University of Virginia Library

II
ST. MARK'S EVE

Basil Ninian Vivian
Basil
Late, Vivian! Midnight stirs
In the placid bosom of Time.

Vivian
I have been in the wildwood, sirs,
In the snare of a sovran rhyme;
Where blossoms and feathers and furs
Grow rich as a dazzling rhyme—
With stains of a fragrant rhyme;
And the very spathes and spurs
Are tuned to the deafening chime
Of the larks and the courage that stirs
In the heart of the vernal prime.

Ninian
In the wildwood? Here or beyond?
At home in the world or afar?
Where the bracken unfurls a frond,
Or a nebula loosens a star—
Where the fern delivers a frond,
Or a nebula utters a star?

Vivian
At home. In this hermit-nook
Of conscious pleasure and pain
I journeyed to listen and look—
With wonder to listen and look
In the Warren and Honey Lane,
By the Quicks and the Cuckoo brook
From Epping to Chingford Plain.
Where the passion of Nature stirs
Undisciplined, up and down
I wandered the wildwood, sirs,
On the margin of London town—
In the forest that's ours and hers
On the threshold of London town.

Ninian
Did you see then the blackthorn blaze
Against the empurpled glow
Of the glades and the woodland ways?
Did the violet forest glow
Where the budded leaf delays,
And chaplets pallid as snow
On the twisted blackthorn blaze—
Coronals, garlands, sprays
Like fresh, moon-silvered snow?

Basil
Did you hear from Highbeach tower
The mellow quarter-chime—
From the belfry of Highbeach tower
Did you hear the music of Time,
Like silken banners unfurled?
From the ancient and hallowed bower
Of the virginal bride of the world,
Did you hear the melodious hour
Like broidered banners unfurled—
With the dulcet and virginal power
Of Time, the bride of the world?

Vivian
I saw the blackthorn blaze
Like wreaths of moonlit snow,
Where the budded leaf delays
And the violet woodlands glow;
From Highbeach steepled tower
I heard the quarter-chime—
From the ancient and hallowed bower
Of the beautiful virgin, Time,
I heard the melodious vesper hour
And the sprightly quarter-chime.
Then the blackbird finished his song
On a penetrant, resolute note;
Though the thrush descanted long,
For he knows no tune by rote—
With sighs descanted long
Of the sorrow he aches to tell;
With sobs and shuddering moans,
Like one that sings in Hell,
He laced the phantom over-tones
Of the mellow vesper-bell:
Some terror he fain would tell,
But he never can strike the note:
So the thrush descanted long,
While the blackbird finished his song.
And the woodwele's laughter ceased
In his ash-green gurgling throat
On the fringe of the tones released
By the vibrant vesper-bell—
The forest laughter ceased
In the wake of the twilight bell,
And high, so high, from the dusky sky
The last lark breathless fell.
But the nightingales sang on
Like welling founts of sound,
As the saffron sunset paler shone
And the darkness grew profound;
The nightingales sang on
And the sleepless cuckoos beat
Their dulcimers anon, anon,
In the echoing woodland street—
Their golden dulcimers anon
In every forest street.
And lo! from their secret bowers
In the shadowy depths of the chace,
With lanterns jewelled like flowers
In state at a stately pace—
The elfin-folk from their hallowed bowers
In the innermost shrine of the chace,
Came, swinging their fragrant and luminous flowers,
To dance in the market-place—
Came with their dances and lanterned flowers
To the forest's market-place.
And I watched them dancing for hours
In elfin pomp and state:
I saw the elves and I watched them for hours,
And therefore I come so late.

Basil
How say you? An April tale
Of the nightingale's song and the lark's;
Or a vision at best, or a dream?

Ninian
Nay, for enchantments prevail,
And things are as strange as they seem,
At the mystical Tide of St. Mark's
A pregnant fantasy stirs,
And prodigies happen o' nights.

Vivian
And I saw them, I saw them, sirs—
The elves in their woodland rites!
When the vesper-bell had rung,
And the last lark dropped from the sky;
When the cuckoo's golden tongue,
And the nightingale's rhapsody
Full-filled the forest with sound,
From their secret and hallowed bowers
In the woodland depths profound,
From the innermost heart of the chace,
The elves with their lanterned flowers
Trooped forth at an elfin pace;
And I watched them dancing for hours
In the forest's market-place.