"1 
 
 REESE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Deceived DEC 18 1894 , ,8 9 . 
 Accessions No.S^CO Claxs No. 
 
THE MASQUE OF SHADOWS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
MR. PAYNE'S WORKS. 
 
 1. INTAGLIOS : Sonnets. 
 
 2. SONGS OF LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 3. THE POEMS OF FRANCIS VILLON. Now 
 
 first done into English Verse. 
 
 4. LAUTREC : A Poem. 
 
 5. NEW POEMS. 
 
 6. THE BOOK OF THE THOUSAND 
 
 NIGHTS AND ONE NIGHT. Now first completely 
 done into English Prose and Verse from the original 
 Arabic. 
 
THE 
 
 MASQUE OF SHADOWS 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN PAYNE 
 
 NEW EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 W. H. ALLEN & Co., 13 WATERLOO PLACE. 
 1884. 
 
95 
 
 M3 
 
 TO 
 MY 
 
 ARTHUR W. E. O'SHAUGHNESSY. 
 
/^^ House of Dreams. Whoso is 
 fain 
 
 To enter in this shadow-land of mine, 
 He must forget the utter Summer's shine 
 And all the daylight ways of hand and brain : 
 Here is the white moon ever on the wane, 
 And here the air is sad with many a sign 
 Of haunting mysteries, the golden wine 
 Of June falls never, nor the silver rain 
 
 Of hawthorns pallid with the joy of Spring ; 
 But many a mirage of pale memories 
 Veils up the sunless aisles : upon the breeze 
 
 A mil sic of waste sighs doth float and sing ; 
 And in the shadow of the sad-flower } d trees, 
 The ghosts of merts desire walk wandering. 
 
 A 2 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 HE MASQUE OF SHADOWS 
 
 THE RIME OF REDEMPTION 
 THE BUILDING OF THE DREAM. 
 
 I. Desire .... 
 II. Attainment .... 
 III. Falling away 
 
 THE ROMAUNT OF SIR FLORIS 
 
 The First Coming of the Dove 
 
 Page 
 
 i 
 
 33 
 
 59 
 
 93 
 
 117 
 
 H3 
 148 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 9, line 14, read " Did grave strange signs of awe 
 and doom." 
 
 Page 112, line I, for "forespent" read "forspent" ^ 
 
 Page 114, verse iv. line 2, for "grass-swathes" read 
 " grass -swaths" 
 
 Page 1 1 8, line ^for "forewent" read "forwent" 
 
THE MASQUE OF SHADOWS. 
 
" La mort contient 1'esperance infinie." 
 
 Leconte de Lisle. 
 
THE MASQUE OF SHADOWS. 
 
 earth above my head did lie, 
 And from my sight the flower-blue sky 
 Was hidden by a waste of stone, 
 And I in earth was left alone 
 To search the secrets of the tomb. 
 
 Waste night was there and speechless gloom, 
 
 And I thought not nor wondered, 
 
 Nor groped into the dusk with dread, 
 
 For Death had crown' d me with a crown 
 
 Of Lethe-weeds, that bound me down 
 
 In opiate trances. In a swoon 
 
 Of death I lay, wherein the moon 
 
 Seem'd spread above me like a flower, 
 
 That glitters in the midnight hour 
 
 Above the glass of some strange lake, 
 
 And from it falling dews did slake 
 
 My yearning for the coming things. 
 
THE MASQUE 
 
 Meseem'd my soul had lost its wings, 
 And could not lift itself away 
 From out that prison-place of clay. 
 Strange peace possess'd me and content ; 
 Meseem'd the springs of wonderment 
 And fear were lapsed from me with death, 
 And with the 'scape of earthly breath 
 Desire was dead of heart and brain. 
 
 The memories of joy and pain 
 Had in the life that goes before 
 The change of being, in the core 
 Of that great darkness, glitter' d yet, 
 In characters of silver set 
 Against the gloom ; but in my breast 
 Their scroll-work was a palimpsest 
 Whereon no writing, bright or dark, 
 Did burn. My soul their forms did mark, 
 As one that looks upon a masque 
 With absent eyes, too dull to ask 
 Of what these shadows told and whom : 
 Death filFd me so, there was no room 
 For aught that unto life pertained. 
 
 And so the ages came and waned 
 (Meseem'd) and in a sleep of sound 
 And sight, I lay within the ground, 
 Lapt in a trance of senselessness. 
 So hard the stillness seem'd to press 
 
OF SHADOWS. 
 
 Upon me, that me thought I sank, 
 
 Athwart the centre black and dank, 
 
 A fathom deep with every age : 
 
 And, as I went, strange fires did rage 
 
 Before me : caverns in the rock, 
 
 Wherein pent gases for the shock 
 
 Of earthquakes lay engarner'd up : 
 
 Red flames, that boiPd within a cup 
 
 Of adamant, and grisly shapes, 
 
 That mopp'd and mow'd like devils' apes 
 
 As I sank past them, like a stone 
 
 That to the deepest deeps is thrown 
 
 Of some dull sea : and here the ground 
 
 Shook with the phantom of a sound, 
 
 As if some cataract of flame 
 
 Roar'd down the channels without name 
 
 That tunnel all the middle world : 
 
 And here strange midworld thunders hurl'd 
 
 And echo'd, beating back the sound 
 
 With lurid jets of flame, that wound 
 
 And leapt and crawl'd, like hell-fire snakes 
 
 A-pastime. 
 
 Now I pass'd grim lakes, 
 Whereon a silence horrible 
 Did brood, and from the darkness fell 
 Into the pool great gouts of blood, 
 And redden'd all the grisly flood 
 With livid flakes. 
 
THE MASQUE 
 
 And then again 
 I fell and fell, athwart a rain 
 (Methought) of stars, . that long had lost, 
 For some old sin, the glittering ghost 
 That lit their orbits, white and pale, 
 Prick' d out against the grave-grey veil 
 Of the stern darkness, like a flight 
 Of moths against an Autumn night, 
 Spectral and sad. 
 
 And now a roar 
 
 Of hollow-moaning torrents tore 
 The ghastly calm, and white wild waves 
 Rent up the crannied midworld caves 
 About me : and I saw afar 
 A phosphorescence like a star 
 Floating above the grey abyss 
 Of waters, like a soul that is 
 Doom'd to dim wanderings o'er the sea 
 Of some unterm'd eternity. 
 And as I sank, I felt the throng 
 Of waves beneath me, and along 
 The lightless caverns I was borne 
 Betwixt harsh flaming rocks, betofn 
 With clash of waves and billows' war, 
 Towards the ever-distant star, 
 Set in the mystic veils of gloom. 
 
 Roars rent the earth in all her womb, 
 As, bearing me, the torrent fled 
 
OF SHADOWS. 7 
 
 Past all the seats of quick and dead 
 
 In the red centre ; and the core 
 
 Of the huge mountains, that upbore 
 
 The pinnacles of heaven, groan'd 
 
 With the fierce pain : the black rocks moan'd, 
 
 And all the deeps cried out for rage 
 
 And fear. 
 
 And still, for many an age, 
 Methought the stream fell evermore 
 And I with it, athwart the roar 
 Of clashing powers, and still the light 
 Fled farther through the hideous night 
 Above the grisly torrent-flow 
 And the rock-cataracts. 
 
 And so, 
 
 For centuries I fell and fell 
 Past all the flaming mouths of hell, 
 Until at last meseem'd the spell 
 Of sleep that bound me stronger grew, 
 As 'twere grim hands of darkness drew 
 Curtains of bronze about my sense ; 
 And all the shadow grew so dense, 
 That sight and hearing utterly 
 Were for a time bereft from me, 
 And I was soulless for a space. 
 
 Then suddenly the swart embrace 
 
THE MASQUE 
 
 Of night was slack'd, and all the chains 
 Of blackness loosed me ; and with pains 
 Unutterable, sense tore back 
 Into my brain ; and with the rack, 
 I felt that I had ceased to fall : 
 Then, gazing up through shroud and pall, 
 I saw the coffin-lid had grown 
 Translucent as the silver stone 
 That moulds the flanges of the moon : 
 And through the lid, a light was strewn 
 Upon my face, such as is shed 
 From many a body of the dead, 
 Night-raised beneath the starless sky 
 For cursed witchcraft. And as I 
 Strove towards the glimmer, I was 'ware 
 That all the bands that bound me there 
 Had loosed my limbs, and every sense 
 Was free from thrall : the cerements 
 Slid off, as mists fall from the day, 
 And up I stood, a phantom grey 
 And awful, in the dim blue gloom. 
 
 The place was like some old god's tomb, 
 Built high with grisly walls, and ceiPd 
 With a black dome-work, like a shield 
 Of iron wrought with ebony : 
 And there no thing the eye could see, 
 Save the gray walls and the pale light, 
 That seem'd as 'twere the corpse of night , 
 
OF SHADOWS. 
 
 Rotted to phosphorescency : 
 
 But as I paced me endlessly 
 
 About the dismal place, that shone 
 
 With that strange glitter, blue and wan 
 
 With my long tomb-sleep, there was shown 
 
 To me a postern in the stone, 
 
 Built low within the wall to mock 
 
 A slit tomb-opening in the rock 
 
 Deep hewn. 
 
 I push'd the postern through, 
 And as I strove, the glimmer grew 
 From out the darkness concentrate 
 Into blue globes of fire and fate, 
 And on the lintel in the gloom 
 Did grave strange signs of awe and gloom, 
 In unknown mystic tongues that write 
 Runes in the bowels of the night. 
 
 The postern open'd, and I past 
 Into a place all weird and ghast 
 With one eternal emptiness : 
 There was no living thing to bless 
 The grim dead waste of that sad scape 
 With any sign of life or shape. 
 Wave after wave, like a pale sea 
 Fix'd by some fearful sorcery 
 To semblant earth, the grey waste spread 
 As limitless as to the dead 
 
THE MASQUE 
 
 The death-swoon seems, within a shroud 
 Of silentness. Above, a cloud 
 Of vapours, twisted as it were 
 By winds long died out of the air, 
 Hung like an imminence of doom : 
 One felt that never on that gloom 
 The breath of Heaven had fallen, nor aye 
 Should fall to all eternity. 
 
 Then was my spirit sore dismayed 
 By that weird voidness, all outlaid 
 Before me, like a dead world's ghost ; 
 And back I turn'd me, having lost 
 All wish for going and desire 
 Save in the grave to rest from fire 
 And imminence of mystery. 
 But as I groped about to see 
 The backward way, behold the door 
 Was disappear'd, and there no more 
 Was any opening in the grey 
 Of the grim rampire. 
 
 Then away 
 
 Out of my soul the dull fear past, 
 And with swift steps into the vast 
 Grey lapses of the plain I went : 
 And as I sped my thought was blent 
 With a strange lightness of desire, 
 That seem'd to draw me ever nigher 
 To some completion of my spright. 
 
OF SHADOWS. ii 
 
 Wings fail'd me not : I was so light 
 Of going that I seem'd to float 
 Upon the greyness, like a boat 
 Of mid-air souls, that in the night 
 Is borne upon the waves of light 
 That ripple round the tranced moon. 
 
 Around me lay the night, aswoon 
 With second death, so still it was, 
 Save now and then a mote would pass 
 Of strange-hued light, and in the mote 
 MeseenYd pale presences did float 
 Of unknown essence. Blue and weird, 
 They rose on me, and disappear'd 
 Into the dusk, and suddenly 
 I was aware that I did flee 
 In a blue vapour, luminous 
 With my soul's glimmer, like to those 
 That fleeted past me. 
 
 On and on 
 
 I flitted through the darkness wan ; 
 And ever thicker swarm'd the motes 
 Like to some shining mist that floats 
 Above a marish, and anon, 
 Meseem'd some phantom brightlier shone 
 A second's space, as it drew nigh 
 Some other flame, and momently 
 The twain went, circling round and round 
 
12 THE MASQUE 
 
 Each other, o'er the grisly ground, 
 Striving, it seem'd, to meet ; but ever 
 Some viewless hand their love did sever, 
 And with a shock of rent desires, 
 They leapt asunder. 
 
 Then tall spires 
 Of flaming bronze rose awfully 
 Upon the marges of the sky, 
 And round the flames I saw grey things 
 That hover' d on their filmy wings 
 About the turrets, circle-wise, 
 Striving, methought, towards heaven to rise 
 On the fierce flood of fire, that bore 
 The skyward spires, but evermore 
 The frail wings fail'd them, scorch'd away 
 By the red flame, and yet the essay 
 Renewing ever, from the ground 
 They struggled up and circled round 
 The pitiless spirals, but again 
 To be hurl'd earthward in a rain 
 Of passionate fire-flakes. 
 
 Still I fled 
 
 Across that desert of the dead, 
 And past the towers that burnt aloft 
 Like fixt flames, till the air grew soft 
 With some strange melody, that rose 
 Out of the gloom, with close on close 
 
OF SHADOWS. 13 
 
 Of sad and vaporous harmony : 
 
 One could not tell if it should be 
 
 The dim wild wail of sprites forlorn 
 
 Or some weird waftings, upward borne, 
 
 Of perfume from ghost-flowers of night, 
 
 So blended all its sad delight 
 
 Was with the measures of a song 
 
 And the mute harmonies that throng 
 
 And hover from a night-flower's cup : 
 
 And as its phrases waver'd up, 
 
 Ineffable, from out the night 
 
 And its weird silences, each light 
 
 Leant to the cadence, and across 
 
 The air, the pulse harmonious 
 
 CompelPd the ghost-motes to a maze 
 
 Of intertwisted rhythmic ways, 
 
 A measure of strange guise wherein 
 
 The rhythms of the song were twin 
 
 With those that sleep in light, and those 
 
 That in the perfumes of the rose 
 
 Throb dumbly aye, by some strange stress 
 
 Evoked from out their silentness 
 
 To vaguest life. 
 
 It seem'd to me, 
 
 The sad strange dance's mystery 
 Involved all sorrows and all fears, 
 All ecstasies of hopes and tears, 
 And all the yearning that survives 
 
i 4 THE MASQUE 
 
 To the grey ghosts from bygone lives 
 
 And lives to come, if such shall be, 
 
 Fore-cast by stress of memory : 
 
 A rhythm, slow and interlaced 
 
 With trails of pause, as if thought chased 
 
 A long-loved memory through a maze 
 
 Of desert passion-tangled ways 
 
 For ever hopelessly, and ne'er 
 
 Could win to grasp the vision fair 
 
 And piteous. 
 
 And as I gazed 
 Upon the dances, unamazed 
 For voidness of a ghost's desire, 
 A strange faint perfume did aspire 
 Through all my sense, and with the scent 
 There came a sudden ravishment 
 Of dead desires, and there did seize 
 Upon me all old memories 
 And all the tyrannies of thought, 
 A sheaf of all life's shorn threads wrought 
 To some weird web of wishful pain. 
 The impulses, that from my brain 
 Had faded out with life, came back 
 With the old eddying whirl and rack 
 Of imminent longing; and the song, 
 Meseem'd, in all its closes long 
 And soft, exhaled my very soul 
 And all its melodies of dole 
 
OF SHADOWS. 15 
 
 And striving, wafted through the gate 
 Of death, ah, how most sublimate 
 And shadowy ! 
 
 And no less methought, 
 In all the rhythm there was wrought 
 For me a sense of winding feet 
 And hands stretch'd floatingly to meet 
 Celestial hands, of spiral flames 
 Wavering up aye towards vague aims 
 Of rest and spirit-peace fulfill 'd : 
 And with the passion sad and stilPd 
 Of those weird rhythms, all my sense 
 Vibrated, like a lyre-string, tense 
 And shaken by a summer wind, 
 Until the influences did bind 
 My senses to a following 
 Of their strange rhythm, and did bring 
 My will within some mystic spell 
 Of motion, potent to compel 
 The uncorpsed essence. So the law 
 Of that sad ecstasy did draw 
 My spright to it, and, wavering, 
 I circled in that mystic ring 
 Of song and colour and perfume, 
 Athwart the wide, unbroken gloom, 
 In a still frenzy of content, 
 A sad harmonious ravishment 
 Of wan delights. It seern'd to me 
 
1 6 THE MASQUE 
 
 The very passionless harmony 
 Of aspiration towards the aim 
 My soul alive could never name, 
 Much less attain to, fill'd the deeps 
 Of my void yearning with dim sleeps 
 Of Autumn-colour'd seas, that lay 
 And sway'd above the iron grey 
 Of the grim ocean-bed, and lull'd 
 The monsters there to slumber, dull'd 
 With melodies monotonous, 
 Save one stern thought, that ever was 
 Implacable, a snake of Fate, 
 In the mid-cavern deeps await 
 To fix its stings into my heart 
 And rend my being with the smart 
 Of its fell fangs, lashing the foam 
 To tempest 
 
 So my spright did roam 
 In those song-govern'd wanderings, 
 And the flower-breathings from the strings 
 Of my stretch'd soul drew wave on wave 
 Of sighing music, faint and grave 
 As the sad ghost-light, 'mid that throng 
 Of glimmering presences ; how long 
 Meknoweth not ; until, meseem'd 
 Upon the far sky-marge there gleam'd 
 A reddening glimmer, and there ceased 
 Some dele the greyness from the east 
 
OF SHADOWS. 17 
 
 Of that sad plain, as 'twere the gloom 
 Had with long dint of death become 
 Half phosphorescent. 
 
 Through the grey 
 
 The shadow-dawn came, such a day ! 
 There is no saddest autumn night, 
 Grey with the end of the grey light, 
 That could its pallor call to mind. 
 It was as if a worldward wind 
 Brought up from sea-tombs far away 
 The shadow-ghost of some dead day, 
 Long hidden in the shrouds of years, 
 A day made pale with many tears 
 And many a memory of affright. 
 The shadow-sun rose, ashen-white, 
 As 'twere a star dead long ago 
 And waked to ghost-life in a swoon, 
 Beneath the sorcery of the moon ; 
 And as its whiteness wan and chill 
 Slid through the void, the air grew still : 
 The mystic measures did forsake 
 The rhythm of the dance : there brake 
 The charm of scents that did compel 
 My spell-bound senses, and there fell 
 A witchery of silentness 
 Upon the plains. 
 
 Then, press on press, 
 A mist of dreams rose wavering 
 c 
 
i8 THE MASQUE 
 
 Out of the earth, and everything 
 
 Changed aspect. All the waste did take 
 
 The semblance of a shadowy lake, 
 
 With shores of marsh, set round with reeds 
 
 And armies of grey-flowering weeds : 
 
 Across the dull unmirroring face 
 
 Of the sad flood, did interlace 
 
 A countless multitude of flowers, 
 
 As colourless as winter hours : 
 
 Great flaccid irises, that erst, 
 
 (I dreamed), in life's long summery burst 
 
 Had flamed with many a bell of blue, 
 
 Mocking the August-tided hue 
 
 Of the sweet sky, or sweltered up 
 
 From the clear lake with many a cup 
 
 Of pers and inde imperial, 
 
 But now were grey and hueless all, 
 
 Phantoms in that phantasmal air 
 
 Of bygone sweets : and too were there 
 
 Strange pallid lilies, sad and wide, 
 
 Streak'd with dull flakes of grey and pied 
 
 With ghosts of many long-dead hues : 
 
 And from the flowers accursed dews 
 
 Stream'd up in mists towards the light. 
 
 And as I gazed, their scent did smite 
 Upon my sense, and I was 'ware 
 That those curst bells the phantoms were 
 Of the rich summer tide of flowers, 
 
OF SHADOWS. 19 
 
 That in its golden-threaded hours, 
 The passion of my soul pour'd out 
 From its fresh song-spring. Past a doubt 
 I knew the blossoms of my spring 
 And the rich summer's flowering 
 Of gold and azure, ay, no less, 
 The autumn's blaze of restlessness 
 And the dim winter's flowers of snow, 
 And all my heart did overflow 
 With bitterness, to see even these 
 Lie in the hueless shadow-peace, 
 Dead and ghost-pale : for I had long 
 Gladden'd myself, that this my song 
 Should never die, but 'mid the death, 
 Day after day, that cumbereth 
 The fine-strung soul, had comforted 
 My failing hope with the sweet thought, 
 (When this my hopelessness was sped,) 
 That these my flowers, that I had wrought 
 With pain and urgence of duresse, 
 Should bloom unsullied from the press 
 Of world-worn lives and spare for aye 
 The purest part of me to die. 
 
 Full long and sadly did I gaze 
 Upon them with a drear amaze; 
 For with remembrance had returned 
 The pangs of all the years I burn'd 
 Towards an unattained goal 
 
THE MASQUE 
 
 Receding ever, till my soul 
 Was stirr d by a new wonderment, 
 And from my sense the ghostly scent 
 Before a fresh impress did flee : 
 For there was wroughten suddenly 
 A new enchantment from the veils 
 Of the drawn mists, and all the sails 
 Veerd thither of my soul. 
 
 About 
 
 The marish-borders started out 
 A maze of buildings of a dream, 
 Ranges of steads, that all did gleam 
 With white fantastic porticoes ; 
 High temples, with pale ghostly shows 
 Of colonnades and peristyles, 
 Prolong'd and join'd for unknown miles, 
 In maddening endless countlessness. 
 Grey cloister did on cloister press, 
 Far stretching on through devious ways 
 Into the intermittent haze 
 That closed the distance. Through the veil 
 Of mists, thin pinnacles did scale 
 The midmost heaven with mazy spires, 
 Round which, like ways of men's desires, 
 The cloisters strove towards the sky. 
 
 It seem'd one vast infinity 
 Of netted ways, most desolate 
 And awful in their silent state, 
 
OF SHADOWS. 21 
 
 Their shadeless symmetry of white : 
 For, of a verity, one might 
 Throughout their solemn mystery 
 Wander a long eternity 
 And never come to find the end, 
 Whereto the devious ways did tend 
 In their dim silence-folded heart. 
 
 Then, as I stood a space apart, 
 No little wondering, from the lake 
 The mists that hover'd up did take 
 In the dawn-glimmer shadow-shape 
 And in pale semblances did drape > 
 Their shimmery essence. All the air 
 Did teem with ghosts, that down the stair 
 Of the pale light troop'd from the shore 
 And the curst marish to the core 
 Of the unending shadow-town. 
 
 Throng after throng they lighted down, 
 And in grey hosts funereal, 
 Dispersed through every cloister'd hall, 
 They flitted in the endless aisles 
 Of those void mazes, miles on miles, 
 Wandering as 'twere with hopeless eyes 
 And outstretch'd eager hands, mere sighs 
 Of yearning towards some darling thing, 
 For which even death could never bring 
 
22 THE MASQUE 
 
 The death of longing : and meseem'd 
 
 Each of the shadowy folk, that stream'd 
 
 Along the cloisters, 'twixt the walls 
 
 Of mist, had in the shadow-halls 
 
 Of the dead dreams, been known of me. 
 
 Me thought, in each some fragrancy 
 
 Of my own unfulfiU'd desire 
 
 Was prison'd, and with straining hands, 
 
 I strove towards them : but the bands 
 
 Of some stern Fate did bind my will 
 
 And held me solitary still. 
 
 But as I stood and wept for pain 
 Of my void yearning, o'er the plain 
 Of weeds and flowers, a low chill breeze 
 Rose mutely and on me did seize 
 With all its fluttering hands of wind : 
 So that my semblance, all entwined 
 With airy pinions, it did raise 
 And waft across the still lake-ways, 
 Like some thin down of daffodil 
 Or windflower ravish'd up, until 
 It set me in the midmost court 
 Of the vast halls, wherefrom athwart 
 The stillness, all the soundless ways 
 Fill'd the grey vistas with a maze 
 Of column'd arches. Then the breeze 
 Ceased softly from the misted leas, 
 And in void wonder I remain'd. 
 
OF SHADOWS. 23 
 
 Awhile, in a strange calm, enchain'd 
 
 By some vague sense of coming Fate, 
 
 Mute in the centre court I sate 
 
 And watch'd with absent eyes the flights 
 
 Of that pale crowd of eager sprites 
 
 Athwart the desert columnings: 
 
 And now and then, from unseen strings 
 
 And pipes, soft sighs exanimate 
 
 Of music made the air vibrate 
 
 With vaporous rhythms, and there fell 
 
 The harmonies ineffable 
 
 Of spirit-psalms upon my ear. 
 
 And so, through many a lapsing year, 
 Meseem'd, I sat nor cared arise, 
 Until betwixt those songful sighs 
 There swelFd upon my ghostly sense 
 A breath of mystic ravishments, 
 Such as had waved about my thought, 
 When in the earthly life I wrought 
 My wish to palaces of dreams, 
 Sun-gilded by no earthly beams, 
 In visions sweet and intricate. 
 
 It seem'd as if some flower of fate, 
 For this my secret set apart, 
 Breathed out to me its inmost heart 
 In trails of perfume, to express 
 My unform'd longing, with such stress 
 
24 THE MASQUE 
 
 Of sympathy it seem'd to speak 
 Tome. 
 
 And as I turn'd to seek 
 The mystic power, that did fulfil 
 My wish with perfume, on the sill 
 Of a low arch, through which a scape 
 Of aisles began, I saw a shape 
 Array'd in star-prick' d robes of mist, 
 Soft sapphire and pale amethyst 
 And every tender mystic hue 
 Of emblem'd sadness, and I knew 
 A white dream-haunted face, and eyes 
 Brimm'd with blue shadowy memories, - 
 A sad sweet mouth, that had alone 
 In the dim vision-ways been shown 
 To my desire. 
 
 It was, meseem'd, 
 The perfectness of all I dream'd, 
 The gathering from strife and storm 
 Of all my lost ones, in the form 
 Of a fair woman-ghost revealed. 
 
 And as I gazed on her, eye-seal'd 
 With ravishment, the fair shape came 
 Towards me, like a mingled flame 
 Of white and blue, till I could see 
 Her ghostly beauty perfectly. 
 
OF SHADOWS. 25 
 
 There was a light of dim dead grace, 
 A wild waste beauty in her face, 
 That told of very tender love 
 In that, sweet world that is above 
 Our place of shadows, love and grief 
 Bounden together in one sheaf 
 By Death in his pale harvesting. 
 In her, dead Love had taken wing 
 Out of the ruins of the past, 
 A sky-pure thing, that all had cast 
 Its chrysalis in the grave-hush. 
 
 Then, at her sight, my soul did rush 
 To her embraces, as assured 
 In her the weakness should be cured 
 Of its uncompassed desire ; 
 But she, like a pale lambent fire 
 Borne by the wind across the glass 
 Of some still marish-pool, did pass 
 Out of my reach, within the throat 
 Of the grey portal, and did float 
 Along the cloisters tremulously, 
 Beckoning with backward hand to me 
 To follow. 
 
 Then did I ensue 
 
 The steps of that fair spirit, through 
 A maze of many palaces, 
 Builded, it seem'd, with mockeries 
 
26 THE MASQUE 
 
 Of gold and jewels, that had long 
 
 Lost their glad soul of light among 
 
 The cypress-ways of death, through halls 
 
 Of cunning fretwork, where the walls 
 
 Were hung with arras, that of old 
 
 Had glow'd with blazon'd pearl and gold 
 
 And all sweet colours that one sees 
 
 In the fair dream-embroideries, 
 
 Wrought by no earthly skill to sheen 
 
 And shape of beauty that has been, 
 
 Fair histories of heroic times 
 
 Gone by and tales from poets' rhymes ; 
 
 But now alas ! the radiant spright 
 
 Had from the webwork taken flight, 
 
 And of their braveries there was left 
 
 Only a grey and filmy weft 
 
 Of shadowy outlines, toss'd about 
 
 By the sad airs, like some still rout 
 
 Of oldworld spectres. 
 
 And anon, 
 
 As I went on and ever on 
 Betwixt the arras all wind-blown, 
 Pale shadows of old feasts were thrown 
 Across the many vistaed ways, 
 And banner'd pageants did blaze 
 And wind along the weed-weft aisles : 
 Anon ghost-music rose the whiles, 
 Rhythms of erst-glad melody, 
 
OF SHADOWS. 27 
 
 Measures, whose soul had been of old 
 A summer-dream of blue and gold, 
 But now was paled and blanched to be 
 Void wails of sorrow unconsoled 
 And voices of a vague remorse. 
 
 And often, as upon the course 
 Of the fair shade, I took my way, 
 There started spectres from the grey 
 Of the pale halls and hemm'd me round 
 With shadow-dances. From the ground 
 The memories of things gone by 
 Aspired before me endlessly, 
 And all the passion of the past 
 Rose up around me, wan and ghast 
 With the long death-swoon, and did mock 
 My forward longing with a flock 
 Of jeering phantoms, mute as Fate. 
 
 In every nook the ghosts did wait 
 To spring out on me : from the roofs. 
 Thick with void ghosts of gems, grey woofs 
 Of worldly-worn desires did flutter 
 About my head, and there did mutter 
 From all the caves of echoings 
 A ceaseless flight of murmurous things, 
 Wing'd with dead thoughts melodious. 
 
 The phantom footfalls did arouse, 
 
28 THE MASQUE 
 
 As we swept on, a shadow-burst 
 
 Of my waste song-shapes, interspersed 
 
 With bleeding semblants of the souls 
 
 I had outwrought from my own doles 
 
 And joys and vestured in a part 
 
 Of flesh torn from my bleeding heart. 
 
 These all from silence started out 
 To life and circled me about 
 With an unceasing rout of ghosts : 
 And evermore new shadow-hosts 
 Grew from the mystic gloom, array'd 
 In trails of shadowy raiment, made 
 Of all my bygone hopes and fears. 
 
 And still, as I did fare, for tears 
 And weariness nigh past desire, 
 That lovely shade to me drew nigher 
 And with soft eyes and finger-sign 
 Beckon'd me on. 
 
 Strange lights did shine 
 Through vault and cloister, and anon 
 A phosphorescence, blue and wan, 
 Shimmering across the shadow-steads, 
 Show'd where great giants raised their heads 
 Of shadow to the middle air : 
 And kings and heroes, very fair 
 And dreadful, sat in ghostly state 
 
OF SHADOWS. 29 
 
 Upon vast thrones, stern shapes of Fate, 
 More awful than a man shall tell, 
 Majestic and immoveable. 
 
 Now on a cloister'd space we came, 
 Where, like pale pyramids of flame, 
 Strove up to heaven the shining weeds 
 Of all most bright and noble deeds 
 That men have done or dream'd to do ; 
 . And in the cloisters, stretching through 
 From hall to hall, on either hand, 
 Dim luminous semblances did stand ; 
 And round the cornice, like a frieze, 
 Were shadow'd out all phantasies, 
 Gracious and awful, that on earth 
 Jhe thought of man has given birth 
 Or dream-built harmony unto, 
 Death-paled from all their wealth of hue 
 And all the passion of their youth. 
 
 And as I pass'd them by, the ruth 
 That did possess me at their view 
 Took shape within me, and I knew 
 In all that grey and shadowy state 
 Of dreams and semblants etiolate, 
 The phantoms of the unreal sheen, 
 That glorifies the ' .Might have been." 
 
 Long did we traverse without cease 
 
30 THE MASQUE 
 
 That awful maze of palaces, 
 
 And still, whene'er my soul did faint 
 
 For the sad stress of some dead plaint, 
 
 The ghost of gladness past, or pale 
 
 With agony, desire did fail 
 
 For all the horror of the task 
 
 And the grey terror of that masque 
 
 Of shadowy spectres, that for aye 
 
 Did harass me with memory 
 
 And ghosts of thought, that fairest shade 
 
 The torment of my spright allay'd 
 
 With her soft shadowy azure gaze, 
 
 And still I strove along the ways 
 
 Behind her and could reach her not. 
 
 So we for endless years, methought, . 
 Did fare, and never could I win 
 To fold her form my arms within ; 
 It seem'd to me, the films of air, 
 That parted us, of crystal were, 
 As pitiless as diamond, 
 Forbidding me to come beyond 
 The line that did our lives divide. 
 
 And ever, as the ages died 
 And no hope came to my desire 
 Of its fruition, the pale fire 
 Of longing, that at first had seem'd 
 But as a flicker, burn'd and beam'd 
 
OF SHADOWS. 31 
 
 Within my soul to such a height 
 Of aspirance, that with its light 
 My ghostly semblance, grey and wan, 
 Grew glorious as a star and shone 
 With splendour of desireful love, 
 And all my being flamed above 
 The greyness of the lower air. 
 And that shade, too, the pale and fair, 
 Put on like splendour of desire, 
 And in like brightness ever higher 
 Flamed up athwart the shadow-rout 
 And the pale cloisters, sheathed about 
 With fire celestial. 
 
 So there past 
 
 Long centuries, until at last 
 My eyes were open'd from the ring 
 Of my own wish and suffering, 
 And to my new-born sight appear'd, 
 Against the sky-rack grey and weird, 
 Myriads of souls, that like a fire 
 Burnt higher up and ever higher 
 Towards the troubled firmament. 
 And as I gazed, the air was rent 
 With a great singing, as it were 
 The resonance of a great prayer 
 And joy for a great ransom won ; 
 And with the shock of it upon 
 The embattled air, the veils were torn 
 
32 THE MASQUE 
 
 From the ceiled sky, and there was born 
 
 Unto my sense a great delight, 
 
 A flowering of awful light : 
 
 For there did pass across the heaven 
 
 A sword of flaming gold, and riven 
 
 Were all the glooms from south to north 
 
 And the great radiance burst forth 
 
 Of midmost heaven upon us all, 
 
 And from the canopy did fall 
 
 A rain of heavenly fires, that brake 
 
 The crystal walls from us and strake 
 
 The mists to splendour. 
 
 Then did we 
 
 Each upon each in ecstasy 
 Rush in the ending of desire, 
 And in that sacrament of fire, 
 All grossness of vain hope fell off 
 From the pure essence, and with love 
 And gladness purged, the perfect spright 
 Rose up into the realms of light, 
 Death and its mystery solved at last. 
 
 And so with many a song we past 
 Into the deepest deeps of blue, 
 A dual soul, that like a dew 
 Dissolved into the Eternity 
 That rounds all Being like a sea. 
 
THE RIME OF REDEMPTION. 
 
"Traditur etiam nonnullos vire pervincente amoris ipsum 
 contra summum Domini judicium praevaluisse." 
 
 Euseb. de Fid. rebits Epist. 
 
 " Some indeed are said to have by very conquering force 
 of love prevailed against the supreme judgment of God." 
 
THE RIME OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 ways are white in the moon's light, 
 Under the leafless trees ; 
 Strange shadows go across the snow 
 Before the tossing breeze. 
 
 The night, meseems, is full of dreams, 
 Ghosts of the bygone time : 
 
 Full many a sprite doth walk to-night 
 Over the soundless rime. 
 
 The burg stands grim upon the rim 
 
 Of the low wooded hill : 
 Sir Loibich sits beside the hearth, 
 
 Fill'd with a thought of ill. 
 
36 THE RIME 
 
 The fire-light glows across the snows, 
 
 In the black night defined : 
 The cresset-fire flares high and higher, 
 
 Toss'd by the raging wind. 
 
 The knight sits bent with eyes intent 
 
 Upon the dying fire ; 
 Sad dreams and strange in sooth do range 
 
 Before the troubled sire. 
 
 He sees the maid the past years laid 
 
 Upon his breast to sleep, 
 Long dead in sin, laid low within 
 
 The grave unblest and deep. 
 
 He sees her tears, her sobs he hears, 
 Borne on the shrieking wind ; 
 
 He sees her hair, so golden-fair, 
 Stream out her form behind. 
 
 He hears her wail, with lips that fail. 
 
 To him to save her soul ; 
 He sees her laid, unhouseled, 
 
 Under the crossless knoll. 
 
 His heart is wrung, his soul is stung 
 
 To death with memories : 
 His face grows white as the moonlight, 
 
 And all his words are sighs. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 37 
 
 ii. 
 
 " Ah ! would, dear Christ, my tears sufficed 
 
 To ransom her !" he cries : 
 " Sweet Heaven, to win her back from sin, 
 
 I would renounce the skies. 
 
 " Could I but bring her suffering 
 
 To pardon and to peace, 
 I for my own sin would atone, 
 
 Where never pain doth cease ! 
 
 " I for my part would gnaw my heart, 
 
 Chain'd in the flames of hell ; 
 I would abide, unterrified, 
 
 More than a man shall tell." 
 
 The flame burns red, he bows his head 
 
 Upon his joining hands ; 
 The wraiths of old are shown and told 
 
 Upon the dying brands. 
 
 in. 
 
 A hoarse scream tears athwart his ears, 
 Strange howls are in the air ; 
 
 The wolves do stray in search of prey 
 Across the moorlands bare. 
 
38 THE RIME 
 
 Red eyes flame forth from south to north, 
 
 The beasts are all a-chase ; 
 God help the wight that goes to-night 
 
 Among the wild wood ways ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The moon is pale, the night winds wail, 
 Weird whispers fill the night : 
 
 " Dear heart, what word was that I heard 
 Ring out in the moonlight ? 
 
 " Methought there came to me my name, 
 
 Cried with a wail of woe ; 
 A voice whose tone my heart had known 
 
 In the days long ago." 
 
 Twas but the blast that hurried past, 
 
 Shrieking among the pines ; 
 The souls that wail upon the gale, 
 
 When the dim starlight shines. 
 
 v. 
 
 " Great God ! the name ! once more it came 
 
 Ringing across the dark ! 
 Loibich ! " it cried. The night is wide, 
 
 The dim pines stand and hark. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 39 
 
 The lead-grey heaven by the blast is riven ; 
 
 God ! how the torn trees shriek ! 
 The wild wind soughs among the boughs, 
 
 As though the dead did speak. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Loibich ! Loibich ! my soul is sick 
 
 With hungering for thee ! 
 The night fades fast, the hours fly past ; 
 
 Stay not, come forth to me ! " 
 
 Great Heaven ! the doubt is faded out, 
 It was her voice that spake ; 
 
 He made one stride and open wide 
 The casement tall he strake. 
 
 The cloudwrack grey did break away, 
 Out shone the ghostly moon ; 
 
 Down slid the haze from off the ways 
 Before her silver shoon. 
 
 Pale silver-ray'd, out shone the glade, 
 
 Before the castle wall, 
 And on the lea the knight could see 
 
 A maid both fair and tall. 
 
40 THE RIME 
 
 Gold was her hair, her face was fair, 
 
 As fair as fair can be ; 
 But through the night the blue corpse-light 
 
 About her could he see. 
 
 She raised her face towards the place 
 
 Where Loibich stood adread \ 
 There was a sheen in her two een, 
 
 As one that long is dead. 
 
 She look'd at him in the light dim, 
 
 And beckon'd with her hand : 
 " Dear Knight," she said, " thy prayer hath sped 
 
 Unto the heavenly land." 
 
 " Come forth with me : the night is free 
 
 For us to work the thing 
 That is to do, before we two 
 
 Shall hear the dawn-bird sing." 
 
 VII. 
 
 He took his brand within his hand, 
 
 His dirk upon his thigh : 
 And he hath come, through dusk and gloom, 
 
 Where wide the portals lie. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 " Saddle thy steed, Sir Knight, with speed, 
 
 Thy faithfullest," quoth she, 
 " For many a tide we twain must ride 
 
 Before the end shall be." 
 
 The steed is girt, black Dagobert, 
 
 Swift-footed as the wind ; 
 The knight leapt up upon his croup, 
 
 The maid sprang up behind. 
 
 A stately pair the steed doth bear 
 
 Upon his back to-night : 
 The sweatdrops rain from flank and mane, 
 
 His eyes start out for fright. 
 
 Her weight did lack upon his back ; 
 
 He trembled as he stood ; 
 It seem'd as 'twere a death-cold air 
 
 Did freeze the courser's blood. 
 
 She threw the charms of her white arms 
 
 About Sir Loibich's neck : 
 It seem'd as if 't had been a drift 
 
 Of snow on him did break. 
 
42 THE RIME 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The spurs are dyed deep in the side 
 
 Of the destrere amain ; 
 The leaves do chase behind -his race 
 
 And far out streams his mane. 
 
 The wind screams past ; they ride so fast,- 
 
 Like troops of souls in pain 
 The snowdrifts spin, but none may win 
 
 To rest upon the twain. 
 
 So fast they ride, the blasts divide 
 
 To let them hurry on ; 
 The wandering ghosts troop past, in hojts 
 
 Across the moonlight wan. 
 
 They fly across the frozen floss, 
 Across the frost-starr'd mead : 
 
 Hill, wood and plain they cross amain ; 
 Hill, plain and wood succeed. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The wild wind drops, the snow-whirl stops, 
 Frost fades from grass and brere ; 
 
 The dim clouds die from out the sky 
 And forth the moon shines clear. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 43 
 
 A sudden hush, and then a rush 
 
 Of magic melodies ; 
 A summer wood, with moonpearls strew'd, 
 
 And jasmine-girdled trees. 
 
 The lady laid her hand of shade 
 
 Upon the hurrying horse, 
 And suddenly, upon the lea, 
 
 He halted in his course. 
 
 To them there came a fragrant flame, 
 
 A light of elfinry : 
 The haggard night pour'd forth delight 
 
 And flowers of Faerie. 
 
 A wondrous song did wind along 
 The moon-besilver'd glades, 
 
 And all the things the elfnight brings 
 Did glitter from the shades. 
 
 x. 
 
 " Light down, Sir Knight, in the moonlight, 
 
 Light down and loose my hand ; 
 I must be gone, but thou hast won 
 
 Unto the Faery land." 
 
44 THE RIME 
 
 " By Christ His troth!" he swore an oath, 
 
 " No Faery land for me, 
 Unless thou light thee down to-night, 
 
 Therein with me to be." 
 
 " Alas, Sir Knight, I must this night 
 
 Harbour me far away ; 
 Far be 't from thee to rest with me 
 
 Where I must dwell for aye." 
 
 He smote his breast : " By Christ His rest, 
 
 No Faeryland will I ! 
 Rather to dwell with thee in hell 
 
 Than lonely in the sky ! " 
 
 The thunder broke, the lightning stroke 
 
 Fell down and tore the earth ; 
 The firm ground shook, as though there took 
 
 The world the throes of birth. 
 
 The elfsong died, the moon did hide 
 
 Her face behind the haze, 
 And once again they ride amain 
 
 Across the wild wide ways. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 45 
 
 XI. 
 
 The night grew black ; the grey cloudwrack 
 
 WhiiTd fast across the skies ; 
 What lights are those the white snow throws 
 
 Reflected in their eyes ? 
 
 What flames are those the blackness shows 
 
 Rising like rosy flowers 
 Up to the lift? What ruddy rift 
 
 Shines out in the night hours ? 
 
 The night is wide : they ride and ride, 
 The lights grow bright and near ; 
 
 There comes a wail upon the gale, 
 And eke a descant clear. 
 
 There comes a plain of souls in pain, 
 
 And eke a high sweet song 
 As of some fate whose pain is great, 
 
 But yet whose hope is strong. 
 
 Aye louder grow the sounds of woe, 
 
 But the song sweeter still, 
 Until the steed doth slacken speed, 
 
 At foot of a high hill. 
 
46 THE RIME 
 
 The hazes grey before their way 
 
 Divided are in two ; 
 A wondrous sight midmost the night 
 
 Lies open to their view. 
 
 The hill is strewn beneath the moon 
 With strange and singing fires ; 
 
 In every flame a soul from shame 
 And soil of sin aspires. 
 
 From every fire, higher and higher 
 The song of hope doth rise : 
 
 These are the sprights that God delights 
 To fit for Paradise. 
 
 xn. 
 
 " Light down, Sir Knight ; I pray, alight ; 
 
 This is the purging-place ; 
 Here shalt thou win to cast off sin 
 
 And come to Christ His grace." 
 
 " By Christ His troth ! " he swore an oath, 
 
 " That will I not," quoth he, 
 " Unless thou too, my lover true, 
 
 Therein shalt purged be." 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 47 
 
 " Would God," she said, " the lot were laid 
 
 For me to enter here ! 
 Alack ! my stead is with the dead, 
 
 All in the place of fear ; 
 
 " But thou light down ; the gate is thrown 
 
 Wide open in the ward ; 
 See where they stand on either hand, 
 
 Angels with downdropt sword." 
 
 " By Christ His rest !" he smote his breast; 
 
 " No grace of God will I ! 
 Rather with thee damned to be 
 
 Than lonely in the sky !" 
 
 The night closed round, there came a sound 
 
 Of trumpets in the air ; 
 The steed leapt on, the fires were gone, 
 
 And on the twain did fare. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Through storm and night again their flight 
 They urge o'er hill and plain : 
 
 What sounds smite clear upon the ear, 
 Through dusk and wind and rain ? 
 
48 THE RIME 
 
 " Meseems I heard as if there stirr'd 
 
 A sound of golden lyres ; 
 Methought there came a sweet acclaim 
 
 Of trumpets and of choirs. 
 
 " So sing the saints, where never faints 
 The sunlight from the skies ; 
 
 So pulse the lyres among the choirs 
 Of God in Paradise." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A singing light did cleave the night, 
 
 High up a hill rode they ; 
 The veils of Heaven for them were riven, 
 
 And all the skies pour'd day. 
 
 The golden gate did stand await, 
 
 The golden, town did lie 
 Before their sight, the realms of light 
 
 God builded in the sky. 
 
 The steed did wait before the gate, 
 Sheer up the street look'd they, 
 
 They saw the bliss in Heaven that is, 
 They saw the saints' array. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 49 
 
 They saw the hosts upon the coasts 
 
 Of the clear crystal sea \ 
 They saw the blest, that in the rest 
 
 Of Christ for ever be. 
 
 The choirs of God pulsed full and broad 
 
 Upon the ravish'd twain ; 
 The angels' feet upon the street 
 
 Rang out like golden rain. 
 
 They felt the sea of ecstasy 
 That flows about the throne ; 
 
 The bliss of heaven to them was given 
 Awhile to look upon. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Then said the maid, " Be not afraid, 
 
 God giveth heaven to thee ; 
 Light down and rest with Christ His blest, 
 
 And think no more of me ! " 
 
 Sir Loibich gazed, as one sore dazed, 
 
 Awhile upon the place j 
 Then, with a sigh, he turn'd his eye 
 
 Upon the maiden's face. 
 E 
 
50 THE RIME 
 
 " By Christ His troth !" he swore an oath, 
 " No heaven for me shall be, 
 
 Unless God give that thou shalt live 
 In heaven for aye with me." 
 
 " Ah, curst am I !" the maid did cry ; 
 
 " My place thou knowest well ; 
 I must begone before the dawn, 
 
 To harbour me in hell." 
 
 " By Christ His rest !" he beat his breast, 
 
 " Then be it even so ; 
 With thee in hell I choose to dwell 
 
 And share with thee thy woe ! 
 
 " Thy sin was mine, By Christ His wine, 
 Mine too shall be thy doom ; 
 
 What part have I within the sky, 
 And thou in Hell's red gloom ?" 
 
 The vision broke, as thus he spoke, 
 
 The city waned away : 
 O'er hill and brake, o'er wood and lake 
 
 Once more the darkness lay. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 O'er hill and plain they ride again, 
 
 Under the night's black spell, 
 Until there rise against the skies 
 
 The lurid lights of hell. 
 
 The plain is wide : they ride and ride, 
 
 The air with smoke grows crost, 
 And through the dark their ears may hark 
 
 The roaring of the lost. 
 
 The dreadful cries they rend the skies, 
 
 The plain is ceil'd with fire : 
 The flames burst out, around, about, 
 
 The heats of hell draw nigher. 
 
 Unfear'd they ride ; against the side 
 
 Of the red flameful sky 
 Grim forms are thrown, strange shapes upgrown 
 
 From out Hell's treasury. 
 
 Black grisly shapes of demon apes, 
 
 Grim human-headed snakes, 
 Red creeping things with scaly wings, 
 
 Born of the sulphur lakes. 
 
52 THE RIME 
 
 The flames swell up out of the cup 
 
 Of endless agony, 
 And with the wind there comes entwined 
 
 An awful psalmody ; 
 
 The hymning sound of fiends around. 
 
 Rejoicing in their doom, 
 The fearsome glee of things that be 
 
 Glad in their native gloom. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Fast rode the twain across the plain, 
 With hearts all undismay'd, 
 
 Until they came where all a-flame 
 Hell's gates were open laid. 
 
 The awful stead gaped wide and red, 
 To gulph them in its womb : 
 
 There could they see the fiery sea 
 And all the souls in doom. 
 
 There came a breath, like living death, 
 
 Out of the gated way : 
 It scorch'd his face with its embrace, 
 
 It turn'd his hair to grey. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 53 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Then said the maid, " Art not dismayed? 
 
 Here is our course fulfill'd : 
 Wilt thou not turn, nor rest to burn 
 
 With me, as God hath will'd? 
 
 " By Christ His troth ! " he swore an oath, 
 
 Thy doom with thee dree I ! 
 Here will we dwell, hand-link'd in hell, 
 
 Unsevered for aye ! " 
 
 He spurr'd his steed ; the gates of dread 
 
 Gaped open for his course : 
 Sudden outrang a trumpet's clang, 
 
 And backwards fell the horse. 
 
 The ghostly maid did wane and fade, 
 
 The lights of hell did flee ; 
 Alone in night the mazed wight 
 
 Stood on the frozen lea. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Out shone the moon ; the mists were blown 
 
 Away before his sight, 
 And through the dark he saw a spark, 
 
 A welcoming of light. 
 
54 THE RIME 
 
 Thither he fared, with falchion bared, 
 
 Toward the friendly shine ; 
 Eftsoon he came to where a flame 
 
 Did burn within a shrine. 
 
 A candle stood before the Rood, 
 
 Christ carven on the tree : 
 Despite the shrine, there was no sign 
 
 Of man that he could see. 
 
 Down on his knee low louted he 
 
 Before the cross of wood, 
 And for her spright he saw that night 
 
 Long pray'd he to the Rood. 
 
 And as he pray'd, with heart down-weigh'd, 
 
 A wondrous thing befell : 
 He saw a light, and through the night 
 
 There rang a silver bell. 
 
 The earth-mists drew from off his view, 
 
 He saw God's golden town ; 
 He saw the street, he saw the seat 
 
 From whence God looketh down. 
 
 He saw the gate transfigurate, 
 
 He saw the street of pearl, 
 And in the throng, the saints among, 
 
 He saw a gold-hair'd girl. 
 
OF REDEMPTION. 55 
 
 He saw a girl as white as pearl, 
 
 With hair as red as gold : 
 He saw her stand among the band 
 
 Of angels manifold. 
 
 He heard her smite the harp's delight, 
 
 Singing most joyfully, 
 And knew his love prevail'd above 
 
 Judgment and destiny. 
 
 xx. 
 
 Gone is the night, the morn breaks white 
 
 Across the eastward hill ; 
 The knightly sire by the dead fire 
 
 Sits in the dawning chill. 
 
 By the hearth white, there sits the knight, 
 
 Dead as the sunken fire ; 
 But on his face is writ the grace 
 
 Of his fulfill'd desire. 
 
THE BUILDING OF THE 
 DREAM. 
 
" Or quester est de telle sorte et ordinance qu'a one homme 
 ayant mis main es choses du monde des enchantemens et cuydant 
 de puys d'eulx se departir et se retourner a la vie de dessoubs les 
 astres point ne luy sera licite ne fesable mais force luy sera hors 
 de ce monde au plus tost mourir." 
 
 JEHAN DU MESTRE, 
 
 De reg. incant. 
 
THE BUILDING OF THE DREAM. 
 
 O Love, that never par doneth, 
 O Love, more pitiless than Death ! 
 His strife is vain that would express 
 Thy sweets without thy bitterness ! 
 
 His toil is vain, for sooth it is 
 One winneth Love through Death his kiss; 
 A man shall never know Lovers land 
 Until Death take him by the hand. 
 
 bitter Love ! this is indeed 
 The evil unto life decreed, 
 That men shall seek thee wearily, 
 And finding thee, shall surely die! 
 
 I. 
 
 DESIRE. 
 
 dwelt a squire in Poitou of old 
 times, 
 
 Under the fragrant limes 
 That fringed a city very fair and wide, 
 Set on a green hill-side ; 
 And round about the city there did go, 
 Murmuring soft and low 
 
60 THE BUILDING 
 
 Sweet half heard melodies of days gone by, 
 
 A river that did lie 
 Upon the woven greensward of the fields 
 
 In pools like silver shields 
 Of mighty giants flung upon the grass, 
 
 And round the walls did pass 
 And kiss'd the grey old ramparts of the place 
 
 With the enchanted grace 
 Of its fair crystal shallows, in the morn 
 
 Flush'd silver as the thorn 
 Of a May-dawning, and when day was done, 
 
 Rose-ruddy with the sun, 
 That fill'd the arteries of the land with gold. 
 
 Fair was the place and old 
 Beyond the memory of man, with roofs 
 
 Tall-peak' d and hung with woofs 
 Of dainty stone-work, jewelFd with the grace 
 
 Of casements, in the face 
 Of the white gables inlaid, in all hues 
 
 Of lovely reds and blues. 
 At every corner of the winding ways 
 
 A carven saint did gaze, 
 With mild sweet eyes, upon the quiet town, 
 
 From niche and shrine of brown ; 
 And many an angel, graven for a charm 
 
 To save the folk from harm 
 Of evil sprites, stood sentinel above 
 
 High pinnacle and roof. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 61 
 
 The place seem'd sanctified by quietude, 
 
 With some quaint peace imbued, 
 And down its streets the sloping sunlight leant 
 
 On roof and battlement, 
 Like a God's blessing, loath to pass away, 
 
 Lingering beyond the day. 
 
 But seldom came the pomp and blazonry 
 
 Of clamorous war anigh 
 The calm sweet place; but there folk came to 
 spend 
 
 The days of their life's end 
 In strifeless quiet, in the tender haze 
 
 Of the old knightly days, 
 That bathed the place in legend and romance. 
 
 Haply, bytimes, a lance 
 Would glitter in the sun, as down the street 
 
 The mailed knights rode to meet 
 The armies of the king of all the land, 
 
 And with loud-clanging brand 
 And noise of many a clarion and a horn, 
 
 The bannerets were borne 
 Before them by their men-at-arms : but yet 
 
 The place was unbeset 
 By actual war, and men look'd lazily 
 
 Across the plains, to see 
 The far-off dust-clouds, speck'd with points of light, 
 
 That told of coming fight 
 In the dim distance, where the fighting-men 
 
62 THE BUILDING 
 
 Trail'd, through some distant glen 
 Or round the crown of some high-crested hill, 
 
 Halberd and spear and bill, 
 And to the walls the echoed sound would come 
 
 Of some great army's hum 
 And clank of harness, mix'd with trumpet-clang. 
 
 And now and then there rang 
 At the shut gates a silver clarion's call, 
 
 And the raised bridge would fall 
 To give some knight night's lodging there, who 
 went 
 
 To a great tournament 
 Or act of arms in some far distant town 
 
 Beyond the purpled brown 
 Of the great hills. 
 
 But else the quiet place 
 
 Slept in a lazy grace 
 Of old romance and felt the stress and need 
 
 Little in very deed 
 Of the great world, that compass'd it about 
 
 With many a woe and doubt 
 Unknown to it. Yea, for the quietness 
 
 And peace that did possess 
 The town, had many a learned clerk, that sought 
 
 Deep in the realms of thought, 
 Made to himself a home within the walls ; 
 
 Among the ancient halls 
 Wrought many a limner, famous in the land, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 63 
 
 And many an one with hand 
 Well skill'd to sweep the lute-strings to delight, 
 
 And crafty men that write 
 Fair books and fill the marge with painted things, 
 
 Gold shapes of queens and kings, 
 Fair virgins sitting in bird-haunted bowers, 
 
 And every weed that flowers 
 From spring through summer to the waning 
 year, 
 
 Here without let or fear 
 These all did dwell and wrought at arts of peace. 
 
 And there, too, dwelt at ease 
 This squire of Poitou. Ebhardt was his name ; 
 
 A name not strange to fame 
 In the old days, when he was wont to bear 
 
 Banner and banner'd spear 
 Before great knights and rend the thickest press 
 
 Of foemen with the stress 
 Of his hot youth. Of old, in very deed, 
 
 There once had been much rede 
 Of his fair prowess and the deeds of arms 
 
 He wrought with his stout arms 
 Upon the enemies of land and king ; 
 
 And of a truth, no thing 
 Was wanting to the squire but yet one field 
 
 Of fight, ere on his shield 
 The glorious blazon of a knight should shine, 
 
 Before the golden sign 
 
64 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of chivalry should glance at either heel 
 
 And the ennobling steel 
 Fall softly on his shoulder. 
 
 But that day 
 
 Was long since past away 
 Out of his thought, and all the old desire 
 
 Had faded from the squire 
 Of golden spurs and every knightly thing. 
 
 For, as the years did bring 
 The winterward of life, and age began 
 
 To creep upon the man, 
 Came weariness of strife and wish for rest 
 
 And thought that peace was best 
 For those whose youth had left them and the first 
 
 Fresh heat of blood, that burst 
 All bounds and barriers of rugged Fate. 
 
 Wherefore he did abate 
 His warlike toil, and after many a day 
 
 He had wholly away 
 From the grim strife and clangour of the time 
 
 Withdrawn himself, in prime 
 Of later manhood, and in arts of peace 
 
 Thenceforward without cease 
 His mind had vantaged. And, in chief, such 
 quests 
 
 As the old alchymists 
 And nigromancers sought, himself he set 
 
 To follow, and forget 
 
OF THE DREAM. 65 
 
 The ills of living, seeking in old tomes, 
 
 Heap'd up within the glooms 
 Of scholars' shelves for many a dusty year, 
 
 To find the words that bear 
 The secret of the mysteries of life 
 
 And all the problems rife 
 In changeful being, that for aye anew 
 
 Unto the sage do sue 
 For due solution. Many a year he wrought 
 
 At these dim quests, and sought 
 Chiefest of all the hidden things that lie 
 
 And mock men's fantasy 
 In the recesses of forbidden arts 
 
 The mystic lore that parts 
 The soul of man from grinding cares of earth, 
 
 And with a new bright birth 
 More blessed than the angels maketh him, 
 
 And had upon the brim 
 Of the strange knowledge trembled many a time, 
 
 Yet back into the slime 
 Of the old state fell ever, missing aye 
 
 The thing he came so nigh 
 By some hair's-breadth of crystal pitiless, 
 
 That against all his stress 
 AvaiFd to stop his passing heavenward. 
 
 So, many a year he pour'd 
 His strength into the sieve of that strange task, 
 As in a Danai'd's cask, 
 
66 THE BUILDING 
 
 And failing ever, ever hoped anew, 
 
 And ever did ensue 
 Upon the well-worn path he loved so well 
 
 Until, one day, it fell 
 That, studying in an ancient book fair writ 
 
 With chymic inks that bit 
 Into the pictured vellum of the page 
 
 So deeply that with age 
 The words fail'd scarcely, bound with many a hasp 
 
 And quaintly-graven clasp 
 Of gold and tarnish'd silver, by some chance 
 
 Of favouring Fate, his glance, 
 That had been wandering dull and listlessly 
 
 Amid a prosy sea 
 Of ancient saws and schoolmen's verbiage, 
 
 Lit on a close-writ page, 
 Whose very aspect made his heart to leap 
 
 With some strange stirring. 
 
 Deep 
 And long he search'd the scroll, till on a space 
 
 Left wide betwixt the grace 
 Of woven flowers and goldwork, that the rim 
 
 Of the fair script did limn 
 With such bright broidery of lovely hues, 
 
 As ancient folk did use 
 To beautify their pleasant books withal, 
 
 He read a rescript, all 
 In twisted Greek, contracted to such maze 
 
OF THE DREAM. 67 
 
 Of crabbed Proclus-ways, 
 That with much labour hardly could he win 
 
 To find the sense within 
 The gnarPd, rude characters. But well repaid 
 
 For all the toil he laid 
 To the deciphering, in truth, he was ; 
 
 For so it came to pass 
 That as the meaning, veil'd at first and dim. 
 
 Grew visible to him 
 More and more certainly, the squire was ware 
 
 That in the scroll a rare 
 And precious secret of the craft lay hid, 
 
 Cunningly set amid 
 A maze of devious words, that, save to one 
 
 Long-learn'd and grey-hair'd grown 
 In all the occult arts, must lead the wit 
 
 Wandering astray from it 
 Among void fancies. But the squire had spent 
 
 Long years in study, bent 
 Over such books, and so was skill'd in all 
 
 Devices wherewithal 
 The ancient masters sought their pearls to hide 
 
 From such profane as tried 
 To fathom their strange mysteries, and keep 
 
 Their wisdom dim and deep 
 For those alone that of the craftship were ; 
 
 And so, with toil and care, 
 After much labour from the scroll he learn'd 
 
 The thing for which he yearn' d 
 
68 THE BUILDING 
 
 So many fruitless years ; the charm that frees 
 
 The soul from miseries 
 And joys of life : for it therein was told 
 
 That, if with virgin gold 
 Won with his sweat and beaten into shoon, 
 
 Under the risen moon, 
 With his own hands, a man should shoe his horse, 
 
 And, braced for a great course, 
 Should fearless ride into the couchant sun, 
 
 Before seven days were done, 
 He of a truth should come unto a place, 
 
 Where, with unearthly grace 
 And ravishment, the dreams of his dead youth, 
 
 In all their lovely sooth 
 Beyond imagining, should be upbuilt 
 
 Before his eyes, and gilt 
 With all the gold and pearls and flowers that be 
 
 Within man's fantasy ; 
 And there it should be given him to dwell 
 
 For ever, 'neath the spell 
 Of that unchanging magic of his thought, 
 
 Wherein no thing unsought 
 For lack of his imagining should fail, 
 
 Nor any note of wail 
 Nor hum of weary toil should enter there, 
 
 But in the restful air 
 Life should be painless under dream-blue skies, 
 
 Gilt by the radiant eyes 
 Of that fair queen, that all in dreams do love, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 69 
 
 Set in the realms above 
 Our reach, as Dante loved his Beatrice. 
 
 And lovelier things than this, 
 Ay, and more wondrous, were recounted there 
 
 Of how that place was fair 
 And bright beyond man's thought of earthly bliss. 
 
 So, little strange it is 
 If Ebhardt, reading of the things set down 
 
 Upon the vellum, brown 
 With age, of that old book, grew wonder-glad, 
 
 And for a little had 
 Scarce senses to receive the words he read 
 
 And all the goodlihead 
 Of promise, that the faithful scroll had held 
 
 So many a year enspeird 
 From all but him the master and adept. 
 
 Hot tears of joy he wept 
 To think there was to him, of all his kind, 
 
 Alone such bliss assigned ; 
 And presently began his thoughts to set 
 
 Awork how he should get 
 This thing he yearn'd for : for the man was poor 
 
 And hardly could procure 
 Fit sustenance. In study had he spent 
 
 His substance, being bent 
 On his strange hopes past thought of worldly gain. 
 
 And as he rack'd his brain, 
 Awhile all fruitlessly, for means whereby 
 
70 THE BUILDING 
 
 He should make shift to buy 
 The needed metal, that came nigh to be 
 
 The price of a squire's fee, 
 He suddenly bethought him that there yet, 
 
 Uncharged by any debt, 
 Remain'd to him one little piece of land, 
 
 Fruitful enough and spann'd 
 By the swift Loire ; a little vine-set field 
 
 Whose fertile soil did yield 
 A dole of daily substance, scant enough 
 
 For all save those that plough 
 The fields of knowledge ; earnt as the reward 
 
 Of his young blood outpour'd 
 On many a foughten field of sunny France ; 
 
 Which, being sold, perchance 
 Might, with some curious arms he once had gahYd, 
 
 Whileares when Fortune deign'd 
 To favour him against his foe in fight, 
 
 Fulfil the sum aright 
 He needed to possess the thing he sought. 
 
 But if (O woful thought !) 
 His substance being wasted in this wise, 
 
 His glorious enterprise 
 Should fail, for all his hopes and effort ? 
 
 Why, 
 
 What could he do but die ? 
 And to a fighter, death was terrorless. 
 
 While, if the Fates should bless 
 
OF THE DREAM. 71 
 
 His long desire with the fulfilPd delight, 
 
 Would not his soul be quite 
 Absolved from life and its ignoble need, 
 
 Seeing that he should feed 
 On the fair food of an unearthly bliss, 
 
 And with his love's best kiss 
 And in her sight from all the weary dearth 
 
 And stressfulness of earth 
 Be purified ? 
 
 So either hap might chance, 
 
 111 or deliverance, 
 And in no wise should he have need again 
 
 Of that unlovely bane 
 Of our dull lives, that is our curse and stay, 
 
 Without which is no way 
 To live nor with it to live happily. 
 
 Wherefore his land sold he 
 And all his arms, except one suit of mail 
 
 Wrought out with many a scale 
 And ring of steel, and his good sword and spear 
 
 And all the warlike gear 
 He had erst ridden to the battle in, 
 
 With age and use full thin 
 And rusty grown, but still of temper keen 
 
 And faithful, having been 
 A right good armourer's work of middle Spam 
 
 And with the double gain 
 He bought a lump of virgin gold as large 
 
72 THE BUILDING 
 
 As a Moor's battle-targe, 
 Wherewith to work the magic that he learnt 
 Within the scroll. 
 
 There burnt 
 Within his breast so uncontroll'd a fire 
 
 And urgence of desire 
 To fill the measure of his high intent, 
 
 That scarce the day was spent 
 Whereon he bought the gold, and in the sky 
 
 The moon was white and high, 
 Ere to the rooftop of his house he crept, 
 
 And there, whilst all folk slept, 
 In the full ripple of the flooding light, 
 
 Did work the livelong night, 
 To fashion out the ore with his own hands 
 
 Into smooth beaten bands 
 Of wroughten gold, moulding them circle-wise 
 
 Into such shape and guise 
 As for the seven days' journey should be meet 
 
 To guard his horse's feet 
 
 Against the highway's stones. The work did 
 grow 
 
 Beneath his hands full slow 
 And tediously ; for many a year was past 
 
 Since he had laboured last 
 At such smith's craft ; but yet the earnest will 
 
 Redeem'd the want of skill, 
 And with much toil at last the squire did make 
 
OF THE DREAM. 73 
 
 The stubborn gold to take 
 Shoe-shape. 
 
 All night he wrought beneath the moon, 
 
 And with the dawn the shoon 
 Fourfold were finished, round beyond impeach, 
 
 Pierced with four holes in each ; 
 Nor, for the fitting, to each hole did fail 
 
 The needful golden nail 
 To clasp the circlet through the holes fourfold. 
 
 And so it chanced the gold 
 Was wholly spent to the last glittering grain, 
 
 Nor did a speck remain 
 Of the thick ore when the last nail was wrought ; 
 
 Wherefore Squire Ebhardt thought 
 The omen fair, and braced his heart with it. 
 
 Then as the night did flit 
 Across the hilltops in the van of morn, 
 
 And the pale lights were born 
 That in the dawn do herald the young day, 
 
 Streaking the cheerless grey 
 Of heaven with their rose and opal woof, 
 
 Descending from the roof, 
 Before the daybreak, hastily he clad 
 
 The harness that he had 
 Yet left to him, upon his sturdy breast, 
 
 And in his morion's crest 
 Placed the red plume he had been wont to wear 
 
74 THE BUILDING 
 
 In the old days, once fair 
 And flaunting scarlet, but now faded sore. 
 
 Then did he strike the four 
 Worn shoes of iron from his horse's feet, 
 
 And in their stead the meet 
 Gold circlets clasp'd and beat them firmly on. 
 
 And now the steed must don 
 His harness and caparisons of war, 
 
 Such as of old he bore, 
 Chanfrein and poitrail with its rusty spike, 
 
 Rerebrace and all the like. 
 
 And so, the twain addrest in everything 
 
 For knightly venturing 
 Needful and meet, the man bestrode his horse ; 
 
 And on the appointed course 
 The old squire sallied forth with his old steed, 
 
 As over hill and mead 
 The young day came with slow and timorous feet, 
 
 And the pale air grew sweet 
 With the clear dew and the pure early scent 
 
 Of the waked flow'rets, blent 
 P'or incense to the daybreak from the earth ; 
 
 And in the tender birth 
 Of morning all things joy'd, and tunes were strong 
 
 Of larks' and linnets' song. 
 
 So, riding through the dim white streets, as yet 
 Unstirr'd by all the fret 
 
OF THE DREAM. 75 
 
 : And hum of daily labour, waking all 
 
 The echoes with the fall 
 Of his steed's hoofs upon the hilly way, 
 
 He came to where there lay 
 Before the gate the guardians of the town, 
 
 Upon the grass thrown down 
 To watch the portal, crossed with many a bar 
 
 And bolt of steel. 
 
 Ajar 
 The wide leaves stood, whilst sleep possess'd the folk 
 
 So wholly, that the stroke 
 Of the squire's horse-hoofs stirr'd their slumbering 
 
 But as a doubtful ring 
 Of sound in dreams, nor all his calling roused 
 
 Them anywise, so drowsed 
 With sleep they were. And so he thought to make 
 
 His outward way, nor break 
 The warder's wide-mouth'd rest ; but as he strove 
 
 The ancient gate to move 
 On its dull flanges, clogg'd with all the rust 
 
 Of many a year, and thrust 
 The half-closed, ponderous leaves apart enough 
 
 To give him way, the gruff 
 Harsh creaking of the hinge that swung for him, 
 
 Breaking upon the dim 
 Sleep-troubled senses of the folk that lay 
 
 Adream beside the way, 
 With some faint mimic sound of buckler-clang 
 
76 THE BUILDING 
 
 And foemen's trumpets, rang 
 Within the dull dazed channels of their brain, 
 
 Snapping the slumberous chain 
 With which the dream-god held their heavy sense 
 
 In leaden-limbed suspense ; 
 So that they started up from sleep and saw 
 
 The squire, that in the raw 
 Chill morning dimness pass'd athwart the gate ; 
 
 And wondering thereat, 
 Caught up bright arms and cried to him to stay. 
 
 But he, upon his way 
 Slackening not, faced round upon his seat, 
 
 That so their eyes might meet 
 A visage that they knew ; and they, for friend 
 
 Recalling him, did wend 
 Back to their ward, with many a mutter'd oath, 
 
 Born of their thwarted sloth, 
 'Gainst him that so untimely broke their sleep. 
 
 But Ebhardt down the steep 
 Of the fair hill rode, all unheeding them, 
 
 Whilst on the pearled hem 
 Of the far sky the dim day brighten'd up 
 
 Into the azure cup 
 Of the sweet heaven, that lay on field and hill, 
 
 All rippleless, until 
 Its blue deeps broke upon the purple verge 
 
 Into a snowy surge 
 Of swan-breast cloudlets, laced with palest gold ; 
 
OF THE DREAM. 77 
 
 And then the shadows roll'd 
 Their mantles round them, and the lingering night 
 
 Fled from the coming light. 
 And so uprose the golden-armour'd sun, 
 
 And smote the ridges dun 
 Of the deep-bosom' d hills and kindled all 
 
 Their furrows tenebral 
 Into a wonderwork of luminous spires, 
 
 Hung with the fretted fires 
 Of dawning, and each crest in the pure light 
 
 Grew to a chrysolite 
 Of aspiration. On each upland lawn 
 
 Down fell the dewy dawn 
 And waked the flowers from their green-folded 
 sleep, 
 
 And o'er each verdant steep 
 Of sloping greensward swept the sun-chased mist, 
 
 Ruby and amethyst 
 With pitiless sweet splendour. Every wood 
 
 With the sweet minstrel brood 
 Grew carolful, with here and there, at first 
 
 A note, and then a burst 
 Of single song, soon swelling to a sea 
 
 Of choral ecstasy 
 And thanks for the young day and the delight 
 
 Of victory o'er the might 
 Of darkness ; and each living thing that dwells 
 
 Within the cool wood-dells 
 Or in the meadows, to the awakening 
 
78 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of that sweet day of spring 
 Did homage. 
 
 So rode Ebhardt onward, through 
 
 The cool sweet tender blue 
 Of the fresh springtide dawning, glad at heart, 
 
 Following the rays that part 
 The morning sky to westward. By the edge, 
 
 Purple with flower'd sedge, 
 Of the clear stream, whose tinkling currents went 
 
 Towards the Occident, 
 The stout squire fared, through many a thymy field 
 
 With the fresh heaven ceil'd, 
 Crush'd with his horsehoofs many a tender flower, 
 
 That in the sweet dawn hour 
 Open'd its gold and azure eyes from dreams 
 
 Of the near June's sunbeams, 
 And saw the kine regardant on the grass, 
 
 That aye, as he did pass 
 Across the greensward on his destrere true, 
 
 Wet to the hocks with dew, 
 Turn'd their slow heads to gaze upon the twain 
 
 Awhile, then back again 
 Bent down their muzzles with a lazy grace 
 
 To the rich pasture-place, 
 Thickset with flowers and juicy herbs. 
 
 And then, 
 About the hour when men 
 
OF THE DREAM. 79 
 
 Are wont to go to labour, and the light 
 
 Across the fields grows white 
 And large with full mid-morn, the clear stream pass'd 
 
 The green sweet fields, and fast 
 Among the emerald cloisters of a wood 
 
 Its farther course pursued, 
 Streaking the moss with brown and silver threads 
 
 And sprinkling the pale beds 
 Of primroses and windflowers, white and blue, 
 
 With its life-giving dew. 
 And in the ways the light grew dim again ; 
 
 But through the leaves, like rain 
 Of gold, the sunshine broke and fell in showers 
 
 Upon the upturn'd flowers, 
 Whilst all the birds made carol to the May, 
 
 Answering the brooklet's lay 
 With choral thanks for all the cool sweet rills 
 
 It brought them from the hills. 
 
 And Ebhardt, following the river's way, 
 
 Rode onward through the day 
 Along the fair green lapses of the wood, 
 
 With many a network strew'd 
 Of frolic sunbeams; and as he did fare, 
 
 Full often was he ware 
 Of peeping hares and velvet-coated deer 
 
 That fled as he drew near, 
 And couchant fawns, upon the bracken set 
 
 For morning sleep, as yet 
 
8o THE BUILDING 
 
 Unknowing fear, that with great fearless eyes 
 
 Did gaze on him, childwise, 
 Questioning in themselves what this might be, 
 
 Clanking in panoply 
 Of rust-red mail along the ferny maze 
 
 Of the cool woodland ways. 
 
 The rabbits scamper'd from his horse's feet, 
 
 As o'er some woodlawn, sweet 
 With hyacinths, he pass'd, or down some glen, 
 
 Purple with cyclamen ; 
 And now and then, as through the wood he went, 
 
 On his strange hopes intent, 
 
 There met him some tann'd woodman, stout and 
 bluff, 
 
 That with a word of gruff 
 Early day-greeting did accost the squire. 
 
 But else of his desire 
 No foreign harshness broke the pleasant spell, 
 
 Nor on his senses fell 
 A human sight or sound \ but all was sweet 
 
 And silent, as is meet 
 For him that dreams in the fair midmost Spring, 
 
 Amid the birds that sing 
 And the fresh flowers that gladden the old world 
 
 With their pure eyes, impearl'd 
 In many a whorl of virginal faint green. 
 
 Far wound the way between 
 
OF THE DREAM. 81 
 
 The columns of the trees ; and now and then 
 
 Some slope of shallowing glen 
 Ceased suddenly upon an open space, 
 
 Where many a fern did lace 
 The greensward, and the heather put forth buds, 
 
 And the red sad-eyed studs 
 Of pimpernels did diaper the grass. 
 
 Anon the squire did pass 
 Betwixt lush hedge-rows, riding on again 
 
 Along some country lane, 
 Tangled with briers and the early rose 
 
 And the white weed that blows 
 With scented flower-flakes in the flush of May, 
 
 Whereon the shadows lay 
 Of the new-leafed trees, that over it 
 
 A sun-fleck'd roof did knit 
 To ward it from the heat. 
 
 Now as he went 
 
 Adown some steep descent, 
 Or toil'd along some bridle-path, high hung 
 
 Betwixt thin woods that clung 
 Close to the brow of some tall cliff-spur's steep, 
 
 His downward glance would sweep 
 Across gold plains and cities thick with men. 
 
 And many a hollow glen, 
 Sweet with the blossom' d vines in many a row, 
 
 Toss'd seas of apple-snow 
 G 
 
82 THE BUILDING 
 
 And dropping gold of fire-flowers. 
 
 Then again, 
 
 As on the open plain 
 The pair paced on and felt the sun once more, 
 
 The fragrant breezes bore 
 To him the distant hum of men and life, 
 
 And the clear sounds were rife 
 In the far distance of the village bells ; 
 
 And on the mossy fells, 
 In the blue skymarge, lay within his sight 
 
 Some little town of white, 
 With roofs rose-gilded by the flooding sun ; 
 
 For the noon had begun 
 To hover over hills and charm the air 
 
 Into the peace most fair 
 And stirless of the mid-day. On the wold 
 
 Slumber'd with wings of gold 
 The hours, and all things rested. Not a breath 
 
 Told of the late-left death 
 Of the sad winter ; but the world was glad, 
 
 As if for aye it had 
 The fair possession of the lovely May. 
 
 And then again the way 
 Wound down into the wood, and from the dells 
 
 Gush'd up the perfumed swells 
 Of breath from violets bedded in the moss, 
 
 And many a hare would cross 
 
OF THE DREAM. 83 
 
 The sunn'd green pathway with a sunbeam's speed ; 
 
 And still the valiant steed 
 Paced on, unslackening. 
 
 So went horse and man, 
 
 Until the sun began 
 To draw towards the setting, and the west 
 
 Grew glorious on the crest 
 Of the dumb hills. 
 
 And now the day did fold 
 
 Its mantle of deep gold 
 And purple for its death upon the hills, 
 
 And all the pomp, that fills 
 The tragedy of sunset with the glow 
 
 Of a king's death, did strow 
 The radiant heaven. So down sank the sun, 
 
 And so the day was done ; 
 And in the Occident the silver horn 
 
 Of the pale moon was borne 
 Up in the gold-tinct watchet of the skies, 
 
 And one by one, the eyes 
 Of the unsleeping stars were visible 
 
 In the clear purple bell 
 Of that great blossom that we mortals name 
 
 God's heaven, and there came 
 The hush of sleep upon the lovely land. 
 
84 THE BUILDING 
 
 The Dream-god went and fann'd 
 The air with flower-breathed breezes, and one knew, 
 
 In the clear sweep of dew, 
 The backward wind, that had been wandering o'er 
 
 The pleasant fresh-flower'd shore, 
 And now upon the breast of the dead day 
 
 Came back to die away 
 Into the stillness. Still the west was flush'd, 
 
 Until the day-birds, hush'd 
 By the prone night, gave place to those that hold 
 
 The even with the gold 
 Of their clear grieving song. The nightingale 
 
 Began to tell the tale 
 Of her great poet's sorrow, that is aye 
 
 New-born and may not die, 
 Being too lovely and too sad withal, 
 
 For sorrow may not fall 
 Into the deeps of comfortable death, 
 
 As may the Summer's breath 
 And the fierce gladness of the July-tide, 
 
 And to his plighted bride 
 The night-thrush piped, amid the plaited leaves, 
 
 And every thing that grieves 
 Melodiously for the dead day, was fain 
 
 To fill the air again 
 With silver sorrow. So the night fell down, 
 
 And in her mantle brown 
 All weary things addrest themselves to sleep, 
 
 And over all, the deep 
 
OF THE DREAM. 
 
 Sweet silence brooded. 
 
 Then the man was tired, 
 
 And eke his steed required 
 His natural rest and some scant truss of food. 
 
 So in the middle wood 
 The squire dismounted, and with ears attent, 
 
 Sought for some stream that went 
 Between the trees ; and speedily the plash 
 
 Of ripples, that did dash 
 And gurgle over pebbles, with a note 
 
 Of welcome nearness smote 
 Upon his hearing ; and without delay 
 
 He came where in the grey 
 Of the moon-coloured mosses, trickled through 
 
 The grass-roots and the rue 
 A crystal rill, that in the wavering moon 
 
 Sang up its changeless tune 
 To the pale night. 
 
 Thither the squire did bring 
 
 His horse ; then, by the spring 
 Kneeling, drank deep and long, and looking round, 
 
 Spied fallen on the ground 
 Great store of berries from a neighbouring tree. 
 
 Then from the boughs did he 
 Gather the fruit, and finding it was meet 
 
 For human food, did eat 
 
86 THE BUILDING 
 
 A handful of sweet berries, red and brown, 
 
 And satisfied, lay down 
 By his tired horse, that had already laid 
 
 Himself beneath the shade 
 Of a great elm, upon the cushion'd moss, 
 
 Crushing the flowers across 
 The twisted grass-stalks in the mossy sward, 
 
 For many a fragrant yard, 
 Beneath his weight ; for all the earth was strewn 
 
 So thick, beneath the moon, 
 With all the Spring-tide heritage and dower 
 
 Of lovely weed and flower, 
 One could not tread there but the feet must crush 
 
 Many a sweet flower-flush 
 And broidery on the green earth's bridal gown. 
 
 So fell the midnight down ; 
 And still Squire Ebhardt, by his sleeping horse, 
 
 Thought of the next day's course, 
 And for the changeless thought of coming bliss. 
 
 Forgot to woo the kiss 
 Of the fair sleep that is all tired men's due. 
 
 But, at the last, the dew 
 Of slumber fell upon his heavy lids, 
 
 And the fair God, that bids 
 The dreamer to the far enchanted land, 
 
 Laid on his brows a hand 
 Of woven moonbeams ; till the thoughts took flight 
 
 Into the brooding night, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 87 
 
 And with a smiling face, the sleeper lay 
 
 And dreamt of many a day 
 Long lost behind the glimmering veils of time, 
 
 And in a golden clime 
 Went wandering thro' the dreamlands of his youth, 
 
 Under the sweet skies' ruth, 
 Link'd to his lady. 
 
 So Squire Ebhardt slept, 
 
 What time the sweet night swept 
 Along the silver woodways, and the hours 
 
 Folded their wings on flowers 
 For peace of moonlight, till the moon 'gan fade 
 
 For break of day, that laid 
 Its cold grey hands upon the purple dusk 
 
 And from the hodden husk 
 Of the small hours drew forth the rosy bud 
 
 Of morning, all a-flood 
 With glittering dews : the golden dawn 'gan wake, 
 
 With many a rosy flake 
 And pearl of sungleams flung across the eaves ; 
 
 And thro' the screen of leaves, 
 That overlay the place where Ebhardt slept, 
 
 The frolic sunlight crept, 
 By help of some stray chinks within the woof 
 
 Of the green luminous roof; 
 And kissing all his face, as there outstretch'd 
 
 He slumber'd, all enmesh'd 
 
88 THE BUILDING 
 
 In tangling grass, warn'd him that day was come ; 
 
 And then the awakening hum 
 Of the fresh wood and the bright tuneful clang 
 
 Of quiring birds, that sang 
 The accueillade of morning, with the gold 
 
 Of the broad sun-glow, told 
 His drowsy sense that it was morn again, 
 
 And he too long had lain 
 In faineant slumber. 
 
 Then did he arise, 
 
 And from his heavy eyes 
 Brushing with drowsy hands the dust of sleep, 
 
 Awhile watch'd the light creep 
 Along the crests ; then suddenly bethought 
 
 Him of the thing he sought 
 And how, if he would come to his desire. 
 
 Before the sun rose higher 
 At once upon his forward way he must 
 
 Be fain. And so he thrust 
 His sleep from off him, and with gladsome heart 
 
 Addrest him to depart 
 Upon his second day of journeying. 
 
 So, stooping to the spring, 
 
 That well'd up through the thyme-roots clear and 
 cool, 
 
 He wash'd away the dull 
 Gross heaviness of night that lay on him. 
 
 And standing on the brim 
 
OF THE DREAM. 89 
 
 Of the brown rippled pool, he call'd his steed, 
 
 That in the neighbouring weed 
 Did graze ; and at his call the faithful beast 
 
 Was fain to leave his feast 
 And to his side came splashing through the fount, 
 
 In haste. Then did he mount 
 Into the saddle without more delay, 
 
 And to find out the way 
 He should traverse, a second he did pause 
 
 Half doubtfully, because 
 The man with sleep was somewhat dazed nor knew 
 
 At first what path led due 
 Towards the setting and the golden west ; 
 
 Then to the realms of rest, 
 That lie beyond the day, his face he set, 
 
 And spurr'd his horse. 
 
 Not yet 
 The dew was sun-dried from the pearled grass, 
 
 As steed and man did pass 
 Along the windings of the forest ways, 
 
 Nor the faint scented haze, 
 That hovers in the vaward of the morn, 
 
 Over the flowers, had worn 
 Its shimmering webs away, in the sun-glare, 
 
 Into the thin blue air 
 That waves unseen between the noontide rays ; 
 
 For, seven long Spring days 
 
 UNIVEB8IT1 
 VCu," 
 
9 o THE BUILDING 
 
 From earliest morning to the couchant sun 
 Must Ebhardt ride, nor shun 
 
 The long day's labour, turning not aside 
 For aught that he espied 
 
 Of fair or tempting, if he would possess 
 The yearn' d-for loveliness 
 
 Of his high dreams. 
 
 So seven long days he rode 
 
 Along green pass and road, 
 From morning-glitter to the even-glome, 
 
 Under the blue sky-dome, 
 Following his dream through many changing lands; 
 
 Now o'er the white sea-sands, 
 With horsehoofs splashing through the foamy spray 
 
 That broke across the way, 
 Now passing through the till'd fair fields of men, 
 
 Hearkening to lark and wren 
 And all the fowls whose kindly use it is 
 
 Folk with the promised bliss 
 Of their sweet song, to hearten at their toil. 
 
 Now riding where the soil 
 Blew thick and sweet with roses red and white, 
 
 And with the fair delight 
 Of minstrelsy the scented air was weft ; 
 
 And whiles within the cleft 
 Of many a bare rock and savage hill, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 91 
 
 Whose rifts rich gems did fill 
 To overflowing, and along whose veins 
 
 The red gold blazed, like stains 
 Of sunlight fix'd by some magician's skill. 
 
 Through many a mountain rill 
 Swollen to torrents by the young year's rains, 
 
 And over blossom'd plains 
 Of heathy moorland, undefiled by feet 
 
 Of weary men, and sweet 
 With blowing breezes from the distant sea, 
 
 Through deeps of greenery 
 And dim dumb churches of the giant pines, 
 
 Ranged in sad stately lines, 
 Waiting the coming of the Gods to be 
 
 To hail with hymns, rode he 
 Unwearying alway ; whilst the golden shoes 
 
 Each day some part did lose 
 Of their soft metal on the pointed stones ; 
 
 For all along the cones 
 Of many a mountain range he toiPd, where o'er 
 
 No foot had pass'd before, 
 Save that of goat or deer, through many a reach 
 
 Of grey and shingly beach 
 And many a flinty pass ; nor might aside 
 
 Turn from the highway's wide 
 Rough band of white, that wound out far away 
 
 Into the dying day, 
 To seek the tender greensward of the meads 
 
92 THE BUILDING 
 
 That lay beside him. Needs 
 Must he endure the utmost of the toil, 
 
 The bitterest of the coil 
 Of struggles and of hardships, that abode 
 
 Upon his wishward road. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 93 
 
 II. 
 
 ATTAINMENT. 
 
 [ND now six days of journeying were 
 
 done, 
 
 And eke the seventh one 
 Drew towards the hour when, in the 
 
 middle day 
 
 The golden lights do stay 
 Their upward travel in the slant blue sky, 
 
 And all the plains do lie 
 Asleep beneath the sun. And with the flame 
 
 Of noon, a change there came 
 Upon the forward path ; for until then 
 
 The squire's advance had lain 
 Through plains and woods and countries known to 
 
 man: 
 
 But now the road began, 
 Upon the nooning of the seventh day, 
 
 To merge into a way 
 Strange beyond any that a man could know. 
 
94 THE BUILDING 
 
 Upon the earth below- 
 Strange glittering shells and sands of gray were 
 strown, 
 
 And many a blood-red stone, 
 Changeful in colour ; and above, gnarl'd trees 
 
 Shook with an unfelt breeze ; 
 And therein many a shape of dwarf and gnome, 
 
 Such as, folk say, do roam 
 About the dreamland's gates, did climb and cling, 
 
 Mowing and gibbering 
 Like uncouth monstrous apes. On either hand, 
 
 Gray flowerless plants did stand 
 Along the highway's marge, and blood-red bells, 
 
 Such as for midnight spells 
 Thessalian witches pluck : and thereabout 
 
 Crowded a noiseless rout 
 Of gray and shadowy creatures. All the air 
 
 Was misted with the glare 
 Of the curst flowers, and the strange baleful scent 
 
 That from the herbs was sprent 
 As for some ill enchantment : and the things 
 
 That hover' d there, had wings 
 And waver' d dimly over Ebhardt's head, 
 
 And beckon'd as they sped 
 Across his path, striving to draw him off 
 
 From the highway most rough 
 And rude, among the pleasant fields that lay 
 
 Each side the rugged way, 
 Tempting the man with many-colour'd flowers 
 
OF THE DREAM. 95 
 
 And semblants of lush bowers 
 Of trellised foliage, set beside the path 
 
 In many a waving swath 
 Of corn and greensward, easeful to behold, 
 
 Wooing him in the gold 
 Of the rich meadows to lie down and sleep 
 
 Away, in that green deep 
 Of flowers, the weariness of his long ride. 
 
 But Ebhardt not aside 
 A hair's-breadth turn'd his steed for all their wiles, 
 
 Nor for the golden smiles 
 Of the fair harbours that invited him, 
 
 Swerved from the highway's rim, 
 Clear cut against the far horizon's blaze 
 
 Of gold, his steadfast gaze ; 
 But with a firm-set mouth rode on for aye, 
 
 Watching the sun now nigh 
 To death upon the hills, as one that sees 
 
 In thought his miseries 
 Draw to their term, and for no thing nor power 
 
 Will, in that fateful hour, 
 Draw bridle or be tempted from his road. 
 
 So ever he abode 
 In the due westward path, regarding not 
 
 The glamours any jot, 
 That compass'd him about. 
 
 Then those strange things, 
 
96 THE BUILDING 
 
 That with their blandishings 
 And spellwork strove to tempt him to forego 
 
 His long intent, did know 
 Their efforts void, and with a doleful cry 
 
 Evanish'd utterly 
 Into the twilight and were no more seen. 
 
 And as they fled, the treen 
 Grew green again the grey herbs wither'd off 
 
 And all the sky did doff 
 The lurid gloom and hazes that it wore. 
 
 But Ebhardt, conning o'er 
 The dim-gold landscape and the purple west 
 
 For tokens of his quest, 
 E'en as he rode, o'er in his memory turn'd 
 
 The things for which he yearn'd, 
 That of the dreams that had possest his youth, 
 
 There might no whit, in sooth, 
 Be lost for lack of his remembering : 
 
 And so, as with swift wing 
 His spirit wander' d in the olden ways, 
 
 Searching amid the maze 
 Of memories thick-woven in his mind, 
 
 The hurrying thoughts were twined 
 Into the fulness of the old desire ; 
 
 And with the ancient fire 
 There grew within the chambers of his brain, 
 
 Unchanged by years and pain, 
 The flower-new fantasies of days gone by. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 97 
 
 Now was the time to die 
 Come for the day, wearied to utterest 
 
 Of life, whenas the west 
 Kiss'd its last kiss against the pale sun's lips ; 
 
 And now, as the eclipse 
 Of the red light left void the weeping blue 
 
 Of the pale heaven and through 
 The woven cloisters of the purpled trees 
 
 The evening-waken'd breeze 
 Began to flutter, upon either hand 
 
 Over the weary land, 
 Faint music sounded from the dim sweet woods, 
 
 And the delight that broods 
 Over fill'd sleep was sweet upon the squire : 
 
 And all the man's desire 
 As 'twere to brim with ecstasy, he heard 
 
 The carol of a bird, 
 That sang as it awhile had dwelt among 
 
 The high seraphic throng 
 And listen'd to the smitten golden lyres 
 
 Pulsing among the choirs 
 Of Paradise, beside the crystal sea, 
 
 And such an ecstasy 
 Of echoes lingered at its heartstrings still, 
 
 It never could fulfil 
 Its bliss with memory of those wondrous hours, 
 
 But to the earthly flowers 
 Some snatches of the singing's rise and fall 
 
 Strove ever to recall. 
 
98 THE BUILDING 
 
 Then in the middle road there rose before 
 
 The squire a mist, that wore 
 Strange blazonry of many mingling hues, 
 
 As 'twere the falling dews 
 Were curtain'd in a thick and glittering haze 
 
 Across the forward ways ; 
 And in the clear sweet hour before the night 
 
 There rose in the twilight 
 An arch of glitterance upon the hem 
 
 Of heaven, like a gem 
 Built to a rainbow, that 'twixt earth and sky 
 
 Grew higher and more high, 
 And as it grew, the colours that it wore 
 
 Shone glorious ever more, 
 As if it were the portal of the land 
 
 Of Faerie. 
 
 Nigh at hand 
 The place beyond that archway of a dream 
 
 Unto the squire did seem, 
 And with great joyance through the bended bow, 
 
 That all the earth did strow 
 With blending lights of amethyst and gold, 
 
 He rode, thinking to hold 
 His dream at once ; but, as he pass'd the verge, 
 
 The mountains seem'd to surge 
 In the blue distance like a summer sea, 
 
 And the far sky did flee 
 Along the arch. The golden heaven's rim 
 
OF THE DREAM. 99 
 
 Grew paler and more dim, 
 Receding alway, and the place whereon 
 
 He rode was clad upon 
 With a bright sudden growth of magic blooms. 
 
 Out of the folding glooms 
 Of the near dusk rose trail on trail of flowers, 
 
 And arch'd the road with bowers 
 Of an unearthly sweetness, marking out 
 
 His way, beyond a doubt, 
 Unto his quest : and as he rode along 
 
 The vaulted path, the song 
 Of the strange bird more rapturous ever grew, 
 
 Like an enchanted dew 
 Of music falling in a silver sea. 
 
 All over flower and lea 
 A new light pass'd, that was not of the sun, 
 
 For all the day was done 
 And the dim night held all the lands aswoon, 
 
 Until the horned moon 
 Should ride pearl-shod across the purple wold. 
 
 Then from the rim of gold 
 That linger'd still on the horizon's marge, 
 
 A golden blaze grew large 
 Of glamorous colour, and within the span 
 
 Of the broad arch began 
 To spread and hold the purple of the skies 
 
 And as with all his eyes 
 Gazed Ebhardt, wonder-dumb, against the ground 
 
ioo THE BUILDING 
 
 Of purest gold that crown'd 
 The heavens in the ending of the glade, 
 
 There were for him inlaid 
 Turrets and battlements, a flowering 
 
 Of every lovely thing. 
 
 Along the marge of the sweet sky there rose 
 
 Gold towers and porticoes 
 Of burnished jasper, ruby cupolas 
 
 And domes high-hung, topaz 
 And opal-vaulted; sapphire campanelles 
 
 Held up their flower-blue bells 
 Against the gold sky ; silver fountain-jets 
 
 Between the minarets 
 Threw high their diamond spray, and fretted spires 
 
 Flamed up, like frozen fires 
 Of amethyst and beryl, past the height 
 
 Of lofty walls of white, 
 Thickset with terraces aflame with flower. 
 
 Shower upon scented shower, 
 The blossoms rain'd from high and bloomy trees, 
 
 Before a scented breeze, 
 That fill'd the air with balms and orient gold. 
 
 And on its waftings rolFd 
 Across the plains a singing sound of lyres 
 
 Smitten from golden wires, 
 And clarion-notes, wide-spreading like a sea 
 
 Under a company 
 Of joined voices, murmuring softest words 
 
OF THE DREAM. 
 
 To music like white birds 
 Winnowing the foam of some gold Indian bay. 
 
 Lay murmur'd unto lay 
 From out that dwelling of a God's delight, 
 
 Following each other's flight 
 To greet the dreamer with their blissful stress, 
 
 And pipes and lutes no less 
 Yearn'd up to him with strains of welcoming. 
 
 And Ebhardt, lingering 
 As 'twere before his all-fulfill'd desire, 
 
 Knew all those towers of fire, 
 Sun-glancing, and the flower-fleck'd terraces, 
 
 And in the harmonies, 
 Wide-winging through the crystal air agleam 
 
 With gold-flakes, knew his dream, 
 As of old times he had pourtray'd the place 
 
 With all its changeful grace 
 No moment same, for all the golden dew 
 
 And all the flowers that blew 
 And shimmered like a noon-mist thereabout. 
 
 So with a glad heart, out 
 Through the flower-arch he rode and came unto 
 
 The portal, sculptured through 
 With pictures of a dream in chrysoprase 
 
 And beryl and a maze 
 Of blossoms of the jewel that in one 
 
102 THE BUILDING 
 
 Is flower and precious stone, 
 Being clear hyacinth, wroughten by no hand 
 Of man 
 
 The leaves did stand 
 Wide-open for his coming, backward rolPd 
 
 Even to their flange of gold. 
 So in he rode and saw the white town spread, 
 
 In all its goodlihead 
 Like nothing earthly, very still and wide, 
 
 Upon his either side 
 Far-stretching like a vision of the night 
 
 Beyond his further sight. 
 
 The place was overrun with flowerage 
 
 Of wondrous blooms that wage 
 War with the sun in many an Orient clime : 
 
 Great silver bells did climb 
 The gabled turrets with their linking chains, 
 
 Mix'd thick with crimson skeins 
 And chalices of sapphire. In the ways 
 
 Gold-paven, rose a maze 
 Of trellised porticoes and white dream-steads ; 
 
 And in the mossy beds 
 Of the gold flowers, strewn like a rain of stars 
 
 In every court, through bars 
 Of gold one saw clear lakelets lay and toy'd 
 
 With the white swans, that joy'd 
 To sport in their cool pleasaunce ; and the air 
 
OF THE DREAM. 103 
 
 Was tuneful with the fair 
 Clear tinkle of the crystal rills that ran 
 
 Across each flowerbed's span 
 And fed the grass-roots. 
 
 And as down the street 
 
 Rang out the horse's feet, 
 Calling strange lovely echoes from their cells, 
 
 Flute-notes and silver bells, 
 That broke the silence with a songful spray, 
 
 There ran in the midway 
 Unto the man a sudden cloud of girls, 
 
 With breasts like double pearls 
 Rose-tinted by long sojourn in the gold 
 
 Of some far Orient, stoled 
 But in the waving mantles of their hair : 
 
 Tall maidens, dusk and fair 
 With the long gilding kisses of the light, 
 
 Fresh from the fierce delight 
 Of plains of golden Ind and Javan seas, 
 
 Shook on the fragrant breeze 
 Rich scents from lotus-cups ; and Grecian maids, 
 
 Under their night-black braids 
 Cinct with the green acanthus, did advance, 
 
 Link'd in a rhythmic dance : 
 Fair girls came, crown'd with white narcissus-stars, 
 
 From rose-strewn plains of Fars ; 
 The lithe mild maids of gold Pacific isles 
 
 Brought him their pearly smiles 
 
io 4 THE BUILDING 
 
 And olive brows set clear with eyes of black : 
 
 Nor to his sight did lack 
 Women with faces of the rosy snow 
 
 Only the west can show, 
 In whose fair ivory for double light 
 
 Two tender eyes and bright 
 Were set, the colour of the spring-sky's blue 
 
 Hazed with the early dew, 
 And down their shoulders fell a fleece of gold, 
 
 In many a ripple roll'd 
 Of sun-imprisoning locks. 
 
 And these beside, 
 
 From every portal's wide 
 Gaped folds came out into the golden street, 
 
 Eager the man to greet, 
 Bright shapes of every radiant eye-delight 
 
 Of lovely women dight 
 In pleasant raiment, that a dream can heap 
 
 Up in the aisles of sleep. 
 
 Then those fair creatures, waving like a sea 
 
 Of gold and ebony, 
 For all the mazes of their floating hair, 
 
 Smote the clear jewelPd air 
 With songs of triumph and of welcoming ; 
 
 And while their lips did sing, 
 Their hands strew'd jasmines in the horse's path, 
 
 And with a .scented swath 
 Of violet and rose and orange-stars, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 105 
 
 Hid every sign of wars 
 And toil that cumbered the valiant steed. 
 
 Now in the song indeed, 
 And in the varied beauty of the girls, 
 
 Set clear in clustering curls, 
 Were easance and delight for any man 
 
 That since the world began 
 Loved girls and song and the soft cadenced beat 
 
 Of golden-sandall'd feet 
 
 On thick-strewn flowers ; and there might well the 
 fire 
 
 Of any man's desire 
 Be quell'd and satisfied with loveliness 
 
 And all its dreams possess 
 In those fair women, with their flowery kiss 
 
 And their descant's clear bliss. 
 But Ebhardt cherish'd in his heart made clear 
 
 By many a weary year 
 Of void desire the memory of a face 
 
 Of an unearthly grace 
 And glory, that had smiled on him in dreams, 
 
 Woven, it seem'd, of gleams 
 Of pure spring suns and flowers of white moonlight, 
 
 And for the memory, might 
 Have pleasance in no woman save in this, 
 
 That was his Beatrice 
 And queen of love. 
 
io6 THE BUILDING 
 
 So all unmoved he went 
 
 By any blandishment 
 Of that fair throng, slowly adown the street, 
 
 Hoping his eyes should meet 
 Her eyes for whom alone his heartstrings shook. 
 
 Then, seeing that the look 
 Of yearning died not from the seeker's eyes, 
 
 Circling in bright bird-wise 
 The fair crowd broke before his onward route ; 
 
 And from the rest came out 
 A maiden, robed in falling folds of green 
 
 And crown'd with jessamine 
 And myrtle-snows, that took his bridle-rein 
 
 And led the steed, full fain, 
 Along the fragrant carpet of the way, 
 
 Towards a light that lay 
 Far in the westward distance like a flame 
 
 Of gold. 
 
 Behind them came 
 The frolic crowd of girls, following the twain 
 
 With showers of blossom-rain 
 And rills of song, until they brought them where 
 
 Pillars of pearl upbare 
 A dome of lustrous sapphire, flank' d with spires 
 
 That pierced the sky like fires 
 Up-flaming from the golden furnaces 
 
 Of middle earth, 'mid trees 
 Ablaze with flowers of gold. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 107 
 
 Before the gate 
 
 The maiden did abate 
 Her onward way and bade the squire alight. 
 
 Then on the pavement, white 
 With scented snows, the man sprang lightly down 
 
 And with his gauntlet brown 
 Smote on the golden trellis such a stroke, 
 
 That all the echoes woke 
 Thereto : and therewithal the gold leaves split 
 
 In twain and did admit 
 The sight through archways into many a glade 
 
 Of gardens, all outlaid 
 Beneath the heaven's kisses. 
 
 Entering 
 
 Therein, the maid did bring 
 The squire, through many dwellings of delight, 
 
 Into a place where light 
 Lay full and soft a velvet sward athwart. 
 
 There in the middle court 
 Circled with jewell'd cloisters all around, 
 
 Upon the emerald ground 
 Of gilded mosses broider'd with all flowers 
 
 In stories of the hours 
 That through the spring and summer bear the year 
 
 Over the flower-beds clear, 
 There was a throne of gold and coral set 
 
 With many a goodly fret 
 Of ivory work, upon the suppliant heads 
 
io8 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of strange fair quadrupeds, 
 Most like a lovely lion with girl's eyes, 
 
 Upborne ; and, warder-wise 
 Around the throne, stood maidens white as milk, 
 
 Vestured in snowy silk 
 Banded with cramozin, and pages fair, 
 
 Clad all in pleasant vair 
 And silver, that so thick and numberless 
 
 About the throne did press, 
 One might not see the visage of the Crown'd 
 
 That sat thereon. 
 
 Around, 
 Among the roses and the tulip-beds 
 
 Thick-vein J d with silver threads 
 Of tiny trickling rills, fair birds of white 
 
 And red did stalk, and bright 
 Peacocks and doves of every lovely hue, 
 
 Golden and green and blue, 
 TraiTd jewell'd plumes along the garden-ways 
 
 And with the goodly blaze 
 Of their full splendour so did fill the bowers, 
 
 It seem'd all fairest flowers 
 Had put on wing and motion, to fulfil 
 
 Their beauty at the will 
 Of some enchantress of the olden days. 
 
 About the glancing ways 
 Of the bright garden ceaselessly they went, 
 
 Weaving its ravishment 
 Into fresh groups of colour and delight. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 109 
 
 And as their pageant bright 
 Eddied and wound among the garden-grots, 
 
 From all their fluted throats 
 There was a vaporous choral song exhaled, 
 
 As 'twere the spirit fail'd 
 Within them, for delight, to shape its bliss 
 
 Into the words that kiss 
 The ear with perfect music, and was fain 
 
 For very rapturous pain 
 Of ecstasy to lapse into a song. 
 
 Now on the glittering throng 
 Long time the squire had gazed, held in a trance 
 
 Of joy, nor dared advance 
 His spell-bound feet; and oft for bliss he sigh'd. 
 
 But that fair maid, his guide, 
 Laid hands on him and brought him, through the 
 crowd 
 
 Of maidens snowy-brow'd, 
 To the mid-garden, where the throne was set. 
 
 Then did the man forget 
 All things that blazon'd earthly life for him, 
 
 And all his dream grew dim 
 Before a new-born wonder : for, as there 
 
 He stood, he was aware 
 Of a fair shape that sat upon the throne, 
 
 Such as to him was shown 
 In dreams the image of his Queen of Love. 
 
 
no THE BUILDING 
 
 Clear was her brow above 
 The crystals of the snow for purity, 
 
 And round its ivory 
 Were set seven silver stars for diadem 
 
 Upon the waving hem 
 Of the rich tresses, that did ripple down 
 
 A flood of golden-brown, 
 The colour of the early chestnut's robe, 
 
 When yet the summer's globe 
 Is but half rounded out with flower and sun. 
 
 And from the stars did run 
 Commingling rays of many-colour'd light, 
 
 That with a strange delight 
 Fill'd all the tranced network of her hair, 
 
 Wherein for all men's care 
 Were set soft anodynes and balms of sleep. 
 
 Within her lips, a deep 
 Of coral garner'd up its pearls a-row, 
 
 And in her arching brow 
 There were two eyes unfathomable set, 
 
 Wherein might one forget 
 The glance of the dead friend of bygone years 
 
 And the sweet smile through tears 
 Of the lost love of youth ; for they were clear 
 
 And soft as a hill-mere 
 After spring-rains, whenas the early dew 
 
 Has fallen in its blue, 
 And yet with some strange hints of deeper tones. 
 
 Such as the June night owns, 
 
OF THE DREAM. in 
 
 Before the moon is full, when the clear stars 
 
 Ride on their jewelFd cars, 
 Queenless, across the purple of the skies 
 
 And the day-murmur dies 
 Under the vaulted dome of amethyst. 
 
 With such lips Dian kiss'd 
 Endymion sleeping on the Latmian sward : 
 
 From such twin eyes were pour'd 
 The philtres of the summer night upon 
 
 The evil-fortuned son 
 Of Priam, smitten with a fearful bliss. 
 
 Whoever had the kiss 
 Of her red lips kiss'd never woman more, 
 
 Having attained the shore 
 Of that supernal bliss the ancients sought 
 
 So long, but never wrought 
 To find, the very perfectness of love. 
 
 Upon one hand, a dove, 
 Pearl-white and with a golden colleret, 
 
 Was for a symbol set, 
 And in the other one, lys-blooms she held, 
 
 Gold-cored and snowy-bell'd, 
 The sceptre of her queendom. 
 
 Twixt the snows 
 
 Of her fair breast, a rose, 
 Mix'd red and white, lay droop'd with heavy head, 
 
 As with the mightihead 
 
ii2 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of love that filPd her presence all forespent 
 
 And as on him was bent 
 That full sweet visage, its sheer perfectness 
 
 Of glory did possess 
 The squire with such a wondering delight 
 
 Of bliss, and such a might 
 Of hurrying thoughts, that for the very fire 
 
 Of his fulfilPd desire 
 The life well-nigh forsook him and eftsoon 
 
 He would have fallen aswoon 
 Before that Lady of all loveliness, 
 
 That from the ardent stress 
 And furnace of his dream to shape had grown. 
 
 But she, to whom were known 
 The passions that within his soul did meet, 
 
 Descending from her seat, 
 Bent down and in her ivory arms embraced 
 
 His neck and all enlaced 
 His failing visage with her woven hair, 
 
 Holding him captive there 
 Within a gold and silver prison house. 
 
 Then, parting from the brows 
 His ruffled hair, she kiss'd him on the mouth ; 
 
 And suddenly the drouth 
 Of yearning, that so many years had tried 
 
 His spirit, did subside, 
 And was all quench'd within a honied deep 
 
OF THE DREAM. 113 
 
 Of kisses, that did steep 
 His soul in ravishment ineffable 
 And restful. 
 
 So there fell 
 A woof of sleep upon his every limb ; 
 
 And in the trances dim 
 Of twining dreams, he heard a silver song 
 
 From all that glittering throng 
 Of lovely girls and jewel-plumaged birds 
 
 Fill all the air with words, 
 That (if with devious weary earthly speech 
 
 One might avail to reach 
 Some echo of their sweetness) in this wise 
 
 Somewhat did fall and rise, 
 Like sea-waves beating on a golden bar 
 
 Of sands, but lovelier far. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Low laid in thyme 
 And nodding asphodels, 
 Dream on and feel flower-fragrance kiss 
 Thy forehead free from all the dints of time : 
 Thou shalt awake to greater bliss, 
 Bounden with linked spells 
 Of love and rhyme. 
 
ii 4 THE BUILDING 
 
 u. 
 
 Fear not, pale friend, 
 Thy dream shall ever die : 
 Thou hast attained the shores of rest, 
 Where the wave-break against the grey beach-bend 
 Brings up sad singings from the West 
 No more. Here Love is aye 
 Sweet without end. 
 
 in. 
 
 For here the grief 
 And sadness left behind 
 With weary life are turrid to gold 
 Of dreams : from stern old memories a sheaf 
 Of strange delights unfold 
 
 Their sweets, like flowers we find 
 Under a leaf. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Here in this deep 
 
 Of grass-swathes piled with flowers, 
 All things most fair and loveliest, 
 Too pure for earth and all her toil to reap, 
 Do lie and crush the fruits of rest, 
 And all the golden hours 
 Lie down to sleep. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 115 
 
 v. 
 
 Here Love doth sit, 
 No longer sad and cold. 
 As in the weary life of men 
 The hard stern need of toil has fashioned it ; 
 But very pure and silver-clear again, 
 And withal red as gold 
 For crownals fit. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here hope is not, 
 Nor fear : for all the ease 
 One wearied for in worldly strife 
 Were but as nought beside one pearly grot 
 Of this fair place, and all a life 
 Of fears herein would cease 
 And be forgot. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Hath any dole? 
 Bird-songs are comforting, 
 And all the flower-scents breathe of balm : 
 Dream on and soothe the sadness from thy soul ; 
 For here life glitters like a calm 
 Of summer seas that sing 
 A barcarolle. 
 
u6 THE BUILDING 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Count life with flowers ! 
 This is our dial here. 
 A kiss and violets twined around 
 The brow ; soft sleep in honeysuckle bowers, 
 Lilies and love with roses crown "d, 
 Sweet scents of eglatere 
 Cadence our hours. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Dream within dream ; 
 Dreaming asleep, awake ; 
 There is no sweeter thing than this, 
 To lie beneath flower-snow and fountain-gleam, 
 Save if with touch of lips and kiss 
 One win the sleep to break, 
 Yet hold the dream. 
 
OF THE DREAM. 
 
 III. 
 
 FALLING AWAY. 
 
 the song hover'd over Ebhardt's 
 
 sleep, 
 
 By many a silver sweep 
 And many a golden sigh of horns and 
 
 flutes 
 
 And broidery of lutes 
 Within the failing cadences sustain'd : 
 
 And, as he slept, the stain'd 
 Worn harness and accoutrements from him 
 
 Were borne, and every limb 
 Was purified from all the dust of toil 
 
 And all that journey's soil, 
 In essences of all the balms that be 
 
 In Ind or Araby 
 For purging all life's weary stains and sad. 
 
 Then on the man was clad 
 Fair raiment, thrice in Tyrian purples dyed, 
 
 Gold-fringed and beautified 
 With broidery of pearl-work silver-laced \ 
 
 And on his breast they placed 
 
n8 THE BUILDING 
 
 A golden owch, rare-wrought and coral-chain'd. 
 
 And as the singing waned, 
 The magic slumber slid away from him ; 
 
 And therewithal the dim 
 Sad doubts and weariness of earth forewent 
 
 The man, and there was lent 
 To every limb a perfectness of ease, 
 
 As in the golden seas 
 Of some spell'd ocean he had bathed and cast 
 
 His age off. 
 
 So he past 
 With that fair queen athwart the dreamy land, 
 
 Wandering, hand in hand, 
 Through many courts and jewel-vaulted halls, 
 
 Wherein the trellis'd walls 
 
 Show'd through the sunflecks, carved and limned 
 o'er 
 
 In all the lovely lore 
 Of Faerie and all the glitterance 
 
 Of Orient romance ; 
 And in one chamber, thick with jasmine stars 
 
 Woven betwixt the bars 
 Of gold that latticed all the sides from floor 
 
 To roof-tree, vaulted o'er 
 With one clear bell of sapphire silver-ray'd, 
 
 Them side by side they laid 
 On beds of sandal wood and cramozin ; 
 
 Then did fair maids bring in 
 
OF THE DREAM. 119 
 
 A banquet, set and sweet in golden shells, 
 
 Mingled with great flower-bells 
 And cups of jasper and corneliand. 
 
 There peacocks did expand 
 Their jewell'd fans, fresh from the fairy looms; 
 
 Herons with argent plumes, 
 Untorn by falcon, lay on silver beds ; 
 
 And opal-blazon'd heads 
 Of dove and culver glitter d out through green 
 
 Of bedding moss. Between 
 Gold lilies lay the silver-feather'd swan, 
 
 Reclined in death upon 
 Lush leaves of vine and flowers of oranges ; 
 
 And every bird that is 
 For pleasant food ordain'd, in vine leaves wet 
 
 With crystal dew, was set 
 Before the twain, each in its several room. 
 
 And from the jewell'd gloom 
 Of ocean-deeps there came its lovely things, 
 
 Gold fish with silver wings, 
 Great diamond-sided carp with opal eyes, 
 
 Dolphin that ever dies 
 A rainbow glory and an eye-delight ; 
 
 Sword-fish, and shell-fish bright 
 With ruby armour, mullets gold and grey, 
 
 And all the rest that play 
 Among the hyacinthine cool sea-deeps 
 
 Where many a coral creeps 
 'Mid pearls and weeds of every lovely hue 
 
120 THE BUILDING 
 
 Until themselves endue 
 The radiance of the pearl and coral things 
 
 And the clear colourings 
 Of feather'd sea-flowers thick about their life. 
 
 These all and more were rife, 
 Outlaid for food of men to godship grown 
 
 In many a precious stone 
 Graven with silver to the mimic cup 
 
 Of that fair flower that up 
 From the still lake holdeth its silver star, 
 
 That men call nenuphar. 
 There did the beehives yield their amber dew, 
 
 Glittering pale golden through 
 The frail white fretwork of the honeycomb ; 
 
 And in their velvet bloom 
 Shone gold and purple fruits of the year's prime, 
 
 That in the Autumn-time 
 Of some far wondrous land had hung and glow'd, 
 
 What while the winter rode 
 On his pale horse across the stricken earth ; 
 
 And the clear soul of mirth 
 And love was there in chalices of wine, 
 
 Such as no earthly vine 
 Has ever dreamt of in its dreams of June ; 
 
 And all the place was strewn 
 With jewels full of juices wonder-sweet, 
 
 That seem'd for kings more meet 
 To wear upon their brows, than to suffice, 
 
 Even in Paradise, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 121 
 
 Unto men's hunger. Over all there fell 
 
 A shower of asphodel 
 And almond-blossoms, and the air did rain 
 
 With roses. 
 
 So the twain 
 Lay at the banquet upon silken flowers, 
 
 Whilst through the gradual hours 
 Bright sights and sounds did charm the time's advance 
 
 For them. One while, a dance 
 Of wood-nymphs glitter'd circlewise across 
 
 The windflower-sprinkled moss, 
 That paved the halls ; or from the fountain's deep 
 
 Of silver sands would sweep 
 A flight of green-hair 5 d naiads, dripping gold 
 
 And pearls from every fold 
 Of their wet hair and weed-ytangled dress ; 
 
 And then, perchance, the stress 
 Of silver clarions and the sweet sad thrill 
 
 Of the struck harps would fill 
 The air, preluding to a cavalcade 
 
 Of lovely shapes array'd 
 In cramozin and azure, dames and knights 
 
 And all the eye-delights 
 Of the old pageantries of queens and kings ; 
 
 And to the cadenced strings 
 And reeds swell'd up the clash of shields and 
 spears 
 
 And the fair dreadful fears 
 
T22 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of the bright battle and the hot tourney : 
 
 The clang of the sword-play 
 Rang out from targe and morion, and the ring 
 
 Of lance-points shivering. 
 The banners and the tabards ebb'd and flow'd, 
 
 The jewelFd crownals glow'd 
 In tireless changeful splendour ; and the haze 
 
 Of the far-column'd ways 
 Did burn with glancing mail and blazonries 
 
 Of all bright hues one sees 
 In the fair pictures of the olden time. 
 
 And oft with many a rhyme 
 The minstrels filPd the pauses, in quaint lays ; 
 
 And songs of bygone days 
 Hymning the praise of many a champion 
 
 Of times past. 
 
 So slid on 
 The dream along the halls of phantasy, 
 
 Folding him blissfully 
 Within a rapturous calm ; but, more than this, 
 
 That crowned lady's kiss, 
 The woven magic of her tresses' gleam 
 
 And her soft eye's sunbeam, 
 Fetter' d the dreamer in a silken trance 
 
 Of masterful romance. 
 
 Now, as the meal was done with many a song 
 And luting from the throng 
 
OF THE DREAM. 123 
 
 Of pearl-limb'd girls, the curtains of the day 
 
 Over the golden grey 
 Of the sweet sky were drawn ; and the clear night 
 
 Came with its own delight 
 Of lambent stars and heavy night-flowers' scent, 
 
 Whenas the firmament 
 Hangs o'er the earth like some great orange-grove 
 
 Wherethrough the fire-flies rove 
 In some far night of Orient, to enspell 
 
 The senses ; and the bell 
 Of the slant sky grew hung with fretted lights. 
 
 For never fail the night's 
 Enchantments in the land of dreams (as say 
 
 Some makers) nor the day 
 With its sheer splendours satisfies the sense ; 
 
 But the restful suspense 
 Of the sweet midnight is as welcome there 
 
 As morning, being fair 
 And full of lovely spells of peace and rest 
 
 Graven on the palimpsest 
 Of day with star-runes ; nor without the night 
 
 Could one have love's delight 
 In perfect fulness. 
 
 So the night was spread 
 
 Above the golden bed 
 Of those two lovers, whilst the harefoot hours 
 
 Trail'd through the rosy bowers 
 Of that fair dream-stead, on the moonlight's wings ; 
 
124 THE BUILDING 
 
 And all the lovely things, 
 That fill the interspace betwixt sundown 
 
 And the new-risen crown 
 Of morning spread upon the Orient crests, 
 
 Hover'd about the breasts 
 Of that fair lady, as she lay asleep, 
 
 Folded in peace as deep 
 As the blue heaven with the gold stars fleck'd. 
 
 And when the new morn check'd 
 His coursers for the sweep into the sky, 
 
 And from the bravery 
 Of newborn day the glamours of the night 
 
 Folded their wings for flight 
 Where through the dusk the sun had made a gap, 
 
 Those lovers from the lap 
 Of their sweet slumbers rose, and, hand in hand, 
 
 Look'd over the fair land 
 And saw the eternal spring grow young again 
 
 Over each hill and plain 
 Of that enchanted paradise of sweets : 
 
 And the delight, that beats 
 To amorous tunes within the spring-flower-blood, 
 
 Spread out its silver flood 
 Upon their spirits, like a radiant mist 
 
 Of philtres ; and they kiss'd 
 Again with doubled rapture. 
 
 In mid-green, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 125 
 
 Under tall stately treen, 
 In noble woods they wander'd, where the birds 
 
 Hail'd them with golden words, 
 Clearer and lovelier than earthly song ; 
 
 And all the pure-eyed throng 
 Of wood-flowers held sweet converse for their ease. 
 
 The blue anemones 
 Murmur'd quaint tender fairy-tales of spring 
 
 And of the blossoming 
 Of elfin souls in every pale sweet bud ; 
 
 The fragile bells that stud 
 The moss with cups of sapphire, when the year 
 
 Brings round the Midsummer, 
 Sang mystic songs for them of summer nights 
 
 And all their deep delights 
 Of panting stars and singing nightingales ; 
 
 And heather-bells told tales 
 Of elfins dancing on the thymy sward, 
 
 What while the white moon pour'd 
 Full hands of pearl upon the breezy moors. 
 
 And as along the floors 
 Of spangled moss they went, beneath the woofs 
 
 Of leaves, the tiny hoofs 
 Of deer smote softly on the woodland lawns, 
 
 And the lithe brown-eyed fawns 
 Laid velvet muzzles on their toying hands. 
 
 Now along golden sands 
 By sapphire seas they walk'd, thick strewn with 
 
 shells 
 
i 2 6 THE- BUILDING 
 
 Of each bright kind that dwells 
 In seas, and watch'd the gold fish dart and flash 
 
 Across the cool wave-plash, 
 And the curl'd foam slide up and fall away 
 
 Into a silver spray, 
 As the great plangent waves broke, green and white. 
 
 In sheets of malachite. 
 
 Then would the queen take Ebhardt by the hand, 
 
 And from some jut of sand 
 Down diving through the gold and emerald waves, 
 
 Visit the coral caves 
 Of the sea-nymphs and all the palaces 
 
 Of crystal, under seas 
 Built for the Nereids' pleasance, wandering 
 
 Along the deeps that ring 
 With mermaids' song, and plucking living flowers 
 
 That in the deep sea bowers 
 Wave for the mermen, gold and blue and white. 
 
 Or with a calm delight 
 The twain lay floating on the silver foam, 
 
 Watching the azure dome 
 Of heaven wide-ceiFd above the emerald leas, 
 
 And the light fragrant breeze 
 Wafting the silver cloud-plumes o'er the blue. 
 
 Haply, some bird that flew, 
 Wide-winging, towards the golden-stranded East, 
 
 Sometime its travel ceased 
 
OF THE DREAM. 127 
 
 At her command, and in her ivory breast 
 
 Nestling, awhile would rest 
 And murmur stories of the wondrous things 
 
 Each day of wing-work brings 
 To one that pulses towards the rising sun. 
 
 And when the morn was done, 
 Mayhap, returning to the land, the queen 
 
 Within some heart of green 
 Would sit and hold the man within her arms, 
 
 Weaving with many charms, 
 For him to living shape and lovely sooth, 
 
 The memories of youth 
 And the quaint fancies of his wildest dreams, 
 
 Re-clad with golden beams 
 Of mystic splendour, ever fresh and new ; 
 
 So that but now he knew 
 How very full his every thought had been 
 
 Of all the lovely sheen 
 And glamour of the land of phantasy. 
 
 Over the dappled lea 
 And the slant hillside, violet-starr'd, would rise 
 
 Before his ravish' d eyes 
 Fair crystal castles and enchanted bowers, 
 
 Trellised with magic flowers, 
 That in their every calyx held a face 
 
 Of an unearthly grace. 
 Horn-notes came faint and far upon the breeze ; 
 
128 THE BUILDING 
 
 Between the moss-clad trees 
 Fair ladies pass'd, with greyhounds falcon-eyed 
 
 And pages at their side ; 
 
 And knights rode forth a-questing. Down the 
 sward 
 
 Many a pageant pour'd 
 Of the quaint elves that hold the ancient woods, 
 
 And the gnarl'd race that broods 
 Deep in the jewell'd chambers of the rock : 
 
 Or with her milk-white flock 
 Some dreamy shepherdess went sauntering by, 
 
 With flowerful hands, and eye 
 Fix'd on the petals of some rose of gold. 
 
 And now the lilies told 
 The twain that day drew fast toward the dark. 
 
 Then did they both embark 
 In some fair shallop's pearl and ivory side, 
 
 And down the glancing tide 
 Of some full river, over-hung with trees, 
 
 Glided before the breeze 
 That fill'd the silken sails ; 'twixt terraced walls, 
 
 Past rows of ancient halls 
 And towers far-glancing 'gainst the golden sky ; 
 
 Where all the courts did lie 
 Ungated, and the dying sun sloped slow 
 
 Along the evening glow 
 Through range on range of golden palaces, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 129 
 
 Glittering on lattices 
 Of blue and silver, tenantless and still. 
 
 A strange sad peace did fill 
 The lonely streets ; and through the voiceless air, 
 
 Perchance, some breeze would bear 
 The silver sound of bells, whose music spread 
 
 In circles overhead, 
 Widening far out upon a stirless sea 
 
 Of silentness. 
 
 Maybe, 
 At times, the man would deem himself alone 
 
 In some fair meadow, strown 
 With bright-eyed flowers, or on some river's bank, 
 
 Where rank on plumed rank 
 Sedges blew purple ; when, as he did deem, 
 
 That sovereign of his dream 
 Had for a little faded from his side : 
 
 And at the first he sigh'd 
 To find her place left empty suddenly; 
 
 But soon he knew that she 
 Was ever with him, if invisible. 
 
 Whether some cowslip's bell 
 He idly broke or pull'd a violet up, 
 
 Straightway from out the cup 
 A sweet face look'd ; two tender dewy eyes 
 
 Gazed deep in his, and sighs 
 Of ravishing sweet music filFd his ears, 
 
 Until his soul with tears 
 
130 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of joy brimm'd over : then two lips would seek 
 
 His own, as 'twere to speak 
 All things' love to him in a fragrant kiss ; 
 
 And ravish'd with the bliss, 
 He would press closelier on the flower and find 
 
 It was the queen that twined 
 Soft arms about him and laid lips to his 
 
 With such a flower-bell kiss, 
 Being both flower and bird and breeze and queen. 
 
 Or, look'd he in the green 
 Of some fair crystal pool all fringed with sheaves 
 
 Of the nesh flower that weaves 
 Soft green and rosy- white of blooms around 
 
 Each lake that in the swound 
 Of the mid-June lies stirless, there would grow 
 
 From out the depths a snow 
 Of starry lily-petals, that between 
 
 Their golden-gaufred green 
 Unfolding, show'd to him a tender face, 
 
 Crown'd with a dripping grace 
 Of gold-brown hair, that through the waves rose high 
 
 Upon his lips to sigh 
 The soul of amorous longing. Being seen 
 
 Full, it was still the queen, 
 That in no wise could let man's love grow cold, 
 
 Being so manifold 
 And rich in heart, that as each flower she knew 
 
 To love, or as the dew 
 
OF THE DREAM. 131 
 
 Wooeth the moonbeam's kisses : she could take 
 
 All shapes of love that wake 
 Under the skies : whether the nightingale 
 
 Telleth her amorous tale 
 Unto the argent-blossom'd thorn, the winds 
 
 About the pale woodbinds 
 Flutter with loveful longing, or the bees 
 
 Around the anemones 
 Fly with a bridal murmur ; she could win 
 
 Her eyes to looks akin, 
 And prison all their passion in her lays ; 
 
 And in all other ways 
 Wherein on earth is love made manifest 
 
 So that each loveliest 
 And peerless for the hour of love should seem 
 
 That lady of a dream 
 Could twine the souls of mortals with delight. 
 
 Nor with the deathless light 
 Of love alone was Ebhardt's being blest : 
 
 Around his footsteps press'd 
 An ever-changing sea of lovely things ; 
 
 The radiant flowerings 
 Of all the poet-hopes a dreamer knows, 
 
 While yet the dewy rose 
 Of his fresh youth is wormless for the years 
 
 The wraiths of the waste tears 
 And the pure phantoms of the dear dead past 
 
132 THE BUILDING 
 
 Came back to him at last 
 In a new guise of shapes emparadised : 
 
 For nothing it sufficed 
 Unto the perfecting of his desire 
 
 Of old, that for the squire 
 The happy shapes alone of his strange dreams 
 
 Woven all of sunbeams 
 And griefless flowers should be fulfill'd for him : 
 
 He must possess the dim 
 Ethereal sadnesses that were so sweet, 
 
 Before the stern year's feet 
 Crush'd all the glory from the soul of pain ; 
 
 And in his sight again 
 Must the impalpable essence new abide, 
 
 Sublimed and glorified 
 By the transfiguring splendour of his dream : 
 
 The much-loved dead must seem 
 To walk with him the blossom-trellis'd ways, 
 
 And the remember'd gaze 
 Of all the friends he loved in times gone by 
 
 Meet him in every eye 
 Of flower-cups blinking in the mossy leas ; 
 
 And in each fragrant breeze 
 Beloved voices murmur him again 
 
 Old songs of love and pain 
 And hope undying. 
 
 So the man did move 
 In one long dream of love, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 133 
 
 And all his life was one great fairy-tale, 
 
 Wherein no thing did fail 
 Of the bright visions he had wont to see 
 
 In his fresh youth. 
 
 Ah me ! 
 That joy should be so strong and pitiless 
 
 And mortal men no less 
 Inapt to bear its agony of sweets ! 
 
 That the delight that beats 
 In the full veins should be the enemy 
 
 Of this frail flesh ! That we 
 Should ever prove so uncreate to bear 
 
 The things that are most fair 
 In our idea, should faint and die before 
 
 The dream of bliss is o'er ! 
 Alas ! we can bear sorrow and the stress 
 
 Of earth's dull weariness, 
 Day after day eating our bitter bread, 
 
 Silent, with tears unshed 
 And life still pulsing dumbly; but the kiss 
 
 Of the full rapturous bliss 
 We dream of withers us with its delight -, 
 
 And back into the night 
 Of our despair needs must we fail and fall, 
 
 Finding dull custom's thrall 
 And the dumb pain of daily life less keen 
 
134 THE BUILDING 
 
 And deadly than the sheen 
 Of the bright bliss to us unbearable ! 
 
 So it to Ebhardt fell 
 That he must be divorced from the delight 
 
 That with such godlike might 
 Of will he had prevail'd to win, being strong 
 
 To dare and to prolong 
 His days in strife, cheer'd by some distant hope 
 
 Dim-radiant in the scope 
 Of the dull daily sky, but not enough 
 
 Strong for the splendid love 
 Of that enchantress and the unearthly bliss 
 
 That in that oasis 
 Of dreams was his. Old was the man and weak, 
 
 And wearily the wreak 
 Of the hard years had worn the youth from him, 
 
 Deadening in heart and limb 
 The soul of fire that erst burnt fresh and high. 
 
 So, when the ecstasy 
 Awhile by that excitement of his quest 
 
 Conjured within his breast 
 Out of the cinders of the ancient fire 
 
 Grew cold, the feeble sire 
 In the full tide of bliss was like to drown. 
 
 The stressful glories strown 
 
OF THE DREAM. 135 
 
 About his life did burn and weary him 
 
 Beyond his strength ; his dim 
 And age-worn sense fail'd with the ecstasy ; 
 
 And thus it came to be, 
 That in the gold and purple of the land, 
 
 Midmost the arms that spann'd 
 Him round, the lips that on his lips did lie 
 
 And the deep orbs that aye 
 Flooded his spirit with their tireless light, 
 
 Through all the dear delight 
 And glory of that life of flowers and dew, 
 
 Within the man there grew 
 A longing, half-unconsciously, to wear 
 
 Once more the weight of care 
 That deadens all the lives of mortal men, 
 
 A wish to feel again 
 The dull repose of the eventless days, 
 
 And from the stressful blaze 
 Of that too-radiant dream once more 'to fade 
 
 Back to the level shade 
 Of thoughtless men's dull daily round of life, 
 
 Wherein there was no strife 
 Of earthly parts and forces to suffice 
 
 To joys of Paradise 
 \Vhose fire none scatheless save a god might know. 
 
 So day by day did grow 
 
 The longing, 'spite his wish, within his thought ; 
 Albeit hard he fought 
 
136 THE BUILDING 
 
 To conquer it, in all his looks it show'd ; 
 
 And all that bright abode 
 Was grown to him like some fair hurtful fire 
 
 Of o'er-fulfill'd desire, 
 That eats the heart to madness. 
 
 And one day, 
 
 As on the breast he lay 
 Of that fair dame, and in the radiant deep 
 
 Of her strange eyes did steep 
 His soul in burning languor, it befell 
 
 That the unquellable 
 Desire burst up, no more to be repress'd, 
 
 Out of his weary breast 
 With a great bitter cry ; and he was fain 
 
 To tell her of his pain 
 And of the mortal weakness, that in him 
 
 Stretch'd out towards the rim 
 Of the sad world and the dull life-long bands 
 
 Weary and weakling hands 
 Of backward longing, being all too frail 
 
 And world-worn to avail 
 For the hot passionate splendour of the things 
 
 Of his imaginings. 
 
 " The dreams of youth come back to me too late, 
 Sweetheart," he said. " The gate 
 
 Of kindly death gapes wide for me ; and I 
 Would fain go back to die 
 
OF THE DREAM. 137 
 
 Among the towns and cities of my folk, 
 
 Under the wonted yoke 
 Of mortal custom ; for I am but man, 
 
 Nor for all longing can 
 Shake off the leaden hand of age and use. 
 
 And now my limbs refuse 
 To bear the bliss of dreamland any more, 
 
 And all my soul is sore 
 With the long struggle. I had all forgot 
 
 Whilst that the flame was hot 
 Of the new-found delight that I was old, 
 
 And that the creeping cold 
 Of death came very nigh upon my feet : 
 
 But now I feel it, sweet, 
 And may not tarry with thee any more, 
 
 That, with slow steps before 
 The pale Archangel touch me I again 
 
 May for awhile regain 
 The tents of men and die among my kin, 
 
 Repenting of my sin . 
 And grasp for things beyond the reach or ken 
 
 Of miserable men. 
 Wherefore, I pray thee, kiss me yet once more 
 
 For all my heart is sore 
 For parting from thee and unspell my feet ; 
 
 So haply I may greet 
 The dwellings of my kind before I die." 
 
 So he with many a sigh 
 
138 THE BUILDING 
 
 Spake to the queen, and told her all his mind. 
 
 And she, that had divined 
 And known his yearning many a day and long, 
 
 Yet ever did prolong 
 The time of parting with the man, with slow 
 
 Sad loving speech said, u Go : 
 I may not bid thee stay with me, poor friend, 
 
 That to the common end 
 Of weary men draw'st nigh, and (being man) 
 
 Labourest beneath the ban 
 Of the all-conquering pain and may'st not bear 
 
 The bliss thyself didst rear 
 In thy high fancy. Go : I love thee still, 
 
 Better, perchance, and fill 
 Thy destiny ; for Fate is over all, 
 
 And one may not recall 
 The ordinance of God that fashion'd us, 
 
 Albeit despiteous 
 And very sad it seem." And kiss'd him thrice 
 
 Upon the brow, in guise 
 Of parting. 
 
 Then the shape of her 'gan fade 
 Into the purple shade, 
 And the bright dreamland melted into air. 
 
 And Ebhardt, standing there, 
 
 Upon a desolate sweep of heathy plain, 
 
 Whereo'er the night did wane 
 
OF THE DREAM. 139 
 
 And the June day came from the golden sills 
 
 Of heaven on the hills, 
 Saw all the towers of gold and jasper fall, 
 
 And knew beyond recall 
 His dream-built world with all its lovely might 
 
 Faded into the night; 
 And the hot tears brimm'd up his aged eyes. 
 
 Then close to him did rise 
 The carol of a lark ; and it befell 
 
 That with the song the spell 
 Of grief was lighten'd, and some sadden'd peace 
 
 Came back to give him ease, 
 Upon that sunward hymning of the bird. 
 
 And looking round, he heard 
 A joyous neighing, and his true old steed 
 
 Came to him in his need, 
 And rubb'd its head against his hand. 
 
 So he 
 
 Mounted and o'er the lea 
 Rode, as the sun across the hills grew fair, 
 
 And in the innocent air, 
 The flower-scents told of the fair midmost June, 
 
 And the sweet early tune 
 Of the waked birds sang of the faded Spring 
 
 And the new flowering 
 Of the fresh fields with all the Summer weaves 
 
1 40 THE BUILDING 
 
 Of bloom, and in the sheaves 
 Of yellowing corn, the sunlight lay like gold 
 
 Of consolation, told 
 By the dear God unto the earth rain-worn 
 
 And weary and betorn 
 By snow and tempest. 
 
 So the old Squire rode 
 
 Upon the homeward road, 
 Among the fields, where all the world was glad. 
 
 And none that he was sad 
 Had time to note, and with the dying day 
 
 Came to a town, that lay 
 Childwise within the bosom of the hills, 
 
 And in the peace that fills 
 The hour of sunset, slept beneath the sky, 
 
 In one great panoply 
 Of crimson glory. And, indeed, it seem'd 
 
 Most like the thing he dream'd 
 Of the celestial city, where alone 
 
 This flesh shall have outgrown 
 The feebleness of life. 
 
 And so he came 
 
 Into the town, all lame 
 And worn with travel and his hopes down cast ; 
 
 And there he found at last 
 A little weary rest among strange men, 
 
OF THE DREAM. 
 
 And was at peace again. 
 And there a resting-space he did abide ; 
 
 And in the Autumn-tide 
 A little while thereafterward he died. 
 
 141 
 
SIR FLORIS. 
 
" A un chevalier de Provence vint ennuit un appel miraculeux et luy fut 
 IN NOMINE CHRISTI par trois fois mande soy lever et ensuyvre une colombe 
 blanche : ce que fesant fut mene danz un jardin mirificque ou avecques 
 grant poine occist sept bestes mescrees que auters ne furent que li sept 
 pechies mortels. Adonc fut merveillousement emporte par dessus les 
 mers au Mont Salvat ou gist receleiment le sacrosainct Greal. La fut 
 accole chevalier du Greal et voire luy apparust nostre Seignour et luy 
 baisa de sa propre bouche. Sur ce perdist connoissance et lors de son 
 resveil soy trouva chiez luy. Cy-apres erra maints ans par le monde 
 ouvrant loiaument es choses de son servage : aussi diet on que ce durant 
 fut par deux fois de plus visite de ladiste colombe et puis fut en toute vie 
 ravi fors de ce monde. Cert est toutes fois que ne rapparust mais aux 
 yeulx humains." Le Violier des Histoires Provenciaux. 
 
TO THE AUTHOR OF LOHENGRIN. 
 
 THE ROMAUNT OF SIR FLORIS. 
 
 Nthis sweet world and fair to see, 
 
 There is full many a mystery, 
 That toil and misery have wrought 
 To banish from the sight and thought 
 Of striving men in this our air 
 Of pain and doubt, and many a fair 
 Sweet wonder that doth live and move 
 Within the channel of Christ's love. 
 And of these, truly, aforetime 
 Was made full many a tender rhyme 
 And lay of wonder and delight ; 
 And by full many a noble knight 
 And minstrel was the story told, 
 With the sweet simple faith of old, 
 
146 SIX FLORIS. 
 
 Of how the questing was fulfill' d 
 
 Of that Sangreal that was willed 
 By the dear God to Galahad, 
 And how by many a one was had 
 
 Rare venture in the holy Quest, 
 
 Albeit very few were blest 
 
 With comfort in the sight of it; 
 And by that menestrel, to wit, 
 
 ( Oh sweetest of all bards to me 
 
 And worthiest to Master be 
 
 Of all that sing of Christ His knight 
 And Questing of the Grail!} that hight 
 
 Of Eschenbach, the tale was writ 
 
 Of Percivale, that now doth sit 
 Within the bosom of the Lord, 
 And how he strove with spear and sword 
 
 Full many a year for Christ His grace. 
 
 And with delight of those old lays, 
 
 There long has murmur' d in my brain 
 A song that often and again 
 
 Has cried to me for utterance; 
 
 And now before the sad years chance 
 To bear all thought of holiness 
 From men with mirk of pain and stress 
 
 Of toil it wearies me to tell 
 
 Of all that unto Floris fell, 
 And all his toil and all his bliss 
 And grace in winning to Christ's kiss. 
 
SIR FLORIS. 147 
 
 Wherefore, I pray you, hearkeneth 
 The while with scant and feeble breath 
 
 I tell to you a quaint old tale, 
 
 Wherein is neither sin nor bale, 
 But some sweet peace and sanctity : 
 And there not only wonders be, 
 
 But therewithal a breath of love 
 
 Is woven round it and above, 
 That lovers in the Summer-prime 
 May clasp warm hands o'er this my rhyme, 
 
 As finding there some golden sense 
 
 Of Lovers delicious recompense: 
 For what withouten love is life ? 
 And if therein is any strife, 
 
 Or therewithal offences be, 
 
 I pray you pardon it to me : 
 Wherefore, Christ hearten you, I say, 
 Et Dieu vous doint felicite. 
 
148 SIX FLORIS. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE FIRST COMING OF THE DOVE. 
 
 ARD by the confluence of Rhone 
 A castle of old times alone 
 
 Upon a high grey hill did stand, 
 And look'd across the pleasant land ; 
 
 And of the castle castellain 
 
 And lord of all the wide domain 
 Of golden field and purple wood 
 And vineyards where the vine-rows stood 
 
 In many a trellis, Floris was ; 
 
 A good knight and a valorous, 
 And in all courtesies approved, 
 That unto valiantise behoved. 
 
 Full young he was and fair of face, 
 
 And among ladies had much grace, 
 And favour of all men likewise i 
 For in such stout and valiant guise 
 
 His years of manhood had he spent 
 
 In knightly quest and tournament, 
 There was no knight in all the land 
 Whose name in more renown did stand, 
 
SIX FLORIS. 149 
 
 And the foe quaked to look upon 
 
 The white plume of his morion, 
 
 When through the grinding shock of spears 
 Sir Floris' war-cry pierced their ears 
 
 And over all the din was blown 
 
 The silver of his clarion. 
 
 So was much ease prepared for him, 
 
 And safety from the need and grim 
 Hard battle against gibe and sneer 
 That must full oft be foughten here 
 
 For evil fortune and the lack 
 
 Of strength to thrust the envious back 
 By many a noble soul and true ; 
 And had he chosen to ensue 
 
 The well-worn path that many tread 
 
 For worship, all his life were spread 
 Before him, level with delight. 
 But if in shock of arms and fight 
 
 Of squadrons he disdained not 
 
 To win renown, the silken lot 
 Of those that pass their days in ease 
 And dalliance on the flower'd leas 
 
 Of life was hateful to his soul ; 
 
 And so when once the battle's roll 
 And thunder was from off the lands 
 Turn'd back and from the war-worn hands 
 
 The weapons fell he could not bring 
 
 His heart to brook the wearying 
 
150 SIX FLORIS. 
 
 Of peace and indolent disport 
 
 Of ease. Wherefore he left the court 
 
 So secretly that no one knew 
 
 Awhile his absence and withdrew 
 A season to his own demesne, 
 And there in solitude was fain 
 
 To yearn for some fair chance to hap 
 
 And win his living from the lap 
 Of drowsy idlesse with some quest, 
 That should from that unlovely rest 
 
 Redeem him to the old delight 
 
 Of plucking in the bold despite 
 Of danger from the brows of Fate 
 Some laurel. Nor had he to wait 
 
 The cooling of his knightly fire ; 
 
 There was vouchsafed to his desire, 
 Ere long, a very parlous quest, 
 That should unto the utterest 
 Assay his knightly worth and test 
 
 The temper of his soul full well 
 
 And sore. And in this wise it fell. 
 
 It chanced one night, most nigh the time 
 When through the mist-wreaths and the rime 
 
 The hours begin to draw toward 
 
 The enchanted birthnight of the Lord, 
 That in the midnight, on his bed, 
 He heard in dreams a voice that said 
 
 " Arise, Sir Floris, get thee forth, 
 
 An thou wouldst prove thee knight of worth ! " 
 
SSI? F LOR IS. 151 
 
 Gross slumbers of the middle night 
 ' So held and clipp'd the valiant knight, 
 
 He might him not to speak address 
 
 For slumber and for heaviness. 
 
 Again it rang out loud and clear, 
 So that he might not choose but hear, 
 And in his heart he quaked for fear ; 
 But still he lay and answer' d not, 
 Such hold had sleep upon him got. 
 
 A third time through the chamber past 
 The voice, as 'twere a trumpet' s blast : 
 " Arise, Sir Floris, harness thee, 
 For love of Christ that died on tree !" 
 
 He started up from sleep for fear 
 And groped to find a sword or spear, 
 Thinking some enemy was near ; 
 
 But of no creature was he ware. 
 
 He saw the moon hang in the air 
 As 'twere a cup of lucent pearl 
 And in the distance heard the swirl 
 
 Of waters through the silence run ; 
 
 But other sight or sound was none. 
 
 The moon's light lay across the night 
 In one great stream of silver-white, 
 
152 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 And folded round the Christ that stood 
 At bedhead, carven in black wood ; 
 
 And Floris, looking on the way 
 
 Of light that through the chamber lay, 
 Was ware of a strange blossoming 
 As of some birth of holy thing 
 
 That in the bar of silver stirr'd ; 
 
 And as he gazed, a snow-white bird 
 Grew slowly into perfect shape, 
 As if some virtue did escape 
 
 From that strange silver prisonhouse 
 
 Into the city perilous 
 
 Of life, and for its safety's sake 
 The likeness of a fowl did take. 
 
 The light seem'd loth to let it go 
 
 Into this world of sin and woe 
 (So pure and holy) and put out 
 Long arms of white the dove about, 
 
 As if to net it safely in : 
 
 But, as the holy bird did win 
 
 Its way and through the meshes rent, 
 The rays of light together blent 
 
 And fell into a cross of white, 
 
 Whereon the silver dove did light 
 Above the image benedight. 
 
 Sir Floris wonder'd at the sight, 
 And looking on the cross, he deem'd 
 That from the Christ a glory gleam'd 
 
FLO R IS. 153 
 
 And lay in gold towards the door; 
 And something bade him go before. 
 
 He rose and girt himself upon 
 
 With helm and with habergeon, 
 
 And in his hand his sword full bright 
 He bore, that Fleurdeluceaunt hight. 
 
 The dove flew out into the air, 
 
 And Floris follow'd through the bare 
 Dumb ways and chambers to the gate, 
 Whose open leaves for them did wait, 
 
 And as into the night they past, 
 
 Together were behind them cast. 
 
 The night was dumb, the moon did glower 
 Upon them, like a pale sick flower 
 
 That in the early chill of spring 
 
 Mocks at the summer's blossoming, 
 And over every hill and stowe 
 The ways were white and sad with snow. 
 
 So pass'd he, with the silver dove 
 
 That went before him and above, 
 Within the sheeny moones light 
 Wherewith her outspread plumes were dight 
 
 So that it seem'd each wing became 
 
 And grew into a silver flame 
 
 Until the hollow' d snow was track'd 
 
154 SIX FLORIS. 
 
 Into a woodway, where there lack'd 
 The moonlight, and the mountain-side 
 With drooping ash and linden vied 
 
 To keep the hollow place from ray 
 
 Or glimmer of the silver-play. 
 
 The dove flew in, and, following, 
 
 Sir Floris heard a muffled ring 
 Of silver in the mountain's womb, 
 As if dead music there had tomb. 
 
 Here the dove folded wings and smote 
 
 The part wherefrom the sound did float. 
 
 The mountain open'd, and they went, 
 By force of some strange wonderment, 
 Into a place of flowers, all sprent 
 
 With jewels of the blossom-time; 
 
 And all the air was sweet with rhyme : 
 
 There reign'd an endless summer-prime. 
 Tall green was there of leafed trees, 
 And in the blossom'd walks the breeze 
 
 Was music, such as winds and plays 
 
 About the May-sweet woodland ways, 
 When spring is fresh and hope is clear; 
 And in the place, where leaves are sere 
 
 On earth, there lay great heaps of gold, 
 
 Yweft by wonderment untold 
 
 To semblance of the Autumn's waste, 
 Through which the sweet wind play'd and 
 chased 
 
SIR FLORIS. 155 
 
 Its frolic breaths with perfume laden. 
 
 In grass stood many a white maiden 
 
 That lily in the outworld hight ; 
 
 And roses all the herbage dight. 
 Bright plaited beds of jewel-flowers 
 Were thick-set in the garden bowers, 
 
 And many a row of sunflowers stood 
 
 Along the marges of the wood, 
 And to the sapphire heaven turn'd, 
 As if towards the sun they burn'd. 
 
 About the blossoms, round and over, 
 
 Strange golden-crested birds did hover 
 That flashed and sparkled like a flight 
 Of winged starlets in the night; 
 
 And, as they went, their pinions beat 
 
 The air of that serene retreat 
 To rush and sweep of magic song, 
 And through the trees was sweet and strong 
 
 The trill of lark and nightingale. 
 
 There was not any note of wail 
 In song of birds or sweep of wind, 
 Such as in woodlands calls to mind 
 
 The last year's winter and the next, 
 
 Wherewith the listener's soul is vext 
 And thinks how short the spring will be, 
 And how the flower-times change and flee 
 
 Towards the dreary month of snows. 
 
 The full glad passion of the rose 
 
156 SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 Was joyous in the garden air, 
 And every sight and sound was fair 
 
 With unalloy'd contentedness. 
 
 There could not enter any stress 
 Of labour or of worldly woe ; 
 But ever through the place did flow 
 
 A silver sound of singing winds, 
 
 A breath of jasmine and woodbinds, 
 As if all joy were gather'd there 
 And prison'd in the golden air. 
 
 And as Sir Floris wondered 
 At those sweet flow'rets white and red, 
 And at the stream's sweet song that set 
 The garden-breezes all afret 
 With breaking waves of melody, 
 And at the bird's sweet minstrelsy, 
 There came to him a damozel 
 (How fair she was no man can tell), 
 And said, " Fair knight, now wit thou well 
 That thou hast gather'd great renown 
 In that sad world where trees are brown 
 And ways are white in winter-time, 
 And hast in many a maker's rhyme 
 Been celebrate for gentilesse 
 And valiant doings in the press 
 Of armed knights and battle-play, 
 In tournament and in mellay ; 
 And over all the land is known 
 
SIX FLORIS. 157 
 
 How, many a time, thy horn has blown 
 To succour maidens in distress, 
 And oftentimes have had redress 
 
 The needy by thy stroke of sword. 
 
 So that to him, that is the lord 
 Of this fair place, the fame has won 
 Of all that thou hast dared and done 
 
 In perfectness of chivalry ; 
 
 And he, who uses well to see 
 Great deeds of arms and shock of spears, 
 Has seen no one in all these years 
 
 That may be chosen for thy peer ; 
 
 And therefore has he brought thee here, 
 To try thee if thou canst endure 
 Battle and venture, forte et dure 
 
 Beyond the wont of men on earth ; 
 
 Wherein if thou canst prove thy worth, 
 He will advance thee to his grace 
 And set thee surely in high place 
 
 Among his knights." 
 
 " Fair damozel," 
 Said Floris, " liketh me full well 
 
 The quest, by what you say of it : 
 
 But now, I pray you, let me wit 
 
 Who is this lord, whose hest you bear, 
 That is so high and debonair ? 
 
 And what adventure must I prove 
 
 Before that I can win his love?" 
 
158 SS FLO R IS. 
 
 And she, " His name I may not tell ; 
 Hereafter shalt thou know it well ; 
 But thou shalt see him presently." 
 
 Then did she join her bended palms, 
 And falling down upon her knee 
 
 Among the knitted herbs and haulms, 
 Did softly sing a full sweet rhyme ; 
 And in a little space of time 
 
 Was visible among the treen 
 
 Against a trellised work of green 
 That at the garden's farthest end 
 Among the leaves did twine and blend 
 
 A man, that walk'd among the flowers 
 
 As softly as the evening hours 
 Walk in the summer-haunted treen. 
 Full tall and stately was his mien, 
 
 And down his back the long hair lay, 
 
 Red-gold as is the early day, 
 Whereon a crown of light was set. 
 Whoever saw might ne'er forget 
 
 The sweetness of his majesty. 
 
 But in no wise could Floris see 
 Or win to look upon his face ; 
 
 For, as he went, he turn'd aside 
 
 His visage, as it were to hide 
 The light of its unearthly grace 
 
 From mortal eyes. 
 
SIX FLO R IS. 159 
 
 Then Floris said, 
 " I pray thee of thy kindlihead, 
 
 Fair maid, that I may come to look 
 
 On this lord's visage." But she shook 
 Her head, and " Patience ! " did she say. 
 " Thou must in fear and much affray 
 
 For this fair place, and for the fame 
 
 Of him that master of the same 
 And sovereign is, be purged and tried, 
 And through much venture must abide, 
 
 Ere thou mayst look upon his face 
 
 And win the guerdon of his grace, 
 And now the time is come to prove 
 Battle and hardship for his love. 
 
 Adieu, sir knight : be bold and true !" 
 
 Whereat she sped beyond his view, 
 And eke that figure vanished ; 
 But Floris, lifting up his head, 
 
 Was ware of a strange hand that bare 
 
 A cross and stood in middle air, 
 And on the white plume of his crest 
 Did for a moment lie and rest. 
 
 Therewith great ease was given him, 
 
 And healing freedom from all dim 
 Sad doubts of fortune and of fate 
 In that great strife, that did await 
 
 His proving ; and the strength of men 
 
 In him was as the strength of ten 
 
160 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 Redoubled. Then he saw, beside 
 His feet, a flower-bed fair and wide 
 Of roses mingled red and white, 
 Full sweet of smell and fair of sight, 
 That in a trellised red-gold grate 
 Did hold a sweet and lovely state 
 
 And spread around such wealth of balm, 
 Their scent seem'd one great golden psalm 
 Of perfume to the praise of God. 
 
 Then Floris knelt upon the sod 
 
 Of that fair place, and praying thrice 
 Most heartily, did take advice 
 
 That up the silver-spangled grail 
 
 That through the green did twine and trail 
 Of that bright garden's goodliness 
 Some gruesome thing towards him did press, 
 
 As 'twere the roses to despoil. 
 
 So sprang he lightly from the soil, 
 And from its scabbard iron-blue 
 His falchion Fleurdeluceaunt drew, 
 
 And kiss'd its fair hilt cruciform ; 
 
 Wherewith his heart wax'd bold and warm 
 With courage past the use of men. 
 
 Now was a loathly thing, I ween, 
 Made visible to him that might 
 Well strike the boldest with affright. 
 
FLO R IS. 161 
 
 For up the sward to him did run 
 
 A beast yet never saw the sun ; 
 As 'twere a dog with double head, 
 Whose hinder parts were fashioned 
 
 Into the likeness of a worm. 
 
 Full black and grisly was his form, 
 And blazing red his eyes and tongue 
 With raging choler, such as stung 
 
 His lusting heart to rob and tear 
 
 The flowers that in the garden were. 
 But as he came anigh the place 
 Wherein those roses all did grace 
 
 The greensward, to his troubled sight 
 
 Was visible that valiant knight, 
 That in whole armour of blue steel 
 Before the flowery shrine did kneel, 
 
 To save the emblems of Love's joy 
 
 From his most foul and rude annoy. 
 Wherefore at him with open mouth 
 The monster ran, as 'twere its drouth 
 
 And ravening lust to wreak and slake 
 
 Upon the knight. Then did he take 
 His sword, and with so stout a blow 
 Upon the beast's twin neck did throw 
 
 The edge, that with the dolorous stroke 
 
 The thread of its foul life he broke 
 In twain, and from the sundered veins 
 The black blood strew'd with loathly stains 
 
 The tender grass and herbs therein ; 
 
 M 
 
1 62 SIR FLORIS. 
 
 And as among the flower-stalks thin 
 The hideous purple gore was sprent, 
 From out the stain (O wonderment 
 
 And grace of Mary merciful !) 
 
 There open'd out the petals full 
 And lovesome of that snowy bloom 
 That is in all earth's sin and gloom 
 
 The fairest of all flowers to see, 
 
 The lily of white chastity. 
 
 Right glad was Floris of the sight, 
 And of the scent that from the white 
 
 Gold-hearted bells to him was lent ; 
 
 And as he o'er the calyx bent 
 To breathe its fragrance, suddenly 
 There came a sound across the lea, 
 
 That was as if a lion roar'd ; 
 
 And truly o'er the blossom'd sward 
 There ran to him a tawny beast, 
 Red-maned, that never stay'd nor ceased 
 
 To roar, until the knight could feel 
 
 His hot breath through the grated steel 
 That barr'd his vizor, and his claws 
 Sought grimly for some joint or pause 
 
 In the hard mail, where he might set 
 
 His tusks and through the rent veins let 
 The knight's life-blood upon the sward. 
 But Floris, lifting up his sword, 
 
 Him with such doughty strokes oppressed 
 
 Upon his red and haughty crest, 
 
FLO R IS. 163 
 
 That soon he made him loose his hold ; 
 And in a while, no longer bold 
 
 And arrogant, he would have fled, 
 
 But that Sir Floris on his head 
 With the sharp edge smote such a blow, 
 The red blood from the rift did flow, 
 
 And with the blood the life did pass : 
 
 Wherefore from out the bloodied grass 
 There was uplift the rose of love, 
 With scent and blossom fair enough, 
 
 I trow, to guerdon many a toil 
 
 And many a battle in the coil 
 Of earthly woes. 
 
 But there was yet 
 No time for Floris to forget 
 
 His trouble in the red flower's sight : 
 
 He must again in deathly fight 
 Be join'd for the security 
 Of that fair garden's purity. 
 
 For swiftly in the lion's place 
 
 A raging leopard came, the grace 
 Of those sweet roses to despoil; 
 And as he came, the very soil 
 
 Quaked underneath him, such a might 
 
 To wreak his cholerick despite 
 'Gainst him that was the sovereign 
 Of that fair place, and such disdain 
 
 Did rage in him, that he could see 
 
 No thing for anger. So was he 
 
1 64 S//? F LOR IS. 
 
 Against the roses well nigh come, 
 Nay, was in act to spoil their bloom, 
 
 When through his heart the deadly blade 
 Slid cold ; and turning round, he made 
 At Floris with a vengeful roar, 
 And with his claws his thigh he tore, 
 A hand's-breadth in his agony. 
 Then down upon the grass fell he 
 And died ; and in the tender sward, 
 Whereon his felon blood was pour'd, 
 The sign of humbleness was set, 
 The flower that men call violet. 
 
 Full faint was Floris with the loss 
 Of blood, that from the wound across 
 His thigh did run in many a rill, 
 And would have fain awhile been still 
 Without reproof. But no repose 
 Must he expect (nor one of those 
 That in God's battle fight on earth) 
 Nor pleasance of delight and mirth, 
 But many a dint and many a blow 
 Unceasing, till God will his woe 
 Be ended and the goal be won. 
 
 And so, as there he sat, anon, 
 Whilst wearily he look'd along 
 The fair wide path, he saw the long 
 Slow travel of a hideous snake, 
 That with much toil its way did make 
 
SIX FLO R IS. 165 
 
 Towards the roses where he stood. 
 So faint he was with failing blood, 
 
 He might not summon any strength 
 
 To smite its black and gruesome length 
 At vantage, crawling, but must wait 
 Until, with slow and tortuous gait, 
 
 It won to him. So weak he was, 
 
 He could not choose but let it pass 
 Towards the trellis ; and eftsoon, 
 By him that lay in some half swoon, 
 
 Across the grass it slid and twined 
 
 Around the grating that confined 
 
 The flowers, its black and hideous length, 
 And breathed on them with all the strength 
 
 Of hate its envying soul could know 
 
 To gather in a breath, and so 
 
 To spoil their fresh and goodly bloom : 
 Whereat the blossoms with the gloom 
 
 Of its black coils, that shut the light 
 
 From over them, and with affright 
 And sickness of its loathsome breath, 
 Came very nigh to take their death. 
 
 For with such potent spells the air 
 
 Its venom darken' d of despair 
 And malice, that the lovely red 
 And white of their bright goodlihead 
 
 Was to a sickly pallor turn'd, 
 
 As if some loathly fever burn'd 
 
 Within their hearts : and in a while 
 No kiss of breeze or golden smile 
 
i66 SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 Of sun had won them back to life. 
 
 So spent were they with the fell strife 
 Of that curs'd beast, had not a sweep 
 Of wings awaken'd from the sleep 
 
 Of pain Sir Floris, and the scream 
 
 Of a great bird, whose plumes did seem 
 To brush his forehead, roused his sense 
 From the constraint of indolence. 
 
 Then sprang he up in strength renew'd ; 
 
 And when he saw the serpent lewd 
 And hideous, that in his embrace 
 Did strangle all the life and grace 
 
 From out the flowers, he made at him 
 
 And with a grip so fierce and grim 
 Oppress'd his scaly swollen neck, 
 That with the dolour and the check 
 
 Of blood within his venom'd veins, 
 
 The snake must needs relax the chains 
 In which he held the rosery ; 
 And in the act so mightily 
 
 He leapt at Floris, that he wound 
 
 His arms and body closely round 
 With scaly rings, and so uneath 
 Did grip the knight, that little breath 
 
 Seem'd in his body to be left ; 
 
 But, summoning all strength, he reft 
 The horrid fetters from his breast, 
 And flung the worm with utterest 
 
SIX FLO R IS. 167 
 
 His might full length against the ground. 
 
 There whiles it lay in seeming swound ; 
 And Floris, thinking it was dead, 
 Would have lain down his weary head 
 
 Upon the grass, to take some ease 
 
 Awhile. Then from among the trees 
 There came that fowl, that had awoke 
 Him with its passing pinions' stroke, 
 
 And with so hard a buffet drove 
 
 Him down to earth, he could nor move 
 Nor speak awhile, but lay as dead : 
 And that foul bird, with eyes of red 
 
 And vulture claws, did strive the while 
 
 At every joint and crack of mail 
 
 To wound him with its noisome beak, 
 At last a place it found where weak 
 
 The armour was, and with such spite 
 
 Into Sir Floris' flesh did bite, 
 
 That for the fierceness of the pain 
 He started up from sleep again 
 
 And with so fierce and stout a blow 
 
 The vulture strake, the steel did go 
 Athwart the pinions and the crest, 
 And riving down the armour'd breast, 
 
 Did hew. the gruesome snake in twain, 
 
 In whom the life began again 
 To flutter. So the loathly two 
 With that stroke died ; and with the dew 
 
1 68 SIX FLORIS. 
 
 Of their foul blood, the lovely green 
 
 Of the fair sward did such a spleen 
 And hate of its despiteous hue 
 Conceive, that quickly sprang to view 
 
 A twine of snow-white clematis, 
 
 The sign of sweet content that is ; 
 
 And where the bird in death was cold, 
 There grew the glad bright marigold, 
 
 That in its gay and golden dress 
 
 Was ever symbol of largesse, 
 
 Since all along the meads there run 
 Its mimic mirrors of the sun, 
 
 Withouten any speck or flaw. 
 
 But none of this Sir Floris saw, 
 Nor how the roses lightly wore 
 The freshness of their bloom once more ; 
 
 So weary was he and so worn 
 
 With strife, and therewithal so torn 
 
 With claws and beak of that fierce bird, 
 He lay aswoon and saw nor heard 
 
 Or sight or sound. 
 
 Now must I tell 
 A wondrous thing that here befell, 
 
 Through grace of God and Christ, His Son : 
 For, while he lay aswoon, came one 
 In white and shining robes array'd, 
 And touch'd him on the lips and said, 
 
SIR FLORIS. 169 
 
 " Arise, Sir Floris, whole of wound, 
 And fill thy quest ! " And so was gone. 
 
 And Floris started up from ground, 
 And was all whole in flesh and bone 
 
 And full of heart the end to dare 
 
 Of that hard venture. 
 
 Then the air 
 
 Was of a sudden darken'd o'er 
 
 With some foul thing, that semblance wore 
 Of a half bird and a half worm, 
 Join'd in one foul and loathly form ; 
 
 And with the rattle of the scales 
 
 Upon its wings that (as huge flails 
 Upon the golden garnered wheat 
 With ceaseless rhythmic pulse do beat) 
 
 Did lash and wound the golden air 
 
 The songs of breezes deaden'd were, 
 And all was dumb for much dismay : 
 And with its sight the lift grew gray. 
 
 And as it wheel'd on open wings, 
 
 With many blows and bufferings 
 
 It strove to daunt that valiant knight 
 And enforce him for sheer affright 
 
 To yield to it and let it fill 
 
 Its hungry maw at its foul will 
 
 With those fair flowers. But Floris stood 
 Undaunted, and with many a good 
 
 Stout stroke of point did wound the beast, 
 
1 70 SIR FLORIS. 
 
 Wherewith it bled and much increased 
 Its ravenous rage. Then, suddenly, 
 He felt sharp claws about his knee, 
 And, looking down, no little wroth, 
 He saw a huge and monstrous sloth, 
 That with such force did hug his thighs 
 And gript his arms in such hard wise, 
 That he could scarce with bended shield 
 Resist him, nor with power could wield 
 His trusty sword ; and as he strove 
 That monster from his grip to move, 
 The dragon with so fell a swoop 
 Against him from on high did stoop, 
 That down upon the ground he fell, 
 And in the falling did repel 
 The sloth from off him. Then the twain 
 With such foul rage at him again 
 Did press and buffet, that the life 
 Out of his breast with that fierce strife 
 Was well nigh chased : but, by good hap, 
 It chanced he fell into the lap 
 
 Of those fair blooms of various kind 
 That did his victory call to mind 
 Against the cruel beaten foes ; 
 And, falling heavily from blows 
 Of beak and talons, he with such 
 A grinding weight did press and crush 
 The blossoms in the harsh and rude 
 Encounter, they must needs exude 
 
SIX FLORIS. 171 
 
 From out their chalices the sweet 
 
 And precious essences that meet 
 To make the perfume of a flower, 
 And on his face and hands did shower 
 
 Their gracious balms. So sweet they were 
 
 And of a potency so rare 
 For salving every earthly pain, 
 The life began in every vein 
 
 With their pure touch to run and glow ; 
 
 And soon the weary weight and woe 
 That lay on Floris was dispell'd. 
 Then, with new strength, from him he fell'd 
 
 That hideous sloth ; and being free 
 
 An instant from his tyranny 
 And harsh oppression, to his feet 
 He sprang once more, and to defeat 
 
 The winged worm himself addressed, 
 
 That tore and ravish'd at his crest 
 With ceaseless fury ; but it drew 
 Beyond his reaching, when it knew 
 
 Its comrade worsted, and was fain 
 
 To wait till it revived again. 
 But Floris, with a doubled hand, 
 Smote at the bear with his good brand 
 
 So fell a stroke, the sharp death slid 
 
 Through bone and sinew and forbid 
 Returning life to enter in 
 That loathly dwelling, foul with sin 
 
 And sloth ; and so the thing was dead. 
 
172 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 And from the blood its slit veins bled 
 There came to life the blossoms sweet 
 And gold-eyed of the Marguerite, 
 
 Incoronate with petals white. 
 
 But that foul serpent with the sight 
 Of that good blow so sorely grieved 
 And filPd with rage to be bereaved 
 Of its grim comrade was, it threw 
 All fear aside and fiercely flew 
 At Floris, with the armed sting 
 Of its writhed tail all quivering 
 In act to' strike, and with so strong 
 A swoop the dart did thrust and throng 
 Through dent and ring of riven mail, 
 The deadly point it did prevail 
 To bury deep in Floris' breast. 
 Whereat such rage the knight possessed 
 That all the dolour he forgot 
 (Though very fierce it was, God wot, 
 And sad) and throwing down his blade, 
 With such a mighty force he laid 
 To drag that scorpion from his side, 
 The serpent's tail in twain he wried 
 And in such hideous wounds it rent, 
 That from the body coiPd and bent 
 With anguish it must needs divide. 
 Wherewith the cleft did open wide, 
 And such a flood therefrom did flow 
 
FLORIS. 173 
 
 Of blood upon the herbs below 
 That needs it seem'd the flowers must die ; 
 And with the pain so fierce a cry 
 Of agony the dragon gave, 
 There is no heart of man so brave 
 And firm but he must quake at it. 
 
 And now the doom of death was writ 
 
 In heaven for that unholy beast ; 
 
 And in a little while it ceased 
 To cry, and down upon the ground 
 It fell and died ; and all around . 
 
 The firm earth quaked. And as it died, 
 
 The blood that wither' d far and wide 
 The herbs and 'mid the stalks did boil 
 For rage was dried into the soil ; 
 
 Wherefore there sprang from out the stain 
 
 The holy purple of vervain, 
 The plant that purgeth earth's desire. 
 
 Now may Sir Floris well aspire 
 
 To have that peace he needeth so, 
 
 And easance after toil and woe : 
 For there is none to fight with him 
 Of all those beasts so fell and grim ; 
 
 Nor any sign of further foe 
 
 Within the garden is, I trow, 
 To let him from his victory ; 
 And all around the place was free 
 
174 Sf FLORIS. 
 
 From fear ; the breezes were atune 
 Again with birdsongs, and the boon 
 Of scent within the flowers once more 
 Was golden, nor the heavens wore 
 The hue of horror and dismay : 
 And so he may be blithe and gay 
 And have sweet pleasance. 
 
 But alas ! 
 
 No thought of this for Flofis was. 
 Within his veins the venom 'gan 
 To curdle, and the red blood ran 
 
 With frozen slowness, as the sting 
 
 Of pain went ever gathering 
 
 Fresh fierceness through him. Very nigh 
 It seem'd to him he was to die. 
 
 He felt the chill of the last hour 
 
 Creep through him and the deathsweats pour 
 Adown his brow : such agony 
 Along his every vein did flee, 
 
 He could no longer up endure, 
 
 Nor hope for any aid or cure ; 
 But down upon the earth he sank 
 Aswoon, with faded lips that drank 
 
 The dews of death, and, with a prayer 
 
 Half mutter' d in his last despair, 
 The sense forsook him. So he lay 
 Aswoon, poor knight, and (well-a-way !) 
 
 Most like to die. 
 
SIR FLO X IS. 175 
 
 But there was thought 
 
 In heaven for him that thus had fought 
 For that fair garden's sake. The love 
 Of the dear God that dwells above 
 
 Was mindful of him, though he knew 
 
 It not. And so to him there drew 
 A tender dream, as there he lay 
 Smitten to death with that fierce fray, 
 
 And fill'd his thought ; and it did seem 
 
 To him, by virtue of the dream, 
 That over him an angel stood, 
 And with a sweet compassion view'd 
 
 His piteous state, and whiles did strew 
 
 Soft balms upon him, strange and new 
 Unto his sense, so comforting 
 And sweet of scent, they seem'd to bring 
 
 To him the airs of Paradise ; 
 
 And with their touch the cruel ice 
 Of death, that bound his every sense, 
 Was melted wholly ; and the dense 
 
 And cruel anguish, that untied 
 
 The threads of living, did subside ; 
 And gradually peace came back 
 Into his spirit, and the rack 
 
 Of pain and agony from him 
 
 Was lifted. So upon the rim 
 Of the sad soul a little life 
 Began to hover, as at strife 
 
 With Death, reluctant to forego 
 
176 SIR FLORIS. 
 
 His late assured prey ; and so 
 
 The breath came back by slow degrees 
 To the spent soul, and in great ease 
 
 Awhile he lay : and whiles he dream' d 
 
 He was in heaven, and it seem'd 
 He heard the golden harpings stir 
 The air to glory, and the choir 
 
 Of seraphim that stand around 
 
 The throne, with one sweet pulse of sound 
 Coorder'd, lift descant of praise 
 To Him that is the Lord of Days 
 
 And Ancient. 
 
 Then he seem'd to hear 
 A voice that murmur'd in his ear 
 As 'twere a ring of broken chords 
 Angelic, mingled with sweet words 
 (So silver-clear it was) and bade 
 Him open eyes : and then one laid 
 Soft hand upon his lids, and drew 
 The darkness from them. So the blue 
 Of heaven again was visible 
 To him, as 'twere some great sweet bell 
 Of magic flowerage in some prime 
 Of summer in old fairy-time : 
 And drinking slowly use of light 
 And sense of life and its delight 
 Back into eyes and brain, he turn'd 
 His gaze from where the heaven burn'd 
 
FLORIS. 177 
 
 With full sweet summer, and was ware 
 Of a fair champion standing there, 
 
 Past mortal beauty. All in white 
 
 And spotless mail was he bedight, 
 So clear that there is nothing fair 
 And goodly but was mirror'd there, 
 
 And yet no evil thing nor sad 
 
 Was there. Upon his helm he had 
 A fair gold cross, and on his shield 
 The semblance of a lamb did wield 
 
 A fair gold cross. Upon his crest 
 
 The snows of a fair plume did rest 
 And waved ; and eke his pennoncel 
 Was white as is the new-blown bell 
 
 Of that fair flower that loves the wind, 
 
 And round his dexter arm was twined 
 A snow of silk. Full glorious 
 The splendour of his harness was, 
 
 And wonder-lovely to behold : 
 
 But as white silver and red gold 
 Are pale beside the diamond, 
 So was his visage far beyond 
 
 His arms in glory and delight 
 
 Of beauty. There was such a might 
 Of stainless virtue and of all 
 Perfection pictured, and withal 
 
 So wondrous tender in aspect 
 
 He was, it seem'd as if the Elect 
 Of Christ on earth in him did live ; 
 
 N 
 
iy8 Sf PL OR IS. 
 
 That, with glad eyes, men might arrive, 
 Beholding him, to know that love 
 And gentilesse of God and prove 
 In him the sweetness of that grace 
 That shined ever in Christ's face 
 On earth. 
 
 And so in very deed 
 It seem'd to Floris that the need 
 Of earth was over, and his soul 
 Was won thereto where life is whole 
 Withouten any stress or dole 
 At last in joyance, and his eyes 
 Did view, in robes of Paradise, 
 That tender angel of the Lord, 
 That into men's sore bosoms pour'd 
 Sweet balms and comfort, being set 
 To temper justice and the fret 
 Of life with love most pitiful. 
 And whilst he thus did gaze his full 
 Upon the radiance of that wight, 
 The soft and undefiled delight, 
 That in his eyes did hold full sway, 
 So purged all Floris' awe away 
 
 And eke such boldness to him gave 
 That he was fain of him to crave 
 His name. 
 
 Then, "I am Galahad, 
 Christ's knight," he said. 
 
FLORIS. 179 
 
 Whereat full glad 
 Was Floris, and all reverently 
 Unto the earth he bent his knee 
 
 Before the knight, and (an he list) 
 
 Would fain the broider'd hem have kiss'd 
 Of his white robe ; but Galahad 
 Did raise him quickly up and bade 
 
 Him henceforth kneel to God alone, 
 
 That on the height of Heaven's throne 
 Is for man's soul the only one 
 Of worship, save sweet Christ, His Son, 
 
 And Mary mother pitiful ; 
 
 And henceforth were no kings that rule. 
 So blest as Floris now should be, 
 Since that with such high constancy 
 
 And noble faith he had withstood 
 
 The shock of that unholy brood, 
 And in fair fight had vanquish' d them. 
 Wherefore for crown and diadem 
 
 Of triumph, on the greensward freed 
 
 From those foul beasts that there did bleed 
 Their life away beneath his blade, 
 In goodly order were array'd 
 
 For him those pleasant blooms and fair, 
 
 That not alone so debonair 
 And blithe of aspect were, but eke 
 Had virtues more than one might speak 
 
 In wearing of a summer's day 
 
 For purging fleshly lusts away 
 
i8o SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 And cleansing from his heart who wore 
 
 Their beauty fairly all the sore 
 Sad doubts and weariness of earth, 
 So that with an immortal mirth 
 
 And constant faith his soul was glad, 
 
 And evermore sweet peace he had 
 In love of God and eke of Christ, 
 The which against all ills sufficed 
 
 Of mortal life. And as he spoke 
 
 From the slight stems those flowers he broke 
 That 'midst the herbage did entreat 
 The eye with blossom very sweet 
 
 And gracious ; and (O wonderment !) 
 
 Being in his hand conjoin'd, they blent 
 Their essences in such rare wise, 
 It seem'd from each sweet bell did rise 
 
 A sweeter perfume, and more bright 
 
 Their semblance grew, as 'twere some might 
 Of amity was moved in them 
 Being so join'd into one stem 
 
 To heighten each one's loveliness 
 
 With all its fellows did possess 
 
 Of blithe and sweet. And therewithal, 
 When from the grass those flow'rets all 
 
 Were gather'd, to Sir Floris came 
 
 That noblest knight, and in Christ's name, 
 With fairest look and friendliest speech, 
 Him of his kindness did beseech 
 
 That he from him those blooms would take 
 
 And breathe their fragrance. 
 
SIX FLORIS. 181 
 
 Scarce awake 
 
 From swoon was Floris yet ; and so 
 He took them with dull hands and slow, 
 
 And did address himself to scent 
 
 Their breath, as one half indolent 
 
 With sleep ; but when the gracious smell 
 Was won to him, that from each bell 
 
 Did float and hovering was blent 
 
 Into some wondrous ravishment 
 
 Of sweets, there smote him such a sense 
 Of gladsome ease and recompense 
 
 Of all his labours, that the dull 
 
 Gross drowsiness, that did annul 
 The soul within the man, forsook 
 Him wholly ; and withal he took 
 
 Such gladness, that in every vein 
 
 The life seem'd blithely born again ; 
 And through his frame so fresh a flood 
 Of ardour pour'd, it seem'd the blood- 
 That in men's pulses sluggishly 
 
 Does throb and flutter was made free 
 From earthly baseness and was turn'd 
 To heavenly ichor. For there burn'd 
 
 Within him such a fire of hope, 
 
 He felt his soul no more did grope 
 Within the dreary dusk of earth, 
 But on the wings of a new birth 
 
 Towards the highest heaven did soar. 
 
 Nor was there for him any more 
 
182 6*77? FLO R IS. 
 
 A thought of weariness or woe ; 
 
 But from the earth he rose, and so 
 Was ready for all venturing 
 And all the quest of holy thing 
 
 God might appoint him. 
 
 Then that knight, 
 
 That was apparell'd all in white, 
 Most brightly smiling at the new 
 Glad ardour that did straight ensue 
 
 In Floris with those blossoms' scent, 
 
 And at the holy joy that brent 
 Upon the dial of his face, 
 Within his arms did him embrace 
 
 And kiss'd him very lovingly. 
 
 Then in this wise to him spake he, 
 With grave sweet speech. 
 
 " Beyond the brine, 
 Where in the Orient first the sign 
 
 Of dawn upon the sky is set, 
 
 In that sweet clime where men forget 
 The winter, and the summer lies 
 So lovingly upon the skies, 
 
 That of a truth the very night 
 
 Is lucent and the cruel spite 
 Of darkness never wholly hides 
 The flowers, but aye some light abides, 
 
 Wherefore men call it morning-land, 
 
FLORIS. 183 
 
 A fair and stately house doth stand, 
 Wherein, by help of God His grace, 
 Unto my lot it fell to place 
 
 That holy token of the Lord, 
 
 That He to mortals did afford 
 Awhile on earth to look upon 
 For consolation ; but anon, 
 
 Moved to slow anger by their sin 
 
 And stubborn wickedness, within 
 His mystery He did withdraw 
 The blessed thing : but yet the law 
 
 Of that sad doom He tempered 
 
 Of His great grace and kindlihead 
 With mercy. For it was ordain'd 
 That if one kept himself unstain'd 
 
 And pure from every lust and sin, 
 
 A virgin, he should surely win 
 And come to taste of that sweet food 
 Of the Redeemer's flesh and blood. 
 
 And unto me such grace was given 
 
 That of all champions that have striven 
 I have been chosen from the rest 
 For winning of the Holy Quest ; 
 
 Since that, as in the Writ we read, 
 
 God of the humblest may indeed 
 Be pleased to make His instrument, 
 Even unto me that joy was sent, 
 
 Surpassing all that of old time 
 
 Is told for us in minstrel's rhyme 
 
1 84 SS FLORIS. 
 
 Of Heaven's mercy : and, God wot, 
 
 Were passed o'er Sir Lancelot 
 
 And sweet Sir Tristram, that again 
 The world shall never of those twain 
 
 Behold the like, such debonair 
 
 And perfect gentle knights they were. 
 
 " Wherefore to God it seemed fit 
 
 That a fair dwelling over it 
 Should for its safe keeping be built : 
 And that no breath of sin or guilt 
 
 Might there approach, there was enroll'd 
 
 A band of knights, in whom the gold 
 Of virtue had been smelted out 
 And purified from sin and doubt 
 
 By toil and venture perilous. 
 
 And in that high and holy house 
 In goodly fellowship they dwell, 
 Until to God it seemeth well 
 
 For long good service done to call 
 
 One of the brethren from the thrall 
 Of earthly life, and with His blest 
 In Paradise to give him rest. 
 
 Wherefore, when one is calPd away, 
 
 It is ordain'd that from the grey 
 Of the sad world another knight 
 To fill his place who, benedight, 
 
 Has won the guerdon of his strife 
 
 Be chosen out, to cast off life 
 
FLO R IS. 185 
 
 And with much labour and much pain 
 
 Be purified from earthly stain 
 
 And tried with woe. If he endure 
 And from the furnace come out pure 
 
 Of sin and lusting, he shall stand 
 
 For the dead brother in the band 
 Angelical, and shall be set 
 With those that, pure of earthly fret, 
 
 Do guard the shrine miraculous. 
 
 " In such a wise enrolled was 
 
 Sir Percivale ; and Lohengrin 
 
 By like adventuring did win 
 Among the holy knights to sit ; 
 And many more of whom ye wit. 
 
 And lately it the Lord hath pleased 
 
 That yet another should be eased 
 Of his long service and preferred 
 Among the angels to. be heard 
 
 And scent the breath of heaven's rosen. 
 
 And in his stead hast thou been chosen 
 In much hard strife to be assay'd 
 And for Christ's service fitting made. 
 
 Wherefore this venture has been given 
 
 To thee, in which thou now hast striven 
 So wonder-well, that thou mightst win 
 To purge thyself of earthly sin. 
 
 And having in good sooth prevail'd 
 
 Against all dangers that assail'd 
 
1 86 SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 Thee and this garden's purity, 
 There is great bliss ordain'd for thee ; 
 
 For that thy name shall be enroll'd 
 
 Among those knights in ward that hold 
 The blessed Grail ; and thou with me 
 Beyond the billows of the sea 
 
 Shalt come to where that house is fair 
 
 Withouten any pain or care, 
 And shalt awhile taste heaven's bliss, 
 And on thy mouth shalt have the kiss 
 
 Of Christ the Lord, that doth assoil 
 
 All weariness of earthly toil 
 And gives unto all sorrows peace 
 Undying." 
 
 So the strain did cease 
 Of his sweet speaking, and awhile 
 The very sweetness of his smile 
 Did hinder Floris from reply : 
 And eke the thought of bliss so nigh 
 His lips and all the ravishment 
 Of promise that he did prevent 
 In his imagining and lack 
 Of words for utterance held back 
 His tongue from speaking anything. 
 But Galahad for answering 
 Stay'd not, but, with a doubled grace 
 Of sweet assurance in his face, 
 Began to say, in very deed, 
 
SIX FLORIS. 187 
 
 That presently there was great need 
 They should withouten more delay 
 Towards the dawning take their way, 
 
 For many a mile the voyage was 
 
 And for great distance tedious. 
 
 Then Floris said to him, " Fair knight, 
 That in whole armour of pure white 
 
 Dost serve God in all chastity, 
 
 I pri'thee, lightly show to me 
 How we may gain that distant land 
 That by the rising sun is scann'd, 
 
 Since neither boat is here nor had?" 
 
 Whereat no word spake Galahad, 
 But with his hand the sign he made, 
 That makes all evil things afraid 
 
 And compasses all good about 
 
 With armour against sin and doubt ; 
 And straightway with the holy sign 
 A white cross in the air did shine 
 
 A second, as for answering ; 
 
 And then the stream's soft murmuring 
 Grew louder to the sweep of waves 
 Along the reed-crests and the glaives 
 
 Of rushes, and its silver thread 
 
 Into a river's mightihead 
 Was stretch'd ; and on the stream did float 
 The silver wonder of a boat, 
 
i88 SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 Gold-keel' d and fair with silken sails, 
 
 Such boat as, in old Eastern tales, 
 The genii bring at the command 
 Of some enchanter's magic wand. 
 
 And on the prow of cymophane 
 
 Translucent as the pearly wane 
 Of that fair star that rules the night, 
 With an internal glory bright 
 
 The milk-white holy bird did sit 
 
 And spread soft pinions over it, 
 That fluttered with desire of flight. 
 
 Therein stepp'd Galahad, Christ's knight ; 
 
 And after him did Floris come 
 
 At beckoning, wholly dazed and dumb 
 With wonders of that wondrous time. 
 And as into the stern did climb 
 
 The valiant knight, the soft sweet wind 
 
 That 'mid the blossom'd trees was twined, 
 Ceased from its disport in the flowers 
 And leafage of those magic bowers, 
 
 And with such strong yet gentle stress 
 
 Within the silken sails did press 
 Towards the dawning, that the keel 
 Slid through the waters blue as steel 
 
 As swiftly as the morning sun 
 
 Shears through the mists when night is done 
 And day is golden in the sky. 
 And as it through the lymph did fly 
 
FLORIS. 189 
 
 Of that enchanted rivulet, 
 
 The golden keel to song did fret 
 The thronging currents, and the ring 
 Of murmurous water-notes did sing 
 
 And ripple in the diamond deeps, 
 
 Such music as the West wind sweeps 
 From out the harps of Fairyland, 
 When elves are met on some sweet strand 
 
 Of Broceliaund or Lyonesse, 
 
 For revel and for wantonness. 
 
 On all sides round them as they went 
 
 The dim grey woods were sad and spent 
 With weariness of winter-time, 
 And in the fields the rugged rime 
 
 Held all things in the sleep of death, 
 
 Stern white, and void of living breath ; 
 And with the weary weight of snow 
 The laden boughs were bent and low. 
 
 But in their sails a breath there blew 
 
 Of April zephyrs, and there drew 
 Unto their course a summer cloud 
 With scents of flowers and birdsongs strow'd ; 
 
 And echoings of July woods 
 
 When in the green the bluebell broods 
 Were thick and sweet about their way, 
 And ever round the boat's prow lay 
 
 The scent of grass-swaths newly mown ; 
 
 And wildflowers in gold grain and brown 
 
190 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 * 
 Waved in the sweet dream-haunted air. 
 
 So went they, while the night was bare 
 Of sound or breath to break the sleep 
 Of winter, through the woodlands deep, 
 And past the well-remember'd plains 
 And towns and meadows, where the lanes 
 And streets were hush'd with winter-time, 
 And saw no creature on the rime, 
 
 Save some stray sheep shut out from fold 
 Or wolf, that from his forest hold 
 Was by hard hunger forced to seek 
 Scant prey upon the moorlands bleak. 
 
 So ever without cease they sped 
 Above that swift sweet river's bed ; 
 
 And truly, as the golden morn 
 
 From out the dim grey mists was born 
 And all things 'gan to wake from sleep, 
 They heard the silver rush and sweep 
 
 Of waves upon a pebbled shore ; 
 
 And gliding past the meadows frore, 
 They came to where the river's tide 
 Was fleck'd with foam, and far and wide 
 
 The main, as far as eye could see, 
 
 Slept in a sweet serenity. 
 
 Far out to seaward fled their boat, 
 Across the wild white flowers that float 
 
SIX PL OR IS. 191 
 
 And blossom on the azure leas ; 
 
 And swiftly as the culver flees 
 
 Among the trees with shadow twined, 
 They left the frozen fields behind, 
 
 And saw the spangled foam divide 
 
 The firmament on every side. 
 
 The golden calm of summer seas 
 Was there, and eke the July breeze 
 
 That waves upon the silver foam, 
 
 When in the azure heaven's dome 
 The sign of summer-prime is set : 
 And still no winds opposed they met, 
 
 Nor break of billows in their way ; 
 
 But through the dancing ripples' play 
 The shallop sped towards the dawn, 
 As by some starry influence drawn 
 
 Over the ridges of the main 
 
 Unstirr'd and clear. And still the rain 
 Of blossoms fell about the stem, 
 And still sweet odours breathed on them 
 
 Of rose and jasmine, and the song 
 
 Of birds about the sail was strong. 
 
 So over silver seas they went, 
 
 And heaven, wide-eyed for wonderment, 
 
 Hung o'er them open blue the while, 
 
 As though all nature were asmile 
 To see the lovely way they made : 
 
192 SS FLORIS. 
 
 And ever round the sharp keel play'd 
 The fretted lacework of the foam, 
 And through the jewell'd deeps did roam 
 
 Great golden fish, and corals red 
 
 Waved in the dim sweet goodlihead 
 Of that clear blue ; and through the wave 
 The shells of many a rich cave 
 
 Were visible, wherein the sea 
 
 Held in a sweet security 
 Treasures of pearl and lovely gold, 
 That eye of man might ne'er behold 
 
 Until the main should leave its bed ; 
 
 And over all the deeps was shed 
 A glancing play of emerald light, 
 So that the unembarrass'd sight 
 
 Pierced through the cool sweet mystery 
 
 Of folded billows, and the eye 
 Was free in shadows jewel-clear. 
 Nor was there anything of fear 
 
 For them in lapse of hyaline 
 
 Or silver breakers of the brine ; 
 Nor in the crystals of the air 
 Was anything but blithe and fair, 
 
 Sweet winds and glitter of fair birds, 
 
 Whose song was sweeter than sweet words 
 Between the pauses of a kiss, 
 When lovers meet in equal bliss. 
 
 So many a day they sail'd and long, 
 
SIX FLORIS. 193 
 
 LulPd by the breezes' flower-sweet song 
 And pipe of jewel-birds that went 
 Above them, fair to ravishment ; 
 
 Until, one morn, athwart the lift 
 
 Of blue was visible a rift 
 Of purple mountain ; and a spire 
 Of amethyst rose ever higher 
 
 Into the sapphire firmament 
 
 And drawing nigh, they saw where blent 
 Its silver- currents with the blue 
 Of that bright ocean, blithe to view, 
 
 A fair clear river that outpoured 
 
 Its waters 'twixt soft green of sward 
 And slope of flower-besprinkled banks, 
 Where rushes stood in arching ranks, 
 
 Tipt with a jewel of fair flower 
 
 As blue as is the morning hour, 
 When in the golden prime of May 
 The sweet dawn blends into the day. 
 
 The swift keel slid between the rows 
 
 Of ripples, as a steed that, knows 
 The road of some familiar place, 
 And past the bubbled foamy race 
 
 Of eddies, through the sapphire cleft 
 
 Of that bright pass, and quickly left 
 The billows of the sea behind, 
 As on that goodly stream the wind 
 
 Did urge it far into the land. 
 o 
 
194 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 Surely was never kingdom spanned 
 
 On earth by river such as this, 
 
 Where ever some enchanted bliss- 
 Ran in the ripples, and the stream 
 With liquid gold and pearl did seem 
 
 To glitter. There is nought more fair 
 
 Beneath the regions of the air 
 Than this same river ; nor in all 
 Birdnotes is aught more musical 
 
 Than the delight of its clear flow 
 
 Across the pebbles, soft and low. 
 
 And in the banks were wondrous things, 
 All lovely creatures that bear wings ; 
 
 And every precious thing of green, 
 
 And flower of gold and jewelPd sheen, 
 Was there in such a perfect shape, 
 Its essence must full needs escape 
 
 The grasp of my poor minstrelsy. 
 
 The very grass was fair to see 
 
 Beyond the fairest flower of earth ; 
 For with the gold of some new birth 
 
 It burnt, and was aflame with bright 
 
 Sweet gladness. Very flames of light 
 The flowers seem'd, zaffiran and blue 
 And crystal-clear with wonder-dew. 
 
 It seem'd their scent so heavenly was, 
 
 That into music it must pass 
 And soar into a perfumed song. 
 
SIR FLO R IS. 195 
 
 And as the boat was borne along 
 
 The golden ripples, in its speed 
 
 Dividing many a woven weed, 
 That with its many-colour' d mesh 
 Of trailing leaves and flowers did stretch 
 
 And wave upon the waters bright, 
 
 Sir Floris, with what prayers he might, 
 That gracious Galahad besought 
 That from his lips he might be taught 
 
 What was that river and that realm,' 
 
 That all earth's sweets did hide and whelm 
 In one etern forgetfulness, 
 And made all joys that men possess 
 
 Seem poor and naught with the delight 
 
 Of its exceeding lovely might. 
 And without pausing, Galahad 
 To him made answer fair and glad. 
 
 " Fair knight, this land through which we pass, 
 
 About the city of Sarras 
 
 Doth lie ; and all the golden plain 
 Beyond thy vision, for demesne 
 
 By grace and favour of high Heaven 
 
 Unto the Holy Town was given, 
 
 Where lies in hold the blessed Grail. 
 
 " Before from Paradise did fail 
 Adam and Eva for their sin, 
 These happy fields and glades within 
 
i 9 6 SSJ? FLORIS. 
 
 The golden gates of Eden were, 
 Wherein was nothing but was fair : 
 And this same river of those four 
 Was one, that of old times did pour 
 Blithe waters over all the plain, 
 When life was young and free from stain, 
 And angels walk'd upon the earth. 
 And (for their flow) came never dearth 
 Of kindly fruits nor any drought 
 Of summer-time the place about ; 
 Nor for the warmth of their clear flood 
 Might winter nip the flowery bud 
 Of the perpetual spring, that rain'd 
 Fresh blossoms there ; nor ever waned 
 The balms of summer in the air, 
 But evermore the place was fair 
 
 With all May-sweets and summer-spells. 
 And still, although the cloister' d dells 
 Of the lost garden no more stand 
 Upon the peace of the fair land, 
 Around its precincts, as of old, 
 A silver stream with sands of gold 
 Flows ever, which no foot of man, 
 Or eye, without Christ's leave, can span ; 
 Of all the four the only one 
 That still with murmurous waves doth run 
 In the old channel. Very fair 
 Its marges are with all things rare; 
 And over all the land is strown 
 
SIX FLO R IS. 197 
 
 Thick bdellium and the onyx-stone." 
 
 And many another wondrous thing 
 Unto Sir Floris, listening, 
 
 Spake Galahad of that fair land, 
 
 That eye of man hath never scanned, 
 Save he have won to Christ His grace. 
 And as he spoke, came on apace 
 
 The tender day, and gilded all 
 
 The ripples ; and the golden ball 
 Of the sweet sun rose high in heaven ; 
 And unto every thing was given 
 
 New ravishment and new delight 
 
 Of very waking. Fairer sight 
 Saw mortal never (nor indeed 
 So fair within our earthly need 
 
 Is compass' d) than the morning hour 
 
 That open'd into full sweet flower 
 With many a rosy flush and rain 
 Of golden sunlight over plain 
 
 And mead, and many a tender shade 
 
 Kiss'd into warmth that in green glade 
 Lay waiting for the frolic light 
 And changed to fleecy gold the white 
 
 Of dawn-clouds over hill and wold. 
 
 It was so gracious to behold 
 The day in that sweet Paradise, 
 There is no man with mortal eyes 
 
 Could drink its beauty wholly in, 
 
198 SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 For dust of care and mirk of sin 
 That hide much loveliness from men. 
 
 And Floris ever and again 
 
 Was dumb with awe of much delight 
 And wonderment ; as with swift flight 
 The boat sped through the flowers that shone 
 With blazon'd gold and blue upon 
 
 That magic river of a dream, 
 He sat and stored the influence 
 Of the lush balms within his sense, 
 
 And watchM the ripples all agleam 
 With jewels, and the constant smile 
 Of the sweet sunlight. And the while 
 The songs of birds co-ordinate 
 And zephyrs with a peace so great 
 And sweet upon his soul did seize, 
 And whiles his spirit had such ease 
 In that sweet speech of Galahad, 
 He needs forgot that aught of sad 
 Or dreary in this life is set, 
 Or weariness of earthly fret ; 
 
 And did, without a backward glance, 
 Yield up himself into the trance 
 Of that new joy. 
 
 So sped they on 
 
 Towards the orient : and anon, 
 Whenas the noon was borne along 
 
SIR FLOR1S. 199 
 
 The midmost heaven, to the song 
 Triumphal of the joyous choir 
 Of birds and breezes, ever higher 
 
 Soaring in one sweet antiphon, 
 
 There rose in the sweet sky upon 
 The fair broad hem of woven gold. 
 That marged with many a fleecy fold 
 
 The sapphire-chaliced firmament 
 
 A glitter of tall spires, that brent 
 With an unearthly radiance ; 
 And many a jewel-colour'd lance 
 
 Of belfry pierced the golden air 
 
 On the horizon ; and there bare 
 The wind to them a strain of song 
 Ineffable, the stream along 
 
 Faint for great distance that for joy 
 
 And triumph over earth's annoy 
 With such a rapturous sweetness smote 
 On Floris, he could neither note 
 
 The kingdom's varied loveliness 
 
 Nor the sweet antiphonal stress 
 Of winds and birds and rivulet, 
 But it alone could hear, nor let 
 
 Himself from striving up to it ; 
 
 For with its melody was knit 
 About his soul an influence 
 So strong, it seem'd his every sense 
 
 Must press towards it. And at last, 
 
 For ecstasy he would have cast 
 
>- SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 Himself headlong into the stream, 
 That therewithal, as he did deem, 
 
 He might the swiftlier win toward 
 
 That wondrous singing and the ward 
 Of that bright town miraculous. 
 But Galahad the good knight was 
 
 Mindful of him, and by his arm 
 
 Withholding him therefrom, did charm 
 His soul with such sweet words, that he 
 Must for a while contented be 
 
 To wait the progress of the boat, 
 
 That very speedily did float, 
 God wot, across the ripples' race, 
 To where the turrets of the place 
 
 Were clear. 
 
 And so they came at last 
 To where the running river pass'd 
 
 From the long lapse of pleasant wood 
 
 And meadow with enchantments strew'd 
 Of flowers and sun-gold, and were ware 
 Of the bright town that all the air 
 
 With towers and pinnacles did fill, 
 
 Set on the slope of a soft hill, 
 
 That in the sun wore one clear hue 
 Of purple blending into blue, 
 
 Most like a great sweet amethyst. 
 
 And now the gunwale softly kiss'd 
 
SfJt FLORIS. 
 
 The golden shore ; and, thick with gem 
 And coral, round the entering stem 
 
 Was wrinkled up the glittering sand. 
 
 Then Galahad upon the strand 
 Stepp'd lightly out ; and as his feet 
 Upon the grained gold did meet 
 
 Of the rich shingle, there was borne 
 
 To them the noise of a blown horn, 
 That was as if a warder blew 
 To challenge, from some tower of view 
 
 Within the amber-gated town ; 
 
 Wherefrom to them it floated down 
 And fill'd the air with echoings 
 So sweet, there is no bird that sings 
 
 Could find such music in his throat 
 
 Melodious. And as the note 
 
 Of welcome swelFd and waned around 
 The hollows of the hills, unwound 
 
 From his mail'd breast Sir Galahad 
 
 A silver horn he thereon had 
 
 In its white baldrick, and therein 
 Breathing, its hollow bell did win 
 
 Unto so sweet an answering blast, 
 
 It seem'd to Floris that at last 
 He heard the trumps angelical. 
 Then at the silver clarion's call 
 
 The beryl gates were open'd wide 
 
 Of the fair town ; and on the side 
 Of the soft hill there was to them 
 
202 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 Made visible upon the hem 
 Of woven grass with blue-bells strew'd 
 And asphodels a multitude 
 
 Of holy knights, that down the sward 
 
 In a bright painted pageant pour'd, 
 With many a waving pennoncel 
 Of gold and azure ; and the swell 
 
 Of clarions, co-ordinate 
 
 To mystic harmonies, did wait, 
 With cadences most grave and sweet, 
 Upon the rhythm of their feet. 
 
 So goodly were they of aspect 
 
 And in such pictured raiment deck'd 
 Of say and samite, there is none, 
 Minstrel or bard, beneath the sun, 
 
 That could have sung of their array 
 
 As it befits to sing it, nay, 
 Not even he who many a day 
 In Faerie enchanted lay 
 
 And learnt full many a year and long 
 
 The cadences of elfin song, 
 True Thomas ; nor that couthliest wight 
 In gramarye, that Merlin hight. 
 
 Full bright their arms and lucent were 
 And of a sheen so wonder-fair, 
 The sun seem'd of a nobler kind 
 To glitter, when his beamings shined 
 Upon the silver-mirror'd mail. 
 
FLORIS. 203 
 
 And at the sight of them did fail 
 Sir Floris' courage, that till now 
 Had never seen thing high enow 
 
 To give him pause ; for there did come 
 
 So strange a fear on him, that dumb 
 And cold he grew, and haply might 
 Have swoon' d away for sheer affright 
 
 Of wonder and great reverence 
 
 That lay upon his every sense. 
 Indeed, awhile the blood did leave 
 Its courses and great awe did weave 
 
 Strange terrors in him ; and with pain 
 
 And fear despiteous, he was fain 
 To hide his visage from the might 
 Of that much brightness. 
 
 Then that knight 
 Sir Galahad laid hands on him, 
 And quickly freed him from the grim 
 Sad grasp of that unreal fear, 
 And bade him that of right good cheer 
 He should become, for knighthood's sake, 
 And for his honour comfort take 
 And new stout heart ; for shame it was 
 And despite, one so valorous 
 
 And bold in arms should faint and fail, 
 Where he most surely should prevail, 
 'Midst those that now his comrades were 
 And fellow-knights : and with much fair 
 
204 SIR FLORIS. 
 
 Discourse did win him from affright. 
 So that at last he dared the sight 
 Of those fair knights, and saw they gazed 
 Right courteously on him and praised 
 His hard-won victory. So he took 
 New heart, and with assured look 
 Leapt out. upon the jewell'd sand : 
 And as the twain were come to land, 
 From those knights all so sweet a sound 
 Of songful greeting did resound, 
 The blue of heaven could never tire 
 Of answering ; and from many a lyre 
 And cithern the alternate joy 
 Of harpings join'd in sweet alloy 
 Its silver with that golden song. 
 
 So Floris was among that throng 
 
 Of knights received, with many a kiss 
 And glad embracement : nor, I wis, 
 
 Fail'd Galahad that he should name 
 
 Each knight that to the greeting came. 
 To him was Titurel made known, 
 And Percivale, to whom was shown 
 
 With Bors such grace of God most high, 
 
 By reason of much purity, 
 That they alone with Galahad 
 Upon the earthly questing had 
 
 The blessed vision of the Grail : 
 
 Nor Lohengrin to him did fail ; 
 
SIR FLORIS. 205 
 
 And many another noble knight 
 Of fabled prowess and approved 
 In gentilesse and all Christ loved, 
 
 Did there rejoice him with his sight. 
 
 So, for the meed of his good fight, 
 Into the wonder-town they bare 
 Sir Floris, wherein many a rare 
 
 Delight to him appointed was. 
 
 Bright was the place and glorious 
 With glory of the abiding love 
 Of God and Christ, that is above 
 
 All splendours marvellous and fair; 
 
 And luminous its ramparts were 
 With pearls and rubies constellate 
 And diamonds into such state 
 
 And harmony as, save in heaven, 
 
 Unto no place or thing is given 
 To wear or look on : such a blaze 
 Of joy was there, without amaze ; 
 
 For all was gracious and sweet 
 
 With Christ His grace. The very feet 
 That fell upon the jewell'd stones 
 Compell'd them to such silver tones 
 
 Of music, and the ruffled air 
 
 Was stirred to harmonies so fair, 
 And, for mere passage through the place, 
 Was won to such a subtle grace 
 
206 SIR FLO R IS. 
 
 Of perfume, that therein to be 
 And move was one long ecstasy : 
 
 And there the dole of earth and stress 
 
 Of hope unfill'd and weariness 
 
 Was purged, and life was one delight 
 Of perfect function, by the might 
 
 Unfailing of the doubtless soul ; 
 
 And every act and thought was whole 
 In strifeless Record. If one spoke, 
 The hindered voice no longer broke 
 
 Into harsh sadness, spent and wried 
 
 With weary effort, but did glide 
 Into an unconstrained consent 
 Of harmony and ravishment 
 
 Unstressful ; and the every geste 
 
 Was with like subtle grace possess'd, 
 And every faculty was cast 
 In symmetry, what time one pass'd 
 
 The portals of the place, and heard 
 
 The echoes of his feet that stirr'd 
 The holy quiet. 
 
 So the spell 
 
 Of the charm'd place on Floris fell 
 Transfiguringly, as the wide 
 Gold-trellised leaves on either side 
 
 Swung back for him : there came a change 
 Upon his senses, and a strange 
 Sweet ease of life, as if the soul, 
 
FLORIS. 207 
 
 Way-worn and rusted with the dole 
 And fret of earth, were softly riven 
 From him, and in its stead were given 
 
 To him a new and perfect one, 
 
 In a whole body as the sun 
 
 Lucent, and worthy for. the seat 
 Of the fair spirit. 
 
 Up the street 
 
 Gold-paven and with chrysolite 
 And jacinth marged, they brought the knight, 
 
 Past many a goodly hostelry 
 
 And many a dwelling fair to see, 
 Unto a portal sculptured all 
 With handiwork angelical, 
 
 In stories of the love of Christ, 
 
 And all the times it hath sufficed 
 To win sad living to much ease ; 
 And passing through with harmonies 
 
 Of choral song, they came unto 
 
 A vaulted courtyard, stretching through 
 A cloister'd vista to fair halls 
 Of alabaster, where the walls 
 
 With many a coloured crystal shone 
 
 Of jewell'd casement; and thereon 
 The questing of the Holy Grail, 
 In many a wonder-lovely tale, 
 
 Was with bright gold and wonderment 
 
 Of colour'd jewel-fretwork blent 
 
208 SIX PL OR IS. 
 
 To harmony, depictured. 
 
 And there, in truth, Sir Floris read, 
 Beside much other venturing, 
 And many another goodly thing 
 
 Achieved in service of the Lord, 
 
 The fight that he with his good sword 
 Had in the wonder-garden fought. 
 Nor, therewithal, was missing aught 
 
 Of all that did that night befall 
 
 Unto him : but upon the wall 
 
 Was in bright colours pictured forth 
 The tale of all his knightly worth 
 
 And service. 
 
 Little strange it is 
 If much he wonder'd was at this, 
 And could for wonder scarce believe 
 His eyes, that any should achieve 
 So vast a work and of such grace 
 And splendour in so scant a space 
 Of time. But Lohengrin besought 
 Him very fairly that of nought 
 He saw he should be wondered, 
 Nor any venture have in dread ; 
 
 Since that to that high Lord, that there 
 Did reign, all wonders easy were 
 And wonderless ; nor of His grace 
 Was anything in all that place 
 That might avail for any fear 
 
SIR FLO R IS. 209 
 
 Or doubt, but rather to give cheer 
 And love and confidence was fit, 
 So sweet a peace did dwell in it 
 
 Of amity and holiness. 
 
 Then with slow feet they did address 
 Their further steps, by a long aisle 
 Of cloister'd pearl, wherethrough the smile 
 
 Of sunlight filter'd lingeringly 
 
 And lay in one sweet soften'd sea 
 Of gold upon the silver mail, 
 Towards the temple of the Grail. 
 
 And in a vestibule, that was 
 . Thereto adjacent, did they pause 
 And in fair garments clad the knight, 
 With silver radiant and white. 
 
 And then into an armoury 
 
 They led him, very fair to see 
 With noble weapons, all arow 
 Against the wainscot. There a snow 
 
 Of plumes upon his crest they bound, 
 
 And from the swords that hung around 
 A goodly blade was given him, 
 That to the sound of many a hymn 
 
 And many a golden litany, 
 
 Had in the glorious armoury 
 Of highest heaven forged been : 
 So trenchant was it and so keen, 
 
 Being in celestial fires assay'd 
 
2io SIX FLO R IS. 
 
 And in strange dews of heaven made 
 
 Attemper'd, there might none withstand 
 
 The thunderstroke of that good brand, 
 Except his bosom armour'd were 
 With equal virtue. Then the fair 
 
 Graven presentment of a dove 
 
 With eyes of gold was set above 
 
 His helm, most like the fowl that brought 
 Him to the garden where he wrought 
 
 Such deeds of arms ; and on the field 
 
 C cerulean of his virgin shield 
 There was a like resemblant set, 
 That men might know him, when they met 
 
 In sharp sword-play or battle-throng. 
 
 Then, with a ripple of sweet song, 
 
 The golden doors were backward roll'd, 
 
 That in sweet mystery did fold 
 The holy place ; and Floris came 
 Into a hall, where with a flame 
 
 Of jewelPd light the air was gilt ; 
 
 And therewithin the walls were built 
 Of that clear sapphire jewelry 
 That can in nowise elsewhere be 
 
 Save for the pavement of the sky 
 
 And for the throne of God most high. 
 And under foot the floor was bright 
 With one clear topaz, as the light 
 
 Of the sweet sun in hue. Above 
 
SfJt FLORIS. 
 
 There was y-sprad a flower-bell roof 
 Of that sweet colour of deep blue 
 One in the spring may chance to view. 
 When in the golden-threaded moss 
 The deep wood-dells are odorous 
 With violets and the cluster'd bells 
 Of bee-loved hyacinths, or else 
 
 The deep clear colours pers and inde 
 Of wild-flowers in the gold corn twined 
 With many a tassel of bright blue, 
 When summer in the skies is new. 
 And in the bell were golden lights, 
 Most like the tender eye-delights 
 Of the gold kingcups in the green, 
 That in quaint wise were set between 
 The fretted azure of the dome. 
 And therethorough did meteors roam, 
 As 'twere in truth the very heaven, 
 And the sweet symbols of the seven 
 Great angels that do rule the skies 
 Were therein jewelPd. In such wise 
 The varied lights were mixt and blent 
 With those that heavenward were sent 
 From walls and pavement, all the air 
 Was with that lightsomeness most fair 
 And tender fill'd, that in the May 
 Is weft about the sweet young day, 
 When whiles it seems the sky is dight 
 With one great primrose of soft light, 
 
FLORIS. 
 
 Most pure and tender. On the ground 
 There stood fair statues all around, 
 
 Deep-set in woven flowers and green 
 
 Of lavish leafage, stretch' d between 
 Tall carven pillars of that bright 
 Jewel that chrysoberyl hight, 
 
 And many another precious stone. 
 
 Nor there were images alone 
 Of holy things, as one might deem ; 
 But eke full many a lovely dream 
 
 Of tender love and constancy 
 
 Was in clear gold and ivory 
 With loving hand made manifest. 
 For there was nothing there confess'd 
 
 Of sin or wantonness in love, 
 
 As ancient doctors teach, that prove 
 All pleasant things that are, to be 
 Unloved of God. And verily 
 Sir Floris wonder'd there to see 
 
 The histories that makers tell 
 
 Of Parisate and Floridelle, 
 The tale of Tristan and Ysolde, 
 
 Of Lancelot and Guenevere, 
 And many another tale of old, 
 
 That men on earth do dully lere 
 That we should count accurst and ill : 
 But there depictured were they still, 
 
 In very piteous fashion told ; 
 
 And on the wall in words of gold 
 
SIR PL OR IS. 213 
 
 Was writ this legend, " Quiconque aime 
 Complait a Dieu en pechie mesme." 
 
 And while Sir Floris stood and gazed 
 
 Upon the statues, much amazed 
 At all that he did hear and see 
 Within the temple, suddenly 
 
 There was a fluted singing heard, 
 
 As of some wonder-lovely bird. 
 And then one took him by the hand, 
 And led him where a gold screen spann'd 
 
 The topaz paved work of the floor. 
 
 Then was he ware of a high door, 
 That with much wonderwork of gold 
 And unknown metals was enscroll'd 
 
 In many a trellis of fair flowers 
 
 And fronds enough fair for the bowers 
 Of Paradise ; and in the leaves 
 There sat a bird, that was as sheaves 
 
 Of ripen'd corn in hue, and sang 
 
 That therewithal the temple rang ' 
 Of unknown glories of the May, 
 Therein where life is one long day 
 
 Of spring and never change is there, 
 
 Nor any sadness in the air. 
 And as he sang, the golden gate 
 Swung open slowly, and the great 
 
 Sweet hollow of a pure white pearl 
 
2i 4 SIJR PL OR IS. 
 
 Lay clear behind that golden merle, 
 Into a chamber fashioned. 
 
 There was an altar built and spread 
 
 With tapestry of silver white, 
 Woven with lilies ; and thereon 
 Was set a chalice, out of one 
 
 Great emerald moulded, with samite, 
 The colour of the heart's best blood, 
 Enshrouded; and thereover stood 
 A great white cross and fill'd the air 
 With living radiance, as it were 
 A sculptured work of very light. 
 
 Then with the wonder of the sight 
 Was Floris fill'd ; and for great awe 
 And reverence of all he saw 
 
 Within the pearl, straightway he fell 
 Upon his knees. But Titurel 
 With counsel very fair and wise 
 Required of him that he should rise 
 From off the ground and without fear 
 Unto the altar should draw near 
 And for an offering thereon 
 Should lay those blossoms he had won 
 In parlous fight and much duresse, 
 That of their blended goodliness 
 And eke their perfume's ravishment, 
 There might a sacrifice be sent, 
 
FLO R IS. 215 
 
 To God and Christ acceptable. 
 
 And now a wondrous thing befell, 
 (God grant us all the like to see) ; 
 For as Sir Floris reverently 
 
 Upon the silver cloth did lay 
 
 The holy flowers (that, sooth to say, 
 Were bright of bloom and sweet of scent, 
 Unfaded, as when first they sprent 
 
 The greensward) and withdrawing thence 
 
 A little space, in reverence 
 The issue did await, there came 
 A hand all shapen out of flame, 
 
 And from the emerald of the cup 
 
 The crimson samite lifted up ; 
 And as this thing was done, there fell 
 As 'twere from out the midmost bell 
 
 A light that through the emerald sped 
 
 And mingled with the holy bread ; 
 And with the light, came one that pass'd 
 Thought-swift athwart the air and cast 
 
 Himself into the cup, as 'twere 
 
 The angel of a child, most fair 
 And awful. Wherewithal thereout 
 There went a fire the place about, 
 
 And fill'd the temple with its breath, 
 
 Wherein was neither hurt nor death ; 
 But of its contact there were given 
 To Floris very balms of heaven 
 
2i6 SIX PL OR IS. 
 
 For consecration ; and to eat 
 There was vouchsafed him food so sweet 
 And goodly such as no man knows. 
 
 Then from the chaliced gem there rose 
 The semblance of a face, that was 
 With such a splendour glorious 
 
 And awful and withal as mild 
 
 And tender as a little child 
 There is no bard can sing of it 
 As it befitteth, save he sit 
 
 (And hardly then) among the choirs, 
 
 That to the throb of golden lyres 
 Do praise God ever night and day 
 With music such as no man may. 
 
 There is but one of woman born 
 
 By whom such aspect can be worn 
 Of perfect love and perfect awe 
 Commingled. 
 
 And when Floris saw 
 The glory of the eyes, and knew 
 The holy love, that like a dew 
 
 From out their radiant deeps was shed 
 Upon his soul, for very dread 
 Of ravishment he could not gaze 
 Upon their light, but with amaze 
 And wonderment of joy was fain 
 Down to the earth to bend again 
 
FLO R IS. 217 
 
 His face : but ere he ceased to see 
 The vision, of a surety 
 
 It was made known to him (although 
 
 He wist not how he came to know) 
 That heavenly face no other's was 
 Than that same Lord's who erst did pass 
 
 Before his vision in the green 
 
 Of the fair garden, all beseen 
 With glittering hair. 
 
 Then as he knelt, 
 Unseeing, suddenly he felt 
 
 Upon his mouth a burning kiss, 
 
 That with such sharp unearthly bliss 
 His soul did kindle into flame 
 Of ravishment, the wayworn frame 
 
 Could not for frailty sustain 
 
 The rapturous ecstatic pain 
 Of that strange joyance, nor the spright 
 Embodied, 'gainst the fierce delight 
 
 Endure of that unearthly boon ; 
 
 And so for bliss he fell aswoon, 
 And heard therein a great sweet voice, 
 That bade him fear not, but rejoice, 
 
 For Christ the Lord his lips had kiss'd ; 
 
 And therewithal the Eucharist 
 Was borne into his mouth, with sound 
 Of harps angelic all around 
 
 Soft-smitten ; nor therefore did break 
 
2i8 SSX FLO R IS. 
 
 His charmed sleep. 
 
 Then did one speak 
 
 To him as in the trance he lay, 
 
 And with a murmurous voice did say, 
 That for the service of that Lord, 
 To whom was sacred now his sword, 
 
 It was ordain' d that for a space 
 
 He should return unto his place 
 Upon the earth, and in all things 
 That life on earth to mortals brings, 
 
 Should for his Master's honour strive, 
 
 Until the order'd time arrive 
 
 When God should set him free from soil 
 And weariness of earthly toil. 
 
 And there was given him a sign 
 
 When it should please the Lord Divine 
 To make His will beneficent 
 Patent to him, there should be sent, 
 
 Twice more before the period set 
 
 For his release from earthly fret, 
 To him the self-same silver dove, 
 The holy symbol of the love 
 
 Of Christ and of His chivalry. 
 
 And it was told him that when he 
 Of the white messenger had wit, 
 He should leave all and follow it : 
 
 For when it should of him be seen 
 
 Anew, as it of late had been, 
 
SIX FLORIS. 219 
 
 He should be ware that God had need 
 
 Of him elsewhere in very deed 
 Upon the earth, and wilPd essay 
 His service yet within the way 
 
 Of living : but what time he heard 
 
 The thrice-said summons, and the bird 
 Miraculous unto him came 
 A third time, in the holy name, 
 
 He should, in following, be freed 
 
 From toil and labour and the need 
 And weariness of day and night, 
 And from the knowledge and the sight 
 
 Of men be ravish'd, to abide 
 
 In that fair town beatified, 
 And serve the Grail, till it seem'd fit 
 Unto the Lord that he should sit 
 
 Among the blest in Paradise 
 
 And praise Him ever. 
 
 In this wise 
 
 It seem'd to Floris that one spoke 
 To him with soft sweet speech, that broke 
 
 His slumber not, as he did lie 
 
 In that long swoon ; and, suddenly, 
 The murmur of the speech forsook 
 His hearing wholly ; nor with look 
 
 Or ears awhile was anything 
 
 Apparent to him, that could bring 
 The wonders of the holy town 
 
20 SSI? FLO R IS. 
 
 Back to his senses ; but the brown 
 And fleecy-plumaged wings of sleep 
 Inclosed him wholly. In a deep 
 
 And senseless dream awhile he lay, 
 
 Until it seem'd to him the gray 
 Of night that compass'd him about 
 Was by a radiance from without 
 
 Transmicate, and the fluted song 
 
 Of the gold merle again was strong 
 Upon his hearing. Then the dim 
 Gray webs of slumber were from him 
 
 Unfolded slowly, and there burst 
 
 A golden light on him. At first 
 The drowsy cumber on his eyes 
 Allowed him not to recognize 
 
 The place wherein he was, nor know 
 
 Wherefrom the amber-colour'd glow 
 Of light was borne : but speedily 
 He was aware that he did lie 
 
 Upon his bed, and through the fold 
 
 Of silken tapestries the gold 
 Of the young sun upon his face 
 Was shed j and past the window-space, 
 
 Without the casement, could he see, 
 
 Snow-pure against brown stem and tree, 
 The charmed flowerage of that thorn 
 That ever on the Christmas morn 
 
 Is- for a memory and delight 
 
 Of the Lord's birth with blossoms white 
 
SIR PL OR IS. 221 
 
 Transfigurate. And on a spray 
 
 There sat a mavis brown and grey, 
 That sang as if his heart were shed 
 Into his minstrelsy and fled 
 
 On wings of music heavenward, 
 
 A sacrifice of song outpour'd 
 To God most high. 
 
 Awhile it seem'd 
 To Floris he had surely dream'd 
 
 The coming of the dove to him 
 
 And all his strife against the grim 
 Fierce beasts, and all the after-bliss 
 And wonderment, and Christ His kiss. 
 
 But looking closelier, he was ware 
 
 At bed-head of his helm that bare 
 A silver dove with eyes of gold, 
 That on the crest did sit and fold 
 
 White wings above it ; and he knew 
 
 The holy semblant on the blue 
 Of his fair shield, and eke the blade 
 Celestial, by his harness laid 
 
 Naked at bedfoot. So the doubt 
 
 Was from his spirit blotted out ; 
 And he was surely certified 
 That verily he did abide 
 
 That wondrous venture, and had known 
 
 Awhile the glories that alone 
 For those that many a toil have dared 
 
i2 SIR FLORIS. 
 
 In Christ His service, are prepared 
 Within the city of the Grail, 
 Wherein is neither pain nor wail, 
 But ever holiness and peace 
 And ravishment without surcease, 
 In very perfectness of rest. 
 
 So hath Sir Floris found his quest ; 
 And so the tale is told and done, 
 Of how, before life's rest was won, 
 The first time unto Floris came 
 The holy dove, in Lord Christ's name. 
 
 Christmas, 1868. 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS, 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF OALIFOBNIA 
 LIBRARY 
 
 This is the date on w h ich this 
 book was charged out. 
 
 SEP 13 1912 
 
 
25m-6,'12