TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 
 
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/ 
 
 <B<X.c &**- 
 
 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 
 C C* 
 
 I 
 
 bonbon 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
WIN) 
 
 TO MY BEST FRIEND 
 
 THEODORE WATTS 
 
 I DEDICATE IN THIS BOOK 
 THE BEST I HAVE TO GIVE HIM 
 
 508 
 
Spring speaks again, and all our woods are stirred, 
 And all our wide glad wastes aflower around, 
 That twice have heard keen April's clarion soimd 
 
 Since here we first together saw and heard 
 
 Spring's light reverberate and reiterate word 
 
 Shine forth and speak in season. Life stands crowned 
 Here with the best one thing it ever found, 
 
 As of my soul's best birthdays dawns the third. 
 
 There is a friend that as the wise man saith 
 Cleaves closer than a brother : nor to me 
 Hath time not shown, through days like waves at 
 strife, 
 This truth more sure than all things else but death, 
 This pearl most perfect found in all the sea 
 
 That washes toward your feet these waifs of life. 
 
 The Pines, 
 
 April 1882. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Tristram of Lyonesse :— 
 
 prelude : tristram and iseult 
 i. the sailing of the swallow 
 ii. the queen's pleasance . 
 iii. tristram in brittany 
 iv. the maiden marriage 
 v. iseult at tintagel 
 
 VI. JOYOUS GARD .... 
 
 VII. THE WIFE'S VIGIL . 
 
 VIII. THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 
 
 IX. THE SAILING OF THE SWAN . 
 
 Athens : an Ode 
 
 The Statue of Victor Hugo 
 
 Sonnets : — 
 
 hope and fear . 
 after sunset . 
 a study from memory 
 to dr. john brown 
 to william bell scott 
 a death on easter day 
 
 3 
 13 
 
 41 
 
 59 
 
 75 
 
 85 
 
 97 
 
 ii5 
 
 125 
 
 149 
 
 171 
 
 191 
 
 205 
 206 
 209 
 210 
 211 
 
 2T2 
 
x CONTENTS. 
 
 Sonnets— continued. PAGE . 
 
 ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE 
 
 ELIOT 2IJ 
 
 AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE's REMINISCENCES 2I4 
 
 A LAST LOOK 2l6 
 
 DICKENS 217 
 
 ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS. . 2l8 
 
 TO JOHN NICHOL 220 
 
 DYSTHANATOS . 222 
 
 EUONYMOS 223 
 
 ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS . 224 
 
 BISMARCK AT CANOSSA 225 
 
 QUIA NOMINOR LEO . 226 
 
 the channel tunnel 228 
 
 sir william gomm 229 
 
 euthanatos 23i 
 
 First and Last 234 
 
 Lines on the Death of Edward John Trelawny 236 
 
 Adieux A Marie Stuart 238 
 
 Herse 244 
 
 Twins 247 
 
 The Salt of the Earth . . ... . . 252 
 
 Seven Years Old 253 
 
 Eight Years Old 256 
 
 Comparisons . 259 
 
 What is Death? . . 261 
 
 A Child's Pity 262 
 
CONTENTS. xi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Child's Laughter 264 
 
 A Child's Thanks 266 
 
 A Child's Battles 268 
 
 A Child's Future 274 
 
 Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590- 1650) : — 
 
 i. christopher marlowe . . . 279 
 
 ii. william shakespeare .... 280 
 
 III. KEN JONSON 28l 
 
 IV. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER . . . 282 
 V. PHILIP MASSINGER 283 
 
 VI. JOHN FORD 284 
 
 VII. JOHN WEBSTER 285 
 
 VIII. THOMAS DECKER 286 
 
 IX. THOMAS MIDDLETON 287 
 
 X. THOMAS HEYWOOD 288 
 
 XI. GEORGE CHAPMAN 289 
 
 XII. JOHN MARSTON 29O 
 
 XIII. JOHN DAY 291 
 
 XIV. JAMES SHIRLEY 292 
 
 XV. THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN . . . . 293 
 
 XVI. ANONYMOUS PLAYS : ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM 294 
 
 XVII. ANONYMOUS PLAYS 295 
 
 XVIII. ANONYMOUS PLAYS 296 
 
 XIX. XX. THE MANY 297 
 
 XXI. EPILOGUE 299 
 
 A Dark Month 301 
 
 Sunrise 359 
 
TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 
 
 B 
 
PRELUDE. 
 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 
 
 Love, that is first and last of all things made, 
 The light that has the living world for shade, 
 The spirit that for temporal veil has on 
 The souls of all men woven in unison, 
 One fiery raiment with all lives inwrought 
 And lights of sunny and starry deed and thought, 
 And alway through new act and passion new 
 Shines the divine same body and beauty through, 
 The body spiritual of fire and light 
 That is to worldly noon as noon to night ; 
 Love, that is flesh upon the spirit of man 
 And spirit within the flesh whence breath began j 
 Love, that keeps all the choir of lives in chime ; 
 Love, that is blood within the veins of time ; 
 That wrought the whole world without stroke of hand. 
 Shaping the breadth of sea, the length of land, 
 And with the pulse and motion of his breath 
 Through the great heart of the earth strikes life and 
 death, 
 
4 TRISTRAM OF LYON ESSE. 
 
 The sweet twain chords that make the sweet tune live 
 Through day and night of things alternative, 
 Through silence and through sound of stress and 
 
 strife, 
 And ebb and flow of dying death and life ; 
 Love, that sounds loud or light in all men's ears, 
 Whence all men's eyes take fire from sparks of tears, 
 That binds on all men's feet or chains or wings ; 
 Love, that is root and fruit of terrene things ; 
 Love, that the whole world's waters shall not drown, 
 The whole world's fiery forces not burn down j 
 Love, that what time his own hands guard his head 
 The whole world's wrath and strength shall not strike 
 
 dead • 
 Love, that if once his own hands make his grave 
 The whole world's pity and sorrow shall not save ; 
 Love, that for very life shall not be sold, 
 Nor bought nor bound with iron nor with gold ; 
 So strong that heaven, could love bid heaven farewell, 
 Would turn to fruitless and unnowering hell ; 
 So sweet that hell, to hell could love be given, 
 Would turn to splendid and sonorous heaven ; 
 Love that is fire within thee and light above, 
 And lives by grace of nothing but of love j 
 Through many and lovely thoughts and much desire 
 Led these twain to the life of tears and fire ; 
 Through many and lovely days and much delight 
 Led these twain to the lifeless life of night. 
 
 Yea, but what then ? albeit all this were thus, 
 And soul smote soul and left it ruinous, 
 
TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. j 
 
 And love led love as eyeless men lead men, 
 Through chance by chance to deathward — Ah, what 
 
 then? 
 Hath love not likewise led them further yet, 
 Out through the years where memories rise and set, 
 Some large as suns, some moon-like warm and pale, 
 Some starry-sighted, some through clouds that sail 
 Seen as red flame through spectral float of fume, 
 Each with the blush of its own special bloom 
 On the fair face of its own coloured light, 
 Distinguishable in all the host of night, 
 Divisible from all the radiant rest 
 And separable in splendour ? Hath the best 
 Light of love's all, of all that burn and move, 
 A better heaven than heaven is ? Hath not love 
 Made for all these their sweet particular air 
 To shine in, their own beams and names to bear, 
 Their ways to wander and their wards to keep, 
 Till story and song and glory and all things sleep ? 
 Hath he not plucked from death of lovers dead 
 Their musical soft memories, and kept red 
 The rose of their remembrance in men's eyes, 
 The sunsets of their stories in his skies, 
 The blush of their dead blood in lips that speak 
 Of their dead lives, and in the listener's cheek 
 That trembles with the kindling pity lit 
 In gracious hearts for some sweet fever-fit, 
 A fiery pity enkindled of pure thought 
 By tales that make their honey out of nought, 
 
6 TRISTRAM OF LYON ESSE. 
 
 The faithless faith that lives without belief 
 
 Its light life through, the griefless ghost of grief ? 
 
 Yea, as warm night refashions the sere blood 
 
 In storm-struck petal or in sun-struck bud, 
 
 With tender hours and tempering dew to cure 
 
 The hunger and thirst of day's distemperature 
 
 And ravin of the dry discolouring hours, 
 
 Hath he not bid relume their fiameless flowers 
 
 With summer fire and heat of lamping song, 
 
 And bid the short-lived things, long dead, live long, 
 
 And thought remake their wan funereal fames, 
 
 And the sweet shining signs of women's names 
 
 That mark the months out and the weeks anew 
 
 He moves in changeless change of seasons through 
 
 To fill the days up of his dateless year 
 
 Flame from Queen Helen to Queen Guenevere ? 
 
 For first of all the sphery signs whereby 
 
 Love severs light from darkness, and most high, 
 
 In the white front of January there glows 
 
 The rose-red sign of Helen like a rose : 
 
 And gold-eyed as the shore-flower shelterless 
 
 Whereon the sharp-breathed sea blows bitterness, 
 
 A storm-star that the seafarers of love 
 
 Strain their wind-wearied eyes for glimpses of, 
 
 Shoots keen through February's grey frost and damp 
 
 The lamplike star of Hero for a lamp j 
 
 The star that Marlowe sang into our skies 
 
 With mouth of gold, and morning in his eyes ; 
 
 And in clear March across the rough blue sea 
 
 The signal sapphire of Alcyone 
 
TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. 7 
 
 Makes bright the blown brows of the wind-foot year ;, 
 
 And shining like a sunbeam-smitten tear 
 
 Full ere it fall, the fair next sign in sight 
 
 Burns opal-wise with April- coloured light 
 
 When air is quick with song and rain and flame, 
 
 My birth-month star that in love's heaven hath name 
 
 Iseult, a light of blossom and beam and shower, 
 
 My singing sign that makes the song-tree flower ; 
 
 Next like a pale and burning pearl beyond 
 
 The rose-white sphere of flower-named Rosamond 
 
 Signs the sweet head of May time ; and for June 
 
 Flares like an angered and storm-reddening moon 
 
 Her signal sphere, whose Carthaginian pyre 
 
 Shadowed her traitor's flying sail with fire \ 
 
 Next, glittering as the wine-bright jacinth-stone, 
 
 A star south-risen that first to music shone, 
 
 The keen girl-star of golden Juliet bears 
 
 Light northward to the month whose forehead wears 
 
 Her name for flower upon it, and his trees 
 
 Mix their deep English song with Veronese ; 
 
 And like an awful sovereign chrysolite 
 
 Burning, the supreme fire that blinds the night, 
 
 The hot gold head of Venus kissed by Mars, 
 
 A sun-flower among small sphered flowers of stars, 
 
 The light of Cleopatra fills and burns 
 
 The hollow of heaven whence ardent August yearns ; 
 
 And fixed and shining as the sister-shed 
 
 Sweet tears for Phaethon disorbed and dead, 
 
 The pale bright autumn's amber-coloured sphere, 
 
 That through September sees the saddening year 
 
8 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. 
 
 As love sees change through sorrow, hath to name 
 
 Francesca's ; and the star that watches flame 
 
 The embers of the harvest overgone 
 
 Is Thisbe's, slain of love in Babylon, 
 
 Set in the golden girdle of sweet signs 
 
 A blood-bright ruby ; last save one light shines 
 
 An eastern wonder of sphery chrysopras, 
 
 The star that made men mad, Angelica's ; 
 
 And latest named and lordliest, with a sound 
 
 Of swords and harps in heaven that ring it round, 
 
 Last love-light and last love-song of the year's, 
 
 Gleams like a glorious emerald Guenevere's. 
 
 These are the signs wherethrough the year sees move, 
 
 Full of the sun, the sun-god which is love, 
 
 A fiery body blood-red from the heart 
 
 Outward, with fire -white wings made wide apart, 
 
 That close not and unclose not, but upright 
 
 Steered without wind by their own light and might 
 
 Sweep through the flameless fire of air that rings 
 
 From heaven to heaven with thunder of wheels and 
 
 wings 
 And antiphones of motion-moulded rhyme 
 Through spaces out of space and timeless time. 
 
 So shine above dead chance and conquered change 
 The sphered signs, and leave without their range 
 Doubt and desire, and hope with fear for wife, 
 Pale pains, and pleasures long worn out of life. 
 Yea, even the shadows of them spiritless, 
 Through the dim door of sleep that seem to press, 
 
TRISTRAM OF L YONESSE. 9 
 
 Forms without form, a piteous people and blind 
 
 Men and no men, whose lamentable kind 
 
 The shadow of death and shadow of life compel 
 
 Through semblances of heaven and false-faced hell, 
 
 Through dreams of light and dreams of darkness tost 
 
 On waves innavigable, are these so lost ? 
 
 Shapes that wax pale and shift in swift strange wise, 
 
 Void faces with unspeculative eyes, 
 
 Dim things that gaze and glare, dead mouths that 
 
 move, 
 Featureless heads discrowned of hate and love, 
 Mockeries and masks of motion and mute breath, 
 Leavings of life, the superflux of death — 
 If these things and no more than these things be 
 Left when man ends or changes, who can see ? 
 Or who can say with what more subtle sense 
 Their subtler natures taste in air less dense 
 A life less thick and palpable than ours, 
 Warmed with faint fires and sweetened with dead 
 
 flowers 
 And measured by low music ? how time fares 
 In that wan time-forgotten world of theirs, 
 Their pale poor world too deep for sun or star 
 To live in, where the eyes of Helen are, 
 And hers who made as God's own eyes to shine 
 The eyes that met them of the Florentine, 
 Wherein the godhead thence transfigured lit 
 All time for all men with the shadow of it ? 
 Ah, and these too felt on them as God's grace 
 The pity and glory of this man's breathing face ; 
 
io TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. 
 
 For these too, these my lovers, these my twain, 
 
 Saw Dante, saw God visible by pain, 
 
 With lips that thundered and with feet that trod 
 
 Before men's eyes incognisable God ; 
 
 Saw love and wrath and light and night and fire 
 
 Live with one life and at one mouth respire, 
 
 And in one golden sound their whole soul heard 
 
 Sounding, one sweet immitigable word. 
 
 They have the night, who had like us the day ; 
 We, whom day binds, shall have the night as they. 
 We, from the fetters of the light unbound, 
 Healed of our wound of living, shall sleep sound. 
 All gifts but one the jealous God may keep 
 From our soul's longing, one he cannot — sleep. 
 This, though he grudge all other grace to prayer, 
 This grace his closed hand cannot choose but spare. 
 This, though his ear be sealed to all that live, 
 Be it lightly given or lothly, God must give. 
 We, as the men whose name on earth is none, 
 We too shall surely pass out of the sun j 
 Out of the sound and eyeless light of things, 
 Wide as the stretch of life's time-wandering wings, 
 Wide as the naked world and shadowless, 
 And long-lived as the world's own weariness. 
 Us too, when all the fires of time are cold, 
 The heights shall hide us and the depths shall hold. 
 Us too, when all the tears of time are dry, 
 The night shall lighten from her tearless eye. 
 Blind is the day and eyeless all its light, 
 But the large unbewildered eye of night 
 
TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. n 
 
 Hath sense and speculation ; and the sheer 
 Limitless length of lifeless life and clear, 
 The timeless space wherein the brief worlds move 
 Clothed with light life and fruitful with light love, 
 With hopes that threaten, and with fears that cease, 
 Past fear and hope, hath in it only peace. 
 
 Yet of these lives inlaid with hopes and fears, 
 Spun fine as fire and jewelled thick with tears, 
 These lives made out of loves that long since were, 
 Lives wrought as ours of earth and burning air, 
 Fugitive flame, and water of secret springs, 
 And clothed with joys and sorrows as with wings, 
 Some yet are good, if aught be good, to save 
 Some while from washing wreck and wrecking wave. 
 Was such not theirs, the twain I take, and give 
 Out of my life to make their dead life live 
 Some days of mine, and blow my living breath 
 Between dead lips forgotten even of death ? 
 So many and many of old have given my twain 
 Love and live song and honey-hearted pain, 
 Whose root is sweetness and whose fruit is sweet, 
 So many and with such joy have tracked their feet, 
 What should I do to follow ? yet I too, 
 I have the heart to follow, many or few 
 Be the feet gone before me ; for the way, 
 Rose-red with remnant roses of the day 
 Westward, and eastward white with stars that break, 
 Between the green and foam is fair to take 
 For any sail the sea-wind steers for me 
 From morning into morning, sea to sea. 
 
I. 
 
 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 About the middle music of the spring 
 
 Came from the castled shore of Ireland's king 
 
 A fair ship stoutly sailing, eastward bound 
 
 And south by Wales and all its wonders round 
 
 To the loud rocks and ringing reaches home 
 
 That take the wild wrath of the Cornish foam, 
 
 Past Lyonesse unswallowed of the tides 
 
 And high Carlion that now the steep sea hides 
 
 To the wind-hollowed heights and gusty bays 
 
 Of sheer Tintagel, fair with famous days. 
 
 Above the stem a gilded swallow shone, 
 
 Wrought with straight wings and eyes of glittering 
 
 stone 
 As flying sunward oversea, to bear 
 Green summer with it through the singing air. 
 And on the deck between the rowers at dawn, 
 As the bright sail with brightening wind was drawn, 
 Sat with full face against the strengthening light 
 Iseult, more fair than foam or dawn was white. 
 
i 4 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Her gaze was glad past love's own singing of, 
 
 And her face lovely past desire of love.| 
 
 Past thought and speech her maiden motions were, 
 
 And a more golden sunrise was her hair. 
 
 The very veil of her bright flesh was made 
 
 As of light woven and moonbeam-coloured shade 
 
 More fine than moonbeams ; white her eyelids shone 
 
 As snow sun-stricken that endures the sun, 
 
 And through their curled and coloured clouds of deep 
 
 Luminous lashes thick as dreams in sleep 
 
 Shone as the sea's depth swallowing up the sky's 
 
 The springs of unimaginable eyes. 
 
 As the wave's subtler emerald is pierced through 
 
 With the utmost heaven's inextricable blue, 
 
 And both are woven and molten in one sleight 
 
 Of amorous colour and implicated light 
 
 Under the golden guard and gaze of noon, 
 
 So glowed their awless amorous plenilune, 
 
 Azure and gold and ardent grey, made strange 
 
 With fiery difference and deep interchange 
 
 Inexplicable of glories multiform ; 
 
 Now as the sullen sapphire swells toward storm 
 
 Foamless, their bitter beauty grew acold, 
 
 And now afire with ardour of fine gold. 
 
 Her flower-soft lips were meek and passionate, 
 
 For love upon them like a shadow sate 
 
 Patient, a foreseen vision of sweet things, 
 
 A dream with eyes fast shut and plumeless wings 
 
 That knew not what man's love or life should be, 
 
 Nor had it sight nor heart to hope or see 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 15 
 
 What thing should come, but childlike satisfied 
 
 Watched out its virgin vigil in soft pride 
 
 And unkissed expectation ; and the glad 
 
 Clear cheeks and throat and tender temples had 
 
 Such maiden heat as if a rose's blood 
 
 Beat in the live heart of a lily-bud. 
 
 Between the small round breasts a white way led 
 
 Heavenward, and from slight foot to slender head 
 
 The whole fair body flower-like swayed and shone 
 
 Moving, and what her light hand leant upon 
 
 Grew blossom-scented : her warm arms began 
 
 To round and ripen for delight of man 
 
 That they should clasp and circle : her fresh hands, 
 
 Like regent lilies of reflowering lands 
 
 Whose vassal firstlings, crown and star and plume, 
 
 Bow down to the empire of that sovereign bloom, 
 
 Shone sceptreless, and from her face there went 
 
 A silent light as of a God content ; 
 
 Save when, more swift and keen than love or shame, 
 
 Some flash of blood, light as the laugh of flame, 
 
 Broke it with sudden beam and shining speech, 
 
 As dream by dream shot through her eyes, and each 
 
 Outshone the last that lightened, and not one 
 
 Showed her such things as should be borne and done. 
 
 Though hard against her shone the sunlike face 
 
 That in all change and wreck of time and place 
 
 Should be the star of her sweet living soul. 
 
 Nor had love made it as his written scroll 
 
 For evil will and good to read in yet ; 
 
 But smooth and mighty, without scar or fret, 
 
i6 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Fresh and high-lifted was the helmless brow 
 
 As the oak-tree flower that tops the topmost bough, 
 
 Ere it drop off before the perfect leaf ; 
 
 And nothing save his name he had of grief, 
 
 The name his mother, dying as he was born, 
 
 Made out of sorrow in very sorrow's scorn, 
 
 And set it on him smiling in her sight, 
 
 Tristram j who now, clothed with sweet youth and 
 
 might, 
 As a glad witness wore that bitter name, 
 The second symbol of the world for fame. 
 Famous and full of fortune was his youth 
 Ere the beard's bloom had left his cheek unsmooth, 
 And in his face a lordship of strong joy 
 And height of heart no chance could curb or cloy 
 Lightened, and all that warmed them at his eyes 
 Loved them as larks that kindle as they rise 
 Toward light they turn to music love the blue strong 
 
 skies. 
 So like the morning through the morning moved 
 Tristram, a light to look on and be loved. 
 Song sprang between his lips and hands, and shone 
 Singing, and strengthened and sank down thereon 
 As a bird settles to the second flight, 
 Then from beneath his harping hands with might 
 Leapt, and made way and had its fill and died, 
 And all whose hearts were fed upon it sighed 
 Silent, and in them all the fire of tears 
 Burned as wine drunken not with lips but ears. 
 And gazing on his fervent hands that made 
 The might of music all their souls obeyed 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 17 
 
 With trembling strong subservience of delight, 
 Full many a maid that had him once in sight 
 Thought in the secret rapture of her heart 
 In how dark onset had these hands borne part 
 How oft, and were so young and sweet of skill ; 
 And those red lips whereon the song burned still, 
 What words and cries of battle had they flung 
 Athwart the swing and shriek of swords, so young ; 
 And eyes as glad as summer, what strange youth 
 Fed them so full of happy heart and truth, 
 That had seen sway from side to sundering side 
 The steel flow of that terrible springtide 
 That the moon rules not, but the fire and light 
 Of men's hearts mixed in the mid mirth of fight. 
 Therefore the joy and love of him they had 
 Made thought more amorous in them and more glad 
 For his fame's sake remembered, and his youth 
 Gave his fame flowerlike fragrance and soft growth 
 As of a rose requickening, when he stood 
 Fair in their eye, a flower of faultless blood. 
 And that sad queen to whom his life was death, 
 A rose plucked forth of summer in mid breath, 
 A star fall'n out of season in mid throe 
 Of that life's joy that makes the star's life glow, 
 Made their love sadder toward him and more strong. 
 And in mid change of time and fight and song 
 Chance cast him westward on the low sweet strand 
 Where songs are sung of the old green Irish land, 
 And the sky loves it, and the sea loves best, 
 And as a bird is taken to man's breast 
 
1 8 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 The sweet-souled land where sorrow sweetest sings 
 
 Is wrapt round with them as with hands and wings 
 
 And taken to the sea's heart as a flower. 
 
 There in the luck and light of his good hour 
 
 Came to the king's court like a noteless man 
 
 Tristram, and while some half a season ran 
 
 Abode before him harping in his hall, 
 
 And taught sweet craft of new things musical 
 
 To the dear maiden mouth and innocent hands 
 
 That for his sake are famous in all lands. 
 
 Yet was not love between them, for their fate 
 
 Lay wrapt in its appointed hour at wait, 
 
 And had no flower to show yet, and no sting. 
 
 But once being vexed with some past wound the king 
 
 Bade give him comfort of sweet baths, and then 
 
 Should Iseult watch him as his handmaiden, 
 
 For his more honour in men's sight, and ease 
 
 The hurts he had with holy remedies 
 
 Made by her mother's magic in strange hours 
 
 Out of live roots and life-compelling flowers. 
 
 And finding by the wound's shape in his side 
 
 This was the knight by whom their strength had died 
 
 And all their might in one man overthrown 
 
 Had left their shame in sight of all men shown, 
 
 She would have slain him swordless with his sword ; 
 
 Yet seemed he to her so great and fair a lord 
 
 She heaved up hand and smote not j then said he, 
 
 Laughing — ' What comfort shall this dead man be, 
 
 Damsel ? what hurt is for my blood to heal ? 
 
 But set your hand not near the toothed steel 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 19 
 
 Lest the fang strike it.' — 'Yea, the fang/ she said, 
 1 Should it not sting the very serpent dead 
 That stung mine uncle ? for his slayer art thou, 
 And half my mother's heart is bloodless now 
 Through thee, that mad'st the veins of all her kin 
 Bleed in his wounds whose veins through thee ran thin.' 
 Yet thought she how their hot chief's violent heart 
 Had flung the fierce word forth upon their part 
 Which bade to battle the best knight that stood 
 On Arthur's, and so dying of his wild mood 
 Had set upon his conqueror's flesh the seal 
 Of his mishallowed and anointed steel, 
 Whereof the venom and enchanted might 
 Made the sign burn here branded in her sight. 
 These things she stood recasting, and her soul 
 Subsiding till its wound of wrath were whole 
 Grew smooth again, as thought still softening stole 
 Through all its tempered passion j nor might hate 
 Keep high the fire against him lit of late ; 
 But softly from his smiling sight she passed. 
 And "peace thereafter made between them fast 
 Made peace between two kingdoms, when he went 
 Home with hands reconciled and heart content, 
 To bring fair truce 'twixt Cornwall's wild bright strand 
 And the long wrangling wars of that loud land. 
 And when full peace was struck betwixt them twain 
 Forth must he fare by those green straits again, 
 And bring back Iseult for a plighted bride 
 And set to reign at Mark his uncle's side, 
 c 2 
 
2o THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 So now with feast made and all triumphs done 
 
 They sailed between the moonfall and the sun 
 
 Under the spent stars eastward ; but the queen 
 
 Out of wise heart and subtle love had seen 
 
 Such things as might be, dark as in a glass, 
 
 And lest some doom of these should come to pass 
 
 Bethought her with her secret soul alone 
 
 To work some charm for marriage unison 
 
 And strike the heart of Iseult to her lord 
 
 With power compulsive more than stroke of sword. 
 
 Therefore with marvellous herbs and spells she 
 
 wrought 
 To win the very wonder of her thought, 
 And brewed it with her secret hands and blest 
 And drew and gave out of her secret breast 
 To one her chosen and Iseult's handmaiden, 
 Brangwain, and bade her hide from sight of men 
 This marvel covered in a golden cup, 
 So covering in her heart the counsel up 
 As in the gold the wondrous wine lay close ; 
 And when the last shout with the last cup rose 
 About the bride and bridegroom bound to bed, 
 Then should this one word of her will be said 
 To her new-married maiden child, that she 
 Should drink with Mark this draught in unity, 
 And no lip touch it for her sake but theirs : 
 For with long love and consecrating prayers 
 The wine was hallowed for their mouths to pledge ; 
 And if a drop fell from the beaker's edge 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 21 
 
 That drop should Iseult hold as dear as blood 
 Shed from her mother's heart to do her good. 
 And having drunk they twain should be one heart 
 Who were one flesh till fleshly death should part — 
 Death, who parts all. So Brangwain swore, and kept 
 The hid thing by her while she waked or slept. 
 And now they sat to see the sun again 
 Whose light of eye had looked on no such twain 
 Since Galahault in the rose-time of the year 
 Brought Launcelot first to sight of Guenevere. 
 
 And Tristram caught her changing eyes and said : 
 * As this day raises daylight from the dead 
 Might not this face the life of a dead man ? ' 
 
 And Iseult, gazing where the sea was wan 
 Out of the sun's way, said : ■ I pray you not 
 Praise me, but tell me there in Camelot, 
 Saving the queen, who hath most name of fair ? 
 I would I were a man and dwelling there, 
 That I might win me better praise than yours, 
 Even such as you have ; for your praise endures, 
 That with great deeds ye wring from mouths of men, 
 But ours— for shame, where is it ? Tell me then, 
 Since woman may not wear a better here, 
 Who of this praise hath most save Guenevere ? ' 
 
 And Tristram, lightening with a laugh held in — 
 1 Surely a little praise is this to win, 
 A poor praise and a little ! but of these 
 Hapless, whom love serves only with bowed knees. 
 Of such poor women fairer face hath none 
 That lifts her eyes alive against the sun 
 
22 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Than Arthur's sister, whom the north seas call 
 Mistress of isles ; so yet majestical 
 Above the crowns on younger heads she moves, 
 Outlightening with her eyes our late-born loves.' 
 
 ' Ah/ said Iseult, ' is she more tall than I ? 
 Look, I am tall ; ' and struck the mast hard by, 
 With utmost upward reach of her bright hand ; 
 ' And look, fair lord, now, when I rise and stand, 
 How high with feet unlifted I can touch 
 Standing straight up ; could this queen do thus much? 
 Nay, over tall she must be then, like me ; 
 Less fair than lesser women. May this be, 
 That still she stands the second stateliest there, 
 So more than many so much younger fair, 
 She, born when yet the king your lord was not, 
 And has the third knight after Launcelot 
 And after you to serve her ? nay, sir, then 
 God made her for a godlike sign to men.' 
 
 1 Ay,' Tristram answered, * for a sign, a sign — 
 Would God it were not ! for no planets shine 
 With half such fearful forecast of men's fate 
 As a fair face so more unfortunate.' 
 
 Then with a smile that lit not on her brows 
 But moved upon her red mouth tremulous 
 Light as a sea-bird's motion oversea, 
 * Yea,' quoth Iseult, ' the happier hap for me, 
 With no such face to bring men no such fate. 
 Yet her might all we women born too late 
 Praise for good hap, who so enskied above 
 Not more in age excels us than man's love.' 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 25 
 
 There came a glooming light on Tristram's face 
 Answering : ' God keep you better in his grace 
 Than to sit down beside her in men's sight. 
 For if men be not blind whom God gives light 
 And lie not in whose lips he bids truth live, 
 Great grief shall she be given, and greater give, 
 For Merlin witnessed of her years ago 
 That she should work woe and should suffer woe 
 Beyond the race of women : and in truth 
 Her face, a spell that knows nor age nor youth, 
 Like youth being soft, and subtler-eyed than age y 
 With lips that mock the doom her eyes presage, 
 Hath on it such a light of cloud and fire, 
 With charm and change of keen or dim desire, 
 And over all a fearless look of fear 
 Hung like a veil across its changing cheer, 
 Made up of fierce foreknowledge and sharp scorn, 
 That it were better she had not been born. 
 For not love's self can help a face which hath 
 Such insubmissive anguish of wan wrath, 
 Blind prescience and self-contemptuous hate 
 Of her own soul and heavy-footed fate, 
 Writ broad upon its beauty : none the less 
 Its fire of bright and burning bitterness 
 Takes with as quick a flame the sense of men 
 As any sunbeam, nor is quenched again 
 With any drop of dewfall ; yea, I think 
 No herb of force or blood-compelling drink 
 Would heal a heart that ever it made hot. 
 Ay, and men too that greatly love her not, 
 
24 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW, 
 
 Seeing the great love of her and Lamoracke, 
 Make no great marvel, nor look strangely back 
 When with his gaze about her she goes by 
 Pale as a breathless and star-quickening sky 
 Between moonrise and sunset, and moves out 
 Clothed with the passion of his eyes about 
 As night with all her stars, yet night is black ; 
 And she, clothed warm with love of Lamoracke, 
 Oirt with his worship as with girdling gold, 
 Seems all at heart anhungered and acold, 
 Seems sad at heart and loveless of the light, 
 As night, star-clothed or naked, is but night.' 
 
 And with her sweet eyes sunken, and the mirth 
 Dead in their look as earth lies dead in earth 
 That reigned on earth and triumphed, Iseult said : 
 4 Is it her shame of something done and dead 
 Or fear of something to be born and done 
 That so in her soul's eye puts out the sun ? ' 
 
 And Tristram answered : l Surely, as I think, 
 This gives her soul such bitterness to drink, 
 The sin born blind, the sightless sin unknown, 
 Wrought when the summer in her blood was blown, 
 But scarce aflower, and spring first flushed her will 
 With bloom of dreams no fruitage should fulfil, 
 When out of vision and desire was wrought 
 The sudden sin that from the living thought 
 Leaps a live deed and dies not : then there came 
 On that blind sin swift eyesight like a flame 
 Touching the dark to death, and made her mad 
 With helpless knowledge that too late forbade 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 25 
 
 What was before the bidding ; and she knew 
 How sore a life dead love should lead her through 
 To what sure end how fearful j and though yet 
 Nor with her blood nor tears her way be wet 
 And she look bravely with set face on fate, 
 Yet she knows well the serpent hour at wait 
 Somewhere to sting and spare not ; ay, and he, 
 
 Arthur ' 
 
 * The king,' quoth Iseult suddenly, 
 i Doth the king too live so in sight of fear ? 
 They say sin touches not a man so near 
 As shame a woman ; yet he too should be 
 Part of the penance, being more deep than she 
 Set in the sin.' 
 
 1 Nay,' Tristram said, ' for thus 
 It fell by wicked hap and hazardous, 
 That wittingly he sinned no more than youth 
 May sin and be assoiled of God and truth, 
 Repenting ; since in his first year of reign 
 As he stood splendid with his foemen slain 
 And light of new-blown battles, flushed and hot 
 With hope and life, came greeting from King Lot 
 Out of his wind-worn islands oversea, 
 And homage to my king and fealty 
 Of those north seas wherein the strange shapes swim, 
 As from his man ; and Arthur greeted him 
 As his good lord and courteously, and bade 
 To his high feast ; who coming with him had 
 This Queen Morgause of Orkney, his fair wife, 
 In the green middle Maytime of her life, 
 
26 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 And scarce in April was our king's as then, 
 And goodliest was he of all flowering men, 
 And of what graft as yet himself knew not ; 
 But cold as rains in autumn was King Lot 
 And grey-grown out of season : so there sprang 
 Swift love between them, and all spring through sang 
 Light in their joyous hearing j for none knew 
 The bitter bond of blood between them two, 
 Twain fathers but one mother, till too late 
 The sacred mouth of Merlin set forth fate 
 And brake the secret seal on Arthur's birth, 
 And showed his ruin and his rule on earth 
 Inextricable, and light on lives to be. 
 For surely, though time slay us, yet shall we 
 Have such high name and lordship of good days 
 As shall sustain us living, and men's praise 
 Shall burn a beacon lit above us dead. 
 And of the king how shall not this be said 
 When any of us from any mouth has praise, 
 That such were men in only this king's days, 
 In Arthur's ? yea, come shine or shade, no less 
 His name shall be one name with knightliness, 
 His fame one light with sunlight. Yet in sooth 
 His age shall bear the burdens of his youth 
 And bleed from his own bloodshed ; for indeed 
 Blind to him blind his sister brought forth seed, 
 And of the child between them shall be born 
 Destruction : so shall God not suffer scorn, 
 Nor in men's souls and lives his law lie dead.' 
 And as one moved and marvelling Iseult said : 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 27 
 
 1 Great pity it is and strange it seems to me 
 God could not do them so much right as we, 
 Who slay not men for witless evil done ; 
 And these the noblest under God's glad sun 
 For sin they knew not he that knew shall slay, 
 And smite blind men for stumbling in fair day. 
 What good is it to God that such should die ? 
 Shall the sun's light grow sunnier in the sky 
 Because their light of spirit is clean put out ? ' 
 
 And sighing, she looked from wave to cloud about, 
 And even with that the full-grown feet of day 
 Sprang upright on the quivering water-way, 
 And his face burned against her meeting face 
 Most like a lover's thrilled with great love's grace 
 Whose glance takes fire and gives ; the quick sea 
 
 shone 
 And shivered like spread wings of angels blown 
 By the sun's breath before him ; and a low 
 Sweet gale shook all the foam-flowers of thin snow 
 As into rainfall of sea-roses shed 
 Leaf by wild leaf on that green garden-bed 
 Which tempests till and sea-winds turn and plough : 
 For rosy and fiery round the running prow 
 Fluttered the flakes and feathers of the spray, 
 And bloomed like blossoms cast by God away 
 To waste on the ardent water ; swift the moon 
 Withered to westward as a face in swoon 
 Death- stricken by glad tidings : and the height 
 Throbbed and the centre quivered with delight 
 
28 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 And the depth quailed with passion as of love, 
 Till like the heart of some new-mated dove 
 Air, light, and wave seemed full of burning rest, 
 With motion as of one God's beating breast. 
 
 And her heart sprang in Iseult, and she drew 
 With all her spirit and life the sunrise through, 
 And through her lips the keen triumphant air 
 Sea-scented, sweeter than land-roses were, 
 And through her eyes the whole rejoicing east 
 Sun-satisfied, and all the heaven at feast 
 Spread for the morning ; and the imperious mirth 
 Of wind and light that moved upon the earth, 
 Making the spring, and all the fruitful might 
 And strong regeneration of delight 
 That swells the seedling leaf and sapling man, 
 Since the first life in the first world began 
 To burn and burgeon through void limbs and veins, 
 And the first love with sharp sweet procreant pains 
 To pierce and bring forth roses ; yea, she felt 
 Through her own soul the sovereign morning melt, 
 And all the sacred passion of the sun ; 
 And as the young clouds flamed and were undone 
 About him coming, touched and burnt away 
 In rosy ruin and yellow spoil of day, 
 The sweet veil of her body and corporal sense 
 Felt the dawn also cleave it, and incense 
 With light from inward and with effluent heat 
 The kindling soul through fleshly hands and feet. 
 And as the august great blossom of the dawn 
 Burst, and the full sun scarce from sea withdrawn 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 29 
 
 Seemed on the fiery water a flower afloat, 
 So as a fire the mighty morning smote 
 Throughout her, and incensed with the influent hour 
 Her whole soul's one great mystical red flower 
 Burst, and the bud of her sweet spirit broke 
 Rose-fashion, and the strong spring at a stroke 
 Thrilled, and was cloven, and from the full sheath 
 
 came 
 The whole rose of the woman red as flame : 
 And all her Mayday blood as from a swoon 
 Flushed, and May rose up in her and was June. 
 So for a space her heart as heavenward burned : 
 Then with half summer in her eyes she turned, 
 And on her lips was April yet, and smiled, 
 As though the spirit and sense unreconciled 
 Shrank laughing back, and would not ere its hour 
 Let life put forth the irrevocable flower. 
 
 And the soft speech between them grew again 
 With questionings and records of what men 
 Rose mightiest, and what names for love or fight 
 Shone starriest overhead of queen or knight. 
 There Tristram spake of many a noble thing, 
 High feast and storm of tournay round the king, 
 Strange quest by perilous lands of marsh and brake 
 And circling woods branch-knotted like a snake 
 And places pale with sins that they had seen 
 Where was no life of red fruit or of green 
 But all was as a dead face wan and dun ; 
 And bowers of evil builders whence the sun 
 
3 o THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Turns silent, and the moon holds hardly light 
 Above them through the sick and star-crossed night ; 
 And of their hands through whom such holds lay 
 
 waste, 
 And all their strengths dishevelled and defaced 
 Fell ruinous, and were not from north to south : 
 And of the might of Merlin's ancient mouth, 
 The son of no man's loins, begot by doom 
 In speechless sleep out of a spotless womb ; 
 For sleeping among graves where none had rest 
 And ominous houses of dead bones unblest 
 Among the grey grass rough as old rent hair 
 And wicked herbage whitening like despair 
 And blown upon with blasts of dolorous breath 
 From gaunt rare gaps and hollow doors of death, 
 A maid unspotted, senseless of the spell, 
 Felt not about her breathe some thing of hell 
 Whose child and hers was Merlin ; and to him 
 Great light from God gave sight of all things dim 
 And wisdom of all wondrous things, to say 
 What root should bear what fruit of night or day, 
 And sovereign speech and counsel higher than man ; 
 Wherefore his youth like age was wise and wan, 
 And his age sorrowful and fain to sleep ; 
 Yet should sleep never, neither laugh nor weep, 
 Till in some depth of deep sweet land or sea 
 The heavenly hands of holier Nimue, 
 That was the nurse of Launcelot, and most sweet 
 Of all that move with magical soft feet 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 31 
 
 Among us, being of lovelier blood and breath, 
 
 Should shut him in with sleep as kind as death : 
 
 For she could pass between the quick and dead : 
 
 And of her love toward Pelleas, for whose head 
 
 Love-wounded and world-wearied she had won 
 
 A place beyond all pain in Avalon ; 
 
 And of the fire that wasted afterward 
 
 The loveless eyes and bosom of Ettarde, 
 
 In whose false love his faultless heart had burned ; 
 
 And now being rapt from her, her lost heart yearned 
 
 To seek him, and passed hungering out of life : 
 
 And after all the thunder-hours of strife 
 
 That roared between King Claudas and King Ban 
 
 How Nimue's mighty nursling waxed to man, 
 
 And how from his first field such grace he got 
 
 That all men's hearts bowed bown to Launcelot, 
 
 And how the high prince Galahault held him dear 
 
 And led him even to love of Guenevere 
 
 And to that kiss which made break forth as fire 
 
 The laugh that was the flower of his desire, 
 
 The laugh that lightened at her lips for bliss 
 
 To win from Love so great a lover's kiss : 
 
 And of the toil of Balen all his days 
 
 To reap but thorns for fruit and tears for praise, 
 
 Whose hap was evil as his heart was good, 
 
 And all his works and ways by wold and wood 
 
 Led through much pain to one last labouring day 
 
 When blood for tears washed grief with life away: 
 
 And of the kin of Arthur, and their might ; 
 
 The misborn head of Mordred, sad as night, 
 
32 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 With cold waste cheeks and eyes as keen as pain, 
 And the close angry lips of Agravaine ; 
 And gracious Gawain, scattering words as flowers, 
 The kindliest head of worldly paramours ; 
 And the fair hand of Gareth, found in fight 
 Strong as a sea-beast's tushes and as white ; 
 And of the king's self, glorious yet and glad 
 For all the toil and doubt of doom he had, 
 Clothed with men's loves and full of kingly days. 
 
 Then Iseult said : ' Let each knight have his praise 
 And each good man good witness of his worth ; 
 But when men laud the second name on earth, 
 Whom would they praise to have no worldly peer 
 Save him whose love makes glorious Guenevere ? ' 
 
 'Nay/ Tristram said, 'such man as he is none.' 
 
 • What,' said she, ' there is none such under sun 
 Of all the large earth's living ? yet I deemed 
 Men spake of one — but maybe men that dreamed, 
 Fools and tongue-stricken, witless, babbler's breed — 
 That for all high things was his peer indeed 
 
 Save this one highest, to be so loved and love.' 
 And Tristram : ' Little wit had these thereof ; 
 For there is none such in the world as this/ 
 
 * Ay, upon land,' quoth Iseult, ' none such is, 
 I doubt not, nor where fighting folk may be ; 
 But were there none such between sky and sea, 
 The world's whole worth were poorer than I wist.' 
 
 And Tristram took her flower- white hand and kissed, 
 Laughing ; and through his fair face as in shame 
 The light blood lightened. ' Hear they no such name ? * 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 33 
 
 She said ; and he, ' If there be such a word, 
 I wot the queen's poor harper hath not heard.' 
 Then, as the fuller-feathered hours grew long, 
 He holp to speed their warm slow feet with song. 
 
 1 Love, is it morning risen or night deceased 
 That makes the mirth of this triumphant east ? 
 
 Is it bliss given or bitterness put by 
 That makes most glad men's hearts at love's high feast ? 
 
 Grief smiles, joy weeps, that day should live and die. 
 
 * Is it with soul's thirst or with body's drouth 
 That summer yearns out sunward to the south, 
 
 With all the flowers that when thy birth drew nigh 
 Were molten in one rose to make thy mouth ? 
 
 O love, what care though day should live and die ? 
 
 1 Is the sun glad of all the love on earth, 
 The spirit and sense and work of things and worth ? 
 
 Is the moon sad because the month must fly 
 And bring her death that can but bring back birth ? 
 For all these things as day must live and die. 
 
 * Love, is it day that makes thee thy delight 
 Or thou that seest day made out of thy light ? 
 
 Love, as the sun and sea are thou and I, 
 Sea without sun dark, sun without sea bright ; 
 The sun is one though day should live and die. 
 
 ' O which is elder, night or light, who knows ? 
 And life or love, which first of these twain grows ? 
 
 For life is born of love to wail and cry, 
 And love is born of life to heal his woes, 
 
 And light of night, that day should live and die. 
 
 * O sun of heaven above the worldly sea, 
 O very love, what light is this of thee ! 
 
 My sea of soul is deep as thou art high, 
 But all thy light is shed through all of me, 
 
 As love's through love, while day shall live and die.' 
 D 
 
34 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 'Nay,' said Iseult, 'your song is hard to read.' 
 
 ' Ay ? ' said he : ' or too light a song to heed, 
 Too slight to follow, it may be ? Who shall sing 
 Of love but as a churl before a king 
 If by love's worth men rate his worthiness ? 
 Yet as the poor churl's worth to sing is less, 
 Surely the more shall be the great king's grace 
 To show for churlish love a kindlier face.' 
 
 1 No churl,' she said, ' but one in soothsayer's wise 
 Who tells but truths that help no more than lies. 
 I have heard men sing of love a simpler way 
 Than these wrought riddles made of night and day, 
 Like jewelled reins whereon the rhyme-bells hang.' 
 
 And Tristram smiled and changed his song and sang. 
 
 * The breath between my lips of lips not mine, 
 Like spirit in sense that makes pure sense divine, 
 
 Is as life in them from the living sky 
 That entering fills my heart with blood of thine 
 And thee with me, while day shall live and die. 
 
 ' Thy soul is shed into me with thy breath, 
 And in my heart each heartbeat of thee saith 
 
 How in thy life the lifesprings of me lie, 
 Even one life to be gathered of one death 
 
 In me and thee, though day may live and die. 
 
 * Ah, who knows now if in my veins it be 
 
 My blood that feels life sweet, or blood of thee, 
 And this thine eyesight kindled in mine eye 
 
 That shows me in thy flesh the soul of me, 
 
 For thine made mine, while day may live and die ? 
 
 * Ah, who knows yet if one be twain or one, 
 And sunlight separable again from sun, 
 
 And I from thee with all my lifesprings dry, 
 And thou from me with all thine heartbeats done, 
 Dead separate souls while day shall live and die ? 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 35 
 
 * I see my soul within thine eyes, and hear 
 
 My spirit in all thy pulses thrill with fear, 
 
 ' And in my lips the passion of thee sigh, 
 
 And music of me made in mine own ear ; 
 
 Am I not thou while day shall live and die ? 
 
 ' Art thou not I as I thy love am thou ? 
 So let all things pass from us ; we are now, 
 
 For all that was and will be, who knows why ? 
 And all that is and is not, who knows how ? 
 
 Who knows? God knows why day should live and die.' 
 
 And Iseult mused and spake no word, but sought 
 Through all the hushed ways of her tongueless though 
 What face or covered likeness of a face 
 In what veiled hour or dream-determined place 
 She seeing might take for love's face, and believe 
 This was the spirit to whom all spirits cleave. 
 For that sweet wonder of the twain made one 
 And each one twain, incorporate sun with sun, 
 Star with star molten, soul with soul imbued, 
 And all the soul's works, all their multitude, 
 Made one thought and one vision and one song, 
 Love— this thing, this, laid hand on her so strong 
 She could not choose but yearn till she should see. 
 So went she musing down her thoughts ; but he, 
 Sweet-hearted as a bird that takes the sun 
 With clear strong eyes, and feels the glad god run 
 Bright through his blood and wide rejoicing wings, 
 And opens all himself to heaven and sings, 
 Made her mind light and full of noble mirth 
 With words and songs the gladdest grown on earth, 
 
36 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Till she was blithe and high of heart as he. 
 
 So swam the Swallow through the springing sea. 
 
 And while they sat at speech as at a feast, 
 Came a light wind fast hardening forth of the east 
 And blackening till its might had marred the skies ; 
 And the sea thrilled as with heart-sundering sighs 
 One after one drawn, with each breath it drew, 
 And the green hardened into iron blue, 
 And the soft light went out of all its face. 
 Then Tristram girt him for an oarsman's place 
 And took his oar and smote, and toiled with might 
 In the east wind's full face and the strong sea's spite 
 Labouring ; and all the rowers rowed hard, but he 
 More mightily than any wearier three. 
 And Iseult watched him rowing with sinless eyes 
 That loved him but in holy girlish wise 
 For noble joy in his fair manliness 
 And trust and tender wonder j none the less 
 She thought if God had given her grace to be 
 Man, and make war on danger of earth and sea, 
 Even such a man she would be ; for his stroke 
 Was mightiest as the mightier water broke, 
 And in sheer measure like strong music drave 
 Clean through the wet weight of the wallowing wave, 
 And as a tune before a great king played 
 For triumph was the tune their strong strokes made, 
 And sped the ship through with smooth strife of oars 
 Over the mid sea's grey foam-paven floors, 
 For all the loud breach of the waves at will. 
 So for an hour they fought the storm out still, 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 37 
 
 And the shorn foam spun from the blades, and high 
 
 The keel sprang from the wave-ridge, and the sky 
 
 Glared at them for a breath's space through the rain ; 
 
 Then the bows with a sharp shock plunged again 
 
 Down, and the sea clashed on them, and so rose 
 
 The bright stem like one panting from swift blows, 
 
 And as a swimmer's joyous beaten head 
 
 Rears itself laughing, so in that sharp stead 
 
 The light ship lifted her long quivering bows 
 
 As might the man his buffeted strong brows 
 
 Out of the wave-breach j for with one stroke yet 
 
 Went all men's oars together, strongly set 
 
 As to loud music, and with hearts uplift 
 
 They smote their strong way through the drench and 
 
 drift. 
 Till the keen hour had chafed itself to death 
 And the east wind fell fitfully, breath by breath, 
 Tired j and across the thin and slackening rain 
 Sprang the face southward of the sun again. 
 Then all they rested and were eased at heart ; 
 And Iseult rose up where she sat apart, 
 And with her sweet soul deepening her deep eyes 
 Cast the furs from her and subtle embroideries 
 That wrapped her from the storming rain and spray, 
 And shining like all April in one day, 
 Hair, face, and throat dashed with the straying 
 
 showers, 
 She stood the first of all the whole world's flowers, 
 And laughed on Tristram with her eyes, and said, 
 ' I too have heart then, I was not afraid.' 
 
38 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 And answering some light courteous word of grace 
 He saw her clear face lighten on his face 
 Unwittingly, with unenamoured eyes, 
 For the last time. A live man in such wise 
 Looks in the deadly face of his fixed hour 
 And laughs with lips wherein he hath no power 
 To keep the life yet some five minutes' space. 
 So Tristram looked on Iseult face to face 
 And knew not, and she knew not. The last time — 
 The last that should be told in any rhyme 
 Heard anywhere on mouths of singing men 
 That ever should sing praise of them again ; 
 The last hour of their hurtless hearts at rest, 
 The last that peace should touch them breast to 
 
 breast, 
 The last that sorrow far from them should sit, 
 This last was with them, and they knew not it. 
 
 For Tristram being athirst with toil now spake, 
 Saying, ' Iseult, for all dear love's labour's sake 
 Give me to drink, and give me for a pledge 
 The touch of four lips on the beaker's edge.' 
 And Iseult sought and would not wake Brangwain 
 Who slept as one half dead with fear and pain, 
 Being tender-natured j so with hushed light feet 
 Went Iseult round her, with soft looks and sweet 
 Pitying her pain j so sweet a spirited thing 
 She was, and daughter of a kindly king. 
 And spying what strange bright secret charge was 
 
 kept 
 Fast in that maid's white bosom while she slept, 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 39 
 
 She sought and drew the gold cup forth and smiled 
 Marvelling, with such light wonder as a child 
 That hears of glad sad life in magic lands ; 
 And bare it back to Tristram with pure hands 
 Holding the love -draught that should be for flame 
 To burn out of them fear and faith and shame, 
 And lighten all their life up in men's sight, 
 And make them sad for ever. Then the knight 
 Bowed toward her and craved whence had she this 
 
 strange thing 
 That might be spoil of some dim Asian king, 
 By starlight stolen from some waste place of sands, 
 And a maid bore it here in harmless hands. 
 And Iseult, laughing — ' Other lords that be 
 Feast, and their men feast after them j but we, 
 Our men must keep the best wine back to feast 
 Till they be full and we of all men least 
 Feed after them and fain to fare so well : 
 So with mine handmaid and your squire it fell 
 That hid this bright thing from us in a wile : ' 
 And with light lips yet full of their swift smile 
 And hands that wist not though they dug a grave, 
 Undid the hasps of gold, and drank, and gave, 
 And he drank after, a deep glad kingly draught : 
 And all their life changed in them, for they quaffed 
 Death ; if it be death so to drink, and fare 
 As men who change and are what these twain were. 
 And shuddering with eyes full of fear and fire 
 And heart-stung with a serpentine desire 
 
40 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 He turned and saw the terror in her eyes 
 That yearned upon him shining in such wise 
 As a star midway in the midnight fixed. 
 
 Their Galahault was the cup, and she that mixed ; 
 Nor other hand there needed, nor sweet speech 
 To lure their lips together ; each on each 
 Hung with strange eyes and hovered as a bird 
 Wounded, and each mouth trembled for a word ; 
 Their heads neared, and their hands were drawn in 
 
 one, 
 And they saw dark, though still the un sunken sun 
 Far through fine rain shot fire into the south ; 
 And their four lips became one burning mouth. 
 
4i 
 
 II 
 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 Out of the night arose the second day, 
 
 And saw the ship's bows break the shoreward spray. 
 
 As the sun's boat of gold and fire began 
 
 To sail the sea of heaven unsailed of man, 
 
 And the soft waves of sacred air to break 
 
 Round the prow launched into the morning's lake, 
 
 They saw the sign of their sea-travel done. 
 
 Ah, was not something seen of yester-sun, 
 When the sweet light that lightened all the skies 
 Saw nothing fairer than one maiden's eyes, 
 That whatsoever in all time's years may be 
 To-day's sun nor to-morrow's sun shall see ? 
 Not while she lives, not when she comes to die 
 Shall she look sunward with that sinless eye. 
 
 Yet fairer now than song may show them stand 
 Tristram and Iseult, hand in amorous hand, 
 Soul-satisfied, their eyes made great and bright 
 With all the love of all the livelong night ; 
 With all its hours yet singing in their ears 
 
42 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 No mortal music made of thoughts and tears, 
 But such a song, past conscience of man's thought, 
 As hearing he grows god and knows it not. 
 Nought else they saw nor heard but what the night 
 Had left for seal upon their sense and sight, 
 Sound of past pulses beating, fire of amorous light. 
 Enough, and overmuch, and never yet 
 Enough, though love still hungering feed and fret, 
 To fill the cup of night which dawn must overset. 
 For still their eyes were dimmer than with tears 
 And dizzier from diviner sounds their ears 
 Than though from choral thunders of the quiring 
 
 spheres. 
 They heard not how the landward waters rang, 
 Nor saw where high into the morning sprang, 
 Riven from the shore and bastioned with the sea, 
 Toward summits where the north wind's nest might be, 
 A wave-walled palace with its eastern gate 
 Full of the sunrise now and wide at wait, 
 And on the mighty-moulded stairs that clomb 
 Sheer from the fierce lip of the lapping foam 
 The knights of Mark that stood before the wall. 
 So with loud joy and storm of festival 
 They brought the bride in up the towery way 
 That rose against the rising front of day, 
 Stair based on stair, between the rocks unhewn, 
 To those strange halls wherethrough the tidal tune 
 Rang loud or lower from soft or strengthening sea, 
 Tower shouldering tower, to windward and to lee, 
 
THE QUEEJSTS PLEASANCE. 43 
 
 With change of floors and stories, flight on flight, 
 That clomb and curled up to the crowning height 
 Whence men might see wide east and west in one 
 And on one sea waned moon and mounting sun. 
 And severed from the sea-rock's base, where stand 
 Some worn walls yet, they saw the broken strand, 
 The beachless cliff that in the sheer sea dips, 
 The sleepless shore inexorable to ships, 
 And the straight causeway's bare gaunt spine between 
 The sea-spanned walls and naked mainland's green. 
 
 On the mid stairs, between the light and dark, 
 Before the main tower's portal stood King Mark, 
 Crowned : and his face was as the face of one 
 Long time athirst and hungering for the sun 
 In barren thrall of bitter bonds, who now 
 Thinks here to feel its blessing on his brow. 
 A swart lean man, but kinglike, still of guise, 
 With black streaked beard and cold unquiet eyes, 
 Close-mouthed, gaunt-cheeked, wan as a morning 
 
 moon, 
 Though hardly time on his worn hair had strewn 
 The thin first ashes from a sparing hand : 
 Yet little fire there burnt upon the brand, 
 And way-worn seemed he with life's wayfaring. 
 So between shade and sunlight stood the king, 
 And his face changed nor yearned not toward his bride ; 
 But fixed between mild hope and patient pride 
 Abode what gift of rare or lesser worth 
 This day might bring to all his days on earth. 
 
44 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 But at the glory of her when she came 
 His heart endured not : very fear and shame 
 Smote him, to take her by the hand and kiss, 
 Till both were molten in the burning bliss, 
 And with a thin flame flushing his cold face 
 He led her silent to the bridal place. 
 There were they wed and hallowed of the priest ; 
 And all the loud time of the marriage feast 
 One thought within three hearts was as a fire, 
 Where craft and faith took counsel with desire. 
 For when the feast had made a glorious end 
 They gave the new queen for her maids to tend 
 At dawn of bride-night, and thereafter bring 
 With marriage music to the bridegroom king. 
 Then by device of craft between them laid 
 To him went Brangwain delicately, and prayed 
 That this thing even for love's sake might not be, 
 But without sound or light or eye to see 
 She might come in to bride-bed : and he laughed, 
 As one that wist not well of wise love's craft, 
 And bade all bridal things be as she would. 
 Yet of his gentleness he gat not good ; 
 For clothed and covered with the nuptial dark 
 Soft like a bride came Brangwain to King Mark, 
 And to the queen came Tristram j and the night 
 Fled, and ere danger of detective light 
 From the king sleeping Brangwain slid away, 
 And where had lain her handmaid Iseult lay. 
 And the king waking saw beside his head 
 That face yet passion-coloured, amorous red 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 45 
 
 From lips not his, and all that strange hair shed 
 Across the tissued pillows, fold on fold, 
 Innumerable, incomparable, all gold, 
 To fire men's eyes with wonder, and with love 
 Men's hearts ; so shone its flowering crown above 
 The brows enwound with that imperial wreath, 
 And framed with fragrant radiance round the face 
 beneath. 
 
 And the king marvelled, seeing with sudden start 
 Her very glory, and said out of his heart ; 
 ' What have I done of good for God to bless 
 That all this he should give me, tress on tress, 
 All this great wealth and wondrous ? Was it this 
 That in mine arms I had all night to kiss, 
 And mix with me this beauty ? this that seems 
 More fair than heaven doth in some tired saint's 
 
 dreams, 
 Being part of that same heaven ? yea, more, for he, 
 Though loved of God so, yet but seems to see, 
 But to me sinful such great grace is given 
 That in mine hands I hold this part of heaven 
 Not to mine eyes lent merely. Doth God make 
 Such things so godlike for man's mortal sake ? 
 Have I not sinned, that in this fleshly life 
 Have made of her a mere man's very wife ? ' 
 
 So the king mused and murmured ; and she heard 
 The faint sound trembling of each breathless word 
 And laughed into the covering of her hair. 
 
 And many a day for many a month as fair 
 Slid over them like music ; and as bright 
 Burned with love's offerings many a secret night. 
 
46 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 And many a dawn to many a fiery noon 
 Blew prelude, when the horn's heart-kindling tune 
 Lit the live woods with sovereign sound of mirth 
 Before the mightiest huntsman hailed on earth 
 Lord of its lordliest pleasure, where he rode 
 Hard by her rein whose peerless presence glowed 
 Not as that white queen's of the virgin hunt 
 Once, whose crown-crescent braves the night-wind's 
 
 brunt, 
 But with the sun for frontlet of a queenlier front. 
 For where the flashing of her face was turned 
 As lightning was the fiery light that burned 
 From eyes and brows enkindled more with speed 
 And rapture of the rushing of her steed 
 Than once with only beauty j and her mouth 
 Was as a rose athirst that pants for drouth 
 Even while it laughs for pleasure of desire, 
 And all her heart was as a leaping fire. 
 Yet once more joy they took of woodland ways 
 Than came of all those flushed and fiery days 
 When the loud air was mad with life and sound, 
 Through many a dense green mile, of horn and hound 
 Before the king's hunt going along the wind, 
 And ere the timely leaves were changed or thinned, 
 Even in mid maze of summer. For the knight 
 Forth was once ridden toward some frontier fight 
 Against the lewd folk of the Christless lands 
 That warred with wild and intermittent hands 
 Against the king's north border ; and there came 
 A knight unchristened yet of unknown name, 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEAS ANCE. 47 
 
 Swart Palamede, upon a secret quest, 
 
 To high Tintagel, and abode as guest 
 
 In likeness of a minstrel with the king. 
 
 Nor was there man could sound so sweet a string, 
 
 Save Tristram only, of all held best on earth. 
 
 And one loud eve, being full of wine and mirth, 
 
 Ere sunset left the walls and waters dark, 
 
 To that strange minstrel strongly swore King Mark, 
 
 By all that makes a knight's faith firm and strong, 
 
 That he for guerdon of his harp and song 
 
 Might crave and have his liking. Straight there came 
 
 Up the swart cheek a flash of swarthier flame, 
 
 And the deep eyes fulfilled of glittering night 
 
 Laughed out in lightnings of triumphant light 
 
 As the grim harper spake : ' O king, I crave 
 
 No gift of man that king may give to slave, 
 
 But this thy crowned queen only, this thy wife, 
 
 Whom yet unseen I loved, and set my life 
 
 On this poor chance to compass, even as here, 
 
 Being fairer famed than all save Guenevere.' 
 
 Then as the noise of seaward storm that mocks 
 
 With roaring laughter from reverberate rocks 
 
 The cry from ships near shipwreck, harsh and high 
 
 Rose all the wrath and wonder in one cry 
 
 Through all the long roof's hollow depth and length 
 
 That hearts of strong men kindled in their strength 
 
 May speak in laughter lion-like, and cease, 
 
 Being wearied : only two men held their peace 
 
 And each glared hard on other : but King Mark 
 
 Spake first of these : ' Man, though thy craft be dark 
 
48 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 And thy mind evil that begat this thing, 
 
 Yet stands the word once plighted of a king 
 
 Fast : and albeit less evil it were for me 
 
 To give my life up than my wife, or be 
 
 A landless man crowned only with a curse, 
 
 Yet this in God's and all men's sight were worse, 
 
 To live soul-shamed, a man of broken troth, 
 
 Abhorred of men as I abhor mine oath 
 
 Which yet I may forswear not.' And he bowed 
 
 His head, and wept : and all men wept aloud, 
 
 Save one, that heard him weeping : but the queen 
 
 Wept not : and statelier yet than eyes had seen 
 
 That ever looked upon her queenly state 
 
 She rose, and in her eyes her heart was great 
 
 And full of wrath seen manifest and scorn 
 
 More strong than anguish to go thence forlorn 
 
 Of all men's comfort and her natural right. 
 
 And they went forth into the dawn of night. 
 
 Long by wild ways and clouded light they rode, 
 
 Silent ; and fear less keen at heart abode 
 
 With Iseult than with Palamede : for awe 
 
 Constrained him, and the might of love's high law, 
 
 That can make lewd men loyal j and his heart 
 
 Yearned on her, if perchance with amorous art 
 
 And soothfast skill of very love he might 
 
 For courtesy find favour in her sight 
 
 And comfort of her mercies : for he wist 
 
 More grace might come of that sweet mouth unkissed 
 
 Than joy for violence done it, that should make 
 
 His name abhorred for shame's disloyal sake. 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 49 
 
 And in the stormy starlight clouds were thinned 
 And thickened by short gusts of changing wind 
 That panted like a sick man's fitful breath: 
 And like a moan of lions hurt to death 
 Came the sea's hollow noise along the night. 
 But ere its gloom from aught but foam had light 
 They halted, being aweary : and the knight 
 As reverently forbore her where she lay 
 As one that watched his sister's sleep till day. 
 Nor durst he kiss or touch her hand or hair 
 For love and shamefast pity, seeing how fair 
 She slept, and fenceless from the fitful air. 
 And shame at heart stung nigh to death desire, 
 But grief at heart burned in him like a fire 
 For hers and his own sorrowing sake, that had 
 Such grace for guerdon as makes glad men sad, 
 To have their will and want it. And the day 
 Sprang : and afar along the wild waste way 
 They heard the pulse and press of hurrying horse- 
 hoofs play : 
 And like the rushing of a ravenous flame 
 Whose wings make tempest of the darkness, came 
 Upon them headlong as in thunder borne 
 Forth of the darkness of the labouring morn 
 Tristram : and up forthright upon his steed 
 Leapt, as one blithe of battle, Palamede, 
 And mightily with shock of horse and man 
 They lashed together : and fair that fight began 
 As fair came up that sunrise : to and fro, 
 With knees nigh staggered and stout heads bent low 
 * E 
 
5o THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 From each quick shock of spears on either side, 
 Reeled the strong steeds heavily, haggard-eyed 
 And heartened high with passion of their pride 
 As sheer the stout spears shocked again, and flew 
 Sharp-splintering : then, his sword as each knight drew, 
 They flashed and foined full royally, so long 
 That but to see so fair a strife and strong 
 A man might well have given out of his life 
 One year's void space forlorn of love or strife. 
 As when a bright north-easter, great of heart, 
 Scattering the strengths of squadrons, hurls apart 
 Ship from ship labouring violently, in such toil 
 As earns but ruin — with even so strong recoil 
 Back were the steeds hurled from the spear-shock, fain 
 And foiled of triumph : then with tightened rein 
 And stroke of spur, inveterate, either knight 
 Bore in again upon his foe with might, 
 Heart-hungry for the hot-mouthed feast of fight 
 And all athirst of mastery : but full soon 
 The jarring notes of that tempestuous tune 
 Fell, and its mighty music made of hands 
 Contending, clamorous through the loud waste lands, 
 Broke at once off ; and shattered from his steed 
 Fell, as a mainmast ruining, Palamede, 
 Stunned : and those lovers left him where he lay, 
 And lightly through green lawns they rode away. 
 There was a bower beyond man's eye more fair 
 Than ever summer dews and sunniest air 
 Fed full with rest and radiance till the boughs 
 Had wrought a roof as for a holier house 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 51 
 
 Than aught save love might breathe in j fairer far 
 
 Than keeps the sweet light back of moon and star 
 
 From high kings' chambers : there might love and sleep 
 
 Divide for joy the darkling hours, and keep 
 
 With amorous alternation of sweet strife 
 
 The soft and secret ways of death and life 
 
 Made smooth for pleasure's feet to rest and run 
 
 Even from the moondawn to the kindling sun, 
 
 Made bright for passion's feet to run and rest 
 
 Between the midnight's and the morning's breast, 
 
 Where hardly though her happy head lie down 
 
 It may forget the hour that wove its crown j 
 
 Where hardly though her joyous limbs be laid 
 
 They may forget the mirth that midnight made. 
 
 And thither, ere sweet night had slain sweet day, 
 
 Iseult and Tristram took their wandering way, 
 
 And rested, and refreshed their hearts with cheer 
 
 In hunters' fashion of the woods ; and here 
 
 More sweet it seemed, while this might be, to dwell 
 
 And take of all world's weariness farewell 
 
 Than reign of all world's lordship queen and king. 
 
 Nor here would time for three moons' changes bring 
 
 Sorrow nor thought of sorrow ; but sweet earth 
 
 Fostered them like her babes of eldest birth, 
 
 Reared warm in pathless woods and cherished well. 
 
 And the sun sprang above the sea and fell, 
 
 And the stars rose and sank upon the sea j 
 
 And outlaw-like, in forest wise and free, 
 
 The rising and the setting of their lights 
 
 Found those twain dwelling all those days and nights. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 And under change of sun and star and moon 
 Flourished and fell the chaplets woven of June, 
 And fair through fervours of the deepening sky 
 Panted and passed the hours that lit July, 
 And each day blessed them out of heaven above, 
 And each night crowned them with the crown of love. 
 Nor till the might of August overhead 
 Weighed on the world was yet one roseleaf shed 
 Of all their joy's warm coronal, nor aught 
 Touched them in passing ever with a thought 
 That ever this might end on any day 
 Or any night not love them where they lay ; 
 But like a babbling tale of barren breath 
 Seemed all report and rumour held of death, 
 And a false bruit the legend tear-impearled 
 That such a thing as change was in the world. 
 And each bright song upon his lips that came, 
 Mocking the powers of change and death by name, 
 Blasphemed their bitter godhead, and defied 
 Time, though clothed round with ruin as kings with 
 
 pride, 
 To blot the glad life out of love : and she 
 Drank lightly deep of his philosophy 
 In that warm wine of amorous words which is 
 Sweet with all truths of all philosophies. 
 For well he wist all subtle ways of song, 
 And in his soul the secret eye was strong 
 That burns in meditation, till bright words 
 Break flamelike forth as notes from fledgeling birds 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 53 
 
 That feel the soul speak through them of the spring. 
 So fared they night and day as queen and king 
 Crowned of a kingdom wide as day and night. 
 Nor ever cloudlet swept or swam in sight 
 Across the darkling depths of their delight 
 Whose stars no skill might number, nor man's art 
 Sound the deep stories of its heavenly heart. 
 Till, even for wonder that such life should live, 
 Desires and dreams of what death's self might give 
 Would touch with tears and laughter and wild speech 
 The lips and eyes of passion, fain to reach, 
 Beyond all bourne of time or trembling sense, 
 The verge of love's last possible eminence. 
 Out of the heaven that storm nor shadow mars, 
 Deep from the starry depth beyond the stars, 
 A yearning ardour without scope or name 
 Fell on them, and the bright night's breath of flame 
 Shot fire into their kisses ; and like fire 
 The lit dews lightened on the leaves, as higher 
 Night's heart beat on toward midnight. Far and fain 
 Somewhiles the soft rush of rejoicing rain 
 Solaced the darkness, and from steep to steep 
 Of heaven they saw the sweet sheet lightning leap 
 And laugh its heart out in a thousand smiles, 
 When the clear sea for miles on glimmering miles 
 Burned as though dawn were strewn abroad astray, 
 Or, showering out of heaven, all heaven's array 
 Had paven instead the waters : fain and far 
 Somewhiles the burning love of star for star 
 
54 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 Spake words that love might wellnigh seem to hear 
 In such deep hours as turn delight to fear 
 Sweet as delight's self ever. So they lay 
 Tranced once, nor watched along the fiery bay 
 The shine of summer darkness palpitate and play. 
 She had nor sight nor voice ; her swooning eyes 
 Knew not if night or light were in the skies ; 
 Across her beauty sheer the moondawn shed 
 Its light as on a thing as white and dead ; 
 Only with stress of soft fierce hands she prest 
 Between the throbbing blossoms of her breast 
 His ardent face, and through his hair her breath 
 Went quivering as when life is hard on death ; 
 And with strong trembling fingers she strained fast 
 His head into her bosom ; till at last, 
 Satiate with sweetness of that burning bed, 
 His eyes afire with tears, he raised his head 
 And laughed into her lips ; and all his heart 
 Filled hers \ then face from face fell, and apart 
 Each hung on each with panting lips, and felt 
 Sense into sense and spirit in spirit melt. 
 
 ' Hast thou no sword ? I would not live till day ; 
 O love, this night and we must pass away, 
 It must die soon, and let not us die late.' 
 
 ' Take then my sword and slay me ; nay, but wait 
 Till day be risen ; what, wouldst thou think to die 
 Before the light take hold upon the sky ? ; 
 
 ' Yea, love ; for how shall we have twice, being 
 twain, 
 This very night of love's most rapturous reign ? 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEAS AH CE. 55 
 
 Live thou and have thy day, and year by year 
 Be great, but what shall I be ? Slay me here ; 
 Let me die not when love lies dead, but now 
 Strike through my heart : nay, sweet, what heart hast 
 
 thou? 
 Is it so much I ask thee, and spend my breath 
 In asking ? nay, thou knowest it is but death. 
 Hadst thou true heart to love me, thou wouldst give 
 This : but for hate's sake thou wilt let me live.' 
 
 Here he caught up her lips with his, and made 
 The wild prayer silent in her heart that prayed, 
 And strained her to him till all her faint breath sank 
 And her bright light limbs palpitated and shrank 
 And rose and fluctuated as flowers in rain 
 That bends them and they tremble and rise again 
 And heave and straighten and quiver all through with 
 
 bliss 
 And turn afresh their mouths up for a kiss, 
 Amorous, athirst of that sweet influent love \ 
 So, hungering toward his hovering lips above, 
 Her red-rose mouth yearned silent, and her eyes 
 Closed, and flashed after, as through June's darkest 
 
 skies 
 The divine heartbeats of the deep live light 
 Make open and shut the gates of the outer night. 
 
 Long lay they still, subdued with love, nor knew 
 If cloud or light changed colour as it grew, 
 If star or moon beheld them \ if above 
 The heaven of night waxed fiery with their love, 
 
56 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 
 
 Or earth beneath were moved at heart and root 
 To burn as they, to burn and bring forth fruit 
 Unseasonable for love's sake ; if tall trees 
 Bowed, and close flowers yearned open, and the breeze 
 Failed and fell silent as a flame that fails : 
 And all that hour unheard the nightingales 
 Clamoured, and all the woodland soul was stirred, 
 And depth and height were one great song unheard, 
 As though the world caught music and took fire 
 From the instant heart alone of their desire. 
 
 So sped their night of nights between them : so, 
 For all fears past and shadows, shine and snow, 
 That one pure hour all-golden where they lay 
 Made their life perfect and their darkness day. 
 And warmer waved its harvest yet to reap, 
 Till in the lovely fight of love and sleep 
 At length had sleep the mastery ; and the dark 
 Was lit with soft live gleams they might not mark, 
 Fleet butterflies, each like a dead flower's ghost, 
 White, blue, and sere leaf-coloured ; but the most 
 White as the sparkle of snow-flowers in the sun 
 Ere with his breath they lie at noon undone 
 Whose kiss devours their tender beauty, and leaves 
 But raindrops on the grass and sere thin leaves 
 That were engraven with traceries of the snow 
 Flowerwise ere any flower of earth's would blow ; 
 So swift they sprang and sank, so sweet and light 
 They swam the deep dim breathless air of night. 
 Now on her rose- white amorous breast half bare, 
 Now on her slumberous love- dishevelled hair, 
 
THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 57 
 
 The white wings lit and vanished, and afresh 
 Lit soft as snow lights on her snow- soft flesh, 
 On hand or throat or shoulder ; and she stirred 
 Sleeping, and spake some tremulous bright word, 
 And laughed upon some dream too sweet for truth, 
 Yet not so sweet as very love and youth 
 That there had charmed her eyes to sleep at last. 
 Nor woke they till the perfect night was past, 
 And the soft sea thrilled with blind hope of light. 
 But ere the dusk had well the sun in sight 
 He turned and kissed her eyes awake and said, 
 Seeing earth and water neither quick nor dead 
 And twilight hungering toward the day to be, 
 'As the dawn loves the sunlight I love thee.' 
 And even as rays with cloudlets in the skies 
 Confused in brief love's bright contentious wise, 
 Sleep strove with sense rekindling in her eyes ; 
 And as the flush of birth scarce overcame 
 The pale pure pearl of unborn light with flame 
 Soft as may touch the rose's heart with shame 
 To break not all reluctant out of bud, 
 Stole up her sleeping cheek her waking blood ; 
 And with the lovely laugh of love that takes 
 The whole soul prisoner ere the whole sense wakes, 
 Her lips for love's sake bade love's will be done. 
 And all the sea lay subject to the sun. 
 
59 
 
 III. 
 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 * " As the dawn loves the sunlight I love thee ; " 
 As men that shall be swallowed of the sea 
 Love the sea's lovely beauty ; as the night 
 That wanes before it loves the young sweet light, 
 And dies of loving \ as the worn-out noon 
 Loves twilight, and as twilight loves the moon 
 That on its grave a silver seal shall set — 
 We have loved and slain each other, and love yet. 
 Slain ; for we live not surely, being in twain : 
 In her I lived, and in me she is slain, 
 Who loved me that I brought her to her doom, 
 Who loved her that her love might be my tomb. 
 As all the streams on earth and all fresh springs 
 And sweetest waters, every brook that sings, 
 Each fountain where the young year dips its wings 
 First, and the first-fledged branches of it wave, 
 Even with one heart's love seek one bitter grave. 
 From hills that first see bared the morning's breast 
 And heights the sun last yearns to from the west, 
 
60 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 All tend but toward the sea, all born most high 
 Strive downward, passing all things joyous by, 
 Seek to it and cast their lives in it and die. 
 So strive all lives for death which all lives win ; 
 So sought her soul to my soul, and therein 
 Was poured and perished : O my love, and mine 
 Sought to thee and died of thee and died as thine. 
 As the dawn loves the sunlight that must cease 
 Ere dawn again may rise and pass in peace ; 
 Must die that she being dead may live again, 
 To be by his new rising nearly slain. 
 So rolls the great wheel of the great world round, 
 And no change in it and no fault is found, 
 And no true life of perdurable breath, 
 And surely no irrevocable death. 
 Day after day night comes that day may break, 
 And day comes back for night's reiterate sake. 
 Each into each dies, each of each is born : 
 Day past is night, shall night past not be morn ? 
 Out of this moonless and faint-hearted night 
 That love yet lives in, shall there not be light ? 
 Light strong as love, that love may live in yet ? 
 Alas, but how shall foolish hope forget 
 How all these loving things that kill and die 
 Meet not but for a breath's space and pass by ? 
 Night is kissed once of dawn and dies, and day 
 But touches twilight and is rapt away. 
 So may my love and her love meet once more, 
 And meeting be divided as of yore. 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 61 
 
 Yea, surely as the day-star loves the sun 
 
 And when he hath risen is utterly undone, 
 
 So is my love of her and hers of me — 
 
 And its most sweetness bitter as the sea. 
 
 Would God yet dawn might see the sun and die ! ' 
 
 Three years had looked on earth and passed it by 
 Since Tristram looked on Iseult, when he stood 
 So communing with dreams of evil and good, 
 And let all sad thoughts through his spirit sweep 
 As leaves through air or tears through eyes that weep 
 Or snowflakes through dark weather : and his soul, 
 That had seen all those sightless seasons roll 
 One after one, wave over weary wave, 
 Was in him as a corpse is in its grave. 
 Yet, for his heart was mighty, and his might 
 Through all the world as a great sound and light, 
 The mood was rare upon him \ save that here 
 In the low sundawn of the lightening year 
 With all last year's toil and its triumph done 
 He could not choose but yearn for that set sun 
 Which at this season saw the firstborn kiss 
 That made his lady's mouth one fire with his. 
 Yet his great heart being greater than his grief 
 Kept all the summer of his strength in leaf 
 And all the rose of his sweet spirit in flower ; 
 Still his soul fed upon the sovereign hour 
 That had been or that should be ; and once more 
 He looked through drifted sea and drifting shore 
 That crumbled in the wave-breach, and again 
 Spake sad and deep within himself : ' What pain 
 
62 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 Should make a man's soul wholly break and die, 
 
 Sapped as weak sand by water? How shall I 
 
 Be less than all less things are that endure 
 
 And strive and yield when time is ? Nay, full sure 
 
 All these and we are parts of one same end ; 
 
 And if through fire or water we twain tend 
 
 To that sure life where both must be made one, 
 
 If one we be, what matter ? Thou, O sun, 
 
 The face of God, if God thou be not — nay, 
 
 What but God should I think thee, what should say, 
 
 Seeing thee rerisen, but very God ? — should I, 
 
 I fool, rebuke thee sovereign in thy sky, 
 
 The clouds dead round thee and the air alive, 
 
 The winds that lighten and the waves that strive 
 
 Toward this shore as to that beneath thy breath, 
 
 Because in me my thoughts bear all towards death? 
 
 O sun, that when we are dead wilt rise as bright, 
 
 Air deepening up toward heaven, and nameless light, 
 
 And heaven immeasurable, and faint clouds blown 
 
 Between us and the lowest aerial zone 
 
 And each least skirt of their imperial state — 
 
 Forgive us that we held ourselves so great ! 
 
 What should I do to curse you ? I indeed 
 
 Am a thing meaner than this least wild seed 
 
 That my foot bruises and I know not — yet 
 
 Would not be mean enough for worms to fret 
 
 Before their time and mine was. 
 
 ' Ah, and ye 
 Light washing weeds, blind waifs of dull blind sea, 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 63 
 
 Do ye so thirst and hunger and aspire, 
 Are ye so moved with such long strong desire 
 In the ebb and flow of your sad life, and strive 
 Still toward some end ye shall not see alive — 
 But at high noon ye know it by light and heat 
 Some half-hour, till ye feel the fresh tide beat 
 Up round you, and at night's most bitter noon 
 The ripples leave you naked to the moon ? 
 And this dim dusty heather that I tread, 
 These half-born blossoms, born at once and dead, 
 Sere brown as funeral cloths, and purple as pall, 
 What if some life and grief be in them all ? 
 
 * Ay, what of these ? but, O strong sun 1 O sea ! 
 I bid not you, divine things ! comfort me, 
 I stand not up to match you in your sight — 
 Who hath said ye have mercy toward us, ye who have 
 
 might ? 
 And though ye had mercy, I think I would not pray 
 That ye should change your counsel or your way 
 To make our life less bitter : if such power 
 Be given the stars on one deciduous hour, 
 And such might be in planets to destroy 
 Grief and rebuild, and break and build up joy, 
 What man would stretch forth hand on them to make 
 Fate mutable, God foolish, for his sake ? 
 For if in life or death be aught of trust, 
 And if some unseen just God or unjust 
 Put soul into the body of natural things 
 And in time's pauseless feet and worldwide wings 
 
64 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 Some spirit of impulse and some sense of will 
 That steers them through the seas of good and ill 
 To some incognizable and actual end, 
 Be it just or unjust, foe to man or friend, 
 How should we make the stable spirit to swerve, 
 How teach the strong soul of the world to serve, 
 The imperious will in time and sense in space 
 That gives man life turn back to give man place — 
 The conscious law lose conscience of its way, 
 The rule and reason fail from night and day, 
 The streams flow back toward whence the springs 
 
 began, 
 That less of thirst might sear the lips of man ? 
 Let that which is be, and sure strengths stand sure, 
 And evil or good and death or life endure, 
 Not alterable and rootless, but indeed 
 A very stem born of a very seed 
 That brings forth fruit in season : how should this 
 Die that was sown, and that not be which is, 
 And the old fruit change that came of the ancient 
 
 root, 
 And he that planted bid it not bear fruit, 
 And he that watered smite his vine with drouth 
 Because its grapes are bitter in our mouth, 
 And he that kindled quench the sun with night 
 Because its beams are fire against our sight, 
 And he that tuned untune the sounding spheres 
 Because their song is thunder in our ears ? 
 How should the skies change and the stars, and time 
 Break the large concord of the years that chime, 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 65 
 
 Answering, as wave to wave beneath the moon 
 
 That draws them shoreward, mar the whole tide's'tune 
 
 For the instant foam's sake on one turning wave — 
 
 For man's sake that is grass upon a grave ? 
 
 How should the law that knows not soon or late, 
 
 For whom no time nor space is — how should fate, 
 
 That is not good nor evil, wise nor mad, 
 
 Nor just nor unjust, neither glad nor sad — 
 
 How should the one thing that hath being, the one 
 
 That moves not as the stars move or the sun 
 
 Or any shadow or shape that lives or dies 
 
 In likeness of dead earth or living skies, 
 
 But its own darkness and its proper light 
 
 Clothe it with other names than day or night, 
 
 And its own soul of strength and spirit of breath 
 
 Feed it with other powers than life or death — 
 
 How should it turn from its great way to give 
 
 Man that must die a clearer space to live ? 
 
 Why should the waters of the sea be cleft, 
 
 The hills be molten to his right and left, 
 
 That he from deep to deep might pass dry-shod, 
 
 Or look between the viewless heights on God ? 
 
 Hath he such eyes as, when the shadows flee, 
 
 The sun looks out with to salute the sea ? 
 
 Is his hand bounteous as the morning's hand ? 
 
 Or where the night stands hath he feet to stand ? 
 
 Will the storm cry not when he bids it cease ? 
 
 Is it his voice that saith to the east wind, Peace ? 
 
 Is his breath mightier than the west wind's breath ? 
 
 Doth his heart know the things of life and death ? 
 
 F 
 
66 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 Can his face bring forth sunshine and give rain, 
 
 Or his weak will that dies and lives again 
 
 Make one thing certain or bind one thing fast, 
 
 That as he willed it shall be at the last? 
 
 How should the storms of heaven and kindled lights 
 
 And all the depths of things and topless heights 
 
 And air and earth and fire and water change 
 
 Their likeness, and the natural world grow strange, 
 
 And all the limits of their life undone 
 
 Lose count of time and conscience of the sun, 
 
 And that fall under which was fixed above, 
 
 That man might have a larger hour for love ? ' 
 
 So musing with close lips and lifted eyes 
 That smiled with self-contempt to live so wise, 
 With silent heart so hungry now so long, 
 So late grown clear, so miserably made strong, 
 About the wolds a banished man he went, 
 The brown wolds bare and sad as banishment, 
 By wastes of fruitless flowerage, and grey downs 
 That felt the sea-wind shake their wild-flower crowns 
 As though fierce hands would pluck from some grey 
 
 head 
 The spoils of majesty despised and dead, 
 And fill with crying and comfortless strange sound 
 Their hollow sides and heights of herbless ground. 
 Yet as he went fresh courage on him came, 
 Till dawn rose too within him as a flame, 
 The heart of the ancient hills and his were one ; 
 The winds took counsel with him, and the sun 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 67 
 
 Spake comfort ; in his ears the shout of birds 
 
 Was as the sound of clear sweet-spirited words, 
 
 The noise of streams as laughter from above 
 
 Of the old wild lands, and as a cry of love 
 
 Spring's trumpet-blast blown over moor and lea : 
 
 The skies were red as love is, and the sea 
 
 Was as the floor of heaven for love to tread. 
 
 So went he as with light about his head, 
 
 And in the joyous travail of the year 
 
 Grew April-hearted ; since nor grief nor fear 
 
 Can master so a young man's blood so long 
 
 That it shall move not to the mounting song 
 
 Of that sweet hour when earth replumes her wings 
 
 And with fair face and heart set heavenward sings 
 
 As an awakened angel unaware 
 
 That feels his sleep fall from him, and his hair 
 
 By some new breath of wind and music stirred, 
 
 Till like the sole song of one heavenly bird 
 
 Sounds all the singing of the host of heaven, 
 
 And all the glories of the sovereign Seven 
 
 Are as one face of one incorporate light 
 
 And as that host of singers in God's sight 
 
 Might draw toward one that slumbered, and arouse 
 
 The lips requickened and rekindling brows, 
 
 So seemed the earthly host of all things born 
 
 In sight of spring and eyeshot of the morn, 
 
 All births of land or waifs of wind and sea, 
 
 To draw toward him that sorrowed, and set free 
 
 From presage and remembrance of all pains 
 
 The life that leapt and lightened in his veins. 
 
68 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 So ivith no sense abashed nor sunless look, 
 
 But with exalted eyes and heart, he took 
 His part of sun or storm-wind, and was glad, 
 For all things lost, of these good things he had. 
 
 And the spring loved him surely, being from birth 
 One made out of the better part of earth, 
 A man born as at sunrise ; one that saw 
 Not without reverence and sweet sense of awe 
 But wholly without fear or fitful breath 
 The face of life watched by the face of death ; 
 And living took his fill of rest and strife, 
 Of love and change, and fruit and seed of life, 
 And when his time to live in light was done 
 With unbent head would pass out of the sun : 
 A spirit as morning, fair and clear and strong, 
 Whose thought and work were as one harp and song 
 Heard through the world as in a strange king's hall 
 Some great guest's voice that sings of festival. 
 So seemed all things to love him, and his heart 
 In all their joy of life to take such part, 
 That with the live earth and the living sea 
 He was as one that communed mutually 
 With naked heart to heart of friend to friend : 
 And the star deepening at the sunset's end, 
 And the moon fallen before the gate of day 
 As one sore wearied with vain length of way, 
 And the winds wandering, and the streams and skies, 
 As faces of his fellows in his eyes. 
 Nor lacked there love where he was evermore 
 Of man and woman, friend of sea or shore, 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 69 
 
 Not measurable with weight of graven gold, 
 Free as the sun's gift of the world to hold 
 Given each day back to man's reconquering sight 
 That loses but its lordship for a night. 
 And now that after many a season spent 
 In barren ways and works of banishment, 
 Toil of strange fights and many a fruitless field, 
 Ventures of quest and vigils under shield, 
 He came back to the strait of sundering sea 
 That parts green Cornwall from grey Brittany, 
 Where dwelt the high king's daughter of the lands, 
 Iseult, named alway from her fair white hands, 
 She looked on him and loved him ; but being young 
 Made shamefastness a seal upon her tongue, 
 And on her heart, that none might hear its cry, 
 Set the sweet signet of humility. 
 Yet when he came a stranger in her sight, 
 A banished man and weary, no such knight 
 As when the Swallow dipped her bows in foam 
 Steered singing that imperial Iseult home, 
 This maiden with her sinless sixteen years 
 Full of sweet thoughts and hopes that played at fears 
 Cast her eyes on him but in courteous wise, 
 And lo, the man's face burned upon her eyes 
 As though she had turned them on the naked sun : 
 And through her limbs she felt sweet passion run 
 As fire that flowed down from her face, and beat 
 Soft through stirred veins on even to her hands and 
 feet 
 
 
70 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 As all her body were one heart on flame, 
 
 A throb with love and wonder and sweet shame. 
 
 And when he spake there sounded in her ears 
 
 As 'twere a song out of the graves of years 
 
 Heard, and again forgotten, and again 
 
 Remembered with a rapturous pulse of pain. 
 
 But as the maiden mountain snow sublime 
 
 Takes the first sense of April's trembling time 
 
 Soft on a brow that burns not though it blush 
 
 To feel the sunrise hardly half aflush, 
 
 So took her soul the sense of change, nor thought 
 
 That more than maiden love was more than nought. 
 
 Her eyes went hardly after him, her cheek 
 
 Grew scarce a goodlier flower to hear him speak, 
 
 Her bright mouth no more trembled than a rose 
 
 May for the least wind's breathless sake that blows 
 
 Too soft to sue save for a sister's kiss, 
 
 And if she sighed in sleep she knew not this. 
 
 Yet in her heart hovered the thoughts of things 
 
 Past, that with lighter or with heavier wings 
 
 Beat round about her memory, till it burned 
 
 With grief that brightened and with hope that yearned, 
 
 Seeing him so great and sad, nor knowing what fate 
 
 Had bowed and crowned a head so sad and great. 
 
 Nor might she guess but little, first or last, 
 
 Though all her heart so hung upon his past, 
 
 Of what so bowed him for what sorrow's sake : 
 
 For scarce of aught at any time he spake 
 
 That from his own land oversea had sent 
 
 His lordly life to barren banishment. 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 71 
 
 Yet still or soft or keen remembrance clung 
 
 Close round her of the least word from his tongue 
 
 That fell by chance of courtesy, to greet 
 
 With grace of tender thanks her pity, sweet 
 
 As running streams to men's way- wearied feet. 
 
 And when between strange words her name would fall 
 
 Suddenly straightway to that lure's recall 
 
 Back would his heart bound as the falconer's bird 
 
 And tremble and bow down before the word. 
 
 ' Iseult ' — and all the cloudlike world grew flame, 
 
 And all his heart flashed lightning at her name ; 
 
 1 Iseult ' — and all the wan waste weary skies 
 
 Shone as his queen's own love-enkindled eyes. 
 
 And seeing the bright blood in his face leap up 
 
 As red wine mantling in a royal cup 
 
 To hear the sudden sweetness of the sound 
 
 Ring, but ere well his heart had time to bound 
 
 His cheek would change, and grief bow down his 
 
 head, 
 1 Haply,' the girl's heart, though she spake not, said, 
 1 This name of mine was worn of one long dead, 
 Some sister that he loved : ' and therewithal 
 Would pity bring her heart more deep in thrall. 
 But once, when winds about the world made mirth, 
 And March held revel hard on April's birth 
 Till air and sea were jubilant as earth, 
 Delight and doubt in sense and soul began, 
 And yearning of the maiden toward the man, 
 Harping on high before her : for his word 
 Was fire that kindled in her heart that heard, 
 
72 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 
 
 And alway through the rhymes reverberate came 
 The virginal soft burden of her name. 
 And ere the full song failed upon her ear 
 Joy strove within her till it cast out fear, 
 And all her heart was as his harp, and rang 
 Swift music, made of hope whose birthnote sprang 
 Bright in the blood that kindled as he sang. 
 
 * Stars know not how we call them, nor may flowers 
 Know by what happy name the hovering hours 
 
 Baptize their new-born heads with dew and flame : 
 And Love, adored of all time as of ours, 
 Iseult, knew nought for ages of his name. 
 
 ' With many tongues men called on him, but he 
 Wist not which word of all might worthiest be 
 
 To sound for ever in his ear the same, 
 Till heart of man might hear and soul might see, 
 
 Iseult, the radiance ringing from thy name. 
 
 ' By many names men called him, as the night 
 By many a name calls many a starry light, 
 
 Her several sovereigns of dividual fame ; 
 But day by one name only calls aright, 
 
 Iseult, the sun that bids men praise his name. 
 
 * In many a name of man his name soared high 
 And song shone round it soaring, till the sky 
 
 Rang rapture, and the world's fast-founded frame 
 Trembled with sense of triumph, even as I, 
 Iseult, with sense of worship at thy name. 
 
 * In many a name of woman smiled his power 
 Incarnate, as all summer in a flower, 
 
 Till winter bring forgetfulness or shame : 
 But thine, the keystone of his topless tower, 
 Iseult, is one with Love's own lordliest name. 
 
TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 73 
 
 ' Iseult my love, Iseult my queen twice crowned, 
 In thee my death, in thee my life lies bound : 
 
 Names are there yet that all men's hearts acclaim, 
 But Love's own heart rings answer to the sound, 
 
 Iseult, that bids it bow before thy name. ' 
 
 There ceased his voice yearning upon the word, 
 Struck with strong passion dumb : but she that heard 
 Quailed to the heart, and trembled ere her eyes 
 Durst let the loving light within them rise, 
 And yearn on his for answer : yet at last, 
 Albeit not all her fear was overpast, 
 Hope, kindling even the frost of fear apace 
 With sweet fleet bloom and breath of gradual grace, 
 Flushed in the changing roses of her face. 
 And ere the strife took truce of white with red, 
 Or joy for soft shame's sake durst lift up head, 
 Something she would and would not fain have said, 
 And wist not what the fluttering word would be, 
 But rose and reached forth to him her hand : and he, 
 Heart-stricken, bowed his head and dropped his knee, 
 And on her fragrant hand his lips were fire j 
 And their two hearts were as one trembling lyre 
 Touched by the keen wind's kiss with brief desire 
 And music shuddering at its own delight. 
 So dawned the moonrise of their marriage night. 
 
75 
 
 IV. 
 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Spring watched her last moon burn and fade with 
 
 May 
 While the days deepened toward a bridal day. 
 And on her snowbright hand the ring was set 
 While in the maiden's ear the song's word yet 
 Hovered, that hailed as love's own queen by name 
 Iseult : and in her heart the word was flame ; 
 A pulse of light, a breath of tender fire, 
 Too dear for doubt, too driftless for desire. 
 Between her father's hand and brother's led 
 From hall to shrine, from shrine to marriage-bed, 
 She saw not how by hap at home-coming 
 Fell from her new lord's hand a royal ring, 
 Whereon he looked, and felt the pulse astart 
 Speak passion in his faith-forsaken heart. 
 For this was given him of the hand wherein 
 That heart's pledge lay for ever : so the sin 
 That should be done if truly he should take 
 This maid to wife for strange love's faithless sake 
 
76 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Struck all his mounting spirit abashed, and fear 
 Fell cold for shame's sake on his changing cheer. 
 Yea, shame's own fire that burned upon his brow 
 To bear the brand there of a broken vow 
 Was frozen again for very fear thereof 
 That wrung his heart with keener pangs than love. 
 And all things rose upon him, all things past 
 Ere last they parted, cloven in twain at last, 
 Iseult from Tristram, Tristram from the queen ; 
 And how men found them in the wild woods green 
 Sleeping, but sundered by the sword between, 
 Dividing breast from amorous breast a span, 
 But scarce in heart the woman from the man 
 As far as hope from joy or sleep from truth, 
 And Mark that saw them held for sacred sooth 
 These were no fleshly lovers, by that sign 
 That severed them, still slumbering ; so divine 
 He deemed it : how at waking they beheld 
 The king's folk round the king, and uncompelled 
 Were fain to follow and fare among them home 
 Back to the towers washed round with rolling foam 
 And storied halls wherethrough sea-music rang : 
 And how report thereafter swelled and sprang, 
 A full-mouthed serpent, hissing in men's ears 
 Word of their loves : and one of all his peers 
 That most he trusted, being his kinsman born, 
 A man base-moulded for the stamp of scorn, 
 Whose heart with hate was keen and cold and dark, 
 Gave note by midnight whisper to King Mark 
 
THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 77 
 
 Where he might take them sleeping j how ere day 
 Had seen the grim next morning all away 
 Fast bound they brought him down a weary way 
 With forty knights about him, and their chief 
 That traitor who for trust had given him grief, 
 To the old hoar chapel, like a strait stone tomb 
 Sheer on the sea-rocks, there to take his doom : 
 How, seeing he needs must die, he bade them yet 
 Bethink them if they durst for shame forget 
 What deeds for Cornwall had he done, and wrought 
 For all their sake what rescue, when he fought 
 Against the fierce foul Irish foe that came • 
 To take of them for tribute in their shame 
 Three hundred heads of children ; whom in fight 
 His hand redeeming slew Moraunt the knight 
 That none durst lift his eyes against, not one 
 Had heart but he, who now had help of none, 
 To take the battle ; whence great shame it were 
 To knighthood, yea, foul shame on all men there, 
 To see him die so shamefully : nor durst 
 One man look up, nor one make answer first, 
 Save even the very traitor, who defied 
 And would have slain him naked in his pride, 
 But he, that saw the sword plucked forth to slay, 
 Looked on his hands, and wrenched their bonds 
 
 away, 
 Haling those twain that he went bound between 
 Suddenly to him, and kindling in his mien 
 Shone lion-fashion forth with eyes alight, 
 
78 THE MAJ DEN MARRIAGE, 
 
 And lion-wise leapt on that kinsman knight 
 
 And wrung forth of his felon hands with might 
 
 The sword that should have slain him weaponless 
 
 And smote him sheer down : then came all the press 
 
 All raging in upon him ; but he wrought 
 
 So well for his deliverance as they fought 
 
 That ten strong knights rejoicingly he slew, 
 
 And took no wound, nor wearied : then the crew 
 
 Waxed greater, and their cry on him ; but he 
 
 Had won the chapel now above the sea 
 
 That chafed right under : then the heart in him 
 
 Sprang, seeing the low cliff clear to leap, and swim 
 
 Right out by the old blithe way the sea-mew takes 
 
 Across the bounding billow-belt that breaks 
 
 For ever, but the loud bright chain it makes 
 
 To bind the bridal bosom of the land 
 
 Time shall unlink not ever, till his hand 
 
 Fall by its own last blow dead : thence again 
 
 Might he win forth into the green great main 
 
 Far on beyond, and there yield up his breath 
 
 At least, with God's will, by no shameful death, 
 
 Or haply save himself, and come anew 
 
 Some long day later, ere sweet life were through. 
 
 And as the sea-gull hovers high, and turns 
 
 With eyes wherein the keen heart glittering yearns 
 
 Down toward the sweet green sea whereon the broad 
 
 noon burns, 
 And suddenly, soul-stricken with delight, 
 Drops, and the glad wave gladdens, and the light 
 Sees wing and wave confuse their fluttering white, 
 
THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 79 
 
 So Tristram one brief breathing-space apart 
 Hung, and gazed down j then with exulting heart 
 Plunged : and the fleet foam round a joyous head 
 Flashed, that shot under, and ere a shaft had sped 
 Rose again radiant, a rejoicing star, 
 And high along the water-ways afar 
 Triumphed : and all they deemed he needs must die ; 
 But Gouvemayle his squire, that watched hard by, 
 Sought where perchance a man might win ashore, 
 Striving, with strong limbs labouring long and sore, 
 And there abode an hour : till as from fight 
 Crowned with hard conquest won by mastering might, 
 Hardly, but happier for the imperious toil, 
 Swam the knight in forth of the close waves' coil, 
 Sea- satiate, bruised with buffets of the brine, 
 Laughing, and flushed as one afire with wine : 
 All this came hard upon him in a breath ; 
 And how he marvelled in his heart that death 
 Should be no bitterer than it seemed to be 
 There, in the strenuous impulse of the sea 
 Borne as to battle deathward : and at last 
 How all his after seasons overpast 
 Had brought him darkling to this dark sweet hour, 
 Where his foot faltered nigh the bridal bower. 
 And harder seemed the passage now to pass, 
 Though smoother-seeming than the still sea's glass, 
 More fit for very manhood's heart to fear, 
 Than all straits past of peril. Hardly here 
 Might aught of all things hearten him save one, 
 Faith : and as men's eyes quail before the sun 
 
8o THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 So quailed his heart before the star whose light 
 
 Put out the torches of his bridal night, 
 
 So quailed and shrank with sense of faith's keen star 
 
 That burned as fire beheld by night afar 
 
 Deep in the darkness of his dreams ; for all 
 
 The bride-house now seemed hung with heavier pall 
 
 Than clothes the house of mourning. Yet at last, 
 
 Soul- sick with trembling at the heart, he passed 
 
 Into the sweet light of the maiden bower 
 
 Where lay the lonely lily-featured flower 
 
 That, lying within his hand to gather, yet 
 
 Might not be gathered of it. Fierce regret 
 
 And bitter loyalty strove hard at strife 
 
 With amorous pity toward the tender wife 
 
 That wife indeed might never be, to wear 
 
 The very crown of wedlock ; never bear 
 
 Children, to watch and worship her white hair 
 
 When time should change, with hand more soft than 
 
 snow, 
 The fashion of its glory ; never know 
 The loveliness of laughing love that lives 
 On little lips of children : all that gives 
 Glory and grace and reverence and delight 
 To wedded woman by her bridal right, 
 All praise and pride that flowers too fair to fall, 
 Love that should give had stripped her of them all 
 And left her bare for ever. So his thought 
 Consumed him, as a fire within that wrought 
 Visibly, ravening till its wrath were spent : 
 So pale he stood, so bowed and passion-rent, 
 Before the blithe-faced bride-folk, ere he went 
 
THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 81 
 
 Within the chamber, heavy-eyed : and there 
 Gleamed the white hands and glowed the glimmering 
 
 hair 
 That might but move his memory more of one more 
 
 fair, 
 More fair than all this beauty : but in sooth 
 So fair she too shone in her flower of youth 
 That scarcely might man's heart hold fast its truth, 
 Though strong, who gazed upon her : for her eyes 
 Were emerald-soft as evening- coloured skies, 
 And a smile in them like the light therein 
 Slept, or shone out in joy that knew not sin, 
 Clear as a child's own laughter : and her mouth, 
 Albeit no rose full-hearted from the south 
 And passion-coloured for the perfect kiss 
 That signs the soul for love and stamps it his, 
 Was soft and bright as any bud new-blown ; 
 And through her cheek the gentler lifebloom shone 
 Of mild wild roses nigh the northward sea. 
 So in her bride-bed lay the bride : and he 
 Drew nigh, and all the high sad heart in him 
 Yearned on her, seeing the twilight meek and dim 
 Through all the soft alcove tremblingly lit 
 With hovering silver, as a heart in it 
 Beating, that burned from one deep lamp above, 
 Fainter than fire of torches, as the love 
 Within him fainter than a bridegroom's fire, 
 No marriage-torch red with the heart's desire, 
 But silver-soft, a flameless light that glowed 
 Starlike along night's dark and starry road 
 G 
 
82 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Wherein his soul was traveller. And he sighed, 
 Seeing, and with eyes set sadly toward his bride 
 Laid him down by her, and spake not : but within 
 His heart spake, saying how sore should be the sin 
 To break toward her, that of all womankind 
 Was faithfullest, faith plighted, or unbind 
 The bond first linked between them when they drank 
 The love-draught : and his quick blood sprang and 
 
 sank, 
 Remembering in the pulse of all his veins 
 That red swift rapture, all its fiery pains 
 And all its fierier pleasures : and he spake 
 Aloud, one burning word for love's keen sake — 
 1 Iseult ; ' and full of love and lovelier fear 
 A virgin voice gave answer — ■ I am here.' 
 And a pang rent his heart at root : but still, 
 For spirit and flesh were vassals to his will, 
 Strong faith held mastery on them : and the breath 
 Felt on his face did not his will to death, 
 Nor glance nor lute-like voice nor flower-soft touch 
 Might so prevail upon it overmuch 
 That constancy might less prevail than they, 
 For all he looked and loved her as she lay 
 Smiling ; and soft as bird alights on bough 
 He kissed her maiden mouth and blameless brow, 
 Once, and again his heart within him sighed : 
 But all his young blood's yearning toward his bride, 
 How hard soe'er it held his life awake 
 For passion, and sweet nature's unforbidden sake, 
 And will that strove unwillingly with will it might not 
 
 break, 
 
THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE. 8$ 
 
 Fell silent as a wind abashed, whose breath 
 Dies out of heaven, suddenly done to death, 
 When in between them on the dumb dusk air 
 Floated the bright shade of a face more fair 
 Than hers that hard beside him shrank and smiled 
 And wist of all no more than might a child. 
 So had she all her heart's will, all she would, 
 For love's sake that sufficed her, glad and good, 
 All night safe sleeping in her maidenhood. 
 
 G 2 
 
85 
 
 ISEULT AT T1NTAGEL. 
 
 But that same night in Cornwall oversea 
 Couched at Queen Iseult's hand, against her knee, 
 With keen kind eyes that read her whole heart's pain 
 Fast at wide watch lay Tristram's hound Hodain, 
 The goodliest and the mightiest born on earth, 
 That many a forest day of fiery mirth 
 Had plied his craft before them j and the queen 
 Cherished him, even for those dim years between, 
 More than of old in those bright months far flown 
 When ere a blast of Tristram's horn was blown 
 Each morning as the woods rekindled, ere 
 Day gat full empire of the glimmering air, 
 Delight of dawn would quicken him, and fire 
 Spring and pant in his breath with bright desire 
 To be among the dewy ways on quest : 
 But now perforce at restless-hearted rest 
 He chafed through days more barren than the sand, 
 Soothed hardly but soothed only with her hand, 
 Though fain to fawn thereon and follow, still 
 With all his heart and all his loving will 
 
S6 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 Desiring one divided from his sight, 
 For whose lost sake dawn was as dawn of night 
 And noon as night's noon in his eyes was dark. 
 But in the halls far under sat King Mark, 
 Feasting, and full of cheer, with heart uplift, 
 As on the night that harper gat his gift : 
 And music revelled on the fitful air, 
 And songs came floated up the festal stair, 
 And muffled roar of wassail, where the king 
 Took heart from wine-cups and the quiring string 
 Till all his cold thin veins rejoiced and ran 
 Strong as with lifeblood of a kinglier man. 
 But the queen shut from sound her wearied ears, 
 Shut her sad eyes from sense of aught save tears, 
 And wrung her hair with soft fierce hands, and 
 prayed : 
 * O God, God born of woman, of a maid, 
 Christ, once in flesh of thine own fashion clad ; 
 
 very love, so glad in heaven and sad 
 
 On earth for earth's sake alway j since thou art 
 Pure only, I only impure of spirit and heart, 
 Since thou for sin's sake and the bitter doom 
 Didst as a veil put on a virgin's womb, 
 
 1 that am none, and cannot hear or see 
 Or shadow or likeness or a sound of thee 
 
 Far off, albeit with man's own speech and face 
 Thou shine yet and thou speak yet, showing forth 
 
 grace — 
 Ah me ! grace only shed on souls that are 
 Lit and led forth of shadow by thy star — 
 
ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 87 
 
 Alas ! to these men only grace, to these, 
 
 Lord, whom thy love draws Godward, to thy knees — 
 
 I, can I draw thee me-ward, can I seek, 
 
 Who love thee not, to love me ? seeing how weak, 
 
 Lord, all this little love I bear thee is, 
 
 And how much is my strong love more than this, 
 
 My love that I love man with, that I bear 
 
 Him sinning through me sinning ? wilt thou care, 
 
 God, for this love, if love be any, alas, 
 
 In me to give thee, though long since there was, 
 
 How long, when I too, Lord, was clean, even I, 
 
 That now am unclean till the day I die — 
 
 Haply by burning, harlot-fashion, made 
 
 A horror in all hearts of wife and maid, 
 
 Hateful, not knowing if ever in these mine eyes 
 
 Shone any light of thine in any wise 
 
 Or this were love at all that I bore thee ? ' 
 
 And the night spake, and thundered on the sea, 
 Ravening aloud for ruin of lives : and all 
 The bastions of the main cliff's northward wall 
 Rang response out from all their deepening length, 
 As the east wind girded up his godlike strength 
 And hurled in hard against that high-towered hold 
 The fleeces of the flock that knows no fold, 
 The rent white shreds of shattering storm : but she 
 Heard not nor heeded wind or storming sea, 
 Knew not if night were mild or mad with wind. 
 
 1 Yea, though deep lips and tender hair be thinned, 
 Though cheek wither, brow fade, and bosom wane, 
 Shall I change also from this heart again 
 
88 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 To maidenhood of heart and holiness? 
 
 Shall I more love thee, Lord, or love him less — 
 
 Ah miserable ! though spirit and heart be rent, 
 
 Shall I repent, Lord God ? shall I repent ? 
 
 Nay, though thou slay me ! for herein I am blest. 
 
 That as I loved him yet I love him best — 
 
 More than mine own soul or thy love or thee, 
 
 Though thy love save and my love save not me. 
 
 Blest am I beyond women even herein, 
 
 That beyond all born women is my sin, 
 
 And perfect my transgression : that above 
 
 All offerings of all others is my love, 
 
 Who have chosen it only, and put away for this 
 
 Thee, and my soul's hope, Saviour, of the kiss 
 
 Wherewith thy lips make welcome all thine own 
 
 When in them life and death are overthrown ; 
 
 The sinless lips that seal the death of sin, 
 
 The kiss wherewith their dumb lips touched begin 
 
 Singing in heaven. 
 
 1 Where we shall never, love, 
 Never stand up nor sing ! for God above 
 Knows us, how too much more than God to me 
 Thy sweet love is, my poor love is to thee ! 
 Dear, dost thou see now, dost thou hear to-night, 
 Sleeping, my waste wild speech, my face worn white, 
 — Speech once heard soft by thee, face once kissed 
 
 red!— 
 In such a dream as when men see their dead 
 And know not if they know if dead these be ? 
 Ah love, are thy days my days, and to thee 
 
ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 89 
 
 Are all nights like as my nights ? does the sun 
 
 Grieve thee ? art thou soul-sick till day be done, 
 
 And weary till day rises ? is thine heart 
 
 Full of dead things as mine is ? Nay, thou art 
 
 Man, with man's strength and praise and pride of life, 
 
 No bondwoman, no queen, no loveless wife 
 
 That would be shamed albeit she had not sinned/ 
 
 And swordlike was the sound of the iron wind, 
 And as a breaking battle was the sea. 
 
 ' Nay, Lord, I pray thee let him love not me, 
 Love me not any more, nor like me die, 
 And be no more than such a thing as I. 
 Turn his heart from me, lest my love too lose 
 Thee as I lose thee, and his fair soul refuse 
 For my sake thy fair heaven, and as I fell 
 Fall, and be mixed with my soul and with hell. 
 Let me die rather, and only : let me be 
 Hated of him so he be loved of thee, 
 Lord : for I would not have him with me there 
 Out of thy light and love in the unlit air, 
 Out of thy sight in the unseen hell where I 
 Go gladly, going alone, so thou on high 
 Lift up his soul and love him — Ah, Lord, Lord, 
 Shalt thou love as I love him ? she that poured 
 From the alabaster broken at thy feet 
 An ointment very precious, not so sweet 
 As that poured likewise forth before thee then 
 From the rehallowed heart of Magdalen, 
 From a heart broken, yearning like the dove, 
 An ointment very precious which is love — 
 
9o ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 Couldst thou being holy and God, and sinful she- 
 Love her indeed as surely she loved thee ? 
 Nay, but if not, then as we sinners can 
 Let us love still in the old sad wise of man. 
 For with less love than my love, having had 
 Mine, though God love him he shall not be glad. 
 And with such love as my love, I wot well, 
 He shall not lie disconsolate in hell : 
 Sad only as souls for utter love's sake be 
 Here, and a little sad, perchance, for me — 
 Me happy, me more glad than God above, 
 In the utmost hell whose fires consume not love ! 
 For in the waste ways emptied of the sun 
 He would say — " Dear, thy place is void, and one 
 Weeps among angels for thee, with his face 
 Veiled, saying, O sister, how thy chosen place 
 Stands desolate, that God made fair for thee ! 
 Is heaven ?iot sweeter, and we thy brethren, we 
 Fairer than love on earth and life in hell ? " 
 And I — with me were all things then not well ? 
 Should I not answer — " O love, be well content ; 
 Look on me, and behold if I repent." 
 This were more to me than an angel's wings. 
 Yea, many men pray God for many things, 
 But I pray that this only thing may be/ 
 
 And as a full field charging was the sea, 
 And as the cry of slain men was the wind. 
 
 ' Yea, since I surely loved him, and he sinned 
 Surely, though not as my sin his be black, 
 God, give him to me — God, God, give him back ! 
 
ISEULT AT T1NTAGEL. 91 
 
 For now how should we live in twain or die ? 
 I am he indeed, thou knowest, and he is I. 
 Not man and woman several as we were, 
 But one thing with one life and death to bear. 
 How should one love his own soul overmuch ? 
 And time is long since last I felt the touch, 
 The sweet touch of my lover, hand and breath, 
 In such delight as puts delight to death, 
 Burn my soul through, till spirit and soul and sense, 
 In the sharp grasp of the hour, with violence 
 Died, and again through pangs of violent birth 
 Lived, and laughed out with refluent might of mirth ; 
 Laughed each on other and shuddered into one, 
 As a cloud shuddering dies into the sun. 
 Ah, sense is that or spirit, soul or flesh, 
 That only love lulls or awakes afresh ? 
 Ah, sweet is that or bitter, evil or good, 
 That very love allays not as he would ? 
 Nay, truth is this or vanity, that gives 
 No love assurance when love dies or lives ? 
 This that my spirit is wrung withal, and yet 
 No surelier knows if haply thine forget, 
 Thou that my spirit is wrung for, nor can say 
 Love is not in thee dead as yesterday ? 
 Dost thou feel, thou, this heartbeat whence my heart 
 Would send thee word what life is mine apart, 
 And know by keen response what life is thine ? 
 Dost thou not hear one cry of all of mine ? 
 O Tristram's heart, have I no part in thee ? ' 
 And all her soul was as the breaking sea, 
 
92 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 And all her heart anhungered as the wind. 
 
 ' Dost thou repent thee of the sin we sinned ? 
 Dost thou repent thee of the days and nights 
 That kindled and that quenched for us their lights, 
 The months that feasted us with all their hours, 
 The ways that breathed of us in all their flowers, 
 The dells that sang of us with all their doves ? 
 Dost thou repent thee of the wildwood loves ? 
 Is thine heart changed, and hallowed ? art thou 
 
 grown 
 God's, and not mine ? Yet, though my heart make 
 
 moan, 
 Fain would my soul give thanks for thine, if thou 
 Be saved — yea, fain praise God, and knows not how. 
 How should it know thanksgiving ? nay, or learn 
 Aught of the love wherewith thine own should burn, 
 God's, that should cast out as an evil thing 
 Mine ? yea, what hand of prayer have I to cling, 
 What heart to prophesy, what spirit of sight 
 To strain insensual eyes toward increate light, 
 Who look but back on life wherein I sinned ? ' 
 
 And all their past came wailing in the wind, 
 And all their future thundered in the sea. 
 
 ' But if my soul might touch the time to be, 
 If hand might handle now or eye behold 
 My life and death ordained me from of old, 
 Life palpable, compact of blood and breath, 
 Visible, present, naked, very death, 
 Should I desire to know before the day 
 These that I know not, nor is man that may ? 
 
ISEULT AT T1NTAGEL. 93 
 
 For haply, seeing, my heart would break for fear, 
 And my soul timeless cast its load off here, 
 Its load of life too bitter, love too sweet, 
 And fall down shamed and naked at thy feet, 
 God, who wouldst take no pity of it, nor give 
 One hour back, one of all its hours to live 
 Clothed with my mortal body, that once more, 
 Once, on this reach of barren beaten shore, 
 This stormy strand of life, ere sail were set, 
 Had haply felt love's arms about it yet — 
 Yea, ere death's bark put off to seaward, might 
 With many a grief have bought me one delight 
 That then should know me never. Ah, what years 
 Would I endure not, filled up full with tears, 
 Bitter like blood and dark as dread of death, 
 To win one amorous hour of mingling breath, 
 One fire-eyed hour and sunnier than the sun, 
 For all these nights and days like nights but one ? 
 One hour of heaven born once, a stormless birth, 
 For all these windy weary hours of earth ? 
 One, but one hour from birth of joy to death, 
 For all these hungering hours of feverish breath ? 
 And I should lose this, having died and sinned.' 
 
 And as man's anguish clamouring cried the wind, 
 And as God's anger answering rang the sea. 
 
 1 And yet what life — Lord God, what life for me 
 Has thy strong wrath made ready ? Dost thou think 
 How lips whose thirst hath only tears to drink 
 Grow grey for grief untimely ? Dost thou know, 
 O happy God, how men wax weary of woe — 
 
94 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 Yea, for their wrong's sake that thine hand hath done 
 Come even to hate thy semblance in the sun ? 
 Turn back from dawn and noon and all thy light 
 To make their souls one with the soul of night ? 
 Christ, if thou hear yet or have eyes to see, 
 Thou that hadst pity, and hast no pity on me, 
 Know'st thou no more, as in this life's sharp span, 
 What pain thou hadst on earth, what pain hath man? 
 Hast thou no care, that all we suffer yet ? 
 What help is ours of thee if thou forget ? 
 What profit have we though thy blood were given, 
 If we that sin bleed and be not forgiven ? 
 Not love but hate, thou bitter God and strange, 
 Whose heart as man's heart hath grown cold with 
 
 change, 
 Not love but hate thou showest us that have sinned. ; 
 
 And like a world's cry shuddering was the wind, 
 And like a God's voice threatening was the sea. 
 
 1 Nay, Lord, for thou wast gracious ; nay, in thee 
 No change can come with time or varying fate, 
 No tongue bid thine be less compassionate, 
 No sterner eye rebuke for mercy thine, 
 No sin put out thy pity — no, not mine. 
 Thou knowest us, Lord, thou knowest us, all we are, 
 He, and the soul that hath his soul for star : 
 Thou knowest as I know, Lord, how much more 
 
 worth 
 Than all souls clad and clasped about with earth, 
 But most of all, God, how much mere than I, 
 Is this man's soul that surely shall not die. 
 
ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 95 
 
 What righteousness, what judgment, Lord most 
 
 high, 
 Were this, to bend a brow of doom as grim 
 As threats me, me the adulterous wife, on him ? 
 There lies none other nightly by his side : 
 He hath not sought, he shall not seek a bride. 
 Far as God sunders earth from heaven above, 
 So far was my love born beneath his love. 
 I loved him as the sea-wind loves the sea, 
 To rend and ruin it only and waste : but he, 
 As the sea loves a sea-bird loved he me, 
 To foster and uphold my tired life's wing, 
 And bounteously beneath me spread forth spring, 
 A springtide space whereon to float or fly, 
 A world of happy water, whence the sky 
 Glowed goodlier, lightening from so glad a glass, 
 Than with its own light only. Now, alas ! 
 Cloud hath come down and clothed it round with 
 
 storm, 
 And gusts and fits of eddying winds deform 
 The feature of its glory. Yet be thou, 
 God, merciful : nay, show but justice now, 
 And let the sin in him that scarce was his 
 Stand expiated with exile : and be this 
 The price for him, the atonement this, that I 
 With all the sin upon me live, and die 
 With all thy wrath on me that most have sinned.' 
 
 And like man's heart relenting sighed the wind, 
 And as God's wrath subsiding sank the sea. 
 
 * But if such grace be possible — if it be 
 
96 ISEULT AT TIN TA GEL. 
 
 Not sin more strange than all sins past, and worse 
 
 Evil, that cries upon thee for a curse, 
 
 To pray such prayers from such a heart, do thou 
 
 Hear, and make wide thine hearing toward me now ; 
 
 Let not my soul and his for ever dwell 
 
 Sundered : though doom keep always heaven and hell 
 
 Irreconcilable, infinitely apart, 
 
 Keep not in twain for ever heart and heart 
 
 That once, albeit by not thy law, were one j 
 
 Let this be not thy will, that this be done. 
 
 Let all else, all thou wilt of evil, be, 
 
 But no doom, none, dividing him and me.' 
 
 By this was heaven stirred eastward, and there came 
 Up the rough ripple a labouring light like flame ; 
 And dawn, sore trembling still and grey with fear, 
 Looked hardly forth, a face of heavier cheer ? 
 Than one which grief or dread yet half enshrouds, 
 Wild-eyed and wan, across the cleaving clouds. 
 And Iseult, worn with watch long held on pain, 
 Turned, and her eye lit on the hound Hodain, 
 And all her heart went out in tears : and he 
 Laid his kind head along her bended knee, 
 Till round his neck her arms went hard, and all 
 The night past from her as a chain might fall : 
 But yet the heart within her, half undone, 
 Wailed, and was loth to let her see the sun. 
 
 And ere full day brought heaven and earth to flower, 
 Far thence, a maiden in a marriage bower, 
 That moment, hard by Tristram, oversea, 
 Woke with glad eyes Iseult of Brittany. 
 
97 
 
 VI. 
 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 A little time, O Love, a little light, 
 A little hour for ease before the night. 
 Sweet Love, that art so bitter ; foolish Love, 
 Whom wise men know for wiser, and thy dove 
 More subtle than the serpent ; for thy sake 
 These pray thee for a little beam to break, 
 A little grace to help them, lest men think 
 Thy servants have but hours like tears to drink. 
 O Love, a little comfort, lest they fear 
 To^ serve as these have served thee who stand here. 
 For these are thine, thy servants these, that stand 
 Here nigh the limit of the wild north land, 
 At margin of the grey great eastern sea, 
 Dense-islanded with peaks and reefs, that see 
 No life but of the fleet wings fair and free 
 Which cleave the mist and sunlight all day long 
 With sleepless flight and cries more glad than song. 
 Strange ways of life have led them hither, here 
 To win fleet respite from desire and fear, 
 
 H 
 
98 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 With armistice from sorrow ; strange and sweet 
 Ways trodden by forlorn and casual feet 
 Till kindlier chance woke toward them kindly will 
 In happier hearts of lovers, and their ill 
 Found rest, as healing surely might it not, 
 By gift and kingly grace of Launcelot 
 At gracious bidding given of Guenevere. 
 For in the trembling twilight of this year 
 Ere April sprang from hope to certitude 
 Two hearts of friends fast linked had fallen at feud 
 As they rode forth on hawking, by the sign 
 Which gave his new bride's brother Ganhardine 
 To know the truth of Tristram's dealing, how 
 Faith kept of him against his marriage vow 
 Kept virginal his bride-bed night and morn ; 
 Whereat, as wroth his blood should suffer scorn, 
 Came Ganhardine to Tristram, saying, ' Behold, 
 We have loved thee, and for love we have shown of old 
 Scorn hast thou shown us : wherefore is thy bride 
 Not thine indeed, a stranger at thy side, 
 Contemned ? what evil hath she done, to be 
 Mocked with mouth-marriage and despised of thee, 
 Shamed, set at nought, rejected? ' But there came 
 On Tristram's brow and eye the shadow and flame 
 Confused of wrath and wonder, ere he spake, 
 Saying, ' Hath she bid thee for thy sister's sake 
 Plead with me, who believed of her in heart 
 More nobly than to deem such piteous part 
 Should find so fair a player ? or whence hast thou 
 Of us this knowledge ? ' ' Nay/ said he, ' but now, 
 
JOYOUS GARD. 99 
 
 Riding beneath these whitethorns overhead, 
 
 There fell a flower into her girdlestead 
 
 Which laughing she shook out, and smiling said — 
 
 " Lo, what large leave the wind hath given this stray, 
 
 To lie more near my heart than till this day 
 
 Aught ever since my mother lulled me lay 
 
 Or even my lord came ever ; " whence I wot 
 
 We are all thy scorn, a race regarded not 
 
 Nor held as worth communion of thine own, 
 
 Except in her be found some fault alone 
 
 To blemish our alliance.' Then replied 
 
 Tristram, ' Nor blame nor scorn may touch my bride, 
 
 Albeit unknown of love she live, and be 
 
 Worth a man worthier than her love thought me. 
 
 Faith only, faith withheld me, faith forbade 
 
 The blameless grace wherewith love's grace makes 
 
 glad 
 All lives linked else in wedlock ; not that less 
 I loved the sweet light of her loveliness, 
 But that my love toward faith was more : and thou, 
 Albeit thine heart be keen against me now, 
 Couldst thou behold my very lady, then 
 No more of thee than of all other men 
 Should this my faith be held a faithless fault' 
 And ere that day their hawking came to halt 
 Being sore of him entreated for a sign, 
 He sware to bring his brother Ganhardine 
 To sight of that strange Iseult : and thereon 
 Forth soon for Cornwall are these brethren gone, 
 h 2 
 
ioo JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 Even to that royal pleasance where the hunt 
 Rang ever of old with Tristram's horn in front 
 Blithe as the queen's horse bounded at his side : 
 And first of all her dames forth pranced in pride 
 That day before them, with a ringing rein 
 All golden-glad, the king's false bride Brangwain, 
 The queen's true handmaid ever : and on her 
 Glancing, ' Be called for all time truth-teller, 
 O Tristram, of all true men's tongues alive,' 
 Quoth Ganhardine j ' for may my soul so thrive 
 As yet mine eye drank never sight like this.' 
 ' Ay ? ' Tristram said, * and she thou look'st on is 
 So great in grace of goodliness, that thou 
 Hast less thought left of wrath against me now, 
 Seeing but my lady's handmaid ? Nay, behold ; 
 See'st thou no light more golden than of gold 
 Shine where she moves in midst of all, above 
 All, past all price or praise or prayer of love ? 
 Lo, this is she.' But as one mazed with wine 
 Stood, stunned in spirit and stricken, Ganhardine, 
 And gazed out hard against them : and his heart 
 As with a sword was cloven, and rent apart 
 As with strong fangs of fire ; and scarce he spake, 
 Saying how his life for even a handmaid's sake 
 Was made a flame within him. And the knight 
 Bade him, being known of none that stood in sight, 
 Bear to Brangwain his ring, that she unseen 
 Might give in token privily to the queen 
 And send swift word where under moon or sun 
 They twain might yet be no more twain but one. 
 
JOYOUS GARB. 101 
 
 And that same night, under the stars that rolled 
 Over their warm deep wildwood nights of old 
 Whose hours for grains of sand shed sparks of fire, 
 Such way was made anew for their desire 
 By secret wile of sickness feigned, to keep 
 The king far off her vigils or her sleep, 
 That in the queen's pavilion midway set 
 By glimmering moondawn were those lovers met, 
 And Ganhardine of Brangwain gat him grace. 
 And in some passionate soft interspace 
 Between two swells of passion, when their lips 
 Breathed, and made room for such brief speech as 
 
 slips 
 From tongues athirst with draughts of amorous wine 
 That leaves them thirstier than the salt sea's brine, 
 Was counsel taken how to fly, and where 
 Find covert from the wild world's ravening air 
 That hunts with storm the feet of nights and days 
 Through strange thwart lines of life and flowerless 
 
 ways. 
 Then said Iseult : ' Lo, now the chance is here 
 Foreshown me late by word of Guenevere, 
 To give me comfort of thy rumoured wrong, 
 My traitor Tristram, when report was strong 
 Of me forsaken and thine heart estranged : 
 Nor should her sweet soul toward me yet be changed 
 Nor all her love lie barren, if mine hand 
 Crave harvest of it from the flowering land. 
 See therefore if this counsel please thee not, 
 That we take horse in haste for Camelot 
 
142 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 And seek that friendship of her plighted troth 
 
 Which love shall be full fain to lend, nor loth 
 
 Shall my love be to take it.' So next night 
 
 The multitudinous stars laughed round their flight, 
 
 Fulfilling far with laughter made of light 
 
 The encircling deeps of heaven : and in brief space 
 
 At Camelot their long love gat them grace 
 
 Of those fair twain whose heads men's praise im- 
 
 pearled 
 As love's two lordliest lovers in the world : 
 And thence as guests for harbourage past they forth 
 To win this noblest hold of all the north. 
 Far by wild ways and many days they rode, 
 Till clear across June's kingliest sunset glowed 
 The great round girth of goodly wall that showed 
 Where for one clear sweet season's length should be 
 Their place of strength to rest in, fain and free, 
 By the utmost margin of the loud lone sea. 
 
 And now, O Love, what comfort? God most 
 
 high, 
 Whose life is as a flower's to live and die, 
 Whose light is everlasting : Lord, whose breath 
 Speaks music through the deathless lips of death 
 Whereto time's heart rings answer : Bard, whom time 
 Hears, and is vanquished with a wandering rhyme 
 That once thy lips made fragrant : Seer, whose sooth 
 Joy knows not well, but sorrow knows for truth, 
 Being priestess of thy soothsayings : Love, what grace 
 Shall these twain find at last before thy face ? 
 
JOYOUS GARD. 103 
 
 This many a year they have served thee, and 
 
 deserved, 
 If ever man might yet of all that served, 
 Since the first heartbeat bade the first man's knee 
 Bend, and his mouth take music, praising thee, 
 Some comfort ; and some honey indeed of thine 
 Thou hast mixed for these with life's most bitter wine 
 Commending to their passionate lips a draught 
 No deadlier than thy chosen of old have quaffed 
 And blessed thine hand, their cupbearer's : for not 
 On all men comes the grace that seals their lot 
 As holier in thy sight, for all these feuds 
 That rend it, than the light-souled multitude's, 
 Nor thwarted of thine hand nor blessed ; but these 
 Shall see no twilight, Love, nor fade at ease, 
 Grey-grown and careless of desired delight, 
 But lie down tired and sleep before the night. 
 These shall not live till time or change may chill 
 Or doubt divide or shame subdue their will, 
 Or fear or slow repentance work them wrong, 
 Or love die first : these shall not live so long. 
 Death shall not take them drained of dear true life 
 Already, sick or stagnant from the strife, 
 Quenched : not with dry- drawn veins and lingering 
 
 breath 
 Shall these through crumbling hours crouch down to 
 
 death. 
 Swift, with one strong clean leap, ere life's pulse tire, 
 Most like the leap of lions or of fire, 
 
104 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 Sheer death shall bound upon them : one pang past, 
 The first keen sense of him shall be their last, 
 Their last shall be no sense of any fear, 
 More than their life had sense of anguish here. 
 Weeks and light months had fled at swallow's 
 speed 
 Since here their first hour sowed for them the seed 
 Of many sweet as rest or hope could be ; 
 Since on the blown beach of a glad new sea 
 Wherein strange rocks like fighting men stand scarred 
 They saw the strength and help of Joyous Gard. 
 Within the full deep glorious tower that stands 
 Between the wild sea and the broad wild lands 
 Love led and gave them quiet : and they drew 
 Life like a God's life in each wind that blew, 
 And took their rest, and triumphed. Day by day 
 The mighty moorlands and the sea-walls grey, 
 The brown bright waters of green fells that sing 
 One song to rocks and flowers and birds on wing, 
 Beheld the joy and glory that they had, 
 Passing, and how the whole world made them glad, 
 And their great love was mixed with all things great, 
 As life being lovely, and yet being strong like fate. 
 For when the sun sprang on the sudden sea 
 Their eyes sprang eastward, and the day to be 
 Was lit in them untimely : such delight 
 They took yet of the clear cold breath and light 
 That goes before the morning, and such grace 
 Was deathless in them through their whole life's 
 space 
 
JOYOUS GARD. 105 
 
 As dies in many with their dawn that dies 
 
 And leaves in pulseless hearts and nameless eyes 
 
 No light to lighten and no tear to weep 
 
 For youth's high joy that time has cast on sleep. 
 
 Yea, this old grace and height of joy they had, 
 
 To lose no jot of all that made them glad 
 
 And filled their springs of spirit with such fire 
 
 That all delight fed in them all desire ; 
 
 And no whit less than in their first keen prime 
 
 The spring's breath blew through all their summer 
 
 time, 
 And in their skies would sunlike Love confuse 
 Clear April colours with hot August hues, 
 And in their hearts one light of sun and moon 
 Reigned, and the morning died not of the noon : 
 Such might of life was in them, and so high 
 Their heart of love rose higher than fate could fly. 
 And many a large delight of hawk and hound 
 The great glad land that knows no bourne or bound, 
 Save the wind's own and the outer sea-bank's, gave 
 Their days for comfort ; many a long blithe wave 
 Buoyed their blithe bark between the bare bald rocks, 
 Deep, steep, and still, save for the swift free flocks 
 TJnshepherded, uncompassed, unconfined, 
 That when blown foam keeps all the loud air blind 
 Mix with the wind's their triumph, and partake 
 The joy of blasts that ravin, waves that break, 
 All round and all below their mustering wings, 
 A clanging cloud that round the cliff's edge clings 
 
106 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 On each bleak bluff breaking the strenuous tides 
 That rings reverberate mirth when storm bestrides 
 The subject night in thunder : many a noon 
 They took the moorland's or the bright sea ; s boon 
 With all their hearts into their spirit of sense, 
 Rejoicing, where the sudden dells grew dense 
 With sharp thick flight of hillside birds, or where 
 On some strait rock's ledge in the intense mute air 
 Erect against the cliff's sheer sunlit white 
 Blue as the clear north heaven, clothed warm with 
 
 light, 
 Stood neck to bended neck and wing to wing 
 With heads fast hidden under, close as cling 
 Flowers on one flowering almond-branch in spring, 
 Three herons deep asleep against the sun, 
 Each with one bright foot downward poised, and one 
 Wing-hidden hard by the bright head, and all 
 Still as fair shapes fixed on some wondrous wall 
 Of minster-aisle or cloister-close or hall 
 To take even time's eye prisoner with delight. 
 Or, satisfied with joy of sound and sight, 
 They sat and communed of things past : what state 
 King Arthur, yet unwarred upon by fate, 
 Held high in hall at Camelot, like one 
 Whose lordly life was as the mounting sun 
 That climbs and pauses on the point of noon, 
 Sovereign : how royal rang the tourney's tune 
 Through Tristram's three days' triumph, spear to 
 
 spear 7 
 When Iseult shone enthroned by Guenevere, 
 
JOYOUS GARD. 107 
 
 Rose against rose, the highest adored on earth, 
 
 Imperial : yet with subtle notes of mirth 
 
 Would she bemock her praises, and bemoan 
 
 Her glory by that splendour overthrown 
 
 Which lightened from her sister's eyes elate ; 
 
 Saying how by night a little light seems great, 
 
 But less than least of all things, very nought, 
 
 When dawn undoes the web that darkness wrought ; 
 
 How like a tower of ivory well designed 
 
 By subtlest hand subserving subtlest mind, 
 
 Ivory with flower of rose incarnadined 
 
 And kindling with some God therein revealed, 
 
 A light for grief to look on and be healed, 
 
 Stood Guenevere : and all beholding her 
 
 Were heartstruck even as earth at midsummer 
 
 With burning wonder, hardly to be borne. 
 
 So was that amorous glorious lady born, 
 
 A fiery memory for all storied years : 
 
 Nor might men call her sisters crowned her peers, 
 
 Her sister queens, put all by her to scorn : 
 
 She had such eyes as are not made to mourn ; 
 
 But in her own a gleaming ghost of tears 
 
 Shone, and their glance was slower than Guenevere's, 
 
 And fitfuller with fancies grown of grief; 
 
 Shamed as a Mayflower shames an autumn leaf 
 
 Full well she wist it could not choose but be 
 
 If in that other's eyeshot standing she 
 
 Should lift her looks up ever : wherewithal 
 
 Like fires whose light fills heaven with festival 
 
108 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 Flamed her eyes full on Tristram's ; and he laughed, 
 
 Answering, ' What wile of sweet child- hearted craft 
 
 That children forge for children, to beguile 
 
 Eyes known of them not witless of the wile 
 
 But fain to seem for sport's sake self-deceived, 
 
 Wilt thou find out now not to be believed ? 
 
 Or how shall I trust more than ouphe or elf 
 
 Thy truth to me-ward, who beliest thyself? ' 
 
 * Nor elf nor ouphe or aught of airier kind,' 
 
 Quoth she, ' though made of moonbeams moist and 
 
 blind, 
 Is light if weighed with man's winged weightless mind. 
 Though thou keep somewise troth with me, God wot, 
 When thou didst wed, I doubt, thou thoughtest not 
 So charily to keep it.' ' Nay,' said he, 
 1 Yet am not I rebukable by thee 
 As Launcelot, erring, held me ere he wist 
 No mouth save thine of mine was ever kissed 
 Save as a sister's only, since we twain 
 Drank first the draught assigned our lips to drain 
 That Fate and Love with darkling hands commixt 
 Poured, and no power to part them came betwixt, 
 But either's will, howbeit they seem at strife, 
 Was toward us one, as death itself and life 
 Are one sole doom toward all men, nor may one 
 Behold not darkness, who beholds the sun.' 
 
 * Ah, then/ she said, ' what word is this men hear 
 Of Merlin, how some doom too strange to fear 
 Was cast but late about him oversea, 
 Sweet recreant, in thy bridal Brittany ? 
 
JOYOUS GARD. 109 
 
 Is not his life sealed fast on him with sleep, 
 By witchcraft of his own and love's, to keep 
 Till earth be fire and ashes ? ' 
 
 1 Surely,' said 
 Her lover, ' not as one alive or dead 
 The great good wizard, well beloved and well 
 Predestinate of heaven that casts out hell 
 For guerdon gentler far than all men's fate, 
 Exempt alone of all predestinate, 
 Takes his strange rest at heart of slumberland, 
 More deep asleep in green Broceliande 
 Than shipwrecked sleepers in the soft green sea 
 Beneath the weight of wandering waves : but he 
 Hath for those roofing waters overhead 
 Above him always all the summer spread 
 Or all the winter wailing : or the sweet 
 Late leaves marked red with autumn's burning feet, 
 Or withered with his weeping, round the seer 
 Rain, and he sees not, nor may heed or hear 
 The witness of the winter : but in spring 
 He hears above him all the winds on wing 
 Through the blue dawn between the brightening 
 
 boughs, 
 And on shut eyes and slumber- smitten brows 
 Feels ambient change in the air and strengthening 
 
 sun, 
 And knows the soul that was his soul at one 
 With the ardent world's, and in the spirit of earth 
 His spirit of life reborn to mightier birth 
 And mixed with things of elder life than ours ; 
 With cries of birds, and kindling lamps of flowers, 
 
no JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 And sweep and song of winds, and fruitful light 
 Of sunbeams, and the far faint breath of night, 
 And waves and woods at morning : and in all, 
 Soft as at noon the slow sea's rise and fall, 
 He hears in spirit a song that none but he 
 Hears from the mystic mouth of Nimue 
 Shed like a consecration j and his heart, 
 Hearing, is made for love's sake as a part 
 Of that far singing, and the life thereof 
 Part of that life that feeds the world with love : 
 Yea, heart in heart is molten, hers and his, 
 Into the world's heart and the soul that is 
 Beyond or sense or vision ; and their breath 
 Stirs the soft springs of deathless life and death, 
 Death that bears life, and change that brings forth 
 
 seed 
 Of life to death and death to life indeed, 
 As blood recircling through the unsounded veins 
 Of earth and heaven with all their joys and pains. 
 Ah, that when love shall laugh no more nor weep 
 We too, we too might hear that song and sleep ! ' 
 
 ' Yea,' said Iseult, 'some joy it were to be 
 Lost in the sun's light and the all-girdling sea, 
 Mixed with the winds and woodlands, and to bear 
 Part in the large life of the quickening air, 
 And the sweet earth's, our mother : yet to pass 
 More fleet than mirrored faces from the glass 
 Out of all pain and all delight, so far 
 That love should seem but as the furthest star 
 Sunk deep in trembling heaven, scarce seen or known, 
 
JOYOUS GARD. in 
 
 As a dead moon forgotten, once that shone 
 Where now the sun shines — nay, not all things yet, 
 Not all things always, dying, would I forget.' 
 
 And Tristram answered amorously, and said : 
 * O heart that here art mine, O heavenliest head 
 That ever took men's worship here, which art 
 Mine, how shall death put out the fire at heart, 
 Quench in men's eyes the head's remembered light 
 That time shall set but higher in more men's sight ? 
 Think thou not much to die one earthly day, 
 Being made not in their mould who pass away 
 Nor who shall pass for ever.' 
 
 1 Ah,' she said, 
 ' What shall it profit me, being praised and dead ? 
 What profit have the flowers of all men's praise ? 
 What pleasure of our pleasure have the days 
 That pour on us delight of life and mirth ? 
 What fruit of all our joy on earth has earth ? 
 Nor am I — nay, my lover, am I one 
 To take such part in heaven's enkindling sun 
 And in the inviolate air and sacred sea 
 As clothes with grace that wondrous Nimue ? 
 For all her works are bounties, all her deeds 
 Blessings j her days are scrolls wherein love reads 
 The record of his mercies ; heaven above 
 Hath not more heavenly holiness of love 
 Than earth beneath, wherever pass or pause 
 Her feet that move not save by love's own laws, 
 In gentleness of godlike wayfaring 
 To heal men's hearts as earth is healed by spring 
 
ii2 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 Of all such woes as winter : what am I, 
 Love, that have strength but to desire and die, 
 That have but grace to love and do thee wrong, 
 What am I that my name should live so long, 
 Save as the star that crossed thy star-struck lot, 
 With hers whose light was life to Launcelot ? 
 Life gave she him, and strength, and fame to be 
 For ever : I, what gift can I give thee ? 
 Peril and sleepless watches, fearful breath 
 Of dread more bitter for my sake than death 
 When death came nigh to call me by my name, 
 Exile, rebuke, remorse, and — O, not shame. 
 Shame only, this I gave thee not, whom none 
 May give that worst thing ever — no, not one. 
 Of all that hate, all hateful hearts that see 
 Darkness for light and hate where love should be, 
 None for my shame's sake may speak shame of thee.' 
 And Tristram answering ere he kissed her smiled 
 ' O very woman, god at once and child, 
 What ails thee to desire of me once more 
 The assurance that thou hadst in heart before ? 
 For all this wild sweet waste of sweet vain breath, 
 Thou knowest I know thou hast given me life, not 
 
 death. 
 The shadow of death, informed with shows of strife, 
 Was ere I won thee all I had of life. 
 Light war, light love, light living, dreams in sleep, 
 Joy slight and light, not glad enough to weep, 
 Filled up my foolish days with sound and shine, 
 Vision and gleam from strange men's cast on mine, 
 Reverberate light from eyes presaging thine 
 
JOYOUS GARD. 113 
 
 That shed but shadowy moonlight where thy face 
 
 Now sheds forth sunshine in the deep same place, 
 
 The deep live heart half dead and shallower then 
 
 Than summer fords which thwart not wandering men. 
 
 For how should I, signed sorrow's from my birth, 
 
 Kiss dumb the loud red laughing lips of mirth? 
 
 Or how, sealed thine to be, love less than heaven on earth? 
 
 My heart in me was held at restless rest, 
 
 Presageful of some prize beyond its quest, 
 
 Prophetic still with promise, fain to find the best. 
 
 For one was fond and one was blithe and one 
 
 Fairer than all save twain whose peers are none ; 
 
 For third on earth is none that heaven hath seen 
 
 To stand with Guenevere beside my queen. 
 
 Not Nimue, girt with blessing as a guard : 
 
 Not the soft lures and laughters of Ettarde : 
 
 Not she, that splendour girdled round with gloom, 
 
 Crowned as with iron darkness of the tomb, 
 
 And clothed with clouding conscience of a monstrous 
 
 doom, 
 Whose blind incestuous love brought forth a fire 
 To burn her ere it burn its darkling sire, 
 Her mother's son, King Arthur : yet but late 
 We saw pass by that fair live shadow of fate, 
 The queen Morgause of Orkney, like a dream 
 That scares the night when moon and starry beam 
 Sicken and swoon before some sorcerer's eyes 
 Whose wordless charms defile the saintly skies, 
 Bright still with fire and pulse of blood and breath, 
 Whom her own sons have doomed for shame to death/ 
 
ii 4 JOYOUS GARD. 
 
 1 Death — yea/ quoth she, ' there is not said or heard 
 So oft aloud on earth so sure a word. 
 Death, and again death, and for each that saith 
 Ten tongues chime answer to the sound of death. 
 Good end God send us ever — so men pray. 
 But I — this end God send me, would I say, 
 To die not of division and a heart 
 Rent or with sword of severance cloven apart, 
 But only when thou diest and only where thou art, 
 O thou my soul and spirit and breath to me, 
 O light, life, love ! yea, let this only be, 
 That dying I may praise God who gave me thee, 
 Let hap what will thereafter.' 
 
 So that day 
 They communed, even till even was worn away, 
 Nor aught they said seemed strange or sad to say, 
 But sweet as night's dim dawn to weariness. 
 Nor loved they life or love for death's sake less, 
 Nor feared they death for love's or life's sake more. 
 And on the sounding soft funereal shore 
 They, watching till the day should wholly die, 
 Saw the far sea sweep to the far grey sky, 
 Saw the long sands sweep to the long grey sea. 
 And night made one sweet mist of moor and lea, 
 And only far off shore the foam gave light. 
 And life in them sank silent as the night. 
 
u5 
 
 VII. 
 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 
 
 But all that year in Brittany forlorn, 
 More sick at heart with wrath than fear of scorn 
 And less in love with love than grief, and less 
 With grief than pride of spirit and bitterness, 
 Till all the sweet life of her blood was changed 
 And all her soul from all her past estranged 
 And all her will with all itself at strife 
 And all her mind at war with all her life, 
 Dwelt the white-handed Iseult, maid and wife, 
 A mourner that for mourning robes had on 
 Anger and doubt and hate of things foregone. 
 For that sweet spirit of old which made her sweet 
 Was parched with blasts of thought as flowers with 
 
 heat 
 And withered as with wind of evil will j 
 Though slower than frosts or fires consume or kill 
 That bleak black wind vexed all her spirit still. 
 As ripples reddening in the roughening breath 
 Of the eager east when dawn does night to death, 
 
n6 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 
 
 So rose and stirred and kindled in her thought 
 Fierce barren fluctuant fires that lit not aught, 
 But scorched her soul with yearning keen as hate 
 And dreams that left her wrath disconsolate. 
 When change came first on that first heaven where all 
 Life's hours were flowers that dawn's light hand let fall, 
 The sun that smote her dewy cloud of days 
 Wrought from its showery folds his rainbow's rays, 
 For love the red, for hope the gentle green, 
 But yellow jealousy glared pale between. 
 Ere yet the sky grew heavier, and her head 
 Bent flowerwise, chill with change and fancies fled, 
 She saw but love arch all her heaven across with red, 
 A burning bloom that seemed to breathe and beat 
 And waver only as flame with rapturous heat 
 Wavers ; and all the world therewith smelt sweet, 
 As incense kindling from the rose-red flame : 
 And when that full flush waned, and love became 
 Scarce fainter, though his fading horoscope 
 From certitude of sight receded, hope 
 Held yet her April-coloured light aloft 
 As though to lure back love, a lamp sublime and soft. 
 But soon that light paled as a leaf grows pale 
 And fluttered leaf-like in the gathering gale 
 And melted even as dew-flakes, whose brief sheen 
 The sun that gave despoils of glittering green ; 
 Till harder shone 'twixt hope and love grown cold 
 A sallow light like withering autumn's gold, 
 The pale strong flame of jealous thought, that glows 
 More deep than hope's green bloom or love's 
 enkindled rose : 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 117 
 
 As though the sunflower's faint fierce disk absorbed 
 The spirit and heart of starrier flowers disorbed. 
 
 That same full hour of twilight's doors unbarred 
 To let bright night behold in Joyous Gard 
 The glad grave eyes of lovers far away 
 Watch with sweet thoughts of death the death of day 
 Saw lonelier by the narrower opening sea 
 Sit fixed at watch Iseult of Brittany. 
 As darkness from deep valleys void and bleak 
 Climbs till it clothe with night the sunniest peak 
 Where only of all a mystic mountain-land 
 Day seems to cling yet with a trembling hand 
 And yielding heart reluctant to recede, 
 So, till her soul was clothed with night indeed, 
 Rose the slow cloud of envious will within 
 And hardening hate that held itself no sin, 
 Veiled heads of vision, eyes of evil gleam, 
 Dim thought on thought, and darkling dream on dream. 
 Far off she saw in spirit, and seeing abhorred, 
 The likeness wrought on darkness of her lord 
 Shine, and the imperial semblance at his side 
 Whose shadow from her seat cast down the bride, 
 Whose power and ghostly presence thrust her forth : 
 Beside that unknown other sea far north 
 She saw them, clearer than in present sight 
 Rose on her eyes the starry shadow of night ; 
 And on her heart that heaved with gathering fate 
 Rose red with storm the starless shadow of hate ; 
 And eyes and heart made one saw surge and swell 
 The fires of sunset like the fires of hell. 
 
n8 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 
 
 As though God's wrath would burn up sin with shame, 
 The incensed red gold of deepening heaven grew 
 
 flame : 
 The sweet green spaces of the soft low sky 
 Faded, as fields that withering wind leaves dry : 
 The sea's was like a doomsman's blasting breath 
 From lips afoam with ravenous lust of death. 
 A night like desolation, sombre-starred, 
 Above the great walled girth of Joyous Gard 
 Spread forth its wide sad strength of shadow and 
 
 gloom 
 Wherein those twain were compassed round with doom : 
 Hell from beneath called on them, and she heard 
 Reverberate judgment in the wild wind's word 
 Cry, till the sole sound of their names that rang 
 Clove all the sea-mist with a clarion's clang, 
 And clouds to clouds and flames to clustering flames 
 Beat back the dark noise of the direful names. 
 Fear and strong exultation caught her breath, 
 And triumph like the bitterness of death, 
 And rapture like the rage of hate allayed 
 With ruin and ravin that its might hath made ; 
 And her heart swelled and strained itself to hear 
 What may be heard of no man's hungering ear, 
 And as a soil that cleaves in twain for drouth 
 Thirsted for judgment given of God's own mouth 
 Against them, till the strength of dark desire 
 Was in her as a flame of hell's own fire. 
 Nor seemed the wrath which held her spirit in stress 
 Aught else or worse than passionate holiness, 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 119 
 
 Nor the ardent hate which called on judgment's rod 
 More hateful than the righteousness of God. 
 1 How long, till thou do justice, and my wrong 
 Stand expiate? O long-suffering judge, how long ? 
 Shalt thou not put him in mine hand one day 
 Whom I so loved, to spare not but to slay? 
 Shalt thou not cast her down for me to tread, 
 Me, on the pale pride of her humbled head ? 
 Do I not well, being angry ? doth not hell 
 Require them ? yea, thou knowest that I do well. 
 Is not thy seal there set of bloodred light 
 For witness on the brows of day and night ? 
 Who shall unseal it ? what shall melt away 
 Thy signet from the doors of night and day ? 
 No man, nor strength of any spirit above, 
 Nor prayer, nor ardours of adulterous love. 
 Thou art God, the strong lord over body and soul : 
 Hast thou not in the terrors of thy scroll 
 All names of all men written as with fire ? 
 Thine only breath bids time and space respire : 
 And are not all things evil in them done 
 More clear in thine eyes than in ours the sun ? 
 Hast thou not sight stretched wide enough to see 
 These that offend it, these at once and me ? 
 Is thine arm shortened or thine hand struck down 
 As palsied ? have thy brows not strength to frown ? 
 Are thine eyes blind with film of withering age? 
 Burns not thine heart with righteousness of rage 
 Yet, and the royal rancour toward thy foes 
 Retributive of ruin ? Time should close, 
 
120 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 
 
 Thou said'st, and earth fade as a leaf grows grey, 
 Ere one word said of thine should pass away. 
 Was this then not thy word, thou God most high, 
 That sin shall surely bring forth death and die, 
 Seeing how these twain live and have joy of life, 
 His harlot and the man that made me wife 
 For is it I, perchance, I that have sinned ? 
 Me, peradventure, should thy wasting wind 
 Smite, and thy sun blast, and thy storms devour 
 Me with keen fangs of lightning ? should thy power 
 Put forth on me the weight of its awakening hour ? 
 Shall I that bear this burden bear that weight 
 Of judgment ? is my sin against thee great, 
 If all my heart against them burn with all its hate ? 
 Thine, and not mine, should hate be ? nay, but me 
 They have spoiled and scoffed at, who can touch not 
 
 thee. 
 Me, me, the fullness of their joy drains dry, 
 Their fruitfulness makes barren : thou, not I, 
 Lord, is it, whom their wrongdoing clothes with shame, 
 That all who speak shoot tongues out at thy name 
 As all who hear mock mine ? Make me thy sword 
 At least, if even thou too be wronged, O Lord, 
 At all of these that wrong me : make mine hand 
 As lightning, or my tongue a fiery brand, 
 To burn or smite them with thy wrath : behold, 
 I have nought on earth save thee for hope or hold, 
 Fail me not thou : I have nought but this to crave, 
 Make me thy mean to give them to the grave, 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 121 
 
 Thy sign that all men seeing may speak thee just, 
 Thy word which turns the strengths of sin to dust, 
 Thy blast which burns up towers and thrones with fire. 
 Lord, is this gift, this grace that I require, 
 .So great a gift, Lord, for thy grace to give 
 And bid me bear thy part retributive ? 
 That I whom scorn makes mouths at, I might be 
 Thy witness if loud sin may mock at thee ? 
 For lo, my life is as a barren ear 
 Plucked from the sheaf : dark days drive past me here 
 Downtrodden, while joy's reapers pile their sheaves, 
 A thing more vile than autumn's weariest leaves, 
 For these the sun filled once with sap of life. 
 O thou my lord that hadst me to thy wife, 
 Dost thou not fear at all, remembering me, 
 The love that bowed my whole soul down to thee ? 
 Is this so wholly nought for man to dread, 
 Man, whose life walks between the quick and dead, 
 Naked, and warred about with wind and sea, 
 That one should love and hate as I do thee ? 
 That one should live in all the world his foe 
 So mortal as the hate that loves him so ? 
 Nought, is it nought, O husband, O my knight, 
 O strong man and indomitable in fight, 
 That one more weak than foam-bells on the sea 
 Should have in heart such thoughts as I of thee ? 
 Thou art bound about with stately strengths for bands : 
 What strength shall keep thee from my strengthless 
 hands ? 
 
122 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 
 
 Thou art girt about with goodly guards and great : 
 
 What fosse may fence thee round as deep as hate ? 
 
 Thou art wise : will wisdom teach thee fear of me ? 
 
 Thou art great of heart : shall this deliver thee ? 
 
 What wall so massive, or what tower so high, 
 
 Shall be thy surety that thou shouldst not die, 
 
 If that which comes against thee be but I ? 
 
 Who shall rise up of power to take thy part, 
 
 What skill find strength to save, what strength find art, 
 
 If that which wars against thee be my heart ? 
 
 Not iron, nor the might of force afield, 
 
 Nor edge of sword, nor sheltering weight of shield, 
 
 Nor all thy fame since all thy praise began, 
 
 Nor all the love and laud thou hast of man, 
 
 Nor, though his noiseless hours with wool be shod, 
 
 Shall God's love keep thee from the wrath of God. 
 
 O son of sorrows, hast thou said at heart, 
 
 Haply, God loves thee, God shall take thy part, 
 
 Who hath all these years endured thee, since thy birth 
 
 From sorrow's womb bade sin be born on earth ? 
 
 So long he hath cast his buckler over thee, 
 
 Shall he not surely guard thee even from me ? 
 
 Yea, but if yet he give thee while I live 
 
 Into mine hands as he shall surely give, 
 
 Ere death at last bring darkness on thy face, 
 
 Call then on him, call not on me for grace, 
 
 Cast not away one prayer, one suppliant breath, 
 
 On me that commune all this while with death. 
 
 For I that was not and that was thy wife 
 
 Desire not but one hour of all thy life 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 123 
 
 Wherein to triumph till that hour be past ; 
 But this mine hour I look for is thy last.' 
 
 So mused she till the fire in sea and sky- 
 Sank, and the northwest wind spake harsh on high, 
 And like the sea's heart waxed her heart that heard, 
 Strong, dark, and bitter, till the keen wind's word 
 Seemed of her own soul spoken, and the breath 
 All round her not of darkness, but of death. 
 
"5 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Enough of ease, Love, enough of light, 
 Enough of rest before the shadow of night. 
 Strong Love, whom death finds feebler \ kingly Love, 
 Whom time discrowns in season, seeing thy dove 
 Spell-stricken by the serpent j for thy sake 
 These that saw light see night's dawn only break, 
 Night's cup filled up with slumber, whence men think 
 The draught more dread than thine was dire to drink. 
 O Love, thy day sets darkling : hope and fear 
 Fall from thee standing stern as death stands here. 
 
 For what have these to do with fear or hope 
 On whom the gates of outer darkness ope, 
 On whom the door of life's desire is barred ? 
 Past like a cloud, their days in Joyous Gard 
 Gleam like a cloud the westering sun stains red 
 Till all the blood of day's blithe heart be bled 
 And all night's heart requickened ; in their eyes 
 So flame and fade those far memorial skies, 
 So shines the moorland, so revives the sea, 
 Whereon they gazing mused of things to be 
 
i 2 6 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 And wist not more of them than waters know 
 What wind with next day's change of tide shall blow. 
 Dark roll the deepening days whose waves divide 
 Unseasonably, with storm-struck change of tide, 
 Tristram from Iseult : nor may sorrow say 
 If better wind shall blow than yesterday 
 With next day risen or any day to come. 
 For ere the songs of summer's death fell dumb, 
 And autumn bade the imperial moorlands change 
 Their purples, and the bracken's bloom grow strange 
 As hope's green blossom touched with time's harsh 
 
 rust, 
 Was all their joy of life shaken to dust, 
 And all its fire made ashes : by the strand 
 Where late they strayed and communed hand from 
 
 hand 
 For the last time fell separate, eyes of eyes 
 Took for the last time leave, and saw the skies 
 Dark with their deep division. The last time — 
 The last that ever love's rekindling rhyme 
 Should keep for them life's days and nights in tune 
 With refluence of the morning and the moon 
 Alternative in music, and make one 
 The secrets of the stardawn and the sun 
 For these twain souls ere darkness held them fast ; 
 The last before the labour marked for last 
 And toil of utmost knighthood, till the wage 
 Of rest might crown his crowning pilgrimage 
 Whereon forth faring must he take farewell, 
 With spear for staff and sword for scallop-shell 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 127 
 
 And scrip wherein close memory hoarded yet 
 
 Things holier held than death might well forget ; 
 
 The last time ere the travel were begun 
 
 Whose goal is unbeholden of the sun, 
 
 The last wherewith love's eyes might yet be lit, 
 
 Came, and they could but dream they knew not it. 
 
 For Tristram parting from her wist at heart 
 How well she wist they might not choose but part, 
 And he pass forth a pilgrim, when there came 
 A sound of summons in the high king's name 
 For succour toward his vassal Triamour, 
 King in wild Wales, now spoiled of all his power, 
 As Tristram's father ere his fair son's birth, 
 By one the strongest of the sons of earth, 
 Urgan, an iron bulk of giant mould : 
 And Iseult in Tintagel as of old 
 Sat crowned with state and sorrow : for her lord 
 At Arthur's hand required her back restored, 
 And willingly compelled against her will 
 She yielded, saying within her own soul still 
 Some season yet of soft or stormier breath 
 Should haply give her life again or death : 
 For now nor quick nor dead nor bright nor dark 
 Were all her nights and days wherein King Mark 
 Held haggard watch upon her, and his eyes 
 Were cloudier than the gradual wintering skies 
 That closed about the wan wild land and sea. 
 And bitter toward him waxed her heart : but he 
 Was rent in twain betwixt harsh love and hate 
 With pain and passion half compassionate 
 
128 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 That yearned and laboured to be quit of shame, 
 And could not : and his life grew smouldering flame, 
 And hers a cloud full-charged with storm and shower,. 
 Though touched with trembling gleams of fire's bright 
 
 flower 
 That flashed and faded on its fitful verge, 
 As hope would strive with darkness and emerge 
 And sink, a swimmer strangled by the swallowing 
 surge. 
 But Tristram by dense hills and deepening vales 
 Rode through the wild glad wastes of glorious Wales,. 
 High-hearted with desire of happy fight 
 And strong in soul with merrier sense of might 
 Than since the fair first years that hailed him knight ; 
 For all his will was toward the war, so long 
 Had love repressed and wrought his glory wrong, 
 So far the triumph and so fair the praise 
 Seemed now that kindled all his April days. 
 And here in bright blown autumn, while his life 
 Was summer's yet for strength toward love or strife, 
 Blithe waxed his hope toward battle, and high desire 
 To pluck once more as out of circling fire 
 Fame, the broad flower whose breath makes death 
 
 more sweet 
 Than roses crushed by love's receding feet. 
 But all the lovely land wherein he went 
 The blast of ruin and ravenous war had rent ; 
 And black with fire the fields where homesteads were, 
 And foul with festering dead the high soft air, 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 129 
 
 And loud with wail of women many a stream 
 Whose own live song was like love's deepening dream, 
 Spake all against the spoiler : wherefore still 
 Wrath waxed with pity, quickening all his will, 
 In Tristram's heart for every league he rode 
 Through the aching land so broad a curse bestrode 
 With so supreme a shadow : till one dawn, 
 Above the green bloom of a gleaming lawn, 
 High on the strait steep windy bridge that spanned 
 A glen's deep mouth, he saw that shadow stand 
 Visible, sword on thigh and mace in hand 
 Vast as the mid bulk of a roof-tree's beam. 
 So, sheer above the wild wolf-haunted stream, 
 Dire as the face disfeatured of a dream, 
 Rose Urgan : and his eyes were night and flame ; 
 But like the fiery dawn were his that came 
 Against him, lit with more sublime desire 
 Than lifts toward heaven the leaping heart of fire : 
 And strong in vantage of his perilous place 
 The huge high presence, red as earth's first race, 
 Reared like a reed the might up of his mace, 
 And smote : but lightly Tristram swerved, and drove 
 Right in on him, whose void stroke only clove 
 Air, and fell wide, thundering athwart : and he 
 Sent forth a stormier cry than wind or sea 
 When midnight takes the tempest for her lord ; 
 And all the glen's throat seemed as hell's that roared ; 
 But high like heaven's light over hell shone Tristram's 
 sword, 
 
 K 
 
i 3 o THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Falling, and bright as storm shows God's bare brand 
 Flashed as it shore sheer off the huge right hand 
 Whose strength was as the shadow of death on all that 
 
 land. 
 And like the trunk of some grim tree sawn through 
 Reeled Urgan, as his left hand grasped and drew 
 A steel by sorcerers tempered : and anew 
 Raged the red wind of fluctuant fight, till all 
 The cliffs were thrilled as by the clangorous call 
 Of storm's blown trumpets from the core of night, 
 Charging : and even as with the storm-wind's might 
 On Tristram's helm that sword crashed: and the knight 
 Fell, and his arms clashed, and a wide cry brake 
 From those far off that heard it, for his sake 
 Soul-stricken : and that bulk of monstrous birth 
 Sent forth again a cry more dire for mirth : 
 But ere the sunbright arms were soiled of earth 
 They flashed again, re-risen : and swift and loud 
 Rang the strokes out as from a circling cloud, 
 So dense the dust wrought over them its drifted 
 
 shroud. 
 Strong strokes, within the mist their battle made, 
 Each hailed on other through the shifting shade 
 That clung about them hurtling as the swift fight 
 
 swayed : 
 And each between the jointed corslet saw 
 Break forth his foe's bright blood at each grim flaw 
 Steel made in hammered iron : till again 
 The fiend put forth his might more strong for pain 
 And cleft the great knight's glittering shield in twain, 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 131 
 
 Laughing for very wrath and thirst to kill, 
 A beast's broad laugh of blind and wolfish will, 
 And smote again ere Tristram's lips drew breath 
 Panting, and swept as by the sense of death, 
 That surely should have touched and sealed them fast 
 Save that the sheer stroke shrilled aside, and passed 
 Frustrate : but answering Tristram smote anew, 
 And thrust the brute breast as with lightning through 
 Clean with one cleaving stroke of perfect might : 
 And violently the vast bulk leapt upright, 
 And plunged over the bridge, and fell : and all 
 The cliffs reverberate from his monstrous fall 
 Rang : and the land by Tristram's grace was free. 
 So with high laud and honour thence went he, 
 And southward set his sail again, and passed 
 The lone land's ending, first beheld and last 
 Of eyes that look on England from the sea : 
 And his heart mourned within him, knowing how she 
 Whose heart with his was fatefully made fast 
 Sat now fast bound, as though some charm were cast 
 About her, such a brief space eastward thence, 
 And yet might soul not break the bonds of sense 
 And bring her to him in very life and breath 
 More than had this been even the sea of death 
 That washed between them, and its wide sweet light 
 The dim strait's darkness of the narrowing night 
 That shuts about men dying whose souls put forth 
 To pierce its passage through : but south and north 
 Alike for him were other than they were : 
 For all the northward coast shone smooth and fair, 
 k 2 
 
1 32 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 And off its iron cliffs the keen-edged air 
 
 Blew summer, kindling from her mute bright mouth ; 
 
 But winter breathed out of the murmuring south, 
 
 Where, pale with wrathful watch on passing ships, 
 
 The lone wife lay in wait with wan dumb lips. 
 
 Yet, sailing where the shoreward ripple curled 
 
 Of the most wild sweet waves in all the world, 
 
 His soul took comfort even for joy to see 
 
 The strong deep joy of living sun and sea, 
 
 The large deep love of living sea and land, 
 
 As past the lonely lion-guarded strand 
 
 Where that huge warder lifts his couchant sides, 
 
 Asleep, above the sleepless lapse of tides, 
 
 The light sail swept, and past the unsounded caves 
 
 Unsearchable, wherein the pulse of waves 
 
 Throbs through perpetual darkness to and fro, 
 
 And the blind night swims heavily below 
 
 While heavily the strong noon broods above, 
 
 Even to the very bay whence very Love, 
 
 Strong daughter of the giant gods who wrought 
 
 Sun, earth, and sea out of their procreant thought, 
 
 Most meetly might have risen, and most divine 
 
 Beheld and heard things round her sound and shine 
 
 From floors of foam and gold to walls of serpentine. 
 
 For splendid as the limbs of that supreme 
 
 Incarnate beauty through men's visions gleam, 
 
 Whereof all fairest things are even but shadow or 
 
 dream, 
 And lovely like as Love's own heavenliest face, 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 133 
 
 Gleams there and glows the presence and the grace 
 Even of the mother of all, in perfect pride of place. 
 For otherwhere beneath our world-wide sky- 
 There may not be beheld of men that die 
 Aught else like this that dies not, nor may stress 
 Of ages that bow down men's works make less 
 The exultant awe that clothes with power its loveliness. 
 For who sets eye thereon soever knows 
 How since these rocks and waves first rolled ani rose 
 The marvel of their many-coloured might 
 Hath borne this record sensible to sight, 
 The witness and the symbol of their own delight, 
 The gospel graven of life's most heavenly law, 
 Joy, brooding on its own still soul with awe, 
 A sense of godlike rest in godlike strife, 
 The sovereign conscience of the spirit of life. 
 Nor otherwhere on strand or mountain tower 
 Hath such fair beauty shining forth in flower 
 Put on the imperial robe of such imperious power. 
 For all the radiant rocks from depth to height 
 Burn with vast bloom of glories blossom-bright 
 As though the sun's own hand had thrilled them 
 
 through with light 
 And stained them through with splendour : yet from 
 
 thence 
 Such awe strikes rapture through the spirit of sense 
 From all the inaccessible sea-wall's girth, 
 That exultation, bright at heart as mirth, 
 Bows deeper down before the beauty of earth 
 
i 3 4 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Than fear may bow down ever : nor shall one 
 Who meets at Alpine dawn the mounting sun 
 On heights too high for many a wing to climb 
 Be touched with sense of aught seen more sublime 
 Than here smiles high and sweet in face of heaven 
 
 and time. 
 For here the flower of fire, the soft hoar bloom 
 Of springtide olive-woods, the warm green gloom 
 Of clouded seas that swell and sound with dawn of 
 
 doom, 
 The keen thwart lightning and the wan grey light 
 Of stormy sunrise crossed and vexed with night, 
 Flash, loom, and laugh with divers hues in one 
 From all the curved cliff's face, till day be done, 
 Against the sea's face and the gazing sun. 
 And whensoever a strong wave, high in hope, 
 Sweeps up some smooth slant breadth of stone aslope, 
 That glowed with duskier fire of hues less bright, 
 Swift as it sweeps back springs to sudden sight 
 The splendour of the moist rock's fervent light, 
 Fresh as from dew of birth when time was born 
 Oat of the world-conceiving womb of morn. 
 All its quenched flames and darkling hues divine 
 Leap into lustrous life and laugh and shine 
 And darken into swift and dim decline 
 For one brief breath's space till the next wave run 
 Right up, and ripple down again, undone, 
 And leave it to be kissed and kindled of the sun. 
 And all these things, bright as they shone before 
 Man first set foot on earth or sail from shore, 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 135 
 
 Rose not less radiant than the sun sees now 
 When the autumn sea was cloven of Tristram's prow, 
 And strong in sorrow and hope and woful will 
 That hope might move not nor might sorrow kill 
 He held his way back toward the wild sad shore 
 Whence he should come to look on these no more, 
 Nor ever, save with sunless eyes shut fast, 
 Sail home to sleep in home-born earth at last. 
 
 And all these things fled fleet as light or breath 
 Past, and his heart waxed cold and dull as death, 
 Or swelled but as the tides of sorrow swell, 
 To sink with sullen sense of slow farewell. 
 So surely seemed the silence even to sigh 
 Assurance of inveterate prophecy, 
 1 Thou shalt not come again home hither ere thou die/ 
 And the wind mourned and triumphed, and the sea 
 Wailed and took heart and trembled ; nor might he 
 Hear more of comfort in their speech, or see 
 More certitude in all the waste world's range 
 Than the only certitude of death and change. 
 And as the sense and semblance fluctuated 
 Of all things heard and seen alive or dead 
 That smote far off upon his ears or eyes 
 Or memory mixed with forecasts fain to rise 
 And fancies faint as ghostliest prophecies, 
 So seemed his own soul, changefully forlorn, 
 To shrink and triumph and mount up and mourn. 
 Yet all its fitful waters, clothed with night, 
 Lost heart not wholly, lacked not wholly light, 
 Seeing over life and death one star in sight 
 
1 36 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Where evening's gates as fair as morning's ope, 
 Whose name was memory, but whose flame was hope. 
 For all the tides of thought that rose and sank 
 Felt its fair strength wherefrom strong sorrow shrank 
 A mightier trust than time could change or cloy, 
 More strong than sorrow, more secure than joy. 
 So came he, nor content nor all unblest, 
 Back to the grey old land of Merlin's rest. 
 But ere six paces forth on shore he trod 
 Before him stood a knight with feet unshod, 
 And kneeling called upon him, as on God 
 Might sick men call for pity, praying aloud 
 With hands held up and head made bare and bowed; 
 ' Tristram, for God's love and thine own dear fame, 
 I Tristram that am one with thee in name 
 And one in heart with all that praise thee — I, 
 Most woful man of all that may not die 
 For heartbreak and the heavier scourge of shame, 
 By all thy glory done our woful name 
 Beseech thee, called of all men gentlest knight, 
 Be now not slow to do my sorrows right. 
 I charge thee for thy fame's sake through this land, 
 I pray thee by thine own wife's fair white hand, 
 Have pity of me whose love is borne away 
 By one that makes of poor men's lives his prey, 
 A felon masked with knighthood : at his side 
 Seven brethren hath he night or day to ride 
 With seven knights more that wait on all his will : 
 And here at hand, ere yet one day fulfil 
 Its flight through light and darkness, shall they fare 
 Forth, and my bride among them, whom they bear 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 137 
 
 Through these wild lands his prisoner ; and if now 
 
 I lose her, and my prayer be vain, and thou 
 
 X>ess fain to serve love's servants than of yore, 
 
 Then surely shall I see her face no more. 
 
 But if thou wilt, for love's sake of the bride 
 
 Who lay most loved of women at thy side, 
 
 Strike with me, straight then hence behoves us ride 
 
 And rest between the moorside and the sea 
 
 Where we may smite them passing : but for me 
 
 Poor stranger, me not worthy scarce to touch 
 
 Thy kind strong hand, how shouldst thou do so much ? 
 
 For now lone left this long time waits thy wife 
 
 And lacks her lord and light of wedded life 
 
 Whilst thou far off art famous : yet thy fame, 
 
 If thou take pity on me that bear thy name 
 
 Unworthily, but by that name implore 
 
 Thy grace, how shall not even thy fame grow more ? 
 
 But be thy will as God's among us done, 
 
 Who art far in fame above us as the sun : 
 
 Yet only of him have all men help and grace.' 
 
 And all the lordly light of Tristram's face 
 Was softened as the sun's in kindly spring. 
 4 Nay, then may God send me as evil a thing 
 When I give ear not to such prayers,' he said, 
 1 And make my place among the nameless dead 
 When I put back one hour the time to smite 
 And do the unrighteous griefs of good men right. 
 Behold, I will not enter in nor rest 
 Here in mine own halls till this piteous quest 
 Find end ere noon to-morrow : but do thou, 
 Whose sister's face I may not look on now, 
 
138 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Go, Ganhardine, with tiding of the vow 
 That bids me turn aside for one day's strife 
 Or live dishonoured all my days of life, 
 And greet for me in brother's wise my wife, 
 And crave her pardon that for knighthood's sake 
 And womanhood's, whose bands may no man break 
 And keep the bands of bound en honour fast, 
 I seek not her till two nights yet be past 
 And this my quest accomplished, so God please 
 By me to give this young man's anguish ease 
 And on his wrongdoer's head his wrong requite.' 
 And Tristram with that woful thankful knight 
 Rode by the seaside moorland wastes away 
 Between the quickening night and darkening day 
 Ere half the gathering stars had heart to shine. 
 And lightly toward his sister Ganhardine 
 Sped, where she sat and gazed alone afar 
 Above the grey sea for the sunset star, 
 And lightly kissed her hand and lightly spake 
 His tiding of that quest for knighthood's sake. 
 And the white-handed Iseult, bowing her head, 
 Gleamed on him with a glance athwart, and said ; 
 'As God's on earth and far above the sun, 
 So toward his handmaid be my lord's will done.' 
 And doubts too dim to question or divine 
 Touched as with shade the spirit of Ganhardine, 
 Hearing ; and scarce for half a doubtful breath 
 His bright light heart held half a thought of death 
 And knew not whence this darkling thought might be, 
 But surely not his sister's work : for she 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 139 
 
 Was ever sweet and good as summer air, 
 And soft as dew when all the night is fair, 
 And gracious as the golden maiden moon 
 When darkness craves her blessing : so full soon 
 His mind was light again as leaping waves, 
 Nor dreamed that hers was like a field of graves 
 Where no man's foot dares swerve to left or right, 
 Nor ear dares hearken, nor dares eye take sight 
 Of aught that moves and murmurs there at night. 
 But by the sea-banks where at morn their foes 
 Might find them, lay those knightly name-fellows, 
 One sick with grief of heart and sleepless, one 
 With heart of hope triumphant as the sun 
 Dreaming asleep of love and fame and fight : 
 But sleep at last wrapped warm the wan young knight ; 
 And Tristram with the first pale windy light 
 Woke ere the sun spake summons, and his ear 
 Caught the sea's call that fired his heart to hear, 
 A noise of waking waters : for till dawn 
 The sea was silent as a mountain lawn 
 When the wind speaks not, and the pines are dumb, 
 And summer takes her fill ere autumn come 
 Of life more soft than slumber : but ere day 
 Rose, and the first beam smote the bounding bay, 
 Up sprang the strength of the dark East, and took 
 With its wide wings the waters as they shook, 
 And hurled them huddling on aheap, and cast 
 The full sea shoreward with a great glad blast, 
 Blown from the heart of morning : and with joy 
 Full-souled and perfect passion, as a boy 
 
i 4 o THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 That leaps up light to wrestle with the sea 
 
 For pure heart's gladness and large ecstasy, 
 
 Up sprang the might of Tristram ; and his soul 
 
 Yearned for delight within him, and waxed whole 
 
 As a young child's with rapture of the hour 
 
 That brought his spirit and all the world to flower, 
 
 And all the bright blood in his veins beat time 
 
 To the wind's clarion and the water's chime 
 
 That called him and he followed it and stood 
 
 On the sand's verge before the grey great flood 
 
 Where the white hurtling heads of waves that met 
 
 Rose unsaluted of the sunrise yet. 
 
 And from his heart's root outward shot the sweet 
 
 Strong joy that thrilled him to the hands and feet, 
 
 Filling his limbs with pleasure and glad might, 
 
 And his soul drank the immeasurable delight 
 
 That earth drinks in with morning, and the free 
 
 Limitless love that lifts the stirring sea 
 
 When on her bare bright bosom as a bride 
 
 She takes the young sun, perfect in his pride, 
 
 Home to his place with passion : and the heart 
 
 Trembled for joy within the man whose part 
 
 Was here not least in living ; and his mind 
 
 Was rapt abroad beyond man's meaner kind 
 
 And pierced with love of all things and with mirth 
 
 Moved to make one with heaven and heavenlike earth 
 
 And with the light live water. So awhile 
 
 He watched the dim sea with a deepening smile, 
 
 And felt the sound and savour and swift flight 
 
 Of waves that fled beneath the fading night 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 141 
 
 And died before the darkness, like a song 
 
 With harps between and trumpets blown along 
 
 Through the loud air of some triumphant day, 
 
 Sink through his spirit and purge all sense away 
 
 Save of the glorious gladness of his hour 
 
 And all the world about to break in flower 
 
 Before the sovereign laughter of the sun j 
 
 And he, ere night's wide work lay all undone, 
 
 As earth from her bright body casts off night, 
 
 Cast off his raiment for a rapturous fight 
 
 And stood between the sea's edge and the sea 
 
 Naked, and godlike of his mould as he 
 
 Whose swift foot's sound shook all the towers of Troy ; 
 
 So clothed with might, so girt upon with joy, 
 
 As, ere the knife had shorn to feed the fire 
 
 His glorious hair before the unkindled pyre 
 
 Whereon the half of his great heart was laid, 
 
 Stood, in the light of his live limbs arrayed, 
 
 Child of heroic earth and heavenly sea, 
 
 The flower of all men : scarce less bright than he. 
 
 If any of all men latter-born might stand, 
 
 Stood Tristram, silent, on the glimmering strand. 
 
 Not long : but with a cry of love that rang 
 
 As from a trumpet golden-mouthed, he sprang, 
 
 As toward a mother's where his head might rest 
 
 Her child rejoicing, toward the strong sea's breast 
 
 That none may gird nor measure : and his heart 
 
 Sent forth a shout that bade his lips not part, 
 
 But triumphed in him silent : no man's voice, 
 
 No song, no sound of clarions that rejoice, 
 
142 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Can set that glory forth which fills with fire 
 
 The body and soul that have their whole desire 
 
 Silent, and freer than birds or dreams are free 
 
 Take all their will of all the encountering sea. 
 
 And toward the foam he bent and forward smote, 
 
 Laughing, and launched his body like a boat 
 
 Full to the sea-breach, and against the tide 
 
 Struck strongly forth with amorous arms made wide 
 
 To take the bright breast of the wave to his 
 
 And on his lips the sharp sweet minute's kiss 
 
 Given of the wave's lip for a breath's space curled 
 
 And pure as at the daydawn of the world. 
 
 And round him all the bright rough shuddering sea 
 
 Kindled, as though the world were even as he, 
 
 Heart-stung with exultation of desire : 
 
 And all the life that moved him seemed to aspire, 
 
 As all the sea's life toward the sun : and still 
 
 Delight within him waxed with quickening will 
 
 More smooth and strong and perfect as a flame 
 
 That springs and spreads, till each glad limb became 
 
 A note of rapture in the tune of life, 
 
 Live music mild and keen as sleep an% strife : 
 
 Till the sweet change that bids the sense grow sure 
 
 Of deeper depth and purity more pure 
 
 Wrapped him and lapped him round with clearer cold, 
 
 And all the rippling green grew royal gold 
 
 Between him and the far sun's rising rim. 
 
 And like the sun his heart rejoiced in him, 
 
 And brightened with a broadening flame of mirth : 
 
 And hardly seemed its life a part of earth, 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 143 
 
 But the life kindled of a fiery birth 
 
 And passion of a new-begotten son 
 
 Between the live sea and the living sun. 
 
 And mightier grew the joy to meet full-faced 
 
 Each wave, and mount with upward plunge, and taste 
 
 The rapture of its rolling strength, and cross 
 
 Its flickering crown of snows that flash and toss 
 
 Like plumes in battle's blithest charge, and thence 
 
 To match the next with yet more strenuous sense ; 
 
 Till on his eyes the light beat hard and bade 
 
 His face turn west and shoreward through the glad 
 
 Swift revel of the waters golden-clad, 
 
 And back with light reluctant heart he bore 
 
 Across the broad-backed rollers in to shore; 
 
 Strong-spirited for the chance and cheer of fight, 
 
 And donned his arms again, and felt the might 
 
 In all his limbs rejoice for strength, and praised 
 
 God for such life as that whereon he gazed, 
 
 And wist not surely its joy was even as fleet 
 
 As that which laughed and lapsed against his feet, 
 
 The bright thin grey foam-blossom, glad and hoar, 
 
 That flings its flower along the flowerless shore 
 
 On sand or shingle, and still with sweet strange snows, 
 
 As where one great white storm-dishevelled rose 
 
 May rain her wild leaves on a windy land, 
 
 Strews for long leagues the sounding slope of strand, 
 
 And flower on flower falls flashing, and anew 
 
 A fresh light leaps up whence the last flash flew, 
 
 And casts its brief glad gleam of life away 
 
 To fade not flowerwise but as drops the day 
 
144 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Storm-smitten, when at once the dark devours 
 
 Heaven and the sea and earth with all their flowers ; 
 
 No star in heaven, on earth no rose to see, 
 
 But the white blown brief blossoms of the sea, 
 
 That make her green gloom starrier than the sky, 
 
 Dance yet before the tempest's tune, and die. 
 
 And all these things he glanced upon, and knew 
 
 How fair they shone, from earth's least flake of dew 
 
 To stretch of seas and imminence of skies, 
 
 Unwittingly, with unpresageful eyes, 
 
 For the last time. The world's half heavenly face, 
 
 The music of the silence of the place, 
 
 The confluence and the refluence of the sea, 
 
 The wind's note ringing over wold and lea, 
 
 Smote once more through him keen as fire that smote, 
 
 Rang once more through him one reverberate note, 
 
 That faded as he turned again and went, 
 
 Fulfilled by strenuous joy with strong content, 
 
 To take his last delight of labour done 
 
 That yet should be beholden of the sun 
 
 Or ever give man comfort of his hand. 
 
 Beside a wood's edge in the broken land 
 An hour at wait the twain together stood, 
 Till swift between the moorside and the wood 
 Flashed the spears forward of the coming train ; 
 And seeing beside the strong chief spoiler's rein 
 His wan love riding prisoner in the crew, 
 Forth with a cry the young man leapt, and flew 
 Right on that felon sudden as a flame ; 
 And hard at hand the mightier Tristram came. 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 145 
 
 Bright as the sun and terrible as fire : 
 
 And there had sword and spear their soul's desire, 
 
 And blood that quenched the spear's thirst as it poured 
 
 Slaked royally the hunger of the sword, 
 
 Till the fierce heart of steel could scarce fulfil 
 
 Its greed and ravin of insatiate will. 
 
 For three the fiery spear of Tristram drove 
 
 Down ere a point of theirs his harness clove 
 
 Or its own sheer mid shaft splintered in twain ; 
 
 And his heart bounded in him, and was fain 
 
 As fire or wind that takes its fill by night 
 
 Of tempest and of triumph : so the knight 
 
 Rejoiced and ranged among them, great of hand, 
 
 Till seven lay slain upon the heathery sand 
 
 Or in the dense breadth of the vvoodside fern. 
 
 Nor did his heart not mightier in him burn 
 
 Seeing at his hand that young knight fallen, and high 
 
 The red sword reared again that bade him die. 
 
 But on the slayer exulting like the flame 
 
 Whose foot foreshines the thunder Tristram came 
 
 Raging, for piteous wrath had made him fire ; 
 
 And as a lion's look his face was dire 
 
 That flashed against his foeman ere the sword 
 
 Lightened, and wrought the heart's will of its lord, 
 
 And clove through casque and crown the wrongdoer's 
 
 head. 
 And right and left about their dark chief dead 
 Hurtled and hurled those felons to and fro, 
 Till as a storm-wind scatters leaves and snow 
 
 L 
 
146 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 His right hand ravening scattered them ; but one 
 That fled with sidelong glance athwart the sun 
 Shot, and the shaft flew sure, and smote aright, 
 Full in the wound's print of his great first fight 
 When at his young strength's peril he made free 
 Cornwall, and slew beside its bordering sea 
 The fair land's foe, who yielding up his breath 
 Yet left him wounded nigh to dark slow death. 
 And hardly with long toil thence he won home 
 Between the grey moor and the glimmering foam, 
 And halting fared through his own gate, and fell, 
 Thirsting : for as the sleepless fire of hell 
 The fire within him of his wound again 
 Burned, and his face was dark as death for pain, 
 And blind the blithe light of his eyes : but they 
 Within that watched and wist not of the fray 
 Came forth and cried aloud on him for woe. 
 And scarce aloud his thanks fell faint and slow 
 As men reared up the strong man fallen and bore 
 Down the deep hall that looked along the shore, 
 And laid him soft abed, and sought in vain 
 If herb or hand of leech might heal his pain. 
 And the white-handed Iseult hearkening heard 
 All, and drew nigh, and spake no wifely word, 
 But gazed upon him doubtfully, with eyes 
 Clouded j and he in kindly knightly wise 
 Spake with scant breath, and smiling : ' Surely this 
 Is penance for discourteous lips to kiss 
 And feel the brand burn through them, here to lie 
 And lack the strength here to do more than sigh 
 
THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 147 
 
 And hope not hence for pardon.' Then she bowed 
 Her head, still silent as a stooping cloud, 
 And laid her lips against his face ; and he 
 Felt sink a shadow across him as the sea 
 Might feel a cloud stoop toward it : and his heart 
 Darkened as one that wastes by sorcerous art 
 And knows not whence it withers : and he turned 
 Back from her emerald eyes his own, and yearned 
 All night for eyes all golden : and the dark 
 Hung sleepless round him till the loud first lark 
 Rang record forth once more of darkness done, 
 And all things born took comfort from the sun. 
 
 l 2 
 
149 
 
 IX. 
 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 Fate, that was born ere spirit and flesh were made, 
 
 The fire that fills man's life with light and shade ; 
 
 The power beyond all godhead which puts on 
 
 All forms of multitudinous unison, 
 
 A raiment of eternal change inwrought 
 
 With shapes and hues more subtly spun than thought, 
 
 Where all things old bear fruit of all things new 
 
 And one deep chord throbs all the music through, 
 
 The chord of change unchanging, shadow and light 
 
 Inseparable as reverberate day from night ; 
 
 Fate, that of all things save the soul of man 
 
 Is lord and God since body and soul began ; 
 
 Fate, that keeps all the tune of things in chime ; 
 
 Fate, that breathes power upon the lips of time ; 
 
 That smites and soothes with heavy and healing hand 
 
 All joys and sorrows born in life's dim land, 
 
 Till joy be found a shadow and sorrow a breath 
 
 And life no discord in the tune with death, 
 
 But all things fain alike to die and live 
 
 In pulse and lapse of tides alternative, 
 
150 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 Through silence and through sound of peace and strife, 
 Till birth and death be one in sight of life ; 
 Fate, heard and seen of no man's eyes or ears, 
 To no man shown through light of smiles or tears, 
 And moved of no man's prayer to fold its wings ; 
 Fate, that is night and light on worldly things ; 
 Fate, that is fire to burn and sea to drown, 
 Strength to build up and thunder to cast down ; 
 Fate, shield and screen for each man's lifelong head, 
 And sword at last or dart that strikes it dead ; 
 Fate, higher than heaven and deeper than the grave, 
 That saves and spares not, spares and doth not save ; 
 Fate, that in gods' wise is not bought and sold 
 For prayer or price of penitence or gold ; 
 Whose law shall live when life bids earth farewell, 
 Whose justice hath for shadows heaven and hell ; 
 Whose judgment into no god's hand is given, 
 Nor is its doom not more than hell or heaven : 
 Fate, that is pure of love and clean of hate, 
 Being equal-eyed as nought may be but fate ; 
 Through many and weary days of foiled desire 
 Leads life to rest where tears no more take fire ; 
 Through many and weary dreams of quenched delight 
 Leads life through death past sense of day and night. 
 
 Nor shall they feel or fear, whose date is done, 
 Aught that made once more dark the living sun 
 And bitterer in their breathing lips the breath 
 Than the dark dawn and bitter dust of death. 
 For all the light, with fragrance as of flowers, 
 That clothes the lithe live limbs of separate hours, 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 151 
 
 More sweet to savour and more clear to sight 
 
 Dawns on the soul death's undivided night. 
 
 No vigils has that perfect night to keep, 
 
 No fever-fits of vision shake that sleep. 
 
 Nor if they wake, and any place there be 
 
 Wherein the soul may feel her wings beat free 
 
 Through air too clear and still for sound or strife ; 
 
 If life were haply death, and death be life ; 
 
 If love with yet some lovelier laugh revive, 
 
 And song relume the light it bore alive, 
 
 And friendship, found of all earth's gifts most good, 
 
 Stand perfect in perpetual brotherhood ; 
 
 If aught indeed at all of all this be, 
 
 Though none might say nor any man might see, 
 
 Might he that sees the shade thereof not say 
 
 This dream were trustier than the truth of day. 
 
 Nor haply may not hope, with heart more clear, 
 
 Burn deathward, and the doubtful soul take cheer, 
 
 Seeing through the channelled darkness yearn a star 
 
 Whose eyebeams are not as the morning's are, 
 
 Transient, and subjugate of lordlier light, 
 
 But all unconquerable by noon or night, 
 
 Being kindled only of life's own inmost fire, 
 
 Truth, stablished and made sure by strong desire, 
 
 Fountain of all things living, source and seed, 
 
 Force that perforce transfigures dream to deed, 
 
 God that begets on time, the body of death, 
 
 Eternity : nor may man's darkening breath, 
 
 Albeit it stain, disfigure or destroy 
 
 The glass wherein the soul sees life and joy 
 
152 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 Only, with strength renewed and spirit of youth, 
 
 And brighter than the sun's the body of Truth 
 
 Eternal, unimaginable of man, 
 
 Whose very face not Thought's own eyes may scan, 
 
 But see far off his radiant feet at least, 
 
 Trampling the head of Fear, the false high priest, 
 
 Whose broken chalice foams with blood no more, 
 
 And prostrate on that high priest's chancel floor, 
 
 Bruised, overthrown, blind, maimed, with bloodless rod, 
 
 The miscreation of his miscreant God. 
 
 That sovereign shadow cast of souls that dwell 
 
 In darkness and the prison-house of hell 
 
 Whose walls are built of deadly dread, and bound 
 
 The gates thereof with dreams as iron round, 
 
 And all the bars therein and stanchions wrought 
 
 Of shadow forged like steel and tempered thought 
 
 And words like swords and thunder- clouded creeds 
 
 And faiths more dire than sin's most direful deeds : 
 
 That shade accursed and worshipped, which hath made 
 
 The soul of man that brought it forth a shade 
 
 Black as the womb of darkness, void and vain, 
 
 A throne for fear, a pasturage for pain, 
 
 Impotent, abject, clothed upon with lies, 
 
 A foul blind fume of words and prayers that rise, 
 
 Aghast and harsh, abhorrent and abhorred, 
 
 Fierce as its God, blood-saturate as its Lord ; 
 
 With loves and mercies on its lips that hiss 
 
 Comfort, and kill compassion with a kiss, 
 
 And strike the world black with their blasting breath ; 
 
 That ghost whose core of life is very death 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 153 
 
 And all its light of heaven a shadow of hell, 
 Fades, falls, wanes, withers by none other spell 
 But theirs whose eyes and ears have seen and heard 
 Not the face naked, not the perfect word, 
 But the bright sound and feature felt from far 
 Of life which feeds the spirit and the star, 
 Thrills the live light of all the suns that roll, 
 And stirs the still sealed springs of every soul. 
 Three dim days through, three slumberless nights 
 
 long, 
 Perplexed at dawn, oppressed at evensong, 
 The strong man's soul now sealed indeed with pain, 
 And all its springs half dried with drought, had lain 
 Prisoner within the fleshly dungeon-dress 
 Sore chafed and wasted with its weariness. 
 And fain it would have found the star, and fain 
 Made this funereal prison-house of pain 
 A watch-tower whence its eyes might sweep, and see 
 If any place for any hope might be 
 Beyond the hells and heavens of sleep and strife, 
 Or any light at all of any life 
 Beyond the dense false darkness woven above, 
 And could not, lacking grace to look on love. 
 And in the third night's dying hour he spake, 
 Seeing scarce the seals that bound the dayspring 
 
 break 
 And scarce the daystar burn above the sea : 
 ' O Ganhardine, my brother true to me, 
 I charge thee by those nights and days we knew 
 No great while since in England, by the dew 
 
154 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 That bathed those nights with blessing, and the fire 
 That thrilled those days as music thrills a lyre, 
 Do now for me perchance the last good deed 
 That ever love may crave or life may need 
 Ere love lay life in ashes : take to thee 
 My ship that shows aloft against the sea 
 Carved on her stem the semblance of a swan, 
 And ere the waves at even again wax wan 
 Pass, if it may be, to my lady's land, 
 And give this ring into her secret hand, 
 And bid her think how hard on death I lie, 
 And fain would look upon her face and die. 
 But as a merchant's laden be the bark 
 With royal ware for franghtage, that King Mark 
 May take for toll thereof some costly thing j 
 And when this gift finds grace before the king, 
 Choose forth a cup, and put therein my ring 
 Where sureliest only of one it may be seen, 
 And bid her handmaid bear it to the queen 
 For earnest of thine homage : then shall she 
 Fear, and take counsel privily with thee, 
 To know what errand there is thine from me 
 And what my need in secret of her sight. 
 But make thee two sails, one like sea-foam white 
 To spread for signal if thou bring her back, 
 And if she come not see the sail be black, 
 That I may know or ever thou take land 
 If these my lips may die upon her hand 
 Or hers may never more be mixed with mine.' 
 And his heart quailed for grief in Ganhardine, 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 155 
 
 Hearing ; and all his brother bade he swore 
 Surely to do, and straight fare forth from shore. 
 But the white-handed Iseult hearkening heard 
 All, and her heart waxed hot, and every word 
 Thereon seemed graven and printed in her thought 
 As lines with fire and molten iron wrought. 
 And hard within her heavy heart she cursed 
 Both, and her life was turned to fiery thirst, 
 And all her soul was hunger, and its breath 
 Of hope and life a blast of raging death. 
 For only in hope of evil was her life. 
 So bitter burned within the unchilded wife 
 A virgin lust for vengeance, and such hate 
 Wrought in her now the fervent work of fate. 
 
 Then with a south-west wind the Swan set forth, 
 And over wintering waters bore to north, 
 And round the wild land's windy westward end 
 Up the blown channel bade her bright way bend 
 East on toward high Tintagel : where at dark 
 Landing, fair welcome found they of King Mark, 
 And Ganhardine with Brangwain as of old 
 Spake, and she took the cup of chiselled gold 
 Wherein lay secret Tristram's trothplight ring, 
 And bare it unbeholden of the king 
 Even to her lady's hand, which hardly took 
 A gift whereon a queen's eyes well might look, 
 With grace forlorn of weary gentleness. 
 But, seeing, her life leapt in her, keen to guess 
 The secret of the symbol : and her face 
 Flashed bright with blood whence all its grief-worn 
 grace 
 
156 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 Took fire and kindled to the quivering hair. 
 And in the dark soft hour of starriest air 
 Thrilled through with sense of midnight, when the 
 
 world 
 Feels the wide wings of sleep about it furled, 
 Down stole the queen, deep-muffled to her wan 
 Mute restless lips, and came where yet the Swan 
 Swung fast at anchor : whence by starlight she 
 Hoised snowbright sails, and took the glimmering sea. 
 
 But all the long night long more keen and sore 
 His wound's grief waxed in Tristram evermore, 
 And heavier always hung his heart asway 
 Between dim fear and clouded hope of day. 
 And still with face and heart at silent strife 
 Beside him watched the maiden called his wife, 
 Patient, and spake not save when scarce he spake, 
 Murmuring with sense distraught and spirit awake 
 Speech bitterer than the words thereof were sweet : 
 And hatred thrilled her to the hands and feet, 
 Listening : for alway back reiterate came 
 The passionate faint burden of her name. 
 Nor ever through the labouring lips astir 
 Came any word of any thought of her. 
 But the soul wandering struggled and clung hard 
 Only to dreams of joy in Joyous Gard 
 Or wildwood nights beside the Cornish strand, 
 Or Merlin's holier sleep here hard at hand 
 Wrapped round with deep soft spells in dim 
 
 Broceliande. 
 And with such thirst as joy's drained wine-cup leaves 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 157 
 
 When fear to hope as hope to memory cleaves 
 
 His soul desired the dewy sense of leaves, 
 
 The soft green smell of thickets drenched with dawn, 
 
 The faint slot kindling on the fiery lawn 
 
 As day's first hour made keen the spirit again 
 
 That lured and spurred on quest his hound Hodain, 
 
 The breeze, the bloom, the splendour and the sound, 
 
 That stung like fire the hunter and the hound, 
 
 The pulse of wind, the passion of the sea, 
 
 The rapture of the woodland : then would he 
 
 Sigh, and as one that fain would all be dead 
 
 Heavily turn his heavy-laden head 
 
 Back, and close eyes for comfort, finding none. 
 
 And fain he would have died or seen the sun, 
 
 Being sick at heart of darkness : yet afresh 
 
 Began the long strong strife of spirit and flesh 
 
 And branching pangs of thought whose branches 
 
 bear 
 The bloodred fruit whose core is black, despair. 
 And the wind slackened and again grew great, 
 Palpitant as men's pulses palpitate 
 Between the flowing and ebbing tides of fate 
 That wash their lifelong waifs of weal and woe 
 Through night and light and twilight to and fro. 
 Now as a pulse of hope its heartbeat throbbed, 
 Now like one stricken shrank and sank and sobbed, 
 Then, yearning as with child of death, put forth 
 A wail that filled the night up south and north 
 With woful sound of waters : and he said, 
 * So might the wind wail if the world were dead 
 
158 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN, 
 
 And its wings wandered over nought but sea. 
 
 I would I knew she would not come to me, 
 
 For surely she will come not : then should I, 
 
 Once knowing I shall not look upon her, die. 
 
 I knew not life could so long breathe such breath 
 
 As I do. Nay, what grief were this, if death, 
 
 The sole sure friend of whom the whole world saith 
 
 He lies not, nor hath ever this been said, 
 
 That death would heal not grief — if death were dead 
 
 And all ways closed whence grief might pass with life ! ' 
 
 Then softly spake his watching virgin wife 
 Out of her heart, deep down below her breath : 
 1 Fear not but death shall come — and after death 
 Judgment.' And he that heard not answered her, 
 Saying — ' Ah, but one there was, if truth not err, 
 For true men's trustful tongues have said it — one 
 Whom these mine eyes knew living while the sun 
 Looked yet upon him, and mine own ears heard 
 The deep sweet sound once of his godlike word — 
 Who sleeps and dies not, but with soft live breath 
 Takes always all the deep delight of death, 
 Through love's gift of a woman : but for me 
 Love's hand is not the hand of Nimue, 
 Love's word no still smooth murmur of the dove, 
 No kiss of peace for me the kiss of love. 
 Nor, whatsoe'er thy life's love ever give, 
 Dear, shall it ever bid me sleep or live ; 
 Nor from thy brows and lips and living breast 
 As his from Nimue's shall my soul take rest ; 
 Not rest but unrest hath our long love given — 
 Unrest on earth that wins not rest in heaven. 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 159 
 
 What rest may we take ever? what have we 
 Had ever more of peace than has the sea ? 
 Has not our life been as a wind that blows 
 Through lonelier lands than rear the wild white rose 
 That each year sees requickened, but for us 
 Time once and twice hath here or there done thus 
 And left the next year following empty and bare ? 
 What rose hath our last year's rose left for heir, 
 What wine our last year's vintage ? and to me 
 More were one fleet forbidden sense of thee, 
 One perfume of thy present grace, one thought 
 Made truth one hour, ere all mine hours be nought, 
 One very word, breath, look, sign, touch of hand, 
 Than all the green leaves in Broceliande 
 Full of sweet sound, full of sweet wind and sun ; 
 
 God, thou knowest I would no more but one, 
 
 1 would no more but once more ere I die 
 Find thus much mercy. Nay, but then were I 
 Happier than he whom there thy grace hath found, 
 For thine it must be, this that wraps him round, 
 Thine only, albeit a fiend's force gave him birth, 
 Thine that has given him heritage on earth 
 
 Of slumber-sweet eternity to keep 
 Fast in soft hold of everliving sleep. 
 Happier were I, more sinful man, than he, 
 Whom one love-worthier then than Nimue 
 Should with a breath make blest among the dead/ 
 
 And the wan wedded maiden answering said, 
 Soft as hate speaks within itself apart : 
 1 Surely ye shall not, ye that rent mine heart, 
 
160 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 Being one in sin, in punishment be twain.' 
 
 And the great knight that heard not spake again 
 And sighed, but sweet thought of sweet things gone by 
 Kindled with fire of joy the very sigh 
 And touched it through with rapture : * Ay, this were 
 How much more than the sun and sunbright air, 
 How much more than the springtide, how much more 
 Than sweet strong sea -wind quickening wave and 
 
 shore 
 With one divine pulse of continuous breath, 
 If she might kiss me with the kiss of death, 
 And make the light of life by death's look dim 1 ' 
 
 And the white wedded virgin answered him, 
 Inwardly, wan with hurt no herb makes whole : 
 * Yea surely, ye whose sin hath slain my soul, 
 Surely your own souls shall have peace in death 
 And pass with benediction in their breath 
 And blessing given of mine their sin hath slain.' 
 And Tristram with sore yearning spake again, 
 Saying : ' Yea, might this thing once be, how should I, 
 With all my soul made one thanksgiving, die, 
 And pass before what judgment-seat may be, 
 And cry, " Lord, now do all thou wilt with me, 
 Take all thy fill of justice, work thy will ; 
 Though all thy heart of wrath have all its fill, 
 My heart of suffering shall endure, and say, 
 For that thou gavest me living yesterday 
 I bless thee though thou curse me." Ay, and well 
 Might one cast down into the gulf of hell, 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. i6r 
 
 Remembering this, take heart and thank his fate — 
 
 That God, whose doom now scourges him with hate, 
 
 Once, in the wild and whirling world above, 
 
 Bade mercy kiss his dying lips with love. 
 
 But if this come not, then he doth me wrong. 
 
 For what hath love done, all this long life long, 
 
 That death should trample down his poor last prayer 
 
 Who prays not for forgiveness ? Though love were 
 
 Sin dark as hate, have we not here that sinned 
 
 Suffered ? has that been less than wintry wind 
 
 Wherewith our love lies blasted ? O mine own, 
 
 O mine and no man's yet save mine alone, 
 
 Iseult ! what ails thee that I lack so long 
 
 All of thee, all things thine for which I long ? 
 
 For more than watersprings to shadeless sands, 
 
 More to me were the comfort of her hands 
 
 Touched once, and more than rays that set and rise 
 
 The glittering arrows of her glorious eyes, 
 
 More to my sense than fire to dead cold air 
 
 The wind and light and odour of her hair, 
 
 More to my soul than summer's to the south 
 
 The mute clear music of her amorous mouth, 
 
 And to my heart's heart more than heaven's great rest 
 
 The fullness of the fragrance of her breast. 
 
 Iseult, Iseult, what grace hath life to give 
 
 More than we twain have had of life, and live ? 
 
 Iseult, Iseult, what grace may death not keep 
 
 As sweet for us to win of death, and sleep ? 
 
 Come therefore, let us twain pass hence and try 
 
 If it be better not to live but die, 
 
 M 
 
1 62 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 With love for lamp to light us out of life.' 
 
 And on that word his wedded maiden wife, 
 Pale as the moon in star-forsaken skies 
 Ere the sun fill them, rose with set strange eyes 
 And gazed on him that saw not : and her heart 
 Heaved as a man's death-smitten with a dart 
 That smites him sleeping, warm and full of life : 
 So toward her lord that was not looked his wife, 
 His wife that was not : and her heart within 
 Burnt bitter like an aftertaste of sin 
 To one whose memory drinks and loathes the lee 
 Of shame or sorrow deeper than the sea : 
 And no fear touched him of her eyes above 
 And ears that hoarded each poor word whence love 
 Made sweet the broken music of his breath. 
 « Iseult, my life that wast and art my death, 
 My life in life that hast been, and that art 
 Death in my death, sole wound that cleaves mine heart, 
 Mine heart that else, how spent soe'er, were whole, 
 Breath of my spirit and anguish of my soul, 
 How can this be that hence thou canst not hear, 
 Being but by space divided ? One is here, 
 But one of twain I looked at once to see ; 
 Shall death keep time and thou not keep with me ? ' 
 
 And the white married maiden laughed at heart, 
 Hearing, and scarce with lips at all apart 
 Spake, and as fire between them was her breath ; 
 ' Yea, now thou liest not : yea, for I am death.' 
 
 By this might eyes that watched without behold 
 Deep in the gulfs of aching air acold 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 163 
 
 The roses of the dawning heaven that strew 
 
 The low soft sun's way ere his power shine through 
 
 And burn them up with fire : but far to west 
 
 Had sunk the dead moon on the live sea's breast, 
 
 Slain as with bitter fear to see the sun : 
 
 And eastward was a strong bright wind begun 
 
 Between the clouds and waters : and he said, 
 
 Seeing hardly through dark dawn her doubtful head, 
 
 * Iseult ? ' and like a death-bell faint and clear 
 
 The virgin voice rang answer — ' I am here.' 
 
 And his heart sprang, and sank again : and she 
 
 Spake, saying, c What would my knightly lord with me ? ' 
 
 And Tristram : \ Hath my lady watched all night 
 
 Beside me, and I knew not ? God requite 
 
 Her love for comfort shown a man nigh dead.' 
 
 1 Yea, God shall surely guerdon it,' she said, 
 ' Who hath kept me all my days through to this hour.' 
 
 And Tristram : ' God alone hath grace and power 
 To pay such grace toward one unworthier shown 
 Than ever durst, save only of God alone, 
 Crave pardon yet and comfort, as I would 
 Crave now for charity if my heart were good, 
 But as a coward's it fails me, even for shame.' 
 
 Then seemed her face a pale funereal flame 
 That burns down slow by midnight, as she said : 
 * Speak, and albeit thy bidding spake me dead, 
 God's love renounce me if it were not done.' 
 
 And Tristram : ' When the sea-line takes the sun 
 That now should be not far off sight from far, 
 Look if there come not with the morning star 
 
164 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 My ship bound hither from the northward back, 
 And if the sail be white thereof or black.' 
 
 And knowing the soothfast sense of his desire 
 So sore the heart within her raged like fire 
 She could not wring forth of her lips a word, 
 But bowing made sign how humbly had she heard. 
 And the sign given made light his heart ; and she 
 Set her face hard against the yearning sea 
 Now all athirst with trembling trust of hope 
 To see the sudden gates of sunrise ope ; 
 But thirstier yearned the heart whose fiery gate 
 Lay wide that vengeance might come in to hate. 
 And Tristram lay at thankful rest, and thought 
 Now surely life nor death could grieve him aught, 
 Since past was now life's anguish as a breath, 
 And surely past the bitterness of death. 
 For seeing he had found at these her hands this grace, 
 It could not be but yet some breathing-space 
 Might leave him life to look again on love's own face. 
 1 Since if for death's sake,' in his heart he said, 
 1 Even she take pity upon me quick or dead, 
 How shall not even from God's hand be compassion 
 
 shed? 
 For night bears dawn, how weak soe'er and wan, 
 And sweet ere death, men fable, sings the swan. 
 So seems the Swan my signal from the sea 
 To sound a song that sweetens death to me 
 Clasped round about with radiance from above 
 Of dawn, and closer clasped on earth by love. 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 165 
 
 Shall all things brighten, and this my sign be dark ? ' 
 
 And high from heaven suddenly rang the lark, 
 Triumphant ; and the far first refluent ray 
 Filled all the hollow darkness full with day. 
 And on the deep sky's verge a fluctuant light 
 Gleamed, grew, shone, strengthened into perfect sight, 
 As bowed and dipped and rose again the sail's clear 
 
 white. 
 And swift and steadfast as a sea-mew's wing 
 It neared before the wind, as fain to bring 
 Comfort, and shorten yet its narrowing track. 
 And she that saw looked hardly toward him back, 
 Saying, * Ay, the ship comes surely ; but her sail is 
 
 black.' 
 And fain he would have sprung upright, and seen, 
 And spoken : but strong death struck sheer between, 
 And darkness closed as iron round his head : 
 And smitten through the heart lay Tristram dead. 
 
 And scarce the word had flown abroad, and wail 
 Risen, ere to shoreward came the snowbright sail, 
 And lightly forth leapt Ganhardine on land, 
 And led from ship with swift and reverent hand 
 Iseult : and round them up from all the crowd 
 Broke the great wail for Tristram out aloud. 
 And ere her ear might hear her heart had heard, 
 Nor sought she sign for witness of the word ; 
 But came and stood above him newly dead, 
 And felt his death upon her : and her head 
 Bowed, as to reach the spring that slakes all drouth : 
 And their four lips became one silent mouth. 
 
1 66 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 So came their hour on them that were in life 
 
 Tristram and Iseult : so from love and strife 
 
 The stroke of love's own hand felt last and best 
 
 Gave them deliverance to perpetual rest. 
 
 So, crownless of the wreaths that life had wound, 
 
 They slept, with flower of tenderer comfort crowned : 
 
 From bondage and the fear of time set free, 
 
 And all the yoke of space on earth and sea 
 
 Cast as a curb for ever : nor might now 
 
 Fear and desire bid soar their souls or bow, 
 
 Lift up their hearts or break them : doubt nor grief 
 
 More now might move them, dread nor disbelief 
 
 Touch them with shadowy cold or fiery sting, 
 
 Nor sleepless languor with its weary wing, 
 
 Nor harsh estrangement, born of time's vain breath, 
 
 Nor change, a darkness deeper far than death. 
 
 And round the sleep that fell around them then 
 
 Earth lies not wrapped, nor records wrought of men 
 
 Rise up for timeless token : but their sleep 
 
 Hath round it like a raiment all the deep ; 
 
 No change or gleam or gloom of sun and rain, 
 
 But all time long the might of all the main 
 
 Spread round them as round earth soft heaven is 
 
 spread, 
 And peace more strong than death round all the dead. 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 167 
 
 For death is of an hour, and after death 
 
 Peace : nor for aught that fear or fancy saith, 
 
 Nor even for very love's own sake, shall strife 
 
 Perplex again that perfect peace with life. 
 
 And if, as men that mourn may deem or dream, 
 
 Rest haply here than there might sweeter seem, 
 
 And sleep, that lays one hand on all, more good 
 
 By some sweet grave's grace given of wold or wood 
 
 Or clear high glen or sunbright wind-worn down 
 
 Than where life thunders through the trampling town 
 
 With daylong feet and nightlong overhead, 
 
 What grave may cast such grace round any dead, 
 
 What so sublime sweet sepulchre may be 
 
 For all that life leaves mortal, as the sea ? 
 
 And these, rapt forth perforce from earthly ground, 
 
 These twain the deep sea guards, and girdles round 
 
 Their sleep more deep than any sea's gulf lies, 
 
 Though changeless with the change in shifting skies, 
 
 Nor mutable with seasons : for the grave 
 
 That held them once, being weaker than a wave, 
 
 The waves long since have buried : though their tomb 
 
 Was royal that by ruth's relenting doom 
 
 Men gave them in Tintagel : for the word 
 
 Took wing which thrilled all piteous hearts that heard 
 
 The word wherethrough their lifelong lot stood shown, 
 
 And when the long sealed springs of fate were known, 
 
 The blind bright innocence of lips that quaffed 
 
 Love, and the marvel of the mastering draught, 
 
168 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 
 
 And all the fraughtage of the fateful bark, 
 Loud like a child upon them wept King Mark, 
 Seeing round the sword's hilt which long since had 
 
 fought 
 For Cornwall's love a scroll of writing wrought, 
 A scripture writ of Tristram's hand, wherein 
 Lay bare the sinless source of all their sin, 
 No choice of will, but chance and sorcerous art, 
 With prayer of him for pardon : and his heart 
 Was molten in him, wailing as he kissed 
 Each with the kiss of kinship — ' Had I wist, 
 Ye had never sinned nor died thus, nor had I 
 Borne in this doom that bade you sin and die 
 So sore a part of sorrow.' And the king 
 Built for their tomb a chapel bright like .spring 
 With flower-soft wealth of branching tracery made 
 Fair as the frondage each fleet year sees fade, 
 That should not fall till many a year were done. 
 There slept they wedded under moon and sun 
 And change of stars : and through the casements came 
 Midnight and noon girt round with shadow and flame 
 To illume their grave or veil it : till at last 
 On these things too was doom as darkness cast : 
 For the strong sea hath swallowed wall and tower, 
 And where their limbs were laid in woful hour 
 For many a fathom gleams and moves and moans 
 The tide that sweeps above their coffined bones 
 In the wrecked chancel by the shivered shrine : 
 Nor where they sleep shall moon or sunlight shine 
 
THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 169 
 
 Nor man look down for ever : none shall say, 
 Here once, or here, Tristram and Iseult lay : 
 But peace they have that none may gain who live, 
 And rest about them that no love can give, 
 And over them, while death and life shall be, 
 The light and sound and darkness of the sea. 
 
J7i 
 
 A THENS : 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 Ere from under earth again like fire the violet 
 kindle, [Sir. i. 
 
 Ere the holy buds and hoar on olive-branches 
 bloom, 
 Ere the crescent of the last pale month of winter 
 dwindle, 
 Shrink, and fall as falls a dead leaf on the dead 
 month's tomb, 
 Round the hills whose heights the first-born olive- 
 blossom brightened, 
 Round the city brow-bound once with violets like 
 a bride, 
 Up from under earth again a light that long since 
 lightened 
 Breaks, whence all the world took comfort as all 
 time takes pride. 
 Pride have all men in their fathers that were free 
 before them, 
 In the warriors that begat us free-born pride have 
 we : 
 
1 72 ATHENS. 
 
 But the fathers of their spirits, how may men adore 
 them, 
 With what rapture may we praise, who bade our 
 souls be free ? 
 Sons of Athens born in spirit and truth are all born 
 free men ; 
 Most of all, we, nurtured where the north wind 
 holds his reign : 
 Children all we sea-folk of the Salaminian seamen, 
 Sons of them that beat back Persia they that beat 
 back Spain. 
 Since the songs of Greece fell silent, none like ours 
 have risen ; 
 Since the sails of Greece fell slack, no ships have 
 sailed like ours ; 
 How should we lament not, if her spirit sit in prison ? 
 How should we rejoice not, if her wreaths renew 
 their flowers ? 
 All the world is sweeter, if the Athenian violet 
 quicken : 
 All the world is brighter, if the Athenian sun 
 return : 
 All things foul on earth wax fainter, by that sun's 
 light stricken : 
 All ill growths are withered, where those fragrant 
 flower-lights burn. 
 All the wandering waves of seas with all their warring 
 waters 
 Roll the record on for ever of the sea-fight there, 
 
ATHENS. 173 
 
 When the capes were battle's lists, and all the straits 
 were slaughter's, 
 And the myriad Medes as foam-flakes on the 
 scattering air. 
 Ours the lightning was that cleared the north and lit 
 the nations, 
 But the light that gave the whole world light of old 
 was she : 
 Ours an age or twain, but hers are endless genera- 
 tions : 
 All the world is hers at heart, and most of all are 
 we. 
 
 Ye that bear the name about you of her glory, [Ant. 1. 
 
 Men that wear the sign of Greeks upon you 
 sealed, 
 Yours is yet the choice to write yourselves in story 
 
 Sons of them that fought the Marathonian field. 
 Slaves of no man were ye, said your warrior poet, 
 
 Neither subject unto man as underlings : 
 Yours is now the season here wherein to show it, 
 
 If the seed ye be of them that knew not kings. 
 If ye be not, swords nor words alike found brittle 
 
 From the dust of death to raise you shall prevail : 
 Subject swords and dead men's words may stead you 
 little, 
 
 If their old king-hating heart within you fail. 
 If your spirit of old, and not your bonds, be broken, 
 
 If the kingless heart be molten in your breasts, 
 
i 7 4 ATHENS. 
 
 By what signs and wonders, by what word or token, 
 
 Shall ye drive the vultures from your eagles' nests ? 
 All the gains of tyrants Freedom counts for losses ; 
 
 Nought of all the work done holds she worth the 
 work, 
 When the slaves whose faith is set on crowns and 
 crosses 
 
 Drive the Cossack bear against the tiger Turk. 
 Neither cross nor crown nor crescent shall ye bow to, 
 
 Nought of Araby nor Jewry, priest nor king : 
 As your watchword was of old, so be it now too : 
 
 As from lips long stilled, from yours let healing 
 spring. 
 Through the fights of old, your battle-cry was healing, 
 
 And the Saviour that ye called on was the Sun : 
 Dawn by dawn behold in heaven your God, revealing 
 
 Light from darkness as when Marathon was won. 
 Gods were yours yet strange to Turk or Galilean, 
 
 Light and Wisdom only then as gods adored : 
 Pallas was your shield, your comforter was Paean, 
 
 From your bright world's navel spake the Sun your 
 Lord. 
 
 Though the names be lost, and changed the signs 
 of Light and Wisdom be, \Ep. i. 
 
 By these only shall men conquer, by these only be set 
 free : 
 
 When the whole world's eye was Athens, these were 
 yours, and theirs were ye. 
 
ATHENS. 175 
 
 Light was given you of your wisdom, light ye gave the 
 
 world again : 
 As the sun whose godhead lightened on her soul was 
 
 Hellas then : 
 Yea, the least of all her children as the chosen of 
 
 other men. 
 Change your hearts not with your garments, nor your 
 
 faith with creeds that change : 
 Truth was yours, the truth which time and chance 
 
 transform not nor estrange: 
 Purer truth nor higher abides not in the reach of 
 
 time's whole range. 
 Gods are they in all men's memories and for all time's 
 
 periods, 
 They that hurled the host back seaward which had 
 
 scourged the sea with rods : 
 Gods for us are all your fathers, even the least of 
 
 these as gods. 
 In the dark of days the thought of them is with us, 
 
 strong to save, 
 They that had no lord, and made the Great King 
 
 lesser than a slave ; 
 They that rolled all Asia back on Asia, broken like a 
 
 wave. 
 No man's men were they, no master's and no God's 
 
 but these their own : 
 Gods not loved in vain nor served amiss, nor all yet 
 
 overthrown : 
 Love of country, Freedom, Wisdom, Light, and none 
 
 save these alone. 
 
176 ATHENS. \ 
 
 King by king came up against them, sire and son r 
 and turned to flee : 
 
 Host on host roared westward, mightier each than 
 each, if more might be : 
 
 Field to field made answer, clamorous like as wave to 
 wave at sea. 
 
 Strife to strife responded, loud as rocks to clangorous- 
 rocks respond 
 
 Where the deep rings wreck to seamen held in tem- 
 pest's thrall and bond, 
 
 Till when war's bright work was perfect peace as 
 radiant rose beyond : 
 
 Peace made bright with fruit of battle, stronger made 
 for storm gone down, 
 
 With the flower of song held heavenward for the 
 violet of her crown 
 
 Woven about the fragrant forehead of the fostress 
 maiden's town. 
 
 Gods arose alive on earth from under stroke of human 
 hands : 
 
 As the hands that wrought them, these are dead, and 
 mixed with time's dead sands : 
 
 But the godhead of supernal song, though these now 
 stand not, stands. 
 
 Pallas is not, Phoebus breathes no more in breathing 
 brass or gold : 
 
 Clytsemnestra towers, Cassandra wails, for ever : 
 Time is bold, 
 
 But nor heart nor hand hath he to unwrite the scrip- 
 tures writ of old. 
 
ATHENS. 177 
 
 Dead the great chryselephantine God, as dew last 
 
 evening shed : 
 Dust of earth or foam of ocean is the symbol of his 
 
 head : 
 Earth and ocean shall be shadows when Prometheus 
 
 shall be dead. 
 
 Fame around her warriors living rang through Greece 
 and lightened, \Str. 2. 
 
 Moving equal with their stature, stately with their 
 strength : 
 Thebes and Lacedsemon at their breathing presence 
 brightened, 
 Sense or sound of them filled all the live land's 
 breadth and length. 
 All the lesser tribes put on the pure Athenian fashion, 
 One Hellenic heart was from the mountains to the 
 sea: 
 Sparta's bitter self grew sweet with high half-human 
 passion, 
 And her dry thorns flushed aflower in strait Ther- 
 mopylae. 
 Fruitless yet the flowers had fallen, and all the deeds 
 died fruitless, 
 Save that tongues of after men, the children of her 
 peace, 
 Took the tale up of her glories, transient else and 
 rootless, 
 And in ears and hearts of all men left the praise of 
 Greece. 
 
 N 
 
178 ATHENS. 
 
 Fair the war-time was when still, as beacon answering 
 beacon, 
 Sea to land flashed fight, and thundered note of 
 wrath or cheer ; 
 But the strength of noonday night hath power to 
 waste and weaken, 
 Nor may light be passed from hand to hand of 
 year to year 
 If the dying deed be saved not, ere it die for ever, 
 By the hands and lips of men more wise than years 
 are strong ; 
 If the soul of man take heed not that the deed die 
 never, 
 Clothed about with purple and gold of story, 
 crowned with song. 
 Still the burning heart of boy and man alike rejoices, 
 Hearing words which made it seem of old for all 
 who sang 
 That their heaven of heavens waxed happier when 
 from free men's voices 
 Well-beloved Harmodius a?id Aristogeiton rang. 
 Never fell such fragrance from the flower-month's 
 rose-red kirtle 
 As from chaplets on the bright friends' brows who 
 slew their lord : 
 Greener grew the leaf and balmier blew the flower of 
 myrtle 
 When its blossom sheathed the sheer tyrannicidal 
 sword. ^ 
 
ATHENS. 179 
 
 None so glorious garland crowned the feast Panathe- 
 nsean 
 As this wreath too frail to fetter fast the Cyprian 
 dove : 
 None so fiery song sprang sunwards annual as the 
 paean 
 Praising perfect love of friends and perfect country's 
 love. 
 
 Higher than highest of all those heavens wherefrom 
 the starry [Ant, 2. 
 
 Song of Homer shone above the rolling fight, 
 Gleams like spring's green bloom on boughs all gaunt 
 and gnarry 
 Soft live splendour as of flowers of foam in flight, 
 Glows a glory of mild-winged maidens upward mount- 
 ing 
 Sheer through air made shrill with strokes of smooth 
 swift wings 
 Round the rocks beyond foot's reach, past eyesight's 
 counting, 
 Up the cleft where iron wind of winter rings 
 Round a God fast clenched in iron jaws of fetters, 
 
 Him who culled for man the fruitful flower of fire, 
 Bared the darkling scriptures writ in dazzling letters, 
 Taught the truth of dreams deceiving men's desire, 
 Gave their water-wandering chariot-seats of ocean 
 Wings, and bade the rage of war-steeds champ the 
 rein, 
 
 N 2 
 
180 ATHENS. 
 
 Showed the symbols of the wild birds' wheeling 
 motion, 
 Waged for man's sake war with God and all his 
 train. 
 Earth, whose name was also Righteousness, a mother 
 
 Many-named and single-natured, gave him breath 
 Whence God's wrath could wring but this word and 
 none other— 
 He may smite me, yet he shall not do to death. 
 Him the tongue that sang triumphant while tormented 
 Sang as loud the sevenfold storm that roared ere- 
 while 
 Round the towers of Thebes till wrath might rest 
 contented : 
 Sang the flight from smooth soft-sanded banks of 
 Nile, 
 When like mateless doves that fly from snare or 
 tether 
 Came the suppliants landwards trembling as they 
 trod, 
 And the prayer took wing from all their tongues 
 together — 
 King of kings, most holy of holies, blessed God. 
 But what mouth may chant again, what heart may 
 know it, 
 All the rapture that all hearts of men put on 
 When of Salamis the time-transcending poet 
 
 Sang, whose hand had chased the Mede at Marathon ? 
 
ATHENS. 181 
 
 Darker dawned the song with stormier wings above 
 
 the watch-fire spread \Ep. 2. 
 
 Whence from Ida toward the hill of Hermes leapt the 
 
 light that said 
 Troy was fallen, a torch funereal for the king's tri- 
 umphal head. 
 Dire indeed the birth of Leda's womb that had God's 
 
 self to sire 
 Bloomed, a flower of love that stung the soul with 
 
 fangs that gnaw like fire : 
 But the twin-born human-fathered sister-flower bore 
 
 fruit more dire. 
 Scarce the cry that called on airy heaven and all swift 
 
 winds on wing, 
 Wells of river-heads, and countless laugh of waves 
 
 past reckoning, 
 Earth which brought forth all, and the orbed sun that 
 
 looks on everything, 
 Scarce that cry fills yet men's hearts more full of 
 
 •heart devouring dread 
 Than the murderous word said mocking, how the 
 
 child whose blood he shed 
 Might clasp fast and kiss her father where the dead 
 
 salute the dead. 
 But the latter note of anguish from the lips that 
 
 mocked her lord, 
 When her son's hand bared against the breast that 
 
 suckled him his sword, 
 How might man endure, O ^Eschylus, to hear it and 
 
 record ? 
 
1 82 ATHENS. 
 
 How might man endure, being mortal yet, O thou 
 most highest, to hear ? 
 
 How record, being born of woman ? Surely not thy 
 Furies near, 
 
 Surely this beheld, this only, blasted hearts to death 
 with fear. 
 
 Not the hissing hair, nor flakes of blood that oozed 
 from eyes of fire, 
 
 Nor the snort of savage sleep that snuffed the hunger- 
 ing heart's desire 
 
 Where the hunted prey found hardly space and har- 
 bour to respire ; 
 
 She whose likeness called them — ' Sleep ye, ho ? 
 what need of you that sleep ? ' 
 
 (Ah, what need indeed, where she was, of all shapes 
 that night may keep 
 
 Hidden dark as death and deeper than men's dreams 
 of hell are deep ?) 
 
 She the murderess of her husband, she the huntress 
 of her son, 
 
 More than ye was she, the shadow that no God with- 
 stands but one, 
 
 Wisdom equal-eyed and stronger and more splendid 
 than the sun. 
 
 Yea, no God may stand betwixt us and the shadows 
 of our deeds, 
 
 Nor the light of dreams that lighten darkness, nor the 
 prayer that pleads, 
 
 But the wisdom equal-souled with heaven, the light 
 alone that leads. 
 
ATHENS. 183 
 
 Light whose law bids home those childless children 
 of eternal night, 
 
 Soothed and reconciled and mastered and transmuted 
 in men's sight 
 
 Who behold their own souls, clothed with darkness 
 once, now clothed with light. 
 
 King of kings and father crowned of all our fathers 
 crowned of yore, 
 
 Lord of all the lords of song, whose head all heads 
 bow down before, 
 
 Glory be to thee from all thy sons in all tongues ever- 
 more. 
 
 Rose and vine and olive and deep ivy-bloom en- 
 twining [Sir. 3. 
 Close the goodliest grave that e'er they closeliest 
 might entwine 
 Keep the wind from wasting and the sun from too 
 strong shining 
 Where the sound and light of sweetest songs still 
 float and shine. 
 Here the music seems to illume the shade, the light 
 to whisper 
 Song, the flowers to put not odours only forth, but 
 words 
 Sweeter far than fragrance : here the wandering 
 wreaths twine crisper 
 Far, and louder far exults the note of all wild 
 birds. 
 
1 84 ATHENS. 
 
 Thoughts that change us, joys that crown and sorrows 
 that enthrone us, 
 Passions that enrobe us with a clearer air than ours, 
 Move and breathe as living things beheld round white 
 Colonus, 
 Audibler than melodies and visibler than flowers. 
 Love, in fight unconquered, Love, with spoils of great 
 men laden, 
 Never sang so sweet from throat of woman or of 
 dove : 
 Love, whose bed by night is in the soft cheeks of a 
 maiden, 
 And his march is over seas, and low roofs lack not 
 Love; 
 Nor may one of all that live, ephemeral or eternal, 
 Fly nor hide from Love ; but whoso clasps him 
 fast goes mad. 
 Never since the first-born year with flowers first-born 
 grew vernal 
 Such a song made listening hearts of lovers glad or 
 sad. 
 Never sounded note so radiant at the rayless portal 
 Opening wide on the all-concealing lowland of the 
 dead 
 As the music mingling, when her doomsday marked 
 her mortal, 
 From her own and old men's voices round the 
 bride's way shed, 
 Round the grave her bride-house, hewn for endless 
 habitation, 
 
ATHENS. 185: 
 
 Where, shut out from sunshine, with no bridegroom 
 by, she slept ; 
 But beloved of all her dark and fateful generation, 
 But with all time's tears and praise besprinkled and 
 bewept : 
 Well-beloved of outcast father and self-slaughtered 
 mother, 
 Born, yet unpolluted, of their blind incestuous 
 bed; 
 Best-beloved of him for whose dead sake she died, 
 her brother, 
 Hallowing by her own life's gift her own born 
 brother's head : 
 
 Not with wine or oil nor any less libation [Ant. 3. 
 
 Hallowed, nor made sweet with humbler perfume's 
 breath ; 
 Not with only these redeemed from desecration, 
 
 But with blood and spirit of life poured forth to 
 death ; 
 Blood unspotted, spirit unsullied, life devoted, 
 
 Sister too supreme to make the bride's hope good, 
 Daughter too divine as woman to be noted, 
 
 Spouse of only death in mateless maidenhood. 
 Yea, in her was all the prayer fulfilled, the saying 
 
 All accomplished — Would that fate would let me 
 wear 
 Hallowed i7moeence of words and all deeds, weighing 
 
 Well the laws thereof, begot on holier air, 
 
1 86 ATHENS. 
 
 Far o?i high sublimely slablished, whereof only 
 
 Heaven is father ; nor did birth of mortal mould 
 Bring them forth, nor shall oblivion lull to lonely 
 
 Slumber. Great in these is God, and grows not old. 
 Therefore even that inner darkness where she 
 perished 
 Surely seems as holy and lovely, seen aright, 
 As desirable and as dearly to be cherished, 
 
 As the haunt closed in with laurels from the light, 
 Deep inwound with olive and wild vine inwoven, 
 Where a godhead known and unknown makes men 
 pale, 
 But the darkness of the twilight noon is cloven 
 
 Still with shrill sweet moan of many a nightingale. 
 Closer clustering there they make sweet noise to- 
 gether, 
 Where the fearful gods look gentler than our fear, 
 And the grove thronged through with birds of holiest 
 feather 
 Grows nor pale nor dumb with sense of dark things 
 near. 
 There her father, called upon with signs of wonder, 
 Passed with tenderest words away by ways un- 
 known, 
 Not by sea-storm stricken down, nor touched of 
 thunder, 
 To the dark benign deep underworld, alone. 
 
ATHENS. 187 
 
 Third of three that ruled in Athens, kings with 
 
 sceptral song for staff, \Ep. 3. 
 
 Gladdest heart that God gave ever milk and wine of 
 
 thought to quaff, 
 Clearest eye that lightened ever to the broad lip's 
 
 lordliest laugh, 
 Praise be thine as theirs whose tragic brows the loftier 
 
 leaf engirds 
 For the live and lyric lightning of thy honey-hearted 
 
 words, 
 Soft like sunny dewy wings of clouds and bright as 
 
 crying of birds ; 
 Full of all sweet rays and notes that make of earth 
 
 and air and sea 
 One great light and sound of laughter from one great 
 
 God's heart, to be 
 Sign and semblance of the gladness of man's life 
 
 where men breathe free. 
 With no Loxian sound obscure God uttered once, and 
 
 all time heard, 
 All the soul of Athens, all the soul of England, in 
 
 that word : 
 Rome arose the second child of freedom : northward 
 
 rose the third. 
 Ere her Boreal dawn came kindling seas afoam and 
 
 fields of snow, 
 Yet again, while Europe groaned and grovelled, shone 
 
 like suns aglow 
 Doria splendid over Genoa, Venice bright with Dan- 
 
 dolo. 
 
1 88 ATHENS. 
 
 Dead was Hellas, but Ausonia by the light of dead 
 
 men's deeds 
 Rose and walked awhile alive, though mocked as 
 
 whom the fen-fire leads 
 By the creed- wrought faith of faithless souls that 
 
 mock their doubts with creeds. 
 Dead are these, and man is risen again : and haply 
 
 now the Three 
 Yet coequal and triune may stand in story, marked as 
 
 free 
 By the token of the washing of the waters of the sea. 
 Athens first of all earth's kindred many-tongued and 
 
 many-kinned 
 Had the sea to friend and comfort, and for kinsman 
 
 had the wind : 
 She that bare Columbus next : then she that made 
 
 her spoil of Ind. 
 She that hears not what man's rage but only what the 
 
 sea-wind saith : 
 She that turned Spain's ships to cloud-wrack at the 
 
 blasting of her breath, 
 By her strengths of strong-souled children and of 
 
 strong winds done to death. 
 North and south the Great King's galleons went in 
 
 Persian wise : and here 
 She, with ^Eschylean music on her lips that laughed 
 
 back fear, 
 In the face of Time's grey godhead shook the splen- 
 dour of her spear. 
 
ATHENS. 189 
 
 Fair as Athens then with foot upon her foeman's 
 
 front, and strong 
 Even as Athens for redemption of the world from 
 
 sovereign wrong, 
 Like as Athens crowned she stood before the sun 
 
 with crowning song. 
 All the world is theirs with whom is freedom : first of 
 
 all the free, 
 Blest are they whom song has crowned and clothed 
 
 with blessing : these as we, 
 These alone have part in spirit with the sun that 
 
 crowns the sea. 
 
 April, 1 88 1. 
 
i9i 
 
 THE STATUE QF VICTOR HUGO, 
 
 Since in Athens God stood plain for adoration, 
 
 Since the sun beheld his likeness reared in stone,. 
 Since the bronze or gold of human consecration 
 
 Gave to Greece her guardian's form and feature 
 shown, 
 Never hand of sculptor, never heart of nation, 
 
 Found so glorious aim in all these ages flown 
 As is theirs who rear for all time's acclamation 
 
 Here the likeness of our mightiest and their own. 
 
 2. 
 
 Theirs and ours and all men's living who behold him 
 
 Crowned with garlands multiform and manifold; 
 Praise and thanksgiving of all mankind enfold him 
 
 Who for all men casts abroad his gifts of gold. 
 With the gods of song have all men's tongues enrolled 
 him, 
 With the helpful gods have all men's hearts en- 
 rolled : 
 
i 9 2 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 Ours he is who love him, ours whose hearts' hearts 
 hold him 
 Fast as his the trust that hearts like his may hold. 
 
 : He, the heart most high, the spirit on earth most 
 blameless, 
 Takes in charge all spirits, holds all hearts in trust : 
 As the sea-wind's on the sea his ways are tameless, 
 
 As the laws that steer the world his works are just. 
 All most noble feel him nobler, all most shameless 
 Feel his wrath and scorn make pale their pride and 
 lust : 
 All most poor and lowliest, all whose wrongs were 
 nameless, 
 Feel his word of comfort raise them from the dust. 
 
 Pride of place and lust of empire bloody-fruited 
 
 Knew the blasting of his breath on leaf and fruit : 
 Now the hand that smote the death-tree now dis- 
 rooted 
 
 Plants the refuge-tree that has man's hope for root. 
 Ah, but we by whom his darkness was saluted, 
 
 How shall now all we that see his day salute ? 
 How should love not seem by love's own speech con- 
 futed, 
 
 Song before the sovereign singer not be mute ? 
 
THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 193 
 
 5- 
 With what worship, by what blessing, in what measure, 
 
 May we sing of him, salute him, or adore, 
 With what hymn for praise, what thanksgiving for 
 pleasure, 
 Who had given us more than heaven, and gives us 
 more? 
 Heaven's whole treasury, filled up full with night's 
 whole treasure, 
 Holds not so divine or deep a starry store 
 As the soul supreme that deals forth worlds at leisure 
 Clothed with light and darkness, dense with flower 
 and ore. 
 
 6. 
 
 Song had touched the bourn : fresh verses overflow it, 
 
 Loud and radiant, waves on waves on waves that 
 throng ; 
 Still the tide grows, and the sea-mark still below it 
 
 Sinks and shifts and rises, changed and swept along. 
 Rose it like a rock ? the waters overthrow it, 
 
 And another stands beyond them sheer and strong : 
 Goal by goal pays down its prize, and yields its poet 
 
 Tribute claimed of triumph, palm achieved of song. 
 
 7- 
 
 Since his hand that holds the keys of fear and wonder 
 
 Opened on the high priest's dreaming eyes a door 
 
 o 
 
i 9 4 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 Whence the lights of heaven and hell above and 
 under 
 Shone, and smote the face that men bow down 
 before, 
 Thrice again one singer's note had cloven in sunder 
 
 Night, who blows again not one blast now but four, 
 And the fourfold heaven is kindled with his thunder, 
 And the stars about his forehead are fourscore. 
 
 8. 
 
 From the deep soul's depths where alway love 
 abounded 
 
 First had risen a song with healing on its wings 
 Whence the dews of mercy raining balms unbounded 
 
 Shed their last compassion even on sceptred things. 1 
 Even on heads that like a curse the crown surrounded 
 
 Fell his crowning pity, soft as cleansing springs ; 
 And the sweet last note his wrath relenting sounded 
 
 Bade men's hearts be melted not for slaves but 
 kings. 
 
 9- 
 
 Next, that faith might strengthen fear and love 
 embolden, 
 On the creeds of priests a scourge of sunbeams 
 fell: 
 And its flash made bare the deeps of heaven, beholden 
 Not of men that cry, Lord, Lord, from church or 
 cell. 2 
 
 1 La Pitie Supreme. 1879. 
 
 2 Religions et Religion. 1880. 
 
THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 195 
 
 Hope as young as dawn from night obscure and olden 
 Rose again, such power abides in truth's one spell : 
 
 Night, if dawn it be that touches her, grows golden ; 
 Tears, if such as angels weep, extinguish hell. 
 
 TO. 
 
 Through the blind loud mills of barren blear-eyed 
 learning 
 Where in dust and darkness children's foreheads 
 bow, 
 While men's labour, vain as wind or water turning 
 Wheels and sails of dreams, makes life a leafless 
 bough, 
 Fell the light of scorn and pity touched with yearning, 
 Next, from words that shone as heaven's own kind- 
 ling brow. 1 
 Stars were these as watch-fires on the world's waste 
 burning, 
 Stars that fade not in the fourfold sunrise now. 2 
 
 Now the voice that faints not till all wrongs be wroken 
 Sounds as might the sun's song from the morning's 
 breast, 
 
 All the seals of silence sealed of night are broken, 
 All the winds that bear the fourfold word are blest. 
 
 1 VAne. 1880. 
 
 2 Les Qualre Vents de V Esprit. I. Le Livre satiriqtce. 
 II. Le Livre dramatique. HI. Le Livre lyrique. IV. Le 
 Livre epique. 1 881. 
 
 o 2 
 
i 9 6 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 All the keen fierce east flames forth one fiery token ; 
 
 All the north is loud with life that knows not rest, 
 All the south with song as though the stars had 
 spoken ; 
 
 All the judgment-fire of sunset scathes the west. 
 
 12. 
 
 Sound of paean, roll of chanted panegyric, 
 
 Though by Pindar's mouth song's trumpet spake 
 forth praise, 
 March of warrior songs in Pythian mood or Pyrrhic,. 
 Though the blast were blown by lips of ancient 
 days, 
 Ring not clearer than the clarion of satiric 
 
 Song whose breath sweeps bare the plague- infected 
 ways 
 Till the world be pure as heaven is for the lyric 
 
 Sun to rise up clothed with radiant sounds as rays. 
 
 *3- 
 
 Clear across the cloud-rack fluctuant and erratic 
 
 As the strong star smiles that lets no mourner 
 mourn, 
 Hymned alike from lips of Lesbian choirs or Attic 
 
 Once at evensong and morning newly born, 
 Clear and sure above the changes of dramatic 
 
 Tide and current, soft with love and keen with 
 scorn, 
 Smiles the strong sweet soul of maidenhood, ecstatic 
 
 And inviolate as the red glad mouth of morn. 
 
THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 197 
 
 14. 
 
 Pure and passionate as dawn, whose apparition 
 
 Thrills with fire from heaven the wheels of hours 
 that whirl, 
 Rose and passed her radiance in serene transition 
 
 From his eyes who sought a grain and found a 
 pearl. 
 But the food by cunning hope for vain fruition 
 
 Lightly stolen away from keeping of a churl 
 Left the bitterness of death and hope's perdition 
 
 On the lip that scorn was wont for shame to curl. 1 
 
 15- 
 
 Over waves that darken round the wave-worn rover 
 Rang his clarion higher than winds cried round 
 the ship, 
 Rose a pageant of set suns and storms blown over, 
 Hands that held life's guerdons fast or let them 
 slip. 
 But no tongue may tell, no thanksgiving discover, 
 Half the heaven of blessing, soft with clouds that 
 drip, 
 Keen with beams that kindle, dear as love to lover, 
 Opening by the spell's strength on his lyric lip. 
 
 1 Les Deux Trouvailles de Gallus. I. Margarita, comedie. 
 11. Esc a. drame. 
 
198 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO, 
 
 16. 
 
 By that spell the soul transfigured and dilated 
 
 Puts forth wings that widen, breathes a brightening 
 air, 
 Feeds on light and drinks of music, whence elated 
 All her sense grows godlike, seeing all depths 
 made bare, 
 All the mists wherein before she sat belated 
 
 Shrink, till now the sunlight knows not if they 
 were ; 
 All this earth transformed is Eden recreated, 
 
 With the breath of heaven remurmuring in her 
 hair. 
 
 17. 
 
 Sweeter far than aught of sweet that April nurses 
 
 Deep in dew-dropt woodland folded fast and furled 
 Breathes the fragrant song whose burning dawn 
 disperses 
 Darkness, like the surge of armies backward hurled, 
 Even as though the touch of spring's own hand, that 
 pierces 
 Earth with life's delight, had hidden in the 
 impearled 
 Golden bells and buds and petals of his verses 
 All the breath of all the flowers in all the world. 
 
THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 199 
 
 18. 
 
 But the soul therein, the light that our souls follow, 
 Fires and fills the song with more of prophet's 
 pride, 
 More of life than all the gulfs of death may swallow, 
 
 More of flame than all the might of night may hide. 
 Though the whole dark age were loud and void and 
 hollow, 
 Strength of trust were here, and help for all souls 
 tried, 
 And a token from the flight of that strange swallow ] 
 Whose migration still is toward the wintry side. 
 
 19. 
 
 Never came such token for divine solution 
 
 From the oraculous live darkness whence of yore 
 Ancient faith sought word of help and retribution, 
 
 Truth to lighten doubt, a sign to go before. 
 Never so baptismal waters of ablution 
 
 Bathed the brows of exile on so stern a shore, 
 Where the lightnings of the sea of revolution 
 
 Flashed across them ere its thunders yet might 
 roar. 
 
 1 Je suis une hirondelle etrange, car j 'emigre 
 Du cote de l'hiver. 
 
 Le Livre Lyrique, liii. 
 
2oo THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 By the lightning's light of present revelation 
 
 Shown, with epic thunder as from skies that frown, 
 Clothed in darkness as of darkling expiation, 
 
 Rose a vision of dead stars and suns gone down, 
 Whence of old fierce fire devoured the star-struck 
 nation, 
 Till its wrath and woe lit red the raging town, 
 Now made glorious with his statue's crowning station, 
 Where may never gleam again a viler crown. 
 
 21. 
 
 King, with time for throne and all the years for pages, 
 He shall reign though all thrones else be over- 
 hurled, 
 Served of souls that have his living words for wages, 
 Crowned of heaven each dawn that leaves his brows 
 impearled ; 
 Girt about with robes unrent of storm that rages, 
 Robes not wrought with hands, from no loom's 
 weft unfurled ; 
 All the praise of all earth's tongues in all earth's ages, 
 All the love of all men's hearts in all the world. 
 
 22. 
 
 Yet what hand shall carve the soul or cast the spirit, 
 Mould the face of fame, bid glory's feature glow ? 
 
 Who bequeath for eyes of ages hence to inherit 
 Him, the Master, whom love knows not if it know? 
 
THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 201 
 
 Scarcely perfect praise of men man's work might 
 merit, 
 
 Scarcely bid such aim to perfect stature grow, 
 Were his hand the hand of Phidias who shall rear it, 
 
 And his soul the very soul of Angelo. 
 
 23. 
 
 Michael, awful angel of the world's last session, 
 
 Once on earth, like him, with fire of suffering tried, 
 Thine it were, if man's it were, without transgression, 
 
 Thine alone, to take this toil upon thy pride. 
 Thine, whose heart was great against the world's 
 oppression, 
 Even as his whose word is lamp and staff and 
 guide : 
 Advocate for man, untired of intercession, 
 
 Pleads his voice for slaves whose lords his voice 
 defied. 
 
 24. 
 
 Earth, with all the kings and thralls on earth, below it, 
 Heaven alone, with all the worlds in heaven, above, 
 
 Let his likeness rise for suns and stars to know it, 
 High for men to worship, plain for men to love : 
 
 Brow that braved the tides which fain would overflow 
 
 Lip that gave the challenge, hand that flung the 
 glove j 
 Comforter and prophet, Paraclete and poet, 
 Soul whose emblems are an eagle and a dove. 
 
202 THE STATUE OE VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 Sun, that hast not seen a loftier head wax hoary, 
 
 Earth, which hast not shown "the sun a nobler birth, 
 Time, that hast not on thy scroll defiled and gory 
 
 One man's name writ brighter in its whole wide 
 girth, 
 Witness, till the final years fulfil their story, 
 
 Till the stars break orT the music of their mirth, 
 What among the sons of men was this man's glory, 
 
 What the vesture of his soul revealed on earth. 
 
SONNETS 
 
205 
 
 HOPE AND FEAR. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope, 
 With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere, 
 Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer 
 
 Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope 
 
 Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope, 
 And makes for joy the very darkness dear 
 That gives her wide wings play ; nor dreams that fear 
 
 At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope. 
 
 Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn, 
 
 May truth first purge her eyesight to discern 
 
 What once being known leaves time no power to appal ; 
 
 Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn 
 
 The kind wise word that falls from years that fall — 
 1 Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.' 
 
206 
 
 AFTER SUNSET. 
 
 Si quis piorum Manibus locus. 
 
 Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west 
 A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life : and I, 
 Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky 
 
 Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast 
 
 Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest 
 
 By growth and change of ardours felt on high, 
 Make onward, till the last flame fall and die 
 
 And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest. 
 
 Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death, 
 
 Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath 
 Blows more of benediction than the morn, 
 
 So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith 
 That half our heart of life there lies forlorn 
 May light or breath at least of hope be born. 
 
207 
 
 II. 
 
 The wind was soft before the sunset fled : 
 
 Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day- 
 Is lowered along a red funereal way 
 
 Down to the dark that knows not white from red, 
 
 A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head, 
 Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray 
 Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey, 
 
 Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead. 
 
 From far beyond the sunset, far above, 
 
 Full toward the starry soundless east it blows 
 Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose, 
 
 Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove j 
 
 Till more and more as darkness grows and glows 
 
 Silence and night seem likest life and love. 
 
208 
 
 III. 
 
 If light of life outlive the set of sun 
 
 That men call death and end of all things, then 
 How should not that which life held best for men 
 And proved most precious, though it seem undone 
 By force of death and woful victory won, 
 Be first and surest of revival, when 
 Death shall bow down to life arisen again ? 
 So shall the soul seen be the self- same one 
 That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes 
 As love shall doubt not then to recognise, 
 
 And all bright thoughts and smiles of airtime past 
 Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense 
 None other than we knew, for evidence 
 
 That love's last mortal word was not his last. 
 
209 
 
 A STUDY FROM MEMORY. 
 
 If that be yet a living soul which here 
 
 Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs 
 
 And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things 
 Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year, 
 Death can have changed not aught that made it dear ; 
 
 Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings 
 
 Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings ; 
 Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer ; 
 A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang 
 
 By might of nature and heroic need 
 
 More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed ; 
 A song that shone, a light whence music rang 
 
 High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought ; 
 
 All these must be, or all she was be nought. 
 
210 
 
 TO DR. JOHN BRO WN. 
 
 Beyond the north wind lay the land of old 
 
 Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed 
 With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread, 
 
 The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold. 
 
 None there might wear about his brows enrolled 
 A light of lovelier fame than rings your head, 
 Whose lovesome love of children and the dead 
 
 All men give thanks for : I far off behold 
 
 A dear dead hand that links us, and a light 
 
 The blithest and benignest of the night, 
 
 The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be 
 
 A star to show your spirit in present sight 
 Some happier island in the Elysian sea 
 Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie. 
 
 March 1882. 
 
211 
 
 TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. 
 
 The larks are loud above our leagues of whin 
 Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold 
 With odour like the colour : all the wold 
 Is only light and song and wind wherein 
 These twain are blent in one with shining din. 
 And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled, 
 Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old, 
 Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin. 
 Though all but we from life be now gone forth 
 Of that bright household in our joyous north 
 Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end, 
 
 First met your hand ; yet under life's clear dome, 
 Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend, 
 Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home. 
 
 April 20, 1882. 
 
212 
 
 A DEATH ON EASTER DAY. 
 
 The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise, 
 Rise and make revel, as of old men said, 
 Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed : 
 
 A light more bright than ever bathed the skies 
 
 Departs for all time out of all men's eyes. 
 The crowns that girt last night a living head 
 Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead : 
 
 Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies. 
 
 Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled, 
 Hope sees, past all division and defection, 
 
 And higher than swims the mist of human breath, 
 
 The soul most radiant once in all the world 
 Requickened to regenerate resurrection 
 Out of the likeness of the shadow of death. 
 
 April 1882. 
 
2T3 
 
 ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARL YLE 
 AND GEORGE ELIOT. 
 
 Two souls diverse out of our human sight 
 
 Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder : 
 The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder, 
 
 Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might 
 
 Of darkness and magnificence of night ; 
 
 And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder, 
 Searching if light or no light were thereunder, 
 
 And found in love of loving-kindness light. 
 
 Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire 
 
 Still following Righteousness with deep desire 
 Shone sole and stern before her and above, 
 
 Sure stars and sole to steer by ; but more sweet 
 
 Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet, 
 The light of little children, and their love. 
 
214 
 
 AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLES 
 REMINISCENCES. 
 
 i. 
 
 Three men lived yet when this dead man was young 
 Whose names and words endure for ever : one 
 Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, 
 And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue 
 Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung, 
 
 But like the strain half uttered earth hears none, 
 Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done : . 
 One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung 
 Between the mountains hallowed by his love 
 And the sky stainless as his soul above : 
 
 And one the sweetest heart that ever spake 
 The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled. 
 These deathless names by this dead snake denied 
 Bid memory spit upon him for their sake. 
 
215 
 
 II. 
 
 Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake, 
 Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam, 
 And for my love's sake, powerless as I am 
 For love to praise thee, or like thee to make 
 Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break, 
 Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb. 
 Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn, 
 Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake. 
 Let worms consume its memory with its tongue, 
 The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung 
 
 Men's memories uncorroded with its breath. 
 Forgive me, that with bitter words like his 
 I mix the gentlest English name that is, 
 
 The tenderest held of all that know not death. 
 
2l6 
 
 A LAST LOOK. 
 
 Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl 
 
 That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank, 
 With German garters crossed athwart thy frank 
 
 Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl, 
 
 And boys responsive with reverberate howl 
 
 Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank 
 And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank 
 
 And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul. 
 
 Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given 
 
 Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven, 
 
 Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace. 
 
 Peace upon earth thou knewest not : now, being dead, 
 
 Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head, 
 Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease. 
 
217 
 
 DICKENS. 
 
 Chief in thy generation born of men 
 
 Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born, 
 With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn 
 For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then 
 When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when 
 Reverence of age with love and labour worn, 
 Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn. 
 Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen : 
 Where stars and suns that we behold not burn, 
 
 Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place, 
 Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine 
 With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne 
 And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace ; 
 Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine. 
 
2l8 
 
 ON LAMBS SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC 
 POETS. 
 
 i. 
 
 If all the flowers of all the fields on earth 
 By wonder-working summer were made one, 
 Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun, 
 Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth 
 Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth 
 Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run 
 Breathed life, and all its breath was benison. 
 Beloved beyond all names of English birth, 
 More dear than mightier memories ; gentlest name 
 That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame, 
 Or linked itself with loftiest names of old 
 
 By right and might of loving ; I, that am 
 Less than the least of those within thy fold, 
 
 Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb. 
 
219 
 
 II. 
 
 So many a year had borne its own bright bees 
 And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived, 
 John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived 
 
 So well with craft of moulding melodies, 
 
 Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease 
 Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived 
 Of summer music from the spring derived 
 
 When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees. 
 
 But thine was not the chance of every day : 
 Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny, 
 And light between the clouds ere sunset swam, 
 
 Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away, 
 When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey 
 Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb. 
 
220 
 
 TO JOHN NICHOL. 
 
 Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days 
 Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute 
 The song saluting friends whose songs are mute 
 
 With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise. 
 
 That since our old young years our several ways 
 Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit 
 Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root 
 
 We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays, 
 
 The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree, 
 Friendship — this only and duly might impel 
 My song to salutation of your own ; 
 
 More even than praise of one unseen of me 
 And loved — the starry spirit of Dobell, 
 To mine by light and music only known. 
 
221 
 
 II. 
 
 But more than this what moves me most of all 
 To leave not all unworded and unsped 
 The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid 
 
 Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall 
 
 His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall, 
 The sign to friends on earth of that dear head 
 Alive, which now long since untimely dead 
 
 The wan grey waters covered for a pall. 
 
 Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems 
 Took never life more taintless of rebuke, 
 
 More pure and perfect, more serene and kind, 
 
 Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames, 
 And made the now more hallowed name of Luke 
 Memorial to us of morning left behind. 
 
 May 1881. 
 
222 
 
 DYSTHANATOS. 
 
 Ad generetn Cereris sine ccede et vuhiere pauci 
 Descendant rages, ant siccd morte tyranni. 
 
 By no dry death another king goes down 
 
 The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice, 
 For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice 
 
 That one sign more is given against the crown, 
 
 That one more head those dark red waters drown 
 Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise 
 Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys 
 
 As human hearts that shrink at human frown. 
 
 The name writ red on Polish earth, the star 
 
 That was to outshine our England's in the far 
 East heaven of empire — where is one that saith 
 
 Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar ? 
 ' In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath, 
 Few tyrants perish by no violent death.' 
 
 March 14, 1881. 
 
223 
 
 EUONYMOS. 
 
 €u jMr]V rj Tijxty iSldov i'LKri<p6pos &A/c$7 
 
 £k viK-qs ovofx ccr%6 <p6/3ov iceap alev &6iktos. 
 
 A year ago red wrath and keen despair 
 
 Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent 
 
 Laid low the lord not all omnipotent 
 Who stood most like a god of all that were 
 As gods for pride of power, till fire and air 
 
 Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent 
 
 The heart of empire's lurid firmament, 
 And laid the mortal core of manhood bare. 
 But when the calm crowned head that all revere 
 For valour higher than that which casts out fear, 
 
 Since fear came near it never, comes near death, 
 Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here 
 
 No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath 
 
 Since England wept upon Elizabeth. 
 
 March 8, 1882. 
 
224 
 
 ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF 
 THE JEWS. 
 
 O son of man, by lying tongues adored, 
 
 By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod 
 In carnage deep as ever Christian trod 
 
 Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred 
 
 And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde, 
 Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod, 
 Most murderous even of all that call thee God, 
 
 Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord ; 
 
 Face loved of little children long ago, 
 
 Head hated of the priests and rulers then, 
 If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine 
 Run ravening as the Gadarean swine, 
 
 Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow 
 
 In death's worst hour the works of Christian men ? 
 
 Jan. 23, 1882. 
 
225 
 
 BISMARCK AT CAN OSS A. 
 
 Not all disgraced, in that Italian town, 
 
 The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand , 
 
 Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand, 
 And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown 
 And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown, 
 
 Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band. 
 
 But now the princely wielder of his land, 
 For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down, 
 No strength is in the foot to spurn : its tread 
 Can bruise not now the proud submitted head : 
 
 But how much more abased, much lower brought low, 
 And more intolerably humiliated, 
 
 The neck submissive of the prosperous foe, 
 
 Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow I 
 
 December 31, 1881. 
 
226 
 
 QUIA NOMINOR LEO. 
 
 What part is left thee, lion ? Ravenous beast, 
 Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope 
 And compass of thine homicidal hope 
 The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast 
 Of souls subdued from west to sunless east, 
 
 From blackening north to bloodred south aslope, 
 All servile ; earth for footcloth of the pope, 
 And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest ; 
 Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod, 
 Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God, 
 And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell ; 
 Heaven laughs with all his light and might above 
 That earth has cast thee out of faith and love ; 
 Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell. 
 
227 
 
 II. 
 
 The light of life has faded from thy cause, 
 
 High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory : 
 Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story, 
 But the red prey was rent out of thy paws 
 Long since : and they that dying brake down thy laws 
 Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory 
 Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary 
 High altars, waning with the world's applause. 
 This Italy was Dante's : Bruno died 
 Here : Campanella, too sublime for pride, 
 
 Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home. 
 And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink 
 For thy sake downward ? What art thou, to think 
 Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome ? 
 
 January ', 1882. 
 
 qz 
 
2 28 
 
 THE CHANNEL TUNNEL. 
 
 Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee, 
 ' Sweet enemy ' called in days long since at end, 
 Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend, 
 
 Bright sister of our freedom now, being free ; 
 
 Not for less love or faith in friendship we 
 Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend 
 The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend 
 
 Between our shores suppression of the sea. 
 
 Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art 
 
 Shall these be linked for no man's force to part 
 Nor length of years and changes to divide, 
 
 But union only of trust and loving heart 
 And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide 
 And spirit at one with spirit on either side. 
 
 Aprils 1882. 
 
229 
 
 SIR WILLIAM GOMM. 
 
 At threescore years and five aroused anew 
 
 To rule in India, forth a soldier went 
 
 On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent 
 Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew 
 Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo. 
 
 Landing, he met the word from England sent 
 
 Which bade him yield up rule : and he, content, 
 Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due ; 
 And wrote as one rejoicing to record 
 That ' from the first ' his royal heart was lord 
 
 Of its own pride or pain ; that thought was none 
 Therein save this, that in her perilous strait 
 England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great, 
 
 Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son. 
 
23° 
 
 II. 
 
 Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame 
 
 Go with the warrior's memory who preferred 
 To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred. 
 And acclamation of his own proud name 
 With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame 
 Of pageant honour, and the titular word 
 That only wins men worship of the herd, 
 His country's sovereign good ; who overcame 
 Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth, 
 For this land's love that gave his great heart birth. 
 
 O nursling of the sea- winds and the sea, 
 Immortal England, goddess ocean-born, 
 What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn, 
 While children of such mould are born to thee ? 
 
2 3 I 
 
 EUTHANATOS. 
 
 In memory of Mrs. Thellusson. 
 
 Forth of our ways and woes, 
 Forth of the winds and snows, 
 A white soul soaring goes, 
 
 Winged like a dove : 
 So sweet, so pure, so clear, 
 So heavenly tempered here, 
 Love need not hope or fear her changed above 
 
 Ere dawned her day to die, 
 So heavenly, that on high 
 Change could not glorify 
 Nor death refine her : 
 Pure gold of perfect love, 
 On earth like heaven's own dove, 
 She cannot wear, above, a smile diviner. 
 
 Her voice in heaven's own quire 
 Can sound no heavenlier lyre 
 Than here : no purer fire 
 
 Her soul can soar : 
 No sweeter stars her eyes 
 In unimagined skies 
 Beyond our sight can rise than here before. 
 
232 EUTHANATOS. 
 
 Hardly long years had shed 
 Their shadows on her head : 
 Hardly we think her dead, 
 Who hardly thought her 
 Old : hardly can believe 
 The grief our hearts receive 
 And wonder while they grieve, as wrong were wrought 
 her. 
 
 But though strong grief be strong 
 No word or thought of wrong 
 May stain the trembling song, 
 
 Wring the bruised heart, 
 That sounds or sighs its faint 
 Low note of love, nor taint 
 Grief for so sweet a saint, when such depart. 
 
 A saint whose perfect soul, 
 With perfect love for goal, 
 Faith hardly might control, 
 
 Creeds might not harden : 
 A flower more splendid far 
 Than the most radiant star 
 Seen here of all that are in God's own garden. 
 
 Surely the stars we see 
 Rise and relapse as we, 
 And change and set, may be 
 
 But shadows too : 
 But spirits that man's lot 
 Could neither mar nor spot 
 Like these false lights are not, being heavenly true. 
 
EUTHANATOS. 233 
 
 Not like these dying lights 
 Of worlds whose glory smites 
 The passage of the nights 
 
 Through heaven's blind prison : 
 Not like their souls who see, 
 If thought fly far and free, 
 No heavenlier heaven to be for souls rerisen. 
 
 A soul wherein love shone 
 Even like the sun, alone, 
 With fervour of its own 
 
 And splendour fed, 
 Made by no creeds less kind 
 Toward souls by none confined, 
 Could Death's self quench or blind, Love's self were 
 dead. 
 
 February 4, 1881. 
 
234 
 
 FIRST AND LAST. 
 
 Upon the borderlands of being, 
 Where life draws hardly breath 
 
 Between the lights and shadows fleeing 
 Fast as a word one saith, 
 
 Two flowers rejoice our eyesight, seeing 
 The dawns of birth and death. 
 
 Behind the babe his dawn is lying 
 Half risen with notes of mirth 
 
 From all the winds about it flying 
 
 Through new-born heaven and earth : 
 
 Before bright age his day for dying 
 Dawns equal-eyed with birth. 
 
 Equal the dews of even and dawn, 
 
 Equal the sun's eye seen 
 A hand's breadth risen and half withdrawn 
 
 But no bright hour between 
 Brings aught so bright by stream or lawn 
 
 To noonday growths of green. 
 
FIRST AND LAST. 235 
 
 Which flower of life may smell the sweeter 
 
 To love^ insensual sense, 
 Which fragrance move with offering meeter 
 
 His soothed omnipotence, 
 Being chosen as fairer or as fleeter, 
 
 Borne hither or borne hence, 
 
 Love's foiled omniscience knows not : this 
 
 Were more than all he knows 
 With all his lore of bale and bliss, 
 
 The choice of rose and rose, 
 One red as lips that touch with his, 
 
 One white as moonlit snows. 
 
 No hope is half so sweet and good, 
 
 No dream of saint or sage 
 So fair as these are : no dark mood 
 
 But these might best assuage ; 
 The sweet red rose of babyhood, 
 
 The white sweet rose of age. 
 
27,6 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF 
 EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY* 
 
 Last high star of the years whose thunder 
 Still men's listening remembrance hears, 
 Last light left of our fathers' years, 
 Watched with honour and hailed with wonder 
 Thee too then have the years borne under, 
 Thou too then hast regained thy peers. 
 
 Wings that warred with the winds of morning, 
 Storm-winds rocking the red great dawn, 
 Close at last, and a film is drawn 
 Over the eyes of the storm-bird, scorning 
 Now no longer the loud wind's warning, 
 Waves that threaten or waves that fawn. 
 
 Peers were none of thee left us living, 
 Peers of theirs we shall see no more. 
 Eight years over the full fourscore 
 Knew thee : now shalt thou sleep, forgiving 
 All griefs past of the wild world's giving, 
 Moored at last on the stormless shore. 
 
ON EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY. 237 
 
 Worldwide liberty's lifelong lover, 
 
 Lover no less of the strength of song, 
 
 Sea-king, swordsman, hater of wrong, 
 Over thy dust that the dust shall cover 
 Comes my song as a bird to hover, 
 
 Borne of its will as of wings along. 
 
 Cherished of thee were this brief song's brothers 
 Now that follows them, cherishing thee. 
 Over the tides and the tideless sea 
 
 Soft as a smile of the earth our mother's 
 
 Flies it faster than all those others, 
 First of the troop at thy tomb to be. 
 
 Memories of Greece and the mountain's hollow 
 Guarded alone of thy loyal sword 
 Hold thy name for our hearts in ward : 
 Yet more fain are our hearts to follow 
 One way now with the southward swallow 
 Back to the grave of the man their lord. 
 
 Heart of hearts, art thou moved not, hearing 
 Surely, if hearts of the dead may hear, 
 Whose true heart it is now draws near ? 
 Surely the sense of it thrills thee, cheering 
 Darkness and death with the news now nearing— 
 Shelley, Trelawny rejoins thee here. 
 
2 3 8 
 
 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. 
 
 Queen, for whose house my fathers fought, 
 With hopes that rose and fell, 
 
 Red star of boyhood's fiery thought, 
 Farewell. 
 
 They gave their lives, and I, my queen, 
 
 Have given you of my life, 
 Seeing your brave star burn high between 
 
 Men's strife. 
 
 The strife that lightened round their spears 
 Long since fell still : so long 
 
 Hardly may hope to last in years 
 My song. 
 
 But still through strife of time and thought 
 
 Your light on me too fell : 
 Queen, in whose name we sang or fought, 
 
 Farewell. 
 
ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. 239 
 
 11. 
 
 There beats no heart on either border 
 Wherethrough the north blasts blow 
 
 But keeps your memory as a warder 
 His beacon-fire aglow. 
 
 Long since it fired with love and wonder 
 
 Mine, for whose April age 
 Blithe midsummer made banquet under 
 
 The shade of Hermitage. 
 
 Soft sang the burn's blithe notes, that gather 
 
 Strength to ring true : 
 And air and trees and sun and heather 
 
 Remembered you. 
 
 Old border ghosts of fight or fairy 
 
 Or love or teen, 
 These they forgot, remembering Mary 
 
 The Queen. 
 
 in. 
 
 Queen once of Scots and ever of ours 
 Whose sires brought forth for you 
 
 Their lives to strew your way like flowers, 
 Adieu. 
 
 Dead is full many a dead man's name 
 Who died for you this long 
 
 Time past : shall this too fare the same, 
 My song ? 
 
24 o AD1EUX A MARIE STUART. 
 
 But surely, though it die or live, 
 
 Your face was worth 
 All that a man may think to give 
 
 On earth. 
 
 No darkness cast of years between 
 
 Can darken you : 
 Man's love will never bid my queen 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love hangs like light about your name 
 As music round the shell : 
 
 No heart can take of you a tame 
 Farewell. 
 
 Yet, when your very face was seen, 
 111 gifts were yours for giving : 
 
 Love gat strange guerdons of my queen 
 When living. 
 
 O diamond heart unflawed and clear, 
 The whole world's crowning jewel ! 
 
 Was ever heart so deadly dear 
 So cruel ? 
 
 Yet none for you of all that bled 
 
 Grudged once one drop that fell : 
 
 Not one to life reluctant said 
 Farewell. 
 
ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. 241 
 
 Strange love they have given you, love disloyal, 
 Who mock with praise your name, 
 
 To leave a head so rare and royal 
 Too low for praise or blame. 
 
 You could not love nor hate, they tell us, 
 
 You had nor sense nor sting : 
 In God's name, then, what plague befell us 
 
 To fight for such a thing ? 
 
 ' Some faults the gods will give/ to fetter 
 
 Man's highest intent : 
 But surely you were something better 
 
 Than innocent ! 
 
 No maid that strays with steps unwary 
 
 Through snares unseen, 
 But one to live and die for ; Mary, 
 
 The Queen. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Forgive them all their praise, who blot 
 Your fame with praise of you : 
 
 Then love may say, and falter not, 
 Adieu. 
 
242 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART, 
 
 Yet some you hardly would forgive 
 Who did you much less wrong 
 
 Once : but resentment should not live 
 Too long. 
 
 They never saw your lip's bright bow, 
 
 Your swordbright eyes, 
 The bluest of heavenly things below 
 
 The skies. 
 
 Clear eyes that love's self finds most like 
 
 A swordblade's blue, 
 A swordblade's ever keen to strike, 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Though all things breathe or sound of fight 
 That yet make up your spell, 
 
 To bid you were to bid the light 
 Farewell. 
 
 Farewell the song says only, being 
 
 A star whose race is run : 
 Farewell the soul says never, seeing 
 
 The sun. 
 
 Yet, wellnigh as with flash of tears, 
 
 The song must say but so 
 That took your praise up twenty years 
 
 Ago. 
 
AD1EUX A MARIE STUART. 243 
 
 More bright than stars or moons that vary, 
 
 Sun kindling heaven and hell, 
 Here, after all these years, Queen Mary, 
 
 Farewell. 
 
244 
 
 HERSE. 
 
 When grace is given us ever to behold 
 
 A child some sweet months old, 
 Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith, 
 
 Smiling, with bated breath, 
 Hush ! for the holiest thing that lives is here, 
 
 And heaven's own heart how near ! 
 How dare we, that may gaze not on the sun, 
 
 Gaze on this verier one ? 
 Heart, hold thy peace ; eyes, be cast down for shame ; 
 
 Lips, breathe not yet its name. 
 In heaven they know what name to call it ; we, 
 
 How should we know ? For, see ! 
 The adorable sweet living marvellous 
 
 Strange light that lightens us 
 Who gaze, desertless of such glorious grace, 
 
 Full in a babe's warm face ! 
 All roses that the morning rears are nought, 
 
 All stars not worth a thought, 
 Set this one star against them, or suppose 
 
 As rival this one rose. 
 What price could pay with earth's whole weight of gold 
 
 One least flushed roseleaf s fold 
 
HERSE. 245 
 
 Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine 
 
 From each warm curve and line, 
 Each charm of flower-sweet flesh, to reillume 
 
 The dappled rose-red bloom 
 Of all its dainty body, honey-sweet 
 
 Clenched hands and curled-up feet, 
 That on the roses of the dawn have trod 
 
 As they came down from God, 
 And keep the flush and colour that the sky 
 
 Takes when the sun comes nigh, 
 And keep the likeness of the smile their grace 
 
 Evoked on God's own face 
 When, seeing this work of his most heavenly mood, 
 
 He saw that it was good ? 
 For all its warm sweet body seems one smile, 
 
 And mere men's love too vile 
 To meet it, or with eyes that worship dims 
 
 Read o'er the little limbs, 
 Read all the book of all their beauties o'er, 
 
 Rejoice, revere, adore, 
 Bow down and worship each delight in turn, 
 
 Laugh, wonder, yield, and yearn. 
 But when our trembling kisses dare, yet dread, 
 
 Even to draw nigh its head, 
 And touch, and scarce with touch or breath surprise 
 
 Its mild miraculous eyes 
 Out of their viewless vision — O, what then, 
 
 What may be said of men ? 
 What speech may name a new-born child ? what word 
 
 Earth ever spake or heard ? 
 
246 HERSE. 
 
 The best men's tongue that ever glory knew 
 
 Called that a drop of dew 
 Which from the breathing creature's kindly womb 
 
 Came forth in blameless bloom. 
 We have no word, as had those men most high, 
 
 To call a baby by. 
 Rose, ruby, lily, pearl of stormless seas — 
 
 A better word than these, 
 A better sign it was than flower or gem 
 
 That love revealed to them : 
 They knew that whence comes light or quickening 
 flame, 
 
 Thence only this thing came, 
 And only might be likened of our love 
 
 To somewhat born above, 
 Not even to sweetest things dropped else on earth, 
 
 Only to dew's own birth. 
 Nor doubt we but their sense was heavenly true, 
 
 Babe, when we gaze on you, 
 A dew-drop out of heaven whose colours are 
 
 More bright than sun or star, 
 As now, ere watching love dare fear or hope, 
 
 Lips, hands, and eyelids ope, 
 And all your life is mixed with earthly leaven. 
 
 O child, what news from heaven ? 
 
247 
 
 TWINS. 
 Affectionately inscribed to W. M. R. and L. R. 
 
 April, on whose wings 
 Ride all gracious things, 
 Like the star that brings 
 
 All things good to man, 
 Ere his light, that yet 
 Makes the month shine, set, 
 And fair May forget 
 
 Whence her birth began, 
 
 Brings, as heart would choose, 
 Sound of golden news, 
 Bright as kindling dews 
 
 When the dawn begins ; 
 Tidings clear as mirth, 
 Sweet as air and earth 
 Now that hail the birth, 
 
 Twice thus blest, of twins. 
 
 In the lovely land 
 Where with hand in hand 
 Lovers wedded stand 
 Other joys before 
 
248 TWINS. 
 
 Made your mixed life sweet : 
 Now, as Time sees meet, 
 Three glad blossoms greet 
 Two glad blossoms more. 
 
 Fed with sun and dew, 
 While your joys were new, 
 First arose and grew 
 
 One bright olive-shoot : 
 Then a fair and fine 
 Slip of warm-haired pine 
 Felt the sweet sun shine 
 
 On its leaf and fruit. 
 
 And it wore for mark 
 Graven on the dark 
 Beauty of its bark 
 
 That the noblest name 
 Worn in song of old 
 By the king whose bold 
 Hand had fast in hold 
 
 All the flower of fame. 
 
 Then, with southern skies 
 Flattered in her eyes, 
 Which, in lovelier wise 
 
 Yet, reflect their blue 
 Brightened more, being bright 
 Here with life's delight, 
 And with love's live light 
 
 Glorified anew, 
 
TWINS. 249 
 
 Came, as fair as came 
 One who bore her name 
 (She that broke as flame 
 
 From the swan-shell white), 
 Crowned with tender hair 
 Only, but more fair 
 Than all queens that were 
 
 Themes of oldworld fight, 
 
 Of your flowers the third 
 Bud, or new-fledged bird 
 In your hearts' nest heard 
 
 Murmuring like a dove 
 Bright as those that drew 
 Over waves where blew 
 No loud wind the blue 
 
 Heaven-hued car of love. 
 
 Not the glorious grace 
 Even of that one face 
 Potent to displace 
 
 All the towers of Troy 
 Surely shone more clear 
 Once with childlike cheer 
 Than this child's face here 
 
 Now with living joy. 
 
 After these again 
 Here in April's train 
 Breaks the bloom of twain 
 Blossoms in one birth 
 
250 TWINS. 
 
 For a crown of May 
 On the front of day 
 When he takes his way 
 Over heaven and earth. 
 
 Half a heavenly thing 
 Given from heaven to Spring 
 By the sun her king, 
 
 Half a tender toy, 
 Seems a child of curl 
 Yet too soft to twirl ; 
 Seems the flower- sweet girl 
 
 By the flower- bright boy. 
 
 All the kind gods' grace, 
 All their love, embrace 
 Ever either face, 
 
 Ever brood above them : 
 All soft wings of hours 
 Screen them as with flowers 
 From all beams and showers : 
 
 All life's seasons love them. 
 
 When the dews of sleep 
 Falling lightliest keep 
 Eyes too close to peep 
 
 Forth and laugh off rest, 
 Joy from face to feet 
 Fill them, as is meet : 
 Life to them be sweet 
 
 As their mother's breast. 
 
TWINS. 251 
 
 When those dews are dry, 
 And in day's bright eye 
 Looking full they lie 
 
 Bright as rose and pearl, 
 All returns of joy 
 Pure of time's alloy 
 Bless the rose-red boy, 
 
 Guard the rose-white girl. 
 
 Postscript. 
 
 Friends, if I could take 
 Half a note from Blake 
 Or but one verse make 
 
 Of the Conqueror's mine, 
 Better than my best 
 Song above your nest 
 I would sing : the quest 
 
 Now seems too divine 
 
 April 28, 188] 
 
252 
 
 THE SALT OF THE EARTH. 
 
 If childhood were not in the world, 
 But only men and women grown ; 
 
 No baby-locks in tendrils curled, 
 No baby-blossoms blown ; 
 
 Though men were stronger, women fairer, 
 And nearer all delights in reach, 
 
 And verse and music uttered rarer 
 Tones of more godlike speech j 
 
 Though the utmost life of life's best hours 
 Found, as it cannot now find, words ; 
 
 Though desert sands were sweet as flowers 
 And flowers could sing like birds, 
 
 But children never heard them, never 
 They felt a child's foot leap and run ; 
 
 This were a drearier star than ever 
 Yet looked upon the sun. 
 
253 
 
 SEVEN YEARS OLD. 
 
 Seven white roses on one tree, 
 
 Seven white loaves of blameless leaven, 
 Seven white sails on one soft sea, 
 Seven white swans on one lake's lee, 
 
 Seven white flowerlike stars in heaven, 
 All are types unmeet to be 
 
 For a birthday's crown of seven. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Not the radiance of the roses, 
 Not the blessing of the bread, 
 
 Not the breeze that ere day grows is 
 
 Fresh for sails and swans, and closes 
 Wings above the sun's grave spread, 
 
 When the starshine on the snows is 
 Sweet as sleep on sorrow shed, 
 
 in. 
 
 Nothing sweetest, nothing best, 
 
 Holds so good and sweet a treasure 
 
254 SEVEN YEARS OLD. 
 
 As the love wherewith once blest 
 Joy grows holy, grief takes rest, 
 
 Life, half tired with hours to measure, 
 Fills his eyes and lips and breast 
 
 With most light and breath of pleasure ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 As the rapture unpolluted, 
 
 As the passion undefiled, 
 By whose force all pains heart-rooted 
 Are transfigured and transmuted, 
 
 Recompensed and reconciled, 
 Through the imperial, undisputed, 
 
 Present godhead of a child. 
 
 Brown bright eyes and fair bright head, 
 Worth a worthier crown than this is, 
 
 Worth a worthier song instead, 
 
 Sweet grave wise round mouth, full fed 
 With the joy of love, whose bliss is 
 
 More than mortal wine and bread, 
 Lips whose words are sweet as kisses, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Little hands so glad of giving, 
 Little heart so glad of love, 
 Little soul so glad of living, 
 
SEVEN YEARS OLD. 255 
 
 While the strong swift hours are weaving 
 Light with darkness woven above, 
 
 Time for mirth and time for grieving, 
 Plume of raven and plume of dove, 
 
 VII. 
 
 I can give you but a word 
 
 Warm with love therein for leaven, 
 
 But a song that falls unheard 
 
 Yet on ears of sense unstirred 
 Yet by song so far from heaven, 
 
 Whence you came the brightest bird, 
 Seven years since, of seven times seven. 
 
256 
 
 EIGHT YEARS OLD. 
 
 Sun, whom the faltering snow-cloud fears, 
 
 Rise, let the time of year be May, 
 Speak now the word that April hears, 
 
 Let March have all his royal way ; 
 Bid all spring raise in winter's ears 
 
 All tunes her children hear or play, 
 Because the crown of eight glad years 
 
 On one bright head is set to-day. 
 
 11. 
 
 What matters cloud or sun to-day 
 
 To him who wears the wreath of years 
 So many, and all like flowers at play 
 
 With wind and sunshine, while his ears 
 Hear only song on every way ? 
 
 More sweet than spring triumphant hears 
 Ring through the revel-rout of May 
 
 Are these, the notes that winter fears. 
 
EIGHT YEARS OLD. 257 
 
 in. 
 
 Strong-hearted winter knows and fears 
 
 The music made of love at play, 
 Or haply loves the tune he hears 
 
 From hearts fulfilled with flowering May, 
 Whose molten music thaws his ears 
 
 Late frozen, deaf but yesterday 
 To sounds of dying and dawning years, 
 
 Now quickened on his deathward way. 
 
 TV. 
 
 For deathward now lies winter's way 
 
 Down the green vestibule of years 
 That each year brightens day by day 
 
 With flower and shower till hope sc arce fears 
 And fear grows wholly hope of May. 
 
 But we — the music in our ears 
 Made of love's pulses as they play 
 
 The heart alone that makes it hears. 
 
 The heart it is that plays and hears 
 
 High salutation of to-day. 
 Tongue falters, hand shrinks back, song fears 
 
 Its own unworthiness to play 
 Fit music for those eight sweet years, 
 
 Or sing their blithe accomplished way. 
 No song quite worth a young child's ears 
 
 Broke ever even from birds in May. 
 s 
 
258 EIGHT YEARS OLD. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There beats not in the heart of May, 
 
 When summer hopes and springtide fears, 
 There falls not from the height of day, 
 
 When sunlight speaks and silence hears. 
 So sweet a psalm as children play 
 
 And sing, each hour of all their years, 
 Each moment of their lovely way, 
 
 And know not how it thrills our ears. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ah child, what are we, that our ears 
 
 Should hear you singing on your way, 
 Should have this happiness ? The years 
 
 Whose hurrying wings about us play 
 Are not like yours, whose flower-time fears 
 
 Nought worse than sunlit showers in May, 
 Being sinless as the spring, that hears 
 
 Her own heart praise her every day. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet we too triumph in the day 
 
 That bare, to entrance our eyes and ears, 
 To lighten daylight, and to play 
 
 Such notes as darkness knows and fears, 
 The child whose face illumes our way, 
 
 Whose voice lifts up the heart that hears, 
 Whose hand is as the hand of May 
 
 To bring us flowers from eight full years. 
 
 February 4, 1882. 
 
2 59 
 
 COMPARISONS. 
 
 Child, when they say that others 
 Have been or are like you, 
 
 Babes fit to be your brothers, 
 Sweet human drops of dew, 
 
 Bright fruit of mortal mothers, 
 What should one say or do ? 
 
 We know the thought is treason, 
 We feel the dream absurd ; 
 
 A claim rebuked of reason, 
 That withers at a word : 
 
 For never shone the season 
 That bore so blithe a bird. 
 
 Some smiles may seem as merry, 
 Some glances gleam as wise, 
 
 From lips as like a cherry 
 
 And scarce less gracious eyes ; 
 
 Eyes browner than a berry, 
 Lips red as morning's rise. 
 
 S 2 
 
26o COMPARISONS. 
 
 But never yet rang laughter 
 So sweet in gladdened ears 
 
 Through wall and floor and rafter 
 As all this household hears 
 
 And rings response thereafter 
 Till cloudiest weather clears. 
 
 When those your chosen of all men, 
 Whose honey never cloys, 
 
 Two lights whose smiles enthrall men, 
 Were called at your age boys, 
 
 Those mighty men, while small men, 
 Could make no merrier noise. 
 
 Our Shakespeare, surely, daffed not 
 
 More lightly pain aside 
 From radiant lips that quaffed not 
 
 Of forethought's tragic tide : 
 Our Dickens, doubtless, laughed not 
 
 More loud with life's first pride. 
 
 The dawn were not more cheerless 
 With neither light nor dew 
 
 Than we without the fearless 
 
 Clear laugh that thrills us through : 
 
 If ever child stood peerless, 
 Love knows that child is you. 
 
26l 
 
 WHAT IS DEATH? 
 
 Looking on a page where stood 
 Graven of old on old-world wood 
 Death, and by the grave's edge grim, 
 Pale, the young man facing him, 
 Asked my well-beloved of me 
 Once what strange thing this might be, 
 Gaunt and great of limb. 
 
 Death, I told him : and, surprise 
 Deepening more his wildwood eyes 
 (Like some sweet fleet thing's whose breath 
 Speaks all spring though nought it saith), 
 Up he turned his rosebright face 
 Glorious with its seven years' grace, 
 Asking — What is death ? 
 
262 
 
 A CHILD'S PITY. 
 
 No sweeter thing than children's ways and wiles, 
 Surely, we say, can gladden eyes and ears : 
 
 Yet sometime sweeter than their words or smiles 
 Are even their tears. 
 
 To one for once a piteous tale was read, 
 How, when the murderous mother crocodile 
 
 Was slain, her fierce brood famished, and lay dead. 
 Starved, by the Nile. 
 
 In vast green reed-beds on the vast grey slime 
 Those monsters motherless and helpless lay, 
 
 Perishing only for the parent's crime 
 Whose seed were they. 
 
 Hours after, toward the dusk, our blithe small bird 
 Of Paradise, who has our hearts in keeping, 
 
 Was heard or seen, but hardly seen or heard, 
 For pity weeping. 
 
 He was so sorry, sitting still apart, 
 For the poor little crocodiles, he said. 
 
 Six years had given him, for an angel's heart, 
 A child's instead. 
 
A CHILD'S PITY. 263 
 
 Feigned tears the false beasts shed for murderous 
 ends, 
 
 We know from travellers' tales of crocodiles : 
 But these tears wept upon them of my friend's 
 
 Outshine his smiles. 
 
 What heavenliest angels of what heavenly city 
 Could match the heavenly heart in children here ? 
 
 The heart that hallowing all things with its pity 
 Casts out all fear ? 
 
 So lovely, so divine, so dear their laughter 
 Seems to us, we know not what could be more 
 dear : 
 
 But lovelier yet we see the sign thereafter 
 Of such a tear. 
 
 With sense of love half laughing and half weeping 
 We met your tears, our small sweet-spirited friend : 
 
 Let your love have us in its heavenly keeping 
 To life's last end. 
 
264 
 
 A CHILD'S LAUGHTER. 
 
 All the bells of heaven may ring, 
 All the birds of heaven may sing, 
 All the wells on earth may spring, 
 All the winds on earth may bring 
 
 All sweet sounds together ; 
 Sweeter far than all things heard, 
 Hand of harper, tone of bird, 
 Sound of woods at sundawn stirred, 
 Welling water's winsome word, 
 
 Wind in warm wan weather, 
 
 One thing yet there is, that none 
 Hearing ere its chime be done 
 Knows not well the sweetest one 
 Heard of man beneath the sun, 
 
 Hoped in heaven hereafter ; 
 Soft and strong and loud and light, 
 Very sound of very light 
 Heard from morning's rosiest height, 
 When the soul of all delight 
 
 Fills a child's clear laughter. 
 
A CHILD'S LAUGHTER. 265 
 
 Golden bells of welcome rolled 
 Never forth such notes, nor told 
 Hours so blithe in tones so bold, 
 As the radiant mouth of gold 
 
 Here that rings forth heaven. 
 If the golden-crested wren 
 Were a nightingale — why, then, 
 Something seen and heard of men 
 Might be half as sweet as when 
 
 Laughs a child of seven. 
 
266 
 
 A CHILD'S THANKS. 
 
 How low soe'er men rank us, 
 
 How high soe'er we win, 
 The children far above us 
 Dwell, and they deign to love us, 
 With lovelier love than ours, 
 And smiles more sweet than flowers ; 
 As though the sun should thank us 
 
 For letting light come in. 
 
 With too divine complaisance, 
 Whose grace misleads them thus, 
 
 Being gods, in heavenly blindness 
 
 They call our worship kindness, 
 
 Our pebble-gift a gem : 
 
 They think us good to them, 
 
 Whose glance, whose breath, whose presence, 
 Are gifts too good for us. 
 
 The poet high and hoary 
 
 Of meres that mountains bind 
 Felt his great heart more often 
 Yearn, and its proud strength soften 
 
A CHILD'S THANKS. 267 
 
 From stern to tenderer mood, 
 At thought of gratitude 
 Shown than of song or story 
 He heard of hearts unkind. 
 
 But with what words for token 
 
 And what adoring tears 
 Of reverence risen to passion, 
 In what glad prostrate fashion 
 Of spirit and soul subdued, 
 May man show gratitude 
 For thanks of children spoken 
 
 That hover in his ears ? 
 
 The angels laugh, your brothers, 
 
 Child, hearing you thank me, 
 With eyes whence night grows sunny, 
 And touch of lips like honey, 
 And words like honey-dew : 
 But how shall I thank you ? 
 For gifts above all others 
 
 What guerdon-gift may be ? 
 
 What wealth of words caressing, 
 What choice of songs found best, 
 
 Would seem not as derision, 
 
 Found vain beside the vision 
 
 And glory from above 
 
 Shown in a child's heart's love ? 
 
 His part in life is blessing ; 
 Ours, only to be blest. 
 
268 
 
 A CHILD'S BATTLES. 
 
 7ru| aperav ciipdv. — PlNDAR. 
 
 Praise of the knights of old 
 May sleep : their tale is told, 
 
 And no man cares : 
 The praise which fires our lips is 
 A knight's whose fame eclipses 
 All of theirs. 
 
 The ruddiest light in heaven 
 Blazed as his birth-star seven 
 
 Long years ago : 
 All glory crown that old year 
 Which brought our stout small soldier 
 With the snow ! 
 
 Each baby born has one 
 Star, for his friends a sun, 
 
 The first of stars : 
 And we, the more we scan it, 
 The more grow sure your planet, 
 Child, was Mars. 
 
A CHILD'S BATTLES. 269 
 
 For each one flower, perchance, 
 Blooms as his cognizance : 
 
 The snowdrop chill, 
 The violet unbeholden, 
 For some : for you the golden 
 Daffodil. 
 
 Erect, a fighting flower, 
 
 It breasts the breeziest hour 
 
 That ever blew, 
 And bent or broke things brittle 
 Or frail, unlike a little 
 Knight like you. 
 
 Its flower is firm and fresh 
 And stout like sturdiest flesh 
 
 Of children : all 
 The strenuous blast that parches 
 Spring hurts it not till March is 
 Near his fall. 
 
 If winds that prate and fret 
 Remark, rebuke, regret, 
 
 Lament, or blame 
 The brave plant's martial passion, 
 It keeps its own free fashion 
 All the same. 
 
 We that would fain seem wise 
 
 Assume grave mouths and eyes 
 
 Whose looks reprove 
 
2 7 o A CHILD'S BATTLES. 
 
 Too much delight in battle : 
 But your great heart our prattle 
 Cannot move. 
 
 We say, small children should 
 Be placid, mildly good 
 
 And blandly meek : 
 Whereat the broad smile rushes 
 Full on your lips, and flushes 
 All your cheek. 
 
 If all the stars that are 
 Laughed out, and every star 
 
 Could here be heard, 
 Such peals of golden laughter 
 We should not hear, as after 
 Such a word. 
 
 For all the storrri saith, still, 
 Stout stands the daffodil : 
 
 For all we say, 
 Howe'er he look demurely, 
 Our martialist will surely 
 Have his way. 
 
 We may not bind with bands 
 Those large and liberal hands, 
 
 Nor stay from fight, 
 Nor hold them back from giving 
 No lean mean laws of living 
 Bind a knight. 
 
A CHILD'S BATTLES. 271 
 
 And always here of old 
 Such gentle hearts and bold 
 
 Our land has bred : 
 How durst her eye rest else on 
 The glory shed from Nelson 
 Quick and dead ? 
 
 Shame were it, if but one 
 Such once were born her son, 
 That one to have borne, 
 And brought him ne'er a brother : 
 His praise should bring his mother 
 Shame and scorn. 
 
 A child high-souled as he 
 Whose manhood shook the sea 
 
 Smiles haply here : 
 His face, where love lies basking, 
 With bright shut mouth seems asking, 
 What is fear ? 
 
 The sunshine-coloured fists 
 Beyond his dimpling wrists 
 
 Were never closed 
 For saving or for sparing — 
 For only deeds of daring 
 Predisposed. 
 
 Unclenched, the gracious hands 
 Let slip their gifts like sands 
 Made rich with ore 
 
272 A CHILD'S BATTLES. 
 
 That tongues of beggars ravish 
 From small stout hands so lavish 
 Of their store. 
 
 Sweet hardy kindly hands 
 Like these were his that stands 
 
 With heel on gorge 
 Seen trampling down the dragon 
 On sign or flask or flagon, 
 Sweet Saint George. 
 
 Some tournament, perchance, 
 Of hands that couch no lance, 
 
 Might mark this spot 
 Your lists, if here some pleasant 
 Small Guenevere were present, 
 Launcelot. 
 
 My brave bright flower, you need 
 No foolish song, nor heed 
 
 It more than spring 
 The sighs of winter stricken 
 Dead when your haunts requicken 
 Here, my king. 
 
 Yet O, how hardly may 
 The wheels of singing stay 
 
 That whirl along 
 Bright paths whence echo raises 
 The phantom of your praises, 
 Child, my song ! 
 
A CHILD'S BATTLES. 273 
 
 Beyond all other things 
 
 That give my words fleet wings, 
 
 Fleet wings and strong, 
 You set their jesses ringing 
 Till hardly can I, singing, 
 Stint my song. 
 
 But all things better, friend, 
 And worse must find an end : 
 
 And, right or wrong, 
 'Tis time, lest rhyme should baffle, 
 I doubt, to put a snaffle 
 On my song. 
 
 And never may your ear 
 Aught harsher hear or fear, 
 
 Nor wolfish night 
 Nor dog-toothed winter snarling 
 Behind your steps, my darling, 
 My delight ! 
 
 For all the gifts you give 
 Me, dear, each day you live, 
 
 Of thanks above 
 All thanks that could be spoken 
 Take not my song in token, 
 Take my love. 
 
274 
 
 A CHILD'S FUTURE. 
 
 What will it please you, my darling, hereafter to be ? 
 Fame upon land will you look for, or glory by sea ? 
 Gallant your life will be always, and all of it free. 
 
 Free as the wind when the heart of the twilight is 
 
 stirred 
 Eastward, and sounds from the springs of the sunrise 
 
 are heard : 
 Free — and we know not another as infinite word. 
 
 Darkness or twilight or sunlight may compass us 
 
 round, 
 Hate may arise up against us, or hope may confound ; 
 Love may forsake us ; yet may not the spirit be 
 
 bound. 
 
 Free in oppression of grief as in ardour of joy 
 Still may the soul be, and each to her strength as a 
 
 toy : 
 Free in the glance of the man as the smile of the boy. 
 
A CHILD'S FUTURE. 275 
 
 Freedom alone is the salt and the spirit that gives 
 Life, and without her is nothing that verily lives : 
 Death cannot slay her : she laughs upon death and 
 forgives. 
 
 Brightest and hardiest of roses anear and afar 
 Glitters the blithe little face of you, round as a star : 
 Liberty bless you and keep you to be as you are. 
 
 England and liberty bless you and keep you to be 
 Worthy the name of their child and the sight of their 
 
 sea : 
 Fear not at all j for a slave, if he fears not, is free. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 ON 
 
 ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS 
 
 (1590-1650) 
 
279 
 
 I. 
 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 
 
 Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire, 
 Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star ! 
 Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far, 
 
 Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre 
 
 Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire 
 
 Where all ye sang together, all that are, 
 • And all the starry songs behind thy car 
 
 Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire. 
 
 ' If all the pens that ever poets held 
 
 Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts/ 
 And as with rush of hurtling chariots 
 
 The flight of all their spirits were impelled 
 
 Toward one great end, thy glory — nay, not then, 
 Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men. 
 
28o 
 
 II. 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one 
 
 Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee. 
 Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, 
 yea, the sea, 
 
 What power is in them all to praise the sun ? 
 
 His praise is this, — he can be praised of none. 
 Man, woman, child, praise God for him j but he 
 Exults not to be worshipped, but to be. 
 
 He is ; and, being, beholds his work well done. 
 
 All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, 
 
 Are his : without him, day were night on earth. 
 Time knows not his from time's own period. 
 
 All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, 
 
 Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. 
 All stars are angels j but the sun is God. 
 
28l 
 
 III. 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform, 
 With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine, 
 Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine, 
 
 And many a crag full-faced against the storm, 
 
 The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm 
 Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine 
 Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine 
 
 From tossing torches round the dance aswarm. 
 
 Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights, 
 High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights 
 
 Hold converse : and the herd of meaner things 
 Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft 
 When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed, 
 
 Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings. 
 
IV. 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west, 
 Arose two stars upon the pale deep east. 
 The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast, 
 
 Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest. 
 
 Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast 
 To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased, 
 Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased 
 
 As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest. 
 
 Across them and between, a quickening fire, 
 
 Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire. 
 Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears, 
 
 Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth 
 
 With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth, 
 Which rings and glitters down the darkling years. 
 
283 
 
 V. 
 
 PHILIP MASSINGER. 
 
 Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon 
 Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars 
 And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars 
 Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon, 
 When the clear still warm concord of thy tune 
 Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars 
 Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars, 
 With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon. 
 Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face 
 High melancholy lights with loftier grace 
 
 Than gilds the brows of revel : sad and wise, 
 The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song, 
 Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong, 
 Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes. 
 
284 
 
 VI. 
 JOHN FORD. 
 
 Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart 
 Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom 
 Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom, 
 That his Memnonian likeness thence may start 
 Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art 
 
 Carved night, and chiselled shadow : be the tomb 
 That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom 
 Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart, 
 As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow 
 His record of rebellion. Not the day 
 
 Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord, 
 Touching this marble : darkness, none knows how, 
 And stars impenetrable of midnight, may. 
 So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford. 
 
285 
 
 VII. 
 JOHN WEBSTER. 
 
 Thunder : the flesh quails, and the soul bows down. 
 
 Night : east, west, south, and northward, very night. 
 
 Star upon struggling star strives into sight, 
 Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown. 
 The very throne of night, her very crown, 
 
 A man lays hand on, and usurps her right. 
 
 Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height 
 Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town. 
 Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime, 
 Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time 
 
 Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass 
 Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves. 
 Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves, 
 
 Shapes here and there of child and mother pass. 
 
286 
 
 VIII. 
 THOMAS DECKER. 
 
 Out of the depths of darkling life where sin 
 Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know 
 Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe j 
 
 Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din 
 
 Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in ; 
 What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow, 
 Winds that blow healing in each note they blow, 
 
 Is this that the outer darkness hears begin ? 
 
 O sweetest heart of all thy time save one, 
 Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun, 
 
 Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city, 
 Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great, 
 Than thine toward man was more compassionate, 
 
 Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity. 
 
287 
 
 IX. 
 THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
 
 A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud, 
 That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath, 
 Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath 
 
 With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud : 
 
 A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud, 
 With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath 
 And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath 
 
 Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed: 
 
 A game of close contentious crafts and creeds 
 
 Played till white England bring black Spain to shame 
 
 A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds 
 High conscience lights for mother's love and fame : 
 
 Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds : 
 Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name. 
 
288 
 
 X. 
 THOMAS HEYWOOD. 
 
 Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom, 
 What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright 
 Even yet the laughing and the weeping light 
 
 That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from ? 
 
 Small care was thine to assail and overcome 
 Time and his child Oblivion : yet of right 
 Thy name has part with names of lordlier might 
 
 For English love and homely sense of home, 
 
 Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young 
 And gives it place aloft among thy peers 
 
 Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time 
 has hurled: 
 
 And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue — 
 * O good old man, how well in thee appears 
 The constant service of the antique world ! ' 
 
289 
 
 XL 
 GEORGE CHAPMAN. 
 
 High priest of Homer, not elect in vain, 
 
 Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind 
 Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind 
 Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train : 
 Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain, 
 
 Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind, 
 Tormented and transmuted out of kind : 
 But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain, 
 Like Tailor l smooth, like Fisher 2 swollen, and now 
 Grim Yarrington 3 scarce bloodier marked than thou, 
 Then bluff asMayne's 4 or broad-mouthed Barry's 5 glee, 
 Proud still with hoar predominance of brow 
 And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea, 
 Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee. 
 
 1 Author of The Hog hath lost his Pearl. 
 
 2 Author of Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans. 
 
 3 Author of Two Tragedies in One. 
 
 4 Author of The City Match. 
 
 5 Author of Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks. 
 
290 
 
 XII. 
 JOHN MARSTON. 
 
 The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn 
 Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou 
 Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow 
 
 A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn. 
 
 Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne, 
 
 Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough 
 The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow 
 
 Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn. 
 
 Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith 
 
 Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death 
 Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul, 
 
 Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud 
 
 And all the strengths of tyrants ; whence unflawed 
 It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole. 
 
291 
 
 XIII. 
 JOHN DA Y. 
 
 Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive 
 With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm, 
 When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm 
 With music where all passion seems to strive 
 For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive 
 Struggling along the splendour of the storm, 
 Day for an hour put off his fiery form, 
 And golden murmurs from a golden hive 
 Across the strong bright summer wind were heard, 
 And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play 
 And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May. 
 Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word, 
 When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird, 
 Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day. 
 
292 
 
 XIV. 
 JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark 
 
 When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp 
 That shone across her shades and dewy damp 
 
 A small clear beacon whose benignant spark 
 
 Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark, 
 
 Though changed the watchword of our English camp 
 Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp, 
 
 When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park. 
 
 And in the thickening twilight under thee 
 Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he, 
 The blithest throat that ever carolled love 
 
 In music made of morning's merriest heart, 
 Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above 
 
 And reeled on slippery roads of alien art. 
 
293 
 
 XV. 
 THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN. 
 
 Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben, 
 All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale, 
 Bright from the broad light of his presence, hail ! 
 
 Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men, 
 
 Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then 
 King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail : 
 Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale, 
 
 Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen : 
 
 Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine 
 
 The perfume of their Apollonian wine . 
 
 Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee 
 
 The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine : 
 Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he 
 Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see? 
 
2 9 4 
 
 XVI. 
 
 ANONYMOUS PLAYS: 
 'ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM. 1 
 
 Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men, 
 Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims 
 Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames, 
 Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then, 
 Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen 
 Which drew, reflected from encircling flames, 
 A figure marked by the earlier of thy names 
 Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen 
 Marked by the sign of murderess ? Pale and great, 
 Great in her grief and sin, but in her death 
 And anguish of her penitential breath 
 Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate, 
 She stands, the holocaust of dark desire, 
 Clothed round with song for ever as with fire. 
 
295 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ANONYMOUS PLAYS. 
 
 Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour, 
 Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims 
 For ever, but forgetfulness defames 
 And darkness and the shadow of death devour, 
 Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power, 
 Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames 
 And smile, albeit night name not even their names, 
 Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower : 
 That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed 
 Singing, and light was from its darkness cast 
 
 To paint the face of Painting fair with praise : l 
 And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure 
 Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure 
 
 Between two child-faced masks of merrier days. 2 
 
 1 Doctor Dodypol. 2 Nobody and Somebody. 
 
296 
 
 XVIII. 
 ANONYMOUS PLAYS. 
 
 More yet and more, and yet we mark not all : 
 The Warning fain to bid fair women heed 
 Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed ; l 
 
 The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall 
 
 Whence Nero watched his fiery festival ; 2 
 That iron page wherein men's eyes who read 
 See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed, 
 
 A mad red-handed husband's martyr fall ; 3 
 
 The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife 
 
 Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife j 4 
 
 And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend, 
 Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one, 
 
 Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened 
 In the pleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton. 5 
 
 1 A Warning for Fair Women. 
 
 2 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 3 A Yorkshire Tragedy, 
 
 4 Look about yon. 
 
 5 The Merry Devil of Edmonton. 
 
297 
 
 XIX. 
 THE MANY. 
 
 i. 
 
 Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers, 
 Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage : 
 Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age 
 
 Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours : 
 
 Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyriQ bowers: 
 And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage 
 Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page 
 
 Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers 
 
 Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves : 
 And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse 
 Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse : 
 
 Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves, 
 Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse : 
 
 Live likewise ye : Time takes not you for slaves. 
 
XX. 
 
 THE MANY. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will : 
 Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird 
 And keen alternate notes of laud and gird : 
 
 Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill 
 
 Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil : 
 Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word : 
 Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred : 
 
 Turk Mason : Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still : 
 
 Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand : 
 Light Nabbes : lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns, 
 But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns : 
 
 Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland : 
 Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns : 
 
 Praise be with all, and place among our band. 
 
299 
 
 XXI. 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith, 
 Found first among the nations : once, when she 
 Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee 
 Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare : once, when death 
 Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath 
 More than thy place, then first among the free, 
 More than that sovereign lordship of the sea 
 Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth, 
 More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake 
 Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake, 
 
 More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand, 
 This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong, 
 That thou wast head of all these streams of song, 
 And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 
 
'La maison sans enfants !'— Victor Hugo. 
 
3°3 
 
 A month without sight of the sun 
 Rising or reigning or setting 
 
 Through days without use of the day, 
 
 Who calls it the month of May ? 
 
 The sense of the name is undone 
 And the sound of it fit for forgetting. 
 
 We shall not feel if the sun rise, 
 We shall not care when it sets : 
 
 If a nightingale make night's air 
 
 As noontide, why should we care ? 
 
 Till a light of delight that is done rise, 
 Extinguishing grey regrets ; 
 
 Till a child's face lighten again 
 On the twilight of older faces j 
 
 Till a child's voice fall as the dew 
 
 On furrows with heat parched through 
 
 And all but hopeless of grain, 
 Refreshing the desolate places — 
 
 Fall clear on the ears of us hearkening 
 And hungering for food of the sound 
 
3 o4 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 And thirsting for joy of his voice : 
 Till the hearts in us hear and rejoice, 
 And the thoughts of them doubting and 
 darkening 
 Rejoice with a glad thing found. 
 
 When the heart of our gladness is gone, 
 What comfort is left with us after ? 
 
 When the light of our eyes is away, 
 
 What glory remains upon May, 
 
 What blessing of song is thereon 
 
 If we drink not the light of his laughter ? 
 
 No small sweet face with the daytime 
 To welcome, warmer than noon ! 
 
 No sweet small voice as a bird's 
 
 To bring us the day's first words ! 
 
 Mid May for us here is not Maytime : 
 No summer begins with June. 
 
 A whole dead month in the dark, 
 
 A dawn in the mists that o'ercome her 
 
 Stifled and smothered and sad — 
 
 Swift speed to it, barren and bad ! 
 
 And return to us, voice of the lark, 
 
 And remain with us, sunlight of summer. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 305 
 
 II. 
 
 Alas, what right has the dawn to glimmer, 
 What right has the wind to do aught but 
 moan ? 
 
 All the day should be dimmer 
 Because we are left alone. 
 
 Yestermorn like a sunbeam present 
 Hither and thither a light step smiled, 
 
 And made each place for us pleasant 
 With the sense or the sight of a child. 
 
 But the leaves persist as before, and after 
 Our parting the dull day still bears flowers ; 
 
 And songs less bright than his laughter 
 Deride us from birds in the bowers. 
 
 Birds, and blossoms, and sunlight only, 
 As though such folly sufficed for spring ! 
 
 As though the house were not lonely 
 For want of the child its king ! 
 
3 o6 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 III. 
 
 Asleep and afar to-night my darling 
 
 Lies, and heeds not the night, 
 If winds be stirring or storms be snarling ; 
 
 For his sleep is its own sweet light. 
 
 I sit where he sat beside me quaffing 
 
 The wine of story and song 
 Poured forth of immortal cups, and laughing 
 
 When mirth in the draught grew strong. 
 
 I broke the gold of the words, to melt it 
 
 For hands but seven years old, 
 And they caught the tale as a bird, and felt it 
 
 More bright than visible gold. 
 
 And he drank down deep, with his eyes broad 
 beaming, 
 
 Here in this room where I am, 
 The golden vintage of Shakespeare, gleaming 
 
 In the silver vessels of Lamb. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 307 
 
 Here by my hearth where he was I listen 
 For the shade of the sound of a word, 
 
 Athirst for the birdlike eyes to glisten, 
 For the tongue to chirp like a bird. 
 
 At the blast of battle, how broad they brightened, 
 
 Like fire in the spheres of stars, 
 And clung to the pictured page, and lightened 
 
 As keen as the heart of Mars ! 
 
 At the touch of laughter, how swift it twittered 
 
 The shrillest music on earth ; 
 How the lithe limbs laughed and the whole child 
 glittered 
 
 With radiant riot of mirth ! 
 
 Our Shakespeare now, as a man dumb-stricken, 
 
 Stands silent there on the shelf : 
 And my thoughts, that had song in the heart of them, 
 sicken, 
 
 And relish not Shakespeare's self. 
 
 And my mood grows moodier than Hamlet's even, 
 
 And man delights not me, 
 But only the face that morn and even 
 
 My heart leapt only to see. 
 
 That my heart made merry within me seeing, 
 
 And sang as his laugh kept time : 
 But song finds now no pleasure in being, 
 
 And love no reason in rhyme. 
 
308 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Mild May-blossom and proud sweet bay-flower, 
 What, for shame, would you have with us here ? 
 
 It is not the month of the May-flower 
 This, but the fall of the year. 
 
 Flowers open only their lips in derision, 
 Leaves are as fingers that point in scorn : 
 
 The shows we see are a vision ; 
 Spring is not verily born. 
 
 Yet boughs turn supple and buds grow sappy, 
 As though the sun were indeed the sun : 
 
 And all our woods are happy 
 With all their birds save one. 
 
 But spring is over, but summer is over, 
 But autumn is over, and winter stands 
 
 With his feet sunk deep in the clover 
 And cowslips cold in his hands. 
 
 His hoar grim head has a hawthorn bonnet, 
 His gnarled gaunt hand has a gay green staff 
 
 With new-blown rose-blossom on it : 
 But his laugh is a dead man's laugh. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 309 
 
 The laugh of spring that the heart seeks after, 
 The hand that the whole world yearns to kiss, 
 
 It rings not here in his laughter, 
 The sign of it is not this. 
 
 There is not strength in it left to splinter 
 Tall oaks, nor frost in his breath to sting : 
 
 Yet it is but a breath as of winter, 
 And it is not the hand of spring. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 
 
 v. 
 
 Thirty-one pale maidens, clad 
 
 All in mourning dresses, 
 Pass, with lips and eyes more sad 
 That it seems they should be glad, 
 Heads discrowned of crowns they had, 
 
 Grey for golden tresses. 
 
 Grey their girdles too for green, 
 And their veils dishevelled : 
 
 None would say, to see their mien, 
 
 That the least of these had been 
 
 Born no baser than a queen, 
 
 Reared where flower-fays revelled. 
 
 Dreams that strive to seem awake, 
 
 Ghosts that walk by daytime, 
 Weary winds the way they take, 
 Since, for one child's absent sake, 
 May knows well, whate'er things make 
 Sport, it is not Maytime. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 311 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 A hand at the door taps light 
 As the hand of my heart's delight : 
 
 It is but a full-grown hand, 
 Yet the stroke of it seems to start 
 Hope like a bird in my heart, 
 
 Too feeble to soar or to stand. 
 
 To start light hope from her cover 
 Is to raise but a kite for a plover 
 
 If her wings be not fledged to soar. 
 Desire, but in dreams, cannot ope 
 The door that was shut upon hope 
 
 When love went out at the door. 
 
 Well were it if vision could keep 
 The lids of desire as in sleep 
 
 Fast locked, and over his eyes 
 A dream with the dark soft key 
 In her hand might hover, and be 
 
 Their keeper till morning rise ; 
 
3 i2 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 The morning that brings after many 
 Days fled with no light upon any 
 
 The small face back which is gone ; 
 When the loved little hands once more 
 Shall struggle and strain at the door 
 
 They beat their summons upon. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 313 
 
 VII. 
 
 If a soul for but seven days were cast out of heaven 
 
 and its mirth, 
 They would seem to her fears like as seventy years 
 
 upon earth. 
 
 Even and morrow should seem to her sorrow as long 
 As the passage of numberless ages in slumberless 
 song. 
 
 Dawn, roused by the lark, would be surely as dark in 
 
 her sight 
 As her measureless measure of shadowless pleasure 
 
 was bright. 
 
 Noon, gilt but with glory of gold, would be hoary 
 
 and grey 
 In her eyes that had gazed on the depths, unamazed 
 
 with the day. 
 
 Night hardly would seem to make darker her dream 
 
 never done, 
 When it could but withhold what a man may behold 
 
 of the sun. 
 
3 H A DARK MONTH. 
 
 For dreams would perplex, were the days that should 
 
 vex her but seven, 
 The sight of her vision, made dark with division from 
 
 heaven. 
 
 Till the light on my lonely way lighten that only now 
 
 gleams, 
 I too am divided from heaven and derided of dreams. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 315 
 
 VIII 
 
 A twilight fire-fly may suggest 
 
 How flames the fire that feeds the sun : 
 
 * A crooked figure may attest 
 In little space a million ' 
 
 But this faint-figured verse, that dresses 
 With flowers the bones of one bare month, 
 
 Of all it would say scarce expresses 
 In crooked ways a millionth. 
 
 A fire-fly tenders to the father 
 
 Of fires a tribute something worth : 
 
 My verse, a shard-borne beetle rather, 
 Drones over scarce-illumined earth. 
 
 Some inches round me though it brighten 
 With light of music- making thought, 
 
 The dark indeed it may not lighten, 
 The silence moves not, hearing nought 
 
 Only my heart is eased with hearing, 
 Only mine eyes are soothed with seeing, 
 
 A face brought nigh, a footfall nearing, 
 
 Till hopes take form and dreams have being. 
 
316 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 IX. 
 
 As a poor man hungering stands with insatiate eyes 
 and hands 
 
 Void of bread 
 Right in sight of men that feast while his famine with 
 no least 
 
 Crumb is fed, 
 
 Here across the garden-wall can I hear strange chil- 
 dren call, 
 
 Watch them play, 
 From the windowed seat above, whence the goodlier 
 child I love 
 
 Is away. 
 
 Here the sights we saw together moved his fancy like 
 a feather 
 
 To and fro, 
 Now to wonder, and thereafter to the sunny storm of 
 laughter 
 
 Loud and low — 
 
A DARK MONTH. 317 
 
 Sights engraven on storied pages where man's tale of 
 seven swift ages 
 
 All was told — 
 Seen of eyes yet bright from heaven — for the lips that 
 laughed were seven 
 
 Sweet years old. 
 
318 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 X. 
 
 Why should May remember 
 
 March, if March forget 
 The days that began with December, 
 
 The nights that a frost could fret ? 
 
 All their griefs are done with 
 
 Now the bright months bless 
 Fit souls to rejoice in the sun with, 
 
 Fit heads for the wind's caress ; 
 
 Souls of children quickening 
 
 With the whole world's mirth, 
 Heads closelier than field-flowers thickening 
 
 That crowd and illuminate earth, 
 
 Now that May's call musters 
 
 Files of baby bands 
 To marshal in joyfuller clusters 
 
 Than the flowers that encumber their hands. 
 
 Yet morose November 
 
 Found them no less gay, 
 With nought to forget or remember 
 
 Less bright than a branch of may. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 319 
 
 All the seasons moving 
 
 Move their minds alike 
 Applauding, acclaiming, approving 
 
 All hours of the year that strike. 
 
 So my heart may fret not, 
 
 Wondering if my friend 
 Remember me not or forget not 
 
 Or ever the month find end. 
 
 Not that love sows lighter 
 
 Seed in children sown, 
 But that life being lit in them brighter 
 
 Moves fleeter than even our own. 
 
 May nor yet September 
 
 Binds their hearts, that yet 
 Remember, forget, and remember, 
 
 Forget, and recall, and forget. 
 
320 A DARK M0N1H. 
 
 XI. 
 
 As light on a lake's face moving 
 Between a cloud and a cloud 
 
 Till night reclaim it, reproving 
 The heart that exults too loud, 
 
 The heart that watching rejoices 
 When soft it swims into sight 
 
 Applauded of all the voices 
 And stars of the windy night, 
 
 So brief and unsure, but sweeter 
 Than ever a moondawn smiled, 
 
 Moves, measured of no tune's metre, 
 The song in the soul of a child ; 
 
 The song that the sweet soul singing 
 Half listens, and hardly hears, 
 
 Though sweeter than joy-bells ringing 
 And brighter than joy's own tears j 
 
 The song that remembrance of pleasure 
 Begins, and forgetfulness ends 
 
 With a soft swift change in the measure 
 That rings in remembrance of friends 
 
A DARK MONTH. 321 
 
 As the moon on the lake's face flashes, 
 
 So haply may gleam at whiles 
 A dream through the dear deep lashes 
 
 Whereunder a child's eye smiles, 
 
 And the least of us all that love him 
 
 May take for a moment part 
 With angels around and above him, 
 
 And I find place in his heart. 
 
322 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Child, were you kinless and lonely — 
 Dear, were you kin to me — 
 
 My love were compassionate only 
 Or such as it needs would be. 
 
 But eyes of father and mother 
 Like sunlight shed on you shine : 
 
 What need you have heed of another 
 Such new strange love as is mine ? 
 
 It is not meet if unruly 
 
 Hands take of the children's bread 
 And cast it to dogs ; but truly 
 
 The dogs after all would be fed. 
 
 On crumbs from the children's table 
 That crumble, dropped from above, 
 
 My heart feeds, fed with unstable 
 Loose waifs of a child's light love. 
 
 Though love in your heart were brittle 
 As glass that breaks with a touch, 
 
 You haply would lend him a little 
 Who surely would give you much. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 
 
 323 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Here is a rough 
 
 Rude sketch of my friend, 
 Faint-coloured enough 
 
 And unworthily penned. 
 
 Fearlessly fair 
 
 And triumphant he stands, 
 And holds unaware 
 
 Friends' hearts in his hands ; 
 
 Stalwart and straight 
 
 As an oak that should bring 
 Forth gallant and great 
 
 Fresh roses in spring. 
 
 On the paths of his pleasure 
 
 All graces that wait 
 What metre shall measure, 
 
 What rhyme shall relate ? 
 
 Each action, each motion, 
 Each feature, each limb, 
 
 Demands a devotion 
 In honour of him : 
 
324 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 Head that the hand 
 
 Of a god might have blest, 
 
 Laid lustrous and bland 
 On the curve of its crest : 
 
 Mouth sweeter than cherries 
 Keen eyes as of Mars, 
 
 Browner than berries 
 And brighter than stars. 
 
 Nor colour nor wordy- 
 Weak song can declare 
 
 The stature how sturdy, 
 How stalwart his air. 
 
 As a king in his bright 
 Presence-chamber may be, 
 
 So seems he in height — 
 
 Twice higher than your knee. 
 
 As a warrior sedate 
 
 With reserve of his power, 
 
 So seems he in state — 
 As tall as a flower : 
 
 As a rose overtowering 
 The ranks of the rest 
 
 That beneath it lie cowering, 
 Less bright than their best 
 
A DARK MONTH. 325 
 
 And his hands are as sunny 
 
 As ruddy ripe corn 
 Or the browner-hued honey 
 
 From heather-bells borne. 
 
 When summer sits proudest, 
 Fulfilled with its mirth, 
 
 And rapture is loudest 
 In air and on earth, 
 
 The suns of all hours 
 
 That have ripened the roots 
 Bring forth not such flowers 
 
 And beget not such fruits. 
 
 And well though I know it, 
 As fain would I write, 
 
 Child, never a poet 
 
 Could praise you aright. 
 
 I bless you ? the blessing 
 Were less than a jest 
 
 Too poor for expressing ; 
 I come to be blest, 
 
 W T ith humble and dutiful 
 
 Heart, from above : 
 Bless me, O my beautiful 
 
 Innocent love ! 
 
326 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 This rhyme in your praise 
 With a smile was begun ; 
 
 But the goal of his ways 
 Is uncovered to none, 
 
 Nor pervious till after 
 The limit impend \ 
 
 It is not in laughter 
 
 These rhymes of you end. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 327 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Spring, and fall, and summer, and winter, 
 Which may Earth love least of them all, 
 
 Whose arms embrace as their signs imprint her, 
 Summer, or winter, or spring, or fall ? 
 
 The clear-eyed spring with the wood-birds mating. 
 The rose-red summer with eyes aglow, 
 
 The yellow fall with serene eyes waiting, 
 The wild-eyed winter with hair all snow ? 
 
 Spring's eyes are soft, but if frosts benumb her 
 As winter's own will her shrewd breath sting : 
 
 Storms may rend the raiment of summer, 
 And fall grow bitter as harsh-lipped spring. 
 
 One sign for summer and winter guides me, 
 One for spring, and the like for fall : 
 
 Whichever from sight of my friend divides me, 
 That is the worst ill season of all. 
 
328 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Worse than winter is spring 
 If I come not to sight of my king : 
 But then what a spring will it be 
 When my king takes homage of me t 
 
 I send his grace from afar 
 Homage, as though to a star ; 
 As a shepherd whose flock takes flight 
 May worship a star by night. 
 
 As a flock that a wolf is upon 
 My songs take flight and are gone : 
 No heart is in any to sing 
 Aught but the praise of my king. 
 
 Fain would I once and again 
 Sing deeds and passions of men : 
 But ever a child's head gleams 
 Between my work and my dreams. 
 
 Between my hand and my eyes 
 The lines of a small face rise, 
 And the lines I trace and retrace 
 Are none but those of the face. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 329 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Till the tale of all this flock of days alike 
 
 All be done, 
 Weary days of waiting till the month's hand strike 
 
 Thirty-one, 
 Till the clock's hand of the month break off, and end 
 
 With the clock, 
 Till the last and whitest sheep at last be penned 
 
 Of the flock, 
 I their shepherd keep the count of night and day 
 
 With my song, 
 Though my song be, like this month which once was 
 May, 
 
 All too long. 
 
33© A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The incarnate sun, a tall strong youth, 
 On old Greek eyes in sculpture smiled : 
 
 But trulier had it given the truth 
 To shape him like a child. 
 
 No face full-grown of all our dearest 
 So lightens all our darkness, none 
 
 Most loved of all our hearts hold nearest 
 So far outshines the sun, 
 
 As when with sly shy smiles that feign 
 Doubt if the hour be clear, the time 
 
 Fit to break off my work again 
 Or sport of prose or rhyme, 
 
 My friend peers in on me with merry 
 Wise face, and though the sky stay dim 
 
 The very light of day, the very 
 Sun's self comes in with him. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 331 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Out of sight, 
 Out of mind ! 
 
 Could the light 
 Prove unkind ? 
 
 Can the sun 
 Quite forget 
 
 What was done 
 Ere he set? 
 
 Does the moon 
 When she wanes 
 
 Leave no tune 
 That remains 
 
 In the void 
 Shell of night 
 
 Overcloyed 
 With her light? 
 
 Must the shore 
 
 At low tide 
 Feel no more 
 
 Hope or pride, 
 
332 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 No intense 
 
 Joy to be, 
 In the sense 
 
 Of the sea — 
 
 In the pulses 
 Of her shocks 
 
 It repulses, 
 When its rocks 
 
 Thrill and ring 
 As with glee ? 
 
 Has my king 
 Cast off me, 
 
 Whom no bird 
 
 Flying south 
 Brings one word 
 
 From his mouth ? 
 
 Not the ghost 
 
 Of a word 
 Riding post 
 
 Have I heard, 
 
 Since the day 
 When my king 
 
 Took away 
 With him spring, 
 
A DARK MONTH. 333 
 
 And the cup 
 
 Of each flower 
 Shrivelled up 
 
 That same hour, 
 
 With no light 
 
 Left behind. 
 Out of sight, 
 
 Out of mind ! 
 
334 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Because I adore you 
 
 And fall 
 On the knees of my spirit before you — 
 
 After all, 
 
 You need not insult, 
 
 My king, 
 With neglect, though your spirit exult 
 
 In the spring, 
 
 Even me, though not worth, 
 
 God knows, 
 One word of you sent me in mirth, 
 
 Or one rose 
 
 Out of all in your garden 
 
 That grow 
 Where the frost and the wind never harden 
 
 Flakes of snow, 
 
 Nor ever is rain 
 
 At all, 
 But the roses rejoice to remain 
 
 Fair and tall — 
 
A DARK MONTH. Z ZS 
 
 The roses of love, 
 
 More sweet 
 Than blossoms that rain from above 
 
 Round our feet, 
 
 When under high bowers 
 
 We pass, 
 Where the west wind freckles with flowers 
 
 All the grass. 
 
 But a child's thoughts bear 
 
 More bright 
 Sweet visions by day, and more fair 
 
 Dreams by night, 
 
 Than summer's whole treasure 
 
 Can be : 
 What am I that his thought should take pleasure, 
 
 Then, in me ? 
 
 I am only my love's 
 
 True lover, 
 With a nestful of songs, like doves 
 
 Under cover, 
 
 That I bring in my cap 
 
 Fresh caught, 
 To be laid on my small king's lap — 
 
 Worth just nought. 
 
336 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 Yet it haply may hap 
 
 That he, 
 When the mirth in his veins is as sap 
 
 In a tree, 
 
 Will remember me too 
 
 Some day 
 Ere the transit be thoroughly through 
 
 Of this May- 
 Or perchance, if such grace 
 
 May be, 
 Some night when I dream of his face, 
 
 Dream of me. 
 
 Or if this be too high 
 
 A hope 
 For me to prefigure in my 
 
 Horoscope, 
 
 He may dream of the place 
 
 Where we 
 Basked once in the light of his face, 
 
 Who now see 
 
 Nought brighter, not one 
 
 Thing bright, 
 Than the stars and the moon and the sun, 
 
 Day nor night. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 337 
 
 XX. 
 
 Day by darkling day, 
 Overpassing, bears away 
 Somewhat of the burden of this weary May. 
 
 Night by numbered night, 
 Waning, brings more near in sight 
 Hope that grows to vision of my heart's delight 
 
 Nearer seems to burn 
 In the dawn's rekindling urn 
 Flame of fragrant incense, hailing his return. 
 
 Louder seems each bird 
 In the brightening branches heard 
 Still to speak some ever more delightful word. 
 
 All the mists that swim 
 Round the dawns that grow less dim 
 Still wax brighter and more bright with hope of him. 
 z 
 
338 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 All the suns that rise 
 Bring that day more near our eyes 
 When the sight of him shall clear our clouded skies. 
 
 All the winds that roam 
 Fruitful fields or fruitless foam 
 Blow the bright hour near that brings his bright 
 face home. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 339 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I hear of two far hence 
 
 In a garden met, 
 And the fragrance blown from thence 
 
 Fades not yet. 
 
 The one is seven years old, 
 
 And my friend is he : 
 But the years of the other have told 
 
 Eighty-three. 
 
 To hear these twain converse 
 
 Or to see them greet 
 Were sweeter than softest verse 
 
 May be sweet. 
 
 The hoar old gardener there 
 
 With an eye more mild 
 Perchance than his mild white hair 
 
 Meets the child. 
 
 I had rather hear the words 
 
 That the twain exchange 
 Than the songs of all the birds 
 
 There that range, 
 z 2 
 
34Q A DARK MONTH. 
 
 Call, chirp, and twitter there 
 Through the garden-beds 
 
 Where the sun alike sees fair 
 Those two heads, 
 
 And which may holier be 
 Held in heaven of those 
 
 Or more worth heart's thanks to see 
 No man knows. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 341 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Of such is the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 No glory that ever was shed 
 From the crowning star of the seven 
 
 That crown the north world's head, 
 
 No word that ever was spoken 
 
 Of human or godlike tongue, 
 Gave ever such godlike token 
 
 Since human harps were strung. 
 
 No sign that ever was given 
 
 To faithful or faithless eyes 
 Showed ever beyond clouds riven 
 
 So clear a Paradise. 
 
 Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven 
 And blood have denied each creed : 
 
 If of such be the kingdom of heaven, 
 It must be heaven indeed. 
 
342 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The wind on the downs is bright 
 As though from the sea : 
 
 And morning and night 
 
 Take comfort again with me. 
 
 He is nearer to-day, 
 
 Each night to each morning saith, 
 Whose return shall revive dead May 
 
 With the balm of his breath. 
 
 The sunset says to the moon, 
 
 He is nearer to-night 
 Whose coming in June 
 
 Is looked for more than the light. 
 
 Bird answers to bird, 
 
 Hour passes the sign on to hour, 
 And for joy of the bright news heard 
 
 Flower murmurs to flower. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 343 
 
 The ways that were glad of his feet 
 
 In the woods that he knew 
 Grow softer to meet 
 
 The sense of his footfall anew. 
 
 He is near now as day, 
 
 Says hope to the new-born light : 
 He is near now as June is to May, 
 
 Says love to the night. 
 
344 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Good things I keep to console me 
 For lack of the best of all, 
 
 A child to command and control me, 
 Bid come and remain at his call. 
 
 Sun, wind, and woodland and highland, 
 Give all that ever they gave : 
 
 But my world is a cultureless island, 
 My spirit a masterless slave. 
 
 And friends are about me, and better 
 At summons of no man stand : 
 
 But I pine for the touch of a fetter, 
 The curb of a strong king's hand. 
 
 Each hour of the day in her season 
 Is mine to be served as I will : 
 
 And for no more exquisite reason 
 Are all served idly and ill. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 345 
 
 By slavery my sense is corrupted, 
 
 My soul not fit to be free : 
 I would fain be controlled, interrupted, 
 
 Compelled as a thrall may be. 
 
 For fault of spur and of bridle 
 
 I tire of my stall to death : 
 My sail flaps joyless and idle 
 
 For want of a small child's breath. 
 
346 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Whiter and whiter 
 
 The dark lines grow, 
 And broader opens and brighter 
 
 The sense of the text below. 
 
 Nightfall and morrow 
 
 Bring nigher the boy 
 Whom wanting we want not sorrow, 
 
 Whom having we want no joy. 
 
 Clearer and clearer 
 
 The sweet sense grows 
 Of the word which hath summer for hearer, 
 
 The word on the lips of the rose. 
 
 Duskily dwindles 
 
 Each deathlike day, 
 Till June rearising rekindles 
 
 The depth of the darkness of May. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 347 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ' In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. ' 
 
 Stars in heaven are many, 
 Suns in heaven but one : 
 
 Nor for man may any 
 Star supplant the sun. 
 
 Many a child as joyous 
 
 As our far-off king 
 Meets as though to annoy us 
 
 In the paths of spring. 
 
 Sure as spring gives warning, 
 All things dance in tune : 
 
 Sun on Easter morning, 
 Cloud and windy moon, 
 
 Stars between the tossing 
 Boughs of tuneful trees, 
 
 Sails of ships recrossing 
 Leagues of dancing seas ; 
 
348 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 Best, in all this playtime, 
 
 Best of all in tune, 
 Girls more glad than Maytime, 
 
 Boys more bright than June ; 
 
 Mixed with all those dances, 
 Far through field and street 
 
 Sing their silent glances, 
 Ring their radiant feet. 
 
 Flowers wherewith May crowned us 
 Fall ere June be crowned : 
 
 Children blossom round us 
 All the whole year round. 
 
 Is the garland worthless 
 
 For one rose the less, 
 And the feast made mirthless ? 
 
 Love, at least, says yes. 
 
 Strange it were, with many 
 
 Stars enkindling air, 
 Should but one find any 
 
 Welcome : strange it were, 
 
 Had one star alone won 
 Praise for light from far : 
 
 Nay, love needs his own one 
 Bright particular star. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 349 
 
 Hope and recollection 
 
 Only lead him right 
 In its bright reflection 
 
 And collateral light. 
 
 Find as yet we may not 
 
 Comfort in its sphere : 
 Yet these days will weigh not 
 
 When it warms us here ; 
 
 When full-orbed it rises, 
 
 Now divined afar : 
 None in all the skies is 
 
 Half so good a star j 
 
 None that seers importune 
 
 Till a sign be won : 
 Star of our good fortune. 
 
 Rise and reign, our sun ! 
 
35° A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I pass by the small room now forlorn 
 
 Where once each night as I passed I knew 
 
 A child's bright sleep from even to morn 
 Made sweet the whole night through. 
 
 As a soundless shell, as a songless nest, 
 Seems now the room that was radiant then 
 
 And fragrant with his happier rest 
 Than that of slumbering men. 
 
 The day therein is less than the day, 
 The night is indeed night now therein : 
 
 Heavier the dark seems there to weigh, 
 And slower the dawns begin. 
 
 As a nest fulfilled with birds, as a shell 
 Fulfilled with breath of a god's own hymn, 
 
 Again shall be this bare blank cell, 
 Made sweet again with him. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 351 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Spring darkens before us, 
 A flame going down, 
 
 With chant from the chorus 
 Of days without crown — 
 
 Cloud, rain, and sonorous 
 Soft wind on the down. 
 
 She is wearier not of us 
 Than we of the dream] 
 
 That spring was to love us 
 And joy was to gleam 
 
 Through the shadows above us 
 That shift as they stream. 
 
 Half dark and half hoary, 
 Float far on the loud 
 
 Mild wind, as a glory 
 Half pale and half proud 
 
 From the twilight of story, 
 Her tresses of cloud ; 
 
352 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 Like phantoms that glimmer 
 
 Of glories of old 
 With ever yet dimmer 
 
 Pale circlets of gold 
 As darkness grows grimmer 
 
 And memory more cold. 
 
 Like hope growing clearer 
 With wane of the moon, 
 
 Shines toward us the nearer 
 Gold frontlet of June, 
 
 And a face with it dearer 
 Than midsummer noon. 
 
A BARK MONTH. 353 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 You send me your love in a letter, 
 I send you my love in a song : 
 
 Ah child, your gift is the better, 
 Mine does you but wrong. 
 
 No fame, were the best less brittle, 
 No praise, were it wide as earth, 
 
 Is worth so much as a little 
 Child's love may be worth. 
 
 We see the children above us 
 As they might angels above : 
 
 Come back to us, child, if you love us, 
 And bring us your love. 
 
 A A 
 
354 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 No time for books or for letters : 
 What time should there be ? 
 
 No room for tasks and their fetters 
 Full room to be free. 
 
 The wind and the sun and the Maytime 
 
 Had never a guest 
 More worthy the most that his playtime 
 
 Could give of its best. 
 
 If rain should come on, peradventure, 
 
 (But sunshine forbid !) 
 Vain hope in us haply might venture 
 
 To dream as it did. 
 
 But never may come, of all comers 
 
 Least welcome, the rain, 
 To mix with his servant the summer's 
 
 Rose-garlanded train ! 
 
A BARK MONTH. 355 
 
 He would write, but his hours are as busy 
 As bees in the sun, 
 
 And the jubilant whirl of their dizzy- 
 Dance never is done. 
 
 The message is more than a .letter, 
 
 Let love understand, 
 And the thought of his joys even better 
 
 Than sight of his hand. 
 
356 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Wind, high-souled, full-hearted 
 
 South-west wind of the spring ! 
 Ere April and earth had parted, 
 Skies, bright with thy forward wing, 
 Grew dark in an hour with the shadow behind it, that 
 bade not a bird dare sing. 
 
 Wind whose feet are sunny, 
 
 Wind whose wings are cloud, 
 With lips more sweet than honey 
 Still, speak they low or loud, 
 Rejoice now again in the strength of thine heart: let 
 the depth of thy soul wax proud. 
 
 We hear thee singing or sighing, 
 
 Just not given to sight, 
 All but visibly flying 
 
 Between the clouds and the light, 
 And the light in our hearts is enkindled, the shadow 
 therein of the clouds put to flight. 
 
A DARK MONTH. 357 
 
 From the gift of thine hands we gather 
 
 The core of the flowers therein, 
 Keen glad heart of heather, 
 Hot sweet heart of whin, 
 Twin breaths in thy godlike breath close blended of 
 wild spring's wildest of kin. 
 
 All but visibly beating 
 
 We feel thy wings in the far 
 Clear waste, and the plumes of them fleeting, 
 Soft as swan's plumes are, . 
 And strong as a wild swan's pinions, and swift as the 
 flash of the flight of a star. 
 
 As the flight of a planet enkindled 
 
 Seems thy far soft flight 
 Now May's reign has dwindled 
 
 And the crescent of June takes light 
 And the presence of summer is here, and the hope of 
 a welcomer presence in sight. 
 
 Wind, sweet-souled, great-hearted 
 
 Southwest wind on the wold ! 
 From us is a glory departed 
 That now shall return as of old, 
 Borne back on thy wings as an eagle's expanding, and 
 crowned with the sundawn's gold. 
 
358 A DARK MONTH. 
 
 There is not a flower but rejoices, 
 
 There is not a leaf but has heard : 
 All the fields find voices, 
 All the woods are stirred: 
 There is not a nest but is brighter because of the 
 coming of one bright bird. 
 
 Out of dawn and morning, 
 
 Noon and afternoon, 
 The sun to the world gives warning 
 Of news that brightens the moon ; 
 And the stars all night exult with us, hearing of joy 
 that shall come with June. 
 
359 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 If the wind and the sunlight of April and August had 
 
 mingled the past and hereafter 
 In a single adorable season whose life were a rapture 
 
 of love and of laughter, 
 And the blithest of singers were back with a song ; if 
 
 again from his tomb as from prison, 
 If again from the night or the twilight of ages Aristo- 
 phanes had arisen, 
 With the gold-feathered wings of a bird that were also 
 
 a god upon earth at his shoulders, 
 And the gold-flowing laugh of the manhood of old at 
 
 his lips, for a joy to beholders, 
 He alone unrebuked of presumption were able to set 
 
 to some adequate measure 
 The delight of our eyes in the dawn that restores 
 
 them the sun of their sense and the pleasure. 
 For the days of the darkness of spirit are over for all 
 
 of us here, and the season 
 When desire was a longing, and absence a thorn, and 
 
 rejoicing a word without reason. 
 
360 SUNXJSE. 
 
 For the roof overhead of the pines is astir with delight 
 
 as of jubilant voices, 
 And the floor underfoot of the bracken and heather 
 
 alive as a heart that rejoices. 
 For the house that was childless awhile, and the light 
 
 of it darkened, the pulse of it dwindled, 
 Rings radiant again with a child's bright feet, with the 
 
 light of his face is rekindled. 
 And the ways of the meadows that knew him, the 
 
 sweep of the down that the sky's belt closes, 
 Grow gladder at heart than the soft wind made them 
 
 whose feet were but fragrant with roses, 
 Though the fall of the year be upon us, who trusted 
 
 in June and by June were defrauded, 
 And the summer that brought us not back the desire 
 
 of our eyes be gone hence unapplauded. 
 For July came joyless among us, and August went 
 
 out from us arid and sterile, 
 And the hope of our hearts, as it seemed, was no 
 
 more than a flower that the seasons imperil, 
 And the joy of our hearts, as it seemed, than a thought 
 
 which regret had not heart to remember, 
 Till four dark months overpast were atoned for, and 
 
 summer began in September. 
 Hark, April again as a bird in the house with a child's 
 
 voice hither and thither : 
 See, May in the garden again with a child's face 
 
 cheering the woods ere they wither. 
 June laughs in the light of his eyes, and July on the 
 
 sunbright cheeks of him slumbers, 
 
SUNRISE. 361 
 
 And August glows in a smile more sweet than the 
 
 cadence of gold-mouthed numbers. 
 In the morning the sight of him brightens the sun, 
 
 and the noon with delight in him flushes, 
 And the silence of nightfall is music about him as 
 
 soft as the sleep that it hushes. 
 We awake with a sense of a sunrise that is not a gift 
 
 of the sundawn's giving, 
 And a voice that salutes us is sweeter than all sounds 
 
 else in the world of the living, 
 And a presence that warms us is brighter than all in 
 
 the world of our visions beholden, 
 Though the dreams of our sleep were as those that 
 
 the light of a world without grief makes golden. 
 For the best that the best of us ever devised as a 
 
 likeness of heaven and its glory, 
 What was it of old, or what is it and will be for ever, 
 
 in song or in story, 
 Or in shape or in colour of carven or painted resem- 
 blance, adored of all ages, 
 But a vision recorded of children alive in the pictures 
 
 of old or the pages ? 
 Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven if 
 
 they come not again shall be never : 
 But the face and the voice of a child are assurance of 
 
 heaven and its promise for ever. 
 
 Spottiswoode &> Co., Printers, New-street Square, London. 
 B B 
 
May, 1882. 
 
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 Leo. 
 
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24 
 
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