GAr"SABER 
 
 TALES AND SONGS 
 
 URICE 
 
 IWLETT
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 RIVERS1D£ . 
 
 Ex Libris 
 
 ISAAC FOOT
 
 GAI SABER
 
 GAI SABER: 
 
 TALES AND SONGS 
 
 MAURICE HEWLETT 
 
 Quant vei lo temps renovellar, 
 E pareis la fueill' e la flors, 
 Mi dona ardimen amors 
 E cor e saber de chantar . . . 
 
 BERTRAND DE BORN.Iefils. 
 
 LONDON 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET 
 
 igi6
 
 G3 
 IV L
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 Dedication: The Key 7 
 
 I. CORMAC, SON OF OGMUND ... 9 
 
 II. CORMAC TO STANGERD .... 17 
 I. He Sees her Feet 
 II. He Sees her Eyes 
 
 III. She Lies and Listens 
 
 IV. The Worth of Her 
 V. His Philosophy 
 
 VI, Apologue 
 
 VII. The Lover's Creed 
 
 VIII. They Kiss 
 
 IX. Vituperation 
 
 X, Joy of Battle 
 
 XI. Love Grown Sour 
 
 XII. Red Rage 
 
 XIII. Mystic Mood 
 
 XIV. His Conclusion 
 
 III. NIGHT CRY 26 
 
 IV. THE VOYAGE 28 
 
 V. GUNNAR HELMING'S SAGA ... 40 
 
 VI. lOCHEAIRA 58 
 
 VII. ILIAD III 63 
 
 VIII. BEFORE DAWN 83 
 
 IX. THE VEILED LOVER 84 
 
 X. IN THE FOREST 97 
 
 XI. DAPHNE AND LEUKIPPOS . . . . 102 
 
 5
 
 6 Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 XII. PARALLELS 107 
 
 XIII. HYMNIA 109 
 
 I. " Because your soul is delicate " 
 
 II. " Outward be dainty " 
 
 III. " In the hedged garden " 
 
 IV. "Sev'n swords" 
 
 V. " Count it not loss " 
 
 XIV. NIGHT-ERRANTRY 113 
 
 XV. TO A PRETTY WOMAN . . . .115 
 
 XVI. SONG— THE PURE IN HEART ... 117 
 
 XVII. THE TWO EAGLES 118 
 
 XVIII. ARKADIA 120 
 
 XIX. DELOS 121 
 
 XX. A CATCH 122 
 
 XXI. WORLDLINGS . . . . . . .123 
 
 XXII. TO THE POET LAUREATE . ... 125 
 
 XXIII. 25 FEBRUARY 1897 126 
 
 XXIV. WAR RIMES— 
 
 I. A Short History of Man , . . 129 
 
 II. For Two Voices 140 
 
 III. The Emperor of Almain . . . 141 
 
 IV. A Singsong of England . . , 145 
 V. The Soldiers Pass 148 
 
 VI. A Balladof the "Gloster" ... 150 
 VII. Soldier, Soldier 154 
 
 VIII. Tye Street 156 
 
 IX. The Drowned Sailor .... 159 
 
 X. Brave Words from Kiel . . . 161 
 
 XI. In the Trenches 164 
 
 XII. Snow i65 
 
 XIII. The Bugles 169 
 
 NOTES . 171
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 THE KEY 
 
 WHO turn'd the Sonnet like a key 
 To unlock his heart has been reveal'd. 
 The deed was done; the world made free 
 With more than that hot shrine conceal'd. 
 
 Another key there lay upon it, 
 
 A heart of hearts, a master-key 
 To play and pageant, song and sonnet, 
 
 To Comedy and Tragedy, 
 
 So here — who seeks, if he have wit. 
 
 May learn the truth, what golden heart 
 
 Beginning was and end of it, 
 
 Fount of my passion and my art. 
 
 If I have grace before I die 
 To lock in verse your lovely worth, 
 
 The Gods may plant me low or high; 
 They'll leave the best of me on earth. 
 
 London, 
 
 10 May 1914.
 
 GAI SABER 
 I 
 
 CORMAC, SON OF OGMUND 
 
 HERE is a tale I've lately read 
 Which says of Cormac Ogmundsson 
 That he saw Stangerd with arms bare 
 And neck and shoulders, full in the sun, 
 Slanting her head to comb her hair, 
 The loveliest thing he 'd lookt upon; 
 And fell to love her then and there, 
 And serv'd her long and might have wed, 
 But had no joy of, as men reckon 
 Their joy of women, board and bed, 
 Kisses a-plenty, common bacon. 
 And common toil for common bread 
 To fill the mouths they make together. 
 
 Joy of a kind natheless he had. 
 They say, to his own taste or tether, 
 And greatly loved and hugely dared. 
 Riding the dales or upland heather 
 
 9
 
 10 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 
 
 Singing of Stangerd, being glad 
 Because her blissfulness he shared 
 With every other mother's son 
 In this good world, with me, with you, 
 With her two husbands, for she'd two, 
 And buried both before he had done. 
 Not only so, but he declared 
 All Nature was her lord in fee, 
 And bird and hill-flower, stock and stone. 
 And spearing grass and springing tree, 
 The clouds, the river and the sun 
 Had Stangerd in coparcenry. 
 Thus Cormac, Heaven and Earth conspired 
 To make Desire most undesired. 
 For as he lookt upon the thing 
 Their beauty was a glass for hers. 
 And nothing worth considering 
 But what they told as messengers 
 Of what she did and what she was. 
 So the lark lift as she did pass 
 And said, " The world is bright with glee 
 Since Stangerd lookt and smiled on me: 
 Therefore I sing ! " — or grass, " Her feet 
 Press me in love! " — or flower, " How sweet 
 The breath of Stangerd when she goes 
 With parted lips! " — or tree, " Who knows — 
 Passing she laid a lingering hand
 
 Cormac, Son of Ogmund ii 
 
 On me, and doubtful seem'd to stand 
 Whether or not to take me to her — 
 Who knows but she will let me woo her 
 And be her lover in the dark 
 When the sap throbs beneath the bark? " 
 So did the cloud, a jealous lover, 
 Beshadow her, as he would cover. 
 And prove himself her bosom's lord, 
 And make a guarded woman of her. 
 Had not the sun with his bared sword 
 Rent him with gashes, and outpour'd 
 His courage on her; the which the river 
 Rejoicing saw: " O thou brave giver 
 Of heart to horse, and horse to pasture," 
 Cried he, " I hail thee! Warm the blood 
 Of Stangerd, that she slip her vesture 
 And come to me, and know my flood! " 
 
 Or take him in an earlier mood — 
 His first when he cast eyes upon her — 
 Which show'd him her, this burning lass, 
 Daughter of Thorkel of the Tongue, 
 Goddess's maid, a Maid of Honour, 
 Flusht in the face, with hair like brass. 
 Or corn that yellows to the sickle. 
 Full tall and free and bold and young, 
 Deep-bosom'd too, with deep blue eyes 
 Like slumbering pools, — a girl of size,
 
 12 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 
 
 Whom seeing no man you'd say would stickle 
 
 To take to church and make a woman — 
 
 Show'd her to him a spirit not human, 
 
 Who whether in hall, robed in her white. 
 
 She sat at ease with her arms bare 
 
 And gaz'd before her at the light, 
 
 Dreaming, and her vague eyes astare 
 
 Encompast him and gave him sight 
 
 Of their blue mystery and intent; 
 
 Or whether about the board she went 
 
 Serving the men with mead, and came 
 
 And stood above him till he bent 
 
 Before her, as before the flame 
 
 The bushes in a forest bow 
 
 And show all white — he had her name 
 
 As if 'twas written on her brow: 
 
 A Valkyr! Chooser of the slain! 
 
 A storm-fraught Spirit fierce as pain, 
 
 With whom to clasp and kiss, or grapple 
 
 As man with woman, that were thought 
 
 To deaden deed, as if you brought 
 
 The lonely Night to bed, or fared 
 
 To play below the gleaming thrapple 
 
 Of the keen daughter of the snow, 
 
 And froze when her white hills she bared. 
 
 Therefore said he, "Ah! let her go, 
 
 Mistress of Destiny, unmov'd
 
 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 13 
 
 Her way of Gods, her way of woe, 
 But ever lovely and ever lov'd, 
 Treading the necks of beaten men! " 
 
 Now for the rift 'twixt Now and Then! 
 While so submiss his own neck prov'd 
 Other men's heads remain'd upright, 
 And other eyes saw other light 
 In Stangerd's; which when Cormac found 
 Averse from his, then he partook 
 With common men a common ground 
 Of grievance, and a common grief: 
 The grief of him who comes too late 
 To market, or has been too stiff 
 About the chaffer. Man forsook 
 Is cheated man the whole world over; 
 And vainly now this young tomnoddy, 
 This too exuberant generous wooer, 
 Rav'd for his benison of the body. 
 And sang in vain what he might do her 
 Upon a day unwritten of — 
 He never did it as I hear. 
 Tongue-work was all he had of love. 
 Song-work and suchlike poets' gear. 
 Yet much he dared and long he strove, 
 Serving her so for many a year, 
 Fighting and wandering, till he hove 
 To sea, and vanisht, singing her.
 
 14 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 
 
 Not mine to sing, at least not here, 
 How to the tale came Battle-Berse, 
 Stangerd's first husband, when Cormac, 
 Betroth'd, handfasted as he was, 
 Lover accepted, yet drew back 
 At the last hour, a thing unchancy — 
 Witchfinders hint at spell or curse 
 Upon the plighting; each man has 
 His own curse in him, and my fancy 
 Sees Cormac storing her to heart 
 To sing about in sounding verse, 
 Making a goddess of a lass, 
 Not better, but so much the worse 
 The more herself had art and part 
 In the business. Call this nigromancy 
 Done by the spae-wife out of spite, 
 I tell you Love 's a tricksy sprite 
 For poets' bosoms. Love says. Kiss 
 Your well-belov'd, she'll kiss again. 
 Apt pupil; but it 's also true 
 The more you kiss, the more you strain 
 Together, the less lover you, 
 And the more she. Skald 's wisdom is 
 To love apart, since love is pain 
 At all events, howe'er you do ; 
 And out of pain that song cometh 
 The which you live by, as by breath
 
 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 15 
 
 Live some, and other some by kiss 
 (As women all). Where there are two, 
 And one a poet, one must rue — 
 And it was Stangerd, as the case is 
 Whene'er a girl accepts the embraces 
 Of poet-lover. 
 
 Of her now 
 What shall we say? Was she in sooth 
 The spirit few see but some may know. 
 Even as believ'd our ardent youth — 
 The Essence at the heart of things, 
 Which makes them things? Substantial truth? 
 The secret rose of loveliness. 
 The very flicker in the wings 
 Of birds, the thrill of sweet distress 
 You get at heart when a bird sings 
 At night? The fragrance, hue, impress, 
 The very life within the dress 
 That bodies beauty ? Was all this 
 Chance-held in Stangerd's blossomings 
 For Cormac's vision and his bliss? 
 Was she so rare or he so tender? 
 He found her so by hit or miss. 
 And so he paid for his lachess 
 Or, if you please, his soul-surrender; 
 For plain men saw — a piece of goods, 
 Just a fine girl for all her splendour
 
 i6 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 
 
 Of form and favour, made of moods 
 
 And whims and hearty appetite, 
 
 Who liked her supper and was clear 
 
 What was and what was not her right. 
 
 And so two took her for delight 
 
 And serv'd them of her aptitudes, 
 
 And rockt in many a swingeing fight 
 
 With our young friend, and made good cheer; 
 
 And when their turn came round she dight 
 
 Their burial-clouts. 
 
 And what she gain'd 
 Of her wild lover, or how suffer'd 
 To have her well of sweetness drain'd 
 By one or other as he offer'd. 
 She was a woman and men think 
 Rewarded; for they craved, she proffer'd; 
 They thirsted and she gave them drink; 
 They dipt their cups for what she cofFer'd; 
 And if they needed, should she shrink 
 Lest want might come on her? Their thriving 
 We say was hers — without a wink, 
 Because we mean it: she got by giving — 
 For giving man life is a living. 
 At least, that 's man's serene persuasion. 
 He calls it her re-generation.
 
 II 
 
 CORMAC TO STANGERD 
 
 I 
 
 HE SEES HER FEET 
 
 O EYE-DECEIT or heart-deceit, 
 Lo there, my blessing or my bane! 
 A lover at a lady's feet 
 Holding his heart, and there a pain! 
 
 A lady's feet, and there a lover: 
 A patch of snow left by the rain 
 Afield, or two tufts of white clover . . . 
 And near beside a young man slain. 
 
 II 
 
 HE SEES HER EYES 
 
 The fire plays with my lady's eyes, 
 And they make music in my head. 
 The sea-blue bird that flashing flies 
 Like a sword down the river-bed 
 Links the green earth and azure skies; 
 And so with me is Stangerd wed, 
 When light with light is handfasted. 
 
 b
 
 i8 Cormac to Stangerd 
 
 III 
 SHE LIES AND LISTENS 
 
 Now Stangerd lay abed within 
 
 The house's inmost san(5luaries, 
 
 With both her hands between her knees, 
 
 And them drawn up towards her chin 
 
 Touching the fulness of her breast; 
 
 And her wide eyes could get no rest 
 
 That sought the dark and saw clouds float, 
 
 Clouds of crimson radiant mist 
 
 Which gather'd, mass'd and cours'd above her 
 
 More lovely than the wings of the West. 
 
 If such wild heart should turn to love her, 
 
 What love-words would not such a throat 
 
 Pour for the overwhelming of her! 
 
 IV 
 THE WORTH OF HER 
 
 For all that body's loveliness 
 I would give Iceland and no less, 
 And all the lands that lie between 
 The land where the sun is never seen 
 And the roaring Western main; 
 And even so I should be fain 
 To search the world for more to give: 
 Yet search I must if I would live.
 
 Cormac to Stangerd 19 
 
 V 
 
 HIS PHILOSOPHY 
 
 I love a lovely woman — well, 
 
 And if some other love her — good! 
 
 All goes to prove my hardihood, 
 
 All goes her magicry to tell. 
 
 For say she is a miracle, 
 
 Say that her beauty is my food, 
 
 Am I so surly in my mood 
 
 That what feeds me rings t'other's knell? 
 
 Nay, should a hundred be about her. 
 And she of her great bounty feed them, 
 Is that to say my heart must heed them ? 
 Not so. 'Tis they can't do without her. 
 Women are so made, they grow stouter 
 Of heart the more their lovers bleed them. 
 
 VI 
 APOLOGUE 
 
 There were four brothers loved one lass- 
 Ask not how much or when this was. 
 It was before the world took heed 
 Of more than how to serve its need. 
 
 Their need was sore, her bounty such. 
 They askt not, nor she gave, too much:
 
 20 Cormac to Stangerd 
 
 They roam'd the heath, they fought and kill'd; 
 They were as one long sword and shield. 
 
 She kept the house; there was no strife 
 Within doors, such a sweet housewife 
 Was she, this kindly-kindled lass, 
 Such wife as no man living has. 
 
 VII 
 THE LOVER'S CREED 
 
 Well do they call you Sleeping Gold, 
 Since no man lives that cannot see 
 The light-flung glory which you hold 
 As Erda holds her majesty, 
 A thing of little worth, the fee 
 Of whoso asketh, being bold. 
 Let him draw nigh, the well is free. 
 Say you, the fire for who's acold: 
 Let him drink, warm himself of me. 
 
 Your heart, O Stangerd, you hold up 
 For asking men; they need but need. 
 There is no bottom to the cup. 
 There is no pauper but may feed. 
 So in your calm eyes each may read 
 The truth he asks, if he be true ; 
 So to your arms all come indeed. 
 And die, as they have liv'd, of you — 
 And your gold sleeps and takes no heed.
 
 Cormac to Stangerd 21 
 
 VIII 
 THEY KISS 
 
 Eye-level and heart-level they, 
 And mouth-level; but till that day 
 Never had been what now must be: 
 Kiss'd mouth to kissing mouth is fast, 
 And two hearts beating to one tune. 
 
 Breathless and speechless for their boon 
 They cling together; but they kiss 
 No more; but mouth and mouth co-mix 
 And make one being at the lips. 
 And the burnt splendour of the moon 
 Throbs with the heat of burning noon. 
 
 IX 
 VITUPERATION 
 
 The scullion and his kettle-snake! 
 What ail'd him and his blister'd tongue? 
 Will he scrape me with his muck-rake, 
 Scatter me as he scatters dung 
 About the meadow? And the house 
 That holds her harbours that wood-louse! 
 Salmon and gudgeon in one lake, 
 One tree — sea-eagle and titmouse!
 
 22 Cormac to Stangerd 
 
 X 
 
 JOY OF BATTLE 
 
 When scythe and broad-sword come to blows 
 Plain men take heart, and meadow-grass; 
 But there's no pasture for the ass 
 However fair the home-mead grows. 
 Cudgel your wits, I'll cudgel your hides, 
 Ye greedy pair of hoody crows. 
 
 XI 
 
 LOVE GROWN SOUR 
 
 This is not love that drains me — nay, 
 This is to crave. O girdled Fricka, 
 Dare I come near thee with lips gray 
 For need of thine, and hot tongue-liquor 
 Where once my mouth was clean to pray? 
 
 I would go back! There is no way 
 To thin the blood I have made thicker; 
 Save scratch for itch is no allay. 
 The flame is at its dying flicker. 
 Blown by hot breath, it cannot stay. 
 Speed it with scorn that it die quicker — 
 Alas the hour, alas the day!
 
 Cormac to Stangerd 23 
 
 XII 
 RED RAGE 
 
 Berse, you have dared impossibly, 
 Taking what I have feared to take, 
 Looking where I have feared to see, 
 Dipping where none may dip and be 
 Still man, within the lonely lake. 
 To have scaled the awful mountain pass. 
 To have seen unblencht the untrod snows, 
 Affronting with your front of brass 
 The heart of the everlasting rose — 
 You have dared enough, and shall give o'er 
 Your daring. You have dared so much, 
 Let it suffice: no more, no more. 
 
 Yet seeing by that desperate touch 
 
 There is come glory on your brow; 
 
 And to your name the pride is such 
 
 The man who bears it he must die, 
 
 I tell you, Berse, the time is now. 
 
 Before you've time to blur and dull it 
 
 With your gross brain and teeming eye 
 
 And tongue, when righteous hand shall clutch 
 
 Your throat and take you by the gullet, 
 
 And wrench the life out, and the lie 
 
 You make of it. And here's the sign: 
 
 The clutching hand writes this— 'tis mine.
 
 24 Cormac to Stangerd 
 
 XIII 
 MYSTIC MOOD 
 
 Ah, now indeed I have her — now 
 When I am leaving her for good. 
 For good? Ah, yes, for now I know 
 What Christians call their heavenly food. 
 You see no flesh, you taste no blood, 
 The holy flake shines like the snow; 
 The sweet thin wine has the red fiow 
 But not the salt that drencht the Rood. 
 
 Now I have feasted as I would 
 And go my way with a full heart: 
 Stangerd and I shall never part 
 If I can keep this holy mood. 
 
 XIV 
 
 HIS CONCLUSION 
 
 O land where the sea-eagle hovers, 
 O mountain land and river-flood! 
 Here is the wonder of the wood 
 And here a tale of love and lovers. 
 
 What have I done? I've heard the note 
 Thrill'd by the wood-bird in the dark; 
 It set me soaring like a lark 
 That on his own song seems afloat.
 
 Cormac to Stangerd 25 
 
 But what have I done? I was blind 
 That thought I saw a fair maid pass 
 And stroke my cheek. That was no lass, 
 That spirit of the wandering wind. 
 
 What have I done, but love too high? 
 What have I done, but fall too far? 
 I set my longing on a star, 
 And there it burns, and here I lie.
 
 Ill 
 
 NIGHT CRY 
 
 YOU who in the night 
 By your shining stair 
 Shed soft respite 
 On my despair, 
 Hear what your lover saith: — 
 It is my prayer 
 
 That when I lie at my last odds, 
 Man and still a child, 
 Facing him who broods and nods 
 The way of the wild, 
 I may read Requiem 
 In your eyes mild. 
 
 By time and tide men score 
 Their tale of hopes and fears; 
 These have swept me frore 
 And dull'd my ears; 
 My eyes are dim, for they live 
 Haunted by tears. 
 Nothing else have I to tell 
 Save what you have taught me; 
 26
 
 Night Cry 27 
 
 Yet I have lov'd you well 
 Since Night caught me, 
 Night and you, and the song 
 Which you two taught me. 
 
 Let them answer and speak 
 
 By your gracious leave: 
 
 You gave, I did not seek; 
 
 Yet I believe 
 
 When I go into the dark 
 
 Your lips will murmur and grieve, 
 
 Saying, This was man of mine 
 
 And sought me long, 
 
 Singling me by secret sign 
 
 In and out of the throng: 
 
 I was the first and the last 
 
 In his song.
 
 IV 
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 THE night before our Lady's day 
 I came to a break in my outward way, 
 To where the land's end seemed to be; 
 For now in a dark immensity 
 Great water flowed, and out of the west 
 The wind came wet, bringing unrest 
 To all the earth from the open main; 
 And I felt the darkness her doors twain 
 Open and shut as the sea surged. 
 Like her pulse made audible. 
 
 There was nought that a man could tell 
 Between me and the ways of sleep, 
 Save that flood-water dark and deep, 
 And that hot wind and passionate 
 Which called me meet I know not what fate 
 Near or far off; but I knew that a man, 
 With bright blue eyes in his face of tan 
 And teeth as white as the cherry flower, 
 Was by who said, " This is the hour 
 When you and I take boat. The ship 
 Rides out yonder, the tide 's at neap. 
 
 28
 
 The Voyage 29 
 
 Come, you shall see the cities of men, 
 Andthe plains and mountains and riversof them, 
 And what the folk do under the eye 
 Of the sun, and learn of their mystery." 
 Stilly he spake, as if from his bed 
 Of flowers and tapers the folded dead 
 Should speak, not winking his shut eyes 
 Nor breaking the dream wherein he lies, 
 Stilly smiling, wise and not fierce. 
 
 Rending the dark with eyes and ears, 
 I saw a ship but a bowshot out, 
 I saw her headlight leap and lout 
 As she dipt to the trough or climbed to be 
 Atop the ridges of that dark sea. 
 I heard the waves break at her bows 
 And the cries of sailors at work or carouse 
 As they clankt the anchor chain 
 Against the word to haul amain; 
 And I saw lights running here and there 
 Over the deck, and knew what air 
 Sang in her shrouds. Then I took boat — 
 He pusht her out and I felt her float 
 On unknown sea from the unseen shore — • 
 I at the helm and he at the oar 
 Climbed the ridges of that dark sea 
 Through the black water racing free. 
 To rock in the lew of the ship's side.
 
 30 The Voyage 
 
 Straining there, head to tide, 
 With broad dipt bosom and lifted wing, 
 Lightly swaying, a living thing, 
 Strained to windward. 
 
 The anchor weighed, 
 She shook herself, now stoopt, now stay'd, 
 And drave her course into the wind. 
 The white foam flew and stream'd behind, 
 Flakes and splinters of pale gold — 
 So God further the ship! Behold, 
 The mast is a pointer, a wagging lance 
 Weaving arcs where the mad stars dance 
 Over the sky, as over the turf 
 The windy tree-tops! With snap of surf, 
 With surge and swallow along the keel, 
 With plunging nose and dripping heel 
 She took the seas. As for me I slept 
 While about the world's girdle the sun crept, 
 And stars paled, and Earth was tired, 
 Like a woman too much hired 
 And loved until she swoons away. 
 The stars went out, the Earth grew gray, 
 And I slept long on the breast of the sea 
 Till the broad morning awakened me. 
 
 O brave world that I lookt upon! 
 Out on the green-capt cliffs in the sun 
 The steeple bells were calling to God
 
 The Voyage 31 
 
 Faithful people; white gulls rode 
 
 Placid the ponded sea; the trees 
 
 Out of heaven call'd down a breeze 
 
 And, whispering to it, wafted it 
 
 Over the sea. Like a wide sheet 
 
 Of fairy water silver-white 
 
 The sea lay dimpling in the light, 
 
 Streakt and fretted with stipples where 
 
 The wind had kist her bosom fair 
 
 And left a blush to tell his daring. 
 
 The breeze held on and shaped our faring 
 
 West by south. It came on our quarter 
 
 And drave us off into deep water, 
 
 Out of sight of homely thing, 
 
 Tilth and pasture and farm-steading, 
 
 White villages, red-rooft towns, 
 
 Gray manors in folds of the downs 
 
 Hinting the kindly gods of the hearth; 
 
 Out from the confines of the earth 
 
 To where in sounding perilous seas 
 
 Lay hid the Cassiterides; 
 
 To water spread in a circle dim 
 
 To a faint far edge, a silver rim: 
 
 And the sky was a whole unbroken cup 
 
 Of clear crystal, and hid us up. 
 
 Four nights, four days since we set sail 
 We drave the seas on a following gale
 
 32 The Voyage 
 
 With never hint of the land or sight 
 Of passing ship; but the fifth night 
 The stars were suddenly quencht, there fell 
 A hush on the sea, with a long swell 
 Wherein we wallow'd and sat dumb, 
 Grimly waiting the storm to come, 
 Bow'd as a man is bow'd who saith, 
 The end is near, when the end is death. 
 Sudden it struck us flat, and the ship 
 Reel'd; but then, as horse to a whip 
 Shudders and lays his ears back 
 Before mad flight, so she lay slack. 
 Beaten, blind, and quivering, 
 Then leapt forward, a madden'd thing 
 Into a sea turn'd ravenous. 
 Following, threatening, harrying us 
 To forget God and the sun's cheer. 
 And Love and Sorrow, and serve Fear 
 And Lust-of-Living, his blood-brother. 
 We knew the waves racing each other, 
 Riding each other, each in haste 
 To be first upon us, and first to taste 
 Our dear blood; and so we fled 
 Dereli(51:, bare before that dread 
 Space unmeasur'd and time annull'd. 
 The fury past, the storm was lull'd. 
 The wind dropt, and we heard the rain
 
 The Voyage 33 
 
 Sting the water and thud amain 
 
 On the deck of our beaten barque, 
 
 Making a heaven of the dark 
 
 Wherein we lay like a soused log, 
 
 Drown'd in rain and the rain-fog, 
 
 Sodden wrack upon the flood 
 
 Without signal or neighbourhood 
 
 Of aught but water above or below, 
 
 And the sound of water; and, drifting so. 
 
 On the sixth morning the clouds of storm 
 
 Lifted, and lo! in the sea a form 
 
 Vast and black, a lonely cliff 
 
 Rear'd up like a hippogriff; 
 
 And the foam flashing about his knees 
 
 Was as if with wings he should beat the seas, 
 
 To rise up and be free to soar. 
 
 About his knees the sounding roar. 
 
 About his head a cloud, we past 
 
 On a swift tide, and felt the blast 
 
 Of his fear like a stream of frozen air 
 
 Dry our eyelids and lift our hair; 
 
 And his howling follow'd us on our flight 
 
 Through the deep of the sixth night. 
 
 But when the seventh dawn's white hand 
 Was on the latch I saw a land 
 Glimmering, husht and still asleep 
 Without shadow, of cliff and steep 
 
 c
 
 34 The Voyage 
 
 And forest like a cloud. And in 
 
 We drew, and saw the waves breaking 
 
 On green flats, and heard the thrill 
 
 Of One who sang there long and shrill, 
 
 As to a harp a harp-player 
 
 Who tilts his chin to feel the air, 
 
 And holds a high continued note 
 
 Trembling in his narrow'd throat, 
 
 But finds no words. And there she stood 
 
 Who made the song, on the verge of the flood, 
 
 On a green shore in full sunlight, 
 
 A slim woman, naked and white. 
 
 With eyes that shone like the sun on swords, 
 
 So near that I saw the singing chords 
 
 Ripple as the sound past over. 
 
 High were her hands to call her lover 
 
 To kiss her and be glad of her; 
 
 For they say the Sun is her paramour. 
 
 And out of the sea she calls him to her 
 
 To her fair service, to be her wooer; 
 
 And he cometh to her every day. 
 
 And at eve goes. 
 
 We on our way 
 Drave on a swift blue tidal race 
 By dreaming shores of strange face — 
 Forests and river mouths, with ships 
 Sailing into the land, and strips
 
 The Voyage 35 
 
 Of emerald verdure on either strand; 
 
 Small white towns on the edge of the sand, 
 
 And beyond an infinite country with far 
 
 Mountains, wherein the Gods are 
 
 For crown of all the heart's desire. 
 
 And thence to a country burnt by fire, 
 
 A bare country of weald and wold 
 
 Brown and gasht, and a city old 
 
 With a wall about; and beyond the walls 
 
 Men plough'd the glebe. I heard their calls 
 
 Over sea as the heavy, slow. 
 
 Mild-eyed oxen went to and fro 
 
 With bent heads under the yoke. 
 
 So now the city, with thin blue smoke 
 
 To veil her face, before us lies 
 
 White and still, with her men like files 
 
 Crawling her streets and waterways. 
 
 Her bridges and yards and busy quays; 
 
 And over all a great church 
 
 With a gilded dome. And I made search 
 
 For cross or crescent atop, but none 
 
 Was there, but instead a naked one 
 
 Straddled and stood that all might see 
 
 The glory of his virility. 
 
 Gold was his hair, and bright gold 
 
 The eyes of him. His hands he did hold 
 
 On high, with fingers ail outspread,
 
 36 The Voyage 
 
 As the sun himself, when low and red 
 
 He stoops to west, lets his beams fly 
 
 Like long fingers over the sky. 
 
 They say his name is Heelios, 
 
 And his the city without a cross; 
 
 And his the priests and the priestesses; 
 
 And the altar-smoke and the blood are his. 
 
 The night fell under new stars, 
 And dawn came red with rumours of wars 
 And dry heat. Most desolate 
 Grew the shore as we coasted it; 
 For now the round world beautiful 
 Was bleacht like the dome of an old skull, 
 Sutured with dykes where no water was 
 And ridged under a sky of brass. 
 And so we came to a great plain 
 Of sand and stones, a place of pain 
 Under the grin of the sun; and there 
 Lay a dragon voicing his great despair. 
 There alone on the sand did he lie. 
 Bitter wounded and slow to die. 
 Rearing on high his smitten head 
 To challenge God; but the rest was dead, 
 Huddled in flat folds: so he 
 Served out his lonely agony. 
 But we drave on in the glare of noon 
 And came to a place of marsh and dune
 
 The Voyage 37 
 
 Without trees; and there in that waste 
 Armies fought; horsemen in haste 
 Gallopt; and on the burnt knowes 
 Men lay hidden and shot with bows, 
 Kneeling up. I heard the twang 
 Over the sea, and markt the pang 
 When a king fell shot, and his charioteer 
 Fled, and left him glittering there 
 In the light, like a lamp in a sunny place, 
 A garish thing. 
 
 We went on our ways 
 Eastward now through seas of blue 
 And flashing bronze like the hot hue 
 That burns on a kingfisher's breast. 
 Thereon great birds floated at rest 
 Like lilies idle on a mere; 
 Or clouds of them did drift and veer, 
 Of wheeling flight and pondering eye 
 Turn'd adown as they oared by 
 About the ship's wake, crimson things 
 With trailing feet and pointed wings, 
 That glowed like fire behind a hill. 
 And seemed to throb and wax until 
 The glory was intolerable — 
 And never a cloud to break the spell 
 Of the long shining radiant days: 
 The sun rose clean out of the haze
 
 38 The Voyage 
 
 That like a scarf of smoke was trail'd 
 About the distance, then and sail'd 
 Naked to the zenith, and then 
 Naked stoopt seawards again 
 And veil'd in ocean his red rim 
 And hid. And the gold air after him 
 Fainted to amber, and in green 
 Died. Rose then the silver queen 
 Of night, and spread her violet cloak 
 Over the world, and starlight broke 
 From every point the eye could hold 
 While her lamp burn'd, a disk of gold, 
 And flamed on the sea in fiery flakes, 
 And made a path for herself, and lakes 
 Of shining water wherein to float 
 Fishers in a fairy boat; 
 And made a witchcraft of the night 
 Until she paled, and the dawn light 
 Shiver'd anew across the sea. 
 
 So in the glimmer of day-to-be 
 I saw a city her white arms wide 
 Stretch to the shore on either side 
 The bay. Her shipping was like a wood 
 Of silver poplars hemming a flood; 
 And her glory rose on terraces 
 Of temples and marble palaces 
 And broad stairways to cypress glooms
 
 The Voyage 39 
 
 And the crowning of her place of tombs; 
 
 For she is a temple of the dead 
 
 Whom the living worshipt there, men said, 
 
 Counting no one fortunate 
 
 Until he share their calm estate. 
 
 For in all the clamour of life's unease 
 
 There is one thing to pray for — peace; 
 
 And neither beauty nor wisdom skill 
 
 Body nor soul ere they be still; 
 
 And riches buy no thing so rare 
 
 As sleep without dreams in windless air. 
 
 Fared we then over wide sea-ways. 
 And lost the land for a many days 
 And nights of charmed solitude, 
 With never a thing to break our mood 
 Of spell-bound, high expe(5tancy. 
 Then, behold! a cloud on the sea, 
 A dim isle, and the very ship 
 Seem'd to stay, as when to the lip 
 The finger goes, and the oncomer 
 Holds him, saying. Am I so near? 
 
 And so by perils we were come 
 Of warring over the sea foam 
 To the land where I would be.
 
 V 
 
 GUNNAR HELMING'S SAGA 
 
 RUDE is this tale, from heathen mint, 
 Like some old coin of theirs, gog-eyed, 
 A ragged, straggle-bearded thing, 
 A travesty of moneying 
 With little on its face but pride. 
 And yet the metal 's true inside. 
 And there 's some virgin gold within 't — 
 As when the heart of Sigrid cried, 
 And Gunnar broke her wedding-ring, 
 Making an unwed wife a bride. 
 Also of laughing there 's no stint 
 For men not over-sancftified. 
 Who saying. Heathendom is lies, 
 Make prudery their prejudice 
 And cry, A falsehood ! to begin't. 
 But they who feel, as I proclaim, 
 That there 's no virtue and no vice 
 In human nature as of course, 
 
 40
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 41 
 
 Will drink me up as water horse; 
 And as for women, by love made wise, 
 They'll read so far and take the hint. 
 
 It all begins with Ogmund Dint, 
 Or Dinthead, called so because once 
 Halward the Strong and peremptory 
 Had knockt him down and crackt his sconce 
 For him, and still it bore th' imprint 
 Of a good man, and a good story 
 Worth telling if time served — this Dint, 
 Seeking to pay back that old score, 
 Meets Gunnar Helming on the shore 
 In his red hood, taking the air. 
 As such a handsome rover might. 
 And brings him in to the affair. 
 
 Now Ogmund wore his famous cloak, 
 For he was rich and took delight 
 In raiment. It was green and black, 
 Contrast as curious as rare. 
 With a gold serpent up the back. 
 And sable-tails like plumes of smoke 
 To trim it, glorious to behold. 
 Which eyeing, and the bearer of it, 
 Says Gunnar, "Let me make so bold 
 To ask you, Ogmund, not in joke
 
 42 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 But with a thought to common profit, 
 
 Were such a garment to be sold 
 
 Should you not be the man to doff it, 
 
 And I go peacocking instead? 
 
 The cloak is young, the cloak is fine; 
 
 Your beard is grizzling, whereas mine, 
 
 What though it leans towards the red, 
 
 Is a young beard; and in my head 
 
 No chasm yawns. Come then, combine 
 
 With me and name your price! " He smiled 
 
 Engagingly. It were as easy 
 
 To be offended with a child 
 
 As with him, nor was Ogmund queasy 
 
 Or high in stomach, who just now 
 
 Had other cares to seam his brow. 
 
 He laughed. "My cloak then, does it please ye? 
 
 Then it is yours, but I'd be vext 
 
 If money marred a pretty tie 
 
 Between us. 'Twill be my turn next — 
 
 Nay ! Since the wind is whistling shrewd 
 
 And I'll be shivering by-and-by, 
 
 A barter's always unoffending: 
 
 Take it, and let me have your hood. 
 
 'Twill serve to keep me warm and dry, 
 
 And as for looks, I'm past the mending." 
 
 So said, so done. They made exchange,
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 43 
 
 And Ogmund, snug in Gunnar's red, 
 Turned on his errand, but in going 
 Stopt once again, and turning said, 
 "You know the common beat and range 
 Of all men here— where 's the bestowing 
 Of Halward Strong? I have to speak 
 A word with him." He stood, not showing 
 His felon eyes, and smoothed his cheek 
 With a soft hand. Says Gunnar, " He? 
 Your friend? He 's new come from the sea. 
 You'll find him washing off the reek 
 And scurf of brine in company 
 With other seamen at the Fish." 
 
 Thereon they part, and Ogmund seeks 
 The Fish, and there 's his man a-washing, 
 To whom he whispers in the ear, 
 A word apart. Low-voiced he speaks, 
 And mighty Halward without fear. 
 Just as he is, with soapsuds flashing 
 Upon his beard, follows the hood. 
 Sure deeming whom he deals with here. 
 Into the yard. "What is't you would, 
 Gunnar, with me ? " The axe falls crashing 
 Into his neck, and sends blood splashing 
 High up the wall — a debt made good. 
 So much for Halward. Ogmund hies.
 
 44 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 Light on the foot as water-fowl 
 Skimming the surface of a mere, 
 Or crow that hops before he flies, 
 With wary eye and heedful ear 
 But much contentment in his soul, 
 Out to his boat, and with a stone 
 Sinks Gunnar's hood a fathom deep 
 In ooze and water; gets aboard, 
 And goes to bed, and so to sleep. 
 
 Rumour's a strumpet, all men's keep, 
 And now is busy. Names are roared 
 About. One knew the hood, one heard 
 Gunnar's own voice, one knew his walk, 
 One saw him at it with a sword — 
 No sword! 'Twas a long bill. No matter — 
 'Twas Gunnar, that was fiat, was flatter 
 Than Halward now. So raced the talk 
 In turbid stream. Then one brought word. 
 The vital word in all this chatter, 
 Which gave it substance, to Sigurd, 
 Gunnar's own brother. Straightway he 
 Took it to Gunnar. " Was this deed 
 Your doing then ? " Gunnar not stirred. 
 " That be far from me " — and thereon 
 Shut down his lips, no more would say 
 Neither to him nor any one.
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 45 
 
 Then Sigurd: "You were best away. 
 Off with you!" 
 
 Now the tale goes on. 
 Gunnar betook him to the v<;oods 
 And lurkt there for a season. Then, 
 Wearying of berries and such foods 
 As better nourish birds than men, 
 Worked eastward to the open fen, 
 Crossed marshes, skirted lipping floods 
 Of sea-creeks, and addressed the ridge 
 Which severs from each other's ken 
 Norway and Sweden, brake the hedge 
 Of utmost pines which from the snow 
 Rise like a ragged eagle's wing. 
 And roar whatever great winds blow. 
 He faced the whiplash and the sting 
 Of icy blasts, and so came down 
 By many a ravine and rock-ledge 
 To the Swedes' country all unknown, 
 To forests deeper than his own 
 Where by green roads strange companies 
 Slipt thro' the aisles of sighing trees. 
 Strange, furtive, long-haired, peering creatures 
 With bird-bright eyes and sinewy knees, 
 Their men like monarchs of a herd; 
 And pale, shy women with the features
 
 46 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 And lonely ways of a wood-bird, 
 Going soft-foot from place to place 
 Between the aisles of silent trees. 
 
 For in those days, through woody Sweden, 
 Wherever was an open space 
 
 There wonned and roamed the dangerous heathen 
 In gathered bands, like reindeer. They, 
 A sylvan folk and all untaught. 
 Served painted gods, and chiefly Frey, 
 A crowned God, with oak-leaves wreathen. 
 Frey had their homage, for they thought 
 The rain was his which grew the grass, 
 And sun which burned it into hay: 
 Briefly, all good that ever was 
 Upon the land by him was brought. 
 He willed it, and it came to pass — 
 Such was his grandipotent way. 
 Therefore this wonder-working Frey, 
 This bounty-springing, welling heart 
 Of earth, this fount of yearly course 
 Of foison, they kept in a cart, 
 Which two white oxen, sadly teased 
 By yoke and nose-ring, haled perforce 
 To village greens, to fair and mart, 
 Wherever men were in concourse 
 To buy or sell, to praise or pray.
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 47 
 
 Four poles held up the curtains of it 
 
 And hid the god until he pleased 
 
 Give testimony of his art 
 
 To muttering priest or mouthing prophet 
 
 Who, given a favourable day, 
 
 Might then reveal them painted Frey 
 
 Like a young man with crispy hair, 
 
 Forkt beard, curved mouth and nostrils gay 
 
 With scarlet, and round eyes astare. 
 
 His crov^n he wore, and held within 
 
 His dexter hand a gilded cone, 
 
 And in his left a rolling pin, 
 
 Or that which had the air of one — 
 
 A budded rod it seems to have been. 
 
 That was the shrine and such the God 
 Who swayed this folk in woodland dense, 
 Signifying them with his rod 
 Potential beneficence; 
 And since they knew by common sense 
 It is not good to live alone, 
 Whether you live by prayers or pence. 
 Whether within a block of wood 
 You veil yourself, or shapen stone. 
 Whether of board or wholesome meat 
 You be, on Frey they had bestowed 
 To be his wife a woman sweet;
 
 48 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 And there upon the cart she rode 
 Beside of Frey, and shared his seat, 
 A woman fair and very young, 
 Vivid and dusky-haired, with eyes 
 Like golden amber, and a tongue 
 For music like a low-toned bell 
 With a bloom on it, such as cries 
 In the brown bird that men love well 
 Who hear her low-crooned mysteries, 
 The nightingale, which seems to gloat 
 When the rich music creams her throat. 
 And hers it was Frey's rede to tell 
 Whenas the God had made her wise; 
 She wrought the needful miracle. 
 Calling the rain forth from the skies; 
 Or when they brought up from the field 
 Cow late with calf, or gravelled ox, 
 Or horses galled, or slippery-heeled. 
 Or spavined, or with running hocks. 
 Or seedy-toed, or staggering, 
 To lead beneath Frey's painted eyes. 
 This still, slim, grave girl from her place 
 Rose up and searched his wooden face. 
 And there instrucfted, she revealed 
 His will who had her surely wed. 
 Wedded she was, for unconcealed 
 Within that cart there stood a bed.
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 49 
 
 There, on some wild and empty night 
 
 Of mystery close if not fulfilled, 
 
 She lay with Frey, and there they said 
 
 He had done with her what he might 
 
 To overpass her maiden dread. 
 
 There Frey slept now, and there she slept 
 
 Whenas the oxen-cart was led, 
 
 A fluttering, gaudy, welcome sight, 
 
 From village-stead to village-stead — 
 
 Or there she lay awake and wept, 
 
 Perhaps, if you could get it right. 
 
 Now to this place of sancftuary 
 Came Gunnar Helming, and accost 
 Frey's wife. " O woman fair to see, 
 Be pitiful, or I am lost." 
 " And who are you? " says she. He says, 
 " I am an outland-faring wight 
 Who needs must lurk in these wood ways, 
 And sleep by day and go by night." 
 She knit her brows and pondered Frey's, 
 Her staring master. " He is not 
 Too sure of you," she says, " and what 
 Shall I do in such business 
 Without his sancftion? " Laughing light 
 Gleamed in his eyes. " O sweet mistress," 
 Says he — he was a merry man — 
 
 d
 
 50 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 " Be you assured of my distress, 
 
 And let Frey settle it as he can." 
 
 She met his eyes and found them kind; 
 
 She met his eyes awhile, and then, 
 
 Feeling them fasten on the mind, 
 
 She turned her own towards her feet 
 
 And would not look at him again, 
 
 Yet said, " Stay here a spell of days. 
 
 It may be Frey will warm to it; 
 
 He is not harsh with common men." 
 
 " Nor they with him," bold Gunnar says, 
 
 "Who leave him cock of such a hen." 
 
 All that long winter he abode 
 With Frey and Frey's ^vife in the woods, 
 And being fresh and lightly strung. 
 Most tunable to laughing moods. 
 The people found him well bestowed 
 When to their feasts he brought a song 
 Or rime. He had a golden tongue 
 Full stored with rare vicissitudes 
 To give men flavour to their drink. 
 And Frey was present at the frolic. 
 Listening to all without a blink. 
 And Frey's young wife must be thereat, 
 Of whom when Gunnar stayed to think 
 He felt himself grow melancholic,
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 51 
 
 To see how strange, how far she sat 
 
 With fixt hard eyes and frozen face 
 
 Beside that thing encased in fat 
 
 Of varnisht gilt, a painted mammet! 
 
 He'd grind his teeth and curse the place 
 
 Which suffered such a monstrous fault. 
 
 Unholy wedlock! 'twas a case 
 
 To seal up paynimry in vault, 
 
 And not to shut the door, but slam it. 
 
 She too, by woman's wit made wise. 
 
 Perhaps read this in Gunnar's eyes, 
 
 Perhaps with trembling of the lip 
 
 Confessed a tender partnership 
 
 In his hot animadvertencies. 
 
 It was peculiar to the dim age 
 
 In which they were that Gunnar could 
 
 Be jealous of a painted image, 
 
 But that she should have understood 
 
 The poor man's sentimental scrimmage, 
 
 To see her tied to gilded wood. 
 
 Slave to a block of orpiment, 
 
 And found the situation good 
 
 That held in him his discontent — 
 
 That 's woman's universal lore, 
 
 Which discerns love, however blent. 
 
 Through the long dark the winter wore,
 
 52 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 And men began to watch the weather, 
 
 Counting the daylight minutes more, 
 
 Looking for sign in fur or feather 
 
 That life was stirring underneath 
 
 The mounded snow and steel-ribbed ice 
 
 To bring forth life where now seemed death: 
 
 And once more Gunnar's and the eyes 
 
 Of Frey's young wife were met together, 
 
 Whenas he said, " Sweetheart, what now? 
 
 Must I be gone ? " Her voice was low. 
 
 Her will was like corn in the vice 
 
 Of millstones, th' upper and the nether, 
 
 That grind it small; for, losing him. 
 
 What had she left? And if he stayed 
 
 Frey might have scope for comment grim. 
 
 She sought his painted eyes; they made 
 
 A blare of blue, bleak as a blade. 
 
 But not illumed her trouble-spot. 
 
 Withal she said, " Nay, leave me not! " 
 
 And Gunnar cried, " Your Frey 's uncivil, 
 
 For though of me he has no care. 
 
 Nor lets me know it, just to stare 
 
 When a sweet woman asks his pleasure 
 
 Is showing less of god than devil. 
 
 Now leave we Frey to find at leisure 
 
 His godship's and my manhood's level." 
 
 Sigrid said nothing, but her pair
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 53 
 
 Of eyes sought his, and saw no evil. 
 
 Now, so it is the time 's at hand 
 When Frey must travel in his cart 
 Upon his pious round to bless 
 And fru(ftify the teeming land, 
 And with his rod make throb her heart, 
 And fill her womb with buxomness. 
 Now are his oxen yoked to start, 
 Now Frey is ready, ready she 
 Who fills for him the wifely part; 
 And, not so ready, with his goad 
 Stands Gunnar by the axletree 
 Musing upon his holy load, 
 And wondering if on earth or sea 
 Such blissful freight could ever be 
 Untoucht, unheeded, unbestrode 
 As in this cart he had bestowed. 
 " O maid above all maids for me! " 
 He sighed, and urged the mountain road. 
 
 They had not gone six leagues or seven 
 Before a shrill wind 'gan to blow, 
 A darkness blotted up blue heaven 
 And filled the air with whirling snow. 
 His heart within his breast was riven; 
 Which was his way he could not know,
 
 54 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 Nor how to save himself frostbite, 
 Nor whether he had lost a toe; 
 Nor how he stumbled, half in sweven 
 And half on fire with rage and spite 
 With gods above and gods below — 
 Them that could turn day into night. 
 And them abed while he must go 
 Numb, blinded, battling, caked in white, 
 A mockery and frozen show, 
 Icebound to season Frey's delight! 
 At last the blundering beasts could fight 
 No more, nor move the fumbling wain. 
 Gunnar turned round to back the blast 
 And shook the curtain: "Hey! it's plain 
 The beasts are foundered and we're fast." 
 Faint came her small voice, moved at last, 
 " O Gunnar, pity on my pain! " 
 
 He fed his beasts and overcast 
 Their heaving flanks, like a good drover. 
 And forthwith to the cart he passed, 
 A freezing man but burning lover. 
 There within the bed lay she 
 With her dark hair spread like a fan. 
 And harewide eyes which lookt him over 
 As if she saw another man 
 Within the husk of him she knew.
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 55 
 
 That man whom most a maiden fears 
 
 Before she finds she loves him too. 
 
 And there in all his paint of pride 
 
 Stood Frey, to watch what he would do, 
 
 Glaring. But Gunnar's was no mood 
 
 To palter with imposing wood. 
 
 " You Frey," he said, " let us discover 
 
 "Which of us two has mastery, 
 
 The god or man; and who shall ride 
 
 The curtained waggon, and make free 
 
 Of this good bedstead; and whose bride 
 
 Is this sweet woman presently." 
 
 So said, he came on light and fierce, 
 
 While Sigrid quaked within her form, 
 
 Laid hold of Frey by both his ears 
 
 And rocked him as the mountain storm 
 
 Plays bitter sport and overbears 
 
 The upland trees. "O Frey," she hears 
 
 Him say, " If I am overbold 
 
 It is no wonder. You are warm. 
 
 And in your heat I am not cold." 
 
 He lifted Frey as one who bears 
 A brimming pitcher, and him set 
 An arm's length off, what time she peers 
 To see him, but affedts not see 
 How her stiff husband is beset.
 
 56 Gunnar Helming's Saga 
 
 " Stand there, my gilded stock," says he, 
 
 " You are not one for idle tears 
 
 If you are what I think you be. 
 
 Nor do I score up old arrears, 
 
 Nor look full reckoning to get 
 
 Of your snug quarters of three years. 
 
 Your ancient fraud and her young fret. 
 
 Not so, but I am all apaid 
 
 By the warm usury of this maid." 
 
 So said, he laid hands on the axe 
 
 Which hung familiar on a nail. 
 
 And whirling it, a way he hacks 
 
 Through Frey from headpiece to the tail. 
 
 " Lie there," he says, " thou half-hewn pale 
 
 Till thou enrich the kindling-stacks 
 
 Of honest men, and sue thy bail." 
 
 He snuffed the candle with a flip 
 
 Of finger, and made haste to strip 
 
 His sogging clouts; then unafraid 
 
 Him by her quaking side he laid; 
 
 And true it is, as they aver 
 
 (Who never had it out of her), 
 
 That ere her cold lips could say knife 
 
 The wife of Frey was Gunnar's wife. 
 
 I know not that it boots to tell 
 How Gunnar said, "Sweetheart, is it well?"
 
 Gunnar Helming's Saga 57 
 
 And she, " Oh, yes "; and yet once more, 
 " Is it well, sweetheart"? As before 
 She answered, " Yes." And on the floor 
 Lay cloven Frey, as stiff a brede 
 As any other log in store, 
 With much less bulk, and no more heed. 
 A last time Gunnar said, " Sweetheart, 
 Is it well now? " She said, " Oh, yes." 
 So then he laughed, and for his part 
 He needed her assurance less 
 The less she said. Upon the night 
 The sheeted snow lay fleecy white; 
 And Frey's two oxen, being snug 
 Each in his goodly woollen rug. 
 Sheltered by snow rampart-walls. 
 Dreamed they were drowsing in their stalls 
 With cuds to chew, and took no harms, 
 No more than Sigrid in strong arms.
 
 VI 
 lOCHEAIRA 
 
 NOW I will sing of the Maid 
 High-girdled, of filleted hair, 
 And unfetter'd knee, 
 And bow-arm naked and free, 
 Deep in Taygetos, there 
 Where she loves to be. 
 On the lonely lawns under the stare 
 Of the snow-pikes, fleetly she speeds, 
 Wild as the flung foam of the sea, 
 Cold and keen as the frost in the air. 
 Savage in sport as the hoar-frost — 
 And even so 
 
 Suddenly melting to our poor needs 
 In the plain below. 
 Sorrowing our early lost. 
 But I love her most 
 
 Winging her hills, where the sharp wind stings 
 In the bents as she fleets. 
 
 When the trees crack in the gale, and her wings 
 are the wings 
 
 58
 
 locheaira 59 
 
 Of the snow-charged north. 
 
 Her arrows go whistling forth 
 
 SparkHng like frost .... And I love her still 
 
 retreats 
 In the thick brush, in the ferny brake, 
 Under the great trees 
 Where the tall deer quake 
 And the boar boweth his knees 
 In the reeds of the pool; and her arrow sings 
 Thro' the aisled trees — 
 And he stumbles, with glazed eyes and dim! 
 
 Sing of her. Queen of the Lake, 
 
 Sing true for her secret sake 
 
 Her haunt by the rushy mere 
 
 Up in the hills, a sapphire flake, 
 
 Pheneus the blue and clear; 
 
 And then take heart and see her 
 
 By the great rivers that flow 
 
 Green, furious, fretted out of the snow 
 
 Down the valleys of rocks; 
 
 And not less dear, and not less holy 
 
 Her mood of pastoral melancholy — 
 
 The broad rivers gliding through meadow lands 
 
 Among the yellow corn-shocks. 
 
 For here, to him who knows, she haunts, 
 
 And here she breatheth peace
 
 6o locheaira 
 
 And hope and good increase; 
 
 Upon the shallow ford, upon the sands 
 
 And pebbly brink 
 
 Whereat the slow-eyed cattle drink, 
 
 And each deep-drinker plies 
 
 His tail among the clouded flies, 
 
 And the sun goes red to the folding mists of 
 
 the fen. 
 Chant her in rivers; and then 
 Seek for her on the wet wide strands 
 Where the brown water boileth upon the bar; 
 And beyond, where the rollers are, 
 And the birds gleam and circle and wail; 
 And where the tall ships sail 
 You shall find the print of her feet and feel her 
 
 moving hands. 
 
 O loveliest by far 
 
 Of high God's daughters. 
 
 Mistress of hills and woods and waters, 
 
 What can I do 
 
 Under thy spell, 
 
 O lovely shrew, 
 
 O untameable, 
 
 Of fierce face and hair blown back 
 
 And clencht hands and beautiful mouth so fell — 
 
 What can I do under thy spell
 
 locheaira 6i 
 
 But await the flash of thine eyes' deep blue 
 
 To slay or spare, 
 
 To beam upon me or light askare 
 
 Even as the whim flies through? 
 
 Thy face is aflame, and thy breath 
 
 A pasture of sharp flowers — 
 
 Thyme and box and mountain heath 
 
 Under the ringing hours 
 
 When the sun is high and his stroke is death. 
 
 High as he, my lady, thou goest, 
 
 Knowing nothing of doom or death: 
 
 But I in the open lands 
 
 Praise thee with ready hands, 
 
 And bathe my face 
 
 In the wind and light of thy dwelling-place. 
 
 When Delos driven out by weather 
 
 Roam'd the sea a restless course, 
 
 Vext, so soon that Leto's feet 
 
 Were cool'd, her anguish ended — 
 
 In that peace that follow'd doubt 
 
 Cam'st Thou to earth; the sun threw out, 
 
 And in the windless caves of night 
 
 Sail'd the silver moon. 
 
 There, because a holy calm 
 
 Open'd from beneath the Palm 
 
 After the twin birth,
 
 62 locheaira 
 
 God said, I have chosen thee, 
 Delos; thou art and shalt be 
 Navel of the Earth. 
 
 There, Thou wonder and delight, 
 Breath of Heaven and light of light. 
 There I saw thee, and there stood 
 In thy fragrant neighbourhood. 
 There beginning, there was found 
 Consummation: I was crown'd. 
 Now no further word be said. 
 We are plighted, we are wed: 
 One heart is our marriage-bed.
 
 VII 
 
 ILIAD III 
 
 THE OATHS, THE OUTLOOK FROM THE 
 
 WALL, THE BATTLE OF PARIS AND 
 
 MENELAOS 
 
 NOW being ordered, all ranks with their chiefs. 
 The Trojans came on clamorous, flockt like 
 birds: 
 Just as to Heaven goes up the crying of cranes 
 Which flee the winter wet and with harsh cries 
 Seek out the ocean, carrying murder and woe 
 Upon the Pigmy tribes, and with the light 
 Bring battle — so went they. Silent the Greeks 
 Came out against them, courage in their breath, 
 And eagerness of man to succour man. 
 
 When over mountain crests the South wind 
 blows 
 Mist, such as shepherds fear and thieves love 
 
 more 
 Than night, and eye can see but a stone's cast — 
 So thickly now under their feet the clouds 
 
 63
 
 64 Iliad III 
 
 Of dust roll'd up, as o'er the plain they came; 
 
 Whereon, being in range each of the other, 
 
 Came godlike Paris forth to champion Troy, 
 
 Wearing a leopard-skin, bent bow to hand, 
 
 Sworded; and in his hands he shook two spears 
 
 Headed with bronze, and cried the Argive chiefs 
 
 To battle with him unto death. 
 
 Him there 
 
 Mightily striding out, King Menelaos, 
 Whom Ares lov'd, markt down, and in his heart 
 Laught, as a lion when he happens on 
 The carcase of a horn'd stag or wild boar. 
 Ravening, and falls to feast, what tho' fierce dogs 
 And lusty men beset him — so laught out 
 The eyes of Menelaos when they lit 
 On goodly Paris, deeming vengeance come 
 For sin, and arm'd leapt from his car to earth. 
 And Paris saw him foremost, and his heart 
 Stood stricken, and he fell back on his friends 
 Out of Fate's way: so in a mountain glen, 
 Seeing a snake, a man flings back and feels 
 His shaky knees, and runs as pallor gains 
 His cheeks — so in the dread of Atreus' son 
 Slipt goodly Paris backward to the throngs 
 Of Troy. There Hektor saw him and revil'd 
 With bitter words: 
 
 "Thou Paris, seeming fair,
 
 Iliad III 65 
 
 Thou woman-hunting cheat, now would to God 
 Unborn thou hadst slept or else unwedded died! 
 That were my prayer, and better far, God knows, 
 Than have thee here a shame and scare of men. 
 Well may the long-hair'd Greeks laugh that we 
 
 chose 
 A chief for his good looks, in whom 's no might 
 Nor mettle in the heart. Art thou the man 
 Who sail'd the seas in ships adventurous 
 With chosen mates, and commercing abroad, 
 Out of far country brought back a fair woman, 
 Wife to a son of warriors, to be a curse 
 Upon thy father, on thy city and folk, 
 Joy to thy foes, and unto thee a shame? 
 Canst thou not face Menelaos? Go to. 
 Thou shouldst have known the man whose lovely 
 
 wife 
 Thou keepest. Not a harp will serve thy need, 
 No, nor the Cyprian's gifts of face and hair 
 Whenas thou liest mingled with the dust 
 Beneath him. Very cowards we Trojans be! 
 Else before now a chiton of flung stones 
 Were thine for all the mischief thou hast done." 
 
 Him that fair Paris answer'd: " Hektor, in sooth 
 With reason chidest thou me, not out of it; 
 But thou art keenly hearted, like an axe 
 Wherewith a craftsman cuts him thro' a beam 
 
 e
 
 66 Iliad III 
 
 And shapes the timbers for a ship — whose skill 
 Betters his blows: so drives thy dauntless wit 
 Within thy breast. But throw not the sweet gifts 
 Of golden Aphrodite at me. Not so 
 Are the Gods' splendid bounties to be spurn'd, 
 The which, because they choose, they give, which 
 
 none 
 Can win by longing. Now then, if thou choose 
 See me engage in battle, make to sit 
 Thy Trojans, make the Greeks sit down; set me 
 Midmost them all with warrior Menelaos, 
 To fight for Helen and her gear; and he 
 Who proves the better takes her and her wealth, 
 And takes them home. And let all men engage 
 Friendship and sacred oaths, that we may dwell 
 Here in deep-hearted Troy, and they depart 
 To pasturing Argos, and fair-daughter'd Greece." 
 So he said, and Hektor heard him and was glad, 
 And going in the midst of them, refrain'd 
 The Trojan companies, holding his spear 
 Mid-shaft; so they sat down ; but still the Greeks 
 Plied their long bows and aim'd their shafts, or 
 
 cast 
 Stones at him, till with a mighty voice the King, 
 Even Agamemnon, cried, "Ye Argives, hold! 
 Ye sons of the Achaians, stay your hands! 
 Lo, bright-helm'd Hektor hath some word to say."
 
 Iliad III 67 
 
 So stay'd he battle, so were silent all, 
 
 And Hektor stood between the hosts and said: 
 
 " Hearken, you men of Troy and mailed Greeks, 
 The word of Paris, for whose deed we fight. 
 Saying, Bid all the Trojans and all Greeks 
 Lay their fair arms upon the bountiful earth 
 While in the midst he with King Menelaos 
 Alone does battle for Helen and her gear; 
 So he who proves the better takes the wealth 
 And takes the woman too, and takes them home; 
 But let the rest pledge friendship and sure oaths." 
 So said he, and they all kept silent: then 
 Spake Menelaos of the loud war-cry: 
 
 " Me you shall hear, seeing my grief is worst. 
 Now then I think at last the severance comes 
 'Twixt Troy and Argos, the which have suffer'd 
 
 sore 
 For this my grief after that first sin done, 
 Even Paris's. Now of us two, for whom 
 Death and his Fate are ready, let him die; 
 But for you others, go with speed your ways, 
 And bring two lambs, a white ram and black ewe 
 For Earth and the Sun; bring me a lamb for 
 
 Zeus; 
 And fetch King Priam hither, that himself 
 Engage in the oath, seeing these sons of his 
 Are proud and treacherous, and lest any man
 
 68 Iliad III 
 
 By trespass violate the rite of Zeus; 
 For young men's hearts ever do overween, 
 But not old men's: they look before and after 
 How best to serve both sides." 
 
 So he, and all 
 Rejoiced, both Greek and Trojan, for they saw 
 A stay of woeful war. Then they drew back 
 The chariots into ranks, and sat them down 
 And put by arms, the which upon the earth 
 They laid, near one another. Little ground 
 Was there between. And Hektor sent two men 
 Heralds into the city to fetch the lambs 
 And summon Priam. And Agamemnon bid 
 Talthibios to the ships to fetch a ram; 
 Who went obeying his lord Agamemnon. 
 
 Now Iris brought the news to white-arm'd 
 Helen 
 In likeness of her husband's sister, wife 
 To Antenor's son, Laodike, whom he, 
 Lord Helikaon, wedded (and she was 
 Of all King Priam's daughters the most fair); 
 And in the hall found Helen at her loom 
 Weaving a purple web of double fold. 
 Whereon she had ywrought a many fights 
 'Twixt Trojans, that sway horses, and mail'd 
 Greeks,
 
 Iliad III 69 
 
 The which for her sake Ares drave them to. 
 Standing beside her now, swift Iris spake: 
 " Hither, sweet sister, see what notable work 
 Do Trojans, that sway horses, and mail'd Greeks 
 Who erst upon the plain waged woeful war 
 One on the other, eager for the strife; 
 But now sit silent, all the battle stay'd, 
 And rest upon their shields, their good spears 
 
 planted 
 In earth, while Paris and stout Menelaos 
 With their spears strive for thee, and who prevails 
 Shall have thee, and thou shalt be call'd his wife." 
 And with her words Iris cast sweet desire 
 In her for her first lord, and land, and folk; 
 So straight she veil'd herself in shining linen 
 And left the chamber, shedding a round tear. 
 But not alone, but with her two maids went, 
 Aithre, Pittheus' daughter, and Klymene 
 Of the brown eyes. So to the Skaian gates 
 Came she. 
 
 There sat, even at the Skaian Gates, 
 With Priam Panthoos and old Thymoites, 
 Lampes and Klytios, Hiketaon whose root 
 Was Ares, and Oukelagon, with him 
 Antenor — wise men both, elders, stay'd now 
 By eld from war, but in assembly good; 
 Like the cicalas that in woods do sit
 
 70 Iliad III 
 
 On trees and tune sharp voices, so sat they, 
 Elders of Troy, upon the tower, and saw 
 Helen come thither; and softly thus they said: 
 
 " Small blame to them that Trojans and mail'd 
 Greeks 
 For such a woman bear so long such pains: 
 Wonderfully like a goddess is she! But so, 
 Even as she is, let her go back to the ships, 
 And not stay here, woe to us and our sons." 
 
 So they; but Priam call'd her with his voice. 
 Saying, " Hither, dearest child, sit thee with me, 
 So thy first lord, and kin and friends thou'lt see; 
 Nor think I blame thee — nay, but I blame the 
 
 Gods 
 Rather, who rais'd this dolorous war of Greeks 
 Upon me. Now then, name me that fine man, 
 That Greek of might and stature, who he is. 
 Lo, by a head others out-top the man, 
 Yet never saw I with these eyes so fair, 
 So royal an one, so like unto a king." 
 
 Then Helen, that fair woman, answer'd him: 
 " Reverend and dread, dear sir, thou art to me. 
 Yet I would evil death had been my joy 
 When that I follow'd hither with thy son. 
 Household and kin forgot and growing child, 
 And lovely age-mates! . . . 
 But that was not so, so I pine and weep.
 
 Iliad III 71 
 
 Now for thy questioning, I'll answer thee— 
 That is Atreides, wide-realm'd Agamemnon, 
 Both noble king and spearman good, own brother 
 To the lord of me the shameless, if ever woman 
 Was shameful." 
 
 So she said, and the old King 
 Wonder'd and said, " Happy art thou, Atreides, 
 Blessed of God and fortunately born 
 To sway so many of the sons of Greece! 
 Now faring once to vine-girt Phrygia, there 
 I saw a mort of Phrygians, men of steeds 
 Invincible, Otreus' folk and goodly Mydon's, 
 Who by Sangarios' banks stood to their arms 
 What time as their ally I rankt with them 
 That day the Amazons came, the peers of men — 
 But they were not so many as these Greeks." 
 
 And seeing next Odysseus, the old man said, 
 " Now tell me this, dear child; who is that man 
 Less by a head than Agamemnon, yet 
 With broader girth of breast and back than he ? 
 Behold, his arms lie on the bountiful earth. 
 But like a bellwether he ranks his host 
 Of men— yea, like a thick-fleec'd ram I see him 
 That ordereth his white company of ewes." 
 
 And Helen answer'd, sprung from Zeus himself, 
 " He is Laertes' son, crafty Odysseus, 
 Bred up in Ithaka, rough though that be,
 
 72 Iliad III 
 
 And skill'd in all the cunning wiles and shifts 
 
 That may be." 
 
 Then said wise Antenor, " Lady, 
 That is a true word spoken. Hither once 
 Came that Odysseus, ambassador for thee, 
 And with him Menelaos, Ares' friend; 
 Whom I entreated friendly in my house 
 And learn'd of both their nature and wise ways. 
 For when among us Trojans in Assembly 
 They were, and all stood up, King Menelaos 
 Surpast us all in breadth, but sitting down, 
 Odysseus was the finer man; and when 
 They were for weaving webs of words and plans 
 Before us all, Menelaos spoke well — 
 Few words but clear, being no much-speaker 
 Nor yet a random, tho' the younger; and then 
 Odysseus rose, the crafty one, and stood 
 Looking adown, his eyes rooted to earth. 
 Neither swaying his staff before or back. 
 But holding it stiff, like some dull-witted man, 
 An oaf you would have said, just like a fool; 
 Then let he forth his deep voice from his chest 
 With words that fell like winter snow — and none 
 Of mortal men could face Odysseus then. 
 Nor did we wonder, seeing the man's aspe(ft." 
 
 Thirdly the old King saw Aias, and askt, 
 " Who is that other Greek, mighty and great.
 
 Iliad III 73 
 
 Out-topping all by measure of head and shoul- 
 ders?" 
 And long-rob'd Helen said, the fair lady, 
 •' That is huge Aias, buttress of the Greeks; 
 And over against him with the Cretan men 
 Idomeneus like a god, and all about him 
 Are set the Cretan captains in a band. 
 Oftentimes Menelaos, Ares' friend, 
 Welcom'd him to our house when forth from Crete 
 He chanc't to come. Lo now, I see them all, 
 The quick-ey'd Greeks, whom I might know, and 
 
 tell 
 Their names — but two I see not, leaders of men, 
 Kastor, to wit, the horseman, and the boxer 
 Polydeukes, my brethren, who were born 
 Of my own mother. Either came they not 
 From lovely Lakedaimon, or they came 
 Out in the sea-going ships, but choose not join 
 The battle of the hosts, asham'd to face 
 The many flouts and curses which are mine." 
 
 So she: but them the fruitful earth held close 
 In Lakedaimon, fast in their own good land. 
 
 Now heralds thro' the city bear the lambs 
 Of pledge, and mellow wine, fruit of the earth 
 Bottled in goatskin; and Idaios bore 
 A golden bowl and cups of gold, and stood
 
 74 Iliad III 
 
 By the old King and urged him with these words, 
 
 " Son of Laomedon, arise, the chiefs 
 
 Of the Trojans that sway horses and mail'd Greeks 
 
 Summon thee to the plain, there to take oath. 
 
 Paris with Menelaos, Ares' friend. 
 
 Do battle with their spears to have the lady, 
 
 Who with her gear shall fall to who prevails. 
 
 "We who are left, pledge we our loves and words, 
 
 And bide in deep-soil'd Troy, while they depart 
 
 To pasturing Argos and fair-daughter'd Greece." 
 
 At this the old man trembled, but bid yoke 
 His horses, which was speedy done; so he 
 Got up and drew the reins back, and with him 
 Antenor mounted the fair chariot; 
 And those two drove down thro' the gates to the 
 
 plain. 
 And coming to the Greeks and Trojans, down 
 Out of the chariot gat they to earth, and went 
 Midway the hosts. Then rose that King of Men, 
 Agamemnon, then rose that crafty one, 
 Odysseus, and the offerings to the Gods 
 Were brought by heralds, and the wine was mixt 
 In the bowl, and on the kingly hands they poured 
 Water; and then Atreides drew the knife 
 Which by his great sword's side hung ever, and 
 
 shav'd 
 The lambs' heads, and the heralds dealt the hair
 
 Iliad III 75 
 
 Among the Achaian chieftains and the Trojans 
 What time Atreides lifted hands and prayed, 
 Saying: " Father Zeus, most glorious, most great, 
 Lording the world from Ida, and thou, Sun, 
 Who seest us and hearest all we do; 
 Ye Rivers, Earth and thou, and Ye beneath 
 Who avenge on broken men their broken oaths, 
 Witness our deed, watch over this our oath! 
 If Paris slay Menelaos let him take 
 Helen and all her gear, while we fare forth 
 Home in the sea-going ships; but if the King 
 Slay Paris, let the Trojans give her back. 
 Her and her gear, with ransom to the Greeks 
 As seemly is, whereof the fruit shall live 
 Hereafter. But if Priam and his sons 
 Choose not redeem the death of Paris, here 
 Stay I, to fight and win the price of wrong 
 Even to the end of war and my own end." 
 
 So said, he cut the lambs' throats with the knife 
 And laid the vicftims, gasping their last breath. 
 On ground: there lay they strengthless from the 
 
 knife. 
 Then they poured wine forth from the bowl to the 
 
 cups 
 And prayedthe Gods — andthusperhaps mightpray 
 Some Greek, some Trojan: "Zeus, greatest and 
 
 best.
 
 76 Iliad III 
 
 And all ye Deathless Ones, which first of us 
 Upon this oath do wrong, even as we pour 
 This wine, so let his vitals flood the earth, 
 His and his sons', and let his wife be thrall 
 To other men! " 
 
 They prayed so, but the son 
 Of Kronos would not yet fulfil their prayer. 
 Then Dardan Priam spake to all the folk: 
 *' Hearken to me now, Trojans and mail'd Greeks, 
 I will return again to windy Troy, 
 Seeing my son and Menelaos fight, 
 Which is a sight these eyes dare not. But Zeus, 
 Zeus and the deathless Gods, they know, they 
 
 know 
 Which of those two may be appointed to die." 
 
 So said, the godly man laid up the lambs 
 In the chariot, himself got up and drew 
 The reins back, and Antenor after him; 
 And the pair of them drave back to Troy. 
 
 But Hektor, 
 The son of Priam, with Odysseus laid 
 A ground, and then took lots and shook them up 
 In a bronze helm, to see which first should cast 
 Spear at the other man. And all men prayed 
 With hands uplift; and Greek or Trojan would 
 
 say, 
 " O Lord of Ida, glorious, great, let him
 
 Iliad III 77 
 
 Who wrought this woe upon us find his death 
 And Hades' house; but give us pledges of love! " 
 
 So might they pray while bright-plum'd Hektor 
 shook 
 The helm, turning his face. Forth came the lot 
 Of Paris. Then the people all sat down 
 In companies, there where the gear and horses 
 Of each man were. And fair-tress'd Helen's lord, 
 Paris, did on his shining arms; and first 
 The greaves upon his legs, most fair to see, 
 Clasping the silver clasps; the breastplate next 
 Which was Lykaon's his brother's did he on 
 And fitted; then his sword of bronze he cast 
 Over his head, a silver-studded sword. 
 A great shield and a weighty took he, and last 
 On his proud head he set a workt fair helm 
 With horse-hair crest, a nodding dreadful thing. 
 And took and handled a strong spear. So also 
 Did warlike Menelaos on his arms. 
 
 Now being arm'd each in his host, they came 
 Midway between the Trojans and the Greeks 
 With look so fierce that marvel was to see 
 For Trojan that sways horses or mail'd Greek. 
 Near to each other, in the order'd lists, 
 Stood they with shaking spears and eyes of rage ; 
 And first his shadowing spear Paris let drive 
 And smote Atreides midway his round shield.
 
 78 Iliad III 
 
 But brake not through the bronze, for that good 
 
 shield 
 Turn'd back the point. And then the son of 
 
 Atreus, 
 Menelaos, lift spear, but first he prayed 
 To father Zeus, " Grant me vengeance, O King, 
 On him, that Paris, who first did me a wrong. 
 Lay him beneath my hands, that men to come 
 May fear to wrong their hosts who treat them 
 
 fair." 
 Praying so, he pois'd his shadowing spear and 
 
 flung it, 
 And smote the son of Priam in his shield. 
 And thro' the glittering thing the heavy spear 
 Drave, and thro' breastplate past it to the flank 
 And tore his tunic; but shrinking aside. 
 He escaped the darkness of death. Then Menelaos 
 Drew sword and smote his helm, but on the ridge 
 Shiver'd the blade in pieces three or four. 
 Which fell from him: then cried he, looking up 
 To Heav'n, " King Zeus, what God so harsh as 
 
 thou? 
 Now had I thought my avenging hour had come 
 Upon this evil Paris; but the sword 
 Shatters, the spear falls short, and he unscor'd!" 
 
 So said, he rusht at him, and by the crest 
 Caught him and swung about, and dragg'd the man
 
 Iliad III 79 
 
 Towards the mailed Greeks. The dainty strap 
 Tighten'd beneath his chin, the which he wore 
 To hold his helmet — went near throttling him; 
 But now had Menelaos got him, and won 
 An endless glory, had not that child of Zeus, 
 Aphrodite, been quick to mark; but she 
 Broke him the thong of bull's-hide and releas'd 
 The helm, and left that in the King's strong hands, 
 Which he flung to the Greeks, and turn'd himself. 
 Eager to slay his enemy with the spear. 
 But Aphrodite, as a goddess may, 
 Snatcht Paris up and hid him in a cloud. 
 And in his fragrant chamber brought and laid. 
 Then went to seek fair Helen; and found her 
 On her high tower with women of Troy about, 
 And came to her and pluckt her scented gown; 
 And in the semblance of an old woman. 
 Comber of wool, who used to work for her 
 In Lakedaimon and had her love, she said: 
 " Hither, for Paris calls thee back to house. 
 Being in his chamber, laid upon his bed. 
 Glowing in beauty and raiment. Who would think 
 Him come from fighting his man, and not indeed 
 Primed for the dance, or newly thence to rest?" 
 So she, and stirr'd the heart in Helen's bosom. 
 Who when she knew the goddess's sweet throat 
 And lovely breasts, and saw her shining eyes.
 
 8o Iliad III 
 
 Mov'd to it, spake and named her who she was — 
 " Goddess, why needst thou still beguile me? Say, 
 Art thou for taking me to cities new, 
 To Phrygia or Maionia, that fair land. 
 Wherein, maybe, dwells other of thy loves, 
 For whose sake, seeing Menelaos hath Paris down 
 And takes me home, accurs'd, for whose dear sake 
 Craftily hither thou com'st? Nay, quit thy god- 
 head. 
 Sit thou with Paris, not in Heaven again 
 Take up his quarrels, shield him till he choose thee 
 Minion or wife. As for me, I'll not go: 
 That were a shameful thing, to ply the bed 
 Of such an one, and have this new reproach 
 Of Trojan women on all my numberless griefs." 
 
 Fiercely then spake her, Aphrodite the Queen: 
 " Push not too far, thou hardy one, my wrath. 
 Lest in a rage I leave thee, and my love 
 Unbounded turn to hate. Then mightst thou see 
 Bitterer strife 'twixt Greece and Troy, devised 
 By me, and for thyself a shameful end." 
 
 Then Helen, Child of Zeus, knew fear, and went 
 Wrapt in her shining veils without a word. 
 Following the goddess, no one seeing her; 
 And so to Paris' fair-built house, where straight 
 Handmaidens dight her. So to the lofty room 
 Went the fair woman, and the laughing goddess
 
 Iliad III 8i 
 
 Brought up a chair, and set her face to face 
 With Paris; and there Helen sat her down, 
 Child of the Aegis-Lord, and lookt athwart 
 At her lord Paris, and spoke him bitter words: 
 
 "So, thou hast fought! Would God thou hadst 
 died there. 
 Slain by a better man, once lord of me! 
 It was thy boast in force of arms and spear 
 To excel Menelaos, Ares' friend: 
 Well, bid him again to fight thee; but I say. 
 Hold thee away from him; fight thou no more 
 With golden Menelaos, man to man. 
 Beware of him lest his spear lay thee low." 
 
 Then Paris answer'd her, " Reproach me not, 
 Lady, with cruel words, nor wound me. Truly, 
 Those two, Athena and he, have won this bout; 
 Next may be my turn — we have gods for us. 
 But let us two have joyance of the bed. 
 Loving each other; for never yet desire 
 So held me bound — not even when at first 
 I ravisht thee from Sparta, thy fair land. 
 And sail'd the sea with thee, and on the isle 
 Kranae had joy of love, and lay with thee 
 And knew thee — not even then so strong was love 
 As now when longing for thee holds me fast." 
 
 So saying, he took her, and she went with him; 
 And there those two lay down in the fair bed. 
 
 f
 
 82 Iliad III 
 
 But like a beast Atreides ranged the host, 
 Seeking by all means Paris; but no man, 
 Trojan or ally, knew his whereabouts 
 To point him out, Paris to Menelaos. 
 But this is true, not for love's sake hid they 
 The man he sought; for all men hated Paris 
 Like death. 
 
 So then up spake the King of Men, 
 Agamemnon, "Ye Trojans and Allies, 
 Dardanians, now hath Menelaos gain'd 
 His battle, as it seems: so now do you 
 Give Argive Helen back and all her gear, 
 With ransom due, to stand in times to come." 
 So said Atreides, and all the Greeks said, Yea!
 
 VIII 
 BEFORE DAWN 
 
 IN the even hush 
 Of the dying hours, 
 When night fails 
 And the dawn's flush 
 Shivers and stirs 
 Like a new breath, 
 The sea cowers 
 And lieth still; 
 No ripple or thrill 
 Grieveth night's death. 
 The bent flowers 
 Submiss to the spell 
 Lie in the sheath; 
 Even the birds 
 And grasshopper shrill 
 In thicket and bush, 
 On shore and hill 
 Hide and peep, 
 Whisper and cheep, 
 Waiting the words, 
 O Day, fill! 
 
 83
 
 IX 
 THE VEILED LOVER 
 
 I 
 
 OUT of vext Scythia and her holds 
 Of shrill women who maim the breast 
 And hide in harness the soft folds 
 Of maiden limbs for war's behest, 
 Theseus the Adventurer, having fought 
 And ruin'd all their swift array. 
 Took one, Antiope, and taught 
 Love's use in some warm Attic bay; 
 And tam'd that hawk to endure the hood 
 And jess, and from her stormy eyes 
 Drew asking looks for love's kind food — 
 Which gave he till some doubtfuller prize 
 Call'd him, who lov'd chase more than quarry, 
 To range again, and so forget her: 
 Therefore in Athens did she tarry 
 A many months, where first he set her. 
 And bare a man-child, like his sire 
 And wilding dam adventurous, 
 
 84
 
 The Veiled Lover 85 
 
 On whom to spend her surfeit fire 
 Of love. This was Hippolytus. 
 
 But when King Theseus Phaedra took 
 From Crete, that gray jewel in the sea, 
 And wedded her, he might not brook 
 So near his moil'd Antiope. 
 By night he hasten'd her away 
 "With babe and cot and household gear 
 To Acharnae, little deme that lay 
 Remote, and there beneath the sheer 
 Of Parnes, in a rock-bound nest 
 The mother in her made her wise, 
 Soften'd the lines of brow and breast, 
 And with mild patience gloss'd her eyes, 
 So that she grew a matron staid 
 From Amazon, and the boy her son 
 Guess'd not her service of that Maid 
 Who to her tribe was God alone — 
 The Tauric Maid who flies by night, 
 Smiling as cruelly as she slays, 
 Who claim'd Mykenae's child by right 
 And serv'd him seed of bitter days. 
 No, but he thought her only kind, 
 Saw her the guardian of his feet, 
 And scorning, pitied; thought her blind 
 To half of life, her blindness sweet. 
 Who at the door would spin white yarn
 
 86 The Veiled Lover 
 
 While he with playmates tumbled and strove, 
 Or while he slept made haste to darn 
 His clouts: so royal is children's love! 
 Mother's love not so; whose rare joy 
 Is blurr'd beforehand, lest that page 
 So white be dimm'd, and what the boy 
 Bids fair shall fail her heart's presage. 
 And she be riven for that fault. 
 
 Therefore Antiope her old lore 
 Call'd up, to run, to leap, to vault 
 Astride the great stud foals, to score 
 The target with black arrows, string 
 The bow and, having strung to draw 
 And down the heron on the wing. 
 These things she taught him, and the law 
 In whose way must the hunter stand 
 Master of man and beast — hold cheap 
 Flesh, that the spirit may command 
 All flesh, and master it. Yet to weep 
 She taught him first, for that is brave: 
 Who cannot weep 's not man but beast; 
 Pity alone gives joy to save. 
 And reverence bendeth to the least 
 As to the highest. Then she taught 
 Her Godcraft, all that she had learn'd 
 By patience to make clean her thought. 
 She lit his torch from what she burn'd.
 
 The Veiled Lover 87 
 
 Show'd him the glory of land and sea, 
 
 Terror and beauty, all their moods 
 
 From silver sleep to golden glee; 
 
 Heeded the dark, the wind in the woods, 
 
 Storm's panoply when Zeus enshrouds 
 
 In purple, and his flame of wrath 
 
 Jags up the sky; next in the clouds 
 
 That hide the hills declar'd his path; 
 
 And vow'd him all things goodly and great — 
 
 If great, then good, fair, best of all; 
 
 So stablisht him and beg'd that Fate 
 
 Should heed him and not let him fall. 
 
 Yet sore she dreaded lest that hard 
 
 Queen she had serv'd should cast bold eyes. 
 
 Fen-fires to lure and then discard 
 
 The wayfarer, on this her prize 
 
 And pledge and utmost. 
 
 Now it prov'd 
 That growing stripling from a child, 
 Askance amid his comrades rov'd 
 Hippolytus, and sought the wild, 
 To be alone with what was there 
 Unseen, unheard, unknown, but guess'd. 
 The thronging tenants of the air, 
 Of wood and water, ridge and waste. 
 Sea-shores, the nation of the birds, 
 Fern-mantled Parnes, the wide fells
 
 88 The Veiled Lover 
 
 Where browse the deer in twinkling herds, 
 
 The fens where deep the wild-boar dwells, 
 
 The emptiness and silent night 
 
 Of the forest — here he went all day, 
 
 Here wander'd lonely in twilight. 
 
 And what could she but watch and pray 
 
 "While he stay'd out the sable dark 
 
 He meet not under the eyeing stars 
 
 Night's vice-reine, the Huntress stark, 
 
 The Smiler who loves blood and scars? 
 
 Buoyant he'd come back, with the light 
 
 Filling his eyes, but lips discreet; 
 
 She knew not surely how his night 
 
 Had sped while she pray'd for his feet, 
 
 But fear'd the more the less he told. 
 
 And shrank to test what she did fear, 
 
 And saw him forth, eager and bold, 
 
 Tortur'd, and watcht him eye and ear. 
 
 Offering him up to any God 
 
 Of rite less cruel than Artemis, 
 
 The Scythian of the bloody rod 
 
 And sickle-knife— to aught but this. 
 
 II 
 
 Midway up Parnes climbs a track 
 By laurels hemm'd and shafted pines 
 Which shut the sun and steep in black
 
 The Veiled Lover 89 
 
 Shadow and dew and gossamer'd bines 
 The path and all. Hereby moss-grown 
 A temple stood, deeply in shade 
 And lichen'd over tile and stone, 
 And ferny. Not a prayer was said 
 Now in that precincSl, nor was fire 
 Lit there, nor vi(5tim ever drest, 
 Heifer or ram; no thin blue spire 
 Lifted to heaven, to find a rest 
 In deeper azure. Foot of man 
 Trod never there, but on the floor 
 Pine needles lay, the squirrels ran 
 From plinth to beam, deer snifTd the door 
 Or cropt the arbutus that trail'd 
 Over the cornice; and above 
 Nor kite nor broad-wing'd vulture sailed 
 Eyeing the altar; but the dove 
 Croon'd there her song of homely ease 
 All day. The God had gone; his house 
 Become a haunt of sleep and peace, 
 Gave back their dues to bat and mouse. 
 Hither the youth, what time he went 
 Wand'ring, to seek he knew not what, 
 Came, and found ease and solacement 
 In the piety by men forgot, 
 Done once when men and Gods were sib 
 As new from the womb of Gods and men
 
 go The Veiled Lover 
 
 Alike; for as woman from man's rib, 
 So from Dame Gaia came they in. 
 And poring on the letters rude 
 Crusted and dimm'd upon that shrine, 
 He wonder'd what God of Green Wood, 
 Priapus, Pan, or Proserpine 
 Touching her mother's breast, had gaz'd 
 Thence out of sightless marble eyes, 
 Or smil'd with frozen lips when prais'd, 
 Or lent cold ears to mortal sighs; 
 And deem'd some rarer spirit wonn'd 
 With shyer looks for populous earth, 
 A maid, yet lovelier, and beyond 
 All maids who won death with their birth- 
 Maid, since maid's tremor should be hers, 
 The rapture earth knows at spring's flush. 
 The awe, as when the upland firs 
 Stand bridal-veil'd in frost's great hush. 
 Eager she'd be, as when the wind 
 Wins blithe the outposts of the hills, 
 And free, yet gentle and most kind. 
 As Autumn lulls before it kills. 
 With soft hands and cool wistful breath: 
 So, reason'd he, a Goddess goes 
 With life acquaint and eke with death, 
 Knowing death and life are none such foes. 
 And thinking long, he stood and pray'd
 
 The Veiled Lover 91 
 
 And strained his arms in that still place 
 
 Where trees sigh'd music which he made 
 
 Deeply within — to see the face 
 
 Of that hid God, and nurse the flame 
 
 On that cold hearth, and sing him psalms 
 
 Till the wood was vocal with his name 
 
 And stirr'd to life its breathless calms. 
 
 So died one long hot afternoon 
 And things were darken'd and the sky 
 All chrysoprase, and the new moon 
 Peer'd outward temperate and shy; 
 And no bird wak'd the woodland, save 
 That one resilient piping thrush 
 Sounded for Vespers, peaceful, brave, 
 Making more holy all the hush — 
 In that charm'd hour a shape of gray 
 Stole through the shafted pines, which held 
 A torch, and turn'd her face away 
 As tho' she fear'd to be sentinel'd 
 By temple watchers. Then she past 
 Therein, as going there by rote 
 Sway'd by some innate power, in haste. 
 With quick blind hands and throbbing throat; 
 Swept clean the stone of litter and weed 
 And eyed it, dreaming; and next tried 
 To rid of moss the sacred screed 
 That broider'd it from side to side.
 
 92 The Veiled Lover 
 
 But all unus'd her slender fingers 
 To such work; she gave o'er the task, 
 Yet, as who longs but dares not, lingers 
 And looks, as seeking whom to ask, 
 So loiter'd this ghost with her sad 
 And hopeless gaze; at last she sigh'd 
 And drawing close the robe she had. 
 Stole forth into the dark wood-ride. 
 
 Watching stood he, and saw her fade, 
 Then shut his eyes, so to enfold 
 The lovely image that she made 
 Of all the sorrow this world could hold: 
 A slim, fair lady like a wraith. 
 With a sad face, as though she knew 
 All griefs of men, love, early death, 
 And walkt expecfting of more rue 
 And ever more till the race be run 
 Of them and theirs, and the dear earth 
 Fall silent. Thus she seemed, and the sun 
 Could show him nothing better worth 
 His passion while his life endure. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Straight, as one set and dedicate 
 To the service, he made sweet and pure 
 The shrine and altar, and did plait 
 Long wreaths to deck it, and a fire
 
 The Veiled Lover 93 
 
 Thereon he laid, and home return'd 
 For food, well knowing he could not tire 
 Until the holy offering burn'd 
 To that sweet Lady, and going he cried 
 The stars for witness of his love 
 Thro' life to death. To her, " O bride," 
 Said he, " Mak'st thou no matter of 
 This, that a man loves, with no heed 
 Of love again ? I'll thrill thy heart 
 With worship, sacrifice, and brede 
 Of words. Nay, Goddess as thou art, 
 Thou'rt woman too, and sure am I 
 So to enhance thee and make glad 
 Thine eyes, and to thy mansion high 
 Waft savour and music. Be not sad 
 For ever, seeing thou hast on earth 
 One faithful lover, and one shrine 
 Tended, one watcher by the hearth 
 To feed thy flame." 
 
 With oil and wine, 
 Honey and meal, rare ambergris, 
 Resin, he came back on light feet. 
 And hymn'd at dawn Queen Artemis, 
 Tho' her he did not know to greet; 
 But ween'd he serv'd the sad, pale queen 
 Of Hell, whose mother half the year 
 Must mourn, and he who did the teen
 
 94 The Veiled Lover 
 
 The other half shall lack his cheer: 
 Yet all pure song at dawn of day 
 Is Hymnia's, who heareth but the pure. 
 So rose the smoke, and all the gray 
 East broke in fire; then being sure, 
 He strew'd the barley and pour'd out 
 The wine, and having laid his cake 
 Of meal upon the stone, he lout 
 On knee, and in the deep woodbrake 
 Sought rest. Thus morn and eve did he 
 A many moons, and saw days turn 
 From summer to the chill and dree 
 Of autumn when the woodlands burn 
 To crimson death, and the pale sky 
 Looks far away seen thro' the mist 
 Wherein Earth passions and falls to die. 
 
 So serving, came his high acquist. 
 She visibly there within the place 
 Made sweet by his pains. A cloak of blue. 
 Like night, hid up her form; her face 
 Was like the moon's when she rides thro' 
 The press of stars, and looks askance 
 At their warm commerce. To her chin 
 She held the hem; downward her glance 
 Upon him kneeling in lowly pin. 
 Too wonderful to be afraid, 
 Too deep in love to deem her lover.
 
 The Veiled Lover 95 
 
 So each faced each, while his heart made 
 Mad music. Then she did uncover 
 Her graciousness, and her blest form 
 Gray-clad was his for reverence 
 And adoration, quick and warm. 
 Most tender woman to the sense. 
 Yet sancftified by that which says 
 Touch not, nor handle, lest my heart 
 Betray me, as the sense betrays 
 That taking solace, leaves a smart. 
 
 Her brow was broad and very pure 
 Wherefrom the ripples of her hair 
 Ran back as waves which, borne ashore, 
 Are blown by kissing wind from there; 
 Her eyes were calm as when dawn comes 
 After a storm, and deeply blue. 
 Steadfast, far-gazing, yet the homes 
 Of knowledge; thence her soul lookt thro' 
 To his own, as if she weigh'd its worth 
 Against the eternal. Nought said she, 
 Nor spake he in that hour of mirth 
 Of love that riseth wing'd and free, 
 Needing no service of the sense. 
 Paying no tribute. The love of each 
 Wedded the other's in that tense 
 Long look whose cry transcended speech. 
 .... He arose her lover by that acfl
 
 96 The Veiled Lover 
 
 Commixt with her, and went his ways 
 To house, nor any observance lackt 
 To household Gods; nor when his days 
 Of wilding ended, and he went 
 To serve his father and endure 
 The brawl of Athens, made lament 
 For his sweet secret, but kept pure 
 And to his faith stood fast to death; 
 And ended as he had begun. 
 With her conjoint, as the tale saith 
 In a deep wood shut from the sun.
 
 X 
 IN THE FOREST 
 
 DEEP in the forest, where a glade 
 Holds the glad hum of afternoon, 
 And gives a chequered maze of shade 
 After the stroke and heavy swoon 
 Pan lays upon the world is done, 
 And all the creatures sleep and dream 
 Of hiving business in the sun — 
 There the man-beast of darting eye 
 And mottled pelt lies half agleam 
 And half beshadowed, spiring high 
 His fitful music of the reed, 
 Wailing lifts and moaning falls, 
 Far and sudden intervals. 
 With many a quavering long-held note, 
 Such as may thrill in a bird's throat 
 And cry his wistfulness and need 
 Thro' the lone wood. O lithe and fine 
 And supple body, man and goat! 
 Part rutting beast and part divine, 
 And all a youth in bud who feels 
 
 g
 
 gS In the Forest 
 
 Unwonted blood like stinging wine 
 
 Now throb in his veins, now drug his heels, 
 
 And beckon to lie, and stretch, and turn. 
 
 And feel the faint, the itch, the burn 
 
 Of what he knows not, only this, 
 
 The passion beats, the languor steals, 
 
 And smarting is sweet, and aching bliss. 
 
 Even as the dreamer, his dream is — 
 The Gods inspire, the Gods fulfil! 
 Like moths of fitful wavering flight 
 Slim maidens come to ply their will: 
 Dryads or Oreads of the hill 
 In reedy vesture blue and white. 
 Like gossamer that, wet with dew. 
 Shrouds the gorse in morning light; 
 With rosy feet and braided hair 
 And girdled bosoms, and that still 
 And spacious gait that maidens wear 
 When no man sees what they may do; 
 One by one, in order due. 
 Speechless, unminstrel'd, without heed 
 Or thought but of their pastime fair; 
 One by one with linked hands 
 And faces turn'd for each to read 
 In each what each one understands 
 But cannot tell except by look,
 
 In the Forest 99 
 
 They stay beside the glancing brook, 
 And in the open glade they lead 
 The lightfoot chorus ; and one stands 
 Apart and sheds her bosom's veil 
 And weaves alone her happy dance, 
 Winding her scarf that it may trail 
 After her footprints. . . . 
 
 He askance 
 Keeps on their play his wary eye, 
 Lengthening, crouching lest they catch 
 Gleam on his hide. Slow draws his greed 
 Within him to a boiling head; 
 His lust burns till his tongue is dry — 
 To leap, to scatter, then to snatch 
 That lone adventurer. Like an ounce, 
 Prone on his belly he keeps watch. 
 With toes agrip of earth; one thin 
 Tense cord he makes, rippling to pounce: 
 So from his heels to his fierce face 
 All beast of prey, he couches. Then 
 Doubt takes him, and he dreams again. 
 And rises to his manhood's grace, 
 Stealing a-tiptoe from his lair 
 As solemn as a priest new-frockt 
 To stand among them. All astare. 
 Arrested in the attitude 
 Of sidelong head, hands interlockt,
 
 100 In the Forest 
 
 As frozen in their dancing mood, 
 With straightened arms and lips apart 
 They wait the upshot. He, aware 
 Of their still beauty, stands afraid 
 And doubtful. In a flash the wood 
 Is emptied of them and their light. 
 
 He peers, he noses, snuffs the air, 
 Searches for sign in bruised blade 
 Of grass or frond of fern — lo there! 
 The veil abandon'd in her flight, 
 Like scarf of cloud or filmy shade 
 Cast by thin branches in the night 
 Across the moon. He falls to it 
 And leans his cheek to its warm length, 
 And rolls and revels in the scent 
 And balm it holds; but soon the fit 
 Passes, and leaves him close to sit 
 With hands to shinbones, and head bent 
 To furry knees, while all the strength 
 And grace of her sings in the glade. 
 Full of desire and full of fears 
 Lest other creature need as he. 
 He broods upon his prey, then hears 
 Some little rustling in the brake, 
 And lifts it very tenderly 
 As though a sleeping child he bears;
 
 In the Forest loi 
 
 And swift to harbour doth betake 
 Him and his gossamer, sets it down 
 Upon his leafy couch, and holds 
 His breath, as fearful she should wake; 
 And leans to her, and closer yet 
 Leans, urging to her, quick enfolds, 
 Then covers— back he draws in dread 
 Of something holy, and instead 
 Stoops delicately and lays a kiss 
 Upon the billowing gauzy net. 
 And lies beside, and leans his head 
 Until his cheek may feel the bliss 
 That once it had, her bosom's bed; 
 And sleeps as dreamless as the dead; 
 And waking, wonders what this is, 
 So thin, so draggled, and so wet.
 
 XI 
 DAPHNE AND LEUKIPPOS 
 
 DAPHNE lov'd none, of all maids most retir'd, 
 And yet Leukippos lov'd her, who long days 
 Sought her, and found of all maids most desir'd, 
 Yet least accessible by wooers' ways. 
 
 For she was of that votive company 
 That serves the Virgin Lady of the wild: 
 
 Apart they roam, heart-whole and fancy-free, 
 Following the starry wake of Leto's Child. 
 
 Withal he lov'd, and loving her in vain, 
 
 Forswore his kind and wander'd in the woods. 
 
 Thinking perhaps to ease his crying pain 
 In their green leisure and husht solitudes. 
 
 And straying there, or lying in the brake, 
 
 Reading his sad heart or the lone bird's song 
 
 That all night through biddeth her sorrow wake. 
 His love grew stronger as his hair grew long. 
 
 102
 
 Daphne and Leukippos 103 
 
 So thirsting, when one day he stoopt to drink 
 In the clear mirror of a woodland pool 
 
 All his lovelocks came tumbling o'er the brink, 
 And ere his lips could touch the well was full. 
 
 Whereat, seeing the golden mesh outspread 
 Over the crystal surface of the tank, 
 
 He laught and shook it back behind his head, 
 And coil'd it up and held it while he drank. 
 
 Then looking sideways at his render'd face, 
 At his clean nape and modish-twisted knot. 
 
 Laughing again, he blusht at his own grace, 
 And lookt the longer as his cheeks grew hot. 
 
 " A very girl," cried he, " I am to view! 
 
 Now might I won with Daphne and her peers. 
 And see and touch my sweet the long day thro', 
 
 And watch her dainty fancy as it veers 
 
 " From maid to maid for what she cannot get 
 From any maid at all, to be made woman; 
 
 But I have wherewithal to ease her fret, 
 
 When she have prov'd her true mate to be true 
 man." 
 
 He bound his tresses up with scarf and pin. 
 He donn'd the chiton and the crocus vest,
 
 104 Daphne and Leukippos 
 
 He pluckt a hair or two from out his chin, 
 And crost the girdle midway of his breast. 
 
 Then stood he forth to sight a very maiden, 
 And waxing bold, secure in his disguise, 
 
 Sought out his Daphne by the banks of Ladon, 
 And faced the clear truth of her serious eyes; 
 
 And told his fib by Ladon's glancing water, 
 And saw it bite, and thought it not amiss: 
 
 "Lady, I am Oenomaos's daughter," 
 
 He said, " and vow'd like you to Artemis. 
 
 " If you will make me of your joyous band 
 I serve ^vith you, if not I serve alone." 
 
 Then straight-brow'd Daphne took him by the 
 hand. 
 Seeing an honest daughter in sly son. 
 
 And well he sped if all may be believ'd. 
 
 Save when some boldness native to his sex, 
 
 Like fire hid up in ash, by the wind griev'd, 
 Flasht from him, her to please and him to vex. 
 
 For as she laught to see him play the boy 
 So must he bite his lip and hang his head, 
 
 Until it seem'd the seeker was the coy 
 And the besought the seeker in his stead.
 
 Daphne and Leukippos 105 
 
 And hence came his undoing. As they lay 
 
 Together idling on the grassy bank 
 Of Ladon, it was Daphne made the play 
 
 And lifted high his hopes — until they sank 
 
 To nothingness, and ruin star'd at him; 
 
 For thus said she: " For all you are so bold, 
 I challenge you with me to strip and swim 
 
 The river. And I lay my ring of gold 
 
 " That I am first, against your golden chain. 
 
 Come, I am for you ! " Whereat she slipt the lace 
 Upon her shoulder, and the brooches twain 
 
 That kept her virgin girdle in its place. 
 
 Like shafted poplar-stems when light is dim 
 Were her fair members naked for the test; 
 
 Lithe as a leopard, white as moonlight, slim 
 As ivory wand, in water to the breast, 
 
 She chafed to find him slow, and cried him fool 
 To sit there glum with face all pincht and gray ; 
 
 Then scornful of him, plunged into the pool. 
 With a hoarse cry Leukippos fled away. 
 
 And what ensued, and how he paid his cheat 
 It matters little, where the worse to fall
 
 io6 Daphne and Leukippos 
 
 Must be the better. He is fairly beat 
 Who dare not risk, ' to win or lose it all.' 
 
 They say suspicion reacht her by a swallow 
 That swept his skirting curve close by her ear; 
 
 They say indeed the bird's shape held Apollo 
 For reasons of his own. He had her dear, 
 
 And knew no cause to love the daring youth, 
 Who yet dar'd not enough, or dar'd be good 
 
 Even at the last. I have not all the truth; 
 But this is true, Leukippos took to the wood, 
 
 And went in fear of Daphne's flaming mistress 
 In whom white anger burns like midnight frost; 
 
 And if she slew him, count this lover's distress 
 Rather that Daphne than his life he lost.
 
 XII 
 PARALLELS 
 
 WHENE'ER I see your glancing feet 
 I hear a bird sing in the street; 
 Or if I hear your proud clear tone 
 I see a mountain torrent run 
 Sinuous and glad to watersmeet. 
 
 When you are coming all the trees 
 Quiver and rustle in the breeze, 
 Which like a herald runs before 
 To call the liegemen to the door, 
 Crying your shining qualities. 
 
 When you have left me half an hour 
 The sun still glows behind the shower, 
 And thro' the rain I see the bow, 
 Still smell the cowslips on the brow, 
 And know the beanfield still in flower. 
 
 Each sigh of you is like a wave 
 On a warm shore, wherein I lave; 
 
 107
 
 io8 Parallels 
 
 And every vagrance of your hair 
 Wafts me the lift of some sweet air 
 Heard as I pass, a wandering stave. 
 
 Your quiet speech to me it is 
 
 A silver coin, with Artemis 
 
 Or Ligei'a grav'd thereon. 
 
 Rarely you laugh, and that 's the sun 
 
 Flooding the day with auguries. 
 
 The motions of your thin sweet hand 
 Are Gabriel with his lily-wand; 
 The holy converse of your eyes, 
 It is the moment when light dies 
 And a rapt silence holds the land. 
 
 I dare not look upon your breast, 
 Fearing to startle from her nest 
 Some blessed bird that sits and broods 
 In a deep valley fill'd with woods, 
 Watcht by a skyey mountain crest. 
 
 So you and Nature are in pacft. 
 Mother and Daughter: there 's no acTt 
 Of hers but has its counterpart 
 In your instru(5lion of my heart, 
 Since you are music of her facft.
 
 XIII 
 HYMNIA 
 
 I 
 
 BECAUSE your soul is delicate 
 (Like a new moth with wings set wide), 
 And, all too virgin to be bride. 
 Holds up your body in stalemate; 
 
 Because your heart is passionate 
 And flame thereof consumes your side, 
 So that the veil is rarefied 
 To a film of flesh irradiate — 
 
 Therefore unearthly you flit earth 
 And languorously the sweet wave flows 
 That laps and sheathes you, grave your mirth, 
 Paler your cheek than the wild rose; 
 
 Therefore your eyes speak what Heav'n saith, 
 And leave your mouth for wonder and breath. 
 
 109
 
 no Hymnia 
 
 II 
 
 Outward be dainty, as you are 
 Within; glance by me swift and slim; 
 Flash, where I walk; be staid, be prim: 
 Shiver at noises, things that jar 
 
 Your lovely order; levy war 
 Upon the beastly and the grim; 
 So shine apart, remote and dim. 
 To foggy earth a constant star. 
 
 Thus to the world you shall appear 
 Garb'd in your crystal qualities 
 As closely as the wet rocks wear 
 The sand-wort of the starry eyes, 
 
 Cause and effe(5t, both these in one, 
 Witness and virtue of the sun. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In the hedged garden of your mind 
 The gray-green sage, PerfecTlion, grows, 
 And Candourwort and Constant-Kind, 
 And Modesty, the thornless rose. 
 
 There are the herb. Integrity, 
 And red perennial, Maiden Pride,
 
 Hymnia iii 
 
 And Honour, like an almond-tree, 
 And Purity aflower beside. 
 
 Ardour, that climbs so high, is there, 
 And Tacft, with shrinking outer leaves, 
 And in the shade the weeper. Prayer, 
 And Patience, stak'd and tied in sheaves; 
 
 And bittersweet Love's creeping root, 
 A rosy carpet underfoot. 
 
 IV 
 
 Sev'n swords had Mary in her side, 
 A sword of Doubt if she was born 
 To serve men so, a sword of Pride, 
 A sword of Shame, a sword of Scorn. 
 
 And one was driv'n by her dead Lord, 
 And one by them who shed His blood; 
 And if there was another sword 
 It was of Love not understood. 
 
 And you, her sister, even so 
 Have swords to pierce your bountiful breast 
 Doubt and Despair, the Sight of Woe, 
 Love thwarted, Love that cannot rest, 
 
 Charity held back. Love denied: 
 
 Sev'n swords — and your arms open wide
 
 112 Hymnia 
 
 V 
 
 Count it not loss that you must give, 
 Knowing your breast a sacrament 
 Whereat the child must drink to live, 
 Whereon sleep after in content. 
 
 That is your soul's high testament, 
 Which is a fount perennial 
 Streaming from God, and never spent 
 Except none drink of it at all. 
 
 For as the milk is to the child 
 That drinks, the spending is to you; 
 Since by your soul's gift reconcil'd 
 The seeking soul returns your due. 
 
 And so your loss is gain indeed, 
 Since you are fed by them you feed.
 
 XIV 
 NIGHT-ERRANTRY 
 
 THREE long breaths of the blessed night 
 And I am fast asleep; 
 No need to read by candle-light 
 Or count a flock of sheep. 
 
 Deep, deep I lie as any dead, 
 Save my breath comes and goes; 
 The holy dark is like a bed 
 With violet curtains close. 
 
 And while enfolded I lie there 
 Until the dawn of day, 
 My body is the prisoner, 
 My soul slips out to play. 
 
 A-tiptoe on the window-sill 
 
 He listens like a mouse. 
 
 The calling wind blows from the hill 
 
 And circles round the house. 
 
 Above the voices of the town 
 It whispers in the tree, 
 
 h
 
 114 Night-Errantry 
 
 And brings the message of the Down: 
 'Tis there my soul would be. 
 
 Then while enchain 'd my body lies 
 Like a dead man in grave, 
 Thither on trackless feet he hies, 
 On wings that make no wave. 
 
 The dawn comes out in cold gray sark 
 And finds him flitting there 
 Among the creatures of the dark, 
 Vixen and brock and hare. 
 
 O wild white face that 's none of mine, 
 O eager eyes unknown, 
 What will you do with Proserpine, 
 And what shall I, alone? 
 
 O flying feet, O naked sides, 
 O tresses flowing free, 
 And are you his that all day bides 
 So soberly in me? 
 
 The sun streams up behind the hill 
 And strikes the window-pane; 
 The empty land lies hot and still, 
 And I am I again. 
 
 Gosberton, lo Aug. 1913.
 
 XV 
 TO A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 YOU walk so choice and featly fair 
 Within your flowing tell-tale gear, 
 So timid-seeming, half ascare 
 And half asmile at what you hear, 
 Or what you know; you guide and steer 
 Your dainty argosy and rare 
 Through our rough traffickers, aware 
 Complacently of eyes that peer, 
 Of sidelong eyes, of eyes that stare. 
 Of joy or trouble far or near: 
 Have you no arms, no shield or spear 
 For what the world at large may dare? 
 Is your heart light? Your eyes are clear, 
 You falter not. Have you no care? 
 You bud your lips, and in your ear 
 Whisper and promise, hope and pray'r 
 Are as the snowflakes of last year, 
 Idle, adrift upon the air. 
 
 "5
 
 ii6 To a Pretty Woman 
 
 Lady, what is your own affair, 
 Suspecfted of the pulpiteer 
 Who from his gestatorial chair 
 Thunders upon your dangerous tear, 
 Your eye of blue or brown or vair, 
 Your red and white, that lock of hair 
 Arrayed in disarray, your wear 
 Of silken things so frail we fear 
 To touch them, so we hold you dear 
 Inhabitant, whom we would spare, 
 Look you, the satyr's wink and leer 
 Ready to snatch you to his lair? 
 Intrigued, perplext, we shift and veer 
 Our looks, from worship to the glare 
 Of high displeasure, chafing here 
 To see you pass us debonair, 
 Excusing what we commandeer. 
 Ignoring what you cannot share. 
 You pass, you go, and leave us bare. 
 Feeling the chill, old, crabb'd and sere; 
 Upon your delicate course you fare. 
 Whether we kneel or scowl or jeer. 
 Whether we triumph or despair. 
 Smiling, possest, unfaltering, sheer 
 Upon your mark, be it here or there. 
 God! are you simpleton or fere? 
 
 London.
 
 XVI 
 SONG 
 
 THE pure in heart shall see God, 
 But what wilt thou do, 
 O burning heart, but be God 
 For men to fall to? 
 
 And as for me and my heart, 
 All that I see, 
 
 It is the shrine of thy heart, 
 The vase of it — thee. 
 
 117
 
 XVII 
 THE TWO EAGLES 
 
 OF the shrill Gods of Fight 
 I ask blood for my pen, 
 And the cries of wounded men 
 For music, and scurrying feet 
 Of legions in wild retreat 
 For the rhythm of what I write. 
 
 I saw two eagles engage 
 Down on a sandy plain 
 Stone-strewn, over a slain 
 Lamb, patchy with blood. 
 Far away the dun flood 
 Of the sea muttered its rage. 
 
 One with his wings blown back 
 And talons set, with his fierce 
 Beak did ravel and pierce 
 The carrion. In fury to tear. 
 His wings battled the air. 
 The blood coiled snaky and black. 
 
 ii8
 
 The Two Eagles 119 
 
 The other assailed the sky 
 With lifted head and complaint, 
 Challenge and dreariment. 
 He beat his wings, and the air 
 Answered his great despair. 
 With moans for his havoc-cry. 
 
 Even thus in the battle, 
 
 The carnage, the death, the shout, 
 
 The staring hearth and the rout 
 
 Have their minstrel. He stands 
 
 By and wringeth red hands. 
 
 While his comrade springs the death-rattle.
 
 XVIII 
 ARKADIA 
 
 THE hills made you adventurous, 
 And the hill-wind gave wings to your feet 
 I saw you, Artemis the Fleet, 
 Ranging your scarr'd Taygetus. 
 Your two lips parted, amorous 
 Each for the wooing of the sweet 
 Strong air; I saw your blue eyes greet 
 Pheneus, Kyllene, Maenalus, 
 
 As thro' lone Arcady we fared 
 Which first enharbour'd Leto's child. 
 I watcht you thro' the Holy Places, 
 Virgin and Huntress of the wild. 
 Sister and Sovran of the Graces, 
 Pacing beside you with heart bared. 
 
 120
 
 XIX 
 DELOS 
 
 THE Etesian wind that clouds the seas 
 To purple had you safe at last 
 Under the shadow Delos cast 
 About the girdling Cyclades. 
 I thought you usher'd by the breeze, 
 I thought the sentinel islands past 
 The word about. I stood spellfast, 
 Watching you at your mysteries, 
 
 You and your isle. No crooked knees, 
 No chant of the ecclesiast, 
 No panting, no unquiet breast: 
 Hellenic rite, still ecstasies! 
 You walkt as he that holds the Cup 
 Between his hands. I knelt to sup. 
 
 121
 
 XX 
 
 A CATCH 
 
 YOUR duty to beauty is to wear it, not spare it, 
 That all who recall who it was that did wear it 
 May image your passion, and share it. 
 
 132
 
 XXI 
 WORLDLINGS 
 
 THIS life it is a flash in a pan, 
 Make what you may of it ; 
 A spark from a smithy fan, 
 Years and a day of it: 
 Out of the dark into the dark, 
 That is the way of it. 
 
 Hard, when we 've learned to play, 
 
 Picked up the knack of it! 
 
 Well, let it go its way, 
 
 I've had my whack of it. 
 
 Lift your head, watch and wait 
 
 Doom and the crack of it. 
 
 Fly, spark, fly! 
 
 Nayy love me long. 
 
 But they say we Ttinst die? 
 
 I sing my song. 
 
 Lie close, let me feel your heart 
 
 Make mine strong. 
 
 123
 
 124 Worldlings 
 
 Heart of mine, heart of mine, 
 What is to come of it ? 
 All this good sop in wine, 
 The juice and crumb of it! 
 Lift the cup and drink with me. 
 There 's still some of it.
 
 XXII 
 TO THE POET LAUREATE 
 
 NOT clamour nor the buzzing of the crowd. 
 Bridges, beset the lonely way you took: 
 The mountain-path, the laurel-shelter'd nook, 
 The upland peak earth-hidden in a cloud, 
 The skyey places — here your spirit proud 
 Could meet its peers, the lowland rout forsook; 
 Here were your palimpsest and singing-book. 
 Here scope and silence, singing-robe and shroud. 
 
 Let England learn of thee her ancient way 
 Long time forgot; the glory of the swift 
 Is swiftness, not acclaim, and to the strong 
 The joy of battle battle's meed. Thy song 
 Will call no clearer, nor less surely lift 
 Our hearts to Beauty for thy crown of bay. 
 
 17 July. »9i3- 
 
 125
 
 XXIII 
 25 FEBRUARY 1897 
 
 ALL night we watcht, although he seem'd 
 asleep; 
 Then as the morning gray 
 Came sighing in we saw his haunted eyes 
 Open, which seem'd to pray 
 Only the grace to die. He saw the light, 
 Then turn'd his head away, 
 As if his heart fainted to meet the day. 
 
 So as he lay we watcht, and heard his moan 
 Quaver towards the skies: 
 
 "Ah, God!" it said, "wilt thou not set me free? 
 Have I not earn'd this prize? 
 Not toil'd enough, been strenuous, kept the faith 
 I took? Ah, God, my eyes 
 
 Are worn with watching: seal them now 
 requiem-wise." 
 
 Dumb anguish held us, unarm'd witnesses 
 About that lonely bed 
 
 126
 
 25 February 1897 127 
 
 Where the spent soul and body fought their fight, 
 
 And day with feet of lead 
 
 Crept on her hopeless round. Mercy at last 
 
 Came, and it seem'd she said, 
 
 " Lo, it is finisht." He bow'd his patient head. 
 
 Take your last look on whom you lov'd, and see 
 How very gently death 
 
 Has toucht his eyes and smooth'd out all his scars, 
 And crown'd as with a wreath 
 Of snow his rested brows. Look at his lips: 
 It is as though a breath 
 
 Whisper'd through them: " I am at peace," he 
 saith. 
 
 Come away now, we have no more to do; 
 
 The world, that took no thought 
 
 Of him, is not so much with us that we 
 
 Should forget how he fought. 
 
 Or what he won of honour and long love 
 
 Where such cannot be bought. 
 
 Let us leave him facing the Truth he sought. 
 
 What though they say, His deeds are writ in 
 
 sand — 
 Have we not read them there? 
 Have we not stored them in our heart of hearts, 
 Not seen that they were fair?
 
 128 25 February 1897 
 
 Not ponder'd and not wonder'd, not been glad 
 That they were as they were, 
 And we could read? Enough! Give thanks and 
 prayer. 
 
 Addington,
 
 XXIV 
 WAR RIMES 
 
 I. A SHORT HISTORY OF MAN 
 
 SOME years ago, it may have been a million— 
 'Twas thereabouts, as everyone allows — 
 The first man, Adam, pight the first pavilion 
 And roofed it rustically with green boughs. 
 He built it for himself and his new spouse 
 In a fair ground, which can't have been a chillyone, 
 Seeing that they fix the site in Mesopotamy, 
 Where you need wear no clothes, ever- if you've 
 got any. 
 
 Godmadethisworldforman, His jewel andminion, 
 His latest work, the apple of His eye. 
 Not only over pad and fin and pinion 
 Had he the kinch, but surer mastery 
 Was put into his hands to hold it by; 
 For over himself the Lord gave him dominion: 
 Not only had he five wits, but the Poet 
 Declares he could make use of them, and know it. 
 
 i
 
 130 War Rimes 
 
 Passions he had, and means to keep them under 
 Or let them go, seeing a Will was his. 
 And Understanding, and a trick of wonder, 
 To shape the Is-not like to that which is. 
 Hence come idealistic fallacies, 
 Megalomania, and many a blunder 
 Wherein the sick world yet must groan and travail, 
 Waiting a clue the labyrinth to unravel. 
 
 All this made good, the Lord of Heaven addressed 
 Man, and said in effect, O sublimation 
 Of Our pure thought, here is the very best 
 That We can do for you. Our last creation. 
 Above the beasts, yet you can choose your station 
 Below them; or if Heaven be the crest 
 Of your desire, earn it! You can partake of it; 
 It's in your hands: let's see what you can make 
 of it. 
 
 This world is yours if you know how to use it: 
 Call upon Us in trouble, We shall hear. 
 Although We have the power. We may refuse it; 
 We do not undertake to interfere. 
 From time to time We'll send a prophet here 
 With an Evangel for you if you choose it. 
 Well, We shall see ! We judge that, if We try him. 
 You'll either ignore him or you'll ci*ucify him.
 
 War Rimes 131 
 
 The Lord departed. Man increased and spread 
 Over the earth, and soon found out a means 
 Of dominating nature. His wives bred, 
 His sons married his daughters in their teens. 
 But this soon brought about domestic scenes 
 And was tabooed. Cousins then cousins wed, 
 And all went fairly well till Cain drew knife 
 Upon his brother and robbed him of his life. 
 
 Abel stood well with God, or said he did, 
 And Cain not so, or thought that he did not. 
 All would be well with him, he thought, once rid 
 Of one psalm-singing rascal. He grew hot. 
 He ought to have remembered, but forgot 
 That all 's not covered with the coffin-lid. 
 In that red rage of his he set the fashion 
 Of easing by bloodshed tumultuous passion. 
 
 Men took it up, and whereso'er they settled 
 Upon the face of th' inhabitable earth 
 There was no tribe of them but, being nettled 
 By any hint or sight of neighbour's worth, 
 Immediately must strangle it at birth 
 By fire or sword. They said they were high- 
 mettled, 
 And amour propre could not brook to view 
 A nation prosper more than theirs could do.
 
 132 War Rimes 
 
 So they learned hatred early, and they learned 
 That tribal hate is strongest hate of all. 
 Was a tribe rich, straight all the others burned 
 Not for its wealth so much as its downfall. 
 Young men were bred up in the way to call 
 This kind of hatred love. Their bowels yearned 
 To prove all men were brothers and at one 
 By killing everybody's but their own. 
 
 The tribes made war — defence or brigandage, 
 All made it. But no single tribe could guess 
 That if the beaten suffered from the rage 
 Of the conqueror, himself suffered no less. 
 For he was grudged, and hardly could possess 
 His new domains, or leave a heritage 
 To his successor with the least security 
 That he could hope to keep it in futurity. 
 
 The Lord had not provided in His plan 
 For that which quickly proved to be the way, 
 That man should use his wit to outwit man, 
 To pound him, to entice him or betray. 
 He had not thought that brother men would play 
 At Cat and Mouse or Catch-as-catch-who-can. 
 He gave all men this earth to make the best of it, 
 And found each took as much as he could wrest 
 of it.
 
 "War Rimes 133 
 
 Yet they had other crafts beside warfare, 
 For they had love and all that love implies; 
 And art they had, the which has little care 
 Whether another man be rich or wise. 
 Commerce they had; they could philosophize, 
 And prove you what a very small affair 
 This life was, and how very much depended 
 On what they thought might happen when it 
 ended. 
 
 But they had one craft which they put above 
 All others, and made learning, land, or pelf 
 The test of it ; while as for art and love, 
 They put those by, like physic on a shelf 
 For case of need. That craft was care of Self, 
 Its end was Profit, and its maxim Shove; 
 And its one rule to drive into perdition 
 Whatever seemed to thwart a man's ambition. 
 
 Philosophers engrost their rivals' lore 
 Or libelled them of commercing with witches; 
 A landed man by all means must have more, 
 A moneyed man conveyed his neighbour's riches 
 By tricks into the pockets of his breeches, 
 And fastened those up like a chapel door 
 From Monday until Saturday, then emptied 
 Into the Bank before he could be tempted
 
 134 War Rimes 
 
 To tenderness of conscience most unthrifty. 
 But he had lawyers now to assure possession, 
 And call due process what was first called shifty, 
 Making chicane a dignified profession. 
 'Twas held that twenty thieves in public session 
 Might be a Body Corporate, and fifty 
 A National Assembly, and their tricks 
 The reasonable pursuit of politics. 
 
 And more men multiplied, and more they spread. 
 The more they sought to drive their neighbours 
 
 back. 
 The earth, which God made green, was dyed 
 
 with red 
 Which mixing made a gray, inclined to black. 
 It looked as if some fulgurous chimney-stack 
 Had smothered up the blue sky overhead; 
 So when the rain fell down in God's good time. 
 Its wholesomeness was soured by man's bad 
 
 grime. 
 
 Soon there arose strong men by no means pious 
 Who found it easy to become commander 
 Of others not so strong. There were Darius, 
 Nebuchadnezzar, Sennacherib, Alexander, 
 Whose simple need was to be more or grander 
 Than any king on earth. With this plain bias
 
 War Rimes 135 
 
 They led their hosts to war, and what they needed 
 They got — until the next strong man succeeded. 
 
 Hist'ry deals more with these empurpled sinners 
 Than with the daring ones who tried to down them. 
 It leaves the cooks for the eaters of the dinners, 
 Looks to the kings, ignores the folk who crown 
 
 them. 
 Take horses, not the stockbrokers who own them, 
 Say ha'p'ny newspapers a-spotting winners! 
 This history sees the plain men on our planet 
 No better off than when God first began it. 
 
 Whose fault is that? Not God's. You dare not 
 
 blame Him 
 For having given you wits which you've perverted. 
 He sent a Messenger — I need not name Him — 
 To whom most of us owned to be converted. 
 I know not how or when his host deserted. 
 Or what it was decided men to shame Him. 
 He said the Meek and Peacemakers were blissful, 
 We see no blessings but for the successful. 
 
 We say. The best man wins; but what by that 
 We mean exacflly is to be arreded. 
 Let us define the thing we are getting at: 
 We certainly don't mean the same as He did.
 
 136 War Rimes 
 
 And as for him for whom his Master pleaded, 
 He very often don't win here^that's flat. 
 What would he get who turned the other cheek 
 But be laughed into the middle of next week? 
 
 But there were other Gospels. Con-fu-tze's 
 Was one. Another came from Prince Gautama, 
 Which flew north-eastward on a scented breeze 
 From Singapore to sea-board Yokohama. 
 Another ended in a harrowing drama, 
 When they brought hemlock in to Socrates, 
 And he, as one who sees what an escape he has, 
 Bid sacrifice a cock to -ffisculapius. 
 
 One burden each one's message underlay: 
 Nothing endures; this world is like an inn. 
 Take what you need, not long have you to stay; 
 The only thing worth having is within. 
 That stands when all the rest is worn down thin, 
 Emperors and the Empires they betray. 
 And why the snows of yester-year deplore.^ 
 Where are the conquests of the year before.' 
 
 You would have thought such things the merest 
 
 platitude. 
 Seeing that the land lies here, while we must 
 
 leave it;
 
 War Rimes 137 
 
 You would have hoped more reasonable attitude 
 Whether we hail the end with joy or grieve it. 
 The odd thing is that still we don't believe it, 
 Or acft as if we only should have latitude 
 To enter the next life as men of property, 
 The only ones whose goods are not in jeopardy. 
 
 No, no! We still drive free men out like cattle, 
 We still catch them with pressgang and the crimp ; 
 We still wreck pastures with our filthy battle 
 Or tangle them with coils of barbed gimp. 
 Though Caesar, Philip, and Napoleon Imp. 
 Were played to grave with groaning and death- 
 rattle. 
 We still believe a man may be War-Lord, 
 And still submit our quarrels to a sword. 
 
 You, Sir, put up of late to play the beast 
 And teach your decent Germans how to hate — 
 Look lest your walls serve you Belshazzar's feast 
 And score a title you don't meditate. 
 Emperors without an Empire are not great, 
 And there 's a day when greatest may be least. 
 What do you think of this for epitaph: 
 IVi^k this man even Satan cared not laiisrh? 
 
 •&' 
 
 For look, This was a man who taught his sons 
 To lie and thieve, and had no wiser thought
 
 138 War Rimes 
 
 Than stand men up as fodder for the guns 
 Of them who had to fight because he fought. 
 He found a peaceful land, left it distraught, 
 Found happy folk and left unhappy ones: 
 Most arrogant of men, he lived to rue it, 
 Because he was the wretchedest — and knew it. 
 
 If mankind ever of itself shake free. 
 
 And man disdain another to degrade 
 
 To work his infamous purpose, that his fee 
 
 Be doubled and his vileness not betrayed, 
 
 It will regard the bloody work you made 
 
 As crown and ensign of your misery, 
 
 And men will pity you and say, This wretch 
 
 Was made a rogue lest other rogues might stretch. 
 
 They set you trading truth as merchandise ; 
 They set you murdering children and their 
 
 mothers; 
 They turned your foolish hands to such red vice 
 That men could say Herod and you were brothers. 
 They bid you brand your good name as that 
 
 other's 
 Is staring still with terror, blood, and lies. 
 Judas betrayed his Lord for pieces thirty, 
 And Krupp goes rich and clean — since you go 
 
 dirty.
 
 War Rimes 139 
 
 Where can the world find you a sorrier thing 
 Than monarch playing catspaw to a rascal? 
 If kingship 's come to this, then has a king 
 A business on his hands which well might task all 
 The casuists left in Christendom. What Paschal 
 Atonement meets a sin so grovelling? 
 God sent His Son to cleanse a world o'erweening, 
 But your name now doesn't seem worth the 
 cleaning. 
 
 /
 
 140 War Rimes 
 
 II. FOR TWO VOICES 
 
 O MOTHER, mother, isn't it fun, 
 The soldiers marching past in the sun! " 
 " Child, child, what are you saying? 
 
 Come to church. We should be praying." 
 
 " Look, mother, at their bright spears! " 
 
 ♦' The leaves are falling like women's tears." 
 
 " You are not looking at what I see." 
 " Nay, but I look at what must be." 
 
 " Hark to the pipes! See the flags flying! " 
 " I hear the sound of a girl crying." 
 
 •' How many hundreds before they are done! " 
 " How many mothers wanting a son ! " 
 
 " Here rides the general pacing slow! " 
 " Well he may, if he knows what I know." 
 
 •' O this war, what a glorious game! " 
 " Sin and shame, sin and shame."
 
 War Rimes 141 
 
 III. THE EMPEROR OF ALMAIN 
 
 THE Emperor of Almain 
 Went rocking out to fight, 
 The thunder of his legions 
 Was heard across the night. 
 
 There stood a charter'd nation 
 Upon his road to France, 
 But Pooh! says he, What 's treaties? 
 And order'd the advance. 
 
 The Belgian he says. Easy! 
 And holds him up a spell. 
 Treachery! cries the Emperor, 
 «' This people is from hell. 
 
 " You cannot treat this people 
 As men of common measure, 
 Who smite the friendly German 
 A-taking of his pleasure. 
 
 '• You cannot fight this people — 
 How can you fight with clowns? 
 But you can burn their houses 
 And sack their ancient towns; 
 
 /
 
 142 War Rimes 
 
 '• And you can shoot their old men, 
 And do their women shame 
 For facing of an Emperor 
 And spoiling of his game. 
 
 " And if you meet civilians, 
 Don't let your natural ire 
 Inflame you. Set them forward 
 Upon the line of fire. 
 
 •' Then they're in this dilemma, 
 That if they shoot they kill 
 Their own, and if they don't shoot 
 I work my Imperial Will." 
 
 Now when he got thro' Belgium 
 And enter'd pleasant France, 
 He found an English army 
 Opposing his advance. 
 
 The Emperor of Almain 
 He swore like one possest. 
 Says he, " Remember Louvain, 
 And rid me of this pest. 
 
 '* Whate'er you do with Frenchmen, 
 The English you shall slay. 
 For they should be my henchmen 
 Instead of in my way.
 
 War Rimes 143 
 
 " If they had half the culture 
 That other Saxons have 
 They'd know that God has purpos'd 
 Germania rule the wave." 
 
 We fought him up to Paris 
 And pusht him back again; 
 He dug himself in trenches 
 Above the banks of Aisne. 
 
 And there he got the toothache 
 As common people may, 
 And had to see his Germans 
 Be slain instead of slay. 
 
 But he saw likely plunder, 
 
 A great church made of dreams 
 
 In stone, a thing of wonder, 
 
 The fair- wrought Church of Rheims; 
 
 At which he plugg'd and batter'd 
 Till all in fire and smoke 
 It shockt the sky, and shatter'd, 
 The roof sagg'd in and broke. 
 
 The world cried out upon him, 
 But culture soon miscarries 
 When a man has the toothache 
 And cannot get to Paris.
 
 144 War Rimes 
 
 And when a man is worried 
 His wits are not at call. 
 He fired the church, supposing 
 It was a hospital. 
 
 And so it was, for in it 
 
 His wounded soldiers lay 
 
 Till honest Frenchmen bore them 
 
 Out of the shrapnel's way. 
 
 The Germans went on shelling. 
 With glasses on the fun. 
 And one another 's telling, 
 " See how those beggars run! " 
 
 And so he eased his toothache, 
 The Emperor of Almain; 
 And proud should be his do<5\ors, 
 Rheims, Dinant and Louvain. 
 
 But he must get a many 
 Before his war is done, 
 And even might have heartache 
 If he possesses one.
 
 War Rimes 145 
 
 IV. A SINGSONG OF ENGLAND 
 
 O ENGLAND is an island, 
 The fairest ever seen; 
 They say men come to England 
 To learn that grass is green. 
 And Englishmen are now at war. 
 All for this, they say, 
 That they are free, and other men 
 Must be as free as they. 
 
 The Englishmen are shepherds, 
 They plough, they sow and reap; 
 Their king may wear his leopards, 
 His men must lead their sheep. 
 But now the crook and sickle. 
 The coulter and the sieve 
 Are thrown aside; they take the gun 
 That other men may live. 
 
 Some Englishmen are fishermen, 
 And other some are miners. 
 And others man the shipping yards 
 And build the Ocean liners; 
 k
 
 146 War Rimes 
 
 But one and all will down tools 
 And up with gun and sword 
 To make a stand for Freedom 
 Against the War Lord. 
 
 The pretty girls of England 
 Are husbanding their charms, 
 For not a girl of them but has 
 Her sweetheart under arms. 
 And not a girl of all the flock 
 Would call across the waves 
 Her sweetheart to her kindness 
 While other men are slaves. 
 
 There's been an English Kingdom 
 
 For twice a thousand years; 
 
 Her men have plough'd and reap'd it 
 
 Thro' merriment and tears. 
 
 But never a twenty year has past 
 
 Without some stroke 's been given 
 
 For Freedom; and the land is free 
 
 As any under heaven. 
 
 The Roman and the Spaniard, 
 The Corsican, have tried 
 Their worst, and now the German 
 Must perish in his pride.
 
 War Rimes 147 
 
 He may burn and thieve and slaughter, 
 He may scold and storm and pray; 
 But we shall fight till even his 
 Stand up free men some day. 
 
 When he is free of Germany 
 
 And Germany of him 
 
 There'll be a chance for plain men 
 
 To get old Europe trim. 
 
 Then on, you sturdy English hands, 
 
 And keep the colours flying; 
 
 And we'll not grudge your blessed blood 
 
 If Tyranny's a-dying.
 
 148 War Rimes 
 
 V. THE SOLDIERS PASS 
 
 THE soldiers pass at nightfall, 
 A girl within each arm, 
 And kisses quick and light fall 
 On lips that take no harm. 
 Lip language serves them better 
 Who have no parts of speech: 
 No syntax there to fetter 
 The lore they love to teach. 
 
 What waist would shun th* indenture 
 
 Of such a gallant squeeze? 
 
 What girl's heart not dare venture 
 
 The hot-and-cold disease? 
 
 Nay, let them do their service 
 
 Before the lads depart! 
 
 That hand goes where the curve is 
 
 That billows o'er the heart. 
 
 Who deems not how 'tis given, 
 What knows he of its worth? 
 'Tis either fire of heaven 
 Or earthiness of earth.
 
 War Rimes 149 
 
 And if the lips are fickle 
 That kiss, they'll never know 
 If tears begin to trickle 
 Where they saw roses blow. 
 
 " The girl I left behind me," 
 He'll sing, nor hear her moan, 
 " The tears they come to blind me 
 As I sit here alone." 
 What else had you to offer, 
 Poor spendthrift of the town? 
 Lay out your unlockt coffer — 
 The Lord will know his own.
 
 150 War Rimes 
 
 VI. A BALLAD OF THE ' GLOSTER ' 
 
 Old Style. 
 
 COME landsmen all and ladies, 
 And listen unto me 
 A-singing of the ' Gloster ' 
 Upon the Middle Sea. 
 
 The ' Goeben ' and the ' Breslau ' 
 They cruised th' Italian main; 
 No ship was there to stay them, 
 Their course was fair and plain. 
 
 But when the cruel guns open'd 
 Upon them from the shore, 
 From stem to stern they shiver'd, 
 Not being men of war. 
 
 Says ' Goeben,' " Mate, it won't do; 
 This means there 's war declared. 
 We'll find a place to hold two. 
 Leastways if we be spared.
 
 War Rimes 151 
 
 " The strait it is no place for us 
 With all these beastly shells; 
 We'll out and seek the Turkish waters 
 And the Dardanelles. 
 
 "Their winds are not so boist'rous, 
 Their men are not so free, 
 And not so hard on poor sailors 
 Weary of the sea." 
 
 Just then the saucy ' Gloster ' 
 And her four thousand tons 
 Came up against the * Goeben ' 
 And ran beneath her guns. 
 
 "What make you on the high sea, 
 And whither will you fare?" 
 " We seek a goodly haven 
 Where we can take the air." 
 
 " I'll put you to a haven 
 Which ought your case to fit. 
 D. Jones is harbour-master, 
 You show him this here chit.'" 
 
 The seaman gunner pickt a shell 
 
 And spat upon it first, 
 
 Says he, "This here should give 'em beans 
 
 If so be that she burst."
 
 152 War Rimes 
 
 The ' Breslau ' gives a halloa, 
 " Be careful how you play; 
 For by your random markmanship 
 My funnel 's shot away." 
 
 " Good shooting," says the ' Gloster,' 
 " Now give the ' Goeben ' one," 
 And being on a stern chase 
 She lays the swivel gun. 
 
 A thirty shots the ' Goeben ' 
 Let fly; the 'Gloster' three; 
 And one she raked the main deck, 
 And one she struck the sea ; 
 
 The third she struck amidships, 
 "A-done!" the 'Goeben' bawled, 
 " I've got a nasty list now. 
 And must be overhauled. 
 
 "But for that blasted 'Gloster '— 
 If I could do her down 
 I'd be the brightest jewel 
 Upon my Kaiser's crown. 
 
 " She beats us with her gunning; 
 But we've got better heels. 
 Let 's have a race," says ' Goeben ' 
 " And see how vi(5lory feels."
 
 War Rimes 153 
 
 The 'Gloster,' she gave over — 
 She'd had her little games, 
 The ' Breslau ' and the ' Goeben,' 
 They now bear other names. 
 
 Now God bless all our seamen 
 Who keep the English seas, 
 And send them equal fortune 
 With worthier foes than these.
 
 154 War Rimes 
 
 VII. SOLDIER, SOLDIER . . . 
 
 SOLDIER, soldier, off to the war. 
 Take me a letter to my sweetheart O. 
 He's gone away to France 
 With his carbine and his lance, 
 And a lock of brown hair of his sweetheart O." 
 
 " Fair maid of London, happy may you be 
 
 To know so much of your sweetheart O. 
 
 There 's not a handsome lad, 
 
 To get the chance he's had. 
 
 But would skip, with a kiss for his sweetheart O." 
 
 " Soldier, soldier, whatever shall I do 
 
 If the cruel Germans take my sweetheart O? 
 
 They'll pen him in the jail 
 
 And starve him thin and pale, 
 
 With never a kind word from his sweetheart O." 
 
 " Fair maid of London, is that all you see 
 Of the lad you've taken for your sweetheart O? 
 He'll make his prison ring 
 With his God save the King, 
 
 And his God bless the blue eyes of my sweet- 
 heart O!"
 
 War Rimes I55 
 
 " Soldier, soldier, if by shot or shell 
 
 They wound him, my dear lad, my sweetheart O, 
 
 He'll lie bleeding in the rain 
 
 And call me, all in vain, 
 
 Crying for the fingers of his sweetheart O." 
 
 " Pretty one, pretty one, now take a word from 
 me: 
 
 Don't you grudge the life-blood of your sweet- 
 heart O. 
 
 For you must understand 
 
 He gives it to our land. 
 
 And proud should fly the colours of his sweet- 
 heart O." 
 
 *' Soldier, soldier, my heart is growing cold — 
 
 If a German shot kill my sweetheart O! 
 
 I could not lift my head 
 
 If my dear love lay dead 
 
 With his wide eyes waiting for his sweetheart O." 
 
 " Poor child, poor child, go to church and pray, 
 
 Pray God to spare you your sweetheart O. 
 
 But if he live or die 
 
 The English flag must fly, 
 
 And England take care of his sweetheart O ! "
 
 156 War Rimes 
 
 VIII. TYE STREET 
 
 I KNOW a song of Tye Street 
 As simple as it 's true. 
 Down there they want the candles out 
 For what they have to do. 
 
 Young Molly lived in Tye Street, 
 Her mother's name was Moss. 
 She had no father — God knows 
 Who her father was. 
 
 Yet she grew like a lily 
 So lax and warm and white, 
 Yet she grew like a lily flower 
 That cannot get the light. 
 
 She danced upon the pavement 
 With lifted pinafore 
 Until the boys took notice, 
 And then she danced no more. 
 
 The war broke over Tye Street 
 In newsbills and in rags.
 
 War Rimes 157 
 
 And all the upper windows 
 Showed little faded flags. 
 
 And soon the pavement corners 
 Held stout young men in buff, 
 And there were clingings after dark, 
 And sobs and answers gruff. 
 
 And Molly had a sweetheart 
 As everybody does, 
 And never knew for her part 
 Why he should kiss so close. 
 
 No sooner got than going, 
 'Twas hers it seems to bless 
 The waiting hours in Tye Street. 
 It was a sweet distress. 
 
 And so he went to Portsmouth 
 And left her to her tears 
 And waking dreams at night-time, 
 And twice eight years. 
 
 And then she had a burden 
 To carry in her shawl. 
 And had to hold her head high 
 For fear that she should fall.
 
 158 War Rimes 
 
 Out and about she took him, 
 And whiter grew and thinner, 
 Knowing the passion of her need 
 That he should get his dinner. 
 
 And well for her down Tye Street 
 She goes in fear of falling: 
 She has need of a lifted head 
 In her new calling.
 
 War Rimes 159 
 
 IX. THE DROWNED SAILOR 
 
 LAST night I saw my true love stand 
 All shadowy by my bed. 
 He had my locket in his hand; 
 I knew that he was dead. 
 
 " Sweetheart, why stand you there so fast, 
 Why stand you there so grave ?" 
 " I think (said he) this hour 's the last 
 That you and I can have. 
 
 " You gave me this from your fair breast, 
 It 's never left me yet; 
 And now it dares not seek the nest 
 Because it is so wet. 
 
 " The cold gray sea has covered it, 
 Deep in the sand it lies, 
 While over me the long weeds flit 
 And veil my staring eyes. 
 
 " And there are German sailors laid 
 Beside me in the deep. 
 We have no need of gun or blade, 
 United in our sleep."
 
 i6o War Rimes 
 
 ** Dear heart, dear heart, come to my bed, 
 My arms are warm and sweet!" 
 " Alack for you, my love," he said, 
 " My limbs would wet the sheet. 
 
 " Cold is the bed that I lie on 
 And deep beneath the swell. 
 No voice is left to make my moan 
 And bid my love farewell." 
 
 Now I am widow that was wife — 
 Would God that they could prove 
 What law should rule, without the strife 
 That's robbed me of my love!
 
 War Rimes i6i 
 
 X. BRAVE WORDS FROM KIEL 
 
 IT was a Teuton publicist 
 Whose words flowed calm and true: 
 " I wish to make it clear," he said, 
 "What we propose to do 
 About your fleet." The sailor said, 
 " Meinherr, it 's up to you." 
 
 '•We have ein fleet — in all your days 
 
 You saw not such a sight. 
 
 That was the most almachtiger 
 
 That ever went to fight." 
 
 " But it doiCt go," the sailor said, 
 
 " It barks, but it don't bite." 
 
 " Der bark it is from thunder-guns; 
 
 So has that mighty fleet 
 
 Ein gun — aber so wunderschon! 
 
 To lay it is to hit." 
 
 " It may be so," the sailor said, 
 
 " But let me look at it." 
 
 "The Dreadnoughts what we have in there 
 Would freeze you with their thunder 
 
 1
 
 i62 War Rimes 
 
 Of gunnery; also your ships 
 Would be their sport und plunder 
 If you so out of senses were — " 
 The sailor said, " I wonder." 
 
 *' And we have cruisers wunderschnell, 
 Whose valour there 's no curbin'. 
 They was like greyhounds from ein leash 
 When they work up their turbine." 
 The sailor mused. " Perhaps," said he, 
 " You're talking of the ' Goeben ' ? " 
 
 •* There 's plenty more like her inside; 
 
 She was not all we've got. 
 
 Das Wilhelmshaven she is full 
 
 Of what could sink your lot." 
 
 The sailor said, "Well, that 's all right. 
 
 Why don't you have a shot ? " 
 
 "If you could see that splendid fleet 
 
 Which is der Kaiser's pride, 
 
 You would not be so hot in haste 
 
 Der issue to decide." 
 
 " Come on, old son," the sailor said, 
 
 " We're waiting just outside." 
 
 " Der Admiral is such a man 
 As is the great Von Kluck.
 
 War Rimes 163 
 
 These was his two great qualities, 
 His prudence und his pluck. 
 Und when he shtart— ! " The sailor said, 
 " You never know your luck." 
 
 *' You think the German fleet hangs fire 
 
 Until the sea was flat ! 
 
 Or do you say we fear to meet 
 
 Our foe?" The sailor spat. 
 
 "Well, some say one thing, some another — 
 
 What are you playing at?"
 
 164 War Rimes 
 
 XI. IN THE TRENCHES 
 
 AS I lay in the trenches 
 Under the Hunter's Moon, 
 My mind ran to the lenches 
 Cut in a Wiltshire down. 
 
 I saw their long black shadows, 
 The beeches in the lane, 
 The gray church in the meadows 
 And my white cottage — plain. 
 
 Thinks I, the down lies dreaming 
 Under that hot moon's eye, 
 Which sees the shells fly screaming 
 And men and horses die. 
 
 And what makes she, I wonder. 
 Of the horror and the blood, 
 And what 's her luck, to sunder 
 The evil from the good? 
 
 'Twas more than I could compass, 
 For how was I to think 
 With such infernal rumpus 
 In such a blasted stink?
 
 War Rimes 165 
 
 But here 's a thought to tally 
 With t'other. That moon sees 
 A shrouded German valley 
 With woods and ghostly trees. 
 
 And maybe there 's a river 
 The like of ours at home, 
 With poplar-trees aquiver 
 And clots of whirling foam. 
 
 And over there some fellow, 
 A German and a foe, 
 Whose gills are turning yellow 
 As sure as mine are so, 
 
 Watches that riding glory 
 Apparel'd in her gold. 
 And craves to hear the story 
 Her frozen lips enfold. 
 
 And if he sees as clearly 
 As I do where her shine 
 Must fall, he longs as dearly, 
 With heart as full as mine.
 
 i66 War Rimes 
 
 XII. SNOW 
 
 THE snow comes fleeting 
 Over the fen, 
 With a white sheeting 
 For us dead men. 
 Black specks above us, 
 White shrouds below — 
 And my blood on the snow. 
 
 There 's Jack in cover 
 From feet to head — 
 He was always a lover 
 Of a soft bed. 
 How the stuff drifts 
 Along the hedgerow — 
 A white flurry of snow ! 
 
 When they got me 
 
 I was fairly done; 
 
 I had said, Come, pot me. 
 
 My race is run. 
 
 And all the time 
 
 It kept on snowing — 
 
 And that 's my life-blood flowing.
 
 War Rimes 167 
 
 There 's my old mother 
 To hear of it first: 
 She hasn't another, 
 And that is the worst. 
 What would she say 
 At me lying so, 
 In a blanket of snow? 
 
 There 's Black Maria, 
 
 That swoop and shatter! 
 
 They are bringing her nigher, 
 
 But that don't matter. 
 
 I'm that drowsy 
 
 I can sleep now — 
 
 It 's quiet here in the snow. 
 
 I've preached no sermons 
 And made no fuss 
 About the Germans — 
 They're just like us. 
 He took 77ie first. 
 Next time he'll go — 
 And lie snug in the snow. 
 
 Who 's worked as I did 
 
 To get a rest 
 
 Will soon be tidied
 
 i68 War Rimes 
 
 In a white nest. 
 
 And all our filthiness 
 
 Smothered below 
 
 The folded lap of the snow! 
 
 The dark comes quickly 
 
 To blot the ground, 
 
 And the snow 's falling thickly 
 
 With no sound. 
 
 I'm a long long way 
 
 From a friend or a foe 
 
 Here, in my fleece of snow.
 
 War Rimes 169 
 
 XIII. THE BUGLES 
 
 Now who are ye that cross the sea 
 To the bugles' breaking key? 
 Mother, we are your eldest born 
 That claim to follow the sounding horn. 
 
 Carry on! Carry on! 
 For England must be free. 
 
 What is this you bring me home 
 With flags to shroud them and pulsing drum? 
 We bring you back your early lost; 
 Bugles, give them the Last Post 
 
 And then Carry on! 
 Reveille is to come. 
 
 Wipe my cheeks and dry my eyes, 
 For the flag still floats and flies. 
 Sons I have left to hear the warning 
 Flung across the eyes of morning — 
 
 Carry on! Carry on! 
 So the land replies.
 
 170 War Rimes 
 
 Sound, bugle, and banner, flaunt 
 Your answer to the tyrants' taunt. 
 Line the dyke and trench the dune 
 While the bugles' piercing tune, 
 
 Clarion calling Carry on! 
 Flings him back his vaunt.
 
 NOTES 
 
 p. 9. CORMAC, SON OF OGMUND: This was published 
 in The English Review, and is a brief meditation upon the 
 Kormak Saga as it is found in Origines Islandiccp, translated in 
 all its austerity and with all its mutilations by York Powell and 
 Vigfussen. 
 
 P. 17. CORMAC TO STANGERD: In Kormah Saga the 
 rhymes and songs of the poet-hero are no more than hinted at, 
 and according to the learned editors, nearly all of them are 
 spurious. I made a prose paraphrase of the tale the other day, 
 and gave these songs to Cormac to sing. They are quite near 
 enough to the original scraps, those of them which are not them- 
 selves original. 
 
 P. 28. THE VOYAGE : First published in Poetry and Drama. 
 
 P. 51. ILIAD, III: Perhaps I owe an explanation to the un- 
 wary reader, who in a bookof o<5losyllabics, finds himself plunged 
 into blank verse pentameters, and in a book professedly original 
 finds a translation. I have tried Homer in eight-syllable verse, 
 and feel that it 's too tight a fit. You are either unintelligible, or 
 you are diffuse; and if you are diffuse you must fill up spaces with 
 things which are not in Homer. Otherwise, the speed of o(5lo- 
 syllables makes them a tempting measure. Hexameters will 
 never do in English. If they depend upon stresses they are de- 
 testable; if they attempt quantity they are unreadable. It is not 
 that we have no quantity: every language has it. Rather it is 
 that we have too much. We cannot say of a syllable. You are 
 either a long or a short. Moreover, ours is a monosyllabic lan- 
 guage. We want polysyllables, indigenous, not imported or ac- 
 
 171
 
 172 Notes 
 
 quired. We want natural dacftyls, we want dissyllables, natural 
 spondees. Those which we have adapted to our purpose reek of 
 their date. Used in such a business as this of the Iliad you get 
 the same sort of effect: as you would if you read a leading article 
 in the open air. They would be destrucTtive of their own illusion, 
 no nearer to the broad, simple, splendid, surging thing than Pope 
 with his mazy leverets and verdant lawns. For much the same 
 reason rhyme is a dangerous game to play with Homer. Chaucer 
 would have used it — but would Chaucer have been like Homer? 
 
 What is like Homer, in English? Well, the Old Testament is 
 uncommonly like him, and so is "Lang, Leaf and Myers," 
 There is the best translation of the Iliad in the world, I feel sure 
 — literally and, so to speak, transcendentally corretft, archaic, but 
 hardly ever archaistic, sensitive and subtle but not precious; 
 wanting but one thing, which indeed it does not claim, the power 
 to march. For solitary reading that doesn't matter so much; but 
 for reading aloud it matters greatly. I have read it aloud from 
 end to end in sympathetic company. It is difficult to read, and 
 difificult to listen to. It doesn't march, which Homer so essen- 
 tially does. I say again that this is not its aim or intention. 
 Literal accuracy and susceptibility to the atmosphere of Homer 
 are the things to be sought in a prose translation of a poem, and 
 nowhere else to be found as they are found here. 
 
 But suppose one could get one's blank verse as close to the 
 original, as sensitive to atmosphere, as remote from, say. The 
 Light of Asia, or other explicitly blank verse narrative as this 
 book succeeds in getting prose — and yet push on with the tale, 
 get something of Homer's effecft of a river flood, of unstaying, 
 streaming, irresistible flow — would that not be worth tryingafter? 
 That is what I have tried to get here. 
 
 One word more. I have chosen the third book because not only 
 is it the turning-point of the Iliad, but it is the crisis, the second 
 crisis, if you like (though I don't agree), of Helen's life. By 
 breaking the oath the Trojans doomed themselves; by breaking 
 with his honour Paris doomed himself. From that hour when 
 he did violence to her delicacy Helen abhorred him. I worked 
 that out in Helen Redeemed.
 
 Notes 173 
 
 p. 72. THE VEILED LOVER. This is fragmentary, and 
 was begun to be much longer, to include, in facft, the death and 
 transmigration of Hippolytus. But I lost the mood, could not re- 
 capture it, so print the thing as it is — with a few lines of con- 
 clusion to give it at least a clean edge. 
 
 P. 85. IN THE FOREST: First published in The Fortnightly 
 Revieiv. This is a version of a version of a version of Mallarme's 
 Apres-midi d'lin Faunc. M. Debussy turned that poem into 
 orchestral music, M. Nijinsky made it a wonder to behold. I 
 have never read the original, and owe my rendering to M. 
 Nijinsky's art. 
 
 P. 90. DAPHNE AND LEUKIPPOS : This story is in 
 Pausanias. 
 
 P. loi. NIGHT-ERRANTRY: First published in r/ze IFc5/- 
 viinster Gazette. 
 
 P. 112. TO THE POET LAUREATE: Published in The 
 Westminster Gazette. 
 
 P. 129. WAR RIMES. All of these rimes have been pub- 
 lished in periodicals: The English Revic-w, The Westminster 
 Gazette, The Daily Chronicle. One of them, number 6, was pub- 
 lished as a broadside by the Poetry Bookshop, and all the 
 others, except number i, in chapbook form, under the title of 
 Singsongs 0/ the War. It only becomes me to say this about 
 them, that they are an attempt to express what has been, I 
 don't doubt, the experience of many besides myself: the sudden 
 deepening and widening of my sympathies. Before this horrible 
 business was upon us, I walked very much alone. Now, for the 
 better part of a year, I have been aware of all sorts and con- 
 ditions of men and women travelling my way. They have helped 
 me to carry my share of the common burden, and I have tried 
 to help them. That 's all.
 
 BY THE SAME WRITER 
 
 Royal i6mo. 3s. 6d. net. Second thousand 
 
 ARTEMISION 
 
 IDYLLS AND SONGS 
 
 Also a limited edition in crown 8vo, to range 
 
 with Mr. Hewlett's novels. 
 
 7s. 6d. net 
 
 " ' Idylls of the Huntress ' who enslaved the mind of 
 Endymion, told with all the author's command of terse, 
 strong, and suggestive language, and illumined by an 
 imagination as delightful as it is rare." — Evening Standard. 
 
 " Mr. Hewlett touches the shield of Keats and challenges 
 him to a joust. His knowledge of Greek and of mythology 
 is wider and more true than that of Keats; and, as Hellenic 
 fancy clothed Artemis in endless forms, there is ample 
 ground for a new singer to vary the legend. . . . The 
 sonnets and songs show astonishing metrical skill, whilst 
 the long poems have an undoubted poetic ring, together 
 with that deathless Hellenic phantasy of which Maurice 
 Hewlett has shown himself to be a master." — Observer. 
 
 LONDON: ELKIN MATHEWS 
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