/ THE LIBRARY / OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES IN MEMORY OF EDWIN CORLE PRESENTED BY JEAN CORLE SWINBURNE'S COLLECTED POETICAL WORKS Printed in Great Britain by T. and A. Constable Ltd, at the University Press, Edinburgh, 7 5605 CONTENTS Y« 2- TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE PAGE Prelude : Tristram and Iseult . . 5 I. The Sailing of the Swallow . . . 13 II. The Queen's Pleasance 39 III. Tristram in Brittany .... 54 IV. The Maiden Marriage . . . . 68 V. ISEULT AT TlNTAGEL ..... 76 VI. Joyous Gard . . . . . . 87 VII. The Wife's Vigil . ... . 104 VIII. The Last Pilgrimage . . . .112 IX. The Sailing of the Swan . . . 133 The Tale of Balen . . . . . 153 Atalanta in Calydon . . . . . 235 Erechtheus . . . . . . . 335 STUDIES IN SONG Song for the Centenary of Walter Savage Landor , . . . ... 421 Grand Chorus of Birds from Aristophanes . 455 The Birds ........ 457 Off Shore ........ 460 After Nine Years ....... 469 For a Portrait of Felice Orsini . . . 472 2031250 vi CONTENTS PAGE Evening on the Broads ..... 473 The Emperor's Progress . . . . 482 The Resurrection of Alcilia .... 484 The Fourteenth of July ..... 485 The Launch of the Livadia .... 489 Six Years Old ....... 491 A Parting Song ....... 493 By the North Sea 499 A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS In Harbour ....... 529 The Way of the Wind . . . . .531 " Had I Wist " . . . . . . . 532 Recollections ....... 533 Time and Life ....... 535 A Dialogue . . . . _ . . . . 537 Plus Ultra . . . . . . . 539 A Dead Friend . . . . . , . 540 Past Days ........ 544 Autumn and Winter . . . . . 546 The Death of Richard Wagner . . . 549 Two Preludes . . . . . . 551 The Lute and the Lyre . . . . -553 Plus Intra ....... 554 Change ........ 555 A Baby's Death ...... 556 One of Twain . . ... . . 560 Death and Birth . . . . ' . . 562 Birth and Death ...... 563 Benediction ....... 564 Etude Realiste ....... 565 Babyhood ........ 567 First Footsteps . 569 CONTENTS vii PAGE A Ninth Birthday ...... 570 Not a Child . . . . . ? . . 572 To Dora Dorian ...... 574 The Roundel ....... 575 At Sea ........ 576 Wasted Love . . . . . . . 577 Before Sunset ....... 578 A Singing Lesson ...... 579 Flower-Pieces ....... 580 Three Faces ....... 582 Eros ......... 584 Sorrow •. . . . . . i,A J 117 ? : " '■ 586 Sleep . . . . ... . . . 587 On an Old Roundel ...... 588 A Landscape by Courbet ..... 590 A Flower-Piece by Fantin .... 591 A NlGHT-PlECE BY MlLLET ..... 592 " Marzo Pazzo " . . . . . . . 593 Dead Love . . . . . . . . 594 Discord . . . . . . . . 595 Concord .... . . . . 596 Mourning . . . . . . . . 597 Aperotos Ekos ....... 598 To Catullus ....... 599 " Insularum Ocelle " ..... 600 In Sark ........ 601 In Guernsey ....... 602 !Envoi . '. . '. . . '. . . 607 Athens : an Ode ...... 611 The Statue of Victor Hugo .... 629 Sonnets : — Hope and Fear ...... 641 After Sunset ...... 642 A Study from Memory .... 644 viii CONTENTS PAGE To Dr. John Brown ...... 645 To William Bell Scott .... 646 A Death on Easter Day .... 647 On the Deaths of Thomas Carlyle and George Eliot ..... 648 After Looking into Carlyle's Reminis- cences ....... 649 A Last Look ...... 651 , . Dickens . . . . . . . 652 On Lamb's Specimens of Dramatic Poets . 653 To John Nichol ...... 655 Dysthanatos ...... 657 Euonymos ....... 658 On the Russian Persecution of the Jews . 659 Bismarck at Canossa ..... 660 Quia Nominor Leo ..... 661 The Channel Tunnel . . . . . 663 Sir William Gomm ..... 664 Euthanatos . . . . . . . • 666 First and Last ....... 669 Lines on the Death of Edward John Trelawny . 671 Adieux a Marie Stuart ..... 673 Herse ........ 678 Twins ......... 681 The Salt of the Earth ..... 686 Seven Years Old ...... 687 Eight Years Old ...... 689 Comparisons ....... 692 What is Death ? . . . . . 694 A Child's Pity . . . . . . . 695 A Child's Laught ...... 697 A Child's Thanks . . . . . . 699 A Child's Battles ...... 701 A Child's Future ...... 707 CONTENTS ix SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS 1590-1650 PAGE I, Christopher Marlowe . . . .711 II. William Shakespeare .... 712 III. Ben Jonson ...... 713 IV. Beaumont and Fletcher . . . 714 V. Philip Massinger . . . . .715 VI. John Ford ...... 716 VII. John Webster ...... 717 VIII. Thomas Decker ..... 71S IX. Thomas Middleton ..... 719 X. Thomas Heywood ..... 720 XL George Chapman . . . . .721 XII. John Marston ..... 722 XIII. John Day ...... 723 XIV. James Shirley ..... 724 XV. The Tribe of Benjamin .... 725 XVI. Anonymous Plays : " Arden of Fevers- ham 726 XVII. Anonymous Plays ..... 727 XVIII. Anonymous Plays . . ... . 728 XIX. Tee Many . . . . . . 729 XX. The Many . . ... . 730 XXI. Epilogue . . . . . .731 A Dark Month ....... 733 Sunrise ........ 782 THE HEPTALOGIA The Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell . . 787 John Jones's Wife . " . . . . 789 The Poet and the Woodlouse .... 810 The Person of the House . . . .814 x CONTENTS PAGE Last Words of a Seventh-Rate Poet . . . 820 Sonnet for a Picture ..... 835 Nephelidia ........ 836 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY AND OTHER POEMS A Midsummer Holiday : — I. The Seaboard ..... 843 II. A Haven . . . . . . 845 III. On a Country Road .... 847 IV. The Mill Garden ..... 849 V. A Sea-Mark . . . . .852 VI. The Cliffside Path .... 854 VII. In the Water 856 VIII. The Sunbows 859 IX. On the Verge ..... 861 A New- Year Ode . . ... .865 Lines on the Monument of Giuseppe Mazzini . 883 Les Casquets ....... 885 A Ballad of Sark . . . . . . 893 Nine Years Old . . . . . . 895 After a Reading . . . . . 899 Maytime in Midwinter ..... 902 A Double Ballad of August .... 905 Heartsease Country ...... 907 A Ballad of Appeal ...... 909 Cradle Songs . . . . . . .911 Pelagius . . • ■ • 915 Louis Blanc . . . . . . .917 Vos Deos Laudamus ...... 919 On the Bicentenary of Corneille . . .921 In Sepulcretis ....... 923 Love and Scorn ...... 926 CONTENTS xi PAGE On the Death of Richard Doyle . . . 928 In Memory of Henry A. Bright . . . 929 A Solitude ....... 930 Victor Hugo : L'Archipel de la Manche . . 931 The Twilight of the Lords .... 932 Clear the Way ! ...... 935 A Word for the Country . . . . • 937 A Word for the Nation ..... 943 A Word from the Psalmist .... 948 A Ballad at Parting ..... 953 ASTROPHEL and other poems Astrophel ........ 959 A Nympholept . . . . . . . 965 On the South Coast ...... 979 An Autumn Vision ...... 987 A Swimmer's Dream ...... 997 Grace Darling ....... 1002 Loch Torridon ....... 1009 The Palace of Pan ...... 1016 A Year's Carols ...... 1019 England : an Ode ...... 1024 Eton : an Ode ....... 1029 The Union ........ 1032 East to West ....... 1034 Inscriptions for the Four Sides of a Pedestal 1035 On the Death of Richard Burton . . .1037 Elegy . . . . . . . . 1040 A Sequence of Sonnets on the Death of Robert Browning ....... 1046 Sunset and Moonrise . 1050 Birthday Ode ..... . . 1052 Threnody ...... . . 1055 xii CONTENTS The Ballad of Melicertes au tombeau de banville Light : an Epicede Threnody . A Dirge A Reminiscence . Via Dolorosa I. Transfiguration II. Deliverance III. Thanksgiving . IV. LlBITINA VERTICORDIA V. The Order of Release VI. PSYCHAGOGOS VII. The Last Word In Memory of Aurelio Saffi The Festival of Beatrice . The Monument of Giordano Bruno Life in Death Epicede Memorial Verses on the Death of William Scott . An Old Saying A Moss-Rose To a Cat . Hawthorn Dyke The Brothers Jacobite Song The Ballad of Dead Men's Bay Dedication ..... A CHANNEL PASSAGE and other poems A Channel Passage .1117 The Lake of Gaube ...... 1122 CONTENTS xiii TAGE The Promise of the Hawthorn . . . .1126 Hawthorn Tide ....... 1127 The Passing of the Hawthorn . . . .1134 To a Baby Kinswoman . . . . . 1135 The Altar of Righteousness .... 1141 A New Year's Eve ...... 1159 In a Rosary ....... 1162 The High Oaks ....... 1164 Barking Hall: a Year After . . . .1169 Music: an Ode ....... 1172 The Centenary of the Battle of the Nile . n 74 Trafalgar Day . . . . . . .1176 Cromwell's Statue . . . . . .1178 A Word for the Navy . . . . .1180 Northumberland . . . . . .1184 Stratford-on-Avon ...... 1187 Burns: an Ode ....... 1188 The Commonweal: a Song for Unionists . . 1193 The Question ....... 1197 Apostasy ........ 1201 Russia : an Ode . . ... . . . 1204 For Greece and Crete ..... 1208 Delphic Hymn to Apollo ..... 1210 A New Century ...... 1212 An Evening at Vichy ..... 1213 To George Frederick Watts .... 1216 On the Death of Mrs. Lynn Linton . . 1217 In Memory of Aurelio Saffi .... 1220 Carnot . . . . . . . . 1221 After the Verdict . . . . . 1222 The Transvaal ....... 1223 Reverse ........ 1224 The Turning of the Tide ..... 1225 On the Death of Colonel Benson . . . 1226 xiv CONTENTS PAGE ASTR^EA VlCTRIX ....... 1227 The First of June ...... 1231 A Roundel from Villon ..... 1233 A Roundel of Rabelais ..... 1234 Lucifer ........ 1235 The Centenary of Alexandre Dumas . . 1236 At a Dog's Grave ....... 1238 Three Weeks Old ...... 1240 A Clasp of Hands ...... 1241 Prologue to Doctor Faustus . . . .1243 Prologue to Arden of Feversham . . . 1245 Prologue to Old Fortunatus . * . . . 1247 Prologue to The Duchess of Malfy . . 1249 Prologue to The Revenger's Tragedy . . 1251 Prologue to The Broken Heart . . .1253 Prologue to A Very Woman .... 1255 Prologue to The Spanish Gipsy . . . 1257 Prologue to The Two Noble Kinsmen . . 1259 The Afterglow of Shakespeare . . . 1261 Cleopatra ........ 1267 Dedication ........ 1275 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 1 TO MY BEST FRIEND THEODORE WATTS - DUNTON VOL. II. A Spring speaks again, ana ale our woods are stirred, And all our wide glad wastes ajlower around, That twice have heard keen ApriPs clarion sound Since here we first together saw and heard Springs 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 souPs best birthdays dawns the third. There is a friend that as the wise man saith Cleaves closer than a brother : nor to me Hath tivie not shown, through days like waves at strife, This truth more stire than all things else but death, This pearl most perfect found in all the sea That washes toward your feet these waifs of life. Ibe Pines : April 1882 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 ; 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 lite and death, 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 i 6 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 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 ; 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 unflowering 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 ; 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 thu«, And soul smote soul and left it ruinous, 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 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 7 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 ma'ke their honey out of nought, 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 flameless 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. 8 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 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 ; 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 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 Maytime ; 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 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 9 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 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 IO TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 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, 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, TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE n 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 ; 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 ha.nd 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 ; 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 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. i3 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. 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. i 4 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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 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 SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 15 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, 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 ; who now, clothed with sweet youth and might, As a glad witness wore that bitter name, The second symbol of the world for fame. 16 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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 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 fighL THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 13 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 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, 18 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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. find 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 ; 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 Lest the fang strike it.' — ■' Yea, the fang,' she said. ' 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 chiefs 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 ; nor might hate Keep high the fire against him lit of late ; THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 19 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. 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 2 o THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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 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 — " Surely a little praise is this to win, THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 21 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 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." " 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„ Vet her might all we women born too late 22 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW Praise for good hap, who so enskied above Not more in age excels us than man's love." 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, 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, Seeing the great love of her and Lamoracke, Make no great marvel, nor look strangely back THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 23 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, Girt 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 : " 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 : "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 What was before the bidding : and she knew How sore a life dead love should lead her through To what sure end how fearful ; and though yet Nor with her blood nor tears her way be wet And she look bravely with set face on fate, Vet she knows well the serpent hour at wait 24 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW Somewhere to sting and spare not ; ay, and he, Arthur" " The king," quoth Iseult suddenly, " 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." " 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 ; 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-gro wn out of season : so there sprang Swift love between them, and all spring through sang Light in their joyous hearing ; 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 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 25 And brake the secret seal on Arthur's birth, And showed his ruin and his rule on earth Inextricable, and lig-ht 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 : *' 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 26 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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 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 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 27 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 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. 28 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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 Turns silent, and the moon holds hardly light Above them through the sick and star-crossed night ; And of their hands throug-h 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, THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 29 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 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 down 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 : 3 o THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW And of the kin of Arthur, and their might ; The misborn head of Mordred, sad as night, With cold waste cheeks and eyes as keen as pain, A.nd 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 Iseultsaid : " 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 surti 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 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. " 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 ? " 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. 32 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." "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 dav may live and die ? THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 33 " 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? " 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, :i And Iseult mused and spake no word, but sought Through all the hushed ways of her tongueless thought 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 oae 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 vol. n. 34 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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, 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 ; 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, THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 35 For all the loud breach of the waves at will. So for an hour they fought the storm out still, 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 ; 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 ; 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," 36 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW And answering some light courteous word of gracfc 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 ; so with hushed light feet Went Iseult round her, with soft looks and sweet Pitying her pain ; 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, 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 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 37 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 th^m 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 ; 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 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 38 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW 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 unsunken sun Far through fine rain shot fire into the south ; And their four lips became one burning mouth. 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 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. THE QUEEN S PLEASANCE 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, 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 QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 41 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. 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. II. B 2 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 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 5 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 ; 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 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, THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 43 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. 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 'Ight that burned From eyes and brows enkindled more with speed And rapture of the rushing of her steed Than once with only beauty ; and her mouth Was as a rose athirst tha*" pants for drouth THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 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, &nd 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, 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." THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 45 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 roofs 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 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 ; and his heart Yearned on her, if perchance with amorous art 46 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 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. 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 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 47 As fair came up that sunrise : to and fro, With knees nigh staggered and stout heads bent low 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 4 8 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE Than aught save love might breathe in ; 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 ; 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 ; 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. 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, THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 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 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 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE Would touch with tears and laughter and wild speech The lips and eyes of passion, tain 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 brigh: 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 faitt 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 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. THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 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 ? 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, THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE Amorous, atbirst of that sweet influent love ) So, hungering- towards 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, 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 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE 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 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. 54 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, 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. TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 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 da.y But touches twilight and is rapt away. So may my love and her love meet once more, And meeting be divided as of ycre. 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, 56 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY And let all sad thoughts through his spirit sweep As leaves through afr 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 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, TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 57 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 ? 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 weed 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, 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 ! O sea ! 1 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 ? 58 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 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 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, TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 59 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, 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 x>r 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 s 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 ? 6o TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 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 ? 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 ; TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 61 The heart of the ancient hills and his were one ; The winds took counsel with him, and the sun 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. So with no sense abashed nor sunless look, But with exalted eyes and heart, he took 62 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY His part of sun or storm-wind, and was glad, For all thing's 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, 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. TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 63 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 As all her body were one heart on flame, Athrob 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 64 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 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. 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 straems 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. TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 65 ' Iseult " — and all the cloudlike world grew flame, And all his heart flashed lightning at her name ; " 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, " Haply," the girl's heart, though she spake not, said, <£ 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, 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 inay 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. VOL. II. C 66 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY " 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 9 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. ' ' 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, TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY 67 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 ; 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. 68 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 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 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 69 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 Where he might take them sleeping ; 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 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 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, 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 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 71 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, So Tristram one brief breathing-space apart Hung, and gazed down ; then with exulting heart Plunged : and the fleet foam round a joyous head Flashed, that jhot 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 Gouvernayle 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 ; A.nd how he marvelled in his heart that death 72 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 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 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 g'lory ; never know The loveliness of laughing love that lives On little lips of children : all that gives THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 73 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 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 n. C2 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 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 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 — " 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, THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE 75 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, 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 s All night safe sleeping in her maidenhood. 7 G V ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 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 ; 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 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, ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 77 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 ; O very love, so glad in heaven and sad On earth for earth's sake alway ; 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, I 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 — 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, 78 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 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 cliffs 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. " 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 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, ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 79 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 beg-in Singing in heaven. " 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 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 htm 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 8o ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 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 — Couldst thou being holy and God, and sinful she s 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 not sweeter, and we thy brethren, we ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 81 Fairer than love on earth and life in hell ? ' And I — with me were all things then not well ? Should I not answer — ' 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 ! 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, 82 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 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, 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, ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 83 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 ? 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, »r 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. " 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 — - 8 4 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. " 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 more than I, Is this man's soul that surely shall not die. 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 ? ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 85 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. 1 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 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 86 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL That once, albeit by not thy law, were one ; 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. 87 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 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 ss JOYOUS GARD 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, 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 JOYOUS GARD 8 9 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, 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 ; " for may my soul so thrive go JOYOUS GARD 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. 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, JOYOUS GARD 9i 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 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. 9 2 JOYOUS GARD 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 ? 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, JOYOUS GARD 93 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, Sheer death shall bound upon them : one pang past, The first keen sense of him shall be their last, Their last shall be nr 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, 94 JOYOUS GARD 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 As dies in many with their dawn that dies And leaves in pulseless hearts and fiameless 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 JOYOUS GARD 95 Unshepherded, 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 cliffs edge clings 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 hillsi e birds, or where On some strait rock's ledge in the intense mute air Erect against the cliffs 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 9 6 JOYOUS GARD Through Tristram's three days' triumph, spear to spear, When Iseult shone enthroned by Guenevere, 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 Flamed her eyes full on Tristram's ; and he laughed Answering, " What wile of sweet child-hearted craft JOYOUS GARD 97 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 behest 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, " 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 ? 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 ? " " Surely," said VOL. II. d 9 S JOYOUS GARD 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, 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 JOYOUS GARD 99 Shed like a consecration ; 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 dea thless 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 ncr 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, 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 : 11 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 ? IOO JOYOUS GARD Think thou not much to die one earthly day, Being made not in their mould who pass away Nor who shall pass for ever." " 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 ; 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 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. JOYOUS GARD IOI 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 oi 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 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 ; 102 JOYOUS GARD 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." "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 JOYOUS GARD 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 s And only far off shore the foam gave light. And life in them sank silent as the night, ro4 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 ; 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, 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. THE WIFE'S VIGIL 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 : 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 n. D2 io6 THE WIFE'S VIGIL 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, W T hose 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. 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 THE WIFE'S VIGIL 107 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 flame:. 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, Nor the ardent hate which called on judgment's rod More hateful than the righteousness of God. " 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 ? io8 THE WIFE'S VIGIL 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, 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. THE WIFE'S VIGIL 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, 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 ? no THE WIFE'S VIGIL 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 ? 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 s 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, Hapfy, 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, THE WIFE'S VIGIL in 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 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 Ml round her not of darkness, but of death. 112 VIII THE LAST PILGRIMAGE Enough of ease, O 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 ; for thy sake These that saw light see might'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 f\nd wist not more of them than waters know What wind with next day's change of tide shall blow. THE LAST PILGRIMAGE n 3 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 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. H4 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 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. THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 115 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, And loud with wail of women many a stream Whose own live song was like love's deepening 1 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 n6 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE Vast as the mid bulk of a roof-tree's beam. So, sheer above the wild wolf-haunted stream, Dire as the faee 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 ber 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, 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 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 117 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, 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, n8 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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, 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 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 119 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, 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 loveli- ness. For who sets eye thereon soever knows How since these rocks and waves first rolled and 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. THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 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 cliffs 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 Out of the world-conceiving womb of morn. THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 121 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, 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, "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, THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 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 sham 3, 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 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 123 Its flight through light and darkness, shall they fare Forth, and my bride among them, whom they bear Through these wild lands his prisoner ; and if now I lose her, and my prayer be vain, and thou Less 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. " Nay, then may God send me as evil a thing When I give ear not to such prayers," he said, " 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. Go, Ganhardine, with tiding of the vow THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 bounden 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 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 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 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, i 2 6 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 fted beneath the fading night 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 ; 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 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 12? 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, 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. 128 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 and 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, 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 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 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 VOL. II. - THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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, 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 A.s 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 woodside 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, THE LAST PILGRIMAGE 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 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. knd scarce aloud his thanks fell faint and slow A.s 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 ; and he in kindly knightly wise Spake with scant breath, and smiling : " Surely this Is penance for discourteous lips to kiss 132 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE And feel the brand burn through them, here to lie And lack the strength here to do more than sigh 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. 133 IX THE SAILING OF THE SWAN Fate, that was born ere spirit and flesh were made s 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 nig'ht ; 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, 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, i 3 4 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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 r 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, 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 ; THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 135 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 deec 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 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. 136 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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 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 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 137 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 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 fraughtage, that King Mark May take for toll thereof some costly thing ; And when this gift finds grace before the king, Choose forth a cup, and put therein my ring i 3 8 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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. 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. A.nd 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.. A.nd 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, THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 139 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 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, v deep-muffled to her war 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. i 4 o THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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 Broce- liande. And with such thirst as joy's drained wine-cup leaves 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; THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 141 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 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 : " 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 ; s 4 2 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN Not rest but unrest hath our long- love given — Unrest on earth that wins not rest in heaven. 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 mote 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 : " Surely ye shall not, ye that rent mine heart, Being one in sin, in punishment be twain." And the great knight that heard not spake again THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 143 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 ! " 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, 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. i 4 4 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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 prayeir 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, 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, THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 145 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 cleax r es 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 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." x 4 6 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN And his heart sprang - , and sank again : and she Spake, saying, " 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." "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 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., THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 147 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. " Since if for death's sake." in his heart he said, " 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. 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. 148 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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. 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 wear}?- wing, Nor harsh estrangement, born of time's vain breath, Nor change, a darkness deeper far than death. THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 149 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. 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. A.nd 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 150 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN 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, 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 A.nd 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 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN r 5 i 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 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. THE TALE OF BALEN DEDICATION TO MY MOTHER Love that holds life and death in fee, Deep as the clear unsounded sea And sweet as life or death can be, Lays here my hope, my heart, and me Before you, silent, in a song. Since the old wild tale, made new, found grace, When half sung through, before your face, It needs must live a springtide space, While April suns grow 3trong. March 24, 1896. 157 i In hawthorn-time the heart grows light, The world is sweet in sound and sight, Glad thoughts and birds take flower and flight; The heather kindles toward the light, The whin is frankincense and flame. And be it for strife or be it for love The falcon quickens as the dove When earth is touched from heaven above With joy that knows no name. And glad in spirit and sad in soul With dream and doubt of days that roll As waves that race and find no goal Rode on by bush and brake and bole A northern child of earth and sea. The pride of life before him lay Radiant : the heavens of night and day Shone less than shone before his way His ways and days to be. And all his life of blood and breath Sang out within him : time and death Were even as words a dreamer saith When sleep within him slackeneth, And light and life and spring were one. [58 THE TALE OF BALEN The steed between his knees that sprang-, The moors and woods that shone and sang-, The hours wherethrough the spring's breath rang } Seemed ageless as the sun. But alway through the bounteous bloom That earth gives thanks if heaven illume His soul forefelt a shadow of doom, His heart foreknew a gloomier gloom Than closes all men's equal ways. Albeit the spirit of life's light spring With pride of heart upheld him, king And lord of hours like snakes that sting And nights that darken days. A.nd as the strong spring round him grew Stronger, and all blithe winds that blew Blither, and flowers that flowered anew More glad of sun and air and dew, The shadow lightened on his soul And brightened into death and died Like winter, as the bloom waxed wide From woodside on to riverside And southward goal to goal. Along the wandering ways of Tyne, By beech and birch and thorn that shine And laugh when life's requickening wine Makes night and noon and dawn divine And stirs in all the veins of spring, And past the brightening banks of Tees s He rode as one that breathes and sees A sun more blithe, a merrier breeze, A life that hails him king. THE TALE OF BALEN And down the softening south that knows No more how glad the heather glows, Nor how, when winter's clarion blows Across the bright Northumbrian snows, Sea-mists from east and westward meet, Past Avon senseless yet of song And Thames that bore but swans in throng He rode elate in heart and strong In trust of days as sweet. So came he through to Camelot, Glad, though for shame his heart waxed hot, For hope within it withered not To see the shaft it dreamed of shot Fair toward the glimmering goal of fame. And all King Arthur's knightliest there Approved him knightly, swift to dare And keen to bid their records bear Sir Balen's northern name. Sir Balen of Northumberland Gat grace before the king to stand High as his heart was, and his hand Wrought honour toward the strange north strand That sent him south so goodly a knight. And envy, sick with sense of sin, Began as poisonous herbs begin To work in base men's blood, akin To men's of nobler might. And even so fell it that his doom, For all his bright life's kindling bloom And light that took no thought for gloom. Fell as a breath from the opening tomb Full on him ere he wist or thought. 160 THE TALE OF BALEN For once a churl of royal seed, King- Arthur's kinsman, faint in deed And loud in word that knew not heed, Spake shame where shame was nought. "What doth one here in Camelot Whose birth was northward ? Wot we not As all his brethren borderers wot How blind of heart, how keen and hot, The wild north lives and hates the south ? Men of the narrowing march that knows Nought save the strength of storms and snows, What would these carles where knighthood blows A trump of kinglike mouth ? " Swift from his place leapt Balen, smote The liar across his face, and wrote His wrath in blood upon the bloat Brute cheek that challenged shame for note How vile a king-born knave might be. Forth sprang their swords, and Balen slew The knave ere well one witness knew Of all that round them stood or drew What sight was there to see. Then spake the great king's wrathful will A doom for six dark months to fill Wherein close prison held him, still And steadfast-souled for good or ill. But when those weary days lay dead His lordliest knights and barons spake Before the king for Balen's sake Good speech and wise, of force to break The bonus that bowed his head. i6i II In linden-time the heart is high For pride of summer passing - by With lordly laughter in her eye ; A heavy splendour in the sky Uplifts and bows it down again. The spring had waned from wood and wold Since Balen left his prison hold And lowlier-hearted than of old Beheld it wax and wane. Though humble heart and poor array Kept not from spirit and sense away Their noble nature, nor could slay The pride they bade but pause and stay Till time should bring its trust to flower, Yet even for noble shame's sake, born Of hope that smiled on hate and scorn, He held him still as earth ere morn Ring forth her rapturous hour. But even as earth when dawn takes flight And beats her wings of dewy light Full in the faltering face of night, His soul awoke to claim by right The life and death of deed and doom, VOL. II. F THE TALE OF BALEN When once before the king' there cams A maiden clad with grief and shame And anguish burning her like flame That feeds on flowers in bloom. Beneath a royal mantle, fair With goodly work of lustrous vair, Girt fast against her side she bare A sword whose weighl bade all men there Quail to behold her face again, Save of a passing perfect knight Not great alone in force and fight It might not be for any might Drawn forth, and end her pain. So said she : then King Arthur spake : " Albeit indeed I dare not take Such praise on me, for knighthood's sake And love of ladies will I make Assay if better none may be." By girdle and by sheath he caught The sheathed and girded sword, and wroug With strength whose force availed him nou To save and set her free. Again she spake : " No need to set The might that man has matched not yet Against it ; he whose hand shall get Grace to release the bonds that fret My bosom and my girdlestead With little strain of strength or strife Shall bring me as from death to life And win to sister or to wife Fame that outlives men dead." THE TALE OF BALEN Then bade the king- his knights assay This mystery that before him lay And mocked his might of manhood. " Nay,' Quoth she, " the man that takes away This burden laid on me must be A knight of record clean and fair As sunlight and the flowerful air, By sire and mother born to bear A name to shame not me." Then forth strode Launcelot, and laid The mighty-moulded hand that made Strong knights reel back like birds affrayed By storm that smote them as they strayed Against the hilt that yielded not. Then Tristram, bright and sad and kind As one that bore in noble mind Love that made light as darkness blind, Fared even as Launcelot. Then Lamoracke, with hardier cheer, As one that held all hope and fear Wherethrough the spirit of man may steer In life and death less dark or dear, Laid hand thereon, and fared as they. With half a smile his hand he drew Back from the spell-bound thing, and threw With half a glance his heart anew Toward no such blameless may. Between Iseult and Guenevere Sat one of name as high to hear, But darklier doomed than they whose cheer Foreshowed not yet the deadlier year That bids the queenliest head bow down, THE TALE OF BALEN The queen Morgause of Orkney : they With scarce a flash of the eye could say The very word of dawn, when day Gives earth and heaven their crown. But bright and dark as night or noon And lowering as a storm-flushed moon When clouds and thwarting winds distune The music of the midnight, soon To die from darkening star to star And leave a silence in the skies That yearns till dawn find voice and rise, Shone strange as fate Morgause, with eyes That dwelt on days afar. A glance that shot on Lamoracke As from a storm-cloud bright and black Fire swift and blind as death's own track Turned fleet as flame on Arthur back From him whose hand forsook the hilt : And one in blood and one in sin Their hearts caught fire of pain within And knew no goal for them to win But death that guerdons guilt. Then Gawain, sweet of soul and gay As April ere he dreams of May, Strove, and prevailed not ; then Sir Kay, The snake-souled envier, vile as they That fawn and foam and lurk and lie, Sire of the bastard band whose brood Was alway found at servile feud With honour, faint and false and lewd, Scarce grasped and put it by. THE TALE OF BALEN 165 Then wept for woe the damsel bound With iron and with anguish round, That none to help her grief was found Or loose the inextricably inwound Grim curse that girt her life with grief And made a burden of her breath, Harsh as the bitterness of death. Then spake the king as one that saith Words bitterer even than brief. <( Methought the wide round world could bring Before the face of queen or king No knights more fit for fame to sing Than fill this full Round Table's ring With honour higher than pride of place : But now my heart is wrung to know, Damsel, that none whom fame can show Finds grace to heal or help thy woe : God gives them not the grace." Then from the lowliest place thereby, With heart-enkindled cheek and eye Most like the star and kindling sky That say the sundawn's hour is high When rapture trembles through the sea, Strode Balen in his poor array Forth, and took heart of grace to pray The damsel suffer even him to assay His power to set her free. Nay, how should he avail, she said, Averse with scorn-averted head, Where these availed not ? none had sped Of all these mightier men that led The lists wherein he might not ride, 1 66 THE TALE OF BALEN And how should less men speed ? But he t With lordlier pride of courtesy, Put forth his hand and set her free From pain and humbled pride. But on the sword he gazed elate With hope set higher than fear or fate, Or doubt of darkling days in wait ; And when her thankful praise waxed great And craved of him the sword again, He would not give it. " Nay, for mine It is till force may make it thine." A smile that shone as death may shine Spake toward him bale and bane. Strange lightning flickered from her eyes. " Gentle and good in knightliest guise And meet for quest of strange emprise Thou hast here approved thee : yet not wise To keep the sword from me, I wis. For with it thou shalt surely slay Of all that look upon the day The man best loved of thee, and lay Thine own life down for his." " What chance God sends, that chance I take," He said. Then soft and still she spake ; " I would but for thine only sake Have back the sword of thee, and break The links of doom that bind thee rounds But seeing thou wilt not have it so, My heart for thine is wrung with woe." " God's will," quoth he, " it is, we know* Wherewith our lives are bound." THE TALE OF BALEN 167 " Repent it must thou soon," she said, " Who wouldst not hear the rede I read For thine and not for my sake, sped In vain as waters heavenward shed From springs that falter and depart Earthward. God bids not thee believe Truth, and the web thy life must weave For even this sword to close and cleave Hangs heavy round my heart." So passed she mourning forth. But he, With heart of springing hope set free As birds that breast and brave the sea, Bade horse and arms and armour be Made straightway ready toward the fray. Nor even might Arthur's royal prayer Withhold him, but with frank and fair Thanksgiving and leave-taking there He turned him thence away. i68 in As the east wind, when the morning's breast Gleams like a bird's that leaves the nest, A fledgeling- halcyon's bound on quest, Drives wave on wave on wave to west Till all the sea be life and light, So time's mute breath, that brings to bloom All flowers that strew the dead spring's tomb, Drives day on day on day to doom Till all man's day be nig-ht. Brief as the breaking of a wave That hurls on man his thunderous grave Ere fear find breath to cry or crave Life that no chance may spare or save, The light of joy and glory shone Even as in dreams where death seems dead Round Balen's hope-exalted head, Shone, passed, and lightened as it fled The shadow of doom thereon. For as he bound him thence to fare, Before the stately presence there A lady like a windflower fair, Girt on with raiment strange and rare That rippled whispering round her, came. THE TALE OF BALEN i' Her clear cold eyes, all glassy grey, Seemed lit not with the light of day But touched with gleams that waned away Of quelled and fading flame. Before the king she bowed and spake : " King, for thine old faith's plighted sake To me the lady of the lake, I come in trust of thee to take The guerdon of the gift I gave, Thy sword Excalibur." And he Made answer : " Be it whate'er it be, If mine to give, I give it thee, Nor need is thine to crave." As when a gleam of wicked light Turns half a low-lying water bright That moans beneath the shivering night With sense of evil sound and sight And whispering witchcraft's bated breath. Her wan face quickened as she said : "This knight that won the sword — his head I crave or hers that brought it. Dead, Let these be one in death." " Not with mine honour this may be ; Ask all save this thou wilt," quoth he, " And have, thy full desire." But she Made answer : " Nought will I of thee, Nought if not this." Then Balen turned, And saw the sorceress hard beside By whose fell craft his mother died : Three years he had sought her, and here espied His heart against her yearned. THE TALE OF BALEN " 111 be thou met," he said, " whose ire Would slake with blood thy soul's desire : By thee my mother died in fire ; Die thou by me a death less dire." Sharp flashed his sword forth, fleet as flame And shore away her sorcerous head. " Alas for shame," the high king- said, " That one found once my friend lies dead ; Alas for all our shame ! " Thou shouldst have here forborne her ; yea. Were all the wrongs that bid men slay Thine, heaped too high for wrath to weigh, Not here before my face to-day Was thine the right to wreak thy wrongo" Still stood he then as one that found His rose of hope by storm discrowned, And all the joy that girt him round Brief as a broken song. Yet ere he passed he turned and spake : " King, only for thy nobler sake Than aught of power man's power may take Or pride of place that pride may break I bid the lordlier man in thee, That lives within the king, give ear. This justice done before thee here On one that hell's own heart holds dear, Needs might not this but be. were done : And Balen, seeing the death-struck sun Sink, spake as he whose goal is won ; " Now, when our trophied tomb is one, And over us our tale is writ, How two that loved each other, two Born and begotten brethren, slew Each other, none that reads anew Shall choose but weep for it. " And no good knight and no good man Whose eye shall ever come to scan The record of the imperious ban That made our life so sad a span Shall read or hear, who shall not pray For us for ever." Then anon Died Balan ; but the sun was gone, And deep the stars of midnight shone, Ere Balen passed away. THE TALE OF BALEN And there low lying - , as hour on hour Fled, all his life in all its flower Came back as in a sunlit shower Of dreams, when sweet-souled sleep has power On life less sweet and glad to be. He drank the draught of life's first wine Again : he saw the moorland shine, The rioting rapids of the Tyne, The woods, the cliffs, the sea. The joy that lives at heart and home, The joy to rest, the joy to roam, The joy of crags and scaurs he clomb, The rapture of the encountering foam Embraced and breasted of the boy, The first good steed his knees bestrode, The first wild sound of songs that flowed Throug-h ears that thrilled and heart that glowed, Fulfilled his death with joy. So, dying not as a coward that dies And dares not look in death's dim eyes Straight as the stars on seas and skies Whence moon and sun recoil and rise, He looked on life and death, and slept. And there with morning Merlin came, And on the tomb that told their fame He wrote by Balan's Balen's name, And gazed thereon, and wept. For all his heart within him yearned With pity like as fire that burned. The fate his fateful eye discerned Far off now dimmed it, ere he turned His face toward Camelot, to tell THE TALE OF BALEN Arthur of all the storms that woke Round Balen, and the dolorous stroke, And how that last blind battle broke The consummated spell. " Alas," King Arthur said, " this day I have heard the worst that woe might say For in this world that wanes away I know not two such knights as they." This is the tale that memory writes Of men whose names like stars shall stand. Balen and Balan, sure of hand, Two brethren of Northumberland, In life and death good knights, II. 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Cho, 602-6i£ 247 ATALANTA IN CALYDON CHIEF HUNTSMAN Maiden, and mistress of the months and stars Now folded in the fiowerless fields of heaven, Goddess whom all gods love with threefold heart. Being - treble in thy divided deity, A light for dead men and dark hours, a foot Swift on the hills as morning, and a hand To all things fierce and fleet that roar and range Mortal, with gentler shafts than snow or sleep ; Hear now and help and lift no violent hand, But favourable and fair as thine eye's beam Hidden and shown in heaven ; for 1 all night Amid the king's hounds and the hunting men Have wrought and worshipped toward thee ; nor shall man See goodlier hounds or deadlier edge of spears ; But for the end, that lies unreached at yet Between the hands and on the knees of gods. O fair-faced sun, killing the stars and dews And dreams and desolation of the night ! Rise up, shine, stretch thine hand out, with thy bow Touch the most dimmest height of trembling heaven, And burn and break the dark about thy ways, Shot through and through with arrows ; let thine hair Lighten as flame above that flameless shell Which was the moon, and thine eyes fill the world 548 ATALANTA IN CALYDON And thy lips kindle with swift beams ; let earth Laugh, and the long sea fiery from thy feet Through all the roar and ripple of streaming springs And foam in reddening flakes and flying flowers Shaken from hands and blown from lips of nymphs Whose hair or breast divides the wandering wave With salt close tresses cleaving lock to lock, All gold, or shuddering and unfurrowed snow ; And all the winds about thee with their wings, And fountain-heads of all the watered world ; Each horn of Acheloiis, and the green Euenus, wedded with the straitening sea. For in fair time thou comest ; come also thou, Twin-born with him, and virgin, Artemis, And give our spears their spoil, the wild boar's hide, Sent in thine anger against us for sin done And bloodless altars without wine or fire. Him now consume thou ; for thy sacrifice With sanguine-shining steam divides the dawn, And one, the maiden rose of all thy maids, Arcadian Atalanta, snowy-souled, Fair as the snow and footed as the wind, From Ladon and well-wooded Masnalus Over the firm hills and the fleeting sea Hast thou drawn hither, and many an armed king, Heroes, the crown of men, like gods in fight. Moreover out of all the ^tolian land, From the full-flowered Lelantian pasturage To what of fruitful field the son of Zeus Won from the roaring river and labouring sea When the wild god shrank in his horn and fled And foamed and lessened through his wrathful fords, Leaving clear lands that steamed with sudden sun, These virgins with the lightening of the day ATALANTA IN CALYDON Bring thee fresh wreaths and their own sweeter hair, Luxurious locks and flower-like mixed with flowers, Clean offering - , and chaste hymns ; but me the time Divides from these things ; whom do thou not less Help and give honour, and to mine hounds good speed, And edge to spears, and luck to each man's hand. CHORUS When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers. Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers, With a clamour of waters, and with might ; Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Over the splendour and speed of thy feet ; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers, Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night. Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and cling ? O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring ! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player ; For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing. ATALANTA IN CALYDON For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins ; The days dividing - lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins ; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins. The full streams feed on flower of rushes, Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot, The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes From leaf to flower and flower to fruit ; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, And the oat is heard above the lyre, And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night, Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, Follows with dancing and fills with delight The Maenad and the Bassarid ; And soft as lips that laugh and hide The laughing leaves of the trees divide, And screen from seeing and leave in sight The god pursuing, the maiden hid. The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair Over her eyebrows hiding her eyes ; The wild vine slipping down leaves bare Her bright breast shortening into sighs ; The wild vine slips with the weight of its leaves. But the berried ivy catches and cleaves To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 251 ALTHAEA What do ye singing- ? what is this ye sing ? CHORUS Flowers bring we, and pure lips that please the gods, And raiment meet for service : lest the day Turn sharp with all its honey in our lips. ALTHLEA Night, a black hound, follows the white fawn day, Swifter than dreams the white flown feet of sleep ; Will ye pray back the night with any prayers ? And though the spring put back a little while Winter, and snows that plague all men for sin, And the iron time of cursing, yet I know Spring shall be ruined with the rain, and storm Eat up like fire the ashen autumn days. I marvel what men do with prayers awake Who dream and die with dreaming ; any god, Yea the least god of all things called divine, Is more than sleep and waking ; yet we say, Perchance by praying a man shall match his god. For if sleep have no mercy, and man's dreams Bite to the blood and burn into the bone, What shall this man do waking ? By the gods, He shall hot pray to dream sweet things to-night, Having dreamt once more bitter things than death. CHORUS Queen, but what is it that hath burnt thine heart ? For thy speech flickers like a blown-out flame. ATALANTA IN CALYDON ALTHAEA Look, ye say well, and know not what ye say ; For all my sleep is turned into a fire, And all my di earns to stuff that kindles it. CHORUS Yet one doth well being- patient of the gods. ALTH^A Yea, lest they smite us with some four-foot plague. chorus ■ But when time spreads find out some herb for it. ALTH^A And with their healing herbs infect our blood. CHORUS What ails thee to be jealous of their ways ? ALTH^A What if they give us poisonous drinks for wine ? CHORUS They have their will ; much talking mends it not. ALTHAEA And gall for milk, and cursing for a prayer ? CHORUS Have they not given life, and the end of life ? ATALANTA IN CALYDON ALTHAEA Lo, where they heal, they help not ; thus they do, They mock us with a little piteousness, And we say prayers, and weep ; but at the last, Sparing - awhile, they smite and spare no whit. CHORUS Small praise man gets dispraising the high gods : What have they done that thou dishonourest them ? ALTHAEA First Artemis for all this harried land I praise not, and for wasting of the boar That mars with tooth and tusk and fiery feet Green pasturage and the grace of standing- corn And meadow and marsh with spring's and unblown leaves, Flocks and swift herds and all that bite sweet grass, I praise her not ; what things are these to praise ? CHORUS But when the king did sacrifice, and g-ave Each god fair dues of wheat and blood and wine, Her not with bloodshed nor burnt-offering- Revered he, nor with salt or cloven cake ; Wherefore being- wroth she plagued the land ; but now Takes off from us fate and her heavy thing's. Which deed of these twain were not good to praise ? For a just deed looks always either way With blameless eyes, and mercy is no fault. ATALANTA IN CALYDON ALTHJEA Yea, but a curse she hath sent above all these To hurt us where she healed us ; and hath lit Fire where the old fire went out, and where the wind Slackened, hath blown on us with deadlier air. CHORUS What storm is this that tightens all our sail ? ALTHAEA Love, a thwart sea-wind full of rain and foam. CHORUS Whence blown, and born under what stormier star ? ALTHAEA Southward across Euenus from the sea. CHORUS Thy speech turns toward Arcadia like blown wind. ALTHAEA Sharp as the north sets when the snows are out. CHORUS Nay, for this maiden hath no touch of love. ALTHAEA I would she had sought in some cold gulf of sea Love, or in dens where strange beasts lurk, or fire, Or snows on the extreme hills, or iron land Where no spring is ; I would she had sought therein And found, or ever love had found her here. ATALANTA IN CALYDON CHORUS She is holier than all holy days or things, The sprinkled water or fume of perfect fire ; Chaste, dedicated to pure prayers, and filled With higher thoughts than heaven ; a maiden clean, Pure iron, fashioned for a sword ; and man She loves not ; what should one such do with love ? ALTHAEA Look you, I speak not as one light of wit, But as a queen speaks, being heart-vexed ; for oft I hear my brothers wrangling in mid hall, And am not moved ; and my son chiding them, And these things nowise move me, but I know Foolish and wise men must be to the end, And feed myself with patience ; but this most, This moves me, that for wise men as for fools Love is one thing, an evil thing, and turns Choice words and wisdom into fire and air. And in the end shall no joy come, but grief, Sharp words and soul's division and fresh tears Flower-wise upon the old root of tears brought forth, Fruit-wise upon the old flower of tears sprung up, Pitiful sighs, and much regrafted pain. These things are in my presage, and myself Am part of them and know not ; but in dreams The gods "are heavy on me, and all the fates Shed fire across my eyelids mixed with night, And burn me blind, and disilluminate My sense of seeing, and my perspicuous soul Darken with vision ; seeing I see not, hear And hearing am not holpen, but mine eyes Stain many tender broideries in the bed 256 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Drawn up about my face that I may weep And the king- wake not ; and my brows and lips Tremble and sob in sleeping, like swift flames That tremble, or water when it sobs with heat Kindled from under ; and my tears fill my breast And speck the fair dyed pillows round the king With barren showers and salter than the sea, Such dreams divide me dreaming ; for long since I dreamed that out of this my womb had sprung- Fire and a firebrand ; this was ere my son, Meleager, a goodly flower in fields of fight, Felt the light touch him coming forth, and wailed Childlike ; but yet he was not ; and in time I bare him, and my heart was great ; for yet So royally was never strong man born, Nor queen so nobly bore as noble a thing As this my son was : such a birth God sent And such a grace to bear it. Then came in Three weaving women, and span each a thread, Saying This for strength and That for luck, and one Saying Till the brand upon the hearth burn down, So long shall this man see good days and live. And I with gathered raiment from the bed Sprang, and drew forth the brand, and cast on it Water, and trod the flame bare-foot, and crushed With naked hand spark beaten out of spark And blew against and quenched it ; for I said, These are the most high Fates that dwell with us, And we find favour a little in their sight, A little, and more we miss of, and much time Foils us ; howbeit they have pitied me, O son, And thee most piteous, thee a tenderer thing Than any flower of fleshly seed alive. Wherefore I kissed and hid him with my hands, And covered under arms and hair, and wept, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 257 And feared to touch him with my tears, and laaghed ; So light a thing was this man, grown so great Men cast their heads back, seeing against the sun Blaze the armed man carven on his shield, and hear The laughter of little bells along the brace Ring, as birds singing or flutes blown, and watch, High up, the cloven shadow of either plume Divide the bright light of the brass, and make His helmet as a windy and wintering moon Seen through blown cloud and plume-like drift, when ships Drive, and men strive with all the sea, and oars Break, and the beaks dip under, drinking death ; Yet was he then but a span long, and moaned With inarticulate mouth inseparate words, And with blind lips and fingers wrung my breast Hard, and thrust out with foolish hands and feet, Murmuring ; but those grey women with bound hair Who fright the gods frighted not him ; he laughed Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul Distaff and thread, intangible ; but they Passed, and I hid the brand, and in my heart Laughed likewise, having all my will of heaven. But now I know not if to left or right The gods have drawn us hither ; for again I dreamt, and saw the black brand burst on fire As a branch bursts in flower, and saw the flame Fade flower-wise, and Death came and with dry lips Blew the charred ash into my breast ; and Love Trampled the ember and crushed it with swift feet. This I have also at heart ; that not for me, Not for me only or son of mine, O girls, The gods have wrought life, and desire of life, Heart's love and heart's division ; but for all VOL. II. I 258 ATALANTA IN CALYDON There shines one sun and one wind blows till night. And when night comes the wind sinks and the sun, And there is no light after, and no storm, But sleep and much forgetfulness of things. In such wise I gat knowledge of the gods Years hence, and heard high sayings of one most wise, Eurythemis my mother, who beheld With eyes alive and spake with lips of these As one on earth disfleshed and disallied From breath or blood corruptible ; such gifts Time gave her, and an equal soul to these And equal face to all things ; thus she said. But whatsoever intolerable or glad The swift hours weave and unweave, I go hence Full of mine own soul, perfect of myself, Toward mine and me sufficient ; and what chance The gods cast lots for and shake out on us, That shall we take, and that much bear withal. And now, before these gather to the hunt, I will go arm my son and bring him forth, Lest love or some man's anger work him harm. CHORUS Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears ; Grief, with a glass that ran ; Pleasure, with pain for leaven ; Summer, with flowers that fell ; Remembrance fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell ; Strength without hands to smite ; Love that endures for a breath : Night, the shadow of light, And life, the shadow of death. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 259 And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling- of tears, And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years ; And froth and drift of the sea ; And dust of the labouring earth ; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth ; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathing and love With life before and after And death beneath and above, For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a spars With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. From the winds of the north and the south They gathered as unto strife ; They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with life ; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labour and thought, A time to serve and to sin ; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and a space for delight, And beauty and length of days, And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire ; With his lips he travaileth ; ]a his heart is a blind desire, In his eyes foreknowledge of death ; 2 6o ATALANTA IN CALYDON He weaves, and is clothed with derision ; Sows, and he shall not reap ; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. MELEAGER O sweet new heaven and air without a star, Fair day, be fair and welcome, as to men With deeds to do and praise to pluck from thee. Come forth a child, born with clear sound and light. With laughter and swift limbs and prosperous looks ; That this great hunt with heroes for the hounds May leave thee memorable and us well sped. • ALTHAEA Son, first I praise thy prayer, then bid thee speed ; But the gods hear men's bands before their lips, And heed beyond all crying- and sacrifice Light of things done and noise of labouring men. But thou, being armed and perfect for the deed, Abide ; for like rain-flakes in a wind they grow, The men thy fellows, and the choice of the world, Bound to root out the tusked plague, and leave Thanks and safe days and peace in Calydon. MELEAGER For the whole city and all the low-lying land Flames, and the soft air sounds with them that come ; The gods give all these fruit of all their works. ALTHjEA Set thine eye thither and fix thy spirit and say Whom there thou knowest ; for sharp mixed shadow and wind ATALANTA IN CALYDON 261 Blown up between the morning- and the mist, With steam of steeds and flash of bridle or wheel, And fire, and parcels of the broken dawn, And dust divided by hard light, and spears That shine and shift as the edge of wild beasts' eyes ; Smite upon mine ; so fiery their blind edge Burns, and bright points break up and baffle day. MELEAGER The first, for many I know not, being far off, Peleus the Larissaean, couched with whom Sleeps the white sea-bred wife and silver-shod, Fair as fled foam, a goddess ; and their son Most swift and splendid of men's children born, Most like a god, full of the future fame. ALTHiEA Who are these shining like one sundered star ? MELEAGER Thy sister's sons, a double flower of men. ALTHAEA O sweetest kin to me in all the world, O twin-born blood of Leda, gracious heads Like kindled lights in untempestuous heaven, Fair flower-like stars on the iron foam of fight. With what glad heart and kindliness of soul, Even to the staining of both eyes with tears And kindling of warm eyelids with desire, A great way off I greet you, and rejoice Seeing you so fair, and moulded like as gods. Far off ye come, and least in years of these, But lordliest, but worth love to look upon. 262 ATALANTA IN CALYDON MELEAGER Even such (for sailing- hither I saw far hence, And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock Nigh Sparta with a strenuous-hearted stream) Even such I saw their sisters ; one swan-white, The little Helen, and less fair than she Fair Clytaemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns Who feed and fear some arrow ; but at whiles, As one smitten with love or wrung with joy, She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then Weeps ; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too, And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks nought, But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her, Laughing ; so fare they, as in their bloomless bud And full of unblown life, the blood of gods. ALTHAEA Sweet days befall them and good loves and lords, And tender and temperate honours of the hearth, Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed. But who shows next an eagle wrought in gold, That flames and beats broad wings against the sun And with void mouth gapes after emptier prey ? MELEAGER Know by that sign the reign of Telamon Between the fierce mouths of the encountering brine On the strait reefs of twice-washed Salamis. ALTHAEA For like one great of hand he bears himself, Vine-chapleted, with savours of the sea, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 263 Glittering as wine and moving- as a wave. But who girt round there roughly follows him ? MELEAGER Ancaeus, great of hand, an iron bulk, Two-edged for fight as the axe against his arm, Who drives against the surge of stormy spears Full-sailed ; him Cepheus follows, his twin-born, Chief name next his of all Arcadian men. ALTILEA Praise be with men abroad ; chaste lives with us, Home-keeping days and household reverences. MELEAGER Next by the left unsandalled foot know thou The sail and oar of this ^Etolian land, Thy brethren, Toxeus and the violent-souled Plexippus, over-swift with hand and tongue ; For hands are fruitful, but the ignorant mouth Blows and corrupts their work with barren breath. ALTHAEA Speech too bears fruit, being worthy ; and air blows down Things poisonous, and high-seated violences, And with charmed words and songs have men put out - Wild evil, and the fire of tyrannies. MELEAGER Yea, all things have they, save the gods and love. ALTILEA Love thou the law and cleave to things ordained. 264 ATALANTA IN CALYDON MELEAGER Law lives upon their lips whom these applaud. ALTH^A How sayest thou these ? what g"od applauds new things ? MELEAGER Zeus, who hath fear and custom under foot. ALTHAEA But loves not laws thrown down and lives awry. MELEAGER Yet is not less himself than his own law. ALTH^A Nor shifts and shuffles old things up and down. MELEAGER But what he will remoulds and discreates. ALTHAEA Much, but not this, that each thing live its life. MELEAGER Nor only live, but lighten and lift up higher. ALTHAEA Pride breaks itself, and too much gained is gone. MELEAGER Things gained are gone, but great things done endure. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 265 ALTHJEA Child, if a man serve law through all his life And with his whole heart worship, him all gods Praise ; but who loves it only with his lips, And not in heart and deed desiring it Hides a perverse will with obsequious words, Him heaven infatuates and his twin-born fate Tracks, and gains on him, scenting sins far off, And the swift hounds of violent death devour. Be man at one with equal-minded gods, So shall he prosper ; not through laws torn up, Violated rule and a new face of things. A woman armed makes war upon herself, Unwomanlike, and treads down use and wont And the sweet common honour that she hath, Love, and the cry of children, and the hand Trothplight and mutual mouth of marriages. This doth she, being unloved ; whom if one love, Not fire nor iron and the wide-mouthed wars Are deadlier than her lips or braided hair. For of the one comes poison, and a curse Falls from the other and burns the lives of men. But thou, son, be not filled with evil dreams, Nor with desire of these things ; for with time Blind love burns out ; but if one feed it full Till some discolouring stain dyes all his life, He shall keep nothing praiseworthy, nor die The sweet wise death of old men honourable, Who have lived out all the length of all their years Blameless, and seen well-pleased the face of gods, And without shame and without fear have wrought Things memorable, and while their days held out In sight of all men and the sun's great light n. 12 266 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Have gat them glory and given of their own praise To the earth that bare them and the day that bred, Home friends and far-off hospitalities, And filled with gracious and memorial fame Lands loved of summer or washed by violent seas, Towns populous and many unfooted ways, And alien lips and native with their own. But when white age and venerable death Mow down the strength and life within their limbs, Drain out the blood and darken their clear eyes, Immortal honour is on them, having past Through splendid life and death desirable To the clear seat and remote throne of souls, Lands indiscoverable in the unheard-of west, Round which the strong stream of a sacred sea Rolls without wind for ever, and the snow There shows not her white wings and windy feet, Nor thunder nor swift rain saith anything, Nor the sun burns, but all things rest and thrive ; And these, filled full of days, divine and dead, Sages and singers fiery from the god, And such as loved their land and all things good And, best beloved of best men, liberty, Free lives and lips, free hands of men free-born, And whatsoever on earth was honourable And whosoever of all the ephemeral seed, Live there a life no liker to the gods But nearer than their life of terrene days. Love thou such life and look for such a death. But from the light and fiery dreams of love Spring heavy sorrows and a sleepless life, Visions not dreams, whose lids no charm shall close Nor song assuage them waking ; and swift death Crushes with sterile feet the unripening ear, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 267 Treads out the timeless vintage ; whom do thou Eschewing- embrace the luck of this thy life, Not without honour ; and it shall bear to thee Such fruit as men reap from spent hours and Wear, Few men, but happy ; of whom be thou, G son, Happiest, if thou submit thy soul to fate, And set thine eyes and heart on hopes high-born And divine deeds and abstinence divine. So shalt thou be toward all men all thy days As light and might communicable, and burn From heaven among the stars above the hours, And break not as a man breaks nor burn down : For to whom other of all heroic names Have the gods given his life in hand as thine ? And gloriously hast thou lived, and made thy life To me that bare thee and to all men born Thankworthy, a praise for ever ; and hast won fame When wild wars broke all round thy father's house, And the mad people of windy mountain vrays Laid spears against us like a sea, and all j^Etolia thundered with Thessalian hoofs ; Yet these, as wind baffles the foam, and beats Straight back the relaxed ripple, didst thou break And loosen all their lances, till undone And man from man they fell ; for ye twain stood God against god, Ares and Artemis, And thou the mightier ; wherefore she unleashed A sharp-toothed curse thou too shalt overcome ; For in the greener blossom of thy life Ere the full blade caught flower, and when time gave Respite, thou didst not slacken soul nor sleep, But with great hand and heart seek praise of men Out of sharp straits and many a grievous thing, 268 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Seeing- the strange foam of undivided seas On channels never sailed in, and by shores Where the old winds cease not blowing, and all the night Thunders, and day is no delight to men. CHORUS Meleager, a noble wisdom and fair words The gods have given this woman ; hear thou these. MELEAGER mother, I am not fain to strive in speech Nor set my mouth against thee, who art wise Even as they say and full of sacred words. But one thing I know surely, and cleave to this ; That though I be not subtle of wit as thou Nor womanlike to weave sweet words, and melt Mutable minds of wise men as with fire, 1 too, doing justly and reverencing the gods, Shall not want wit to see what things be right. For whom they love and whom reject, being gods, There is no man but seeth, and in good time Submits himself, refraining all his heart. And I too as thou sayest have seen great things ; Seen otherwhere, but chiefly when the sail First caught between stretched ror ?s the roaring west, And all our oars smote eastward, and the wind First flung round faces of seafaring men White splendid snow-flakes of the sundering foam, And the first furrow in virginal green sea Followed the plunging ploughshare of hewn pine, And closed, as when deep sleep subdues man's breath Lips close and heart subsides ; and closing, shone ATALANTA IN CALYDON 269 Sunlike with many a Nereid's hair, and moved Round many a trembling mouth of doubtful gods, Risen out of sunless and sonorous gulfs Through waning water and into shallow light, That watched us ; and when flying the dove was snared As with men's hands, but we shot after and sped Clear through the irremeable Symplegades ; And chiefliest when hoar beach and herbless cliff Stood out ahead from Colchis, and we heard Clefts hoarse with wind, and saw through narrowing reefs The lightning of the intolerable wave Flash, and the white wet flame of breakers burn Far under a kindling south-wind, as a lamp Burns and bends all its blowing flame one way ; Wild heights untravelled of the wind, and vales Cloven seaward by their violent streams, and white With bitter flowers and bright salt scurf of brine ; Heard sweep their sharp swift gales, and bowing birdwise Shriek with birds' voices, and with furious feet Tread loose the long skirts of a storm ; and saw The whole white Euxine clash together and fall Full-mouthed, and thunderous from a thousand throats : Yet we drew thither and won the fleece and won Medea, deadlier than the sea ; but there Seeing many a wonder and fearful things to men I saw not one thing like this one seen here, Most fair and fearful, feminine, a god, Faultless ; whom I that love not, being unlike, Fear, and give honour, and choose from all the gods. ATALANTA IN CALYDON CENEUS Lady, the daughter of Thestius, and thou, son, Not ignorant of your strife nor light of wit, Scared with vain dreams and fluttering like spent fire, I come to judge between you, but a king Full of past days and wise from years endured. Nor thee I praise, who art fain to undo things done : Nor thee, who art swift to esteem them overmuch. For what the hours have given is given, and this Changeless ; howbeit these change, and in good time Devise new things and good, not one thing still. Us have they sent now at our need for help Among men armed a woman, foreign born, Virgin, not like the natural flower of things That grows and bears and brings forth fruit and dies ; Unlovable, no light for a husband's house, Espoused ; a glory among unwedded girls, And chosen of gods who reverence maidenhood. These too we honour in honouring her ; but thou, Abstain thy feet from following, and thine eyes From amorous touch ; nor set toward hers thine heart, Son, lest hate bear no deadlier fruit than love. ALTHiEA O king, thou art wise, but wisdom halts ; and just, But the gods love not justice more than fate, And smite the righteous and the violent mouth, And mix with insolent blood the reverent man's, And bruise the holier as the lying lips. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 271 Enough ; for wise words fail me, and my heart Takes fire and trembles flamewise, O my son, child, for thine head's sake ; mine eyes wax thick, Turning - toward thee, so goodly a weaponed man, So glorious ; and for love of thine own eyes They are darkened, and tears burn them, fierce as fire, And my lips pause and my soul sinks with love. But by thine hand, by thy sweet life and eyes, By thy great heart and these clasped knees, O son, 1 pray thee that thou slay me not with thee. For there was never a mother woman-born Loved her sons better ; and never a queen of men More perfect in her heart toward whom she loved. For what lies light on many and they forget, Small things and transitory as a wind o' the sea, I forget never ; I have seen thee all thine years A man in arms, strong and a joy to men Seeing thine head glitter and thine hand burn its way Through a heavy and iron furrow of sundering spears ; But always also a flower of three suns old, The small one thing that lying drew down my life To lie with thee and feed thee ; a child and weak, Mine, a delight to no man, sweet to me. Who then sought to thee ? who gat help ? who knew If thou wert goodly ? nay, no man at all. Or what sea saw thee, or sounded with thine oar, Child ? or what strange land shone with war through thee ? But fair for me thou wert, O little life, Fruitless, the fruit of mine own flesh, and blind, More than much gold, ungrown, a foolish flower. For silver nor bright snow nor feather of foam ATALANTA IN CALYDON Was whiter, and no gold yellower than thine hair, child, my child ; and now thou art lordlier grown, Not lovelier, nor a new thing - in mine eyes, 1 charge thee by thy soul and this my breast, Fear thou the gods and me and thine own heart, Lest all these turn against thee ; for who knows What wind upon what wave of altering time Shall speak a storm and blow calamity ? And there is nothing stabile in the world But the gods break it ; yet not less, fair son, If but one thing be stronger, if one endure, Surely the bitter and the rooted love That burns between us, going from me to thee, Shall more endure than all things. What dost thou, Following strange loves ? why wilt thou kill mine heart ? Lo, I talk wild and windy words, and fall From my clear wits, and seem of mine own self Dethroned, dispraised, disseated ; and my mind, That was my crown, breaks, and mine heart is gone, And I am naked of my soul, and stand Ashamed, as a mean woman ; take thou thought : Live if thou wilt, and if thou wilt not, look, . The gods have given thee life to lose or keep, Thou shalt not die as men die, but thine end Fallen upon thee shall break me unaware. MELEAGER Queen, my whole heart is molten with thy tears, And my limbs yearn with pity of thee, and love Compels with grief mine eyes and labouring breath ; For what thou art I know thee, and this thy breast And thy fair eyes I worship, and am bound Toward thee in spirit and love thee in all my soul. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 27$ For there is nothing- terribler to men Than the sweet face of mothers, and the might. But what shall be let be ; for us the day Once only lives a little, and is not found. Time and the fruitful hour are more than we, And these lay hold upon us ; but thou, God, Zeus, the sole steersman of the helm of things, Father, be swift to see us, and as thou wilt Help : or if adverse, as thou wilt, refrain. CHORUS We have seen thee, O Love, thou art fair ; thou art goodly, O Love ; Thy wings make light in the air as the wings of a dove. Thy feet are as winds that divide the stream of the sea ; Earth is thy covering to hide thee, the garment of thee. Thou art swift and subtle and blind as a flame of fire ; Before thee the laughter, behind thee the tears of desire ; And twain go forth beside thee, a man with a maid ; Her eyes are the eyes of a bride whom delight makes afraid ; As the breath in the buds that stir is her bridal breath* : But Fate is the name of her ; and his name is Death. For an evil blossom was born Of sea-foam and the frothing of blood, Blood-red and bitter of fruit, And the seed of it laughter and tears, ATALA.NTA IN CALYDON And the leaves of it madness and scorn ; A bitter flower from the bud, Sprung of the sea without root, Sprung- without graft from the years. The weft of the world was untorn That is woven of the day on the night, The hair of the hours was not white Nor the raiment of time overworn, When a wonder, a world's delight, A perilous goddess was born ; And the waves of the sea as she came Clove, and the foam at her feet, Fawning, rejoiced to bring forth A fleshly blossom, a flame Filling the heavens with heat To the cold white ends of the north, And in air the clamorous birds, And men upon earth that hear Sweet articulate words Sweetly divided apart, And in shallow and channel and mere The rapid and footless herds, Rejoiced, being foolish of heart. For all they said upon earth, She is fair, she is white like a dove, And the life of the world in her breath Breathes, and is born at her birth ; For they knew thee for mother of love, And knew thee not mother of death. ATALANTA IN CALYDON What hadst thou to do being- born, Mother, when winds were at ease, As a flower of the springtime of corn, A flower of the foam of the seas ? For bitter thou wast from thy birth, Aphrodite, a mother of strife ; For before thee some rest was on earth, A little respite from tears, A little pleasure of life ; For life was not then as thou art, But as one that waxeth in years Sweet-spoken, a fruitful wife ; Earth had no thorn, and desire No sting, neither death any dart ; What hadst thou to do amongst these, Thou, clothed with a burning fire, Thou, girt with sorrow of heart, Thou, sprung of the seed of the seas As an ear from a seed of corn, As a brand plucked forth of a pyre, As a ray shed forth of the morn, For division of soul and disease, For a dart and a sting and a thorn ? What ailed thee then to be born ? Was there not evil enough, Motherland anguish on earth Born with a man at his birth, Wastes underfoot, and above Storm out of heaven, and dearth Shaken down from the shining thereof, Wrecks from afar overseas And peril of shallow and firth, 276 ATALANTA IN CALYDON And tears that spring- and increase In the barren places of mirth, That thou, having- wings as a dove, Being girt with desire for a girth, That thou must come after these, That thou must lay on him love ? Thou shouldst not so have been born : But death should have risen with thee, Mother, and visible fear, Grief, and the wringing of hands, And noise of many that mourn ; The smitten bosom, the knee Bowed, and in each man's ear A cry as of perishing lands, A moan as of people in prison, A tumult of infinite griefs ; And thunder of storm on the sands, And wailing of wives on the shore ; And under thee newly arisen Loud shoals and shipwrecking reefs, Fierce air and violent light ; Sail rent and sundering oar, Darkness, and noises of night ; Clashing of streams in the sea, Wave against wave as a sword, Clamour of currents, and foam ; Rains making ruin on earth, Winds that wax ravenous and roam As wolves in a wolfish horde ; Fruits growing faint in the tree, And blind things dead in their birth ; Famine, and blighting of corn, 1 When thy time was come to be born. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 277 All these we know of ; but thee Who shall discern or declare ? In the uttermost ends of the sea The light of thine eyelids and hair, The light of thy bosom as fire Between the wheel of the sun And the flying flames of the air ? Wilt thou turn thee not yet nor have pity, But abide with despair and desire And the crying of armies undone, Lamentation of one with another And breaking of city by city ; The dividing of friend against friend, The severing of brother and brother ; Wilt thou utterly bring to an end ? Have mercy, mother ! For against all men from of old Thou hast set thine hand as a curse, And cast out gods from their places. These things are spoken of thee. Strong kings and goodly with gold Thou hast found out arrows to pierce, And made their kingdoms and races As dust and surf of the sea. All these, overburdened with woes And with length of their days waxen weak, -Thou slewest ; and sentest moreover Upon Tyro an evil thing, Rent hair and a fetter and blows Making bloody the flower of the cheek, Though she lay by a god as a lover, Though fair, and the seed of a king. 278 ATALANTA IN CALYDON For of old, being- full of thy fire, She endured not longer to wear On her bosom a saffron vest, On her shoulder an ashwood quiver ; Being mixed and made one through desire With Enipeus, and all her hair Made moist with his mouth, and her breast Filled full of the foam of the river. ATALANTA Sun, and clear light among green hills, and day Late risen and long sought after, and you just gods Whose hands divide anguish and recompense, But first the sun's white sister, a maid in heaven, On earth of all maids worshipped — hail, and hear, And witness with me if not without sign sent, Not without rule and reverence, I a maid Hallowed, and huntress holy as whom I serve, Here in your sight and eyeshot of these men Stand, girt as they toward hunting, and my shafts Drawn ; wherefore all ye stand up on my side, If I be pure and all ye righteous gods, Lest one revile me, a woman, yet no wife, That bear a spear for spindle, and this bow strung For a web woven ; and with pure lips salute Heaven, and the face of all the gods, and dawn Filling with maiden flames and maiden flowers The starless fold o' the stars, and making sweet The warm wan heights of the air, moon-trodden ways And breathless gates and extreme hills of heaven. Whom, having offered water and bloodless gifts, Flowers, and a golden circlet of pure hair, Next Artemis I bid be favourable And make this day all golden, hers and ours, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 279 Gracious and good and white to the unblamed end. But thou, O well-beloved, of all my days Bid it be fruitful, and a crown for all, To bring- forth leaves and bind round all my hair With perfect chaplets woven for thine of thee. For not without the word of thy chaste mouth, For not without law given and clean command, Across the white straits of the running sea From Elis even to the Acheloi'an horn, I with clear winds came hither and gentle gods, Far off my father's house, and left uncheered Iasius, artd uncheered the Arcadian hills And all their green-haired waters, and all woods Disconsolate, to hear no horn of mine Blown, and behold no flash of swift white feet. MELEAGER For thy name's sake and awe toward thy chaste head, O holiest Atalanta, no man dares Praise thee, though fairer than whom all men praise, And godlike for thy grace of hallowed hair And holy habit of thine eyes, and feet That make the blown foam neither swift nor white Though the wind winnow and whirl it ; yet we praise Gods, found because of thee adorable And for thy sake praiseworthiest from all men : Thee therefore we praise also, thee as these, Pure, and a light lit at the hands of gods. TOXEUS How long will ye whet spears with eloquence, Fight, and kill beasts dry-handed with sweet words ? Cease, or talk still and slay thy boars at home. 280 ATALANTA IN CALYDON PLEXIPPUS Why, if she ride among- us for a man, Sit thou for her and spin ; a man grown girl Is worth a woman weaponed ; sit thou here. MELEAGER Peace, and be wise ; no gods love idle speech. PLEXIPPUS Nor any man a man's mouth woman-tongued. MELEAGER For my lips bite not sharper than mine hands. PLEXIPPUS Nay, both bite soft, but no whit softly mine. MELEAGER Keep thine hands clean ; they have time enough to stain. PLEXIPPUS For thine shall rest and wax not red to-day. . MELEAGER Have all thy will of words ; talk out thine heart. Refrain your lips, O brethren, and my son, Lest words turn snakes and bite you uttering them. TOXEUS Except she give her blood before the gods, What profit shall a maid be among men ? ATALANTA IN CALYDON 281 PLEXIPPUS Let her come crowned and stretch her throat for a knife, Bleat out her spirit and die, and so shall men Through her too prosper and through prosperous gods, But nowise through her living ; shall she live A flower-bud of the flower-bed, or sweet fruit For kisses and the honey-making mouth, And play the shield for strong men and the spear ? Then shall the heifer and her mate lock horns, And the bride overbear the groom, and men Gods ; for no less division sunders these ; Since all things made are seasonable in time, But if one alter unseasonable are all. But thou, O Zeus, hear me that I may slay This beast before thee and no man halve with me Nor woman, lest these mock thee, though a god, Who hast made men strong, and thou being wise be held Foolish ; for wise is that thing which endures. ATALANTA Men, and the chosen of all this people, and thou, King, . I beseech you a little bear with me. For if my life be shameful that I'live, Let the gods witness and their wrath ; but these Cast no such word against me. Thou, O mine, O holy, O happy goddess, if I sin Changing the words of women and the works For spears and strange men's faces, hast not thou One shaft of all thy sudden seven that pierced Seven through the bosom or shining throat or side, 2 8 2 ATALANTA IN CALYDON All couched about one mother's loosening- knees, All holy born, engrafted of Tantalus ? But if toward any of you I am overbold That take thus much upon me, let him think How I, for all my forest holiness, Fame, and this armed and iron maidenhood, Pay thus much also ; I shall have no man's love For ever, and no face of children born Or feeding lips upon me or fastening eyes For ever, nor being dead shall kings my sons Mourn me and bury, and tears on daughters' cheeks Burn ; but a cold and sacred life, but strange, But far from dances and the back-blowing torch, Far off from flowers or any bed of man, Shall my life be for ever : me the snows That face the first o' the morning, and cold hills Full of the land-wind and sea-travelling storms And many a wandering wing of noisy nights That know the thunder and hear the thickening wolves — Me the utmost pine and footless frost of woods That talk with many winds and gods, the hours Re-risen, and white divisions of the dawn, Springs thousand-tongued with the intermitting reed And streams that murmur of the mother snow — Me these allure, and know me ; but no man Knows, and my goddess only. Lo now, see If one of all you these things vex at all. Would God that any of you had all the praise And I no manner of memory when I die, So might I show before her perfect eyes Pure, whom I follow, a maiden to my death. But for the rest let all have all they will ; For is it a grief to you that I have part, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 283 Being- woman merely, in your male might and deeds Done by main strength ? yet in my body is throned As great a heart, and in my spirit, O men, I have not less of godlike. Evil it were That one a coward should mix with you, one hand Fearful, one eye abase itself ; and these Well might ye hate and well revile, not me. For not the difference of the several flesh Being vile or noble or beautiful or base Makes praiseworthy, but purer spirit and heart Higher than these meaner mouths and limbs, that feed, Rise, rest, and are and are not ; and for me, What should 1 say ? but by the gods of the world And this my maiden body, by all oaths That bind the tongue of men and the evil will, I am not mighty-minded, nor desire Crowns, nor the spoil of slain things nor the fame ; Feed ye on these, eat and wax fat ; cry out, Laugh, having eaten, and leap without a lyre, Sing, mix the wind with clamour, smite and shake Sonorous timbrels and tumultuous hair, And fill the dance up with tempestuous feet, For I will none ; but having prayed my prayers And made thank-offering for prosperities, I shall go hence and no man see me more. What thing is this for you to shout me down, What, for a' man to grudge me this my life As it were envious of all yours, and I A. thief of reputations ? nay, for now, If there be any highest in heaven, a god Above all thrones and thunders of the gods Throned, and the wheel of the world roll under him, Judge he between me and all of you, and see 284 ATALANTA IN CALYDON If I transgress at all : but ye, refrain Transgressing - hands and reinless mouths, and keep Silence, lest by much foam of violent words And proper poison of your lips ye die. CENEUS O flower of Tegea, maiden, fleetest foot And holiest head of women, have good cheer Of thy good words : but ye, depart with her In peace and reverence, each with blameless eye Following his fate ; exalt your hands and hearts, Strike, cease not, arrow on arrow and wound on wound, And go with gods and with the gods return. CHORUS Who hath given man speech ? or who hath set therein A thorn for peril and a snare for sin ? For in the word his life is and his breath, And in the word his death, That madness and the infatuate heart may breed From the word's womb the deed And life bring one thing forth ere all pass by, Even one thing which is ours yet cannot die — Death. Hast thou seen him ever anywhere, Time's twin-born brother, imperishable as he Is perishable and plaintive, clothed with care And mutable as sand, But death is strong and full of blood and fair And perdurable and like a lord of land ? Nay, time thou seest not, death thou wilt not see Till life's right hand be loosened from thine hand And thy life-days from thee. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 2 For the gods very subtly fashion Madness with sadness upon earth : Not knowing - in any wise compassion, Nor holding - pity of any worth ; And many things they have given and taken, And wrought and ruined many things ; The firm land have they loosed and shaken, And sealed the sea with all her springs ; They have wearied time with heavy burdens And vexed the lips of life with breath : Set men to labour and given them guerdons, Death, and great darkness after death : Put moans into the bridal measure And on the bridal wools a stain ; And circled pain about with pleasure, And girdled pleasure about with pain ; And strewed one marriage-bed with tears and fire For extreme loathing and supreme desire. What shall be done with all these tears of ours ? Shall they make watersprings in the fair heaven To bathe the brows of morning ? or like flowers Be shed and shine before the starriest hours, Or made the raiment of the weeping Seven ? Or rather, O our masters, shall they be Food for the famine of the grievous sea, A great well-head of lamentation Satiating the sad gods ? or fall and flow Among the years and seasons to and fro, And wash their feet with tribulation And fill them full with grieving ere they go ? Alas, our lords, and yet alas again, Seeing all your iron heaven is gilt as gold But all we smite thereat in vain ; 286 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Smite the gates barred with groanings manifold, But all the floors are paven with our pain. Yea, and with weariness of lips and eyes, With breaking of the bosom, and with sighs, We labour, and are clad and fed with grief And filled with days we would not fain behold And nights we would not hear of ; we wax old, All we wax old and wither like a leaf. We are outcast, strayed between bright sun and moon ; Our light and darkness are as leaves of flowers, Black flowers and white, that perish ; and the noon As midnight, and the night as daylight hours. A little fruit a little while is ours, And the worm finds it soon. But up in heaven the high gods one by one Lay hands upon the draught that quickeneth, Fulfilled with all tears shed and all things done,> And stir with soft imperishable breath The bubbling bitterness of life and death, And hold it to our lips and laugh ; but they Preserve their lips from tasting night or day-, Lest they too change and sleep, the fates that spun, The lips that made us and the hands that slay ; Lest all these change, and heaven bow down to none, Change and be subject to the secular sway And terrene revolution of the sun. Therefore they thrust it from them, putting time away. I would the wine of time, made sharp and sweet With multitudinous days and nights and tears And many mixing savours of strange years, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 287 Were no more trodden of them under feet, Cast out and spilt about their holy places : That life were given them as a fruit to eat And death to drink as water ; that the light Might ebb, drawn backward from their eyes, and night Hide for one hour the imperishable faces. That they might rise up sad in heaven, and know Sorrow and sleep, one paler than young snow, One cold as blight of dew and ruinous rain ; Rise up and rest and suffer a little, and be Awhile as all things born with us and we, And grieve as men, and like slain men be slain. For now we know not of them ; but one saith The gods are gracious, praising God ; and one. When hast thou seen ? or hast thou felt his breath Touch, nor consume thine eyelids as the sun, Nor fill thee to the lips with fiery death ? None hath beheld him, none Seen above other gods and shapes of things, Swift without feet and flying without wings, Intolerable, not clad with death or life, Insatiable, not known of night or day, The lord of love and loathing and of strife Who gives a star and takes a sun away ; Who shapes the soul, and makes her a barren wife To the earthly body and grievous growth of clay ; Who turns .the large limbs to a little flame And binds the great sea with a little sand ; VVho makes desire, and slays desire with shame ; Who shakes the heaven as ashes in his hand ; Who, seeing the light and shadow for the same, Bids day waste night as fire devours a brand, Smites without sword, and scourges without rod •, The supreme evil, God. 288 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Yea, with thine hate, O God, thou hast covered us, One saith, and hidden our eyes away from sight, And made us transitory and hazardous, Light things and slight ; Yet have men praised thee, saying, He hath made man thus, And he doeth right. Thou hast kissed us, and hast smitten ; thou hast laid Upon us with thy left hand life, and said, Live : and again thou hast said, Yield up your breath, And with thy right hand laid upon us death. Thou hast sent us sleep, and stricken sleep with dreams, Saying, Joy is not, but love of joy shall be ; Thou hast made sweet springs for all the pleasant streams, In the end thou hast made them bitter with the sea. Thou hast fed one rose with dust of many men ; Thou hast marred one face with fire of many tears ; Thou hast taken love, and given us sorrow again ; With pain thou hast filled us full to the eyes and ears. Therefore because thou art strong, our father, and we Feeble ; and thou art against us, and thine hand Constrains us in the shallows of the sea And breaks us at the limits of the land ; Because thou hast bent thy lightnings as a bow, And loosed the hours like arrows ; and let fall Sins and wild words and many a winged woe And wars among us, and one end of all ; ATALANTA IN CALYDON 289 Because thou hast made the thunder, and thy feet Are as a rushing - water when the skies Break, but thy face as an exceeding - heat And flames of fire the eyelids of thine eyes ; Because thou art over all who are over us ; Because thy name is life and our name death ; Because thou art cruel and men are piteous, And our hands labour and thine hand scattereth ; Lo, with hearts rent and knees made tremulous, Lo, with ephemeral lips and casual breath, At least we witness of thee ere we die That these things are not otherwise, but thus ; That each man in his heart sigheth, and saith, That all men even as I, All we are against thee, against thee, O God most high. But ye, keep ye on earth Your lips from over-speech, Loud words and longing are so little worth ; And the end is hard to reach. For silence after grievous things is good, And reverence, and the fear that makes men whole, And shame, and righteous governance of blood, And lordship of the soul. But from sharp words and wits men pluck no fruit, And gathering thorns they shake the tree at root ; For words divide and rend ; But silence is most noble till the end. ALTH^A I heard within the house a cry of news And came forth eastward hither, where the dawn Cheers first these warder gods that face the sun VOL. II. k ATALANTA IN CALYDON And next our eyes unrisen ; for unaware Came clashes of swift hoofs and trampling- feet And through the windy pillared corridor Light sharper than the frequent flames of day That daily fill it from the fiery dawn ; Gleams, and a thunder of people that cried out, And dust and hurrying horsemen ; lo their chief, That rode with (Eneus rein by rein, returned. What cheer, O herald of my lord the king ? HERALD Lady, good cheer and great ; the boar is slain. CHORUS Praised be all gcds that look toward Calydon. ALTHAEA Good news and brief; but by whose happier hand? HERALD A maiden's and a prophet's and thy son's. ALTH^SA Well fare the spear that severed him and life. HERALD Thine own, and not an alien, hast thou blest. ALTHAEA Twice be thou too for my sake blest and his. HERALD At the king's word I rode afoam for thine. ALTHAEA Thou sayest he tarrieth till they bring the spoil ? ATALANTA IN CALYDON 291 HERALD Hard by the quarry, where they breathe, O queen. ALTHAEA Speak thou their chance ; but some bring- flowers and crown These gods and all the lintel, and shed wine, Fetch sacrifice and slay ; for heaven is good. HERALD Some furlongs northward where the brakes begin West of that narrowing range of warrior hills Whose brooks have bled with battle when thy son Smote Acarnania, there all they made halt, And with keen eye took note of spear and hound, Royally ranked ; Laertes island-born, The young Gerenian Nestor, Panopeus, And Cepheus and Ancseus, mightiest thewed, Arcadians ; next, and evil-eyed of these, Arcadian Atalanta, with twain hounds Lengthening the leash, and under nose and brow Glittering with lipless tooth and fire-swift eye ; But from her white braced shoulder the plumed shafts Rang, and the bow shone from her side ; next her Meleager, like a sun in spring that strikes Branch into leaf and bloom into the world, A glory among men meaner ; Iphicles, And following him that slew the biform bull Pirithous, and divine Eurytion, And, bride-bound to the gods, ^acides. Then Telamon his brother, and Argive-born The seer and sayer of visions and of truth, Amphiaraus ; and a four-fold strength, ATALANTA IN CALYDON Thine, even thy mother's and thy sister's sons. And recent from the roar of foreign foam Jason, and D^as twin-begot with war, A blossom of bright battle, sword and man Shining ; and Idas, and the keenest eye Of Lynceus, and Admetus twice-espoused, And Hippasus and Hyleus, great in heart. These having halted bade blow horns, and rode Through woods and waste lands cleft by stormy streams, Past yew-trees and the heavy hair of pines, And where the dew is thickest under oaks, This way and that ; but questing up and down They saw no trail nor scented ; and one said, Plexippus, Help, or help not, Artemis, And we will flay thy boarskin with male hands ; But saying, he ceased and said not that he would, Seeing where the green ooze of a sun-struck marsh Shook with a thousand reeds untunable, And in their moist and multitudinous flower Slept no soft sleep, with violent visions fed, The blind bulk of the immeasurable beast. And seeing, he shuddered with sharp lust of praise Through all his limbs, and launched a double dart. And missed ; for much desire divided him, Too hot of spirit and feebler than his will, That his hand failed, though fervent ; and the shaft, Sundering the rushes, in a tamarisk stem Shook, and stuck fast ; then all abode save one, The Arcadian Atalanta ; from her side Sprang her hounds, labouring at the leash, and slipped, And plashed ear-deep with plunging feet ; but she Saying, Speed it as I send it for thy sake, ATALANTA IN CALYDON Goddess, drew bow and loosed ; the sudden string- Rang", and sprang inward, and the waterish air Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more. But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime His tense flank trembling round the barbed wound, Hateful ; and fiery with invasive eyes And bristling- with intolerable hair Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white Reddened and broke all round them where they came. And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote Hyleus ; and sharp death caught his sudden soul, And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes. Then Peleus, with strong strain of hand and heart, Shot ; but the sidelong arrow slid, and slew His comrade born and loving countryman, Under the left arm smitten, as he no less Poised a like arrow ; and bright blood brake afoam, And falling, and weighed back by clamorous arms, Sharp rang the dead limbs of Eurytion. Then one shot happier, the Cadmean seer, Amphiaraus ; for his sacred shaft Pierced the red circlet of one ravening eye Beneath the brute brows of the sanguine boar, Now bloodier from one slain ; but he so galled Sprang- straight, and rearing cried no lesser cry Than thunder and the roar of wintering streams That mix their own foam with the yellower sea ; And as a tower that falls by fire in fight With ruin of walls and all its archery, And breaks the iron flower of war beneath, Crushing charred limbs and molten arms of men ; ATALANTA IN CALYDON So through crushed branches and the reddening brake Clamoured and crashed the fervour of his feet, And trampled, springing- sideways from the tusk, Too tardy a moving mould of heavy strength, Anca?us ; and as flakes of weak-winged snow Break, all the hard thews of his heaving limbs Broke, and rent flesh fell every way, and blood Flew, and fierce fragments of no more a man. Then all the heroes drew sharp breath, and gazed, And smote not ; but Meleager, but thy son, Right in the wild way of the coming curse Rock-rooted, fair with fierce and fastened lips, Clear eyes, and springing muscle and shortening limb — With chin aslant indrawn to a tightening throat, Grave, and with gathered sinews, like a god, — - Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote, And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone, Deep in ; and deeply smitten, and to death, The heavy horror with his hanging- shafts Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life. And all they praised the gods with mightier heart, Zeus and all gods, but chiefliest Artemis, Seeing ; but Meleager bade whet knives and flay, Strip and stretch out the splendour of the spoil ; And hot and horrid from the work all these Sat, and drew breath and drank and made great cheer ATALANTA IN CALYDON And washed the hard sweat off their calmer brows. For much sweet grass grew higher than grew the reed, And good for slumber, and every holier herb, Narcissus, and the low-lying melilote, And all of goodliest blade and bloom that springs Where, hid by heavier hyacinth, violet buds Blossom and burn ; and fire of yellower flowers And light of crescent lilies, and such leaves As fear the Faun's and know the Dryad's foot ; Olive and ivy and poplar dedicate, And many a well-spring overwatched of these. There now they rest ; but me the king bade bear Good tidings to rejoice this town and thee. Wherefore be glad, and all ye give much thanks, For fallen is all the trouble of Calydon. ALTH^A Laud ye the gods ; for this they have given is good, And what shall be they hide until their time. Much good and somewhat grievous hast thou said, And either well ; but let all sad things be, Till all have made before the prosperous gods Burnt-offering, and poured out the floral wine. Look fair, O gods, and favourable ; for we Praise you with no false heart or flattering mouth, Being merciful, but with pure souls and prayer. HERALD Thou hast prayed well ; for whoso fears not these, But once being prosperous waxes huge of heart, Him shall some new thing unaware destro3\ ATALANTA IN CALYDON CHORUS O that I now, I too were By deep wells and water-floods, Streams of ancient hills, and where All the wan green places bear Blossoms cleaving to the sod, Fruitless fruit, and grasses fair, Or such darkest ivy-buds As divide thy yellow hair, Bacchus, and their leaves that nod Round thy fawnskin brush the bare Snow-soft shoulders of a god ; There the year is sweet, and there Earth is full of secret springs, And the fervent rose-cheeked hours, Those that marry dawn and noon, There are sunless, there look pale In dim leaves and hidden air, Pale as grass or latter flowers Or the wild vine's wan wet rings Full of dew beneath the moon, And all day the nightingale Sleeps, and all night sings ; There in cold remote recesses That nor alien eyes assail, Feet, nor imminence of wings, Nor a wind nor any tune, Thou, O queen and holiest, Flower the whitest of all things, With reluctant lengthening tresses And with sudden splendid breast Save of maidens unbeholden, There art wont to enter, there ATALANTA IN CALYDON Thy divine swift limbs and golden Maiden growth of unbound hair, Bathed in waters white, Shine, and many a maid's by thee In moist woodland or the hilly Flowerless brakes where wells abound Out of all men's sight ; Or in lower pools that see All their marges clothed all round With the innumerable lily, Whence the golden-girdled bee Flits through flowering rush to fret White or duskier violet, Fair as those that in far years With their buds left luminous And their little leaves made wet, From the warmer dew of tears, Mother's tears in extreme need, Hid the limbs of Iamus, Of thy brother's seed ; For his heart was piteous Toward him, even as thine heart now Pitiful toward us ; Thine, O goddess, turning hither A benignant blameless brow ; Seeing enough of evil done And lives withered as leaves wither In the blasting of the sun ; Seeing enough of hunters dead, Ruin enough of all our year, Herds and harvests slain and shed, Herdsmen stricken many an one, Fruits and flocks consumed together, And great length of deadly days. 298 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Yet with reverent lips and fear- Turn we toward thee, turn and praise For this lightening of clear weather And prosperities begun. For not seldom, when all air As bright water without breath Shines, and when men fear not, fate Without thunder unaware Breaks, and brings down death. Joy with grief ye great gods give, Good with bad, and overbear All the pride of us that live, All the high estate, As ye long since overbore, As in old time long before, Many a strong man and a great, All that were. But do thou, sweet, otherwise, Having heed of all our prayer, Taking note of all our sighs ; We beseech thee by thy light, By thy bow, and thy sweet eyes, And the kingdom of the night, Be thou favourable and fair ; By thine arrows and thy might And Orion overthrown ; By the maiden thy delight, By the indissoluble zone And the sacred hair. MESSENGER Maidens, if ye will sing now, shift your song, Bow down, cry, wail for pity ; is this a time For singing ? nay, for strewing of dust and ash, Rent raiment, and for bruising of the breast. ATALANTA IN CALYDON CHORUS What new thing - wolf-like lurks behind thy words ? What snake's tongue in thy lips ? what fire in the eyes ? MESSENGER Bring me before the queen and I will speak. CHORUS Lo, she comes forth as from thank-offering made. MESSENGER A barren offering for a bitter gift. ALTHAEA What are these borne on branches, and the face Covered ? no mean men living, but now slain Such honour have they, if any dwell with death. MESSENGER Queen, thy twain brethren and thy mother's sons. ALTHiEA Lay down your dead till I behold their blood If it be mine indeed, and I will weep. MESSENGER Weep if thou .wilt, for these men shall no more. ALTH^A O brethren, O my father's sons, of me Well loved and well reputed, I should weep Tears dearer than the dear blood drawn from you But that I know you not uncomforted, Sleeping no shameful sleep, however slain, For my son surely hath avenged you dead. 300 ATALANTA IN CALYDON MESSENGER Nay, should thine own seed slay himself, O queen ? ALTHAEA Thy double word brings forth a double death. MESSENGER Know this then singly, by one hand they fell. ALTHAEA What mutterest thou with thine ambiguous mouth ? MESSENGER Slain by thy son's hand ; is that saying so hard ? ALTHAEA Our time is come upon us : it is here. CHORUS O miserable, and spoiled at thine own hand. ALTHAEA Wert thou not called Meleager from this womb ? CHORUS A. grievous huntsman hath it bred to thee. ALTHAEA Wert thou born fire, and shalt thou not devour ? CHORUS The fire thou madest, will it consume even thee ? ALTHAEA My dreams are fallen upon me ; burn thou too. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 301 CHORUS Not without God are visions born and die. ALTHAEA The gods are many about me ; I am one. CHORUS She groans as men wrestling with heavier gods. ALTHAEA They rend me, they divide me, they destroy. CHORUS Or one labouring in travail of strange births. ALTHAEA They are strong, they are strong ; I am broken, and these prevail. CHORUS The god is great against her ; she will die. ALTH.EA Yea, but not now ; for my heart too is great. I would I were not here in sight of the sun. But thou, speak all thou sawest, and I will die. MESSENGER O queen, for queenlike hast thou borne thyself, A little word may hold so great mischance. For in division of the sanguine spoil These men thy brethren wrangling bade yield up The boar's head and the horror of the hide That this might stand a wonder in Calydon, ATALANTA IN CALYDON Hallowed ; and some drew toward them ; but thy son With great hands grasping- all that weight of hair Cast down the dead heap clanging and collapsed At female feet, saying This thy spoil not mine, Maiden, thine own hand for thyself hath reaped, And all this praise God gives thee : she thereat Laughed, as when dawn touches the sacred night The sky sees laugh and redden and divide Dim lips and eyelids virgin of the sun, Hers, and the warm slow breasts of morning heave, Fruitful, and flushed with flame from lamp-lit hours, And maiden undulation of clear hair Colour the clouds ; so laughed she from pure heart, Lit with a low blush to the braided hair, And rose-coloured and cold like very dawn, Golden and godlike, chastely with chaste lips, A faint grave laugh ; and all they held their peace, And she passed by them. Then one cried Lo now, Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us, Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl ? And all they rode against her violently And cast the fresh crown from her hair, and now They had rent her spoil away, dishonouring her, Save that Meleager, as a tame lion chafed, Bore on them, broke them, and as fire cleaves wood So clove and drove them, smitten in twain ; but she Smote not nor heaved up hand ; and this man first, Plexippus, crying out This for love's sake, sweet, Drove at Meleager, who with spear straightening Pierced his cheek through ; then Toxeus made for him, Dumb, but his spear spake ; vain and violent words. Fruitless ; for him too stricken through both sides The earth felt falling, and his horse's foam ATALANTA IN CALYDON 303 Blanched thy son's face, his slayer ; and these being slain, None moved nor spake ; but CEneus bade bear hence These made of heaven infatuate in their deaths, Foolish ; for these would baffle fate, and fell. And they passed on, and all men honoured her, Being- honourable, as one revered of heaven. ALTHAEA What say you, women ? is all this not well done ? CHORUS No man doth well but God hath part in him. ALTHAEA But no part here ; for these my brethren born Ye have no part in, these ye know not of As I that was their sister, a sacrifice Slain in their slaying-. I would I had died for these ; For this man dead walked with me, child by child, And made a weak staff for my feebler feet With his own tender wrist and hand, and held And led me softly and shewed me gold and steel And shining shapes of mirror and bright crown And all things fair ; and threw light spears, and brought Young hounds to huddle at my feet and thrust Tame heads against my little maiden breasts And please me wi;h great eyes ; and those days went And these are bitter and I a barren queen And sister miserable, a grievous thing And mother of many curses ; and she too, My sister Leda, sitting overseas With fair fruits round her, and her faultless lord, 304 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Shall eurse me, saying - A sorrow and not a son, Sister, thou barest, even a burning- fire, A brand consuming thine own soul and me. But ye now, sons of Thestius, make good cheer, For ye shall have such wood to funeral fire As no king hath ; and flame that once burnt down Oil shall not quicken or breath relume or wine Refresh again ; much costlier than fine gold, And more than many lives of wandering men. CHORUS queen, thou hast yet with thee love-worthy things, Thine husband, and the great strength of thy son. ALTHAEA Who shall get brothers for me while I live ? Who bear them ? who bring forth in lieu of these ? Are not our fathers and our brethren one, And no man like them ? are not mine here slain ? Have we not hung together, he and I, Flowerwise feeding as the feeding bees, With mother-milk for honey ? and this man too, Dead, with my son's spear thrust between his sides, Hath he not seen us, later born than he, Laugh with lips filled, and laughed again for love ? There were no sons then in the world, nor spears, Nor deadly births of women ; but the gods Allowed us, and our days were clear of these. 1 would I had died unwedded, and brought forth No swords to vex the world ; for these that spake Sweet words long since and loved me will not speak Nor love nor look upon me ; and all my life I shall not hear nor see them living men. But I too living, how shall I now live ? ATALANTA IN CALYDON What life shall this be with my son, to know What hath been and desire what will not be, Look for dead eyes and listen for dead lips, And kill mine own heart with remembering - them, And with those eyes that see their slayer alive Weep, and wring- hands that clasp him by the hand ? How shall I bear my dreams of them, to hear False voices, feel the kisses of false mouths And footless sound of perished feet, and then Wake and hear only it may be their own hounds Whine masterless in miserable sleep, And see their boar-spears and their beds and seats And all the gear and housings of their lives And not the men ? shall hounds and horses mourn, Pine with strange eyes, and prick up hungry ears, Famish and fail at heart for their dear lords, And I not heed at all ? and those blind things Fall off from life for love's sake, and I live ? Surely some death is better than some life, Better one death for him and these and me For if the gods had slain them it may be I had endured it ; if they had fallen by war Or by the nets and knives of privy death And by hired hands while sleeping, this thing too I had set my soul to suffer ; or this hunt, Had this despatched them, under tusk or tooth Torn, sanguine, trodden, broken ; for all deaths Or honourable or with facile feet avenged And hands of swift gods following, all save this, Are bearable ; but not for their sweet land Fighting, but not a sacrifice, lo these Dead ; for I had not then shed all mine heart Out at mine eyes : then either with good speed, Being just, I had slain their slayer atoningly, ATALANTA IN CALYDON Or strewn with flowers their fire and on their tombs Hung- crowns, and over them a song - , and seen Their praise outflame their ashes : for all men, All maidens, had come thither, and from pure lips Shed songs upon them, from heroic eyes Tears ; and their death had been a deathless life ; But now, by no man hired nor alien sword, By their own kindred are they fallen, in peace, After much peril, friendless among friends, By hateful hands they loved ; and how shall mine Touch these returning red and not from war, These fatal from the vintage of men's veins, Dead men my brethren ? how shall these wash oif No festal stains of undelightful wine, How mix the blood, my blood on them, with me, Holding mine hand ? or how shall I say, son, That am no sister ? but by night and day Shall we not sit and hate each other, and think Things hate-worthy ? not live with shamefast eyes, Brow-beaten, treading 1 soft with fearful feet, • Each unupbraided, each without rebuke • Convicted, and without a word reviled Each of another ? and I shall let thee live And see thee strong and hear men for thy sake Praise me, but these thou wouldest not let live No man shall praise for ever ? these shall lie Dead, unbeloved, unholpen, all through thee ? Sweet were they toward me living, and mine heart Desired them, but was then well satisfied, That now is as men hungered ; and these dead I shall want always to the day I die. For all things else and all men may renew ; Yea, son for son the gods may give and take, But never a brother or sister any more. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 307 CHORUS Nay, for the son lies close about thine heart, Full of thy milk, warm from thy womb, and drains Life and the blood of life and all thy fruit, Eats thee and drinks thee as who breaks bread and eats, Treads wine and drinks, thyself, a sect of thee ; And if he feed not, shall not thy flesh faint ? Or drink not, are not thy lips dead for thirst ? This thing- moves more than all things, even thy son, That thou cleave to him ; and he shall honour thee, Thy womb that bare him and the breasts he knew, Reverencing most for thy sake all his gods. ALTH^A But these the gods too gave me, and these my son, Not reverencing his gods nor mine own heart Nor the old sweet years nor all venerable things, But cruel, and in his ravin like a beast, Hath taken away to slay them : yea, and she She the strange woman, she the flower, the sword, Red from, spilt blood, a mortal flower to men, Adorable, detestable — even she Saw with strange eyes and with strange lips rejoiced, Seeing these mine own slain of mine own, and me Made miserable above all miseries made, A grief among all women in the world, A name to be washed out with all men's tears. CHORUS Strengthen thy spirit ; is this not also a god, Chance, and the wheel of all necessities ? Hard things have fallen upon us from harsh gods, Whom lest worse hap rebuke we not for these. 3 o8 ATALANTA IN CALYDON ALTHAEA My spirit is strong- against itself, and I For these things' sake cry out on mine own soul That it endures outrage, and dolorous days, And life, and this inexpiable impotence. Weak am I, weak and shameful ; my breath drawn Shames me, and monstrous things and violent gods. What shall atone ? what heal me ? what bring back Strength to the foot, light to the face ? what herb Assuage me ? what restore me ? what release ? What strange thing eaten or drunken, O great gods, Make me as you or as the beasts that feed, Slay and divide and cherish their own hearts ? For these ye show us ; and' we less than these Have not wherewith to live as all these things Which all their lives fare after their own kind As who doth well rejoicing ; but we ill, Weeping or laughing, we whom eyesight fails, Knowledge and light of face and perfect heart, And hands we lack, and wit ; and all our days Sin, and have hunger, and die infatuated. For madness have ye given us and not health, And sins whereof we know not ; and for these Death, and sudden destruction unaware. What shall we say now ? what thing comes of us ? CHORUS Alas, for all this all men undergo. ALTHAEA Wherefore I will not that these twain, O gods, Die as a dog dies, eaten of creeping things, Abominable, a loathing ; but though dead Shall they have honour and such funereal flame ATALANTA IN CALYDON As strews men's ashes in their enemies' face And blinds their eyes who hate them : lest men say, " Lo how they lie, and living- had great kin, And none of these hath pity of them, and none Regards them lying, and none is wrung at heart, None moved in spirit for them, naked and slain, Abhorred, abased, and no tears comfort them : " And in the dark this grieve Eurythemis, Hearing how these her sons come down to her Unburied, unavenged, as kinless men, And had a queen their sister. That were shame Worse than this grief. Yet how to atone at all I know not ; seeing the love of my born son, A new-made mother's new-born love, that grows From the soft child to the strong man, now soft Now strong as either, and still one sole same love, Strives with me, no light thing to strive withal ; This love is deep, and natural to man's blood, And ineffaceable with many tears. Yet shall not these rebuke me though I die, Nor she in that waste world with all her dead, My mother, among the pale flocks fallen as leaves, Folds of dead people, and alien from the sun ; Nor lack some bitter comfort, some poor praise, Being queen, to have borne her daughter like a queen, Righteous ; and though mine own fire burn me too, She shall have honour and these her sons, though dead. But all the gods will, all they do, and we Not all we would, yet somewhat ; and one choice We have, to live and do just deeds and die. CHORUS Terrible words she communes with, and turns Swift fiery eyes in doubt against herself, And murmurs as who talks in dreams with death. 310 ATALANTA IN CALYDON ALTHAEA ' For the unjust also dieth, and him all men Hate, and himself abhors the unrighteousness, And seeth his own dishonour intolerable. But I being- just, doing- right upon myself, Slay mine own soul, and no man born shames me. For none constrains nor shall rebuke, being done, What none compelled me doing ; thus these things fare. Ah, ah, that such things should so fare ; ah me, That I am found to do them and endure, Chosen and constrained to choose, and bear myself Mine own wound through mine own flesh to the heart Violently stricken, a spoiler and a spoil, A ruin ruinous, fallen on mine own son. Ah, ah, for me too as for these ; alas, For that is done that shall be, and mine hand Full of the deed, and full of blood mine eyes, That shall see never nor touch anything Save blood unstanched and fire unquenchable. CHORUS What wilt thou do ? what ails thee ? for the house Shakes ruinously ; wilt thou bring fire for it ? ALTH/EA Fire in the roofs, and on the lintels fire. Lo ye, who stand and weave, between the doors, There ; and blood drips from hand and thread, and stains Threshold and raiment and me passing in Flecked with the sudden sanguine drops of death. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 311 CHORUS Alas that time is stronger than strong men, Fate than all gods : and these are fallen on us. ALTHiEA A little since and I was glad ; and now I never shall be glad or sad again. CHORUS Between two joys a grief grows unaware. ALTHJEA A little while and I shall laugh ; and then I shall weep never and laugh not any more. CHORUS What shall be said? for words are thorns to grief. Withhold thyself a little and fear the gods. ALTH^A Fear died when these were slain ; and I am as dead. And fear is of the living ; these fear none. CHORUS Have pity upon all people for their sake. ALTH^A It is done now ; shall I put back my day ? CHORUS An end is come, an end ; this is of God, ALTHAEA I am fire, and burn myself ; keep clear of fire, ATALANTA IN CALYDON CHORUS The house is broken, is broken ; it shall not stand. ALTHAEA Woe, woe for him that breaketh ; and a rod Smote it of old, and now the axe is here. CHORUS Not as with sundering- of the earth Nor as with cleaving of the sea Nor fierce foreshadowing^ of a birth Nor flying dreams of death to be Nor loosening of the large world's girth And quickening of the body of night, And sound of thunder in men's ears And fire of lightning in men's sight, Fate, mother of desires and fears, Bore unto men the law of tears ; But sudden, an unfathered flame, And broken out of night, she shone, She, without body, without name, In days forgotten and foregone ; And heaven rang round her as she came Like smitten cymbals, and lay bare ; Clouds and great stars, thunders and snows, The blue sad fields and folds of air, The life that breathes, the life that grows, All wind, all fire, that burns or blows, Even all these knew her : for she is great ; The daughter of doom, the mother of death, The sister of sorrow ; a lifelong weight That no man's finger lighteneth, Nor any god can lighten fate ; ATALANTA IN CALYDON 313 A landmark seen across the way Where one race treads as the other trod ; An evil sceptre, an evil stay, Wrought for a staff, wrought for a rod, The bitter jealousy of God. For death is deep as the sea, And fate as the waves thereof. Shall the waves take pity on thee Or the southwind offer thee love ? Wilt thou take the night for thy day Or the darkness for light on thy way, Till thou say in thine heart Enough ? Behold, thou art over fair, thou art over wise ; The sweetness of spring in thine hair, and the light in thine eyes. The light of the spring in thine eyes, and the sound in thine ears ; Yet thine heart shall wax heavy with sighs and thine eyelids with tears.- Wilt thou cover thine hair with gold, and with silver thy feet ? Hast thou taken the purple to fold thee, and made thy mouth sweet ? Behold, when thy face is made bare, he that loved thee shall hate ; Thy face shall be no more fair at the fall of thy fate. For thy life shall fall as a leaf and be shed as the rain ; And the veil of thine head shall be grief ; and the crown shall be pain. ALTHAEA Ho, ye that wail, and ye that sing, make way Till I be cpme among you. Hide your tears, ATALANTA IN CALYDON Ye little weepers, and your laughing- lips, Ye laughers for a little ; lo mine eyes That outweep heaven at rainiest, and my mouth That laughs as gods laugh at us. Fate's are we, Yet fate is ours a breathing-space ; yea, mine, Fate is made mine for ever ; he is my son, My bedfellow, my brother. You strong gods, Give place unto me ; I am as any of you, To give life and to take life. Thou, old earth, That hast made man and unmade ; thou whose mouth Looks red from the eaten fruits of thine own womb ; Behold me with what lips upon what food I feed and fill my body ; even with flesh Made of my body. Lo, the fire I lit I burn with fire to quench it ; yea, with flame I burn up even the dust and ash thereof. CHORUS Woman, what fire is this thou burnest with ? ALTHAEA Yea to the bone, yea to the blood and all. CHORUS For this thy face and hair are as one fire. ALTHAEA A tongue that licks and beats upon the dust. CHORUS And in thine eyes are hollow light and heat. ALTH-^EA Of flame not fed with hand or frankincense. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 3*5 CHORUS I fear thee for the trembling of thine eyes, ALTHAEA Neither with love they tremble nor for fear. CHORUS And thy mouth shuddering- like a shot bird. ALTHJEA Not as the bride's mouth when man kisses it. CHORUS Nay, but what thing- is this thing thou hast done ? ALTHAEA Look, I am silent, speak your eyes for me. CHORUS I see a faint fire lightening from the hall. ALTH^A Gaze, stretch your eyes, strain till the lids drop off. CHORUS Flushed pillars down the flickering vestibule. ALTILEA Stretch with your necks like birds : cry, chirp as they. CHORUS And a long brand that blackens : and white dust. 3 i6 ATALANTA IN CALYDON ALTHAEA O children, what is this ye see ? your eyes Are blinder than night's face at fall of moon. That is my son, my flesh, my fruit of life,. My travail, and the year's weight of my womb. Meleager, a lire enkindled of mine hands And of mine hands extinguished ; this is he. CHORUS gods, what word has flown out at thy mouth ? A LTH^EA 1 did this and I say this and I die. CHORUS Death stands upon the doorway of thy lips, And in thy mouth has death set up his house. ALTHAEA O death, a little, a little while', sweet death, Until I see the brand burnt down and die. She reels as any reed under the wind, And cleaves unto the ground with staggering feet. Girls, one thing will I say and hold my peace. I that did this will weep not nor cry out, Cry ye and weep : I will not call on gods, Call ye on them ; I will not pity man, Shew ye your pity. I know not if I live ; Save that I feel the fire upon my face And on my cheek the burning of a brand. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 317 Yea the smoke bites me, yea I drink the steam With nostril and with eyelid and with lip Insatiate and intolerant ; and mine hands Burn, and fire feeds upon mine eyes ; I reel As one made drunk with living - , whence he draws Drunken delight ; yet I, though mad for joy, Loathe my long living and am waxen red As with the shadow of shed blood ; behold, I am kindled with the flames that fade in him, I am swollen with subsiding of his veins, I am flooded with his ebbing ; my lit eyes Flame with the falling fire that leaves his lids Bloodless ; my cheek is luminous with blood Because his face is ashen. Yet, O child, Son, first-born, fairest — O sweet mouth, sweet eyes, That drew my life out through my suckling breast, That shone and clove mine heart through — O soft knees ♦ Clinging, O tender treadings of soft feet, Cheeks warm with little kissings — O child, child, What have we made each other ? Lo, I felt Thy weight cleave to me, a burden of beauty, O son. Thy cradled brows and loveliest loving lips, The floral hair, the little lightening eyes, And all thy goodly glory ; with mine hands Delicately I fed thee, with my tongue Tenderly spake, saying, Verily in God's time, For all the little likeness of thy limbs, Son, I shall make thee a kingly man to fight, A lordly leader ; and hear before I die, " She bore the goodliest sword of all the world." Oh ! oh ! For all my life turns round on me ; I am severed from myself, my name is gone, My name that was a healing, it is changed, 3i8 AT AL ANT A IN CALYDON My name is a consuming. From this time, Though mine eyes reach to the end of all these things s My lips shall not unfasten till I die. SEMICHORUS She has filled with sighing the city, And the ways thereof with tears ; She arose, she girdled her sides, She set her face as a bride's ; She wept, and she had no pity ; Trembled, and felt no fears. SEMICHORUS Her eyes were clear as the sun, Her brows were fresh as the day ; She girdled herself with gold, Her robes were manifold ; But the days of her worship are done, Her praise is taken'away. SEMICHORUS For she set her hand to the fire, With her mouth she kindled the same : As the mouth of a flute-player, So was the mouth of her ; With the might of her strong desire She blew the breath of the flame. SEMICHORUS She set her hand to the wood, She took the fire in her hand ; As one who is nigh to death, She panted with strange breath ; She opened her lips unto blood, She breathed and kindled the brand. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 319 SEMICHORUS As a wood-dove newly shot, She sobbed and lifted her breast ; She sighed and covered her eyes, Filling her lips with sighs ; She sighed, she withdrew herself not, She refrained not, taking not rest ; SEMICHORUS But as the wind which is drouth, And as the air which is death, As storm that severeth ships, Her breath severing her lips, The breath came forth of her mouth And the fire came forth of her breath, SECOND MESSENGER Queen, and you maidens, there is come on us A thing more deadly than the face of death ; Meleager the good lord is as one slain. SEMICHORUS Without sword, without sword is he stricken ; Slain, and slain without hand. SECOND MESSENGER For as keen ice divided of the sun His limbs divide, and as thawed snow the flesh Thaws from off all his body to the hair. SEMICHORUS He wastes as the embers quicken ; With the brand he fades as a brand. ATALANTA IN CALYDON SECOND MESSENGER Even while they sang- and all drew hither and he Lifted both hands to crown the Arcadian's hair And fix the looser leaves, both hands fell down. SEMICHORUS With rending- of cheek and of hair Lament ye, mourn for him, weep. SECOND MESSENGER Straig'htway the crown slid off and smote on earth, First fallen ; and he, grasping his own hair, groaned \nd cast his raiment round his face and fell. SEMICHORUS Alas for visions that were, And soothsayings spoken in sleep. SECOND MESSENGER But the king twitched his reins in and leapt down And caught him, crying out twice " O child " and thrice, So that men's eyelids thickened with their tears. SEMICHORUS Lament with a long lamentation, Cry, for an end is at hand. SECOND MESSENGER O son, he said, son, lift thine eyes, draw breath, Pity me ; but Meleager with sharp lips Gasped, and his face waxed like as sunburnt grass. ATALANTA IN CALYDON SEMICHORUS Cry aloud, O thou kingdom, O nation, O stricken, a ruinous land. SECOND MESSENGER Whereat king- CEneus, straightening- feeble knees. With feeble hands heaved up a lessening weight, And laid him sadly in strange hands, and wept. SEMICHORUS Thou art smitten, her lord, her desire, Thy dear blood wasted as rain. SECOND MESSENGER And they with tears and rendings of the beard Bear hither a breathing body, wept upon And lightening at each footfall, sick to death. SEMICHORUS Thou rnadest thy sword as a fire, With fire for a sword thou art slain. SECOND MESSENGER And lo, the feast turned funeral, and the crowns Fallen ; and the huntress and the hunter trapped; A.nd weeping and changed faces and veiled hair. MELEAGER Let your hands meet Round the weight of my head ; Lift ye my feet As the feet of the dead ; For the flesh of my body is molten, the limbs of it molten as lead. VOL. II. L 322 ATALANTA IN CALYDON O thy luminous face. Thine imperious eyes ! O the grief, O the grace, As of day when it dies ! Who is this bending over thee, lord, with tears and suppression of sighs ? MELEAGER Is a bride so fair ? Is a maid so meek ? With unchapleted hair, With unfilleted cheek, Atalanta, the pure among women, whose name is as blessing to speak. ATALANTA I would that with feet Unsandalled, unshod, Overbold, overfleet, I had swum not nor trod From Arcadia to Calydon northward, a blast of the envy of God. MELEAGER Unto each man his fate ; Unto each as he saith In whose fingers the weight Of the world is as breath ; Yet I would that in clamour of battle mine hands had laid hold upon death. ATALANTA IN CALYDON 323 CHORUS Not with cleaving of shields And their clash in thine ear, When the lord of fought fields Breaketh spearshaft from spear, Thou art broken, our lord, thou art broken, with travail and labour and fear. MELEAGER Would God he had found me Beneath fresh boughs ! Would God he had bound me Unawares in mine house, With light in mine eyes, and songs in my lips, and a crown on my brows ! Whence art thou sent from us ? Whither thy goal ? How art thou rent from us, Thou that wert whole, As with severing 'of eyelids and eyes, as with sunder- ing of body and soul ! MELEAGER My heart is within me As an ash in the fire ; Whosoever hath seen me, Without lute, without lyre, Shall sing of me grievous things, even things that were ill to desire. 3^4 ATALANTA IN CALYDON CHORUS Who shall raise thee From the house of the dead ? Or what man praise thee That thy praise may be said ? Alas tny beauty ! alas thy body ! alas thine head ! MELEAGER But thou, O mother, The dreamer of dreams, Wilt thou bring- forth another To feel the sun's beams When I move among- shadows a shadow, and wail by impassable streams ? CENEUS What thing wilt thou leave me Now this thing is done ? A man wilt thou give me, A son for my son, For the light of mine eyes, the desire of my life, the desirable one ? CHORUS Thou wert glad above others, Yea, fair beyond word ; Thou wert glad among mothers ; For each man that heard Of thee, praise there was added unto thee, as wings to the feet of a bird. ATALANTA IN CALYDON CENEUS Who shall give back Thy face of old years, With travail made black, Grown grey among fears, Mother of sorrow, mother of cursing, mother of tears ? MELEAGER Though thou art as fire Fed with fuel in vain, My delight, my desire, Is more chaste than the rain, More pure than the dewfall, more holy than stars are that live without stain. ATALANTA I would that as water My life's blood had thawn, Or as winter's wan daughter Leaves lowland and lawn Spring-stricken, or ever mine eyes had beheld thee made dark in thy dawn. CHORUS When thou dravest the men Of the chosen of Thrace, None turned him again Nor endured he thy face Clothed round with the blush of the battle, with light from a terrible place. 326 ATALANTA IN CALYDON CENEUS Thou shouldst die as he dies For whom none sheddeth tears ; Filling thine eyes And fulfilling- thine ears With the brilliance of battle, the bloom and the beauty, the splendour of spears. CHORUS In the ears of the world It is sung, it is told, And the light thereof hurled And the noise thereof rolled From the Acroceraunian snow to the ford of the fleece of gold. MELEAGER Would God ye could carry me Forth of all these ; Heap sand and bury me By the Chersonese Where the thundering Bosphorus answers the thunder of Pontic seas. CENEUS Dost thou mock at our praise And the singing begun And the men of strange days Praising my son In the folds of the hills of home, high places of Calydon ? ATALANTA IN CALYDON 327 MELEAGER For the dead man no home is ; Ah, better to be What the flower of the foam is In fields of the sea, That the sea-waves might be as my raiment, the gulf-stream a garment for me. CHORUS Who shall seek thee and bring And restore thee thy day, When the dove dipt her wing And the oars won their way Where the narrowing Symplegades whitened the straits of Propontis with spray ? MELEAGER Will ye crown me my tomb Or exalt me my name, Now my spirits consume, Now my -flesh is a flame? Let the sea slake it once, and men speak of me sleep- ing to praise me or shame. CHORUS Turn back now, turn thee, As who turns him to wake ; Though the life in thee burn thee, Couldst thou bathe it and slake Where the sea-ridge of Helle hangs heavier, and east upon west waters break ? 328 ATALANTA IN CALYDON Would the winds blow me back Or the waves hurl me home ? Ah, to touch in the track Where the pine learnt to roam Cold girdles and crowns of the sea-gods, cool blossoms of water and foam ! The gods may release That they made fast ; Thy soul shall have ease In thy limbs at the last j But what shall they give thee for life, sweet life that is overpast ? MELEAGER Not the life of men's veins, Not of flesh that conceives ; But the grace that remains, The fair beauty that cleaves To the life of the rains in the grasses, the life of the dews on the leaves. CHORUS Thou wert helmsman and chief ; Wilt thou turn in an hour, Thy limbs to the leaf, Thy face to the flower, Thy blood to the water, thy soul to the gods who divide and devour ? ATALANTA IN CALYDON MELEAGER The years are hungry, They wail all their days ; The gods wax angry And weary of praise ; And who snail bridle their lips ? and who shall straiten their ways ? CHORUS The gods guard over us With sword and with rod ; Weaving shadow to cover us, Heaping the sod, That law may fulfil herself wholly, to darken man's face before God. MELEAGER O holy head of CEneus, lo thy son Guiltless, yet red from alien guilt, yet foul With kinship of contaminated lives, Lo, for their blood I die ; and mine own blood For bloodshedding of mine is mixed therewith, That death may not discern me from my kin. Yet with clean heart I die and faultless hand, Not shamefully ; thou therefore of thy love Salute me, and bid fare among the dead Well, as the dead fare ; for the best man dead Fares sadly ; nathless I now faring well Pass without fear where nothing is to fear Having thy love about me and thy goodwill, O father, among dark places and men dead. ATALANTA IN CALYDON CENEUS Child, I salute thee with sad heart and tears, And bid thee comfort, being- a perfect man In fight, and honourable in the house of peace. The gods give thee fair wage and dues of death, And me brief days and ways to come at thee. MELEAGER Pray thou thy days be long before thy death, And full of ease and kingdom ; seeing in death There is no comfort and none aftergrowth, Nor shall one thence look up and see day's dawn Nor light upon the land whither I go. Live thou and take thy fill of days and die When thy day comes ; and make not much of death Lest ere thy day thou reap an evil thing. Thou too, the bitter mother and mother-plague Of this my weary body — thou too, queen, The source and end, the sower and the scythe, The rain that ripens and the drought that slays, The sand that swallows and the spring that feeds, To make me and unmake me — thou, I say, Althaea, since my father's ploughshare, drawn Through fatal seedland of a female field, Furrowed thy body, whence a wheaten ear Strong from the sun and fragrant from the rains I sprang and cleft the closure of thy womb, Mother, I dying with unforgetful tongue Hail thee as holy and worship thee as just Who art unjust and unholy ; and with my knees Would worship, but thy fire and subtlety, Dissundering them, devour me ; for these limbs Are as light dust and crumblings from mine urn ATALANTA IN CALYDON 331 Before the fire has touched them ; and my face As a dead leaf or dead foot's mark on snow, And all this body a broken barren tree That was so strong-, and all this flower of life Disbranched and desecrated miserably, And minished all that god-like muscle and might And lesser than a man's : for all my veins Fail me, and all mine ashen life burns down. I would thou hadst let me live ; but gods averse, But fortune, and the fiery feet of change, And time, these would not, these tread out my life, These and not thou ; me too thou hast loved, and I Thee ; but this death was mixed with all my life, Mine end with my beginning : and this law, This only, slays me, and not my mother at all. And let no brother or sister grieve too sore, Nor melt their hearts out on me with their tears, Since extreme love and sorrowing overmuch Vex the great gods, and overloving men Slay and are slain for love's sake ; and this house Shall bear much better children ; why should these Weep ? but in patience let them live their lives And mine pass by forgotten : thou alone, Mother, thou sole and only, thou not these, Keep me in mind a little when I die Because I was thy first-born ; let thy soul Pity me, pity even me gone hence and dead, Though thou wert wroth, and though thou bear again Much happier sons, and all men later born Exceedingly excel me ; yet do thou Forget not, nor think shame ; I was thy son. Time was I did not shame thee ; and time was I thought to live and make thee honourable With deeds as great as these men's ; but they live, ATALANTA IN CALYDON These, and I die ; and what thing - should have been Surely I know not ; yet I charge thee, seeing I am dead already, love me not the less, Me, O my mother ; I charge thee by these gods, My father's, and that holier breast of thine, By these that see me dying, and that which nursed, Love me not less, thy first-born : though grief come, Grief only, of me, and of all these great joy, And shall come always to thee ; for thou knowest, O mother, O breasts that bare me, for ye know, sweet head of my mother, sacred eyes, Ye know my soul albeit I sinned, ye know Albeit I kneel not neither touch thy knees, But with my lips I kneel, and with my heart 1 fall about thy feet and worship thee. And ye farewell now, all my friends ; and ye, Kinsmen, much younger and glorious more than I, Sons of my mother's sister ; and all farewell That were in Colchis with me, and bare down The waves and wars that met us : and though times Change, and though now I be not anything, Forget not me among you, what I did In my good time ; for even by all those days, Those days and this, and your own living souls, And by the light and luck of you that live, And by this miserable spoil, and me Dying, I beseech you, let my name not die. But thou, dear, touch me with thy rose-like hands And fasten up mine eyelids with thy mouth, A bitter kiss ; and grasp me with thine arms, Printing with heavy lips my light waste flesh. Made light and thin by heavy-handed fate, And with thine holy maiden eyes drop dew, Drop tears for dew upon me who am dead, ATALANTA IN CALYDON 333 Me who have loved thee ; seeing- without sin done I am gone down to the empty weary house Where no flesh is nor beauty nor swift eyes Nor sound of mouth nor might of hands and feet. But thou, dear, hide my body with thy veil, And with thy raiment cover foot and head, And stretch thyself upon me and touch hands With hands and lips with lips : be pitiful As thou art maiden perfect ; let no man Defile me to despise me, saying, This man Died woman-wise, a woman's offering, slain Through female fingers in his woof of life, Dishonourable ; for thou hast honoured me. And now for God's sake kiss me once and twice And let me go ; for the night gathers me, And in the night shall no man gather fruit ATALANTA Hail thou : but I with heavy face and feet Turn homeward and am gone out of thine eyeso CHORUS Who shall contend with his lords Or cross them or do them wrong ? Who shal: bind them as with cords ? Who shall tame them as with song ? Who shall smite them as with swords ? For the hands of their kingdom are strong,, ERECHTHEUS A TRAGEDY Si to! .U.YCipa! jca.1 loTTs8' VWT]KOOl. Msch. Pers. 241-2. TO MY MOTHER PERSONS ERECHTHEUS. CHORUS OF ATHENIAN ELDERS. PRAXITHEA. CHTHONIA. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS. MESSENGER. ATHENIAN HERALD. ATHENA. 34i ERECHTHEUS ERECHTHEUS Mother of life and death and all men's days, Earth, whom I chief of all men born would bless. And call thee with more loving- lips than theirs Mother, for of this very body of thine And living- blood I' have my breath and live, Behold me, even thy son, me crowned of men, Me made thy child by that strong cunning God Who fashions fire and iron, who begat Me for a sword and beacon-fire on thee, Me fosterling of Pallas, in her shade Reared, that I first might pay the nursing debt, Hallowing her fame with flower of third-year feasts. And first bow down the bridled strength of steeds To lose the wild wont of their birth, and bear Clasp of man's knees and steerage of his hand Or fourfold service of his fire-swift wheels That whirl the four-yoked chariot ; me the king Who stand before thee naked now, and cry, O holy and general mother of all men born, But mother most and motherliest of mine, Earth, for I ask thee rather of all the Gods, What have we done ? what word mistimed or work Hath winged the wild feet of this timeless curse To fall as fire upon us ? Lo, I stand 34 2 ERECHTHEUS Here on this brow's crown of the city's head That crowns its lovely body, till death's hour Waste it ; but now the dew of dawn and birth Is fresh upon it from thy womb, and we Behold it born how beauteous ; one day more I see the world's wheel of the circling- sun Roll up rejoicing to regard on earth This one thing goodliest, fair as heaven or he, Worth a God's gaze or strife of Gods ; but now Would this day's ebb of their spent wave of strife Sweep it to sea, wash it on wreck, and leave A costless thing contemned ; and in our stead, Where these walls were and sounding streets of men, Make wide a waste for tongueless water-herds And spoil of ravening fishes ; that no more Should men say, Here was Athens. This shalt thou Sustain not, nor thy son endure to see, Nor thou to live and look on ; for the womb Bare me not base that bare me miserable, To hear this loud brood of the Thracian foam Break its broad strength of billowy-beating war Here, and upon it as a blast of death Blowing, the keen wrath of a fire-souled king, A strange growth grafted on our natural soil, A root of Thrace in Eleusinian earth Set for no comfort to the kindly land, Son of the sea's lord and our first-born foe, Eumolpus ; nothing sweet in ears of thine The music of his making, nor a song Toward hopes of ours auspicious ; for the note Rings as for death oracular to thy sons That goes before him on the sea-wind blown Full of this charge laid on me, to put out The brief light kindled of mine own child's life, ERECHTHEUS 343 Or with this helmsman hand that steers the state Run right on the under shoal and ridge of death The populous ship with all its fraughtage gone And sails that were to take the wind of time Rent, and the tackling that should hold out fast In confluent surge of loud calamities Broken, with spars of rudders and lost oars That were to row toward harbour and find rest In some most glorious haven of all the world And else may never near it : such a song The Gods have set his lips on fire withal Who threatens now in all their names to bring Ruin ; but none of these, thou knowest, have I Chid with my tongue or cursed at heart for grief, Knowing how the soul runs reinless on sheer death Whose grief or joy takes part against the Gods. And what they will is more than our desire, And their desire is more than what we will. For no man's will and no desire of man's Shall stand as doth a God's will. Yet, O fair Mother, that seest me how I cast no word Against them, plead no reason, crave no cause, Boast me not blameless, nor beweep me wronged, By this fair wreath of towers we have decked thee with, This chaplet that we give thee woven of walls, This girdle of gate and temple and citadel Drawn round beneath thy bosom, and fast linked As to thine heart's root — this dear crown of thine. This present light, this city — be not thou Slow to take heed nor slack to strengthen her, Fare we so short-lived howsoe'er, and pay What price we may to ransom thee thy town, Not me my life ; but thou that diest not, thou, 344 ERECHTHEUS Though all our house die for this people's sake, Keep thou for ours thy crown our city, guard And give it life the lovelier that we died. CHORUS. Sun, that hast lightened and loosed by thy might Ocean and Earth from the lordship of night, Quickening with vision his eye that was veiled, Freshening the force in her heart that had failed, That sister fettered and blinded brother Should have sight by thy grace and delight of each other, ; 1 Behold now and see What profit is given them of thee ; What wrath has enkindled with madness Of mind Her limbs that were bounden, his face that was blind, To be locked as in wrestle together, and lighten With fire that, shall darken thy fire in the sky, Body to body and eye against eye In a war against kind, Till the bloom of her fields and her high hills whiten With the foam of his waves more high. For the sea-marks set to divide of old The kingdoms to Ocean and Earth assigned, The hoar sea-fields from the cornfields' gold, His wine-bright waves from her vineyards' fold, Frail forces we find To bridle the spirit of Gods or bind Till the heat of their hearts wax cold. But the peace that was stablished between them to stand Is rent now in twain by the strength of his hand Who stirs up the storm of his sons overbold To pluck from fight what he lost of right, ERECHTHEUS 345 By council and judgment of Gods that spake And gave great Pallas the strife's fair stake, The lordship and love of the lovely land, The grace of the town that hath on it for crown But a headband to wear Of violets one-hued with her hair : For the vales and the green high places of earth Hold nothing so fair, And the depths of the sea bear no such birth Of the manifold births they bear. Too well, too well was the great stake worth A strife divine for the Gods to judge, A crowned God's triumph, a foiled God's grudge, Though the loser be strong and the victress wise Who played long since for so large a prize, The fruitful immortal anointed adored Dear city of men without master or lord, Fair fortress and fostress of sons born free, Who stand in her sight and in thine, O sun, Slaves of no man, subjects of none ; A wonder enthroned on the hills and sea, A maiden crowned with a fourfold glory That none from the pride of her head may rend, Violet and olive-leaf purple and hoary, Song-wreath and story the fairest of fame, Flowers that the winter can blast not or bend ; A light upon earth as the sun's own flame, A name as his name, Athens, a praise without end. A noise is arisen against us of waters, \Str. i. A sound as of battle come up from the sea. Strange hunters are hard on us, hearts without pity; They have staked their nets round the fair young city, 34 6 ERECHTHEUS That the sons of her strength and her virgin daughters Should find not whither alive to flee. And we know not yet of the word unwritten, [Ant. 1. The doom of the Pythian we have not heard ; From the navel of earth and the veiled mid altar We wait for a token with hopes that falter, With fears that hang on our hearts thought-smitten Lest her tongue be kindled with no good word. O thou not born of the womb, nor bred [Str. 2. In the bride-night's warmth of a changed God's bed, But thy life as a lightning was flashed from the light of thy father's head, O chief God's child by a motherless birth, If aught in thy sight we indeed be worth, Keep death from us thou, that art none of the Gods of the dead under earth. Thou that hast power on us, save, if thou wilt ; \_Ant. 2. Let the blind wave breach not thy wall scarce built ; But bless us not so as by bloodshed, impute not for grace to us guilt, Nor by price of pollution of blood set us free ; Let the hands be taintless that clasp thy knee, Nor a maiden be slain to redeem for a maiden her shrine from the sea. O earth, O sun, turn back \Str. 3. Full on his deadly track Death, that would smite you black and mar your creatures, And with one hand disroot All tender flower and fruit, With one strike blind and mute the heaven's fair features. ERECHTHEUS 347 Pluck out the eyes of morn, and make Silence in the east and blackness whence the bright songs break. Help, earth, help, heaven, that hear [Ant. 3. The song-notes of our fear, Shrewd notes and shrill, not clear or joyful-sounding ; Hear, highest of Gods, and stay Death on his hunter's way, Full on his forceless prey his beagles hounding ; Break thou his bow, make short his hand, Maim his fleet foot whose passage kills the living land. Let a third wave smite not us, father, [Sir. 4. Long since sore smitten of twain, Lest the house of thy son's son perish And his name be barren on earth. Whose race wilt thou comfort rather If none to thy son remain ? Whose seed wilt thou choose to cherish If his be cut off in the birth ? For the first fair graft of his grafting [Ant. 4. Was rent from its maiden root By the strong swift hand of a lover Who fills the night with his breath ; On the lip of the stream low-laughing Her green soft virginal shoot Was plucked from the stream-side cover By the grasp of a love like death. For a God's was the mouth that kissed her [Str. 5. Who speaks, and the leaves lie dead, When winter awakes as at warning To the sound of his foot from Thrace. Nor happier the bed of her sister Though Love's self laid her abed 34« ERECHTHEUS By a bridegroom beloved of the morning And fair as the dawn's own face. For Procris, ensnared and ensnaring [Ant. 5. By the fraud of a twofold wile, With the point of her own spear stricken By the gift of her own hand fell. Oversubtle in doubts, overdaring In deeds and devices of guile, And strong to quench as to quicken, O Love, have we named thee well ? By thee was the spear's edge whetted \Str. 6. That laid her dead in the dew, In the moist green glens of the midland By her dear lord slain and thee. And him at the cliff's end fretted By the grey keen waves, him too, Thine hand from the white-browed headland Flung down for a spoil to the sea. But enough now of griefs grey-growing [Ant. 6. Have darkened the house divine, Have flowered on its boughs and faded, And green is the brave stock yet. O father all seeing and all knowing, Let the last fruit fall not of thine From the tree with whose boughs we are shaded, From the stock that thy son's hand set. ERECHTHEUS O daughter of Cephisus, from all time Wise have I found thee, wife and queen, of heart Perfect ; nor in the days that knew not wind Nor days when storm blew death upon our peace ERECHTHEUS 349 Was thine heart swoln with seed of pride, or bowed With blasts of bitter fear that break men's souls Who lift too high their rninds toward heaven, in thought Too godlike grown for worship ; but of mood Equal, in good time reverent of time bad, And glad in ill days of the good that were. Nor now too would I fear thee, now misdoubt Lest fate should find thee lesser than thy doom, Chosen if thou be to bear and to be great Haply beyond all women ; and the word Speaks thee divine, dear queen, that speaks thee dead. Dead being alive, or quick and dead in one Shall not men call thee living ? yet I fear To slay thee timeless with my proper tongue, With lips, thou knowest, that love thee ; and such work Was never laid of Gods on men, such word No mouth of man learnt ever, as from mine Most loth to speak thine ear most loth shall take And hold it hateful as the grave to hear. PRAXITHEA That word there is not in all speech of man, King, that being spoken of the Gods and thee I have not heart to honour, or dare hold More than I hold thee or the Gods in hate Hearing ; but if my heart abhor it heard Being insubmissive, hold me not thy wife But use me like a stranger, whom thine hand Hath fed by chance and finding thence no thanks Flung off for shame's sake to forgetfulness. ERECHTHEUS ERECHTHEUS O, of what breath shall such a word be made, Or from what heart find utterance? Would my tongue Were rent forth rather from the quivering- root Than made as fire or poison thus for thee. PRAXITHEA But if thou speak of blood, and I that hear Be chosen of all for this land's love to die And save to thee thy city, know this well, Happiest I hold me of her seed alive. ERECHTHEUS O sun that seest, what saying - was this of thine, God, that thy power has breathed into my lips ? For from no sunlit shrine darkling- it came. PRAXITHEA What portent from the mid oracular place Hath smitten thee so like a curse that flies Wingless, to waste men with its plagues ? yet speak. ERECHTHEUS Thy blood the Gods require not ; take this first. PRAXITHEA To me than thee more grievous this should sound. ERECHTHEUS That word rang truer and bitterer than it knew. PRAXITHEA This is not then thy grief, to see me die ? ERECHTHEUS 35i ERECHTHEUS Die shalt thou not, yet give thy blood to death. PRAXITHEA If this ring- worse I know not ; strange it rang. ERECHTHEUS Alas, thou knowest not ; woe is me that know. PRAXITHEA And woe shall mine be, knowing ; yet halt not here. ERECHTHEUS Guiltless of blood this state may stand no more. PRAXITHEA Firm let it stand whatever bleed or fall. ERECHTHEUS \) Gods, that I should say it shall and weep. PRAXITHEA Weep, and say this ? no tears should bathe such words ERECHTHEUS Woe's me that I must weep upon them, woe. PRAXITHEA What stain is on them for thy tears to cleanse ? ERECHTHEUS A stain of blood unpurgeable with tears. PRAXITHEA Whence ? foi thou sayest it is and is not mine. 35 2 ERECHTHEUS ERECHTHEUS Hear then and know why only of all men I That bring; such news as mine is, I alone Must wash good words with weeping- ; I and thou, Woman, must wail to hear men sing-, must groan To see their joy who love us ; all our friends Save only we, and all save we that love This holiness of Athens, in our sig-ht Shall lift their hearts up, in our hearing- praise Gods whom we may not ; for to these they g"ive Life of their children, flower of all their seed, For all their travail fruit, for all their hopes Harvest ; but we for all our good things, we Have at their hands which fill all these folk full Death, barrenness, child-slaughter, curses, cares. Sea-leaguer and land-shipwreck ; which of these, Which wilt thou first give thanks for ? all are thine, PRAXITHEA What first they give who give this city good, For that first given to save it I give thanks First, and thanks heartier from a happier tongue, More than for any my peculiar grace Shown me and not my country ; next for this That none of all these but for all these I Must bear my burden, and no eye but mine Weep of all women's in this broad land born Who see their land's deliverance ; but much more, But most for this I thank them most of all, That this their edge of doom is chosen to pierce My heart and not my country's ; for the sword Drawn to smite there and sharpened for such stroke Should wound more deep than any turned on me- ERECHTHEUS 353 CHORUS Well fares the land that bears such fruit, and well The spirit that breeds such thought and speech in man. ERECHTHEUS woman, thou hast shamed my heart with thine, To show so strong a patience ; take then all ; For all shall break not nor bring down thy soul. The word that journeying to the bright God's shrine Who speaks askance and darkling, but his name Hath in it slaying and ruin broad writ out, 1 heard, hear thou : thus saith he ; There shall die One soul for all this people ; from thy womb Came forth the seed that here on dry bare ground Death's hand must sow untimely, to bring forth Nor blade nor shoot in season, being by name To the under Gods made holy, who require For this land's life her death and maiden blood To save a maiden city. Thus I heard, And thus with all said leave thee ; for save this No word is left us, and no hope alive. CHORUS He hath uttered too surely his wrath not obscurely, nor wrapt as in mists of his breath, [Str. The master that lightens not hearts he enlightens, but gives them foreknowledge of death. As a bolt from the cloud hath he sent it aloud and proclaimed it afar, From the darkness and height of the horror of night hath he shown us a star. Star may I name it and err not, or flame shall I say, Born of the womb that was born for the tomb of the day ? vol. n. M 354 ERECHTHEUS Night, whom other but thee for mother, and Death for the father, Nig-ht, \_Ant. Snail we dream to discover, save thee and thy lover, to bring such a sorrow to sight ? From the slumberless bed for thy bedfellow spread and his bride under earth Hast thou brought forth a wild and insatiable child, an unbearable birth. Fierce are the fangs of his wrath, and the pangs that they give ; None is there, none that may bear them, not one that would live. CHTHONIA Forth of the fine-spun folds of veils that hide My virgin chamber toward the full-faced sun 1 set my foot not moved of mine own will, Unmaidenlike, nor with unprompted speed Turn eyes too broad or doglike unabashed On reverend heads of men and thence on thine, Mother, now covered from the light and bowed As hers who mourns her brethren ; but what grief Bends thy blind head thus earthward, holds thus mute, I know not till thy will be to lift up Toward mine thy sorrow-muffled eyes and speak ; And till thy will be would I know this not. PRAXITHEA Old men and childless, or if sons ye have seen And daughters, elder-born were these than mine, Look on this child, how young of years, how sweet, How scant of time and green of age her lite Puts forth its flower of girlhood ; and her gait How virginal, how soft her speech, her eyes ERECHTHEUS 355 How seemly smiling - ; wise should all ye be, All honourable and kindly men of age ; Now give me counsel and one word to say That I may bear to speak, and hold my peace Henceforth for all time even as all ye now. Dumb are ye all, bowed eyes and tongueless mouths, Unprofitable ; if this were wind that speaks, As much its breath might move you. Thou then, child, Set thy sweet eyes on mine ; look through them well ; Take note of all the writing of my face As of a tablet or a tomb inscribed That bears me record ; lifeless now, my life Thereon that was think written ; brief to read, Yet shall the scripture sear thine eyes as fire And leave them dark as dead-men's. Nay, dear child, Thou hast no skill, my maiden, and no sense To take such knowledge ; sweet is all thy lore, And all this bitter ; yet I charge thee learn And love and lay this up within thine heart, Even this my word ; less ill it were to die Than live and look upon thy mother dead, Thy mother-land that bare thee ; no man slain But him who hath seen it shall men count unblest, None blest as him who hath died and seen it not. CHTHONIA That sight some God keep from me tnough I die. PRAXITHEA A God from thee shall keep it ; fear not this, CHTHONIA Thanks all my life long shall he gain of mine. 356 ERECHTHEUS PRAXITHEA Short gain of all yet shall he get of thee, CHTHONIA Brief be my life, yet so long- live my thanks- PRAXITHEA So long ? so little ; how long shall they live ? CHTHONIA Even while I see the sunlight and thine eyes. PRAXITHEA Would mine might shut ere thine upon the sun. CHTHONIA For me thou prayest unkindly ; change that prayer, PRAXITHEA Not well for me thou sayest, and ill for thee. CHTHONIA Nay, for me well, if thou shalt live, not I. PRAXITHEA How live, and lose these loving looks of thine ? CHTHONIA It seems I too, thus praying, then, love thee not. PRAXITHEA Lov'st thou not life ? what wouldst thou do to die ? CHTHONIA Well, but not more than all things, love I life. ERECHTHEUS 357 PRAXITHEA And fain wouldst keep it as thine age allows ? CHTHONIA Fain would I live, and fain not fear to die. PRAXITHEA That I might bid thee die not ! Peace ; no more. CHORUS A godlike race of grief the Gods have set For these to run matched equal, heart with heart. PRAXITHEA Child of the chief of Gods, and maiden crowned, Cjueen of these towers and fostress of their king, Pallas, and thou my father's holiest head, A living well of life nor stanched nor stained, O God Cephisus, thee too charge I next, Be to me judge and witness ; nor thine ear Shall now my tongue invoke not, thou to me Most hateful of things holy, mournfullest Of all old sacred streams that wash the world, Ilissus, on whose marge at flowery play A whirlwind-footed bridegroom found my child And rapt her northward where mine elder-born Keeps now the Thracian bride-bed of a God Intolerable to seamen, but this land Finds him in hope for her sake favourable, A gracious son by wedlock ; hear me then Thou likewise, if with no faint heart or false The word I say be said, the gift be given, Which might I choose I had rather die than give Or speak and die not. Ere thy limbs were made 358 ERECHTHEUS Or thine eyes lightened, strife, thou knowest, my child, 'Twixt God and God had risen, which heavenlier name Should here stand hallowed, whose more liberal grace Should win this city's worship, and our land To which of these do reverence ; first the lord Whose wheels make lightnings of the foam-flowered sea Here on this rock, whose height brow-bound with dawn Is head and heart of Athens, one sheer blow Struck, and beneath the triple wound that shook The stony sinews and stark roots of the earth Sprang toward the sun a sharp salt fount, and sank Where lying it lights the heart up of the hill, A well of bright strange brine ; but she that reared Thy father with her same chaste fostering hand Set for a sign against it in our guard The holy bloom of the olive, whose hoar leaf High in the shadowy shrine of Pandrosus Hath honour of us all ; and of this strife The twelve most high Gods judging with one mouth Acclaimed her victress ; wroth whereat, as wronged That she should hold from him such prize and place, The strong king of the tempest-rifted sea Loosed reinless on the low Thriasian plain The thunders of his chariots, swallowing stunned Earth, beasts, and men, the whole blind foundering world That was the sun's at morning, and ere noon Death's ; nor this only prey fulfilled his mind ; For with strange crook-toothed prows of Carian folk Who snatch a sanguine life out of the sea, ERECHTHEUS 359 Thieves keen to pluck their bloody fruit of spoil From the grey fruitless waters, has their God Furrowed our shores to waste them, as the fields Were landward harried from the north with swords Aonian, sickles of man-slaughtering edge Ground for no hopeful harvest of live grain Against us in Boeotia ; these being spent, Now this third time his wind of wrath has blown Right on this people a mightier wave of war, Three times more huge a ruin ; such its ridge Foam-rimmed and hollow like the womb of heaven, But black for shining, and with death for life Big now to birth and ripe with child, full-blown With fear and fruit of havoc, takes the sun Out of our eyes, darkening the day, and blinds The fair sky's face unseasonably with change, A cloud in one and billow of battle, a surge High reared as heaven with monstrous surf of spears That shake on us their shadow, till men's heads Bend, and their hearts even with its forward wind Wither, so blasts all seed in them of hope Its breath and blight of presage ; yea, even now The winter of this wind out of the deeps Makes cold our trust in comfort of the Gods And blind our eye toward outlook ; yet not here, Here never shall the Thracian plant on high For ours his father's symbol, nor with wreaths A strange folk wreathe it upright set and crowned Here where our natural people born behold The golden Gorgon of the shield's defence That screens their flowering olive, nor strange Gods Be graced, and Pallas here have praise no more. And if this be not I must give my child, Thee, mine own very blood and spirit of mine, 3 6 ° ERECHTHEUS Thee to be slain. Turn from me, turn thine eyes A little from me ; I can bear not yet To see if still they smile on mine or no, If fear make faint the light in them, or faith Fix them as stars of safety. Need have we, Sore need of stars that set not in mid storm, Lights that outlast the lightnings ; yet my heart Endures not to make proof of thine or these, Not yet to know thee whom I made, and bare What manner of woman ; had I borne thee man, I had made no question of thine eyes or heart, Nor spared to read the scriptures in them writ, Wert thou my son ; yet couldst thou then but die Fallen in sheer fight by chance and charge of spears And have no more of memory, fill no tomb More famous than thy fellows in fair field, Where many share the grave, many the praise ; But one crown shall one only girl my child Wear, dead for this dear city, and give back life To him that gave her and to me that bare, And save two sisters living ; and all this, Is this not all good ? I shall give thee, child, Thee but by fleshly nature mine, to bleed For dear land's love ; but if the city fall What part is left me in my children then ? But if it svand and thou for it lie dead, Then hast thou in it a better part than we, A holier portion than we all ; for each Hath but the length of his own life to live, And this most glorious mother-land on earth To worship till that life have end ; but thine Hath end no more than hers ; thou, dead, shalt live Till Athens live not ; for the days and nights Given of thy bare brief dark dividual life, ERECHTHEUS 361 Shall she give thee half all her agelong - own And all its glory ; for thou givest her these ; But with one hand she takes and gives again More than I gave or she requires of thee. Come therefore, I will make thee fit for death, I that could give thee, dear, no gift at birth Save of light life that breathes and bleeds, even I Will help thee to this better gift than mine And lead thee by this little living hand That death shall make so strong, to that great end Whence it shall lighten like a God's, and strike Dead the strong heart of battle that would break Athens ; but ye, pray for this land, old men, That it may bring forth never child on earth To lOve it less, for none may more, than we. CHORUS Out of the north wind grief came forth, [Str. 1. And the shining of a sword out of the sea. Yea, of old the first-blown blast blew the prelude of this last, The blast of his trumpet upon Rhodope. Out of the north skies full of his cloud, With the clamour of his storms as of a crowd At the wheels of a great king crying aloud, At the axle of a strong king's car That has girded on the girdle of war — With hands that lightened the skies in sunder And feet whose fall was followed of thunder, A God, a great God strange of name, With horse-yoke fleeter-hoofed than flame, To the mountain bed of a maiden came, Oreithyia, the bride mismated, 362 ERECHTHEUS Wofully wed in a snow-strewn bed With a bridegroom that kisses the bride's mouth dead ; Without garland, without glory, without song, As a fawn by night on the hills belated, Given over for a spoil unto the strong. From lips how pale so keen a wail [Ant. i. At the grasp of a God's hand on her she gave, When his breath that darkens air made a havoc of her hair, It rang from the mountain even to the wave ; Rang with a cry, Woe's me, woe is me ! From the darkness upon Hasmus to the sea : And with hands that clung to her new lord's knee, As a virgin overborne with shame, She besought him by her spouseless fame, By the blameless breasts of a maid unmarried, And locks unmaidenly rent and harried, And all her flower of body, born To match the maidenhood of morn, With the might of the wind's wrath wrenched and torn. Vain, all vain as a dead man's vision Falling by night in his old friends' sight, To be scattered with slumber and slain ere light ; Such a breath of such a bridegroom in that hour Of her prayers made mock, of her fears derision, And a ravage of her youth as of a flower. With a leap of his limbs as a lion's, a cry from his lips as of thunder, \Str. 2. In a storm of amorous godhead filled with fire, From the height of the heaven that was rent with the roar of his coming in sunder, Sprang the strong God on the spoil of his desire. ERECHTHEUS 363 And the pines of the hills were as green reeds shattered, And their branches as buds of the soft spring scattered, And the west wind and east, and the sound of the south, Fell dumb at the blast of the north wind's mouth, At the cry of his coming out of heaven. And the wild beasts quailed in the rifts and hollows Where hound nor clarion of huntsman follows, And the depths of the sea were aghast, and whitened, And the crowns of their waves were as flame that lightened, And the heart of the floods thereof was riven. But she knew not him coming for terror, she felt not her wrong that he wrought her, \_Ant. 2. When her locks as leaves were shed before his breath, And she heard not for terror his prayer, though the cry was a God's that besought her, Blown from lips that strew the world-wide seas with death. For the heart was molten within her to hear, A.nd her knees beneath her were loosened for fear, And her blood fast bound as a frost-bound water, And the soft new bloom of the green earth's daughter Wind-wasted as blossom of a tree ; As the wild God rapt her from earth's breast lifted, On the strength of the stream of his dark breath drifted, 3^4 ERECHTHEUS From the bosom of earth as a bride from the mother, With storm for bridesman and wreck for brother. As a cloud that he sheds upon the sea. Of this hoary-headed woe [Epode. Song- made memory long- ago ; Now a younger grief to mourn Needs a new song younger born. Who shall teach our tongues to reach What strange height of saddest speech, For the new bride's sake that is given to be A stay to fetter the foot of the sea, Lest it quite spurn down and trample the town, Ere the violets be dead that were plucked for its crown, Or its olive-leaf whiten and wither ? Who shall say of the wind's way That he journeyed yesterday, Or the track of the storm that shall sound to- morrow, If the new be more than the grey-grown sorrow ? For the wind of the green first season was keen, And the blast shall be sharper than blew between That the breath of the sea blows hither. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Old men, grey borderers on the march of death, Tongue -fighters, tough of talk and sinewy speech, Else nerveless, from no crew of such faint folk Whose tongues are stouter than their hands come I To bid not you to battle ; let them strike Whose swords are sharper than your keen-tongued wail, ERECHTHEUS 365 And ye, sit fast and sorrow ; but what man Of all this land-folk and earth-labouring- herd For heart or hand seems foremost, him I call If heart be his to hearken, him bid forth To try if one be in the sun's sight born Of all that grope and grovel on dry ground That may join hands in battle- grip for death With them whose seed and strength is of the sea. CHORUS Know thou this much for all thy loud blast blown, We lack not hands to speak with, swords to plead, For proof of peril, not of boisterous breath, Sea-wind and storm of barren mouths that foam And rough rock's edge of menace ; and short space May lesson thy large ignorance and inform This insolence with knowledge if there live Men earth-begotten of no tenderer thews Than knit the great joints of the grim sea's brood With hasps of steel together ; heaven to help, One man shall break, even on their own flood's verge, That iron bulk of battle ; but thine eye That sees it now swell higher than sand or shore Haply shall see not when thine host shall shrink HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Not haply, nay, but surely, shall not thine. CHORUS That lot shall no God give who fights for thee. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Shall Gods bear bit and bridle, fool, of men ? 3 66 ERECHTHEUS CHORUS Nor them forbid we nor shalt thou constrain. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Yet say'st thou none shall make the good lot mine ? CHORUS Of thy side none, nor moved for fear of thee. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Gods hast thou then to baffle Gods of ours ? CHORUS Nor thine nor mine, but equal-souled are they, HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Toward good and ill, then, equal-eyed of soul ? CHORUS Nay, but swift-eyed to note where ill thoughts breed- HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Thy shaft word-feathered flies yet far of me. CHORUS Pride knows not, wounded, till the heart be cleft, HERALD OF EUMOLPUS No shaft wounds deep whose wing is plumed with words. CHORUS Lay that to heart, and bid thy tongue learn grace- ERECHTHEUS 367 HERALD OF EUMOLPUS Grace shall thine own crave soon too late of mine. CHORUS Boast thou till then, but I wage words no more. ERECHTHEUS Man, what shrill wind cf speech and wrangling air Blows in our ears a summons from thy lips Winged with what message, or what gift or grace Requiring ? none but what his hand may take Here may the foe think hence to reap, nor this Except some doom from Godward yield it him. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS King of this land-folk, by my mouth to thee Thus saith the son of him that shakes thine earth, Eumolpus ; now the stakes of war are set, For land or sea to win by throw and wear ; Choose therefore or to quit thy side and give The palm unfought for to his bloodless hand, Or by that father's sceptre, and the foot Whose tramp far off makes tremble for pure fear Thy soul-struck mother, piercing like a sword The immortal womb that bare thee ; by the waves That no man bridles and that bound thy world, And by the winds and storms of all the sea, He swears to raze from eyeshot of the sun This city named not of his father's name, And wash to deathward down one flood of doom This whole fresh brood of earth yeaned naturally. Green yet and faint in its first blade, unblown With yellow hope of harvest ; so do thou. 3 68 ERECHTHEUS Seeing- whom thy time is come to meet, for fear Yield, or gird up thy force to fight and die. ERECHTHEUS To fight then be it ; for if to die or live, No man but only a God knows this much yet Seeing us fare forth, who bear but in our hands The weapons not the fortunes of our fight ; For these now rest as lots that yet undrawn Lie in the lap of the unknown hour ; but this I know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of storm Is but a warlike wind, a sharp salt breath That bites and wounds not ; death nor life of mine Sball give to death or lordship of strange kings The soul of this live city, nor their heel Bruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goad Wound her free mouth or stain her sanguine side Yet masterless of man ; so bid thy lord Learn ere he weep to learn it, and too late Gnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh, And foam his life out in dark froth of blood Vain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed sea Torn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this ; Though thrice his might were mustered for our scathe And thicker set with fence of thorn-edged spears Than sands are whirled about the wintering beach When storms have swoln the rivers, and their blasts Have breached the broad sea-banks with stress of sea, That waves of inland and the main make war A.s men that mix and grapple ; though his ranks Were more to number than all wildwood leaves The wind waves on the hills of all the world. ERECHTHEUS 369 Yet should the heart not faint, the head not fall, The breath not fail of Athens. Say, the Gods From lips that have no more on earth to say- Have told thee this the last good news or ill That I shall speak in sig-ht of earth and sun Or he shall hear and see them : for the next That ear of his from tongue of mine may take Must be the first word spoken underground From dead to dead in darkness. Hence ; make haste, Lest war's fleet foot be swifter than thy tongue And I that part not to return again On him that comes not to depart away Be fallen before thee ; for the time is full, And with such mortal hope as knows not fear I go this high last way to the end of all. CHORUS Who shall put a bridle in the mourner's lips to chasten them, [Str. 1. Or seal up the fountains of his tears for shame ? Song nor prayer nor prophecy shall slacken tears nor hasten them, Till grief be within him as a burnt-out flame ; Till the passion be broken in his breast And the might thereof molten into rest, And the rain of eyes that weep be dry, And the breath be stilled of lips that sigh. Death at last for all men is a harbour ; yet they flee from it, {Ant. 1. Set sails to the storm-wind and again to sea ; Yet for all their labour no whit further shall they be from it, Nor longer but wearier shall their life's work be. 37o ERECHTHEUS And with anguish of travail until night Shall they steer into shipwreck out of sight, And with oars that break and shrouds that strain Shall they drive whence no ship steers again. Bitter and strange is the word of the God most high, [Sir. 2. And steep the strait of his way. Through a pass rock-rimmed and narrow the light that gleams On the faces of men falls faint as the dawn of dreams, The dayspring of death as a star in an under sky Where night is the dead men's day. As darkness and storm is his will that on earth is done, [Ant. 2. As a cloud is the face of his strength. King of kings, holiest of holies, and mightiest of might, Lord of the lords of thine heaven that are humble in thy sight, Hast thou set not an end for the path of the fires of the sun, To appoint him a rest at length ? Hast thou told not by measure the waves of the waste wide sea, [Str. 3. And the ways of the wind their master and thrall to thee? Hast thou filled not the furrows with fruit for the world's increase ? Has thine ear not heard from of old or thine eye not read The thought and the deed cf us living, the doom of us dead ? Hast thou made not war upon earth, and again made peace ? ERECHTHEUS 37' Therefore, O father, that seest us whose lives are a Take off us thy burden, and give us not wholly to death. For lovely is life, and the law wherein all things live, And gracious the season of each, and the hour of its kind, And precious the seed of his life in a wise man's mind ; But all save life for his life will a base man give. But a life that is given for the life of the whole live land, [Str. 4. From a heart unspotted a gift of a spotless hand, Of pure will perfect and free, for the land's life's sake, What man shall fear not to put forth his hand and For the fruit of a sweet life plucked in its pure green On his hand who plucks is as blood, on his soul as crime. With cursing ye buy not blessing, nor peace with strife, And the hand is hateful that chaffers with death for life. Hast thou heard, O my heart, and endurest {Str. 5. The word that is said, What a garland by sentence found surest Is wrought for what head ? With what blossomless flowerage of sea-foam and blood-coloured foliage inwound It shall crown as a heifer's for slaughter the forehead for marriage uncrowned ? breath, lAnt. 3. take ? prime • {Ant. 4. 372 ERECHTHEUS How the veils and the wreaths that should cover {Ant. 5. The brows of the bride Shall be shed by the breath of what lover And scattered aside ? With a blast of the mouth of what bridegroom the crowns shall be cast from her hair, And her head by what altar made humble be left of them naked and bare ? At a shrine unbeloved of a God unbeholden a gift shall be given for the land, [Str. 6. That its ramparts though shaken with clamour and horror of manifold waters may stand : That the crests of its citadels crowned and its turrets that thrust up their heads to the sun May behold him unblinded with darkness of waves overmastering their bulwarks begun. As a bride shall they bring her, a prey for the bride- groom, a flower for the couch of her lord ; [Ant. 6. They shall muffle her mouth that she cry not or curse them, and cover her eyes from the sword. They shall fasten her lips as with bit and with bridle, and darken the light of her face, That the soul of the slayer may not falter, his heart be not molten, his hand give not grace. If she weep then, yet may none that hear take pity ; [Str. 7. If she cry not, none should hearken though she cried. Shall a virgin shield thine head for love, O city, With a virgin's blood anointed as for pride ? Yet we held thee dear and hallowed of her favour, [Ant. 7. Dear of all men held thy people to her heart ; ERECHTHEUS 373 Nought she loves the breath of blood, the sanguine savour, Who hath built with us her throne and chosen her part. Bloodless are her works, and sweet \Epode. All the ways that feel her feet ; From the empire of her eyes Light takes life and darkness flies ; From the harvest of her hands Wealth strikes root in prosperous lands ; Wisdom of her word is made ; At her strength is strength afraid ; From the beam of her bright spear War's fleet foot goes back for fear ; In her shrine she reared the birth Fire-begotten on live earth ; Glory from her helm was shed On his olive- shadowed head ; By no hand but his shall she Scourge the storms back of the sea, To no fame but his shall give Grace, being dead, with hers to live, And in double name divine Half the godhead of their shrine. But now with what word, with what woe may we meet The timeless passage of piteous feet, Hither that bend to the last way's end They shall walk upon earth ? What song be rolled for a bride black-stoled And the mother whose hand of her hand hath hold ? For anguish of heart is my soul's strength broken And the tongue sealed fast that would fain have spoken, 374 ERECHTHEUS To behold thee, O child of so bitter a birth That we counted so sweet, What way thy steps to what bride-feast tend, What gift he must give that shall wed thee for token If the bridegroom be goodly to greet. CHTHONIA People, old men of my city, lordly wise and hoar of head, I a spouseless bride and crownless but with garlands of the dead From the fruitful light turn silent to my dark un- childed bed. CHORUS Wise of word was he too surely, but with deadlier wisdom wise, First who gave thee name from under earth, no breath from upper skies, When, foredoomed to this day's darkness, their first daylight filled thine eyes. PRAXITHEA Child, my child that wast and art but death's and now no more of mine, Half my heart is cloven with anguish by the sword made sharp for thine, Half exalts its wing for triumph, that I bare thee thus divine. ERECHTHEUS 375 CHTHONIA Though for me the sword's edge thirst that sets no point against thy breast, Mother, O my mother, where I drank of life and fell on rest. Thine, not mine, is all the grief that marks this hour accurst and blest. CHORUS Sweet thy sleep and sweet the bosom was that gave thee sleep and birth ; Harder now the breast, and girded with no marriage- band for girth, Where thine head shall sleep, the namechild of the lords of under earth. PRAXITHEA Dark the name and dark the gifts they gave thee, child, in childbirth were, Sprung from him that rent the womb of earth, a bitter seed to bear, Born with groanings of the ground that gave him way toward heaven's dear air. CHTHONIA Day to day makes answer, first to last, and life to death ; but I, Born for death's sake, die for life's sake, if indeed this be to die, This my doom that seals me deathless till the springs of time run dry. 376 ERECHTHEUS CHORUS Children shalt thou bear to memory, that to man shalt bring- forth none ; Yea, the lordliest that lift eyes and hearts and songs to meet the sun, Names to fire men's ears like music till the round world's race be run. PRAXITHEA I thy mother, named of Gods that wreak revenge and brand with blame, Now for thy love shall be loved as thou, and famous with thy fame, While this city's name on earth shall be for earth her mightiest name. CHTHONIA That I may give this poor girl's blood of mine Scarce yet sun-warmed with summer, this thin life Still green with fiowerless growth of seedling days, To build again my city ; that no drop Fallen of these innocent veins on the cold ground But shall help knit the joints of her firm walls To knead the stones together, and make sure The band about her maiden girdlestead Once fastened, and of all men's violent hands Inviolable for ever ; these to me Were no such gifts as crave no thanksgiving, If with one blow dividing the sheer life I might make end, and one pang wind up all And seal mine eyes from sorrow ; for such end The Gods give none they love not ; but my heart, That leaps up lightened of all sloth or fear ERECHTHEUS 377 To take the sword's point, yet with One thought's load Flag's, and falls back, broken of wing, that halts Maimed in mid flight for thy sake and borne down, Mother, that in the places where I played An arm's length from thy bosom and no more Shalt find me never, nor thine eye wax glad To mix with mine its eyesight and for love Laugh without word, filled with sweet light, and speak Divine dumb things of the inward spirit and heart, Moved silently ; nor hand or lip again Touch hand or lip of either, but for mine Shall thine meet only shadows of swift night, Dreams and dead thoughts of dead things ; and the bed Thou strewedst, a sterile place for all time, strewn For my sleep only, with its void sad sheets Shall vex thee, and the unfruitful coverlid For empty days reproach me dead, that leave No profit of my body, but am gone As one not worth being born to bear no seed, A sapless stock and branchless ; yet thy womb Shall want not honour of me, that brought forth For all this people freedom, and for earth From the unborn city born out of my blood To light the face of all men evermore Glory ; but lay thou this to thy great heart Whereunder in the dark of birth conceived Mine unlit life lay girdled with the zone That bound thy bridal bosom ; set this thought Against all edge of evil as a sword To beat back sorrow, that for all the world Thou brought'st me forth a saviour, who shall save Athens ; for none but I from none but thee 37« ERECHTHEUS Shall take this death for garland ; and the men Mine unknown children of unsounded years, My sons unrisen shall rise up at thine hand, Sown of thy seed to bring- forth seed to thee, And call thee most of all most fruitful found Blessed ; but me too for my barren womb More than my sisters for their children born Shall these give honour, yea in scorn's own place Shall men set love and bring- for mockery praise And thanks for curses ; for the dry wild vine Scoffed at and cursed of all men that was I Shall shed them wine to make the world's heart warm, That all eyes seeing may lighten, and all ears- Hear and be kindled ; such a draught to drink Shall be the blood that bids this dust bring forth, The chaliced life here spilt on this mine earth, Mine, my great father's mother ; whom I pray Take me now gently, tenderly take home, And softly lay in his my cold chaste hand Who is called of men by my name, being of Gods Charged only and chosen to bring men under earth, And now must lead and stay me with his staff A silent soul led of a silent God, Toward sightless things led sightless ; and on earth I see now but the shadow of mine end, A.nd this last light of all for me in heaven. PRAXITHEA Farewell I bid thee ; so bid thou not me, Lest the Gods hear and mock us ; yet on these I lay the weight not of this grief, nor cast 111 words for ill deeds back ; for if one say ERECHTHEUS 379 They have done men wrong - , what hurt have they to hear, Or he what help to have said it ? surely, child, If one among- men born might say it and live Blameless, none more than I may, who being vexed Hold yet my peace ; for now through tears enough Mine eyes have seen the sun that from this day Thine shall see never more ; and in the night Enough has blown of evil, and mine ears With wail enough the winds have filled, and brought Too much of cloud from over the sharp sea To mar for me the morning ; such a blast Rent from these wide void arms and helpless breast Long since one graft of me disbranched, and bore Beyond the wild ways of the unwandered world And loud wastes of the thunder-throated sea, Springs of the night and openings of the heaven, The old garden of the Sun ; whence never more From west or east shall winds bring back that blow From folds of opening heaven or founts of night The flower of mine once ravished, born my child To bear strange children ; nor on wings of theirs Shall comfort come back to me, nor their sire Breathe help upon my peril, nor his strength Raise up my weakness ; but of Gods and men I drift unsteered on ruin, and the wave Darkens my head with imminent height, and hangs Dumb, filled too full with thunder that shall leave These ears death-deafened when the tide finds tongue And all its wrath bears on them ; thee, O child. I help not, nor am holpen ; fain, ah fain, More than was ever mother born of man, Were I to help thee ; fain beyond all prayer, Beyond all thought fain to redeem thee, torn 3 8o ERECHTHEUS More timeless from me sorrowing- than the dream That was thy sister ; so shalt thou be too, Thou but a vision, shadow-shaped of sleep, By grief made out of nothing ; now but once I touch, but once more hold thee, one more kiss This last time and none other ever more Leave on thy lips and leave them. Go ; thou wast My heart, my heart's blood, life-blood of my life, My child, my nursling : now this breast once thine Shall rear again no children ; never now Shall any mortal blossom born like thee Lie there, nor ever with small silent mouth Draw the sweet springs dry for an hour that feed The blind blithe life that knows not ; never head Rest here to make these cold veins warm, nor eye Laugh itself open with the lips that reach Lovingly toward a fount more loving ; these Death makes as all good lesser things now dead, And all the latter hopes that flowered from these And fall as these fell fruitless ; no joy more Shall man take of thy maidenhood, no tongue Praise it ; no good shall eyes get more of thee That lightened for thy love's sake. Now, take note, Give ear, O all ye people, that my word May pierce your hearts through, and the stroke that cleaves Be fruitful to them ; so shall all that hear Grow great at heart with child of thought most high And bring forth seed in season ; this my child, This flower of this my body, this sweet life, This fair live youth I give you, to be slain, Spent, shed, poured out, and perish ; take my gift And give it death and the under Gods who crave So much for that they give ; for this is more. ERECHTHEUS Much more is this than all we ; for they give Freedom, and for a blast, an air of breath, A little soul that is not, they give back Light for all eyes, cheer for all hearts, and life That fills the world's width full of fame and praise And mightier love than children's. This they give, The grace to make thy country great, and wrest From time and death power to take hold on her And strength to scathe for ever ; and this gift, Is this no more than man's love is or mine, Mine and all mothers' ? nay, where that seems more. Where one loves life of child, wife, father, friend, Son, husband, mother, more than this, even there Are all these lives worth nothing, all loves else With this love slain and buried, and their tomb A thing for shame to spit on ; for what love Hath a slave left to love with ? or the heart Base-born and bound in bondage fast to fear, What should it do to love thee ? what hath he, The man that hath no country ? Gods nor men Have such to friend, yoked beast-like to base life, Vile, fruitless, grovelling at the foot of death, Landless and kinless thralls of no man's blood, Unchilded and unmothered, abject limbs That breed things abject ; but who loves on earth Not friend, wife, husband, father, mother, child, Nor loves his own life for his own land's sake, But only this thing most, more this than all, He loves all well and well of all is loved, And this love lives for ever. See now, friends, My countrymen, my brothers, with what heart I give you this that of your hands again The Gods require for Athens ; as I give So give ye to them what their hearts would have 3 82 ERECHTHEUS Who shall give back things better ; yea, and these I take for me to witness, all these Gods, Were their great will more grievous than it is, Not one but three, for this one thin-spun thread A threefold band of children would I give For this land's love's sake ; for whose love to-day I bid thee, child, fare deathward and farewell. CHORUS O wofullest of women, yet of all Happiest, thy word be hallowed ; in all time Thy name shall blossom, and from strange new tongues High things be spoken of thee ; for such grace The Gods have dealt to no man, that on none Have laid so heavy sorrow. From this day Live thou assured of godhead in thy blood, \nd in thy fate no lowlier than a God In all good things and evil ; such a name Shall be thy child this city's, and thine own Next hers that called it Athens. Go now forth Blest, and grace with thee to the doors of death. CHTHONIA O city, O glory of Athens, O crown of my father's land, farewell. CHORUS For welfare is given her of thee. CHTHONIA O Goddess, be good to thy people, that in them dominion and freedom may dwell. ERECHTHEUS 383 CHORUS Turn from us the strengths of the sea. CHTHONIA Let glory's and theirs be one name in the mouths of all nations made glad with the sun. CHORUS For the cloud is blown back with thy breath. CHTHONIA With the long last love of mine eyes I salute thee, O land where my days now are done. CHORUS But her life shall be born of thy death. CHTHONIA i put on me the darkness thy shadow, my mother, and symbol, O Earth, of my name. CHORUS For thine was her witness from birth. CHTHONIA In thy likeness I come to thee darkling, a daughter whose dawn and her even are the same. CHORUS Be thine heart to her gracious, O Earth. CHTHONIA To thine own kind be kindly, for thy son's name's sake. 3«4 ERECHTHEUS CHORUS That sons unborn may praise thee and thy first- born son. CHTHONIA Give me thy sleep, who give thee all my life awake. CHORUS Too swift a sleep, ere half the web of day be spun. CHTHONIA Death brings the shears or ever life wind up the weft. CHORUS Their edge is ground and sharpened ; who shall stay his hand ? CHTHONIA The woof is thin, a small short life, with no thread left. CHORUS Yet hath it strength, stretched out, to shelter all the land. CHTHONIA Too frail a tent for covering, and a screen too strait, CHORUS Yet broad enough for buckler shall thy sweet life be. CHTHONIA A. little bolt to bar off battle from the gate. CHORUS A wide sea-wall, that shatters the besieging sea. ERECHTHEUS 385 CHTHONIA I lift up mine eyes from the skirts of the shadow, [Sir. From the border of death to the limits of light ; O streams and rivers of mountain and meadow That hallow the last of my sight, O father that wast of my mother Cephisus, O thou too his brother From the bloom of whose banks as a prey Winds harried my sister away, O crown on the world's head lying Too high for its waters to drown, Take yet this one word of me dying - , O city, O crown. Though land-wind and sea wind with mouths that blow slaughter \_Ant. Should gird them to battle against thee again, New-born of the blood of a maiden thy daughter, The rage of their breath shall be vain. For their strength shall be quenched and made idle, And the foam of their mouths find a bridle, And the height of their heads bow down At the foot of the towers of the town. Be blest and beloved as I love thee Of all that shall draw from thee breath Be thy life as the sun's is above thee ; I go to my death. CHORUS Many ioves of many a mood and many a kind \Str. 1. Fill the life of man, and mould the secret mind ; Many days bring many dooms, to loose and bind ; VOL. II. N 386 ERECHTHEUS Sweet is each in season, good the gift it brings, Sweet as change of night and day with altering wings, Night that lulls world-weary day, day that comforts night, Night that fills our eyes with sleep, day that fills with light. None of all is lovelier, loftier love is none, [Ant. i. Less is bride's for bridegroom, mother's less for son, Child, than this that crowns and binds up all in one ; Love of thy sweet light, thy fostering breast and hand, Mother Earth, and city chosen, and natural land ; Hills that bring the strong streams forth, heights of heavenlier air, Fields aflower with winds and suns, woods with shadowing hair. But none of the nations of men shall they liken to thee, [Sir. 2. Whose children true-born and the fruit of thy body are we. The rest are thy sons but in figure, in word are thy seed ; We only the flower of thy travail, thy children in- deed. Of thy soil hast thou fashioned our limbs, of thy waters their blood, And the life of thy springs everlasting is fount of our flood. No wind oversea blew us hither adrift on thy shore, None sowed us by land in thy womb that conceived us and bore. ERECHTHEUS 387 But the stroke of the shaft of the sunlight that brought us to birth Pierced only and quickened thy furrows to bear us, O Earth. With the beams of his love wast thou cloven as with iron or fire, And the life in thee yearned for his life, and grew great with desire. And the hunger and thirst to be wounded and healed with his dart Made fruitful the love in thy veins and the depth of thine heart. And the showers out of heaven overflowing and liquid with love Fulfilled thee with child of his godhead as rain from above. Such desire had ye twain of each other, till molten in one {.Ant. 2. Ye might bear and beget of your bodies the fruits of the sun. And the trees in their season brought forth and were kindled anew By the warmth of the moisture of marriage, the child- bearing dew. And the firstlings were fair of the wedlock of heaven and of earth ; All countries were bounteous with blossom and burgeon of birth. Green pastures of grass for all cattle, and life-giving corn ; But here of thy bosom, here only, the man-child was born. All races but one are as aliens engrafted or sown, 3 88 ERECHTHEUS Strange children and changelings ; but we, O our mother, thine own. Thy nurslings are others, and seedlings they know not of whom ; For these hast thou fostered, but us thou hast borne in thy womb. Who is he of us all, O beloved, that owe thee for birth, Who would give not his blood for his birth's sake, O mother, O Earth ? What landsman is he that was fostered and reared of thine hand Who may vaunt him as we may in death though he died for the land ? Well doth she therefore who gives thee in guerdon The bloom of the life of thy giving ; [Epode. A-nd thy body was bowed by no fruitless burden, That bore such fruit of thee living. For her face was not darkened for fear, For her eyelids conceived not a tear, Nor a cry from her lips craved pity ; But her mouth was a fountain of song, And her heart as a citadel strong That guards the heart of the city. MESSENGER High things of strong-souled men that loved their land On brass and stone are written, and their deeds On high days chanted ; but none graven or sung That ever set men's eyes or spirits on fire, Athenians, has the sun's height seen, or earth Heard in her depth reverberate as from heaven, More worth men's praise and good report of Gods Than here I bring for record in your ears. ERECHTHEUS 3% For now being come to the altar, where as priest Death ministering - should meet her, and his hand Seal her sweet eyes asleep, the maiden stood, With light in all her face as of a bride Smiling, or shine of festal flame by night Far flung from towers of triumph ; and her lips Trembled with pride in pleasure, that no fear Blanched them nor death before his time drank dry The blood whose bloom fulfilled them ; for her cheeks Lightened, and brighter than a bridal veil Her hair enrobed her bosom and enrolled From face to feet the body's whole soft length As with a cloud sun-saturate ; then she spake With maiden tongue words manlike, but her eyes Lit mildly like a maiden's : Countrymen, With more goodwill and height of happier heart I give me to you than my mother bare, And go more gladly this great way to death Than young men bound to battle. Then with face Turned to the shadowiest part of all the shrine And eyes fast set upon the further shade, Take me, dear Gods ; and as some form had shone From the deep hollow shadow, some God's tongue Answered, I bless you that your guardian grace Gives me to guard this country, takes my blood, Your child's by name, to heal it. Then the priest Set to the flower-sweet snow of her soft throat The sheer knife's edge that severed it, and loosed From the fair bondage of so spotless flesh So strong a spirit ; and all that girt them round Gazing, with souls that hung on that sad stroke, Groaned, and kept silence after while a man Might count how far the fresh blood crept, and bathed How deep the dark robe and the bright shrine's base ERECHTHEUS Red-rounded with a running ring- that grew More large and duskier as the wells that fed Were drained of that pure effluence : but the queen Groaned not nor spake nor wept, but as a dream Floats out of eyes awakening so past forth Ghost-like, a shadow of sorrow, from all sight To the inner court and chamber where she sits Dumb, till word reach her of this whole day's end. CHORUS More hapless born by far [Sir. Beneath some wintrier star, One sits in stone among high Lydian snows, The tomb of her own woes : Yet happiest was once of the daughters of Gods, and divine by her sire and her lord, Ere her tongue was a shaft for the hearts of her sons, for the heart of her husband a sword. For she, too great of mind, {Ant. Grown through her good things blind, With godless lips and fire of her own breath Spake all her house to death ; But thou, no mother unmothered, nor kindled in spirit with pride of thy seed, Thou hast hallowed thy child for a blameless blood- offering, and ransomed thy race by thy deed. MESSENGER As flower is graffed on flower, so grief on grief EngrafTed brings forth new blossoms of strange tears, Fresh buds and green fruits of an alien pain ; For now flies rumour on a dark wide wing, ERECHTHEUS 39i Murmuring of woes more than ye knew, most like Hers whom ye hailed most wretched ; for the twain Last left of all this house that wore last night A threefold crown of maidens, and to-day Should let but one fall dead out of the wreath, If mad with grief we know not and sore love For this their sister, or with shame soul-stung To outlive her dead or doubt lest their lives too The Gods require to seal their country safe And bring the oracular doom to perfect end, Have slain themselves, and fallen at the altar-foot Lie by their own hands done to death ; and fear Shakes all the city as winds a wintering tree, And as dead leaves are men's hearts blown about And shrunken with ill thoughts, and flowerless hopes Parched up with presage, lest the piteous blood Shed of these maidens guiltless fall and fix On this land's forehead like a curse that cleaves To the unclean soul's inexpiate hunted head Whom his own crime tracks hotlier than a hound To life's veiled end unsleeping ; and this hour Now blackens toward the battle that must close All gates of hope and fear on all their hearts Who tremble toward its issue, knowing not yet If blood may buy them surety, cleanse or soil The helpless hands men raise and reach no stay. CHORUS 111 thoughts breed fear, and fear ill words ; but these The Gods turn from us that have kept their law. Let us lift up the strength of our hearts in song, [Str. 1. And our souls to the height of the darkling day. If the wind in our eyes blow blood for spray, 39 2 ERECHTHEUS Be the spirit that breathes in us life more strong", Though the prow reel round and the helm point wrong-, And sharp reefs whiten the shoreward way. For the steersman time sits hidden astern, {Ant. i. With dark hand plying the rudder of doom, And the surf-smoke under it flies like fume As the blast shears off and the oar-blades churn The foam of our lives that to death return, Blown back as they break to the gulfing gloom. What cloud upon heaven is arisen, what shadow, what sound, [Sir. 2. From the world beyond earth, from the night underground, That scatters from wings unbeholden the weight of its darkness around ? For the sense of my spirit is broken, and blinded its eye, . [Ant. 2. As the soul of a sick man ready to die, With fear of the hour that is on me, with dread if an end be not nigh. O Earth, O Gods of the land, have ye heart now to see and to hear [Str. 3. What slays with terror mine eyesight and seals mine ear ? O fountains of streams everlasting, are all ye not shrunk up and withered, for fear ? Lo, night is arisen on the noon, and her hounds are in quest by day, [Ant. 3. And the world is fulfilled of the noise of them crying for their prey, And the sun's self stricken in heaven, and cast out of his course as a blind man astray. ERECHTHEUS 393 From east to west of the south sea-line \Str. 4. Glitters the lightning of spears that shine ; As a storm-cloud swoln that comes up from the skirts of the sea By the wind for helmsman to shoreward ferried, So black behind them the live storm serried Shakes earth with the tramp of its foot, and the terror to be. Shall the sea give death whom the land gave birth ? " l»* 4. O Earth, fair mother, O sweet live Earth, Hide us again in thy womb from the waves of it, help us or hide. As a sword is the heart of the God thy brother, But thine as the heart of a new-made mother, To deliver thy sons from his ravin, and rage of his tide. O strong north wind, the pilot of cloud and rain, [Sir. 5. For the gift we gave thee what gift hast thou given us again ? O God dark-winged, deep-throated, a terror to forth- faring ships by night, What bride-song is this that is blown on the blast of thy breath ? A gift but of grief to thy kinsmen, a song but of death, For the bride's folk weeping, and woe for her father, who finds thee against him in fight. Turn back from us, turn thy battle, take heed of our cry ; {Ant. 5. Let thy dread breath sound, and the waters of war be dry ; 11. 394 ERECHTHEUS Let thy strong - wrath shatter the strength of our foe- men, the sword of their strength and the shield ; As vapours in heaven, or as waves or the wrecks of ships, So break thou the ranks of their spears with the breath of thy lips, Till their corpses have covered and clothed as with raiment the face of the sword-ploughed field. O son of the rose-red morning, O God twin-born with the day, [Str.6. O wind with the young sun waking, and winged for the same wide way, Give up not the house of thy kin to the host thou hast marshalled from northward for prey. ' From the cold of thy cradle in Thrace, from the mists of the fountains of night, {Ant. 6. From the bride-bed of dawn whence day leaps laughing, on fire for his flight, Come down with their doom in thine hand on the ship? thou hast brought up against us to fight. For now not in word but in deed is the harvest of spears begun, l Sir - 7- And its clamour outbellows the thunder, its lightning outlightens the sun. From the springs of the morning it thunders and lightens across and afar To the wave where the moonset ends and the fall of the last low star. With a trampling of drenched red hoofs and an earth quake of men that meet, Strong war sets hand to the scythe, and the furrows take fire from his feet. Earth groans from her great rent heart, and the hollows of rocks are afraid, ERECHTHEUS 395 And the mountains are moved, and the valleys as waves in a storm-wind swayed. From the roots of the hills to the plain's dim verge and the dark loud shore, Air shudders with shrill spears crossing, and hurtling of wheels that roar. As the grinding of teeth in the jaws of a lion that foam as they gnash Is the shriek of the axles that loosen, the shock of the poles that crash. The dense manes darken and glitter, the mouths of the mad steeds champ, Their heads flash blind through the battle, and death's foot rings in their tramp. For a fourfold host upon earth and in heaven is arrayed for the fight, Clouds ruining in thunder and armies encountering as clouds in the night. Mine ears are amazed with the terror of trumpets, with darkness fnine eyes, At the sound of the sea's host charging that deafens the roar of the sky's. White frontlet is dashed upon frontlet, and horse against horse reels hurled, And the gorge of the gulfs of the battle is wide for the spoil of the world. And the meadows are cumbered with shipwreck of chariots that founder on land, [Ant. 7. And the horsemen are broken with breach as of breakers, and scattered as sand. Through the roar and recoil of the charges that mingle their cries and confound, Like fire are the notes of the trumpets that flash through the darkness of sound. 39 6 ERECHTHEUS As the swing- of the sea churned yellow that sways with the wind as it swells Is the lift and relapse of the wave of the chargers that clash with their bells ; And the clang- of the sharp shrill brass through the burst of the wave as it shocks Rings clean as the clear wind's cry through the roar of the surge on the rocks : And the heads of the steeds in their headgear of war, and their corsleted breasts, Gleam broad as the brows of the billows that brighten the storm with their crests, Gleam dread as their bosoms that heave to the ship- wrecking wind as they rise, Filled full of the terror and thunder of water, that slays as it dies. So dire is the glare of their foreheads, so fearful the fire of their breath, And the light of their eyeballs enkindled so bright with the lightnings of death ; And the foam of their mouths as the sea's when the jaws of its gulf are as graves, And the ridge of their necks as the wind-shaken mane on the ridges of waves : And their fetlocks afire as they rear drip thick with a dewfall of blood As the lips of the rearing breaker with froth of the manslaying flood. And the whole plain reels and resounds as the fields of the sea by night When the stroke of the wind falls darkling, and death is the seafarer's light. But thou, fair beauty of heaven, dear face of the day nigh dead, \Epode. ERECHTHEUS 397 What horror hath hidden thy glory, what hand hath muffled thine head ? O sun, with what song shall we call thee, or ward off thy wrath by what name, With what prayer shall we seek to thee, soothe with what incense, assuage with what gift, If thy light be such only as lightens to deathward the seaman adrift With the fire of his house for a beacon, that foemen have wasted with flame ? Arise now, lift up thy light ; give ear to us, put forth thine hand, Reach toward us thy torch of deliverance, a lamp for the night of the land. Thine eye is the light of the living, no lamp for the dead ; O, lift up the light of thine eye on the dark of our dread. Who hath blinded thee ? who hath prevailed on thee ? who hath ensnared ? Who hath broken thy bow, and the shafts for thy battle prepared ? Have they found out a fetter to bind thee, a chain for thine arm that was bared ? Be the name of thy conqueror set forth, and the might of thy master declared. O God, fair God of the morning, O glory of day, What ails thee to cast from thy forehead its garland away ? To pluck from thy temples their chaplet enwreathed of the light, And bind on the brows of thy godhead a frontlet of night ? 398 ERECHTHEUS Thou hast loosened the necks of thine horses, and g-oaded their flanks with affright, To the race of a course that we know not on ways that are hid from our sight. As a wind through the darkness the wheels of their chariot are whirled, And the light of its passage is night on the face of the world. And there falls from the wings of thy glory no help from on high, But a shadow that smites us with fear and desire of thine eye. For our hearts are as reeds that a wind on the water bovvs down and goes by, To behold not thy comfort in heaven that hath left us untimely to die. But what light is it now leaps forth on the land Enkindling the waters and ways of the air From thy forehead made bare, From the gleam of thy bow-bearing hand ? Hast thou set not thy right hand again to the string, With the back-bowed horns bent sharp for a spring And the berbed shaft drawn, Till the shrill steel sing and the tense nerve ring That pierces the heart of the dark with dawn, O huntsman, O king, When the flame of thy face hath twilight in chase As a hound hath a blood-mottled fawn ? He has glanced into golden the grey sea-strands, And the clouds are shot through with the fires of his hands, And the height of the hollow of heaven that he fills As the heart of a strong man is quickened and thrills ; ERECHTHEUS 399 High over the folds of the low-lying- lands, On the shadowless hills As a guard on his watchtower he stands. All earth and all ocean, all depth and all height, At the flash of an eyebeam are filled with his might : The sea roars backward, the storm drops dumb, And silence as dew on the fire of the fight Falls kind in our ears as his face in our sight With presage of peace to come. Fresh hope in my heart from the ashes of dread Leaps clear as a flame from the pyres of the dead, That joy out of woe May arise as the spring out of tempest and snow, With the flower-feasted month in her hands rose- red Borne soft as a babe from the bearing-bed. Yet it knows not indeed if a God be friend, If rescue may be from the rage of the sea, Or the wrath of its lord have end. For the season is full now of death or of birth, To bring forth life, or an end of all ; And we know not if anything stand or fall That is girdled about with the round sea's girth As a town with its wall ; But thou that art highest of the Gods most high, That art lord if we live, that art lord though we die, Have heed of the tongues of our terror that cry For a grace to the children of Earth. ATHENIAN HERALD Sons of Athens, heavy-laden with the holy weight of years, Be your hearts as young men's lightened of their loathlier load of fears ; 400 ERECHTHEUS For the wave is sunk whose thunder shoreward shook the shuddering lands, And unbreached of warring - waters Athens like a sea- rock stands. CHORUS Well thy word has cheered us, well thy face and glittering eyes, that spake Ere thy tongue spake words of comfort : yet no pause behoves it make Till the whole good hap find utterance that the Gods have given at length. ATHENIAN HERALD All is this, that yet the city stands unforced by stranger strength. CHORUS Sweeter sound might no mouth utter in man's ear than this thy word. ATHENIAN HERALD Feed thy soul then full of sweetness till some bitterer note be heard. CHORUS None, if this ring sure, can mar the music fallen from heaven as rain. ATHENIAN HERALD If no fire of sun or star untimely sear the tender grain. CHORUS Fresh the dewfall of thy tidings on our hopes re- flowering lies. ERECHTHEUS 401 ATHENIAN HERALD Till a joyless shower and fruitless blight them, rain- ing- from thine eyes. Bitter springs have barren issues ; these bedew griefs arid sands. ATHENIAN HERALD Such thank-offerings ask such altars as expect thy suppliant hands. Tears for triumph, wail for welfare, what strange godhead's shrine requires ? ATHENIAN HERALD Death's or victory's be it, a funeral torch feeds all its festal fires. Like a star should burn the beacon naming from our city's head. ATHENIAN HERALD Like a balefire should the flame go up that says the king is dead. CHORUS Out of heaven, a wild-haired meteor, shoots this new sign, scattering fear. ATHENIAN HERALD Yea, the word has wings of fire that hovered, loth to burn thine ear. -102 ERECHTHEUS CHORUS From thy Hps it leapt forth loosened on a shrill and shadowy wing-. ATHENIAN HERALD Long- they faltered, fain to hide it deep as death that hides the king. CHORUS Dead with him blind hope lies blasted by the light- ning of one sword. ATHENIAN HERALD On thy tongue truth wars with error ; no man's edge hath touched thy lord. CHORUS False was thine then, jangling menace like a war- steed's brow-bound bell ? ATHENIAN HERALD False it rang not joy nor sorrow ; but by no man's hand he fell. CHORUS Vainly then good news and evil through so faint a trumpet spake. ATHENIAN HERALD All too long thy soul yet labours, as who sleeping fain would wake, Waking, fain would fall on sleep again ; the woe thou knowest not yet, When thou knowest, shall make thy memory thirst and hunger to forget. ERECHTHEUS 403 CHORUS Long- my heart has hearkened, hanging on thy clamorous ominous cry, Fain yet fearful of the knowledge whence it looks to live or die ; Now to take the perfect presage of thy dark and side- long flight Comes a surer soothsayer sorrowing, sable-stoled as birds of night. PRAXITHEA Man, what thy mother bare thee born to say Speak ; for no word yet wavering on thy lip Can wound me worse than thought forestalls or fear. ATHENIAN HERALD I have no will to weave too fine or far, O queen, the weft of sweet with bitter speech, Bright words with darkling.; but the brief truth shown Shall plead my pardon for a lingering tongue, Loth yet to strike hope through the heart and slay. The sun's light still was lordly housed in heaven When the twain fronts of war encountering smote First fire out of the battle ; but not long Had the fresh wave of windy fight begun Heaving, and all the surge of swords to sway, When timeless night laid hold of heaven, and took With its great gorge the noon as in a gulf, Strangled ; and thicker than the shrill-winged shafts Flew the fleet lightnings, held in chase through heaven By headlong heat of thunders on their trail Loosed as on quest of quarry ; that our host Smit with sick presage of some wrathful God 4°4 ERECHTHEUS Quailed, but the foe as from one iron throat With one great sheer sole thousand-throated cry Shook earth, heart-staggered from their shout, and clove The eyeless hollow of heaven ; and breached there- with As with an onset of strength-shattering sound The rent vault of the roaring noon of night From her throned seat of usurpation rang Reverberate answer ; such response there pealed As though the tide's charge of a storming sea Had burst the sky's wall, and made broad a breach In the ambient girth and bastion flanked with stars Guarding the fortress of the Gods, and all Crashed now together on ruin ; and through that cry And higher above it ceasing one man's note Tore its way like a trumpet : Charge, make end, Charge, halt not, strike, rend tip their strength by the roots, Strike, break them, make your birthright 's promise sure, Show your hearts hardier than the fenced land breeds And souls breathed in you from no spirit of earth, Sons of the sea's waves ; and all ears that heard Rang with that fiery cry, that the fine air Thereat was fired, and kindling filled the plain Full of that fierce and trumpet-quenching breath That spake the clarions silent ; no glad song For folk to hear that wist how dire a God Begat this peril to them, what strong race Fathered the sea-born tongue that sang them death, Threatening ; so raged through the red foam of fight Poseidon's son Eumolpus ; and the war Quailed round him coming, and our side bore back, ERECHTHEUS 405 As a stream thwarted by the wind and sea That meet it midway mouth to mouth, and beat The flood back of its issue ; but the king- Shouted against them, crying, O Father-God, Source of the God my father ; from thine hand Send me what end seems good now in thy sight, But death from mine to this man ; and the word Quick on his lips yet like a blast of fire Blew them together ; and round its lords that met Paused all the reeling battle ; two main waves Meeting, one hurled sheer from the sea-wall back That shocks it sideways, one right in from sea Charging, that full in face takes at one blow That whole recoil and ruin, with less fear Startle men's eyes late shipwrecked ; for a breath, Crest fronting crest hung, wave to wave rose poised, Then clashed, breaker to breaker ; cloud with cloud In heaven, chariot with chariot closed on earth, One fourfold flash and thunder ; yet a breath, And with the king's spear through his red heart's root Driven, like a rock split from its hill-side, fell Hurled under his own horsehoofs dead on earth The sea-beast that made war on earth from sea, Dumb, with no shrill note left of storming song, Eumolpus ; and his whole host with one stroke Spear-stricken through its dense deep iron heart Fell hurtling from us, and in fierce recoil Drew seaward as with one wide wail of waves, Resorbed with reluctation ; such a groan Rose from the fluctuant refluence of its ranks, Sucked sullen back and strengthless ; but scarce yet The steeds had sprung and wheels had bruised their lord 406 ERECHTHEUS Fallen, when from hig-hest heig-ht of the sundering heaven The Father for his brother's son's sake slain Sent a sheer shaft of lightning- writhen and smote Right on his son's son's forehead, that unhelmed Shone like the star that shines down storm, and gave Light to men's eyes that saw thy lord their king Stand and take breath from battle ; then too soon Saw sink down as a sunset in sea-mist The high bright head that here in van of the earth Rose like a headland, and through storm and night Took all the sea's wrath on it ; and now dead They bring thee back by war-forsaken ways The strength called one* thy husband, the great guard That was of all men, stay of all men's lives, They bear him slain of no man but a God, Godlike ; and toward him dead the city's gates Fling their arms open mother-like, through him Saved ; and the whole clear land is purged of war What wilt thou say now of this weal and woe ? PRAXITHEA 1 praise the Gods for Athens. O sweet Earth, Mother, what joy thy soul has of thy son, Thy life of my dead lord, mine own soul knows That knows thee godlike ; and what grief should mine, What sorrow should my heart have, who behold Thee made so heavenlike happy ? This alone I only of all these blessed, all thy kind, Crave this for blessing to me, that in theirs Have but a part thus bitter ; give me too Death, and the sight of eyes that meet not mine. And thee too from no godless heart or tongue ERECHTHEUS 407 Reproachful, thee too by thy living- name, Father divine, merciful God, I call, Spring- of my life-springs, fountain of my stream, Pure and poured forth to one great end with thine, Sweet head sublime of triumph and these tears, Cephisus, if thou seest as gladly shed Thy blood in mine as thine own waves are given To do this great land good, to give for love The same lips drink and comfort the same hearts, Do thou then, O my father, white-souled God, To thy most pure earth-hallowing heart eterne Take what thou gavest to be given for these, Take thy child to thee ; for her time is full, For all she hath borne she hath given, seen all she had Flow from her, from her eyes and breasts and hands Flow forth to feed this people ; but be thou, Dear God and gracious to all souls alive, Good to thine own seed also ; let me sleep, Father ; my sleepless darkling day is done, My day of life like night, but slumberless : For all my fresh fair springs, and his that ran In one stream's bed with mine, are all run out Into the deep of death. The Gods have saved Athens ; my blood has bought her at their hand, And ye sit safe ; be glorious and be glad As now for all time always, countrymen, And love my dead for ever ; but me, me, What shall man give for these so good as death r CHORUS From the cup of my heart I pour through my lips along [Sir. 1. The mingled wine of a joyful and sorrowful song ; 408 ERECHTHEUS Wine sweeter than honey and bitterer than blood that is poured From the chalice of gold, from the point of the two- edged sword. For the city redeemed should joy flow forth as a flood, And a dirge make moan for the city polluted with blood. Great praise should the Gods have surely, my country, of thee, [Ant. i. Were thy brow but as white as of old for thy sons to see, Were thy hands as bloodless, as blameless thy cheek divine ; But a stain on it stands of the life-blood offered for thine. What thanks shall we give that are mixed not and marred with dread For the price that has ransomed thine own with thine own child's head ? For a taint there cleaves to the people redeemed with blood, [Str. 2. And a plague to the blood-red hand. The rain shall not cleanse it, the dew nor the sacred flood That blesses the glad live land. In the darkness of earth beneath, in the world with- out sun, [Ant. 2. The shadows of past things reign ; And a cry goes up from the ghost of an ill deed done, And a curse for a virgin slain. ATHENA Hear, men that mourn, and woman without mate, Hearken ; ye sick of soul with fear, and thou ERECHTHEUS Dumb-stricken for thy children ; hear ye too, Earth, and the giory of heaven, and winds of the air, And the most holy heart of the deep sea, Late wrath, now full of quiet ; hear thou, sun, Rolled round with the upper fire of rolling- heaven And all the stars returning- ; hills and streams, Springs and fresh fountains, day that seest these deeds, Night that shalt hide not ; and thou child of mine, Child of a maiden, by a maid redeemed, Blood-guiltless, though bought back with innocent blood, City mine own ; I Pallas bring thee word, I virgin daughter of the most high God Give all you charge and lay command on all The word I bring be wasted not ; for this The Gods have stablished and his soul hath sworn, That time nor earth nor changing sons of man Nor waves of generations, nor the winds Of ages risen and fallen that steer their tides Through light and dark of birth and lovelier death From storm toward haven inviolable, shall see So great a light alive beneath the sun As the awless eye of Athens ; all fame else Shall be to her fame as a shadow in sleep To this wide noon at waking ; men most praised In lands most happy for their children found Shall hold as highest of honours given of God To be but likened to the least of thine, Thy least of all, my city ; thine shall be The crown of all songs sung, of all deeds done Thine the full flower for all time ; in thine hand Shall time be like a sceptre, and thine head Wear worship for a garland ; nor one leaf Shall change or winter cast out of thy crown ERECHTHEUS Till all flowers wither in the world ; thine eyes Shall first in man's flash lightning liberty, Thy tongue shall first say freedom ; thy first hand Shall loose the thunder terror as a hound To hunt from sunset to the springs of the sun Kings that rose up out of the populous east To make their quarry of thee, and shall strew With multitudinous limbs of myriad herds The foodless pastures of the sea, and make With wrecks immeasurable and unsummed defeat One ruin of all their many-folded flocks 111 shepherded from Asia ; by thy side Shall fight thy son the north wind, and the sea That was thine enemy shall be sworn thy friend And hand be struck in hand of his and thine To hold faith fast for aye ; with thee, though each Make war on other, wind and sea shall keep Peace, and take truce as brethren for thy sake Leagued with one spirit and single-hearted strength To break thy foes in pieces, who shall meet The wind's whole soul and might of the main sea Full in their face of battle, and become A laughter to thee ; like a shower of leaves Shall their long galleys rank by staggering rank Be dashed adrift on ruin, and in thy sight The sea deride them, and that lord of the air Who took by violent hand thy child to wife With his loud lips bemock them, by his breath Swept out of sight of being ; so great a grace Shall this day give thee, that makes one in heart With mine the deep sea's godhead, and his son With him that was thine helmsman, king with king, Dead man with dead ; such only names as these Shalt thou call royal, take none else or less ERECHTHEUS 4 ix To hold of men in honour ; but with me Shall these be worshipped as one God, and mix With mine the might of their mysterious names In one same shrine served singly, thence to keep Perpetual guard on Athens ; time and change, Masters and lords of all men, shall be made To thee that knowest no master and no lord Servants ; the days that lighten heaven and nights That darken shall be ministers of thine To attend upon thy glory, the great years As light-engraven letters of thy name Writ by the sun's hand on the front of the earth For world-beholden witness ; such a gift For one fair chaplet of three lives enwreathed To hang for ever from thy storied shrine, And this thy steersman fallen with tiller in hand To stand for ever at thy ship's helm seen, Shall he that bade their threefold flower be shorn And laid him low that planted, give thee back In sign of sweet land reconciled with sea And heavenlike earth with heaven ; such promise- pledge I daughter without mother born of God To the most woful mother born of man Plight for continual comfort. Hail, and live Beyond all human hap of mortal doom Happy ; for so my sire hath sworn and I. PRAXITHEA O queen Athena, from a heart made whole Take as thou givest us blessing ; never tear Shall stain for shame nor groan untune the song That as a bird shall spread and fold its wings Here in thy praise for ever, and fulfil / 4 i2 ERECHTHEUS The whole world's crowning- city crowned with thee As the sun's eye fulfils and crowns with sight The circling crown of heaven. There is no grief Great as the joy to be made one in will With him that is the heart and rule of life And thee, God born of God ; thy name is ours, And thy large grace more great than our desire. CHORUS From the depth of the springs of my spirit a fountain is poured of thanksgiving, My country, my mother, for thee, That thy dead for their death shall have life in thy sight and a name everliving At heart of thy people to be In the darkness of change on the waters of time they shall turn from afar To the beam of this dawn for a beacon, the light of these pyres for a star. They shall see thee who love and take comfort, who hate thee shall see and take warning, Our mother that makest us free ; And the sons of thine earth shall have help of the Waves that made war on their morning, And friendship and fame of the sea. NOTES v. 497-503. Cf. Eurip. Fr. Erechtheus-. v. 522-530. Id. 32-40. v. 778. Msch. Supp. 524-6. v. 983. Soph. Fr. {Oreitkyia) 055. v-rrep re irovrov tt&vt iir' eax ara X^ "* 5 vvktos Te nriyas ovpavov r' avair^vxas^ $oifiov TraAaibv tcrjirov. V. 1 163. ^Esch. Fr. {Danaides) 38. b/u-fipos 8' ewr' evvdevTos ovpuvov irg(r->. Across and along, as the bay's breadth opens, and o'er us Wild autumn exults in the wind, swift rapture and strong Impels us, and broader the wide waves brighten before us Across and along. The whole world's heart is uplifted, and knows not wrong ; The whole world's life is a chant to the sea-tide's chorus ; Are we not as waves of the water, as notes of the song ? Like children unworn of the passions and toils that wore us, We breast for a season the breadth of the seas that throng, Rejoicing as they, to be borne as of old they bore us Across and along. IN GUERNSEY IV On Dante's track by some funereal spell Drawn down through desperate ways that lead not back We seem to move, bound forth past flood and fell On Dante's track. The grey path ends : the gaunt rocks gape : the black Deep hollow tortuous night, a soundless shell, Glares darkness : are the fires of old grown slack ? Nay, then, what flames are these that leap and swell As 'twere to show, where earth's foundations crack, The secrets of the sepulchres of hell On Dante's track ? v By mere men's hands the flame was lit, we know, From heaps of dry waste whin and casual brands : Yet, knowing, we scarce believe it kindled so By mere men's hands. Above, around, high-vaulted hell expands, Steep, dense, a labyrinth walled and roofed with woe. Whose mysteries even itself not understands. The scorn in Farinata's eyes aglow Seems visible in this flame : there Geryon stands : No stage of earth's is here, set forth to show By mere men's hands. IN GUERNSEY 605 VI Night, in utmost noon forlorn and strong, with heart athirst and fasting, Hungers here, barred up for ever, whence as one whom dreams affright Day recoils before the low-browed lintel threatening doom and casting Night. All the reefs and islands, all the lawns and highlands, clothed with light, Laugh for love's sake in their sleep outside : but here the night speaks, blasting Day with silent speech and scorn of all things known from depth to height. Lower than dive the thoughts of spirit-stricken fear in souls forecasting Hell, the deep void seems to yawn beyond fear's reach, and higher than sight Rise the walls and roofs that compass it about with everlasting Night. VII The house accurst, with cursing sealed and signed, Heeds not what storms about it burn and burst : No fear more fearful than its own may find The house accurst. Barren as crime, anhungered and athirst, Blank miles of moor sweep inland, sere and blind, Where summer's best rebukes not winter's worst. 6o6 IN GUERNSEY The low bleak tower with nought save wastes behind Stares down the abyss whereon chance reared and nursed This type and likeness of the accurst man's mind, The house accurst. VIII Beloved and blest, lit warm with love and fame, The house that had the light of the eartn for guest Hears for his name's sake all men hail its name Beloved and blest. This eyrie was the homeless eagle's nest When storm laid waste his eyrie : hence he came Again, when storm smote sore his mother's breast. Bow down men bade us, or be clothed with blame And mocked for madness : worst, they sware, was best : But grief shone here, while joy was one with shame. Beloved and blest. 607 ENVOI Fly, white butterflies, out to sea, Frail pale wing's for the winds to try, Small white wings that we scarce can see Fly. Here and there may a chance-caught eye Note in a score of you twain or three Brighter or darker of tinge or dye. Some fly light as a laugh of glee, Some fly soft as a low long sigh : All to the haven where each would be Fly. ATHENS : AN ODE VOL. II. 6n ATHENS 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 : But the fathers of their spirits, how may men adore them, With what rapture may we praise, who bade our souls be free ? 6l2 ATHENS 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 fiower-lights burn. All the wandering waves of seas with all their warring waters Roll the record on for ever of the sea-fight there, 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 : ATHENS 613 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, 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. 614 ATHENS 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. 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. ATHENS 6i5 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. King by king came up against them, sire and son, 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 : 6i6 ATHENS But the godhead of supernal song, though these now stand not, stands. Pallas is not, Phoebus breathes no more in breathing brass or gold : Clytaemnestra towers, Cassandra wails, for ever : Time is bold, But nor heart nor hand hath he to unwrite the scrip- tures writ of old. 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, . [Sir. 2. Moving equal with their stature, stately with their strength : Thebes and Lacedaemon 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, ATHENS 617 Took the tale up of her glories, transient else and rootless, And in ears and hearts of all men left the praise of Greece. 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 re- joices, 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 and 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. II. 6i8 ATHENS None so glorious garland crowned the feast Pan- athenaean 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, Showed the symbols of the wild birds' wheeling motion, Waged for man's sake war with God and all his train. ATHENS 619 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 tor- mented 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 Mara- thon ? 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 620 ATHENS 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 ? 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, ATHENS 621 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. 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. 622 ATHENS 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. 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, F3y nor hide from Love ; but whoso clasps him fast goes mad. ATHENS 623 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, 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 ; 624 ATHENS 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 innocence of words and all deeds, tveighing Well the laws thereof begot on holier air, Far on high sublimely stablished, whereof only Heaven is father ; ?ior did birth of ?nortal 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 man)' 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, ATHENS 625 Not by sea-storm stricken down, nor touched of thunder, To the dark benign deep underworld, alone. 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. 626 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. Fair as Athens then with foot upon her foeman's front, and strong Even as Athens for redemption of the world from sovereign wrong, ATHENS 627 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 1881. 629 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 1 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 enrolled : Ours he is who love him, ours whose hearts' hearts hold him Fast as his the trust that hearts like his may hold. 630 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 3 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. 4 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 confuted, Song before the sovereign singer not be mute ? 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 ? THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 631 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 over- flow 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 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. 632 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 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 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. io 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, 1 La Pitie Supreme. 1879. ~ Religions et Religion. 1 880. THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 633 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 11 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. 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, 1 L'Ane. 1880. - Les Ouatre Vents de PEsprit. 1. Le Livre satiriqiw. 11. Le Livre dramatique. ill. Le Livre lyrique. iv. Le L.ivre epique. 1881. 634 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 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. 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. 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 1 Les Deux Trouvailles de Gallus. 1. Margarita, comidie. II. Esca, drame. THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 635 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. 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. S weeter 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, 636 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO Even as though the touch of spring's own hand, that pierces Earth with life's delight, had hidden in the im- pearled Golden bells and buds and petals of his verses All the breath of all the flowers in all the world. 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 1 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, liiL THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 637 20 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? 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. 638 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO 2 3 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 over- flow it, Lip that gave the challenge, hand that flung the glove ; Comforter and prophet, Paraclete and poet, Soul whose emblems are an eagle and a dove. 25 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 thj. 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 off 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 641 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 tc appal ; Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn The kind wise word that falls from years that fall— *' Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all." VOL. II. 642 AFTER SUNSET " Si quis piorum Manibus locus." I 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. 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, AFTER SUNSET 643 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 ; Till more and more as darkness grows and glows Silence and night seem likest life and love. in 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 all time 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. 644 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. 645 TO DR. JOHN BROWN 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. 6 4 6 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, 18S2. 647 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 t 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. 6 4 8 ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE 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. 6 49 AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S 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 defiled Bid memory spit upon him for their sake. 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 II. X2 650 CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES 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. 65i 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. 652 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. 653 ON LAMB'S 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. 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, 654 ON LAMB'S DRAMATIC POETS 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. 655 TO JOHN NICHOL i 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. 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 6 5 6 TO JOHN NICHOL 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 e\es closed beneath the Thames, And made the now more hallowed name of Luke Memorial to us of morning left behind. May iSSl ^57 DYSTHANATOS Ad generem Cerei-is sine cade et vulnere pauci Descendant reges, aut 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 equi- poise 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 658 EUONYMOS eK VLKtjs ovojx' ecrxe tp6@ov fceap alev adiKros. 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. 659 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 ? January 23, 1882. 66o BISMARCK AT CANOSSA 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 ! December 31, 188 1. 66i QUIA NOMINOR LEO i 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. II The lig-ht 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 662 QUIA NOMINOR LEO 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. 66 3 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. April z, 1882. 664 SIR WILLIAM GOMM i 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. 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 SIR WILLIAM GOMM 665 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 ? 666 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. EUTHANATOS 667 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. 668 EUTHANATOS 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 dead. February 4, 1 8Sl. 66o. 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. Which flower of life may smell the sweeter To love's insensual sense, Which fragrance move with offering meeter His soothed omnipotence, Being chosen as fairer or as fleeter, Borne hither or borne hence, 670 FIRST AND LAST 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. 671 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 chat 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. 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. 672 ON EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY 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 ihe 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. 673 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART i 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. ii There beats no heart on either border Wherethrough the north blasts blow But keeps your memory as a warder His beacon-fire aglow. VOL. II. ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 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 gath 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 ? 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. ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 675 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 felH Not one to life reluctant said Farewell. v 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 ? ADIEUX A MARIE STUART "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. 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. ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 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. More bright than stars or moons that vary, Sun kindling heaven and hell, Here, after all these years, Queen Mary, Farewell. 6;8 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 Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine From each warm curve and line, HERSE 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 ? 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. 68o HERSE 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 ? 68i TWINS Affection atel v 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 Made your mixed life sweet : Now, as Time sees meet, Three glad blossoms greet Two glad blossoms more. Y2 TWINS 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, 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, TWINS 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 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. TWINS 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. 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, TWINS 685 Better than my best Song above your nest I would sing : the quest Now seems too divine. ( April 28, 1881. 686 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 ; 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. 687 SEVEN YEARS OLD i 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 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 ; SEVEN YEARS OLD IV As the rapture unpolluted, As the passion undefiled, By whose force all pains heart-rooted Are transhg-ured and transmuted, Recompensed and reconciled, Through the imperial, undisputed, Present godhead of a child. v 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 gflad of love, Little soul so g"lad of living, 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. 68g 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. II 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. 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, EIGHT YEARS OLD Whose molten music thaws his ears Late frozen, deaf but yesterday To sounds of dying and dawning- years, Now quickened on his deathward way. IV 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 scarce 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. v 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. 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, EIGHT YEARS OLD 691 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-cime 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. 692 COMPARISONS Child, when they say that others Have been or are like you, Babes fit to be your brotners, Sweet human drops of dew, Bright fruit of mortal motners, What should one say or ao ? 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. 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. COMPARISONS 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. 694 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 tcld 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 ? 695 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. 6 9 6 A CHILD'S PITY 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 thing-s 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 laughmg 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. 697 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 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. 6 9 g 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 From stern to tenderer mood, At thought of gratitude Shown than of song or story He heard of hearts unkind. A CHILD'S THANKS 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. 7oi A CHILD'S BATTLES wb£ ape T &" tvpdv. — 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. For each one flower, perchance, Blooms as his cognizance : The snowdrop chill, A CHILD'S BATTLES 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 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 : A CHILD'S BATTLES 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 storm saith, still, Stout stands the daffodil : For all we say, Howe'er he look demurely, Our martialis't 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. 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, A CHILD'S BATTLES 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 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 A CHILD'S BATTLES 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 ! 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 VOL. II. A CHILD'S BATTLES 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 spokec Take not my song in token, Take my love* 7 o 7 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. 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. 7o8 A CHILD'S FUTURE 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 ; for a slave, if he fears not, is free. SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS (i 590-1650) : 7ii 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. 712 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 ; 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 ; but the sun is God. 713 III BEN JONSON Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform, With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine, Wherein the spring's 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. .II. Z2 7 i4 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. 7*5 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. yi6 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. 7 i7 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. 7X8 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 ; 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. 719 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 wreatn 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. 720 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 ! " 721 XI 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 1 smooth, like Fisher 2 swollen, and now Grim Yarrington 3 scarce bloodier marked than thou, Then bluff as Mayne'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. 8 Author of Two Tragedies in One. * Author of The City Match. 5 Author of Ram- Alley, or Merry Tricks. 722 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. 723 XIII JOHN DAY Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive With murmuring- joy of bees and birds as warm, 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. 724 XIV JAMES SHIRLEY The dusk of day's decline was harden 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. 7 2 5 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 its 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 ? 726 XVI ANONYMOUS PLAYS: "ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men, Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims Queen therefore, sovereign queen of Eng-lish 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. 727, 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 : 1 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. 728 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 ; 1 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 ; 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 you. 5 The Merry Devil of Edmonton. 729 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 lyric 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. 730 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. 73i 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 Hugc. 735 , I 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 ; 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 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. A DARK MONTH 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 hei 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 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 ! VOL. II. 738 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. 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. A DARK MONTH 739 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 laug-hed 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- 740 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 741 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 742 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. S A DARK MONTH 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 ; 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. 744 A DARK MONTH 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. A DARK MONTH 745 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, ii. 2 A2 A DARK MONTH 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. A DARK MONTH 747 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 — 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. 74 8 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 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 foisget 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 vet September Binds their hearts, that yet Remember, forget, and remember, Forget, and recall, and forget. A DARK MONTH 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 ; 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 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 angfels around and above him, And I find place in his heart. A DARK MONTH XI T 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 sunlig-ht 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 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 : 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. And his hands are as sunny As ruddy ripe corn Or the browner-hued honey From heather-bells borne, A DARK MONTH 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, With humble and dutiful Heart, from above : Bless me, O my beautiful Innocent love ! 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. 756 A DARK MONTH XIV Spring, and fall, arid 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. 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 ! 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. 758 A DARK MONTH 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. 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 To 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 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, No intense Joy to be, In the sense Of the sea — A DARK MONTH 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, And the cup Of each flower Shrivelled up That same hour, With no light Left behind. Out of sight, Out of mind ! 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 7 6 3 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. > Yet it haply may hap That he, When the mirth in his veins is as sap In a tree. 764 A DARK MONTH 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 surr. Day nor night. A DARK MONTH 765 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 wora. All the mists that swim Round the dawns that grow less dim Still wax brighter and more bright with hope of him. 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 fac« home. A DARK MONTH 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. A DARK MONTH 767 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 XXII Of such is the kingdom of heaven, No glory that ever was shea 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 defiled each creed : If of such be the kingdom of heaven, It must be heaven indeed. A DARK MONTH 769 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. 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. VOL. II. 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. 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. A DARK MONTH 771 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 XXVI 5£ 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 ; Best, in all this playtime, Best of all in tune, Girls more glad than Maytime. Boys more bright than June A DARK MONTH Mixed with all those dances. Far through field and street Sing- their silent glances, Ring- their radiant feet. Flowers wherewith May crowned 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. 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 ; A DARK MONTH When full-orbed it rises, Now divined afar : None in all the skies is Half so good a star ; None that seers importune Till a sign be won : Star of our good fortune, Rise and reign, our sun A DARK MONTH 775 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 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 weariei not of us Than we of the dream That spring - was to love us And joy was to gleam Through the shadows above 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 stor) r , Her tresses of cloud ; Like phantoms that glimmer Of glories of old With ever yet dimmer Pale circlets of gold As darkness grows grimmer And memory more cold. A DARK MONTH 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 moon. 778 A DARK MONTH 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 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 ! 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. 7 8 ° 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. 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. A DARK MONTH 781 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. 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. 782 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. 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. SUNRISE 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, 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, 7 8 4 SUNRISE 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 even SPECIMENS OF MODERN POETS THE HEPTALOGIA OR THE SEVEN AGAINST SENSE A CAP WITH SEVEN BELLS 7 8 7 THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A NUTSHELL One, who is not, we see : but one, whom we see not, is : Surely this is not that : but that is assuredly this. What, and wherefore, and whence ? for under is over and under : If thunder could be without lightning-, lightning could be without thunder. Doubt is faith in the main : but faith, on the whole, is doubt : We cannot believe by proof : but could we believe without ? Why, and whither, and how ? for barley and rye are not clover : Neither are straight lines curves : yet over is under and over. Two and two may be four : but four and four are not eight : Fate and God may be twain : but God is the same thing as fate. 7 88 THE HIGHER PANTHEISM Ask a man what he thinks, and get from a man what he feels : God, once caught in the fact, shows you a fair pair of heels. Body and spirit are twins : God only knows which is which : The soul squats down in the flesh, like a tinker drunk in a ditch. More is the whole than a part : but half is more than the whole : Clearly, the soul is the body : but is not the body the soul ? One and two are not one : but one and nothing is two : Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true. Once the mastodon was : pterodactyls were common as cocks : Then the mammoth was God : now is He a prize ox. Parallels all things are : yet many of these are askew You are certainly I : but certainly I am not you. Springs the rock from the plain, shoots the stream from the rock : Cocks exist for the hen : but hens exist for the cock. God, whom we see not, is : and God, who is not, we see : Fiddle, we know, is diddle : and diddle, we take it, is dee. 7 8 9 JOHN JONES'S WIFE I AT THE PIANO I Love me and leave me ; what love bids retrieve me ? can June's fist grasp May ? Leave me and love me ; hopes eyed once above me like spring's sprouts decay ; Fall as the snow falls, when summer leaves grow false — cards packed for storm's play ! ii Nay, say Decay's self be but last May's elf, wing shifted, eye sheathed — ■ Changeling in April's crib rocked, who lets 'scape rills locked fast since frost breathed — Skin cast (think ! ) adder-like, now bloom bursts bladder-like, — bloom frost bequeathed? in Ah, how can fear sit and hear as love hears it griefs heart's cracked grate's screech ? Chance lets the gate sway that opens on hate's way and shews on shame's beach Crouched like an imp sly change watch sweet love's shrimps lie, a toothful in each. 790 JOHN JONES'S WIFE IV Time feels his tooth slip on husks wet from Truth's lip, which drops them and grins — Shells where no throb stirs of life left in lobsters since joy thrilled their fins — Hues of the prawn's tail or comb that makes dawn stale, so red for our sins ! v Years blind and deaf use the soul's joys as refuse, heart's peace as manure, Reared whence, next June's rose shall bloom where our moons rose last year, just as pure : Moons' ends match roses' ends : men by beasts' noses' ends mete sin's stink's cure. VI Leaves love last year smelt now feel dead love's tears melt — flies caught in time's mesh ! Salt are the dews in which new time breeds new sin, brews blood and stews flesh ; Next year may see dead more germs than this weeded and reared them afresh. Old times left perish, there's new time to cherish ; life just shifts its tune ; As, when the day dies, earth, half afraid, eyes the growth of the moon ; Love me and save me, take me or waive me ; death takes one so soon ! JOHN JONES'S WIFE 791 II JBY THE CLIFF I Is it daytime (guess), You that feed my soul To excess With that light in those eyes And those curls drawn like a scroll In that round grave guise ? No or yes ? 11 Oh, the end, I'd say ! Such a foolish thing (Pure girls' play !) As a mere mute heart, Was it worth a kiss, a ring, This ? for two must part — ■ Not to-day. in Look, the whole sand crawls, Hums, a heaving hive, Scrapes and scrawls — JOHN JONES'S WIFE Such a buzz and burst ! Here just one thing's not alive, One that was at first — But life palls. IV Yes, my heart, I know, Just my heart's stone dead — Yes, just so. Sick with heat, those worms Drop down scorched and overfed— No more need of germs ! Let them go. v Yes ; but you now, look, You, the rouged stage female With a crook, Chalked Arcadian sham, You that made my soul's sleep's dream ail— Your soul fit to damn ? Shut the book. JOHN JONES'S WIFE 793 III ON THE SANDS I There was nothing- at all in the case (conceive) But love ; being love, it was not (understand) Such a thing as the years let fall (believe) Like the rope's coil dropt from a fisherman's hand When the boat's hauled up — " by your leave ! " 11 So — well ! How that crab writhes — leg after leg Drawn, as a worm draws ring upon ring Gradually, not gladly ! Chicken or egg, Is it more than the ransom (say) of a king (Take my meaning at least) that I beg ? in Not so ! You were ready to learn, I think, What the world said ! " He loves you too well (suppose) For such leanings ! These poets, their love's mere ink — Like a flower, their flame flashes — a rosebud, blows — Then it all drops down at a wink ! 794 JOHN JONES'S WIFE IV " Ah, the instance ! A curl of a blossomless vine The vinedresser passing- it sickens to see And mutters ' Much hope (under God) of His wine From the branch and the bark of a barren tree Spring- reared not, and winter lets pine — " ' His wine that should glorify (saith He) the cup That a man beholding (not tasting) might say " Pour out life at a draught, drain it dry, drink it up, Give this one thing, and huddle the rest away — Save the bitch, and be hanged to the pup ! " VI " ' Let it rot then ! ' which saying, he leaves it — we'll guess, Feels (if the sap move at all) thus much- Yearns, and would blossom, would quicken no less, Bud at an eye's glance, flower at a touch — ' Die, perhaps, would you not, for her? ' — ' Yes ! ' VII "Note the hitch there! That's piteous — so much being done, (He'll think some day, your lover) so little to do ! Such infinite days to wear out, once begun ! Since the hand its glove holds, and the footsple its shoe — Overhead too there's always the sun ! " JOHN JONES'S WIFE 795 VIII Oh, no doubt they had said so, your friends — been profuse Of good counsel, wise hints — "where the trap lurks, walk warily — Squeeze the fruit to the core ere you count on the juice ! For the graft may fail, shift, wax, change colour, wane, vary, lie — " You were cautious, God knows — to what use ? IX This crab's wiser, it strikes me — no twist but implies life— Not a curl but's so fit you could find none fitter — For the brute from its brutehood looks up thus and eyes life — Stoop your soul down and listen, you'll hear it twitter, Laughing lightly, — my crab's life's the wise life ! x Those who've read S. T. Coleridge remember how Sammy sighs To his pensive (I think he says) Sara — "most soothing-sweet " — Crab's bulk's less (look !) than man's — yet (quoth Cancer) I am my size, And my bulk's girth contents me ! Man's maw (see ?) craves two things — wheat And flesh likewise — man's gluttonous — damn his eyes ! 796 JOHN JONES'S WIFE XI Crab's content with crab's provender : crab's love, if soothing-, Is no sweeter than pincers are soft — and a new sickle Cuts no sharper than crab's claws nip, keen as boar's toothing ! Yet crab's love's no less fervent than bard's, if less musical — 'Tis a new thing I'd lilt — but a true thing. XII Old songs tell us, of all drinks for Englishmen fighting, ale's Out and out best : salt water contents crab, it seems to me, Though pugnacious as sailors, and skilled to steer right in gales That craze pilots, if slow to sing — " Sleep'st thou ? thou dream'st o' me ! " In such love-strains as mine — or a nightingale's. XIII Ah, now, look you — tail foremost, the beast sets sea- ward — The sea draws it, sand sucks it — he's wise, my crab ! From the napkin out jumps his one talent — good steward, Just judge ! So a man shirks the smile or the stab, And sets his sail duly to leeward ! JOHN JONES'S WIFE 797 XIV Trust me? Hardly ! I bid you not lean (remark) On my spirit, your spirit — my flesh, your flesh — Hold my hand, and tread safe through the horrible dark — Quench my soul as with sprinklings of snow, then refresh With some blast of new bellows the spark ! xv By no means ! This were easy (men tell me) to say — "Give her all, throw your chance up, fall back on her heart ! " (Say my friends) " she must change ! after night follows day — " No such fool ! I am safe set in hell, for my part— So let heaven do the worst now he may ! XVI What they bid me ? Well, this, nothing more — "Tell her this— ' You are mine, I yours, though the whole world fail— Though things are not, I know there is one thing which is — ■ Though the oars break, there's hope for us yet — hoist the sail ! Oh, your heart ! what's the heart? but your kiss ! ' 79 8 JOHN JONES'S WIFE XVII "Then she breaks, she drops down, she lies flat at your feet — Take her then ! " Well, I knew it — what fools are men ! Take the bee by her horns, will your honey prove sweet ? Sweet is grass — will you pasture your cows in a fen? Oh, if contraries could but once meet ! XVIII Love you call it? Some twitch in the moon's face (observe), Wet blink of her eyelid, tear dropt about dewfall, Cheek flushed or obscured — does it make the sky swerve ? Fetch the test, work the question to rags, bring to proof all — Find what souls want and bodies deserve ! XIX Ah, we know you ! Your soul works to infinite ends, Frets, uses life up for death's sake, takes pains, Flings down love's self — " but you, bear me witness, my friends ! Have I lost spring ? count up (see) the winter's fresh gains ! Is the shrub spoilt ? the pine's hair impends ! " JOHN JONES'S WIFE 799 xx What, you'd say — " Mark how God works ! Years crowd, time wears thin, Earth keeps good yet, the sun goes on, stars hold their own, And you'll change, climb past sight of the world, shift your skin, Never heeding how life moans — 'more flesh now, less bone ! ' For that cheek's worn waste outline (death's grin) XXI " Pleads with time still — 'what good if I lose this? but see — ' " . (There's the crab gone ! ) " ' I said, si Though earth sinks," ' " (you perceive ? Ah, true, back there !) your soul now — " ' "yet some vein might be (Could one find it alive in the heart's core's pulse, cleave Through the life-springs where* "you" melts in " me ") — XXII " ' " Some true vein of the absolute soul, which sur- vives All that flesh runs to waste through — and lo, this fails ! Here's death close on us ! One life ? a million of lives ! Why choose one sail to watch of these infinite sails ? Time's a tennis-play ? thank you, no, fives ! 800 JOHN JONES'S WIFE XXIII « ' Stop life's ball then ! ' Such folly ! melt earth down for that, Till the pure ore eludes you and leaves you raw scorias ? Pish, the vein's wrong- ! " But you, friends — come, what were you at When God spat you out suddenly ? what was the story He Cut short thus, the growth He laid flat ? XXIV Wait ! the crab's twice alive, mark ! Oh, worthy, your soul, Of strange ends, great results, novel labours ! Take note, I reject this for one ! (ay, now, straight to the hole '! Safe in sand there — your skirts smooth out all as they float !) I, shirk drinking through flaws in the bowl? XXV Or suppose now that rock's cleft — grim, scored to the quick, As a man's face kept fighting all life through gets scored, Mossed and marked with grey purulent leprosies, sick, Flat and foul as man's life here (be swift with your sword — ■ Cut the soul out, stuck fast where thorns prick !) JOHN JONES'S WIFE 801 XXVI — Say it let the rock's heart out, its meaning, the thing All was made for, devised, ruled out gradually, planned — Ah, that sea-shell, perhaps — since it lies, such a ring Of pure colour, a cup full of sunbeams, to stand (Say, in Lent) at the priest's hand — (no king !) ✓ XXVII Blame the cleft then ? Praise rather ! So — just a chance gone ! Had you said — "Save the seed and secure souls in flower " — Ah, how time laughs, years palpitate, pro grapples con, Till one day you shrug shoulders — "Well, gone, the good hour ! " Till one night — " Is God off now ? or on ? " VOL. II. 802 JOHN JONES'S WIFE IV UP THE SPOUT I Hi ! Just you drop that ! Stop, I say ! Shirk work, think slink off, twist friend's wrist? Where that spined sand's lined band's the bay — Lined blind with true sea's blue, as due — Promising- — not to pay ? II For the sea's debt leaves wet tne sand ; Burst worst fate's weights in one burst gun ? A man's own yacht, blown — What ? off land ? Tack back, or veer round here, then — queer ! Reef points, though —understand ? in I'm blest if I do. Sigh ? be blowed ! Love's doves make break life's ropes, eh ? Tropes ! Faith's brig, baulked, sides caulked, rides at road ; Hope's gropes befogged, storm-dogged and bogged— Clogged, water-logged, her load ! JOHN JONES'S WIFE IV Stowed, by Jove, right and tight, away ! No show now how best plough sea's brow, Wrinkling — breeze quick, tease thick, ere day, Clear sheer wave's sheen of green, I mean, With twinkling wrinkles — eh ? v Sea sprinkles winkles, tinkles light Shells' bells — boy's joys that hap to snap ! It's just sea's fun, breeze done, to spite God's rods that scourge her surge, I'd urge — Not proper, is it — quite ? VI See, fore and aft, life's craft undone ! Crank plank, split spritsail — mark, sea's lark ! That grey cold sea's old sprees, begun When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark, All water — just God's fun ! VII Not bright, at best, his jest to these Seemed — screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin sin ! When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please Some dumb new grim great whim in him Made Jews take chalk for cheese. 804 JOHN JONES'S WIFE VIII Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped the plaice in face : None heard, 'tis odds, his — God's — folk's howls. Now, how must I apply, to try This hookiest-beaked of owls ? IX Well, I suppose God knows — I don't. Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud With birds' words — No ! he won't ! x One never should think good impossible. Eh ? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse — His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible By spy — spring's air takes there no care To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell ! XI But gold bells chime in time there, coined — Gold! Old Sphinx winks there — "Read my screed ! " Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined (Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth — At once all three purloined ! JOHN JONES'S WIFE 805 XII I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt, (Miss this chance, glance untried aside ?) John's shirt, my — no ! Ay, so — the lout ! Let yet the door gape, store on floor And not a soul about ? XIII Such men lay traps, perhaps — and I'm Weak — meek — mild — child of woe, you know ! But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime. Shrink ? Think ! Love's dawn in pawn — you spawn Of Jewry ! Just in time ! 8o6 JOHN JONES'S WIFE V OFF THE PIER I One last giance at these sands and stones f Time goes past men, and lives to his liking, Steals, and ruins, and sometimes atones. Why should he be king, though, and why not I king? There now, that wind, like a swarm of sick drones ! II Is it heaven or mere earth (come !) that moves so and moan - ? Oh, I knew, when you loved me, my soul was in flcwerage — Now the frost comes ; from prime, though, I watched through to nones, Read love's litanies over — his age was not our age ! No more flutes in this world for me now, dear I trombones. JOHN JONES'S WIFE 807 in All that youth once denied and made mouths at, age owns. Facts put fangs out and bite us ; life stings and grows viperous ; And time's fugues are a hubbub of meaningless tones. Once we followed the piper ; now why not the piper us ? Love, grown grey, plays mere solos ; we want anti- phones. IV And we sharpen our wits up with passions for hones, Melt down loadstars for magnets, use women for whetstones, Learn to bear with dead calms by remembering cyclones, Snap strings short with sharp thumbnails, till silence begets tones, Burn our souls out, shift spirits, turn skins and change zones ; v Then the heart, when all's done with, wakes, whimpers, intones Some lost fragment of tune it thought sweet ere it grew sick ; (Is it life that disclaims this, or death that disowns ?) Mere dead metal, scrawled bars — ah, one touch, you make music ! Love's worth saving, youth doubts, but experience depones. 808 JOHN JONES'S WIFE VI In the darkness (right Dickens) of Tom-All-Alone's Or the Morgue out in Paris, where tragedy centuples Life's effects b)< Death's algebra, Shakespeare (Malone's) Might have said sleep was murdered — new scholiasts have sent you pills To purge text of him ! Bread? give me — Scottice — scones ! VII Think, what use, when youth's saddle galls bay's back or roan's, To seek chords on love's keys to strike, other than his chords ? There's an error joy winks at and grief half condones, Or life's counterpoint grates the C major of discords — 'Tis man's choice 'twixt sluts rose-crowned and queens age dethrones. VIII I for instance might groan as a bag-pipe groans, Give the flesh of my heart for sharp sorrows to flagellate, Grief might grind my cheeks down, age make sticks of my bones, (Though a queen drowned in tears must be worth more than Madge elate) 1 Rose might turn burdock, and pine-apples cones ; 1 First edition : — And my face bear his brand— mine, that once bore Love's badge elate .' JOHN JONES'S WIFE IX My skin might change to a pitiful crone's, My lips to a lizard's, my hair to weed, My features, in fact, to a series of loans ; Thus much is conceded ; now, you, concede You would hardly salute me by choice, Jo"hn Jon ii. 2 C 2 8io THE POET AND THE WOODLOUSE Said a poet to a woodlouse — "Thou art certainly my brother ; I discern in thee the markings of the fingers of the Whole ; And I recognize, in spite of all the terrene smut and smother, In the colours shaded off thee, the suggestions of a soul. " Yea," the poet said, " I smell thee by some passive divination, I am satisfied with insight of the measure of thine house ; What had happened I conjecture, in a blank and rhythmic passion, Had the aeons thought of making thee a man, and me a louse. " The broad lives of upper planets, their absorption and digestion, Food and famine, health and sickness, I can scrutinize and test ; Through a shiver of the senses comes a resonance ot question, And by proof of balanced answer I decide that I am best. THE POET AND THE WOODLOUSE 8ir (( Man, the fleshly marvel, alway feels a certain kind of awe stick To the skirts of contemplation, cramped with nympholeptic weight : Feels his faint sense charred and branded by the touch of solar caustic, On the forehead of his spirit feels the footprint of a Fate." "Notwithstanding which, O poet," spake the wood- louse, very blandly, "I am likewise the created, — I the equipoise of thee ; I the particle, the atom, I behold on either hand lie The inane of measured ages that were embryos of me. u I am fed with intimations, I am clothed with conse- quences, And the air I breathe is coloured with apocalyptic blush : Ripest-budded odours blossom out of dim chaotic stenches, And the Soul plants spirit-lilies in sick leagues of human slush. * £ I am thrilled half cosmically through by crypto- phantic surgings, Till the rhythmic hills roar silent through a spongious kind of blee : And earth's soul yawns disembowelled of her pan- creatic organs, Like a madrepore if mesmerized, in rapt catalepsy 812 THE POET AND THE WOODLOUSE "And I sacrifice, a Levite — and I palpitate, a poet ; — Can I close dead ears against the rush and resonance of things ? Symbols in me breathe and flicker up the heights of the heroic ; Earth's worst spawn, you said, and cursed me ? look ! approve me ! I have wings. " Ah, men's poets ! men's conventions crust you round and swathe you mist-like, And the world's wheels grind your spirits down the dust ye overtrod : We stand sinlessly stark-naked in effulgence of the Christlight, And our polecat chokes not cherubs ; and our skunk smells sweet to God. " For He grasps the pale Created by some thousand vital handles, Till a Godshine, bluely winnowed through the sieve of thunderstorms, Shimmers up the non-existent round the churning feet of angels ; And the atoms of that glory may be seraphs, being worms. ''Friends, your nature underlies us and your pulses overplay us ; Ye, with social sores unbandaged, can ye sing right and steer wrong ? For the transient cosmic, rooted in imperishable chaos, Must be kneaded into drastics as material for a song. THE POET AND THE WOODLOUSE 813 " Eyes once purged from homebred vapours through humanitarian passion See that monochrome a despot through a democratic prism ; Hands that rip the soul up, reeking from divine evis- ceration, Not with priestlike oil anoint him, but a stronger- smelling chrism. "Pass, O poet, retransfigured ! God, the psychometric rhapsode, Fills with fiery rhythms the silence, stings the dark with stars that blink ; All eternities hang round him like an old man's clothes collapsed, While he makes his mundane music — and he will NOT STOP, I THINK ' 814 THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE IDYL CCCLXVI 1 HE ACCOMPANIMENTS r. The Monthly Nursf 2. The Caudle 3, The Sentences THE KID l, THE MONTHLY NURSE The sickly airs had died of damp ; Through huddling- leaves the holy chime Flagged ; I, expecting Mrs. Gamp, Thought — " Will the woman come in time ? '* Upstairs I knew the matron bed Held her whose name confirms all joy To me ; and tremblingly I said, " Ah ! will it be a girl or boy ? " And, soothed, my fluttering doubts began To sift the pleasantness of things ; Developing the unshapen man, An eagle baffled of his wings ; Considering, next, how fair the state And large the license that sublimes A nineteenth-century female fate — Sweet cause that thralls my liberal rhymes ! THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE 815 And Chastities and colder Shames, Decorums mute and marvellous, And fair Behaviour that reclaims All fancies grown erroneous, Moved round me musing-, till my choice Faltered. A female in a wig Stood by me, and a drouthy voice Announced her — Mrs. Betsy Prig. 2. THE CAUDLE Sweet Love that sways the reeling years, The crown and chief of certitudes, For whose calm eyes and modest ears Time writes the rule and text of prudes — That, surpliced, stoops a nuptial head, « Nor chooses to live blindly free, But, with all pulses quieted, Plays tunes of domesticity — That Love I sing of and have sung And mean to sing till Death yawn sheer, He rules the music of my tongue, Stills it or quickens, there or here. I say but this : as we went up I heard the Monthly give a sniff And " if the big dog makes the pup — " She murmured — then repeated " if ! " The caudle on a slab was placed ; She snuffed it, snorting loud and long ; I fled — I would not stop to taste — And dreamed all night of things gone wrong. 816 THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE 3. THE SENTENCES I Abortive Love is half a sin ; But Love's abortions dearer far Than wheels without an axle-pin Or life without a married star. T[ My rules are hard to understand For him whom sensual rules depress ; A bandbox in a midwife's hand May hold a costlier bridal dress. in " I like her not ; in fact I loathe ; Bugs hath she brought from London beds." Friend ! wouldst thou rather bear their growth Or have a baby with two heads ? THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE 817 IDYL CCCLXVI THE KID My spirit, in the doorway's pause, Fluttered with fancies in my breast | Obsequious to all decent laws, i felt exceedingly distressed. I knew it rude to enter there With Mrs. V. in such a state ; And, 'neath a magisterial air, Felt actually indelicate. I knew the nurse began to grin ; I turned to greet my Love. Said she — " Confound your modesty, come in ! — What shall we call the darling, V. ? " (There are so many charming names ! Girls'— Peg, Moll, Doll, Fan, Kate, Blanche, Bab: Boys' — Mahershahal-hashbaz, James, Luke, Nick, Dick, Mark, Aminadab.) Lo, as the acorn to the oak, As well-heads to the river's height, As to the chicken the moist yolk, As to high noon the day's first white — - Such is the baby to the man. There, straddling one red arm and leg, Lay my last work, in length a span, Half hatched, and conscious of the egg. 8i8 THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE A creditable child, I hoped ; And half a score of joys to be Through sunny lengths of prospect sloped Smooth to the bland futurity. O, fate surpassing other dooms, O, hope above all wrecks of time ! O, light that fills all vanquished glooms, O, silent song o'ermastering rhyme I I covered either little foot, I drew the strings about its waist ; Pink as the unshell'd inner fruit, # But barely decent, hardly chaste, Its nudity had startled me ; But when the petticoats were on, " I know," I said ; "its name shall be Paul Cyril Athanasius John." " Why," said my wife, " the child's a girl." My brain swooned, sick with failing sense ; With all perception in a whirl, How could I tell the difference ? " Nay," smiled the nurse, " the child's a boy." And all my soul was soothed to hear That so it was : then startled Joy Mocked Sorrow with a doubtful tear. And I was glad as one who sees For sensual optics things unmeet : As purity makes passion freeze. So faith warns science off her beat. Blessed are they that have not seen, And yet, not seeing, have believed : To walk by faith, as preached the Dean, And not by sight, have I achieved. Let love, that does not look, believe ; Let knowledge, that believes not, look ; THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE Truth pins her trust on falsehood's sleeve, While reason blunders by the book. Then Mrs. Prig addressed me thus ; " Sir, if you'll be advised by me, You'll leave the blessed babe to us ; It's my belief he wants his tea. ' 8 820 LAST WORDS OF A SEVENTH- RATE POET Bill, I feel far from quite right — if not further ; already the pill Seems, if I may say so, to bubble inside me. A poet's heart, Bill, Is a sort of a thing that is made of the tenderest young bloom on a fruit. You may pass me the mixture at once, if you please— and I'll thank you to boot For that poem — and then for the julep. This really is damnable stuff ! (Not the poem, of course.) Do you snivel, old friend ? well, it's nasty enough, But I think I can stand it — I think so — ay, Bill, and I could were it worse. But I'll tell you a thing that I can't and I won't. 'Tis the old, old curse — The gall of the gold-fruited Eden, the lure of the angels that fell. 'Tis the core of tiie trait snake-spotted in the hush of the shadows of hell, Where S. lost man sits with his head drawn down, and a weight on his eyes. • You know what I mean, Bill — the tender and delicate mother of lies, LAST WORDS OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 821 Woman, the devil's first cousin — no doubt by the female side. The breath of her mouth still moves in my hair, and I know that she lied, And I feel her, Bill, sir, inside me — she operates there like a drug. Were it better to live like a beetle, to wear the cast clothes of a slug, Be the louse in the locks of the hangman, the mote in the eye of the bat, Than to live and believe in a woman, who must one day grow aged and fat ? You must see it's preposterous, Bill, sir. And yet, how the thought of it clings ! I ha,ve lived out my time — I have prigged lots of verse — I have kissed (ah, that stings !) Lips that swore I had cribbed every line that I wrote on them — cribbed — honour bright ! Then I loathed her ; but now I forgive her ; perhaps after all she was right. Yet I swear it was shameful — unwomanly, Bill, sir — to say that I fibbed. Why, the poems were mine, for I bought them in print. Cribbed ? of course they were cribbed. Yet I wouldn't say, cribbed from the French — Lady Bathsheba thought it was vulgar — But picked up on the banks of the Don, from the lips of a highly intelligent Bulgar. I'm aware, Bill, that's out of all metre — I can't help it — I'm none of your sort Who set metres, by Jove, above morals — not exactly. They don't go to Court — As I mentioned one night to that cowslip-faced pet, Lady Rahab Redrabbit 822 LAST WORDS (Whom the Marquis calls. Drabby for short). Well, I say, if you want a thing-, grab it — That's what I did, at least, when I took that danseuse to a swell cabaret, Where expense was no consideration. A poet, you see, now and then must be gay. (I declined to give more, I remember, than fifty centeems to the waiter ; For I asked him if that was enough ; and the jackanapes answered — Peut-itre. Ah, it isn't in you to draw up a menu such as ours was, though humble : When I told Lady Shoreditch, she thought it a regular grand tout ensemble. ) She danced the heart out of my body — I can see in the glare of the lights, I can see her again as I saw her that evening, in spangles and tights. When I spoke to her first, her eye flashed so, I heard — as I fancied — the spark whiz From her eyelid — I said so next day to that jealous old fool of a Marquis. She reminded me, Bill, of a lovely volcano, whose entrails are lava — Or (you know my penchant for original types) of the upas in Java. In the curve of her sensitive nose was a singular species of dimple, Where the flush was the mark of an angel's creased kiss — if it wasn't a pimple. Now I'm none of your bashful John Bulls who don't know a pilau from a puggaree Nor a chili, by George, from a chopstick. So, sir, I marched into her snuggery, OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 823 And proposed a light supper by way of a finish. I treated her, Bill, To six entrees of ortolans, sprats, maraschino, and oysters. It made her quite ill. Of which moment of sickness I took some advantage. I held her like this, And availed myself, sir, of her sneezing, to shut up her lips with a kiss. The waiters, I saw, were quite struck ; and I felt, I may say, entre nous, Like Don Juan, Lauzun, Almaviva, Lord Byron, and old Richelieu. (You'll observe, Bill, that rhyme's quite Parisian ; a Londoner, sir, would have cited old Q. People tell me the French in my verses recalls that of Jeames or John Thomas : I Must maintain it's as good as the average accent of British diplomacy.) These are moments that thrill the whole spirit with spasms that excite and exalt. I stood more than the peer of the great Casanova — you know — de Seingalt. She was worth, sir, I say it without hesitation, two brace of her sisters. Ah, why should all honey turn rhubarb — all cherries grow onions — all kisses leave blisters ? Oh, and why should I ask myself questions ? I've heard such before — once or twice. Ah, I can't understand it— but, O, I imagine it strikes me as nice. There's a deity shapes us our ends, sir, rough-hew them, my boy, how we will — As I stated myself in a poem I published last year, you know, Bill — 824 LAST WORDS Where 1 mentioned that that was the question — to be, or, by Jove, not to be. Ah, it's something- — you'll think so hereafter — to wait on a poet like me. Had I written no more than those verses on that Countess I used to call Pussy — Yes, Minette or Manon — and — you'll hardly believe it — she said they were all out of Musset. Now I don't say they weren't — but what then ? and I don't say they were — I'll bet pounds against pennies on The subject — I wish I may never die Laureate, if some of them weren't out of Tennyson. And I think — I don't like to be certain, with Death, so to speak, by me, frowning - — But I think there were some — say a dozen, perhaps, or a score — out of Browning. And — though God knows his poems are riot (as all mine are, sir) perfumed with orris — Or at least with patchouli — I wouldn't be sworn there were none out of Morris. And it's possible— only the legend of Circe is quite an old yarn — old As the hills — that I might have been thinking, perhaps, of a poem by Arnold When I sang how Ulysses — Odysseus I mean — would have yearned to dishevel her Bright hair with his kisses, and painted myself at her feet — a Strayed Reveller. As for poets who go on a contrary tack to what I go and you go — You remember my lyrics translated — like " sweet bully Bottom " — from Hugo ? OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 825 Though I will say it's curious that simply on just that account there should be Men so bold as to say that not one of my poems was written by me. It would stir the political bile or the physical spleen of a drab or a Tory To hear critics disputing- my claim to Empedocles, Maud, and the Laboratory. Yes, it's singular — nay, I can'c think of a parallel (ain't it a high lark ? As that Countess would say) — there are few men believe it was I wrote the Ode to a Skylark. And it often has given myself and Lord Albert no end of diversion To hear fellows maintain to my face it was Words- worth who wrote the Excursion, When they know that whole reams of the verses recur in my authorized works Here and there, up and down ! Why, such readers are infidels — heretics — Turks. And the pitiful critics who think in their paltry pre- sumption to pay me a Pretty compliment, pairing me off, sir, with Keats — as if he could write Lamia ! While I never produced a more characteristic and exquisite book, One that gave me more real satisfaction, than did, on the whole, Lalla Rookh. Was it there that I called on all debtors, being pestered myself by a creditor, (he Isn't paid yet) to rise, by the proud appellation of bondsmen — hereditary ? Yes — I think so. And yet, on my word, I can't think why I think it was so. 826 LAST WORDS It more probably was in the poem I made a few seasons ago On that Duchess — her name now ? ah, thus one out- lives a whole cycle of joys ! Fair supplants black and brown succeeds golden. The poem made rather a noise. And indeed I have seen worse verses ; but as for the woman, my friend — Though his neck had been never so stiff, she'd have made a philosopher bend. As the broken heart of a sunset that bleeds pure purple and gold In the shudder and swoon of the sickness of colour, the agonies old That engirdle the brows of the day when he sinks with a spasm into rest And the splash of his kingly blood is dashed on the skirts of the west, Even such was my own, when I felt how much sharper than any snake's tooth Was the passion that made me mistake Lady Eve for her niece Lady Ruth. The whole world, colourless, lapsed. Earth fled from my feet like a dream, And the whirl of the walls of Space was about me, and moved as a stream Flowing and ebbing and flowing all night to a weary tune (" Such as that of my verses " ? Get out !) in the face of a sick-souled moon. The keen stars kindled and faded and fled, and the wind in my ears Was the wail of a poet for failure — you needn't come snivelling tears OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 827 And spoiling the mixture, confound you, with dropping your tears into that ! I know I'm pathetic— I must be — and you soft- hearted and fat, And I'm grateful of course for your kindness — there, don't come hugging me, now — But because a fellow's pathetic, you needn't low like a cow. I should like— on my soul, I should like — to re- member — but somehow 1 can't — If the lady whose love has reduced me to this was the niece or the aunt. But whichever it was, I feel sure, when I published my lays of last year (You remember their title — The Tramp — only seven- and-sixpence — not dear), I sent her a copy (perhaps her tears fell on the title- page — yes — I should like to imagine she wept) — and the Bride of Bulgaria (MS.) I forwarded with it. The lyrics, no doubt, she found bitter — and sweet ; But the Bride she rejected, you know, with expressions I will not repeat. Well — she did no more than all publishers did. Though my prospects were marred, I can pity and pardon them. Blindness, mere blind- ness ! And yet it was hard. For a poet, Bill, is a blossom — a bird — a billow— a breeze — A kind of creature that moves among men as a wind among trees. 8 2 8 LAST WORDS And a bard who is also the pet of patricians and dowag"ers doubly can Express his contempt for canaille in his fables where beasts are 'republican. Yet with all my disdainful forg-iveness for men so deficient in ton I cannot but feel it was cruel — I cannot but think it was wrong - . I with the heat of my heart still burning- against all bars As the fire of the dawn, so to speak, in the blanched blank brows of the stars — I with my tremulous lips made pale by musical breath — I with the shade in my eyes that was left by the kisses of Death — (For Death came near me in youth, and touched my face with his face, And put in my lips the songs that belong to a desolate place — Desolate truly, my heart and my lips, till her kiss filled them up !) I with my soul like wine poured out with my flesh for the cup — It was hard for me — it was hard — Bill, Bill, you great owl, was it not ? For the day creeps in like a Fate : and I think my grand passion is rot : And I dreamily seem to perceive, by the light of a life's dream done, The lotion at six, and the mixture at ten, and the draught before one. OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 829 Yes — I feel rather better. Man's life is a mull, at the best ; And the patent perturbator pills are like bullets cf lead in my chest. When a man's whole spirit is like the lost Pleiad, a blown-out star, Is there comfort in Holloway, Bill ? is there hope of salvation in Parr ? True, most things work to their end — and an end that the shroud overlaps. Under lace, under silk, under gold, sir, the skirt of a winding-sheet flaps — Which explains, if you think of it, Bill, why I can't, though my soul thereon broodeth, Quite make out if I loved Lady Tamar as much as I loved Lady Judith. Yet her dress was of violet velvet, her hair was hyacinth-hued, And her ankles — no matter. A face where the music of every mood Was touched by the tremulous fingers of passionate feeling, and made Strange melodies, scornful, but sweeter than strings whereon sorrow has played To enrapture the hearing of mirth when his garland of blossom and green Turns to lead on the anguished forehead — "you don't understand what I mean " ? Well, of course I knew you were stupid — you always were stupid at school — Now don't say you weren't — but I'm hanged if I thought you were quite such a fool ! You don't see the point of all this ? I was talking of sickness and death — 830 LAST WORDS In that poem I made years ago, I said this — " Love, the flower-time whose breath Smells sweet through a summer of kisses and perfumes an autumn of tears Is sadder at root than a winter — its hopes heavy- hearted like fears. Though I love your Grace more than I love little Letty, the maid of the mill, Yet the heat of your lips when I kiss them " (you see we were intimate, Bill) " And the beat of the delicate blood in your eyelids of azure and white Leave the taste of the grave in my mouth and the shadow of death on my sight. Fill the cup — twine the chaplet — come into the garden — get out of the house — Drink to me with your eyes — there's a banquet behind, where worms only carouse ! As I said to sweet Katie, who lived by the brook on the land Philip farmed — Worms shall graze where my kisses found pasture ! " The Duchess, I may say, was charmed. It was read to the Duke, and he cried like a child. If you'll give me a pill, I'll go on till past midnight. That poem was said to be — Somebody's, Bill. But you see you can always be sure of my hand as the mother that bore me By the fact that I never write verse which has netffer been written before me. Other poets — I blush for them, Bill — may adore and repudiate in turn a Libitina, perhaps, or Pandemos ; my Venus, you know, is Laverna. OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 831 Nay, that epic of mine which begins from foundations the Bible is built on — " Of man's first disobedience" — I've heard it at- tributed, dammy, to Milton. Well, it's lucky for them that it's not worth my while, as I may say, to break spears With the hirelings, forsooth, of the press who assert that Othello was Shakespeare's. When he that can run, sir, may read — if he borrows the book, or goes on tick — In my poems the bit that describes how the Hellespont joins the Propontic. There are men, I believe, who will tell you that Gray wrote the whole of The Bard — Or that I didn't write half the Elegy, Bill, in a Country Churchyard. When you know that my poem, The Poet, begins — " Ruin seize thee ! " and ends With recapitulations of horrors the poet invokes on his friends. And I'll swear, if you look at the dirge on my relatives under the turf, you Will perceive it winds up with some lines on myself- — and begins with the curfew. Now you'll grant it's more probable, Bill— as a man of the world, if you please — That all these should have prigged from myself than that I should have prigged from all these. I could cry when I think of it, friend, if such tears would comport with my dignity, That the author of Christabel ever should smart from such vulgar malignity. (You remember perhaps that was one of the first little things that I carolled 832 LAST WORDS After finishing- Marmion, the Princess, the Song- of the Shirt, and Childe Harold.) Oh, doubtless it always has been so — Ah, doubtless it always will be — There are men who would say that myself is a different person from me. Better the porridge of patience a poor man snuffs in his plate Than the water of poisonous laurels distilled by the fingers of hate. "Tis a dark-purple sort of a moonlighted kind of a midnight, I know ; You remember those verses I wrote on Irene, from Edgar A. Poe ? It was Lady Aholibah Levison, daughter of old Lord St. Giles, Who inspired those delectable strains, and rewarded her bard with her smiles. There are tasters who've sipped of Castalia, who don't look on my brew as the brew : There are fools who can't think why the names of my heroines of title should always be Hebrew. 'Twas my comrade, Sir Alister Knox, said, " Noo, dinna ye fash wi' Apollo, mon ; Gang to Jewry for wives and for concubines, lad — look at David and Solomon. And it gives an erotico-scriptural twang," said that high-born young man, " — tickles The lug" (he meant ear) " of the reader — to throw in a touch of the Canticles." So I versified half of The Preacher — it took me a week, working slowly. Bah ! OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET 833 You don't half know the sex, Bill — they like it, And what if her name was Aholibah ? I recited her charms, in conjunction with those of a girl at the cafe, In a poem I published in collaboration with Templeton (Taffy). There are prudes in a world full of envy — and some of them thought it too strong To compare an earl's daughter by name with a girl at a French restaurant. I regarded her, though, with the chivalrous eyes of a knight-errant on quest ; I may say I don't know that I ever felt prouder, old friend, of a conquest. And when /'ve been made happy, I never have cared a brass farthing who knew it ; I Thank my stars I'm as free from mock-modesty, friend, as from vulgar fatuity. I can't say if my spirit retains — for the subject appears to me misty — any tie To such associations as Poesy weaves round the records of Christianity. There are bards — I may be one myself — who delight in their skill to unlock a lip's Rosy secrets by kisses and whispers of texts from the charming Apocalypse. It was thus that I won, by such biblical pills of poetical manna, From two elders — Sir Seth and Lord Isaac — the liking of Lady Susanna. But I left her — a woman to me is no more than a match, sir, at tennis is — When I heard she'd gone off with my valet, and burnt my rhymed version of Genesis. VOL. 11. 2D 834 LAST WORDS OF A SEVENTH-RATE POET You may see by my shortness of speech that my time's almost up : I perceive That my new-fangled brevity strikes you : but don't — though the public will — grieve. As it's sometimes my whim to be vulgar, it's some- times my whim to be brief ; As when once I observed, after Heine, that " she was a harlot, and I " (which is true) " was a thief." (Though you hardly should cite this particular line, by the way, as an instance of absolute brevity : I'm aware, man, of that ; so you needn't disgrace yourself, sir, by such grossly mistimed and impertinent levity.) I don't like to break off, any more than you wish me to stop : but my fate is Not to vent half a million such rhymes without block- heads exclaiming — Jam Satis. Specimen from the speaker's original poems. Come into the orchard, Anne, For the dark owl, Night, has fled, And Phosphor slumbers, as well as he can With a daffodil sky for a bed : And the musk of the roses perplexes a man, And the pimpernel muddles his head. 83.5 SONNET FOR A PICTURE That nose is out of drawing. With a gasp. She pants upon the passionate lips that ache With the red drain of her own mouth, and make A monochord of colour. Like an asp, One lithe lock wriggles in his rutilant grasp. Her bosom is an oven of myrrh, to bake Love's white warm shewbread to a browner cake. The lock his fingers clench has burst its hasp. The legs are absolutely abominable. Ah ! what keen overgust of wild-eyed woes Flags in that bosom, flushes in that nose ? Nay ! Death sets riddles for desire to spell, Responsive. What red hem earth's passion sews, But may be ravenously unripped in hell ? 8 3 6 NEPHELIDIA From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable nimbus of nebulous noonshine, Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear of the flies as they float, Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel of mystic miraculous moonshine, These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and threaten with throbs through the throat ? Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of an actor's appalled agitation, Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than pale with the promise of pride in the past ; Flushed with the famishing fullness of fever that reddens with radiance of rathe recreation, Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast ? Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a tremulous touch on the temples of terror, Strained as the sinews yet strenuous with strife of the dead who is dumb as the dust-heaps of death : Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic emo- tional exquisite error, Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself by beatitude's breath. NEPHELIDIA 837 Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to the spirit and soul of our senses Sweetens the stress of suspiring- suspicion that sobs in the semblance and sound of a sigh ; Only this oracle opens Olympian, in mystical moods and triangular tenses — " Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day when we die." Mild is the mirk and monotonous music of memory, melodiously mute as it may be, While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised by the breach of men's rapiers, resigned to the rod ; Made meek as a mother whose bosom-beats bound with the bliss-bringing bulk of a balm-breathing baby, As they grope through the grave-yard of creeds, under skies growing green at a groan for the grimness of God. Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old, and its binding is blacker than bluer : Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies, and their dews are the wine of the bloodshed of things ; Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free as a fawn that is freed from the fangs that pursue her, Till the heart-beats of hell shall be hushed by a hymn from the hunt that has harried the kennel of kings. MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY AND OTHER POEMS MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY To Theodore Watts 843 ] THE SEABOARD The sea is at ebb, and the sound of her utmost word Is soft as the least wave's lapse in a still small reach. From bay into bay, on quest of a goal deferred, From headland ever to headland and breach to breach Where earth gives ear to the message that all days preach With changes of gladness and sadness that cheer and chide, The lone way lures me along by a chance untried That haply, if hope dissolve not and faith be whole, Not all for nought shall I seek, with a dream for guide, The goal that is not, and ever again the goal. The trackless ways are untravelled of sail or bird , The hoar wave hardly recedes from the soundless beach. The silence of instant noon goes nigh to be heard, The viewless void to be visible : all and each, A closure of calm no clamour of storm can breach Concludes and confines and absorbs them on either side, All forces of light and of life and the live world's pride. 844 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Sands hardly ruffled of ripples that hardly roll Seem ever to show as in reach of a swift brief stride The goal that is not, and ever again the goal. The waves are a joy to the seamew, the meads to the herd, And a joy to the heart is a goal that it may not reach. No sense that for ever the limits of sense engird, No hearing or sight that is vassal to form or speech, Learns ever the secret that shadow and silence teach, Hears ever the notes that or ever they swell subside, Sees ever the light that lights not the loud world's tide, Clasps ever the cause of the lifelong scheme's control Wherethrough we pursue, till the waters of life be dried, The goal that is not, and ever again the goal. Friend, what have we sought or seek we, whate'er betide, Though the seaboard shift its mark from afar descried, But aims whence ever anew shall arise the soul ? Love, thought, song, life, but show for a glimpse and hide The goal that is not, and ever again the goal. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 845 II A HAVEN East and north a waste of waters, south and west Lonelier lands than dreams in sleep would feign to be, When the soul goes forth on travel, and is prest Round and compassed in with clouds that flash and flee. Dells without a streamlet, downs without a tree, Cirques of hollow cliff that crumble, give their guest Little hope, till hard at hand he pause, to see Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest. Many a lone long mile, by many a headland's crest, Down by many a garden dear to bird and bee, Up by many a sea-down's bare and breezy breast, Winds the sandy strait of road where flowers run free. Here along the deep steep lanes by field and lea Knights have carolled, pilgrims chanted, on their quest, Haply, ere a roof rose toward the bleak strand's lee, Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest. 846 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Are the wild lands cursed perchance of time, or blest, Sad with fear or glad with comfort of the sea ? Are the ruinous towers of churches fallen on rest Watched of wanderers woful now, glad once as we, When the night has all men's eyes and hearts in fee, When the soul bows down dethroned and dispossest ? Yet must peace keep guard, bv day's and night's decree, Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest. Friend, the lonely land is bright for you and me All its wild ways through : but this methinks is best, Here to watch how kindly time and change agree Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 847 III ON A COUNTRY ROAD Along these low pleached lanes, on such a day, So soft a day as this, through shade and sun, With glad grave eyes that scanned the glad wild way, And heart still hovering o'er a song begun, And smile that warmed the world with benison, Our father, lord long since of lordly rhyme, Long since hath haply ridden, when the lime Bloomed broad above him, flowering where he came. Because thy passage once made warm this clime, Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name. Each year that England clothes herself with May, She takes thy likeness on her. Time hath spun Fresh raiment all in vain and strange array For earth and man's new spirit, fain to shun Things past for dreams of better to be won, Through many a century since thy funeral chime Rang, and men deemed it death's most direful crime To have spared not thee for very love or shame ; And yet, while mists round last year's memories climb, Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name 848 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Each turn of the old wild road whereon we stray, Meseems, might bring- us face to face with one Whom seeing we could not but give thanks, and pray For England's love our father and her son To speak with us as once in days long done With all men, sage and churl and monk and mime, Who knew not as we know the soul sublime That sang for song's love more than lust of fame. Yet, though this be not, yet, in happy time, Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name. Friend, even as bees about the flowering thyme, Years crowd on years, till hoar decay begrime Names once beloved ; but, seeing the sun the same, As birds of autumn fain to praise the prime, Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY THE MILL GARDEN Stately stand the sunflowers, glowing- down the garden-side, Ranged in royal rank arow along the warm grey wall, Whence their deep disks burn at rich midnoon afire with pride, Even as though their beams indeed were sunbeams, and the tall Sceptral stems bore stars whose reign endures, not flowers that fall. Lowlier laughs and basks the kindlier flower of homelier fame, Held by love the sweeter that it blooms in Shake- speare's name, Fragrant yet as though his hand had touched and made it thrill, Like the whole world's heart, with warm new life and gladdening flame. Fair befall the fair green close that lies below the mill ! Softlier here the flower-soft feet of refluent seasons glide, Lightlier breathes the long low note of change's gentler call. 850 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Wind and storm and landslip feed the lone sea's gulf outside, Half a seamew's first flight hence ; but scarce may these appal Peace, whose perfect seal is set for signet here on all. Steep and deep and sterile, under fields no plough can tame, Dip the cliffs full-fledged with poppies red as love or shame, Wide wan daisies bleak and bold, or herbage harsh and chill ; Here the full clove pinks and wallflowers crown the love they claim. Fair befall the fair green close that lies below the mill ! All the place breathes low, but not for fear lest ill betide, Soft as roses answering roses, or a dove's recall. Little heeds it how the seaward banks may stoop and slide, How the winds and years may hold all outer things in thrall, How their wrath may work on hoar church tower and boundary wail. Far and wide the waste and ravin of their rule pro- claim Change alone the changeless lord of things, alone the same : Here a flower is stronger than the winds that- work their will, Or the years that wing their way through darkness toward their aim. Fair befall the fair green close that lies below the mill ! A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 851 Friend, the home that smiled us welcome hither when we came, When we pass again with summer, surely should reclaim Somewhat given of heart's thanksgiving more than words fulfil — More than song, were song more sweet than all but love, might frame. Fair befall the fair green close that lies below the mill ! 852 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY V A SEA-MARK Rains have left the sea-banks ill to climb : Waveward sinks the loosening seaboard's floor : Half the sliding cliffs are mire and slime. Earth, a fruit rain-rotted to the core, Drops dissolving down in flakes, that pour Dense as gouts from eaves grown foul with grime. One sole rock which years that scathe not score Stands a sea-mark in the tides of time. Time were even as even the rainiest clime, Life were even as even this lapsing shore, Might not aught outlive their trustless prime : Vainly fear would wail or hope implore, Vainly grief revile or love adore Seasons clothed in sunshine, rain, or rime. Now for me one comfort held in store Stands a sea-mark in the tides of time. Once, by fate's default or chance's crime, Each apart, our burdens each we bore ; Heard, in monotones like bells that chime, Chime the sounds of sorrows, float and soar A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Joy's full carols, near or far before ; Heard not yet across the alternate rhyme Time's tongue tell what sign set fast of yore Stands a sea-mark in the tides of time. Friend, the sign we knew not heretofore Towers in sight here present and sublime. Faith in faith established evermore Stands a sea-mark in the tides of time 854 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY VI THE CLIFFSIDE PATH Seaward goes the sun, and homeward by the down We, before the night upon his grave be sealed. Low behind us lies the bright steep murmuring town, High before us heaves the steep rough silent field. Breach by ghastlier breach, the cliffs collapsing yield : Half the path is broken, half the banks divide ; Flawed and crumbled, riven and rent, they cleave and slide Toward the ridged and wrinkled waste of girdling sand Deep beneath, whose furrows tell how far and wide Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand. Star by star on the unsunned waters twiring down. Golden spear-points glance against a silver shield. Over banks and bents, across the headland's crown, As by pulse of gradual plumes through twilight I wheeled, Soft as sleep, the waking wind awakes the weald. Moor and copse and fallow, near or far descried, Feel the mild wings move, and gladden where they glide : A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 855 Silence, uttering - love that all things understand, Bids the quiet fields forget that hard beside Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand. Yet may sight, ere all the hoar soft shade grow brown, Hardly reckon half the rifts and rents unhealed Where the scarred cliffs downward sundering drive and drown, Hewn as if with stroke of swords in tempest steeled, Wielded as the night's will and the wind's may wield. Crowned and zoned in vain with flowers of autumn- tide, Soon the blasts shall break them, soon the waters hide ; Soon, where late we stood, shall no man ever stand. Life and love seek harbourage on the landward side : Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand. Friend, though man be less than these, for all his pride, Yet, for all his weakness, shall not hope abide ? Wind and change can wreck but life and waste but land : Truth and trust are sure, though here till all subside Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand. 856 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY VII IN THE WATER The sea is awake, and the sound of the song of the joy of her waking is rolled From afar to the star that recedes, from anear to the wastes of the wild wide shore. Her call is a trumpet compelling us homeward : if dawn in her east be acold, From the sea shall we crave not her grace to rekindle the life that it kindled before, Her breath to requicken, her bosom to rock us, her kisses to bless as of yore ? For the wind, with his wings half open, at pause in the sky, neither fettered nor free, Leans waveward and flutters the ripple to laughter : and fain would the twain of us be Where lightly the wave yearns forward from under the curve of the deep dawn's dome, And, full of the morning and fired »with the pride of the glory thereof and the glee, Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam. Life holds not an hour that is better to live in : the past is a tale that is told, The future a sun-flecked shadow, alive and asleep, with a blessing in store. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 857 As we give us again to the waters, the rapture of limbs that the waters enfold Is less than the rapture of spirit whereby, though the burden it quits were sore, Our souls and the bodies they wield at their will are absorbed in the life they adore — In the life that endures no burden, and bows not the forehead, and bends not the knee — ■ In the life everlasting of earth and of heaven, in the laws that atone and agree, In the measureless music of things, in the fervour of forces that rest or that roam, That cross and return and reissue, as I after you and as you after me Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam. For, albeit he were less than the least of them, haply the heart of a man may be bold To rejoice in the word of the sea as a mother's that saith to the son she bore, Child, was not the life in thee mine, and my spirit the breath in thy lips from of old ? Have I let not thy weakness exult in my strength, and thy foolishness learn of my lore ? Have I helped not or healed not thine anguish, or made not the might of thy gladness more ? And surely his heart should answer, The light of the love of my life is in thee. She is fairer than earth, and the sun is not fairer, the wind is not blither than she ; From my youth hath she shown me the joy of her bays that I crossed, of her cliffs that I clomb, 858 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Till now that the twain of us here, in desire of the dawn and in trust of the sea, Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam. Friend, earth is a harbour of refuge for winter, a covert whereunder to flee When day is the vassal of night, and the strength of the hosts of her mightier than he ; But here is the presence adored of me, here my desire is at rest and at home. There are cliffs to be climbed upon land, there are ways to be trodden and ridden : but we Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 859 VIII THE SUNBOWS Spray of song that springs in April, light of love that laughs through May, Live and die and live for ever : nought of all things far less fair Keeps a surer life than these that seem to pass like fire away. . In the souls they live which are but all the brighter that they were ; In the hearts that kindle, thinking what delight of old was there. Wind that shapes and lifts and shifts them bids perpetual memory play Over dreams and in and out of deeds and thoughts which seem to wear Light that leaps and runs and revels through the springing flames of spray. Dawn is wild upon the waters where we drink of dawn to-day : , , Wide, from wave to wave rekindling in rebound through radiant air, Flash the fires unwoven and woven again of wind that works in play, Working wonders more than heart may note or sight may wellnigh dare, 860 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Wefts of rarer light than colours rain from heaven, though this be rare. Arch on arch unbuilt in building, reared and ruined ray by ray. Breaks and brig-htens, laughs and lessens, even till eyes may hardly bear Light that leaps and runs and revels through the springing flames of spray. Year on year sheds light and music rolled and flashed from bay to bay Round the summer capes of time and winter head lands keen and bare Whence the soul keeps watch, and bids her vassal memory watch and pray, If perchance the dawn may quicken, or perchance the midnight spare. Silence quells not music, darkness takes not sunlight in her snare ; Shall not joys endure that perish ? Yea, saith dawn, though night say nay : Life on life goes out, but very life enkindles every- where Light that leaps and runs and revels through the springing flames of spray. Friend, were life no more than this is, well would yet the living fare. All aflower and all afire and all flung heavenward, who shall say Such a flash of life were worthless ? This is worth a world of care — Light that leaps and runs and revels through the springing flames of spray. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 861 IX ON THE VERGE Here begins the sea that ends not till the world's end. Where we stand, Could we know the next high sea-mark set beyond these waves that gleam, We should know what never man hath known, nor eye of man hath scanned. Nought beyond these coiling clouds that melt like fume of shrines that steam Breaks or stays the strength of waters till they pass our bounds of dream. Where the waste Land's End leans westward, all the seas it watches roll Find their border fixed beyond them, and a world- wide shore's control : These whereby we stand no shore beyond us limits : these are free. Gazing hence, we see the water that grows iron round the Pole, From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all the sea. Sail on sail along the sea-line fades and flashes ; here on land Flash and fade the wheeling wings on wings of mews that plunge and scream. 862 A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY Hour on hour along the lins of life and time's evasive strand Shines and darkens, wanes and waxes, slays and dies : and scarce they seem More than motes that thronged and trembled in the brief noon's breath and beam. Some with crying and wailing, some with notes like sound of bells that toll, Some with sighing and laughing, some with words that blessed and made us whole, Passed, and left us, and we know not what they were, nor what were we. Would we know, being mortal ? Never breath of answering whisper stole From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all the sea. Shadows, would we question darkness ? Ere our eyes and brows be fanned Round with airs of twilight, washed with dews from sleep's eternal stream, Would we know sleep's guarded secret ? Ere the fire consume the brand, Would it know if yet its ashes may requicken ? yet we deem Surely man may know, or ever night unyoke her starry team, What the dawn shall be, or if the dawn shall be not t yea, the scroll Would we read of sleep's dark scripture, pledge of peace or doom of dole. Ah, but here man's heart leaps, yearning toward the gloom with venturous glee, A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY 863 Though his pilot eye behold nor bay nor harbour, rock nor shoal, From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all the sea. Friend, who knows if death indeed have lite or life have death for goal ? Day nor night can tell us, nor may seas declare nor skies unroll What has been from everlasting, or if aught shall alway be. Silence answering only strikes response reverberate on the soul From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all the sea. NEW-YEAR ODE To Victor Hugo 867 Twice twelve times have the springs of years refilled Their fountains from the river-head of time Since by the green sea's marge, ere autumn chilled Waters and woods with sense of changing clime, A great light rose upon my soul, and thrilled My spirit of sense with sense of spheres in chime, Sound as of song wherewith a God would build Towers that no force of conquering war might climb. Wind shook the glimmering sea Even as my soul in me Was stirred with breath of mastery more sublime, Uplift and borne along More thunderous tides of song, Where wave rang back to wave more rapturous rhyme And world on world flashed lordlier light Than ever lit the wandering ways of ships by night. n The spirit of God, whose breath of life is song, Moved, though his word was human, on the face Of those deep waters of the soul, too long Dumb, dark, and cold, that waited for the grace Wherewith day kindles heaven : and as some throng Of quiring wings fills full some lone chill place With sudden rush of life and joy, more strong Than death or sorrow or all night's darkling race, 868 A NEW-YEAR ODE So was my heart, that heard All heaven in each deep word, Filled full with light of thought, and waxed apace Itself more wide and deep, To take that gift and keep And cherish while my days fulfilled their space A record wide as earth and sea, The Legend writ of Ages past and yet to be. in \s high the chant of Paradise and Hell Rose, when the soul of Milton gave it wings ; As wide the sweep of Shakespeare's empire fell, When life had bared for him her secret springs ; But not his various soul might range and dwell Amid the mysteries of the founts of things ; Nor Milton's range of rule so far might swell Across the kingdoms of forgotten kings. Men, centuries, nations, time, Life, death, love, trust, and crime, Rang record through the change of smitten strings That felt an exile's hand Sound hope for every land More loud than storm's cloud-sundering trumpet rings, And bid strong death for judgment rise, And life bow down for judgment of his awless eyes IV And death, soul-stricken in his strength, resigned The keeping of the sepulchres to song ; And life was humbled, and his height of mind Brought lower than lies a grave-stone fallen along ; A NEW-YEAR ODE 869 And like a ghost and like a God mankind Rose clad with light and darkness ; weak and strong, Clean and unclean, with eyes afire and blind, Wounded and whole, fast bound with cord and thong, Free ; fair and foul, sin-stained, And sinless ; crowned and chained ; Fleet-limbed, and halting all his lifetime long ; Glad of deep shame, and sad For shame's sake ; wise, and mad ; Girt round with love and hate of right and wrong ; Armed and disarmed for sleep and strife ; Proud, and sore fear made havoc of his pride of life. v Shadows and shapes of fable and storied sooth Rose glorious as with gleam of gold unpriced ; Eve, clothed with heavenly nakedness and youth That matched the morning's ; Cain, self-sacrificed On crime's first altar : legends wise as truth, And truth in legends deep embalmed and spiced ; The stars that saw the starlike eyes of Ruth, The grave that heard the clarion call of Christ. And higher than sorrow and mirth The heavenly song of earth Sprang, in such notes as might have well sufficed To still the storms of time And sin's contentious clime With peace renewed of life reparadised : Earth, scarred not yet with temporal scars ; Goddess of gods, our mother, chosen among the stars. 870 A NEW-YEAR ODE VI Earth fair as heaven, ere change and time set odds Between them, light and darkness know not when, And fear, grown strong through panic periods, Crouched, a crowned worm, in faith's Lernean fen, And love lay bound, and hope was scourged with rods, And death cried out from desert and from den, Seeing all the heaven above him dark with gods And all the world about him marred of men. Cities that nought might purge Save the sea's whelming surge From all the pent pollutions in their pen Deep death drank down, and wrought, With wreck of all things, nought, That none might live of all their names again, Nor aught of all whose life is breath Serve any God whose likeness was not like to death. VII Till by the lips and eyes of one live nation The blind mute world found grace to see and speak, And light watched rise a more divine creation At that more godlike utterance of the Greek, Let there be freedom. Kings whose orient station Made pale the morn, and all her presage bleak, Girt each with strengths of all his generation, Dim tribes of shamefaced soul and sun-swart cheek, Twice, urged with one desire, Son following hard on sire, With all the wrath of all a world to wreak, A NEW-YEAR ODE 871 And all the rage of night Afire against the light Whose weakness makes her strong- winged empire weak, Stood up to unsay that saying, and fell Too far for song, though song were thousand-tongued, to tell. VIII From those deep echoes of the loud JEgestn That rolled response whereat false fear was chid By songs of joy sublime and Sophoclean, Fresh notes reverberate westward rose to bid All wearier times take comfort from the psean That tells the night what deeds the sunrise did, Even till the lawns and torrents Pyrenean Ring answer from the records of the Cid. But never force of fountains From sunniest hearts of mountains Wherein the soul of hidden June was hid Poured forth so pure and strong Springs of reiterate song, Loud as the streams his fame was reared amid, More sweet than flowers they feed, and fair With grace of lordlier sunshine and more lambent air. IX A star more prosperous than the storm-clothed east's Clothed all the warm south-west with light like spring's, When hands of strong men spread the wolves their feasts And from snake-spirited princes plucked the stings ; 872 A NEW-YEAR ODF Ere earth, grown all one den of hurtling beasts, Had for her sunshine and her waterspring-s The fire of hell that warmed the hearts of priests, The wells of blood that slaked the lips of kings. The shadow of night made stone Stood populous and alone, Dense with its dead and loathed of living things That draw not life from death, And as with hell's own breath And clangour of immitigable wings Vexed the fair face of Paris, made Foul in its murderous imminence of sound and shade. And all these things were parcels of the vision That moved a cloud before his eyes, or stood A tower half shattered by the strong collision Of spirit and spirit, of evil gods with good ; A ruinous wall rent through with grim division, Where time had marked his every monstrous mood Of scorn and strength and pride and self-derision : The Tower of Things, that felt upon it brood Night, and about it cast The storm of all the past Now mute and forceless as a fire subdued : Yet through the rifted years And centuries veiled with tears And ages as with very death imbrued Freedom, whence hope and faith grow strong. Smiles, and firm love sustains the indissoluble song. A NEW-YEAR ODE 873 XI Above the cloudy coil of days deceased, Its might of flight, with mists and storms beset, Burns heavenward, as with heart and hope increased, For all the change of tempests, all the fret Of frost or fire, keen fraud or force released, Wherewith the world once wasted knows not yet If evil or good lit all the darkling east From the ardent moon of sovereign Mahomet. Sublime in work and will The song sublimer still Salutes him, ere the splendour shrink and set ; Then with imperious eye And wing that sounds the sky Soars and sees risen as ghosts in concourse met The old world's seven elder wonders, firm As dust and fixed as shadows, weaker than the worm. XII High witness borne of knights high-souled and hoary Before death's face and empire's rings and glows Even from the dust their life poured forth left gory, As the eagle's cry rings after from the snows Supreme rebuke of shame clothed round with glory And hosts whose track the false crowned eagle shows ; More loud than sounds through stormiest song and story The laugh of slayers whose names the sea-wind knows ; More loud than peals on land In many a red wet hand The clash of gold and cymbals as they close ; 8 7 4 A NEW-YEAR ODE " Loud as the blast that meets The might of marshalled fleets And sheds it into shipwreck, like a rose Blown from a child's light grasp in sign That earth's high lords are lords not over breeze and brine. XIII Above the dust and mire of man's dejection The wide-winged spirit of song resurgent sees His wingless and long-labouring resurrection Up the arduous heaven, by sore and strange degrees, Mount, and with splendour of the soul's reflection Strike heaven's dark sovereign down upon his knees, Pale in the light of orient insurrection, And dumb before the almightier lord's decrees Who bade him be of yore, Who bids him be no more : And all earth's heart is quickened as the sea's, Even as when sunrise burns The very sea's heart yearns That heard not on the midnight-walking breeze The wail that woke with evensong From hearts of poor folk watching all the darkness long. XIV Dawn and the beams of sunbright song illume Love, with strange children at her piteous breast, By grace of weakness from the grave-mouthed gloom Plucked, and by mercy lulled to living rest, Soft as the nursling's nigh the grandsire's tomb That fell on sleep, a bird of rifled nest ; A NEW-YEAR ODE 375 Soft as the lips whose smile unsaid the doom That gave their sire to violent death's arrest. Even for such love's sake strong-, Wrath fires the inveterate song That bids hell gape for one whose bland mouth blest All slayers and liars that sighed Prayer as they slew and lied Till blood had clothed his priesthood as a vest, And hears, though darkness yet be dumb, The silence of the trumpet of the wrath to come. Nor lacked these lights of constellated age A star among them fed with life more dire, Lit with his bloodred fame, whose withering rage Made earth for heaven's sake one funereal pyre And life in faith's name one appointed stage For death to purge the souls of men with fire. Heaven, earth, and hell on one thrice tragic page Mixed all their light and darkness : one man's lyre Gave all their echoes voice ; Bade rose-cheeked love rejoice, And cold-lipped craft with ravenous fear conspire, And fire-eyed faith smite hope Dead, seeing enthroned as Pope And crowned of heaven on earth at hell's desire Sin, called by death's incestuous name Borgia : the world that heard it flushed and quailed with shame. 8 7 6 A NEW-YEAR ODE XVI Another year, and hope triumphant heard The consummating" sound of song- that spake Conclusion to the multitudinous word Whose expectation held her spirit awake Till full delight for twice twelve years deferred Bade all souls entering eat and drink, and take A third time comfort given them, that the third Might heap the measure up of twain, and make The sinking' year sublime Among all sons of time And fair in all men's memories for his sake. Each thought of ours became Fire, kindling from his flame, And music widening in his wide song's wake. Yea, and the world bore witness here How great a light was risen upon this darkening year. XVII It was the dawn of winter : sword in sheath, Change, veiled and mild, came down the gradual air With cold slow smiles that hid the doom beneath. Five days to die in yet were autumn's, ere The last leaf withered from his flowerless wreath. South, east, and north, our skies were all biown bare, But westward over glimmering holt and heath Cloud, wind, and light had made a heaven more fair Than ever dream or truth Showed earth in time's keen youth When men with angels communed unaware. A NEW- YEAR ODE S77 Above the sun's head, now Veiled even to the ardent brow, Rose two sheer wings of sundering cloud, that were As a bird's poised for vehement flight, Full-fledged with plumes of tawny fire and hoar grey light. XVIII As midnight black, as twilight brown, they spread, But feathered thick with flame that streaked and lined Their living darkness, ominous else of dread, From south to northmost verge of heaven inclined Most like some giant angel's, whose bent head Bowed earthward, as with message for mankind Of doom or benediction to be shed From passage of his presence. Far behind. Even while they seemed to close, Stoop, and take flight, arose Above them, higher than heavenliest thought may find In light or night supreme Of vision or of dream, Immeasurable of men's eyes or mounting mind, Heaven, manifest in manifold Light of pure pallid amber, cheered with fire of gold. XIX And where the fine gold faded all the sky Shone green as the outer sea when April glows, Inlaid with flakes and feathers fledged to fly Of clouds suspense in rapture and repose, With large live petals, broad as love bids lie Full open when the sun salutes the rose, 878 A NEW-YEAR ODE And small rent sprays wherewith the heavens most high Were strewn as autumn strews the garden-close With ruinous roseleaves whirled About their wan chill world, Through wind-worn bowers that now no music knows, Spoil of the dim dusk year Whose utter night is near, And near the flower of dawn beyond it blows ; Till east and west were fire and light, As though the dawn to come had flushed the coming night. xx The highways paced of men that toil or play, The byways known of none but lonely feet, Were paven of purple woven of night and day With hands that met as hands of friends might meet — As though night's were not lifted up to slay And day's had waxed not weaker. Peace more sweet Than music, light more soft than shadow, lay On downs and moorlands wan with day's defeat, That watched afar above Life's very rose of love Let all its lustrous leaves fall, fade, and fleet, And fill all heaven and earth Full as with fires of birth Whence time should feed his years with* light and heat : Nay, not life's, but a flower more strong Than life or time or death, love's very rose of song. A NEW-YEAR ODE 879 XXI Song visible, whence all men's eyes were lit With love and loving- wonder : song that glowed Through cloud and change on souls that knew not it And hearts that wist not whence their comfort flowed, Whence fear was lightened of her fever-fit, ' Whence anguish of her life-compelling load. Yea, no man's head whereon the fire alit, Of all that passed along that sunset road Westward, no brow so drear, No eye so dull of cheer, No face so mean whereon that light abode, But as with alien pride Strange godhead glorified Each feature flushed from heaven with fire that showed The likeness of its own life wrought By strong transfiguration as of living thought. XXII Nor only clouds of the everlasting sky, Nor only men that paced that sunward way To the utter bourne of evening, passed not by Unblest or unillumined : none might say, Of all things visible in the wide world's eye, That all too low for all that grace it lay : The lowliest lakelets of the moorland nigh, The narrowest pools where shallowest wavelets play, Were filled from heaven above With light like fire of love, 88o A NEW-YEAR ODE With flames and colours like a dawn in May, As hearts that lowlier live With light of thoughts that give Light from the depth of souls more deep than they Through song's or story's kindling scroll, The splendour of the shadow that reveals the soul. XXIII For, when such light is in the world, we share, All of us, all the rays thereof that shine : Its presence is alive in the unseen air, Its fire within our veins as quickening wine ; A spirit is shed on all men everywhere, Known or not known of all men for divine. Yea, as the sun makes heaven, that light makes fair All souls of ours, all lesser souls than thine, Priest, prophet, seer and sage, Lord of a subject age That bears thy seal upon it for a sign ; Whose name shall be thy name, Whose light thy light of fame, The light of love that makes thy soul a shrine Whose record through all years to be Shall bear this witness written — that its womb bare thee. XXIV O mystery, whence to one man's hand was given Power upon all things of the spirit, and might Whereby the veil of all the years was riven And naked stood the secret soul of night ! O marvel, hailed of eyes whence cloud is driven, That shows at last wrong reconciled with right A NEW-YEAR ODE 881 By death divine of evil and sin forgiven I O light of song, whose fire is perfect light I No speech, no voice, no thought, No love, avails us aught For service of thanksgiving in his sight Who hath given us all for ever Such gifts that man gave never So many and great since first Time's wings took flight. Man may not praise a spirit above Man's : life and death shall praise him : we can only love. XXV Life, everlasting while the worlds endure, Death, self-abased before a power more high, Shall bear one witness, and their word stand sure, That not till time be dead shall this man die. Love, like a bird, comes loyal to his lure ; Fame flies before him, wingless else to fly. A child's heart toward his kind is not more pure, An eagle's toward the sun no lordlier eye. Awe sweet as love and proud As fame, though hushed and bowed, Yearns toward him silent as his face goes by : All crowns before his crown Triumphantly bow down, For pride that one more great than all draws nigh All souls applaud, all hearts acclaim, One heart benign, one soul supreme, one conquering name. 882 A NEW-YEAR ODE NOTES ST. V. V. 3. La Legende des Siecles : Le Sacre de la Femme. 4. La Conscience. 7. Booz endormi. 8. Premiere rencontre du Christ avec le tombeau. 9. La Terre : Hymne. VI. 3. Les Temps Paniques. 9. La Ville Disparue. VII. Les Trois Cents. VIII. i. Le Detroit de l'Euripe : La Chanson de Sophoclea Salamine. 7. Le Roman cero du Cid. IX. 3. Le Petit Roi de Galice. 5. Le Jour des Rois. 9. Montfaucon. X. La vision d'ou est sorti ce livre. XI. 9. L'an neuf de l'Hegire. 12. Les sept merveilles du monde. XII. I. Les quatre jours d'Elciis. 4. Le Regiment du baron Madruce. 7. La Chanson des Aventuriers de la Mei% 9. Les Reitres. 12. La Rose de lTnfante. XIII. 1. Le Satyre. 12. Les paysans au bord de la mer. XIV. 1. Les pauvres gens 5. Petit Paul. 7. Guerre Civile. 9. La Vision de Dante. 15. La Trompette du Jugement. XV. Torquemada (1882). XVI. La Legende des Siecles : tome cinquieme et dernier (1883). XVII. November 25, 1883. 88 3 LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI. Italia, mother of the souls of men, Mother divine, Of all that served thee best with sword or pen, All sons of thine, 1 Thou knowest that here the likeness of the best Before thee stands ; The head most high, the heart found faithfullest s The purest hands. Above the fume and foam of time that flits, The soul, we know, Now sits on high where Alighieri sits With Angelo. Not his own heavenly tongue hath heavenly speech Enough to say What this man was, whose praise no thought may reach, No words can weigh. Since man's first mother brought to mortal birth Her first-born son, Such grace befell not ever man on earth As crowns this one. 884 GIUSEPPE MAZZINI Of God nor man was ever this thing- said, That he could give Life back to her who gave him, whence his dead Mother might live. But this man found his mother dead and slain, With fast sealed eyes, And bade the dead rise up and live again, And she did rise. And all the world was bright with her through him : But dark with strife, Like heaven's own sun that storming clouds bedim, Was all his life. Life and the clouds are vanished : hate and fear Have had their span Of time to hurt, and are not : he is here, The sunlike man. City superb that hadst Columbus first For sovereign son, Be prouder that thy breast hath later nurst This mightier one. Glory be his for ever, while his land Lives and is free, As with controlling breath and sovereign hand He bade her be. Earth shows to heaven the names by thousands told That crown her fame, But highest of all that heaven and earth behold Mazzini's name. 885 LES CASQUETS. From the depths of the waters that lighten and darken With change everlasting of life and of death, Where hardly by noon if the lulled ear hearken It hears the sea's as a tired child's breath, Where hardly by night if an eye dare scan it The storm lets shipwreck be seen or heard, As the reefs to the waves and the foam to the granite Respond one merciless word, Sheer seen and far, in the sea's live heaven, A seamew's flight from the wild sweet land, White-plumed with foam if the wind wake, seven Black helms as of warriors that stir not stand. From the depths that abide and the waves that environ Seven rocks rear heads that the midnight masks ; And the strokes of the swords of the storm are as iron On the steel of the wave-worn casques. Be night's dark word as the word of a wizard, Be the word of dawn as a god's glad word, Like heads of the spirits of. darkness visored That see not for ever, nor ever have heard, These basnets, plumed as for fight or plumeless, Crowned of the storm and by storm discrowned, Keep ward of the lists where the dead lie tombless And the tale of them is not found. 886 LES CASQUETS Nor eye may number nor hand may reckon The tithes that are taken of life by the dark, Or the ways of the path, if doom's hand beckon, For the soul to fare as a helmless bark — Fare forth on a way that no sign showeth, Nor aught of its goal or of aught between A path for her flight which no fowl knoweth, Which the vulture's eye hath not seen. Here still, though the wave and the wind seem lovers Lulled half asleep by their own .soft words, A dream as of death in the sun's light hovers, And a sign in the motions and cries of the birds. Dark auguries and keen from the sweet sea-swallows Strike noon with a sense as of midnight's breath, And the wing that flees and the wing that follows Are as types of the wings of death. For here, when the night roars round, and under The white sea lightens and leaps like fire, Acclaimed of storm and applauded in thunder, Sits death on the throne of his crowned desire. Yea, hardly the hand of the god might fashion A seat more strong for his strength to take, For the might of his heart and the pride of his passion To rejoice in the wars they make. When the heart in him brightens with blitheness of battle And the depth of its thirst is fulfilled with strife, And his ear with the ravage of bolts that rattle, And the soul of death with the pride of life, LES CASQUETS 887 Till the darkness is loud with his dark thanksgiving And wind and cloud are as chords of his hymn, There is nought save death in the deep night living, And the whole night worships him. Heaven's height bows down to him, signed with his token, And the sea's depth, moved as a heart that yearns, Heaves up to him, strong as a heart half broken, A heart that breaks in a prayer that burns. Of cloud is the shrine of his worship moulded, But the altar therein is of sea-shaped stone, Whereon, with the strength of his wide wings folded, Sits death in the dark, alone. He hears the word of his servant spoken, The word that the wind his servant saith ; Storm writes on the front of the night his token, That the skies may seem to bow down to death. But the clouds that stoop and the storms that minister Serve but as thralls that fulfil their tasks ; And his seal is not set save here on the sinister Crests reared of the crownless casques. Nor flame nor plume of the storm that crowned them Gilds or quickens their stark black strength. Life lightens and murmurs and laughs right round them, At peace with the noon's whole breadth and length, At one with the heart of the soft-souled heaven, At one with the life of the kind wild land : But its touch may unbrace not the strengths of the seven Casques hewn of the storm-wind's hand. 888 LES CASQUETS No touch may loosen the black braced helmlets For the wild elves' heads of the wild waves wrought. As flowers on the sea are her small green realmlets, Like heavens made out of a child's heart's thought ; But these as thorns of her desolate places, Strong- fangs that fasten and hold lives fast : And the vizors are framed as for formless faces That a dark dream sees go past. Of fear and of fate are the frontlets fashioned, And the heads behind them are dire and dumb. When the heart of the darkness is scarce impassioned, Thrilled scarce with sense of the wrath to come, They bear the sign from of old engraven, Though peace be round them and strife seem far, That here is none but the night-wind's haven, With death for the harbour bar. Of the iron of doom are the casquets carven, That never the rivets thereof should burst. When the heart of the darkness is hunger-starven, And the throats of the gulfs are agape for thirst, And stars are as flowers that the wind bids wither, And dawn is as hope struck dead by fear, The rage of the ravenous night sets hither, And the crown of her work is here. All shores about and afar lie lonely, But lonelier are these than the heart of grief, These loose-linked rivets of rock, whence only Strange life scarce gleams from the sheer main reef, LES CASQUETS 889 With a blind wan face in the wild wan morning, With a live lit flame on its brows by night, That the lost may lose not its word's mute warning And the blind by its grace have sight. Here, walled in with the wide waste water, Grew the grace of a girl's lone life, The sea's and the sea-wind's foster-daughter, And peace was hers in the main mid strife. For her, were the rocks clothed round with thunder, And the crests of them carved by the storm-smith's craft : For her was the mid storm rent in sunder As with passion that wailed and laughed. For her the sunrise kindled and scattered The red rose-leaflets of countless cloud : For her the blasts of the springtide shattered The strengths reluctant of waves back-bowed. For her would winds in the mid sky levy Bright wars that hardly the night bade cease : At noon, when sleep on the sea lies heavy, For her would the sun make peace. Peace rose crowned with the dawn on golden Lit leagues of triumph that flamed and smiled : Peace lay lulled in the moon-beholden Warm darkness making the world's heart mild For all the wide waves' troubles and treasons, One word only her soul's ear heard Speak from stormless and storm-rent seasons, And nought save peace was the word. . 8go LES CASQUETS All her life waxed large with the light of it, All her heart fed full on the sound : Spirit and sense were exalted in sight of it. Compassed and girdled and clothed with it round Sense was none but a strong still rapture, Spirit was none but a joy sublime, Of strength to curb and of craft to capture The craft and the strength of Time. Time lay bound as in painless prison There, closed in with a strait small space. Never thereon as a strange light risen Change had unveiled for her grief s far face. Three white walls flung out from the basement ' Girt the width of the world whereon Gazing at night from her flame-lit casement She saw where the dark sea shone. Hardly the breadth of a few brief paces, Hardly the length of a strong man's stride, The small court flower-lit with children's faces Scarce held scope for a bird to hide. Yet here was a man's brood reared and hidden Between the rocks and the towers and the foam, Where peril and pity and peace were bidden As guests to the same sure home. Here would pity keep watch for peril, And surety comfort his heart with peace. No flower save one, where the reefs lie sterile, Gave .of the seed of its heart's increase. LES CASQUETS 891 Pity and surety and peace most lowly Were the root and the stem and the bloom of the flower : And the light and the breath of the buds kept holy That maid's else blossomless bower. With never a leaf but the. seaweed's tangle, Never a bird's but the seamew's note, It heard all round it the strong storms wrangle, Watched far past it the waste wrecks float. But her soul was stilled by the sky's endurance, And her heart made glad with the sea's content ; And he faith waxed more in the sun's assurance For the winds that came and went. Sweetness was brought for her forth of the bitter Sea's strength, and light of the deep sea's dark, From where green lawns on Alderney glitter To the bastioned crags of the steeps of Sark. These she knew from afar beholden, And marvelled haply what life would be On moors that sunset and dawn leave golden, In dells that smile on the sea. And forth she fared as a stout-souled rover, For a brief blithe raid on the bounding brine : And light winds ferried her light bark over To the lone soft island of fair-limbed kine. But the league-long length of its wild green border, And the small bright streets of serene St. Anne, Perplexed her sense with a strange disorder At sight of the works of man. 8g2 LES CASQUETS The world was here, and the world's confusion, And the dust of the wheels of revolving life, Pain, labour, change, and the fierce illusion Of strife more vain than the sea's old strife. And her heart within her was vexed, and dizzy The sense of her soul as a wheel that whirled : She might not endure for a space that busy Loud coil of the troublous world. Too full, she said, was the world of trouble, Too dense with noise of contentious things, And shows less bright than the blithe foam's bubbie As home she fared on the smooth wind's wings. For joy grows loftier in air more lonely, Where only the sea's brood fain would be ; Where only the heart may receive in it only The love of the heart of the sea. §93 A BALLAD OF SARK. High beyond the granite portal arched across Like the gateway of some godlike giant's hold Sweep and swell the billowy breasts of moor and moss East and westward, and the dell their slopes enfold Basks in purple, glows in green, exults in gold. Glens that know the dove and fells that hear the lark Fill with joy the rapturous island, as an ark Full of spicery wrought from herb and flower and tree. None would dream that grief even here may disembark On the wrathful woful marge of earth and sea. Rocks emblazoned like the mid shield's royal boss Take the sun with all their blossom broad and bold. None wouid dream that ail this moorland s glow and gloss Could be dark as tombs that strike the spirit acold Even in eyes that opened here, and here behold Now no sun relume from hope's belated spark Any comfort, nor may ears of mourners hark Though the ripe woods ring with golden-throated glee, While the soul lies shattered, like a stranded bark On the wrathful woful marge of earth and sea. 894 A BALLAD OF SARK Death and doom are they whose crested triumphs toss On the proud plumed waves whence mourning notes are tolled. Wail of perfect woe and moan for utter loss Raise the bride-song- through the graveyard on the wold Where the bride-bed keeps the bridegroom fast in mould, Where the bride, with death for priest and doom for clerk, Hears for choir the throats of waves like wolves that bark, Sore anhungered, off the drear Eperquerie, Fain to spoil the strongholds of the strength of Sark On the wrathful woful marge of earth and sea. Prince of storm and tempest, lord whose ways are dark, Wind whose wings are spread for flight that none' may mark, Lightly dies the joy that lives by grace of thee. Love through thee lies bleeding, hope lies cold and stark, On the wrathful woful marge of earth and sea. §95 NINE YEARS OLD February 4, 1883 l Lord of light, whose shrine no hands destroy, God of song-, whose hymn no tongue refuses, Now, though spring far hence be cold and coy, Bid the golden mouths of all the Muses Ring forth gold of strains without alloy, Till the ninefold rapture that suffuses Heaven with song bid earth exult for joy, Since the child whose head this dawn bedews is Sweet as once thy violet-cradled boy. 11 Even as he lay lapped about with flowers, Lies the life now nine years old before us Lapped about with love in all its hours ; Hailed of many loves that chant in chorus Loud or low from lush or leafless bowers, Some from hearts exultant born sonorous, Some scarce louder-voiced than soft-tongued showers Two months hence, when spring's light wings poised o'er us High shall hover, and her heart be ours. 896 NINE YEARS OLD in Even as he, though man-forsaken, smiled On the soft kind snakes divinely bidden There to feed him in the green mid wild Full with hurtless honey, till the hidden Birth should prosper, finding fate more mild, So full-fed with pleasures unforbidden, So by love's lures blamelessly beguiled, Laughs the nursling of our hearts unchidden Yet by change that mars not yet the child. iv Ah, not yet ! Thou, lord of night and day, Time, sweet father of such blameless pleasure. Time, false friend who tak'st thy gifts away, Spare us yet some scantlings of the treasure, Leave us yet some rapture of delay, Yet some bliss of blind and fearless leisure Unprophetic of delight's decay, Yet some nights and days wherein to measure All the joys that bless us while they may. Not the waste Arcadian woodland, wet Still with dawn and vocal with Alpheus, Reared a nursling worthier love's regret, Lord, than this, whose eyes beholden free us Straight from bonds the soul would fain forget, Fain cast off, that night and day might see us Clear once more of life's vain fume and fret : Leave us, then, whate'er thy doom decree us, Yet some days wherein to love him yet. NINE YEARS OLD 897 VI Yet some days wherein the child is ours, Ours, not thine, O lord whose hand is o'er us Always, as the sky with suns and showers Dense and radiant, soundless or sonorous ; Yet some days for love's sake, ere the bowers Fade wherein his fair first years kept chorus Night and day with Graces robed like hours, Ere this worshipped childhood wane before us, Change, and bring forth fruit — but no more flowers, VII Love we may the thing that is to be, Love we must : but how forego this olden Joy, this flower of childish love, that we Held more dear than aught of Time is holden — Time, whose laugh is like as Death's to see — Time, who heeds not aught of all beholden, Heard, or touched in passing — flower or tree, Tares or grain of leaden days or golden — More than wind has heed of ships at sea ? VIII First the babe, a very rose of joy, Sweet as hope's first note of jubilation, Passes : then must growth and change destroy Next the child, and mar the consecration Hallowing yet, ere thought or sense annoy, Childhood's yet half heavenlike habitation, Bright as truth and frailer than a toy ; Whence its guest with eager gratulation Springs, and life grows larger round the boy. VOL. 11. 2 F 8 9 8 NINE YEARS OLD IX Yet, ere sunrise wholly cease to shine, Ere change come to chide our hearts, and scatter Memories marked for love's sake with a sign, Let the light of dawn beholden flatter Yet some while our eyes that feed on thine, Child, with love that change nor time can shatter, Love, whose silent song says more than mine Now, though charged with elder loves and latter Here it hails a lord whose years are nine. §99 AFTER A READING For the seven times seventh time love would renew the delight without end or alloy That it takes in the praise as it takes in the presence of eyes that fulfil it with joy ; But how shall it praise them and rest unrebuked by the presence and pride of the boy ? Praise meet for a child is unmeet for an elder whose winters and spring's are nine : What song - may have strength in its wings to expand them, or light in its eyes to shine, That shall seem not as weakness and darkness if matched with the theme I would fain make mine ? The round little flower of a face that exults in the sunshine of shadowless days Defies the delight it enkindles to sing of it aught not unfit for the praise Of the sweetest of all things that eyes may rejoice in and tremble with love as they gaze. Such tricks and such meanings abound on the lips and the brows that are brighter than light, The demure little chin, the sedate little nose, and the forehead of sun-stained white, That love overflows into laughter and laughter sub- sides into love at the sight. 900 AFTER A READING Each limb and each feature has action in tune with the meaning- that smiles as it speaks From the fervour of eyes and the fluttering of hands in a foretaste of fancies and freaks, When the thought of them deepens the dimples that laugh in the corners and curves of his cheeks. As a bird when the music within her is yet too intense to be spoken in song, That pauses a little for pleasure to feel how the notes from withinwards throng, So pauses the laugh at his lips for a little, and waxes within more strong. As the music elate and triumphal that bids all things of the dawn bear part With the tune that prevails when her passion has risen into rapture of passionate art, So lightens the laughter made perfect that leaps from its nest in the heaven of his heart. Deep, grave and sedate is the gaze of expectant intensity bent for awhile And absorbed on its aim as the tale that enthralls him uncovers the weft of its wile, Till the goal of attention is touched, and expectancy kisses delight in a smile. And it seems to us here that in Paradise hardly the spirit of Lamb or of Blake May hear or behold aught sweeter than lightens and rings when his bright thoughts break In laughter that well might lure them to look, and to smile as of old for his sake. AFTER A READING 901 O singers that best loved children, and best for their sakes are beloved of us here, In the world of your life everlasting-, where love has no thorn and desire has no fear, All else may be sweeter than aught is on earth 3 nought dearer than these are dean Q02 MAYTiMli IN MIDWINTER A new year gleams on us, tearful And troubled and smiling- dim As the smile on a lip still fearful, As glances of eyes that swim : But the bird of my heart makes cheerful The days that are bright for him. Child, how may a man's love merit The grace you shed as you stand, The gift that is yours to inherit ? Through you are the bleak days bland ; Your voice 'is a light to my spirit ; You bring the sun in your hand. The year's wing shows not a feather As yet of the plumes to be ; Yet here in the shrill grey weather The spring's self stands at my knee, And laughs as we commune together, And lightens the world we see. The rains are as dews for the christening Of dawns that the nights benumb : The spring's voice answers me listening For speech of a child to come, While promise of music is glistening On lips that delight keeps dumb. MAYTIME IN MIDWINTER 903 The mists and the storms receding At sight of you smile and die : Your eyes held wide on me reading Shed summer across the sky : Your heart shines clear for me, heeding No more of the world than L The world, what is it to you, dear, And me, if its face be grey, And the new-born year be a shrewd year For flowers that the fierce winds fray ? You smile, and the sky seems blue, dear ; You laugh, and the month turns May. Love cares not for care, he has daffed her Aside as a mate for guile : The sight that my soul yearns after Feeds full my sense for awhile ; Your sweet little sun-faced laughter, Your good little glad grave smile. Your hands through the bookshelves flutter ; Scott, Shakespeare, Dickens, are caught ; Blake's visions, that lighten and mutter ; Moliere — and his smile has nought Left on it of sorrow, to utter The secret things of his thought. No grim thing written or graven But grows, if you gaze on it, bright ; A lark's note rings from the raven, And tragedy's robe turns white ; And shipwrecks drift into haven ; And darkness laughs, and is light. MAYTIME IN MIDWINTER Grief seems but a vision of madness ; Life's key-note peals from above With noug-ht in it more of sadness Than broods on the heart of a dove : At sight of you, thought grows giadness, And life, through love of you, love. 905 A DOUBLE BALLAD OF AUGUST (1884) All Afric, winged with death and fire, Pants in our pleasant English air. Each blade of grass is tense as wire, And all the wood's loose trembling hair Stark in the broad and breathless glare Of hours whose touch wastes herb and tree. This bright sharp death shines everywhere ; Life yearns for solace toward the sea. Earth seems a corpse upon the pyre ; The sun, a scourge for slaves to bear. All power to fear, all keen desire, Lies dead as dreams of days that were Before the new-born world lay bare In heaven's wide eye, whereunder we Lie breathless till the season spare : Life yearns for solace toward the sea. Fierce hours, with ravening fangs that tire On spirit and sense, divide and share The throbs of thoughts that scarce respire, The throes of dreams that scarce forbear 11. 2 F 2 A DOUBLE BALLAD OF AUGUST One mute immitigable prayer For cold perpetual sleep to be Shed snowlike on the sense of care. Life yearns for solace toward the sea. The dust of ways where men suspire Seems even the dust of death's dim lair. But though the feverish days be dire The sea-wind rears and cheers its fair Blithe broods of babes that here and there Make the sands laugh and glow for glee With gladder flowers than gardens wear. Life yearns for solace toward the sea. The music dies not off the lyre That lets no soul alive despair. Sleep strikes not dumb the breathless choir Of waves whose note bids sorrow spare. As glad they sound, as fast they fare, As when fate's word first set them free And gave them light and night to wear. Life yearns for solace toward the sea. For there, though night and day conspire To compass round with toil and snare And changeless whirl of change, whose gyre Draws all things deathwards unaware, The spirit of life they scourge and scare, Wild waves that follow on waves that flee Laugh, knowing that yet, though earth despair, Life yearns for solace toward the sea. 9°7 HEARTSEASE COUNTRY TO ISABEL SWINBURNE The far green westward heavens are bland, The far green Wiltshire downs are clear As these deep meadows hard at hand : The sight knows hardly far from near, Nor morning joy from evening cheer. In cottage garden-plots their bees Find many a fervent flower to seize And strain and drain the heart away From ripe sweet-williams and sweet-peas At every turn on every way. But gladliest seems one flower to expand Its whole sweet heart all round us here ; 'Tis Heartsease Country, Pansy Land. Nor sounds nor savours harsh and drear Where engines yell and halt and veer Can vex the sense of him who sees One flower-plot midway, that for trees Has poles, and sheds all grimed or grey For bowers like those that take the breeze At every turn on every way. 9 o8 HEARTSEASE COUNTRY Content even there they smile and stand, Sweet thought's heart-easing flowers, nor fear, With reek and roaring steam though fanned, Nor shrink nor perish as they peer. The heart's eye holds not those more dear That glow between the lanes and leas Where'er the homeliest hand may please To bid them blossom as they may Where light approves and wind agrees At every turn on every way. 'Sister, the word of winds and seas Endures not as the word of these Your wayside flowers whose breath would say How hearts that love may find heart's ease At every turn on every way. 9 o 9 A BALLAD OF APPEAL TO CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Song wakes with every wakening- year From hearts of birds that only feel Brief spring's deciduous flower-time near : And song more strong to help or heal Shall silence worse than winter seal ? From love-lit thought's remurmuring cave The notes that rippled, wave on wave, Were clear as love, as faith were strong - And all souls blessed the soul that gave Sweet water from the well of song. All hearts bore fruit of joy to hear, All eyes felt mist upon them steal For joy's sake, trembling toward a tear, When, loud as marriage-bells that peal, Or flutelike soft, or keen like steel, Sprang the sheer music ; sharp or grave, We heard the drift of winds that drave. And saw, swept round by ghosts in throng, Dark rocks, that yielded, where they clave, Sweet water from the well of song. A BALLAD OF APPEAL Blithe verse made all the dim sense clear That smiles of babbling babes conceal : Prayer's perfect heart spake here : and here Rose notes of blameless woe and weal, More soft than this poor song's appeal. Where orchards bask, where cornfields wave, They dropped like rains that cleanse and lave, And scattered all the year along, Like dewfall on an April grave, Sweet water from the well of song. Ballad, go bear our prayer, and crave Pardon, because thy lowlier stave Can do this plea no right, but wrong. Ask nought beside thy pardon, save Sweet water from the well of song. 9 n CRADLE SONGS (To a tune of Blake's) I Baby, baby bright, Sleep can steal from sight Little of your light : Soft as fire in dew, Still the life in you Lights your slumber through- Four white eyelids keep Fast the seal of sleep Deep as love is deep : Yet, though closed it lies. Love behind them spies Heaven in two blue eyes. ii Baby, baby dear, Earth and heaven are near Now, for heaven is here. CRADLE SONGS Heaven is every place Where your flower-sweet face Fills our eyes with grace. Till your own eyes deign Earth a glance again, Earth and heaven are twain. "Now your sleep is done, Shine, and show the sun Earth and heaven are one. in Baby, baby sweet, Love's own lips are meet Scarce to kiss your feet. Hardly love's own ear, When your laugh crows clear, Quite deserves to hear. Hardly love's own wile, Though it please awhile, Quite deserves your smile. Baby full of grace, Bless us yet a space : Sleep will come apace. IV Baby, baby true, Man, whate'er he do, May deceive not you. CRADLE SONGS Smiles whose love is guile, Worn a flattering - while, Win from you no smile. One, the smile alone Out of love's heart grown, Ever wins your own. Man, a dunce uncouth, Errs in age and youth : Babies know the truth. v Baby, baby fair, Love is fain to dare Bless your haughtiest air. Baby blithe and bland, Reach but forth a hand None may dare withstand ; Love, though wellnigh cowed, Yet would praise aloud Pride so sweetly proud. No ! the fitting word Even from breeze or bird Never yet was heard. VI Baby, baby kind, Though no word we find, Bear us yet in mind. CRADLE SONGS Half a little hour, Baby bright in bower. Keep this thought aflower — Love it is, I see, Here with heart and knee Bows and worships me. What can baby do, Then, for love so true ? — Let it worship you. VII Baby, baby wise, Love's divine surmise Lights your constant eyes. Day and night and day One mute word would they, As the soul saith, say. Trouble comes and goes ; Wonder ebbs and flows ; Love remains and glows. As the fledgeling dove Feels the breast above, So your heart feels love. PELAGIUS The sea shall praise him and the shores bear part That reared him when the bright south world was black With fume of creeds more foul than hell's own rack, Still darkening more love's face with loveless art Since Paul, faith's fervent Antichrist, of heart Heroic, haled the world vehemently back From Christ's pure path on dire Jehovah's track, And said to dark Elisha's Lord, "Thou art." But one whose soul had put the raiment on Of love that Jesus left with James and John Withstood that Lord whose seals of love were lies, Seeing what we see — how, touched by Truth's bright rod, The fiend whom Jews and Africans called God Feels his own hell take hold on him, and dies. ii The world has no such flower in any land, And no such pearl in any gulf the sea, As any babe on any mother's knee. But all things blessed of men by saints are banned : gi6 PELAGIUS God gives them grace to read and understand The palimpsest of evil, writ where we, Poor fools and lovers but of love, can see Nought save a blessing signed by Love's own hand. The smile that opens heaven on us for them Hath sin's transmitted birthmark hid therein : The kiss it craves calls down from heaven a rod. If innocence be sin that Gods condemn, Praise we the men who so being born in sin First dared the doom and broke the bonds of God. in Man's heel is on the Almighty's neck who said, Let there be hell, and there was hell — on earth. But not for that may men forget their worth — Na)', but much more remember them — who led The living first from dwellings of the dead, And rent the cerecloths that were wont to engirth Souls wrapped and swathed and swaddled from their birth With lies that bound them fast from heel to head. Among the tombs when wise men all their lives Dwelt, and cried out, and cut themselves with knives, These men, being foolish, and of saints abhorred Beheld in heaven the sun by saints reviled, Love, and on earth one everlasting Lord In every likeness of a little child. 917 LOUIS BLANC THREE SONNETS TO HIS MEMORY I The stainless soul that smiled through glorious eyes ; The bright grave brow whereon dark fortune's blast Might blow, but might not bend it, nor o'ercast, Save for one fierce fleet hour of shame, the skies Thrilled with warm dreams of worthier days to rise And end the whole world's winter ; here at last, If death be death, have passed into the past ; If death be life, live, though their semblance dies. Hope and high faith inviolate of distrust Shone strong as life inviolate of the grave Through each bright word and lineament serene. Most loving righteousness and love most just Crowned, as day crowns the dawn-enkindled wave, With visible aureole thine unfaltering mien. ii Strong time and fire-swift change, with lightnings clad And shod with thunders of reverberate years, Have filled with light and sound of hopes and fears The space of many a season, since I had gi8 LOUIS BLANC Grace of good hap to make my spirit glad, Once communing with thine : and memory hears The bright voice yet that then rejoiced mine ears, Sees yet the light of eyes that spake, and bade Fear not, but hope, though then time's heart were weak And heaven by hell shade-stricken, and the range Of high-born hope made questionable and strange As twilight trembling till the sunlight speak. Thou sawest the sunrise and the storm in one Break : seest thou now the storm-compelling sun ? in Surely thou seest, O spirit of light and fire, Surely thou canst not choose, O soul, but see The days whose dayspring was beheld of thee Ere eyes less pure might have their hope's desire Beholding life in heaven again respire Where men saw nought that was or was to be, Save only death imperial. Thou and he Who has the heart of all men's hearts for lyre, Ye twain, being great of spirit as time is great, And sure of sight as truth's own heavenward eye. Beheld the forms of forces passing by And certitude of equal-balanced fate, Whose breath forefelt makes darkness palpitate. And knew that light should live and darkness die. 919 VOS DEOS LAUDAMUS : THE CONSERVATIVE JOURNALIST'S ANTHEM "As a matter of fact, no man living, or who ever lived — not C.-esar or Pericles, not Shakespeare or Michael Angelo — could confer honour more than he took on entering the House of Lords." — Saturday Review, December 15, 1883. "Clumsy and shallow snobbery— can do no hurt." — Ibid. I O Lords our Gods, beneficent, sublime, In the evening, and before the morning flames, We praise, we bless, we magnify your names. The slave is he that serves not ; his the crime And shame, who hails not as the crown of Time That House wherein the all-envious world acclaims Such glory that the reflex of it shames All crowns bestowed of men for prose or rhyme. The serf, the cur, the sycophant is he Who feels no cringing motion twitch his knee When from a height too high for Shakespeare nods The wearer of a higher than Milton's crown. Stoop, Chaucer, stoop : Keats, Shelley, Burns, bow down : These have no part with you, O Lords our Gods. 920 VOS DEOS LAUDAMUS ii O Lords our Gods, it is not that ye sit Serene above the thunder, and exempt From strife of tongues and casualties that tempt Men merely found by proof of manhood fit For service of their fellows : this is it Which sets you past the reach of Time's attempt, Which gives us right of justified contempt For commonwealths built up b)^ mere men's wit : That gold unlocks not, nor may flatteries ope, The portals of your heaven ; that none may hope With you to watch how life beneath you plods, Save for high service given, high duty done ; That never was your rank ignobly won : For this we give you praise, O Lords our Gods. in O Lords our Gods, the times are evil : you Redeem the time, because of evil days. While abject souls in servitude of praise Bow down to heads untitled, and the crew Whose honour dwells but in the deeds they do, From loftier hearts your nobler servants raise More manful salutation : yours are bays That not the dawn's plebeian pearls bedew ; Yours, laurels plucked not of such hands as wove Old age its chaplet in Colonos' grove. Our time, with heaven and with itself at odds, Makes all lands else as seas that seethe and boil ; But yours are yet the corn and wine and oil, And yours our worship yet, O Lords our Gods. December 15. 1883. 921 ON THE BICENTENARY OF CORNEILLE CELEBRATED UNDER THE PRESIDENCY OF VICTOR HUGO Scarce two hundred years are gone, and the world is past away As a noise of brawling wind, as a flash of breaking foam, That beheld the singer born who raised up the dead of Rome ; And a mightier now than he bids him too rise up to-day. All the dim great age is dust, and its king is tombless clay, But its loftier laurel green as in living eyes it clomb, And his memory whom it crowned hath his people's heart for home, And the shade across it falls of a lordlier-flowering bay. Stately shapes about the tomb of their mighty maker pace, Heads of high-plumed Spaniards shine, souls revive of Roman race, Q22 BICENTENARY OF CORNEILLE Sound of arms and words of wail through the glowing- darkness rise, Speech of hearts heroic rings forth of lips that know not breath, And the light of thoughts august fills the pride of kindling eyes Whence of yore the spell of song drove the shadow of darkling death. 923 IN SEPULCRETIS " Vidistis ipso rapere de rogo coenam."— Catullus, LIX. 3. " To publish even one line of an author which he himself has not intended for the public at large — especially letters which are addressed to private persons — is to commit a despicable act of felony." — Heine. I It is not then enough that men who give The best gifts given of man to man should feel 5 Alive, a snake's head ever at their heel : Small hurt the worms may do them while they live - Such hurt as scorn for scorn's sake may forgive. But now, when death and fame have set one seal On tombs whereat Love, Grief, and Glory kneel, Men sift all secrets, in their critic sieve, Of graves wherein the dust of death might shrink To know what tongues defile the dead man's name With loathsome love, and praise that stings like shame. Rest once was theirs, who had crossed the mortal brink : No rest, no reverence now : dull fools undress Death's holiest shrine, life's veriest nakedness. 924 IN SEPULCRETIS A man was born, sang, suffered, loved, and died. Men scorned him living : let us praise him dead. His life was brief and bitter, gently led And proudly, but with pure and blameless pride. He wrought no wrong toward any ; satisfied With love and labour, whence our souls are fed With largesse yet of living wine and bread. Come, let us praise him : here is nought to hide. Make bare the poor dead secrets of his heart, Strip the stark-naked soul, that all may peer, Spy, smirk, sniff, snap, snort, snivel; snarl, and sneer : Let none so sad, let none so sacred part Lie still for pity, rest unstirred for shame, But all be scanned of all men. This is fame. in " Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! " 1 If one, that strutted up the brawling streets As foreman of the flock whose concourse greets Men's ears with bray more dissonant than brass, Would change from blame to praise as coarse and crass His natural note, and learn the fawning feats Of lapdogs, who but knows what luck he meets ? But all in vain old fable holds her glass. Mocked and reviled by men of poisonous breath, A great man dies : but one thing worst was spared ; Not all his heart by their base hands lay bared. 1 Titus Andronicus, Act iv., Scene 2. IN SEPULCRETIS 925 One comes to crown with praise the dust of death ; And lo, through him this worst is brought to pass. Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! IV Shame, such as never yet dealt heavier stroke On heads more shameful, fall on theirs through whom Dead men may keep inviolate not their tomb, But all its depths these ravenous grave-worms choke. And yet what waste of wrath were this, to invoke Shame on the shameless ? Even their twin-born doom, Their native air of life, a carrion fume, Their natural breath of love, a noisome smoke, The bread they break, the cup whereof they drink, The record whose remembrance damns their name, Smells, tastes, and sounds of nothing but of shame. If thankfulness nor pity bids them think What work is this of theirs, and pause betimes, Not Shakespeare's grave would scare them off with rhymes. 926 LOVE AND SCORN i Love, loyallest and lordliest born of things, Immortal that shouldst be, though all else end, In plighted hearts of fearless friend with friend, Whose hand may curb or clip thy plume-plucked wings ? Not grief's nor time's : though these be lords and kings Crowned, and their yoke bid vassal passions bend, The} T may not pierce the spirit of sense, or blend Quick poison with the soul's live watersprings. The true clear heart whose core is manful trust Fears not that very death may turn to dust Love lit therein as toward a brother born, If one touch make not all its fine gold rust, If one breath blight not all its glad ripe corn, And all its fire be turned to fire of scorn. II Scorn only, scorn begot of bitter proof By keen experience of a trustless heart, Bears burning in her new-born hand the dart Wherewith love dies heart-stricken, and the roof LOVE AND SCORN 927 Falls of his palace, and the storied woof Long woven of many a year with life's whole art Is rent like any rotten weed apart, And hardly with reluctant eyes aloof Cold memory guards one relic scarce exempt Yet from the fierce corrosion of contempt, And hardly saved by pity. Woe are we That once we loved, and love not ; but we know The ghost of love, surviving yet in show, Where scorn has passed, is vain as grief must be. in O sacred, just, inevitable scorn, Strong child of righteous judgment, whom with grief The rent heart bears, and wins not yet relief, Seeing of its pain so dire a portent born, Must thou not spare one sheaf of all the corn, One doit of all the treasure ? not one sheaf, Not one poor doit of all ? not one dead leaf Of all that fell and left behind a thorn ? Is man so strong that one should scorn another ? Is any as God, not made of mortai mother, That love should turn in him to gall and flame ? Nay : but the true is not the false heart's brother : Love cannot love disloyalty : the name That else it wears is love no more, but shame. 928 ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD DOYLE A light of blameless laughter, tancy-bred, Soft-souled and glad and kind as love or sleep, Fades, and sweet mirth's own eyes are fain to weep Because her blithe and gentlest bird is dead. Weep, elves and fairies all, that never shed Tear yet for mortal mourning : you that keep The doors of dreams whence nought of ill may creep, Mourn once for one whose lips your honey fed. Let waters of the Golden River steep The rose-roots whence his grave blooms rosy red, And murmuring of Hyblaean hives be deep About the summer silence of its bed, And nought less gracious than a violet peep Between the grass grown greener round his head. 929 IN MEMORY OF HENRY A. BRIGHT Yet again another, ere his crowning - year, Gone from friends that here may look for him no more. Never now for him shall hope set wide the door, Hope that hailed him hither, fain to greet him here. All the gracious garden-flowers he held so dear, Oldworld English blossoms, all his homestead store, Oldworld grief had strewn them round his bier of yore, Bidding each drop leaf by leaf as tear by tear ; Rarer lutes than mine had borne more tuneful token, Touched by subtler hands than echoing time can wrong, Sweet as flowers had strewn his graveward path along. Now may no such old sweet dirges more be spoken, Now the flowers whose breath was very song are broken, Nor may sorrow find again so sweet a song. VOL. II. 930 A SOLITUDE Sea beyond sea, sand after sweep ot sand, Here ivory smooth, here cloven and ridged with flow Of channelled waters soft as rain or snow, Stretch their lone length at ease beneath the bland Grey gleam of skies whose smile on wave and strand Shines weary like a man's who smiles to know That now no dream can mock his faith with show, Nor cloud for him seem living sea or land. Is there an end at all of all this waste, These crumbling cliffs defeatured and defaced, These ruinous heights of sea-sapped walls that slide Seaward with all their banks of bleak blown flowers Glad yet of life, ere yet their hope subside Beneath the coil of dull dense waves and hours ? 93i VICTOR HUGO: L'ARCHIPEL DE LA MANCHE Sea and land are fairer now, nor aught is all the same, Since a mightier hand than Time's hath woven their votive wreath. Rocks as swords half drawn from out the smooth wave's jewelled sheath, Fields whose flowers a tongue divine hath numbered name by name, Shores whereby the midnight or the noon clothed round with flame Hears the clamour jar and grind which utters from beneath Cries of hungering waves like beasts fast bound that gnash their teeth, All of these the sun that lights them lights not like his fame ; None of these is but the thing it was before he came. Where the darkling overfalls like dens of torment seethe, High on tameless moorlands, down in meadows bland and tame, Where the garden hides, and where the wind uproots the heath, Glory now henceforth for ever, while the world shall be, Shines, a star that keeps not time with change on earth and sea. 932 THE TWILIGHT OF THE LORDS Is the sound a trumpet blown, or a bell for burial tolled, Whence the whole air vibrates now to the clash of words like swords — " Let us break their bonds in sunder, and cast away their cords ; Long enough the world has mocked us, and marvelled to behold How the grown man bears the curb whence his boy- hood was controlled "? Nay, but hearken : surer counsel more sober speech affords : "Is the past not all inscribed with the praises of our Lords ? Is the memory dead of deeds done of yore, the love grown cold That should bind our hearts to trust in their counsels wise and bold ? These that stand against you now, senseless crowds and heartless hordes, Are not these the sons of men that withstood your kings of old ? Theirs it is to bind and loose ; theirs the key that knows the wards, THE TWILIGHT OF THE LORDS 933 Theirs the staff to lead or smite ; yours, the spades and ploughs and hods : Theirs to hear and yours to cry, Power is yours, O Lords our Gods." 11 Hear, O England : these are they that would counsel thee aright. Wouldst thou fain have all thy sons sons of thine indeed, and free ? Nay, but then no more at all as thou hast been shalt thou be : Needs must many dwell in darkness, that some may look on light ; Needs must poor men brook the wrong that ensures the rich man's right. How shall kings and lords be worshipped, if no man bow the knee ? How, if no man worship these, may thy praise endure with thee ? How, except thou trust in these, shall thy name not lose its might ? These have had their will of thee since the Norman came to smite : Sires on grandsires, even as wave after wave along the sea, Sons on sires have followed, steadfast as clouds or hours in flight. Time alone hath power to say, time alone hath eyes to see, If your walls of rule be built but of clay-compacted sods, If your place of old shall know you no more, O Lords our Gods. 934 THE TWILIGHT OF THE LORDS in Through the stalls wherein ye sit sounds a sentence while we wait, Set your house in order : is it not builded on the sand ? Set your house in order, seeing- the night is hard at hand. As the twilight of the Gods in the northern dream of fate Is this hour that comes against you, albeit this hour come late. Ye whom Time and Truth bade heed, and ye would not understand, Now an axe draws nigh the tree overshadowing all the land, And its edge of doom is set to the root of all your state. Light is more than darkness now, faith than fear and hope than hate ; And what morning wills, behold, all the night shall not withstand. Rods of office, helms of rule, staffs of wise men, crowns of great, While the people willed, ye bare ; now their hopes and hearts expand, Time with silent foot makes dust of your broken crowns and rods, And the lordship of your godhead is gone, O Lords our Gods. 935 CLEAR THE WAY! Clear the way, my lords and lackeys ! you have had your day. Here you have your answer — England's yea against your nay : Long enough your house has held you : up, and clear the way. ! Lust and falsehood, craft and traffic, precedent and gold, Tongue of courtier, kiss of harlot, promise bought and sold, Gave you heritage of empire over thralls of old. Now that all these things are rotten, all their gold is rust, Quenched the pride they lived by, dead the faith and cold the lust, Shall their heritage not also turn again to dust ? By the grace of these they reigned, who left their sons their sway : By the grace of these, what England says her lords unsay : Till at last her cry go forth against them — Clear the way ! 936 CLEAR THE WAY! By the grace of trust in treason knaves have lived and lied : By the force of fear and folly fools have fed their pride : By the strength of sloth and custom reason stands defied. Lest perchance your reckoning on some latter day be worse, Halt and hearken, lords of land and princes of the purse, Ere the tide be full that comes with blessing and with curse. Where we stand, as where you sit, scarce falls a sprinkling spray ; But the wind that swells, the wave that follows, none shall stay : Spread no more of sail for shipwreck : out, and clear the way ! 937 A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY Men, born of the land that for ages Has been honoured where freedom was dear. Till your labour wax fat on its wages You shall never be peers of a peer. Where might is, the right is : Long purses make strong swords. Let weakness learn meekness : God save the House of Lords ! You are free to consume in stagnation : You are equal in right to obey : You are brothers in bonds, and the nation Is your mother — whose sons are her prey. Those others your brothers, Who toil not, weave, nor till. Refuse you and use you As waiters on their will. But your fathers bowed down to their masters And obeyed them and served and adored. Shall the sheep not give thanks to their pastors ? * Shall the serf not give praise to his lord ? Time, waning and gaining, Grown other now than then, Needs pastors and masters For sheep, and not for men. II. 2G2 938 A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY If his grandsire did service in battle, If his grandam was kissed by a king-, Must men to my lord be as cattle Or as apes that he leads in a string ? To deem so, to dream so, Would bid the world proclaim The dastards for bastards, Not heirs of England's fame. Not in spite but in right of dishonour, There are actors who trample your boards Till the earth that endures you upon her Grows weary to bear you, my lords. Your token is broken, It will not pass for gold • Your glory looks hoary, Your sun in heaven turns cold. They are worthy to reign on their brothers, To contemn them as clods and as carles, Who are Graces by grace of such mothers As brightened the bed of King Charles. What manner of banner, What fame is this they flaunt, That Britain, soul-smitten, Should shrink before their vaunt ? Bright sons of sublime prostitution, You are made of the mire of the street Where your grandmothers walked in pollution Till a coronet shone at their feet. Your Graces, whose faces Bear high the bastard's brand, Seem stronger no longer Than all this honest land- A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY But the sons of her soldiers and seamen, . They are worthy forsooth of their hire. If the father won praise from all free men, Shall the sons not exult in their sire ? Let money make sunny And power make proud their lives, And feed them and breed them Like drones in drowsiest hives But if haply the name be a burden And the souls be no kindred of theirs, Should wise men rejoice in such guerdon Or brave men exult in such heirs ? Or rather the father Frown, shamefaced, on the son, And no men but foemen, Deriding-, cry " Well done " ? Let the gold and the land they inherit Pass ever from hand into hand : In right of the forefather's merit Let the gold be the son's, and the land- Soft raiment, rich payment, High place, the state affords ; Full measure of pleasure ; But now no more, my lords. Is the future beleaguered with dangers If the poor be far other than slaves ? Shall the sons of the land be as strangers In the land of their forefathers' graves ? Shame were it to bear it, And shame it were to see : If free men you be, men, Let proof proclaim you free. 940 A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY " But democracy means dissolution : See, laden with clamour and crime, How the darkness of dim revolution Comes deepening the twilight of time ! Ah, better the fetter That holds the poor man's hand Than peril of sterile Blind change that wastes the land. " Gaze forward through clouds that environ ; It shall be as it was in the past : Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded to last." So teach they, so preach they, Who dream themselves the dream That hallows the gallows And bids the scaffold stream. " With a hero at head, and a nation Well gagged and well drilled and well cowed s And a gospel of war and damnation, Has not empire a right to be proud ? Fools prattle and tattle Of freedom, reason, right, The beauty of duty, The loveliness of light. " But we know, we believe it, we see it. Force only has power upon earth." So be it ! and ever so be it For souls that are bestial by birth ! Let Prussian with Russian Exchange the kiss of slaves : But sea-folk are free folk By grace of winds and waves. A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY Has the past from the sepulchres beckoned ? Let answer from Englishmen be — No man shall be lord of us reckoned Who is baser, not better, than we. No coward, empowered To soil a brave man's name : For shame's sake and fame's sake, Enough of fame and shame. Fame needs not the golden addition ; Shame bears it abroad as a brand. Let the deed, and no more the tradition, Speak out and be heard through the land. Pride, rootless and fruitless, No longer takes and gives ■ But surer and purer The soul of England lives. He is master and lord of his brothers Who is worthier and wiser than they. Him only, him surely, shall others, Else equal, observe and obey Truth, flawless and awless, Do falsehood what it can, Makes royal the loyal And simple heart of man. Who are these, then, that England shouldhearken, Who rage and wax wroth and grow pale If she turn from the sunsets that darken And her ship for the morning set sail ? Let strangers fear dangers : All know, that hold her dear, Dishonour upon her Can only fall through fear. 942 A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY Men, born of the landsmen and seamen Who served her with souls and with swords, She bids you be brothers, and free men, And lordless, and fearless of lords. She cares not, she dares not Care now for gold or steel : Light lead her, truth speed her, God save the Commonweal S 943 A WORD FOR THE NATION A word across the water Against our ears is borne, Of threatenings and of slaughter, Of rage and spite and scorn : We have not, alack, an ally to befriend us. And the season is ripe to extirpate and end us ; Let the German touch hands with the Gaul, And the fortress of England must fall ; And the sea shall be swept of her seamen, And the waters they ruled be their graves, And Dutchmen and Frenchmen be free men, And Englishmen slaves. n Our time once more is over, Once more our end is near : A bull without a drover, The Briton reels to rear, And the van of the nations is held by his betters, And the seas of the world shall be loosed from his fetters. And his glory shall pass as a breath, And the life that is in him be death ; 944 A WORD FOR THE NATION And the sepulchre sealed on his glory For a sign to the nations shall be As of Tyre and of Carthage in story, Once lords of the sea. ill The lips are wise and loyal, The hearts are brave and true, Imperial thoughts and royal Make strong the clamorous crew, Whence louder and prouder the noise of defiance Rings rage from the grave of a trustless alliance, And bids us beware and be warned, As abhorred of all nations and scorned, As a swordless and spiritless nation, A wreck on the waste of the waves. So foams the released indignation Of masterless slaves. ... , iv )n /. k Brute throats that miss the collar, Bowed backs that ask the whip, Stretched hands that lack the dollar, And many a lie-seared lip, Forefeel and foreshow for us signs as funereal As the signs that were regal of yore and imperial ; We shall pass as the princes they served, We shall reap what our fathers deserved, And the place that was England's be taken By one that is worthier than she, And the yoke of her empire be shaken Like spray from the sea. A WORD FOR THE NATION 945 v French hounds, whose necks are aching Still from the chain they crave, In dog-day madness breaking The dog-leash, thus may rave : But the seas that for ages have fostered and fenced her Laugh, echoing the yell of their kennel against her And their moan if destruction draw near them And the roar of her laughter to hear them ; For she knows that if Englishmen be men Their England has all that she craves ; All love and all honour from free men, All hatred from slaves. All love that rests upon her Like sunshine and sweet air, All light of perfect honour And praise that ends in prayer, She wins not more surely, she wears not more proudly, Than the token of tribute that clatters thus loudly, The tribute of foes when they meet That rattles and rings at her feet, The tribute of rage and of rancour, The tribute of slaves to the free, To the people whose hope hath its anchor Made fast in the sea. 946 A WORD FOR THE NATION VII No fool that bows the back he Feels fit for scourge or brand, No scurril scribes that lackey The lords of Lackeyland, No penman that yearns, as he turns on his pallet, For the place or the pence of a peer or a valet, No whelp of as currish a pack As the litter whose yelp it gives back, Though he answer the cry of his brother As echoes might answer from caves, Shall be witness as though for a mother Whose children were slaves VIII But those found fit to love her, Whose love has root in faith, Who hear, though darkness cover Time's face, what memory saith, Who seek not the service of great men or small men But the weal that is common for comfort of all men, Those yet that in trust have beholden Truth's dawn over England grow golden And quicken th^ darkness that stagnates And scatter the shadows that flee, Shall reply for her meanest as magnates And masters by sea. IX And all shall mark her station, Her message all shall hear, When, equal-eyed, the nation Bids all her sons draw near, A WORD FOR THE NATION 947 And freedom be more than tradition or faction, And thought be no swifter to serve her than action, And justice alone be above her, That love may be prouder to love her, And time on the crest of her story Inscribe, as remembrance engraves, The sign that subdues with its glory Kings, princes, and slaves. 94 8 A WORD FROM THE PSALMIST Ps. xciv. 8 1 "Take heed, ye unwise among the people : O ye fools, when will ye understand ? " From pulpit or choir beneath the steeple, Though the words be fierce, the tones are bland. But a louder than the Church's echo thunders In the ears of men who may not choose but hear ; And the heart in him that hears it leaps and wonders, With triumphant hope astonished, or with fear. For the names whose sound was power awaken Neither love nor reverence now nor dread ; Their strongholds and shrines are stormed and taken, Their kingdom and all its works are dead. ii Take heed : for the tide of time is risen : It is full not yet, though now so high That spirits and hopes long pent in prison Feel round them a sense of freedom nigh, A WORD FROM THE PSALMIST 949 And a savour keen and sweet of brine and billow, And a murmur deep and strong of deepening strength. Though the watchman dream, with sloth or pride for pillow, And the night be long, not endless is its length. From the springs of dawn, from clouds that sever, From the equal heavens and the eastward sea, The witness comes that endures for ever, Till men be brethren and thralls be free. in But the wind of the wings of dawn expanding Strikes chill on your hearts as change and death. Ye are old, but ye have not understanding ; And proud, but your pride is a dead man's breath. And your wise men, toward whose words and signs ye hearken, And your strong men, in whose hands ye put your trust, Strain eyes to behold but clouds and dreams that darken, Stretch hands that can find but weapons red with rust. Their watchword rings, and the night rejoices, But the lark's note laughs at the night-bird's notes — " Is virtue verily found in voices ? Or is wisdom won when all win votes ? 950 A WORD FROM THE PSALMIST " Take heed, ye unwise indeed, who listen When the wind's wings beat and shift and change ; Whose hearts are uplift, whose eyeballs glisten, With desire of new things great and strange. Let not dreams misguide nor any visions wrong you : That which has been, it is now as it was then. Is not Compromise of old a god among you ? Is not Precedent indeed a king of men ? But the windy hopes that lead mislead you, And the sounds ye hear are void and vain, Is a vote a coat ? will franchise feed you, Or words be a roof against the rain ? v " Eight ages are gone since kingship entered, With knights and peers at its harnessed back, And the land, no more in its own strength centred, Was cast for a prey to the princely pack. But we pared the fangs and clipped the ravening claws of it, And good was in time brought forth of an evil thing, And the land's high name waxed lordlier in war because of it, When chartered Right had bridled and curbed the king. ■ And what so fair has the world beholden, And what so firm has withstood the years, As Monarchy bound in chains all golden, And Freedom guarded about with peers ? A WORD FROM THE PSALMIST 951 " How think ye ? know not your lords and masters What collars are meet for brawling- throats ? Is change not mother of strange disasters ? Shall plague or peril be stayed by votes ? Out of precedent and privilege and order Have we plucked the flower of compromise, whose root Bears blossoms that shine from border again to border, And the mouths of many are fed with its temperate fruit. Your masters are wiser than ye, their henchmen : Your lords know surely whereof ye have need. Equality ? Fools, would you fain be Frenchmen? Is equity more than a word indeed ? VII "Your voices, forsooth, your most sweet voices, Your worthy voices, your love, your hate, Your choice, who know not whereof your choice is, What stays are these for a stable state ? Inconstancy, blind and deaf with its own fierce babble, Swells ever your throats with storm of uncertain cheers : He leans on straws who leans on a light-souled rabble ; His trust is frail who puts not his trust in peers." So shrills the message whose word convinces Of righteousness knaves, of wisdom fools ; That serfs may boast them because of princes, And the weak rejoice that the strong man rules. 952 A WORD FROM THE PSALMIST True friends, ye people, are these, the faction Full-mouthed that natters and snarls and bays, That fawns and foams with alternate action, And mocks the names that it soils with praise. As from fraud and force their power had first begin- ning-, So by righteousness and peace it may not stand, But by craft of state and nets of secret spinning, Words that weave and unweave wiles like ropes of sand, Form, custom, and gold, and laws grown hoary, And strong tradition that guards the gate : To these, O people, to these give glory, That your name among nations may be great. IX How long — for haply not now much longer — Shall fear put faith in a faithless creed, And shapes and shadows of truths be stronger In strong men's eyes than the truth indeed ? If freedom be not a word that dies when spoken, If justice be not a dream whence men must wake, How shall not the bonds of the thraldom of old be broken, And right put might in the hands of them that break ? For clear as a tocsin from the steeple Is the cry gone forth along the land, Take heed, ye unwise among the people : O ye fools, when will ye understand ? 953 A BALLAD AT PARTING Sea to sea that .clasps and fosters England, uttering evermore Song eterne and praise immortal of the indomitable shore, Lifts aloud her constant heart up, south to north and east to west, Here in speech that shames all music, there in thunder- throated roar, Chiming concord out of discord, waking rapture out of rest. All her ways are lovely, all her works and symbols are divine, Yet shall man love best what first bade leap his heart and bend his knee ; Yet where first his whole soul worshipped shall his soul set up her shrine : Nor may love not know the lovelier, fair as both beheld may be, Here the limitless north-eastern, there the strait south-western sea. Though their chant bear all one burden, as ere man was born it bore ; Though the burden be diviner than the songs all souls adore ; 954 A BALLAD AT PARTING Yet may love not choose but choose between them which to love the best. Me the sea my nursing-mother, me the Channel green and hoar, Holds at heart more fast than all things, bares for me the goodlier breast. Lifts for me the lordlier love-song, bids for me more sunlight shine, Sounds for me the stormier trumpet of the sweeter strain to me. So the broad pale Thames is loved not like the tawny springs of Tyne : Choice is clear between them for the soul whose vision holds in fee Here the limitless north-eastern, there the strait south-western sea. Choice is clear, but dear is either ; nor has either not in store Man)- a likeness, many a written sign of spirit- searching lore, Whence the soul takes fire of sweet remembrance, magnified and blest. Thought of songs whose flame-winged feet have trod the unfooted water-floor When the lord of all the living lords of souls bade speed their quest ; Soft live sound like children's babble down the rippling sand's incline, Or the lovely song that loves them, hailed with thankful prayer and plea ; These are parcels of the harvest here whose gathered sheaves are mine, A BALLAD AT PARTING 955 Garnered now, but sown and reaped where winds make wild with wrath or glee Here the limitless north-eastern, there the strait south-western sea. Song, thy name is freedom, seeing thy strength was born of breeze and brine. Fare now forth and fear no fortune : such a seal is set on thee. Joy begat and memory bare thee, seeing in spirit a twofold sign, Even the sign of those thy fosters, each as thou from all time free, Here the limitless north-eastern, there the strait south-western sea. ASTROPHEL AND OTHER POEMS TO WILLIAM MORRIS 959 ASTROPHEL AFTER READING SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S ARCADIA IN THE GARDEN OF AN OLD ENGLISH MANOR HOUSE 1 A star in the silence that follows The song of the death of the sun Speaks music in heaven, and the hollows And heights of the world are as one ; One lyre that outsings and outlightens The rapture of sunset, and thrills Mute night till the sense of it brightens The soul that it fills. The flowers of the sun that is sunken Hang heavy of heart as of head ; The bees that have eaten and drunken The soul of their sweetness are fled ; But a sunflower of song, on whose honey My spirit has fed as a bee, Makes sunnier than morning was sunny The twilight for me. The letters and lines on the pages That sundered mine eyes and the flowers ASTROPHEL Wax faint as the shadows of ages That sunder their season and ours ; As the ghosts of the centuries that sever A season of colourless time From the days whose remembrance is ever. As they were, sublime. The season that bred and that cherished The soul that I commune with yet, Had it utterly withered and perished To rise not ag-ain as it set, Shame were it that Englishmen living Should read as their forefathers read The books of the praise and thanksgiving Of Englishmen dead O light of the land that adored thee And kindled thy soul with her breath, Whose life, such as fate would afford thee, Was lovelier than aught but thy death, By what name, could thy lovers but know it, Might love of thee hail thee afar, Philisides, Astrophel, poet Whose love was thy star ? A star in the moondawn of Maytime, A star in the cloudland of change ; Too splendid and sad for the daytime To cheer or eclipse or estrange ; Too sweet for tradition or vision To see but through shadows of tears Rise deathless across the division Of measureless years. ASTROPHEL 961 The twilight may deepen and harden As nightward the stream of it runs Till starshine transfigure a garden Whose radiance responds to the sun's : The light of the love of thee darkens The lights that arise and that set : The love that forgets thee not hearkens If England forget. 11 Bright and brief in the sight of grief and love the light of thy lifetime shone, Seen and felt by the gifts it dealt, the grace it gave, and again was gone : Ay, but now it is death, not thou, whom time has conquered as years pass on. Ay, not yet may the land forget that bore and loved thee and praised and wept, Sidney, lord of the stainless sword, the name of names that her heart's love kept Fast as thine did her own, a sign to light thy life till it sank and slept. Bright as then for the souls of men thy brave Arcadia resounds and shines, Lit with love that beholds above all joys and sorrows the steadfast signs, Faith, a splendour that hope makes tender, and truth, whose presage the soul divines. All the glory that girds the story of all thy life as with sunlight round, VOL. II. 2 H 962 ASTROPHEL All the spell that on all souls fell who saw thy spirit, and held them bound, Lives for all that have heard the call and cadence yet of its music sound. Music bright as the soul of light, for wings an eagle, for notes a dove, Leaps and shines from the lustrous lines where- through thy soul from afar above Shone and sang till the darkness rang with light whose fire is the fount of love. Love that led thee alive, and fed thy soul with sorrows and joys and fears, Love that sped thee, alive and dead, to fame's fair goal with thy peerless peers, Feeds the flame of thy quenchless name with light that lightens the rayless years. Dark as sorrow though night and morrow may lower with presage of clouded fame, How may she that of old bare thee, may Sidney's England, be brought to shame ? How should this be, while England is ? What need of answer beyond thy name ? 111 From the love that transfigures thy glory, From the light of the dawn of thy death, The life of thy song and thy story Took subtler and fierier breath. ASTROPHEL 963 And we, though the day and the morrow- Set fear and thanksgiving at strife, Hail yet in the star of thy sorrow The sun of thy life. Shame and fear may beset men here, and bid thanks- giving and pride be dumb : Faith, discrowned of her praise, and wound about with toils till her life wax numb, Scarce may see if the sundawn be, if darkness die not and dayrise come. But England, enmeshed and benetted With spiritless villainies round, With counsels of cowardice fretted, With trammels of treason enwound, Is yet, though the season be other Than wept and rejoiced over thee, Thine England, thy lover, thy mother, Sublime as the sea. Hers wast thou : if her face be now less bright, or seem for an hour less brave, Let but thine on her darkness shine, thy saviout spirit revive and save, Time shall see, as the shadows flee, her shame entombed in a shameful grave. If death and not life were the portal That opens on life at the last, If the spirit of Sidney were mortal And the past of it utterly past, 964 ASTROPHEL Fear stronger than honour was ever, Forgetfulness mightier than fame. Faith knows not if England should never Subside into shame. Yea, but yet is thy sun not set, thy sunbright spirit of trust withdrawn : England's love of thee burns above all hopes that darken or fears that fawn : Hers thou art : and the faithful heart that hopes beg'ets upon darkness dawn. The sunset that sunrise will follow Is less than the dream of a dream : The starshine on height and on hollow Sheds promise that dawn shall redeem : The night, if the daytime would hide it, Shows lovelier, aflame and afar, Thy soul and thy Stella's beside it, A star by a star. 965 A NYMPH OLEPT Summer, and noon, and a splendour of silence, felt, Seen, and heard of the spirit within the sense. Soft through the frondage the shades of the sun- beams melt, Sharp through the foliage the shafts of them, keen and dense, Cleave, as discharged from the string of the God's bow, tense As a war-steed's girth, and bright as a warrior's belt. Ah, why should an hour that is heaven for an hour pass hence ? I dare not sleep for delight of the perfect hour, Lest God be wroth that his gift should be scorned of man. The face of the warm bright world is the face of a flower, The word of the wind and the leaves that the light winds fan As the word that quickened at first into flame, and ran, Creative and subtle and fierce with invasive power, Through darkness and cloud, from the breath of the one God, Pan. 966 A NYMPHOLEPT The perfume of earth possessed by the sun pervades The chaster air that he soothes but with sense of sleep. Soft, imminent, strong- as desire that prevails and fades, The passing- noon that beholds not a cloudlet weep Imbues and impregnates life with delight more deep Than dawn or sunset or moonrise on lawns or glades Can shed from the skies that receive it and may not keep. The skies may hold not the splendour of sundown fast ; It wanes into twilight as dawn dies down into day. And the moon, triumphant when twilight is overpast, Takes pride but awhile in the hours of her stately sway. But the might of the noon, though the light of it pass away, Leaves earth fulfilled of desires and of dreams that last ; But if any there be that hath sense of them none can say. For if any there be that hath sight of them, sense, or trust Made strong by the might of a vision, the strength of a dream, His lips shall straiten and close as a dead man's must, His heart shall be sealed as the voice of a frost- bound stream. A NYMPHOLEPT 967 For the deep mid mystery of light and of heat that seem To clasp and pierce dark earth, and enkindle dust, Shall a man's faith say what it is ? or a man's guess deem ? Sleep lies not heavier on eyes that have watched all night Than hangs the heat of the noon on the hills and trees. Why now should the haze not open, and yield to sight A fairer secret than hope or than slumber sees ? I seek not heaven with submission of lips and knees, With worship and prayer for a sign till it leap to light : I gaze on the gods about me, and call on these. I call on the gods hard by, the divine dim powers Whose likeness is here at hand, in the breathless air, In the pulseless peace of the fervid and silent flowers, In the faint sweet speech of the waters that whisper there. Ah, what should darkness do in a world so fair ? The bent-grass heaves not, the couch-grass quails not or cowers ; The wind's kiss frets not the rowan's or aspen's hair. But the silence trembles with passion of sound sup- pressed, And the twilight quivers and yearns to the sun- ward, wrung 968 A NYMPHOLEPT With love as with pain ; and the wide wood's mo- tionless breast Is thrilled with a dumb desire that would fain find tongue And palpitates, tongueless as she whom a man- snake stung, Whose heart now heaves in the nightingale, never at rest Nor satiated ever with song till her last be sung. Is it rapture or terror that circles me round, and invades Each vein of my life with hope — if it be not fear ? Each pulse that awakens my blood into rapture fades, Each pulse that subsides into dread of a strange thing near Requickens with sense of a terror less dread than dear. Is peace not one with light in the deep green glades W'here summer at noonday slumbers ? Is peace not here ? The tall thin stems of the firs, and the roof sublime That screens from the sun the floor of the steep still wood, Deep, silent, splendid, and perfect and calm as time, Stand fast as ever in sight of the night they stood, When night gave all that moonlight and dewfall could. The dense ferns deepen, the moss glows warm as the thyme : The wild heath quivers about me : the world is good. A NYMPHOLEPT 969 Is it Pan's breath, fierce in the tremulous maidenhair, That bids fear creep as a snake through the wood- lands, felt In the leaves that it stirs not yet, in the mute bright air, In the stress of the sun ? For here has the great God dwelt : For hence were the shafts of his love or his anger dealt. For here has his wrath been fierce as his love was fair, When each was as fire to the darkness its breath bade melt. Is it love, is it dread, that enkindles the trembling noon, That yearns, reluctant in rapture that fear has fed, As man for woman, as woman for man ? Full soon, If I live, and the life that may look on him drop not dead, Shall the ear that hears not a leaf quake hear his tread, The sense that knows not the sound of the deep day's tune Receive the God, be it love that he brings or dread. The naked noon is upon me : the fierce dumb spell, The fearful charm of the strong sun's imminent might, Unmerciful, steadfast, deeper than seas that swell, Pervades, invades, appals me with loveless light, With harsher awe than breathes in the breath of night. Have mercy, God who art all ! For I know thee well, How sharp is thine eye to lighten, thine hand to smite. II. 2H2 970 A NYMPHOLEPT The whole wood feels thee, the whole air fears thee : but fear So deep, so dim, so sacred, is wellnigh sweet. For the light that hangs and broods on the wood- lands here, Intense, invasive, intolerant, imperious, and meet To lighten the works of thine hands and the ways of thy feet, Is hot with the fire of the breath of thy life, and dear As hope that shrivels or shrinks not for frost or heat. Thee, thee the supreme dim godhead, approved afar, Perceived of the soul and conceived of the sense of man, We scarce dare love, and we dare not fear : the star We call the sun, that lit us when life began To brood on the world that is thine by his grace for a span, Conceals and reveals in the semblance of things that are Thine immanent presence, the pulse of thy heart's life, Pan. The fierce mid noon that wakens and warms the snake Conceals thy mercy, reveals thy wrath : and again The dew-bright hour that assuages the twilight brake Conceals thy wrath and reveals thy mercy : then Thou art fearful only for evil souls of men That feel with nightfall the serpent within them wake, And hate the holy darkness on glade and glen. A NYMPHOLEPT 971 Yea, then we know not and dream not if ill things be, Or if aug"ht of the work of the wrong of the world be thine. We hear not the footfall of terror that treads the sea, We hear not the moan of winds that assail the pine : We see not if shipwreck reign in the storm's dim shrine ; If death do service and doom bear witness to thee We see not, — know not if blood for thy lips be wine. But in ail things evil and fearful that fear may scan, As in all things good, as in all things fair that fall, We know thee present and latent, the lord of man ; In the murmuring of doves, in the clamouring of winds that call And wolves that howl for their prey ; in the mid- night's pall, In the naked and nymph-like feet of the dawn, O Pan, And in each life living, O thou the God who art all. Smiling and singing, wailing and wringing of hands, Laughing and weeping, watching and sleeping, still Proclaim but and prove but thee, as the shifted sands Speak forth and show but the strength of the sea's wild will That sifts and grinds them as grain in the storm- wind's mill. In thee is the doom that falls and the doom that stands : The tempests utter thy word, and the stars fulfil. 972 A NYMPHOLEPT Where Etna shudders with passion and pain volcanic That rend her heart as with anguish that rends a man's, Where Typho labours, and finds not his thews Titanic, In breathless torment that ever the flame's breath fans, Men felt and feared thee of old, whose pastoral clans Were given to the charge of thy keeping ; and soundless panic Held fast the woodland whose depths and whose heights were Pan's. And here, though fear be less than delight, and awe Be one with desire and with worship of earth and thee, So mild seems now thy secret and speechless law, So fair and fearless and faithful and godlike she, So soft the spell of thy whisper on stream and sea, Yet man should fear lest he see what of old men saw And withered : yet shall I quail if thy breath smite me. Lord God of life and of light and of all things fair, Lord God of ravin and ruin and all things dim, Death seals up life, and darkness the sunbright air, And the stars that watch blind earth in the deep night swim Laugh, saying, " What God is your God, that ye call on him ? What is man, that the God who is guide of our way should care If day for a man be golden, or night be grim ? " A NYMPHOLEPT 973 But thou, dost thou hear ? Stars too but abide for a span, Gods too but endure for a season ; but thou, if thou be God, more than shadows conceived and adored of man, Kind Gods and fierce, that bound him or made him free, The skies that scorn us are less in thy sight than we, Whose souls have strength to conceive and perceive thee, Pan, With sense more subtle than senses that hear and see. Yet may not it say, though it seek thee and think to find One soul of sense in the fire and the frost-bound clod, What heart is this, what spirit alive or blind, That moves thee : only we know that the ways we trod We tread, with hands unguided, with feet unshod, With eyes unlightened ; and yet, if with steadfast mind, Perchance may we find thee and know thee at last for God. Yet then should God be dark as the dawn is bright, And bright as the night is dark on the world— no more. Light slays not darkness, and darkness absorbs not light ; And the labour of evil and good from the years of yore 974 A NYMPHOLEPT Is even as the labour of waves on a sunless shore. And he who is first and last, who is depth and height> Keeps silence now, as the sun when the woods wax hoar. The dark dumb godhead innate in the fair world's life Imbues the rapture of dawn and of noon with dread, Infects the peace of the star-shod night with strife, Informs with terror the sorrow that guards the dead. No service of bended knee or of humbled head May soothe or subdue the God who has change to wife : And life with death is as morning with evening wed. And yet, if the light and the life in the light that here Seem soft and splendid and fervid as sleep may seem Be more than the shine of a smile or the flash of a tear, Sleep, change, and death are less than a spell- struck dream, And fear than the fall of a leaf on a starlit stream. And yet, if the hope that hath said it absorb not fear, What helps it man that the stars and the waters gleam ? What helps it man, that the noon be indeed intense, The night be indeed worth worship ? Fear and pain Were lords and masters yet of the secret sense, Which now dares deem not that light is as dark- ness, fain Though dark dreams be to declare it, crying in vain. A NYMPHOLEPT 975 For whence, thou God of the light and the darkness, whence i Dawns now this vision that bids not the sunbeams wane ? What light, what shadow, diviner than dawn or night, Draws near, makes pause, and again — or I dream — draws near ? More soft than shadow, more strong than the strong sun's light, More pure than moonbeams — yea, but the rays run sheer As fire from the sun through the dusk of the pine- wood, clear And constant ; yea, but the shadow itself is bright That the light clothes round with love that is one with fear. Above and behind it the noon and the woodland lie, Terrible, radiant with mystery, superb and subdued, Triumphant in silence ; and hardly the sacred sky Seems free from the tyrannous weight of the dumb fierce mood Which rules as with fire and invasion of beams that brood The breathless rapture of earth till its hour pass by And leave her spirit released and her peace renewed. I sleep not : never in sleep has a man beholden This. From the shadow that trembles and yearns with light Suppressed and elate and reluctant — obscure and golden 976 A NYMPHOLEPT As water kindled with presage- of dawn or night — A form, a face, a wonder to sense and sight, Grows great as the moon through the month ; and her eyes embolden Fear, till it change to desire, and desire to delight, I sleep not : sleep would die of a dream so strange ; A dream so sweet would die as a rainbow dies, As a sunbow laughs and is lost on the waves that range And reck not of light that flickers or spray that flies. But the sun withdraws not, the woodland shrinks not or sighs, No sweet thing sickens with sense or with fear of change ; Light wounds not, darkness blinds not, my stead- fast eyes. Only the soul in my sense that receives the soul • Whence now my spirit is kindled with breathless bliss Knows well if the light that wounds it with love makes whole, If hopes that carol be louder than fears that hiss, If truth be spoken of flowers and of waves that kiss, Of clouds and stars that contend for a sunbright goal. And )^et may I dream that I dream not indeed of this ? An earth-born dreamer, constrained by the bonds of birth, Held fast by the flesh, compelled by his veins that beat And kindle to rapture or wrath, to desire or to mirth, A NYMPHOLEPT 977 May hear not surely the fall of immortal feet- May feel not surely if heaven upon earth be sweet ; And here is my sense fulfilled of the joys of earth, Light, silence, bloom, shade, murmur of leaves that meet. Bloom, fervour, and perfume of grasses and flowers aglow, Breathe and brighten about me : the darkness gleams, The sweet light shivers and laughs on the slopes below, Made soft by leaves that lighten and change like dreams ; The silence thrills with the whisper of secret streams That well from the heart of the woodland : these I know : Earth bore them, heaven sustained them with showers and beams. I lean my face to the heather, and drink the sun Whose flame-lit odour satiates the flowers : mine eyes Close, and the goal of delight and of life is one : No more I crave of earth or her kindred skies. No more? But the joy that springs from them smiles and flies : The sweet work wrought of them surely, the good work done, If the mind and the face of the season be loveless, dies. Thee, therefore, thee would I come to, cleave to, cling, If haply thy heart be kind and thy gifts be good, 97 8 A NYMPHOLEPT Unknown sweet spirit, whose vesture is soft in spring - , In summer splendid, in autumn pale as the wood That shudders and wanes and shrinks as a shamed thing should, In winter bright as the mail of a war-worn king Who stands where foes fled far from the face of him stood. My spirit or thine is it, breath of thy life or of mine, Which fills my sense with a rapture that casts out fear ? Pan's dim frown wanes, and his wild eyes brighten as thine, Transformed as night or as day by the kindling year. Earth-born, or mine eye were withered that sees, mine ear That hears were stricken to death by the sense divine, Earth-born I know thee : but heaven is about me here. The terror that whispers in darkness and flames in light, The doubt that speaks in the silence of earth and sea, The sense, more fearful at noon than in midmost night, Of wrath scarce hushed and of imminent ill to be, Where are they? Heaven is as earth, and as heaven to me Earth : for the shadows that sundered them here take flight ; And nought is all, as am I, but a dream of thee. 979 ON THE SOUTH COAST To Theodore Watts Hills and valleys where April rallies his radiant squadron of flowers and birds, Steep strange beaches and lustrous reaches of fluctuant sea that the land engirds, Fields and downs that the sunrise crowns with life diviner than lives in words, Day by day of resurgent May salute the sun with sublime acclaim, Change and brighten with hours that lighten and darken, girdled with cloud or flame ; Earth's fair face in alternate grace beams, blooms, and lowers, and is yet the same. Twice each day the divine sea's play makes glad with glory that comes and goes Field and street that her waves keep sweet, when past the bounds of their old repose, Fast and fierce in renewed reverse, the foam-flecked estuary ebbs and flows. 9 8o ON THE SOUTH COAST Broad and bold through the stays of old staked fast with trunks of the wildwood tree, Up from shoreward, impelled far forward, by marsh and meadow, by lawn and lea, Inland still at her own wild will swells, rolls, and revels the surging sea. Strong as time, and as faith sublime, — clothed round with shadows of hopes and fears, Nights and morrows, and joys and sorrows, alive with passion of prayers and tears, — Stands the shrine that has seen decline eight hundred waxing and waning years. Tower set square to the storms of air and change of season that glooms and glows, Wall and roof of it tempest-proof, and equal ever to suns and snows, Bright with riches of radiant niches and pillars smooth as a straight stem grows. Aisle and nave that the whelming wave of time has whelmed not or touched or neared, Arch and vault without stain or fault, by hands of craftsmen we know not reared, Time beheld them, and time was quelled ; and change passed by them as one that feared. Time that flies as a dream, and dies as dreams that die with the sleep they feed, Here alone in a garb of stone incarnate stands as a god indeed, Stern and fair, and of strength to bear all burdens mortal to man's frail seed. ON THE SOUTH COAST Men and years are as leaves or tears that storm or sorrow is fain to shed : These go by as the winds that sigh, and none takes note of them quick or dead : Time, whose breath is their birth and death, folds here his pinions, and bows his head. Still the sun that beheld begun the work wrought here of unwearied hands Sees, as then, though the Red King's men held ruthless rule over lawless lands, Stand their massive design, impassive, pure and proud as a virgin stands. Statelier still as the years fulfil their count, subserving her sacred state, Grows the hoary grey church whose story silence utters and age makes great : Statelier seems it than shines in dreams the face un- veiled of unvanquished fate. Fate, more high than the star-shown sky, more deep than waters unsounded, shines Keen and far as the final star on souls that seek not for charms or signs ; Yet more bright is the love-shown light of men's hands lighted in songs or shrines. Love and trust that the grave's deep dust can soil not, neither may fear put out, Witness yet that their record set stands fast, though years be as hosts in rout, Spent and slain ; but the signs remain that beat back darkness and cast forth doubt. 982 ON THE SOUTH COAST Men that wrought by the grace of thought and toil things goodlier than praise dare trace, Fair as all that the world may call most fair, save only the sea's own face, Shrines or songs that the world's change wrongs not, live by grace of their own gift's grace. Dead, their names that the night reclaims — alive, their works that the day relumes — Sink and stand, as in stone and sand engraven ; none may behold their tombs : Nights and days shall record their praise while here this flower of their grafting blooms. Flower more fair than the sun-thrilled air bids laugh and lighten and wax and rise, Fruit more bright than the fervent light sustains with strength from the kindled skies, Flower and fruit that the deathless root of man's love rears though the man's name dies. Stately stands it, the work of hands unknown of : statelier, afar and near, Rise around it the heights that bound our landward gaze from the seaboard here ; Downs that swerve and aspire, in curve and change of heights that the dawn holds dear. Dawn falls fair on the grey walls there confronting dawn, on the low green lea, Lone and sweet as for fairies' feet held sacred, silent and strange and free, Wild and wet with its rills ; but yet more fair falls dawn on the fairer sea. ON THE SOUTH COAST 983 Eastward, round by the high green bound of hills that fold the remote fields in, Strive and shine on the low sea-line fleet waves and beams when the days begin ; Westward glow, when the days burn low, the sun that yields and the stars that win. Rose-red eve on the seas that heave sinks fair as dawn when the first ray peers ; Winds are glancing from sunbright Lancing to Shoreham, crowned with the grace of years ; Shoreham, clad with the sunset, glad and grave with glory that death reveres. Death, more proud than the kings' heads bowed before him, stronger than all things, bows Here his head : as if death were dead, and kingship plucked from his crownless brows, Life hath here such a face of cheer as change appals not and time avows. Skies fulfilled with the sundown, stilled and splendid, spread as a flower that spreads, Pave with rarer device and fairer than heaven's the luminous oyster-beds, Grass-embanked, and in square plots ranked, inlaid with gems that the sundown sheds. Squares more bright and with lovelier light than heaven that kindled it shines with shine Warm and soft as the dome aloft, but heavenlier yet than the sun's own shrine : Heaven is high, but the water-sky lit here seems deeper and more divine. 984 ON THE SOUTH COAST Flowers on flowers, that the whole world's bowers may show not, here may the sunset show, Lightly graven in the waters paven with ghostly gold by the clouds aglow : Bright as love is the vault above, but lovelier lightens the wave below. Rosy grey, or as fiery spray full-plumed, or greener than emerald, gleams Plot by plot as the skies allot for each its glory, divine as dreams Lit with fire of appeased desire which sounds the secret of all that seems ; Dreams that show what we fain would know, and know not save by the grace of sleep, Sleep whose hands have removed the bands that eyes long waking and fain to weep Feel fast bound on them — light around them strange, and darkness above them steep. Yet no vision that heals division of love from love, and renews awhile Life and breath in the lips where death has quenched the spirit of speech and smile, Shows on earth, or in heaven's mid mirth, where no fears enter or doubts defile, Aught more fair than the radiant air and water here by the twilight wed, Here made one by the waning sun whose last love quickens to rosebright red Half the crown of the soft high down that rears to northward its wood-girt head. ON THE SOUTH COAST 985 There, when day is at height of sway, men's eyes who stand, as we oft have stood, High where towers with its world of flowers the golden spinny that flanks the wood, See before and around them shore and seaboard glad as their gifts are good. Higher and higher to the north aspire the green smooth-swelling unending downs ; East and west on the brave earth's breast glow girdle-jewels of gleaming towns ; Southward shining, the lands declining subside in peace that the sea's light crowns. Westward wide in its fruitful pride the plain lies lordly with plenteous grace ; Fair as dawn's when the fields and lawns desire her glitters the glad land's face : Eastward yet is the sole sign set of elder days and a lordlier race. Down beneath us afar, where seethe in wilder weather the tides aflow, Hurled up hither and drawn down thither in quest of rest that they may not know, Still as dew on a flower the blue broad stream now sleeps in the fields below. Mild and bland in the fair green land it smiles, and takes to its heart the sky ; Scarce the meads and the fens, the reeds and grasses, still as they stand or lie, Wear the palm of a statelier calm than rests on waters that pass them by. 9 86 ON THE SOUTH COAST Yet shall these, when the winds and seas of equal days and coequal nights Rage, rejoice, and uplift a voice whose sound is even as a sword that smites, Felt and heard as a doomsman's word from seaward reaches to landward heights, Lift their heart up, and take theii part of triumph, swollen and strong with rage, Rage elate with desire and great with pride that tempest and storm assuage ; So their mime in the ear of time has rung from age to rekindled age. Fair and dear is the land's face here, and fair man's work as a man's may be : Dear and fair as the sunbright air is here the record that speaks him free ; Free by birth of a sacred earth, and regent ever of all the sea. 9 8 7 AN AUTUMN VISION October 31, 1889 Zetpvpov yiyavros aijpa I Is it Midsummer here in the heavens that illumine October on earth ? Can the year, when his heart is fulfilled with desire of the days of his mirth, Redeem them, recall, or remember ? For a memory recalling the rapture of earth, and redeeming - the sky, Shines down from the heights to the depths : will the watchword of dawn be July When to-morrow acclaims November ? The stern salutation of sorrow to death or repentance to shame Was all that the season was wont to accord her of grace or acclaim ; No lightnings of love and of laughter. But here, in the laugh of the loud west wind from around and above, In the flash of the waters beneath him, what sound or what light but of love Rings round him or leaps forth after ? 988 AN AUTUMN VISION Wind beloved of earth and sky and sea beyond all winds that blow, Wind whose might in fight was England's on her mightiest warrior day, South-west wind, whose breath for her was life, and fire to scourge her foe, Steel to smite and death to drive him down an unreturning way, Well-beloved and welcome, sounding all the clarions of the sky, Rolling all the marshalled waters toward the charge that storms the shore, We receive, acclaim, salute thee, we who live and dream and die, As the mightiest mouth of song that ever spake acclaimed of yore. We that live as they that pe.'sh praise thee, lord of cloud and wave, Wind of winds, clothed on with darkness whence as lightning light comes forth, We that know thee strong to guard and smite, to scatter and to save, We to whom the south-west wind is dear as Athens held the north. He for her waged war as thou for us against all powers defiant, Fleets full-fraught with storm from Persia, laden deep with death from Spain: Thee the giant god of song and battle hailed as god and giant, Yet not his but ours the land is whence thy praise should ring and rain ; AN AUTUMN VISION 989 Rain as rapture shed from song-, and ring - as trumpets blown for battle, Sound and sing before thee, loud and glad as leaps and sinks the sea : Yea, the sea's white steeds are curbed and spurred of thee, and pent as cattle, Yet they laugh with love and pride to live, subdued not save of thee. Ears that hear thee hear in heaven the sound of widening wings gigantic, Eyes that see the cloud-lift westward see thy darkening brows divine ; Wings whose measure is the limit of the limitless Atlantic, Brows that bend, and bid the sovereign sea submit her soul to thine. in Twelve days since is it — twelve days gone, Lord of storm, that a storm-bow shone Higher than sweeps thy sublime dark wing, Fair as dawn is and sweet like spring ? Never dawn in the deep wide east Spread so splendid and strange a feast, Whence the soul as it drank and fed Felt such rapture of wonder shed. Never spring in the wild wood's heart Felt such flowers at her footfall start, Born of earth, as arose on sight Born of heaven and of storm and light. AN AUTUMN VISION Stern and sullen, the grey grim sea Swelled and strove as in toils, though free, Free as heaven, and as heaven sublime, Clear as heaven of the toils of time. Suddenly, sheer from the heights to the depths of the sky and the sea, Sprang from the darkness alive as a vision of life to be Glory triune and transcendent of colour afar and afire, Arching and darkening the darkness with light as of dream or desire. Heaven, in the depth of its height, shone wistful and wan from above : Earth from beneath, and the sea, shone stricken and breathless with love. As a shadow may shine, so shone they ; as ghosts of the viewless blest, That sleep hath sight of alive in a rapture of sun- bright rest, The green earth glowed and the grey sky gleamed for a wondrous while ; And the storm's full frown was crossed by the light of its own deep smile. As the darkness of thought and of passion is touched by the light that gives Life deathless as love from the depth of a spirit that sees and lives, From the soul of a seer and a singer, wherein as a scroll unfurled Lies open the scripture of light and of darkness, the word of the world, AN AUTUMN VISION 991 So, shapeless and measureless, lurid as anguish and haggard as crime, Pale as the front of oblivion and dark as the heart of time, The wild wan heaven at its height was assailed and subdued and made More fair than the skies that know not of storm and endure not shade. The grim sea-swell, grey, sleepless, and sad as a soul estranged, Shone, smiled, took heart, and was glad of its wrath : and the world's face changed. v Up from moorlands northward gleaming Even to heaven's transcendent height, Clothed with massive cloud, and seeming All one fortress reared of night, Down to where the deep sea, dreaming Angry dreams, lay dark and white, White as death and dark as fate, Heaving with the strong wind's weight, Sad with stormy pride of state, One full rainbow shone elate. Up from inmost memory's dwelling Where the light of life abides, Where the past finds tongue, foretelling Time that comes and grace that guides, Power that saves and sways, compelling Souls that ebb and flow like tides, Shone or seemed to shine and swim Through the cloud-surf great and grim . Thought's live surge, the soul of him By whose light the sun looks dim. 992 AN AUTUMN VISION In what synod were they sitting, All the gods and lords of time, Whence they watched as fen-fires flitting Years and names of men sublime, When their counsels found \t fitting One should stand where none might climb— - None of man begotten, none Born of men beneath the sun Till the race of time be run, Save this heaven-enfranchised one ? With what rapture of creation Was the soul supernal thrilled, With what pride of adoration Was the world's heart fired and filled, Heaved in heavenward exaltation Higher than hopes or dreams might build, Grave with awe not known while he Was not, mad with glorious glee As the sun-saluted sea, When his hour bade Shakespeare be ? There, clear as night beholds her crowning seven. The sea beheld his likeness set in heaven. The shadow of his spirit full in sight Shone : for the shadow of that soul is light. Nor heaven alone bore witness : earth avowed Him present, and acclaimed of storm aloud. From the arching sky to the ageless hills and sea The whole world, visible, audible, was he : Each part of all that wove that wondrous whole The raiment of the presence of his soul. The sun that smote and kissed the dark to death Spake, smiled, and strove, like song's triumphant breath ; AN AUTUMN VISION 993 The soundless cloud whose thunderous heart was dumb Swelled, lowered, and shrank to feel its conqueror come. Yet high from heaven its empire vast and vain Frowned, and renounced not night's reluctant reign. The serpentine swift sounds and shapes wherein The stainless sea mocks earth and death and sin, Crawls dark as craft, or flashes keen as hate, Subdued and insubmissive, strong like fate And weak like man, bore wrathful witness yet That storms and sins are more than suns that set ; That evil everlasting, girt for strife Eternal, wars with hope as death with life. The dark sharp shifting wind that bade the waves Falter, lose heart, bow down like foes made slaves, And waxed within more bitter as they bowed, Baffling the sea, swallowing the sun with cloud, Devouring fast as fire on earth devours And hungering hard as frost that feeds on flowers, Clothed round with fog that reeked as fume from hell, And darkening with its miscreative spell Light, glad and keen and splendid as the sword Whose heft had known Othello's hand its lord, Spake all the soul that hell drew back to greet And felt its fire shrink shuddering from his feet. Far off the darkness darkened, and recoiled, And neared again, and triumphed : and the coiled Colourless cloud and sea discoloured grew Conscious of horror huge as heaven, and knew Where Goneril's soul made chill and foul the mist, And all the leprous life in Regan hissed. Fierce homeless ghosts, rejected of the pit, From hell to hell of storm fear watched them flit. VOL. II. 2 I 994 AN AUTUMN VISION About them and before, the dull grey g-loom Shuddered, and heaven seemed hateful as the tomD That shrinks from resurrection ; and from out That sullen hell which girt their shades about The nether soul that lurks and lowers within Man, made of dust and fire and shame and sin, Breathed : all the cloud that felt it breathe and blight Was blue as plague or black as thunderous night. Elect of hell, the children of his hate Thronged, as to storm sweet heaven's triumphal gate. The terror of his giving rose and shone Imminent : life had put its likeness on. But higher than all its horrent height of shade Shone sovereign, seen by light itself had made, Above the woes of all the world, above Life, sin, and death, his myriad-minded love. From landward heights whereon the radiance leant Full-fraught from heaven, intense and imminent, To depths wherein the seething strengths of cloud Scarce matched the wrath of waves whereon they bowed, From homeborn pride and kindling love of home To the outer skies and seas of fire and foam, From splendour soft as dew that sundawn thrills To gloom that shudders round the world it fills, From midnights murmuring round Titania's ear To midnights maddening round the rage of Lear, The wonder woven of storm and sun became One with the light that lightens from his name. The music moving on the sea that felt The storm-wind even as snows of springtide melt Was blithe as Ariel's hand or voice might make And bid all grief die gladly|for its sake. AN AUTUMN VISION 995 And there the soul alive in ear and eye That watched the wonders of an hour pass by- Saw brighter than all stars that heaven inspheres The silent splendour of Cordelia's tears, Felt in the whispers of the quickening- wind The radiance of the laug-h of Rosalind, "And heard, in sounds that melt the souls of men With love of love, the tune of Imogen. VII For the strong north-east is not strong to subdue and to slay the divine south-west, And the darkness is less than the light that it darkens, and dies in reluctant rest. It hovers and hangs on the labouring and trembling ascent of the dawn from the deep, Till the sun's eye quicken the world and the waters, and smite it again into sleep. Night, holy and starry, the fostress of souls, with the fragrance of heaven in her breath, Subdues with the sense of her godhead the forces and mysteries of sorrow and death. Eternal as dawn's is the comfort she gives : but the mist that beleaguers and slays Comes, passes, and is not : the strength of it withers, appalled or assuaged by the day's. Faith, haggard as Fear that had borne her, and dark as the sire that begat her, Despair, Held rule on the soul of the world and the song of it saddening through ages that were ; Dim centuries that darkened and brightened and darkened again, and the soul of their song Was great as their grief, and sublime as their suffer- ing, and strong as their sorrows were strong. 0,96 AN AUTUMN VISION It knew not, it saw not, but shadows triune, and evoked by the strength of their spell Dark hell, and the mountain of anguish, and heaven that was hollower and harder than hell. These are not : the womb of the darkness that bare them rejects them, and knows them no more : Thought, fettered in misery and iron, revives in the light that it lived in of yore. For the soul that is wisdom and freedom, the spirit of England redeemed from her past, Speaks life through the lips of the master and lord of her children, the first and the last. Thought, touched by his hand, and redeemed by his breath, sees, hears, and accepts from above The limitless lightnings of vision and passion, the measureless music of love. 997 A SWIMMER'S DREAM November 4, 1889 Somno mollior undo. I Dawn is dim on the dark soft water, Soft and passionate, dark and sweet. Love's own self was the deep sea's daughter, Fair and flawless from face to feet, Hailed of all when the world was golden, Loved of lovers whose names beholden Thrill men's eyes as with light of olden Days more glad than their flight was fleet. So they sang : but for men that love her, Souls that hear not her word in vain, Earth beside her and heaven above her Seem but shadows that wax and wane. Softer than sleep's are the sea's caresses, Kinder than love's that betrays and blesses, Blither than spring's when her flowerful tresses Shake forth sunlight and shine with rain. 993 A SWIMMER'S DREAM All the strength of the waves that perish Swells beneath me and laughs and sighs, Sighs for love of the life they cherish, Laughs to know that it lives and dies, Dies for joy of its life, and lives Thrilled with joy that its brief death gives- Death whose laugh or whose breath forgives Change that bids it subside and rise. Hard and heavy, remote but nearing, Sunless hangs the severe sky's weight, Cloud on cloud, though the wind be veering- Heaped on high to the sundawn's gate. Dawn and even and noon are one, Veiled with vapour and void of sun ; Nought in sight or in fancied hearing Now less mighty than time or fate. The grey sk)^ gleams and the grey seas glimmer, Pale and sweet as a dream's delight, As a dream's where darkness and light seem dimmer. Touched by dawn or subdued by night. The dark wind, stern and sublime and sad, Swings the rollers to westward, clad With lustrous shadow that lures the swimmer, Lures and lulls him with dreams of light. Light, and sleep, and delight, and wonder, Change, and rest, and a charm of cloud, Fill the world of the skies whereunder Heaves and quivers and pants aloud A SWIMMER'S DREAM All the world of the waters, hoary Now, but clothed with its own live glory, That mates the lightning and mocks the thunder With light more living and word more proud. in Far off westward, whither sets the sounding strife, Strife more sweet than peace, of shoreless waves whose glee Scorns the shore and loves the wind that leaves them free, Strange as sleep and pale as death and fair as life, Shifts the moonlight-coloured sunshine on the sea. Toward the sunset's goal the sunless waters crowd, Fast as autumn days toward winter : yet it seems Here that autumn wanes not, here that woods and streams Lose not heart and change not likeness, chilled and bowed, Warped and wrinkled : here the days are fair as dreams. IV O russet-robed November, What ails thee so to smile ? Chill August, pale September, Endured a woful while, And fell as falls an ember From forth a flameless pile : But golden-girt November Bids all she looks on smile. iooo A SWIMMER'S DREAM The lustrous foliage, waning As wanes the morning moon, Here falling, here refraining, Outbraves the pride of June With statelier semblance, feigning No fear lest death be soon : As though the woods thus waning Should wax to meet the moon. As though, when fields lie stricken By grey December's breath, These lordlier growths that sicken And die for fear of death Should feel the sense requicken That hears what springtide saith And thrills for love, spring-stricken And pierced with April's breath. The keen white-winged north-easter That stings and spurs thy sea Doth yet but feed and feast her With glowing sense of glee : Calm chained her, storm released her, And storm's glad voice was he : South-wester or north-easter, Thy winds rejoice the sea. v A dream, a dream is it all — the season, The sky, the water, the wind, the shore ? A day-born dream of divine unreason, A marvel moulded of sleep— no more ? A SWIMMER'S DREAM iooi For the cloudlike wave that my limbs while cleaving- Feel as in slumber beneath them heaving Soothes the sense as to slumber, leaving Sense of nought that was known of yore. A purer passion, a lordlier leisure, A peace more happy than lives on land, Fulfils with pulse of diviner pleasure The dreaming head and the steering hand. I lean my cheek to the cold grey pillow, The deep soft swell of the full broad billow, And close mine eyes for delight past measure, And wish the wheel of the world would stand. The wild-winged hour that we fain would capture Falls as from heaven that its light feet clomb, So brief, so soft, and so full the rapture Was felt that soothed me with sense of home. To sleep, to swim, and to dream, for ever — Such joy the vision of man saw never ; For here too soon will a dark day sever The sea-bird's wing from the sea-wave's foam. A dream, and more than a dream, and dimmer At once and brighter than dreams that flee, The moment's joy of the seaward swimmer Abides, remembered as truth may be. Not all the joy and not all the glory Must fade as leaves when the woods wax hoary ; For there the downs and the sea-banks glimmer, And here to south of them swells the sea. II. 2 12 1002 GRACE DARLING Take, O star of all our seas, from not an alien hand, Homage paid of song bowed down before thy glory's face, Thou the living light of all our lovely stormy strand, Thou the brave north-country's very glory of glories, Grace. Loud and dark about the lighthouse rings and glares the night ; Glares with foam-lit gloom and darkling fire of storm and spray, Rings with roar of winds in chase and rage of waves in flight, Howls and hisses as with mouths of snakes and wolves at bay. Scarce the cliffs of the islets, scarce the walls of Joyous Gard, Flash to sight between the deadlier lightnings of the sea : Storm is lord and master of a midnight evil-starred, Nor may sight or fear discern what evil stars may be. GRACE DARLING 1003 Dark as death and white as snow the sea-swell scowls and shines, Heaves and yearns and pants for prey, from raven- ing - lip to lip, Strong in rage of rapturous anguish, lines on hurt- ling lines, Ranks on charging ranks, that break and rend the battling ship. All the night is mad and murderous : who shall front the night ? Not the prow that labours, helpless as a storm- blown leaf, Where the rocks and waters, darkling depth and beetling height, Rage with wave on shattering wave and thundering reef on reef. Death is fallen upon the prisoners there of darkness, bound Like as thralls with links of iron fast in bonds of doom ; , How shall any way to break the bands of death be found, Any hand avail to pluck them from that raging tomb ? All the night is great with child of death : no stars above Show them hope in heaven, no lights from shores ward help on earth. Is there help or hope to seaward, is there help in love, Hope in pity, where the ravening hounds of storm make mirth? Where the light but shows the naked eyeless face of Death 1004 GRACE DARLING Nearer, laughing- dumb and grim across the loud live storm ? Not in human heart or hand or speech of human breath, Surely, nor in saviours found of mortal face or form. Yet below the light, between the reefs, a skiff shot out Seems a sea-bird fain to breast and brave the strait fierce pass Whence the channelled roar of waters driven in raging rout, Pent and pressed and maddened, speaks their mon- strous might and mass. Thunder heaves and howls about them, lightning leaps and flashes, Hard at hand, not high in heaven, but close between the walls Heaped and hollowed of the storms of old, whence reels and crashes All the rage of all the unbaffled wave that breaks and falls. Who shall thwart the madness and the gladness of it, laden Full with heavy fate, and joyous as the birds that whirl ? Nought in heaven or earth, if not one mortal-moulded maiden, Nought if not the soul that glorifies a northland girl. Not the rocks that break may baffle, not the reefs that thwart Stay the ravenous rapture of the waves that crowd and leap ; GRACE DARLING Scarce their flashing - laughter shows the hunger of their heart, Scarce their lion-throated roar the wrath at heart they keep. Child and man and woman in the grasp of death clenched fast Tremble, clothed with darkness round about, and scarce draw breath, Scarce lift eyes up toward the light that saves not, scarce may cast Thought or prayer up, caught and trammelled in the snare of death. Not as sea-mews cling and laugh or sun their plumes and sleep Cling and cower the wild night's waifs of shipwreck, blind with fear, Where the fierce reef scarce yields foothold that a bird might keep, And the clamorous darkness deadens eye and deafens ear. Yet beyond their helpless hearing, out of hopeless sight, Saviours, armed and girt upon with strength of heart, fare forth, Sire and daughter, hand on oar and face against the night, Maid and man whose names are beacons ever to the North. Nearer now ; but all the madness of the storming- surf Hounds and roars them back ; but roars and hounds them back in vain : As a pleasure-skiff may graze the lake-embanking turf, 1006 GRACE DARLING So the boat that bears them grates the rock where- toward they strain. Dawn as fierce and haggard as the face of night scarce guides Toward the cries that rent and clove the darkness,, crying for aid, Hours on hours, across the engorged reluctance of the tides, Sire and daughter, high-souled man and mightier- hearted maid. Not the bravest land that ever breasted war's grim sea, Hurled her foes back harried on the lowlands whence they came, Held her own and smote her smiters down, while such durst be, Shining northward, shining southward, as the aurorean flame, Not our mother, not Northumberland, brought ever forth, Though no southern shore may match the sons that kiss her mouth, Children worthier all the birthright given of the ardent north Where the fire of hearts outburns the suns that fire the south. Even such fire was this that lit them, not from lower- ing skies Where the darkling dawn flagged, stricken in the sun's own shrine, Down the gulf of storm subsiding, till their earnest eyes Find the relics of the ravening night that spared but nine. GRACE DARLING 1007 Life by life the man redeems them, head by storm- worn head, While the girl's hand stays the boat whereof the waves are fain : Ah, but woe for one, the mother clasping fast her dead ! Happier, had the surges slain her with her children slain. Back they bear, and bring between them safe the woful nine, Where above the ravenous Hawkers fixed at watch for prey Storm and calm behold the Longstone's towering signal shine Now as when that labouring night brought forth a shuddering day. Now as then, though like the hounds of storm against her snarling All the clamorous years between us storm down many a fame, As our sires beheld before us we behold Grace Darling Crowned and throned our queen, and as they hailed we hail her name. Nay, not ours alone, her kinsfolk born, though chiefliest ours, East and west and south acclaim her queen of England's maids, Star more sweet than all their stars and flower than all their flowers, Higher in heaven and earth than star than sets or flower that fades. How should land or sea that nurtured her forget, or love ioo8 GRACE DARLING Hold not fast her fame for us while aught is borne in mind ? Land and sea beneath us, sun and moon and stars above, Bear the bright soul witness, seen of all but souls born blind. Stars and moon and sun may wax and wane, subside and rise, Age on age as flake on flake of showering snows be shed : Not till earth be sunless, not till death strike blind the skies, May the deathless love that waits on deathless deeds be dead. Years on years have withered since beside the hearth once thine I, too young to have seen thee, touched thy father's hallowed hand : Thee and him shall all men see for ever, stars that shine While the sea that spared thee girds and glorifies the land. ioo9 LOCH TORRIDON To E. H. The dawn of night more fair than morning rose, Stars hurrying forth on stars, as snows on snows Haste when the wind and winter bid them speed. Vague miles of moorland road behind us lay Scarce traversed ere the day Sank, and the sun forsook us at our need, Belated. Where we thought to have rested, rest Was none ; for soft Maree's dim quivering breast, Bound round with gracious inland girth of green And fearless of the wild wave- wandering West, Shone shelterless for strangers ; and unseen The goal before us lay Of all our blithe and strange and strenuous day. For when the northering road faced westward — when The dark sharp sudden gorge dropped seaward — then, Beneath the stars, between the steeps, the track We followed, lighted not of moon or sun, And plunging whither none ioio LOCH TORRIDON Might guess, while heaven and earth were hoar and black, Seemed even the dim still pass whence none turns back : And through the twilight leftward of the way, And down the dark, with many a laugh and leap, The light blithe hill-streams shone from scaur to steep In glittering pride of play ; And ever while the night grew great and deep We felt but saw not what the hills would keep Sacred awhile from sense of moon or star ; And full and far Beneath us, sweet and strange as heaven may be, The sea. The very sea : no mountain-moulded lake Whose fluctuant shapeliness is fain to take Shape from the steadfast shore that rules it round. And only from the storms a casual sound : The sea, that harbours in her heart sublime The supreme heart of music deep as time, And in her spirit strong The spirit of all imaginable song. Not a whisper or lisp from the waters : the skies Were not silenter. Peace Was between them ; a passionless rapture of respite as soft as release. Not a sound, but a sense that possessed and per- vaded with patient delight The soul and the body, clothed round with the com- fort of limitless night. LOCH TORRIDON ion Night infinite, living, adorable, loved of the land and the sea : Night, mother of mercies, who saith to the spirits in prison, Be free. And softer than dewfall, and kindlier than starlight, and keener than wine, Came round us the fragrance of waters, the life of the breath of the brine. We saw not, we heard not, the face or the voice of the waters : we knew By the darkling delight of the wind as the sense of the sea in it grew, By the pulse of the darkness about us enkindled and quickened, that here, Unseen and unheard of us, surely the goaJ we had faith in was near. A silence diviner than music, a darkness diviner than light, Fulfilled as from heaven with a measureless comfort the measure of night. But never a roof for shelter And never a sign for guide Rose doubtful or visible : only And hardly and gladly we heard The soft waves whisper and welter, Subdued, and allured to subside, By the mild night's magic : the lonely Sweet silence was soothed, not stirred. By the noiseless noise of the gleaming Glad ripples, that played and sighed, Kissed, laughed, recoiled, and relented, Whispered, flickered, and fled. 1012 LOCH TORRIDON No season was this for dreaming How oft, with a stormier tide, Had the wrath of the winds been vented On sons of the tribes long- dead : The tribes whom time, and the changes Of things, and the stress of doom, Have erased and effaced ; forgotten As wrecks or weeds of the shore In sight of the stern hill-ranges That hardly may change their gloom When the fruits of the years wax rotten And the seed of them springs no more. For the dim strait footway dividing The waters that breathed below Led safe to the kindliest of shelters That ever awoke into light : And still in remembrance abiding Broods over the stars that glow And the water that eddies and welters The passionate peace of the night. All night long, in the world of sleep, Skies and waters were soft and deep : Shadow clothed them, and silence made Soundless music of dream and shade : All above, us, the livelong night, Shadow, kindled with sense of light ; All around us, the brief night long, Silence, laden with sense of song. Stars and mountains without, we knew, Watched and waited, the soft night through : All unseen, but divined and dear, Thrilled the touch of the sea's breath near : LOCH TORRIDON 1013 All unheard, but alive like sound, Throbbed the sense of the sea's life round : Round us, near us, in depth and height, Soft as darkness and keen as light. And the dawn leapt in at my casement : and there, as I rose, at my feet No waves of the landlocked waters, no lake sub- missive and sweet, Soft slave of the lordly seasons, whose breath may loose it or freeze ; But to left and to right and ahead was the ripple whose pulse is the sea's. From the gorge we had travelled by starlight the sunrise, winged and aflame, Shone large on the live wide wavelets that shuddered with joy as it came ; As it came and caressed and possessed them, till panting and laughing with light From mountain to mountain the water was kindled and stung to delight. And the grey gaunt heights that embraced and con- strained and compelled it were glad, And the rampart of rock, stark naked, that thwarted and barred it, was clad With a stern grey splendour of sunrise : and scarce had I sprung to the sea When the dawn and the water were wedded, the hills and the sky set free. The chain of the night was broken : the waves that embraced me and smiled And flickered and fawned in the sunlight, alive, un- afraid, undefiled, LOCH TORRIDON Were sweeter to swim in than air, thoug-h fulfilled with the mounting' morn, Could be for the birds whose triumph rejoiced that a day was born. And a day was arisen indeed for us. Years and the changes of years Clothed round with their joys and their sorrows, and dead as their hopes and their fears, Lie noteless and nameless, unlit by remembrance or record of days Worth wonder or memory, or cursing or blessing, or passion or praise, Between us who live and forget not, but yearn with delight in it yet, And the day we forget not, and never may live and may think to forget. And the years that were kindlier and fairer, and kindled with pleasures as keen, Have eclipsed not with lights or with shadows the light on the face of it seen. For softly and surely, as nearer the boat that we gazed from drew, The face of the precipice opened and bade us as birds pass through, And the bark shot sheer to the sea through the strait of the sharp steep cleft, The portal that opens with imminent rampires to right and to left, Sublime as the sky they darken and strange as a spell-struck dream, On the world unconfined of the mountains, the reign of the sea supreme, LOCH TORRIDON The kingdom of westward waters, wherein when we swam we knew The waves that we clove were boundless, the wind on our brows that blew Had swept no land and no lake, and had warred not on tower or on tree, But came on us hard out of heaven, and alive with the soul of the sea. ioi6 THE PALACE OF PAN Inscribed to my Mother September, all glorious with gold, as a king In the radiance of triumph attired, Outlightening the summer, outsweetening-the spring, Broods wide on the woodlands with limitless wing, A presence of all men desired. Far eastward and westward the sun-coloured lands Smile warm as the light on them smiles ; And statelier than temples upbuilded with hands, Tall column by column, the sanctuary stands Of the pine-forest's infinite aisles. Mute worship, too fervent for praise or for prayer, Possesses the spirit with peace, Fulfilled with the breath of the luminous air, The fragrance, the silence, the shadows as fair As the rays that recede or increase. Ridged pillars that redden aloft and aloof, With never a branch for a nest, Sustain the sublime indivisible roof, To the storm and the sun in his majesty proof, And awful as waters at rest. THE PALACE OF PAN 1017 Man's hand hath not measured the height of them ; thought May measure not, awe may not know ; In its shadow the woofs of the woodland are wrought ; .\s a bird is the sun in the toils of them caught, And the flakes of it scattered as snow. As the shreds of a plumage of gold on the ground The sun-flakes by multitudes lie, Shed loose as the petals of roses discrowned On the floors of the forest engilt and embrowned And reddened afar and anigh. Dim centuries with darkling inscrutable hands Have reared and secluded the shrine For gods that we know not, and kindled as brands On the altar the years that are dust, and their sands Time's glass has forgotten for sign. A temple whose transepts are measured by miles, Whose chancel has morning for priest, Whose floor-work the foot of no spoiler defiles, Whose musical silence no music beguiles, No festivals limit its feast. The noon's ministration, the night's and the dawn's, Conceals not, reveals not for man, On the slopes of the herbless and blossomless lawns, Some track of a nymph's or some trail of a faun's To the place of the slumber of Pan. Thought, kindled and quickened by worship and wonder To rapture too sacred for fear ioi8 THE PALACE OF PAN On the ways that unite or divide them in sunder, Alone may discern if about them or under Be token or trace of him here. With passionate awe that is deeper than panic The spirit subdued and unshaken Takes heed of the godhead terrene and Titanic Whose footfall is felt on the breach of volcanic Sharp steeps that their fire has forsaken. By a spell more serene than the dim necromantic Dead charms of the past and the night, Or the terror that lurked in the noon to make frantic Where Etna takes shape from the limbs of gigantic Dead gods disanointed of might, The spirit made one with the spirit whose breath Makes noon in the woodland sublime Abides as entranced in a presence that saith Things loftier than life and serener than death, Triumphant and silent as time. Pine Ridge : September 1893 1019 A YEAR'S CAROLS JANUARY Hail, January, that bearest here On snowbright breasts the babe-faced year That weeps and trembles to be born. Hail, maid and mother, strong and bright, Hooded and cloaked and shod with white, Whose eyes are stars that match the morn, Thy forehead braves the storm's bent bow, Thy feet enkindle stars of snow. FEBRUARY Wan February with weeping cheer, Whose cold hand guides the youngling year Down misty roads of mire and rime, Before thy pale and fitful face The shrill wind shifts the clouds apace Through skies the morning scarce may climb. Thine eyes are thick with heavy tears, But lit with hopes that light the year's 1020 A YEAR'S CAROLS MARCH Hail, happy March, whose foot on earth Rings as the blast of martial mirth When trumpets fire men's hearts for fray. No race of wild things winged or finned May match the might that wings thy wind Through air and sea, through scud and spray. Strong joy and thou were powers twin-born Of tempest and the towering morn. APRIL Crowned April, king whose kiss bade earth Bring forth to time her lordliest birth When Shakespeare from thy lips drew breath And laughed to hold in one soft hand A spell that bade the world's wheel stand, And power on life, and power on death, With quiring suns and sunbright showers Praise him, the flower of all thy flowers. MAY Hail, May, whose bark puts forth full-sailed For summer ; May, whom Chaucer hailed With all his happy might of heart, And gave thy rosebright daisy-tips Strange fragrance from his amorous lips That still thine own breath seems to part And sweeten till each word they say Is even a flower of flowering May. A YEAR'S CAROLS JUNE Strong- June, superb, serene, elate With conscience of thy sovereign state Untouched of thunder, though the storm Scathe here and there thy shuddering skies And bid its lightning cross thine eyes With fire, thy golden hours inform Earth and the souls of men with life That brings forth peace from shining strife, JULY Hail, proud July, whose fervent mouth Bids even be morn and north be south By grace and gospel of thy word, Whence all the splendour of the sea Lies breathless with delight in thee And marvel at the music heard From the ardent silent lips of noon And midnight's rapturous plenilune. AUGUST Great August, lord of golden lands, Whose lordly joy through seas and strands And all the red-ripe heart of earth Strikes passion deep as life, and stills The folded vales and folding hills With gladness too divine for mirth, The gracious glories of thine eyes Make night a noon where darkness dies. ±022 A YEAR'S CAROLS SEPTEMBER Hail, kind September, friend whose grace Renews the bland year's bounteous face With largess given of corn and wine Through many a land that laughs with love Of thee and all the heaven above, More fruitful found than all save thine Whose skies fulfil with strenuous cheer The fervent fields that knew thee near. OCTOBER October of the tawny crown, Whose heavy-laden hands drop down Blessing, the bounties of thy breath And mildness of thy mellowing might Fill earth and heaven with love and light Too sweet for fear to dream of death Or memory, while thy joy lives yet, To know what joy would fain forget. NOVEMBER Hail, soft November, though thy pale Sad smile rebuke the words that hail Thy sorrow with no sorrowing words Or gratulate thy grief with song Less bitter than the winds that wrong Thy withering woodlands, where the birds Keep hardly heart to sing or see How fair thy faint wan face may be. A YEAR'S CAROLS 1023 DECEMBER December, thou whose hallowing - hands On shuddering - seas and hardening lands Set as a sacramental sign The seal of Christmas felt on earth As witness toward a new year s birth Whose promise makes thy death divine, The crowning joy that comes of thee Makes glad all grief cn land or sea. 1024 ENGLAND : AN ODE i Sea and strand, and a lordlier land than sea-tides rolling and rising sun Clasp and lighten in climes that brighten with day when day that was here is done, Call aloud on their children, proud with trust that future and past are one. Far and near from the swan's nest here the storm- birds bred of her fair white breast, Sons whose home was the sea-wave's foam, have borne the fame of her east and west ; North and south has the storm-wind's mouth rung praise of England and Eng-land's quest. Fame, wherever her flag flew, never forbore to fly with an equal wing : France and Spain with their warrior train bowed down before her as thrall to king ; India knelt at her feet, and felt her sway more fruit- ful of life than spring. Darkness round them as iron bound fell off from races of elder name. ENGLAND : AN ODE 1025 Slain at sight of her eyes, whose light bids freedom lighten and burn as flame ; Night endures not the touch that cures of kingship tyrants, and slaves of shame. All the terror of time, where error and fear were lords of a world of slaves, Age on age in resurgent rage and anguish darkening as waves on waves, Fell or fled from a face that shed such grace as quickens the dust of graves. Things of night at her glance took flight : the strengths of darkness recoiled and sank : Sank the fires of the murderous pyres whereon wild agony writhed and shrank : Rose the light of the reign of right from gulfs of years that the darkness drank. Yet the might of her wings in flight, whence glory lightens and music rings, Loud and bright as the dawn's, shall smite and still the discord of evil things, Yet not slain by her radiant reign, but darkened now by her sail-stretched wings. 11 Music made of change and conquest, glory born of evil slain, Stilled the discord, slew the darkness, bade the lights of tempest wane, Where the deathless dawn of England rose in sign that right should reign. VOL. n. 2 K 1026 ENGLAND: AN ODE Mercy, where the tiger wallowed mad and blind with blood and lust, Justice, where the jackal yelped and fed, and slaves allowed it just, Rose as England's light on Asia rose, and smote them down to dust. Justice bright as mercy, mercy girt by justice with her sword, Smote and saved and raised and ruined, till the tyrant-ridden horde Saw the lightning fade from heaven and knew the sun for God and lord. Where the footfall sounds of England, where the smile of England shines, Rings the tread and laughs the face of freedom, fair as hope divines Days to be, more brave than ours and lit by lordlier stars for signs. All our past acclaims our future : Shakespeare's voice and Nelson's hand, Milton's faith and Wordsworth's trust in this our chosen and chainless land, Bear us witness : come the world against her, England yet shall stand. Earth and sea bear England witness if he lied who said it ; he Whom the winds that ward her, waves that clasp, and herb and flower and tree Fed with English dews and sunbeams, hail as more than man may be. ENGLAND : AN ODE 1027 No man ever spake as he that bade our England be but true, Keep but faith with England fast and firm, and none should bid her rue ; None may speak as he : but all may know the sign that Shakespeare knew. in From the springs of the dawn, from the depths of the noon, from the heights of the night that shine, Hope, faith, and remembrance of glory that found but in England her throne and her shrine, Speak louder than song may proclaim them, that here is the seal of them set for a sign. And loud as the sea's voice thunders applause of the land that is one with the sea Speaks Time in the ear of the people that never at heart was not inly free The word of command that assures us of life, if we will but that life shall be ; If the race that is first of the races of men who behold unashamed the sun Stand fast and forget not the sign that is given of the years and the wars that are done, The token that all who are born of its blood should in heart as in blood be one. The word of remembrance that lightens as fire from the steeps of the-storm-lit past 1028 ENGLAND : AN ODE Bids only the faith of our fathers endure in us, firm as they held it fast : That the glory which was from the first upon England alone may endure to the last. That the love and the hate may change not, the faith may not fade, nor the wrath nor scorn, That shines for her sons and that burns for her foe- men as fire of the night or the morn' : That the births of her womb may forget not the sign of the glory wherein they were born. A light that is more than the sunlight, an air that is brighter than morning's breath, Clothes England about as the strong sea clasps her, and answers the word that it saith ; The word that assures her of life if she change not, and choose not the ways of death. Change darkens and lightens around her, alternate in hope and in fear to be : Hope knows not if fear speak truth, nor fear whether hope be not blind as she : But the sun is in heaven that beholds her immortal, and girdled with life by the sea. 1029 ETON : AN ODE FOR THE FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDATION OF THE COLLEGE Four hundred summers and fifty have shone on the meadows of Thames and died Since Eton arose in an age that was darkness, and shone by his radiant side As a star that the speil of a wise man's word bade live and ascend and abide. And ever as time's flow brightened, a river more dark than the storm-clothed sea, And age upon age rose fairer and larger in promise of hope set free, With England Eton her child kept pace as a fostress of men to be. And ever as earth waxed wiser, and softer the beat- ing of time's wide wings, Since fate fell dark on her father, most hapless and gentlest of star-crossed kings, Her praise has increased as the chant of the dawn that the choir of the noon outsings. 1030 ETON : AN ODE ii Storm and cloud in the skies were loud, and light- ning mocked at the blind sun's light ; War and woe on the land below shed heavier shadow than falls from night ; Dark was earth at her dawn of birth as here her record of praise is bright. £lear and fair through her morning air the light first laugh of the sunlit stage Rose and rang as a fount that sprang from depths yet dark with a spent storm's rage, Loud and glad as a boy's, and bade the sunrise open on Shakespeare's age. Lords of state and of war, whom fate found strong in battle, in counsel strong, Here, ere fate had approved them great, abode their season, and thought not long : Here too first was the lark's note nursed that filled and flooded the skies with song. in Shelley, lyric lord of England's lordliest singers, here first heard Ring from lips of poets crowned and dead the Pro- methean word Whence his soul took fire, and power to outsoar the sunward-soaring bird. ETON: AN ODE 1031 Still the reaches of the river, still the light on field and hill, Still the memories held aloft as lamps for hope's young- fire to fill, Shine, and while the light of England lives shall shine for England still. When four hundred more and fifty years have risen and shone and set, Bright with names that men remember, loud with names that men forget, Haply here shall Eton's record .be what England finds it yet. 1032 THE UNION i Three in one, but one in three, God, who girt her with the sea, Bade our Commonweal to be : Nought, if now not one. Though fraud and fear would sever The bond assured for ever, Their shameful strength shall never Undo what heaven has done. II South and North and West and East Watch the ravens flock to feast, Dense as round some death-struck beast, Black as night is black. Stand fast as faith together In stress of treacherous, weather When hounds and wolves break tether And Treason guides the pack. in Lovelier than thy seas are strong, Glorious Ireland, sword and song Gird and crown thee : none may wrongs Save thy sons alone. THE UNION 1033 The sea that laughs around us Hath sundered not but bound us : The sun's first rising found us Throned on its equal throne. iv North and South and East and West ; All true hearts that wish thee best Beat one tune and own one quest, Staunch and sure as steel. God guard from dark disunion Our threefold State's communion, God save the loyal Union, The royal Commonweal ! II. 2 K2 1034 EAST TO WEST Sunset smiles on sunrise : east and west are one, Face to face in heaven before the sovereign sun. From the springs of the dawn everlasting- a glory renews and transfigures the west, From the depths of the sunset a light as of morning enkindles the broad sea's breast, And the lands and the skies and the waters are glad of the day's and the night's work done. Child of dawn, and regent on the world-wide sea, England smiles on Europe, fair as dawn and free. Not the waters that gird her are purer, nor mightier the winds that her waters know. But America, daughter and sister of England, is praised of them, far as they flow : Atlantic responds to Pacific the praise of her days that have been and shall be. So from England westward let the watchword fly, So for England eastward let the seas reply ; Praise, honour, and love everlasting be sent on the wind's wings, westward and east, That the pride of the past and the pride of the future may mingle as friends at feast, And the sons of the lords of the world-wide seas be one till the world's life die. 1035 INSCRIPTIONS FOR THE FOUR SIDES OF A PEDESTAL I Marlowe, the father of the sons of song Whose praise is England's crowning praise, above All glories else that crown her, sweet and strong As England, clothed with light and fire of love, And girt with might of passion, thought, and trust, Stands here in spirit, sleeps not here in dust. ii Marlowe, a star too sovereign, too superb, To fade when heaven took fire from Shakespeare's light, A soul that knew but song's triumphal curb And love's triumphant bondage, holds of right His pride of place, who first in place and time Made England's voice as England's heart sublime. in Marlowe bade England live in living song : The light he lifted up lit Shakespeare's way : He spake, and life sprang forth in music, strong As fire or lightning, sweet as dawn of day. Song was a dream where day took night to wife : " Let there be life," he said : and there was life. 1036 INSCRIPTIONS IV Marlowe of all our fathers first beheld Beyond the tidal ebb and flow of things The tideless depth and height of souls, impelled By thought or passion, borne on waves or wings, Beyond all flight or sight but song's : and he First gave our song a sound that matched our sea. 1037 ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD BURTON Night or light is it now, wherein Sleeps, shut out from the wild world's din, Wakes, alive with a life more clear, One who found not on earth his kin ? Sleep were sweet for awhile, were dear Surely to souls that were heartless here, Souls that faltered and flagged and fell, Soft of spirit and faint of cheer. A living soul that had strength to quell Hope the spectre and fear the spell, Clear-eyed, content with a scorn sublime And a faith superb, can it fare not well ? Life, the shadow of wide-winged time, Cast from the wings that change as they climb, Life may vanish in death, and seem Less than the promise of last year's prime. But not for us Is the past a dream Wherefrom, as light from a clouded stream, Faith fades and shivers and ebbs away, Faint as the moon if the sundawn gleam. 1038 ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD BURTON Faith, whose eyes in the low last ray Watch the fire that renews the day, Faith which lives in the living past, Rock-rooted, swerves not as weeds that sway. As trees that stand in the storm-wind fast She stands, unsmitten of death's keen blast, With strong remembrance of sunbright spring Alive at heart to the lifeless last. Night, she knows, may in no wise cling To a soul that sinks not and droops not wing, A sun that sets not in death's false night Whose kingdom finds him not thrall but king. Souls there are that for soul's affright Bow down and cower in the sun's glad sight, Clothed round with faith that is one with fear, And dark with doubt of the live world's light. But him we hailed from afar or near As boldest born of the bravest here And loved as brightest of souls that eyed Life, time, and death with unchangeful cheer, A wider soul than the world was wide, Whose praise made love of him one with pride, What part has death or has time in him, Who rode life's lists as a god might ride ? While England sees not her old praise dim, While still her stars through the world's night swim, A fame outshining her Raleigh's fame, A light that lightens her loud sea's rim, ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD BURTON 1039 Shall shine and sound as her sons proclaim The pride that kindles at Burton's name. And joy shall exalt their pride to be The same in birth if in soul the same. But we that yearn for a friend's face — we Who lack the light that on earth was he — Mourn, though the light be a quenchless flame That shines as dawn on a tideless sea. 1040 ELEGY 1 869- 1 89 1 Auvergne, Auvergne, O wild and woful land, O glorious land and gracious, white as gleam The stairs of heaven, black as a flameless brand, Strange even as life, and stranger than a dream, Could earth remember man, whose eyes made bright The splendour of her beauty, lit by day Or soothed and softened and redeemed by night, Wouldst thou not know what light has passed away ? Wouldst thou not know whom England, whom the world, Mourns ? For the world whose wildest ways he trod, And smiled their dangers down that coiled and curled Against him, knows him now less man than god. Our demigod of daring, keenest-eyed To read and deepest read in earth's dim things, A spirit now whose body of death has died And left it mightier yet in eyes and wings, ELEGY 1041 The sovereign seeker of the world, who now Hath sought what world the light of death may show, Hailed once with me the crowns that load thy brow, Crags dark as midnight, columns bright as snow. Thy steep small Siena, splendid and content As shines the mightier city's Tuscan pride Which here its face reflects in radiance, pent By narrower bounds from towering side to side, Set fast between the ridged and foamless waves Of earth more fierce and fluctuant than the sea, The fearless town of towers that hails and braves The heights that gird, the sun that brands Le Puy ; The huddled churches clinging on the cliffs As birds alighting might for storm's sake cling, Moored to the rocks as tempest-harried skiffs To perilous refuge from the loud wind's wing ; The stairs on stairs that wind and change and climb Even up to the utmost crag's edge curved and curled, More bright than vision, more than faith sublime, Strange as the light and darkness of the world ; Strange as are night and morning, stars and sun, And washed from west and east by day's deep tide. Shine yet less fair, when all their heights are won, Than sundawn shows thy pillared mountain-side. Even so the dawn of death, whose light makes dim The starry fires that life sees rise and set, Shows higher than here he shone before us him Whom faith forgets not, nor shall fame forget. 1042 ELEGY Even so those else unfooted heights we clomb Through scudding mist and eddying whirls of cloud, Blind as a pilot beaten blind with foam, And shrouded as a corpse with storm's grey shroud, Foot following foot along the sheer strait ledge Where space was none to bear the wild goat's feet Till blind we sat on the outer footless edge Where darkling death seemed fain to share the seat, The abyss before us, viewless even as time's, The abyss to left of us, the abyss to right, Bid thought now dream how high the freed soul climbs That death sets free from change of day and night. The might of raging mist and wind whose wrath Shut from our eyes the narrowing rock we trod, The wondrous world it darkened, made our path Like theirs who take the shadow of death for God. Yet eastward, veiled in vapour white as snow, The grim black herbless heights that scorn the sun And mock the face of morning rose to show The work of earth-born fire and earthquake done. And half the world was haggard night, wherein We strove our blind way through : but far above Was light that watched the wild mists whirl and spin, And far beneath a land worth light and love. ELEGY Deep down the Valley of the Curse, undaunted By shadow and whisper of winds with sins for wings And ghosts of crime wherethrough the heights live haunted By present sense of past and monstrous things, The glimmering water holds its gracious way Full forth, and keeps one happier hand's-breadth green Of all that storm-scathed world whereon the sway Sits dark as death of deadlier things unseen. But on the soundless and the viewless river That bears through night perchance again to day The dead whom death and twin-born fame deliver From life that dies, and time's inveterate sway, No shadow save of falsehood and of fear That brands the future with the past, and bids The spirit wither and the soul grow sere, Hovers or hangs to cloud life's opening lids, If life have eyes to lift again and see, Beyond the bounds of sensual sight or breath, What life incognisable of ours may be That turns our light to darkness deep as death. Priests and the soulless serfs of priests may swarm With vulturous acclamation, loud in lies, About his dust while yet his dust is warm Who mocked as sunlight mocks their base blind eyes, 1044 ELEGY Their godless ghost of godhead, false and foul As fear his dam or hell his throne : but we, Scarce hearing, heed no carrion church-wolf's howl i The corpse be theirs to mock ; the soul is free. Free as ere yet its earthly day was done It lived above the coil about us curled : A soul whose eyes were keenc than the sun, A soul whose wings were wider than the world. We, sons of east and west, ringed round with dreams, Bound fast with visions, girt about with fears, Live, trust, and think by chance, while shadow seems Light, and the wind that wrecks a hand that steers. He, whose full soul held east and west in poise, Weighed man with man, and creed of man's with creed, And age with age, their triumphs and their toys, And found what faith may read not and may read. Scorn deep and strong as death and life, that lit With fire the smile at lies and dreams outworn Wherewith he smote them, showed sublime in it The splendour and the steadfastness of scorn. What loftier heaven, what lordlier air, what space Illimitable, insuperable, infinite, Now to that strong-winged soul yields ampler place Than passing darkness yields to passing light, ELEGY ^45 No dream, no faith can tell us : hope and fear, Whose tongues were loud of old as children's, now From babbling- fall to silence : change is here, And death ; dark furrows drawn by time's dark plough. Still sunward here on earth its flight was bent, Even since the man within the child began To yearn and kindle with superb intent And trust in time to magnify the man. Still toward the old garden of the Sun, whose fruit The honey-heavy lips of Sophocles Desired and sang, wherein the unwithering root Sprang of all growths that thought brings forth and sees Incarnate, bright with bloom or dense with leaf Far-shadowing, deep as depth of dawn or night : And all were parcel of the garnered sheaf His strenuous spirit bound and stored aright. And eastward now, and ever toward the dawn, If death's deep veil by life's bright hand be rent, We see, as through the shadow of death withdrawn, The imperious soul's indomitable ascent. But not the soul whose labour knew not end — But not the swordsman's hand, the crested head—, The royal heart we mourn, the faultless friend, Burton — a name that lives till fame be dead. 1046 A SEQUENCE OF SONNETS ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT BROWNING The clearest eyes in all the world they read With sense more keen and spirit of sight more true Than burns and thrills in sunrise, when the dew Flames, and absorbs the glory round it shed, As they the light of ages quick and dead, Closed now, forsake us : yet the shaft that slew Can slay not one of all the works we knew, Nor death discrown that many-laurelled head. The works of words whose life seems lightning wrought, And moulded of unconquerable thought, And quickened with imperishable flame, Stand fast and shine and smile, assured that nought May fade of all their myriad-moulded fame, Nor England's memory clasp not Browning's name. December 13, 1889. THE DEATH OF ROBERT BROWNING 1047 11 Death, what hast thou to do with one for whom Time is not lord, but servant ? What least part Of all the fire that fed his living- heart, Of all the light more keen than sundawn's bloom That lit and led his spirit, strong as doom And bright as hope, can aught thy breath may dart Quench ? Nay, thou knowest he knew thee what thou art, A shadow born of terror's barren womb, That brings not forth save shadows. What art thou, To dream, albeit thou breathe upon his brow, That power on him is given thee, — that thy breath Can make him less than love acclaims him now, And hears all time sound back the word it saith ? What part hast thou then in his glory, Death ? in A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieve : Venice and winter, hand in deadly hand, Have slain the lover of her sunbright strand And singer of a stormbright Christmas Eve. A graceless guerdon we that loved receive For all our love, from that the dearest land Love worshipped ever. Blithe and soft and bland, Too fair for storm to scathe or fire to cleave, Shone on our dreams and memories evermore The domes, the towers, the mountains and the shore That gird or guard thee, Venice : cold and black Seems now the face we loved as he of yore. We have given thee love — no stint, no stay, no lack : What gift, what gift is this thou hast given us back ? 1048 A SEQUENCE OF SONNETS ON IV But he — to him, who knows what gift is thine, Death ? Hardly may we think or hope, when we Pass likewise thither where to-night is he, Beyond the irremeable outer seas that shine And darken round such dreams as half divine Some sunlit harbour in that starless sea Where gleams no ship to windward or to lee, To read with him the secret of thy shrine. There too, as here, may song, delight, and love, The nightingale, the sea-bird, and the dove, Fulfil with joy the splendour of the sky Till all beneath wax bright as all above : But none of all that search the heavens, and try The sun, may match the sovereign eagle's eye. December 14. v Among the wondrous ways of men and time He went as one that ever found and sought And bore in hand the lamplike spirit of thought To illume with instance of its fire sublime The dusk of many a cloudlike age and clime. No spirit in shape of light and darkness wrought. No faith, no fear, no dream, no rapture, nought That blooms in wisdom, nought that burns in crime, No virtue girt and armed and helmed with light, No love more lovely than the snows are white, No serpent sleeping in some dead soul's tomb, No song-bird singing from some live soul's height, But he might hear, interpret, or illume With sense invasive as the dawn of doom. THE DEATH OF ROBERT BROWNING 1049 VI What secret thing- of splendour or of shade Surmised in all those wandering ways wherein Man, led of love and life and death and sin, Strays, climbs, or cowers, allured, absorbed, afraid, Might not the strong and sunlike sense invade Of that full soul that had for aim to win Light, silent over time's dark toil and din, Life, at whose touch death fades as dead things fade ? O spirit of man, what mystery moves in thee That he might know not of in spirit, and see The heart within the heart that seems to strive, The life within the life that seems to be, And hear, through all thy storms that whirl and drive, The living sound of all men's souls alive ? VII He held no dream worth waking : so he said, He who stands now on death's triumphal steep, Awakened out of life wherein we sleep And dream of what he knows and sees, being dead. But never death for him was dark or dread : ' ' Look forth " he bade the soul, and fear not. Weep, All ye that trust not in his truth, and keep Vain memory's vision of a vanished head As all that lives of all that once was he Save that which lightens from his word : but we, Who, seeing the sunset-coloured waters roll, Yet know the sun subdued not of the sea, Nor weep nor doubt that still the spirit is whole, And life and death but shadows of the soul. December 1 5. 1050 SUNSET AND M00NRISE New Year's Eve, 1889 All the west, whereon the sunset sealed the dead year's glorious grave Fast with seals of light and fire and cloud that light and fire illume, Glows at heart and kindles earth and heaven with joyous blush and bloom, Warm and wide as life, and glad of death that only slays to save. As a tide-reconquered sea-rock lies aflush with the influent wave Lies the light aflush with darkness, lapped about by lustrous gloom, Even as life with death, and fame with time, and memory with the tomb Where a dead man hath for vassals Fame the serf and Time the slave. Far from earth as heaven, the steadfast light with- drawn, superb, suspense, Burns in dumb divine expansion of illimitable flower : SUNSET AND MOONRISE 1051 Moonrise whets the shadow's edges keen as noon- tide : hence and thence Glows the presence from us passing-, shines and passes not the power. Souls arise whose word remembered is as spirit within the sense : All the hours are theirs of all the seasons : death has but his hour. 1052 BIRTHDAY ODE August 6, 1891 I Love and praise, and a length of days whose shadow cast upon time is light, Days whose sound was a spell shed round from wheeling wings as of doves in flight, Meet in one, that the mounting sun to-day may triumph, and cast out night. Two years more than the full fourscore lay hallowing hands on a sacred head — Scarce one score of the perfect four uncrowned of fame as they smiled and fled : Still and soft and alive aloft their sunlight stays though the suns be dead. Ere we were or were thought on, ere the love that gave us to life began, Fame grew strong with his crescent song, to greet the goal of the race they ran, Song with fame, and the lustrous name with years whose changes acclaimed the man. BIRTHDAY ODE ii Soon, ere time in the rounding- rhyme of choral seasons had hailed us men, We too heard and acclaimed the word whose breath was life upon England then — Life more bright than the breathless light of soundless noon in a songless glen. Ah, the joy of the heartstruck boy whose ear was opened of love to hear ! Ah, the bliss of the burning kiss of song and spirit, the mounting cheer Lit with fire of divine desire and love that knew not if love were fear ! Fear and love as of heaven above and earth enkindled of heaven were one ; One white flame, that around his name grew keen and strong as the worldwide sun ; Awe made bright with implied delight, as weft with weft of the rainbow spun. in He that fears not the voice he hears and loves shall never have heart to sing : All the grace of the sun-god's face that bids the soul as a fountain spring Bids the brow that receives it bow, and hail his like- ness on earth as king. io54 BIRTHDAY ODE We that knew when the sun's shaft flew beheld and worshipped, adored and heard : Light rang round it of shining sound, whence all men's hearts were subdued and stirred : Joy, love, sorrow, the day, the morrow, took life upon them in one man's word. Not for him can the years wax dim, nor downward swerve on a darkening way : Upward wind they, and leave behind such light as lightens the front of May : Fair as youth and sublime as truth we find the fame that we hai4 to-day. 1055 THRENODY October 6, 1892 I Life, sublime and serene when time had power upon it and ruled its breath, Changed it, bade it be glad or sad, and hear what change in the world's ear saith, Shines more fair in the starrier air whose glory lightens the dusk of death. Suns that sink on the wan sea's brink, and moons that kindle and flame and fade, Leave more clear for the darkness here the stars that set not and see not shade Rise and rise on the lowlier skies by rule of sunlight and moonlight swayed. So, when night for his eyes grew bright, his proud head pillowed on Shakespeare's breast, Hand in hand with him, soon to stand where shine the glories that death loves best, Passed the light of his face from sight, and sank sublimely to radiant rest. 1056 THRENODY Far above us and all our love, beyond all reach of its voiceless praise, Shines for ever the name that never shall feel the shade of the changeful days Fall and chill the delight that still sees winter's light on it shine like May's. Strong as death is the dark day's breath whose blast has withered the life we see Here where light is the child of night, and less than visions or dreams are we : Strong as death ; but a word, a breath, a dream is stronger than death can be. Strong as truth and superb in youth eternal, fair as the sundawn's flame Seen when May on her first-born day bids earth exult in her radiant name, Lives, clothed round with its praise and crowned with love that dies not, his love-lit fame. in Fairer far than the morning star, and sweet for us as the songs that rang Loud through heaven from the choral Seven when all the stars of the morning sang, Shines the song that we loved so long — since first such love in us flamed and sprang. THRENODY England glows as a sunlit rose from mead to moun- tain, from sea to sea, Bright with love and with pride above all taint of sorrow that needs must be, Needs must live for an hour, and give its rainbow's glory to lawn and lea. $ot through tears shall the new-born years behold him, crowned with applause of men, Pass at last from a lustrous past to life that lightens beyond their ken, Glad and dead, and from earthward led to sunward, guided of Imogen. VOL. II. io 5 8 THE BALLAD OF MELICERTES In Memory of Theodore de Banville Death, a light outshining life, bids heaven resume Star by star the souls whose light made earth divine. Death, a night outshining day, sees burn and bloom Flower by flower, and sun by sun, the fames that shine Deathless, higher than life beheld their sovereign sign. Dead Simonides of Ceos, late restored, Given again of God, again by man deplored, Shone but yestereve, a glory frail as breath. Frail ? But fame's breath quickens, kindles, keeps in ward, Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death. Mother's love, and rapture of the sea, whose womb Breeds eternal life of joy that stings like brine, Pride of song, and joy to dare the singer's doom, Sorrow soft as sleep and laughter bright as wine, Flushed and filled with fragrant fire his lyric line. As the sea-shell utters, like a stricken chord, Music uttering all the sea's within it stored, Poet well-beloved, whose praise our sorrow saith, So thy songs retain thy soul, and so record Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death. THE BALLAD OF MELICERTES 1059 Side by side we mourned at Gautier's golden tomb : Here in spirit now I stand and mourn at thine. Yet no breath of death strikes thence, no shadow of gloom, Only light more bright than gold of the inmost mine, Only steam of incense warm from love's own shrine. Not the darkling stream, the sundering Stygian ford, Not the hour that smites and severs as a sword, Not the night subduing light that perisheth, Smite, subdue, divide from us by doom abhorred, Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death. Prince of song more sweet than honey, lyric lord, Not thy France here only mourns a light adored, One whose love-lit fame the world inheriteth. Strangers too, now brethren, hail with heart's accord Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death. io6o AU TOMBEAU DE BANVILLE La plus douce des voix qui vibraient sous le ciel Se tait : les rossignols ailes pleurent le frere Qui s'envole au-dessus de l'apre et sombre terre, Ne lui laissant plus voir que l'etre essentiel, Esprit qui chante et rit, fleur d'une ame sans fiel. L'ombre elyseenne, ou la nuit n'est que lumiere, Revoit, tout revetu de splendeur douce et fiere, Melicerte, poete a la bouche de miel. Dieux exiles, passants celestes de ce monde, Dont on entend parfois dans notre nuit profonde Vibrer la voix, fremir les ailes, vous savez S'il vous aima, s'il vous pleura, lui dont la vie Et le chant rappelaient les votres. Recevez L'ame de Melicerte affranchie et ravie. io6i LIGHT : AN EPICEDE To Philip Bourke Marston Love will not weep because the seal is broken That sealed upon a life beloved and brief Darkness, and let but song break through for token How deep, too far for even thy song's relief, Slept in thy soul the secret springs of grief. Thy song may soothe full many a soul hereafter, As tears, if tears will come, dissolve despair ; As here but late, with smile more bright than laughter, Thy sweet strange yearning eyes would seem to bear Witness that joy might cleave the clouds of care. Two days agone, and love was one with pity When love gave thought wings toward the glim= mering goal Where, as a shrine lit in some darkling city, Shone soft the shrouded image of thy soul : And now thou art healed of life ; thou art healed, and whole. 1062 LIGHT: AN EPICEDE Yea, two days since, all we that loved thee pitied : And now with wondering love, with shame of face, We think how foolish now, how far unfitted, Should be from us, toward thee who hast run thy race, Pity— toward thee, who hast won the painless place ; The painless world of death, yet unbeholden Of eyes that dream what light now lightens thine And will not weep. Thought, yearning toward those olden Dear hours that sorrow sees and sees not shine, Bows tearless down before a nameless shrine : A nameless altar here of life and sorrow Quenched and consumed together. These were one, One thing for thee, as night was one with morrow And utter darkness with the sovereign sun : And now thou seest life, sorrow, and darkness done. And yet love yearns- again to win thee hither ; Blind love, and loveless, and unworthy thee : Here where I watch the hours of darkness wither, Here where mine eyes were glad and sad to see Thine that could see not mine, though turned on me. But now, if aught beyond sweet sleep lie hidden, And sleep be sealed not fast on dead men's sight For ever, thine hath grace for ours forbidden, And sees us compassed round with change and night : Yet light like thine is ours, if love be light. 1063 THRENODY Watching here alone by the fire whereat last year Sat with me the friend that a week since yet was near, That a week has borne so far and hid so deep, Woe am I that I may not weep, May not yearn to behold him here. Shame were mine, and little the love I bore him were, Now to mourn that better he fares than love may fare Which desires, and would not have indeed, its will, Would not love him so worse than ill, Would not clothe him again with care. Yet can love not choose but remember, hearts but ache, Eyes but darken, only for one vain thought's poor sake, For the thought that by this hearth's now lonely side Two fast friends, on the day he died, Looked once more for his hand to take. 1064 THRENODY Let thy soul forgive them, and pardon heal the sin, Though their hearts be heavy to think what then had been, The delight that never while they live may be — Love's communion of speech with thee. Soul and speech with the soul therein. O my friend, O brother, a glory veiled and marred ! Never love made moan for a life more evil-starred. Was it envy, chance, or chance-compelling fate, Whence thy spirit was bruised so late, Bowed so heavily, bound so hard ? Now released, it may be, — if only love might know — Filled and fired with sight, it beholds us blind and low With a pity keener yet, if that may be, Even than ever was this that we Felt, when love of thee wrought us woe. None may tell the depths and the heights of life and death. What we may we give thee : a word that sorrow saith, And that none will heed save sorrow : scarce a song. All we may, who have loved thee long, Take : the best we can give is breath. A DIRGE A bell tolls on in my heart As though in my ears a knell Had ceased for awhile to swell, But the sense of it would not part From the spirit that bears its part In the chime of the soundless bell. Ah dear dead singer of sorrow, The burden is now not thine That grief bade sound for a sign Through the songs of the night whose morrow Has risen, and I may not borrow A beam from its radiant shrine. The burden has dropped from thee That grief on thy life bound fast ; The winter is over and past Whose end thou wast fain to see. Shall sorrow not comfort me That is thine no longer — at last ? II. 2 L 2 to66 A DIRGE Good day, good night, and good morrow, Men living and mourning say. For'thee we could only pray That night of the day might borrow Such comfort as dreams lend sorrow : Death gives thee at last good day. 1067 A REMINISCENCE The rose to the wind has yielded : all its leaves Lie strewn on the graveyard grass, and all their light And colour and fragrance leave our sense and sight Bereft as a man whom bitter time bereaves Of blossom at once and hope of garnered sheaves, Of April at once and August. Day to night Calls wailing, and life to death, and depth to height, And soul upon soul of man that hears and grieves. Who knows, though he see the snow-cold blossom shed, If haply the heart that burned within the rose, The spirit in sense, the life of life be dead ? If haply the wind that slays with storming snows Be one with the wind that quickens ? Bow thine head, O Sorrow, and commune with thine heart : who knows ? io68 VIA DOLOROSA The days of a man are threescore years and ten. The days of his life were half a man's, whom we Lament, and would yet not bid him back, to be Partaker of all the woes and ways of men. Life sent him enough of sorrow : not again Would anguish of love, beholding him set free, Bring back the beloved to suffer life and see 'No light but the fire of grief that scathed him then. We know not at all : we hope, and do not fear. We shall not again behold him, late so near, Who now from afar above, with eyes alight And spirit enkindled, haply toward us here Looks down unforgetful yet of days like night And love that has yet his sightless face in sight. February 15, 1887. io6g I TRANSFIGURATION But half a man's days — and his days were nights. What hearts were ours who loved him, should we pray That night would yield him back to darkling day, Sweet death that soothes, to life that spoils and smites ? For now, perchance, life lovelier than the light's That shed no comfort on his weary way Shows him what none may dream to see or say Ere yet the soul may scale those topless heights Where death lies dead, and triumph. Haply there Already may his kindling eyesight find Faces of friends — no face than nis more fair — And first among them found of all his kind Milton, with crowns from Eden on his hair, And eyes that meet a brother's now not blind. 1070 II DELIVERANCE O Death, fair Death, sole comforter and sweet, Nor Love nor Hope can give such gifts as thine. Sleep hardly shows us round thy shadowy shrine What roses hang, what music floats, what feet Pass and what wings of angels. We repeat Wild words or mild, disastrous or divine, Blind prayer, blind imprecation, seeing no sign Nor hearing aught of thee not faint and fleet As words of men or snowflakes on the wind. But if we chide thee, saying " Thou hast sinned, thou hast sinned, Dark Death, to take so sweet a light away As shone but late, though shadowed, in our skies," We hear thine answer — " Night has given what day Denied him : darkness hath unsealed his eyes." 1071 III THANKSGIVING Could love give strength to thank thee ! Love can give Strong sorrow heart to suffer : what we bear We would not put away, albeit this were A burden love might cast aside and live. Love chooses rather pain than palliative, Sharp thought than soft oblivion. May we dare So trample down our passion and our prayer That fain would cling round feet now fugitive And stay them — so remember, so forget, What joy we had who had his presence yet, What griefs were his while joy in him was ours And grief made weary music of his breath, As even to hail his best and last of hours With love grown strong enough to thank thee, Death ? 1072 IV LIBITINA* VERTICORDIA Sister of sleep, healer of life, divine As rest and strong- as very love may be, To set the soul that love could set not free, To bid the skies that day could bid not shine, To give the gift that life withheld was thine. With all my heart I loved one borne from me : And all my heart bows down and praises thee, Death, that hast now made grief not his but mine. O Changer of men's hearts, we would not bid thee Turn back our hearts from sorrow : this alone We bid, we pray thee, from thy sovereign throne And sanctuary sublime where heaven has hid thee, Give : grace to know of those for whom we weep That if they wake their life is sweet as sleep. 1073 V THE ORDER OF RELEASE Thou canst not give it. Grace enough is ours To know that pain for him has fallen on rest. The worst we know was his on earth : the best, We fain would think,— a thought no fear deflowers—* Is his, released from bonds of rayless hours. Ah, turn our hearts from longing ; bid our quest Cease, as content with failure. This thy guest Sleeps, vexed no more of time's imperious powers, The spirit of hope, the spirit of change and loss, The spirit of love bowed down beneath his cross, Nor now needs comfort from the strength of song t Love, should he wake, bears now no cross for him : Dead hope, whose living eyes like his were dim, Has brought forth better comfort, strength more strong. io 7 4 VI PSYCHAGOGOS As Greece of old acclaimed thee God and man, So, Death, our tongue acclaims thee : yet wast thou Hailed of old Rome as Romans hail thee now, Goddess and woman. Since the sands first ran That told when first man's life and death began, The shadows round thy blind ambiguous brow Have mocked the votive plea, the pleading vow That sought thee sorrowing, fain to bless or ban. But stronger than a father's love is thine, And gentler than a mother's. Lord and God, Thy staff is surer than the wizard rod That Hermes bare as priest before thy shrine And herald of thy mercies. We could give Nought, when we would have griven : thou bidst him live 1075 VII THE LAST WORD So many a dream and hope that went and came, So many and sweet, that love thought like to be, Of hours as bright and soft as those for me That made our hearts for song's sweet love the same, Lie now struck dead, that hope seems one with shame. O Death, thy name is Love : we know it, and see The witness : yet for very love's sake we Can hardly bear to mix with thine his name. Philip, how hard it is to bid thee part Thou knowest, if aught thou knowest where now thou art Of us that loved and love thee. None may tell What none but knows — how hard it is to say The word that seals up sorrow, darkens day, And bids fare forth the soul it bids farewell. 1076 IN MEMORY OF AURELIO SAFFI The wider world of men that is not ours Receives a soul whose life on earth was light. Though darkness close the date of human hours, Love holds the spirit and sense of life in sight, That may not, even though death bid fly, take flight. Faith, love, and hope fulfilled with memory, see As clear and dear as life could bid it be The present soul that is and is not he. He, who held up the shield and sword of Rome Against the ravening brood of recreant France, Beside the man of men whom heaven took home When earth beheld the spring's first eyebeams glance And life and winter seemed alike a trance Eighteen years since, in sight of heaven and spring That saw the soul above all souls take wing, He too now hears the heaven we hear not sing. He too now dwells where death is dead, and stands Where souls like stars exult in life to be : Whence all who linked heroic hearts and hands Shine on our sight, and give it strength to see What hope makes fair for all whom faith makes free : IN MEMORY OF AURELIO SAFFI 1077 Free with such freedom as we find in sleep, The light sweet shadow of death, when dreams are deep And high as heaven whence light and lightning leap. And scarce a month yet gone, his living hand Writ loving words that sealed me friend of his. Are heaven and earth as near as sea to strand ? May life and death as bride and bridegroom kiss ? His last month's written word abides, and is ; Clear as the sun that lit through storm and strife And darkling days when hope took fear to wife The faith whose fire was light of all his life. A life so fair, so pure of earthlier leaven, That none hath won through higher and harder ways The deathless life of death which earth calls heaven ; Heaven, and the light of love on earth, and praise Of silent memory through subsiding days Wherein the light subsides not whence the past Feeds full with life the future. Time holds fast Their names whom faith forgets not, first and last. Forget ? The dark forgets not dawn, nor we The suns that sink to rise again, and shine Lords of live years and ages. Earth and sea Forget not heaven that makes them seem divine, Though night put out their fires and bid their shrine Be dark and pale as storm and twilight. Day, Not night, is everlasting : life's full sway Bids death bow down as dead, and pass away. 1078 IN MEMORY OF AURELIO SAFFI What part has death in souls that past all fear Win heavenward their supernal way, and smite With scorn sublime as heaven such dreams as here Plague and perplex with cloud and fire the light That leads men's waking souls from glimmering night To the awless heights of day, whereon man's awe, Transfigured, dies in rapture, seeing the law Sealed of the sun that earth arising saw ? Faith, justice, mercy, love, and heaven-born hate That sets them all on fire and bids them be More than soft words and dreams that wake too late, Shone living through the lordly life that we Beheld, revered, and loved on earth, while he Dwelt here, and bade our eyes take light thereof ; Light as from heaven that flamed or smiled above In light or fire whose very hate was love. No hate of man, but hate of hate whose foam Sheds poison forth from tongues of snakes and priests, And stains the sickening air with steams whence Rome Now feeds not full the God that slays and feasts ; For now the fangs of all the ravenous beasts That ramped about him, fain of prayer and prey, Fulfil their lust no more : the tide of day Swells, and compels him down the deathward way. Night sucks the Church its creature down, and hell Yawns, heaves, and yearns to clasp its loathliest child Close to the breasts that bore it. All the spell Whence darkness saw the dawn in heaven defiled Is dumb as death : the lips that lied and smiled IN MEMORY OF AURELIO SAFFI 1079 Wax white for fear as ashes. She that bore The banner up of darkness now no more Sheds night and fear and shame from shore to shore. When they that cast her kingdom down were born, North cried on south and east made moan to west For hopes that love had hardly heart to mourn, For Italy that was not. Kings on quest, By priests whose blessings burn as curses blest, Made spoil of souls and bodies bowed and bound, Hunted and harried, leashed as horse or hound, And hopeless of the hope that died unfound. And now that faith has brought forth fruit to time, How should not memory praise their names, and hold ' • Their record even as Dante's life sublime, Who bade his dream, found fair and false of old, Live ? Not till earth and heaven be dead and cold May man forget whose work and will made one Italy, fair as heaven or freedom won, And left their fame to shine beside her sun. April 1890. io8o THE FESTIVAL OF BEATRICE Dante, sole standing on the heavenward height, Beheld and heard one saying, " Behold me well i I am, I am Beatrice." Heaven and hell Kept silence, and the illimitable light Of all the stars was darkness in his sight Whose eyes beheld her eyes again, and fell Shame-stricken. Since her soul took flight to dwell In heaven, six hundred years have taken flight. And now that heavenliest part of earth whereon Shines yet their shadow as once their presence shone To her bears witness for his sake, as he For hers bare witness when ner face was gone : No slave, no hospice now for grief — but free From shore to mountain and from Alp to sea. io8i THE MONUMENT OF GIORDANO BRUNO Not from without us, only from within, Comes or can ever come upon us light Whereby the soul keeps ever truth in sight. No truth, no strength, no comfort man may win, No grace for guidance, no release from sin, Save of his own soul's giving. Deep and bright As fire enkindled in the core of night Burns in the soul where once its fire has been The light that leads and quickens thought, inspired To doubt and trust and conquer. So he said Whom Sidney, flower of England, lordliest head Of all we love, loved : but the fates required A sacrifice to hate and hell, ere fame Should set with his in heaven Giordano's name. II Cover thine eyes and weep, O child of hell, Grey spouse of Satan, Church of name abhorred. Weep, withered harlot, with thy weeping lord, Now none will buy the heaven thou hast to sell At price of prostituted souls, and swell Thy loveless list of lovers. Fire and sword No more are thine : the steel, the wheel, the cord, The flames that rose round living limbs, and fell io82 THE MONUMENT OF GIORDANO BRUNO In lifeless ash and ember, now no more Approve thee godlike. Rome, redeemed at last From all the red pollution of thy past, Acclaims the grave bright face that smiled of yore Even on the fire that caught it round and clomb To cast its ashes on the face of Rome. June 9, 18S9. io8 3 LIFE IN DEATH He should have followed who goes forth before us, Last born of us in life, in death first-born : The last to lift up eyes against the morn, The first to see the sunset. Life, that bore us Perchance for death to comfort and restore us, Of him hath left us here awhile forlorn, For him is as a garment overworn, And time and change, with suns and stars in chorus, Silent. But if, beyond all change or time, A law more just, more equal, more sublime Than sways the surge of life's loud sterile sea Sways that still world whose peace environs him, Where death lies dead as night when stars wax dim, Above all thought or hope of ours is he. August 2, 1 89 1. ~ o8 4 EPICEDE As a vesture shalt thou change them, said the prophet, And the raiment that was flesh is turned to dust ; Dust and flesh and dust again the likeness of it, And the fine gold woven and worn of youth is rust. Hours that wax and wane salute the shade and scoff it, That it knows not aught it doth nor aught it must : Day by day the speeding soul makes haste to doff it, Night by night the pride of life resigns its trust. Sleep, whose silent notes of song loud life's derange not, Takes the trust in hand awhile as angels may : Joy with wings that rest not, grief with wings that range not, Guard the gates of sleep and waking, gold or grey. Joys that joys estrange, and griefs that griefs estrange not, Day that yearns for night, and night that yearns for day, As a vesture shalt thou change them, and they change not, Seeing that change may never change or pass away. EPICEDE Life of death makes question, " What art thou that changest ? What am I, that fear should trust or faith should doubt ? I that lighten, thou that darkenest and estrangest, Is it night or day that girds us round about ? Light and darkness on the ways wherein thou rangest Seem as one, and beams as clouds they put to rout. Strange is hope, but fear of all things born were strangest, Seeing that none may strive with change to cast it out. " Change alone stands fast, thou sayest, O death : I know not : What art thou, my brother death, that thou shouldst know ? Men may reap no fruits of fields wherein they sow not ; Hope or fear is all the seed we have to sow. Winter seals the sacred springs up that they flow not : Wind and sun and change unbind them, and they flow. Am I thou or art thou I ? The years that show not Pass, and leave no sign when time shall be to show." Hope makes suit to faith lest fear give ear to sorrow : Doubt strews dust upon his head, and goes his way. All the golden hope that life of death would borrow, How, if death require again, may life repay ? ioS6 EPICEDE Earth endures no darkness whence no light yearns thorough ; God in man as light in darkness lives, they say : Yet, would midnight take assurance of the morrow, Who shall pledge the faith or seal the bond of day ? Darkness, mute or loud with music or with mourn- ing, Starry darkness, winged with wind or clothed with calm, Dreams no dream of grief or fear or wrath or warn- ing, Bears no sign of race or goal or strife or palm. Word of blessing, word of mocking or of scorning, Knows it none, nor whence its breath sheds blight or balm. Yet a little while, and hark, the psalm of morning : Yet a little while, and silence takes the psalm. All the comfort, all the worship, all the wonder, All the light of love that darkness holds in fee, All the song that silence keeps or keeps not under, Night, the soul that knows gives thanks for all to thee. Far beyond the gates that morning strikes in sunder. Hopes that grief makes holy, dreams that fear sets free, Far above the throne of thought, the lair of thunder, Silent shines the word whose utterance fills the sea. 1087 MEMORIAL VERSES ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM BELL SCOTT A life more bright than the sun's face, bowed Through stress of season and coil of cloud, Sets : and the sorrow that casts out fear Scarce deems him dead in his chill still shroud, Dead on the breast of the dying year, Poet and painter and friend, thrice dear For love of the suns long set, for love Of song that sets not with sunset here, For love of the fervent heart, above Their sense who saw not the swift light move That filled with sense of the loud sun's lyre The thoughts that passion was fain to prove Jn fervent labour of high desire And faith that leapt from its own quenched pyre Alive and strong as the sun, and caught From darkness light, and from twilight fire. Passion, deep as the depths unsought Whence faith's own hope may redeem us nought, Filled full with ardour of pain sublime His mourning song and his mounting thought. io88 MEMORIAL VERSES Elate with sense of a sterner time, His hand's flight clomb as a bird's might climb Calvary : dark in the darkling air That shrank for fear of the crowning crime, Three crosses rose on the hillside bare, Shown scarce by grace of the lightning's glare That clove the veil of the temple through And smote the priests on the threshold there. The soul that saw it, the hand that drew, Whence light as thought's or as faith's glance flew, And stung to life the sepulchral past, And bade the stars of it burn anew, Held no less than the dead world fast The light live shadows about them cast, The likeness living of dawn and night, The days that pass and the dreams that last. Thought, clothed round with sorrow as light, Dark as a cloud that the moon turns bright, Moved, as a wind on the striving sea, That yearns and quickens and flags in flight, Through forms of colour and song that he Who fain would have set its wide wings free Cast round it, clothing or chaining hope With lights that last not and shades that flee. Sca/ce in song could his soul find scope, Scarce the strength of his hand might ope Art's inmost gate of her sovereign shrine, To cope with heaven as a man may cope. MEMORIAL VERSES 1089 But high as the hope of a man may shine The faith, the fervour, the life divine That thrills our life and transfigures, rose And shone resurgent, a sunbright sign, Through shapes whereunder the strong soul glows And fills them full as a sunlit rose With sense and fervour of life, whose light The fool's eye knows not, the man's eye knows. None that can read or divine aright The scriptures writ of the soul may slight The strife of a strenuous soul to show More than the craft of the hand may write. None may slight it, and none may know How high the flames that aspire and glow From heart and spirit and soul may climb And triumph ; higher than the souls lie low Whose hearing hears not the livelong rhyme, Whose eyesight sees not the light sublime, That shines, that sounds, that ascends and lives Unquenched of change, unobscured of time. A long life's length, as a man's life gives Space for the spirit that soars and strives To strive and soar, has the soul shone through That heeds not whither the world's wind drives Now that the days and the ways it knew Are strange, are dead as the dawn's grey dew At high midnoon of the mounting day That mocks the might of the dawn it slew. VOL. H. 2 M ioqo MEMORIAL VERSES Yet haply may not — and haply may — No sense abide of the dead sun's ray Wherein the soul that outsoars us now Rejoiced with ours in its radiant sway. Hope may hover, and doubt may bow, Dreaming - . Haply — they dream not how — Not life but death may indeed be dead When silence darkens the dead man's brow. Hope, whose name is remembrance, fed With love that lightens from seasons fled, Dreams, and craves not indeed to know, That death and life are as souls that wed. But change that falls on the heart like snow Can chill not memory nor hope, that show The soul, the spirit, the heart and head, Alive above us who strive below. iogi AN OLD SAYING Many waters cannot quench love, Neither can the floods drown it. Who shall snare or slay the white dove Faith, whose very dreams crown it, Gird it round with grace and peace, deep, Warm, and pure, v and soft as sweet sleep ? Many waters cannot quench love, Neither can the floods drown it. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, As a seal upon thine arm. How should we behold the days depart And the nights. resign their charm? Love is as the soul : though hate and fear Waste and overthrow, they strike not here. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, As a seal upon thine arm. 1092 A MOSS-ROSE If the rose of all flowers be the rarest That heaven may adore from above, And the fervent moss-rose be the fairest That sweetens the summer with love, Can it be that a fairer than any Should blossom afar from the tree ? Yet one, and a symbol of many, Shone sudden for eyes that could see. In the grime and the gloom of November The bliss and the bloom of July Bade autumn rejoice and remember The balm of the blossoms gone by. Would you know what moss-rose now it may be That puts all the rest to the biush, The flower was the face of a baby, The moss was a bonnet of plush. io 9 3 TO A CAT Stately, kindly, lordly friend, Condescend Here to sit by me, and turn Glorious eyes that smile and burn, Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed, On the golden page I read. All your wondrous wealth of hair, Dark and fair, Silken-shaggy, soft and bright As the clouds and beams of night, Pays my reverent hand's caress Back with friendlier gentleness. Dogs may fawn on all and some As they come ; You, a friend of loftier mind, Answer friends alone in kind. Just your foot upon my hand Softly bids it understand. 1094 TO A CAT Morning round this silent sweet Garden-seat Sheds its wealth of gathering light, Thrills the gradual clouds with might, Changes woodland, orchard, heath. Lawn, and garden there beneath. Fair and dim they gleamed below : Now they glow Deep as even your sunbright eyes, Fair as even the wakening skies. Can it not or can it be Now that you give thanks to see ? May not you rejoice as I, Seeing the sky Change to heaven revealed, and bid Earth reveal the heaven it hid All night long from stars and moon, Now the sun sets all in tune ? What within you wakes with day Who can say ? All too little may we tell, Friends who like each other well, What might haply, if we might, Bid us read our lives aright. II Wild on woodland ways your sires Flashed like fires : TO A CAT !095 Fair as flame and fierce and fleet As with wings on wingless feet Shone and sprang your mother, free, Bright and brave as wind or sea. Free and proud and glad as they, Here to-day Rests or roams their radiant child, Vanquished not, but reconciled, Free from curb of aught above Save the lovely curb of love. Love through dreams of souls divine Fain would shine Round a dawn whose light and song Then should right our mutual wrong — Speak, and seal the love-lit law Sweet Assisi's seer foresaw. Dreams were theirs ; yet haply may Dawn a day When such friends and fellows born, Seeing our earth as fair at morn, May for wiser love's sake see More of heaven's deep heart than we. 1096 HAWTHORN DYKE All the golden air is full of balm and bloom Where the hawthorns line the shelving dyke with flowers. Joyous children born of April's happiest hours, High and low they laugh and lighten, knowing their doom Bright as brief — to bless and cheer they know not whom, Heed not how, but washed and warmed with suns and showers Smile, and bid the sweet soft gradual banks and bowers Thrill with love of sunlit fire or starry gloom. All our moors and lawns all round rejoice ; but here All the rapturous resurrection of the year Finds the radiant utterance perfect, sees the word Spoken, hears the light that speaks it. Far and near, All the world is heaven : and man and flower and bird Here are one at heart with all things seen and heard, io 9 7 THE BROTHERS There were twa brethren fell on strife ; bweet fruits are sair to gather : The tane has reft his brother of life ; And the wind wears owre the heather. There were twa brethren fell to fray ; Sweet fruits are sair to gather : The tane is clad in a cloak of clay ; And the wind wears owre the heather. O loud and loud was the live man's cry, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) " Would God the dead and the slain were I ! '* And the wind wears owre the heather. " O sair was the wrang and sair the fray," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) " But liefer had love be slain than slay." And the wind wears owre the heather. " O sweet is the life that sleeps at hame," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) " But I maun wake on a far sea's faem." And the wind wears owre the heather. n - 2 M 2 1098 THE BROTHERS " And women are fairest of a' things fair," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) " But never shall I kiss woman mair." And the wind wears owre the heather. Between the birk and the aik and the thorn (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) He's laid his brother to lie forlorn : And the wind wears owre the heather. Between the bent and the burn and the broom (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) He's laid him to sleep till dawn of doom : And the wind wears owre the heather. He's tane him owre the waters wide, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) Afar to fleet and afar to bide : And the wind wears owre the heather. His hair was yellow, his cheek was red, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) When he set his face to the wind and fled : And the wind wears owre the heather. His banes were stark and his een were bright (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) When he set his face to the sea by night : And the wind wears owre the heather. His cheek was wan and his hair was grey (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) When he came back hame frae the wide world's way : And the wind wears owre the heather. THE BROTHERS 1099 His banes were weary, his een were dim, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) And nae man lived and had mind of him : And the wind wears owre the heather. " O whatten a wreck wad they seek on land " (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) " That they houk the turf to the seaward hand? " And the wind wears owre the heather. " O whatten a prey wad they think to take " (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "That they delve the dykes for a dead man's sake? " And the wind wears owre the heather. A bane of the dead in his hand he's tane ; Sweet fruits are sair to gather : And the red blood brak frae the dead white bane. And the wind wears owre the heather. He's cast it forth of his auld faint hand ; Sweet fruits are sair to gather : And the red blood ran on the wan wet sand. And the wind wears owre the heather. " O whatten a slayer is this," they said, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) " That the straik of his hand should raise his dead ? " And the wind wears owre the heather. " O weel is me for the sign I take " (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "That now I may die for my auld sin's sake." And the wind wears owre the heather. I IOO THE BROTHERS For the dead was in wait now fifty year,''' (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "And now shall I die for his blood's sake here." And the wind wears owre the heather. IIOI JACOBITE SONG Now who will speak, and lie not. And pledge not life, but give ? Slaves herd with herded cattle : The dawn grows bright for battle And if we die, we die not ; And if we live, we live. The faith our fathers fought for, The kings our fathers knew, We fight but as they fought for : We seek the goal they sought for, The chance they hailed and knew, The praise they strove and wrought for, To leave their blood as dew On fields that flower anew. Men live that serve the stranger ; Hounds live that huntsmen tame ; These life-days of our living Are days of God's good giving Where death smiles soft on danger And life scowls dark on shame. H02 JACOBITE SONG And what would you do other, Sweet wife, if you were I ? And how should you be other, My sister, than your brother, If you were man as I, Born of our sire and mother, With choice to cower and fly, And chance to strike and die ? No churl's our oldworld name is, The lands we leave are fair : But fairer far than these are, But wide as all the seas are, But high as heaven the fame is That if we die we share. Our name the night may swallow, Our lands the churl may'take : But night nor death may swallow, Nor hell's nor heaven's dim hollow, The star whose height we take, The star whose light we follow For faith's unfaltering sake Till hope that sleeps awake. Soft hope's light lure we serve- not, Nor follow, fain to find : Dark time's last word may smite her Dead, ere man's falsehood blight her : But though she die, we swerve not, Who cast not eye behind. Faith speaks when hope dissembles : Faith lives when hope lies dead : JACOBITE SONG 1103 If death as life dissembles, And all that night assembles Of stars at dawn lie dead, Faint hope that smiles and trembles May tell not well for dread : But faith has heard it said. Now who will fight, and fly not, And grudge not life to give? And who will strike beside us, If life's or death's light guide us ? For if we live, we die not, And if we die, we live. iio4 THE BALLAD OF DEAD MEN'S BAY The sea swings owre the slants of sand, All white with winds that drive ; The sea swirls up to the still dim strand, Where nae man comes alive. At the grey soft edge of the fruitless surf A light flame sinks and springs ; At the grey soft rim of the flowerless turf A low flame leaps and clings. What light is this on a sunless shore, What gleam on a starless sea ? Was it earth's or hell's waste womb that bore Such births as should not be ? As Hthe snakes turning, as bright stars burning, They bicker and beckon and call ; As wild waves churning, as wild winds yearning, They flicker and climb and fall. A soft strange cry from the landward rings — " What ails the sea to shine ? " A keen sweet note from the spray's rim springs— " What fires are these of thine ? " THE BALLAD OF DEAD MEN'S BAY 1105 A soul am I that was born on earth For ae day's waesome span : Death bound me fast on the bourn of birth Ere I were christened man. " A light by night, I fleet and fare Till the day of wrath and woe ; On the hems of earth and the skirts of air Winds hurl me to and fro." " O-well is thee, though the weird be strange That bids thee flit and flee ; For hope is child of the womb of change, And hope keeps watch with thee. " When the years are gone, and the time is come, God's grace may give thee grace ; And thy soul may sing, though thy soul were dumb, And shine before God's face. " But I, that lighten and revel and roll With the foam of the plunging sea, No sign is mine of a breathing soul That God should pity me. " Nor death, nor heaven, nor hell, nor birth Hath part in me nor mine : Strong lords are these of the living earth And loveless lords of thine. " But I that know nor lord nor life More sure than storm or spray, Whose breath is made of sport and strife, Whereon shall I find stay ? " no6 THE BALLAD OF DEAD MEN'S BAY " And wouldst thou change thy doom with me, Full fain with thee would I : For the life that lightens and lifts the sea Is more than earth or sky. " And what if the day of doubt and doom Shall save nor smite not me ? I would not rise from the slain world's tomb If there be no more sea. " Take he my soul that gave my soul, And give it thee to keep ; And me, while seas and stars shall roll Thy life that falls on sleep." That word went up through the mirk mid sky, And even to God's own ear : And the Lord was ware of the keen twin cry, And wroth was he to hear. He 's tane the soul of the unsained child That fled to death from birth ; He 's tane the light of the wan sea wild, And bid it burn on earth. He 's given the ghaist of the babe new-born The gift of the water-sprite, To ride on revel from morn to morn And roll from night to night He 's given the sprite of the wild wan sea The gift of the new-born man, A soul for ever to bide and be When the years have filled their span. THE BALLAD OF DEAD MEN'S BAY When a year was gone and a year was come, O loud and loud cried they — " For the lee-lang year thou hast held us dumb Take now thy gifts away ! " O loud and lang they cried on him, And sair and sair they prayed : " Is the face of thy grace as the night's face grim For those thy wrath has made ? A cry more bitter thaa tears of men From the rim of the dim grey sea ; — " Give me my living soul again, The soul thou gavest me, The doom and the dole of kindly men, To bide my weird and be ! " A cry more keen from the wild low land Than the wail of waves that roll ;— " Take back the gift of a loveless hand, Thy gift of doom and dole, The weird of men that bide on land ; Take from me, take my soul ! " The hands that smite are the hands that spare ; They build and break the tomb ; They turn to darkness and dust and air The fruits of the waste earth's womb ; But never the gift of a granted prayer, The dole of a spoken doom. Winds may change at a word unheard, But none may change the tides : The prayer once heard is as God's own word ; The doom once dealt abides. uo8 THE BALLAD OF DEAD MEN'S BAY And ever a cry goes up by day, And ever a wail by night ; And nae ship comes by the weary bay But her shipmen hear them wail and pray, And see with earthly sight The twofold flames of the twin lights play Where the sea-banks green and the sea-floods grey Are proud of peril and fain of prey, And the sand quakes ever ; and ill fare they That look upon that light. nog DEDICATION ■S93 The sea of the years that endure not Whose tide shall endure till we die And know what the seasons assure not, If death be or life be a lie, Sways hither the spirit and thither, A waif in the swing - of the sea Whose wrecks are of memories that wither As leaves of a tree. We hear not and hail not with greeting- Trie sound of the wings of the years, The storm of the sound of them beating, That none till it pass from him hears : But tempest nor calm can imperil The treasures that fade not or fly ; Change bids them not change and be sterile, Death bids them not die. Hearts plighted in youth to the royal High service of hope and of song, Sealed fast for endurance as loyal, And proved of the years as they throng, IIIO DEDICATION Conceive not, believe not, and fear not That age may be other than youth ; That faith and that friendship may hear not And utter not truth. Not yesterday's light nor to-morrow's Gleams nearer or clearer than gleams, Though joys be forgotten and sorrows Forgotten as changes ot dreams, The dawn of the days unforgotten •That noon could eclipse not or slay, Whose fruits were as children begotten Of dawn upon day. The years that were flowerful and fruitless, The years that were fruitful and dark, The hopes that were radiant and rootless, The hopes that were winged for their mark,. Lie soft in the sepulchres fashioned Of hours that arise and subside, Absorbed and subdued and impassioned, In pain or in pride. But far in the night that entombs them The starshine as sunshine is strong', And clear through the cloud that resumes them Remembrance, a light and a song, Rings lustrous as music and hovers As birds that impend on the sea, And thoughts that their prison-house covers Arise and are free. Forgetfulness deep as a prison Holds days that are dead for us fast DEDICATION mi Till the sepulchre sees rearisen The spirit whose reign is the past, Disentrammelled of darkness, and kindled With life that is mightier than death, When the life that obscured it has dwindled And passed as a breath. But time nor oblivion may darken Remembrance whose name will be joy While memory forgets not to hearken, While manhood forgets not the boy Who heard and exulted in hearing The songs of the sunrise of youth Ring radiant above him, unfearing And joyous as truth. Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture And sense of the radiance of yore, Fulfilled you with power to recapture What never might singer before — The life, the delight, and the sorrow Of troublous and chivalrous years That knew not of night or of morrow. Of hopes or of fears. But wider the wing and the vision That quicken the spirit have spread Since memory beheld with derision Man's hope to be more than his dead. From the mists and the snows and the thunders Your spirit has brought for us forth Light, music, and joy in the wonders And charms of the north. III2 DEDICATION The wars and the woes and the glories That quicken and lighten and rain From the clouds of its chronicled stories, The passion, the pride, and the pain, Whose echoes were mute and the token Was lost of the spells that they spake, Rise bright at your bidding, unbroken Of ages that break. For you, and for none of us other, Time is not : the dead that must live Hold commune with you as a brother By grace of the life that you give. The heart that was in them is in you, Their soul in your spirit endures : The strength of their song is the sinew Of this that is yours. Hence is it that life, everlasting As light and as music, abides In the sound of the surge of it, casting Sound back to the surge of the tides, Till sons of the sons of the Norsemen Watch, hurtling to windward and lee, Round England, unbacked of her horsemen, The steeds of the sea. CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS XN MEMORY CF WILLIAM MORRIS AND EDWARD BURNE JONES iii7 A CHANNEL PASSAGE 1855 Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone, Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas whence only the sun was gone : Soft and sweet as the sky they smiled, and bade man welcome : a dim sweet hour Gleamed and whispered in wind and sea, and heaven was fair as a field in flower Stars fulfilled the desire of the darkling world as with music : the starbright air Made the face of the sea, if aught may make the face of the sea, more fair. Whence came change ? Was the sweet night weary of rest ? What anguish awoke in the dark ? Sudden, sublime, the strong storm spake : we heard the thunders as hounds that bark. Lovelier if aught may be lovelier than stars, we saw the lightnings exalt the sky, Living and lustrous and rapturous as love that is born but to quicken and lighten and die. iii8 A CHANNEL PASSAGE Heaven's own heart at its highest of delight found utterance in music and semblance in fire : Thunder on thunder exulted, rejoicing to live and to satiate the night's desire. And the night was alive and anhungered of life as a tiger from toils cast free : And a rapture of rage made joyous the spirit and strength of the soul of the sea. All the weight of the wind bore down on it, freighted with death for fraught : And the keen waves kindled and quickened as things transfigured or things distraught. And madness fell on them laughing and leaping ; and madness came on the wind : And the might and the light and the darkness of storm were as storm in the heart of Ind. Such glory, such terror, such passion, as lighten and harrow the far fierce East, Rang, shone, spake, shuddered around us : the night was an altar with death for priest. The channel that sunders England from shores where never was man born free Was clothed with the likeness and thrilled with the strength and the wrath of a tropic sea. As a wild steed ramps in rebellion, and rears till it swerves from a backward fall, The strong ship struggled and reared, and her deck was upright as a sheer cliff's wall. Stern and prow plunged under, alternate : a glimpse, a recoil, a breath, And she sprang as the life in a god made man would spring at the throat of death. Three glad hours, and it seemed not an hour of supreme and supernal joy, A CHANNEL PASSAGE 1119 Filled full with delight that revives in remembrance a sea-bird's heart in a boy. For the central crest of the night was cloud that thundered and flamed, sublime As the splendour and song of the soul everlasting- that quickens the pulse of time. The glory beholden of man in a vision, the music oi light overheard, The rapture and radiance of battle, the life that abides in the fire of a word, In the midmost heaven enkindled, was manifest far on the face of the sea, And the rage in the roar of the voice of the waters was heard but when heaven breathed free. Far eastward, clear of the covering of cloud, the sky laughed out into light From the rims of the storm to the sea's dark edge with flames that were flowerlike and white. The leaping and luminous blossoms of live sheet lightning that laugh as they fade From the cloud's black base to the black wave's brim rejoiced in the light they made. Far westward, throned in a silent sky, where life was in lustrous tune, Shone, sweeter and surer than morning or evening, the steadfast smile of the moon. The limitless heaven that enshrined them was lovelier than dreams may behold, and deep As life or as death, revealed and transfigured, may shine on the soul through sleep. All glories of toil and of triumph and passion and pride that it yearns to know Bore witness there to the soul of its likeness and kinship, above and below. H20 A CHANNEL PASSAGE The joys of the lightnings, the songs of the thunders, the strong sea's labour and rage, Were tokens and signs of the war that is life and is joy for the soul to wage. No thought strikes deeper or higher than the heights and the depths that the night made bare, Illimitable, infinite, awful and joyful, alive in the summit of air — Air stilled and thrilled by the tempest that thundered between its reign and the sea's, Rebellious, rapturous, and transient as faith or as terror that bows men's knees. No love sees loftier and fairer the form of its godlike vision in dreams Than the world shone then, when the sky and the sea were as love for a breath's length seems — ■ One utterly, mingled and mastering and mastered and laughing with love that subsides As the glad mad night sank panting and satiate with storm, and released the tides. In the dense mid channel the steam-souled ship hung hovering, assailed and withheld As a soul born royal, if life or if death be against it, is thwarted and quelled. As the glories of myriads of glowworms in lustrous grass on a boundless lawn Were the glories of flames phosphoric that made of the water a light like dawn. A thousand Phosphors, a thousand Hespers, awoke in the churning sea, And the swift soft hiss of them living and dying was clear as a tune could be ; As a tune that is played by the fingers of death on the keys of life or of sleep, A CHANNEL PASSAGE 1121 Audible alway alive in the storm, too fleet for a dream to keep : Too fleet, too sweet for a dream to recover and thought to remember awake : Light subtler and swifter than lightning, that whis- pers and laughs in the live storm's wake, In the wild bright wake of the storm, in the dense loud heart of the labouring hour, A harvest of stars by the storm's hand reaped, each fair as a star-shaped flower. And sudden and soft as the passing of sleep is the passing of tempest seemed When the light and the sound of it sank, and the glory was gone as a dream half dreamed. The glory, the terror, the passion that made of the midnight a miracle., died, Not slain at a stroke, nor in gradual reluctance abated of power and of pride ; With strong swift subsidence, awful as power that is wearied of power upon earth, As a God that were wearied of power upon heaven, and were fain of a new God's birth, The might of the night subsided : the tyranny kindled in darkness fell : And the sea and the sky put off them the rapture and radiance of heaven and of hell. The waters, heaving and hungering at heart, made way, and were wellnigh fain, For the ship that had fought them, and wrestled, and revelled in labour, to cease from her pain. And an end was made of it : only remembrance en- dures of the glad loud strife ; And the sense that a rapture so royal may come not again in the passage of life. VOL. II. 2 N 1122 THE LAKE OF GAUBE The sun is lord and god, sublime, serene, And sovereign on the mountains : earth and air Lie prone in passion, blind with bliss unseen By force of sight and might of rapture, fair As dreams that die and know not what they were. The lawns, the gorges, and the peaks, are one Glad glory, thrilled with sense of unison In strong compulsive silence of the sun. Flowers dense and keen as midnight stars aflame And living things of light like flames in flower That glance and flash as though no hand might tame Lightnings whose life outshone their stormlit hour And played and laughed on earth, with all their power Gone, and with all their joy of life made long And harmless as the lightning life of song, Shine sweet like stars when darkness feels them strong. The deep mild purple flaked with moonbright gold That makes the scales seem flowers of hardened light, THE LAKE OF GAUBE 1123 The flamelike tongue, the feet that noon leaves cold, The kindly trust in man, when once the sight Grew less than strange, and faith bade fear take flight, Outlive the little harmless life that shone And gladdened eyes that loved it, and was gone Ere love might fear that fear had looked thereon. Tear held the bright thing hateful, even as fear, Whose name is one with hate and horror, saith That heaven, the dark deep heaven of water near, Is deadly deep as hell and dark as death. The rapturous plunge that quickens blood and breath With pause more sweet than passion, ere they strive To raise again the limbs that yet would dive Deeper, should there have slain the soul alive. As the bright salamander in fire of the noonshine exults and is glad of his day, The spirit that quickens my body rejoices to pass from the sunlight away, To pass from the glow of the mountainous flowerage, the high multitudinous bloom, Far down through the fathomless night of the water, the gladness of silence and gloom. Death-dark and delicious as death in the dream of a lover and dreamer may be, It clasps and encompasses body and soul with delight to be living and free : Free utterly now, though the freedom endure but the space of a perilous breath, And living, though girdled about with the darkness and coldness and strangeness of death : THE LAKE OF GAUBE Each limb and each pulse of the body rejoicing, each nerve of the spirit at rest, All sense of the soul's life rapture, a passionate peace in its blindness blest. So plunges the downward swimmer, embraced of the water unfathomed of man, The darkness unplummeted, icier than seas in mid- winter, for blessing or ban ; And swiftly and sweetly, when strength and breath fall short, and the dive is done, Shoots up as a shaft from the dark depth shot, sped straight into sight of the sun ; And sheer through the snow-soft water, more dark than the roof of the pines above, Strikes forth, and is glad as a bird whose flight is impelled and sustained of love. As a sea-mew's love of the sea-wind breasted and ridden for rapture's sake Is the love of his body and soul for the darkling delight of the soundless lake : As the silent speed of a dream too living to live for a thought's space more Is the flight of his limbs through the still strong chill of the darkness from shore to shore. Might life be as this is and death be as life that casts off time as a robe, The likeness of infinite heaven were a symbol revealed of the lake of Gaube. Whose thought has fathomed and measured The darkness of life and of death, The secret within them treasured, The spirit that is not breath ? THE LAKE OF GAUBE Whose vision has yet beholden The splendour of death and of life ? Though sunset as dawn be golden, Is the word of them peace, not strife ? Deep silence answers : the glory We dream of may be but a dream, And the sun of the soul wax hoary As ashes that show not a gleam. But well shall it be with us ever Who drive through the darkness here. If the soul that we live by never, For aught that a lie saith, fear. 1126 THE PROMISE OF THE HAWTHORN Spring sleeps and stirs and trembles with desire Pure as a babe's that nestles toward the breast. The world, as yet an all unstricken lyre, With all its chords alive and all at rest, Feels not the sun's hand yet, but feels his breath And yearns for love made perfect. Man and bird, Thrilled through with hope of life that casts out death, Wait with a rapturous patience till his word Speak heaven, and flower by flower and tree by tree Give back the silent strenuous utterance. Earth, Alive awhile and joyful as the sea, Laughs not aloud in joy too deep for mirth, Presageful of perfection of delight, Till all the unborn green buds be born in white. 1127 HAWTHORN TIDE i Dawn is alive in the world, and the darkness of heaven and of earth Subsides in the light of a smile more sweet than the loud noon's mirth, Spring - lives as a babe lives, glad and divine as the sun, and unsure If aught so divine and so glad may be worshipped and loved and endure. A soft green glory suffuses the love-lit earth with delight, And the face of the noon is fair as the face of the star- clothed night. Earth knows not and doubts not at heart of the glories again to be : Sleep doubts not and dreams not how sweet shall the waking beyond her be. A whole white world of revival awaits May's whisper awhile, Abides and exults in the bud as a soft hushed laugh in a smile. As a maid's mouth laughing with love and subdued for the love's sake, May Shines and withholds for a little the word she revives to say. H28 HAWTHORN TIDE When the clouds and the winds and the sunbeams are warring - and strengthening- with joy that they live, Spring, from reluctance enkindled to rapture, from slumber to strife, Stirs, and repents, and is winter, and weeps, and awakes as the frosts forgive, And the dark chili death of the woodland is troubled, and dies into life. And the honey of heaven, of the hives whence night feeds full on the springtide's breath, Fills fuller the lips of the lustrous air with delight in the dawn : Each blossom enkindling with love that is life and subsides with a smile into death Arises and lightens and sets as a star from her sphere withdrawn. Not sleep, in the rapture of radiant dreams, when sundawn smiles on the night, Shows earth so sweet with a splendour and fra- grance of life that is love : Each blade of the glad live grass, each bud that receives or rejects the light, Salutes and responds to the marvel of Maytime around and above. Joy gives thanks for the sight and the savour of heaven, and is humbled With awe that exults in thanksgiving : the towers of the flowers of the trees Shine sweeter than snows that the hand of the season has melted and crumbled, And fair as the foam that is lesser of life than the loveliest of these. HAWTHORN TIDE 1129 But the sense of a life more lustrous with joy and enkindled of glory Than man's was ever or may be, and briefer than joys most brief, Bids man's heart bend and adore, be the man's head golden or hoary, As it leapt but a breath's time since and saluted the flower and the leaf. The rapture that springs into love at the sight of the world's exultation Takes not a sense of rebuke from the sense of triumphant awe : But the spirit that quickens the body fulfils it with mute adoration, And the knees would fain bow down as the eyes that rejoiced and saw. 11 Fair and sublime as the face of the dawn is the splendour of May, But the sky's and the sea's joy fades not as earth's pride passes away. Yet hardly the sun's first lightning or laughter of love on the sea So humbles the heart into worship that knows not or doubts if it be As the first full glory beholden again of the life new- born That hails and applauds with inaudible music the season of morn A day's length since, and it was not : a night's length more, and the sun Salutes and enkindles a world of delight as a strange world won, H. 2 N 2 H30 HAWTHORN TIDE A new life answers and thrills to the kiss of the young- strong year, And the glory we see is as music we hear not, and dream that we hear. From blossom to blossom the live tune kindles, from tree to tree, And we know not indeed if we hear not the song of the life we see. For the first blithe day that beholds it and worships and cherishes cannot but sing With a louder and lustier delight in the sun and the sunlit earth Than the joy of the days that beheld but the soft green dawn of the slow faint spring Glad and afraid to be glad, and subdued in a shame- fast mirth. When the first bright knoll of the woodland world laughs out into fragrant light, The year's heart changes and quickens with sense of delight in desire, And the kindling desire is one with thanksgiving for utter fruition of sight, For sight and for sense of a world that the sun finds meet for his lyre. Music made of the morning that smites from the chords of the mute world song Trembles and quickens and lightens, unfelt, un- beholden, unheard, From blossom on blossom that climbs and exults in the strength of the sun grown strong, And answers the word of the wind of the spring with the sun's own word. HAWTHORN TIDE 1131 Hard on the skirt of the deep soft copses that spring- refashions, Triumphs and towers to the height of the crown of a wildwood tree One royal hawthorn, sublime and serene as the joy that impassions Awe that exults in thanksgiving for sight of the grace we see, The grace that is given of a god that abides for a season, mysterious And merciful, fervent and fugitive, seen and un- known and adored : His presence is felt in the light and the fragrance, elate and imperious, His laugh and his breath in the blossom are love's, the beloved soul's lord. For surely the soul if it loves is beloved of the god as a lover Whose love is not all unaccepted, a worship not utterly vain : -So full, so deep is the joy that revives for the soul to recover Yearly, beholden of hope and of memory in sun- shine and rain. in Wonder and love stand silent, stricken at heart and stilled. But yet is the cup of delight and of worship un- pledged and unfilled. A handsbreadth hence leaps up, laughs out as an angel crowned, A strong full fountain of flowers overflowing above and around. HAWTHORN TIDE The boughs and the blossoms in triumph salute with adoring- mirth The womb that bare them, the glad green mother, the sunbright earth. Downward sweeping, as song subsides into silence, none May hear what sound is the word's they speak to the brooding sun. None that hearken may hear : man may but pass and adore, And humble his heart in thanksgiving for joy that is now no more. And sudden, afront and ahead of him, joy is alive and aflame On the shrine whose incense is given of the godhead, again the same Pale and pure as a maiden secluded in secret and cherished with fear, One sweet glad hawthorn smiles as it shrinks under shelter, screened By two strong brethren whose bounteous blossom outsoars it, year after 3'ear, While earth still cleaves to the live spring's breast as a babe unweaned. Never was amaranth fairer in fields where heroes of old found rest, Never was asphodel sweeter : but here they endure not long, Though ever the sight that salutes them again and adores them awhile is blest, And the heart is a hymn, and the sense is a soul,, and the soul is a song. HAWTHORN TIDE 1133 Alone on a dyke's trenched edge, and afar from the blossoming- wildwood's verge, Laughs and lightens a sister, triumphal in love-lit pride ; Clothed round with the sun, and inviolate : her blossoms exult as the springtide surge, When the wind and the dawn enkindle the snows of the shoreward tide. Hardly the worship of old that rejoiced as it knelt in the vision Shown of the God new-born v/hose breath is the spirit of spring Hailed ever with love more strong and defiant of death's derision A joy more perfect than here we mourn for as May takes wing. Time gives it and takes it again and restores it : the glory, the wonder, The triumph of lustrous blossom that makes of the steep sweet bank One visible marvel of music inaudible, over and under, Attuned as in heaven, pass hence and return for the sun to thank. The stars and the sun give thanks for the glory bestowed and beholden, For the gladness they give and rejoice in, the night and the dawn and the day : But nought they behold when the world is afiower and the season is golden Makes answer as meet and as sweet as the flower that itself is May. H34 THE PASSING OF THE HAWTHORN The coming of the hawthorn brings on earth Heaven : all the spring speaks out in one sweet word, And heaven grows gladder, knowing that earth has heard. Ere half the flowers are jubilant in birth, The splendour of the laughter of their mirth Dazzles delight with wonder : man and bird Rejoice and worship, stilled at heart and stirred With rapture girt about with awe for girth. The passing of the hawthorn takes away Heaven : all the spring falls dumb, and all the soul Sinks down in man for sorrow. Night and day Forego the joy that made them one and whole. The change that falls on every starry spray Bids, flower by flower, the knell of springtime toll. H35 TO A BABY KINSWOMAN Love, whose light thrills heaven and earth. Smiles and weeps upon thy birth, Child, whose mother's love-lit eyes Watch thee but from Paradise. Sweetest sight that earth can give, Sweetest light of eyes that live, Ours must needs, for hope withdrawn, Hail with tears thy soft spring dawn. Light of hope whose star hath set, Light of love whose sun lives yet, Holier, happier, heavenlier love Breathes about thee, burns above, Surely, sweet, than ours can be, Shed from eyes we may not see, Though thine own may see them shine Night and day, perchance, on thine. Sun and moon that lighten earth Seem not fit to bless thy birth : Scarce the very stars we know Here seem bright enough to show Whence in unimagined skies Glows the vigil of such eyes. Theirs whose heart is as a sea Swoln with sorrowing love of thee Fain would share with thine the sight Seen alone of babes aright, 36 TO A BABY KINSWOMAN Watched of eyes more sweet than flowers Sleeping or awake : but ours Can but deem or dream or guess Thee not wholly motherless. Might they see or might they know What nor faith nor hope may show, We whose hearts yearn toward thee now Then were blest and wise as thou. Had we half thy knowledge, — had Love such wisdom, — grief were glad, Surely, lit by grace of thee ; Life were sweet as death may be. Now the law that lies on men Bids us mourn our dead : but then Heaven and life and earth and death, Quickened as by God's own breath, All were turned from sorrow and strife j Earth and death were heaven and life All too far are then and now Sundered : none may be as thou. Yet this grace is ours — a sign Of that goodlier grace of thine, Sweet, and thine alone — to see Heaven, and heaven's own love, in thee, Bless them, then, whose eyes caress Thee, as only thou canst bless. Comfort, faith, assurance, love, Shine around us, brood above, Fear grows hope, and hope grows wise, Thrilled and lit by children's eyes. Yet in ours the tears unshed, Child, for hope that death leaves dead, Needs must burn and tremble ; thou Knowest not, seest not, why nor how, TO A BABY KINSWOMAN 1137 More than we know whence or why Comes on babes that laugh and lie Half asleep, in sweet-lipped scorn, Light of smiles outlightening morn, Whence enkindled as is earth By the dawn's less radiant birth All the body soft and sweet Smiles on us from face to feet When the rose-red hands would fain Reach the rose-red feet in vain. Eyes and hands that worship thee Watch and tend, adore and see All these heavenly sights, and give Thanks to see and love and live. Yet, of all that hold thee dear, Sweet, the dearest smiles not here. Thine alone is now the grace, Haply, still to see her face ; Thine, thine only now the sight Whence we dream thine own takes light, Yet, though faith and hope live blind, Yet they live in heart and mind Strong and keen as truth may be : Yet, though blind as grief were we Inly for a weeping-while, Sorrow's self before thy smile Smiles and softens, knowing that yet, Far from us though heaven be set, Love, bowed down for thee to bless, Dares not call thee motherless. May 1894. THE ALTAR OF RIGHTEOUSNESS is to nrav hs crot \eyco, ftcofjLov aiSsaai- SUas' U7)8s VLV K&pSos ISoov ad£(p irohi \ai; dr lays' iroiva yap eTrecrTcu. KVptOV fAEVSl TS\09. Msck. Eum. 538-544 irdpa to