LIBRARY UNlVERSiTY OF CALIFCRHIA THE Masque of King Charles VI, AND OTHER POEMS BY Sir CoURTENAY MaNSEL, Bart. ' V ^ LONDON JOHN OUSELEY LIMITED FLEET LANE, FARRINGDON STREET, E.G. CONTENTS. Shakespeare " A Play- Phantasy. The Masque of King Charles VI. Songs, Sonnets, Stanzas. " Time is flying " . Pastoral Pervigilium Veneris Orpheus "With three volumes of Merchandise The Enigma To Caelia Egypt Noel . A Plea Sir John Eliot . Algernon Sidney Storm-Wrack . Syrinx Sufi Nightingales The Lament of the Harper Sir Philip Sidney Marin Falier A Mazurka of Chopin's A Piece of Amber Moonlight . Night A Scherzo of Chopin's On Chidiock Tichbome's Lines, &c. The Lute . Pulvis et Umbra Quis Desiderio, &c. Boethius Demosthenes in Calauria Pacb 7 72 74 76 80 81 81 82 83 84 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 100 lOI 102 103 121 Masque of King Charles VI* A PLAY-PHANTASY — H)ramati6 personam — Sir Peter of Craon. Gaston. Duke of Orleans (brother to King Charles). Sir Oliver of Clisson, Constable of France. Sir Yvain dk Foix. Duchess of Orleans (Valentino Visconti). [Lord de la River. Sir Jno. Mercier. Sir Jno. de Bueil. Lord of Dervaux.] A Physician. A Prelate. Duke of Burgundy (uncle to King Charles). Courtiers, Ladies, Soldiers, the Mob, the Queen, AND the King, /;/ dumb show. The Masque of King Charles VI. Act I. Scene i. A room in the apartments of the Duke of Orleans, in the Hotel de St. Pol. Craon. — Then give me here the Seneschal's Accompt, That latest one in which the Balance stands All on the wrong, and most accusingly Points as a Sign Hand at my lords Affairs. What said he, Gaston, to excuse that Chance ? Gaston. — He said, my lord, so many were the Drafts Fallen due unceasingly, like Winter Leaves That wither as they fall — that those Demands So multitudinous and so peremptory. All insufficient made the Revenues Of all my lord's Domain — indeed, himself Of his own Monies hath disbursed Part, Part borrowed of the Ghent and Arras Merchants At most extortionate Usury. Craon. Will he not Levy a Tax the more ? 8 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Gaston. It cannot be, My lord, the People groan. No Wolf that ravens on the Mountain Heights, No Robber Band among the misty Woods Can pinch them nearer. Taxes, Tallages, The King's Poll Tax, my lord, and the Gabelle The Hundredth and the Tenth. Aye, all their Sweat May hardly earn them Bread. He told us so, my lord, and in Sincerity Of his good Faith his Tears were Evidence. Craon. — Moneys, my lord must have, Gaston. 'Tis inconceivable That such a high Estate, noble Conditions Avail not to it. Shall a King's Brother want For necessary Expenses ? or is France's lord Grown so impoverished that his Blood shall lack Sufficiency ? [Pausing]. My lord's Revenues are, 'Tis too notorious, greatly pillaged. Gaston {muttering.) — A Fico in these Days for Honesty. Craon. Do they blame Clisson for't ? Gast. — Ay, mightily — for he, they say, hath taen More View of Seigneuries than Loyalty THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 9 And of the Moneys in the recent Wars Passing through 's Hands — nay, rather passing not (So they aver) hath cozened and despoiled Those who upheld their Liege lord's Sovereign Rights As a stanch Vassal should. Craon. I'm glad on't, for I hate him so, This Clisson, that my very Veins do boil When he hath passed me, and Distemperature Seizeth my Spirit, and the very Soil Seems sullied where his Shadow sallieth. For like a Shadow doth his Puissance blight And stain upon the Commonwealth of Men. And from their Eyes obscures the dreaded Sun That makes their Ways to flourish, and doth light From Savage Darknesses the Wilderness — Ay, most majestical. Such then an one is this, That darkens all our France, and brings to naught Long suffering Loyalty, brave Trust, all common Toil The Bond of Union, the Cement of Faith. This, like a Pest, hath fallen upon all, And o'er all Counsel like a Plague Spot hangs. Seduces and corrupts the Heart of Men, With Lips as Honey sweet, yet Throat of Gall, And as of Roses amid revelling Nights 10 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Doth steep i' the Venom of his Avarice Our flagging wilted Fortunes. With kindUng dead Men's Pyres Of this proud Sinner are the Banquets Ut ! Gaston, the Duke doth ever on him lean More than his former Wont. Oh, sorely, I misdoubt. He gains upon me as the encroaching Tide Gains on the pebbly Shore. Hast ever stood There on the Sea Brink, and beheld the long Fierce Rollers rage agape against the Land, Marked how each Tide by little balked of Prey Hissed in Withdrawal ? Even thus I stand While the false Constable comes rolling in his Waves. The seventh Wave engulfs ! My lord is sunk. Besotted in his Folly thus to trust Where no Trust may be laid. The Constable Gnaws like a Worm i' the hollow Heart of the Bud, And though the Sound be bruited everywhere, Because their dazed Eyes lack its Cognisance, Gaston, they'll not believe it — never, never, — My lord is drowned in Love for that fair Fool That flaunts her Favour in the Duchess' Eyes, THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. ii As Swords were blunt in Milan, and no Drugs Should be compounded there. Then we are bid To schedule her Expenses, this light Butterfly Of Masques and wanton Revels. I would I were a Fire to scorch her Wings ! 'Tis Chsson's Creature without a Doubt. My lord is changed Toward me since he knew her. Would to God He'd Prudence to distinguish false from true r the Mint of Friends. [Enter the Duke. Craon motions to Gaston, who withdraws.'] Duke {reading papers.) — What's this of Prudence Peter ? Alack ! my Peter, Prudence now no more Sits at the Helm, is Pilot of my Course. No more with cunning Words and honeyed Phrase, Hath Pleasure Lures, or Wisdom stern Reproof, No more amid the furious Elements And warring Winds my Pinnace rides secure, Prouder in Fates Despite — nay rather broached. And wallowing in the Tide she fills amain The fickle Legend that invicta claims. Flattering most idly the disloyal airs. 12 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. All my Heart's Usance now debased seems, And in Love's Currency all Objects must Anew be rated. Bauble Reputation, Glory and Wealth and Honour, empty all. Now, Smiles and Glances are my Treasure Store, And Sighs are Tribute meet, ay competent. My weary Hours are in Use assigned. For which imperious Love doth make Distraint, Suing the while harsh Process against me ! Craon. — Ah ! say not so, my lord, but rather say That you are young, beloved, a mighty Prince, And a great Monarch's Brother — comehest. The Phcenix of our Age, the World's Delight, All the World's Envy. Duke. Yet not prosperously. Or so my Mind misgives me, moves my Fate. Was told me once an ancient Apophthegm, Your Coz of Brittany it was, upon a Time In Dinan Keep, while with bejewelled Hand His mocking Fingers anxiously besought My wandering Fancies, " Beggars there pardie, " To rail so shrill on Fortune justify, " He that's born lucky never shall be poor." Ah ! me, the Earl of Valois in the former Days Was named for Hungary's King, and then Touraine THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 13 For Duke of Milan, lastly, Orleans, Regent of France. Fie, empty Fantasy ! John of Bohemia rules in Hungary, The Sforza in Milan, And France obeys . . The curtain at the doorway is quietly lifted. The Duke and Craon turn, and -perceive Sir Oliver of Clisson, who enters arrayed in bright armour, and bows to the Duke reverentially. Act I. Scene 2. A room in the Hotel de St. Pol. A Lady sings. Clisson seated on the balcony. He beckons to Yvain below. Clisson. — 'Tis excellent well sung ! Here with me, My Yvain, where I love to sit and mockingly, And from this Point of Vantage, (safe esconsced here,) Gaze through this narrow Casement on the World. {Enter Yvain]. Below the Strife of Tongues bewilderingly. The jostling Footsteps, all the crowded Hour, The Myriad Deeds, the Myriad Hearts of Men, Told and retold a M3Tiad Times and Ways. 14 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Lo ! in Life's Desert with Egyptian Eyes, A Heart of Stone is set, that without Pause Unto dry Lips takes up a Stream of Lives, (Wise with all Wisdom, but a soulless Thing) Slaking them up as doth the thirsty Sand Water that's Life ! O ! 'tis the World's Return To ripen on the Waste of human Lives, To purvey Loss but not to suffer it. This Thing of Mystery, this Jest, this Paradox, This Riddle that no Century unlocks Unfathomed ever baffling — Dost thou take The Meaning of my Apologue, dost see (For this Enigma is a silent one) How all the World, like some great monstrous Thing, Hath aye its Pulse, its Movements, Appetites, And fattens us as we the lazy Beeves, Unto the Sacrifice ? Thou earnest to Court As a young Eyass, that against the Sun Aspires its new fledged Pinions. But the Sun Thou soughtest, hath scorched thee. Oh ! thou wert mistook. Not in the Sunlight, not the breezy Air, THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 15 But in the Garbage Heaps thou shouldest have sought Where Mountain Vulture pries for Offal Prey. 'Tis all a Game, a Game of make beheve, Where Treachery doth gloze with fawning Tongue. Art thou content ? Wilt thou be writ an O, To follow on the I of greater Men ? Yvain, your Father was a mighty Prince, And purposed greatly by you. But, indeed, Death unpreparedly that swept him hence Hath left you empty, left you indigent, Bereft of him that was your prop and Stay to build Upon secure Foundations toward the thronging Airs A Pinnacle of Splendour. Laughter, ay, and Gibes Are now your Portion, your Inheritance, And Emptiness your Favour. Common Talk Avers that your rich Plate is pawned away. Your Meat off Pewter taen, your Creditors Chafe at the hardly granted poor Delays Expediency with clutching Fingers takes To perish at the asking. Straws must serve i6 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. When solid Ground beneath the Footsteps fails. The Smile of Princes is a broken Reed, Their Boons unfitted for Midwinter Frosts, Their Favours gild but as the setting Sun The hollow Clouds that yet enfold the Storm. Oh ! leave them all, Build on securer Ground more slowly but more truly. Here's what shall end your Troubles. What's the Task ? A slight one, to speak soothly. Shalt persuade My lady Duchess of Orleans that Craon hath Played the sir Pandarus of Troy unto her lord. And fostered his loose Pleasures. This first Pay Shall prove thy greater Fortunes, and thou'lt Clisson serve. See, here's a Paper that the Duke hath dropped In Craon's very Hand — 'twill colour all. [Pausing. Ah ! thou wilt do it, thou wilt not refuse This proffered Hand of Fortune. 'Tis a Hand Held out to help you further. Yvain {hesitatingly) Ay, my lord, I will obey. Clisson. Good Friend, farewell, Fll not forget THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 17 This weighty Service. [Exit Clisson. Lady {to another lady) .—How gloomy seems sir Yvain that ersttime Was deemed the Courts most joyous Ornament. Dimmed are the Sparks of Greatness, and the Branch Withered that sprung so fairly. A God's Name, what Frost Hath frozen these sour Looks upon this Face Was wont to smile as May ? {To Yvain) — Sir, shall I sing to you ? You seem distraught and sad ! Yvain Madam, I cry you INIercy. I shall be much beholden to you, my fair lady. THE LADY'S SONG. Ere the falling Shadows grey, Sadly leave the dying Day, Passing from the Ranks of Liglit, Shading fast to mystic Night. Ere the Twilight softly pales. O'er the dim and misty Vales, Ere begins her mournful Moan, Philomela sad alone. Where the Fairies circle round, B i8 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. There alone is true Joy found, Where there blows the sweet wild Thyme Where there springs the fragrant Lime. Where the freebom Mavis sings, Where the elfin Harebell rings. Where all Natures Voice is free, As in her fresh Infancy. Lady. — Why sir, you seem the sadder for my Music. Act I. Scene 3. Hotel de St. Pol. An apartment of the Duchess of Orleans. Yvain de Foix. — My lady Duchess, on the King's Behalf, Some Token bring I that, despite scant Worth, Approves his Nobleness, his Love, to you. See on its panelled Ribs the Casket shows, With thick-set Orient Pearl and crusted Gems, Great Tales of Love and weighty storied Woes. Love that hath wrecked a World in Storms of Woe, And Woe to write Love's piteous Epitaph. Helpless, unskilful Pilot ravening The cruel Seas around thee agonise THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 19 With Gusts of whirling Passions, torn and swept, Drenched with the bitter Salt the freezing Brine, Of mighty plunging Breakers, and ahead Looming the promised Shore, the Land of Hope. The Lights of Home. Another, turn it o'er, See, here's another Picture — of the Choice, The fatal Choice — the heavy Web of Fate Floating in Passion's Breezes to enmesh. Undying Love, Love's Lovers, all the Town, So frail a Bridge yet apt for Doom to cross. With thunderous Tramp and Wrath of marching Men Fate's clamorous Knocking at a mortal Door. Paris, your Foes are on you ! Troy your Gates Smoke to the Heaven ! Palaces belch forth With Fire and Fury dazzling Shapes of War Helmets, a thousand Plumes, the ghttering Mail Of angry Conquerors. Oh ! rail no more, Thou hapless Priam on Necessity, That now outwearied, Buffetings aside, Is ceased from Vexing. Trouble nevermore Can burst th' unquiet Barriers of the Soul, Unfix the passionless, the frozen Mask Of formless Miseries — Death Mask of Fate — To Bitterness a Truce. 20 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Most noble lady, see the Spring advance, Wreathed round with Blossoms scattering Fruit- fulness And budding Joys. In the nigh Thicket's Gloom Where shimmering Sunlight crevices the Shade Lurk Fauns and Aegipans. A Clamour loud Salutes the coming God — forever young And fresh immortally — with Ivy bound And Thyrsus bearing. Here the last and first All peerless Things surpassing (by fond Paradox), Vision of matchless fatal Loveliness she comes Unmarred by jarring Discords, undisturbed, in Reverie. Dream Vision of the Past — unhappiest, Most loved of Women. 'Tis for the loveliest And the most loving. Duchess. — Your Speech is wrong, sir Yvain, all awry Your Compliments are twisted. Woman needs No Measure thus of Love, for still her Heart Must weigh that Pulse of his, and anxiously Make Count of Smiles and Glances his Indicia. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 21 Until perchance the Close of Summertide, The golden Prime of Love's climacteric befals, Wild wandering Winds molest its Solitudes, Scattering the Leaves afar. The lonely Birds Are fled or songless — wilted the red Rose — Blighted its Flowers. Misty Autumn comes, Love's Enemy, th' untimely Harvester, Reaping the frozen Fields and clutching all The scanty Gleanings of the sullen Time. Ay, then the shifting Currents veer and change, Blowing cold Blasts and icy alien Words, And Change of Heart and Memory's Bitterness, Contrasting Past with Present — Times unkind With happy Yesterdays. Yvain. Not otherwise Once sprung the Soul's fair Garden fruitfully With Bud and Blossom furnished. All Things there, Save only sweet Content. Yet soon ill Will To shatter Paradise availed, for then and now To blast with Basilisk Glance Malevolence Through untold Centuries Man's Destiny. Why, Madam, such another blessed Pair ye were The Cynosure of Eyes ay Frances Pride, Lords of the land, whose Fate is linked with ours 22 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. By Ties intangible yet manifold. Suffer, and we must suffer. All our Hearts Lie faithful at your Feet. — Turn not away Your Looks from us. — Let not your burning Glance Peer past our feeble Love. — Grief tears away Our poor Solicitudes ! Oh ! lean on us, Make not your Sorrows barren of good Help. Duchess. Ah ! Yvain, I have been A happy Woman. In his Love most blest. My lord my Husband's. Happy in my Babes, My dearest Children. Now that Happiness Seems but a Whetstone set to sharpen Grief And grinding Anguish till it pierce my Heart. Speakst thou of evil Counsel. — Much I fear Some gnawing Tongue hath sullied Quietude And ravished all my Peace, — driven Love away Into the bitter Desert to atone For too much Happiness, Oh ! jealous Gods That cannot look on Bliss without ye blast it. Was this poor Fortune such a precious Thing Ye could not spare it from your Treasure Store Of forfeit Mortal Happiness, dead withered Joys ? Yvain. — My lady Duchess, who is it that tends Aye like a Shadow o'er my lord's Affairs, Darkening and blighting all ? Who is it comes THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 23 Betwixt you and the Light ? What Confidant Hath Seizin of his Heart ? A fair Scroll once Upon whose wiUing Surface Love the Scribe Wrote mystic Syllables, but now, alack ! By this dark Palimpsest of Villainy That blots your Script from Sight his Heart from you Is turned and aliened. O, lady, take Sharp Note of this that whispers in his Ear. Skulks by his Side to cosset every Whim, Forestalls his slightest Favour, treasures up 111 Thoughts and Counsel like an Alchemist Of Poison bearing Slanders, that distils 111 Principles from Sources innocent ; All golden Merits in his Crucible, All gilded Things to Dross and Scum are wrought, And precious Virtues subtle Synthesis To worthless Coal and dusky Ember burns That scintillate no more, but warningly Like a dull Eye in heavy Mockery Turn upon you. Language of Eyes ! A steely Glitter in the Constable's Dark Purpose in Queen Isabeau's — menacingly Like two dark Hounds from East and West direct Upon a common Prey. Thence, Union firm 24 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Of Strength in Weakness — Hatred as Despair Making strange Bedfellows. An if my lord So lose the Hand that curbs his Recklessness, Your Sons their careful Mother's Fostering, Shield of their Infancy from Enemies, What Aid abideth them ? Do therefore thou For Innocence an Arm of strong Defence, For Love a Buckler safe courageously Bear up against the Foe. The crowned Snake Hath still a Coil for these, a gaping Jaw, A poisonous Sting. For pusillanimous Visconti never was, nor you the least. Duchess. — What would you have me do ? Yvain. Read first this Scroll. Forbear to yield. Make Head against assailant Ills, be armed With triplex Obduracy, make Amends For evil Hap with Sally venturous Into Fate's very Heart to paralyse With reckless Daring Opposition. Chide then my lord the Duke upon his Turn, The Thunders of your Rage, the vasty Wrath Of sundered Heart Throbs elementallv THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VL 25 From Poles opposing, by great Spaces joined To Love's sharp Contrary, most piercingly Flame through the empty Void, reverberate In sullen Antiphone. With falling Star Light up the lonely brooding Passion Sea, Love's Firmament in dark Eclipse inanimate With murky Lava Glow torrential. Whose strange phosphoric Glimmer oversets Our World's familiar Things, the native Air, The pleasant Sunlight, masking speciously Plague Marks of Fate, dissevering the Throng Of common Sympathies. Pour out sans Stint Your Wraths brimmed Vials — Till when at the last The faltered Question comes — Who told you this ? Then you Spare not to answer presently — Who knows Only too well the Villainy, repents And yet avails not, only flagrantly Stripping the ragged Cloak of Rectitude To show the lurking 111. 'Tis one that knows The lean and hidden Visage underneath, For wholesome Air that stifles gasps unmasked. — Say all, say everything but this one Name — Peter of Craon utter not. Ideas full fledged The Mind accepts not willingly. The Egg 26 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Is other Matter. Hist then quietly Let the poor Thing sit hatching on the Nest To foster suspect Thoughts and undisturbed Cherish and deem the ahen Fancy Kin. Ingratitude Blamed and distasteful Quality, so reprobate, Yet germane to our Hearts and native in Our Souls, as to the Soil the Plant that clings And twines with ruddy Berries lusciously The Poison Briony. What ! hesitate ! As well should some great Prince in 's potent Mind, Reaching for Provinces (rich Appanage Of future Fortune) from a golden Crown, Most abjectly recoil, and Coward hke The pleasant Vision of so sweet Dominion l\ Wholly reject, abjure. Strained eyes afar, The wished for Hill descrying then at Hand In voluntary Blindness to contemn. Figure yourself a Prince preparing War, An Empire of the Heart the precious Stake ; Rally your Levies summon up in Haste To aid your Cause all Looks ingenuous. Dissimulated Tears and feigned Sighs, Reproaches' burning Cheek and Sullenness, Monotony eschewed. — Traits of Disdain THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 27 Winds changeable and veering, mutable As Showers are in Spring. — Inconstancy The Mask of habile Wits to cover in Passions of Thought too deep. — Far Pensiveness Like some dark Crystal Spring that bubbles up Refreshing chilly Draughts to fevered Brows, Loosen these Guiles then on his Stubbornness Until it melt and give, the frowning Walls Crumble beneath your potent Armoury ; Through breached Defences, Barriers broken down, Reenter on your own, and repossess The Rebel Fortalice — ^your Husband's Heart. Act I. Scene 4. Craon. — My Soul is full of Apprehensions. I am sick With Fears that ruthless as dumb Hounds that follow. Follow, and give no Tongue. My hunted Thoughts Are through harsh Ways pursued, discomfited. What is 't that comes At the dark Portal stays, and heavy Steps 28 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Lie on the Threshold ? Plucking at the Latch Whose Shadow glooms across my heavy Mind ; Whose Footfall is 't, these Tremors of the Sense Announce, yet shudder at ? I do not know ! I do not know what strange Disaster comes, Or what unlocked for Fortune ! Lonely Heart, Thy World's a Thing of Glass, whose Images Are but as fragile as fallacious, As Faces in a Mirror. Ay, they pass, And are distorted so and perish, when The frowning Clouds that are Men's Minds do meet And shatter them ! De la River. Ah ! Sire of Craon, We have indeed a heavy Task in Hand To order you. . . . Sir John Mercier. — Ay, sir, to order you. And by the King's Behest, that you avoid His presence and his Service utterly ! Craon.— On what Occasion, sir ? Sir John Mercier. I was not bid To tell you that. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 29 De la River. Sir, we do pity you With all our Hearts, to see Nobility Abased in this wise. Sir John Mercier. Speak for yourself, my lord ; I do not so Nor yet miscall our Task a heavy one. Sir John de Bueil. — Nor I in very Truth. Craon. — I thank you for your gentle Courtesy, lord de la River. Lord of Dervaux. — The Duke of Orleans doth, without Resource You from his House and Company (we're bid to say) Reject and banish. Craon. 'Tis for all my Pains A worthy Payment. Ay, but hear you this ! This Payment for long Service, long Fidelity ; This Payment that ye tender I reject ; 'Tis base as Dross is, false, corrupt as Hell, No true Mint coined such Words — but Forgery Of noble Purposes, Dishonesty Hath uttered them ! Ah ! marvel ye To hear harsh Answer to a Prince's Word, Meet to be taen with Awe, and bated Breath, Submiss Humility, meek Patience, fawningly, 30 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VL But 'tis not so, for these are Qualities Resolve their Substance from the inmost Being The Treasure House and Sanctuary of the Mind, Whose native Liberty and sole intrinsic Force Shall in free Commonwealth unto itself Admit no alien Lord save Cowardice Or Abjectness of Spirit counsel so, But from deep Faith and true Allegiance Pays all its wiUing Breath in Loyalty With open Hands — to render Tribute so Unchecked — unhindered in Devotion, Till niggard Thoughts, self Interest, Carefulness Balk it of Action. O, then, be assured It is not Words can make or unmake Man, Your harsh Names have no Power to hurt my Soul Which like a steadfast Beacon o'er great Seas Shines on unchanged to guide and save, Undimmed, ablaze ! O, there are here Amazement, Wrath, unconquerable Scorn Of such a base Betrayal — A poor Heart That fears the Face of Shame, yet shall not stoop To deal ignobly. I cry you Mercy, ay ; This Anger chokes me ! THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 31 Sirs, proceed — Divulge your Purport, make an End, begone, Relieve mine Eyeballs of your hated Sight, Messengers of Evil, and exultant openly For Ruin that ye foster promulgate. Black Carrion Fowl that flee before the Wind, That bears the pestilential Vapours hence. T' obscure the Sun, and o'er his glowing Disk Spreading a filmy Shade of coppery Scum — Betoken intempestive Turbulence Of Earth and Air. . . . The Hour before the Eclipse, When Nature glooms and scowls, or peevishly Draws back a Space, reverberating Threats, Whose clammy Dews, like Tears unviable, Thicken perturbed the spiral shifted Heat With dusky Eddies, till the hornM Orb Grows into Darkness and his Crown is set In Blackness as in Night ! ]\Iad is he That pins his Fancy to a Weathercock, His Faith's Devotion to the unfructuous Sea, In Devastation changeless, changing else From all its Boundaries eternally. O, bitter Sky, beneath whose steely Glare, 32 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. All 111 is worked unhindered — where nor Finger stirs On wrongful Purpose unobserved — that's un- approved ! Or are our Woes a Pastime unto those That sit above and mock our Feebleness ? Had iron Fate a Heel to crush the proud, And Pains to daunt the cruel, or Remorse To change to Pity all that base or mean Breeds in the Oppressor's Heart a Bitterness Of Gall and Verjuice ! Had but Sleep a Balm, Could Minds distraught Forgetfulness possess To banish unatoned the gnawing Ills Of present Envy, fears that leave undone The Heart beleaguered ! Empty Dust of Time, Scattered beneath the Chariot Wheels of Fate, Play out the poignant piteous Escapade Of make believe. Untamed at least report One not your Suppliant now nor ever shall Stoop Knee submiss before the Oppressor's Wrong, Nor Heart magnanimous forbid to beat To his accustomed Measure ; proud indeed, That Wrongs accumulate, but still the Soul Break never, though you bind your Fetters where you will ! THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 33 Act 2. ScENii i. Ante-room in the Hotel de St. Pol. Great door leading into banqueting Room : above gallery. Craon disguised as Sorcerer. 1st Courtier. — More Light here, Fellow. Servant. With a good Will, sir. If it lay in our Power, but we're let So to oblige ye, for the King's Esquire, 'Twas but a Moment since, hath charged us straitly Dout all the Cressets. (Exit Servant.] 1st Courtier Plague upon him. Ho la, what's this ? Is this to match our Gloom, This Swarthiness of Egypt, this Magician ? 2nd Courtier. — He seems bent down with Eld, and through his hoary Beard Mutters a frightful Spell. ^rd Courtier. He'll turn you to an Ape Since you play Chess so well, and ye who prate Into three, four, five chattering Pies. Beware. Craon. — Beware. isi Courtier. Doth the old Scarecrow threaten ? What Insolence is this ? 2nd Courtier. He that doth threaten And not performs must ever Forfeit pay. 34 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. yd Courtier.— Ay, for Ensample, tell a merry Jest. 2nd Courtier. Or let him kiss the best Beloved and fairest Lady. 1st Courtier. — Nay, that's too good for him. Blind- fold him rather. And who hath touched him let him prophesy. yd Courtier. — Nay, let him sing a Song. 2nd Courtier. A Song— a Song. Craon. Did not Alexander Fire Persepolis, and yet Alexander Revenged but others' Wrongs. Ay, ay, my masters ; ay, I'll sing to you. [Craon employi?ig the art of a ventriloquist, makes each verse appear to proceed from one of the Courtiers, who protest, and filially retire in dismay.] CRAON'S SONG. Flow rolling Tide, your Burden bear Safely and swiftly to the End. A fickle Mistress trusts her Messenger, Entrusts to you her chosen Friend. Safely and swiftly to the End Carry what France's Wife doth send. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 35 3/^ Courtier {interrupting.) — Oh ! Oh ! a Scurvy Song ! A very foul-mouthed Minstrelsy ! It is not Death that takes this Way, For some poor Creature eased of Strife, Such a fair Huntress scents a living Prey, Quaffs to fling down the glowing Cup of Life. On your dark Tide with Presage rife Carry the Gift of France's Wife. Carry it truly, and return no more s To claim your Guerdon as a Bravo does. 'Tis Plaster meet to remedy a Sore, And end at least the Utterance of Woes. So, peaceful after agonising Throes Follow the Course the she Wolf shows. There comes a Period in Life's Tourneying When to the Laggard, beggared of all Hope, Despoiled of his poor Portion, Trustfulness, Dishevelled in the Dust, torn, beaten, robbed. The Balance changes. Fickle Fortune's Flare Shows the proud Conqueror like a Thing of Straw 36 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Go down beneath his Lance. In empty Worlds Of Shadow he alone is Flesh and Blood, Pursues and vanquishes. The glistering Spear Hight Bitterness of Soul among the Press Of warring Puppets flickers Levin like To level Heads into the common Dust As Mowers' Sickles do the standing Corn, Torn from his Throne the gilded puppet King, Tarnished his tinsel Glories. . . . [K. Charles passes disguised as wild man of the woods [ourang-outan) in close-fitting garment, smeared with pitch and covered with tow. Courtiers attend him similarly attired and chained.] His Crown imperial he disfigures, Treads under tramples in the Dust, and all That made his Greatness once is thus converted To his Dishonour. [Throughout the scene the Masqucraders continue passing and repassing ; led hy King Charles and his wild men. In turn Sir Yvain de Foix, the Queen, and the Duke of Orleans approach Craon [disguised as an Egyptian) to enquire of the Future.] THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 37 MASQUERADER'S NIGHT PIECE. Flit, merry Moth. The Night Air hangs Murk on the chiselled Ground. The silver Ire, Reddening to baleful Fire, Of the distempered Moon, like gleaming Fangs (Where thou on leathern Wing Art from the shrouded Depths withdrawn), On chill and dewsprent Lawn, 111 omened, ill presaging, Pierceth the Heart of Night with mortal Pangs. Lo ! all the Leaves before the slight Wind driven Amid the soundless Dusk incessantly. Like wandering Thoughts that for awhile have thriven And now are lost, and wretchedly must sigh. And with their Murmur and thy noiseless Flight, Reiterate the Sadness of the Night — These murmur, and their Anguish is not dumb As mine that hangs upon the Heart of thee Craving in secret, lest its Sorrow come To mar the Silence, and imploringly (Whence Harshness of Despair dissevers me) Break in, upon the Night's Tranquillity. 38 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. More slowly yet, ye Coursers of the Night. In the far Distances bewilderingly The Exhalations of the Marsh alight Toss in a Sea of Fire, as I on thee, O Sadness and O Dark, am borne in Flight. And ever bitter Waves go over me. O lente currite Noctis Equi. More slowly yet, for now the waning Hour Draws to its Ecstasy, and I in vain Strained to th' Extremity of failing Power, Fainting, heartbroken, in Night's Danger taen, Discern amid the Tremors of the Thicket shower The haunting Nightingale's diviner Pain. Craon. — What is it you desire, fair sir, of me ? Yvain {disguised as wild man, and chained). — They told me that you could one's Fortune tell. Craon. — Ay, sir, they told you true. As easily As merry Hucksters reckon up their Gains At Eventide when busy Markets close And all draw homeward, can I calculate As it doth please me that great Harvesting, That changing Fortune in Man's Garner phes. Was the Seed good and all the Sowing true ? Doth the fair Springtime precious Dews bestow ? THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 39 The glowing Sun his golden Colour give ? Is 't not enough ? And doth the Harvest flourish ? Who can tell ? Perchance at Heart it rots though fair to view, And when at last th' untimely Frosts befall Is shed and blackened. Yvain. — Good Fellow, you delay, you'd see your Fee Here's Gold to plaster up these Platitudes. Craon. — Ah ! pardon me, fair sir, your Gold I'll spend In a good Season. Meantime, pardon me. Into the dead Bones of the Past I'll pry At your Command or with an eager Eye, The gnawing Tooth of future Age discern. But Silence Silence still, while in the Stone I gaze intent, whereto the Pool of Time With Froth of flying Days, its Ripples dark Of dire Events in dusky Eddies throws. I see two Brothers of a noble House (And one was nobly born) — So prosperously They grew and throve as two bright Flowers might In some fair Garden where the Husbandman Knows not Discrimination nor Difference, But with an equal Hand doth foster all, 40 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI . Loving alike the Poppy and the Rose. And tlien if this bright Crystal tell me true, It chanced the Poppy, watched the Rosebud grow, And draw all Eyes toward him. — Such a Hue As shows in princely Favours. — Odours such As load the Air with Largess. — Added Thorns To warn unwary Fingers. — Touch me not. — And thou, poor Poppy, pranked out royally, Flaunting in Gold and Scarlet every Day, Yet Sport of vagrant Breezes — scattering Thy flimsy Petals to the common Earth, Must stand and mark the Rose triumphally Unfold her glowing Heart, while Envy gnawed At thine. Soon will the Winter come, thou thought'st Harsh Rime and bitter cutting Winds abate That Haughtiness ! The Winter comes indeed. There went a Whisper to the Husbandman, Kiss not the Rosebud, Goodman Gardener. For in its Cup there lurks a deadly Bane, Its sweetest Savour kills — the burdened Sense Beneath the Poison fails. O, dark Suspicion, Like noxious Weed to baneful Issue grown And monstrous Growth ! The dreaded Southern Wind THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 41 Stirs scarce the Leaves at first. — Unnatural Calm Broods heavy over all. — Hushed Silence swathes With stifling Stillness all the heaving Earth. — Natures a Mute, all Ears, no Tongue. — Until All of a sudden that Stagnation breaks Into a whirling Spout of horrid Cries, Loud Clamours of lost Souls — dumb Thunderings Of unleashed Demons — Shriek outvying Shriek, Till all the Mountains seem to rock and stir, Shuddering to their Foundations — the great Universe, Like to some mighty Monster in Death Throes Breathes forth its throaty Pangs. The dying Sun Obscured with Gore and Murk, hke some great Eye Gleams in a fitful Anger. — Last the Night Blots out the World with Tears and Agony. And ever thou like some dark Shadow stood At the Oppressor's Side, and checked the Cry Of Mercy ; aye, and steeled the Heart ; Clothed all the Soul with Iron, buttressed up All Doubts with Adamantine Cruelties, Slaying to check the Clamour of the Slain. So measured up thy Brothers' Bread, his Tears — Counted his Anguish, reckoned up his Sighs, 42 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Meted most Clerklywise that dread Account, Nathless to which thou'rt Debtor and shalt pay, Ay, to the uttermost, with Shame and Tears, For all his Tears and Blood. Bind on the Chains, O precious Captive. — Don the burial Shroud With thine own Fingers. — At thy Funeral Thyself be chiefest Mourner. — Measures move. Hectic yet jocund. — Featly Masquer tread The last of Mummeries. — Death's Saraband. — Flit, merry Moth, which once as Larva battened Upon a brother's blood. — From scorching Flames Guard well thy precious Wings — from scorching Flames. . . . MASQUERADERS' SECOND SONG. "THE DIRGE OF LOVE." Seek not to tune the Silver Lyre Unto an angry martial Note, Whose Echoes breathe the Soul's Desire, And Life on Passion's Sea afloat. That Sea whose Tides and Currents move To one wild Music which is Love ! The hollow Reed must bear along Vain Hopes and Fears, dead Memories — THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 43 All these the Theme of one sad Song, The Burden of it human Sighs — And through it all, " Too late, too late," The cruel clamorous Note of Fate. The Melodies of Winds and Streams, Songs all unsung yet passing sweet, The Lilts that riot in our Dreams, And lend a Pace to weary Feet — All these and more their Measure move The Burden and the Dirge of Love. [The Queen approaches, and questions Craon in dwnh show.] Craon. — Once was an Empress, to the Crack of Doom That peered across the dizzy Brink of Fate, Dallied with Fire, toyed with Noisomeness, 'Till from the Dust engendered, fed with Flame Arose a Serpent Shape whose Touch was Death, And yet she faced it — yet with Beauty sought To match its Foulness, with Caresses strove To loose the tightening Coils. Till Lip to Lip at last, And Heart to Heart. . . . Ah ! better thus than with Satiety Wilt into Age — Waxing with Age Contempt, Watch spread on every Face — Note Look s askance, 44 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Ill covered Gestures, Hatred's gleaming Eye Scorn's dark Grimace, and bitterest of Woes, Remembrance of dead Pleasures' Withering. This Road was set with Flowers as a Gin, Medleys of Blossoms fair and pleasant Sins, The Seed of bitter Griefs — that Memory Causes to sprout and proffer Leaves anon. Occasion blows the subtle Gale that fans Those tender Branches — Tears their Waterer Of surfeited Regrets and vain Disgust. But when the Autumn comes and Life's lush Leaves Rot under Foot, a Fungus Growth is bred Of pale and speckled Things, vile and obscure, As of dead Passions Crime engendered is Mordant of Tongue and Harbourer of Death. Doth the long Story of these Pains appal Thy Heart ? Wait but a while, and see The Upas Tree of Sin unfold anew Unfaltering Buds of Crime, and crimson Fruit, Laden with Death. The very Air shall kill. See in the topmost Branches sits a Fowl, Obscene, abhorred, and rears her hateful Brood, Beneath a Wolf doth raven. — Slavering Jaws All messed with bloody Foam contend in vain THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 45 With her that sits above — The Vulture Queen — , Queen Vulture by the Day, She Wolf of Night, Giver of Night to many, Ah ! there waits A long and weary Vigil after Day, The Morrow's not for thee nor Rest by Night. Thy Fates in some dark silent History Still ply their shining Loom — The Warp and Woof Are plain to see, but still the Patterning Unfixed abides — The crooked Fingers twist The gleaming Tissue — Swiftly Pictures grow From torn and broken Lines — Dark Purpose spreads Apace upon the Web — Grey Patches flow And flush to Crimson — Glittering golden Wires Are wrought to pregnant Meanings — To and fro A gleaming Tinsel wakes up Nothingness To ravel at the End. The Threads are snapped, The glowing Colours fade — The Light goes out — All wears Death's Livery of Sanguine Sable — Blood and Black. A dark, dark Night, and Murder in the Night ! O lamentable Tale of dreary Years Of Spoil and Rapine — See the Torches flash Like some wild Maenad's Hair thirsting for Blood. Ay ! how the Torches flash ! Adown her Path 46 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Aye Carnage rages — Ever flickering Flames Light up the Nights of ruined Country-sides. Of pain and Death a Welter all. O, loathsome Thing, That ravenest and spoil'st, forget to live Since living makes to perish. Sleep can yield Philtres of Henbane, black Hyoscyamus, Mandrake's unhallowed choicest Brew — Surcease Of all Life's Burdens. (These be Creatures born Of Nox and Erebus tottering to Chaos). Clanking of Rivets, Brazen Fetters off, Off Bonds that should bind, bitterest Uneasy Writhings the Worm Conscience makes. In vain. The healing Night must end. The Morning breaks, The cruel Face of Day discovering all Failures, Ineptitudes, Wrong still invincible ; Through empty Spaces of the Wind swept World The angry Call of Morn re-echoes. . . . Clarion shrill Scatters the Shadows, the hushed Murmuring, The Mother Notes of Night. The Daylight grows, The bitter Light of Things discovering all. With rolHng clustered Cloud Wrack threateningly, THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 47 Your Splendours menace — all your Grandeur bodes Chill at the Gloaming, bleaker Eventide. Death, like a darkling Gull, still hovering o'er Your finest iMountain Slopes, thick set with Vines, Your pleasant Champaign Country rich with Corn. A Fire in the Vines ! A Cry by Night ! Cold, it grows cold. Let's gather round the Blaze. What Matter though it spread so we be warm. Lapping with vivid Tongue and lambent Lips, The Plains scarred Surface— rearing, snaky Lengths Athwart th' Horizon. . . . Gloomy Night of Time, Oblivion's tideless Sleep to wallow in. Wilt thou not close the Bargain ? No. Then barter on Honour and Reverence against the Dregs Of nameless Villainies. In full Exchange To the four Winds of Heaven hallowed Chastity, Torn up and scattered as a worthless Thing. Merit and Virtue set a IMain against. With Stakes of Lust, unbridled Prodigality To beggar Lydian Kings — Incestuous Loves — Hates as unnatural — impious Revellings — All Vices Nature knows or Hell can hold 48 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. To weigh the Balance down. No Reckoning ! Set on the Hazard all the Commonweal And scruple not the Cost. Laugh them to Scorn That prate of future Vengeance, yet at Heart Some Day ! MASQUERADER'S THIRD SONG. Dissolve Delays — all Dallyings break — The Sun that gilds your Weather Is but a Meteor Light to wake Hopes vain elusive ever. And Love's Undoing, Still pursuing, Thy Soul escapeth never. These Flowers smell they ne'er so sweet, Are none too sweet decaying, And there's a fate that none would meet To wait upon Delaying. All Seasons have Their Summer's Prime, And then, alas ! too swiftly comes — harsh Winter's Rime. O dream athwart the sylvan Shade Of prosperous To-morrows. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 49 Of Days enriched like Plenty's Horn With clustering Grapes, and Laughter made To heal or banish Sorrows. On such a Day from Sea Foam born Her Feet on glistening Wavelets laid Idalian Aphrodite rose. And though your Vision ere it blows, Your Dream unmade, Ere it was said, Shall turn to leaden Sorrows. Yet grave or sad. The Way she had, Your Heart unthinking borrows. The Winds, and aye, the Waters have A never changing Motion. But Life's brief Stream, its Course once run, Engulfed the boundless Ocean, Makes but a Parody of what it was, A Thing, sans Sense, sans Motion. The Duke of Orleans approaches, and questions Craon in dumb show. Craon. — Most noble Lord, I see portrayed herein So many Shifts and Changes, that Design Seems all awry in a bewildering iNIaze, Of anxious Passages, dark lurking Holes, Your Fortune, like the Sun i' the dying Fall, D 50 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Glitters in Species, yet confers no Warmth — Or Fruit that falls half-ripened from the Wall — Misfortune feeds upon such choicer Stuff. In some dark Corner of your Ways there lurks A Street, that by one narrow Entrance shows Blank Walls, and overhung an iron Door That opens rarely. 'Tis a noisome Den, But the rich Moonlight floods the empty Place, Changing to Beauty trivial Things and mean. Shining as it has shone this thousand Years, And will a thousand more — unmoved, unchanging. O'er Bones of murdered Men to welcome in, Like a false Hound his Master's Murderer. Or is there laid a Corse in that dark Way, Or haply Clouds that flit across the Moon Bewray my Vision ? Is 't a Shadow comes That wears your Features — there beside the Door At that fell Portal stays — perceives the Dead, Shakes to the pallid Skies despairing Hands. Like the gaunt Trees that fling their ebon Boughs, When bitter Winds shriek through them to th' Abyss. Ah ! hapless Shade, that art but as the Wind That dost despair and sigh, and canst not speak Nor yet be seen by purbhnd mortal Eyes. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 51 In Bitterness thou sad Phantasm, fade — Let all grow dark again. Then suddenly, With clangorous Movement, thronging Forms assail 'Mid flickering Torches the unhallowed Spot. Like seething Midgets scatter, then draw nigh With anxious Haste to raise the shapeless Form. A Ray of Moonlight bursts the inky Cloud — The Face. . . . Duke. Tell me whose is the Face ? Craon. — Like thine it is, the murdered Man's. Duke. — Whose, then, the Form that brooded o'er the Dead ? Craon. — A Wraith it was that brooded and despaired, Because it hated and was impotent. Deep i' the Womb of the Future Vengeance lies. Forsaken Wraith, your Murderer too shall yield. Prone on the common Earth beneath the Feet Of Serf and Lackey — fearless at the last, To reck no longer this World's Blame or Praise. Tranquil at last, though after troubled Days, All Debts accompted for, all Credits paid, Called in all Usury, and satisfied With Deaths convincing Currency. Now pacified all Quarrels, every Grief, 52 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Warring Ambition, tedious Rivalry. Nothing shall vex again that mighty calm Till the last Trump that wakes the Sluggard Dead, That like the placid Rim of some great Lake ]\Iirrors unmoved at once and magnifies By its chill Irony the warring Airs. Clouded by Distance Earth born Vapours rise In calm Aloofness. Now the Heavens weep Great frosty Tears. She sheds that flinty Woe As Type and Symbol of Heart's Bitterness. Duke. — I do not know you yet your Visage serves To bring to Mind one I would fain forget. Craon. — It is not wise, fair sir, to struggle so Against these Intuitions of the Sense, That by the Soul's mere Light can freely show The Microcosm in Entirety. Its devious Alleys and Meanderings, Its Corridors and deep resounding Bays, The Pit perchance where lurking Dangers lie, To which the outward Man's purblind. Duke. — You speak me strangely, sir ! What is your Name ? Crao7i. — I have forgot it ! It was foully wronged ! THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 53 Duke. — If you were wronged, the King himself you may Require to right you, who is Justices' Source. Craon. — Nay, I'll not brook that any Mortal should My Supplication scorn, or grudgingly Some Pittance, or poor Remedy bestow. Duke. — If there be one has wronged j^ou in God's Name, Be satisfied that he full Reparation make. Craon. — Good cannot cope with Evil, nor my Wrong? Consort with Reparation. There are Hurts Bite deeper in the Flesh than can be cured With such Medicaments. Ay ! bite so deep that never Power may Potent soe'er restore one's Tmst in Man. Duke. — Ah ! now I know you. Vision seems to flow Into strange Wizard Shapes of Men and Beasts, Now one, now either. So Division rules Over my crowded Thoughts. Flits now a Mask Of grinning Wolf Fangs o'er the placid Brow Of the pale Dreamer. 'Tis a Flash, 'tis gone. Oh ! turn your Eyes away, they sear my Soul As doth the Lightning Eyes. In naked Length 54 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Bare Peaks and jagged Heights stand out revealed. No Crevice but the unpitying Glare makes plain, unveils it. And through my Mind there flows the Rush o' the Storm, The Battling of the Winds, the driving Rain, And all the panting Haste of Messengers Unto some fruitless, necessary End. {Exit Duke.] Craon. — So fare you well. And yet there is a Power More just than his King's Justice — ay, more true And certain in its End — inexorably set To remedy th' Oppressions of this World — to dis- possess Possession — to discrown all crowned Things. [Ohserving the storm.'] Now all the angry Face of Heaven lowers Its weighty Presage. All the Skies are wrought Into a polished Shield, whose dusky Rim Reflects grim Aspects, and the writhing Forms Of grisly Spectres seem to whirl therein On 's grey and ashen Face. Yet inwardly Glows an infernal Fire. Heaven's Fury swirls Lurid and turbid round a Peak of Stars, THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 55 Like Islands in an all-submerging Flood Ready to perish — yet despairingly Glitters a pallid Gleam athwart th' opaque And cavernous Cowl of Darkness. Doth some wan Eye From that far Orb regard my Wretchedness ? Does some proud Heart in Sympathy reply Bright Tears for those I shed ? No more for me Complaints and empty Pain. Let my Despair Find Armour for my Wrongs, and make Response To those that hate me — Here am I, A Champion armed — with sable Panoply, Of unforgotten Hatreds unprovoked, And darkened Plates dulled with the Dint of Wars, All waged in Treachery. False Ambuscades, Where Brother Brother slew, and secret Blades Drank of the Life Blood of outwitted Foes. Indignant Heart, take Courage from these Wrongs, To lay all piteous Thoughts of Mercy by — Pile such a Holocaust of bleeding Woes As shall with Gore and Flame, and drifting Smoke, Make a great Scene to which all Eyes must turn To mark your Acting. If they blench with Fear, What then ? or still revile your Deed ; 56 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Again, What then ? Those have not borne with you The seven droughty Summers of Decay, When Friends and Fortune — all the Earth's good Fruits — Fell rotting to the Ground, and Love itself Withered and wilted in pale Winterings. Oh ! it would make a Madman laugh to Tears To contemplate the Dullness of these Fools That leer and strut and press their antic Throng Across a mimic Stage unknowing whence — The Puppet cannot see the String that draws it, Nor the Hand lurking that still draws the String, Nor yet the darkling Brain that draws the Hand. I will not mitigate my just Revenge Because these Fools and Traitors cannot stomach it. Revenge — Audacity that craves Success And knows to seize the Moment that ensues it, And the dark rankling Memories of Injustice done Are mighty Music in too high a Key For Ears so gross to comprehend its Scope — Sweet Airs grow cloying now — clang Discords on By such rude Steps — to Resolution ! THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 57 [Craon relights the torches that had been extin- guished by the servants at the commencement of the scene. The masqiieraders re-enter : the Duke of Orleans entering from the other side, endeavours inquisitively to ascertain their identity, but is repulsed. He takes the torch which Craon hands him, and as they go out, accidentally ignites the inflammable dresses of the Masquer adersi] Act 2. Scene 2. [Scene as Act 2, Scene i. The cries and anguish of the burning victims are heard behind during the early part of the scene : the clamour of the mob during the subsequent time.] Craon {his head muffled in his dark cloak.) — I dreamt I trod upon the Pit's fell Brink, And gazed into the giddy Depths below, And saw the Atoms fly, the whirling Motes Like Fireflies in a Dream fantastical. — Or that deceptive Flare that on lone Marsh The wearied Traveller yearning for Home After long Sojourning by Sea and Land, From Safety to Derision draws — 'tis but a Step — 58 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VL With such unhallowed Gleam to light me on, As in rapt Vision from afar I saw The elemental Dance — now circling here, now there, That with its restless to and froing drove Like some dark Mystic weaving deadly Spells, My Soul to Stupefaction wherein mute, Yet agonised it frightful Things beheld. . . . Yvain de Foix {hehind the scene). Save the King, save the King ! Craon. — Powerless of Hindrance, helpless to frustrate Some deadly Purpose. — Lo ! the Steam of the Pit Drave burning past my Brow — its ruddy Glow Made pale my Countenance as in Despite — Now my Soul shuddered, and thick Drops of Sweat Dripped from my Visage — shuddering I awoke Amid the Clamours of mad Revelling, Phantasmagoria, charnel Masquerade, Or Dance Macabre to which lean Forms advance And grimly follow. — So the Glamour falls Athwart my Sense — again the Marsh Lights burn More redly now and dim — more heavily The stagnant Waters moan — the thickening Ooze Stirred to its Ebon Depths disgorging Death Blackened and lustrous, Vestiges of Eld Beyond the Years of Man — hoar Centuries THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 59 Piles each on other — grisly Reckoning — Lost Generations to Futurity As Sign Posts pointing. — Space interminate With mocking Challenge enigmatical — Break, break ye Clamours, break, dissolve away Mists of Delusion — {pointing to the scenes and texts emhroidered on the tapestry.) Princeps induetur Maerore et quiescere faciam Superbiam Potentium — Servant i. — Help, help, the Palace burns. The King's afire ! Servant 2. — Bring Water, Water. Servant 3. Clumsy Rascal, thou Hast overset my Budget. Servant 2. Water, Water bring For Christ's dear Sake. — Servant 4. — Ah ! God, to hear the Groans, They're terrible. Oh ! I shall never. Until my dying Moment, rid my Ears Of that dire Agony. Craon. I saw to Nothing brought All in a Moment this World's Magnitude, Her Grandeur's Measure in a Spark of Time 6o THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Set upon Flame and flaring to the Skies, To yield but flickering wasted Ash of Things, Bleached and impalpable lighter than the Air, Hither and thither cast — the Name of King, Of weighty Substance, Power, Preeminence. Until at last the trifling Game played out. The Shuttlecock of Fate tossed for an Hour, The Hour of Pastimes past, is spurned aside. [Enter attendants, hearing Yvain de Foix on a litter.) Servant 5. — Oh ! cover it up — oh ! 'tis too terrible. Servant 6. — Is't possible he's living yet ? Servant 7. Ay, list the Groans. Physician. — There is no Remedy. 'Tis idle Care, Not all my Art availeth here. Craon. — Methought I saw the Hungry at his Gates, Gaunt Famine wasted, famishing unslaked With Drouth of perilous Angers — ravening — Patiently unforgiving — Watching Eyes aglow — Pale, wasted Visages, and all intent For one that tarried yet they said but voicelessly Their Enemy Oppressor Treader out Of Wrath's empurpled Vintage — Grapes that stain And trickle o'er the Brim insatiate — With suffered Changes to the heady Brew THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 6i Of pangless Luxury's besotted Sleep — Souring at last to acrid Vinegar — To Retribution's cold and bitter Draught. Soldier I. — The starving Mob are at the Doors, Are breaking down the Gates — arm, arm in Haste — Lest forced an Entry they should after slay All living Souls within. Soldier 2. — They're gone, 'tis all too late — Soldier 3. — Save all who can {filching plate.) Themselves, 'tis all they can. Soldier i. Then save yourselves. Craon. — Think ye, I marked not in the Past your Hands, Thin wasted Hands, in Supplication raised — Heard not the whispered Curses load the Air, Saw not the starved Eyes ever through the Gloom, Gleam — through the Dusk of timeless Infamy — To wait th' Avenger — heard a Whisper come Through serried Forces ranked and palpable. Weighty with Woes unremedied and heavy Ban Of desperate Revenges — Judgment on Cruelties, Heartlessness, Ingratitude, Denial of Justice, scornful Avarice, Expense and Covetise and wasting Pride, 62 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Unbridled headlong Lust — Rapacity With all Briareus' Arms — Crossness of Wit Pitched like a Drunkard's staggering Clumsiness*, Into Destruction, to Destruction all Dragging in 's Fall. Mob I. Where are the Traitors ? Mob 2. — Show us the Traitors. Craon. Groaning of Niobe Of all her Brood bereft, for Princes Pomp, The ravenous Throat of War, or Ignorance As felly ravening, but in the Dark — Crime's grim Excise, and Tasks of Sisyphus, Crushing bowed Shoulders neath Injustices, Grown grosser with Time's Passage — Wrongs as fresh, Though after Years as at the first and fell Inception wrought — unnatural Friendship sealed With Gripe of fleshless Hand to Bartering Of lordly Chances of the Game — for Rest alone — Though bitter be the Draught, yet at the last There is a Refuge, there a Fountain sealed Amid the Desert Waste that Semblance fair Of Beauties proffering from View recedes ; Life's miraged Bitterness and darkling View Of dim Expanse, bare Plain, far-reaching Height, THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 63 Gold of the Cloud Mist veiling Silver Streams, Valleys of winding Hopes, and Herbage green Of pleasant Fantasies — Blasts of free Air, Fresh Sustenance of Courage — berried Copse And beckoning Sylvan Gloom — dim Shadowings Of hanging Forests' Fringe — Tranquillities Embroidered with lorn Music — Fragrancy And Dusk of golden Days — thou sacred Night, Ancient of Mysteries — to all an End. Mob I. — Ha, Yvain, ha, nowknowest thou the Pangs We wretched bear each Day and every Day. Moh 2. — 'Twas only Yestereve when thou didst pace — I saw — Too slowly for thy proudly spurning Steed Who still behind him cast the level Clods On that long Journey whereunto thou goest Now the last Stages. Moh 3. Thou belike Misread the angry Signs and marched to Triumph Instead of paced to Death ! Moh 4. Receiving this thy Portion utterly ! [The Masqueraders attempt to escape ahove, and arc heset by the Mob below. The King as- sisted in mad, and pale as death, in silence. Then cries of " Justice, Justice."] 64 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Clisson. — Justice, ye will have Justice. So ye shall Presently. Craon. — Now are m}' Wrongs like Harpy Ministrants That gorge my Flesh with Soul abhorred Food, Too wholly cloying, satiating, gross. The labouring Carcase of mere Ruthhilness Writhes abjectly infirm, and doubting Awe Creeps on my Soul anew. [The King shews evident signs of insanity, mopping and mowing like an ape.] Bishop. — What is this Tumult ? Do ye not regard The Majesty of France, the Law's Authority, Which here your natural Prince, to whom ye owe By God's Assignment, all Obedience, Subjection, Meekness, Reverence, doth claim, To be by you in Humbleness allowed For general Peace and Governance of the Realm. Back, back. Touch not the King lest Angels bear From out of Heaven flaming fiery Swords, To pierce the guilty Hand that dares assail Him Heaven predestines your anointed Lord. The holy Ark is Sacrilege to touch — presume it not. Craon. — Ay, but within that former Ark was borne Power and Knowledge — Laws diviner Truth — THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 65 Urim and Thiimmim for Depositary Of Purposes yet hidden, mystical, That Burden companied unfathomably. Of this ye offer us For our submiss Acceptance — this your Ark Set in the midst of false and treaclierous lords, Vile scheming Courtiers, mitred Hypocrites. Like the dull Moon by hollow-hearted Clouds Obscured and garish, with a sickly Gleam Lighting the stagnant Brim of dusky Lakes With Osiers bordered, where no Space between Twixt Reason and Unreason sets a Bound — Pale visaged and capricious Lord, recall The deadly Cark, and Care thou didst abye When through the Wood of Mans thy Wrath thee drave Impetuous and resistless as the Wind. The Day was hot, and wandering Wits astray, Too frail and scorched in Fire of Fantasy, Dreamed Treason where none was and Page's Sleeps . . . {The King starts in alarm.'] Clothed with strange Purport — deemed unheard Design Thmidered in loud Alarums at his Ear — Perplexed, unmanned — whatever Courage lent £ 66 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. Of Strength and Fortitude all ebbed away — Withered and peevish in a Pinch of Time, Fate's Sceptre Adamant too loosely held, And in a Pinchbeck Setting worthlessly Jewels of Paste— Gems fraudulent — Unlustrous Eye To gaze at Devastation without Qualm, Pitiful Sanction whence doth 111 unchecked In Guise too Manifest stalk through the Land Debasing, changing all. Uncertainty Of Justice piling ever Debt on Debt, Grown like the Hydra's Heads to all engulf— With Thicket Errors through a Glass of Doubt, Awry and twisted— Black, contorted, blurred, False, hateful Outlines of Magnificence, That Bitterness of Facts with Clamour harsh Dishonours and denies — an Heritage, Too rotten and unripe, for which the Frost After long Glamour of mild Autumn Days, Is come, is ready. Courtier i.— We're lost unless the King can speak to them. Courtier 2.— His Wits have left him— he can never speak. Craon.—^ow as the Winds that idle Straws bestir. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 67 Yet by the veering Vanes Direction prove, So Blasts of Ruin do commence to blow On breathless Follies, scattered Wantonness, Heavy Un\visdom — masqued and hoary Age, Burlesquing Virtue, yet grimacingly Clothed in outrageous Obstinacy, set to do Whatever most resolvedly must sap and stain The Safety of the Realm, share into Tatters all Th' embroidered Cloth of State, or draw to Prey The Splendours of the Past, as glowing Coals Fade to cold Ashes at the last and dead Turn of the Night. All bitter Chill of Dawn— And after comes no Wakening. Ah ! what Means To spend the Tale we have of scanty Days. Sleep on, wax gross, unmeaning, opulent Of crowded empty Years — then that Abyss, To which all human Hopes converge, descend. All Aspirations tend, engulfs us bitterest Babel of Failure, without common Tongue ; Dumb muttering World Soul, voiceful, purposeless. Lacking the very Will for Speech, not Words to say . . . Clisson. — 'Tis he— I know the Voice — th' Arch- traitor 'tis. 68 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VL Murtherous Rebel, Peter of Craon, him ! Cvaon. When last we met 'Twas at the Sword's Point Ohver, but now in Turn With Golden Drops thou shalt for Scarlet then Bleed and repay, thou Miscreant. That States should lie Prostrate at Feet hke thine ! O, rank Abuse, It smells to Heaven ! Moh. Vengeance ! Vengeance ! \The Duke of Burgundy enters attended.'] Burgundy ! Craon. — Sir, the People call On you as their Redeemer — at your Birth Gently the Zephyr breathed, they say— the Daystar stately shone — Pure Wellheads gushed — the living Breath of Morn Fresh with the Voice of Lark, with Scent of Thorn, Saluted you — you Liberator come To rescue captive Lands, predestined Heir Of Peace and Concord — thence auspiciously Relieve this Discord, and assuage the Pangs Of these that suffer Loss — their Wealth redeem From the Oppressor's Hand to vivify, THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 69 Instead of cause to languish, Plenteousness Pour on a smiling France ! Lord, this Scroll peruse Whereon the Thefts of this ill Minister Blacken the Pages they should rather stain With Blood of Innocence, not Ink — wherein the Tale Of hoarded Wealth, ill-gotten haughtily. Spreads and devours — where King's Treasuries Are by a private Chest discomfited — and Coin awash Like Surge in sunken Ships — untold immane — Drags as a Whirlpool down a Myriad Lives, Lays bare a Myriad Homes, can devastate A teeming Province with a Nod, condemn To Death, or that than Death more terrible, Miscalled Life, miscalled Clemency. Sir, Tasks austere Omit not hastily — the Times require Proud Indignation, Justice undismayed, Recrimination, ay. Revenges passionate. Here Beggars lie Noisome in piteous Rags — contemptible With vext Entreaty. \To Clisson.] This is only yours 70 THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. This bleak and hateful Triumph, to abhor Onf^'s proper Flesh and Blood — to circumvent For bitter Avarice the poor, the impotent. On you their Want of Bread, the sightless Orbs, The festering Wounds, the Squalor, Loathsomeness, Worst the perverted Hearts that cringe and fawn Where they should strike or rend their Torturer With more embittered Vengeance. See you here, How on this Scroll this your ill Livehhood, With bloody Runes inscribes devouringly From the King's Manors, sovereign Princedoms, Coin, (All else than yours made false) red Bulhon, Car- canets. To ransom mighty Kings, imperially Unniggard. O, lamentable Quahty of Things, That all the World stands threaded on a Glance, And all its Treasures as a Featherweight, Or Thistledown before the idle Wind, Are trapped and fallen. That all the World beneath your Dominance Sinks as abashed. O, Minds effeminate. To suffer such Abuse and tamelily Effrenate Anger suffer suffer suffer. THE MASQUE OF KING CHARLES VI. 71 Burgundy. — Why how the Devil did this Sinner come By such a Store of Pelf ? Craon. Ah ! what a Tale Is here of Misery, grim Hunger, Widow's Tears, Devouring Pestilences, ruined Habitations, Gaunt Bones of Famine, Insolence of War, All Items in a ghastly Reckoning, Entituled Oliver of Clisson's Cash Account. Ah ! break him. Lord, crush down this gilded Snake That raises Head to menace and defy. Burgundy. — Arrest the Sire of Clisson. [Going.] Now, my lords, we shall Take Order for the Governance of the Realm. On us the Weal of France is laid. God grant that we Find Strength and Wisdom to assure that same. Craon. — Level the Balance swings ! SONGS, SONNETS, STANZAS. =l"l= SONG. " TIME IS FLYING." " *A ig iari, Koi to poSov avov 'oXhrai. Theocritus. Idylls xx%-ii. Weep no more ! ah ! weep no more ! Lest that Nature's self beguihng, Thy sweet Tears should mar her Smihng ; Lest thy changing Web of Sadness Overcast her present Gladness, At thy Sorrows vexing sore, Yet more precious than before. In the Heaven Stars do reign. This thy Loss to them were Gain, An if thy Tears, all deceiving, Thy sweet Tears (ah ! hapless Thieving) Should, superb at such a Source, Mingle with the heavenly Course, Then should Lustre strange and new Dim the Queen of Heaven, too ! Stay thy Tears, lest Earth enchanted With such Vision passing sweet. Fashion them, with loving Care, To great Gems, both rich and rare. SONG. " TIME IS FLYING." 73 Brighter than the Dewdrops planted By the Gnomes indwelhng there, And haply, of their Guerdon meet The toiling Elves unkindly cheat. Weep no more, lest thy sweet Sorrow Wake to Life thy falling Tears, Lest each Drop, unthinking borrow That sweet Image which it bears : Then the World, all racked with Anguish, As the deep dark Waters roar, With eternal Voice should echo Griefs unheard, unknown before. Weep no more, for Time is flying, And the Roses will be gone. Ere thou weariest of Sighing, Ere thy Sorrow be half done : Sigh no more, in fancied Gloom Smile while yet the Roses bloom, Weep no more, for Time is flying, Smile, lest aye thy Heart be sighing ! 74 PASTORAL. PASTORAL. No more the Throstle sings in Arcady, Who charmed to Ecstasy the silver Spring, His Clarion Notes ring heavy now Such Age the passing Months do bring. No more doth Philomel her Sorrows fill, No more the Glades re-echoing thrill, Only the Redbreast on a Bough, Pipeth disconsolate and shrill. Alas ! alas ! that Arcady Is hushed and mute, and nevermore Shall Daphne tread the sounding Shore, Or listen to the falling Sea. Alas ! alas ! for Vows forgot. And plighted Troth remembered not, For Faith forsworn and nothing made, For Love to Earth untimely laid. PASTORAL. 75 No more with Wood Notes sweet and low Shall Strephon move the rustic lay, Or with a faltering Voice essay In Phrases meet his Love to show. He sings no more these wintry Days, No more descants on Daphne's Praise. For why. He hath forgot to love, And Daphne's Tears no longer move. No more, as in the happy Spring, Shall all the Groves with Echoes ring, No more shall Daphne laughing crown With Laurel Wreath her Tresses brown. Or gather Roses white and red To match her Cheeks (so Strephon said). Ah ! nevermore, 'tis vain to sigh, The Laurels fade, the Roses die. So mortal Seasons wax and wane, So Bliss breeds Woe, So Pleasure Pain. Like Birds of Change fair Hopes are fled, Like Autumn leaves hes Passion dead. Then Winter comes, a chilhng Frost To kill the Love that lingers yet. On cruel Seas our Bark is tossed, On crumbling Sands our House is set. 76 PERVIGILIUM VENERIS. PERVIGILIUM VENERIS. " Cras amet qui nunquam amavit, quiquc amavit, eras amet." Now Spring renews itself, Now Love undying! With tuneful Throat now all the swift Birds sing, Age that brings Change and Silence, Winter's Sleep forget ! Love's Pattern on Life's shifting Web is set, Wherein with Leaves the Tree For flowing Tresses, happily Takes all the Rain, the Fervour of the Spring, Late Droughts and Rime too harsh her Boughs defying, Now Spring renews itself. Now Love undying ! Now great Dione from her Throne doth new Laws say That shall from Myrtle Thickets prized the Nymphs deny PERVIGILIUM VENERIS. yy Her Band of Worshippers with linked Hands come — Love lays his Arrows by, keeps Hohday, And yet not so, for then (as reckon some). No Festal Day for Love, his Bow laid by. Go Nymphs, Truce is declared, Love's Truce implying, Now Spring renews itself. Now Love undying ! Unarmed, unharming, undisguised, now, now, Love see Love's Arrows now all scattered lie, his Fires burn harmlessl}^ (Now Spring renews itself, Now Love undying !), Yet not too yarely Nymphs — so fair to view, May yet so deadly prove as ye may rue. Now from the distant Hills doth Love reclaim. From lonely Woods, and Founts his Votaries (Now Spring renews itself. Now Love undying!), His Mother bids you here — by that loved Name, The winged God's — his Mother bids arise, Yet trust not faithless Love his Hurt denying. Now must the livelong Night in merry Routs With Gates and Wine and Song — and Flower crowned, (The Myrtle Shade our Steps encircling round), 78 PERVIGILIUM VENERIS. Be spent, for Spring renews itself, and Love undying But now from her loved Haunts the Huntress flouts. Let — so the Goddess bids — with Flowers heaped, The Judgment Seat await her Sovranty. The Graces at her Side, while Hybla pours (Now Spring renews itself, Now Love undying!). Her Store of Blossoms ere the Frost devours ; Whate'er of Bloom the Plains of Enna see. With Dew and Freshness of the Springtide steeped. Now all the pleasant Land by Pleasure spurred, Awakes to Passion where the God of Love First all the Pageant of the passing Hours (Now Spring renews itself. Now Love undying !) Beheld, and to that tender Breast allured, And gathered up, with sweetest Kisses throve, Nurtured with delicate Breath and the Fragrance of Flowers. Of Gems and Flames — of Love's Heart Blood — and Fill Of Love's dear Kisses wrought,— with Flush of Morn, — Yet drenched with Dew that warm Spring Nights distil. PERVIGILIUM VENERIS. 79 The Roses at their Heart Spring's Passion share — (Now Spring renews itself, Now Love undying!). Forth from their Virgin Breasts their Cinctures torn Unwed fling off — to Fire of Crimson flare. Doth through the Poplar Shade the Nightingale The Hunger of the Night with Passion feed, Nor ever with her Notes Love's Music fail ? (Now Spring renews itself, Now Love undying !). Not Throe to Throe, but Bliss to Bliss allying Not of a Sister's Woe, but of Love's Need. All sings. But I, but I of Spring bereft, Awaiting that which comes, ah ! nevermore, In silent Bitterness as tliat of Yore Ill-fated City, which the God had left, As unsung perishing, my Amyclae In Time and Change and fallen Fortune see. Ah ! would that forth and far as Swallow flying. My Heart might find the Spring, the Love undying ! 8o ORPHEUS. ORPHEUS. Lo ! lovelorn Philomel, her wofiil Plaint To rusthng Woods in softest Music tells, While far and wide her mournful Sighing swells, And mouthless Echoes mock her Accents faint. Ah ! hapless Orpheus, such was thy Despair, Thy fruitless Toil, thy Tears, thine Anguish Sore. Such cruel Memories at thy Bosom tore, When in the murky Night thou forth did'st fare Through misty Realms unknown, where Mortal ne'er Attained before, nor ever shall again. Ah ! mournful Triumph, thus to vanquish Fear And drown all Sorrows in one mortal Pain ; Making een Death as naught, a Matter small : Death conquers all but Love — Love conquers all. " WITH THREE VOLUMES OF 8i SHAKESPEARE." " WITH THREE VOLUMES OF SHAKESPEARE." Three Myrtle Leaves that from a Garth derive, Wherein that Tree that did our Loss begin With Fruit erstwhile too harshly sweet — to win A Happiness, too frail, too fugitive, Burgeons unperished yet — for Guerdon give One passing Moment, one, to dream therein Of those dead Lips that sang — of Thoughts that live, Of Life's brief Drama played — Death, Sorrow, Sin, Of Hopes and Fancies in a Garden fair. Love unrequited, wildest Phantasy, And vain Regrets that never may depart. Then darkly in this Page — in those more clear Beliold the Link that mars Mortality And mocks at Time — the changeless human Heart. MERCHANDISE. When of their Merchandise Men make their Mart, And prate of that they buy and sell and how, I wonder. Ah ! I wonder if they know To what Conclusions brouglit, when played their Part All their Endeavours and Occasions go ! F 82 MERCHANDISE. Despite your Skilfulness, your cunning Wit, Oblivions Tides o'er all your Courses flow, Your fairest Fortunes by Fate's Frosting bit Must shed their Silvern Leaves, their Gilded Fruit, All your proud Vauntings, like the Winter's Snow, Or Summer Swallow that must soon take Wing, Are brought to silent Nothings. Truth not mute Of Love, Faith, Hope, her green Leaves still doth show Her Lilies and her Roses blossoming. THE ENIGMA. Each Sun that travels on his wonted Way, For those more blest the Harbinger of Joy, For me brings nothing else than sad Annoy, And weary Waiting, yet may serve to say How short my season is, and how Life's Day, Brief as the Flowers are, like them to die, With Longings burdened, wears itself away. And wastes from Morning to the sunset Sky ; Where now the Darkness threatening makes Essay, To whelm with Clouds my Sun's Propinquity, With all his empty World of sight and Sound, And thus forgotten sweep my Doubts away. Here too bewildering an Enigma found. One vast, unending, and unanswered. Why. TO CMLIA. 83 SONG. TO C.ELIA. In Cselia's Face my Heaven is, Wherein her Eyes hke Planets shine And gleam athwart my cloudy Skies, With Radiance fitful, yet divine. Thy Soul above the World is set Above the vain World's Fume and Fret. When I regard thy golden Prime, So dazzled as the Sun doth Eyes, I envy Phaethon his Crime, And though to fall, yet fain would rise. Alarms and Fears me little move, I burn as he did, but for Love. To follow Love, yet not to find, This is the Smart, the woful Pain. Ah ! Pain indeed ! If thou wert kind, For me the Year would turn again And burgeon forth a second Spring, Love's Spring that doth no Winter bring. 84 EGYPT. EGYPT. Thy Power is fallen — Quenched the Fire of yore- The Blossom faded that was once so fair, Thy Gods are Dust thou didst adore, And Paradise is chill and bare. Yet still from out their pictured Tomb, From out the Depths of ancient Night, Thine Ashes yield their flickering Light, Thy fading Glories dimly loom. Still may thy Shadows silent keep Faint Memories of Dirges low, Of wailing Music sad and slow. Of Lore as deepest Ocean deep. Thus while the Nations o'er thee roar. Sleep softly on — for evermore. NOEL. Whenas through Desert Waste and weary Wold, The wise Men toiled on their appointed Way, And nightly gazing up saw Night unfold A Promise far more glorious than the Day, " NOEL." 85 Which to the Eye of Faith did Day benight, And all confounding burn with brighter Rays. Saw no more in the Day, but only Night, Until a Night be made the first of Days, Until the Day Star in the East appear. And Day unto the humble Hearts that wait, For Sin bring Mercy, made articulate, For Blindness Sight, and Peace for carking Care ; Until the Judge, our Intercessor, plead. The Priest (himself the Victim) bleed. A PLEA. Could you but Know what Time essayed my Verse, Your Merits (ah ! in Verse too ill defined) To portray forth. While still from worse to worse My feebler Efforts from the Truth declined. For standing mute when they should speak their Mind, So let these plead as they may Pardon find, And you may pity, as you ever do. All that for Dumbness may not Pity sue. And tell it to all as all may thence imply 86 A PLEA. Upon what sweet Foundations Virtue lies, How rich adorned, how decked with what rare Dew Of precious Charity, sweet Courtesies. In short to show, and that more perfectly, Not you by these portrayed, but these in you. SIR JOHN ELIOT. Now Earth that holds which Interest ne'er bound. And Death refetters that which Gaolers Thrall, Could never conquer, for the Spirit found Freedom, inalienate, heroical. The ready Tongue is dumb which never all The Might of Princes daunted, and the Eye Sightless, that could through cloudy Hours descry Of better Hopes a brighter Dawn befall On Things most base. Through Suffering, through Shame, The noble Heart that hath not thought amiss, The Truth, the Courage, all the cause confest. That cost him Freedom, Friendship, Fortune, Fame, The End attained that still for Others is That they through him as he in them be blest. ALGERNON SIDNEY. 87 ALGERNON SIDNEY. Through the long Years when all around he saw His Ideals levelled to the common Earth. Saw Fortune's fickle Wheel perform its Round, And all he fought for lost without a War. It was a Martyrdom. Thy native Strength Thou needst it all to bear those Years of Pain, But be of Courage, for be sure at length The Hand that brought thee shall bring back again From out the Wilderness into the Ways That need thy Love, thy Sacrifices. Then at last Crown with Death's Eloquence the silent Past, With suffering all you suffered. " Shall you rise. Sir," he says. You that have all endured, all Things won, " Never, ah ! never, until the last great Day. Strike on ! " 88 STORM-WRACK. STORM-WRACK. O ! Cynthia, how thy gentle Tides dost lead, And Winds that drive their Courses to and fro, Which were they from thy sweet Dominion freed, Might such a ruthless cruel Rage outblow, As should (their Limits due outstepping all) In one Destruction all Things overthrow. Ah ! Queen, the Sea and Hours own thy Thrall, Bitter or sweet beneath thy Sway they flow. Now harsh, tumultuous, full of Rage or Scorn, Doubts, Angers, Patience, Fears — a motley Rout. Now clamourous. Echo filhng — now discordantly In proud triumphant Riot moving — now forlorn ; While through the Storm Wrack thy pale Face looks out Silent, amid the Clouds that pass thee by. SYRINX. 89 SYRINX. Deaf Ears that hear no more the plaintive Note Of rare Wood music ye were used to know, For whom no longer in the Brake remote, Lilies and Asphodel of Fancy blow. Dull Eyes that mark no more the Phrygian Creed Of that wild Company in Sport renewed, While through the starry Eve the Maid pursued From Death draws Melody, and as a Reed Pipes faintly in pale Dreams till these again Dissolve and drift away on the rough Wind; Harsh, broken Echoes, vaporous and torn Cloudy Illusions, proud faint faiths outworn, Muttering shrilly round Peaks undefined, And always — through the Mists — the driving Rain. 90 ■ SUFI. SUFI. Not Poppy Jasmine, no, nor yet the Rose, That with its Sweetness cloys the Sense away. Not Violets, nor the Hyacinth that may Through Centuries its Sadness never lose; Not these the Garland that we twine to-day, Nor yet that festal Wreath the Revel Knows — (Such fresh Caresses feverish Heats allay) — Not these the Flowers our Persian law allows, But from a Thousand, this the subtle Way Midst barren Deserts such rare Leafage grows. Such gemmy Buds each burning Summit shows, As like the fabled Bird have Voice to say — This is the sharpened sombre Edge of Things, And Fate's grim Knife that cuts at Kings. NIGHTINGALES. 91 NIGHTINGALES. O ! Ecstasy of Music, dear Delight, That from a feeble Throat such Passion pours. Till very Pain our Ears enraptures quite Made sad sans Reason, glad without a Cause. Ah ! what's the Key that thus the Heart unlocks, To yield such wonder, such amazed Applause ? One 'tis that well in Thought may give us Pause. That dusky Age old Trees, and harsh lean Rocks Should pour such Treasures forth. Why, you might deem That midst the Silence you may hear Heart Beats And the full Throbbing of the World's Pulse fall. It is not wholly Fancy. Nature's all Too large for Reckoning, our Discernment cheats With golden Mists and Glamours of a Dream. 92 THE LAMENT OF THE HARPER. THE LAMENT OF THE HARPER. Now the great Man is at Rest. 'Tis the Law ! — we may not sorrow ; Life is but a fleeting Breath, Here to-day and gone to-morrow. Day by Day the golden Sun Through the Heaven tracks his Way : Day by Day his Course outrun, Leaves the Skies forlorn and grey. So ever, as the Ages wane, Life from Life is born again, And ever rises like the Sun, To toil a Space, and then to set. Be happy, ere thy Sands are run. Be glad to-day — the World forget. For thee the Lilies and the Lotus bloom, And still one faithful Heart is thine ; For thee the Lute shall breathe a Strain To banish Care and conquer Pain. So Life shall seem a Gift divine. And thou forget the silent Tomb. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 93 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. Sweet Star of this World — fading ere the Close, And yet mid Sunset Glories unoppressed. (While all the Zenith glows with Gold and Rose, One cold pure Gleam ennobling all the West). Lo ! quenchless burns Love's radiant Alcahest, Transmuting all the undaunted Heart of a Star. The Sunset Vapours vanish, swathed, enmeshed — The Beacon Light shines on though from afar ! Now Courage rides — (Great Continents give Proofs, An Empire reels beneath the clattering Hoofs) — In that far Tourney where the Soul's Eyes see Set Lists for warring Hearts ! Wherein to Pain Tears noble Rage doth give — No conquered Will — and We Whirled like the empty Dust in that great Train ! 94 MARIN FALIER. MARIN FALIER. Lost and discrowned one only Face there lacks To mar the perfect Symmetry of these, That ersttime guarded well mid stormy Seas The Pilotage of Empire. All Attacks That Force or Fortune makes, these could sustain ; All Dangers, Doubts, Disgraces these have borne. Those Hearts have Known the poignant Pride of Pain That makes Defeat as Death, Pity as Scorn. What Grandeur, Force, majestic Valour won, Had these not been by that were all undone ; A mighty Realm by Dreams a Madman dreamt— So long dead Pride still scorns the rash Attempt, And e'en in Death that deathless Hate lives on ; Dark Looks are eloquent though Speech be gone. A MAZURKA OF CHOPIN'S. 95 A MAZURKA OF CHOPIN'S. Now the first Flush of Sunset floods the Field, And by the dark, slow Stream the tolling Bell Gives Token sad of Love's Redemption sealed, When Death's great Register makes Quittance well. Oh ! for the laden Breath of the fierce South, Or even the fulgurous Cloud and Levin Belt, Better than thus with wasting Sickness felt, And yet unseen, to parch with fulsome Drouth. Let Danger wave her flaming, snaky Torch, Athwart the damp and dumbly heaving Earth, With pallid Fires that harden though they scorch. Let the cold Winter blow in icy Dearth. It cannot bring such Iron Heaviness As Man's innate Inhumanness. 96 A PIECE OF AMBER. A PIECE OF AMBER. Flotsam of rolling Tides frail Wreckage borne On Times dark Ocean from some lonely Shore, In dreamy Flittings past the jagged Flaw, The thundering Surge of icy Coasts forlorn. With Chill of Time and Winter's Scathe outworn, Deafened through Ages with the Breakers Roar A Myriad barren Years' congealed store To us consigned — unchanged as if in Scorn Portraiture of a Myriad Lives of Men Stilled now and impotent — dumb Irony Through all the Thoughts and Deeds that busied them, Of ceaseless Change, ceaseless Futility. A Pity yearning Allegory ! Then A Drop of Heart's Blood turned into a Gem. MOONLIGHT. 97 MOONLIGHT. With such chaste Splendour as thou rid'st the Skies, Yet sadly, and perchance as wan of Face, As Times agone in variant Age and Place, Thou glancedst on some sad Lover's weary Eyes, And with such Gentleness and noiseless Course Closing the gaping Verges of the Sense Touchedst to Sleep (the Bhss thou owest), Source And Instrument of Action — Pallid tense, Brilliance unfading — AH the Thoughts and Pangs Of Tediousness and Fever slaking quite — Earth's weary Chain of Carefulness that hangs Life's Total Sum and Message to indict. Blotted as now in Floods of glowing Light A Sea, an Ocean of refulgent Night ! 98 NIGHT. NIGHT. Doth some chill night Wind through the Forest dim, A wasting Threnody of Pain pursue, Or from the Past some subtler Passion limn Translucent Skies of frail ethereal Hue — A Background for the Moon, whose wan fair Face Still bears these Thousand Years, nor Scar, nor Line, Shines through dim Glade with never changing Grace As in the Age when searching the Divine Men peered into the Abyss and marked arise What of the troubled stars outshone the Press, Shaming the Pomp of glittering Sovranties, As in her Light unable to endure The Rivalry of Heaven, the Strife, the Lure, The Diadem of Nights' great Emperess. A SCHERZO OF CHOPIN'S. 99 A SCHERZO OF CHOPIN'S. Dark Curtain of the Night— an Ebon Chest Wherein the Sweets of Union rifled He. Anemones — Blood red for Fate's Behest Unto despairing Hearts, despairingly Muttered through heavy Silence. Sobbing Notes Of Dryad Exiles Anguish that forlorn From Day to Day upon the Blackness floats. Soul of Things past on the sick Present borne, Whence Memory backward and reluctantly Discerns (amid the Hazes sultry swirled Of Hours unnamed— grim Winter's Garner sere), An ambient Melody, entrancingly Throbbed out upon the Bosom of the World- Through Dusk, and sullen Turmoil of the Air. 100 ON CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE. On Chidiock Tichborne's Lines written under sentence of Death. Faint Clamour of an agonising Heart, Beating its Wings against the iron Bars, Bruised Limbs and Visage now that Fortune mars And weary Feet that nevermore shall start To voyage on the unbeaten Way — apart — Nor faltering Tongue with wonted Utterance give, Nor Hand indite more glowing Lines to live After the fiery Soul that forged their Smart Shall in the Aftertime lie parched and mute, With sordid Dust choked up — the living Lips Dried with a Drouth of Death — the shattered Lute, Shrilling dark Fate, and Love's Asperity, By dusky Hangings checked, torn Tapestry Of empty Chambers — at a Noon's Eclipse. THE LUTE. She touched the Lute — beneath her Fingers flowed The Sprite impersonal that dwelt thereby — Lone Captive of the Years that amplify Nature's grim Audit, or as being endowed THE LUTE. loi With Prescience as Remembrance disallowed To meaner Creatures, rustling Melody Beneath her Fingers as lone Cedars bowed Before the Wind (whose heavy Branches sigh) Made sing of perished Years that gave them Birth ! Glimmered thro' fading Dusk twixt Yesterdays And dusky Morrows, with bright single Star To front the Passion laden Face of War, Life's fragrant Garden where the Cypress stays The Rose's Petals, falling to the Earth. PULVIS ET UMBRA. Sky, bitter Sky, beneath whose biting Rays Life's glistering Pageant Hes, exposed and bare, Dry Bones of Planning, Dust of empty Days, A Desert Plain in which what harbours there All droops and perishes. Ah ! must these Pains Thus waste their Groanings on the wilful Air ? I'st but a cruelty that Sense remains Lest Miseries like wild Beasts to their Lair, Should vent in Secrecy their Strength, and so be stayed. Wouldst thou we Beggarmen to mocking Throngs, 102 PULVIS ET UMBRA. All unabashed our flaunting Rags displayed Of idle Sophistries, recriminated Wrongs. Nay, let us die as we disdain to live, And die because the World has Naught to give. QUIS DESIDERIO SIT PUDOR AUT MODUS TAM CARI CAPITIS ? Unhappy Woodland Ways, whose Beauty now Is spent and withered for the Loss of one Whose briefer Day than Summer was, is done. Brief Story told, brief Glories cruel Time Wastes with defacing Hand. Then without Pause Spreads Night apace, and biting Winter Rime Wilts all the Flowers. O ! so let this Cause Suffice my Sorrow, and the empty Show Of Fantasies that thus in Pageant come. That come like fleeting Ghosts and then are fled, Be for a Moment equalled with the Things that are Yet matched that Voice, when Music's self is dumb. Or robed with Glory these when Earth is bare ; Bare lacking thee, and dumb since thou art dead. BOETHIUS. 103 BOETHIUS. " Gladio bacchante Gothorum Lihertas Romana peril. Tu Consul et exul Insignes titulos praeclara morte relinqiiis." I that once Garlands twined of Poesy, Must now her Thorns as erst her Roses use. Groans to parched Lips impels the stricken Muse, And Tears unfeigned yield an Elegy. Terrors that others daunt — ay ! Friends deny. Stay not these Tones to company a Cell. The Laurel Branches plucked in Days gone by. Wreathe (sere and withered grown) my Forehead well. With wasted Limbs, white Locks, worn trembling Gait, Th' untimely Season moulders ere its Prime. Not mine own Age but old as Sorrow I, Unblest as those through whose long Summertime The heavy Steps of the Avenger wait Sparing the Joyous Days, till Winter's Frost Shatters the Leaves before his sudden Chill. 104 BOETHIUS. From Laughter, not from Tears, Death takes his Fill Of Splendour and of Beauty only fain — Stills not the wounded Heart nor heeds its Pain. Once when propitious fickle Fortune was Death came unasked, reluctant turned again. Now to my Urgency, my Woes, alas ! Unfaithful Death nor Stay nor Respite brings. My Heart grows Sick with waiting — unforgot My vanished Greatness, Vaunt of Hours lost This wretched Present by that former lot Weighs — in the Balance of inconstant Things. Amid a sullen Sea of Carefulness, The Soul's poor flickering Taper burning dim. Can but to Darkness Desolation limn — Without the Winds of this World's Passion sigh, Within dark Care devours, devours apace — One was there once could under freer Sky, With winged Thought the Ethers Passage trace The rosy Light of risen Suns descry. More than that burning Course, that Noontide Fierce, More than the wandering Track the Planets show. Thy chaste cold Beams, O Cynthia, me oppress That strange Aloofness, those from human Woe Remote insensible Regards my Spirit pierce. BOETIIIUS. 105 Ay ! and the Causes whence Oceanus Springs to the Lashing of the furious Wind. What Force the stable Earth in 's Course designed, What now to western Waters Hesperus. Or from the reddening East the Day Star brings, Whence lavish Spring her vermeil Flowers flings. Whence in due Season Autumn emulous With purple Clusters to the Elm Tree clings. Ah ! all was plain. But now the darkling Hour, With Prison and with Bonds in our Despite, With heavy Weight of Chains compelleth us, Flings to Captivity our helpless Right, Into the sordid Dust, Life's wilted Flower. Out of bleak Shadows Light and Vigour lost, Unto my tearworn Eyes doth Fate restore ? Darkened with stormy Clouds, and more and more Swathing the Light of Day, as now the Wind Of rude Detraction (Fate's ignoble Night), With rainy Tears and Buffetings unkind Blots out the starry Skies, pure Reason's Light, With Prison Gloom Earth's meaner Things from Sight ? Yet, ah ! should some strong Wind untainted sweep Athwart the sullen Spaces of the Sky. io6 BOETHIUS. Should Justice yet again desired most Gleam forth — with quivering Wrath our Misery And piteous Woes with Retribution keep ! Whose Age undimmed treading on haughty Fate, Can with a flaming Heart and scornful Eye, The Shocks of Time as from bare Heights descry — As breathing some pure Air, some nobler Clime, Not from the raging Madness of the Sea Removes, nor from the Waves Profundity. Wouldst unto belching Flames of Etna climb ? Such Storms vex never Thought's Immensity. No blazing Thunderbolt or pitchy Shade Nor Wrath's dark Tyrant, foiled by Virtues Shield, Can stir the Mind's undeviating State ; Nor Fears enchain its Grandeur — thus to yield Calm, passionless forever undismayed Stay and Support of all the starry Sphere, Who from thy Fixity of Grandeur seest The Firmament of Worlds a Whirlpool seethe — the least As unforgetfui as the mightiest to obey — For now the Sun's great Light the Splendour mars Of Night's Vicegerent— after from the Day BOETHIUS. 107 More distantly divided her full Sway With all its pale Effulgence shames the Stars. Now Love's bright Planet harbingers the Sun, And 's borrowed Brightness in that Glory dies, When Phoebus glittering Beams i' the East appear. Anon in Order changed through western Skies, Luring the frigid Stars his Race is run. Now doth the Chill of Winter bare the Trees, And thine unwavering Law doth stint the Day ; And now the Night wears its swift Hours away, When Summer's Heat makes all the Pastures lean. Now blustering Boreas doth bereave the Bough Of Spring's rathe Burgeoning and now — but now The gentle Zephyr doth the Copse with green Most tenderly refashion. Who doth sow As lone Arcturus watched his busy Flail, Frosted with pinching Rime, so Sirius shall With ruddy Ghtter o'er the droughty Leas Welter in Summer Heat when Crops are tall — No Deviation may that ordered Purpose fail. Dost thou abandon all the breathing Earth Unto its Wretchedness and its Despair ? Doth shuffling Fortune play its Pageant here io8 BOETHIUS. By thee unhindered, aye ? Forever then Shall Insolence the Face of Merit spurn, Vice ride enthroned over the Heads of Men, Wronged Innocence to useless Indignation burn, If such the Lesson that perforce must learn (Consenting thou) thy World ? Yet 'mid the Gloom Of Fire and Light a Soul doth Honour keep, Although the clustering Shadows mask its Birth. Yet hath the Just that Name, although the deadly Steep Drags Virtue down to a dishonoured Tomb. From the full Harmony of Heaven's Array, Regard once more our jarring Misery ; Where shameless Lies and glozing Perjury Corrupt the Hearts and solemn Acts of Kings. Ruler, whoe'er thou art, forget not us Who are not least among created Things ; Whom now harsh Fate into Destruction brings Amid vast Seas, and Surges perilous. Forget not us, and ere our Day departs Stay of our Weakness, our Infirmities ; Make firm the Earth with thine authentic Sway, Scatter thy Gifts of Night to weary Eyes, Thy Light of Justice unto aching Hearts. BO ETUI us. 109 When to his Detriment the Crab compelhng The flagging Sun toward the lengthening Night Makes to set South his Face, athwart the Heaven's bright, Blazing in fatal Languor, then denied The Taste of Ceres' Bounty, and his Eyes Turned on the barren Earth, to the Oakwood hies The worsted Husbandman. No Dew on Violet lies Amid the Woodland Gloom, when far and wide Raves the Northeaster, nor before their Date Pluckst thou the purpling Clusters of the Vine With its harsh Crudeness eager Taste repelling. Not for thy present Need the Tendrils twine, But in appointed Season early late Its Fruit doth ripen — Autumn hath its own, Its mellow Load to bear, then Winter's Chill, Nurse of the Hopes of Spring, may with a Will, Fling wide the Gates of the Year until doth come Last, amid flagging Steps, Rose garlanded, The Summer's drowsy Silence. All are sped — Each his appointed Duty owed and remedied The gaping Seams of Nature. This our Home Hath aye its wonted Order abhorring Transgression of its Bounds — and thou great Power no BOETHIUS. That o'er our Destinies keepst Watch alone. Away from thee the sullen Heavens lower, Closes the Night of Sorrow menacing ! No Light is shed, No Light around The Sullen Ground, From Stars aghast. The turbid Sea Doth hungrily Moan as a straining Suppliant lashed, And glassily The Waters gleam With broken Lights, Such as of Summer Sultriness are bred. Ere veers the Wind of Fate, and Grief benights With Sediment Life's Stream ; Whose Steps are sped By Mountain Ways, And after stays At some fell Torrent's Brink Around him he sees sink Of Age old Rock, as by a Tempest riven Severed the Link BOETHIUS. Ill That binds to future Time the Pledges Time has given. Turn, Wayfarer, thy Head, This Road you go Tends to a Land where Fears and Griefs he dead, Where human Knowledge shuns no no, But Hope is fled ! O ! wanton Fortune, that doth haughtily The Pride of Monarchs to the Dust abase. Who to sweet Ruth nor ever yieldest Place Nor savst the Lowly but in Fickleness. Like Euripus in Flood thy Currents surge With Mockery and with laughter to the Verge Of extreme Fate. Thou drivest pitiless Laughing at Grief, and wildly still doth urge Thy cruel Pastime. O ! to show thy Power Needed this Wretchedness, that mortal Things Should with Tear blinded Eyes incessantly Lament and languish when thy Hardness brings Despair and Triumph oft to one brief Hour ? Countless the Sands that to the hungry Shore The harsh Sea throws — the quivering Points of Light As countless that upon the Skirts of Night 112 BOETHIUS. Hang for a Season. If Fate's brimming Store, If Fortune's Bounties as exhaustless were, Yet should Man's greedy Heart still as before With covetous Wishes all Heaven's Patience dare. Not Gold itself were Phrygian Treasuries bare, Rolled Pactolus no Dross athwart his Plain, Not Gauds of Office, not the Mob's Applause, Can satiate that still devouring Maw. Lo ! in this Strife of getting, all the Wars Are without Triumph, and the Victories vain. For still fierce Envy of her Passion makes An ever-widening Gulf wherein Desire Forever cheated, like devouring Fire Preys on its Fuel — Wordly Hopes — that spring Unchecked and rank within the teeming Soil. Life, like a Desert Mirage, to Man's Toil But airy Shapes and flattering Lights doth fling, And still with barren Sand his Grasp doth foil — Still through bare Rocks and parching Wastes makes go Unsatisfied with deathless Hungering — A lean and wasted Shape that only wakes From Dreams of an unblighted Harvesting Unto new Wretchedness, unending Woe. BO ET HI us. 113 Learn from the changing Heaven, Where Phoebus gins paint with Light, Dimming the Flames of Night, And the glittering Stars are grown pale ! From the Garland late gathered of Roses, When the Zephyr blew soft in the Vale, Since withered and sere are all Posies When the North Winds prevail. Ere the Storm all the harsh Wastes doth trouble Of the Waves, and its Turbulence mars, Ere its Rage hath the Blacknesses riven, Night and the Glamour of Stars, The Sea in its Bosom doth double. Trust to the wildering Storm Wrack, The fleeting Glimpse o' the Moon, The Winds that late or soon From Sleep to Rage are passed, from Rage to Sleep. Aye ! Winds that keep Purport unchanging through their endless Change ; Wild Airs that range From Clime to wavering Clime, from Deep to Deep. Trust to the Waves that never will be still, And read forever in their wild Uncertainty Of this World's shifting Fortunes, out alack, H 114 BOETHIUS. A Turbulence as Ocean's, urgently Moved like the Waters at the Wind's Will. Who would Contentment find and Peacefulness Let him the freezing Mountain Tops eschew, And Wastes of Sand where all the Winds bestrew Wrecks of the World. O'er one the North Winds blow Too fiercely ever, and tlie other doth Too treacherously engulf and drag below Whence no Redemption is, nor Trace to show The clinging Footstep and the Spirit loth : This is our Life — but Footsteps and astray That scarce imprint the trackless Paths of Time — r Dry Bones that bleach into Forgetfulness, An idle Wind that bears a Snatch of Rhyme Or Song from some Wayfarer's Roundelay ! These shall decay. But do thou firmly build On what decays not nor shall suffer Change. Let all the Storm Winds in their Fury range Shake what they will, they shake not this of ours Impregnable Resource. In Quiet take This Peace for Portion — In thine own self make A tireless Fortress that no hostile Powers BOETHIUS. 115 Shall ever vanquish or from Firmness shake. Though of rich Argosies the sated Sea be bare, That yesternight such direful Clamour made, Still thou, firm set in that thy Judgment willed, Shalt, till the Years are gone, and unafraid, The Storms deride, and Turmoil of the Air. A Vision of the golden Age — beneath the Bough, Sleeps the wild Hunter, and his Dreams are made A pregnant Silence in the sylvan Shade — Lo all the wild Things of the Forest fly Before his Hawk, his Hound, his Venery, And if he thirst or hunger, for his Dearth There close at Hand the clear Stream flashes by, With harmless Fruits and Berries of the Earth At his mere Will. See o'er our Silk and Purple fling Their lengthening Shadows the spent Hours — ay, we sip Savouring at Life's gold Cup, but never now Taste of that full Content — Parched is the Lip Tinged with the sombre sanguine Sunset ting : The Ships for us sail on a thousand Seas ; For us th' unquiet Earth is torn and scarred ; ii6 BOETHIUS. For us the painful Face of Man is marred Even unto the Dust upon a thousand Fields — Ay and each mocking Gem the dark Mine yields Glitters against us coldly — we are spent For a poor Hire — all that we have meant Is but a Shadow, the distorted rent Wry Issue of the Volcan Life — our Wrongs and Woes Burn like its fiery Torrent, and its Ashes thrown Cumber our lingering Footsteps, while from Life's late Lees We snatch one last Carousal, ere the Presage of the unknown Unto the Mountain Tops with Darkness grows. When Sword and Poison played their deadly Part, With shattered Fanes and Slaughter of the Great, Crime heaped on Crime, a murdered Brother's Fate, The smouldering Ashes of a Mother's Pyre. Ah ! of that callous Heart, that dared appraise The Husks of Beauty ready for the Fire, The devastating, the relentless Ire What Solace, what Alleviation stays ? What should the Sway that fetters Regions wide (The Sum the Triumph of Humanity) Avail to soften that unpitying Heart, BOETHIUS. 117 To check that Madman's ruthless Mockery Or turn a Tyrant's Insolence aside ? What common Earth now mingles with the Dust Of stanch Fabricius ? Where doth the Censor hide His Sternness of old Time ? And where doth bide All but the Name of Brutus ? Fame doth only stem A scanty Moment this encroaching Death ! Little availeth it to honour them With fading Laurels and triumphal Wreath ! Small Profit for the Dust that lies beneath To trust to Mortals unavailing Breath, Since Time shall sweep all Excellence away, All Triumphs moulder, and all Swords turn Rust. Glory but dooms us to a sure Decay, And this World's Grandeur to a second Death ! All vain that Glory is. Look on the Night And thou mayest see within how small a Span Are bounded all the puny Ways of Man. Before those Eyes that do eternally Shine down upon our changing Destiny, Before that infinite unfaltering Peace Earth's babbhng Tongues and peevish Clamours cease. ii8 BOETHIUS. Vain are Man's Craftiness and Policy, Since Death with even Hand doth level all The Schemes of Mortals, and their Wit deride. Death makes a Mockery of Princes' Might, And Humbleness is equalled there with Pride, Into his Swathe both low and high Heads fall. That the great Firmament unswervingly From Change to Change its endless Pattern plies That Tree or lowly Herb in Rivalries Struggle and yet are leagued — that Phoebus' Car Still Blushes scatters i' the pale Cheek of the East, The wan Moon rules the Night, and Night afar Her Harbinger envisages — the Twilight Star — That Seas that raven alway, at the least Fixed Confines have, nor yet with greedy Hand May the dry Sands encroach the wallowing Main — This Order springs from Love's enduring Potency. Love rules the Sea, the Sky, and yet again Beneath Love's Dominance abides the Land. Were but released the Chains of that great Sway, And severed each dependent Intercourse, Or jarring seen that Tyranny of Force Bursting the Bonds of Law — Were all resolved BOETHIUS. 119 Into the Chaos whence Love's Power has drawn. Of that dear Influence robbed, the World forlorn Had bartered Trust for Rapine, Peace for Scorn, Bonds of true Marriage were indeed dissolved, And Ties of Friendship broke — the Bitterness Of all a World unfaithful brought to View. In Time be happy Mortals of a Day, Consign to that which rules as well as you, A Myriad Orbs in Heaven's Emptiness. Ah ! happy he that may of Happiness Behold the Fount, the yet unperished Spring, And to the heedless Dust Life's Burdens fling. Lo ! in the bygone Days in his Life's Wreck, The wretchless Orpheus plucking at his Lyre Could make the Chill Rocks weep for his Desire, The hoary Forests bend, the Rivers check. Undaunted by the gory Stains that fleck The tawny Lion's Side, intrepid he did jdeld (Since Fate could never deal a fiercer Wound) Unto the savage Beasts his Harmlessness. Lo ! at his Heels the Hind, the Hound, All savage Hearts his linked Notes had healed, But not himself. At Hell's high Gates he stays, And his sweet Note the dusky Silence tears, 120 BO ET HI US. The Furies, Cerberus, whate'er him hears Cease from their Passion. Whate'er Things are wrought To Fear, to Anguish, and to Misery — cease — Ixion's Wheel is to a Standstill brought — The Titan from long Torture hath Release — To Tantalus' fierce Drouth at length comes Ease — Yet unavailing all his Pains to move The shadowed Heart and sullen Brows of Dis. To soften that fell Lord, to whom he prays, How unavailing all his Music is, His boundless Anguish, and his boundless Love! But in a Voice of gentlest Pity spoke The aye unpitying Ruler of the Dead, And as one laughing low, " We're conquered " said, " Your Song that idly strikes the empty Air, " Buys you your cherished Comrade, still as fair, " As sweet, as precious as when she did live — " Buys you your Wife, but to the Gift we give " This saving Clause appended, that you bear " Straight toward upper Earth and look no more " As living Man on these pale Realms of ours." Lo ! Favours of the Lord of Hell !— a Fuel and its Smoke, BOETHIUS. 121 For still the Smoke mounts upward, and still the Flame devours, Writhen and bleak and anguished — the Heart's Core. Who shall give Laws to Love since mighty Love Is to itself its most imperious Law. Backward he looked that should have looked before. And lost the precious Spoil that he had taen, Lost out of Sight and out of Life Love's Gain, Till deaf and sightless through the Hebrus' Roar, The raving Maenads' Clamour Death's last Pain Stifles on dying Lips the Name once more Murmured — Etirydice. O ! be ye ware, who pry Deep into Nature's Heart, to pluck from thence Her secret Purpose, lest as fated prove With such strange Passion, all your Eloquence, And chained with Silence Wisdom's Subtletv. DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. Through the dark Night and Lapping of the Waves I come to lay my weary Heart at Rest On this last Journey, whereunto the dull And unsubstantial Mirage Men call Life, has brought Me too frail, broken, hope-bereft to mourn 122 DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. The Devastation that the Storm amid the Flowers Wreaks. O ! unequalled City, flowerhke, Springing to Life among the barren Rocks Of parching Attica, where Science, Arts, Philosophy Flared as a Beacon to the Minds of Men. Would I had perished ere thou ever heardst My Voice, or hearing hearkened not. Whence did my Heart forever like a Flame Aspire toward the highest if it might Serve but to kindle as a Torch the Pyre Of all my native Town, my countrymen. Or as the flickering Levin on dim sultry Days Threaten with forked Tongue the hallowed Shrines, Illuminating that which it destroyed as amorous, Or envious of Felicity disdained, Too easy won from Minds magnanimous ! O ! Antipater, could thy Myrmidons Tear from my Heart the Love this Body bears Its native Country, thou hadst conquered there More wide a Realm than when thy Master's Hand Ruled from Hydaspes to the Tyrrhene Sea. Ay, to the weary Flux of Tide and Time There comes a Turn. The Tides are turned, and now On the full Flood I wander out to Sea DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. 123 To meet the Light of Dawns and Noontides without End In one unbroken Glory aestivate. Or is my Pathway laid on Beams of Light Across the wallowing Tide ? or does it float Splendid and iridescent as a Web, A broken Web of earthly Hopes and Cares, In the full Air unvanquished, undismayed From Earth at last dissevered — what to me Are Macedonian Schemes and Craftiness ? Fail, babbhng Tongues — into Eternity's Majestic Silence as Intruders yield. Last Night I dreamed, and in my Dream methought, Methought my Heart before the Gods arraigned, When every Voice cried at me still replied. The very Stones had Speech, and did accuse ; A Sea of lowering Faces turbulent And dark with Passion, cast at me its Wrath ; Tottered the lofty Fanes, and in the Shade The Cypresses held Counsel with each other. Through the dark Air the Pinnacles of Gold Hot Gleams of Anger tossed — the marble Gods Frowned their Displeasure — all alone I walked 124 DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. Through stranger Streets, a Stranger — but still Loveliness Clothed all the Precincts of forgotten Ground. Still to my Ears a lamentable Voice Yielded with doomed, all doomed — the Land's fordone — Decked with these Beauties as a Slave to pass Unto a Buyer's Hand — to northern Lords Comes fallen Athens — comes that you betrayed, " For as your Glory had your Valour shone, " Greece ne'er had served the Mars of Macedon." Ah ! if tis so — if on me that is laid Come Death, come Anguish — Pain inexorable Lay bare my shrinking Body to the Storm. Beat Winds upon me, shatter Tempests o'er My ruined Forehead. Devastation break Ever more furious oer me — wailing Surge assuage Inexpiable Wrath. Vindictiveness Of lowering Fate with Thunder Tread approached Unto th' extremest Limits of the Soul All make fordone, forsaken — Emptiness Of Words and Reason to sweet Ruth succeed, Courage that never bowed be broken now. For to such End all mortal Things conspire, DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. 125 Since like a Mole this many Years unseen Worked Fate in the Dark, resistless, restlessly. Plaiting Destruction of mere Silt of Sand — Bred Hearts unpitying — avid Craftiness Nurtured in that dark Soul that scathless rides O'er fallen Attica — Venom of Hellebore Nourished with clammy Dews thro dreary Nights Lit by no Stars — mid barren Pasturage Famished save for this End — the Taint of Steel Red from Earth's callous Womb for this — For this Of poisoned Arrows for unarmed Limbs The quivered Store of Fate ! — as Pieces on the Board Moved Kings and Empires for that only End. Long Years as Minutes made, and Minutes' Span, Grown long as Years, by Suffering magnified. Despairing Struggles, agonising Pangs Of coward Spirit loth to quit, away from me ! Away gross Shapes that gloom against the Sun, Away Fears pitiless, pitiless Remorse ! Ah ! with what frenzied mien Approachest thou the Precincts of the Shrine ? Dost seek a Refuge ? There is none can hide Demosthenes. 126 DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. Then in my Dream methought I lay in still Eleusis — suddenly I heard the rattUng Sistra — from afar A great Light shone — the Noise of soaring Wings Surrounded me — a mighty Multitude Veiling their Eyes and doing Reverence — Like a vast Sigh from some dim Orb suspired— Rustled their Awes shght Murmur. Stricken dumb I stood What Time a flaming Aureola grew Upon the Darkness, and a low Voice spake With the wild Whispering of unearthly Airs. And I all tremblingly Questioned uncomprehending. Lo ! what Answer came, For all the Dark as with a Tempest riven Burst into torrent Rain, rude Buffetings, Mad Moanings of the Wind and bitter Chill Of Dawns ill omened. Out of the wild Dark Into the Light, into my Bosom drave A snowy Dove, storm driven, helplessly Tossed in the Tempest's Power, lost and worn. And in my Dream I cherished it. — From me it drew DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. 127 New vital Spirit — gleamed the glazing Eye, Struggled the feeble Frame too frowardly. Ah ! then a golden Gleam, A Passion music full of Potency, Shot to my Soul as twere prefiguring Love's Vindication, Triumph, Ecstasy. Fading, ah ! all too quickly — too ill understood. Yet in a Moment's Space that Energy Pierced to my inmost Memories and found No more incomprehension ! Then meseemed To watch the chilly Dawn — a cold grey Sky Flecked with pale golden Light — the uttermost Of Solitude and Silence. At my Heart Lodged in my inmost Breast, the Bird no more Throbbed with the Pulse of Life, no more drew Breath- Dead in the midst of Music, dead that was The Solace of the Night. Ah ! fallen Voice, Precursor of the storm, and doomed to be Shattered and riven in the cruel Blast That slays and spares not, though it cannot take 128 DEMOSTHENES IN CALAURIA. The Glory of the quenchless Sacrifice. Look out Demosthenes, where through the Strait Glimmers the purple Splendour of the Sea Changing eternally, yet still the same — Men come and go. Busied and tangled in a thousand cares — The lean Phoenician brooding o'er his Wares, The swart Egyptian, the loud Cretan then, Estranged from the Reality of Things And worn with Empty Labours — Or, not so, Tis the Soul labours in these growing Pains, And these are outward Symbols. Nay, tis all Empty Illusion ! Lo ! after me the Macedonian Wolves Swift follow. At their Prows the eager sea Chafes with white flakes and foam ! I that have talked of Wars And dealt in Panics Expeditions Made Death my Brokerage, with stormy Eyes Read Havoc in the Presage of the Times ; Made Death my Torch, Danger a rallying Cry, Still winged my Syllables with Victory . . . So! The Flame burns ever upward, O Demosthenes. ROSK A.ND HAKR1>, I'n.-.NTERS, EKOAOMKAD, IIKISIOL. 1 DATE DUE CAVLORO PRINTCOIN U.a A.