RUNES OF WOMAN
 
 Vamor che muove il sole e Faltre stelk. 
 
 DANTE. 

 
 RUNES OF WOMAN 
 FIONA MACLEOD 
 
 PORTLAND MAINE 
 
 THOMAS BIRD MOSHER 
 
 MDCCCCXV
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF RNIA 
 
 SANTA BAH!} Ait A 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PREFACE ...... 
 
 PRELUDE „ 
 
 RUNES OF WOMAN : 
 I THE PRAYER OF WOMEN 
 II THE RUNE OF THE SORROW OF WOMEN 
 
 III THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF WOMAN 
 
 IV THE SHEPHERD .... 
 
 IX 
 
 xiii 
 
 3 
 1 1 
 
 21 
 
 33 
 
 THE RUNE OF AGE 
 
 41
 
 PREFACE
 
 ^fPON the heart of woman a poet found some 
 cryptic characters etched there by her tears. Past 
 all loving she loved the man. Past all under- 
 standing the poet understood the woman. In 
 shadowy silences he heard the prayer that rose from all the 
 sorrow and the passion oj her living: she told him of the 
 hopes that break and dream again : of that tempestuous sea 
 within her that lets the present drown and drives the future 
 on : and dim upon the crags of time he saw the dread 
 of women move with unrelenting steps. Past all loving the 
 woman loved the man. Past all understanding the poet 
 understood the woman. Then she drew away the veil in 
 which her heart was shrouded and by the revealing power 
 of that love and of that understanding he translated those 
 characters into these Runes. 
 
 Is it for contact only that women relinquish all and '" go 
 forth discrowned at last " to moan for the dream that dies at 
 dawning and for the change that makes no difference ? Until 
 she shall identify her own soul as the True Shepherd of her 
 life and shall know that the flickering flame of passion she 
 has so long accepted as the guide to joy is but an exhalation 
 of her 07tm radiant being, until then shall this self-defeating 
 experience with poignant persistence return. 
 
 ANNE MONTGOMERIE
 

 
 PRELUDE
 
 £«-~i f-^Q HE heart of woman lies under the mantle of 
 silence. 
 The mantle flutters and falls in the air of youth, 
 The heart murmurs a song oj longing and dim 
 desire, beating the rhythm of a happy dream. 
 Under the shadow of mystery the heart oj woman smiles. 
 
 II 
 
 The heart of woman blooms under the flame of passion. 
 The flooding music of that golden flame sin '/•-> that 
 
 were mute be 
 The sweet body gloics with the radiance of dazzling or. 
 'The eyes like double stars shine through the mist of wonder. 
 Under the flame of passion the heart of w^man fades. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The soul of woman wakes under the anguish of sorrow. 
 
 And though the dream is not fulfilled and though the enchant- 
 ment fails, 
 
 And passion dies the body's castaway, 
 
 (. nder heartbreak and anguish the soul of woman wakes, 
 
 And Lore, the only immortal rises, till its rapturous vision 
 becomes the breath of every day. 
 
 ANNE MONTGOMERIE
 
 RUNES OF WOMAN
 
 The great winding sheets that bury all things 
 in oblivion, are two : Love, that makes oblivious of 
 Life; and Death, that obliterates I. ore. 
 
 Was it because J desired thee darkly, that thou 
 could* st not kno7t> the white spell ? Or was it thai 
 the white spell could not reach thy darkness ? One 
 god debateth this : and another god answereth this : 
 but one god knoweth it. With him be the issue. 
 
 AN LEA1UIAR BAN. 
 
 {The Book of White Mag: 
 
 My wisdom became pregnant on lonely moun- 
 tains ; upon rugged stones she bore h. r young. 
 
 A r ow she runneth strangely through the hard 
 desert and seeketh, and ever seeketh for soft grass, 
 mine own old wisdom. 
 
 NIETZSCHE.
 
 THE PRAYER O F W OMEN
 
 THE PRAYER OF WOMEN 
 
 SPIRIT that broods upon the hills 
 And moves upon the face of the deep, 
 And is heard in the wind, 
 Save us from the desire of men's eyes, 
 
 And the cruel lust of them. 
 
 Save us from the springing of the cruel seed 
 
 In that narrow house which is as the grave 
 
 For darkness and loneliness . . . 
 
 That women carry with them with shame, and weariness, 
 and long pain, 
 
 Only for the laughter of man's heart, 
 
 And for the joy that triumphs therein, 
 
 And the sport that is in his heart, 
 
 Wherewith he mocketh us, 
 
 Wherewith he playeth with us, 
 
 Wherewith he trampleth upon us . . . 
 
 Us, who conceive and bear him ; 
 
 Us, who bring him forth;
 
 THE PRAYER OF WOMEN 
 
 Who feed him in the womb, and at the breast, and at the 
 
 knee : 
 Whom he calleth mother and wife, 
 And mother again of his children and his children's 
 
 children. 
 Ah, hour of the hours, 
 
 When he looks at our hair and sees it is grey ; 
 And at our eyes and sees they are dim ; 
 And at our lips straightened out with long pain ; 
 And at our breasts, fallen and seared as a barren hill ; 
 And at our hands, worn with toil ! 
 Ah, hour of the hours, 
 
 When, seeing, he seeth all the bitter ruin and wreck of us — 
 All save the violated womb that curses him — 
 All save the heart that forbeareth ... for pity — 
 All save the living brain that condemneth him — 
 All save the spirit that shall not mate with him — 
 All save the soul he shall never see 
 Till he be one with it, and equal; 
 He who hath the bridle, but guideth not ; 
 He who hath the whip, yet is driven; 
 He who as a shepherd calleth upon us, 
 But is himself a lost sheep, crying among the hills !
 
 THE PRAYER OF WOMEN 
 
 O Spirit, and the Nine Angels who watch us, 
 
 And Thou, white Christ, and Mary Mother of Sorrow, 
 
 Heal us of the wrong of man : 
 
 We whose breasts are weary with milk, 
 
 Cry, cry to Thee, O Compassionate !
 
 T H E R U N E O F THE SORROW o I- W OMEN
 
 This is the rune of the women who bear in sorrow: 
 Who, having anguish of body, die in the pangs of bearing, 
 Who, with the ebb at the heart, pass ere the wane of thr 
 babe-month.
 
 THE RUNE OF THE SORROW OF WOMEN 
 
 THE RUNE 
 
 WE are tired, we are tired, all we who are 
 
 women : 
 Heavy the breasts with milk that never shall 
 nourish: 
 
 Heavy the womb that never again shall be weighty. 
 For we have the burthen upon us, we have the burthen, 
 The long slow pain, and the sorrow of going, and the 
 
 parting. 
 O little hands, O little lips, farewell and farewell. 
 Bitter the sorrow of bearing only to end with the parting. 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 Far away in the east of the world a Woman had sorrow. 
 Heavy she was with child, and the pains were upon her. 
 Then God looked forth out of heaven, and He spake in 
 His pity : 
 
 *3
 
 THE RUNE OF THE SORROW OF WOMEN 
 
 " O Mary, thou bearest the Prince of Peace, and thy seed 
 
 shall be blesseU" 
 But Mary the Mother sighed, and God the All-Seeing 
 
 wondered, 
 For this is the rune He heard in the heart of Mary the 
 
 Virgin: — 
 " Man blindfold soweth the seed, and blindly he reapeth : 
 And lo the word of the Lord is a blessing upon the sower. 
 O what of the blessing upon the field that is sown, 
 What of the sown, not the sower, what of the mother, the 
 
 bearer? 
 Sure it is this that I see : that everywhere over the world 
 The man has the pain and the sorrow, the weary womb 
 
 and the travail ! 
 Everywhere patient he is, restraining the tears of his 
 
 patience, 
 Slow in upbraiding, swift in passion unselfish, 
 Bearing his pain in silence, in silence the shame and the 
 
 anguish : 
 Slow, slow he is to put the blame on the love of the woman : 
 Slow to say that she led him astray, swift ever to love and 
 
 excuse her ! 
 O 't is a good thing, and glad I am at the seeing,
 
 THE RUNE OF THE SORROW OF WOMEN 
 
 That man who has all the pain and the patient sorrow and 
 
 waiting 
 Keepeth his heart ever young and never upbraideth the 
 
 woman 
 For that she laughs in the sun and takeththe joy of her living 
 And holdeth him to her breast, and knoweth pleasure, 
 And plighteth troth akin to the starry immortals, 
 And soon forgetteth, and lusteth after another, 
 And plighteth again, and again, and yet again and again, 
 And asketh one thing only of man who is patient and 
 
 loving, — 
 This : that he swerve not ever, that faithful he be and loyal, 
 And know that the sorrow of sorrows is only a law of his 
 
 being, 
 And all is well with woman, and the world of woman, and 
 
 God. 
 O 'tis a good thing, and glad I am at the seeing! 
 And this is the rune of man the bearer of pain and sorrow, 
 The father who giveth the babe his youth, his joy and the 
 
 life of his living 1 " — 
 
 (And high in His Heaven God the All-Seeing troubled.) 
 
 i7
 
 THE RUNE OF THE SORROW OF WOMEN 
 
 THE RUNE 
 
 O we are weary, how weary, all we of the burthen : 
 Heavy the breasts with milk that never shall nourish : 
 Heavy the womb that never again shall be fruitful : 
 Heavy the hearts that never again shall be weighty. 
 For we have the burthen upon us, we have the burthen, 
 The long slow pain, and the sorrow of going, and the 
 
 parting. 
 O little hands, O little lips, farewell and farewell: 
 Bitter the sorrow of bearing only to end with the parting, 
 Bitter the sorrow of bearing only to end with the parting. 
 
 i9
 
 THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF 
 WOMAN
 
 THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF 
 WOMAN 
 
 WE who love are those who suffer, 
 We who surfer most are those who 
 most do love. 
 O the heartbreak come of longing love, 
 O the heartbreak come of love deferred, 
 O the heartbreak come of love grown listless. 
 Far upon the lonely hills I have heard the crying, 
 The lamentable crying of the ewes, 
 And dreamed I heard the sorrow of poor mothers 
 Made lambless too and weary with that sorrow : 
 And far upon the waves I have heard the crying, 
 The lamentable crying of the seamews, 
 And dreamed I heard the wailing of the women 
 Whose hearts are flamed with love above the gravestone, 
 Whose hearts beat fast but hear no fellow-beating. 
 Bitter, alas, the sorrow of lonely women, 
 When no man by the ingle sits, and in the cradle 
 
 23
 
 THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF WOMAN 
 
 No little flower-like faces flush with slumber : 
 
 Bitter the loss of these, the lonely silence, 
 
 The void bed, the hearthside void, 
 
 The void heart, and only the grave not void : 
 
 But bitterer, oh more bitter still, the longing 
 
 Of women who have known no love at all, who never, 
 
 Never, never, have grown hot and cold with rapture 
 
 'Neath the lips or 'neath the clasp of longing, 
 
 Who have never opened eyes of heaven to man's devotion, 
 
 Who have never heard a husband whisper " wife," 
 
 Who have lost their youth, their dreams, their fairness, 
 
 In a vain upgrowing to a light that comes not. 
 
 Bitter these : but bitterer than either, 
 
 O most bitter for the heart of woman 
 
 To have loved and been beloved with passion, 
 
 To have known the height and depth, the vision 
 
 Of triple-flaming love — and in the heart-self 
 
 Sung a song of deathless love, immortal, 
 
 Sunrise-haired, and starry-eyed, and wondrous : 
 
 To have felt the brain sustain the mighty 
 
 Weight and reach of thought unspanned and spanless, 
 
 To have felt the soul grow large and noble, 
 
 25
 
 THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF WOMAN 
 
 To have felt the spirit dauntless, eager, swift in hope and 
 
 daring, 
 To have felt the body grow in fairness, 
 All the glory and the beauty of the body 
 Thrill with joy of living, feel the bosom 
 Rise and fall with sudden tides of passion, 
 Feel the lift of soul to soul, and know the rapture 
 Of the rising triumph of the ultimate dream 
 Beyond the pale place of defeated dreams : 
 To know all this, to feel all this, to be a woman 
 Crowned with the double crown of lily and rose 
 And have the morning star to rule the golden hours 
 And have the evening star thro' hours of dream, 
 To live, to do, to act, to dream, to hope, 
 To be a perfect woman with the full 
 Sweet, wondrous, and consummate joy 
 Of womanhood fulfilled to all desire — 
 And then ... oh then, to know the waning of the vision, 
 To go through days and nights of starless longing, 
 Through nights and days of gloom and bitter sorrow: 
 To see the fairness of the body passing, 
 To see the beauty wither, the sweet colour 
 Fade, the coming of the wintry lines 
 
 27
 
 THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF WOMAN 
 
 Upon pale faces chilled with idle loving, 
 
 The slow subsidence of the tides of living. 
 
 To feel all this, and know the desolate sorrow 
 
 Of the pale place of all defeated dreams, 
 
 And to cry out with aching lips, and vainly ; 
 
 And to cry out with aching heart, and vainly ; 
 
 And to cry out with aching brain, and vainly ; 
 
 And to cry out with aching soul, and vainly ; 
 
 To cry, cry, cry with passionate heartbreak, sobbing, 
 
 To the dim wondrous shape of Love Retreating — 
 
 To grope blindly for the warm hand, for the swift touch, 
 
 To seek blindly for the starry lamps of passion, 
 
 To crave blindly for the dear words of longing ! 
 
 To go forth cold, and drear, and lonely, O so lonely, 
 
 With the heart-cry even as the crying 
 
 The lamentable crying on the hills 
 
 When lambless ewes go desolately astray — 
 
 Yea, to go forth discrowned at last, who have worn 
 
 The flower-sweet lovely crown of rapturous love : 
 
 To know the eyes have lost their starry wonder, 
 
 To know the hair no more a fragrant dusk 
 
 Wherein to whisper secrets of deep longing ; 
 
 To know the breasts shall henceforth be no haven 
 
 29
 
 THE RUNE OF THE PASSION OF WOMAN 
 
 For the dear weary head that loved to lie there — 
 
 To go, to know, and yet to live and suffer, 
 
 To be as use and wont demand, to fly no signal 
 
 That the soul founders in a sea of sorrow, 
 
 But to be "true," "a woman," "patient," "tender," 
 
 " Divinely acquiescent," all-forbearing, 
 
 To laugh, and smile, to comfort, to sustain, 
 
 To do all this — oh this is bitterest, 
 
 O this the heaviest cross, O this the tree 
 
 Whereon the woman hath her crucifixion. 
 
 But O ye women, what avail ? Behold, 
 
 Men worship at the tree, whereon is writ 
 
 The legend of the broken hearts of women. 
 
 And this is the end : for young and old the end : 
 
 For fair and sweet, for those not sweet nor fair, 
 
 For loved, unloved, and those who once were loved, 
 
 For all the women of all this weary world 
 
 Of joy too brief and sorrow far too long, 
 
 This is the end : the cross, the bitter tree, 
 
 And worship of the phantom raised on high 
 
 Out of your love, your passion, your despair, 
 
 Hopes unfulfilled, and unavailing tears. 
 
 3 1
 
 THE SHEPHERD
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 Verily, those herdsmen also were of the sheep ! 
 
 NIETZSCHE 
 
 "Y7 E loved me, as he said, in every part, 
 
 And yet I could not, would not, give him all 
 Why should a woman forfeit her whole heart 
 At bidding of a single shepherd's call ? 
 One vast the deep, and yet each wave is free 
 To answer to the moonshine's drowsy smile 
 Or leap to meet the storm-wind's rapturous glee : 
 This heart of mine a wave is oftenwhile. 
 Depth below depth, strange currents cross, re-cross, 
 The anguished eddies darkly ebb and flow, 
 But on the placid surface seldom toss 
 The reckless flotsam of what seethes below : 
 O placid calms and maelstrom heart of me, 
 Shall it be thus till there be no more sea ? 
 
 35
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 II 
 
 " I am thy shepherd, love, that on this hill 
 Of life shall tend and guard thee evermore." 
 These were thy words that far-off day and still 
 Lives on thine echoing lips this bond of yore. 
 Yet who wert thou, O soul as I am, thus 
 To take so blithely gage of shepherding ? 
 Were we not both astray where perilous 
 Steps might each into the abysmal darkness fling ? 
 Lo, my tired soul even as a storm-stayed ewe 
 Across the heights unto my shepherd cried : 
 But to the sheltered vale at last I drew 
 And laid me weary by thy sleeping side. 
 Thou didst not hear The Shepherd calling us, 
 Nor far the night-wind, vibrant, ominous. 
 
 37
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 III 
 
 O shepherd of mine, lord of my little life, 
 
 Guard me from knowledge even of the stress: 
 
 And if I stray, take heed thou of thy wife, 
 
 Errant from mere womanhood's wantonness. 
 
 Even as the Lord of Hosts, lo in thy hand, 
 
 The hollow of thy hand, my soul support : 
 
 Guide this poor derelict back unto the land 
 
 And lead me, pilot, to thy sheltering port ! 
 
 No — no — keep back — away — not now thy kiss : 
 
 O shepherd, pilot, wake ! awake! awake! 
 
 The deep must whelm us both! Hark, the waves hiss, 
 
 And as a shaken leaf the land doth shake ! 
 
 Awake, O shepherding soul, and take command ! — 
 
 — Nay, vain vain words : how shall he understand? 
 
 39
 
 THE RUNE OF AGE
 
 THE RUNE OF AGE 
 
 THOU that on the hills and wastes of Night 
 art Shepherd, 
 
 Whose folds are flameless moons and icy 
 planets, 
 
 Whose darkling way is gloomed with ancient sorrows : 
 Whose breath lies white as snow upon the olden, 
 Whose sigh it is that furrows breasts grown milkless, 
 Whose weariness is in the loins of man 
 And is the barren stillness of the woman : 
 O thou whom all would flee, and all must meet, 
 Thou that the Shadow art of Youth Eternal, 
 The gloom that is the hush'd air of the Grave, 
 The sigh that is between last parted love, 
 The light for aye withdrawing from weary eyes, 
 The tide from stricken hearts forever ebbing 1 
 
 O thou the Elder Brother whom none loveth, 
 Whom all men hail with reverence or mocking, 
 
 43
 
 THE RUNE OF AGE 
 
 Who broodest on the brows of frozen summits 
 
 Yet dreamest in the eyes of babes and children : 
 
 Thou, Shadow of the Heart, the Mind, the Life, 
 
 Who art that dusk What-is that is already Has-Been, 
 
 To thee this rune of the fathers to the sons 
 
 And of the sons to the sons, and mothers to new mothers — 
 
 To thee who art Aois, 
 
 To thee who art Age ! 
 
 Breathe thy frosty breath upon my hair, for I am weary ! 
 
 Lay thy frozen hand upon my bones that they support not, 
 
 Put thy chill upon the blood that it sustain not; 
 
 Place the crown of thy fulfilling on my forehead; 
 
 Throw the silence of thy spirit on my spirit; 
 
 Lay the balm and benediction of thy mercy 
 
 ( )n the brain-throb and the heart-pulse and the life-spring — 
 
 For thy child that bows his head is weary, 
 
 For thy child that bows his head is weary. 
 
 I the shadow am that seeks the Darkness. 
 
 Age, that hath the face of Night unstarr'd and moonless, 
 
 Age, that doth extinguish star and planet, 
 
 Moon and sun and all the fiery worlds, 
 
 Give me now thy darkness and thy silence !
 
 FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF 
 THIS BOOK HAVE BEEN PRINTED ON 
 VAN GELDER HAND-MADE PAPER AND 
 THE TYPE DISTRIBUTED IN THE MONTH 
 OF OCTOBER MDCCCCXV
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW.
 
 A A 001 423 990