 | King Poppy |  |
231
X. THE CROWN.
No vapour veil'd the crimson-bosom'd West,
Nor any cloudlet prematurely closed
The last bright moment of the long bright day.
But, lingering not to flush grey after-hours
With faded fires, the glory at its best
And brightest vanish'd; leaving the calm void
Quietly colourless, as life's smooth face
Of sober circumstance when love withdraws
The glow that quicken'd it. 'Tis then, dim age
Comes unresisted, overshadowing earth,
Re-opening heaven, and o'er the lone repose
Of its own darkness sheds a tender gleam
Of cold tranquillity. Even so, forthwith
The sudden night, with all her stars distinct,
And her pure moonlight's spacious plenitude
Of pallid splendour, wrapt the world, serene
And luminous as the slumber of a god.
Beyond the dreaded morrow of that night
Lurk'd throngs of unfamiliar faces, strange
New paths untrodden, and days that nevermore
In Diadema's island home should find
Their dawning welcomed by the heart of a child.
The King, her father, leaving her, had left
His crown behind him, with a tremulous hand
Pointed towards it, waved above her head
A voiceless benison, and, murmuring
“To-morrow!” sorrowfully stolen away,
With that least sorrowful of all farewells.
The suddenly before her Pilgram stood.
His face was solemn as the face of Fate,
And his voice stern and serious as the voice
Of sad Experience. “Maiden,” said the god,
“Yon crown will find its royal resting-place
Upon thy brows to-morrow. Mark it well!
It is a traveller that is never tired.
The path it travels is above the heads
Of princes. Every footstep is a king.
When he that wore it last is dead, time turns
His body to a sceptred statue. Fixt
Forever on the road that statue rests
So far as the dead king's last footstep reach'd;
And there its monumental image points
The progress of the nations, whose long march
Is measured by those statues that were kings.
The People occupies the plain of the world:
Kings occupy its summits. Multiform
As well as multitudinous, and made
Of metamorphoses, the People is:
From hour to hour 'tis other than it was:
Youth imperceptibly effaces age:
In a few years the People hath replaced
The People, without violence, without
Apparent movement: never may one say
On this day, or on that, the People died,
At one time, or another, it was born:
Living and dying simultaneously,
Its life is pass'd in dying, and it dies
In giving birth unto itself: the grave
Its birth-bed is: its cradle is a bier.
Kings arrive singly, and one after one:
Kings have successors: to the People time
Grants but contemporaries: 'tis a crowd:
Few of that crowd their own forefathers know
But all know the forefathers of their Kings.
It is because the People's memory
Of its begetters is a memory merged
In crown'd paternities of princely lines,
That Kings the fathers of their People be.
This law reverses nature's common rule:
It finds the fathers by the children made.
The Crown is sexless: those it rests upon
Are neither male nor female: each is more
Than man or woman: all of them are Kings.
The People is the foliage of mankind:
Its life the branches clothes, and its decay
The soil enriches: blown by every wind,
The People fluctuates, perishes, revives.
Kings are the trunks. The tree is chronicled
Not by its foliage: as the trunk, the tree:
So many rings are reckon'd to the trunk,
And to the tree as many years. To prove
Its own antiquity the People counts
The number of its Kings. From sire to son
All Kings are brothers: and the youngest born
Hath elder brothers that are centuries old.
On summits only crowns repose; and each
To all that is beneath it—all that serves
For its support-significance imparts:
The blossom crowns the summit of the stem,
The snow the summit of the mountain crowns,
The King the summit of the nation. Man
Would be deprived of grandeur if his life
Had nothing grand whereon to place a crown.
And nothing grander will it ever have
Than a grand King.”
Nor any cloudlet prematurely closed
The last bright moment of the long bright day.
But, lingering not to flush grey after-hours
With faded fires, the glory at its best
And brightest vanish'd; leaving the calm void
Quietly colourless, as life's smooth face
Of sober circumstance when love withdraws
The glow that quicken'd it. 'Tis then, dim age
Comes unresisted, overshadowing earth,
Re-opening heaven, and o'er the lone repose
Of its own darkness sheds a tender gleam
232
The sudden night, with all her stars distinct,
And her pure moonlight's spacious plenitude
Of pallid splendour, wrapt the world, serene
And luminous as the slumber of a god.
Beyond the dreaded morrow of that night
Lurk'd throngs of unfamiliar faces, strange
New paths untrodden, and days that nevermore
In Diadema's island home should find
Their dawning welcomed by the heart of a child.
The King, her father, leaving her, had left
His crown behind him, with a tremulous hand
Pointed towards it, waved above her head
A voiceless benison, and, murmuring
“To-morrow!” sorrowfully stolen away,
With that least sorrowful of all farewells.
The suddenly before her Pilgram stood.
His face was solemn as the face of Fate,
And his voice stern and serious as the voice
233
“Yon crown will find its royal resting-place
Upon thy brows to-morrow. Mark it well!
It is a traveller that is never tired.
The path it travels is above the heads
Of princes. Every footstep is a king.
When he that wore it last is dead, time turns
His body to a sceptred statue. Fixt
Forever on the road that statue rests
So far as the dead king's last footstep reach'd;
And there its monumental image points
The progress of the nations, whose long march
Is measured by those statues that were kings.
The People occupies the plain of the world:
Kings occupy its summits. Multiform
As well as multitudinous, and made
Of metamorphoses, the People is:
From hour to hour 'tis other than it was:
Youth imperceptibly effaces age:
234
The People, without violence, without
Apparent movement: never may one say
On this day, or on that, the People died,
At one time, or another, it was born:
Living and dying simultaneously,
Its life is pass'd in dying, and it dies
In giving birth unto itself: the grave
Its birth-bed is: its cradle is a bier.
Kings arrive singly, and one after one:
Kings have successors: to the People time
Grants but contemporaries: 'tis a crowd:
Few of that crowd their own forefathers know
But all know the forefathers of their Kings.
It is because the People's memory
Of its begetters is a memory merged
In crown'd paternities of princely lines,
That Kings the fathers of their People be.
This law reverses nature's common rule:
235
The Crown is sexless: those it rests upon
Are neither male nor female: each is more
Than man or woman: all of them are Kings.
The People is the foliage of mankind:
Its life the branches clothes, and its decay
The soil enriches: blown by every wind,
The People fluctuates, perishes, revives.
Kings are the trunks. The tree is chronicled
Not by its foliage: as the trunk, the tree:
So many rings are reckon'd to the trunk,
And to the tree as many years. To prove
Its own antiquity the People counts
The number of its Kings. From sire to son
All Kings are brothers: and the youngest born
Hath elder brothers that are centuries old.
On summits only crowns repose; and each
To all that is beneath it—all that serves
For its support-significance imparts:
236
The snow the summit of the mountain crowns,
The King the summit of the nation. Man
Would be deprived of grandeur if his life
Had nothing grand whereon to place a crown.
And nothing grander will it ever have
Than a grand King.”
Thus spake the solemn god,
Oracular. But his mysterious speech
The maiden understood not. Then he touch'd
Her brow, and breathed on it, and it became
Throng'd with strange inmates. All her little head
Humm'd like a mighty house made murmurous
By a panic-stricken crowd. Doors oped and shut,
Swift footsteps sped down passages and stairs,
And eager hands flung wide the windows all.
Parts of herself they seem'd that some bad news
Had disconcerted, and in haste they sought
Escape at every issue. Left behind,
She felt them pass, and saw, or seem'd to see,
Their fleeting forms, and heard, or seem'd to hear,
Their plaintive calls, but chill'd to the heart's core
By the cold seizure of a tyrannous trance
Stood slack and dumb. And round her all the while,
Rising and falling, sometimes in a storm
Of lamentation and admonishment,
Sometimes low lulling to a tremulous hush
All but the lone appeal of one thin voice
That thrill'd her thought with poignant music, made
By mute vibrations on spiritual chords
Intenser than all audible sound, they sang—
Oracular. But his mysterious speech
The maiden understood not. Then he touch'd
Her brow, and breathed on it, and it became
Throng'd with strange inmates. All her little head
Humm'd like a mighty house made murmurous
By a panic-stricken crowd. Doors oped and shut,
Swift footsteps sped down passages and stairs,
And eager hands flung wide the windows all.
Parts of herself they seem'd that some bad news
Had disconcerted, and in haste they sought
Escape at every issue. Left behind,
237
Their fleeting forms, and heard, or seem'd to hear,
Their plaintive calls, but chill'd to the heart's core
By the cold seizure of a tyrannous trance
Stood slack and dumb. And round her all the while,
Rising and falling, sometimes in a storm
Of lamentation and admonishment,
Sometimes low lulling to a tremulous hush
All but the lone appeal of one thin voice
That thrill'd her thought with poignant music, made
By mute vibrations on spiritual chords
Intenser than all audible sound, they sang—
King's Daughter, King's Daughter, beware
Of the world where thou goest! For there
Not a pleasure there is but it turns to a pain,
Nor a sweetness that hides not a snare.
Child whom we chose for our Queen, have we clung to thee
Closer than childhood, yet clasp'd thee in vain?
Dear and long due is the debt thou dost owe us!
Wealth we have flung to thee, sciences sung to thee,
Mingling with all that is purest in heaven
All that is fairest on earth, we have given
Gift upon gift to thee. Safe they belong to thee.
Give them not thou to the hands that would stain,
Desecrate, shatter, and thanklessly throw us
Our gifts back again!
Of the world where thou goest! For there
Not a pleasure there is but it turns to a pain,
Nor a sweetness that hides not a snare.
Child whom we chose for our Queen, have we clung to thee
238
Dear and long due is the debt thou dost owe us!
Wealth we have flung to thee, sciences sung to thee,
Mingling with all that is purest in heaven
All that is fairest on earth, we have given
Gift upon gift to thee. Safe they belong to thee.
Give them not thou to the hands that would stain,
Desecrate, shatter, and thanklessly throw us
Our gifts back again!
To follow thee, I scaled thy sea-girt tower,
And craggy bower.
To follow thee was all my life's emprize.
To follow thee, I braved the storm-blast's power,
The lightning's lash, tho' but a feeble flower,
Rootbound, and rock'd by Summer's faintest sighs.
'Twas love upheld, and help'd me, hour by hour,
To rise and rise.
To follow thee, I climb'd the gateless wall,
And leapt the bridgeless moat. To follow thee,
Secure where even the wild goat fears to fall,
I clung, and swung, and camp'd my blithe buds all
On rocks that house not even a hermit bee.
One happy morn, in at thy lattice peeping,
I found thee sleeping,
And tapp'd, and tapp'd, till thou in shy amazement
Didst wake, and listen, and fling wide the casement,
And lo! I faced thee,
Trembling all over, faint with having found thee!
Thou didst lean o'er me, and mine arms went round thee,
And I embraced thee!
Clapping thy hands for gladness, thou did'st cry
“What, is it thou?
Madcap, how could'st thou dare to climb so high?
Look down below!
Think, hadst thou fallen?” “Many a fall had I,”
Laughing, I answer'd, and made haste to show
Where down the high crag's slippery pedestal
My blossoms, trembling over an abyss,
Dropp'd bloom on bloom. “And thus do blossoms fall,”
I laughed, “like kiss on kiss!”
Then didst thou understand me: and the whole
Of my heart's secret, filling all thy frame,
Thro' thy soft eyes slid into thy sweet soul,
Where mine own soul a thought of thine became.
Deep in thine eyes that thought may still be seen,
Tho' by thyself it be unnoticed quite,
Nor canst thou utter it. Let others guess!
Some call me Grace, some call me Charm. I ween
Blest will he be who one day wins the right
To know me by my true name, Tenderness!
And craggy bower.
To follow thee was all my life's emprize.
To follow thee, I braved the storm-blast's power,
The lightning's lash, tho' but a feeble flower,
Rootbound, and rock'd by Summer's faintest sighs.
'Twas love upheld, and help'd me, hour by hour,
To rise and rise.
To follow thee, I climb'd the gateless wall,
239
Secure where even the wild goat fears to fall,
I clung, and swung, and camp'd my blithe buds all
On rocks that house not even a hermit bee.
One happy morn, in at thy lattice peeping,
I found thee sleeping,
And tapp'd, and tapp'd, till thou in shy amazement
Didst wake, and listen, and fling wide the casement,
And lo! I faced thee,
Trembling all over, faint with having found thee!
Thou didst lean o'er me, and mine arms went round thee,
And I embraced thee!
Clapping thy hands for gladness, thou did'st cry
“What, is it thou?
Madcap, how could'st thou dare to climb so high?
Look down below!
Think, hadst thou fallen?” “Many a fall had I,”
Laughing, I answer'd, and made haste to show
240
My blossoms, trembling over an abyss,
Dropp'd bloom on bloom. “And thus do blossoms fall,”
I laughed, “like kiss on kiss!”
Then didst thou understand me: and the whole
Of my heart's secret, filling all thy frame,
Thro' thy soft eyes slid into thy sweet soul,
Where mine own soul a thought of thine became.
Deep in thine eyes that thought may still be seen,
Tho' by thyself it be unnoticed quite,
Nor canst thou utter it. Let others guess!
Some call me Grace, some call me Charm. I ween
Blest will he be who one day wins the right
To know me by my true name, Tenderness!
King's Daughter, King's Daughter, beware
Of the world where thou goest! For there
Other gifts other givers will give thee, and fine
Tho' each gift, in its core is a care.
We are kings, and our kingdoms were tax'd for thy treasure:
Of our sunbeams we built thee a palace of pleasure:
With our moonbeams we lit thee a shrine:
And the songs of the birds, and the sweets of the flowers,
Sung and breathed in beatified worlds that are ours,
Never counting the cost, never stinting the measure,
We bestow'd on a world that was thine.
Of the world where thou goest! For there
Other gifts other givers will give thee, and fine
Tho' each gift, in its core is a care.
241
Of our sunbeams we built thee a palace of pleasure:
With our moonbeams we lit thee a shrine:
And the songs of the birds, and the sweets of the flowers,
Sung and breathed in beatified worlds that are ours,
Never counting the cost, never stinting the measure,
We bestow'd on a world that was thine.
I have no name. For they that know me best
Know how to name me not. The nightingale
Sings me when Summer nights are silentest,
And the stars tremble, listening to her tale.
Soft Melancholy's sweetest child am I,
Sweeter than joy. I hover between song
And silence. There is smiling in my sigh,
And sighing in my smile. A thought among
Thy thoughts, I wander, as a wind thro' flowers,
And only by their tremors canst thou tell
My secret influence on thy silent hours.
Yet dost thou know me, child, and know me well.
Know how to name me not. The nightingale
Sings me when Summer nights are silentest,
And the stars tremble, listening to her tale.
Soft Melancholy's sweetest child am I,
Sweeter than joy. I hover between song
And silence. There is smiling in my sigh,
And sighing in my smile. A thought among
Thy thoughts, I wander, as a wind thro' flowers,
242
My secret influence on thy silent hours.
Yet dost thou know me, child, and know me well.
King's Daughter, King's Daughter, beware
Of the world where thou goest! For there
Is all mirth a mirage, ever mocking the drouth
Of a desert deceitfully fair.
In thy soul was the storehouse we sought
For our gifts, gather'd out of the East
And the West and the North and the South:
And a gladness we breathed in thy breast,
And a music we gave to thy mouth,
And to each of thy gazes a star.
Not a gift that we gave, but hath brought
From the kingdoms whereof we are kings
To thy spirit a loveliness, wrought
Thro' the loom of its rich reveries
Into feeling, and fancy, and thought.
For the charm interwoven with these
Hath the spell of all glamours that are
In the magic whose mystery clings
To the azure of summits and seas
In the deeps of the distance afar;
To the sound of low-murmuring trees,
Lyric birds, and melodious springs;
To the throb in the rose;
To the violet's breath on the breeze:
To the freshness that floats from Morn's opaline car;
To the glory that burdens Noon's opulent wings;
To the world of red wonders whose wizardry glows
Thro' the glimmering gates of the sunset ajar;
And the twilight's repose.
Child, we are kings of all beautiful things,
And thy heart was the home that we chose!
Of the world where thou goest! For there
Is all mirth a mirage, ever mocking the drouth
Of a desert deceitfully fair.
In thy soul was the storehouse we sought
For our gifts, gather'd out of the East
And the West and the North and the South:
And a gladness we breathed in thy breast,
And a music we gave to thy mouth,
And to each of thy gazes a star.
Not a gift that we gave, but hath brought
From the kingdoms whereof we are kings
To thy spirit a loveliness, wrought
Thro' the loom of its rich reveries
Into feeling, and fancy, and thought.
243
Hath the spell of all glamours that are
In the magic whose mystery clings
To the azure of summits and seas
In the deeps of the distance afar;
To the sound of low-murmuring trees,
Lyric birds, and melodious springs;
To the throb in the rose;
To the violet's breath on the breeze:
To the freshness that floats from Morn's opaline car;
To the glory that burdens Noon's opulent wings;
To the world of red wonders whose wizardry glows
Thro' the glimmering gates of the sunset ajar;
And the twilight's repose.
Child, we are kings of all beautiful things,
And thy heart was the home that we chose!
244
Fainter upon the incorporeal sense
Of her stretch'd spirit, from receding spheres,
The voices fell. Immoveable and mute
Stood Diadema, with white features fixt
Fast as the dead leaves on a frozen pool,
Arms outthrust, hands uplifted, lips and eyes
Wide open. Rhoda at the King's approach
Had left her: at the coming of the god
The King departed: and the god himself,
Soon as his finger on her forehead laid
The troublous spell of its entrancing touch,
Had suddenly vanisht into viewless air.
Of her stretch'd spirit, from receding spheres,
The voices fell. Immoveable and mute
Stood Diadema, with white features fixt
Fast as the dead leaves on a frozen pool,
Arms outthrust, hands uplifted, lips and eyes
Wide open. Rhoda at the King's approach
Had left her: at the coming of the god
The King departed: and the god himself,
Soon as his finger on her forehead laid
The troublous spell of its entrancing touch,
Had suddenly vanisht into viewless air.
| King Poppy | |