[OCTOBER.]
[Lines
not used in the final
version.]
[_]
Discarded fragment from “The
Man who never laughed again.”
And still amid the gurgle of the stream
He heard that music beating round the hill,
And went well pleased, for surely did he deem
In such a land that sound forbode no ill,
And to his heart there gathered great good will
Unto the singers, whoso they might be,
For in his soul grew up felicity.
But now they ceased, the happy notes of men:
The reed-chat's warble and the late bee's drone
The chuckle of the light-foot water-hen
But made the lonely river yet more lone
When the sweet cheery music was all done;
Then faster still he hastened, till he saw
That backward from the stream the hill 'gan draw.
But now again, through the fresh lovely eve,
Grown nigher now he heard the music sound
And suddenly the wayward stream did leave
The vine-clad hill, that Bharam followed round
Leaving a level grassy spot of ground
Twixt stream and hill; a very paradise
To Bharam's weary heart and dazzled eyes:
Because a long low rustic house of wood
Was at the end of the green flowery bay
And huge old trees about the meadow stood
And little closes hedged with trellis grey
Cast forth sweet odours on that end of day.
Green was the place, unburnt by any sun,
And scarce could know when showery spring was done.
But midway twixt the river and the house
E'en in the greenest place could Bharam see,
Beneath the over-shadowing elm-tree boughs
Strewn here and there, a goodly company,
And hidden by a thick-leaved bushy tree
He stayed awhile their manner to behold
Striving to make his beating heart more bold.
The music even as these came in sight
Had ceased once more, and he beheld indeed
Garlanded maids in girt-up raiment light
And eager youths, unarmed, in simple weed,
Just ceasing from the dance, as though for need
Of rest awhile, and sighing on the ground
The piper dropped beside his purse of sound.
But from grave elders rose a mingled voice,
And from the dancers laughter lacking breath,
Until the very wind must needs rejoice
At seeing folk so far removed from death,
Since he too much of woe remembereth,
The tireless traveller over town and plain
The bearer of ill news and plague and pain.
But now as Bharam gained a little heart
To go to them, somewhat an elder said,
And to his feet the piping man did start,
A damsel set the garland on her head
Cast-down erewhile, and took the flute that led
The dancers, and rose up and 'gainst a tree
Stood leaning, waiting for the minstrelsy.
And all about the fair young people stirred,
And some maids blushing rose unto their feet,
Some sitting still turned with a whispered word
The dear support of some loved arm to meet,
And smiled, remembering the soft song and sweet
That in a while throughout the clear air rung
Alternately 'twixt youths and maidens flung.
SONG
[_]
This song with a few alterations and considerable additions was
afterwards included in “Poems by the Way.”
PUERI
O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone
No more within the wilds were I alone
Leaping with bent bow over stock and stone,
No more alone my love the lamp should burn
Watching the weary spindle twist and turn,
Or o'er the web hold back her tears and yearn.
O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone!
PUELLÆ
Swift thoughts fly swiftlier than the drifting snow
And with the twisting thread sweet longings grow,
And o'er the web sweet pictures come and go,
For no white winter are we long alone.
PUERI
O stream so changed, what hast thou done to me
That I thy glittering ripples no more see
Wreathing with white her fair feet lovingly?
See in the rain she stands, and looking down
With frightened eyes upon thy whirlpools brown
Drops to her feet again her girded gown.
O hurrying turbid stream, what hast thou done?
PUELLÆ
The clouds lift, telling of a happier day
When through the thin stream I shall take my way
Girt round with gold and garlanded with may:
What rushing stream can keep us long alone?
PUERI
O scorching Sun, O master of unrest!
Why must we toiling cast away the best,
Now when the bird sleeps by his empty nest?
See with my garland lying at her feet
In lonely labour stands my own, my sweet,
Above the quern half-filled with half-ground wheat.
O red taskmaster, that thy flames were done!
PUELLÆ
O love, to-night across the half-shorn plain
Shall I not go to meet the yellow wain,
A look of love at end of toil to gain,
What fiery sun can keep us long alone?
PUERI
O wilt thou ne'er depart, thou heavy night?
When will thy slaying bring on the morning bright
That leads my heavy feet to my delight,
Why lingerest thou to fill with wandering fears
My lone love's tired heart, her eyes with tears
Of pensive sorrow for the dying years;
Weaver of ill thoughts, when wilt thou begone?
PUELLÆ
Love, to the east are thine eyes turned as mine
In patient watching for the night's decline,
And hast thou seen like me this thin grey line,
Can any darkness keep us long alone?
PUERI
O day, O day, is this a little thing
That thou so long unto thy life must cling
Because I gave thee such a welcoming?
I called thee King of all felicity,
I praised thee that thou broughtest joy so nigh.
Thine hours are turned to years, thou wilt not die,
O day so longed for, would that thou wert gone!
PUELLÆ
The light fails, love, the long day soon shall be
Nought but a pensive happy memory
Blessed for the tales it told to me and thee.
How hard it was, O love, to be alone.
[OMITTED]
“For look, this river runneth to the sea
And reaches it by many streams grown great,
If thou wouldst be what thou mayst hope to be
This is the road that leadeth to the gate
Beyond which lies irrevocable fate
For thee for ever; thither must thou go
Alone, for thereof nothing would we know,
“Or see that image of all discontent
Men call the ocean, though we know of it
Through folk who up our stream their course have bent
And told us tales with faces moved no whit
That made us glad to see their white sails flit
Seaward again: from thence too War has come
Once and again to vex our peaceful home.
“But heed thou this which more concerneth thee:
Up our fair river comes a bark forlorn
Black sailed, black oared, that beareth from the sea
Mostly before a year is well outworn
Him that our quiet peaceful life did scorn;
Dead seemeth he, and yet we deem perchance
He is not dead but in a deathlike trance.
“In silence do those shipmen pass this place,
But not far hence the mournful bark they moor
And taking land, each man with hidden face,
They bear the wanderer to the cavern door
Wherefrom thou camest, whence he came before;
There vanish they with him and in ten days
Come back again their mournful sail to raise.
“And still these men to all our questioning
Will answer nought, wherefore our words we spare
And pay but little heed to this sad thing:
What sayst thou, on this voyage wilt thou fare
And take the fate that waiteth for thee there,
Or wilt thou dwell with us a little while
Till thou hast learned on coming death to smile?
“Yet if thou canst not in good time be wise
Amid these trees hearken the brown bird's note
Nine days, and when the tenth sun shall arise,
Then will we set thee in a little boat
With all things thou mayst need, and thou shalt float
Adown the river to the barren sea
And reach thine hands out to thy destiny.”
He sat in the fair porch amid this speech
And saw betwixt the heavy shadowed trees
The golden plain across the stream's bright reach,
Nigher the children played, and midst of these
The women's raiment fluttered in the breeze,
Close by a damsel caught his eye, and turned
Unto her fellow with bright eyes that burned
With joy of life and shame of hopeful love;
A messenger from some far homestead stood
Waiting for silence; from the walnut grove
Birds mocked the grave slow speech in various mood;
Happy all things seemed, fair and soft and good,
Why should he leave it, was he not well freed
From all his woes? what further did he need?
He gave them many thanks, and for nine days
He wandered twixt the river and the trees
Happy and idle, noting all their ways,
Regarding them as painted images
Nor wishing more for other things than these;
Nor had he any will but there to stay
When the tenth morn had chased the clouds away.
