 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
215
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.
A ROMANCE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. )
WE sailed from Cadiz, Perez, Blas and I,
Bound westward for the golden Indian seas,
One Christmas morning in the thirtieth year
Since Colon furrowed first the Western main.
Three old sea-dogs we were, well tried and tanned
In battle and hard weather; they had sailed
With the great Admiral in his first emprise
And I with stout de Leon, when he flung
The banner of the kingdoms to the breeze
Upon the sunny shores of Florida.
We had in our adventurings amassed
Some store of gold, enough for our require,
By stress of toilful days and careful nights
And dint of dogged labour and hard knocks;
And now the whitening harvest of our heads
Might well have monished us to slacken sail
And turn our thoughts toward the port of death,
Leaving the furtherance of our emprise
Unto the fresher hands of younger men.
But he, who long has used to ride the deep
And scent the briny breezes of the main,
Inhales a second nature with the breath
Of that unresting element and it,
With all its spells of reckless venturousness,
Grows subtly blended with his inmost soul
And will not let him rest upon the land.
And so we three, gray-bearded, ancient men,
Furrowed with years, but yet with hearts as stout
And sinews as well strung as many a youth
In whom the hot blood rages, launched again
Into the olden course and bent our sails
Once more toward the setting. Not that we
Were bitten by that fierce and senseless craze
And hunger for red gold, that drove the folk
By myriads to the fruitful Western shores
And made the happy valleys ring with war,
Plains waste with fire and red with seas of blood:
A nobler, if a more unreal aim
Allured our hopes toward the Occident
And thawed the frost of age within our veins.
Bound westward for the golden Indian seas,
One Christmas morning in the thirtieth year
Since Colon furrowed first the Western main.
Three old sea-dogs we were, well tried and tanned
In battle and hard weather; they had sailed
With the great Admiral in his first emprise
And I with stout de Leon, when he flung
The banner of the kingdoms to the breeze
Upon the sunny shores of Florida.
We had in our adventurings amassed
Some store of gold, enough for our require,
By stress of toilful days and careful nights
And dint of dogged labour and hard knocks;
And now the whitening harvest of our heads
Might well have monished us to slacken sail
And turn our thoughts toward the port of death,
Leaving the furtherance of our emprise
Unto the fresher hands of younger men.
But he, who long has used to ride the deep
And scent the briny breezes of the main,
Inhales a second nature with the breath
Of that unresting element and it,
With all its spells of reckless venturousness,
Grows subtly blended with his inmost soul
And will not let him rest upon the land.
And so we three, gray-bearded, ancient men,
216
And sinews as well strung as many a youth
In whom the hot blood rages, launched again
Into the olden course and bent our sails
Once more toward the setting. Not that we
Were bitten by that fierce and senseless craze
And hunger for red gold, that drove the folk
By myriads to the fruitful Western shores
And made the happy valleys ring with war,
Plains waste with fire and red with seas of blood:
A nobler, if a more unreal aim
Allured our hopes toward the Occident
And thawed the frost of age within our veins.
I had with Leon companied, when he
Sought vainly for the Isle of Bimini
And heard the Indians of the Cuban coast
Tell how, some fifty years agone, a tribe
Had sallied thence to seek that golden strand,
Where springs the Fountain of Eternal Youth,
And finding it, had lost the memory
Of all their native ties and lingered there,
Lapt in an endless dream of Paradise.
Oft had the wondrous legend stirred my sense
To intermittent longing, though, what time
The fire of youth was fresh within my veins,
I gave scant heed to it; but when my head
Grew white with winter's snows, the ancient fire
Flamed up again within me and my soul
Yearned unappeasably toward the West,
Where welled the wondrous chrism. At my heat
These two my comrades kindled to like warmth
And with like aim we fitted out a ship
And turned her head toward the setting sun,
Holding it well to let none know our thought,
But giving out we sought the general goal
And went to work the mines of Paria.
The Christmas bells rang cheerily, as we loosed
Our carvel from its moorings and the sky
Shone blue with blithest omen. So we stood
Adown the harbour and with favouring winds,
Came speedily to Ferro, where we took
New store of meat and drink and sailing on,
Had not long lost from sight the topmost peak
When some enchantment seemed to fall upon
And paralyse the water and the air;
The glad winds dropped, the sea fell down to glass
And the gold sun flamed stirless in the sky.
For some score days we felt no breath of air
And heard no break of ripples, but we lay
And sweltered in the grip of that fierce heat.
And so we drifted, in the weary calm,
A slow foot forward and a slow foot back,
Upon the long low folded slopes of sea,
Until, when all left hope and looked for death,
A swift sweet breeze sprang up and drove us on,
Across foam-spangled ripples, through a waste
Of wet weed-tangle; and anon the air
Grew faint with balmy flower-breaths; a white bird
Lit like a dream upon our sea-browned sail
And brought with it the promise of the land.
Softer and balmier grew the breeze and thick
And thicker came the signs of nearing shores;
And so, one morning, from the early mists
A green-coned island rose up in our way
And our glad hearts were conscious of the land.
Landing, we met with Spaniards armed and clothed,
Who brought us to the chief town of the isle,
That lay snow-white within a blaze of green.
It was New Spain, and having there refreshed
Our weary bodies with a grateful rest
Among the pleasant places of the isle,
We trimmed our sails anew toward the West
And steered into the distance with stout hearts.
Sought vainly for the Isle of Bimini
And heard the Indians of the Cuban coast
Tell how, some fifty years agone, a tribe
Had sallied thence to seek that golden strand,
Where springs the Fountain of Eternal Youth,
And finding it, had lost the memory
Of all their native ties and lingered there,
Lapt in an endless dream of Paradise.
Oft had the wondrous legend stirred my sense
To intermittent longing, though, what time
The fire of youth was fresh within my veins,
I gave scant heed to it; but when my head
Grew white with winter's snows, the ancient fire
Flamed up again within me and my soul
Yearned unappeasably toward the West,
Where welled the wondrous chrism. At my heat
These two my comrades kindled to like warmth
And with like aim we fitted out a ship
And turned her head toward the setting sun,
Holding it well to let none know our thought,
But giving out we sought the general goal
And went to work the mines of Paria.
The Christmas bells rang cheerily, as we loosed
217
Shone blue with blithest omen. So we stood
Adown the harbour and with favouring winds,
Came speedily to Ferro, where we took
New store of meat and drink and sailing on,
Had not long lost from sight the topmost peak
When some enchantment seemed to fall upon
And paralyse the water and the air;
The glad winds dropped, the sea fell down to glass
And the gold sun flamed stirless in the sky.
For some score days we felt no breath of air
And heard no break of ripples, but we lay
And sweltered in the grip of that fierce heat.
And so we drifted, in the weary calm,
A slow foot forward and a slow foot back,
Upon the long low folded slopes of sea,
Until, when all left hope and looked for death,
A swift sweet breeze sprang up and drove us on,
Across foam-spangled ripples, through a waste
Of wet weed-tangle; and anon the air
Grew faint with balmy flower-breaths; a white bird
Lit like a dream upon our sea-browned sail
And brought with it the promise of the land.
Softer and balmier grew the breeze and thick
And thicker came the signs of nearing shores;
And so, one morning, from the early mists
A green-coned island rose up in our way
And our glad hearts were conscious of the land.
Landing, we met with Spaniards armed and clothed,
Who brought us to the chief town of the isle,
That lay snow-white within a blaze of green.
It was New Spain, and having there refreshed
Our weary bodies with a grateful rest
Among the pleasant places of the isle,
We trimmed our sails anew toward the West
And steered into the distance with stout hearts.
Through many a winding maze of wooded aits
And channels where the lush boughs canopied
The lucent waters in their sanded bed,
We passed and smelt sweet savours of strange flowers,
That filled the forests with a blaze of bloom.
This coasting Cuba, and the last land passed,
Where the white headland rushed into the deep
And strove in vain to reach some kindred land,
Lost in the infinite distance, fields of green
Glittered and broke to surges, far and wide,
Until the eye lost vision. Nothing feared,
We bade farewell to all the terraced slopes
And fragrant woodlands and with fluttering sails,
Stretched out into the undiscovered seas.
Fair winds soon drove us out of sight of land
And in a sweet bright glory of June warmth,
Attempered by lithe breezes, did we cleave,
For many days, the slow and pearléd surge,
Fair heaven o'er us of a wildflower's blue,
With now and then a trail of golden cloud,
Feathered with silver, sloping o'er its bell
Of windless azure, and a jasper sea,
Full of all glints and plays of jewelled light,
Fishes of diamond and seaweed trails,
Ruby and emerald, that bore wide blooms
Of white and purple. Some enchanted land
Lay for our sight beneath that crystal dome
Of hyaline inverted tow'rd the sky,
Drinking the soft light with so whole a bliss
That some new radiance ever woke in it.
218
The lucent waters in their sanded bed,
We passed and smelt sweet savours of strange flowers,
That filled the forests with a blaze of bloom.
This coasting Cuba, and the last land passed,
Where the white headland rushed into the deep
And strove in vain to reach some kindred land,
Lost in the infinite distance, fields of green
Glittered and broke to surges, far and wide,
Until the eye lost vision. Nothing feared,
We bade farewell to all the terraced slopes
And fragrant woodlands and with fluttering sails,
Stretched out into the undiscovered seas.
Fair winds soon drove us out of sight of land
And in a sweet bright glory of June warmth,
Attempered by lithe breezes, did we cleave,
For many days, the slow and pearléd surge,
Fair heaven o'er us of a wildflower's blue,
With now and then a trail of golden cloud,
Feathered with silver, sloping o'er its bell
Of windless azure, and a jasper sea,
Full of all glints and plays of jewelled light,
Fishes of diamond and seaweed trails,
Ruby and emerald, that bore wide blooms
Of white and purple. Some enchanted land
Lay for our sight beneath that crystal dome
Of hyaline inverted tow'rd the sky,
Drinking the soft light with so whole a bliss
That some new radiance ever woke in it.
So journeyed we for many a golden day
And many a night enchanted, till, at last,
One night, the sunset lay across the West,
In one great sheet of bright and awful gold,
And would not fade for twilight. Through the air
The hours fled past tow'rd midnight; but the sun
Was stayed by some new Joshua and the West
Still seemed the land of the Apocalypse,
Emblazoning the future of our hopes.
We all did marvel at the miracle
And some began to quake for very fear;
But Perez lifted up his voice and said,
“Friends, this is e'en the very sign of God,
To show us, of His mercy, we shall see
And come to what we long for, ere we die.”
And as he spoke, a fresher breeze fell down
Upon the gold-stained canvas of the sails,
So that we, driving fast toward the West
And its miraculous splendours, saw gold towers
And spires of burning emerald glance and grow
Against the golden background. Then great awe
And wondrous comfort fell upon us all
And from our lips, “The City of the Lord!”
Came with a reverent triumph, for it seemed
Indeed the town of pearl and golden gates
And angels walking in the beryl streets;
And as we ever ran toward the place,
The joy of Mary did possess our hearts
And kneeling down together on the deck,
We all linked hands and offered thanks to God.
And many a night enchanted, till, at last,
One night, the sunset lay across the West,
In one great sheet of bright and awful gold,
And would not fade for twilight. Through the air
The hours fled past tow'rd midnight; but the sun
Was stayed by some new Joshua and the West
Still seemed the land of the Apocalypse,
219
We all did marvel at the miracle
And some began to quake for very fear;
But Perez lifted up his voice and said,
“Friends, this is e'en the very sign of God,
To show us, of His mercy, we shall see
And come to what we long for, ere we die.”
And as he spoke, a fresher breeze fell down
Upon the gold-stained canvas of the sails,
So that we, driving fast toward the West
And its miraculous splendours, saw gold towers
And spires of burning emerald glance and grow
Against the golden background. Then great awe
And wondrous comfort fell upon us all
And from our lips, “The City of the Lord!”
Came with a reverent triumph, for it seemed
Indeed the town of pearl and golden gates
And angels walking in the beryl streets;
And as we ever ran toward the place,
The joy of Mary did possess our hearts
And kneeling down together on the deck,
We all linked hands and offered thanks to God.
The hours went by and lengthened out to days,
And yet no darkness curtained that fair fire,
No sign of dawning glimmered in the East;
But still that glory flamed across the West
And still into the setting fled our bark.
So, as we counted it by lapse of time,
Bereft of natural signs of dark and light,
Seven days had passed, and on the seventh day,
At fall of eventide, or what is wont
To be that time in this our world that knows
No miracles, the splendours gathered up
And running all together like a scroll,
Were bound into a single blazing globe,
That gradually did shrink upon itself,
Until it was but as a greater star
And hung in heaven, a splendid lucent pearl,
Flooding the purple twilight with soft fire.
And as the flaming curtain passed away
And left the Westward empty, from the span
Of ocean full before us, rose a slope
Of pleasant shores and smiling terraces,
Crowned with a tender glory of fair green.
And yet no darkness curtained that fair fire,
No sign of dawning glimmered in the East;
But still that glory flamed across the West
And still into the setting fled our bark.
So, as we counted it by lapse of time,
Bereft of natural signs of dark and light,
Seven days had passed, and on the seventh day,
At fall of eventide, or what is wont
To be that time in this our world that knows
No miracles, the splendours gathered up
And running all together like a scroll,
Were bound into a single blazing globe,
That gradually did shrink upon itself,
Until it was but as a greater star
220
Flooding the purple twilight with soft fire.
And as the flaming curtain passed away
And left the Westward empty, from the span
Of ocean full before us, rose a slope
Of pleasant shores and smiling terraces,
Crowned with a tender glory of fair green.
Our hearts leapt up within us; something spoke
To us of the fulfilment of our hopes;
And as we drew yet nearer, snow-white sands,
Gemmed with bright shells and coloured wonderments
Of stones and seaweed, sparkled on the rim
Of the glad blue, and what seemed palaces
Of dream-like beauty shimmered afar off,
Like agates, through the mazes of the woods.
We ran the carvel through a wooded reach
Of shelving water, clear and musical
With fret of breaking ripples on the stones,
And drove the keel into the yielding sand,
Where, with a gracious curve, the silver shore
Sloped down and held the ocean in its arms.
Landing, we entered, through a portico
Of columned palms, a forest fair and wide,
Wherein long glades ran stretching in the calm
And rayed out through the leafage on all hands;
And as our feet trod grass, the tropic night
Was wasted and the cool sweet early day
Was born in the blue heavens. On all sides,
The fruitful earth was mad with joy of Spring,
Not, as in our cold West, the painful lands
Flower with a thin spare stint of meagre blooms,
But with a blaze of heaven's own splendrousness
Moulded to blossom; in the lavish land
There was not room enough for the blithe blooms
To spread to fulness their luxuriance;
And so they ran and revelled up the trunks
And seizing all the interspace of air,
Shut out the sky with frolic flowerage.
And as we went, the cloisters of the woods
Rang with the golden choirings of the birds,
Gods' poets, that did give Him praise for Spring,
And all the tender twilight of the woods
Was brimmed with ripples of their minstrelsy.
To us of the fulfilment of our hopes;
And as we drew yet nearer, snow-white sands,
Gemmed with bright shells and coloured wonderments
Of stones and seaweed, sparkled on the rim
Of the glad blue, and what seemed palaces
Of dream-like beauty shimmered afar off,
Like agates, through the mazes of the woods.
We ran the carvel through a wooded reach
Of shelving water, clear and musical
With fret of breaking ripples on the stones,
And drove the keel into the yielding sand,
Where, with a gracious curve, the silver shore
Sloped down and held the ocean in its arms.
Landing, we entered, through a portico
Of columned palms, a forest fair and wide,
Wherein long glades ran stretching in the calm
And rayed out through the leafage on all hands;
And as our feet trod grass, the tropic night
Was wasted and the cool sweet early day
Was born in the blue heavens. On all sides,
The fruitful earth was mad with joy of Spring,
Not, as in our cold West, the painful lands
Flower with a thin spare stint of meagre blooms,
But with a blaze of heaven's own splendrousness
Moulded to blossom; in the lavish land
There was not room enough for the blithe blooms
To spread to fulness their luxuriance;
And so they ran and revelled up the trunks
And seizing all the interspace of air,
221
And as we went, the cloisters of the woods
Rang with the golden choirings of the birds,
Gods' poets, that did give Him praise for Spring,
And all the tender twilight of the woods
Was brimmed with ripples of their minstrelsy.
Some hours we journeyed slowly through the aisles
Of emerald, hung with flower-trails wild and sweet,
Whose scent usurped the waftings of the breeze
And lapt our senses in a golden dream,—
Slowly, I say; for wonder held our feet
And we were often fain to halt and feed
Our dazed eyes on the exquisite fair peace
Of all things' perfect beauty and delight.
At last, we came to where the cloistered glades
Grew wider and we heard a noise of bells
And glad wide horn-notes floating through the trees
And waning lingeringly along the aisles;
And a far voice of some most lovely sound
Held all the air with one enchanted note,
As 'twere the cadence of the angels' song,
When in the dawn the gates of heaven unfold,
Had floated down and lit upon the earth.
And then the forest ceased and in the noon,
Now that the sun rode high in the blue steeps,
We saw a fair white city in the plain,
Rounded with blossomed flowers and singing rills
And fringed with tender grace of nestling trees.
The gates stood open for our welcoming
And in we passed, but saw none in the ways
And wandered slowly onward through the streets,
Misdoubting us the whole might be a dream
And loath to speak, lest something break the charm.
Of emerald, hung with flower-trails wild and sweet,
Whose scent usurped the waftings of the breeze
And lapt our senses in a golden dream,—
Slowly, I say; for wonder held our feet
And we were often fain to halt and feed
Our dazed eyes on the exquisite fair peace
Of all things' perfect beauty and delight.
At last, we came to where the cloistered glades
Grew wider and we heard a noise of bells
And glad wide horn-notes floating through the trees
And waning lingeringly along the aisles;
And a far voice of some most lovely sound
Held all the air with one enchanted note,
As 'twere the cadence of the angels' song,
When in the dawn the gates of heaven unfold,
Had floated down and lit upon the earth.
And then the forest ceased and in the noon,
Now that the sun rode high in the blue steeps,
We saw a fair white city in the plain,
Rounded with blossomed flowers and singing rills
And fringed with tender grace of nestling trees.
The gates stood open for our welcoming
And in we passed, but saw none in the ways
And wandered slowly onward through the streets,
Misdoubting us the whole might be a dream
And loath to speak, lest something break the charm.
Full lovely and most pleasant was the place,
Builded with palaces of purest white
And columns graven in all gracious shapes
Of lovely things, that harbour in the world
Or in the poet's fancy. All the walls
Were laced with golden tracery and set
With precious marbles, cunningly y-wrought
To delicate frail fretwork. Argent spires
Rose, pistil-like, toward the heavens serene,
From out moon-petalled flower-domes and the roofs
Seemed, in the noontide, one great graven prayer,
For the aspiring of their minarets.
Fair courtyards caught the quiet from the air
And hoarded up the shadow in their hearts,
Making the stillness musical with pearls
And silver of their fountains' gurgling plash.
A city of the pleasance of the Gods
It seemed, embowered in a flower-soft calm,
Soiled by no breath of clamour or desire.
Builded with palaces of purest white
And columns graven in all gracious shapes
Of lovely things, that harbour in the world
222
Were laced with golden tracery and set
With precious marbles, cunningly y-wrought
To delicate frail fretwork. Argent spires
Rose, pistil-like, toward the heavens serene,
From out moon-petalled flower-domes and the roofs
Seemed, in the noontide, one great graven prayer,
For the aspiring of their minarets.
Fair courtyards caught the quiet from the air
And hoarded up the shadow in their hearts,
Making the stillness musical with pearls
And silver of their fountains' gurgling plash.
A city of the pleasance of the Gods
It seemed, embowered in a flower-soft calm,
Soiled by no breath of clamour or desire.
So did we wander up that silver street,
As one who, in the lapses of a dream,
Goes like a God, for lack of wonderment,
And came to where a sudden water welled
Among moss-feathered pebbles and was turned
Into the middle way, wherein it ran
Along the agate stones, rejoicingly,
And marged itself with bands of vivid bloom.
It was so clear and sang so sweet a song
Of cool fresh quiet that we all were fain
To halt and lave our hands and feet in it,
So haply virtue might be had from it
Of its untroubled blitheness. This being done,
We wandered on again by that fair flood,
That seemed to us a rippled silver clue,
Unwinded by some river-deity,
Friendly to man, and leading, step by step,
To some far seat of exquisite idlesse.
So came we where the long slow quiet way
Was done and lost itself in one wide space,
Where columns stood in fair and measured ranks,
Arched with a running frieze of graven work.
Stately and tall they were, cornelian-plinthed,
With stems of jasper and chalcedony,
And ran in goodly order round the place,
Circling a wide bright curtilage of clear
And polished marble, veined with branching gold
And jacinth woven in its cloudless grain.
In the mid-square a cistern, lipped with pearl
And hollowed from the marble of the floor,
Was clear with crystal water, through whose lymph
One saw the bottom paved with cunning shapes
Of ancient legends, beasts and birds and flowers,
Fashioned in yellow gold on milk-white stone.
As one who, in the lapses of a dream,
Goes like a God, for lack of wonderment,
And came to where a sudden water welled
Among moss-feathered pebbles and was turned
Into the middle way, wherein it ran
Along the agate stones, rejoicingly,
And marged itself with bands of vivid bloom.
It was so clear and sang so sweet a song
Of cool fresh quiet that we all were fain
To halt and lave our hands and feet in it,
So haply virtue might be had from it
Of its untroubled blitheness. This being done,
We wandered on again by that fair flood,
That seemed to us a rippled silver clue,
Unwinded by some river-deity,
Friendly to man, and leading, step by step,
To some far seat of exquisite idlesse.
So came we where the long slow quiet way
Was done and lost itself in one wide space,
Where columns stood in fair and measured ranks,
Arched with a running frieze of graven work.
223
With stems of jasper and chalcedony,
And ran in goodly order round the place,
Circling a wide bright curtilage of clear
And polished marble, veined with branching gold
And jacinth woven in its cloudless grain.
In the mid-square a cistern, lipped with pearl
And hollowed from the marble of the floor,
Was clear with crystal water, through whose lymph
One saw the bottom paved with cunning shapes
Of ancient legends, beasts and birds and flowers,
Fashioned in yellow gold on milk-white stone.
Into the cistern emptied all its rills
The laughing stream that ran beside our feet,
And filling all the cool still flood with gleams
And rippled swirls and eddies of its own
Mercurial silver, passed out o'er a slope
Of jasper from the cistern's farther side
And gurgled through a channel in the floor,
Wherefrom it drew that sweet and murmurous noise
Of soft accords suspended, that had swelled
Upon us in the opening of the wood,
Until its silver blended with the green
Of a cool woodland shadow and its chirp
Of laughing ripples in the cloistered calm
Of arching trunks was silent. Following
The blithe stream's way, we stood upon the brink
Of that cool crystal and gazed down through it
Upon the inlaid figures in the bed,
That flashed and wavered so with that unrest
Of ceaseless currents, that they seemed to us
To have again a strange half-life in them
And nod and sign to us. We dipped our hands
For idlesse in the lappings of the stream,
That curled and glistered on the marble's brim,
And wondered idly what these things might be
That were so fairly pictured on the stone,
And if the place were void of living soul
To use its dainty brightness. So we might
Have stood and gazed and dreamed away the day,
So fair a spell of quiet held the air;
But, as we listened, suddenly a sound
Of various music smote upon our ears,
And we were ware of some enchanted throb
Of very lovely singing, that for aye
Drew nearer, as it were the singers came
Toward us, in the near vicinity.
And as it grew, the air was all a-flower
With intermingling antiphons of sound;
The passionate pulse of harp-strings, smitten soft
To wait upon the cadenced swell and wane
Of the alternate voices, throbbed and stirred
In the cool peace of that sweet reverend place:
High steeples rained bell-silver on the roofs
And the clear gold of clarions floated up
And echoed through the columned solitudes.
The laughing stream that ran beside our feet,
And filling all the cool still flood with gleams
And rippled swirls and eddies of its own
Mercurial silver, passed out o'er a slope
Of jasper from the cistern's farther side
And gurgled through a channel in the floor,
Wherefrom it drew that sweet and murmurous noise
Of soft accords suspended, that had swelled
Upon us in the opening of the wood,
Until its silver blended with the green
Of a cool woodland shadow and its chirp
Of laughing ripples in the cloistered calm
Of arching trunks was silent. Following
The blithe stream's way, we stood upon the brink
Of that cool crystal and gazed down through it
Upon the inlaid figures in the bed,
That flashed and wavered so with that unrest
Of ceaseless currents, that they seemed to us
To have again a strange half-life in them
And nod and sign to us. We dipped our hands
For idlesse in the lappings of the stream,
That curled and glistered on the marble's brim,
And wondered idly what these things might be
That were so fairly pictured on the stone,
224
To use its dainty brightness. So we might
Have stood and gazed and dreamed away the day,
So fair a spell of quiet held the air;
But, as we listened, suddenly a sound
Of various music smote upon our ears,
And we were ware of some enchanted throb
Of very lovely singing, that for aye
Drew nearer, as it were the singers came
Toward us, in the near vicinity.
And as it grew, the air was all a-flower
With intermingling antiphons of sound;
The passionate pulse of harp-strings, smitten soft
To wait upon the cadenced swell and wane
Of the alternate voices, throbbed and stirred
In the cool peace of that sweet reverend place:
High steeples rained bell-silver on the roofs
And the clear gold of clarions floated up
And echoed through the columned solitudes.
Before us rose a high and stately wall,
Painted with cunning past the skill of men,—
It seemed to us,—with shapes of olden time,
Presenting, in deep colours, like the flush
Of flowers that diapers the fields in June,
All things that have been celebrate of old,
Shapes of high kings, of heathen men and dames,
Ladies and knights in dalliance of love
Or ranged in rank of feast or tournament;
(I do remember once I saw the like,
But in a meaner fashion and less fair,
At Naples, when our army held the realm
Against the French). Surpassing fair they were,
Gods in the aspect and most worshipful,
Clad in bright raiment, gold and purpurine.
So goodly was their seeming and withal
So wonder-lively fashioned, that we looked
To see them leave their places on the wall
And walk among us and have speech of us.
Painted with cunning past the skill of men,—
It seemed to us,—with shapes of olden time,
Presenting, in deep colours, like the flush
Of flowers that diapers the fields in June,
All things that have been celebrate of old,
Shapes of high kings, of heathen men and dames,
Ladies and knights in dalliance of love
Or ranged in rank of feast or tournament;
(I do remember once I saw the like,
But in a meaner fashion and less fair,
At Naples, when our army held the realm
Against the French). Surpassing fair they were,
Gods in the aspect and most worshipful,
Clad in bright raiment, gold and purpurine.
So goodly was their seeming and withal
So wonder-lively fashioned, that we looked
To see them leave their places on the wall
225
Between two columns in the midst, a space
Was set apart, whereon no living thing
Was limnéd, but the stone was subtly wrought
With graven silver, arabesqued and chased
In interwoven patterns, very bright
And strange, wherein we wondered much to see
That ever sphere did twine with sphere, nor was
There any angled figure in the woof,
Except one great gold cross, that broke the play
Of circles in the centre of the space.
In this a wide door opened, that had been
So closely fitted to the joining wall
That our eyes had no cognizance of it,
And foldíng back itself on either side,
Gave passage to our sight into an aisle
Of cloistered fretwork, at whose farthest end
Shone glint of mystic gold and blazonry.
Was set apart, whereon no living thing
Was limnéd, but the stone was subtly wrought
With graven silver, arabesqued and chased
In interwoven patterns, very bright
And strange, wherein we wondered much to see
That ever sphere did twine with sphere, nor was
There any angled figure in the woof,
Except one great gold cross, that broke the play
Of circles in the centre of the space.
In this a wide door opened, that had been
So closely fitted to the joining wall
That our eyes had no cognizance of it,
And foldíng back itself on either side,
Gave passage to our sight into an aisle
Of cloistered fretwork, at whose farthest end
Shone glint of mystic gold and blazonry.
It was not clear for distance, at the first,
What was it moved and glittered in the haze;
But, as we gazed, a train of stately men,
Vestured in flowing garments, swept along
The heart of that cool stillness and did come
Majestically tow'rd us with slow steps.
And as they grew into our clearer sight,
We saw they were full goodly to behold,
Gracious in carriage and with pòort assured
In simple nobleness. It seemed to us
That we had known such figures in some dream
Of bygone days, so strangely bright they were
Of aspect and serene in kindly peace,
Resembling nothing earthly we had seen.
Their vesture was no less unknown to us,
Being of some fair white fabric, soft as silk
And looped with broad rich gold and broidery
Of banded silver, and their flowing hair
Was knitted with the plumes of strange bright birds,
That flashed and sparkled gem-like in the sun,
Emerald and gold and turquoise. At their head
Came one whose visage wore a special air
Of reverence and simplicity, uncrossed
By any furrow of ignoble care.
Adown his breast a fair white beard did flow
And foam-white was the flowerage of his head;
But else of sad wan eld was little trace
Upon his mien, except for venerance.
It seemed as if his youth had held so dear
The sojourn of life's spring-time, it had chosen
Rather to consort with the drifts of age
Than spread sad wings toward a fresher haven.
Upon his front a band of woven gold,
Graven with symbols, added evidence
Unneeded to his brow's regality,
And in his hand a silver wand he bore,
Whereon a golden falcon spread its wings
And poised itself as if for imminent flight.
What was it moved and glittered in the haze;
But, as we gazed, a train of stately men,
Vestured in flowing garments, swept along
The heart of that cool stillness and did come
Majestically tow'rd us with slow steps.
And as they grew into our clearer sight,
We saw they were full goodly to behold,
Gracious in carriage and with pòort assured
In simple nobleness. It seemed to us
That we had known such figures in some dream
Of bygone days, so strangely bright they were
Of aspect and serene in kindly peace,
Resembling nothing earthly we had seen.
Their vesture was no less unknown to us,
Being of some fair white fabric, soft as silk
And looped with broad rich gold and broidery
Of banded silver, and their flowing hair
Was knitted with the plumes of strange bright birds,
226
Emerald and gold and turquoise. At their head
Came one whose visage wore a special air
Of reverence and simplicity, uncrossed
By any furrow of ignoble care.
Adown his breast a fair white beard did flow
And foam-white was the flowerage of his head;
But else of sad wan eld was little trace
Upon his mien, except for venerance.
It seemed as if his youth had held so dear
The sojourn of life's spring-time, it had chosen
Rather to consort with the drifts of age
Than spread sad wings toward a fresher haven.
Upon his front a band of woven gold,
Graven with symbols, added evidence
Unneeded to his brow's regality,
And in his hand a silver wand he bore,
Whereon a golden falcon spread its wings
And poised itself as if for imminent flight.
We all bowed heads, as conscious of some might
Of soul and station far above our own;
And that mild ancient, casting on us all
His eyes' benignness, gave us welcoming,
In speech so clear and universal-toned,
We could not choose but apprehend his words
And the fair meaning of them, when he said,
“Be welcome to the City of the Day,
O seekers for the Isle of Bimini!”
And knew that here at last our quest was won.
Of soul and station far above our own;
And that mild ancient, casting on us all
His eyes' benignness, gave us welcoming,
In speech so clear and universal-toned,
We could not choose but apprehend his words
And the fair meaning of them, when he said,
“Be welcome to the City of the Day,
O seekers for the Isle of Bimini!”
And knew that here at last our quest was won.
Then did he speak to those that followed him,
And the fair youths, that were his chamberlains,
Laid gentle hands on us and led us all
Into the inner palace, where we soothed
Our weary limbs with soft and fragrant baths
And girt us in new garments of fair white,
Made rich with bands of silken broidery.
This done, our weariness and our fatigues
Fell from us with our travel-stainéd weeds
And we were as new men in heart and limb.
And the fair youths, that were his chamberlains,
Laid gentle hands on us and led us all
Into the inner palace, where we soothed
Our weary limbs with soft and fragrant baths
And girt us in new garments of fair white,
Made rich with bands of silken broidery.
This done, our weariness and our fatigues
227
And we were as new men in heart and limb.
Then joyously we followed those our guides,
Through many an aisle of fair and lucent stone,
Into a wide and lofty banquet-hall,
Where the pierced walls showed through the azure sky
And shaped the light that won across the chinks
Into a dainty fretted lace of gold.
High up into the shadow curved the roof
And treasured up, in many a tender gloom
Of amethyst and purple, echoings
Of woodland songs and cool of forest shades
And soft sweet breezes straying in the flowers.
For bearing of its bell of latticed blue
Were columns of majestic linden-trees,
Whose blossom scented all the luminous air;
And in the boughs gold-feathered birds did make
Rare music for the pleasance of the folk
That lay below in many a goodly rank,
Reclined among sweet scents and lavish flowers.
There could no shaft of sun be wearisome
Nor airless ardour of the heavy noon,
For green of shading boughs and silver plash
Of ceaseless fountains in the hollow coigns.
Through many an aisle of fair and lucent stone,
Into a wide and lofty banquet-hall,
Where the pierced walls showed through the azure sky
And shaped the light that won across the chinks
Into a dainty fretted lace of gold.
High up into the shadow curved the roof
And treasured up, in many a tender gloom
Of amethyst and purple, echoings
Of woodland songs and cool of forest shades
And soft sweet breezes straying in the flowers.
For bearing of its bell of latticed blue
Were columns of majestic linden-trees,
Whose blossom scented all the luminous air;
And in the boughs gold-feathered birds did make
Rare music for the pleasance of the folk
That lay below in many a goodly rank,
Reclined among sweet scents and lavish flowers.
There could no shaft of sun be wearisome
Nor airless ardour of the heavy noon,
For green of shading boughs and silver plash
Of ceaseless fountains in the hollow coigns.
Here was a goodly banquet furnished forth;
And as we entered, he that ruled the feast
Did set us near himself and talked with us
And showed and told us many goodly things
And marvels that had usance in the place.
Then did we ask him of that fabled stream
That had such puissance for defeat of age;
Whereat his visage grew, meseemed, a thought
O'ershadowed; but anon he smiled on us
And made fair answer that, ourselves refreshed
With needful rest and slumber, he himself
Would on the morrow further our desire
Toward the fount miraculous; and turned
The talk to other things and bade us leave
Our past fatigues and eat and drink new life.
And as we entered, he that ruled the feast
Did set us near himself and talked with us
And showed and told us many goodly things
And marvels that had usance in the place.
Then did we ask him of that fabled stream
That had such puissance for defeat of age;
Whereat his visage grew, meseemed, a thought
O'ershadowed; but anon he smiled on us
And made fair answer that, ourselves refreshed
With needful rest and slumber, he himself
Would on the morrow further our desire
Toward the fount miraculous; and turned
228
Our past fatigues and eat and drink new life.
Great joyance had we in the pleasant things
That were presented to our every sense,
And great refreshing for our weary souls,
Jaded with age and unrelenting toil.
Nor, in the progress of the glad repast,
Did cheer sink down to grossness; for we ate
Of fruits and meats (and drank of wines the while,
Costly and rich) that were so delicate
And noble in their essence, and did hear
And see and scent such high and lovely things,
That all that was most godlike in ourselves
Did cast off imperfection for the nonce
And was made pure by that most sweet convérse.
That were presented to our every sense,
And great refreshing for our weary souls,
Jaded with age and unrelenting toil.
Nor, in the progress of the glad repast,
Did cheer sink down to grossness; for we ate
Of fruits and meats (and drank of wines the while,
Costly and rich) that were so delicate
And noble in their essence, and did hear
And see and scent such high and lovely things,
That all that was most godlike in ourselves
Did cast off imperfection for the nonce
And was made pure by that most sweet convérse.
The banquet ended, minstrels took their harps
And sang the praises of the blossom-time
And high delights of bright and puissant love:
How May is sweet with amorous affects
And all things in its season know but one
And flower and sing and are most fair for one
And one alone most tender, holiest Love:
How life in love has ever deathless Spring,
And all the early glory of the year
Is but the travail of the earth with love,
That is told forth in bloom of painted flowers
And silver speech of many-choiring birds.
And sang the praises of the blossom-time
And high delights of bright and puissant love:
How May is sweet with amorous affects
And all things in its season know but one
And flower and sing and are most fair for one
And one alone most tender, holiest Love:
How life in love has ever deathless Spring,
And all the early glory of the year
Is but the travail of the earth with love,
That is told forth in bloom of painted flowers
And silver speech of many-choiring birds.
And these strains ended with applause of all
And to the great enhancement of our peace,
Another smote the soft complaining strings
To notes of graver sweetness and did sing
A quaint sad song of Autumn and of Death,
Made very sweet with joining cadences
Of silver harp-notes. Thus, methinks, it ran:—
And to the great enhancement of our peace,
Another smote the soft complaining strings
To notes of graver sweetness and did sing
A quaint sad song of Autumn and of Death,
Made very sweet with joining cadences
Of silver harp-notes. Thus, methinks, it ran:—
229
LET others praise the May for bright and clear
And Love, that in the flower-time thrives amain:
For me, my songs shall hymn the dying year
And death, that is the salve of mortal pain.
For what is autumn but the grateful wane
Of weary summer to the sleep of snows?
And what is winter but the earth's repose,
And death the cold sweet close of some new Spring,
That folds to slumber every tired thing?
And Love, that in the flower-time thrives amain:
For me, my songs shall hymn the dying year
And death, that is the salve of mortal pain.
For what is autumn but the grateful wane
Of weary summer to the sleep of snows?
And what is winter but the earth's repose,
And death the cold sweet close of some new Spring,
That folds to slumber every tired thing?
Let others walk to hear the roundelay
Of song-birds quiring to the risen year:
For me, I love the quiet throstle's lay,
When in the woods the shredded leaves are sere
And the faint heavens are watchet in the mere.
The autumn's pale calm grey of sober peace
Is lovelier to me than the swift increase
Of colour in the spring-tide's restless air;
For my heart flowers when the boughs are bare.
Of song-birds quiring to the risen year:
For me, I love the quiet throstle's lay,
When in the woods the shredded leaves are sere
And the faint heavens are watchet in the mere.
The autumn's pale calm grey of sober peace
Is lovelier to me than the swift increase
Of colour in the spring-tide's restless air;
For my heart flowers when the boughs are bare.
If love be May, then love is nought to me;
For in my thought his sweets are sweeter far
When in the deepening twilight shadows flee,
When all delights but half unfolded are
And waste fulfilment comes not to unbar
The gates of weariness. Faint flowers are sweet
And murmured music daintily doth greet
My senses more than bolder scent or song:
I will my joys not fierce to be, but long.
For in my thought his sweets are sweeter far
When in the deepening twilight shadows flee,
When all delights but half unfolded are
And waste fulfilment comes not to unbar
The gates of weariness. Faint flowers are sweet
And murmured music daintily doth greet
My senses more than bolder scent or song:
I will my joys not fierce to be, but long.
Sweet death, if men do fear thy tender touch,
It is because they know thee not for fair,
Since that their eyes are dazzled over-much
By fierce delights of life and blinding glare
Of unenduring bliss, that throws despair
Behind it as its shadow, when the sun
Slopes through the evening and the hills are dun.
They would not call thee dark and wan and cold,
Had their faint eyes but shunned the noon's full gold.
It is because they know thee not for fair,
Since that their eyes are dazzled over-much
By fierce delights of life and blinding glare
Of unenduring bliss, that throws despair
Behind it as its shadow, when the sun
Slopes through the evening and the hills are dun.
They would not call thee dark and wan and cold,
Had their faint eyes but shunned the noon's full gold.
230
For lo! thou art not black to loving eyes,
But tender grey, not unillumed by rose
Or that pale feathery gold that on the skies
Of autumn such a sad sweet glory throws.
Though in thy shades no glare of sunlight glows,
Yet through thy dusk a tender moon of hope
Is clear, nor lacks there in the misted slope
Of thy long vistas many a helpful light,
O Death, for very piteous is thy might!
But tender grey, not unillumed by rose
Or that pale feathery gold that on the skies
Of autumn such a sad sweet glory throws.
Though in thy shades no glare of sunlight glows,
Yet through thy dusk a tender moon of hope
Is clear, nor lacks there in the misted slope
Of thy long vistas many a helpful light,
O Death, for very piteous is thy might!
Let those that love them sing of Love and May;
I give to Love full sweet another name
And with soft sighs and singings to Him pray,
And not with trumpets' silver-strong acclaim
Blazon to men his wonder-working fame:
For my Love's name is Death, and I am fain
To love the long sad years and life's kind wane;
For what is autumn but a later Spring
And what is Death but life's revesturing?
I give to Love full sweet another name
And with soft sighs and singings to Him pray,
And not with trumpets' silver-strong acclaim
Blazon to men his wonder-working fame:
For my Love's name is Death, and I am fain
To love the long sad years and life's kind wane;
For what is autumn but a later Spring
And what is Death but life's revesturing?
Thus blithely sped the golden-footed hours
Athwart the sloping sunlight of the space
Twixt noon and dusk, in various delight
Of song and converse, till the purple webs
Of night began to flutter o'er the gold
Of sunset, and the air of that bright place
Was strewn with pearls of moonlight. Then men brought
Great golden-fleecéd webs of silk-soft wool
And furs of white and sable-coated beasts
And laid them on the floor and thereon strewed
Fair green of moss and rainbow plumages
Of exquisite strange birds, whereon the folk,
Won with light labour to fatigue as light
And easeful, soon addressed themselves to rest.
Athwart the sloping sunlight of the space
Twixt noon and dusk, in various delight
Of song and converse, till the purple webs
Of night began to flutter o'er the gold
Of sunset, and the air of that bright place
Was strewn with pearls of moonlight. Then men brought
Great golden-fleecéd webs of silk-soft wool
And furs of white and sable-coated beasts
And laid them on the floor and thereon strewed
Fair green of moss and rainbow plumages
Of exquisite strange birds, whereon the folk,
Won with light labour to fatigue as light
And easeful, soon addressed themselves to rest.
But those fair youths, to whom we were in charge,
Unbidden, brought us to a place apart,
Wherein fair chambers, golden-ceiled and hung
With gray and purple arras, lay beside
An aisle of columned marble, stretching down,
With casements clear and quaintly-carven roofs,
Through many a tender vista of soft shade
And trellised leafage: there did we bestow
Our weary limbs and heard the nightingale,
All night among the windless myrtle-groves
Without, entreating all the tremulous air
To passion with the splendour of her song,
Woven with flower-scents inextricably.
The night was fair for us with happy dreams,
And in the morning, ere the sun had drawn
The early mists from off the blushing day,
There came to us the king of that fair land
And did entreat us rise and harness us;
For that the place we sought was from the town
Distant a long day's journey, and the time
Was gracious, in the freshness of the dawn,
To break the earlier hardness of the way.
Then did we all take horse and riding forth
By the fair guiding silver of the brook,
That ran toward the northward of the town,
We passed through many a leafy forest glade
And saw the fresh flowers wet with the night dew
And listened to the newly-wakened birds,
That sang their clearest for the fair young day.
Right goodly was the aspect of the earth,
Clad with glad blooms and flushed with joy of Spring,
As on we wended in the early morn,
Before the grossness of the noon fell down:
And as we went, a goodly company,
The minstrels lifted up their voice and sang,
As birds that could not choose but music make,
For very joyance of the pleasant time.
And one right well I marked, who made the birds
From every sunny knoll and budded copse
Give back blithe antiphons of melody
To every phrase and cadence of his song.
Comely and young he was and passing skilled
In making lays and rondels for the lute:—
And this, among a crowd of sweeter songs,
If memory serve me rightly, did he sing.
Unbidden, brought us to a place apart,
231
With gray and purple arras, lay beside
An aisle of columned marble, stretching down,
With casements clear and quaintly-carven roofs,
Through many a tender vista of soft shade
And trellised leafage: there did we bestow
Our weary limbs and heard the nightingale,
All night among the windless myrtle-groves
Without, entreating all the tremulous air
To passion with the splendour of her song,
Woven with flower-scents inextricably.
The night was fair for us with happy dreams,
And in the morning, ere the sun had drawn
The early mists from off the blushing day,
There came to us the king of that fair land
And did entreat us rise and harness us;
For that the place we sought was from the town
Distant a long day's journey, and the time
Was gracious, in the freshness of the dawn,
To break the earlier hardness of the way.
Then did we all take horse and riding forth
By the fair guiding silver of the brook,
That ran toward the northward of the town,
We passed through many a leafy forest glade
And saw the fresh flowers wet with the night dew
And listened to the newly-wakened birds,
That sang their clearest for the fair young day.
Right goodly was the aspect of the earth,
Clad with glad blooms and flushed with joy of Spring,
As on we wended in the early morn,
Before the grossness of the noon fell down:
And as we went, a goodly company,
The minstrels lifted up their voice and sang,
As birds that could not choose but music make,
For very joyance of the pleasant time.
And one right well I marked, who made the birds
From every sunny knoll and budded copse
232
To every phrase and cadence of his song.
Comely and young he was and passing skilled
In making lays and rondels for the lute:—
And this, among a crowd of sweeter songs,
If memory serve me rightly, did he sing.
BELLS of gold where the sun has been,
Azure cups in the woven green,
Who in the night has been with you
And painted you golden and jewel-blue
And brimmed your flower-cups with diamond dew?
Azure cups in the woven green,
Who in the night has been with you
And painted you golden and jewel-blue
And brimmed your flower-cups with diamond dew?
Lo! in the evening Spring was dead
And the flowers had lost their maidenhead
Under the burning kiss of the sun:
Tell me, who was the shining one
That came by night, when the sky was dun
And the flowers had lost their maidenhead
Under the burning kiss of the sun:
Tell me, who was the shining one
That came by night, when the sky was dun
And the pale thin mists were over the moon,
And brimmed your hearts with the wine of noon?
Who was it breathed on the painted May,
Under the screen of the shadow play,
And gave it life for another day?
And brimmed your hearts with the wine of noon?
Who was it breathed on the painted May,
Under the screen of the shadow play,
And gave it life for another day?
I watched at the setting to see him ride,
But only saw the day that died,
The faint-eyed flow'rets shrink and fail
Into their shrouding petals' veil
And all things under the moon turn pale.
But only saw the day that died,
The faint-eyed flow'rets shrink and fail
Into their shrouding petals' veil
And all things under the moon turn pale.
I watched in the night, but saw no thing.
I heard in the midnight the grey bird sing
And ran to look for the shape of power,
But saw no thing in the silence flower,
Save moonmists over forest and bower.
I heard in the midnight the grey bird sing
And ran to look for the shape of power,
But saw no thing in the silence flower,
Save moonmists over forest and bower.
233
Goldcups, it could not have been the May,
For dead in the twilight the Spring-time lay,
Under the arch of the setting sun,
Ere in the gloaming the day was done
And the masque of the shadows had begun.
For dead in the twilight the Spring-time lay,
Under the arch of the setting sun,
Ere in the gloaming the day was done
And the masque of the shadows had begun.
But lo! in the early scented morn
A new delight in the air was born;
Brighter than ever bloomed the Spring,
The glad flowers blew and the birds did sing
And blithe was every living thing.
A new delight in the air was born;
Brighter than ever bloomed the Spring,
The glad flowers blew and the birds did sing
And blithe was every living thing.
Merles that flute in the linden-hall,
Larks, if ye would, ye could tell me all;
Ye that were waking at break of day,
Did ye see no one pass away,
With ripple of song and pinion-play?
Larks, if ye would, ye could tell me all;
Ye that were waking at break of day,
Did ye see no one pass away,
With ripple of song and pinion-play?
Ah! I am sure that ye know him well,
Although ye are false and will not tell!
Haply, natheless, I shall be near
And hear you praise him loudly and clear,
Some day when ye wit not I can hear.
Although ye are false and will not tell!
Haply, natheless, I shall be near
And hear you praise him loudly and clear,
Some day when ye wit not I can hear.
So wended we with mirth and minstrelsy
Throughout the morning hours, and presently
Emerging from the pleasant wood, we rode
By many a long stretch of level plains,
Waved fields of rainbow grasses and wide moors
Bejewelled thick with white and azure bells,
And saw rich flowercups, all ablaze with gold
And purple, lie and swelter in the sun,
And others, blue as is the sky at noon
Unclouded, trail and crawl along the grass
And star the green with sudden sapphire blooms.
And then we came to where the frolic brook
Swelled into manhood and its silver thread
Was woven out into a river's stretch
Of broad, unruffled crystal. Here a boat,
Wide bowed and long, lay rocking on the stream,
Among great lazy lilies, white and red
And regal purple, lolling in the sun.
Throughout the morning hours, and presently
Emerging from the pleasant wood, we rode
By many a long stretch of level plains,
Waved fields of rainbow grasses and wide moors
Bejewelled thick with white and azure bells,
And saw rich flowercups, all ablaze with gold
And purple, lie and swelter in the sun,
And others, blue as is the sky at noon
Unclouded, trail and crawl along the grass
And star the green with sudden sapphire blooms.
And then we came to where the frolic brook
Swelled into manhood and its silver thread
234
Of broad, unruffled crystal. Here a boat,
Wide bowed and long, lay rocking on the stream,
Among great lazy lilies, white and red
And regal purple, lolling in the sun.
Dismounting here, we floated up the tide,
Propelled by one that stood upon the prow
And spurned the sanded bottom with his pole,
Along wide sunny lapses of the stream,
Now breasting rushes, purple as the tips
Of fair Aurora's fingers, when she parts
The veils of daybreak, now embowered in green
And blue of floating iris. Through long rifts
Of wooded cliffs we passed, where here and there
The naked rock showed white as a swan's breast,
Riven through and through by veins of virgin gold,
Or haply cleft with gaping crevices,
Wherethrough the jewelled riches of its heart
Did force themselves from out their treasury
And staunched the cloven wound with precious salve
Of living diamond. Here the water showed,
Through its clear lymph, great crystals in the bed
And nuggets of bright metal, water-worn
To strange fantastic shapes; and now and then,
As we did paddle idly with our hands,
Letting the clear stream ripple through the chinks
Of our obstructing fingers, with a sound
Of soft melodious plaining for the check,
A great gold-armoured fish, with scales of pearl
And martlets of wine-red upon his back,
Rose slowly to the surface, waving all
The pennons of his fins, and gazed at us
With fearless eyes. And there the wrinkled bed
Shelved súddenly into a deep clear pool,
Whose brink was fringed with waving water-bells;
And at the bottom lay gold-colured shells
And silver pearls embedded in brown sand,
And many a fish and harmless water-snake
Floated and crawled along the river-weeds.
Propelled by one that stood upon the prow
And spurned the sanded bottom with his pole,
Along wide sunny lapses of the stream,
Now breasting rushes, purple as the tips
Of fair Aurora's fingers, when she parts
The veils of daybreak, now embowered in green
And blue of floating iris. Through long rifts
Of wooded cliffs we passed, where here and there
The naked rock showed white as a swan's breast,
Riven through and through by veins of virgin gold,
Or haply cleft with gaping crevices,
Wherethrough the jewelled riches of its heart
Did force themselves from out their treasury
And staunched the cloven wound with precious salve
Of living diamond. Here the water showed,
Through its clear lymph, great crystals in the bed
And nuggets of bright metal, water-worn
To strange fantastic shapes; and now and then,
As we did paddle idly with our hands,
Letting the clear stream ripple through the chinks
Of our obstructing fingers, with a sound
Of soft melodious plaining for the check,
A great gold-armoured fish, with scales of pearl
And martlets of wine-red upon his back,
Rose slowly to the surface, waving all
The pennons of his fins, and gazed at us
With fearless eyes. And there the wrinkled bed
Shelved súddenly into a deep clear pool,
Whose brink was fringed with waving water-bells;
And at the bottom lay gold-colured shells
And silver pearls embedded in brown sand,
235
Floated and crawled along the river-weeds.
But nothing harmful seemed to us to dwell
Within that fair clear water; — pike nor coil
Of deadly worm, nor on the verging banks
In field or copse, as far as eye could see,
Was any lynx or wolf or brindled beast,
To stir the lovely stillness of the land
With whisper of disquiet. As we went,
Much wondering at the goodly peace that reigned
In all and at the marvellous fair things
That glided by us, Perez took a lute
(Full featly could he turn a stately song,)
And praised the place and its serene delights.
Within that fair clear water; — pike nor coil
Of deadly worm, nor on the verging banks
In field or copse, as far as eye could see,
Was any lynx or wolf or brindled beast,
To stir the lovely stillness of the land
With whisper of disquiet. As we went,
Much wondering at the goodly peace that reigned
In all and at the marvellous fair things
That glided by us, Perez took a lute
(Full featly could he turn a stately song,)
And praised the place and its serene delights.
“O HAPPY pleasaunce of the gods!” he sang,
“Where all is fair and there is harm in nought,
Where never lightnings break nor thunder-clang,
Nor ever summer air with storm is fraught,
Nor by the hurtling hail is ruin wrought,
But kindly nature is at peace with man
And all things sweetly fill their given span!
“Where all is fair and there is harm in nought,
Where never lightnings break nor thunder-clang,
Nor ever summer air with storm is fraught,
Nor by the hurtling hail is ruin wrought,
But kindly nature is at peace with man
And all things sweetly fill their given span!
“O pleasant land, where winter never blinds
The bare waste ways with snowdrift, nor the frost
With wrinkled ice the sad wan waters binds,
Nor Spring-tide joy by winter thoughts is crost,
Where never hope for weariness is lost,
But life is warm, though woods be cold and grey,
And never in the flower-hearts dies the May!
The bare waste ways with snowdrift, nor the frost
With wrinkled ice the sad wan waters binds,
Nor Spring-tide joy by winter thoughts is crost,
Where never hope for weariness is lost,
But life is warm, though woods be cold and grey,
And never in the flower-hearts dies the May!
“Where never skies are dull, nor tempest scowls,
Nor monster riots in the river's glass,
Where never in the woods the fierce beast prowls,
But in the fields the harmless snake does pass,
A living jewel, through the flowered grass,
Where sun burns not, nor breaths of winter freeze,
Nor thunder-blasts shrill drearly through the trees!
Nor monster riots in the river's glass,
Where never in the woods the fierce beast prowls,
But in the fields the harmless snake does pass,
A living jewel, through the flowered grass,
Where sun burns not, nor breaths of winter freeze,
Nor thunder-blasts shrill drearly through the trees!
236
“Yet is there nothing here that in the air
Should breathe such potency of healing balm
As might compel the unkindly blast to spare
Or birds to sing a never-ending psalm,
Or meadows glitter with the summer calm,
Or purge the terror from the winter grim:
But men love God and put their trust in Him!
Should breathe such potency of healing balm
As might compel the unkindly blast to spare
Or birds to sing a never-ending psalm,
Or meadows glitter with the summer calm,
Or purge the terror from the winter grim:
But men love God and put their trust in Him!
“And so all things of His do they hold dear
And see in all His handiwork a friend,
And not a foe,—and therefore skies are clear
And flowers are sweet, because men's souls intend
The essence of well-being and so bend
The kindred life of wood and field and fell
To that fair peace that in themselves does dwell!
And see in all His handiwork a friend,
And not a foe,—and therefore skies are clear
And flowers are sweet, because men's souls intend
The essence of well-being and so bend
The kindred life of wood and field and fell
To that fair peace that in themselves does dwell!
“For man it is that makes his circumstance,
Honouring all and loving all things good,
Bethinking him how he may best advance
The harvesting of nature's kindly mood,
By helping her in that relief she would
Be ever working for his cheer and stay:
So doth he love and joy in her alway.
Honouring all and loving all things good,
Bethinking him how he may best advance
The harvesting of nature's kindly mood,
By helping her in that relief she would
Be ever working for his cheer and stay:
So doth he love and joy in her alway.
“O happy folk that dwell in such a land!
O happy land that hast such habitants,
That know to walk with nature hand in hand
And find new cheer in every change and chance,
Not thinking, when the long grey days advance
And summer's gold is dying, hope is less;
But proving lightly all things' goodliness.”
O happy land that hast such habitants,
That know to walk with nature hand in hand
And find new cheer in every change and chance,
Not thinking, when the long grey days advance
And summer's gold is dying, hope is less;
But proving lightly all things' goodliness.”
So swung we slowly up that lazy flood,
Rejoicing in the gladness of the time,
Until its course did leave the open plains
And turned into a forest, intertwined
So closely o'er our heads with knitted boughs
And charm of woven leaves, that we could see
No glimpse of sun nor glitter of the clear
Sweet firmament, nor any moving thing,
But only heard dim splashes in the flood
Of water-rat or duck and distant chirp
Of birds that far above our heads climbed up
To hymn the mounting chariot of the sun.
Rejoicing in the gladness of the time,
Until its course did leave the open plains
And turned into a forest, intertwined
So closely o'er our heads with knitted boughs
237
No glimpse of sun nor glitter of the clear
Sweet firmament, nor any moving thing,
But only heard dim splashes in the flood
Of water-rat or duck and distant chirp
Of birds that far above our heads climbed up
To hymn the mounting chariot of the sun.
In that dim emerald shadow, some strange peace
And spell of haunting quiet seemed to brood
And soften all the voices of the wood
And rustle of the leafage to repose.
Above us rose the high steep flowered banks,
Heavy with fragrances from unseen bells
Exhaled of sweet and drowsy-scented flowers,
And all around the columns of the trees
Stretched dimly in the twilight, like the aisles
Of some immense cathedral, where the voice
Of praise and joy is hushed to reverent prayer.
And there no bird or beast did seem to dwell
Nor breeze to creep and sigh among the trees;
But in its own mysterious sanctity
The forest lay and waited for the voice
Of some high champion that should break the charm
And win the secret of those mystic deeps.
And spell of haunting quiet seemed to brood
And soften all the voices of the wood
And rustle of the leafage to repose.
Above us rose the high steep flowered banks,
Heavy with fragrances from unseen bells
Exhaled of sweet and drowsy-scented flowers,
And all around the columns of the trees
Stretched dimly in the twilight, like the aisles
Of some immense cathedral, where the voice
Of praise and joy is hushed to reverent prayer.
And there no bird or beast did seem to dwell
Nor breeze to creep and sigh among the trees;
But in its own mysterious sanctity
The forest lay and waited for the voice
Of some high champion that should break the charm
And win the secret of those mystic deeps.
The air grew dark, and a fresher breeze
Sprang up and told us of the waning day;
And then the oarsman laid aside his blade
And loosed the wide sail from the tapering mast,
Wherein the glad air gathered did so swell
And struggle, that the boat leapt swiftly on
Between the shelving woodways. And anon
The gold of sunset flamed in through the mask
Of thinning trees, and then the prow was free
From that dark pass of overhanging wood,
And the day's light was large on us again.
Sprang up and told us of the waning day;
And then the oarsman laid aside his blade
And loosed the wide sail from the tapering mast,
Wherein the glad air gathered did so swell
And struggle, that the boat leapt swiftly on
Between the shelving woodways. And anon
The gold of sunset flamed in through the mask
Of thinning trees, and then the prow was free
From that dark pass of overhanging wood,
And the day's light was large on us again.
The river lapsed, thro' fringing marish plants
And ranks of rustling reeds, into the glass
Of a clear lakelet, where the white discs lay,
Gold-hearted, in the quiet, and our stem
Cut through the fronded lake-weeds grudgingly
And won slow way toward the other shore,
Where, with a hollow roar, the river leapt
And fell into a dark and shaded cave.
And ranks of rustling reeds, into the glass
238
Gold-hearted, in the quiet, and our stem
Cut through the fronded lake-weeds grudgingly
And won slow way toward the other shore,
Where, with a hollow roar, the river leapt
And fell into a dark and shaded cave.
There landed we and moored the barge with ropes,
And following our guides, made shift to win,
Athwart a rocky passage, to a screen
Of netted boughs and bushes that shut out
For us the blue horizon's golden marge.
Some time we struggled through the arduous growth
Of underwood and brambles, intertwined
With scarlet-blossomed creepers, till at length
The last boughs closed behind us and we stood
Upon the lower slope of a tall hill
And gazed into the sunset with rapt eyes.
And following our guides, made shift to win,
Athwart a rocky passage, to a screen
Of netted boughs and bushes that shut out
For us the blue horizon's golden marge.
Some time we struggled through the arduous growth
Of underwood and brambles, intertwined
With scarlet-blossomed creepers, till at length
The last boughs closed behind us and we stood
Upon the lower slope of a tall hill
And gazed into the sunset with rapt eyes.
A wide deep champaign stretched before our view,
Encircled with a sapphire chain of hills,
On whose high crests the crown of sunset lay,
Hallowing the landscape with a blaze of gold.
Encircled with a sapphire chain of hills,
On whose high crests the crown of sunset lay,
Hallowing the landscape with a blaze of gold.
Fair and most awful was the majesty
Of that day's death upon the guardian hills,
Wrapt in the visible glory of the Lord;
And with one impulse, as the budded flames
Of imminent heaven lay on us, we all
Fell down upon our knees and worshippéd,
As knowing the great God was surely there.
Of that day's death upon the guardian hills,
Wrapt in the visible glory of the Lord;
And with one impulse, as the budded flames
Of imminent heaven lay on us, we all
Fell down upon our knees and worshippéd,
As knowing the great God was surely there.
So knelt we all in silence, till the sun
Had faded from the westward and the grey,
Washed with pale gold, that fills the interspace
'Twixt ended day and night, held all the air
With its mild tender afterglow. Then he
Whose brow was kingly with the banded gold
Arose and went a little way aside
Within some trees, that stood apart from us
About the casting of an arbalest.
And made as if he sought for something there;
And coming, in a little, back to us,
He took my hand, and signing to the rest
To follow, led us all into a nook,
Wherein tall oak-trees circled round a rock
Of moss-veined marble. Therein entering,
A fitful radiance, as it were the play.
Of glancing diamonds, glittered in our eyes,
And looking round, we saw where from the stone
A fair clear water trickled, drop by drop,
Between lush webs of golden-threaded moss,
And fell in jewelled sprays of liquid light
Upon the crystal pebbles. Very pure
And clear it was and so unearthly bright
In the dim twilight of that shadowy place,
We doubted not but here our quest was filled
And this was e'en that fountain where our flesh,
Being laved, should put off sad and weary age
And clothe itself anew with goodly youth.
Had faded from the westward and the grey,
Washed with pale gold, that fills the interspace
'Twixt ended day and night, held all the air
With its mild tender afterglow. Then he
Whose brow was kingly with the banded gold
Arose and went a little way aside
Within some trees, that stood apart from us
About the casting of an arbalest.
239
And coming, in a little, back to us,
He took my hand, and signing to the rest
To follow, led us all into a nook,
Wherein tall oak-trees circled round a rock
Of moss-veined marble. Therein entering,
A fitful radiance, as it were the play.
Of glancing diamonds, glittered in our eyes,
And looking round, we saw where from the stone
A fair clear water trickled, drop by drop,
Between lush webs of golden-threaded moss,
And fell in jewelled sprays of liquid light
Upon the crystal pebbles. Very pure
And clear it was and so unearthly bright
In the dim twilight of that shadowy place,
We doubted not but here our quest was filled
And this was e'en that fountain where our flesh,
Being laved, should put off sad and weary age
And clothe itself anew with goodly youth.
Then he who led us signed to us to drink,
For this was that same water we had sought
And wearied for so long by sea and land.
For this was that same water we had sought
And wearied for so long by sea and land.
Albeit, for a space we could not stir
For wonderment, commingled with strange awe
And ravishment of our fulfilled desires,
That was nigh pain for very mightiness.
For wonderment, commingled with strange awe
And ravishment of our fulfilled desires,
That was nigh pain for very mightiness.
And then Blas stepped toward that trickling thread
Of crystal and did stoop him down to drink;
And ere his knees touched earth, I, following,
Bent down my hand into the rippled pool,
That lay beneath the downfall of the rill,
And drawing back an instant for surprise
At the most deathly coldness of the stream,
Made shift to gather water for a draught
Within the hollowed middle of my palm.
Of crystal and did stoop him down to drink;
And ere his knees touched earth, I, following,
Bent down my hand into the rippled pool,
That lay beneath the downfall of the rill,
And drawing back an instant for surprise
At the most deathly coldness of the stream,
Made shift to gather water for a draught
Within the hollowed middle of my palm.
It scattered into diamonds through the chinks
Of my unnervéd fingers and did leave
So scant a pool of fluid in my hand,
That I was fain to stoop and fill again,
With more attent precaution, ere I wet
My lips with it. I filled my two joined palms
And was about to raise them to my mouth,
Nay, almost steeped my lips, when suddenly,
Reflected in the streamlet, I was ware
Of some strange light that was made visible
From out the dusk above, and looking up,
I spied a moonèd wonder in the air,
Full of strange lights and mystic harmonies
Of blending colour; and as I did gaze,
I saw a great white cross, that grew and burnt
In ïts fair middle. Wonder and great awe
Unclasped my hands and brought them to my face,
To hide from my weak sight that awful light,
Whereby the unwilling water once again
Did have its liberty and showered down,
Like broken jewels, back into the pool.
And as I knelt, with awed and hidden eyes,
I heard a voice that spake from out the bell
Of that miraculous flower, most reverend
And awful, as it were the living God;
And these words smote my hearing: “Foolish men,
That thought God like another of yourselves,
That make a work and set it up for good
And after look again and know it ill
And straightway raze and build it up anew,
Repenting of the framework of your hands,—
Know that the Lord of all cannot repent
Nor turn again His ordered harmonies
Of life and death and Nature, saying not,
‘I have not wrought it seemly—I repent!’
Nor can His hands undo what He has done.
Of my unnervéd fingers and did leave
240
That I was fain to stoop and fill again,
With more attent precaution, ere I wet
My lips with it. I filled my two joined palms
And was about to raise them to my mouth,
Nay, almost steeped my lips, when suddenly,
Reflected in the streamlet, I was ware
Of some strange light that was made visible
From out the dusk above, and looking up,
I spied a moonèd wonder in the air,
Full of strange lights and mystic harmonies
Of blending colour; and as I did gaze,
I saw a great white cross, that grew and burnt
In ïts fair middle. Wonder and great awe
Unclasped my hands and brought them to my face,
To hide from my weak sight that awful light,
Whereby the unwilling water once again
Did have its liberty and showered down,
Like broken jewels, back into the pool.
And as I knelt, with awed and hidden eyes,
I heard a voice that spake from out the bell
Of that miraculous flower, most reverend
And awful, as it were the living God;
And these words smote my hearing: “Foolish men,
That thought God like another of yourselves,
That make a work and set it up for good
And after look again and know it ill
And straightway raze and build it up anew,
Repenting of the framework of your hands,—
Know that the Lord of all cannot repent
Nor turn again His ordered harmonies
Of life and death and Nature, saying not,
‘I have not wrought it seemly—I repent!’
Nor can His hands undo what He has done.
“O fools and hard of heart! in all these years
Have ye then never read earth's parable
Of day and night alternate, seed and fruit,
That tells you dusk must be ere light can come?
Lo, in the fields the summer's lavish bloom
Is spent and wasted by the autumn's breath
And dies with winter, to revive with spring;
And all things fill their order, birds and beasts
And all that unto earthly weal pertains.
Nor will the spheric working change its course
Nor slacken for the prayers of foolish men,
That lift fond voice for what their baby eyes
Deem good and all-sufficient in desire,
Seeing only, in their circumscribéd scope,
A segment of the circle of God's love.
Have ye then never read earth's parable
Of day and night alternate, seed and fruit,
241
Lo, in the fields the summer's lavish bloom
Is spent and wasted by the autumn's breath
And dies with winter, to revive with spring;
And all things fill their order, birds and beasts
And all that unto earthly weal pertains.
Nor will the spheric working change its course
Nor slacken for the prayers of foolish men,
That lift fond voice for what their baby eyes
Deem good and all-sufficient in desire,
Seeing only, in their circumscribéd scope,
A segment of the circle of God's love.
“So may not the renewing of lost youth
Be won but through the natural way of death,
And man must,—like an ear of corn, that droops
And withers in the ground before it stir
And sprout again with gay and goodly bloom,—
Yield up his wayworn flesh and weary soul
Unto the soothing rest of friendly death,
Ere a new fire shall stir the curdled blood
Of age to a new ardour and the soul
Be clad afresh with robes of lusty youth.
Be won but through the natural way of death,
And man must,—like an ear of corn, that droops
And withers in the ground before it stir
And sprout again with gay and goodly bloom,—
Yield up his wayworn flesh and weary soul
Unto the soothing rest of friendly death,
Ere a new fire shall stir the curdled blood
Of age to a new ardour and the soul
Be clad afresh with robes of lusty youth.
“Wherefore know ye that, of a certainty,
None shall have life, excepting first he die.
And therefore is this water cold as death;
For through its death is life the quicklier won.
Wherefore, if ye repent of your desire
And will to wear in weariness of eld
The sad remainder of your lagging years,
Rather than dare the icy plunge of death,
Depart and purge your hearts of foolish hope.”
None shall have life, excepting first he die.
And therefore is this water cold as death;
For through its death is life the quicklier won.
Wherefore, if ye repent of your desire
And will to wear in weariness of eld
The sad remainder of your lagging years,
Rather than dare the icy plunge of death,
Depart and purge your hearts of foolish hope.”
With that it ceased: and we, for wonderment
And awe, awhile could neither move nor speak;
But still that splendour hung upon the air
And still we veiled our eyes for reverence.
And awe, awhile could neither move nor speak;
But still that splendour hung upon the air
And still we veiled our eyes for reverence.
Then Perez rose and coming to the brink
Of that miraculous water, knelt and said;
“Lord, I have haste for youth and fear not death,
For joy of that great hope that is beyond.”
Of that miraculous water, knelt and said;
242
For joy of that great hope that is beyond.”
So lightly he addressed himself to drink
Of that clear stream; and we, that watched him do,
When as the water touched him, saw his face,
As 'twere an angel's, with heroic love
And faith transfigured for a moment's space;
And then such glory broke from that high cross
And shone athwart his visage, that we fell
Aswoon upon the grass for fear and awe
And had no further sense of what befell.
Of that clear stream; and we, that watched him do,
When as the water touched him, saw his face,
As 'twere an angel's, with heroic love
And faith transfigured for a moment's space;
And then such glory broke from that high cross
And shone athwart his visage, that we fell
Aswoon upon the grass for fear and awe
And had no further sense of what befell.
When life again returned into my brain,
The night was wasted, and the early dawn
Was golden in the Orient. As my eyes
Grew once more open to the light of day,
I found myself outstretched upon the sand
Of that fair shore, where we had landed first,
Hard by our place of entry in the wood.
The night was wasted, and the early dawn
Was golden in the Orient. As my eyes
Grew once more open to the light of day,
I found myself outstretched upon the sand
Of that fair shore, where we had landed first,
Hard by our place of entry in the wood.
Around me were my comrades; some, like me,
Awaking from the trance of that strange sleep
And others working on the caravel,
That lay high up upon the waveless strand,
Striving to push her down to meet the tide
That crawled up slowly from the outer sea.
Awaking from the trance of that strange sleep
And others working on the caravel,
That lay high up upon the waveless strand,
Striving to push her down to meet the tide
That crawled up slowly from the outer sea.
But every sign of our adventurings
In that fair city, with those goodly men,
And of that wondrous fountain of the hills,
Was vanished. In the tangles of the wood,
The fair white dwellings we had seen with eyes,
When first the sunset led us to the place,
Had disappeared, nor in the forest's close
Green front of woven boughs, that stood opposed
Toward the ocean, was there visible
A single opening, wherethrough we might chance
Again upon the cloistered woodland way,
That led us to the wonder-lovely town.
Nor was there any sign or any trace
Of habitance of men or mortal use
Therein: but all was as no human foot,
Save ours, had trodden on the silver sand.
In that fair city, with those goodly men,
And of that wondrous fountain of the hills,
Was vanished. In the tangles of the wood,
The fair white dwellings we had seen with eyes,
When first the sunset led us to the place,
Had disappeared, nor in the forest's close
Green front of woven boughs, that stood opposed
Toward the ocean, was there visible
A single opening, wherethrough we might chance
Again upon the cloistered woodland way,
That led us to the wonder-lovely town.
Nor was there any sign or any trace
243
Therein: but all was as no human foot,
Save ours, had trodden on the silver sand.
At this we marvelled greatly and most like
Would have misdoubted all to be a dream,
But that there lay beside us on the strand
Our comrade, Perez, not,—as first it seemed
To us,—asleep, but,—as we soon knew,—dead.
And still his visage wore the wondrous smile
Of deathless ravishment it had put on
With the clear draught of that miraculous fount.
Would have misdoubted all to be a dream,
But that there lay beside us on the strand
Our comrade, Perez, not,—as first it seemed
To us,—asleep, but,—as we soon knew,—dead.
And still his visage wore the wondrous smile
Of deathless ravishment it had put on
With the clear draught of that miraculous fount.
And so we knew that it had been no dream,
But that our eyes had seen our hearts' desire
And God Himself had surely talked with us.
But that our eyes had seen our hearts' desire
And God Himself had surely talked with us.
Long with persistent hope we searched the shore
Around the little harbour on all sides,
So haply we might once more light upon
The woodway leading to the inland plain
And its blithe wonders: but the silent trees
Were secret and would show no trace of it.
Around the little harbour on all sides,
So haply we might once more light upon
The woodway leading to the inland plain
And its blithe wonders: but the silent trees
Were secret and would show no trace of it.
And so with heavy hearts we left our search
And made a grave for burial of the dead
And laid him there with a sad reverence,
With wail and music of a funeral song;
For very dear the man had been to us,
Being of a noble nature and approved
In all renown of worth and steadfastness.
And made a grave for burial of the dead
And laid him there with a sad reverence,
With wail and music of a funeral song;
For very dear the man had been to us,
Being of a noble nature and approved
In all renown of worth and steadfastness.
Then sadly from a little smooth-stemmed tree
We rove a branch and hewing it in twain,
Made shift to fashion of the peeled white wood
The rude resemblance of the blessed Rood
And planted it for memory on the grave.
And as we did this thing, the forest air
Was voiceful with the carol of a bird,
That piped and piped as though he ne'er should die.
So joyous was his song and full of hope,
It seemed as if the angel of the dead
Had entered in the semblance of a fowl
And sang to give us lightening of our grief.
We rove a branch and hewing it in twain,
Made shift to fashion of the peeled white wood
The rude resemblance of the blessed Rood
And planted it for memory on the grave.
And as we did this thing, the forest air
Was voiceful with the carol of a bird,
That piped and piped as though he ne'er should die.
So joyous was his song and full of hope,
It seemed as if the angel of the dead
244
And sang to give us lightening of our grief.
And so it came to pass that with the song
Our hearts were comforted and some did deem
They saw himself that stood upon the strand
And beckoned to us not to tarry there
Nor strive against the given will of God,
But turn our prow from off that hallowed shore.
Our hearts were comforted and some did deem
They saw himself that stood upon the strand
And beckoned to us not to tarry there
Nor strive against the given will of God,
But turn our prow from off that hallowed shore.
We waited not for bidding, but launched out
And made the swift keel whistle through the surge.
And made the swift keel whistle through the surge.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |