University of Virginia Library

III.FALLING AWAY.

So the song hover'd over Ebhart's sleep,
By many a silver sweep
And many a golden sigh of horns and flutes
And broidery of lutes
Within the failing cadences sustain'd:
And, as he slept, the stain'd
Worn harness and accoutrements from him
Were borne, and every limb
Was purified from all the dust of toil
And all that journey's soil,
In essences of all the balms that be
In Ind or Araby
For purging all life's weary stains and sad.
Then on the man was clad
Fair raiment, thrice in Tyrian purples dyed,
Gold-fringed and beautified
With broidery of pearl-work silver-laced;
And on his breast they placed
A golden owch, rare-wrought and coral-chain'd.
And as the singing waned,
The magic slumber slid away from him;
And therewithal the dim
Sad doubts and weariness of earth forwent
His soul and there was lent
To every limb a perfectness of ease,
As in the golden seas
Of some charmed ocean he had bathed and cast
His age off. So he past
With that fair queen athwart the dreamy land,
Wandering, hand in hand,
Through many courts and jewel-vaulted halls,
Wherein the trellis'd walls
Show'd through the sunflecks,—carved and limnèd o'er
With all the lovely lore
Of Faërie and all the glitterance
Of Orient romance;
And in one chamber,—thick with jasmine stars
Woven betwixt the bars
Of gold that latticed all the sides from floor
To roof-tree, vaulted o'er
With one clear bell of sapphire silver-ray'd,—
Them side by side they laid
On beds of sandal wood and cramozin;
Then did fair maids bring in
A banquet, set and sweet in golden shells,
Mingled with great flower-bells
And cups of jasper and corneliand.
There peacocks did expand
Their jewell'd fans, fresh from the fairy looms;
Herons with argent plumes,
Untorn by falcon, lay on silver beds;
And opal-blazon'd heads
Of dove and culver glitter'd out through green
Of bedding moss. Between
Gold lilies lay the silver-feather'd swan,
Reclined in death upon
Lush leaves of vine and flowers of oranges;
And every bird that is
For pleasant food ordain'd, in vine leaves wet
With crystal dew, was set
Before the twain, each in its several room.
And from the jewell'd gloom
Of ocean-deeps there came its lovely things,
Gold fish with silver wings,
Great diamond-sided carp with opal eyes,
Dolphin that ever dies
A rainbow glory and an eye-delight;
Sword-fish, and shell-fish bright
With ruby armour, mullets gold and grey,
And all the rest that play
Among the hyacinthine cool sea-deeps—
Where many a coral creeps
'Mid pearls and weeds of every lovely hue—
Until themselves endue
The radiance of the pearl and coral things
And the clear colourings
Of feather'd sea-flowers thick about their life:
These all and more were rife,
Outlaid—for food of men to godship grown—
In many a precious stone
Wroughten with silver to the mimic cup
Of that fair flower that up
From the still lake holdeth its argent star,
That men call nenuphar.
There did the beehives yield their amber dew,
Glittering pale golden through
The frail white fretwork of the honeycomb;
And in their velvet bloom
Shone gold and purple fruits of the year's prime,
That in the Autumn-time
Of some far wondrous land had hung and glow'd,
What while the winter rode
On his pale horse across the stricken earth;
And the clear soul of mirth
And love was there in chalices of wine,
Such as no earthly vine
Has ever dreamt of in its dreams of June;
And all the place was strewn
With jewels full of juices wonder-sweet,
That seem'd for kings more meet
To wear upon their brows, than to suffice,
Even in Paradise,
Unto men's hunger. Over all there fell
A shower of asphodel
And almond-blossoms, and the air did rain
With roses. So the twain
Lay at the banquet upon lavish flowers,
Whilst through the gradual hours
Bright sights and sounds did charm the time's advance
For them. One while, a dance
Of wood-nymphs glitter'd circlewise across
The windflower-sprinkled moss,
That paved the halls; or from the fountain's deep
Of silver sands would sweep
A flight of green-hair'd naiads, dripping gold
And pearls from every fold
Of their wet hair and weed-ytangled dress;
And then, perchance, the stress
Of silver clarions and the sweet sad thrill
Of the struck harps would fill
The air, preluding to a cavalcade
Of lovely shapes array'd
In cramozin and azure, —dames and knights
And all the eye-delights
Of the old pageantries of queens and kings;
And to the cadenced strings
And reeds swell'd up the clash of shields and spears
And the fair tranceful fears
Of the bright battle and the hot tourney:
The clang of the sword-play
Rang out from targe and morion, and the ring
Of lance-points shivering.
The banners and the tabards ebb'd and flow'd,
The jewell'd crownals glow'd
In tireless changeful splendour; and the haze
Of the far-column'd ways
Glittered with glancing mail and blazonries
Of all bright hues one sees
In the fair pictures of the olden time.
And oft with many a rhyme
The minstrels fill'd the pauses, in quaint lays
And songs of bygone days
Hymning the praise of many a champion
Of time past. So slid on
The dream along the halls of phantasy,
Folding him blissfully
Within a rapturous calm; but, more than this,
That crownèd lady's kiss,
The woven magic of her tresses' gleam
And her soft eye's sunbeam,
Fetter'd the dreamer in a silken trance
Of masterful romance.
Now, as the meal was done with many a song
And luting from the throng
Of pearl-limb'd girls, —the curtains of the dark
About the golden ark
Of the day-heaven were drawn; and the clear night
Came with its own delight
Of lambent stars and heavy night-flowers' scent, —
Whenas the firmament
Hangs o'er the earth like some great orange-grove
Wherethrough the fire-flies rove
In some far land of Orient, —to enspell
The senses; and the bell
Of the slant sky grew hung with fretted lights.
For never fail the night's
Enchantments in the land of dreams (as say
Some makers) nor the day
With its sheer splendours satisfies the sense;
But the easeful suspense
Of the stilled midnight is as welcome there
As morning, being fair
And full of lovely spells of peace and rest,
Graven on the palimpsest
Of day with star-runes; nor without the night
Could one have love's delight
In perfect fulness. So the night was spread
Above the golden bed
Of those two lovers, whilst the harefoot hours
Fled through the rosy bowers
Of that fair dream-stead, on the moonlight's wings;
And all the lovely things,
That fill the interspace betwixt sundown
And the new-risen crown
Of morning throned upon the Orient crests,
Hover'd about the breasts
Of that fair lady, as she lay asleep,
Folded in peace as deep
As the blue heaven with the gold stars fleck'd.
And when the morning check'd
His coursers for the sweep into the sky
And from the bravery
Of newborn day the glamours of the night
Folded their wings for flight
Where through the dusk the sun had made a gap,
Those lovers from the lap
Of their sweet slumbers rose and hand in hand,
Look'd over the fair land
And saw the eternal spring grow young again
Over each hill and plain
Of that enchanted paradise of sweets:
And the delight, that beats
To amorous tunes within the spring-flower blood,
Swelled up to overflood
Their quick'ning spirits with a radiant mist
Of philtres; and they kiss'd
Again with double rapture. In mid-green,
Under tall stately treen,
In noble woods they wander'd, where the birds
Hail'd them with golden words,
Clearer and lovelier than earthly song;
And all the pure-eyed throng
Of wood-flowers held sweet converse for their ease.
The blue anemones
Murmur'd quaint tender fairy-tales of spring
And of the blossoming
Of elfin souls in every pale sweet bud;
The fragile bells that stud
The moss with cups of sapphire, when the year
Brings round the Midsummer,
Sang mystic songs for them of summer nights
And all their deep delights
Of throbbing stars and singing nightingales;
And heather-bells told tales
Of elfins dancing on the thymy sward,
What while the white moon pour'd
Full hands of pearl upon the breezy moors.
And as along the floors
Of spangled moss they went, beneath the woofs
Of leaves, the tiny hoofs
Of deer smote softly on the woodland lawns,
And the lithe brown-eyed fawns
Laid velvet muzzles on their toying hands.
Now along golden sands
By sapphire deeps they walk'd, thick strewn with shells
Of each bright kind that dwells
In seas, and watch'd the gold fish dart and flash
Across the cool wave-plash
And the curl'd foam slide up and fall away
Into a silver spray,
As the great plangent waves broke, green and white,
In sheets of malachite.
Then would the queen take Ebhart by the hand
And from some jut of sand
Down diving through the gold and emerald waves,
Visit the coral caves
Of the sea-nymphs and all the palaces
Of crystal, under seas
Built for the Nereïds' pleasance, —wandering
Along the deeps that ring
With mermaids' song, and plucking living flowers
That in the mid-sea bowers
Wave for the mermen, gold and blue and white.
Or with a calm delight
The twain lay floating on the silver foam,
Watching the azure dome
Of heaven wide-ceil'd above the emerald leas,
And the light fragrant breeze
Wafting the silver cloud-plumes o'er the blue.
Haply, some bird that flew,
Wide-winging, tow'rd the golden-stranded East,
Sometime its travel ceased
At her command, and in her ivory breast
Nestling, awhile would rest
And murmur stories of the wondrous things
Each day of wing-work brings
To one that pulses tow'rd the rising sun.
And when the morn was done,
Mayhap, returning to the land, the queen
Within some heart of green
Would sit and hold the man within her arms,
Weaving with many charms,
For him to living shape and lovely sooth,
The memories of youth
And the quaint fancies of his wildest dreams,
Re-clad with golden beams
Of mystic splendour, ever fresh and new;
So that but now he knew
How very full his every thought had been
Of all the lovely sheen
And glamour of the land of phantasy.
Over the dappled lea
And the slant hillside, blossom-starr'd, would rise
Before his ravish'd eyes
Fair crystal castles and enchanted bowers,
Trellised with magic flowers,
That in their every calyx held a face
Of an unearthly grace.
Horn-notes came faint and far upon the breeze;
Between the moss-clad trees
Fair ladies pass'd, with greyhounds falcon-eyed
And pages at their side;
And knights rode forth a-questing. O'er the sward
Pageant on pageant pour'd
Of the quaint elves that hold the ancient woods
And the gnarl'd race that broods
Deep in the jewell'd chambers of the rock:
Or with her milk-white flock
Some dreamy shepherdess went sauntering by,
With flowerful hands and eye
Fix'd on the petals of some rose of gold.
And now the lilies told
The twain that day drew fast toward the dark.
Then did they both embark
In some fair shallop's pearl and ivory side,
And down the glancing tide
Of some full river, over-hung with trees,
Glided before the breeze
That fill'd the silken sails; 'twixt terraced walls,
Past rows of ancient halls
And towers far-glancing 'gainst the golden sky;
Where all the courts did lie
Ungated, and the dying sun sloped slow
Along the evening glow
Through range on range of golden palaces,
Glittering on lattices
Of blue and silver, tenantless and still.
A strange sad peace did fill
The lonely streets; and through the voiceless air,
Perchance, some breeze would bear
The silver sound of bells, whose music spread
In circles overhead,
Widening far out upon a stirless sea
Of silentness. Maybe,
Bytimes, the man would deem himself alone
In some fair meadow, strown
With bright-eyed flowers, or on some river's bank,
Where rank on plumèd rank
Sedges blew purple; when, as he did deem,
That sovereign of his dream
Had for a little faded from his side:
And at the first he sigh'd
To find her place left empty suddenly;
But soon he knew that she
Was ever with him, if invisible.
Whether some cowslip's bell
He idly broke or pull'd a violet up,
Straightway from out the cup
A sweet face look'd; two tender dewy eyes
Gazed deep in his, and sighs
Of ravishing sweet music fill'd his ears,
Until his soul with tears
Of joy brimm'd over: then two lips would seek
His own, as 'twere to speak
All things' love to him in a fragrant kiss;
And ravish'd with the bliss,
He would press closelier on the flower and find
It was his lady twined
Soft arms about him and laid lips to his
With such a flower-bell kiss,
Being both flower and bird and breeze and queen.
Or, —look'd he in the green
Of some fair crystal pool all fringed with sheaves
Of the nesh flower that weaves
Soft green and rosy-white of blooms around
Each lake that in the swound
Of the mid-June lies stirless, —there would grow
From out the deeps a snow
Of starry lily-petals, that, between
Their golden-gaufred green
Unfolding, show'd to him a tender face,
Crown'd with a dripping grace
Of gold-brown hair, that through the waves rose high,
Upon his lips to sigh
The soul of amorous longing. Being seen
Full, it was still the queen,
That in no wise could let man's love grow cold,
Being so manifold
And rich of heart, that as each flower she knew
To love, or as the dew
Wooeth the moonbeam's kisses: she could take
All shapes of love that wake
Under the skies: whether the nightingale
Telleth her amorous tale
Unto the argent-blossom'd thorn, the winds
About the pale woodbinds
Flutter with loveful longing, or the bees
Around the anemones
Fly with a bridal murmur; she could win
Her eyes to looks akin
And prison all their passion in her lays;
And in all other ways
Wherein on earth is love made manifest—
So that each loveliest
And peerless for the hour of love should seem—
That lady of a dream
Could twine the souls of mortals with delight.
Nor with the deathless light
Of love alone was Ebhart's being blest:
Around his footsteps press'd
An ever-changing sea of lovely things;
The radiant flowerings
Of all the poet-hopes a dreamer knows,
While yet the dewy rose
Of his fresh youth is wormless for the years;
The wraiths of the waste tears
And the pure phantoms of the dear dead past
Came back to him at last
In a new guise of shapes emparadised:
For nothing it sufficed
Unto the perfecting of his desire
Of old, that for the squire
The happy shapes alone of his strange dreams—
Woven all of sunbeams
And griefless flowers—should be fulfill'd for him:
He must possess the dim
Ethereal sadnesses that were so sweet,
Before the stern years' feet
Crush'd all the glory from the soul of pain;
And in his sight again
Must the impalpable essence new abide,
Sublimed and glorified
By the transfiguring splendour of his dream:
The much-loved dead must seem
To walk with him the blossom-trellis'd ways,
And the remember'd gaze
Of the dead friends he loved in days gone by
Meet him in every eye
Of flower-cups blinking on the mossy leas;
And in each fragrant breeze
Belovéd voices murmur him again
Old songs of love and pain
And hope undying. So the man did move
In one long dream of love,
And all his life was one great fairy-tale,
Wherein no thing did fail
Of the bright visions he had wont to see
In his fresh youth. —Ah me!
That joy should be so strong and pitiless
And mortal men no less
Inapt to brook its agony of sweets!
That the delight which beats
In the full veins should be the enemy
Of this frail flesh! That we
Should ever prove so uncreate to bear
The things that are most fair
In our idea, —should faint and die before
The dream of bliss is o'er!
Alas! we can bear sorrow and the stress
Of earth's dull weariness,
Day after day eating our bitter bread,
Silent, with tears unshed
And life still pulsing dumbly; but the kiss
Of the full rapturous bliss
We dream of withers us with its delight;
And back into the night
Of our despair needs must we faint and fall,
Finding dull custom's thrall
And the dumb pain of daily life less keen
And deadly than the sheen
Of the bright bliss to us unbearable!
So it to Ebhart fell
That he must be divorced from the delight
That with such godlike might
Of will he had prevail'd to win, — being strong
To dare and to prolong
His days in strife, cheer'd by some distant hope
Dim-radiant in the scope
Of the dull daily sky, — but not enough
Strong for the splendid love
Of that enchantress and the unearthly bliss
That in that oasis
Of dreams was his. Old was the man and weak,
And wearily the wreak
Of the hard years had worn the youth from him,
Deadening in heart and limb
The soul of fire that erst burnt fresh and high.
So, when the ecstasy,
Awhile by that infection of his quest
Kindled within his breast
Out of the embers of the ancient fire,
Grew cold, the feeble sire
In the full tide of bliss was like to drown.
The stressful glories strown
About his life did burn and weary him
Beyond his strength; his dim
And age-worn sense fail'd with the ecstasy;
And thus it came to be
That, in the gold and purple of the land,—
Midmost the arms that spann'd
Him round, the lips that on his lips still lay
And the deep orbs that aye
Flooded his spirit with their tireless light,—
Through all the dear delight
And glory of that life of flowers and dew,
Within the man there grew
A longing, half-unconsciously, to wear
Once more the weight of care
That deadens all the lives of mortal men,
A wish to feel again
The dull repose of the eventless days,
And from the stressful blaze
Of that too radiant dream once more to fade
Back to the level shade
Of thoughtless men's dull daily round of life,
Wherein there was no strife
Of earthly parts and forces to suffice
To joys of Paradise
Whose fire none scatheless save a god might know.
So day by day did grow
The longing, 'spite his wish, within his thought;
Albeit hard he fought
To conquer it, in all his looks it show'd;
And all that bright abode
Was grown to him like some fair hurtful fire
Of o'er-fulfill'd desire,
That eats the heart to madness. And one day,—
As on the breast he lay
Of that fair dame and in the radiant deep
Of her strange eyes did steep
His soul in burning languor,—it befell
That the unquellable
Desire burst up, no more to be represt,
Out of his weary breast
With a great bitter cry; and he was fain
To tell her of his pain
And of the mortal weakness, that in him
Stretch'd out—toward the rim
Of the sad world and the dull life-long bands—
Weary and weakling hands
Of backward longing, being all too frail
And world-worn to avail
For the hot passionate splendour of the things
Of his imaginings.
“The dreams of youth come back to me too late,
Sweetheart,” he said. “The gate
Of kindly death gapes wide for me; and I
Would fain go back to die
Among the towns and cities of my folk,
Under the wonted yoke
Of mortal custom; for I am but man,
Nor for all longing can
Shake off the leaden hand of age and use.
And now my limbs refuse
To bear the bliss of dreamland any more,
And all my soul is sore
With the long struggle. I had all forgot—
Whilst yet the flame was hot
Of the new-found delight—that I was old,
And that the creeping cold
Of death came very nigh upon my feet:
But now I feel it, sweet,
And may not tarry with thee any more,
That, with slow steps—before
The pale Archangel touch me—I again
May for awhile regain
The tents of men and die among my kin,
Repenting of my sin
And grasp for things beyond the reach or ken
Of miserable men.
Wherefore, I pray thee, kiss me yet once more—
For all my heart is sore
For parting from thee—and unspell my feet;
So haply I may greet
The dwellings of my kind before I die.”
So he with many a sigh
Spake to the queen and told her all his mind.
And she,—that had divined
And known his yearning many a day and long,
Yet ever did prolong
The time of parting with the man,—with slow
Sad loving speech said, “Go:
I may not bid thee stay with me, poor friend,
That to the common end
Of weary men draw'st nigh, and (being man)
Labourest beneath the ban
Of the all-conquering pain and may'st not bear
The bliss thyself didst rear
In thy high fancy. Go: I love thee still,—
Better, perchance,—and fill
Thy destiny; for Fate is over all,
And one may not recall
The ordinance of God that fashion'd us,
Albeit despiteous
And very sad it seem.” And kiss'd him thrice
Upon the brow, in guise
Of parting. Then the shape of her 'gan fade
Into the purple shade,
And all that dreamland melted into air.
And Ebhart,—standing there
Upon a desolate sweep of heathy plain,
Whereo'er the night did wane
And the June day came from the golden sills
Of heaven on the hills,—
Saw all the towers of gold and jasper fall
And knew beyond recall
His dream-built world with all its lovely might
Faded into the night;
And the hot tears brimm'd up his weary eyes.
Then close to him did rise
The carol of a lark; and it befell
That with the song the spell
Of grief was lighten'd, and some sadden'd peace
Came back to give him ease,
Upon that sunward hymning of the bird.
And looking round, he heard
A joyous neighing, and his true old steed
Came to him in his need
And rubb'd its head against his hand. So he
Mounted and o'er the lea
Rode, as the sun across the hills grew fair,—
And in the innocent air,
The flower-scents told of the fair midmost June,
And the sweet early tune
Of the waked birds sang of the faded Spring
And the new flowering
Of the fresh fields with all the Summer weaves
Of bloom,—and in the sheaves
Of yellowing corn, the sunlight lay like gold
Of consolation, told
By the dear God unto the earth rain-worn
And weary and betorn
With snow and tempest. So the old squire rode
Upon the homeward road,
Among the fields, where all the world was glad
And none that he was sad
Had time to note,—and with the dying day
Came to a town, that lay
Childwise within the bosom of the hills,
And in the peace that fills
The hour of sunset, slept beneath the sky,
In one great panoply
Of crimson glory. And indeed it seem'd
Most like the thing he dream'd
Of the celestial city, where alone
This flesh shall have outgrown
The feebleness of life. And so he came
Into the town, all lame
And worn with travel and his hopes down cast;
And there he found at last
A little weary rest among strange men,
And was at peace again.
And there a resting-space he did abide;
And in the Autumn-tide
A little while thereafterward he died.