The Poetical Works of James Thomson The City of Dreadful Night: By James Thomson ("B. V."): Edited by Bertram Dobell: With a Memoir of the Author: In two volumes |
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| RONALD AND HELEN |
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 | The Poetical Works of James Thomson |  |
191
RONALD AND HELEN
I. Part I.
Most bright and genial noon of Christmas Day!
The pale blue sky is cloudless, and the sun
A white intensity of light whose ray
Is gladness unto all it shines upon:
Blue-green and foamless swells the tide-filled bay;
The remnant morning-mist still hovers dun
Above St. Aubin's shore, and through its veil
The white-walled houses gleam now tawny-pale.
The pale blue sky is cloudless, and the sun
A white intensity of light whose ray
Is gladness unto all it shines upon:
Blue-green and foamless swells the tide-filled bay;
The remnant morning-mist still hovers dun
Above St. Aubin's shore, and through its veil
The white-walled houses gleam now tawny-pale.
High on a brig's foremast a boy is singing
In proud supremacy o'er dread and care,
His arms in time with his free music swinging:
How through the ocean of crystalline air
That young and swift and joyous voice comes ringing,
Like birdnotes through the summer greenwoods fair!
What is his Christmas Carol?—The refrain
Is “Gra machree ma cruiskeen;” noble strain!
In proud supremacy o'er dread and care,
His arms in time with his free music swinging:
How through the ocean of crystalline air
That young and swift and joyous voice comes ringing,
Like birdnotes through the summer greenwoods fair!
What is his Christmas Carol?—The refrain
Is “Gra machree ma cruiskeen;” noble strain!
192
I lay abed this morning half-asleep
And half-awake, in drowsy warmth and rest;
While tender memories, such as smile and weep
Over Life's faded flowers in every breast,
And visionary thoughts, that sometimes steep
(As sunset-glories steep the greying west)
Life's mournful hours in lucent heavenly balm,
Came floating at their pleasure through my calm.
And half-awake, in drowsy warmth and rest;
While tender memories, such as smile and weep
Over Life's faded flowers in every breast,
And visionary thoughts, that sometimes steep
(As sunset-glories steep the greying west)
Life's mournful hours in lucent heavenly balm,
Came floating at their pleasure through my calm.
And thus at length, amidst the shadowy train,
A little poem, like a song-bird sweet,
First nestled in my heart, then in my brain,
And now exultant with the genial heat
Lets loose upon the air its simple strain:
Perchance some gentle hearts whose pulses beat
With Love's full symphonies in tremulous chime,
Will welcome his least minion's rustic rhyme.
A little poem, like a song-bird sweet,
First nestled in my heart, then in my brain,
And now exultant with the genial heat
Lets loose upon the air its simple strain:
Perchance some gentle hearts whose pulses beat
With Love's full symphonies in tremulous chime,
Will welcome his least minion's rustic rhyme.
It is not cold bleak winter any more;
It is the noon of summer; and the isle
Of Cæsaræan Jersey to its core
Is drunken with the Sun's unclouded smile:
The sea is steadfast as the glittering shore;
We think such water never can beguile
Fair boats, rich barques, brave men, to wreck and death,
As now it lies unwrinkled by a breath.
It is the noon of summer; and the isle
Of Cæsaræan Jersey to its core
Is drunken with the Sun's unclouded smile:
The sea is steadfast as the glittering shore;
We think such water never can beguile
Fair boats, rich barques, brave men, to wreck and death,
As now it lies unwrinkled by a breath.
193
She sitteth at the window, lone, alone;
Outgazing far across the lustrous bay,
And through the heavens beneath the sun's high throne;
For all her thoughts are wandering far away
About the regions of some Southern zone,
As they have wandered many and many a day,
Like poor, forlorn, tired, faithful carrier-doves
With urgent messages for him she loves.
Outgazing far across the lustrous bay,
And through the heavens beneath the sun's high throne;
For all her thoughts are wandering far away
About the regions of some Southern zone,
As they have wandered many and many a day,
Like poor, forlorn, tired, faithful carrier-doves
With urgent messages for him she loves.
Alas, they cannot come upon his track,
They know not where he wanders or reclines.
O India, if you hold him send him back,
More precious than all jewels of your mines!
O dreadful Sea, if he has gone to wrack
Amidst thy wrath, vouchsafe a few sad lines
To give her such assurance of his doom
That she may go unlingering to the tomb!
They know not where he wanders or reclines.
O India, if you hold him send him back,
More precious than all jewels of your mines!
O dreadful Sea, if he has gone to wrack
Amidst thy wrath, vouchsafe a few sad lines
To give her such assurance of his doom
That she may go unlingering to the tomb!
Never a single note of him to speak,
Never a single word by any ship!
A hectic fire surmounts her pallid cheek,
A peevish trouble agitates her lip;
Through her impatient fingers wan and weak
The torn-off petals of the white rose slip;
Lividly set, her eyes burn large and bright,
But with a painful sleepless desolate light.
Never a single word by any ship!
A hectic fire surmounts her pallid cheek,
A peevish trouble agitates her lip;
Through her impatient fingers wan and weak
The torn-off petals of the white rose slip;
Lividly set, her eyes burn large and bright,
But with a painful sleepless desolate light.
194
She often mutters to her own sick heart;
She often mutters to herself alone,
She often turns her with a sudden start,
To find herself too surely all alone:
Anon for weary sighs her pale lips part,
Anon she singeth in a dreamy moan
A song whose burden plains throughout the air
The heavy burden of a life's despair:—
She often mutters to herself alone,
She often turns her with a sudden start,
To find herself too surely all alone:
Anon for weary sighs her pale lips part,
Anon she singeth in a dreamy moan
A song whose burden plains throughout the air
The heavy burden of a life's despair:—
“Adieu, adieu, my ain true Love,
We must for ever part:
Though I am not of Douglas sib,
I bear the bleeding heart,
My dear,
I bear the bleeding heart!”
We must for ever part:
Though I am not of Douglas sib,
I bear the bleeding heart,
My dear,
I bear the bleeding heart!”
“From all the farthest quarters of the world
The level snowdrifts of white letters come;
With all the steam-cars o'er the safe land hurled,
With all the ships athwart the wild sea-foam,
Till every happy wreath at length unfurled
Melts in the warmth of loving hearts at home:
And never one white flake to me addrest,
To cool the burning fever of my breast!
The level snowdrifts of white letters come;
With all the steam-cars o'er the safe land hurled,
With all the ships athwart the wild sea-foam,
Till every happy wreath at length unfurled
Melts in the warmth of loving hearts at home:
And never one white flake to me addrest,
To cool the burning fever of my breast!
“O Sun, thou large and lidless eye of fire,
My soul is withered in thy steadfast gaze;
O hot and heavy air I must respire,
No secret spring this fever-thirst allays;
O cruel Sea, enmasking thy fierce ire
With rippling smiles carest by golden rays:
I would that I were buried cool and deep
From this world-furnace in unwaking sleep!
My soul is withered in thy steadfast gaze;
O hot and heavy air I must respire,
No secret spring this fever-thirst allays;
195
With rippling smiles carest by golden rays:
I would that I were buried cool and deep
From this world-furnace in unwaking sleep!
“I dreamed a dream of superhuman bliss,
And it has vanished in the day's broad glare;
I breathed my soul forth in one rapturous kiss,
And it has died out in the vacant air;
I stretched unheedful o'er a precipice
To pluck Life's crowning Love-rose,—Oh, how fair!—
And, all its fragrant beauty unenjoyed,
I plunge down shuddering through the gulfy void.
And it has vanished in the day's broad glare;
I breathed my soul forth in one rapturous kiss,
And it has died out in the vacant air;
I stretched unheedful o'er a precipice
To pluck Life's crowning Love-rose,—Oh, how fair!—
And, all its fragrant beauty unenjoyed,
I plunge down shuddering through the gulfy void.
“O Ronald, Ronald, wheresoe'er you be:
Whether lone-sleeping in an alien tomb,
Or overswept by the remorseless sea,
Or languid in the richest Orient's bloom
Breathing delicious life; I summon thee!
In body or in soul, whate'er your doom,
Come hither; but one moment; so that I
With consecration of your love may die!
Whether lone-sleeping in an alien tomb,
Or overswept by the remorseless sea,
Or languid in the richest Orient's bloom
Breathing delicious life; I summon thee!
In body or in soul, whate'er your doom,
Come hither; but one moment; so that I
With consecration of your love may die!
“Perchance some Indian witch hath snared your heart
With fiery philtres and enwoven wiles
Some swarthy Cleopatra, with the art
To melt strong manhood in her tears and smiles:
I see you there, all powerless to depart,
The more her slave the more you learn her guiles;
Draining the wine of that voluptuous sin
Which Heaven and Earth seem both well lost to win.
With fiery philtres and enwoven wiles
196
To melt strong manhood in her tears and smiles:
I see you there, all powerless to depart,
The more her slave the more you learn her guiles;
Draining the wine of that voluptuous sin
Which Heaven and Earth seem both well lost to win.
“Break through her spells, my beautiful, my brave!
Shake off thy swoon, stand up, and come away!
Submit no more to be her doting slave,
Embruted while you grovel in her sway!—
Alas, alas, how misery will rave!
Thou art my own true love; thou art the prey
Of no fierce lusts, thou, pure and strong and free,
But of the wild waste all-devouring sea.
Shake off thy swoon, stand up, and come away!
Submit no more to be her doting slave,
Embruted while you grovel in her sway!—
Alas, alas, how misery will rave!
Thou art my own true love; thou art the prey
Of no fierce lusts, thou, pure and strong and free,
But of the wild waste all-devouring sea.
“The fair white signal-pennon droopeth down
Against its flagstaff on the fortress high;
The solid serpent-smoke is trailing brown
A lazy bulk between the sea and sky:
How many hearts throughout the busy town
Foresee dear friends or friendly greetings nigh!
The flag of truce stills none of all my pains,
The serpent's venom burns through all my veins.
Against its flagstaff on the fortress high;
The solid serpent-smoke is trailing brown
A lazy bulk between the sea and sky:
How many hearts throughout the busy town
Foresee dear friends or friendly greetings nigh!
The flag of truce stills none of all my pains,
The serpent's venom burns through all my veins.
197
“Yet it is hard, O God, to die so soon,
To feel my life decay before its prime;
To perish in May-frosts when sumptuous June
Is bringing Eden-airs to bless the clime;
To have my day eclipsed before its noon;
To sleep a widow ere the wedding-time,
Down in the cold dark Earth—there truly wed,
For Death the Skeleton will share my bed.”
To feel my life decay before its prime;
To perish in May-frosts when sumptuous June
Is bringing Eden-airs to bless the clime;
To have my day eclipsed before its noon;
To sleep a widow ere the wedding-time,
Down in the cold dark Earth—there truly wed,
For Death the Skeleton will share my bed.”
Then all the memories of her happy hours,
Her girlish hours of hope and health and glee,
And love a-budding like the other flowers
When April whispers of the June to be;
Of moonlit waters and of sunny bowers
Ere one went forth upon the desert sea;
Swelled in her heart and filled her eyes, and bore
Out through her lips their passionate Nevermore!:—
Her girlish hours of hope and health and glee,
And love a-budding like the other flowers
When April whispers of the June to be;
Of moonlit waters and of sunny bowers
Ere one went forth upon the desert sea;
Swelled in her heart and filled her eyes, and bore
Out through her lips their passionate Nevermore!:—
“O thou happy, happy Island-home,
So rich and green and fair,
Which I and my true-love used to roam
Without a thought of care.
So rich and green and fair,
Which I and my true-love used to roam
Without a thought of care.
O thou many-peopled busy town
Upon the broad bay's marge;
Into whose full life we went down
And felt our life as large.
Upon the broad bay's marge;
Into whose full life we went down
And felt our life as large.
198
O the ringing of the hammers on the building ships,
And the bustle of the pier,
With the gleaming eyes and the trembling lips
And the last embraces dear.
And the bustle of the pier,
With the gleaming eyes and the trembling lips
And the last embraces dear.
O the mile-long sweep of the full tide swell
Far up the soft white sand;
O the flashing of the foam when it scales so well
The rocks of the Castle grand.
Far up the soft white sand;
O the flashing of the foam when it scales so well
The rocks of the Castle grand.
O the flutter of the flakes in the broad bay mouth,
Like myriads of sea-birds white;
O the gliding of the sails in the hazy south,
Like spirits calm and bright.
Like myriads of sea-birds white;
O the gliding of the sails in the hazy south,
Like spirits calm and bright.
O the wondrous mists that enchant the whole,
And make it what they please,—
A faërie realm for the dreaming soul,
Or a wreck beneath dull seas.
And make it what they please,—
A faërie realm for the dreaming soul,
Or a wreck beneath dull seas.
O the banks of the golden gorse and broom,
And the lanes that wind like a burn,
With the soft snowflakes of the apple-bloom
Shed thick on their hedgerow fern.
And the lanes that wind like a burn,
With the soft snowflakes of the apple-bloom
Shed thick on their hedgerow fern.
O the slant-stemmed orchards, ripe and old,
When the rich fruits everywhere,
Like flames of ruby and globes of gold,
Burn in the quivering air.
When the rich fruits everywhere,
Like flames of ruby and globes of gold,
Burn in the quivering air.
199
O the sleek and tethered kine that graze
The valley-bottoms sweet,
And look up with such long, slow, patient gaze
As you pass with lingering feet.
The valley-bottoms sweet,
And look up with such long, slow, patient gaze
As you pass with lingering feet.
O the singing of the larks in the fields of air
Above the fields of grain,
When the sky is blue and the clouds are rare,
And the hedges laugh with rain.
Above the fields of grain,
When the sky is blue and the clouds are rare,
And the hedges laugh with rain.
Can it indeed, then, can it be,
That I so young in years
Must fade from the land and the air and the sea
And the heaven of shining spheres?
That I so young in years
Must fade from the land and the air and the sea
And the heaven of shining spheres?
Must fade away to a joyless ghost,
Or moulder in the earth,
While all the world and the starry host
Live on in their glorious mirth?
Or moulder in the earth,
While all the world and the starry host
Live on in their glorious mirth?
From all the life and the beauty part
Without one loving tear
Of those eyes that lit the flame in my heart,
That burns my life out here?
Without one loving tear
Of those eyes that lit the flame in my heart,
That burns my life out here?
O Father, Father, I beseech
Before I go but this,—
To see his face, to hear his speech,
To feel his fervent kiss!
Before I go but this,—
To see his face, to hear his speech,
To feel his fervent kiss!
200
When he again has sworn the vow
Which long ago he swore—
‘My Love, I loved you, love you now,
And must love evermore!’:
Which long ago he swore—
‘My Love, I loved you, love you now,
And must love evermore!’:
Then I can breathe my latest breath,
And feel Thy will be done!
Assured that in the after-death
We ever shall be one.”
And feel Thy will be done!
Assured that in the after-death
We ever shall be one.”
The one priceless pearl Cleopatra dissolved and drank in the wine of her love was the noble manhood of Antony.
II. Part II.
The same hushed vault of dim blue marble sky,
All over-wandered with its thin white veins;
The same fixed marble sea whose blue-green dye
Brown sunken rocks enrich with purple stains:
For still the same despotic sun on high
In haughty splendour bare and beamless reigns;
The earth beneath his too impassioned love
Is Semele embraced with fire by Jove.
All over-wandered with its thin white veins;
The same fixed marble sea whose blue-green dye
Brown sunken rocks enrich with purple stains:
For still the same despotic sun on high
In haughty splendour bare and beamless reigns;
The earth beneath his too impassioned love
Is Semele embraced with fire by Jove.
What royal vision issues calm and free,
Making the isle at once her beauty's throne?—
For all the sphere of earth and sky and sea
Pavilions not too grandly her alone.
Can this erect and glorious woman be
The pining girl whose weary heartsick moan
Fretted the long still hours of yesterday?
Can that rich life have ever known decay?
Making the isle at once her beauty's throne?—
For all the sphere of earth and sky and sea
Pavilions not too grandly her alone.
201
The pining girl whose weary heartsick moan
Fretted the long still hours of yesterday?
Can that rich life have ever known decay?
With what pure bloom and firm elastic grace
She glides among the flowers, a flower more fair;
With what undazzled eyes and dew-fresh face
She fronts the South in all its quivering glare;
Her arms stretched forth as if to the embrace
Of some Olympian lover burning there;
Her lips just parted, and her bosom's breath
Suspended in the bliss as calm as death.
She glides among the flowers, a flower more fair;
With what undazzled eyes and dew-fresh face
She fronts the South in all its quivering glare;
Her arms stretched forth as if to the embrace
Of some Olympian lover burning there;
Her lips just parted, and her bosom's breath
Suspended in the bliss as calm as death.
Her mother follows her, a matron mild,
Now panting with astonishment and fear:
“My poor, poor Helen! my unhappy child!
What change is this, what madness brings you here? . . .
She heeds me not . . . her look is fixed and wild . . .
It is your mother speaking to you, dear!
O God! what terrors hast Thou still in store?—
She does not know her anguish any more!”
Now panting with astonishment and fear:
“My poor, poor Helen! my unhappy child!
What change is this, what madness brings you here? . . .
She heeds me not . . . her look is fixed and wild . . .
It is your mother speaking to you, dear!
O God! what terrors hast Thou still in store?—
She does not know her anguish any more!”
The cry has troubled her serenest trance;
She turns, and with reluctant effort slow
Draws back her spirit from the bright expanse
To comprehend her mother's clamorous woe;
And then with such a strange, calm, pitying glance
As angels on our sufferings may bestow,
Bends down to kiss her: “Mother, sweet and kind,
God has at length restored me my right mind.
She turns, and with reluctant effort slow
Draws back her spirit from the bright expanse
To comprehend her mother's clamorous woe;
202
As angels on our sufferings may bestow,
Bends down to kiss her: “Mother, sweet and kind,
God has at length restored me my right mind.
Last night I laid a wild, wild burning head
Upon the pillow whence this morn arose
A sweet cool shrine of happy thoughts instead:
If I had slept death's slumber from my woes,
A shroud my sheet, a narrow grave my bed
(How often have I yearned for such repose!),
And risen to the Heavenly Life, the change
Could scarcely be more glorious and strange.
Upon the pillow whence this morn arose
A sweet cool shrine of happy thoughts instead:
If I had slept death's slumber from my woes,
A shroud my sheet, a narrow grave my bed
(How often have I yearned for such repose!),
And risen to the Heavenly Life, the change
Could scarcely be more glorious and strange.
Whether in sleep or not I cannot tell—
Ah, life was all one restless dream insane!—
A casual thought like some wind-seedling fell,
And struck firm root within my infirm brain,
And drew up all my soul as by a spell
To feed its strength (and all my soul was fain),
And grew up an oracular vast tree
Whose leaves all murmured, Oh, the sea! the sea!
Ah, life was all one restless dream insane!—
A casual thought like some wind-seedling fell,
And struck firm root within my infirm brain,
And drew up all my soul as by a spell
To feed its strength (and all my soul was fain),
And grew up an oracular vast tree
Whose leaves all murmured, Oh, the sea! the sea!
Till I felt stifled in my little room
And could not rest for irresistible yearning;
But like a ghost that leaves its midnight tomb,
Went forth and hurried forward without turning
Over the hill-paths chequered gleam and gloom,
And down the snow-white sand, to bathe my burning
Tumultuous forehead deep in the divine,
Calm cool refreshment of the deep-sea-brine.
And could not rest for irresistible yearning;
But like a ghost that leaves its midnight tomb,
Went forth and hurried forward without turning
203
And down the snow-white sand, to bathe my burning
Tumultuous forehead deep in the divine,
Calm cool refreshment of the deep-sea-brine.
The sands late flooded by the sounding tide
Wore luminous silver spoil of its retreat;
But till I felt the glassy waters slide
With thin spent whispers round my naked feet
(The gathering volume of the next wave wide
Nearing me fast with murmur full and sweet),
I could not raise my eyes to see indeed
Being intent alone on my great need.
Wore luminous silver spoil of its retreat;
But till I felt the glassy waters slide
With thin spent whispers round my naked feet
(The gathering volume of the next wave wide
Nearing me fast with murmur full and sweet),
I could not raise my eyes to see indeed
Being intent alone on my great need.
I looked, I stood: there never was a night
Of such heart-breaking beauty for despair!
Our world's one darling and supreme delight,
Golden Beatitude! the moon couched there
'Midst golden-tissued cloudlets; and her bright
Serene regard entranced the breathless air,
And dazzled her old slave, the fawning sea:
Oh, how the cruel splendour maddened me!
Of such heart-breaking beauty for despair!
Our world's one darling and supreme delight,
Golden Beatitude! the moon couched there
'Midst golden-tissued cloudlets; and her bright
Serene regard entranced the breathless air,
And dazzled her old slave, the fawning sea:
Oh, how the cruel splendour maddened me!
Why linger here, where tireless ripples run
Enraptured in the glory of her gaze?
All lightsome creatures my dark sorrow shun,
No fiery wine a fiery thirst allays.
But I must reach those low rock-ridges dun,
Where wrinkled shadows bar the silver rays;
There shall I find some deep dark silent pool,
Dark as oblivion, deep as death, grave-cool.
Enraptured in the glory of her gaze?
All lightsome creatures my dark sorrow shun,
No fiery wine a fiery thirst allays.
204
Where wrinkled shadows bar the silver rays;
There shall I find some deep dark silent pool,
Dark as oblivion, deep as death, grave-cool.
So I walked forth along the pathway paved
With tremulous lustre; and no thought of fear
Or wonder told me of the peril braved:
And though the light transfixed me like a spear,
Yet o'er that sea of crystal, many-waved,
To walk right on into the magic sphere
Of that low gorgeous moon, was such a dream
As made the pang a too sharp rapture seem.
With tremulous lustre; and no thought of fear
Or wonder told me of the peril braved:
And though the light transfixed me like a spear,
Yet o'er that sea of crystal, many-waved,
To walk right on into the magic sphere
Of that low gorgeous moon, was such a dream
As made the pang a too sharp rapture seem.
I reached the ridge; and as by instinct went,
Eyeless with dreaming, to the dear old place;—
A pebbled floor with small bright shells besprent,
A pool at lowest ebb when not a trace
Of moisture in hot noons is elsewhere lent
To those black calcined rocks that need the grace
Of living waters round them, and instead
Have white sand-powder thick with worm coils spread.
Eyeless with dreaming, to the dear old place;—
A pebbled floor with small bright shells besprent,
A pool at lowest ebb when not a trace
Of moisture in hot noons is elsewhere lent
To those black calcined rocks that need the grace
Of living waters round them, and instead
Have white sand-powder thick with worm coils spread.
Here on this sloping ledge we sat alone
That last sad day, and let the long hours swim
Unheeded over us; and like a moan
From far away each voice gasped strange and dim;
His eyes were blank, his face was set like stone.
What now is left me of the place and him?
A book of lovely, delicate, sanguine weeds,
A heart of thoughts whose every fibre bleeds.
That last sad day, and let the long hours swim
Unheeded over us; and like a moan
From far away each voice gasped strange and dim;
205
What now is left me of the place and him?
A book of lovely, delicate, sanguine weeds,
A heart of thoughts whose every fibre bleeds.
‘Here let me lie; the shadow is so deep,
The little water is so cold and pure—
A font baptizing me to blessèd sleep;
To slumber which for ever shall endure,
Being o'ershrouded by the refluent sweep
Of the great tide; or else whose balm will cure
My soul to fitness for this world of life:
Mysterious prescience soothes my inward strife!
The little water is so cold and pure—
A font baptizing me to blessèd sleep;
To slumber which for ever shall endure,
Being o'ershrouded by the refluent sweep
Of the great tide; or else whose balm will cure
My soul to fitness for this world of life:
Mysterious prescience soothes my inward strife!
So first I knelt to dip my weary head,
And then lay down as if the hollow were
My natural resting-place, my nightly bed;
And weedlike on the water streamed my hair.
Then a strange peace was on my spirit shed;
Beyond inert unconsciousness of care:
I felt the world's smooth, silent, solemn wheeling;
A mystic, restful, and triumphant feeling.
And then lay down as if the hollow were
My natural resting-place, my nightly bed;
And weedlike on the water streamed my hair.
Then a strange peace was on my spirit shed;
Beyond inert unconsciousness of care:
I felt the world's smooth, silent, solemn wheeling;
A mystic, restful, and triumphant feeling.
‘The burning golden Rose of the Day
Droops down to the Western Sea;
And the amber and purple flush of the sky,
And the crimson glow of the sea,
Ebb, ebb away; fade, fade and die;
While the Earth all mantled in shadowy grey
Washes her brow with a restful sigh
In the cool sweet dews of the gloaming.
Droops down to the Western Sea;
And the amber and purple flush of the sky,
And the crimson glow of the sea,
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While the Earth all mantled in shadowy grey
Washes her brow with a restful sigh
In the cool sweet dews of the gloaming.
‘Then the shining silver Lily of the Night
Opens broad her leaves divine,
Afloat on the azure hyaline
Of the heavenly sea; and her purest light
Kisses the Earth that dreaming lies
In a still enchanted sleeping;
While the heavens with their countless starry eyes
Still watch are keeping.
Opens broad her leaves divine,
Afloat on the azure hyaline
Of the heavenly sea; and her purest light
Kisses the Earth that dreaming lies
In a still enchanted sleeping;
While the heavens with their countless starry eyes
Still watch are keeping.
‘The Earth loves the golden Rose of the Day
From which she distils the fiery wine
Of immortal youth and magnificent might;
But the Sea loves the silver Lily of the Night,
For her beams are as wands of a holier sway
Whose spell brings the trance divine:
The Rose for Life's feast and the festal array,
The Lily for Death's shrine.’
From which she distils the fiery wine
Of immortal youth and magnificent might;
But the Sea loves the silver Lily of the Night,
For her beams are as wands of a holier sway
Whose spell brings the trance divine:
The Rose for Life's feast and the festal array,
The Lily for Death's shrine.’
Who was the singer, singing thus alone
Amidst the tidal rocks, beneath the moon?
What gave his voice that mighty murmurous tone?
Where had he learned that preternatural tune?—
Melting all melody into a moan
Of infinite yearning, then from music's swoon
Striding to marshal armies of proud sound
Whose trampling shook the earth and filled the air around.
Amidst the tidal rocks, beneath the moon?
What gave his voice that mighty murmurous tone?
Where had he learned that preternatural tune?—
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Of infinite yearning, then from music's swoon
Striding to marshal armies of proud sound
Whose trampling shook the earth and filled the air around.
I rose, but gently, gently, not to spill
A single drop of that enchanted wine
Brimming my soul; and crept to where a sill,
Backed by dark rock from all the gleam and shine,
Served as a window; and there settled still,
And gazed—if one indeed can gaze whose eyne
Are fixed in blank dilation, while her ears
Drink in oracular rhythms from all the spheres.
A single drop of that enchanted wine
Brimming my soul; and crept to where a sill,
Backed by dark rock from all the gleam and shine,
Served as a window; and there settled still,
And gazed—if one indeed can gaze whose eyne
Are fixed in blank dilation, while her ears
Drink in oracular rhythms from all the spheres.
Yet in my round of vision, very near
He sat, and merged in my unconscious sight
To union with his music in the clear
Tropical splendour of the liquid light:
An old, old man, reverend yet not austere,
Who on a lower rock-ledge sat upright
Fronting the moon, and chanting for her grace,
While all his soul shone steadfast in his face.
He sat, and merged in my unconscious sight
To union with his music in the clear
Tropical splendour of the liquid light:
An old, old man, reverend yet not austere,
Who on a lower rock-ledge sat upright
Fronting the moon, and chanting for her grace,
While all his soul shone steadfast in his face.
‘The Earth lay breathless in a fever-swoon
Beneath the burning noon,
Sun-stricken, dazed with light and sick with heat;
Then came the waters from the cool mid-sea
Trooping up blithe and free,
And fanned her brow with airs so fresh and sweet;
And crept about her gently and caressed
Her broad unheaving breast
With the white cincture of a magic zone;
Bathing and swathing her faint limbs, that were
In the fierce sunfire bare,
With lucid liquid folds of rich green purple-strown.
Beneath the burning noon,
Sun-stricken, dazed with light and sick with heat;
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Trooping up blithe and free,
And fanned her brow with airs so fresh and sweet;
And crept about her gently and caressed
Her broad unheaving breast
With the white cincture of a magic zone;
Bathing and swathing her faint limbs, that were
In the fierce sunfire bare,
With lucid liquid folds of rich green purple-strown.
‘Then as the sun went floating to his rest
Down the enamoured West,
The waves were leaving the calm earth to dreams;
Bearing the smirch of her long day's turmoil,
The sweat of her fierce toil,
The sultry breaths and feverous steams,—
Bearing all far away, and as they went
Whispering with blithe content,
To drown and cleanse them in the pure midsea;
The while the Earth all dewy sweet and clean,
And drowsily serene,
Beneath the star-dewed heavens might slumber safe and free.’
Down the enamoured West,
The waves were leaving the calm earth to dreams;
Bearing the smirch of her long day's turmoil,
The sweat of her fierce toil,
The sultry breaths and feverous steams,—
Bearing all far away, and as they went
Whispering with blithe content,
To drown and cleanse them in the pure midsea;
The while the Earth all dewy sweet and clean,
And drowsily serene,
Beneath the star-dewed heavens might slumber safe and free.’
His foam-white hair and beard fell floating down
In flowing curves like tendril-plants sea-swayed,
Over his sea-like green-blue silken gown,
Ample, of ever-shifting gleam and shade.
Upon his knees the mighty hands dark-brown
Grasped a great chorded shell, whose sleek lips played
Wild freaks of rainbow lightnings to illume
The gorgeous thunders of its hollow womb.
In flowing curves like tendril-plants sea-swayed,
Over his sea-like green-blue silken gown,
Ample, of ever-shifting gleam and shade.
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Grasped a great chorded shell, whose sleek lips played
Wild freaks of rainbow lightnings to illume
The gorgeous thunders of its hollow womb.
Why speak of hair, harp, hands, when in his eyes
The wonder dwelt? A small intense lone mere,
Which under thick tree-shadows airless lies,
As deep and blackly splendid may appear
As if the whole night gloom beneath the skies
Were concentrated in its narrow sphere:
Such were those orbs, those well-shafts of black splendour,
Through which a soul gazed, solemn, powerful, tender.
The wonder dwelt? A small intense lone mere,
Which under thick tree-shadows airless lies,
As deep and blackly splendid may appear
As if the whole night gloom beneath the skies
Were concentrated in its narrow sphere:
Such were those orbs, those well-shafts of black splendour,
Through which a soul gazed, solemn, powerful, tender.
Deep wells lead down to all-mysterious death,
Deep eyes lead down to a mysterious soul,
And both thrill fascination; but who saith
What lures us on to plunge for either goal?
I dared not stir or speak, and yet my breath
Hysterically bursting from control
Cried through his chanting in a plaint forlorn,
Learnt by the sea-beach one drear winter morn:
Deep eyes lead down to a mysterious soul,
And both thrill fascination; but who saith
What lures us on to plunge for either goal?
I dared not stir or speak, and yet my breath
Hysterically bursting from control
Cried through his chanting in a plaint forlorn,
Learnt by the sea-beach one drear winter morn:
‘Leafless and brown are the trees,
And the wild waste rocks are brown
Which the wan green sea so stealthily
Comes creeping up to drown;
And the north-west breeze blows chill,
And the sky is cold and pale;
And nevermore from this desolate shore
Shall I watch my true-love's sail.’
And the wild waste rocks are brown
Which the wan green sea so stealthily
Comes creeping up to drown;
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And the sky is cold and pale;
And nevermore from this desolate shore
Shall I watch my true-love's sail.’
As if indeed, omnisciently aware,
He had been calmly waiting all the while
My own announcement of my presence there,
He turned his glance with an assuring smile,
And said, ‘So young, and singing of despair!—
What tyranny of fate, what human guile,
Or what mere folly of your own weak heart,
Makes you bewail an ever-cureless smart?
He had been calmly waiting all the while
My own announcement of my presence there,
He turned his glance with an assuring smile,
And said, ‘So young, and singing of despair!—
What tyranny of fate, what human guile,
Or what mere folly of your own weak heart,
Makes you bewail an ever-cureless smart?
‘My poor Child! come and tell me all your woe;
And I perchance may find some healing balm:
Howe'er the billows rage and tempests blow,
The sea's deep heart lies brooding ever calm:
Wild waste above may have pure peace below.’ . . .
I knelt there at his feet and felt his palm—
Palm of a mighty hand—caress my hair,
As erst the harpstrings, with fine tender care.
And I perchance may find some healing balm:
Howe'er the billows rage and tempests blow,
The sea's deep heart lies brooding ever calm:
Wild waste above may have pure peace below.’ . . .
I knelt there at his feet and felt his palm—
Palm of a mighty hand—caress my hair,
As erst the harpstrings, with fine tender care.
And I could tell him all my woe and pain,
As scarcely I could tell you, mother dear;
All the wild dreams that haunted my vexed brain,
All the sharp agonies of doubt and fear,
All the despair of longings ever vain:
And as I poured them forth into his ear
I felt they never could return to me,
But were as torrents drowned in the great sea.
As scarcely I could tell you, mother dear;
All the wild dreams that haunted my vexed brain,
All the sharp agonies of doubt and fear,
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And as I poured them forth into his ear
I felt they never could return to me,
But were as torrents drowned in the great sea.
His hand was a strong blessing on my head;
His eyes drew out the fever from my soul,
And filled it all with cool sweet light instead,
And held me calm in their supreme control
By some high magic free from awe and dread,
A spiritual charm; and when the whole
Of my sad tale was sobbed forth, I felt sure,
Before he named a remedy, of cure.
His eyes drew out the fever from my soul,
And filled it all with cool sweet light instead,
And held me calm in their supreme control
By some high magic free from awe and dread,
A spiritual charm; and when the whole
Of my sad tale was sobbed forth, I felt sure,
Before he named a remedy, of cure.
Thoughtfully, father-tenderly he smiled,
And held a moonlike jewel out to me:
‘This crystal-clear and hollow gem, my Child,
Contains one pure drop from the deep midsea;
And all the ocean-volumes calm or wild
In all their depth and power and mystery,
Clothing the round world with a living robe,
Are represented in its little globe.
And held a moonlike jewel out to me:
‘This crystal-clear and hollow gem, my Child,
Contains one pure drop from the deep midsea;
And all the ocean-volumes calm or wild
In all their depth and power and mystery,
Clothing the round world with a living robe,
Are represented in its little globe.
‘Take it, and seek in it with trustful care,
Turning it slowly; and if He you mourn,
Lord of your life and death, is anywhere
Within the sea's dominions—whether borne
Upon its bosom breathing happy air,
Or buried in its depth a corpse forlorn—
The blank will stir and breathe until you find
His image in its magic sphere enshrined.’
Turning it slowly; and if He you mourn,
Lord of your life and death, is anywhere
Within the sea's dominions—whether borne
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Or buried in its depth a corpse forlorn—
The blank will stir and breathe until you find
His image in its magic sphere enshrined.’
I took it, full of faith; but could not see
At first,—my hand so trembled, and my eyes
Were clouded with such rushing mystery
From my heart's fiery throbbing. But his wise
Serene regard, steadfastly holding me,
Soothed and restored; as tender moonlight lies
In beautiful calm upon the ocean's breast,
Enchanting into peace its great unrest.
At first,—my hand so trembled, and my eyes
Were clouded with such rushing mystery
From my heart's fiery throbbing. But his wise
Serene regard, steadfastly holding me,
Soothed and restored; as tender moonlight lies
In beautiful calm upon the ocean's breast,
Enchanting into peace its great unrest.
Upon my open palm the jewel gleamed,
Faint, semi-lucid, almost colourless:
I gazed, gazed, turning slowly, till it seemed
Expanding by soft pulses in the stress
Of my persistent gaze, whose full light streamed
Triumphant with prophetic consciousness;
Pulse after pulse, wave after wave, poured still
From eyes protending with imperious will.
Faint, semi-lucid, almost colourless:
I gazed, gazed, turning slowly, till it seemed
Expanding by soft pulses in the stress
Of my persistent gaze, whose full light streamed
Triumphant with prophetic consciousness;
Pulse after pulse, wave after wave, poured still
From eyes protending with imperious will.
A golden star is kindled at its core,
The spherelet fills with the dissolving light;
Gather and shift and vanish shadows hoar:
It is pervaded with miraculous might,
Swelling in musical triumph more and more:
Behold! within and yet beyond our night
Another heaven, another sea unfurled,
Another vast horizon of our world!
The spherelet fills with the dissolving light;
Gather and shift and vanish shadows hoar:
It is pervaded with miraculous might,
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Behold! within and yet beyond our night
Another heaven, another sea unfurled,
Another vast horizon of our world!
A vault of sky; the wan moon near its crest
Fades from those fiery armies of the dawn,
Whose van is up with golden spears in rest:
A plane of sea as level as a lawn,
But sapphire-blue; upon the far north-west
A low grey land-cloud delicately drawn;
And in the centre of the faërie sphere
A single ship: all steadfast, solemn, clear!
Fades from those fiery armies of the dawn,
Whose van is up with golden spears in rest:
A plane of sea as level as a lawn,
But sapphire-blue; upon the far north-west
A low grey land-cloud delicately drawn;
And in the centre of the faërie sphere
A single ship: all steadfast, solemn, clear!
A lonely ship; through the crystalline air
I see it as beneath a microscope
We see an insect, every scale and hair;
I hear its panting, and the plash aslope
Its prow of languid wavelets green:—and there!—
Oh, heart be firm, or this fierce shock of Hope
Leaping up Bliss, will slay us!—Who is He
Yearning across the ocean-leagues to me!
I see it as beneath a microscope
We see an insect, every scale and hair;
I hear its panting, and the plash aslope
Its prow of languid wavelets green:—and there!—
Oh, heart be firm, or this fierce shock of Hope
Leaping up Bliss, will slay us!—Who is He
Yearning across the ocean-leagues to me!
Hush, hush; he murmurs . . . How dark-bronzed and brown
The face that was so ruddy! Noble face,
With lordly lion-locks for golden crown!—
As pious Moslems in whatever place
Turn always Meccaward when kneeling down
For adoration of the Throne of Grace,
He has turned hither, praying steadfast-eyed,
Leaning impassioned o'er the vessel's side.
The face that was so ruddy! Noble face,
With lordly lion-locks for golden crown!—
As pious Moslems in whatever place
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For adoration of the Throne of Grace,
He has turned hither, praying steadfast-eyed,
Leaning impassioned o'er the vessel's side.
Listen! ‘O Helen, this mysterious chain
Which links us heart to heart, gives mine no rest,
Dragging with such persistent cruel strain
As if to tear it bleeding from my breast.
From utmost India, over land and main,
It draws me wild with longing to the West:
What crushing grief, what bitter worldly strife,
Or inward agony, exhausts your life?
Which links us heart to heart, gives mine no rest,
Dragging with such persistent cruel strain
As if to tear it bleeding from my breast.
From utmost India, over land and main,
It draws me wild with longing to the West:
What crushing grief, what bitter worldly strife,
Or inward agony, exhausts your life?
‘I come, I come, Belovèd! tender heart
Swooning transfixed! no wonder mine must bleed,
Pierced by our sympathy with the same dart.
I come, I come, to stay you in your need,
And nevermore in life shall we two part! . . .
Lo, with what beautiful and tranquil speed
The morning drowns the gloom and fires the grey,
And breathes triumphantly night's fears away!’
Swooning transfixed! no wonder mine must bleed,
Pierced by our sympathy with the same dart.
I come, I come, to stay you in your need,
And nevermore in life shall we two part! . . .
Lo, with what beautiful and tranquil speed
The morning drowns the gloom and fires the grey,
And breathes triumphantly night's fears away!’
Oh, murmur sweeter than the sweetest psalm
On Sabbath eve in Summer, through the air
Floating with outspread wings that rain pure balm
On who may through some quiet valley fare!—
How picture-motionless, how crystal-calm
And crystal-lucid, sea and sky spread there,
Ringed by the far horizon's perfect ring;
That lonely ship the only human thing!
On Sabbath eve in Summer, through the air
Floating with outspread wings that rain pure balm
On who may through some quiet valley fare!—
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And crystal-lucid, sea and sky spread there,
Ringed by the far horizon's perfect ring;
That lonely ship the only human thing!
I could not dare to break the magic peace
By crying ev'n to him, my Love so near;
But gazed and listened: then a milk-white fleece
Fell in vast volumes through the æther clear,
And surged in violent growth and swift decrease;
Whereon the suddenly thus-muffled sphere
Span round, all ruining in with hollow roar.
I cannot, though I try, remember more.
By crying ev'n to him, my Love so near;
But gazed and listened: then a milk-white fleece
Fell in vast volumes through the æther clear,
And surged in violent growth and swift decrease;
Whereon the suddenly thus-muffled sphere
Span round, all ruining in with hollow roar.
I cannot, though I try, remember more.
Something there was: that old Sea-god benign,
Glaucus the wonderful, to whom I raise
Within my heart a rich and secret shrine
For floral gratitude and incense-praise;
Glaucus, and Ronald, and dear mother mine
Yourself, seen flitting all before my gaze
In glimmering dusk; strange music stirs sweet bowers:
The rest has fled with the swift-flying hours.
Glaucus the wonderful, to whom I raise
Within my heart a rich and secret shrine
For floral gratitude and incense-praise;
Glaucus, and Ronald, and dear mother mine
Yourself, seen flitting all before my gaze
In glimmering dusk; strange music stirs sweet bowers:
The rest has fled with the swift-flying hours.
With the swift flying hours that bring to me
My Love, my Own, my Beautiful, my Brave!
Swift may their flight sweep over the broad sea,
Soft fall their shadow on the halcyon wave!
The hours are Seraphs bright with holy glee,
Whom I thought sombre bearers to the grave!
There is no grave, no death, no gloom of night;
The World all overflows with God's pure light.”
My Love, my Own, my Beautiful, my Brave!
Swift may their flight sweep over the broad sea,
Soft fall their shadow on the halcyon wave!
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Whom I thought sombre bearers to the grave!
There is no grave, no death, no gloom of night;
The World all overflows with God's pure light.”
III. Part III.
Nature had roused herself from that still trance,
Her long siesta in the noon o' the year;
Vast clouds had gathered in the dim expanse,
High gales had swept the brooding atmosphere,
With thunders and broad lightnings, with the dance
Of joyous rain upon the meadows sere,
And trees tumultuous as a roaring tide,
And wan green bay and livid offing wide.
Her long siesta in the noon o' the year;
Vast clouds had gathered in the dim expanse,
High gales had swept the brooding atmosphere,
With thunders and broad lightnings, with the dance
Of joyous rain upon the meadows sere,
And trees tumultuous as a roaring tide,
And wan green bay and livid offing wide.
And now a morning of delicious breath,
A clear-skied morning full of hope, whose life
Has no remembrance of past gloom and death,
Whose peace abjures its birth in stormy strife,
Welcomes the Wanderer as he entereth
That noble bay-mouth which for him is rife
With all the golden treasures of rich youth
And perfect love, safesealed by perfect truth.
A clear-skied morning full of hope, whose life
Has no remembrance of past gloom and death,
Whose peace abjures its birth in stormy strife,
Welcomes the Wanderer as he entereth
That noble bay-mouth which for him is rife
With all the golden treasures of rich youth
And perfect love, safesealed by perfect truth.
The pathos of dear Memory's best delight
Had filled his eyes with tender tears before,
As they came pulsing in the early light,
Sole on the waves, aslant the happy shore;
And all the sister islets full in sight
Unshrouding from their mist-veils thin and hoar
Gleamed faintly blue: but now his soul was thrilled
With fearless triumph of life's end fulfilled.
Had filled his eyes with tender tears before,
As they came pulsing in the early light,
Sole on the waves, aslant the happy shore;
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Unshrouding from their mist-veils thin and hoar
Gleamed faintly blue: but now his soul was thrilled
With fearless triumph of life's end fulfilled.
“O fair green Isle, my Love's delightful nest,
Deep in this silver branch of the great sea!
Watched by the royal Lion of the West,
Safe from the Eagle, ‘oure sweete enemie’:
Look,—as a Lion couched in haughty rest,
Slumbrous but watchful for emergency,
Guarding a monarch's threshold night and day,
Thy Castle lies out massive in thy bay.
Deep in this silver branch of the great sea!
Watched by the royal Lion of the West,
Safe from the Eagle, ‘oure sweete enemie’:
Look,—as a Lion couched in haughty rest,
Slumbrous but watchful for emergency,
Guarding a monarch's threshold night and day,
Thy Castle lies out massive in thy bay.
“Nest of my Love! the cradles of our birth
Were rocked to mightier airs than thou hast known;
Wild winds that raved round hills of gloomy dearth,
And overswept vast heathery moorlands lone,
And swayed deep solemn lochs as if old earth
Were yawning into ruin: every tone
Of those sublimest anthems swells once more
Within me, O our stern dear Mother-shore!
Were rocked to mightier airs than thou hast known;
Wild winds that raved round hills of gloomy dearth,
And overswept vast heathery moorlands lone,
And swayed deep solemn lochs as if old earth
Were yawning into ruin: every tone
Of those sublimest anthems swells once more
Within me, O our stern dear Mother-shore!
“But youth and youth's Love-Eden, rich and fair
As that first Eden which the Lord God planted;
Wherein we wandered sole as the first pair,
And with the same divine new bliss enchanted;
Are linked with thee for ever, everywhere,
Sweet islet of the West, whose cool gleams haunted
The burning splendours of the oldest East
Shaming the wine of its voluptuous feast.
As that first Eden which the Lord God planted;
Wherein we wandered sole as the first pair,
And with the same divine new bliss enchanted;
218
Sweet islet of the West, whose cool gleams haunted
The burning splendours of the oldest East
Shaming the wine of its voluptuous feast.
“Wine of the East! not wine, but poison, call
That flood of fire which through the parched frame rolls;
‘Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all
We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,
Ere from thy vine the leaves of Autumn fall,
Catch thee and feed from their o'erflowing bowls
Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew:’
The thousands thirst; the happy souls how few!
That flood of fire which through the parched frame rolls;
‘Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all
We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,
Ere from thy vine the leaves of Autumn fall,
Catch thee and feed from their o'erflowing bowls
Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew:’
The thousands thirst; the happy souls how few!
“Thus chants the glorious Seraph?—And this wine
Brimming a golden cup was at my lips;
Yet I could put away the draught divine
After the first short, trembling, rapturous sips,
And leave the great Olympian revel-shine
And downward fare into the earth-eclipse:
And after long long years when I return,
Still my wine waits me, still the star-lamps burn!
Brimming a golden cup was at my lips;
Yet I could put away the draught divine
After the first short, trembling, rapturous sips,
And leave the great Olympian revel-shine
And downward fare into the earth-eclipse:
And after long long years when I return,
Still my wine waits me, still the star-lamps burn!
“Because the Banquet of the Gods doth last
For ever and for ever, day and night!
Because their wine when years on years have passed
Is fresh as at that instant when its light
Streamed like a ruby chainlet holding fast
The golden cup to Hebe's wrist curved white;
Because his place who once hath sat there blest
Is never taken by another guest.
For ever and for ever, day and night!
Because their wine when years on years have passed
Is fresh as at that instant when its light
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The golden cup to Hebe's wrist curved white;
Because his place who once hath sat there blest
Is never taken by another guest.
“And I did well, and I did well O Love,
To love yet leave; do well to now return!
How should a boy with great gods feast, and prove
The nectar's inmost potency, discern
Its subtlest fragrance, feel its ardours move
Thrilling in slow rich growth until they burn
Through all the being in a still desire
And pure white flame of unconsuming fire?
To love yet leave; do well to now return!
How should a boy with great gods feast, and prove
The nectar's inmost potency, discern
Its subtlest fragrance, feel its ardours move
Thrilling in slow rich growth until they burn
Through all the being in a still desire
And pure white flame of unconsuming fire?
“The boy was all too weak: one full-breathed draught
Had been intoxication; then dull swoon
Had drowned remembrance of the nectar quaffed,
Or left him sated who had dared too soon;
While all the ever-glad Immortals laughed
To see so misapplied their crowning boon:
But I come back from years of toil and strife
Strong and mature to claim my Feast of Life.”
Had been intoxication; then dull swoon
Had drowned remembrance of the nectar quaffed,
Or left him sated who had dared too soon;
While all the ever-glad Immortals laughed
To see so misapplied their crowning boon:
But I come back from years of toil and strife
Strong and mature to claim my Feast of Life.”
Whereon he shook himself erect, to feel
The rich blood mantling through his stalwart frame,
A fervent wine of life from brow to heel;
And all his spirit like a pointed flame
Burned out intensely pereceant as the steel
Flashed from its scabbard at a hero's name,—
Burned glittering from his eyes, and darted keen
Swift herald fire-thrills to his Love unseen.
The rich blood mantling through his stalwart frame,
A fervent wine of life from brow to heel;
And all his spirit like a pointed flame
220
Flashed from its scabbard at a hero's name,—
Burned glittering from his eyes, and darted keen
Swift herald fire-thrills to his Love unseen.
He stamped, “But, O my steamer, how you crawl!
I would your horse-power were a horse indeed,
Thin-flanked and spur-able! Good hap befall
This cautious steering, friends; but where's the need
When thick surf escalades the pier-head wall?
High tide—the sun mounts high—Oh speed, speed, speed!”
Half hummed half sang he mellowly and low,
A bathing snatch of mornings long ago.
I would your horse-power were a horse indeed,
Thin-flanked and spur-able! Good hap befall
This cautious steering, friends; but where's the need
When thick surf escalades the pier-head wall?
High tide—the sun mounts high—Oh speed, speed, speed!”
Half hummed half sang he mellowly and low,
A bathing snatch of mornings long ago.
“O sun, lay down thy golden bridge,
Across the waters clear!
O foam flash round each rock and ridge
That soon shall disappear!
O tide, swell up a full spring-tide
Upon the shingly shore!
For, oh, I love thy surge-sweep wide
And long-resounding roar!”
Across the waters clear!
O foam flash round each rock and ridge
That soon shall disappear!
O tide, swell up a full spring-tide
Upon the shingly shore!
For, oh, I love thy surge-sweep wide
And long-resounding roar!”
Early she sat; not restless, but in awe
Trembling at intervals with rhythms of fear;
As from the leafy window-seat she saw
The vessel freighted with life's bliss appear,
And slowly to the hidden harbour draw
Over the joyous waters blue and clear:
When still the ship was but a shapeless speck
Her true eye fixed Him lordly on the deck.
Trembling at intervals with rhythms of fear;
As from the leafy window-seat she saw
The vessel freighted with life's bliss appear,
221
Over the joyous waters blue and clear:
When still the ship was but a shapeless speck
Her true eye fixed Him lordly on the deck.
The mist dissolving in the morning glow
Still faintly streaked the blue abyss of air,
And left a purple tinge on all below:
The well-loved scene looked strange and still and fair,
As some grand picture painted long-ago,
Now for the first time brought before her there;
Or some dear dream of childhood now once more
Come back as wonderful as heretofore.
Still faintly streaked the blue abyss of air,
And left a purple tinge on all below:
The well-loved scene looked strange and still and fair,
As some grand picture painted long-ago,
Now for the first time brought before her there;
Or some dear dream of childhood now once more
Come back as wonderful as heretofore.
If ever she relaxed her vision strong
Which thus had drawn him from the unknown climes,
It was to read again with kisses long
A letter she had read a hundred times,
And still found always new,—like some old song,
Some old sweet song of simple passionate rhymes,
And more than mortal tenderness—a lay
Fit for a wedding and a dying day.
Which thus had drawn him from the unknown climes,
It was to read again with kisses long
A letter she had read a hundred times,
And still found always new,—like some old song,
Some old sweet song of simple passionate rhymes,
And more than mortal tenderness—a lay
Fit for a wedding and a dying day.
“Has the old writing startled you, my dear?—
Old schemes expanding, new ones striking root,
Threatened to keep me tending year by year;
Still as I gathered in one crop of fruit
Finding another ripe,—with long arrear
Of fresh plantations blossoming to boot:
So wealth grew great, and great wealth's care and toil;
But what became of love in all the coil?
Old schemes expanding, new ones striking root,
Threatened to keep me tending year by year;
Still as I gathered in one crop of fruit
222
Of fresh plantations blossoming to boot:
So wealth grew great, and great wealth's care and toil;
But what became of love in all the coil?
“Stunned, snared, deep-smitten!—so my heart cried out,
With passionate scorn, imperative demands,
And blood-dark proofs convicting murderous doubt.
My lonely hours became as desert lands
When hot simoon glares purple through the rout
Where whirl the columns of the billowy sands:
I felt that I must leave; yet how arrange
That work should live and grow despite the change?
With passionate scorn, imperative demands,
And blood-dark proofs convicting murderous doubt.
My lonely hours became as desert lands
When hot simoon glares purple through the rout
Where whirl the columns of the billowy sands:
I felt that I must leave; yet how arrange
That work should live and grow despite the change?
“One night the glowing stars and golden moon,
The perfect fruit of heaven, hung down so bright
In their unwasting beauty, that a swoon
Of pure love-longing and divine delight
Melted me wholly—‘Thou consummate boon,
Crown of the fruitage of the Tree of Night,
Fringing cloud-leaves with splendid spray, and through
The quiet air distilling nectar-dew:
The perfect fruit of heaven, hung down so bright
In their unwasting beauty, that a swoon
Of pure love-longing and divine delight
Melted me wholly—‘Thou consummate boon,
Crown of the fruitage of the Tree of Night,
Fringing cloud-leaves with splendid spray, and through
The quiet air distilling nectar-dew:
223
“Some swift hours hence my Love's own islet green
Comes floating under the enormous shade;
Oh, when she looks to thee, thou heavenly queen,
Do thou shed blessings down on her!’ I prayed;
‘Fill her with shining hope and joy serene,
Tell her,—He cometh now, no more delayed!
This message bear, thou white and golden dove,
Thou light of lovers whom all lovers love!’
Comes floating under the enormous shade;
Oh, when she looks to thee, thou heavenly queen,
Do thou shed blessings down on her!’ I prayed;
‘Fill her with shining hope and joy serene,
Tell her,—He cometh now, no more delayed!
This message bear, thou white and golden dove,
Thou light of lovers whom all lovers love!’
“I heard you then cry, Ronald, come to me!
As plainly as I ever heard you speak
When we together sat, and I might see
The glorious eyeglow pale the flushing cheek,
The curved lips falter into utterance free,
And feel the moist hand quiver strongly weak;
I heard your clear voice ringing through the air,
I felt you straining at my heart-strings there.
As plainly as I ever heard you speak
When we together sat, and I might see
The glorious eyeglow pale the flushing cheek,
The curved lips falter into utterance free,
And feel the moist hand quiver strongly weak;
I heard your clear voice ringing through the air,
I felt you straining at my heart-strings there.
“Whereon I forthwith registered a vow,—
There was such anguish in the bell-sweet tone—
To write no single line more, to allow
My throbbing heart no language of its own,
Till I could date from—where I date from now,
Here, on our England's ever-green sea-throne:
This vow made short sharp work of all that stood
Between me and departure, bad or good.
There was such anguish in the bell-sweet tone—
To write no single line more, to allow
My throbbing heart no language of its own,
Till I could date from—where I date from now,
Here, on our England's ever-green sea-throne:
This vow made short sharp work of all that stood
Between me and departure, bad or good.
224
“I started, I am here: what voyage was mine,
All my long Odyssey (without the zest
Of lotus, or Calypso more divine),
Until I passed the Pillars of the West,
Spare now from scripture's ink for speech's wine:
When one has reached the Islands of the Blest,
The perils and the storms he came through seem
Dim fragments of an interrupted dream.
All my long Odyssey (without the zest
Of lotus, or Calypso more divine),
Until I passed the Pillars of the West,
Spare now from scripture's ink for speech's wine:
When one has reached the Islands of the Blest,
The perils and the storms he came through seem
Dim fragments of an interrupted dream.
“Two days for London, or at longest three;
I dare not come to you first, knowing well
That when you once have laid soft hands on me
I shall be impotent to break your spell:
Meanwhile for some few hours more I am free,
And ere they ring my this life's passing-bell
Would wind up business with the world in peace;
We make our wills just as our wills must cease.
I dare not come to you first, knowing well
That when you once have laid soft hands on me
I shall be impotent to break your spell:
Meanwhile for some few hours more I am free,
And ere they ring my this life's passing-bell
Would wind up business with the world in peace;
We make our wills just as our wills must cease.
“But lest you wonder how I dare assume
That my mad silence pregnant with dismay
Has not already scared you to the tomb,
Read this: you tortured me the whole sad way
To Malta, pallid phantoms stern as Doom;
But in the dawning of the perfect day
That brought us to Valetta, you came forth
An Angel of glad tidings from the North.”
That my mad silence pregnant with dismay
Has not already scared you to the tomb,
Read this: you tortured me the whole sad way
To Malta, pallid phantoms stern as Doom;
But in the dawning of the perfect day
That brought us to Valetta, you came forth
An Angel of glad tidings from the North.”
225
A telegraphic note had followed this,
“I come on by the next Southampton mail:”
Therefore she read and dreamed in solemn bliss,
Watching the slow hours through, from when the veil
Of misty darkness on the deep abyss
Trembled and opened to the dawnlight pale:
And now and then throughout the vigil long
She murmured dreamily a little song:—
“I come on by the next Southampton mail:”
Therefore she read and dreamed in solemn bliss,
Watching the slow hours through, from when the veil
Of misty darkness on the deep abyss
Trembled and opened to the dawnlight pale:
And now and then throughout the vigil long
She murmured dreamily a little song:—
“A fuchsia lay on the sodden mould;
I stooped, and held it up
To the morning sun, and a wine of gold
Seethed in its purple cup:
A lucid, lucid golden wine—
The dewy bloom of the flower
By the joyous beams of the morning shine
Transfused with mystic power.
I stooped, and held it up
To the morning sun, and a wine of gold
Seethed in its purple cup:
A lucid, lucid golden wine—
The dewy bloom of the flower
By the joyous beams of the morning shine
Transfused with mystic power.
“My heart was lying on a grave;
I dared to hold it up
To the Sun of Heaven, and a glorious wave
Swelled in its purple cup:
A glowing golden wine of love,—
My heart's best blood in the kiss
Of the living light of the Sun above
Burning to perfect bliss.”
I dared to hold it up
To the Sun of Heaven, and a glorious wave
Swelled in its purple cup:
A glowing golden wine of love,—
My heart's best blood in the kiss
Of the living light of the Sun above
Burning to perfect bliss.”
226
IV. Part IV.
The quiet evening of that day of days
Held the two lovers walking side by side,
As slowly as a summer cloudlet strays
From noon to eve across the heavens wide,
Or distant barque whereat full long we gaze
Ere sure its snowy pinions really glide:
They paused and loitered in such indolence
Of perfect Joy's eternal present tense.
Held the two lovers walking side by side,
As slowly as a summer cloudlet strays
From noon to eve across the heavens wide,
Or distant barque whereat full long we gaze
Ere sure its snowy pinions really glide:
They paused and loitered in such indolence
Of perfect Joy's eternal present tense.
For perfect Joy would hardly care to baulk
Poor perfect Sadness in her logical fit:
“Better to walk than run, to stand than walk,
To sit than stand, to lie down than to sit;
And better than to lie awake and talk
Or think, to lie in dreamless sleep; and it
Is better to lie dead than lie asleep;
Which better is the best we mortals reap.”
Poor perfect Sadness in her logical fit:
“Better to walk than run, to stand than walk,
To sit than stand, to lie down than to sit;
And better than to lie awake and talk
Or think, to lie in dreamless sleep; and it
Is better to lie dead than lie asleep;
Which better is the best we mortals reap.”
Three hours of this world's time—such hours as make
A heavenly life-time each—they lingered through
The valley winding out to Grève de Lecq,
Before the placid waters met their view;
And much they spoke, yet speech would often slake
To let the grander harmonies ensue
Of Silence—great dumb Poet, overfraught
With utterless passion and ineffable thought.
A heavenly life-time each—they lingered through
The valley winding out to Grève de Lecq,
Before the placid waters met their view;
And much they spoke, yet speech would often slake
To let the grander harmonies ensue
Of Silence—great dumb Poet, overfraught
With utterless passion and ineffable thought.
227
As they turned up the highway, to ascend
A narrow path amidst the golden gorse,
A soldier brought his cane down on his friend
With hearty comradeship's most heavy force,
“Hammer my eyes, Bill! why don't you attend?
There is a chest for the Victorier Crorss!
That pair's the finest pair I ever see
In this 'ere isle of poisoned ho-devee.”
A narrow path amidst the golden gorse,
A soldier brought his cane down on his friend
With hearty comradeship's most heavy force,
“Hammer my eyes, Bill! why don't you attend?
There is a chest for the Victorier Crorss!
That pair's the finest pair I ever see
In this 'ere isle of poisoned ho-devee.”
The speaker spoke more loudly than he meant
(Enough of drink will make a whisper shout,
As too much makes a shout of bold intent
Huskily whisper); those he pointed out
Thus heard quite well the sudden compliment.
She drew herself up with a pretty pout,
Arching her neck with grace superbly free;
While his strong eyes laughed with a world of glee.
(Enough of drink will make a whisper shout,
As too much makes a shout of bold intent
Huskily whisper); those he pointed out
Thus heard quite well the sudden compliment.
She drew herself up with a pretty pout,
Arching her neck with grace superbly free;
While his strong eyes laughed with a world of glee.
“Your soldier is a judge; he knows a man,
And eke a woman, tho' he loves his beer;
I've fought a little in my time, and can
Be proud to bend thus an old ramrod, dear:
Old ladies, too, with awesome sharpness scan:
And even as I leapt upon the pier,
A jolly dame with marvellous cap snow-white
Burst out Quel homme! in very frank delight.
And eke a woman, tho' he loves his beer;
I've fought a little in my time, and can
Be proud to bend thus an old ramrod, dear:
Old ladies, too, with awesome sharpness scan:
And even as I leapt upon the pier,
A jolly dame with marvellous cap snow-white
Burst out Quel homme! in very frank delight.
228
“Learn what a peerless prize you come to gain,
Know what a god is prostrate at your feet!”
“You big bad boy, come back to me as vain
As ever! If some giant would but beat
The boasting out of you!—I'll shear this mane
Flung haughtily to every wind we meet,
All the thick lionlocks of tawny hair
Wherein your turbulent strength may have its lair!”
Know what a god is prostrate at your feet!”
“You big bad boy, come back to me as vain
As ever! If some giant would but beat
The boasting out of you!—I'll shear this mane
Flung haughtily to every wind we meet,
All the thick lionlocks of tawny hair
Wherein your turbulent strength may have its lair!”
“And who, of all men in the whole world wide,
Crowned with the consecration of your kiss,
Would not exult and overflow with pride
Unmeasured as the ocean of his bliss?
What dullest Apis ever deified?
What Bottom in rare metamorphosis,
Titania's flower-sweet hands like soft white doves
Hovering round Donkey-head with delicate loves?
Crowned with the consecration of your kiss,
Would not exult and overflow with pride
Unmeasured as the ocean of his bliss?
What dullest Apis ever deified?
What Bottom in rare metamorphosis,
Titania's flower-sweet hands like soft white doves
Hovering round Donkey-head with delicate loves?
“Yes, I am vain, all-happy and all-vain;
As peacock when full noon lights up the eyes
Emerald and amethyst that star his train,
Dazzling the sober splendour of the skies;
As whidah-bird in his new love's first gain,
When he would front an eagle for the prize,
And all his rapturous vanity unreprest
Leaps like a fountain in the monstrous crest.
As peacock when full noon lights up the eyes
Emerald and amethyst that star his train,
Dazzling the sober splendour of the skies;
As whidah-bird in his new love's first gain,
When he would front an eagle for the prize,
And all his rapturous vanity unreprest
Leaps like a fountain in the monstrous crest.
229
“If I can bring my Love great store of wealth,
Good—tho' all gold is dross beside my Love;
If I can bring her beauty, vigour, health,
Good—tho' her worth is all world's grace above:
And shall I bring her these good things by stealth,
As if ashamed my worship thus to prove?
Not so; my life's best incense shall aspire
Upon the hilltop in a flaming fire.”
Good—tho' all gold is dross beside my Love;
If I can bring her beauty, vigour, health,
Good—tho' her worth is all world's grace above:
And shall I bring her these good things by stealth,
As if ashamed my worship thus to prove?
Not so; my life's best incense shall aspire
Upon the hilltop in a flaming fire.”
They sat them down where they could look abroad
Through the sweet gloaming o'er the dim sea-space;
And long they sat in silence hushed and awed,
The while she nestled close in his embrace.
Surely they felt the very breath of God
Leaning down softly from the Heavenly place,
Even as a mother leans with yearnings deep
To watch her infant sink in happy sleep.
Through the sweet gloaming o'er the dim sea-space;
And long they sat in silence hushed and awed,
The while she nestled close in his embrace.
Surely they felt the very breath of God
Leaning down softly from the Heavenly place,
Even as a mother leans with yearnings deep
To watch her infant sink in happy sleep.
At length she whispers in soft little gasps
Of slender tremulous shadowy distant sound;
Fearing to break the silence that enclasps
With infinite love and peace the world around;
Yet fearing more the silence, through which grasps
Too powerfully her soul all tranced and bound
His conquering soul imperious: and her will
Spends its last free pulsation in the thrill.
Of slender tremulous shadowy distant sound;
Fearing to break the silence that enclasps
With infinite love and peace the world around;
Yet fearing more the silence, through which grasps
Too powerfully her soul all tranced and bound
His conquering soul imperious: and her will
Spends its last free pulsation in the thrill.
230
(All silently the lily's globe of dew
Is drunk up by the great sun's hot desire;
The burning cloudlet in the burning blue
Is still as death, and overfraught with fire
Dissolveth ever upward through and through
Successive heavens, and would aspire—expire:
It has condensed to cold and dark again
Ere it showers earthward in wide-whispering rain.)
Is drunk up by the great sun's hot desire;
The burning cloudlet in the burning blue
Is still as death, and overfraught with fire
Dissolveth ever upward through and through
Successive heavens, and would aspire—expire:
It has condensed to cold and dark again
Ere it showers earthward in wide-whispering rain.)
“Are we in Heaven? or are we still on earth?
Is this indeed Eternity or Time? . . .
Oh, Love, the foretaste of another birth,
Another life from blossoming to prime,
That showed our richest foison arid dearth,
Our tropic summer a dark polar clime,
Was given me in an ecstasy of fear;
How deep our roots cling to the Now and Here!
Is this indeed Eternity or Time? . . .
Oh, Love, the foretaste of another birth,
Another life from blossoming to prime,
That showed our richest foison arid dearth,
Our tropic summer a dark polar clime,
Was given me in an ecstasy of fear;
How deep our roots cling to the Now and Here!
“And this is Earth; and in the glass run by
The sands that surely then for ages stood,
As all the stars stood steadfast in the sky—
The burning ranks, the golden multitude
Of chariots wherein unweariedly
The Lords of Time have evermore pursued
The flying Future through the realms of Space:
Sands run, and stars renew their solemn chase.
The sands that surely then for ages stood,
As all the stars stood steadfast in the sky—
The burning ranks, the golden multitude
Of chariots wherein unweariedly
The Lords of Time have evermore pursued
The flying Future through the realms of Space:
Sands run, and stars renew their solemn chase.
231
“And shall we wish to hurry to the End?
To sleep—to lose the rush, the stress, the glow,
The rapture of the chase, because we bend
At whiles faint bruised and dusty? Ah, no! no!
Let all the seasons in the good fruit blend!
And yet it was but three short months ago
I sat as now we sit above the sea
And this was all the thought that dwelt in me:—
To sleep—to lose the rush, the stress, the glow,
The rapture of the chase, because we bend
At whiles faint bruised and dusty? Ah, no! no!
Let all the seasons in the good fruit blend!
And yet it was but three short months ago
I sat as now we sit above the sea
And this was all the thought that dwelt in me:—
“The stars came gliding out of the sea
To gaze on the sleeping City,
With a tremulous light in their glances bright
Of wonderful love and pity.
To gaze on the sleeping City,
With a tremulous light in their glances bright
Of wonderful love and pity.
“The breeze was breathing its olden song
In a drowsy murmurous chanting;
While the noble bay with its moonlight spray,
Kept time in a slumbrous panting.
In a drowsy murmurous chanting;
While the noble bay with its moonlight spray,
Kept time in a slumbrous panting.
“The City couched in a deep repose,
All toil, all care suspended;
The roar and the strife of its turbid life
In the calm of Nature blended.
All toil, all care suspended;
The roar and the strife of its turbid life
In the calm of Nature blended.
“‘Alas!’ I sighed with a weary sigh,
‘That all the sin and sorrow,
Now dreaming there, so calm and fair,
Must wake afresh to-morrow!
‘That all the sin and sorrow,
Now dreaming there, so calm and fair,
Must wake afresh to-morrow!
232
“‘Would that the whole might still rest on,
Entranced, for ever sleeping;
The sea and the sky, and the stars on high,
And those myriads born for weeping!’”
Entranced, for ever sleeping;
The sea and the sky, and the stars on high,
And those myriads born for weeping!’”
“What pansy's most imperial purple dye,
What rapturous flush of redness in the rose,
What lily's perfect moon-white purity,
From that dark rain of weeping gleams or glows!
For as the sun shines ever in the sky,
And ever round our earth the free wind blows,
So evermore the tears of heaven distil
Beauty and good with sorrow for our ill.
What rapturous flush of redness in the rose,
What lily's perfect moon-white purity,
From that dark rain of weeping gleams or glows!
For as the sun shines ever in the sky,
And ever round our earth the free wind blows,
So evermore the tears of heaven distil
Beauty and good with sorrow for our ill.
“But I waste costly hours: for this fair Isle
Is Ithaca; and poor Penelope,
Who has been constant all the dreary while,
Weaving wan hopes of vain embroidery,
Clasps her Ulysses, young, withouten guile,
And famishes to hear his Odyssey.
When he has told what wonders him befell,
She has a little tale of home to tell.”
Is Ithaca; and poor Penelope,
Who has been constant all the dreary while,
Weaving wan hopes of vain embroidery,
Clasps her Ulysses, young, withouten guile,
And famishes to hear his Odyssey.
When he has told what wonders him befell,
She has a little tale of home to tell.”
“And she shall be cross-questioned to and fro,
Backwards and forwards, sideways, up and down,
Anent the tale of suitors who we know
Were victims to a starry-bright renown,—
Rash moths that plunged into the burning glow,
Lovely, but crueler than tempest's frown.—
No outward chances gave that voyage a story;
But from within came all the gloom and glory.
Backwards and forwards, sideways, up and down,
Anent the tale of suitors who we know
Were victims to a starry-bright renown,—
233
Lovely, but crueler than tempest's frown.—
No outward chances gave that voyage a story;
But from within came all the gloom and glory.
“My soul was like a jewel-amulet,
Pale, troubled, day by day more dim and wan;
The fatal shadow of a vast regret,
The pallor of an awful fear, were on
And in its lustre, that seemed always wet
As with dull tears of hope for ever gone:
If fitfully it gleamed again, the light
Was such as oozes up from graves by night.
Pale, troubled, day by day more dim and wan;
The fatal shadow of a vast regret,
The pallor of an awful fear, were on
And in its lustre, that seemed always wet
As with dull tears of hope for ever gone:
If fitfully it gleamed again, the light
Was such as oozes up from graves by night.
“Life wasting out by saddest slow degrees;
Life's heart-blood, love, a thin warm crimson thread,
Trickling so long that scarce the bitter lees
Kept the pale corse half-living and half-dead:
Indian, Arabian, and Egyptian seas
Gave me this vision of too-dreadful dread,
Blurring their splendour; as the storm took shape
To Gama in the Phantom of the Cape.
Life's heart-blood, love, a thin warm crimson thread,
Trickling so long that scarce the bitter lees
Kept the pale corse half-living and half-dead:
Indian, Arabian, and Egyptian seas
Gave me this vision of too-dreadful dread,
Blurring their splendour; as the storm took shape
To Gama in the Phantom of the Cape.
234
“The City of the Greek, whose uproar jars
The silence of sad Sphinx and pyramid,
Affronts the desert's solitude, and mars
The solemn mystery of millenniums hid
In unknown mountains under other stars,
Scared not the Spectre; pale and cold amid
The rainbow throngs, the hum, the savage cries,
It held me with its deep accusing eyes.
The silence of sad Sphinx and pyramid,
Affronts the desert's solitude, and mars
The solemn mystery of millenniums hid
In unknown mountains under other stars,
Scared not the Spectre; pale and cold amid
The rainbow throngs, the hum, the savage cries,
It held me with its deep accusing eyes.
“We crept upon the smooth Mid Sea; the air
Was feverous with Sirocco; the red sun
Burned fiercer for the haze that dimmed his glare;
All life drooped sick: yet in that hour begun
A fiery change for me,—the dull despair,
The pallor and the stagnant tarnish dun,
Fermented with keen flames and flashes bright;
New battle opened with a burst of light.
Was feverous with Sirocco; the red sun
Burned fiercer for the haze that dimmed his glare;
All life drooped sick: yet in that hour begun
A fiery change for me,—the dull despair,
The pallor and the stagnant tarnish dun,
Fermented with keen flames and flashes bright;
New battle opened with a burst of light.
“The amulet, that had been dim and pale
As ghostly moon in northern night forlorn,
Dead-still and shrouded in a wan mist-veil,
Grew then blood-crimson as that high sun shorn
Of beams—that red hot cannon-ball; a wail,
A long keen passionate terrible cry was borne
Rending the lethal dumbness; pierced, I sprang
As if to grasp a foe who dealt the pang.
As ghostly moon in northern night forlorn,
Dead-still and shrouded in a wan mist-veil,
Grew then blood-crimson as that high sun shorn
Of beams—that red hot cannon-ball; a wail,
A long keen passionate terrible cry was borne
Rending the lethal dumbness; pierced, I sprang
As if to grasp a foe who dealt the pang.
235
“Quivering with agony as blind as doom,
And rage as impotent as nightmare-sleep;
Restless as one who even in the tomb
Finds that malignant Memory will not steep
Her burning heart in the oblivious gloom;
I paced the deck; I glared athwart the deep,
As if intense volition could enslave
Your anchored isle to float across the wave.
And rage as impotent as nightmare-sleep;
Restless as one who even in the tomb
Finds that malignant Memory will not steep
Her burning heart in the oblivious gloom;
I paced the deck; I glared athwart the deep,
As if intense volition could enslave
Your anchored isle to float across the wave.
“The day burned out sublimely in the West,
My soul was burning till the night was gone,—
Until the moon sank withering from heaven's crest
Before the fiery armies of the dawn,
Whose van was up with golden spears in rest;
And my sea calenture became a lawn—
An English lawn, that loveliest lakelet green
Guarding an English home of life serene.
My soul was burning till the night was gone,—
Until the moon sank withering from heaven's crest
Before the fiery armies of the dawn,
Whose van was up with golden spears in rest;
And my sea calenture became a lawn—
An English lawn, that loveliest lakelet green
Guarding an English home of life serene.
“Ruthlessly brilliant as the crowded eyes
Of Roman ladies glittering down intent
On some barbarian's mortal agonies,
The stars thick-gathered in the firmament—
That amphitheatre of solemn skies
Round earth's arena dark with hot blood spent
In so much barren and ignoble strife—
Had gazed upon the Passion of my Life.
Of Roman ladies glittering down intent
On some barbarian's mortal agonies,
The stars thick-gathered in the firmament—
That amphitheatre of solemn skies
Round earth's arena dark with hot blood spent
In so much barren and ignoble strife—
Had gazed upon the Passion of my Life.
236
“The beautiful alien stars were pitiless
As bland white statues of the gods could be
To suppliants leaguered with the direst stress
Of earthquake, fire, or flood, or storm-swelled sea;
Gods unperturbed in their high happiness:
But the pure infant Dawn compassioned me;
The day-spring bathed my fever in its balm,
Divinely sweet and cool, divinely calm.
As bland white statues of the gods could be
To suppliants leaguered with the direst stress
Of earthquake, fire, or flood, or storm-swelled sea;
Gods unperturbed in their high happiness:
But the pure infant Dawn compassioned me;
The day-spring bathed my fever in its balm,
Divinely sweet and cool, divinely calm.
“And even as I felt its first sweet rest,
And knew myself once more alive and sane,
And yearned toward peaceful English homesteads blest
In looking out upon the waveless main;
Even in that instant from the far north-west,
Where like a pearl-grey cloudlet with no stain
Malta grew visible, a swelling psalm
Floated you on its rapture through the calm.
And knew myself once more alive and sane,
And yearned toward peaceful English homesteads blest
In looking out upon the waveless main;
Even in that instant from the far north-west,
Where like a pearl-grey cloudlet with no stain
Malta grew visible, a swelling psalm
Floated you on its rapture through the calm.
“Clad all in white, you Angel; crystal-bare
The feet that did not touch the sapphire sea;
Your head clothed only with its own rich hair,
Flowing dishevelled even to the knee;
God's dove athwart the deluge of despair
Bringing the blessing of the olive-tree:
For you were radiant, and your brow's moon-splendour
Shed on your glowing cheeks a veil most tender.
The feet that did not touch the sapphire sea;
Your head clothed only with its own rich hair,
Flowing dishevelled even to the knee;
God's dove athwart the deluge of despair
Bringing the blessing of the olive-tree:
For you were radiant, and your brow's moon-splendour
Shed on your glowing cheeks a veil most tender.
237
“You rested floating upright, when so near
That my stretched arm had almost reached the place;
Your vision swept the lonely hemisphere
As if with triumph in the ample space,
Then fixed on me, so that I felt you hear
My mute emotion; then, with glorious grace
Leaning, you whispered: ‘It is well, well, well!’
And vanished as my bosom's first breath fell.
That my stretched arm had almost reached the place;
Your vision swept the lonely hemisphere
As if with triumph in the ample space,
Then fixed on me, so that I felt you hear
My mute emotion; then, with glorious grace
Leaning, you whispered: ‘It is well, well, well!’
And vanished as my bosom's first breath fell.
“And from that moment it was well indeed
With me, and well grows better evermore;
Well on the white waves whitened by our speed,
Well in the gloaming on this lovely shore;
And ever well it must be now decreed,
Whatever yet the Future holds in store;
Our love is fixed; therefore erect, elate,
With awe, but with no fear, we welcome Fate.”
With me, and well grows better evermore;
Well on the white waves whitened by our speed,
Well in the gloaming on this lovely shore;
And ever well it must be now decreed,
Whatever yet the Future holds in store;
Our love is fixed; therefore erect, elate,
With awe, but with no fear, we welcome Fate.”
When thus his tale was done, to him she told
What she had told her Mother on the morrow
Of that same night, whose wonders manifold
Transfigured two sick lives of fear and sorrow
Into twin raptures, rich with all the gold
That Earth could ever from Heaven's pathways borrow;
The nights were one, the solemn dawns were one,
Both triumphs mounted with the selfsame sun.
What she had told her Mother on the morrow
Of that same night, whose wonders manifold
Transfigured two sick lives of fear and sorrow
Into twin raptures, rich with all the gold
That Earth could ever from Heaven's pathways borrow;
The nights were one, the solemn dawns were one,
Both triumphs mounted with the selfsame sun.
238
All she had told before she told to him,
And more that could be told to him alone;
And while the moon ventured its faery rim,
Then floated up the vague, he drank the tone
Of her low voice and marked her pure eyes swim
As on the vast vague sea of the Unknown,
Which floods and ebbs with infinite longing awe;
And kissed them back to earth's most tender law.
And more that could be told to him alone;
And while the moon ventured its faery rim,
Then floated up the vague, he drank the tone
Of her low voice and marked her pure eyes swim
As on the vast vague sea of the Unknown,
Which floods and ebbs with infinite longing awe;
And kissed them back to earth's most tender law.
“Some night,” she whispered, “when the moon shall be
As then a little later than to-night,
And self-withdrawn as then the quiet sea
Has left the sands to glitter in clear light;
And all the rock-strown shore around is free
From human presence and all else that might
The dread charm break, the secret spirit scare,
We two alone, my dearest, will go there.
As then a little later than to-night,
And self-withdrawn as then the quiet sea
Has left the sands to glitter in clear light;
And all the rock-strown shore around is free
From human presence and all else that might
The dread charm break, the secret spirit scare,
We two alone, my dearest, will go there.
“And we may hear a music, full of power
As the great sea with all its waves in storm,
Yet lovely as the purest lily-flower,
And mystic as the moonlight soft and warm;
And when the singing has entranced the hour
We may discover an immortal form,—
Glaucus, our sea-god reverend and benign,
Among the rocks that seem his ruined shrine
As the great sea with all its waves in storm,
Yet lovely as the purest lily-flower,
And mystic as the moonlight soft and warm;
And when the singing has entranced the hour
We may discover an immortal form,—
Glaucus, our sea-god reverend and benign,
Among the rocks that seem his ruined shrine
239
“And we will kneel as one before him there;
And you shall utter all the gratitude
And reverence of both our hearts, which were
Too great for me to utter. If he should
But lay his hands with the old tender care
Upon our heads and bless us,—Oh that would
Make holier to us evermore the place
With antique pieties and natural grace!”
And you shall utter all the gratitude
And reverence of both our hearts, which were
Too great for me to utter. If he should
But lay his hands with the old tender care
Upon our heads and bless us,—Oh that would
Make holier to us evermore the place
With antique pieties and natural grace!”
“Heathen of heathens! I am all unmanned;
Wicked as is your will, it must be done.
Good hap for me that this old sea-god bland,
And not the radiant Monarch of the Sun,
Met you and charmed you: think! I come to land,
And ask for Helen; they my asking shun;
What strange sad sunflower haunts the garden's mouth?
A modern Clytie yearning toward the South!”
Wicked as is your will, it must be done.
Good hap for me that this old sea-god bland,
And not the radiant Monarch of the Sun,
Met you and charmed you: think! I come to land,
And ask for Helen; they my asking shun;
What strange sad sunflower haunts the garden's mouth?
A modern Clytie yearning toward the South!”
These lovers have arisen, and have left,
Together gone into the night away;
And I seem standing on the shore, bereft,
Watching the weaving of the waves and spray,
But cannot weave into my halfspun weft
Another flower, or golden from the day
Or purple from the night; for, day and night,
In that moondusk they have evanished quite.
Together gone into the night away;
And I seem standing on the shore, bereft,
Watching the weaving of the waves and spray,
But cannot weave into my halfspun weft
Another flower, or golden from the day
Or purple from the night; for, day and night,
In that moondusk they have evanished quite.
240
The lots are huddled in the fatal urn;
The fairest souls may draw the darkest doom,
And so long years their innate splendour burn
Struggling disastrously with stormy gloom:
Yet some fair souls find Fate and Chance not stern,
Their light has but to shine and not consume;
God's vestals feeding the eternal flame
In beautiful temples hallowed by His name.
The fairest souls may draw the darkest doom,
And so long years their innate splendour burn
Struggling disastrously with stormy gloom:
Yet some fair souls find Fate and Chance not stern,
Their light has but to shine and not consume;
God's vestals feeding the eternal flame
In beautiful temples hallowed by His name.
The doom of these whom I have ever lost
I know not—whether calm as temple air,
Or wild as mountain-beacon tempest-tost;
Nor need we search it with an anxious care . . .
But one thread more the dusky loom has crossed,
Some lines in her own writing firm and fair;
No date, no place; these pretty words above
“Two petals of our Fadeless Rose of Love.”
I know not—whether calm as temple air,
Or wild as mountain-beacon tempest-tost;
Nor need we search it with an anxious care . . .
But one thread more the dusky loom has crossed,
Some lines in her own writing firm and fair;
No date, no place; these pretty words above
“Two petals of our Fadeless Rose of Love.”
I
“I went of late amid the dancing throng,To dance with Him—my Love who loveth me;
His whisper caught me up, ‘How long, how long,
Have I been seeking, desolate, for thee!
And now—Oh well a man might seek and trace
For twenty lives, in hope at last to see
The perfect vision of this fairest face
Of all fair faces in the world that be!
241
II
“‘Such joy as our dark world has when the moonComes floating sole and regnant in her skies;
Such joy to me, such glorifying boon,
When one sole Presence floateth in my eyes.
More beautiful to-night than ever, Sweet,
And yet most beautiful at every time:
How do you make perfection more complete?
How leave like infancy the queenliest prime?
III
“‘Upon my hopeless night your dawn arose;I said, The World can never be more bright:
Yet ever, more and more, the splendour grows,
And leaves that dawn confused with ancient night.
I cry, This moment must be full-crowned noon!
The moment brings new bursts of life and light!
No more! no more! my heart and spirit swoon
In thine infinity of heavenly might!
IV
“‘A dawn?—Your brow itself is what a dawn!Emerging from that Indian dusk of hair,
With all its poor pale pearl-stars backwithdrawn,
The archèd Promise shines so proudly fair.
242
You let some young smile dream, you change a flower;
And straight you are transformed! O Sorceress
And Queen of Spells, I tremble at your power!’
V
“I went last night amid the dancing throng,To dance with Him—my Love who loveth me:
He sprang a-flush, ‘How long, how long, how long!
The twenty lives I waited here for thee!’
My dark-brown hair, the string of pearls, I wore,
As when his praises flowed so royally:
‘I bring the self-same spell that charmed before;
To prove, indeed, your own inconstancy!’
VI
“We stood together in the far recess:His noble eyes dilated full and bright,
With love triumphant throbbing happiness;
He bent down o'er me from his stately height—
‘How can our Queen, whose spirit sways the sun,
Deign to enchant so mean a youth as this?
Of all her countless spells the weakest one
Would trance him evermore in perfect bliss.
243
VII
“‘Dear twilight mystery of hair, that nowArt starred with pearls, I bid all night farewell;
Pure archèd Promise of the dawn-bright brow,
The full noon neareth, grand as you foretell!’
He placed a kiss upon my brow and hair,
His kiss of Love enthroned and glorified;
I felt it burning like a ruby there,
The pallid pearl-gleams in its fulgence died:
VIII
“I felt it flushing all my neck and face,What time we danced among the dancers free;
To all the youths and maidens in the place
It signalled proudly of my Love and me:
It lights and warms me in my chamber now,
It lights the world, the years, all things that be;
A royal jewel sacred to my brow,
A Splendour lamping all Eternity.”
Under favour of Göthe, who (having mentioned talismans) sings—
“Amulete sind dergleichen
Auf Papier geschriebne zeichen.”
—West-östlicher Divan.
The term, however, has been commonly used in the wider sense.
Auf Papier geschriebne zeichen.”
Jersey, Xmas 1861. London, July 1864.
| The Poetical Works of James Thomson | |