
 Offend the solemn Spirit of the place.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Name me that Spirit, and I will pray to Him ! 
 
 The Woman. 
 
 Alack ! no tongue hath named him, and no eye 
 Hath seen, no mortal known, the Unknowable ; 
 But if thou needst must pray, give prayers to those 
 Who are pictured on the windows and the walls — 
 The blessed men who by their thoughts and deeds 
 Have builded up this Temple of the Law. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Men that have perish'd ! why should I pray to those, 
 Seeing I famish for the Imperishable ? 
 
 The Woman. 
 
 Aye me ! the foolish hunger and the thirst 
 Of babes who sit before the laden board 
 And crave for fabled meat and drink of gods ! 
 Take heed ; for in a little while thine eyes 
 Shall close from seeing, and thy throat and ears 
 Be fill'd with dust. Death is the one thins sure.
 
 3i6 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And Death is here, the Shadow in the shrine ! 
 Yet Death is but the shadow of a change, 
 Since naught that is departs, the' all things die ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Thy words are dark as night. What meanest thou ? 
 
 The Woman. 
 Lives pass. The Spirit of Life alone survives. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Yea, and survives for ever, being God. 
 
 The Woman. 
 There is no God, but only Death and Change. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Read me thy riddle. Mother Sibylline ! 
 
 The Woman. 
 The Darkness that for ever gathers here, 
 And in the heavens, and in the heart of man, 
 Is elemental ; 'tis the primal force 
 For ever quickening into life and change, 
 For ever failing in a thousand forms, 
 And fallinor back to feed the central Heart
 
 XIV.] 'The City without God. 317 
 
 That throbs for ever thro' the flaming worlds. 
 Spark of that Heart, that heliocentric flame, 
 Art thou, who, being kindled for a moment, 
 Shalt vanish as a spark blown from a forge ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Aye me ! — only a spark, to flash and fade ! 
 
 The Woman. 
 
 Nay, less ! — this earth is but a flake of fire. 
 Fallen from the nearest of those flaming suns 
 Which burn a space and then like lesser lives 
 In their due season blacken and grow cold. 
 Think on thy littleness, thy feebleness. 
 And praise the mystic, all-pervading Law, 
 Which on the eyelids of unnumbcr'd worlds 
 Sheds the ephemeral life, the dust of Time. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Alas ! how should I praise the Invisible, 
 Which shows me baser than the dust indeed ? 
 The empty Void shall never have my prayer. 
 But that which lifts me up and gives me wings. 
 And proves me more than any unconscious world 
 However luminous and beautiful, — 
 That will I worship. Fairer far, methinks.
 
 3i8 T^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The meanest, smallest, tutelary god 
 That ever gave men gifts of fruit and flowers, 
 The frailest spirit of human fantasy 
 Blessing the worshipper with kindly hands, 
 Than this dead Terror of the Inevitable, 
 Weighing like leaden Death, with Death's despair, 
 In the core of countless worlds ! I ask for God, 
 For Light, not Darkness, and for Life, not Death J 
 Not for the fatal doom which leaves me low — 
 Nay, for the gentle, upward-urging Hand 
 Which lifts me on to immortality ! 
 
 So saying, I left her standing sadly there, 
 And quitting that proud Temple fled again 
 Into the common sunlight ; but my soul 
 Was sad as night and darken'd with a doubt. 
 And in my veins the ominous sense of doom 
 Was creeping like some cold and fatal drug ; 
 So that the City with its thousand lights 
 Seem'd like a feeble taper flickering 
 In chilly winds of death, and all the throng 
 Aioths hovering round a melancholy flame. 
 Faint was my spirit as a sickly light 
 Held in the night and shielded by thin hands 
 From the strong wintry wind, when presently 
 I mark'd another temple marble-wrought,
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 319 
 
 And seeing that the doors were open wide 
 Enter'd, and passed thro' echoing corridors. 
 And found myself within its inmost core. 
 And in a lofty hall, with marble paven, 
 One stood before a table wrought of stone 
 And strewn with phials, knives, and instruments 
 Of sharpest steel; before him, ranged in rows. 
 On benches forming a great semi-moon, 
 His audience throng'd, all hungry ears and eyes. 
 The man was stript to the elbow, both his hands 
 Were stain'd and bloody ; and in the right he held 
 A scalpel dripping blood ; beneath him lay, 
 Fasten'd upon the board, while from its heart 
 Flowed the last throbbing stream of gentle life, 
 A cony as white as snow. In cages near 
 Were other victims — cony and cat and ape. 
 Lambkins but newly yean'd, and fluttering doves 
 W hichpreen'd their wings and coo'd their summer cry. 
 The hall was darken'd from the sun, but lit 
 By lamps electric that around them shed 
 Insufferable brightness clear as day. 
 
 Presently at the door there enter'd one 
 
 Who by a chain did lead a gentle hound 
 
 Which scenting new-shed blood drew back in dread ; 
 
 Whereon from all the benches rose a cry
 
 320 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Of cruel laughter; and the lecturer smiled. 
 
 And wiping then his blood-stain'd instrument 
 
 And casting down the cony scarcely dead, 
 
 Prepared the altar for fresh sacrifice. 
 
 The hound drew back and struggled with the chain 
 
 In act to fly, but roughly dragged and driven 
 
 He reach'd the lecturer's feet and there lay down, 
 
 Panting and looking up with pleading eyes ; 
 
 The lecturer smiled again and patted him, 
 
 When lo ! the victim iick'd the bloody hand, 
 
 Pleading for kindness and for pity still. 
 
 Then in my dream methought I heard a voice 
 
 Ring clearly and coldly as a churchyard bell, 
 
 Saying, ' Lo ! our next subject, friends — a hound, 
 
 Chosen in preference even to the ape. 
 
 Because the convolutions of his brain 
 
 Are likest to the highest, even Man's !' 
 
 Suddenly in my vision 1 perceived 
 
 The victim's face, though hairy and hound-like still, 
 
 Was now mysteriously humanised 
 
 Into the likeness of a naked Faun, 
 
 Who pricking hairy ears and rolling eyes 
 
 Shriek'd with a sylvan cry ! and at the sound 
 
 There came from all the cages round about 
 
 A murmur such as in the leafy woods
 
 XIV.] The City without God. 321 
 
 Comes rippling from the merry flocks of Pan ; 
 Yea, I beheld them — cony and cat and ape, 
 And lo ! the tamest and the feeblest there 
 Had ta'en the pretty pleading human looks 
 Of naiad babes and tiny freckled fauns, 
 Sweet elves and pigmy centaurs of the woods ! 
 And when the victim moan'd, they answer'd him 
 With pitying babble of the unconscious groves. 
 Cries of the haunted forest, and such shrieks 
 As the pale dryad prison'd in the tree 
 Yields when the woodman stabs her milky bark ; 
 And mingled with such piteous woodland sounds 
 There came a gentle bleating as of lambs. 
 Blent with another and a stranger sound. 
 Faint, as of infants crying for the breast ! 
 
 This pass'd ; for all my soul, being sick and sad, 
 Grew blinded with the fastly-flowing tears j 
 Yet straining once again my troubled sense 
 I saw the faun strapt down upon the board, 
 And though his feet were beast-like, his twain hands 
 Were human, and his fingers clutch'd the knife ! 
 He shriek'd ; I shriek'd in answer; and, behold. 
 His head turn'd softly, and his eyes sought mine. 
 
 Then, lo ! a miracle — face, form, and limbs, 
 
 Y
 
 322 "The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Changed on the instant — neither hound nor faun 
 
 Lay there awaiting the tormentor's knife, 
 
 But One, a living form as white as wax, 
 
 Stigmata on his feet and on his hands, 
 
 And on his face, still shining as a star, 
 
 The beauty of Eros and the pain of Christ ! 
 
 I knew Him, but none other mortal knew. 
 
 Though every tiny faun and god o' the wood, 
 
 Still garrulously babbling, named the Name ; 
 
 And looking up into the torturer's face 
 
 He wept and murmur'd, ' Even as ye use 
 
 The very meanest of my little ones, 
 
 So use ye Me !' That other smiled and paused — 
 
 He only heard the moaning of a hound — 
 
 Then crushing one hand on the murmuring mouth, 
 
 He with the other took the glittering knife. 
 
 And leisurely began ! 
 
 I look'd no more ; 
 But covering up mine eyes I shriek'd aloud 
 And rush'd in horror from the accursed place ; 
 But at the door I turn'd, and turning met 
 The piteous eyeballs fix'd in agony 
 Beneath a forehead by the knife laid bare ! 
 * Almighty God,' I cried, * behold Thy Son !' 
 And pointed at the victim. As I spake, 
 A throng of frowning men surrounded me,
 
 XIV,] 'The City without God. 323 
 
 Crying, ' Who raves ? down with him ! drive him 
 
 forth!' 
 And in an instant I was smitten and driven 
 Beyond the porch into the open air. 
 There stood I panting, dazzled by the day 
 Which burnt all golden in the paven square, 
 And gazing back upon the gloomy porch 
 As on the sulphur-spewing mouth of Hell. 
 
 Then one, a tall grave wight in priestly robes, 
 Strode to me, crying, ' Hence ! profane no more 
 The Temple with thy presence !' but I call'd 
 My curse upon the place, and lifting hands. 
 Again cried out on God. 
 
 The Priest. 
 
 What man art thou 
 That darest in this holy place blaspheme. 
 Knowing God is not, knowing the wise have 
 
 proved 
 All gods to be a shadow and a snare ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 God is ! He hears ! O God, send down a sign 
 To slay these slaves who torture Christ Thy Son !
 
 3^4 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Priest. 
 Wild is thy speech. What hast thou heard or seen, 
 To rob thee of thy wits and make thee mad ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 In there the Christ is worse than crucified ; 
 
 He moans, He bleeds beneath the torturer's knife ! 
 
 The Priest. 
 
 fool ! what is this Christ of whom you rave ? 
 A man of Judah, who, being mad like thee, 
 Eighteen long centuries since was crucified. 
 And cried the self-same wild despairing cry 
 
 To God who could not, or who would not, hear ? 
 What wrought he for the world } A net of lies ! 
 What legacy bequeath'd he } Tears and dreams ! 
 
 1 tell thee, man, that those who uplight the knife 
 In this fair Temple of Humanity 
 
 Have heal'd more wounds in man's poor suffering 
 
 flesh 
 Than e'er your Christ did open in man's soul. 
 Your God had sacrifice of lambs and beeves, 
 A holocaust whose smoke did blacken heaven ! 
 We to a fairer god, the Spirit of Man,
 
 XIV.] 'The City without God. 325 
 
 Offer in love a few poor living things 
 Whose sufferings by use are sanctified. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 E'en as ye serve the meanest of his lambs, 
 So serve ye Christ, the Shepherd of the flock ! 
 
 The Priest. 
 
 Man is the Shepherd of this world, and we 
 
 The friends and priests of Man; to Man alone 
 
 Belongs the privilege of dispensing pain ; 
 
 All lower things are means and instruments ; 
 
 And if to save him but a finger-ache 
 
 'Tis meet the baser types should bleed and die. 
 
 Look round upon this City ! Years ago 
 
 Your Christ, a hideous Phantom, haunted it. 
 
 And in his train Disease and Pestilence, 
 
 Foulness and Fever, danced their dance of Death. 
 
 Our wise men came and drave the Phantom forth. 
 
 And since that hour the ways are bright and clean ; 
 
 Disease is banish'd, Pestilence is now 
 
 An old man's memory. Death itself is turn'd . 
 
 Into the servant and the slave of Man. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Death comes indeed ! Ye have not vanquish'd Death !
 
 326 The City of 'Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Priest. 
 
 Death is the holy usher stoled in black 
 Who Cometh to the wearied out and old 
 Saying, ' Your bed is made — 'tis time to rest ! ' 
 Right gladly to the solemn death-chamber 
 They follow, and are curtain'd in that sleep 
 Which never yet was stirr'd by man or God ; 
 And yet they die not, since no force is lost, 
 But passeth on, and these survive for ever 
 In children ever coming, ever going. 
 To make the merry music of the world. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Merry, indeed ! — made up of tears and moans, 
 Of fair things martyr'd, frail things sacrificed^ 
 In name of that most cruel god of all, 
 The godless Spirit of Man ! and lo ! at last. 
 Your children are baptized with blood of beasts, 
 And heal'd with death of innocent childlike things, 
 And strengthen'd out of slaughter. Woe is me ! 
 That ever child should draw his strength from death, 
 And be the heir of cruelty and pain ! 
 
 Like one half waking and half sleeping, risen 
 From spirit-chilling visions of the night.
 
 XIV.] I^ke City without God. 327 
 
 Uncertain of the world wherein he walks, 
 Haunted and clouded, thro' the City I pass'd ; 
 And voices seem'd afar off, and all sounds 
 Ghostly and strange, and every face I met 
 Fantastic, melancholy, and unreal : 
 And weary hours pass'd by, and still I walk'd ; 
 And in the end I found myself alone 
 Upon a green hillside beyond the town, 
 Entering a beauteous Garden of the Dead. 
 
 The place was green and still, with shadowy walks, 
 
 And banks of gracious flowers ; and ranged in rows 
 
 Along the grassy terraces were placed 
 
 White urns that held the ashes of the dead, — 
 
 In each of these a handful white as salt 
 
 Left from the cleansing fire ; and in the midst 
 
 There stood a building like a sepulchre 
 
 From the iron heart of which a pale blue flame 
 
 Rose strange and sacrificial ; hither came 
 
 The bearers with their burdens linen-wrapt 
 
 Which being dropt into the furnace-flame 
 
 Shrivell'd like leaves and swiftly were consumed. 
 
 While near the fiery place I gazing stood 
 
 I saw from out the glistening gate of brass 
 
 An old man issue, naked to the waist. 
 
 And holdins: in his hands a silver urn.
 
 328 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Still darken'd and perplex'd I spake to him, 
 And when he answer'd, setting down the urn 
 And gazing at me with lacklustre eyes, 
 His voice seem'd ghostly, faint, and far away. 
 ' Art thou the sexton of this place?' I cried j 
 And straightway he replied, wiping his brows, 
 ' Adam the Last, the watcher of the fire — 
 That is my name and office, gentle sir.' 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 So, Adam, last or first, the old order stands ? 
 Your masters have not yet abolish'd Death ! 
 
 Adam. 
 Nay, God forbid ! (alas ! the foolish name 
 I learnt when I was young!) — Death comes to all; 
 The one thing sure and best — man's Comforter ! 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 Can men that are so merry, having upbuilt 
 A City so serene and beautiful. 
 Still welcome silence and the end of all ? 
 
 Adam, 
 Yea, verily — though should they hear me breathe 
 The dreary truth^ the rulers of the City
 
 XIV.] 'T'he City without God. 329 
 
 Might rob me of mine office, gentle sir; 
 But by thy face and raiment I perceive 
 Thou art a stranger, coming from the land 
 Of gracious gods and old, where I was born. 
 Fair is the City, as thou sayest, and merry. 
 Yet many men grow weary of its mirth. 
 And ere their time would gladly welcome sleep ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 How so ? 'Tis surely bliss for any man 
 To live and gladden in so sweet a place ? 
 
 Adam. 
 
 I know not. Times are changed. In times gone by, 
 \^' hen Fever and Disease and Pestilence 
 Walk'd freely through the streets and garner'd men, 
 I have mark'd upon the brows of those that died 
 A light that comes not now. I have stood and 
 
 watch'd 
 By deathbeds, and as Death bent down to grasp 
 The throbbing throat and clutch the fluttering life, 
 I have seen him shrink and like a frighten'd hound 
 Crouch panting at the flash o' the dying face, 
 l^he proud imperious wave o' the dying hand ; 
 Yea oftentimes, when men call'd out on God,
 
 33^ ^^^ Cify of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Defying Death with smiles, it seem'd a charm 
 To affright the Phantom which affrighteth all ! 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 Yet now men welcome Death, as thou hast said. 
 
 Adam. 
 
 Yea, but how differently, how wearily ! 
 
 With no sweet hope of waking, with no thought 
 
 Of meeting those who have fallen to sleep before ; 
 
 With no glad childish vision of delight 
 
 To come upon them when the morrow breaks 
 
 Happy and loving as a father's face. 
 
 They know their day is o'er, and that is all : 
 
 What matter if it hath been sunny and merry, 
 
 'Tis ended — night come duly — all is done. 
 
 Moreover, now-a-days, methinks that men, 
 
 Knowing so clearly, love not one another 
 
 As in the good old times when I was young ! 
 
 For, look you, master, wedlock is a bond 
 
 Between the strong and strong, who know that 
 
 soon 
 All fall asunder in Death's crucible ; 
 And when a man or woman dies by chance, 
 What use to mourn ? — the vase of life is broken,
 
 XIV.] I^he City without God. 331 
 
 And there's an end ; wherefore, methinks, that 
 
 men 
 Knew more of Love when they were mournfuller. 
 For Suffering and Sorrow wallc'd the world 
 Like veiled angels pointing heavenward, 
 And folk were sadder then, but hopefuller ; 
 And now, indeed, since Hope hath gone away 
 With all the other angels, Death alone 
 Remains the one cold friend and comforter. 
 
 Now much I marvell'd, hearing such sad speech 
 
 Drop from the old man's mouth like simple sooth ; 
 
 And gazing down upon the glorious City 
 
 Which sparkled in the sunshine under us, 
 
 Seeing the earth and air alive with life. 
 
 And catching; from afar the faint glad cries 
 
 Of multitudinous creatures fluttering 
 
 Like motes in the sunbeam, still I seem'd to be 
 
 A ghost upon the borderland of Death, 
 
 Having no portion in humanity ; 
 
 And like another ghost the old man seem'd. 
 
 Garrulously babbling with a voice as thin 
 
 As any heard in dream ; then side by side 
 
 We walk'd together to the highest bourne 
 
 Of that fair burial-place, and lo ! I saw, 
 
 Stretchino- before me on the further side.
 
 23'^ '^^^ City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 A darkness like a mighty thunder-cloud — 
 Darkness on darkness, far as eye could see. 
 
 ' What land lies yonder at our feet ?' I said, 
 And pointed downward. Gravely he replied : 
 * Nay, sir, I know not, but I have heard folk say 
 A melancholy and a sunless land. 
 Forest on forest, dreary, without bound, — 
 Haunted by monsters, beasts and saurians 
 Of the primeval slime ; a land, alack ! 
 Unfit for man to dwell in, melancholy 
 As were the dusk beginnings of the world.' 
 
 Then in my dream, which seem'd no dream at all, 
 Methought I leapt, like one who takes the plunge 
 From some black cape into a midnight sea. 
 Into that gulf of darkness ; and the night 
 Crash'd round and o'er me, as I sunk and sunk 
 Down, down, to dark oblivion deep as death ; 
 When for a space I lost all count of time, 
 But senseless lay amid the ooze and drift 
 Of the unconscious shadows ; yet at last 
 I stirr'd and waken'd, lying like a weed 
 On a cold isle of moonlight in the midst 
 Of cloud on cloud breaking like wave on wave 
 Around me ; thro' the darkness I perceived
 
 XIV.] 'The City without God. 233 
 
 Far off the glowworm glimmer of the City 
 Which I had left behind. 
 
 Feebly I rose, 
 Affrighted at the cold new stir of life 
 Along my veins, and murmur'd, ' Woe is me ! 
 I live, who would have died ; I am quick, who fain 
 Would have return'd to stony nothingness ! 
 And I have search'd the world, and left the prints 
 Of my sad footsteps on the tracts of Time, 
 Yet am I houseless and a wanderer still 
 From City unto City, knowing at last 
 My quest is fruitless and my dreaming vain ! ' 
 
 Then with a cry I faced the seas of night, 
 And blindly hastened on, I knew not whither !
 
 BOOK XV. 
 
 THE CELESTIAL OCEAN. 
 
 METHOUGHT I pass'd into the shadowy land 
 Where Nature like a gorgon mother sits 
 Devouring her own young ; a rocky land, 
 Formless, chaotic, lonely, terrible, 
 And yet alive with monstrous shapes as strange 
 As e'er mad poet fabled : shapes that lived, 
 And moan'd, and open'd jaws chimaera-like. 
 And changed, and died ; yet ever when I sought 
 To approach them, faded into lifeless forms 
 Of crag and rock. In stagnant sunless meres 
 1 saw foul monsters swim, some serpent-wise, 
 Others web-footed like the water-birds, 
 While overhead, from a black mountain-peak, 
 The winged pterodactyl of the chalk 
 Flapt to its eyrie on the snake-strewn shore. 
 'Almighty God,' I moan'd, 'whose Hand did frame 
 These hideous creatures of the ooze and slime. 
 Within whose lineaments I seem to trace
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 335 
 
 Strange far-ofF hints of sweeter shapes and forms 
 Flowering at last in naked flesh of man, 
 Haunt me not with the deathlike fantasy 
 Of pageants fit for Hell !' And as I spake 
 Meseem'd I felt within my living veins 
 The speckled blood that steals like quicksilver 
 Under the hydra's skin, and knew my sense 
 Sick with primaeval foulness of the slime 
 From which 'twas fashion'd when the Monster ruled 
 A rank and watery world. Yet I beheld 
 Within that land of portents pale gray men 
 Who stood and smiled, as happy children smile 
 On curious gnomes and trolls of Faeryland 5 
 And many murmur'd, ' Wondrous is the Lord ! 
 Whose word hath touch'd the darkness, till, behold, 
 It stirs and breathes and lives ! ' 
 
 How long I walk'd 
 In that wild realm I know not, but at last 
 I found myself ascending a steep path 
 Upwinding to forlornest mountain-peaks ; 
 And as I went the light grew cheerfuller, 
 And far away above my head I saw 
 A light clear space of sun-kist snow that seem'd 
 Like God's hand resting on the Mastodon 
 That felt it and was still ; and suddenly 
 There flew across my path a bright-eyed bird
 
 2^6 The City of Dream . [bk. 
 
 Of eagle-size, but whiter than a dove, 
 And fluttering upward lighted on a rock 
 And waved its pinions looking down upon me, 
 And when I follow'd rose and fled again, 
 Ao;ain alio-htino- : thus from rock to rock 
 It flew, I following, while at every step 
 The light grew clearer, and my soul less sad. 
 
 At last methought I reach'd a green plateau 
 Far up among the peaks and loud with sound 
 Of many torrents falling; and the grass 
 That grew thereon was strewn with tiny shells. 
 Prismatic, beautiful, left by the lips 
 Of some receding sea; and pausing there, 
 I gazed into the valleys I had quitted. 
 And saw a darkness as of flood and cloud 
 Spear'd by the red lance of the setting sun, 
 And from the darkness came a solemn sound, 
 Terrible, elemental, as of waves 
 Wandering without a home. 
 
 While thus I stood, 
 I saw two shapes approaching from the peaks. 
 One leading and one following : that, a child, 
 Bright as a sunbeam, merry and golden-hair'd, 
 Who ran before and beckon'd, ran again 
 And beckon'd pausing ; this, a reverent man,
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 337 
 
 Clad in a robe of samite white as snow, 
 And leaning on a staff enwrought with shapes 
 Of flower and dove and serpent. As they came 
 Great awe fell on me, for methought ' They come 
 To bring me tidings that my search is done ! ' 
 Fair was that Child, and 'neath her rosy feet 
 The coarse grass blossom'd into crystal blooms, 
 And fair was he who follow'd reverently — 
 Most proud his step as if he walk'd on thrones, 
 His dark eyes suffering with the kingly light 
 They shed upon me through his reverend hair. 
 
 And coming near, the Child with birdlike cries 
 Paused, looking on my features wonderingly, 
 Then turning quickly beckon'd once again, 
 And slowly approaching he who follow'd her 
 Did greet me like a monarch welcoming 
 Some stranger to the kingdom which he rules ; 
 Then looking on my pilgrim's staff and scrip, 
 And pouring into my half-dazzled eyes 
 Strange lustre of his own dark orbs, he said : 
 ' Welcome, O Stranger, to these lonely peaks ! 
 Far hast thou travell'd from a weary world 
 To find firm foothold on the mountains here.' 
 And as he spake he placed his gentle hand 
 Upon the bright head of the Child, who stood 
 
 z
 
 23^ The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Smiling and listening ; and his voice was deep 
 As torrent-voices partly drowning it, 
 Yet musical and passionately calm. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 Far have I travell'd, wearily have I sought 
 A world of sense and phantoms, shapes and signs, — 
 Since in an earthly City last I stood 
 Wailing my lot and calling out on God. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Be comforted — here shall thy cry be still'd, 
 
 Or drown'd in voices more miraculous. 
 
 Thou comest from the City where I was born ? 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 The City men have builded, without God ? 
 
 The Man. 
 
 The same. These hands of mine did help to raise 
 Some of its temples, and its inmost shrine. 
 When I drew breath 'twas but a noxious marsh 
 With some few dwellings long untenanted, 
 But in the heyday of my youth I cried : 
 ' Upbuild ! create a City out of stone
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 339 
 
 That we who know not God may dwell therein ;' 
 
 Saying moreover, ' Wiser far are they 
 
 Who drain the marsh and make the market thrive 
 
 Than they who waste their toil on pyramids.' 
 
 Ev'n while I spake the City of Man upgrew, 
 
 To music sweet of the invisible choir 
 
 Who form the dusky vanguard of the dead ; 
 
 And temples rose like lilies from the mere 
 
 Of human creatures multitudinous, 
 
 And Night was vanquish'd, and Disease and Pain 
 
 Crept from the shining of the strange new light. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 But Death remain'd. 
 
 The Man. 
 And reign'd ! Ere long I saw 
 The Shadow veil'd with sunlight looking down 
 Upon the beauteous City we had built ; 
 And with a spectral hand he pointed ever 
 At the glad pageant, at the heart of man, 
 And at the living soul within the soul. 
 Then thought I, ' Man hath conquer'd God, not 
 
 Death, 
 And the broad harvest Man hath sown, Death 
 
 reaps ; '
 
 J40 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 And surely I had madden'd in despair, 
 
 Had I not seen one morning, as I stood 
 
 In the still burial-place beyond the City, 
 
 This Child, who ran and play'd among the 
 
 tombs. 
 Blown hither and thither like a butterfly 
 By some strange wind of gladness ; then behold, 
 She beckon'd, and I follow'd (for methought 
 She was not as the common things of earth, 
 But wondrous, fed on some diviner air); 
 And from the gates she drew me with a smile 
 Until I came, as thou thyself didst come, 
 Among the darkness of primaeval Time, 
 Haunted by monsters, hydras, mastodons, 
 Strange forms, the slime of Chaos ; but whene'er 
 I falter'd faint of heart, the Child ran back 
 And slipt her little hand into mine own, 
 And prattling of the sunshine and the dawn 
 Did draw me gently on, until at last 
 I left the haunted valleys and beheld 
 A stainless snow like to the hand of God 
 Lying on yonder peaks ; and even yet 
 I know not if the thing that led me on, 
 And leads me ever, is a mortal Child, 
 Or some angelic presence sent to guide 
 My footsteps through the shadows of the world.
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 34 1 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 An angel, surely ! See how rapturously 
 
 Her happy face is shining into thine ! 
 
 An angel still, if human ; for methinks 
 
 Her eyes reflect the glory and the dream 
 
 Of God's celestial City which I seek. 
 
 Yet surely this is evil, that thy feet 
 
 Still tread the loneness of the mountain-tops, 
 
 Thine eyes see not the splendour she hath seen ? 
 
 The Man. 
 
 It is enough to know that such things are. 
 Beyond the silence and the setting sun. 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 Alas ! how knowest thou not that after all 
 They are not phantasies and images 
 Like those that met thee yonder in the vales ? 
 Alas ! if thou hast won these lonely heights. 
 What hast thou gain'd, what have thy soul's eyes seen 
 More than the souls in yonder City see ? 
 
 The Man. 
 
 The peace of God, the assurance of His heaven, 
 Seen mirror'd in the blue eyes of a Child !
 
 342 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 But surely Death shall follow and find thee here ? 
 
 The Man. 
 
 I wait his coming, eager for more light 
 
 Such as he brings to those who love its beams. 
 
 Yet not impatient, for from these high peaks 
 
 I look on more than mortal sight can measure 
 
 Or human soul conceive and apprehend : 
 
 Dawn flying like a dove from isle to isle 
 
 Of Chaos ; infinite and wondrous life 
 
 Stirring from form to form ; the march of lives 
 
 From sleep to sleep, from death to death ; the flow 
 
 Of earth's progressions, and the ebb of Time. 
 
 Wherefore mine age is clothed with mastery 
 
 As with a garment ; slowly I have learn'd 
 
 That to be young and innocent is best. 
 
 Next best it is to be serene and old. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Having beheld these things, beholding still 
 Their stress and pain, dost thou believe on God ? 
 
 The Man. 
 I know not. What is infinite transcends
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 343 
 
 The seeing of the finite, evermore. 
 
 Gaze in the heavenly eyes of this fair Child, 
 
 And thou shalt see a light more mystical 
 
 Than all thy spirit can conceive of God. 
 
 Pilgrim of earth, w^ouldst thou behold a sign? 
 
 Conceive the inconceivable, attain 
 
 To prescience v^hich vv^ould prove, if absolute, 
 
 The annihilation of thy thinking soul ? 
 
 Come, then, and standing yonder on the 
 
 peaks. 
 The highest point of earth, survey the waste 
 Of that mysterious Ocean without bound. 
 Which wash'd thee hither as a grain of sand 
 And sow'd thee deep among these drifts of dust 
 To quicken into strange humanity ! 
 
 He ceased ; and on the heights above his head 
 The daylight faded, while the hand of Night 
 Hung closed a moment o'er the rayless 
 
 snows. 
 Then open'd suddenly and from its grasp 
 Loosen'd one lustrous star ! Then with a cry 
 The Child sprang upward on the dizzy path. 
 And paused above us beckoning ; and we 
 
 follow'd 
 From crag to crag till we together stood
 
 344 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Close to the edge of that celestial Sea 
 
 Which breaks for ever on these dark shores of earth. 
 
 Lone on the heights we stood as on a strand 
 
 Oceanward gazing ; and the world beneath 
 
 Faded to an abyss of nothingness. 
 
 Unseen, unheard, unknown, but at our feet 
 
 The waves of ether rippled, gleam'd, and broke 
 
 In silence ; and as far as eye could see 
 
 The waste ccerulean stretch'd in windless calm, 
 
 Here bright, there shadowy, strewn with shimmering 
 
 flakes 
 Like lunar gleams ; and suddenly, to lend 
 New splendour to the solitary scene. 
 The island of the moon broke into beams 
 And shook upon the azure shallows around 
 Wild shafts of silver : then the stillness grew 
 Intenser, and the deep ethereal voids 
 Seem'd opening to their inmost, till 1 saw 
 Far as the pin-point of the furthest sphere 
 In the dark silence and abysm of space. 
 And from the far-off unimagined shores 
 There came, or seem'd to come, a stir of sound 
 So faint it scarce did seem to touch the sleep 
 Of that vast Ocean ! 
 
 Then with reverent eyes
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 345 
 
 Up-gazing, and upon his pallid face 
 Light falling faintly from a million worlds, 
 Thus spake that old man masterful, my guide : 
 
 ' Thou seekest God — behold thou standest now 
 Within His Temple, Lo, how brilliantly 
 The Altar, fed with ceaseless starry fires. 
 Burns, for its footstool is the mountain-peaks. 
 The skies its star-enwoven panoply ! — 
 Lo, then, how silently, how mystically. 
 Yonder unsullied Moon uplifts the Host, 
 While from the continents and seas beneath. 
 And from the planets that bow down as lambs, 
 And from the constellations clustering 
 With eyes of wonder upon every side, 
 Rises the murmur which Creation heard 
 In the beginning ! Hearken ! Strain thine ears ! 
 Are they so thick with dust they cannot hear 
 The plagal cadence of the instrument 
 Set in the veiled centre of the Shrine !' 
 
 He ceased, with arms outstretch'd to the great Deep 
 In adoration ; and once more I seem'd 
 To catch that music, rather felt than heard. 
 Out of the open'd heavens ; and lo, it grew 
 Deeper, intenser, audible as breath,
 
 3+6 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 With thrills as from the silvern stops of stars 
 And murmurous constellations ! 
 
 ' Hearken yet !' 
 He murmur'd, while I trembled to my knees, 
 ' Yonder the veil'd Musician sits, his feet 
 Upon the pedals of dark formless suns, 
 His fingers on the radiant spheric keys, 
 His face, that it is death to look upon. 
 Misted with incense rising nebulous 
 Out of abysmal chaos and cohering 
 Into the golden flames of Life and Being ! 
 And underneath his touch Music itself 
 Grows living, heard as far as thought can creep 
 Or dream can soar ; so that Creation stirs. 
 And drinks the sound, and sings ! — So far 
 
 away 
 He sits, the Mystery, wrapt for ever round 
 With brightness and with awe and melody ; 
 Yet even here, on these low-lying shores. 
 Lower than is the footstool of His throne. 
 We hear Him and adore Him, nay, can feel 
 His breath as vapour round our mouths, inhaling 
 That soul within the soul whereby we live 
 From that divine for-ever-beating Heart 
 Which thrills the universe with Light and Love !'
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 2^1 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 So far away He dwells, my soul indeed 
 Scarcely discerns him, and in sooth I seek 
 A gentler Presence and a nearer Friend. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 So far ? O blind, He broods beside thee now 
 Here in this silence, with His eyes on Thine \ 
 
 deaf, His voice is whispering in thine ears 
 Soft as the breathing of the slumberous seas ! 
 
 The Pilgrim, 
 
 1 see not and T hear not ; but 1 see 
 
 Thine eyes burn dimly, like a corpse-light seen 
 Flickering amidst the tempest ; and I hear 
 Only the elemental grief and pain 
 Out of whose shadow I would creep for ever. 
 
 The Man. 
 Thou canst not, brother ; for these, too, are God ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 How ? Is my God, then, as a homeless ghost 
 Blown this way, that way, with the elements r
 
 348 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 The Man. 
 
 He is without thee, and within thee, too ; 
 
 Thy living breath, and that which drinks thy breath ; 
 
 Thy being, and the bliss beyond thy being. 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 So near, so far ? He shapes the furthest sun 
 New-glimmering on the furthest fringe of space, 
 Yet stoops and with a leaf-light finger-touch 
 Reaches my heart and makes it come and go ! 
 
 The Man. 
 
 Yea ; and He is thy heart within thy heart, 
 And thou a portion of His Heart Divine ! 
 
 The Pilgrim. 
 
 Alas ! what comfort comes to grief like man's 
 
 To weave a circle of sweet fantasy 
 
 Around him, and to share so dim a dream ? 
 
 For if thy calm philosophy be true. 
 
 He is, yet is not, here ; breathes with our breath. 
 
 Yet evermore eludes us like the stir 
 
 Of the unconscious life within our veins; 
 
 Haunts us for ever in a mystery.
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 349 
 
 Broods close within us 'tween our walls of flesh, 
 
 Yet when we seek to look into His eyes 
 
 Fades far away above us and looks down 
 
 With loveless eyes of stars. Meantime my quest 
 
 Is for a City builded on the rock, 
 
 Not on the raincloud ; for a God whose face 
 
 Is humanised to lineaments of love ; 
 
 Not one who, when my hand would clutch His robe. 
 
 Slips as a flash of light from world to world 
 
 And fades from form to form, then vanishes 
 
 Back to the formless sense within my soul 
 
 Which evermore pursues and loses Him ! 
 
 E'en as I spake methought (so strangely changed 
 My wondrous dream that was no dream at all) 
 That not alone we stood on those dark shores. 
 But round us gather'd ghostly living forms 
 Featured like men and women, pointing hands 
 Out to the dusky space and starry isles ; 
 And on the sands below them silent lay 
 Two bright transparent forms as if asleep — 
 One old and hoary, featured like a man. 
 The other maidenlike and golden-hair'd ; 
 And o'er these sleeping, smiling as they slept, 
 That radiant Child bent tearfully and cried, 
 'Awake, awake !' but they awaken'd not.
 
 350 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Though quietly the lucent waves of light 
 
 Crept near and rippled round their shrouded feet. 
 
 Then said aloud that old man masterful : 
 * They are not dead but sleeping, — vex them not, 
 Their eyes shall open on serener shores. 
 We come from the eternal night to find, 
 And not to lose, each other ; what is born 
 And liveth cannot die.' And while those forms 
 Still pointing wildly seaward moan'd and sobb'd. 
 He murmur'dj ' Ere these twain lay down and 
 
 slept. 
 They pray'd the prayer and sang the song which 
 
 Man 
 Hath made from the beginning. Sing it now^ 
 That He who listens through eternity 
 Yonder across the azure seas may hear.' 
 
 And lo, methought, in piteous human tones 
 Those spirits bent above the dead and sang : — 
 
 Unseen, Unknown, yet seen and known 
 By the still soul that broods alone 
 
 On visions eyesight cannot see. 
 By that, thy seed within me sown. 
 
 Forget not me !
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 351 
 
 Forget me not, but hear me cry. 
 Ere in my lonely bed I lie. 
 
 Thus stooping low on bended knee. 
 And if in glooms of sleep I die, 
 
 Forget not me ! 
 
 Forget me not as men forget. 
 But let thy light be with me yet 
 
 Where'er my vagrant footsteps flee. 
 Until my earthly sun is set. 
 
 Forget not me ! 
 
 Though dumb thou broodest far away. 
 Beyond the night, beyond the day. 
 
 Across the great celestial Sea, 
 Forget me not, but hear me pray 
 
 'Forget not me !' 
 
 By the long path that I have trod. 
 The sunless tracks, the shining road. 
 
 From forms of dread to forms of Thee, 
 By all my dumb despairs, O God, 
 
 Forget not me ! 
 
 Forget not when mine eyelids close. 
 And sinking to my last repose. 
 
 All round the sleeping dead I see. 
 Yea, when I sleep as sound as those. 
 
 Forget not me !
 
 3^2 The City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Forget me not as they forget, 
 Hush'd from the fever and the fret. 
 
 From all long life's remembrance free, 
 Though I forget, remember yet — 
 
 Forget not me ! 
 
 Then even as they sang meseem'd I saw 
 
 Far off upon the rippling waves of light 
 
 A shadowy Bark approaching with no sound, 
 
 Wing'd like an eagle, floating ominously 
 
 On that aerial sea ; from space to space 
 
 Of brightness, and from shadow on to shadow, 
 
 It moved, until at last its shining prow 
 
 Touch'd the dusk shore, and paused ; and in it sat 
 
 A Spirit dark and hooded, girt around 
 
 With many shining forms, — and not on these 
 
 The Spirit gazed, nor on the shapes that throngV 
 
 The sands of earth, but on the spectral faces 
 
 Of that worn hoary man and gold-hair'd maid 
 
 Who lay there waiting, smiling in their shrouds. 
 
 Then as the very heart within me fail'd. 
 And on that sight I gazed through blinding tears. 
 The old man stretching white hands heavenward 
 Cried : ' Lo, the life which ends and but begins ! 
 God that remembers. Death that ne'er forgets. 
 The dream of generations justified !
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 353 
 
 O Grave, where is thy victory ! O Death, 
 
 Where is thy sting ! O deathless Mystery, 
 
 At last we apprehend and sleep in peace ! 
 
 For this the timorous nebulas cohered 
 
 To fashion luminous worlds ; for this the night 
 
 Conceived and labour'd, till the infant Life 
 
 Quicken'd within its womb and stirr'd and lived j 
 
 For this all things have striven and agonized, 
 
 Flashing from ever-changing form to form. 
 
 Yet, as the flame ascending clarifies. 
 
 Growing for ever purer, peacefuller. 
 
 Till that divinest growth, the Soul of Man, 
 
 Was fashion'd paramount and stood supreme, 
 
 And trembling with the very breath it drew 
 
 Knowing itself, beheld within itself 
 
 The inspiration it hath christen'd "God," 
 
 And which alone betokens it divine ! ' 
 
 Then, as he spake, methought that radiant Child 
 Approach'd him, knelt, with eyes divinely glad 
 Look'd up in his, and all the seas of heaven 
 Kindled and brighten'd, while with outstretch'd arms 
 Of blessing, drinking in with rapturous gaze 
 The splendour of the radiant universe, 
 The old man cried : 
 
 ' O Mystery Divine, 
 A A
 
 354 ^'^^ ^^0' of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Simple as babble of the yeanling babes, 
 And gentle as the breath of mother's love ! 
 How far we seek thee o'er these wastes of 
 
 Time, 
 And find thee not, although thou broodest ever 
 Within us, like an ever-homing dove ! 
 Nay, all we see, upon these luminous walls 
 Of sense conditioning and surrounding us. 
 Is what thine Eldest-born and Best-beloved 
 Saw long ago, — a crimson cross of pain, 
 A cipher which whoever reads hath read 
 The riddle of the worlds. And Man hath raised 
 City on city, creed on creed, hath sought 
 To chain the electric lightnings of the soul 
 In temple upon temple, all in vain; 
 Yet what he found not visibled in form 
 Hath haunted him with dreams invisible 
 From height to height, till like a god he stands 
 Perceiving good and evil, knowing himself 
 Thine effluence, and immortal. Thus the law 
 Within him, yet without him, justifies 
 The eternal law he cannot understand 
 Yet drinks like royal breath ; and all his pain 
 Falls from him like a garment, leavmg him 
 Naked and warm in light, a happy child 
 Sure of his birthright, innocent and wise,
 
 XV.] The Celestial Ocean. 355 
 
 Foredoom'd to that eternal hope and joy 
 
 Whose other names are God, and Life, and Love !' 
 
 Aye me, the tearful wonder of my dream ! 
 
 For shapes of brightness raised those twain who 
 
 slept 
 And placed them in the Bark, when through their 
 
 frames 
 The crystal splendour of eternity 
 Shot sacramental ; and the hooded Spirit 
 Bent o'er the dead, and his dim eyes distill'd 
 Bright tears like dew, while all those shining 
 
 shapes 
 Gather'd around and sang the same sweet hymn 
 Which those had sung who throng'd the lonely shore. 
 
 Though deeper than the deepest Deep 
 Be the dark void wherein I sleep. 
 
 Though ocean-deep 1 buried be, 
 I charge Thee, by these tears I weep, 
 
 Forget not me ! 
 
 Remember, Lord, my lifelong quest. 
 How painfully my soul hath prest 
 
 From dark to light, pursuing Thee ; 
 So, though I fail and sink to rest. 
 
 Forget not mc ! .
 
 SS^ '^^he City of Dream. [bk. 
 
 Say not ' He sleeps — he doth forget 
 All that he sought with eyes tear-wet — 
 
 'Tis o'er — he slumbers — let him be!' 
 Though / forget, remember yet — 
 
 Forget not me ! 
 
 Forget me not, but come, O King, 
 And find me softly slumbering 
 
 In dark and troubled dreams of Thee — 
 Then, with one waft of Thy bright wing. 
 
 Awaken me ! 
 
 Then lost in wonder, standing on that shore. 
 The highest peak of earth, I sigh'd aloud : 
 * Yea, God remembers, God can ne'er forget ! . . . 
 I have gone inland and not oceanward — 
 The earthly Cities only have I known — 
 But these who sleep shall waken and behold, 
 Yonder across those wastes whereon they sail, 
 God and the radiant City of my Dream !' 
 
 And as I spake the ether at my feet 
 
 Broke, rippling amethystine. Far away 
 
 The mighty nebulous Ocean, where the spheres 
 
 Pass'd and repass'd like golden argosies. 
 
 Grew phosphorescent to its furthest depths : 
 
 Light answer'd light, star flash'd to star, and space. 
 
 As far away as the remotest sun
 
 XV,] The Celestial Ocean. 357 
 
 Small as the facet of a diamond, 
 
 Sparkled ; and from the ethereal Deep there rose 
 
 The breath of its own being and the stir 
 
 Of its own rapture. Then to that strange sound 
 
 Stiller than silence, the pale Ship of Souls 
 
 Moved from the shore ; I stood and watch'd it steal 
 
 From pool to pool of light, from shade to shade, 
 
 Then melting into splendour fade away 
 
 Amid the haze of those ccerulean seas. 
 
 A A 7.
 
 V Envoi.- 359 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 w Doj'ore Tvauiv. 
 
 O BLESSED Death ! O white-wing'd form, 
 Still winging through the night ! 
 
 O Dove, that seekest through the storm 
 Some lonely Ark of Light ! 
 
 While the dark flood of human pain 
 
 Rises with weariest moans, 
 Touching and falling back again 
 
 From heaven's deserted thrones. 
 
 Thou wanderest on with wondrous wings 
 
 On that celestial quest ! 
 And looking on thee, weary things 
 
 Sob tearfully and rest ! 
 
 What were the world and what were Man 
 Without thee, heavenly Death ? 
 
 An empty sky, a starless span, 
 A mist of troubled breath ! 
 
 The one thing sure, the one thing pure. 
 
 The one thing all divine, 
 Though all else ceases, doth endure. 
 
 Though all grows dark, doth shine ! 
 
 Our souls have probed this world of clay. 
 And measured the great sea, 
 
 Our sight hath conqucr'd night and day. 
 But still thou soarest free !
 
 j6o V Envoi. 
 
 Wisdom hath cried, * No God ! not one ! 
 
 Nay, heaven and earth shall cease ! ' 
 But as thou passest, winging on. 
 
 We hush our cries in peace. 
 
 For all things fade, save thou alone, 
 Bird of the sleepless wing ! 
 
 From world to world, from zone to zone. 
 We see thee voyaging ! 
 
 Angel of God, still homeless here, 
 
 Now clouds have hid God's face, — 
 
 Bright Dove that on these waves of fear 
 Can find no resting-place ! 
 
 O blessed Death, — O Angel fair. 
 Still keep thy course divine ! 
 
 Till o'er the flood of our despair 
 The Bow of God doth shine !
 
 A PROSE NOTE.
 
 J 
 
 A PROSE NOTE. 
 
 I HAVE called the City of Dream an epic poem, using the term in a 
 new and somewhat unfamiliar sense, and believing it applicable to 
 any poetical work which embodies, in a series of grandiose pictures, the 
 intellectual spirit of the age in which it is written. The Iliad and 
 Odyssey are the epic, or epoch, poems of the heroic or pagan period ; 
 the De Rerum Natura is the epic of Roman scepticism and decadence ; 
 the Dl-vine Comedy is the epic of Roman Catholicism, the Paradise 
 Lost that of the epoch known as Protestant 5 Bunyan's Pilgrim's 
 Progress (as surely a poem, although written in prose, as any of 
 those others) is the epic of English Dissent ; while, to compare 
 small things with great, the City of Dream is an epic of modern 
 Revolt and Reconciliation. My book, indeed, attempts to be, for 
 the inquiring modern spirit, what the lovely vision of Bunyan is for 
 those who still exist in the fairyland of dogmatic Christianity ; but 
 dealing, as it must, with elements more complex and indeterminate, 
 touching on problems which to the orthodox believer do not even 
 exist, it is necessarily less matter-of-fact, and in all probability less 
 sufficing. Be that as it may, the sympathetic modern will find here 
 the record of his own heartburnings, doubts, and experiences, though 
 they may not have occurred to him in the same order or culminated 
 in the same way ; though he may not have passed through the Valley 
 of Dead Gods at all, or looked with wondering eyes on the Spectre of 
 the Inconceivable j though he may never have realised to the full, as 
 I have done, the existence of the City without God, or have come at 
 last, footsore and despairing, to find solace and certainty on the brink 
 of the Celestial Ocean. 
 
 To the orthodox believer in Christianity there is but one rigliteous 
 Book, the Old and New Testaments. To the present writer all books 
 are righteous which, in one way or another, help the soul on its 
 heavenward pilgrimage, sound the depths of spiritual speculation, and
 
 V 
 A Prose Note. 
 
 habituate the ear of conscience to the harmonies of some higher and 
 more perfect life. The reader will therefore find, figured in the fore- 
 going pages, many of those divine teachers who seem, to some of us, 
 superior to most Saints in the Calendar. The entire poem represents 
 the thought and speculation of many years. How much has been 
 attempted may be seen in such a section as that of ' The Amphi- 
 theatre,' where an effort is made to adumbrate the entire spirit of 
 Greek poetry and theology. No man can live entirely in the past ; 
 but a modern poet must at least have paused in it and learned to love 
 it, before he is competent to offer any interpretation, however faltering, 
 of the problems of religion, literature, and life. 
 
 For the form and style of the work I shall make no apology. It 
 illustrates once more the theory of poetical expression that has guided 
 me throughout my career, — the theory that the end and crown of Art 
 is simplicity, and that words, where they only conceal thought, are 
 the veriest weeds, to be cut remorselessly away. If there is mysticism 
 anywhere in the book (and I hope there is very little) it is assuredly 
 not in the mere words. But in the present generation a poet who 
 deals with Divine issues must be prepared for the neglect of the idle 
 and the misconstruction of the impatient. 
 
 Robert Buchanan. 
 
 LONDON: ( 
 
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