 | Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy |  |
69
Poems of Phantasy.
71
Phantasy.
Riding o'er a lonely plain
I came unto a wood—
And there I met, in dreamful mood,
A damsel singing a low strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
I came unto a wood—
And there I met, in dreamful mood,
A damsel singing a low strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
Her song it seemëd far away,
But oh her kiss was sweet:
She led me to some green retreat,
And there within her arms I lay
The livelong day.
But oh her kiss was sweet:
She led me to some green retreat,
And there within her arms I lay
The livelong day.
72
All ye who love me love in vain—
I kissed her wistful face
But found a leaf-strewn space
Alone, and far I heard her strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
I kissed her wistful face
But found a leaf-strewn space
Alone, and far I heard her strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
I seek the wood in twilit hours—
At times I hear her sing;
At times her white arms round me cling:
She leads me into magic bow'rs
And sings and wreathes me wilding flow'rs.
At times I hear her sing;
At times her white arms round me cling:
She leads me into magic bow'rs
And sings and wreathes me wilding flow'rs.
Her eyes are tears, and pain
Is in her kiss, but wildly gay
She laughs, and fades away,
And through the dim wood floats the strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
Is in her kiss, but wildly gay
She laughs, and fades away,
And through the dim wood floats the strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
73
The Willis-Dancers.
The moonlight floods the hollow dell:—
The dell where all the city's dead
Were laid, when oft the loud plague-bell
Filled wayfarers with sudden dread:
The accursëd plague it was that swept
The young from life, and spared the old—
Who wept and lived, and lived and wept
And mourned the silent sleepers in the dell's chill fold.
The dell where all the city's dead
Were laid, when oft the loud plague-bell
Filled wayfarers with sudden dread:
The accursëd plague it was that swept
The young from life, and spared the old—
Who wept and lived, and lived and wept
And mourned the silent sleepers in the dell's chill fold.
The hollow dell is fill'd with light,
The frosty radiance of the moon;
Yet gleams there are, more weirdly bright—
And what is that slow swelling tune?
It is not any wind that blows,
For not a wafted leaf doth fall;
What is the rustling sound that grows,
As if a low wind stirred amid the poplars tall?
The frosty radiance of the moon;
Yet gleams there are, more weirdly bright—
And what is that slow swelling tune?
It is not any wind that blows,
For not a wafted leaf doth fall;
What is the rustling sound that grows,
As if a low wind stirred amid the poplars tall?
74
Yon white, yon pale green hues that shine—
Are they but fungus-growths that beam:
What moves by yon funereal pine—
What haunts the pool where marsh-fires gleam?
From out the shadow-haunted trees,
Along the nested hedgerows dumb,
And o'er the moonlit sloping leas
Singing a thin strange song the Willis-dancers come.
Are they but fungus-growths that beam:
What moves by yon funereal pine—
What haunts the pool where marsh-fires gleam?
From out the shadow-haunted trees,
Along the nested hedgerows dumb,
And o'er the moonlit sloping leas
Singing a thin strange song the Willis-dancers come.
In hurrying scores, with silent feet,
In weird processional array
They pass, with motions wild and fleet:
And now they gain the common way.
Adown the long white road they flit,
Slow-singing their unechoing song,
Till, where the Calvary, moonlit,
Crowns the low hill—round whose white base the dancers throng.
In weird processional array
They pass, with motions wild and fleet:
And now they gain the common way.
Adown the long white road they flit,
Slow-singing their unechoing song,
Till, where the Calvary, moonlit,
Crowns the low hill—round whose white base the dancers throng.
75
Fair, fair, unutterably fair,
With wild and gleaming eyes they pray
O for the breath of mortal air,
O for the joys grown faint and gray!
But never the carven god commands;
The frozen eyes nor gleam nor glance—
The Willis-folk ring phantom-hands,
Then laugh and mock and whirl away in frantic dance.
With wild and gleaming eyes they pray
O for the breath of mortal air,
O for the joys grown faint and gray!
But never the carven god commands;
The frozen eyes nor gleam nor glance—
The Willis-folk ring phantom-hands,
Then laugh and mock and whirl away in frantic dance.
Wild, wild the dance, with blazing eyes,
With flowing hair, and faun-like leaps,
With thrilling shouts, and ecstasies.
Now one withdraws, and wails, and weeps:
Her grave-blanch'd hair around her thrown,
Her white hands claspt, she doth not hear
A voice that claims her for his own,
Nor hearkens her dead Lover call in awful fear.
With flowing hair, and faun-like leaps,
With thrilling shouts, and ecstasies.
Now one withdraws, and wails, and weeps:
Her grave-blanch'd hair around her thrown,
Her white hands claspt, she doth not hear
A voice that claims her for his own,
Nor hearkens her dead Lover call in awful fear.
76
For oft when from the grave they've fled
To gain phantasmal joys on earth—
Fair youths and maids who ne'er were wed
But died within their spring-time mirth—
A fearful thing hath happ'd to some:
A joyous dancer hath withdrawn,
Hath wailed and wept, and then grown dumb,
And paled, and pass'd away ev'n as the stars at dawn.
To gain phantasmal joys on earth—
Fair youths and maids who ne'er were wed
But died within their spring-time mirth—
A fearful thing hath happ'd to some:
A joyous dancer hath withdrawn,
Hath wailed and wept, and then grown dumb,
And paled, and pass'd away ev'n as the stars at dawn.
The wan soul, with its burning gaze
From hollow eyes with anguish fill'd,
Would fain the lapsing maiden raise:
One moment all her being is thrilled
With one wild passionate desire—
Then, as a flame that is blown out,
Or as a mist in the sun's fire
She fades into the silence round the whirling rout.
From hollow eyes with anguish fill'd,
Would fain the lapsing maiden raise:
One moment all her being is thrilled
With one wild passionate desire—
Then, as a flame that is blown out,
Or as a mist in the sun's fire
She fades into the silence round the whirling rout.
77
Still wilder, swifter grows the fray:
Youths who on earth had lived in vain,
Maids who had yearned the livelong day
For ease to love's imperious pain,
All whose high hopes had come to nought,
All who for life's delights had striven,
All who had suffered, dreamt, or wrought
To make of our common Earth a glowing Heaven—
Youths who on earth had lived in vain,
Maids who had yearned the livelong day
For ease to love's imperious pain,
All whose high hopes had come to nought,
All who for life's delights had striven,
All who had suffered, dreamt, or wrought
To make of our common Earth a glowing Heaven—
All, all, with eager, frantic haste
Swift dart and glide and dance and spring—
As gnats above a stagnant waste
Will interweave in a mazy ring—
With locks that once were living gold
Tossed wildly in the moonlit air,
With panting breasts that ne'er were cold
In the dear vanish'd days ere death came unaware:
Swift dart and glide and dance and spring—
As gnats above a stagnant waste
Will interweave in a mazy ring—
With locks that once were living gold
Tossed wildly in the moonlit air,
With panting breasts that ne'er were cold
In the dear vanish'd days ere death came unaware:
78
Lovers who knew no joy of love
In the old barren years of life,
Together now enraptured move—
Claspt each to each with rapture rife:
Bosom to panting bosom pressed,
Hot lips athirst on thirsting lips,
Strange joys and languors doubly blest—
Snatch'd from the sombre grave, yea even from Death's eclipse!
In the old barren years of life,
Together now enraptured move—
Claspt each to each with rapture rife:
Bosom to panting bosom pressed,
Hot lips athirst on thirsting lips,
Strange joys and languors doubly blest—
Snatch'd from the sombre grave, yea even from Death's eclipse!
Swift, swifter grows the mystic dance
More wild, more wild, each fierce embrace:
The woe of death's inheritance
Gleams ghastly on each wildered face;
A wan grey light illumes the head
Of the carv'd god to whom they prayed:
A halt—a hush—among the dead!
A long-drawn sigh—and lo, the Willis-dancers fade!
More wild, more wild, each fierce embrace:
The woe of death's inheritance
Gleams ghastly on each wildered face;
A wan grey light illumes the head
Of the carv'd god to whom they prayed:
A halt—a hush—among the dead!
A long-drawn sigh—and lo, the Willis-dancers fade!
The Willi or Willis-Dancers are the spirits of those who have died untimely, youths and maidens who on earth had no fulfilment of their desires. On certain nights they hold wild phantasmal revelry on earth.
79
A Dream.
Last night thro' a haunted land I went,
Upon whose margins Ocean leant
Waveless and soundless save for sighs
That with the twilight airs were blent.
Upon whose margins Ocean leant
Waveless and soundless save for sighs
That with the twilight airs were blent.
And passing, hearing never stir
Of footfall, or the startled whirr
Of birds, I said, “In this land lies
Sleep's home, the secret haunt of her.”
Of footfall, or the startled whirr
Of birds, I said, “In this land lies
Sleep's home, the secret haunt of her.”
And then I came upon a stone
Whereon these words were writ alone,
The soul who reads, its body dies
Far hence that moment without moan.
Whereon these words were writ alone,
The soul who reads, its body dies
Far hence that moment without moan.
And then I knew that I was dead,
And that the shadow overhead
Was not the darkness of the skies
But that from which my soul had fled.
And that the shadow overhead
Was not the darkness of the skies
But that from which my soul had fled.
80
The Wandering Voice.
They hear it in the sunless dale,
It moans beside the stream,
They hear it when the woodlands wail,
And when the storm-winds scream.
It moans beside the stream,
They hear it when the woodlands wail,
And when the storm-winds scream.
They hear it,—going from the fields
Through twilight-shadows home,—
It sighs across the silent wealds
And far and wide doth roam.
Through twilight-shadows home,—
It sighs across the silent wealds
And far and wide doth roam.
It moans upon the wind No more
The House of Torquil stands
It comes at dusk, and o'er and
Haunts Torquil's lands.
The House of Torquil stands
It comes at dusk, and o'er and
Haunts Torquil's lands.
He rides down by the foaming linn—
But hark! what is it calls
With faint far voice, so shrill and thin,
The House of Torquil falls.
But hark! what is it calls
With faint far voice, so shrill and thin,
The House of Torquil falls.
81
He lifts the revel-cup at night—
What makes him start and stare,
What makes his face blanch deadly white,
What makes him spring from where
What makes him start and stare,
What makes his face blanch deadly white,
What makes him spring from where
His comrades feast within the room,
And through the darkness go—
What is that wailing cry of doom,
That scream of woe!
And through the darkness go—
What is that wailing cry of doom,
That scream of woe!
No more in sunless dells, or high
On moorland ways is heard the moan
Of the long-wandering prophecy:—
In moonlit nights alone
On moorland ways is heard the moan
Of the long-wandering prophecy:—
In moonlit nights alone
A shadowy shape is seen to stand
Beside a ruin'd place:
It waves a wildly threatening hand,
It hath a dreadful face.
Beside a ruin'd place:
It waves a wildly threatening hand,
It hath a dreadful face.
82
The Twin-Soul.
In the dead of the night a spirit came:
Her moonwhite face and her eyes of flame
Were known to me:—I called her name—
The name that shall not be spoken at all
Till Death hath this body of mine in thrall!
Her moonwhite face and her eyes of flame
Were known to me:—I called her name—
The name that shall not be spoken at all
Till Death hath this body of mine in thrall!
And she laughed to see me lying there,
Wrapped in the living-corpse bloody and fair,
And my soul 'mid its thin films shining bare—
And I rose and followed her glance so sweet
And passed from the house with noiseless feet.
Wrapped in the living-corpse bloody and fair,
And my soul 'mid its thin films shining bare—
And I rose and followed her glance so sweet
And passed from the house with noiseless feet.
83
I know not myself what I knew, what I saw:
I know that it filled me with trouble and awe,
With pain that still at my heart doth gnaw:
That she with her wild eyes witched my soul
And whispered the name of the Unknown Goal.
I know that it filled me with trouble and awe,
With pain that still at my heart doth gnaw:
That she with her wild eyes witched my soul
And whispered the name of the Unknown Goal.
O wild was her laugh, and wild was my cry
When with one long flash and a weary sigh
I awoke as from sleep bewilderingly:
Her voice, her eyes, they are with me still,
O Spirit-Enchantress, O Demon Will!
When with one long flash and a weary sigh
I awoke as from sleep bewilderingly:
Her voice, her eyes, they are with me still,
O Spirit-Enchantress, O Demon Will!
84
The Isle of Lost Dreams.
There is an isle beyond our ken,Haunted by Dreams of weary men.
Grey Hopes enshadow it with wings
Weary with burdens of old things:
There the insatiate water-springs
Rise with the tears of all who weep:
And deep within it, deep, oh deep
The furtive voice of Sorrow sings.
There evermore,
Till Time be o'er,
Sad, oh so sad, the Dreams of men
Drift through the isle beyond our ken.
85
The Death-Child.
She sits beneath the elder-tree
And sings her song so sweet,
And dreams o'er the burn that darksomely
Runs by her moonwhite feet.
And sings her song so sweet,
And dreams o'er the burn that darksomely
Runs by her moonwhite feet.
Her hair is dark as starless night,
Her flower-crown'd face is pale,
But O her eyes are lit with light
Of dread ancestral bale.
Her flower-crown'd face is pale,
But O her eyes are lit with light
Of dread ancestral bale.
She sings an eerie song, so wild
With immemorial dule—
Though young and fair Death's mortal child
That sits by that dark pool.
With immemorial dule—
Though young and fair Death's mortal child
That sits by that dark pool.
86
And oft she cries an eldritch scream
When red with human blood
The burn becomes a crimson stream,
A wild, red, surging flood:
When red with human blood
The burn becomes a crimson stream,
A wild, red, surging flood:
Or shrinks, when some swift tide of tears—
The weeping of the world—
Dark eddying 'neath man's phantom-fears
Is o'er the red stream hurl'd.
The weeping of the world—
Dark eddying 'neath man's phantom-fears
Is o'er the red stream hurl'd.
For hours beneath the elder-tree
She broods beside the stream;
Her dark eyes filled with mystery,
Her dark soul rapt in dream.
She broods beside the stream;
Her dark eyes filled with mystery,
Her dark soul rapt in dream.
The lapsing flow she heedeth not
Though deepest depths she scans:
Life is the shade that clouds her thought,
As Death's the eclipse of man's.
Though deepest depths she scans:
Life is the shade that clouds her thought,
As Death's the eclipse of man's.
Time seems but as a bitter thing
Remember'd from of yore:
Yet ah (she thinks) her song she'll sing
When Time's long reign is o'er.
Remember'd from of yore:
Yet ah (she thinks) her song she'll sing
When Time's long reign is o'er.
87
Erstwhiles she bends alow to hear
What the swift water sings,
The torrent running darkly clear
With secrets of all things.
What the swift water sings,
The torrent running darkly clear
With secrets of all things.
And then she smiles a strange sad smile,
And lets her harp lie long;
The death-waves oft may rise the while,
She greets them with no song.
And lets her harp lie long;
The death-waves oft may rise the while,
She greets them with no song.
Few ever cross that dreary moor,
Few see that flower-crown'd head;
But whoso knows that wild song's lure
Knoweth that he is dead.
Few see that flower-crown'd head;
But whoso knows that wild song's lure
Knoweth that he is dead.
| Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy | |