University of Virginia Library

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

We waited not for bidding, but launched out
And made the swift keel whistle through the surge.