King Poppy By the Earl of Lytton |
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Dame Rhoda's Vision.
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 | King Poppy |  |
Dame Rhoda's Vision.
“At first my sight was troubled, like my soul,And all was dim. From heaven's four corners came
Mists upon mists, that round each other roll'd
Into a vapour glowing like a rose.
Deep in the flusht heart of this fervid cloud
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Was silently unclaspt, as when a bud
Is breathed on by the Spirit of the Spring,
And turns into a blossom. Fold by fold,
Like roseleaves, all those rosy vapours oped,
And in the mellow midmost of them all
I saw our little princess—rosy too,
And looking like the babe of that rose bud.
Then for awhile the child seem'd all confused,
And rubb'd her wondering eyes, like those new-waked
Who cannot yet imagine where they are,
Nor even recollect where they have been.
Before her and around, bare pathless space
Unfolding the monotonous expanse
Of its immeasurable uncertainty,
So frighten'd her that, if she could, methought
The little creature would have crept again
Into the vaporous rose whence she was come.
But it had vanish'd, as a flower o'erblown
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Unnoticed, and her refuge was no more.
So timorously round her gazed the child.
And all her timorous gazes as they fell
Turn'd into falling stars, and every star
Call'd to her, ‘Take me with thee!’ Stooping down
She gathered up those stars, and one by one
She put them in her bosom. Thence they shed
A soft and tender light to guide her steps
Along the pathless space. And more and more,
As step by step her little star-led feet
Moved onward, other voices I could hear
Still calling to her, ‘Take us with thee, too!’
One of them call'd her from her fluttering curls,
And when she raised her hand to them 'twas touch'd
By something fresh and cold that faintly sigh'd,
‘I am the wind. 'Tis from the earth I come,
And it is there that thou art going. There
They all are hoping, waiting, for thee now.
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Was in their hearts, but there no room I found
To breathe in. For the sighing of my breath
Gives voice to all the wishes in the world,
And I am always sighing. Were I free,
I would go hither, thither, every where,
Forever. But I cannot leave the earth
Where I was born, and have so much to do.’
And the child listen'd to the suppliant wind,
And let him lead her. When at last they came
Nearer to earth, she gazed beneath and saw
What seem'd to be a star that could not shine,
Like a blind eye that in its orbit rolls
Darkly, reflecting nothing. And the child
Pitied that poor blind star, and would have thrown
One of her own sweet stars to brighten it.
But pale with fear her own star turn'd, and said,
‘Condemn me not to dwell in yonder world!
Let me rest here. Rather than live on earth
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Contented to be nothing but a moon.
But I will wait for thee in heaven, and watch
Till thou returnest. For return thou wilt,
Unhappy child! Earth is not all so sweet.’
Then the child sigh'd. And as she wander'd on
She left the moon behind her. And the moon
Lingered in heaven, and waited for her, pale,
Pensive, and patient. And the child went on.
‘Welcome at last, long waited! Is it thou?
Come, then, with us! and we will show thee all,’
A tremulous choir of twittering voices cried.
The swallows they, that far across the sea
Had flown to find her. And upon their wings,
Together with the Spring, they carried her.
So o'er the sea-waves, o'er the mountain-tops,
The maiden pass'd: and, coming from afar,
The Spring came with her, and the Spring and she
Seem'd one. The wind went softly on before;
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Whisper'd, ‘Child, take us with thee!’ All the woods
And mountains murmur'd, ‘Take us with thee, child!’
The lakes, the rivers, and the rivulets,
The vales, and dells, and lawns, and meadows sigh'd,
‘Where'er thou goest, leave us not behind!’
And everything that thus appeal'd to her
Made itself small, that she might carry it.
The sea condensed itself into a pearl,
The mountains became precious stones, the woods
In one green acorn countless oaks enclosed,
The meadows dwindled to a tuft of moss,
And all the lakes and rivers were distill'd
Into a silver dewdrop, that the child
Might bear them in her bosom. But her steps
No sooner touch'd the earth than from its pores
Came voices muttering, ‘Lo, at last, 'tis she,
Our promised Queen! Fast hold her!’ And forthwith
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Shapeless, voluminous, invincible,
As with a hundred thousand hands and arms
Embracing, drew her slowly softly down
Into the earth's deep bosom. Hidden there,
She fell asleep. Above her buried head
The little birds sang busy in the sun,
And grass and daisies sprouted. Day and night
Along their wonted undiscerning ways
Went after one another round the world,
And knew not she was sleeping underneath.
But in her bosom safe the child still held
The treasures she had gather'd as she came:
The pearl, the tuft of moss, the precious stones,
The acorn, and the drop of silver dew,
That were wide plains, impenetrable woods,
Rivers, and mountains, and the mighty sea.
There, while she slept, a watchful Dragon crouch'd,
And with his body block'd the cavern's mouth.
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Of flowers innumerable came creeping in,
And found her sleeping, and were fill'd with joy.
The dragon said to these discoverers,
‘Say nothing! If men found our treasure out,
It would not long be ours.’ The little roots
Laugh'd, ‘Men? They know not even how we came here,
And what we say they cannot understand.’
But the wise Dragon answer'd, ‘That may be,
Yet still I do not trust them.’ Then he breathed
On all the roots, and every one of them
Became immediately as dumb as death.
Nevertheless the Dragon's jealous care
Could not prevent those roots from being bathed
Silently in the sweet child's sleeping breath,
Which they transmitted to the flowers above;
And from the lips of the delighted flowers
The fragrance of it wander'd through the world.
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Hinder the sources of the salient springs
From listening. And those sources overheard
All that the child was murmuring in her dreams,
And carried it away, and babbled it
About the hills and dales from land to land.
Seeing the child so fair, the Dragon said,
‘She will not sleep forever, and ere she wake
From all things precious must her future crown
By me be wrought.’ Then for a whole year long
He suck'd the red volcanoes. Fill'd with flame,
At that year's end he cut a glittering tooth.
It was a garnet. ‘This tooth's hue,’ said he,
‘Hath too much smoke in it.’ So he inhaled
Still for a live-long year those fervid ores
Whose subterranean incandescence burns
Smokeless. His next tooth was an almondine.
‘Already better, but too sombre still!’
He mutter'd. And for yet another year
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Save when at times, to cool his scorching throat,
He sipp'd the morning and the evening dew.
And so he got himself another tooth,
A ruby. ‘'Twas the dew,’ he said, ‘methinks,
That brighten'd this, and too much molten gold
Is good for nobody. My throat is dry.’
Then in twelve gulps, that lasted each a month,
The sea he swallow'd, and a fourth tooth cut.
That fourth tooth was a beryl rare in hue,
Aqua Marina was the name of it,
And pale sea-green its colour. ‘Not so bad!’
The Dragon sigh'd, ‘But I am sea-sick now,
And need a mild milk diet.’ So by night
Milk in the cold light of the moon he lapp'd,
And after the fifth twelvemonth he produced
A fifth tooth. 'Twas an opal. Better pleased,
‘Wisdom,’ he cried aloud ‘is wean'd at last!
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Time to try these five teeth on solid food!’
And he devour'd the greenness of the earth,
And got another tooth, an emerald.
Then, having all devour'd, the Dragon mused,
‘Now I have nothing left to live upon
But air.’ And upon air, a seventh year, full
He feasted, swallowing the azure sky.
His seventh tooth was a turkis; and his eighth
A sapphire, by the ethereal firmament
(His eighth year's nurture) colour'd. ‘One finds out
By trying,’ said the Dragon, ‘many things!’
And with a flourish of his tail he flapp'd
The sparkling stars down out of heaven, and laugh'd,
‘I know not yet if they will make fine teeth,
But certainly these stars are good to crunch.’
Seven other teeth the stars contributed,
And they were crystals, yellow, rose, and white.
‘One trial more,’ he cried, ‘and I have done!
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The sixteenth year she will awake; and then
Her crown must be completed. Let me think!
The green world I have eaten bare, the sea
I have drunk dry, earth's fire is finish'd up,
The sky I have devour'd, the firmament,
And all the stars of heaven. What's left? The sun!’
And on the sun the Dragon flung himself
Hungry and fierce; and gnaw'd its burning disc
So deep that he himself at last took fire,
And burn'd, and burn'd, until he burn'd away
Into a heap of cinders. Much too much
Did he in his exorbitance attempt,
And the sun slew him. But his claws had torn
And ravaged it, and on its glorious orb
Black spots, the traces of his teeth, remain'd.
Then, when the Dragon was consumed, the child
Awoke, and from that cavern she came forth,
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Her footstep o'er the Dragon-cinders tripp'd
And stumbled, striking on the monster's jaw,
So steep'd in molten gold, it had become
Golden itself—a constellated crown
That gleam'd with sixteen jewels. The sixteenth
Was from the sun, and brightest of them all,
Being a diamond.” Here, Dame Rhoda groan'd.
“The child,” she said, “upon her little lap
Had laid the Dragon's gift, whereon she gazed
With looks of sorrowful perplexity,
As though the glare of it distress'd her eyes,
The weight of it her knees. Her listless hands,
Around it lingering, not one effort made
To lift it to her head. I would have call'd,
And told her how to wear it, but alas,
I could not. All at once I was aware
Of one who, clothed in white, with hooded brows,
And arms in eager supplication stretch'd,
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I heard not, for whene'er I strove to scan
The stranger's features down mine eyelids droop'd,
And all grew dim. The last thing I beheld
Was that the child her slighted crown had set
On that white-hooded head. Beholding this,
I cried aloud. The sound of mine own voice
Awaked me. Swift the vision fled away,
And from my hand the magic mirror fell.”
| King Poppy | |