Golden Histories, etc :: :: University of Virginia Library

Golden Histories, etc

By Wathen Mark Wilks Call

Call, Wathen Mark Wilks (1817-1890)

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“THE BIRDS HAVE DIFFERENT VOICES, YET WE BEAR TO HEAR THOSE SING WHICH DO NOT SING THE BEST.” —W. S. Landor

TO RUFA

GOLDEN HISTORIES.

The Legend of Ariadne.

A GREEK ROMANCE.

Alles Vergängliche
Ist nur ein Gleichniss;
Das Unzulängliche
Hier wird's Ereigniss;
Das Unbeschreibliche
Hier ist es gethan;
Das Ewig-Weibliche
Zieht uns hinan.
Goethe's Faust: 2nd Part.

PROEM.

In far-off days, when little more than boy,
As scornful manhood rates our loveliest years—
For only twice ten summers could I count,
Or scarcely more, if more—in those far days,
When life was in its morning, I first sang
Of Ariadne pale with love and woe,
Of Theseus whose great fame can never set,
Of men that die and of the enduring gods.
“O soul of Adonais, thou who sang'st
“Endymion and Hyperion, be with me;
“O lay thy radiant finger on my lip,
“And lend thy harp, dead brother, while I sing.”
Thus one adorned with monumental rhyme,
By him who loosed Prometheus from the rock,
I then invoked who love the glorious dead,

Our greater ancestors, whose memories hang
Like pictures down the lengthening walls of Time.
Presumptuous and unanswered was the prayer?
Aspirant not inspired, assay'd the youth
A venturous task, a task beyond his strength?
Perchance, but still the hope outgrew the fear.
Years past: the song still lingered in my heart,
And lingering with a sweet persistency,
Oft dropp'd and oft renewed in riper years,
Tuned and retuned, like some old instrument,
I here and there rewarbled it again.
And if mature in immaturity,
The imperfect Muse still halt in sense or sound,
Yet a kind world that shapes itself to song,
And scorns no verse that hath a noble aim,
One hour may leave its work, and travelling back
Into the fabled realms of antique time,
By Fancy led, by me and Fancy led
Who know the way, may hear, and smile to hear,
My Greek Romance, oft blotted, oft rewrit.

Shelley.

BOOK I.

Near Dorian Knossus in the Cretan isle,
Ring'd by tall hills that kissed the trembling stars,
At day-dawn, or when solemn night fell round,
Lay, loveliest of all vales, the vale of Zeus.
Eastward it lay of that wild labyrinth
Which Dædalus, the lord of many arts,
Built for the pleasure of the island-king.
Here many a tree—dark cypress, silver-birch,
Cedar, or roofing elm, or arrowy palm—
Spired, or full-foliaged, spread; while shadowy gleams
Of liquid lustre played on flower or leaf
Of rose or laurel that grew nearer earth.

Here, where the odorous light with darkness mixed,
A dainty bower of draperied leaves was wrought
By wizard Nature, who with coloured moss
Had cushioned the grey roots of stately trees
That domed above; while young transparent grass
Beneath the boughs, down all that sylvan gloom
An emerald radiance threw, like that which falls
From glow-worm bowered in golden leaves, when night
Is windless, and no cloud is on the moon,
And every star is seen. A spot it was
To cool men's weary eyes with green delight,

And, ever fair, yet now at fairest seemed;
For two sweet sister Shapes, beauteous as Day
When Day is beauteous most, hand linked in hand.
Sate in the glimmering shade. One long long hour
Still as two marble queens that image life,
Each self-withdrawn into herself, had sate,
Silent mid silence; for not any sound,
Save song of lark, in all that vale was heard,
Till now the air sighed low with silver tones,
And silver tones thus grew to earnest speech:
“O Phædra! O my sister! when thy love
“Late asked what grief made sunless all my days,
“I turned, I pushed away that pleading hand,
“Unkind, ungracious, proud, yet not in vain
“I heard that eloquent voice flow murmuring on,
“Like some shy brook smothered in summer leaves,
“For thy dear words have loosed the frozen weight
“About my heart, and better thoughts revive
“With better feelings, and the old words come back.
“O Phædra, let me rest my throbbing head
“On thy dear shoulder; let me weep to thee,
“And sob out all my passion in thy arms.
“Men say that Sorrow will look beautiful
“If Love but clothe her as our sculptors clothe
“Those fair stone shapes that look like living men.”
She paus'd, and in her sister's folding arms
Wept, till from her thick kisses gathering strength,
She raised her head, and sighing, thus resumed:
“O Phædra! sister, I will tell thee all,
“All that befell, while thou four summers long

“With Glaucus, our prince-brother, in the South
“Didst make thy home, and evermore didst hear
“Faint echoes of a misreported tale;
“Wherewith, thy hand in mine, and with my face
“Half-hid on thy sweet breast, I, speaking here,
“Clear as when trumpets speak, will fill thy soul.
“Thro' Time's dim pathless world I travel back
“With thee, dear sister, to Life's golden dawn,
“And Hope's sweet spring. When but a child I loved
“This glorious earth, mother of all fair shapes,
“Woman and man, or bird and gentle beast,
“Or Faun and Nymph, that dwell in forests old,
“Or Oread, sleeping in some noontide glen.
“Tho' mid my happy mates, who sang and danced,
“First in the dance, first in the song was I,
“And emulating and outwearying all,
“Like some lone child that, on a holiday,
“Is lured by sudden gleam of rainbow wings,
“I chased the flying joys that settle not
“On any flower, but follow sun and breeze,
“Yet in my heart there beat a nobler life,
“And like a lyre my secret soul would thrill
“To the melodious touch of all fair things,
“And answer to their music, night and day,
“With delicate vibrating. But most at night,
“When, like some fair witch-queen, the moon o'erlooked
“The enchanted stars, it was my joy to climb
“The shadowy mountain, with its aëry peak
“Shining above the clouds, and stand alone
“With silence and the starry solitudes,

“Till in that solemn calm my dreaming soul
“Yearn'd like a god long exiled from the skies,
“And morn and eve, expectant of return.
“So passed life's spring, while in the golden sun
“Of prosperous fortune day by day I bloom'd,
“Most favour'd of the flowers whose leaves unfold
“In homes of kings; and all fair pieties,
“All gentle thoughts, that grow in gentle hearts,
“Budded in mine, when life was in the bud,
“And blossom'd when it blossom'd. Still I fear'd,
“Still lov'd the gods, who still bestowed on me,
“Awake or sleeping, tokens of their love.
“But once a dream—such dream come never more
“To me or any maid!—beside me stood
“And whispered, ‘Ariadne, loved of Zeus!
“Save, save from death the beautiful, the young,
“Whom Athens yearly sends to die in Crete.
“Save them, for thou canst save them.’ And I said
“‘How can a woman save them?’ And the voice
“Mysterious, inorganic, answered me:
“‘To-morrow will they come, the brave, the fair,
“The flower of Attic youth, and with them bring
“Theseus, the chief of men. To-morrow, then,
“When the first twittering birds sing in the dawn,
“Arise, and make thy way to where the shore
“Runs blooming to the sea. There is a slope
“Of emerald meadow-land that winds and dips
“Into the snow-white waves which break around,
“And marrying the grey rocks which fringe the shore,
“Forms with the rocks a still and windless bay.

“Around the slope, even to the water's edge,
“Vines garland their green arms, and all the sward
“Broider'd with crocus, and the silver bells
“Of lilies, mixing with their yellow bloom,
“Warms with its odorous breath the drowsy air.
“Thither, beloved of Zeus, of all the gods
“Beloved, go thou, and going, take with thee
“Thy father's sword, the Invincible, and take
“The mystic clue that thro' the million folds
“Of the blind labyrinth, creeping round and round,
“Pilots the unfailing steps of dauntless men;
“And when the silver-sounding trumpet calls,
“And when of all the strangers standing near
“Steps forth the tallest and the fairest too,
“Wait, thou, until he speak; then give the sword,
“The Invincible, and give the magic thread,
“And bid him go a saviour to the groves
“Unvisited by sun, or moon, or star,
“Where sits, more felt than seen, the monster Death—
“A formless shadow, and beside him crouch'd
“His minister, the unnatural Minotaur,
“That feeds on human flesh: so, bid him go,
“And clasp his hand and bless him as he goes;
“For the great gods that dwell in golden bowers
“Will bless thee, blessing Theseus, whom they send.’
“Thus spake the Dream, and as it came, it went,
“And Sleep the ambrosial held me till the morn
“Lifted one rosy finger in the sky,
“And colour'd all the earth; then o'er the hills
“And down the dales, and thro' the fields I flew,

“Following the impatient call of far-off waves,
“And joy and fear flew with me as I flew.

“And now the Sun, treading with radiant feet
“The flaming billows, held his golden head
“Aloft in heaven, and gods and men were glad;
“While flying past the portals of the Dawn
“The winged clouds that on the morning wait
“Paused in their flight and died for very love
“Of him and of his beauty. As I gazed,
“A feeling strong and sweet and most divine,
“Half awe, half love, came shadowing all my soul,
“Like some bright solemn cloud that darkens noon:
“And where I stood I worshipped. But, behold!
“While thus I gazed, a band of stranger youths,
“Gold-panoplied and bearing golden shields,
“Filled with a sudden splendour all the place,
“And sang aloud in presence of the Sun,
“Praising ‘Fair Phoebus, lord of light and life!
“That flames in gold round every mountain-head,
“And shines in sapphire thro' the sea and air,
“And colours fruit and flower and cloud and star—
“Lord of the silver bow and of the lyre,
“Of all harmonious, all prophetic sound,
“Apollo, Phoebus, lord of life and light.’
“But that high music ending, the sweet call
“Of silver trumpets, stirring kingly thoughts,
“Ran down the breeze, till all the listening hills
“That sentinelled the valley caught the sounds,
“And threw them murmuring back. But as I paused,
“The youths gold-clad and bearing golden shields

“Yet nearer drew, and fairest of them all—
“Fairest and tallest, he that in their midst
“Stood like a god—now like a god stepp'd forth,
“And I saw Theseus, and I heard him speak:
“‘O maiden! whether led by some strange chance,
“Or sent by choice celestial, favouring us,—
“A light to men in darkness thou art come!
“But what we are, and in what land were born,
“What service, what high purpose brings us here,
“Now learn, and learning, aid us. Our dear home,
“The sweetest in all Greece, lies far away
“Beyond the waters black with rainy winds,
“A still sweet sunny clime. Our little fleet,
“Survivor of all storms, which bravely bore
“The beat of buffeting winds and leaping waves,
“To waft us to our port, now sleeps below
“In glassy calm, and we her mariners
“Would parley with the king of this fair isle.
“Where dwells he, south or north? Of thy sweet grace
“Guide our blind steps to those thrice-famous halls
“Which Dædalus, the dread magician, built;
“Renown'd, throughout all Greece, in song or tale.
“O lady! do I ask too great a boon,
“That have but thanks for guerdon, and must need
“Grace for presuming?’ ‘Theseus,’ I replied,
“‘The gods that dwell in golden palaces
“So will, and I obey.’ What words were more,
“And how I gave the sword Invincible,
“And how I gave the mystic magic thread,
“I pass untold: I pass the glorious acts

“Of him who slew the unnatural Minotaur
“Untold, and all untold I pass, ah me!
“My patience and impatience, hopes and fears.
“They triumph'd, Theseus triumph'd, and at night
“For the young Grecian warriors wine was poured,
“And song and feast went round in echoing halls.
“So peace was made with Athens, and long days
“Dwelt Theseus with the king till he had seen
“Our Cretan cities, seen our temples, towers,
“Our fields and forests, and the lovely shapes
“Wrought by the pale magician Dædalus
“In marble, ivory, gold, or cedar-wood.

“But spring came, and the lilac-blossoms fell
“In the long grass and on the brimming lake,
“And to the days and to the hours, deep hid
“Amid the clustering leaves of dying May,
“I told my fancies, wild and passionate,
“From dawn until the latter shadows came:
“And when the moon above the mountain top
“Hung like a silver shield, I linger'd still,
“While in the solemn hush and dream of night
“My soul would travel, cloth'd with starry thoughts,
“Thro' trackless paths in gleaming worlds remote.
“One fatal day, when all the winds were still,
“I sat alone among the fading flowers,
“Lost in the dim fair lands of rapturous thought,
“When a swift noise, a noise of pattering leaves
“And shivering branches, broke my vision'd calm,
“And as a child awakes, so wakened I,
“All glad and wondering, for the parted boughs

“Disclosed a regal shape, most like that God
“Who from the conflict with the giant snake
“Returned victorious, and from tranquil eyes
“Look'd endless triumph, while a silent scorn
“Lay beautiful upon his smiling lip.
“—O Theseus! O fair Theseus! false and fair! —
“He with the step and front of Phœbus mov'd,
“He mov'd, he stood by me, he clasp'd my hand,
“He uttered words that were like burning fire,
“For they were words of love. O, love, love, love!
“Why didst thou pass into my brain, why glide,
“So like a liquid flame, thro' heart and soul,
“For sweet and subtle ruin, till I felt
“That without love there was no life for me,
“No beauty, no delight, no universe!
“How Theseus from that day was dear to me
“As light to dying men, how destin'd hours
“Brought bridal joy, and how, like some fair star,
“The sweetest of all babes that e'er was born
“Smiled, lying on my heart, what need to say?
“O sister, I am nearly blind with grief;
“Let me, I pray thee, make an end of it.

“One morn, when a wild wind was in the trees,
“And the white clouds sail'd fast, I, wandering lone,
“As was my use, stood near the accustomed bay,
“Where the fair swanlike ships were wont to lie.
“I looked; I saw them not; I looked again;
“I climbed a rock, and o'er the unfeeling sea
“And the deaf heaven did send imploring eyes,
“And spread my arms for some receding sail,

“In vain, in vain! Then from the rock I rushed
“Back to the palace, calling him aloud;
“But only mocking echoes answered me
“With Theseus! Theseus! till men came and told
“That he had fled with all his swanlike ships,
“Had left me and Urania his fair child.”

She ended here: with sweet and solemn voice,
And sweeter because solemn, Phædra said:
‘Take heart, my sister, let the Present go,
“And to the Future, as to some new star,
“Look boldly, trusting the majestic Gods.
“Great hopes are thine, and this chief hope of all—
“Urania, thy sweet child, the child of him
“Thy Theseus, fair if false, and how beloved!—
“But see, the day stands midway in the heaven,
“And in the gorges of the slumbering hills
“Noon pours her purple light, and drooping flowers
“Dwarf their fine shadows on the scattered stones.
“No more of talk; but while the intruding sun
“Dries the last dew-drop trembling on the grass,
“Seek we the ivied cave which westward lies,
“Deepest and coolest, in our sylvan realm;
“There will I weave a garland for thy brow,
“Or woo thee to some balmy sleep, or chant
“Fragments of music, sweet but sorrowful.”

She ceased, and like twin stars the sisters rose,
And where tall flowers were mixed with blooming grass,
Hand linked in hand, they passed, and in the depth
Of that delightful forest disappeared.

But Theseus sailed before the vassal winds,
And with him sailed the Powers that order life
And shape it to their ends. So piloted,
He saw once more his Athens, his beloved,
The lady city of the violet crown.
There called to kingship by the conquering Fates,
And by great deeds that lighted all his days,
He clasped the sceptre, swaying mighty men.

So throned in Athens let the hero rule,
And order all to one imperial end,
Prosperous in arms, in laws, in arts of peace,
And loved alike by mortals and by gods.
Yet shall the soldier-blood within his heart
Flow faster when he hears of martial deeds,
Nor will he always rest as cowards do,
Who shun the battle that brings manhood out,
With might and right. But in the after years
When gray old men sit round and tell their sons
How Theseus governed for the common weal,
No less with burning words will they rehearse
How Theseus for the common weal did fight
In Epidaurus and by Corinth's Strait;
Or where, at Megara, that threadlike path
O'erhung the waves, or where Poseidon's son
Fell in Eleusis. Many a tongue will tell
How Theseus slew the huge Palontides,
When the great King of Athens knew his son,
And saved him, doomed to death; and some will tell
How once, long long ago, from Pelion's heights,
Where the tall pines touch heaven, the Centaurs came,

And to the marriage of Ixion's son
The Lapithæ were bid, and noble men,
Whom godlike deeds made equal to the gods,
Accompanied; old Nestor, still renowned
For fitting to wise words his wiser thoughts,
Left his beloved sands, and Theseus came
To Athens, where the sword in myrtle shines,
And many more, great kings but all are dead!
So will the old men say, and gently sigh,
Then pause, and then with sighs begin again:
“But now the feast was served with goodly store
“Of viands, such as none but princes use,
“And goblets, massy with thick-crusted gold,
“Were drained of the voluptuous juice of grapes,
“And songs were lifted up with glad acclaim
“In praise of that fair bride, who, modest, still
“Sate mid the jovial feasters, near her lord.
“At length Eurytion, whom the circling wine
“Made dizzy with swift joy, half furious rose
“And said, ‘Peirithous! keep your blushing bride
“With a strong hand, or I shall bear her off.’
“But ere he came, Peirithous struck him down.
“Himself in turn struck down, for Centaurs thronged
“Around the fallen Centaur, raising him,
“And mid the Lapithæ Peirithous rose.
“Then clamour eddied thro' the echoing halls,
“And tables fell and golden flagons spilt
“The ruddy wine, and maids with yellow locks,
“Scarce veiling snowy limbs for quick surprise,
“Were struck to earth, and thro' the rushing strife

“The shrieks of women gathering round the bride
“Mixt with the drunken shouts of desperate men;
“While clashing of broad shields and ringing spears,
“And the cross-lightning of conflicting swords
“Thundered and shone; and heavy goblets smote
“Uncovered temples, and on helmets rung;
“And some fell back and yet retreating fought,
“Foot pressed to foot, and eye still fixing eye.
“But Theseus near his friend Peirithous stood,
“Protecting him; and when some Centaur vast
“Made rash approach, he slew him with his spear.
“So Theseus and Peirithous, side by side,
“True, tender, fought; till round them ample space
“Was cleared, and Theseus in the dizzy fight
“Beheld the mad Eurytion dealing death.
“Then, lifting up his spear, the Attic chief
“Few steps retired, and running, as men run
“For crowning action, hurled it; and a cry
“As of some beast in pain, his triumph told.
“So all left fighting, and the Centaurs closed
“About their prostrate lord, who howling lay
“Disabled; but on shield to shield conjoined
“They laid him, and so bore him from the feast.
“But Theseus stood rejoicing with his friends,
“Who praised him as we praise him.” So one day
Old sires will tell their grandsons, handing down
Heroic men, the royal blood of Time.

BOOK II.

There, where yon sunbeam lingers down the glade,
Stands, in the yellow light of ebbing day,
A wingèd Shape of perfect loveliness:
A boy in look and limb, yet self-sustained
By god-like power; dark his orbed eyes,
His cheek sun-coloured, golden his long hair.
Athwart his shoulders, charged with silver shafts
Hangs a light quiver, and an ivory bow
Fills one small hand. But see! he passes on,
Till, by a fountain, in whose hollow depth
Of liquid splendour, dreams eternally
The beautiful mock-heaven, he drops diffused,
As one that lays him down for happy rest;
But Care lies with him in the embedding grass.
Here, hour on hour before his listless eyes,
The Fountain spreads its shadowy, pictured world,
Its silver clouds that float o'er tent-like trees,
With tremulous green leaves, and boles thick-patched
With lichens black and red; its fairy birds,
Its wavering flowers, and living swarms, like flowers,
Lily or rose or gorgeous butterfly,
Or emerald insect imaged in its wave.

But all in vain that lovely mirror'd world,
That sweet false heaven and earth make mute appeal
To those tranced eyes that see and do not see,
But still dream on. At length a joyous laugh
Broke the clear silence, and the Dreamer rose
Sudden as one who leaps up from a dream.
“And who,” he cried, “profanes my solitude?
“Come forth, come forth, Intruder, when I call,
“From thy green lair of woven boughs, come forth!”
Among the woven boughs a rustle ran,
And mischievously mirthful, thro' the leaves
Peered a broad face with pleasure-puckered mouth,
From whose vast opening the wild laughter came
Unbidden, till victorious o'er his glee,
The Faun reshaped his voice to words like these:
“Fair cause for mirth, dread Eros, hath thy Faun,
“For see I not the Child of frolic lie
“Forlorn and sad, as tho' Love's self were struck
“By Love's own shaft.” So spake the wicked Faun,
Laughing at Eros, yet half fearing one
Greater than he by an immortal birth—
For Love is of the Heaven. Uplifting then
A shaft, and leaning on the ivory bow,
The child of Aphrodite answered him:
“Friend of Silenus! even to the Gods
Feasting on nectar in ambrosial halls
“Comes Care, that casts a shadow as he comes,
“And Love, whose home is where the Gods abide,
“Yet dwells with men and saddens at their grief;
“And thus it chanced that on my boding heart

“Thy laughter fell unwelcome, as in Spring,
“Falls on young grass and budding leaves the snow.
“But hear my tale, and hearing, counsel me—
“For the high Gods may learn of lowly Fauns.
“Tho' Fauns must die, and Gods live evermore.
“Here, therefore, in wise converse will we sit
“Under the shadow of this antique tree.”

Under the shadow of that antique tree
Lounged the blithe Faun, and thus the God began:

“There is a maiden in this lovely isle
“That with her grief and beauty touches me;
“Once wilful grace was hers, with frolic love
“Of freedom, yet she listened evermore
“To gentle fears that beat about her heart,
“As some white woman, bathing in lone seas,
“Hearkens to every faint and far-off sound.
“She loved, and yet I think it was not love.
“For that was never love that loveth all—
“The birds that balance on the slender spray,
“Bent like a sickle held athwart the sky;
“The lamb that tracked her footsteps o'er the thyme
“And gambolled as she went; the butting goat
“With silky hair and beard of silver-grey;
“The lowing heifer with a breath as sweet
“As tho' she fed on violets; the bright fish
“That leaps half out of his pale element,
“Were dear to her; and dear each tree and flower.
“Now such a general lover pleased me not:
“A woman's heart, I said, to nobler love
“Is set; to nobler love and nobler cares,

“And such a love should Ariadne know.
“Such love ere long she knew. Fair Grecian ships,
“Led by Prince Theseus, anchored on these shores,
“And who so fit to teach young hearts to love
“As that imperial Shape? For many days
“He dwelt with Minos, as kings dwell with kings.
“Meantime Love fell upon the maiden's heart,
“Like sunrise over snow. Then life was sweet,
“And sky and earth and every common thing
“Seemed beautiful, as if the eternal Gods
“Had newly fashioned them, and all the world
“Were only made for the sweet sake of love.
“But after rise and set of many suns,
“The Prince, impatient for heroic deeds,
“And restless as a wind that veers and shifts
“Until it sets full-blowing down the land,
“Called by the Gods, forsook the Cretan shore,
“And Ariadne sits forlorn and sighs
“For Theseus and the golden days of love.”

Here Eros ended, and the Faun replied:
“O child of Aphrodite! listen thou!
“For Gods that die not learn of dying Fauns.
“One summer eve, before the Silver Age,
“Silenus, sitting among purple grapes,
“Sung to the listening Fauns that held his cup:
“I heard, and I remember what he sang.
“‘The years shall come,’ he said, ‘ah! happy years!
“When, from an isle in the Ionian seas,
“The Gods shall bear to their refulgent homes
“The loveliest woman ever eyes beheld;

“And he whose aweful life is in the world,
“Whose voice comes whispering softly to my song,
“He whom we serve, shall weave a starry braid
“For her white brows and crown her heart with love.’”

So spake the Faun, and Eros made reply,
While joy ran brightening over look and limb,
Until divinity seemed more divine:
“No lovelier tale, O Faun, the Sirens sing
“To ships that thro' dissolving moonbeams sail
“On southern seas. But such high oracle
“Behoves me bear to where beyond the sun
“Dwells my great mother; for no might hath love
“Where beauty is not, and of all the Gods
“'Tis only the queen Aphrodite gives
“What makes life fairest.”

Eros ending thus,
The Faun replied: “Time, in his silent lapse,
“That mellows all the harvests of the world,
“Will heap our year with fruit; but now farewell,
“And to thy mother's halls Hesperian sail
“With all fair winds for pilots, while thy Faun
“Visits the pastoral kingdom of his liege;
“For ere the sun go down he summons us,
“Fauns, Satyrs, and Sileni to his court,
“Where to the sound of horns and castanets,
“And pipes that bubble o'er with liquid noise,
“The dance shall circle till the first pale star.”
This said, the Faun dishevelled with delight,
Flew headlong from the spot, and as he flew
Laughed till the forest echoes answered him,

And the quaint children of the woods were roused,
And thro' green loopholes thrust their furry ears.
But Eros watched the Faun, as fast he flew,
Down dell and dingle, then unfolding slow,
And slowly balancing with even poise,
The gold and purple oarage of his wings,
One moment looked around, the next rode high
On the smooth stream of the uplifting wind,
And like a star that glides across the night,
Flew fading down the west and disappeared.

But lo! what fair sweet Sorrow comes this way?
What phantom pale of deadly loveliness,
Parting the thick boughs of the tangled wood,
Walks ankle-deep in moss and primrose leaves?
Misery in human form were not more sad,
And Deity were scarce more beautiful.
Nor right nor left she moves, but noiselessly
Holds on her gliding path to yonder lake,
That gleams like some vast eye. The writhing boughs
Of gnarled trees all blotched with lichens gray,
Drop over it a solid roof of leaves.
Mid rushes tall, furred reeds, and blistering plants,
Stiff with a monstrous and unnatural growth,
Sits Silence, with one finger on her lip,
And there the shapeless family of Night,
Suspicion, Fear, and Solitude abide;
While, round and round in mystic circle rang'd,
Grey trees, the giant fathers of the wood,
Keep endless watch. Still, pale and passionless,

Hang from the branches of the regal oak
Visions that wait on kings, while, calm and fair,
In the tall elms sit dreams that lovers have.
Hither, like one that in unconsciousness,
Yet conscious, moves, she steer'd her darkling way,
And, feeling all the witchery in the air,
Lay down within the ring of mystic trees,
And, lull'd by countless murmurs, fell asleep.
Then a fair Dream in self-obscuring light
Left its green rest, and, folding rainbow wings
Over its cloudy semblance, near her stood,
While thus, a feeble voice, like that which haunts
The breezes when we fear we know not what,
Low whispering came: “I from my forest realms
“By Zeus, who sends all dreams, am sent to thee
“To build up in the aëry world of Sleep
“Thy Past and thy To-come.” The Dreamer look'd
And saw a strange fair world, a world like ours,
But wrought of frailer elements, where moved
Such shapes as men half think that they have seen,
Yet know not when, nor where, nor what they are.
She gazed, till fairer far than Day, appeared
One like Apollo when, on Delos Isle,
Self-risen on the breast of the great sea,
He leapt to light and glorified the earth,
And glorified the ocean and the air.
Near, and half fronting this resplendent Form,
Clothed in soft lights, one like the Evening stood.
Not Beauty's self more lovely, when alone,
She woke the royal Shepherd in his tent,

And brightened all the murmuring summer air,
That flowed round fountained Ida night and day.
One look, one smile, one short, swift, sobbing cry,
One clasping of fair arms round necks as fair,
When lo! the vision darkened suddenly,
And on the level shore of their delight
Broke, like a wave, a cold imperious voice:
“O waste not thou in love-dreams (thus it cried)
“Hours that belong to the majestic gods,
“But leave the lovely maiden of thy thoughts,
“And with heroic deeds enrich the world.”
Even as it spake o'er Ariadne crept
A sudden shiver, such as in broad noon,
When summer days are longest, visits men,
As some cold hand had touched them unawares.
But now appeared a stately ship afloat,
And Fancy heard the shouts of answering men,
The whistle and the cry of mariners,
With splash of wave and strain of creaking mast,
And noise of fluttering sails and coiling ropes.
She saw the oars uplifted; she beheld
One like a king ascend the vessel's side;
She heard him speak, she saw him raise his hand,
She knew he gave the signal to depart.
Then, as the white waves flashed around the keel,
A paler image than herself appeared,
That, like herself, where sea and water met,
Gazed, as the vessel dwarfed her snowy wings,
Until it passed beyond the utmost star
Which the sea touches, running round the sky.

Again the dream was changed, and lo! a shape,
Like what we deem of God or Genius, came,
Apparelled with the thousand shifting lights
Of rainbow clouds that gleam along the west
When the dead sun droops his resplendent head
And falls all fire into the burning waves.
He knelt, and leaning o'er her as he knelt
Whispered her name. She did but lift her eyes,
And, as a cloud all pale and colourless
Is touched by the gold fingers of the Morn,
And smiles for that fresh gladness, so her face,
Faded and wan before, now brightened fast,
And flushed with a new daybreak of delight,
And from the dreamer's parted lips there went
A murmuring cry, and the glad echo ran
Trembling thro' all the airy caves of Sleep,
Till her eyes saw the light. She rose, she stood,
And fixed as by some strong enchanter's spell,
Gazed down the glimmering length of woven boughs
That arch on arch, thro' all the emerald aisle,
Wavered and floated like a fairy bridge,
That woos to far-off amber palaces
Beyond the sunset. Fountains, trees, and flowers,
With all the mighty depth of forest shade,
Transfigured shone; low, in the kindling west,
The sun was setting, and the sylvan floor,
Where lights and shadows crossed and intercrossed,
Lay like the fields Elysian, and the air
Was haunted with the breath of vernal flowers,
And the blind joy that hides within the breeze

When lilac blossoms fall; while, more remote,
The ocean murmured, like a thousand shells,
That at the feast of Gods, in sapphire halls
At twilight seen beneath the glassy sea,
Harmonious play and calm the smiling waves.

BOOK III.

Forth from the bowers of Eros and the Faun,
When the glad Faun flew down the forest shade,
And Eros sprang upon his glittering plumes,
Bound for his mighty mother's silver heaven,
The silver heaven of the Uranian Love,
Not the soft sphere of that sweet amorous Queen
That changes as she circles round our star.—
Forth from the bowers of Eros and the Faun,
When the strong Dream let Ariadne go,
Homeward, with hope to light her steps, she went.
And now she neared the gorgeous capital
Of Minos, the great sea-prince, throned o'er Crete,
Her father and her king, and paused and gazed.
Before her rose a fair metropolis,
Shining colossal through the misty eve,
With dome and pinnacle and hanging wall,
With gorgeous frontispiece of cresting towers,
Temple and palace and the abodes of men,
Wrought of clear marble, white as drifted snow.
And now she entered that old grove divine,
Wherein all statues of all forms appeared,
The workmanship of wisest Dædalus,
Who dwells among the ever-during Gods,

And moulds with silent hand our later age,
When Truth with Beauty weds, and knightly hearts
Are big with the new chivalry of work.
Here Zeus the Olympian looked the Titan dead
With the bare potency of kingly frowns;
In marble Here walked with that grand pace
That queens do use; and here, in armour clothed,
The maiden warrior, mighty Pallas, leant
Against her olive; an uplifted spear
Poseidon grasped to strike the cleaving earth,
And summoned the white steed with foamy mane,
And mouth on tremble with a fiery snort.
Beside him Hermes with his restless wand
Along the road urged the delaying Dead.
All forms from plain or forest, sea or shore,
Mountain and vale, all products of the mind
Were gathered here for prophecy or song.
Nor only in the bloom of ripened thought,
Had the wise craftsman fixed, in sculptured moulds,
Eternal grace and perfect loveliness,
So marrying melody to marble forms;
But the enormous bulk of ancient gods,
The primal rulers of a buried world,
Crouched, stood or lay in solid dreadfulness.
Here Zagreus from clenched teeth defiance frown'd,
With all that Titan crew o'erthrown of old,
Porphyrion, Brontes, Arges, Steropes.
Here glared Medusa's head with frozen orbs,
Holding betwixt strange terror and delight
The heart that looked on its melodious pain.

Memnonian statues from grandæval Thebes,
And of old kings the marble pieties,
Stood round, grey children of the eternal Prime,
Fixing their dead eyes on the passer-by.
All these the Princess saw; but now she paused,
Where, veiled in leaves, a snow-white temple rose.
With sylvan quiet that invited still
All loitering steps. She, slowly entering here,
—Sacred to Aphrodite was the fane—
Breathed her low vows; but even as she prayed
The forward-flowing wind filled all the place
With a sharp piteous cry, and with the shock
Of falling blocks that came from far away,
Borne down the breeze. Aghast, the Princess stood
As one that sees some shape ne'er seen before;
Then, with a look eager and wild as Fear,
Broke from her prayer, and with precipitate step
Now over hill and now o'er valley flew,
Breathless, unresting, till her feet attained
A lawny upland, where the Orient sun
Smiled on a temple that, before the Dawn,
Rose fair as poesy, but westering shone
On ruins, and departed glory mourned.
What few white blocks yet stood, resisting force,
One piled on other, impious hands assailed.
Women with voices harsh as jarring jays,
Shouted when marble fragments snowed the ground,
Old men, whose silver hairs fresh brilliance caught
From the indignant sun, with lifted axe
Threatened the statue lying at their feet,

In act to strike, or with stout withy band,
Or twisted bulrush, manacled the priests
Of Bacchus, while around them raved and wept,
Maiden or youth, the votaries of the God.
High o'er the multitude conspicuous rose
A Form imperial, that with quiet eyes
Beheld the waste and terror of the scene,
Approving what he saw; a kingly crown
Circled his head, and purple robes adorned
His stately limbs; no passion lit his face,
But on his brow sate sovereign Intellect.
This was the Flower of Cretan chivalry,
Minos, sole judge and lord of all the land,
Who, loving well the old laws and sanctities,
O'erlooked the grander life that still renews
The ancient Order, and with random blow
Struck down the loveliest growth of budding Time.

Awhile before the sovereign of all Crete
The princess stood, uplifting to the king
The full resplendence of her queenly eyes,
Till, fitting her stern thoughts to words, she spake:
“What dread disaster have the Heavens in store,
“That this strange madness overcomes us all,
“That we have dared o'erthrow the homes of Gods,
“Have dared break up their sacred images?”

To whom the Lord of Crete made answer thus:
“Daughter, 'tis not for thee to counsel kings,
“Nor school a sire, yet partly that rare gifts,
“Wisdom and art and prophecy are thine,
“And partly for the sake of me who speak.

“And chiefly for the love I bear my child,
“I answer, and while answering, pardon thee.
“One am I who revere the old pieties,
“The uses of the plain good men that walked
“In the safe paths of common thought, and knew
“No Gods but those the antique world obeyed.
“I worship the Olympian Zeus with all
“The authentic congregation of the skies.
“I have devised and sanctioned all good laws,
“Still holding it for fittest, fairest, best,
“To make the sons of Crete brave, temperate, wise,
“To train her daughters up to household needs,
“Submissive, filial, modest and discreet.
“Thus have I wrought, and favouring my great ends,
“With me have wrought the Gods that work for all.
“And now, shall Change uncrown our royal work?
“Shall men that toil give place to idle girls,
“And the old Gods to new? This youngling Power,
“When first received among our island Gods,
“Dreamt of no empire, but now bolder grown
“Usurps supreme dominion; the fair hills
“That once shut in his mystic royalties,
“Suffice no more; our barriers all o'erthrown
“Into the centre of our kingly towns
“He comes, as conquerers come, and with him brings—
“O grief! O shame! —the sweet and blinding spells
“Of freedom, power, knowledge, and poesy,
“That lure our maidens from the maiden's life,
“From loom and distaff, and the gentler toils
“That grace the woman, till, foregoing all,

“The sweetness, light, and radiant purity
“Of their true life, they leave their innocent homes.
“And, slain by Folly, know too late their fault.”

He ended; and the Princess made reply:
“O Father, hear me pleading for the God.
“No youngling Power is he, but, old as Time,
“Who under many changing names fulfills
“His being, changeless in perpetual change.
“He is the life that throbs in burning stars,
“And gleams in clouds; from whom sweet longings come,
“Fierce joys, and thoughts dreadful and beautiful,
“Shadows of mightier worlds by mightier suns
“Thrown in glad colours on the world of man.
“Of him is song that honours human life,
“And the wild sweet enthusiasm of love,
“And ecstasy, and dream and oracle.
“He is the trampler on the foaming grape,
“Wearer of ivy, king of lonely flutes,
“And chiming strings that haunt the midnight air;
“Joyer in lifted hills and shaking woods,
“Great lord of purple glooms and lurking lights.
“Yet all this flush of life, this flaming power,
“Is crown'd with beauty, spher'd with perfect law,
“And orbed with peace; and as from sightless root
“Dawns, leaf by leaf, the pure ethereal flower
“That feeds on sunbeams, so from passion springs
“The inner love which clothes the perfect soul
“With the white garment of its blameless joy.”

“Daughter, ” replied the King, “enough is said.

“Never henceforth to this usurping God
“In all my Cretan realm shall fane be reared,
“Or prayer be breathed, or solemn ode be sung.”

“O King! O father!” thus the Princess cried,
“Recall thy words, for Gods are not as men,
“Nor is the painted show or semblance all,
“But thro' the senses shining evermore
“The Godlike visits men. Recall thy words.”
So spake the Princess, with a noble zeal;
To whom the Sovereign of all Crete replied:
“I cannot act upon a woman's whim,
Nor, trusting in fair possibilities,
“Let go ripe certainty. Did I not see,
“With scarce-believing eyes, a rabble-rout
“Of youths, all frenzied with the juice of grapes,
“Shake the still courts of my metropolis?
“Did not men stream with tipsy revelry
“Thro' our imperial city? Were not doors
“Opened and shut, and from their secret bowers
“Young maidens borne away with shout and song,
“For all their mothers' weeping? —But enough!
“I have decreed that Bacchus never more
“Have welcome here; and to make good my word,
“Have overthrown his statues and his shrine,
“Disclaiming all obedience. Silence then
“With meek retirement best beseems my child.”
“O father, thou hast said,” the Princess cried,
“I will not speak nor answer any more:
“The Gods will aid the Gods.” Inclining low
Before the king she stood as one that stands,

In the dread presence of omnipotent Power,
Speechless and helpless, curbing her chafed will,
Then, sad and slow, with stately step retired.

Thro' many a spacious street the Princess past,
And grove all beautiful with marble shapes,
And regal square throng'd with the silent life
Which patient sculptors lure from lifeless stone;
Still on, until she heard the whispering trees
That fringed the palace gate. Here fingering winds,
With song of birds amid the dancing leaves,
And sigh of reed and rush and waving grass,
Troubled the else inviolable calm:
The daylight waned: the red and menacing moon
Showed near and large, and with dim shapeless fears
Perplexed her heart, till Ariadne saw
From starry heights, in worlds invisible,
Hope fall, as falls to earth a heavy stone
Which some strong hand has hurled above the clouds;
Yet paused she not, but thro' the palace gates,
Unfolding for her, entered, and beheld
Within, half hidden in the swathing grass,
Urania, her fair daughter, haply here
Deserted by the women, when the din
And outcry of the frantic populace
Rolled up to heaven, and they bewildered sought
Refuge in secret cave or tangled wood.

The child lay sleeping on her folded arm;
Her hair, astray in golden tendrils, fell
Shadowing her face and neck; and lightly came
And went the breath between her parted lips,

Twin rosebuds, while one happy smile, no more,
Ruffled the summer calm of looks as clear
As waters dreaming in a tranquil pool.

Then o'er the slumberer Ariadne leant,
And woke her, breathing warmly on her face
And fanning her light hair; so never more
Awakened. But the child, low murmuring, said:

“Kiss, kiss me, mother dear, and clasp my hand,
“And say farewell to me ere I depart,
“Where all day long the lovely children play
“On pleasant fields of yellow asphodel:
“Clasp, clasp me, mother, ere I fade from life,
“And kiss me as I kissed thee yesterday.
“I shall not need thy kisses any more,
“When a pale shade I play with shades as pale.”

So spake she; but her words were lent by Death,
In that great darkness where new stars appear,
And Ariadne, at these low sweet sounds—
The last sweet sounds that she might ever hear—
Spoke not, but knelt, and from that dying brow
Parted the waving gold, and kissed her child,
Who, smiling, from her kisses faded fast.
There was no moan, no sigh, no falling tear,
Nor stifled sob for her who thus from life
Gently withdrew; but Ariadne knelt
Folding her hands beside that fair dead child,
With a prophetic soul that knew its woes,
And welcomed every evil it divined.

So leave them, with no wail upon the night,
To the calm Gods and to the patient stars.

BOOK IV.

Screened by four shadowy hills that boldly face
The four great winds and touch the journeying stars,
A forest, blooming with a lovelier life,
So charms the traveller, that he half awaits
The magic opening of the enfolding trees.
To see in some green depth of lonely shade
High presences that sit at festal boards,
And lift gold cups amid a crystal calm;
Nor waits in vain, but sees with wondering eyes
Gods and fair shapes like Gods, and piping Fauns
And Satyrs chasing ivory-ankled nymphs,
That mock and laugh, while all their yellow hair
Floats round them like a gorgeous summer cloud.

To cool the breeze that wanders round the hills,
Four fountains, from a secret cradle leap
In silvery circling shafts, while clambering vines
Run here and there and catch slant gleams of sun,
Or else red shadows from the burning West
Creep round old dreamy trees, while azure birds
Flit in and out among the trellis'd boughs,
Or sing among the leaves to sunset skies.
Here all the children of the forest met,
Here in a green and golden atmosphere

Talk'd, sang, or danced till their great master came.
“Is it not late?” at length one gentle voice
Thus struggled into hearing, thro' thick leaves.
“Is it not late? Behold the dwindling sun
“Sits like a star upon the pinnacle
“Of the tall hill that fronts the burning west.
“Look out between the trees, Egeria, look,
“And see if any token of our king
“Brighten this way.” “I will” a voice replied,
And soon the unfolding boughs revealed a shape
That, when the world was rich in griefs and joys,
Taught love and wisdom to the Latin king;
When night brought starry oracles, and sleep
Left only that one man awake in Rome.

Beyond the utmost tension of the sight
The valley stretch'd, and still its lengthening curve
Threw back the intruding vision. Left and right
The maiden look'd, but only saw the sky
And wandering clouds: she listened, as she look'd,
But only heard the grass and sighing winds;
Yet, as she listened, faint and far away
A tremulous murmur, as of breaking waves,
Fell on her delicate ear, and, swift as flame,
Turning, she said, “Rejoice, dear Nephele,
“Rejoice, for I have heard the mystic strains
“Which herald our great master.” As she spake
The murmur swelled into a mighty sound, —
A sound of many mingled instruments,
And from each hollow glen the sylvan world
Went hand in hand to meet the approaching pomp

That with a thousand far-off splendours shone,
As when beneath the sky, the unrisen sun
Shines, and the darkness ebbs, and all the Gods
Stand up to see the glory roll below.
Nearer it came. With faces all on fire
The Bacchic heralds mov'd with step attuned
To clash of cymbal, gong, and blaring trump;
Then, with loose tresses, darkening down the air,
Like flowing clouds blown lengthwise thro' the heaven,
And lips all white with dreadful prophecy,
The Mænads came, leaving their mother's side,
To follow Bacchus over sea and land.
They, twinkling ivy wands and tossing out
Their long loose serpent-locks, burst, floodlike, down
The shadowy sloping hills, wave after wave.
Then, clad in lucid arms, and helmeted
With triple plumes that chequered all the ground;
With clash of cymbals, lifted in the air,
And roll of drum, and gathering din of horn,
The Corybantes came and called the God
That loves the vine, the ivy, asphodel,
That loves the dolphin, serpent, tiger, lynx,
And hates the gray dull bird that hates the day,
And with the God they joined the ancestral Power,
The mother of the Gods, dread Cybele,
Now throned, with lions watching at her side,
Now drawn by lions, riding in her car.

Next, with broad features, casting as they went
Voluptuous glances from large floating eyes,
Blooming with foliage of the scarlet holm,

And wreath'd with boughs of oak and olive tree,
The Satyrs danced, and leapt, and tumbled on,
A moving forest of tumultuous life.

But now, to softer music lovelier shapes
March with light footfall, beating perfect time;
In purple vesture clothed, with zones more white
Than snow that sleeps all day in vernal meads,
And o'er each head was set a silver star,
And as they mov'd or paus'd, it paused or moved.

At length a rolling splendour as of clouds
Which float o'er suns intolerably bright,
Past slowly, while a thousand harping winds
Rang round, and lo! a surging silv'ry foam,
Like mists that veil the morning, soaring up
Into the topless sky, left clear the space
Of central glory and music, and disclos'd
The semblance of a chariot like the sun.

A thousand wheels a thousand wheels within,
In myriad evolutions circled round,
And round and round, in mingled mist and fire,
All elemental living things were roll'd
With dazzling speed and force of blinding wings.
So with Æolian music mov'd the car,
Divine, eternal, emblem of all life.
Slowly it came, for all that subtle coil
Of flying circles, for a double power
Was in the wheels, each moving for itself,
And each for all, both swift and slow in one.
But nearer as it drew, a fear divine
Breath'd round, and where the eddying wheels advanced

Went silence, and the chariot mov'd unheard.
Within it, while a golden cloud stooped down
To sphere it as it shone, rose dim and vast
A scarce distinguishable shape, that show'd
Awful in grace, like images of gods
When gods look down on the amazèd earth.
Erect he stood, and as the cloud dissolved,
Towered in colossal beauty, calm and strong.
There was eternity in his regard,
Each limb was flush'd with an immortal youth,
And every act revealed the perfect God.
All stood out clear in that enfolding light,
As in the splendour of a flaming town,
When wild winds fan the fiery element,
Man, beast, dome, tower and temple show distinct,
And loom out large and near across the night.
In folds innumerous o'er his shoulders fell
A mantle like the starry firmament
Hung over darkness. Mid the rising throng
Of sounds converging to one central din,
He stood up-gathered, in a dread repose,
Holding in either hand the shadowy reins
That turned the sacred leopards, shadowy too.
His face was lifted upwards, and his eyes
Flashed as they looked beyond this mortal sphere.
And now, self-orbed into a mystic ring,
The long procession paus'd. No music peal'd,
No voice sang triumph while the chariot past,
Slow-gliding thro' the vast resplendent halls
Where rose the throne of Bacchus. Hither came

The maidens with the stars above their heads,
Who, when the God alighted, waiting stood,
And when the God advanced, companion'd him,
And still the stars moved with them as they mov'd,
Or if they paus'd the stars still paus'd with them.

The throne was solid pearl, and blossomed thick
With the rich sculptured life that poets love.
Here sat the God; the attendant populace
Stood silent round, and listened as he spoke.
“O elemental princes! Powers that dwell
“In earth, air, water, or in lucent fire,
“And ye fair sons and daughters fair of men,
“Hear me, your king and father, while I speak.
“Henceforth in this enchanting realm we meet
“No more—for here have bold rebellious hands
“Been lifted up, and from his marble base
“Have mortals hurled a dread immortal down.
“I see the anger burning on your cheeks—
“Ye would avenge me, but it must not be.
“A gentler thought to gentler purpose leads,
“And in my milder wisdom I shall know
“To glorify a princess desolate,
“And crown a God with triumph. Stifle then
“The fiery wrath that leaps to fruitless act,
“And wait as Gods and godlike men must do.”

He ceased, and straight a mighty murmur rose,
Such as swells up, with sound of surging waves,
On startled ears of men but half-awake,
When the wind comes leaping from the West, and falls

Full on the rocks and woods and desert holts,
And moans thro' hollow caves at dead of night.
But soon that murmur ceased, and glad acclaim
Rose from that host innumerous. “Bacchus, hail!
“Hail, Bacchus, hail!” —and still the harmonious sounds,
Like waters meeting waters, rolled to Heaven—
“Hail, Bacchus, hail! O lord of life and death,
“O father of the shadowy universe,
“O spirit of the unfathomable world,
“Felt in the air, and gleaming in the depths
“Of the wide sea and overhanging sky,
“We hear, and we obey. Hail, Bacchus, hail!”

They ceased, and far and near a frantic crew,
On mischief bent and havoc merciless,
Ranged with loud outcry, while a gentler band
Reclaimed their gifts, and from the budding flower
The colour drew, drew splendour from the grass,
Took the gray eloquence from antique trees,
And beautiful divinings from the face
Of dimpled streams, like thoughts made visible
In smiles round some beloved woman's face.
Gifts fair as these, or if yet fairer be
Then fairer, were with word or wand recalled,
Till there remained what deity alone
That gave it could reclaim or could destroy,
For only Gods undo what Gods have done.
Then from his throne, like some great light from heaven
Hurl'd in the eyes of one born blind, but then
And thereby gifted with a sudden sight,
The lord of life came down pronouncing doom.

But ere he spake, the conscious forests sank,
The sobbing rivers left their channels dry,
The green sweet life of trees, as in a frost,
Paled into death; where late were glorious flowers
Sprang pulpy stems; what once were noblest lakes
Shrank to mean waterpools, with scurf of weed
O'erfilmed; and all that magic forest-realm,
Now disenchanted, lay a waste forlorn,
—A common waste among four common hills.
So is it ever when the Gods depart.

But soon the bright ethereal populace
That had their home in lake or tree or flower,
Each odorous haunt forsook and crystal cell,
And in the light of gold and crimson wings
Apparelled, near their lord expectant stood
In bodiless beauty. Nor that Power delay'd,
But to these children of the elements
Gave lovelier forms and gave a lovelier life.
Like coloured shadows on transparent waves
They mov'd and mingled, or like radiant winds,
Or as thro' gorgeous glass when sunbeams smite
Green, blue, and crimson on some marble wall,
Reflex from dancing images, and play
And cross and float and waver up and down,
And dream-like fade. So fled and faded they.

Meanwhile that ruder train, whose dazzling pomp
Still heralded or followed their great King,
To Thessaly are gone; the Mænad maids—
That ever clothe them in white innocence
—By viewless hands of Zephyr's myriad sons,

Thro' western air to purple isles are borne—
To purple isles in solitary seas,
Silent, unknown, mysterious, where they lead
Delightful days—where wait till Bacchus come,
And ring them out once more to happy life.
But now, he struck the hollow echoing earth,
Which opening, showed a dim unmeasured world
Glimmering beneath, whereto a golden way
With gradual slope led down. Here, sinking slow,
Glided the enchanted car, and with it went
The beautiful Companionship that moved
Continuous, while above it moved the stars.
But when the earth on all that gentle pomp
Inaudible had closed, the Heavenly Power
Rose calmly on the twilight air, and shone
Like to a second sunset, where there lay
Beyond the western beams a sapphire realm
Whose one sweet Evening-Star shed rosy light.

BOOK V.

So ever rising with the rising air,
Among the constellations Bacchus soar'd,
More beautiful than they. The ascending God
Beyond our sun, beyond our planets soar'd,
To where strange moons enormous shadows cast,
Conelike, and darkening down the stellar waste,
Soared past wild comets that with trailing fire,
Swept through the rayless gloom, and as he soared
Beheld with that great glory of the eyes
Which Gods can use at will, above, below,
Around, even to the starless shores of space,
Or planets robed in veils of rainbow air—
Or stars with shadowing rings of silver fire—
Or stars that, each round each, smooth-circling glide—
Or doubly-twined their glittering mazes weave
Round fair concentric suns; or, lovelier yet,
Saw emerald worlds soften the ruby glow
Of dazzling sister-stars: saw azure orbs
Now basking in a golden noon, now clothed
With a blue morning kindling all the skies,
Or saw a white a crimson day succeed.
With white by crimson followed evermore.

But soon serener heights received the god,

Now floating in a finer element,
With face set towards Hesperia, that fair star
Whose image in our lowlier world we see,
Still mimicking the motions of the moon
Ere the sun rise or when the sun is down.
There too, as here, still Evening hung her moon,
Yet silver-pale, and clothed in gorgeous clouds,
The sun, full-orbed, sat opposite the moon.
Two winged youths, the genii of the star,
Wandered beside the sea on yellow sands,
With faces planet-shaped, and heads that bore
Bright cressets, silvering all the region round.
With folded wings the taller genius stood,
Bearing aloft a rosy-wrinkled shell,
Filled with ethereal sunlight at the dawn,
But now half empty of its golden flame.
The rival Light spread out his shadowy vans,
Poising a conch that, brimmed with paler fire,
Smoothed all the air with warm luxurious light—
Phosphor and Hesperus, so call their names,
Were planetary princes. Phosphor sway'd
The morning's red dominions: Hesper ruled
Eve's purple-fading realms. The lordlier Shape
Now waned, and still the more he waned his mate
To riper glory rose, as, when at night
Over the hills of Crete the summer moon
With glad full presence shines on busy hands
And shifting feet of reapers in the corn.

Now travelling sea and sky with straining orbs,

And both hands crossed above his darkening eyes,
Phosphor beheld, betwixt the sky and sea,
Suspended a bright shape in outline dim,
And wondering questioned thus the Evening Light
That near him shone: “O brother that at eve
“Dost guide this glorious world as I at morn,
“Seest thou yon glittering shadow which o'erhangs
“The last white foam in the remote sea-line?
“A shining cloud it seems and cloud might be,
“Save for its motion, for it comes this way,
“With course direct against our seaward wind.
“My vision fades with fading day, but thou
“With orbs at full, may'st well the shape discern.”
He ceased, and Hesper, far into the west
Steadfastly gazing, saw the shadow come,
Shadow or splendour, each it seemed, or both,
And knew that deity was on the air.
“Phosphor,” he cried, “no shining cloud is there,
“But an Olympian Power that midway floats
“Between the sky and sea; a glory falls
“From his strong limbs, and luminous circles play
“Sparkling beneath his feet; like Spring he comes
“When from her star she stoops from headlong flight,
“And leaves a brightness on the enchanted air.”
He ended, and in silence gazing round,
These graceful princes of Hesperia stood,
Awaiting the glad advent of the god.
Near and more near he came; low flutelike sounds,
Or notes, as of some bird invisible,
The dreaming earth and all the listening air

One moment filled, then slowly died away,
And mid prevailing calm the God appeared.
They saw and knew the Power, and bending low,
Meet homage tender'd, welcoming their king,
The brother of their liege Queen Aphrodite.
“O Bacchus! welcome to Hesperian shores,”
Cried Hesperus, and “Welcome! ” Phosphor cried,
To whom the God, “O delicate ministers
“Of light, at morn and eve, your greeting fair
“Gladly I take, but gladlier would I go
“To your great Queen in that bright palace-home
“Where now she dwells. Your gentle heraldry
“Or escort, tho' scarce needed, were for me
“A princely grace, if ye such grace can grant.”
“Our Queen, ” thus answered low the Light of Morn,
“Left four days since this city where we dwell,
Divine Cythera, summoning her court
“To the metropolis: three leagues away
“Across the Paphian Fields, and o'er the lake
“Astarte, must thy onward journey be.
“My brother's task is done; no fitter guide
“Could all Hesperia show; my duty now
“Is to light up Love's folding-star till morn
“And now farewell, for that sweet office still
“My personal service asks, and fading here,
“I shall renew my splendour where I go,
“For with the duty comes the grace which clothes
“The Spirits of the Light, that never rest,
“But work for other worlds as for their own.”
“Thou, too, farewell, O gentle Morning-light!”

The Olympian answer'd. “Fade thou happily,
“And happily renew thy faded beams;
“And Hesperus, whose paler reign begins,
“My courier be.” The Spirits of Light bow'd low,
And he that rules the morning, o'er the fields
Flashing his cresset, ran. The mellow eve
Was now at full, and from the attendant moon
A festive light o'er hill and valley fell,
O'er tree and flower; while still to greet the God,
Crocus and lily, and with fragrant bells,
The hyacinth and fair narcissus rose,
Sudden as dream. On soft voluptuous grass
He trod delighted, while the nightingales,
From starry myrtle-blooms, high overhead,
Sang to the moon, and down, among the leaves,
A whispering wandering music chirp'd and sang.

So thro' the Paphian Fields, which smiling lay
In that sweet dreaming moonlight, walk'd the God,
Till, all that land of rose and lily past,
He entered the Idalian Vales where shone
The wan gold light of myriad asphodels,
Twinkling like stars that twinkle evermore.
There pausing, for he heard a liquid sound
Of waters lapping on no far-off shore,
He drew the breath of winds that seem'd to waft
A sweet sea-odour fresh from cooling waves;
And now, as down the hill's green slope he past,
He saw the shining level of the lake
Astarte (for all names of Love met here).
Linked with a flowery cable to the shore,

A pinnace floated, wrought of moonstone pale,
With green and purple hues that come and go.
The God approached, and on the gleaming deck,
Swift as a moonbeam lighted, and at once,
Self-moving o'er the lake, the pinnace flew,
And without aid of oar or wafting sail
Held onward, till against its curved prow
The waters rose, and equal with the deck,
Fell murmuring back, while the transparent wave
Swarmed with the coloured life that dwells below.

Now past a sylvan cape, still piloted,
Through balmy islands, by delighted winds,
The pinnace fled. Both right and left tall trees
Dropt emerald shadows on the lucid bark,
And saw in liquid calm their fairer selves.
But to the magic boat, yet sailing on,
The lake now opened, widening to a sea,
While opposite a mighty city rose,
With tower and column soaring thro' the night,
And springing arch and lengthening architrave
That slept in moonbeams, and below, the breadth
Of porphyry bastion, crouching in the shade.
'T was like a fairy city which the wand
Of potent dealer with the elements,
Magician or enchanter, in old song,
Romance or tale Arabian, hath called up.
And now, in haven fair, the ethereal bark
Rests by a marble pier, which snowlike shines,
Yet dazzles not. Firm anchorage finding there,
Leaped Bacchus to the shore, and leaping flung

His tresses streaming like a golden morn,
From off his shoulders and his neck divine.
Along the pier a godlike multitude
Loud welcome shouted, and from echoing halls
Came sceptred Gods with all the Hesperian Powers.
Some in their crowns wore wreaths of ivy green,
Some briony, and blossoms of the grape,
Or rose, or myrtle, that above the sun
Bloom in the gardens of perpetual spring.
With glad acclaim they hailed the arriving God
With Evoe and Io; such all night
In folds of grey Cithæron, when the train
Of Mænad wassailers confront the dark
With flaring torches and dim shadowy boughs,
A vineyard all on fire, the traveller hears,
And in some mountain hollow lurks secure.
So shouting led they Bacchus thro' the streets
Of the metropolis, Dionium called.
Of gold the pavement was, and clear as glass.
Throughout the streets, on either hand, appeared
Temple and colonnade and theatre,
Of amethyst and opal, pearl and gold,
With sculpture rare, and carv'd entablature,
And delicate embroidery, wrought in stone,
With flower of rose and flower of lily wrought;
Thro' street and archway, hall and corridor,
Like a bright stream the long procession flowed,
Continuous, till it reached an open square
White with the wandering moon. Here central rose
The palace of the Queen, wrought all of pearl,

That in the moonlight likest moonlight seemed,
Or work of radiant cloud that miracle
Had hardened into stone. Four portals looked
Direct towards the four great winds of heaven,
Fashioned of amethyst. Above them stood
Fair forms, in breathing marble: God and man,
Genius and Muse, or else the larger shapes
Of panther, cameleopard and lucern,
Bewildering air with beauty. But ere long,
Self-moving upon golden hinges, rolled
The amethystine portals, to receive
Bacchus and all this mighty company.
Self-moving, yet once more the jewelled gates
Closed, and the flying echoes far away
Died as the Gods advanced. Thro' mystic bowers
That shone as with the light of sunset clouds,
While all the painted life upon the walls
Seemed pleading for heroic memories
Of men whom love made gods and placed in heaven;
Thro' halls and corridors in lengthening line
Streamed that glad multitude, and now attained
An ample chamber wrought of solid pearl,
With dazzling light from gem and jewel rare
That suited the strong vision of the Gods.
Throughout the hall, at equal distance ranged,
Twelve thrones were set, whereof the central shone
As among stars the moon: and here the Queen
Of all desire and of all beauty sate.
To right of her was Eros, on her left
Dione smiled, and shapes with many wings,

Hovered above, half shadowy, half in light.
Soon as Uranian Aphrodite saw
The moving glory, like a star she rose,
From off her pearlèd throne to meet the God.
“Welcome, great brother, welcome to my court,
“Welcome from all the realm and most from me,
“Thy sister-sovereign.” With like gracious words
The God replied, and to her throne led back
Uranian Aphrodite, and beside
Sate on a couch of gold, with gems o'erlaid,
There placed for the great father of the world.
And thus the God: “When the fair Attic chief,
“Obedient to the lords that rule all life,
“Had loved and left the Princess whom he loved,
“Wrapt in the shadow of care as in a cloud
“Pale Ariadne sate. Yet, evermore,
“While thus she sate, feeding her bitter grief,
“Two mighty Powers wrought for her, Time and Fate,
“And Deity wrought with them. In those days
“It was her joy to climb the shadowy hills
“That soar above the sunbeams or the stars,
“And talk with winds and clouds. I watched her there,
“And whispered as I mixed with all her thoughts,
“In solemn noonday trance or gorgeous dream,
“That for a mortal's sake immortal love
“Might bring the Gods from heaven; yet the high laws,
“Which Fate recorded ere the hours began,
“Must needs be honoured, and mortality,
“Thro' love and grief, grow pure of mortal stain.
“More had I done but such the absolute sway

“Of the pale purifying Power of Tears,
“That even Gods taste of the bitter wine
“Which grief and shame have mingled: nor could she,
“A mortal born to sorrow, from her lips
“Push the rough healing draught; but homage done
“To the high laws that all allegiance claim,
“Alike in heaven and earth, from god and man,
“There dawns a golden end; great prophecies
“Crowd for fulfilment. Thou then, mighty Queen!
“For as I rule o'er the strong heart of man,
“Thou rul'st o'er woman's heart—lend timeliest aid,
“And with the spells of the sweet spirit of love
“Call back this wanderer from the wasted past,
“To the inviolate calm and vernal grace
“Which make the ever-present time of Gods.”
So spake the Heavenly Power. With words more soft
Than falling rainbow-drops on flowers half-blown
The Goddess answered him: “O throned with me
“O'er love's mysterious world, with thee I work,
“Well knowing that a golden end is near,
“For from the fatal Three, whose sceptre sways
“Earth and the immortals, I but late received
“A scroll, which now my winged Love shall read,
“For Love is of Love's own high mysteries
“The best interpreter.” So saying the Queen
Called Eros: Eros came with sunbright wings,
Half open with delight, and took the scroll,
And conning all that mystic oracle,
Told how ‘to the serene and beautiful homes
In the great city of the happy Gods,

Immortal Power matched with immortal Love,
Shall bear essential Beauty in the mould
Of feminine mortality enshrined,
And crown her with a diadem of stars.’

He ceased, and Bacchus, standing near the throne,
Turned to the assembled princes, speaking thus:
“Hesperian Powers! that in the earlier days
“Scarce knew me for the father of the world,
“Through whom all life to present beauty grows
“And to the full-orbed splendour that shall be—
“So lone, remote, so self-contained I dwelt
“In the calm depths of godhead, to myself
“A joy, a glory, pure and bodiless thought.
“Now know me as I know myself thro' love,
“For the true knowledge dwells with love alone;
“And Gods are then most Gods when most they love.
“Once, in the sceptred circle of the kings,
“That make all rule, all law, elate I stood
“And told them thought was life, that to behold
“Beauty and weigh it in the even scale
“Of Judgment that preserves an equal soul,
“Was the fit work of Gods. I said that love,
“And all frail passion felt by dying men,
“Might yearn or sob upon melodious strings,
“To round the life of Heaven's immortal sons
“To fuller knowledge, but that godlike brows
“Should not flush high, nor deathless pulses throb
“With the sweet fire which burns in lowlier blood,
“And so forsaking all the gentler Powers

“I stood alone, nor lov'd, nor was belov'd,
“And I knew life, not knowing what life was;
“But this was in the Past. Henceforth I live
“Among the other Gods, and love like them:
“To-morrow ye shall hear gold trumpets blow,
“See garlands twine round white celestial brows,
“And triumph fill the heavens: And now farewell,
“Princes that rule a world where azure calm
“Lulls the tranced spirit in ambrosial dreams,
“Or lifts it singing to the golden homes,
“Where endless morning dwells.”

He ending thus,
The hall and all the stately palace rang
With joyful shouts, and as they died away
Thro' gorgeous portals opening evermore,
Down glimmering avenues of purple light,
Walked the great lords of that resplendent world;
Nor paused until beneath the breathing sky
They stood, and there the glorious tidings told
To all the starry people crowding near;
Who heard, and with loud voices murmured joy.
But now the Gods paced down the marble street,
And ever as they went, or bloom or branch
From crocus, rose and lily, white or red,
Orange or laurel, or the honied lime,
That there have fairer growth than here with us,
Made beautiful their going. Far away,
The restless glory of that mighty march
Unbroken shone, nor was there any end,
But in egression infinite they moved,

And ever coming ever seemed to come,
Till, self-unfolding, as they won the plain
That, overblown by odorous summer winds,
Smoothed its green level, opening left and right,
The shining pomp dissolved; and while a moon,
Sweeter than ours, and leading sweeter stars,
Travelled the placid skies, from east to west,
To chiming harp, and warbling lotus-flute,
And beat of dulcimer, they danced and sung;
And as they danced, a ringing murmuring sound,
A long melodious storm of keen delight,
Now rose, now fell, as when the inconstant winds
Now fall, now rise, in hollows of old rocks.

So danced and sang the Gods, but Bacchus left
Dionium and the palace of the Queen,
And plunging low into the purple depths
Of surging air, with stedfast motion flew,
Like a continual brightness, down the night.

BOOK VI.

Unwelcome fell the golden gleams of dawn
On Ariadne's eyes, who all night long
In empty aching darkness wildered lay,
Unvisited by any gentle Power
From the dim land of Dream, but when she pressed
Downward her weary face, a surging cloud
Rusht spangling up, and, imaged on the gloom,
Pale faces crowded, prophesying woe.

Soon risen and soon attired, the Princess left
Her cedarn chamber; and thro' corridors
Far glimmering, and thro' halls of jasper past,
To where the unfolded sculptured palace-gates
Fronted the kindling day: nor lingered there,
But onward through the unfolded portals past,
Yet saw no sight and heard not any sound,
Like some pale Sibyl, pondering thoughts of doom,
Which sleep not tho' she sleeps, but drive her forth
To rave on lonely hills at dead of night.
Thro' marble-mansioned streets the Princess past,
Thro' templed squares, and piles of carvèd stone,
Which, veiled in silver breathings of the Morn,
Rose like the work of Gods; such perfect skill
Clothed the wise hand of mighty Dædalus.

On, by the homes of men the Princess past,
By porch or mart or pillar'd portico,
That served the statelier uses of the land,
Till, all the slumbering city left behind,
A valley held her in the bosoming depth
And silence of green shade. The dripping leaves
Hung diamonds in the round and Orient sun,
And the pure air and chiming coverts rang
With voices of glad birds that love the light.

Here late, mid sheltering trees, a Temple stood
Sacred to Bacchus, and, some here, some there,
Huge fragments of white marble yet lay round,
Where one sole pillar with young ivy wreathed,
And with thick garlands of the budding vine,
Fresh from some pious hand, still central rose.
Here paus'd the Princess, and, half-kneeling, leant
Against the pillar, and with low-wailing words,
Told all her sorrows to the elements.
“Hear me, O Heaven, and all-beholding Sun!
“And hear me, mother Earth, who am thy child!
“And bring again those dear remembered years—
“Those old delightful years, when I beheld
“No cloud in all the firmament of life
“That lacked its rainbow;—when I touched no thorn,
“But had its flower hid among glittering leaves,
“And sweeter so conceal'd; when all my thoughts
“Took warmth and colour from the gleams that fell
“From some far-vision'd world: and where I mov'd,
“A silent Presence that I could not see
“Was with me as the light on blind men's eyes,

“Touch'd by the radiant finger of the sun,
“Pointing at noon; and when, with mellower hours
“Life's summer came, I wanted no delight
“That love can give, for dim sweet longings rose
“Like odorous meadow-airs, and eve and morn
“Came thoughts more beautiful than any birds,
“And sang to me. But that was long ago,
“In some old yesterday which ne'er returns.
“Oh, why was I left desolate?—Oh, why
“Did the mad fire pass thro' my heart and brain?
“I call on Earth and Heaven, from Sun and Sea
“Implore an answer; but my sorrow broods
“Over the Universe, and makes it dumb.”

So moaned she; but a footstep on the grass
Gave token of one coming, and ere long
Came Phædra, with the balm of healing words.

“Turn not from me, O sister! O beloved!
“But let me hold thy hand, and holding mine,
“Walk by my side when Sorrow walks with thee.”
“Phædra!” cried Ariadne, “on my heart
“Sits Grief, like heavy winds on summer grass
“Drowned in the trampling rain.” And Phædra said,
“When heavy winds are still the grass revives,
“Grief comes and goes, and dwells not anywhere;
“And ever when grief passes joy returns.”
“Joy!” cried the impatient Princess,-“what is joy?
“I tell you there is no such thing as joy,
“Nor is there hope, or love, or beauty more.
“Theseus is dead, or, worse than dead, is false.”
Then Phædra answered not, but took her hand,

And led her onward slowly, tenderly
To the great ocean, as a mother leads
A timid child, and lends both voice and hand.

Fresh blew the wind of morn, the ascending sun
Stood on the waters, round his golden limbs
Folding the purple light, and garlanding
His radiant brows with roses of the dawn.
“Here rest we,” Phædra cried, “while round us breathe
“The soft sea-winds, and watch the rise of Day.”
Then Ariadne, throned upon a rock,
Looked with fixed eye athwart the whitening wave
To the blue rim where sky and water mix,
Scarce knowing that she looked, for her vexed mind,
In the wild mazes of its blinding grief,
Still feeling here and there, as one that feels
With spreading palms his way along the dark,
Moved helplessly. But when the sweet surprise
Of sleep o'ercame her, Phædra gently rose,
And wandered, kissing her pale lips and eyes,
Among the rocks that sunned their patriarch brows
In the young smiles of the rejoicing day.
But leave we Phædra, to pursue alone
O'er sand and cliff her labyrinthine path,
For we approach the shining goals of song.

The Princess slept, and, lighting all her sleep,
A vision came, and tender luminous rings
Crept o'er her fair pale face. Nor marvel thou
At this new dawn of joy, for near her knelt
The loveliest Shape that ever dreamer saw,

At noon or night. Immortal, beautiful,
As are the children of the sky, she seemed,
And pity looking thro' her loving eyes
Showed her no less a Goddess. Nearer now,
And nearer drawing where the sleeper lay,
She, as a mother o'er her cradled child,
Kneels—smiling to behold it smile in sleep—
Knelt o'er that dreaming form, and cried, “Awake!”
And kissed her as she cried. Even as she spoke,
The delicate sleep fell from her opening eyes,
And like to one long laid in feverish trance,
While hurrying months have past and seemed one day,
And who, when Gods have wrought a sudden cure,
Leaps from his couch, and wonderingly beholds
The true appearances of men and things,
Awakened Ariadne. Soon she saw
The Eternal Loveliness, and wonder rose
To worship, and her thoughts thus leapt to speech;
“Now first I know what love, what nobleness,
“What tender feelings clothe our mortal life,
“As violets clothe the roots of hoary trees
“In April, when the swallows call the spring.
“I was a dreamer once that dwelt alone
“Or wandered thro' the blighted woods of life,
“As some lost child, belated in his play,
“Lingers thro' lengthening fields and winding lanes,
“And sobs and calls his mates; but now I wear
“The delicate white garments of delight
“That are for happy women, whom the gods
“Make happier with the love of happy men.

“Henceforth, fair mother of the universe,
“I shall not live the life of trees and flowers,
“And toil and grieve as other women do,
“In the bare desert of humanity;
“For is there not a world where music dwells
“With love? a world, soft gleams of whose blue heaven
“Thrill gentle souls with dim delicious hopes,
“Till pleasure smiling trembles into tears.”

The Goddess answered: “Such a world there is,
“And I by all my lovely ministers
“In sun and cloud, calm lake and sylvan gloom,
“Have led thee upward to the golden realms,
“Where dwell with Power the Joys that cannot die.
“But now, fair Sister, in my magic car
“Mount, and across the sea-waves fly with me,
“To Naxos, which the Fatal Queens that spin
“The lives of men have chosen for this end.”

Uranian Aphrodite speaking thus,
Raised her light wand, and from a golden cloud
The magic car ran down the slanting winds,
With gradual motion. Shrined within the car,
The Goddess and the godlike woman rose,
With wave of wand, and as the Isle drew near,
Guiding her Birds down purple slopes of air,
The Goddess sought the shore. Wild, shelterless,
Barren, and desolate the island lay.
With moaning sound the waves, sluggish and green,
Plunged over slippery rocks; one here, one there,
Dwarf-featured trees, or images of trees,
Crouched on the shore, wind-pinched and weather-charred,

And ever mid their rattling skeletons
Crept a low wailing wind with human tone,
While over all, and magnifying all,
Rolled seaward, like a sea, a yellow mist.
Thither the fairest of the Olympians came,
And with soft words upon their downward path,
Cheering her coursers with the silver wings
Approached that dreadful shore, and pausing there.
On a grey heap of withered leaves threw out
The exulting traveller of ethereal realms,
Then vanished, while her eyes were dim with fear.
But soon the Princess rose and felt her way
Thro' the thick surges of the yellow mist,
And wept, and prayed, and called aloud for help,
Where help seemed none. Before her was the sea.
The cold unfeeling sea that bore away
Her fair false Theseus with the smiling eyes;
Behind her, death. Now, on a rock she stood,
And clasping both her hands she prayed, yet prayed
As one who feels the Gods thrust back his prayer.
“Hear me, O Zeus! and thou, Uranian Queen!
“Hear me, and give me some pale gleam of hope,
“To silver the dark forest of my life.
“O God! O Goddess! 't is a fearful thing
“Thus to have fallen from my tower of stars,
“Down, down, into the empty darkness down.”

She spoke; but thro' the island hoarsely rang
A peal of mocking laughter, and her words
Caught up, like voices in resounding caves,
Beat wildly back upon her throbbing ears.

Then came the night, and the blind darkness reached
From earth to heaven, and all the lower air
Swarmed with a thousand ghastly lineaments
Of shadowy faces, fading as they grew,
While far off in the mist a wailing cry,
A feeble cry for help, most like her own,
Perplexed her with a thousand changing thoughts
Of crimes unknown, and a dim drowning sense
Of some great loss that yet in shadow lies.
Then silence followed, till, far out at sea,
Amid the moaning waves, a tempest rose,
And marshalled the rude wrestling elements
With shout and call incessant; high o'er all
The echoing thunder rolled, and the rent heaven
Burned with the scarlet flames that scored the clouds.
Along the ground, that where the Princess lay
Fallen before the storm, rocked to and fro
As the wild earthquake passed, dark fiery shapes
Glared, mocking her, and threatening hands were raised,
And rushing wings and falling waves were heard.
Then while the fear grew large about her heart,
She strong thro' humblest patience, wept, and said:
“I am a woman whom false Hope misled,
“Until she heard immortal lips proclaim
“Her entrance to the skies, and dared to lift
“Her impious thoughts up to the lofty stars.
“Henceforth I will be sad as others are,
“And lowly with a human lowliness;
“Delight and love are for the Gods alone,
“And men need nothing but to grieve and die.”

She ended; and a soft and winding stream
Of music flowed among the purple hills,
With echo answering echo, for the calm
Seemed crystal-clear, as in the windless days,
When Autumn dyes the woodlands red and gold,
And men stand mute and count the falling leaves,
And where of late the blindfold darkness crouched,
Imperial day now sent exploring eyes
To scare the yellow mist that seaward rolled,
Touched with bright colours from the emerging sun,
Until, far out upon the level waves,
A rainbow stood, and stately vessels sailed
Beneath its arch, and men with wondering eyes
Praised the glad circle growing on the cloud.

While Ariadne in the brightness stood
Smiling amid her tears, far far away
In the blue hollows of the silent hills
The Echoes caught the sounds of revelry,
And lo! from heights that disappear in clouds,
Stream down the mystic mountain, slope by slope,
The Bacchanals with Bacchus at their head.

Now smiles the sea, and all the island smiles,
Delighted, and sends forth the lovely life
Of her maternal heart in sudden growth
Of rose and lily, while ethereal trees
That light their emerald leaves with scarlet fruits,
Hang o'er pellucid waves or lean athwart
Romantic gorges crammed with purple glooms.

Nor this alone, but Life takes rarer forms,

Shapes ruby-eyed, with blue and emerald wings,
Glitter and flutter round, and gentle beasts,
Black-spotted, silver-striped, or crimson-barred,
Play harmless, or in waves of shadowing grass
Luxurious dive.

But when the noisier pomp
Beneath the hill had plung'd, a maiden band,
Star-crowned, and robed in subtlest gossamer,
As white as is a snowy April cloud
That journeys all the day thro' marble skies,
Stood near the Princess, and in words like song
Murmured one name she knew, and so retired.

Then Ariadne knelt, and where the earth
Breathed from her beating heart the warm delight,
And kindled with a silver-sobbing rain,
That fell invisible, the life of flowers,
She prayed, and all the gods beheld her pray,
And chiefly one that, like the firmament,
Bent o'er her, crowned with a great night of stars,
And robed in shadows that, with wavering lights,
Still mixed and intermixed, as thus he cried:
“O dear to all the gods! thy sceptre claim,
“And over mortals and immortals rule
“By love and beauty, for all gentle things
“Are strongest, and all work in beauty ends,
“All life in love.” He ceased, but as he stood
Fronting the yellow sands, strewn with the snow
Of flying foam, he pointed to the sea.
The Princess looked. An amorous summer wind

Dropped on its breast and whirled the glassy waves
In dimpling eddies round, till, rising slow
Thro' their blue depth, a wondrous shell appeared
Æthereal, ample; whose serene concave
Was coloured like to fading sunset skies.
Within the shell, as in some airy bower
Built by the twilight winds of rosy cloud
On the pale confines of the morn and eve,
Stood, mid the silvery children of the sea,
Uranian Aphrodite. Round her breathed
All dulcet instruments invisible;
Or were they magic birds that filled the air
With liquid sweetness, that but came to sing
This one great sunset down, and never more
Were heard by mortal ear?

So o'er the waves,
Borne in her ocean-throne, was piloted
The eternal Love. But when she touched the shore,
And the white daughters of the wandering foam
Closed round her, as around the moon the stars,
Slow sank the wondrous boat amid the coil
Of waters warbling with a flute-like sound,
Down to the silent cities of the sea.
Then to that mightier splendour, as he stood
By Ariadne, came the Immortal Queen,
Veiled in the glow of her own loveliness.
And thus she cried: “Welcome, fair sister mine!
“For thou art worthy of that gentle name,
“Who, now a queen with me, hast found thy king.

“Ascend thy throne, and, crowned with endless power,
“Shape the fair human race to lovelier life.
“Ay, lead thou man, while stately music calls,
“Down war's red furrows, and with myrtle blend
“The laurel shadowing his victorious brows,
“Till the majestic Peace that poets sing
“Shall come, tho' long delayed, and nobler arts
“Shall lift a goodlier world to purer heights
“Of glory, making pale the heroic deeds
“Of men that stand up, tall and beautiful,
“In the fierce light of swords; in that great day,
“When Power shall champion Right, and man shall dwell
“Harmonious, free, and over all shall shine
“Love, the imperial star that never sets.”
She ended; and the Father of all life
Smote the rejoicing earth, and soon appeared
Millions of radiant creatures, some with wings
Æthereal, rainbow-dyed, which, as they soar'd,
Spread twinkling in the sun, and some that stood
With massive plumes, uplifted as for flight.
Now rose the chariot-throne, slowly upborne
By the ascending winds, and in it rose
The God, who is the life of all that love,
The Goddess, the sole grace of all that love,
The Godlike Woman loving all that love.

Meanwhile, to greet the dazzling host that stream'd
Upward and onwards through the brightening air,
Gold clarions with a long melodious breath,
Sang triumph, and in shadowy outline seen,

Bright heads with garlands look'd thro' glittering clouds,
And calm glad faces, rising endlessly,
Throng'd all the heaven with beauty. Onward still
The lengthening splendour flow'd and reacht the stars,
Upward and onward, till beyond the stars,
The sapphire gates which guard Olympus roll'd
On amethystine hinges, by no hand
Divine or mortal touched, for life and will
Were in them, and they open'd, leading down
Thro' a great brightness to the sacred towers
And golden mansions where the Gods abide,
In joy and glory; nor ambrosia fails,
Nor nectar for the feast, nor for the dance
Fails ever lyre or song, but Muse and Grace
Still mix their lovely shadows as they glide
Mirrored in the still Heaven's transparent floor.

Now fainter shone that far-off company,
Entering thro' sapphire gates, but when the light
Of its long march had faded from the clouds,
The magic portals, closing fold on fold,
Hid Grace and Muse, still eddying in the dance;
Hid God and Goddess, feasting on their thrones;
Hid all the golden bowers of their delight.
Then Darkness fell, but thro' the purple gloom
Shone on the sparkling forehead of the night,
A silver wreath, whose burning letters told
How Ariadne crown'd by deathless hands,
Sate mid the stars, on a celestial throne,
And wore that starry wreath for diadem.

That night on many a wondering eye in Crete
The golden glory shone; and one there was
Who, gazing from a rock that touched the shore,
Beheld and understood and thank'd the Gods—
Phædra, who with slow steps went musing home.

THE LION OF ANDROCLUS.

“There are many well-authenticated narratives of the affection of lions for individuals of the human species, and these might lead us to believe that the story was not altogether a fable which is told by Aulus Gellius, of Androdus (the Androcles of Buffon), a Roman slave, —being known and caressed in the Circus by a lion who was destined to tear him to pieces, but who recollected that the unfortunate man had cured a wound in his leg in his native deserts. That lions subdue their instincts to protect and foster weaker animals, particularly dogs, is well known.”—(From “The Menagerie: Quadrupeds,” vol. i. p.182, 1829.)

The lion's reputation for courage and magnanimity has been called in question; but that he is capable of gratitude, affection, and forbearance is a fact established by competent testimony.

Not man alone is touched with love or ruth,
With regal thought, or stately passion fired,
But the wise Dog with step as true as Truth,
The beauty-loving Peacock self-admired,
The knightly Horse with conscious strength attired;
The Thrush that sings all day for love of Song,
The Mason-Beaver with strange art inspired,
The Righteous Bird that still avenges wrong—

A writer in the Spectator (September 15, 1862) newspaper vouches for the following facts:— “Some years ago, a gentleman on a visit to Nanteos, near Aberystwith, heard a mighty noise on the lawn outside his window. He got up, and looking out, saw several rooks standing in concentric circles round a solitary rook in the centre. They cawed vehemently for a long time, during which the rook environed remained silent. After a while they all rose with one accord, flew upon their arraigned brother, and pecked him to death. Have the rooks a code of justice?”

Goldsmith declares that they have. Thefts, he says, never go unpunished, if perpetrated during nest-building time. “I have seen,” he adds, “eight or ten rooks gather upon such occasions, and, setting upon the new nest of the young couple, all at once tear it in pieces in a moment.” —(See “The Domestic Habits of Birds—Library of Enter- taining Knowledge,” p. 38, 1863.)

To these, to these, as us, both sense and soul belong.

Thus, some for strength, and some for glorious deed,
Some for rare grace, or unimagined skill,
And some for courteous help in sorest need,
Of these, our lowlier mates, are honoured still;
As Una's Lion following her meek will,
Or Hesiod's Dog

The legend is that at Œnoe, a town of Locris, Hesiod, a pilgrim to the Delphic Oracle, was entertained by Ganyctor. His fellow- traveller, a Milesian, and a youth called Troilus, also shared the hospitalities of the Locrian. During the night Ctemene, the daughter of their host, was so treated by one of the guests as to arouse the resentment of her brothers. Their suspicion, however, fell not on theMilesian, the real offender, but on Hesiod: and Ctemenus and Antiphus —for such were their names—murdered the poet in the fields. His body was thrown into the sea, and a dolphin conveyed it to a part of the coast where the festival of Neptune was celebrating. The murderers afterwards confessed, and were drowned in the waves. Plutarch states that the corpse of Hesiod was discovered through the sagacity of his dog.—(See Elton's “Life of Hesiod.” See also Plutarch's “Morals, ” Pausanias, &c.)

that tracked the murder out,
Or in that tragic tale of household ill,
The milk-white Doe, that fearless ranged about,
While o'er pale Rylstone's towers hung nameless fear and doubt.

So in the humbler children of the Earth
A mirror of our nobler selves we see,
From one veiled Silence they like us have birth,
Like us are born of one blind Mystery;
They have the same quick sense and soul as we,
The same great feelings thrill their hearts as ours,
Our friends and co-mates lower in degree,
They watch our hearths, they frolic in our bowers,
Throw grace o'er human grace, lend power to human powers.

O ye that doubt or darken Truth or Love,
O ye that dream Life is but one with Thought,
By generous Lion or sweet-natured Dove,
Or loyal Dog, a higher lore is taught,
Who only think, ne'er live, for life is naught,
If Life from Beauty, Love, or Strength we sever,
Who only love ne'er live, for Life hath wrought
Her dædal web of Love, Thought, high Endeavour—
O blend thought, feeling, doing, blend and part them never.

Man is not man until he love and think,
Man is not man until he think and love,
Man is not man till love, in golden link,
Bind thought with deed, and he his strength approve
In life's stern warfield, not the dreaming grove;
Then thought, love, action, centre and unite,
Then glory rounds his head where'er he move,
The triple crown of his imperial might,
Truth, beauty, noble worth that make his royal right.

—A touching Legend of old days I tell,
Ere the dear Pagan gods were out of date,
Ere Zeus the Thunderer from his empire fell,
Or white-arm'd Here lost celestial state.
Alas! that Gods should be discrowned by Fate!
—But now, our Pallas guards her mystic Trees,
The Muses yet round young Apollo wait,
Still Pan's dread murmur swoons upon the breeze,
And Jove o'er queenly Rome his soaring eagle sees.

The City holds high festival to-day;
The people, senate, emperor, all are met;
The Circus burns with gem and gold array,
Above, close-rank'd, the surging crowd is set;
Below are gather'd, arm'd with spear and net,
They that for Rome's delight to death are come;
Afar strange sounds, heard indistinctly yet,
But heard too well, strike Hope the flatterer dumb,
The lion's hungry voice blends with th'inhuman hum.

But now the strife of man with man is o'er.
Take hence the dead; the unenvied conqueror crown;
For slave with fellow-slave shall fight no more,
Nor peer with peer dispute a vile renown,
But man with beast. Down with the barriers, down!
And let the kingly savage come this way!
Like some dark chief, with terror-striking frown
He comes, he comes, impatient of delay,—
The dreadful lion comes, and darkens all the day.

Pale, but determined, scarce three steps aside,
Stands the proud victim, passionless as trance,
Yet inly weeps, for all his Stoic pride,
As memory throws far back her longing glance,
And where the fleet young steps once led the dance,
Again he sports a child amid the reeds,
Or plucks wild fruit by his loved lake's expanse,
Or listens while across the blowing meads,
A voice comes down the wind which chants his father's deeds.

He knows that voice, which calls as mothers call,
From some dim world to grief-bewilder'd men.
But hark! a roar, that might whole woods appal,
Bursts from the infuriate lord of glade and glen,
And, Androclus awakes to life agen:
Resolved he turns, for it were gain to die,
And nobly heedless how, or where, or when,
Looks calmly down with sad victorious eye:
The man and lion gaze while Rome sits breathless by.

The lordly beast in baffled wonder stands,
Like to a man that seeks some haunting thought,
Some deed that, writ on Time's unresting sands,
Life's winds have rased, scarce knowing what is sought:
So by the sylvan king hath memory wrought;
And with a lion's courtesy and grace,
As one in forest knighthood fairly taught,
With lowly lofty mien, and gentle pace,
He moves, and as he moves recalls a well-loved face.

With the old feeling the old thought comes back,
And the glad lion hails his friend once more:
Love sheathes his talons opening for attack,
Till he that late had slain would now adore.
He knows those hands, and licks them o'er and o'er;
That kind low voice, those gracious eyes he knows;
And feeding on the pleasant thoughts of yore,
He fawns, as once in that old Forest-close,
Such kindness to the man the grateful lion shows.

Nor less the man now hails that sylvan friend,
But with true love his old acquaintance greets:
Strange scenes revive, long wavering branches bend
O'er a dim cave in the wild wood's retreats,
Where all the forest-emperors have their seats,
Where erst one kind good lion gave him rest,
Protected, fed him, brought him dainty meats,
Old times revive: caressing and caress'd,
The lion and the man their mutual joy attest.

But, hark! a voice like ocean murmurs round;
The universal shout of Rome is there,
And all that mighty and tumultuous sound
Flies eddying back upon the ringing air.
Some bless the gods that work this marvel fair.
Some praise the lion. But the people cries,
“Grace, grace for man and beast! Spare, Emperor, spare!”
“Grace, grace for both!” the lord of Rome replies.
“Ho, lictor! call the slave: nor man nor lion dies!”

In that imperial presence bows the slave,
And there is stillness as when men lie dead,
Or as when Death himself near some fresh grave
Passes, and all stand hush'd to hear his tread:
So, with still face, and downward-listening head,
The living city round her sovereign stands.
“Tell, thou,” the world's majestic master said,
“From what far depths of undiscover'd lands,
“What forest shades unknown, or realms of desert sands,

“Thou and thy strange companion here are come,
“And how a man and lion first were friends.
“What dear remember'd ties, what common home,
“What mutual impulses, or kindred ends,
“Could link you in one fate? What genius lends
“A lion such sweet soul, and to a man
“Such tender care, and such high grace extends?”
From side to side the applauding murmur ran;
Then ceased the world's great lord, and thus the slave began:

“My master, in the years dead long ago,
“Held golden realms in Afric, far away,
“But nought of human ruth his heart might know,
“For it was cold as winter frore and gray,
“So I, his slave, was tortured night and day,
“And tears and only sorrow were my food.
“I hoped, but hope will pine for long delay,
“I pray'd, but the deaf gods unpitying stood;
“Desperate, at length I fled to secret rock and wood.

“Over the barren fiery sands I wander'd,
“Mid the blue panic of the changeless sky;
“And, as my starless destiny I ponder'd,
“Careless of life I grew, and wish'd to die,—
“The great, the noble pass, and why not I?
“Then hope revived, that leaves not king nor slave,
“And fairer now it seem'd to fight than fly,
“In that great battle won but by the brave;
“Swift as my thought I rose to seek some sheltering cave.

“Far off, far off, it lay, near flowing waters,
“Veil'd amid grasses sheath'd with spear-like halm,
“Where flowers of gorgeous hue, earth's regal daughters,
“White, scarlet, orange, scent the air with balm,
“Where lithe and arrowy stands the plumèd palm,
“Still in the dread blue glare of blinding noon;
“Here, when night dropp'd her shadow black but calm,
“With weary eyes and heart all out of tune,
“I saw that welcome cave beneath the full-faced moon.

“Scarce had I enter'd, scarce an opening found,
“Where the pale light and vesper wind might pass,
“When, glancing o'er the witch-like landscape round,
“I saw, slow-moving through the blood-dropp'd grass,
“A wounded lion creep. ‘Woe and alas!
“This Death is come for me! ’aghast I cried;
“‘But where yon water drowns the wild morass,
“From all the ills that mortal life betide,
“That refuge will I seek which men and gods provide!’

“But, lo! a wonder! for, with lingering pace,
“The deadly lion comes, subdued and meek,
“And human-like, looks in my human face,
“And seems as he with human voice would speak;
“And then, like some huge wave broken and weak,
“Throws his gaunt length upon the cave's rude floor,
“And as man's aid some wounded child may seek,
“The gentle beast sought mine. ‘The gods restore
“The golden years,’ I cried, ‘and Love is king once more!’

“He raised his suffering foot, he held it near,
“While from the wound the cause of pain I drew;
“And then, as use and converse lessen'd fear,
“And mutual trust 'twixt man and lion grew,
“I pressed the sore, I bathed and cleansed it, too,
“Till pure of gravel and sharp fretting sand;
“Then did the princely Thing his strength renew,
“And, free from pain, in child-like meekness grand,
“He slept, his loving foot still resting in my hand.

“For three long years the lion was my mate,
“The sentinel who watch'd my sleeping hours,
“And in our desert realm and lonely state,
“True brother kings were we, and loving powers;
“And often would I garland him with flowers,
“And stroke his head, and plait his tawny mane;
“And oft would he, mid reeds and sylvan bowers,
“Hunt the swift prey, and to our hermit reign
“With food for his dear mate would still return again.

“And evermore the daintiest share was mine,
“Of all the game the royal hunter took;
“I made the sun my fire, his flame divine
“Stealing Prometheus-like; the crystal brook
“Cool'd my parch'd lips; while still, with earnest look.
“The lion near me crouch'd, or with me fed,
“And in my face, as in an open book,
“Each flitting thought or changing fancy read,
“Or slumber'd by my side, or follow'd where I led.

“Time fled: and in that fair but wild oasis,
“Refuge I found from fortune's cruel blast,
“And ever down the mountain's marble basis
“I saw the shadows, which the palm-trees cast,
“Lengthen or lessen, as the daylight pass'd
“Athwart the peak of the blue burning air,
“But fear and hate of man still held me fast,
“And oft I sigh'd for what I dream'd of fair
“In that sweet world might lie beyond my rocky lair.

“Years pass'd. I wearied of this barren life,
“So void of noble care and tender grace,
“‘And give me back,’ I cried, ‘the unequal strife,
“The agony and tumult of the race;
“Once more I pine to see a human face,
“To hear sweet human speech, as man with men.
“Abroad is gone the lion to the chase,
“And I am free to leave this loathsome den,’
“I said, and to the world, O fool! return'd agen.

“Three days I wander'd o'er the burning sand;
“On the fourth morn I saw the glittering light
“Of arms fall round me, from uplifted hands;
“In vain, in vain I look'd, now left now right,
“Swart-featured men, red-handed from the fight,
“Stood round a chief whom most I knew my foe,—
“One that in earlier years had felt the might
“Which clothes the arm truth weapons for the blow:
“To him this hour atoned for years of guilty woe.

“A slave once more! O, grief and drear disaster!
“Over the sands, and o'er the wild sea-foam,
“This, my chief foe, to an unpitying master,
“Led me in chains, where late my lord had come,
“To the world's mother-city, sceptred Rome.
“What could I do? My strength was to be meek;
“A slave can have nor will, law, friend, nor home:
“I stood before my tyrant bow'd and weak,
“With sorrow-sunken eyes, and hollow hueless cheek.

“‘Master, receive,’ I cried, ‘an humbled slave;
“Each word of thine shall be my oracle,
“And, taught by sorrow to be meek and brave,
“I with a loyal heart will serve thee well,
“So thou forgive me what of old befell.’
“I ceased; but soon a voice, cold, stern, and clear,
“Froze my young hopes like flowers in wintry cell:
“‘Hence, to the lions, hence!’Three slaves stood near;
“They did his wicked will, and therefore am I here.

“The rest the Emperor knows. Thine eyes behold
“The gentle nurture of the royal beast.
“He, too, it seems, the generous and the bold,
“That watch'd my sleep, that spread the desert-feast,
“That had the freedom of the gorgeous East;
“He, too, like me, is captive and a slave.
“Speak, and he, too, like me may be released.
“See, how he gives me back the love I gave;
“See, how the milder gods would grant the boon I crave!”

The tale is told; a glad tumultuous cry
Shows that the people's heart is greatly stirr'd;
And Evoe! Evoe! hurtling rings on high,
And Euge! Euge! echoing round is heard,
With many a crowning and victorious word,
In praise of that strange-storied fugitive.
Well has the gentle slave his prayer preferr'd:
“Live, live!” they cried: “the Emperor life will give!
“O, live, thou, noble slave; thou princely lion, live!”

They live: the lion and the man are free.
Ay, theirs is life and freedom which renews
The light of life, and makes it bliss to be.
Ay, theirs is life whose heaven of changing hues
Sheds love's delicious warmth and hope's sweet dews
Over all hearts save those whom wrong makes mad;
Thus, Androclus his long despair subdues,
Lifts his meek head, nor servile now, nor sad:
For with the light of freedom his calm eyes are glad.

Forth fares he, follow'd by his forest-mate,
For such true-hearted friendship who can sever,
The lion and the man, so link'd by fate,
The imperial will of Rome now links for ever,
And from the lion Androclus parts never;
But still, in silken leash submissive led,
Where through the city flows the golden river,
The lion meekly bows his regal head,
And wears a human look, and walks with princely tread.

And ever, as from house to house they go,
Some welcome gift the wondering inmates bring,
While flower-like round them gentle fancies grow,
And glorify the beggar to a king;
For noble ends from lowliest service spring;
Love with her magic wand turns all to gold,
And shows fair uses in each meanest thing,
And thus the houseless churl elate and bold,
In pride and reverence walk'd in the great days of old.

So with the Lion and the Man it fares,
In Rome's proud ways, ere fall the Olympian powers,
Still for the pilgrim twain some hand prepares,
And through the vernal days and summer hours,
The people strew the knightly beast with flowers,
Yet knightlier through their love and gentleness;
And infant fingers cull from glittering bowers,
The starry blooms that haunt each wild recess,
And clothe him as for sport in this sweet sylvan dress.

And as with calm and stately step they march,
The people watch them with admiring eye,
Through winding street and under sculptured arch,
Half-veil'd in roses, as they linger by,
And ever rings the loud exulting cry:
“Behold the lion! he that in the East
“Did make the man his guest and dear ally;
“Behold the man that heal'd the courteous beast,—
“The noble fellow-slaves whom Rome from death released.

MINUCIUS;

OR, CHRISTIANISMUS ANTH CHRISTUM:

A ROMAN STORY.

The story of Minucius is taken from Livy, book xxii. ; that of Khaled may be read in one of Washington Irving's volumes on the “Successors of Mahomet;” the legend of Manoli was borrowed from a prose version of a Moldo-Wallachian legend, given in a number of the Spectator newspaper for 1856.

I.

“I yield to none, to none,” Minucius cried,
Loading his words with scornful emphasis,
While his large eyes grew larger. “I am brave
“As thou art, Fabius, have a swifter hand
“For splendid act, a nimbler wit than thine;
“And in the nobler uses of the field,
“The blind adventurous risks of royal war,
“First, mid the first, allow no peer in thee,
“Our Romans, for the slow and subtle thought,
“Which, as men fable, pilots Will to power,
“But which, as Fact that slays the Fable, shows,
“With restless argus-eyes sees overmuch,
“And so unsinews action ere it spring;—

“I say our Romans, Fabius, yoked us twain,
“Yoked thee with me in one fair fellowship
“Of dangers and delights that wait on war,
“Co-equal chiefs, to strive with him whose name
“Is as the fear of earthquake or eclipse—
“The climber of the Alps, dread Hannibal.—
“Thou, therefore, Fabius, mate with me in arms,
“Be mate in acts, and bid thy nobler mind
“Burst the weak toils of drowsy Policy,
“Which, ever dreaming of to-morrow's sun,
“Still oversleeps Occasion's golden hour,
“Wherein ripe Victory wins her perfect bloom,
“And lets an alien strip the glittering bough.
“Choose, Fabius, choose. Together shall we go
“To pluck the dropping glory, ere it fall?
“Or shall we, severing counsel, sever deeds,
“And I, I only, shake the mighty tree
“That bears the immortal fruit? Choose, Fabius, choose.”

“What shall we do?” said Fabius, grave and stern:
“Such choice delights me not.” To whom replied
Minucius, frowning: “Day, still heired by day,
“Shall alternate the sovereign rule in arms,
“And centre, now in thee, and now in me,
“The one and indivisible sway of might!”
“That likes me not.” said Fabius. “Fortune still
“Is mistress of the field when rash men lead,
“And for the imperial chieftaincy in war
“Rome gave it thee with me, and me with thee,
“Embodying and not dismembering power.

“Nor do I love this maimed and eyeless sway,
“And days all parcelled out in see-saw wise,
“And the keen light of our concentric thought
“Defeated and struck off from its great aim,
“As sunbeams travelling on a forth-right path,
“By one of the innumerous nameless hands
“Of Darkness, the dull sister of blind Night,
“Are seized and plucked away. I will divide
“The army rather than the army's rule,
“That so, if part must perish, part be saved.
“This is my sentence.”

“Be it also mine,”
Minucius cried. And as they said they did;
With even severance all that mailèd force
Betwixt them sharing, sword, and shaft, and spear,
With all that rode and all that warred on foot,
Whom Rome the imperial sent, link'd with the strength
Of kindred soldier-peoples, and what bore
The antique Latin name which never dies;
This done, Minucius, with uplifted crest
That called the high prophetic Fates his own,
Usurping the veiled triumph, proudly passed
To the near level, followed by his men;
And Fabius stood and watch'd him as he passed.

II.

Twixt the wild motley camp of Hannibal,
And where Minucius with his legions lay,

Domed a fair crest, a crowning eminence,
Whereof who made himself the happy lord
Might stand in calm security of place;
And ever as the hovering victory paused
Grasp her strong eagle-wing; but shadowing death,
It frowned for those pale men that warred below.
Here, tho' no sylvan undergrowth appear'd,
With drapery of green leaves, and clasping thorns,
To clothe the interspace, yet in and out,
Dim-sheltering caves spotted the broken ground,
And in the caves were housed five thousand knights,
Both man and steed, with flower of infantry,
Swathed in the kindly gloom, nor, any where,
Could gleam of armour or the wavering light
Of casque, that twinkled if a head but moved,
Alarm Suspicion with her million eyes;
For ere the bright forefinger of the Day
Had half undrawn the curtain of the dark,
And let the young light in, came desperate men,
Fresh from the motley host of Hannibal,
To climb that crowning height, and climbing it,
Focus all vision there. But as they came
The Romans saw, and laughed, and laughing, said:
“Mere sport it were, sullying our brighter fame
“To match our swords with swords of men like these—
“A nameless crew—and, from their coward fears,
“Extort what worth should win.” And as they mocked,
The blaring trumpet rang thro' all the field,
With scornful fiery snarl of silver sound,
The while Minucius with his braggart band

Called out “To arms! to arms!” and jeered and sneered,
Flaunting his peacock fancies as he called.
“Now go,” he says, “the lightest of my troops,
“But not too many.” And the Light-armed went
And fought, and did their best, but fled amain.
“Now go,” he cries, “but go in serried line,
“My noble knights.” And all his noble knights
Went, as he bade, and fought and fled amain.
Then called Minucius his whole strength of war—
Part mounted, part unmounted—to the field.
And Hannibal beheld, and fed the fight
With goodly horse, or flower of valiant men
That fought on foot; and the hot battle grew.
Band mixed with band, and man with man they fought,
Till the field rang with clang and clash of arms,
And crash of shivering sword and splintering spear,
And the long scream of horses mad with pain,
And moan of men despairing; and all life
Went drowning down in that wild sea which Death
O'erhangs—the spectral Shape that feeds on men.

So fought the Romans or, alas! so fled
Un-Romanlike those Romans. But on fire
For that fair fame which diademed their Past,
Unbroken stood a flower of nobler men,
Fighting as heroes fight; and had the hour
Equalled desert, had matched their old renown.
But suddenly, from cave and hollow rock,
The secret soldier, with insulting cry,
Leapt out—one here, one there, and thro' the field

Tumult and terror bore, till hope's pale star,
Alike for victory or for flight, had set.
So, mid the hollow rocks, Minucius fought.

III.

But Fabius, hearing all the cry of pain
That echoed down the field, and far away,
Seeing the wandering, wavering, flying fight,
Exclaimed, “Ah, me! not sooner than I feared,
“Mischance hath caught the rash ones. Equalled now
“With Fabius in command, Minucius knows
“Too late Sidonian Hannibal his lord
“In valour as in fortune. But rebuke
“Befits not men whom nobler work awaits.
“On, Standards, on!—beyond the ramparts on!
“To snatch the new-fledged triumph from the foe,
“And win confession of a perilous fault
“From our dear countrymen. On, Standards, on!”
So while they stood, these poor defeated men,
Some looking on the fight, some on the slain,
Came Fabius with his band, and curbing still
His happier Following that, with fiery heart,
Mixed in the strife, and gathering back from flight—
One here, one there—the broken soldiery,
He, with the unconquered blent the conquered half,
Till, one exulting, one victorious whole,
It fronted the Phœnician. That great Chief,
Seeing the game of kings thus lost and won,

Bade sound retreat, and, as the tuneful brass
Rang down the Vale of Death, cried out aloud,
“I am the conqueror of Minucius, I!
“But Fabius is the man who conquered me.”

IV.

So Fortune veered that day, till o'er the hills
Slipped the long shadows as the sun went down.
Then to the camp Minucius with his men
Paced sadly, silently; there, clothed with shame,
—And nobler for that shame—he stood and cried:
“The foremost man, and chief of all the world,
“O soldiers and O Romans, mates in arms!
“Is he whose wisdom for his country's weal
“Bears mellow fruit; and he the next in rank,
“That with obedience crowns the royal word
“That ripens victory, and who cannot bring
“Wisdom to counsel Power, nor yet obey
“Grey-haired Authority—stands last of all.
“Too late I see the swift prophetic mind
“That can outrun the winds of common thought,
“And the oracular judgment are not ours.
“So learn we best self-knowledge, so begin
“The lesson with a blind submissiveness,
“Content to follow, as the night the day,
“The slave his lord, through all the clanging fight,
“Our happier masters. Here our wisdom lies,
“And our true valour; for when men do wrong

“It is not manly to persist in wrong,
“But mend that wrong with right. If thus ye think,
“O co-mates in one common guilt with me,
“And co-mates in one common penitence,
“Wed the good thought to action, bearing back
“Your eagles, all dishonoured to the Tent,
“Where Fabius with fresh glory keeps his own.
“There will we pause; and, making hush'd approach
“To him that conquered Hannibal, nor less
“Hath conquered us, in that blind strife for rule,
“Will I look up into his gracious face,
“And call him Father: for what meaner name
“Befits the majesty that haloes him?
“Befits his love and all his gentle worth,
“And that illustrious service in the field?
“And you, O soldiers, you, saluting low
“Those famous victors, whose thrice-welcome arms,
“Protected, saved you, call them Patrons. Thus,
“If ampler breadth of glory be not ours,
“The tender grateful heart, that best commends
“The heroic deed, its lowlier praise shall win.
“Blow trumpets, blow!” The loud melodious call
Rang thro' the camp, and soon in stately march,
Minucius and his followers, rank by rank,
Moved to the Fabian tent; and as they passed,
All eyes that watched grew dim with generous tears,
Beholding nobler heights of conquest there,
Than all their swords could reach. Before the rest,
Minucius stepped, and pausing reverently,
Where mid his happier warriors Fabius sate,

He called him Father, and, saluting low,
His soldiers called them Patrons, and he said:
“Fabius, to thee I give the crowning name
“Men give to parents, likening thee to them,
“Tho' greater service asks a greater name,
“For they but gave me life, one single life,
“But thou the lives of all these many men.
“I therefore cancel that fond Roman law
“Which gave co-equal rule, and bend my will
“To thine, O Father, bringing back with me
“My legions and their eagles, the Preserved
“To the Preserver. Be it well for us,
“O Fabius! O my Father, be it well
“For thee and me, and be it well for all,
“And as we stand, clothing our looks with shame,
“Grace us with smiles, as parents grace their sons,
“And bid thy suppliants, now thy soldiers, march
“With joyful step in the old ranks of war.”

Then Pride knelt down to Love, and hands were clasp'd,
Old friends old friends encounter'd, or with new
New friends made friendly league for evermore.

Thus the black winds of passion, that at morn
Clouded the soul's pure sunlight, changed and passed
Into the stainless calm of summer thought,
To match the still fair Hour that slept without
In sunset's cradling arms; and all because
A human-hearted man, who loved his will,
Saw something greater yet than the blind sway
Of absolute will, and, stooping all his pride
In shame and grief, which carry stateliest proof

Of our self-reverence, to his nobler peer
Nobly surrendering, knelt, throwing a grace
Of princely words on this fine courtesy,
And calling him Preserver, Father, Friend,
So equalled with him in that high renown
Which guerdons manhood, or for splendid deed.
That walks in the broad light of crowding noon.
Or common pieties that love the shade,
And with the violets hide.

Thus in old days.
Humanity trod softly, speaking low,
Among the trumpets, for the ancient world
Stept best to martial music; yet at times,
In the rank bloom of mail'd and sceptred wrong,
Ere grief and shame took glory from the smiles
Of that still-dying One, who does not die,
Soft melodies were heard, and lowliest doubt
And sorrow sweet as love, rebuking pride,
Ere Christ came down made many a Christian man.

KHALED: OR, MOSLEM CHIVALRY.

I.

Omar sits on Abu's mystic throne,
Omar, lord of all that moving war,
That resplendent wandering soldier-race,
Dark and coloured by the fiery sun,
Which the wild Arabian prophet led.
Lord of all the thousand sheathless swords,—
Swords of sorrow, that were swords of love,
Swords that taught the nations faith in God,
Swords that made a people, gave it law,
Gave it knowledge, manners, noble arts,
Drew it from the dens of endless fire,
Brought it to the gates of Paradise.
To the eternal light of emerald bowers—
So the wild Arabian prophet dream'd.

There was battle in the Syrian land,
Mailèd men met mailèd men in fight,
Angry lightning leapt from swarthy eyes,

Hand and foot were washed with kindred blood,
And the impious rain made red the grass.

Khaled was the first of heroes then;
Like a restless warhorse breathing fire
When the battle-trumpets call to die;
Like the thirsty arrow, when it springs,
Mad for blood, from off the sounding bow;
So was Khaled, first of heroes then.
Him had Bozra, from her throne of towers,
Seen the waster of her happy fields,
Seen the victor of her stately halls;
Him Damascus, old and beautiful,
Lovely river-child of ancient days,
Throned, where Pharphar and Amana flow,
Had beheld, and shudder'd to behold,
Wasting all her odorous cedar-glades,
Wasting all her golden orange-bowers,
Sullying all her pleasant garden-groves,
Where a twilight radiance, silver-red—
Silver-red from rose and lily falls-
Falls, ah me! it fell, but falls no more!
Lord was Khaled of the Syrian host,
Crown'd with all sweet praises in the tent,
Crown'd, where Shepherds sing, with all sweet praise.

So it fell while noble Abu liv'd;
But when Omar sate on Abu's throne,
Strange, unwelcome were the words that came
To the soldiers loving Khaled well,
Words that made “Obeidah, gentle, true,
“Leader in the snowy-tented field,

“Leader in the crimson halls of strife.”
Hast thou heard a sudden-blowing wind,
That athwart some lonely forest-land,
Comes and goes, and ever goes again,
Herald of a storm? Then hast thou heard
All the hollow moan that rose and fell,
All the innumerous murmur eddying round—
Murmur of those children of the sun.
“What,” they muttered,—“what,” more loudly cried,
“Check the lord of victory in the field?
“Check the steed that rises to the spring?
“Check the eagle that beholds the sun?
“Is not Khaled as the Sword of God?
“Who shall sheathe the sword which God has drawn?”
Then Obeidah paus'd, and true as brave,
—True as brave, and proud, but meek in pride—
Turned to Khaled all his loyal heart,
Followed Khaled with a loyal eye,
Strong to do, and stronger to obey.

But the busy Hours that bring the Dawn,
And the drowsy Hours that call the Night,
Bear the unwelcome message once again:
“Omar bids Obeidah lead the host—
“Lord of prudence as of courage he,
“Knowing how to spare heroic blood,
“Hoarding all the lives of valiant men.”
Mid the storm of voices billowing round,
Mid the sound of that tumultuous sea,
Humble, calm, majestic Khaled stood,
Clothing kingly thoughts in simple words.

“Glad had Khaled been of Omar's love,
“Griev'd is Khaled Omar loves him not;
“But since Omar sits on Abu's throne,
“Khaled hears, and Khaled will obey.”
Thus he spake, nor left the camp that night,
Thus he spake, nor left the camp at dawn,
But with noble sweetness tarried there,
Great in love and in humility.

II.

“Who,” Obeidah asked, “will go for me—
“Who will go for me to Abyla?
“Gold and jewels, silks and shining robes,
“At the Fair of Easter may be won
“By the man that rides to Abyla.
“'Tis a goodly guerdon. Who will go?”
Thus Obeidah questioned all his chiefs,
And he glanced aside where Khaled stood.
Khaled heard, but Khaled answered not;
Then said young Abdallah, “I will go.”

Slowly from the city rode the chief,
Slowly thence five hundred warriors rode,
Battle-scar'd and bronz'd by wind and sun;
Slowly from the city rode the Chief,
And his banners to the wooing breeze,
Streamed like some bright meteor, as he past,
Or the folds of some resplendent cloud.

While the Night, beloved of God and man,

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Mixt her purple shadow with the stars,
Slept the host encamp'd at Abyla,
But when Night with all her stars was gone,
And young day unclosed her azure eyes,
Tender eyes of trembling dewy light,
Calling all his men, Abdallah spake,
Spake great words which father greater deeds;
Told them what the Prophet, dear to God,
On the mystic leaf had writ of old;
Told them that the Gates of Paradise
Touch the Shadow of o'erhanging swords;
Told them:“If the angel, lord of war,
“Crown us, treading war's red-furrowed field,
“Praise of noble men and glorious spoil,
“Gold and gem and broidery shall be ours;
“But if, wrestling in the iron ring,
“Playmates in the game which heroes love,
“Face to face and knee to knee we fall,
“Fairer, sweeter life awaits us yet;
“Re-embodied then each soul shall dwell
“In a dainty bird, whose emerald plumes
“Bear him to some loving rose-hued breast,
“There to sleep and sing in warm delight;
“Or to fly and shine a colour'd star,
“Twinkling in a new celestial sky;
“Or a leaf among the gleaming leaves,
“Dance in depth of green delicious shade,
“Where the Tree of Life its shadow throws,
“Bud or bough or fruit in foliage veil'd,
“Mirror'd in the untrembling liquid glass

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“Of the odorous river, flowing still,
“Flowing ever from the mystic throne;
“Or beside its radiant odorous wave,
“On the soft pomegranate's crimson heart,
“Or the golden apple's mellow core,
“Feast and sing, and quaff the fragrant dew,
“Quaff the river from the mystic throne.”
Thus he spake, but scarce had ceased to speak
When, like winds which beat on some lone tower,
Or like lions bounding on their prey,
Down the ghastly ways of five-fold death,
Rush'd five desperate bands of mailèd men,
Where, with all their gorgeous merchandise,
Gold and gem, and silk and broider'd web,
And yet costlier jewels, wife and child,
Marched the joyous, careless company,
Singing to their camels as they went,
To the Eastern Fair at Abyla.
Clouds dissolv'd before their battle-yell,
And thick cries of “Allah” shook the air,
Lovely women, lovelier in their woe,
Dearer for their danger, fainting fell
Near the prancing warsteeds, red with blood.
Tender children, beauteous girl and boy—
This a summer rose-bud soon to blow,
That a stately palm in coming days,
Coming days that yet shall never come—
Marr'd with dust and blood their raven locks,
Marr'd with blood and dust their graceful limbs,
Marr'd with wicked red their lustrous eyes.

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Hither haled, and thither thro' the field,
See the chain of battle swings and sways!
Serried arm to arm and knee to knee,
Man in man, like link in link entwin'd,
Swaying here and swinging there it bends,
Here a link and there a link is loosed,
Till the chain, dissolving, melts away.

Yet, O yet, amid the gleam of swords,
Lightening from the innumerable foe,
Fights unyielding young Abdallah's band,
Dwindling, dwindling, till it mock the star
Snow-white on some sable camel's back.

All is over; from the tents of Death,
Fatal herald of unwelcome doom,
Lo! a Moslem horseman rides amain,
Rides amain to bear the doleful tale
To the distant warchief's troubled ear.
Then Obeidah, whom a lofty hope,
Lofty hope in human worth inspired,
Turned to Khaled, whispering eager words:
“Khaled, in the Prophet's sacred name,
“Khaled, in the name of Allah, go,
“Fail us not, but save the lives we love.”
Thus he pray'd, and, lowly, fronting him,
Khaled answered, with a princely grace:
“Did a child command in Omar's name,
“Meekly would I listen to his words,
“But when thou, O worthier far than I,
“Thou, mine elder in the glorious faith,

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“When thou speakest, shall I not obey?”
So with noble sweetness Khaled heard,
And with noble sweetness so replied.
Then he cloth'd him with a coat of mail,
Won from that false Prophet whom he slew,
Donn'd a helmet, donned the mystic cap,
Which the mighty Mahomet had worn.
Thus attired he crossed his milk-white steed,
Called his troops, and rode to Abyla,
And his floating Eagles, black as death,
Followed as he rode to Abyla.
There the young Abdallah's soldier-band,
Dying, dead, but deathless tho' in death—
For their name, their praise, shall never die—
Dropp'd like trees which busy woodmen fell,
All a summer's day with ringing axe,
Palm or cedar, deep in forest-shade,
Till the sun that on the battle rose,
Calmly, calmly on the battle set.

Ah! what cloud, slow-moving, comes this way?
Ah! what horsemen from the cloud emerge?
Are they friends that come, or are they foes?
So they questioned, while Abdallah's band,
Snow-white star on sable camel's back,
Still fought on, and dwindled as it fought;
So they questioned and made answer thus:
“Hark! with Khaled's name the air is loud.
“Khaled's eagle blackens in the sun,
“Khaled plunges in the waves of fight.”

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Yes! 'tis Khaled, Khaled come to save,
Khaled's horsemen are the moving cloud,
Khaled, Sword of God, is in the field.
Rallying, grappling, yell and shout are there,
There are havoc, flight and hot pursuit,
And the victory sits on Khaled's brow.

Then, when all the grief and dread were past,
All rare spoils the good Obeidah sent,
Silver, gold and gem and broidered robe,
To the calm, wise, Omar, and he praised
Khaled's loyal heart and gentle worth,
And his goodly service in the field,
Praying Omar of his grace to write,
Record brief of princely courtesy,
Thanking Khaled for his noble deed.
Omar wrote and wrote of common things,
Wrote of common men the common names,
But the name of Khaled wrote he not.
Still above the lordly Syrian hills,
Winter dropped his wreaths of shining snow.
Still among the hills of Lebanon,
Hollow, odorous hills of Lebanon,
Summer walked with roses garlanded.
Still, O still, the radiant orb of Heaven,
Golden measurer of months and days,
Indexed the irrevocable hours.
But in vain did season season crown,
Never word of greeting, look of grace,
Such as noble kings give noble men,
Omar gave to Khaled, never blest

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Khaled's deed with one delightful smile.
So unloved, unheeded, unapprov'd,
Yet too great to balance wrong with wrong,
Khaled tarried still in Omar's camp—
Tarried until Death, that rights us all,
Bringing loving thoughts to loveless hearts,
Lighting the dead Hours with sunset hues,
Told the truth to Omar kneeling low,—
Where the dust that once was Khaled lay,
Careless now alike of smiles or frowns,—
Told how Khaled, tarrying in the camp,
With a princely patience, bowed his will;
Serving meaner men, his lords in war,
Serving meaner men, his lords in peace,
Nobler than the noblest in the camp,
Great in love and in humility.

Moseilma.

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MANOLI.

A MOLDAVIAN LEGEND.

All day they built, and wall and tower stood crown'd
Among the sunbeams. Here some column grew
To perfect shape, here some thin minaret
Soared to the clouds; here dome or massy roof
Swelled to completion, or ethereal arch
Up like a rainbow sprang, till all the work
Looked glorious, and the angels called it good.

Strong limb, fine hand, true eye, and subtle brain
Had toiled, thro' glowing days and balmy nights,
For nine long years, at their imperial task;
And now the work its crowning finish took,
The workmen smiled, then whispered to their hearts
Soft flattering words, and paused amid their toil,
Like men who feel that they have greatly done.

So pausing, under the large star of day,
For they all night, and till the dawn had wrought,
What saw they, or what felt they, that they looked

107

Helpless, bewildered, like to men that wake,
Dashed out of sleep by some mysterious woe!
Was it a dream, or did their labour fade
Dreamlike away? did stone from stone withdraw,
And all that mighty fabric which o'erhung
The day and night, like some frail vision pass?
They looked, they touched, they moved, they called aloud.
It was no dream-no dream: the solid walls
Were vanished, and their nine years' labour lost.

With the new day did they their task renew,
For noble hearts should fight for evermore,
And conquer fate; and lo! the hands that shape
The temples of their gods, and down all time
Transmit the perfect beauty they create,
Are pliant, strong, fine-fingered, ample-palmed,
Instinct with hope and courage as with art.

So thrice three days the master-masons wrought,
And thrice three nights the uncreating Powers,
That love not Order, which makes strong the world,
Nor Beauty, that gives gladness to all life,
Undid what they had done. The angels looked
Forth from their silver bowers at morn or eve,
And wept, and broke their harpstrings, but no strength
Was in their hands, for evil is of God,

“I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.”—Isaiah xiv.7.

Who makes a nobler good grow out of ill,
From old disorder calls new order up,

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And crowns the sons of Chaos, bearing palms.

So thrice three days they toiled, but when the night,
Following the tenth fair day, with opiate wand
Closed the tired eyes of men, Manoli slept,
And a dream came, and with the dream a voice:
“Cease! cease! Manoli! so the vision said,
“Cease: for your solid-seeming walls and towers
“Shall fade, and fade, until the victim come
“Whom the dark lords demand. Swear, therefore, swear,
“Swear one and all; and secret be the oath.
“Swear that the first sweet woman, whom ye see,
“The first sweet woman that with morning comes,
“To cheer and serve you, be it wife or maid,
“Sister or daughter, ere her tender life
“Have opened all its blossoms to the sun,
“Shall perish; housed with death ere yet she die.”

Manoli heard and took the deadly oath
Scarce knowing what he did. So much the hearts
Of men who live for some o'ermastering thought,
That shapes or seems to shape the world anew,
Forget the world that is: still loving more
The far-off image of a faultless life,
Some fair ideal-world without a tear,
Than common men with common griefs and joys.

Till sunrise slept Manoli; with the sun
He rose, and, wind-like, clomb the neighbouring height,
And with great eyes, far travelling o'er the fields,

109

Far o'er the fields and o'er the level road,
Looked left, then right, then left, then right again.
O fear! O sorrow! whom does he behold?
Whom sees he coming? Through the dewy fields,
Amid the lily flowers—a lily too—
She comes; he sees her; he beholds her come,
His darling of one summer, his sweet wife!
Manoli clasped his hands, he looked to heaven,
As men do ever when sharp peril calls.
He prayed. What can men do when they are weak,
And God alone in all the world is strong—
What can men do but pray? “O God,” he cried,
“Send Thou the foaming rain-flood, let it scoop
“The earth away, and ye, O rivers! flow,
“And hurl the boiling wave o'er thundering rocks,
“To stay my darling, my beloved, my wife!”

And the Lord heard him, and the rain-floods walked
Broad-trampling over earth, and rivers rose,
And smoking waves fell thundering o'er the rocks,
But she went onward—nearer to her fate!
Manoli knelt, and clasped his hands again;
“O God!” he cried, “send Thou a conquering wind,
“Whose passionate breath shall root up pine and oak.
“O wind! heap rock on rock, and hill on hill,
“To stay my friend, my darling, my sweet wife!”
God heard, and pitied, and the obedient wind
Came down, and with its wild and panting breath
Uprooted pine and oak, heaped rock on rock.
Piled hill on hill, to stay Manoli's wife!

110

But in long mazes, round and round she went,
Still onward, onward, nearer to her fate.

Meanwhile the master-masons saw her come,—
The lords of art that, throned above all life,
Make thought and fancy blossom out of stone,
And live for them—them only. Far away
They saw her come, and as a sudden breeze
Creeps o'er still waters, shivering as it creeps,
So ran the sharp delight thro' every soul;
For hope rose glittering like some pilot star,
And the large lust of beauty that demands
All sacrifice of child,or wife, or self,

“The affections, even in the affectionate, are powerless against the tyranny of ideas.”—(Lewes' “Life of Goethe,”vol.i.p.146.)

Looked now for ripe fulfilment. So they stood,
With open, breathless lips, and lifted hands,
And full-orbed eyes, quivering with eager joy,
Expectant, silent. But Manoli came,
And raised his wife and bore her in his arms,
And said-as any child in sport might say:

Rest, O my noble love, rest, rest, awhile!
“Rest, royal heart, until we raise thee here
“A dainty pleasure-hall; where marble blooms
“Into all fairy shapes of lily and rose.
“Far from rude sights and sounds here rest, love, rest
“And sleep as men who sleep in Paradise!”
Then, as she stood, the marble tower grew up,
With bloom of rose and lily. Swift and calm,
As men that mean to do a dreadful deed,
The master-masons built, and with them built

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Manoli; and the walls rose high and higher,
From dainty ankle up to dainty knee—
Till all that childlike pleasure left her face,
And, “Ah,” she cried, “enough, enough, my love!
“Enough! Manoli, master, stop the work—
“Stop it; your sport grows deadly. Hear my cry!
“Oh! hear your little one—your pet—your wife!
“By that first kiss you gave me when we sate
“Among the violets by the mossy tree,
“And by the timid kiss that answered yours,
“Hear, hear, Manoli—husband—master—hear!”

Manoli heard. But they went building on,
And the wall rose, from ankle fair, to knee
Yet fairer; and from knee to fairest waist,
Up to her roseate breast—love's proper home.
Then fear came o'er her, and she cried again:
“Manoli! O Manoli—husband—friend!
“Enough, enough! Cease, cease, your building, love!—
“You frighten me, more timid now than wont,
“Oh! think of the sweet babe that shall be born—
“My child and thine! Oh! think of his meek smile,
“And of his twining fingers catching yours,
“His father—O my lord! Manoli! cease,
“Cease ere you kill the child; the walls close round
“My little one, thy child, thy child and mine!”

He heard her, but he still went building on,
And the wall rose from ankle fair to knee
Yet fairer, from fair knee to fairest waist,

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From fairest waist to breast all violet-veined,
Love's proper home, till o'er her pleading eyes,
And lovely, lifted hands, the marble bower
Rose, covering all her beauty from the day,
While thus her loving voice came mixed with tears,—
“Now, now the walls close round. I die, I die.
“My lord, farewell! I kiss thee ere I die;
“Forgive me if with deed, or thought of mine,
“Not knowing it, I have offended thee.
“Manoli! master! now the darkness comes,
“I feel for thy dear hand amid the gloom,
“My lord, my love, my master, give it me,
“Oh! give it me, Manoli, ere I die,
“Oh! give it, give it!” Thus she wailed and prayed,
Till all that love and sorrow from the world
Had passed for ever, and amid the fear
And gloom of the great shadow men call Death,
She slept as those who sleep in Paradise.

But they went building on, and stone on stone
Was reared, and the great fabric touched the sky,
As days clasped hand with days. Supreme it stood,
Majestic, massive, silent, beautiful!
And men came there, and wondered while they gazed,
And thronged around the masters, as they told
Of the true, noble life that passed away,
To round their labour to full-sphered success:—
For always the great conquest of the world
Is won with blood. 'T was so in elder years,
The splendid yesterdays our fathers knew:

113

'T is so in these pale faded years of ours;
And when these busy hands and brains are still,
And mightier builders work with lordlier aims,
The same old doom will reign, and men will die,
To crown their age with beauty, and to bring
Imperial days while they go building on.

114

THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCE ARETHUSE.

I was a Prince. My beauty proud,
Half sunlight was, and half was cloud;
Gold tresses round me shivering fell,
And thro' my locks of flowing gold,
Orbs of dark light and depth untold,
Looked out, large, eloquent, and bold,
O, I was fair as dreams can tell

All natural grace, all art was mine,
I mov'd as one in worlds divine;
All soul was I and subtler sense,
The impulses of wave and wood,
Of whispering wind and rolling flood,
Of sun or planet thrilled my blood
With glorious passion, life intense.

115

My palace-halls were fields and bowers,
My courtiers rainbows, clouds, and flowers;
Yea, all glad things that love the day.
In ignorant bliss, with maiden heart,
Throned in green realms, I dwelt apart;
The world with all its magic art,
The grand fair world smiled far away.

Yet youth will dream, and Hope has spells,
To lure ev'n Hermits from their cells,
And Fancy hangs her bow in air.
The birds sang out from tower and tree,
The knightly deer were bounding free,

“Bucks, swans, and herons have something in their very appearance announcing them of knightly appurtenance. . . In a buck there is something so gainly and so grand—he treadeth the earth with such ease and such agility; he abstaineth from all other animals with such puntilious avoidance—one would imagine God created him when he created knighthood.”—(See W. S. Landor's “Examination of William Shakspeare.”)

The heaven, like love, bent over me,
And the fair world grew yet more fair.

Joy lent me wings, and, broad and blue,
The sky laughed round me, as I flew,
From north to south, from east to west;
The silvery clouds across it sail'd,
And if the loitering breeze prevail'd,
Like ships they moved, and when it fail'd,
Stately they paus'd, like ships at rest.

I crossed the valley, leapt the Brook,
That laughed, as Naiad-like, she shook
Her liquid diamonds down the dell;
The chestnut boughs stretched left and right,
And wandering where a golden light
Checquer'd the forest's emerald night,
I came, ah! where? what tongue shall tell?

116

There, whispering to the wind's low call,
Three poplars near the vine-clad wall,
Above their lengthening shadows slept.
Long, long I gazed; the wall was high,
But goat will climb and hawk will fly,
What bird, what beast more bold than I?
I climbed, I stood, I looked, I leapt.

Then balancing 'twixt joy and fear,
As one that feels his doom is near,
I lingered in enchanted bowers,
Shrined in green splendour, golden gloom,
Treading where rose and violet bloom,
Breathing not air but wild perfume,
And watched by mystic viewless Powers.

At length in gorgeous cell I stood,
Some spirit's home in haunted wood,
Where marble shapes rose snowy-fair,
Laughing with flowers of rainbow dyes,
Blushing with wine that Gods might prize,
Murmuring with faint melodious sighs,
When harpstrings caught the swooning air.

While thus I stood, half hope, half fear,
Some gracious Thing seemed breathing near,
Some secret presence of the May.
On broidered couch, where light and gloom
Mixed with the odour and the bloom,
Calm slept the lady of my doom,
Serene and splendid as the Day.

117

Her beauty fell on me like gleams
Of purple light, when from their dreams
The Morning wakens earth and skies.
Her long long tresses lay unbound,
Braided her dazzling arms around,
Or flowing blackly to the ground,
Or waving if a breeze might rise.

How fair she lay, in queenly rest,
One arm half-folded on her breast,
And one half-pillowing her meek head:
But fairer sight it was, to see
How, while she slept, one soft white knee,
From envious, prisoning, robe set free,
Lay, pure as snow, on damask red.

I gazed, I saw, I felt all this,
O dainty limb for love to kiss!
The Gentle Heart allowed it not.
I stood all trembling by her side,
I could not hurt the maiden pride
Of one whom sleep half deified,
And turned to quit the hallowed spot.

Just then the trill of some glad bird
Broke her light sleep; she sighed, she stirr'd,
The vision faded from her eyes;
And rising from her happy dream
She saw me, but no smothered scream
Told that she fear'd, for calm, supreme,
She stood all breathing of the skies.

118

“What right hast thou, ungracious man,
“To enter here?” the Sprite began,
O! Woman rather call her name:
I answer'd, “O'er the garden-wall
“Lightly I leapt at Fancy's call,
“No right had I, no right at all,
“Forgive me if I am to blame.

“No purpose had I to molest
“The Queen of Faerie in her rest,
“Or mar the sleep of such a Muse.
“A wanderer am I, somewhat wild;
“I love adventures”—here she smil'd—
“Am half a poet, half a child,
“And I am named Prince Arethuse.”

“If you seek Faeries here,” she said,
“The quest is idle, Faeries fled
“Or died when English Shakspeare died,
“And for adventures there are none,
“At least on this side of the Sun,
“And poets have more mishief done
“To life, than all the world beside.

So Goethe—

“Denn besonders die Poeten
Die verderben die Natur.”

“But since the minstrel's rank you claim,
“And urge your right to poet's name,
“Step boldly in my faery ring;
“No witch is here with spell or charm,
“No evil eye to work you harm,
“Then sing, Sir Bard, without alarm,
“And I will pardon what you sing.”

119

I laughed; the chords preluding rang,
I sang, scarce knowing what I sang,
But some wild lay of Lok or Thor;
Her race, like mine, was brave and good.
Italian half, half Northern blood,
And feeling I was understood,
I sang of love and death and war.

Nor rest, my Harp! Nor pause, my Tale!
Small need have I to weep or wail,
Not always Sorrow comes with Love,
For that large Star that crowns the sky
Which men call Life, now shone on high,
The first to rise, the last to die,
The holiest, happiest light above.

No cloud disturbed the azure calm,
The days flew by me, dropping balm,
O days so sweet, so brief, so long!
And one, the sweetest day of all,
The enchantress Memory would recall,
Now when grey shadows round me fall,
And I no more am young or strong.

I sat with her at sunset hour,
I sang to her in sunset bower,
I praised her beauty and her grace,
The wavering light of her long hair,
Her eyes, which like dark violets were;
I sang how sunshine seemed more fair,
Reflected from her glorious face.

120

And now, when voice and string were mute,
She brought me flowers, she brought me fruit,
She poured me wine, she held the glass,
Her witching air, her elfin smile,
Grace linked in grace and wile in wile,
Her kind frank look might well beguile,
A spirit of more stoic class.

I took her gift, I clasped her hand,
I let the cup untasted stand,
For I had drunk of nobler wine,
I drew her to my beating breast,
I soothed her blushing fears to rest,
Sighed, Love be mine! O dreamer blest,
What echo answer'd, Love be mine?

O glorious Sound! O happy Hour!
O rose, O lily, O rare flower,
Breathing and brightening in my arms,
Rising and falling, as she lay,
With musical soft beats, and play
Of colour flushing on the day,
Thrilled with sweet pleasures, sweet alarms.

'T is over now! I am alone!
The golden locks are silver grown,
'T is over, yet I am not sad;
I live with memories, sweet as Spring,
With happy Hopes that bird-like sing
In realms of which Delight is king;
I still am young, I still am glad.

121

I praise the Life in which we live,
For what it gave and yet may give;
In losses still I find great gains;
I wake each day, as one new-born,
Too fair my Past, to feel forlorn;
I hail the World's resplendent Morn,
Earth's nobler pleasures, statelier pains.

O Man! O Prince that, fair and proud,
Art sunlight half, and half art cloud,
The darling of each Grace and Muse,
Dwell thou with Beauty, day and night,
In gladness which hath endless might,
A sceptred king, assert thy right,
And wear thy crown like Arethuse.

122

A CHILD'S ROMANCE.

TALES AND GOLDEN HISTORIES
OF HEAVEN AND ITS MYSTERIES.—
Keats.

I. Part I. MAID MARIAN.

Henceforth let me be named Maid Marian.—Old Play.

I

Crown'd with two grey ethereal towers,
That flamelike rise near sapphire seas,
Sleeps, cradled low in glimmering bowers,
The lordly mansion of the Leighs.
Here, flowerlike mid a thousand flowers,
Life opened to the sun and breeze,
And here, in mingling light and shade
Of old enchanted realms, a wondering child, I play'd.

123

II

Here once, on slopes of sunny lawn,
I heard the thronèd angels sing,
Or danc'd before the golden dawn,
That heralded the rainbow Spring;
Here once I mocked the piping Faun,
Or, faylike, trod the fairy ring,
Or climbed the purple hills of youth,
And dreamt, as yet I dream, that Beauty dwells with Truth.

III

One vernal morn entranced I stood,
Beside that grey ancestral hall,
When the sweet life of field and wood
Was waking to the young wind's call,
When Spring brought all things fair and good,
And yet some Fear hung over all.
“Ah! surely He whom no one sees
“Moves in the wind,” I cried, “and whispers to the trees.”

IV

A large slow cloud majestic sail'd
From east to west across the sky;
A splendour in that cloud was veil'd,
A light as of Eternity.
I looked, my trembling spirit fail'd;
I crouch'd—with dazzled, wilder'd eye,
I look'd again. From east to west
The slow majestic cloud sail'd onward to his rest.

124

V

The sun set. Bright with ruby and gold,
The Heaven lay open'd, door on door,
Till glory beyond glory told
Of what no sunrise can restore;
Of joy too rare for mortal mould,
Of love once felt, but felt no more.
“And who is this,” I cried aloud,
“That in the sunset dwells, and moves in wind and cloud?”

VI

A power from that lone secret One,
A light, a music filled my soul,
And beauty, born of star and sun,
Clasp'd me with wild and sweet control.
No fear had I when Day was done,
No care at morn, at noon no dole;
All Duty then was love and joy,
And God from rose and rainbow looked upon the Boy.

VII

Such was my vernal prime. I seem'd
Companionless, yet not alone:
A moving wonder o'er me gleam'd
The Sun; a radiance not their own
Clothed the white clouds; the forest dream'd,
Moon-charm'd; strange light was round me thrown;
With gods I walked and godlike powers,
In silent changeless joy that reckons not by hours.

125

VIII

No sense was then of time or space,
Scarce difference seemed 'twixt man and thing.
All life had one eternal face,
And season was there none but spring.
The world was mine: a royal grace
Was with me, and I walk'd a king—
Yea, thought and felt and did as one
Whose days would never end, and never had begun.

IX

From life's green April, pale and dead,
There bloom'd such bliss as poet knows,
When first those gorgeous tales I read,
Of old Arabian joys and woes;
Fair time! when Hope with Fancy wed,
When life yet breath'd of lily and rose!
How reign'd I then, my throne a tree,
The lord of all that live and all that lifeless be!

X

The lord of beauty and of love,
The emperor of all rare delights!
No flower below, no star above,
No odour blown down Indian nights,
No soaring eagle, plaining dove,
No fountain that to sleep invites,
No mine that burns with gold and gem,
No palm, no rose, no grape, but I was lord of them.

126

XI

Lord was I of all ebon slaves,
Lord was I of all secret springs,
Lord of all deep purpureal waves,
Lord of all magic lamps and rings,
Lord of grey prophesying caves,
Lord of enthroned and sceptred kings,
Lord of resplendent isles that gleam
Beneath large floating moons, silent and fair as dream.

XII

And as thro' light and flowers I sail'd,
Thro' marble arches quaint and rare,
Still blew the breeze nor music fail'd,
To rise and fall and rise in air,
And when the pilot wind prevailed,
I flew past islands, starry-fair,
Or paused by some low yellow strand,
With pausing winds to greet the lady of the land.

XIII

Rose-scented was the turf I press'd,
Far-off I heard the bulbul sing,
And ever as I dropp'd to rest,
Slow dancing round me, ring in ring,
With floating arm and dazzling breast,
Sweet women breathing of the Spring,
Lull'd me in dreams of beauty rare,
White wavering limb, smooth cheek, and long delicious hair.

127

XIV

Life chang'd once more. I mus'd alone,
But not in sunlight or in breeze,
For, night and day, a hollow moan
Disturb'd my old voluptuous ease,
And cries of souls in bale that groan,
Rose like a wind o'er lonely leas,
And warning voices spoke aloud,
And prophets pale as death that walk'd in fire and cloud.

XV

I saw the Elohim when they made
The heaven and earth: I saw the light
Break over chaos, and the shade
Which cloth'd the first mysterious night,
I saw the fields where angels play'd,
I saw the kine that on the height
Of Pison's soft blue mountains low'd,
Or waded where the streams thro' Gihon's valley flow'd.

XVI

I saw the first fair woman stand
With the first man before the sun,
I saw them lingering hand in hand,
Down Eden's bowers, forlorn, undone,
While all the roses of the land
Hung fading round them, one by one;
Then wept, like them, but wept in vain,
The childhood of the world that ne'er shall come again.

128

XVII

“Come back,”I cried, “ye happy Hours
“Of the great gardener's golden time!”
I too would worship Heaven with flowers,

See Goethe's “Wahrheit und Dichtung,” end of book i. vol. xx. Stuttgardt and Tübingen, 1840; or see the biography of the great German poet by Mr. G. H. Lewes.

“Unable to ascribe a form to the Deity, he resolved to seek Him in his works, and, in the good old Bible fashion, to build an altar to Him,” etc.—(“Life and Works of Goethe,” vol i. p. 33.)

Like Adam in his sinless prime;
And what tho' these degenerate Bowers
Lack the sweet growth of Eden's clime,
To pastoral shrine I yet may bring
The fragrance and the bloom that crown departing spring.

XVIII

A childish thought! yet all the day
I heap'd the flowery turf on high,
And broad and fair my altar lay,
When in the morning's softening sky,
The bird of hope, his rapturous lay
Sang to the sun, less glad than I;
Less glad than I, who from dim bowers
Pluck'd the round shining fruits and young rejoicing flowers.

XIX

Pluck'd sun-dyed apples drenched in dew,
Pluck'd strawberries crimson-cored and ripe,
Cull'd odorous flowers of splendid hue,
Prank'd with gold star or purple stripe;
And ever while fair breezes blew,
Poured, from one soft melodious pipe,
Sweet solemn warblings, as of old
The men that worshipp'd Pan, when rivers ran with gold.

129

XX

These primal offerings, sweet as fair,
I laid on that first sylvan shrine,
With prayer and vow, and hope that prayer
Would herald me to worlds divine,—
“Speak, wandering daughter of the air,
“Burn, burn in heaven, prophetic sign!”
Vain, vain were words, reply was none,
No voice in earth or air, or token in the sun.

XXI

“The curse,” I said, “is on me now,
“My sacrifice is that of Cain.
“I feel upon my burning brow
“The mystic brand of guilty pain.”
My blood beat wildly to and fro,
A fire leapt in my heart and brain,
The noise of bells was in my ears,
And on the earth I fell, subdued by thronging fears.

XXII

I could not weep, I could not pray,
But watch'd the clouds, as, one and all,
They melted in the soft blue day;
Till, was it dream? or did there fall,
Near the green covert where I lay,
Swath'd among flowers and grasses tall,
A silver shaft, while hunter's cry,
And bugle notes rang round, and quiver'd forms swept by?

130

XXIII

I rose from out my altar-nook
Of flowers and leaves, and swift as light,
I sprang to where, near hidden brook,
The flying feather drew my sight,
And as the fairy prize I took,
The bugle pealed o'er vale and height,
And from the forest's opening fold,
The exulting archers burst as in the days of old.

XXIV

And one, green-mantled like the glade,
Of which she almost seemed a part,
Leapt lightly from that forest shade,
And with wild beauty witch'd my heart.
In golden light her tresses play'd,
Her vest was worn with careless art,-
On one white arm a bow she bore,
And on her shoulders white an ivory quiver wore.

XXV

Half laughing, yet half serious too,
This younger Cynthia of the Chase,
With golden hair and eyes of blue,
Stood near, and ask'd with pleading grace,-
“What care, what grief hath fall'n on you?”
And while she gazed into my face
Still with a gentle grandeur smiled,
As she my elder were, a queen yet still a child.

131

XXVI

I could not choose but tell that grief;
And now she laughed, and now she frown'd,
Now dropp'd her bow, and now the sheaf,
Wherein her silver shafts were bound,
And whispered low, “Nor flower, nor leaf,
“Nor flute, nor pipe's low liquid sound,
“True worship are, but to be good,
“And love the Life that dwells in meadow and in wood.”

XXVII

“But sin,” said I; “But love,” said she;
“But that old Eden-world,” I cried;
“But this new world of sky and sea,
“This dear good earth,” the Child replied.
“Here streams of gold shall flow for thee,
“And here in vale and mountain-side,
“A truer Eden thou shalt find,
“And leave that dead old Eden fading far behind.”

XXVIII

She ceas'd, and twixt a smile and sigh,
I answer'd, “'T is no fable then,
“No echo of fond poet's lie,
“That tells how angels visit men.”
“No angel, but an archer, I,”
Laughed the green lady of the glen;
And half in sunshine, half in shade,
All glimmering in her hat, the peacock-feather play'd.

132

XXIX

“O stand,” I cried, “fair Dian, stand,
“Unheeded let thy bugles blow,
“Till I, by grace of Fairyland,
“Fit silver-shaft to silver bow.
She, curtseying, said, Not Oberon's hand,
“Could dearer gift than thine bestow,
“My silver shaft, my constant prize,
“For ever to the mark Maid Marian's arrow flies”

XXX

“Maid Marian!” said I. “Yes, she cried,
“For here still lives my forest fame,
“Here mountain-shade and river-side,
“Still echo with Maid Marian's name.
“Where green leaves dance, where rivulets glide,
“Where shadows play their ghostly game,
“Companion of the hawk and hern,
“I feed my sylvan love for fox-glove and for fern.

See Peacock's Tale of Maid Marian for this love of the fox-glove and the fern, at the end of one of the chapters.

XXXI

“But soft,” she cried. “I linger here,
“While chief and comrade wondering wait;
“Hark, far and near, and loud and clear,
“The bugles peal from tower and gate.
“Now, as you hold Maid Marian dear,
“By Locksley Hall, at stroke of eight,
“Meet me to-morrow.” Mute I stood,
The fairy vision fled, slow-fading down the wood.

The Arabian Nights' Entertainments.

133

II. Part II. ROBIN HOOD.

There lived in that forest a man who was the hero of the serfs, of the poor and the low, in a word of the Anglo-Saxon race.—Thierry.

They say he is already in the forest of Arden and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England; they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day and fleet the time carelessly as they did in the golden age.—As You Like It.

I

All night I swam in golden gloom,
Or hollow sealike murmurs heard,
And now a delicate perfume,
And now the carol of a bird
Pierc'd the thin sleep; or else my doom
Clashed like harsh bells in some vile word.
But dreams and fears with day-dawn fled,
And hope her colour'd bow flung glittering o'er my head.

134

II

I breathed the violet breath of morn,
I murmured back all happy sounds,
I crushed thro' rustling ripening corn,
I raced across the willow-grounds,
And over hill and valley borne,
I crossed the blue horizon's bounds,
And as the castle-clock chimed eight,
I saw Maid Marian's smile, and paused by Locksley gate.

III

“Well met!” she cried, and gave her hand,
Half childlike, half with woman's mien.
“Welcome, Sir Hermit, to the land
“Of peacock-plume and Lincoln-green,
“A freeman now mid freemen stand,
“Or kneel but to thy forest queen.
“For lo! the secret sylvan Fates
“Have linked thee, Lord of Leigh, with our sweet Robin's mates.”

IV

She turned; I follow'd as in dream.
Down glimmering twilight paths she led,
Where whisper'd tree to warbling stream,
Where white rose woo'd the lordlier red,
Where emerald ray or amber gleam
Pierc'd the light net of leaves o'erhead,
And now by magic cave we stood,
Shrin'd in the twinkling light of that voluptuous wood.

135

V

We entered, and, O wondrous sight!
Fair forest shapes to greet me rose,
Joy brimmed each eye with vernal light,
Strength lent each graceful limb repose;
Here books lay heaped; there, left and right,
Were quivers hung, here shafts and bows;
Here flowers were strewn, and on the floor,
Two large lithe greyhounds crouched, beside the figur'd door.

VI

By fairy power the cave seem'd wrought,
Four windows, nich'd on either side,
Bore blazon'd the pale Lords of Thought,
Or Kings of Action, eagle-eyed;
Each storied pane the sunlight caught,
The broken beams the pavement dyed,
And rainbow-colour'd shadows play'd,
Birdlike above a floor that pearly shells inlaid.

VII

“Up, dreamer, up!” with elf-like grace
The Child-Queen cried, “and follow me,
“For, see the Lord of Locksley Place,
“Our Robin, waits to welcome thee.”
A noble Form with noble face
Stood near me, such should princes be,
A silver arrow crossed his vest,
And roses in his cap half hid the peacock crest.

136

VIII

“My Liege,” thus spake that mocking child,
“Must welcome to his sylvan reign,
“One whom wild impulse, vision wild,
“Hail courtier in Queen Fancy's train,
“A hermit he” (the maiden smil'd),
“Half sage, half saint” (she smil'd again),
“A minstrel too, and born to sing
“Honour to Robin Hood! Honour to Sherwood's king!”

IX

She curtsied low; he, laughing, said,
“Welcome, Sir Poet, to our band.
“Our woodland green about thee spread,
“And bear the badges of the land,
“The peacock feather for the head,
“The bow of yew for trusty hand,
“And range our realm from dawn till noon,
“From the first blush of day till rise of silver moon.

X

“But truce to talk. The morning tide
“Brings song and feast. Our forest fare
“Will ‘Hostess Merriment’ provide,
“Yon maiden with the auburn hair.”
I looked; with four sweet mates allied
There moved a fifth, whose presence there,
Like sunshine seem'd, and soon our board,
With daintier viands laugh'd, than fields or woods afford.

137

XI

With milk-white bread and that clear gold
Which bees distil from bells of thyme,
With mellow strawberries, dewy-cold,
And mead that Odin's lips sublime
Had gladly quaffed at rite of old,
And curds that, but last curfew chime,
Were flowering in the yellow leas,
And cream more delicate than foam from fairy seas.

XII

Deft, sprite-like hands before me set
All fruits. belov'd of moon and sun,
That, blushing thro' the guardian net,
To lure young bills, had feasted none;
And there, where fern and fox-glove met,
As if for elfin triumph won,
A silver-misted rich perfume
From orient leaf and berry, floated down the room.

XIII

So went our revels: so we play'd
Our happy masque of memories old,
So frolicked in the sun and shade,
In youth's Saturnian age of gold.
So went our revels. Glen and glade
Re-echoed to the masquers bold,
And still we laughed, still sang unseen,
And when the green leaves danc'd, danc'd back in rival-green.

138

XIV

O honour to those golden days!
O honour to those rainbow hours!
O honour to the simple lays
Of Childhood singing to the Flowers!
O honour to the heart that prays
In the dim Past's enchanted bowers!
Honour to forest glade and glen,
And the sweet sylvan life that ne'er shall come agen

XV

Such life was ours: from mere delight
In the green woods, it was agreed,
From morn's first blush to star-rise bright,
The merry outlaw's life to lead.
True Saxons we, that knew aright
The wearers of the Lincoln-weed,
The gentle heart and daring grace
That made them champion long an old oppressed race.

XVI

Then bow and bugle, song and tale,
Glad feast in bower, and dance on lea,
Made the shy spirit of Mirth prevail,
And strengthened and ennobled me.
Then life was like the summer gale
That blows across the summer sea;
Then like a king I looked around—
My palace roof the sky, and earth all fairy ground.

139

XVII

Then all my days were like the May,
When May with earth's warm breath is mild,
Hope, soaring, sang her prophet lay,
And Fancy with wild dreams beguil'd,
Or Wisdom smiling, ran to play
With Love, the golden-wingèd Child,
—Love, that alone true life can give,
For love is life, and only when we love we live.

XVIII

A child like me no love could feel,
Yet what delicious tears I shed,
What glorious hopes did morn reveal,
What dainty dreams pale Twilight fed,
What bells from magic towers would peal,
Drowned in blue distance, when I led,
'Neath silver cloud or cloud of gold,
My beautiful Maid Marian over heath and wold.

XIX

A child like me could feel no love,
I only felt as poets feel,
When purple mornings break above
The golden world they half reveal,
And over mountain, lawn, and grove,
The tender lights of sunrise steal:
I only felt as saints that die
Dreaming of heaven, with angels smiling down the sky.

140

XX

But this is over. Long, long years,
Long winters and long springs are flown,
And griefs as countless as my fears,
And some few joys the man has known.
Yet oft to Fancy reappears
That fair dead world, while, sad and lone,
Sweet memories haunt the twilight hours,
Like far-off meadowy gales round old deserted bowers.

XXI

We never bended bow again,
Nor filled with tuneful breath the horn,
But wanderers wild, o'er land and main,
Soon held the Child's Romance in scorn.
Yet dreams like ours are rarely vain,
The blossom drops, the fruit is born;
And thus, beneath our English skies,
In deeds of princely love our Locksley's visions rise.

XXII

Old times, old thoughts revive again,
Love lights the barren moor with flowers;
And still to grace the Saxon men
Return the antique Sylvan Powers,
Till every hill-crest, every glen
Laughs with white homes and rosy bowers.
And all that dwell in sun and shade
Our Robin bless, and bless our Marian gentle maid.

141

XXIII

Nay, gentle wife! but maid no more,
For in the home where Robin dwells,
Our Marian heard the vows of yore,
Ring echoing back in happy bells,
And true to the old love he bore
My wildwood fay of thousand spells,
Above the gathering storms of life,
Herald of azure calm he throned that halcyon wife.

XXIV

O golden years advance, advance!
O years of regal work and thought!
O doubting hearts! the child's romance,
Shall into splendid fact be wrought;
By laughing years, in choral dance,
The world's great summer shall be brought,
And cradled hours shall wake and sing
An autumn rich in fruits, as once in buds the spring.

XXV

A fairer knighthood shall be ours,
Than ever Norman baron knew,
With sweeter women in our bowers,
For tenderer, nobler, men to woo,
Truth from a thousand starry towers
Her flaming torch shall lift anew,
And Art, that old diviner truth,
Shall bring again the age of man's resplendent youth.

142

XXVI

Then Science, reconcil'd with Song,
Shall throb with life's melodious beat,
Then Song, thro' Science wise and strong,
Shall her impassion'd tale repeat,
Then Right shall reign, discrowning Wrong,
Then old Compliance shall be sweet,
Then star to kindred star shall call,
And soul to soul shall answer, “Love is Lord of all.”

145

ROMANTIC POEMS.

Childhood.

Ah! sweet days of my youth!
Are ye vanish'd for aye?
O Beauty! O Truth!
Did ye die in your May?

I was young, I was young,
When the clouds spake of God,
When the trees as they swung,
Seemed to nod to his nod.

When the summer shook balm,
From her blue glowing wings,
When the sunsets slept calm,
In their purple, like kings.

146

When the rainbow stood up,
Like a thing strangely born,
And I drank of the cup
From the red lips of morn.

I was young, I was young,
When I sung, in the wood,
To the birds, as they sung,
And the world seemed so good.

How I laugh'd as I sped
By the river's green marge,
How I lifted my head,
When my heart grew too large!

How the cuckoo would sing,
As she flew down the breeze,
Mid the odours of spring,
And the rustle of trees.

O! phantom-like bird,
Full of love, full of awe,
Whom the ear often heard,
But the eye never saw.

Then the colours that stray'd,
On the roof, on the wall,
Turn'd the room, where I play'd,
To a magical hall.

147

Then I slept in the grass,
Lull'd in dreams of the skies,
And sweet angels would pass,
Raining light from their eyes.

Then I call'd, then I cried,
To these sons of the Blest,—
But they smil'd when I sigh'd,
And past on to their rest.

Ah! 't is over; but, still,
When I feel like a child,
From the lake, from the hill,
From the wood and the wild,

From the cloud and the bird,
From the trees and the flowers,
Come the voices I heard,
In the bright morning hours.

And the birds sing again,
As in childhood they sung,
And in heart and in brain
I am young—I am young.

148

Little Boy Blue.

I.

I lay in the rushes,
Where summer light fell
On the trees and the bushes
That bordered the well.

All the flowers were gleaming
In crimson and gold,
And the sunlight lay dreaming
On meadow and wold.

But the bud and the chalice
Are fading away,
From the roses' red palace
Step Genie and Fay.

Step from golden pavilion
In blossoming bowers,
From hall of vermilion,
The Souls of the flowers.

149

They wreathe their wild dances,
They glide and they spring;
Each recedes, each advances,
They laugh and they sing.

But with blushes and flushes,
One sounds on a horn,
And more green grow the rushes,
More yellow the corn.

But she sees, she befriends him,
She smiles on the boy;
She calls him, she lends him
That delicate toy.

And the Child loves and praises
Its mystical strain,
And Age feels the daisies
Bloom round him again.

II.

When the corn-fields and meadows
Are pearl'd with the dew,
With the first sunny shadows
Walks little Boy Blue.

150

O the Nymphs and the Graces
Still gleam on his eyes,
And the kind fairy faces
Look down from the skies;

And a secret revealing
Of life within life,
When feeling meets feeling
In musical strife;

A winding and weaving
In flowers and in trees,
A floating and heaving
In sunlight and breeze;

And a striving and soaring,
A gladness and grace,
Make him kneel, half adoring
The God in the place.

Then amid the live shadows
Of lambs at their play,
Where the kine scent the meadows,
With breath like the May,

He stands in the splendour
That waits on the morn,
And a music more tender
Distils from his horn:

151

And he weeps, he rejoices,
He prays, nor in vain,
For soft loving voices
Will answer again.

And the Nymphs and the Graces
Still gleam through the dew,
And kind fairy faces
Watch little Boy Blue.

152

The Mill-Stream.

A child looks into the mill-stream,
Where the fish glides in and out,
The dace with the coat of silver,
And the crimson-spotted trout.

He plays with the diamond waters,
He talks to the droning bees,
He sings, and the birds sing with him.
He runs as to catch the breeze.

A perfume from wood and meadow
Is wandering round the boy;
He is twining a garland of lilacs,
And joyous he thinks not of joy.

He prays in the eve and morning,
For the Heaven seems always near,
And he thinks that each childish murmur
Is a charm that the angels hear.

153

O Life! O beautiful picture!
O light, and perfume, and love!
O the grace of the heart that is tender!
O the dream that can lift us above!

O Life! no longer a problem,
But a something to see and enjoy,
A brightness on stream and meadow,
A breeze round a dancing boy.

Back, back to the fair blue morning
Of wild Hope and of Fancy wild,
Let me watch the fish in the mill-stream,
With the eyes and the heart of a child.

154

The Two Aprils.

Young April treads light in the woodland,
And smiles through her tears in the lane.
And the sun of the old, old spring-tide
Falls warm on the cheek again.

The breath of the old dead breezes
That blew in the face of the boy,
Floats back from my life's faded meadows,
With whispers of Hope and of Joy.

The larks that I heard in my childhood,
Hid deep in the bending blue,
Sing yet of the same old Heaven,
Till that Heaven comes almost true.

Sing yet of the loving and longing
For the beauty of far-off skies,
Of the pleasures that spring like flowers,
Round the steps of the gentle and wise,

155

And I wake from my dread despairing,
Like a trembling child at night,
And lo! through the darkness of sorrow,
Hope walks with her calm glad light.

And still as she passes by me,
I see my pale dreams revive,
And the joy and the courage of spring-time
Makes the dead, cold heart alive.

O world! thou art surely youthful!
But the sapling shall grow a tree,
Thou, too, hast a soft green April
Shall bring the great summer to thee.

156

Clouds

Clouds in April, large and white,
Freighted full of silver light,
Sail above the tallest trees,
Run before the chasing breeze,
Roll around the hills that lift
Heaven aloft, or, fierce and swift,
In tumultuous splendour fall
Over the round world's blue wall.

Clouds in August, when the glow
Of the level sun is low,
Crowd the sky with pomp, and seem
Fragments of some land of dream:
Scarlet, purple, dun, and gold,
Wreath on wreath, and fold on fold;
Hall and castle, dome and bower,
Faëry-built at twilight hour.

Clouds in Winter, when the West
In soft amber flame is drest,
Float before the frosty breeze—
Silver snow on silent seas;

157

Or they peep thro' tracery fine,
Windowed boughs of larch or pine,
Like the faces saintly men
Once have seen to see agen.

Clouds to me, in early Spring
Or in later Winter, bring
Messages of calm delight,
Thoughts of still and central might,
Feelings sweeter than the tears
Lovers weep o'er love's dead years,
Holier than the tidings told
By pale seers to ages old.

Then I see lost Eden's streams;
Dream as poet rarely dreams;
Hear enormous trumpets blown,
As when gods are overthrown;
See the far-off sunlit shore,
Where I wandered when of yore
Angels showed me all the shells
Wherein Beauty hides her spells,
While they taught my vernal youth,
Many an old celestial truth.

Cloudlike, thus on clouds I live,
Gladly take what clouds can give:
Fairy feelings, thoughts like flowers,
In my manhood's mellower hours,
As in those ‘first-violet’ days,
Do they bring for love and praise.

158

May Song

I

When violet odours warm the air,
And May is white in hedge and lea,
Soft yearnings seize me unaware,
And gentle longings wake in me,
And I believe in Fairyland.

II

When sunset triumphs thro' the West,
In blue and green and lilac bowers,
I hear the trumpets of the Blest,
Blown from those old forgotten towers,
And I believe in Fairyland.

III

When Summer comes with bloom and leaf,
And winks and laughs thro' twinkling trees,
When crimson peach and golden sheaf,
Hang mellowing in the sun and breeze,
Then I believe in Fairyland.

159

IV

When kindness almost looks like love,
And eyes half show, half veil, their light,
When song and perfume float above,
And casements open on the night,
Then I believe in Fairyland.

160

Summer Days

In summer, when the days were long,
We walked, two friends, in field and wood,
Our heart was light, our step was strong,
And life lay round us, fair as good,
In summer, when the days were long.

We strayed from morn till evening came,
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns,
We walked mid poppies red as flame,
Or sat upon the yellow downs,
And always wished our life the same.

In summer, when the days were long,
We leapt the hedgerow, crost the brook;
And still her voice flowed forth in song,
Or else she read some graceful book,
In summer, when the days were long.

And then we sat beneath the trees,
With shadows lessening in the noon;
And in the sunlight and the breeze,
We revell'd, many a glorious June,
While larks were singing o'er the leas.

161

In summer, when the days were long,
We plucked wild strawberries, ripe and red,
Or feasted, with no grace but song,
On golden nectar, snow-white bread,
In summer, when the days were long.

We loved, and yet we knew it not,
For loving seemed like breathing then,
We found a heaven in every spot,
Saw angels, too, in all good men,
And dreamt of gods in grove and grot.

In summer, when the days are long,
Alone I wander, muse alone;
I see her not, but that old song,
Under the fragrant wind is blown,
In summer, when the days are long.

Alone I wander in the wood,
But one fair spirit hears my sighs;
And half I see the crimson hood,
The radiant hair, the calm glad eyes.
That charmed me in life's summer mood.

In summer, when the days are long,
I love her as I loved of old;
My heart is light, my step is strong,
For love brings back those hours of gold.
In summer, when the days are long.

162

A Naiad

In the season of roses, when roses are reddest,
She stood in the stream with her feet silver-white;
O Stream! how thou murmuredst, Stream, how thou fleddest,
When she shook her feet over thee, dropping down light,
In the season of roses, when roses are reddest.

With a sweetness that wooed you she stood in the roses,
With a sweetness that sought you and then would retreat.
Like a rosebud that opens, a rosebud that closes,
And flies thro' all changes of wild and of sweet;
With a sweetness that wooed you she stood in the roses.

She stood in the roses, when roses are reddest,
She raised her white hand to a rose in her hair,
O! the rose would blush red, tho' its leaves were the deadest,
When quickened and brightened by fingers so fair,
In the season of roses, when roses are reddest.

163

Ballad

“Have you seen her?” he cried; “Have you seen her?” he cried.
“Yester eve,”
I whispered, “To-morrow, my Alice, my bride,
Must not grieve.”

“She stood in the cornfield, all sprinkled with dew,
“Twining flowers;
“But they were not so fair as her eyes of deep blue,
“Watch'd for hours.”

“I saw in the morning,” a neighbour replied,
“As I past,
“A stranger, who called a fair girl to his side,
“They rode fast;

“On their bonnie white steeds, thro' the flowers, thro' the corn.
“Did they ride;
“But they soon won the sea, and their vessel was borne
“O'er the tide.”

164

He sought her in vain—she was gone, she was lost;
But old ways
Led him forth to the fields that the maiden had crost.
Many days.

Yet he wept not, but work'd, for the heart of a man
Beat within:
He was strong, he believed “Men should do what they can;
“Grief was sin.”

He was strong, but the gladness had past from his life;
He was brave,
Yet a sweet-smiling patience, precluding all strife,
Made him grave.

Still he thinks of her; still sees her eyes of deep blue,
Thro' long hours;
Still she stands in the cornfield, besprinkled with dew,
Twining flowers.

165

Birds

Once in my vernal days I stood.
In the green shadow of a wood,
Beneath the breeze and open sky,
And ever as the evening fell,
More darkly over heath and dell,
Saw the belated birds go by.

Ah, gentle birds! I said, your nest
Receives you soon to dewy rest;
Oh, fly, kind birds, into my hand!
Some darling bird with light-brown wings,
That solely for one darling sings,
And yet delights the listening land.

Oh, beat within this hand of mine,
Beat on my breast; and feeling thine,
O winged love, I'll rest content:
O wanderer wild, be tame with me,
As I am tame; and I shall be
Most happy and most innocent.

166

So in my vernal days I said,
With lifted hand and straining head,
That looked into the darkening sky.
But never, never bird would come;
Each found a fairer, dearer home,
And ever, ever hurried by.

167

Advice

Men should get them brains of steel,
Hearts that not too keenly feel;
Men should learn betimes to bear
Blinding cold and burning air.

Men should cast aside their books,
Sun themselves in Nature's looks,
Feel the beating heart of things,
Hunt the rivers to their springs.

He that has a great intent,
Must not falter nor repent;
Waves and winds alike shall bless
All his efforts with success.

Crime is folly; all the roads
To the still august abodes
Are with Wisdom; Love and Truth
Are her friends, her playmate Youth.

168

Recollections

I leapt from my couch, and went forth with the day;
I challenged the brooks, and raced fleetly as they;
I praised the round sun when I saw him unfold
His banner, embroidered with purple and gold;
I waded for king-cups in grass to my knees,
With garlanded forehead I climbed the tall trees,
And I rock'd when they rock'd, shouting loud to the breeze.

I wandered with one whom I loved through a wood,
With her golden hair loosed o'er her little red hood:
Oh! her face, like a rose, was so full and so glad,
And her eyes were the sweetest that face ever had:
Her fingers were playing like flashes of light,
And I caught them, and kiss'd them; but fingers so white,
Blushing red on the lips, must bewilder the sight.

I read by the marge of a river that flow'd
Through the wood to the mill on the side of the road;
And I knew that grave men and fair women must pass,
But the boy lay concealed by the trees and the grass;
And still, as I read, I could hear them go by,
I was glad that we all were beneath the same sky,
That they could not behold me and yet were so nigh.

169

I wandered one morning when Summer was young—
I sang like a bird to the birds as they sung.
The large lilac flowers waved princely and proud,
And the larks were all choiring above the grey cloud;
Delicious and wild was the blossomy smell,
And I fancied that angels were singing, as well
As the birds in the clouds, to the birds in the dell.

I stood on the rocks, with the stars overhead;
There are stars, there are suns underneath me, I said;
And I thought in a moment the earth rolled away,
But the sky still was there, tho' in shadow it lay.
All the black-blue abysses were swarming with light,
And beneath, as above me, pavilioned in night,
The firmament domed, and I wept at the sight.

O beauty and gladness, like sorrow and dread,
Track the children of wisdom, wherever they tread;
And I know that the soul that eternally weaves
The garments of worlds, never fails or deceives.
Still the stars climb and fall, still the provident Hours
Bring the babe to the mother, the bird to the bowers,
Crown the autumn with fruit and the summer with flowers.

170

My Playmates

I once had a sister: and, loving as fair,
Her face would look out from its soft sunny hair,
Like a lily some tall stately angel may hold,
Half-revealed, half-concealed, in a mist of pure gold.

I once had a brother, more blithe than the day,
With a temper as sweet as the blossoms in May,
With dark hair, like a cloud; and a face where one rose,
Royal-red, bloom'd half-hid, by his sister of snows.

We lived in a cottage that stood in a dell.
Were we born there or brought there? I never could tell.
Were we nursed by the angels or clothed by the fays?
Or who led, when we fled, down the dim woodland-ways!

In the morn when we rose we cried, Hark! children, hark!
We shall hear, if we listen, the song of the lark;
And we stood with our faces calm, silent, and bright,
While the breeze, in the trees, held his breath with delight.

171

Oh, the stream ran with silver, the leaves dropped with dew,
And we looked up and saw the great Sun in the Blue.
And we praised him and blessed him but said not a word,
For we soared, we adored, with that worshipping bird.

Then with hand linked in hand, how we laughed, how we sung,
How we danced in a ring, when the morning was young.
How we wandered where king-cups, were crusted with gold,
With the bee on the lea, and the bird o'er the wold!

Oh, well I remember the flowers which we found,
With the red and white blossoms that damasked the ground,
And the long lanes of light that, half yellow, half green,
Seemed to fade, down the glade, where the fairies had been!

Still I hear, as I heard them, still laughing they sing,
Still they mingle their song with the voices of Spring,
Still I see, as I saw it, the flame-coloured West,
And the spire, where a fire, from the sun, seemed to rest.

Oh, I'll never believe but the fairies were there,
Such a joy, such a brightness passed into the air.
Such a feeling of loving and longing was ours;
And we saw, with glad awe, little hands in the flowers.

Oh, weep ye, and wail! for that sister, alas!
And that fair gentle brother lie low in the grass,
Perchance the red robins may strew them with leaves,
That still sing, in the spring, near the pale-ivied eaves.

172

Perchance of their dust the new violets are made,
That bloom by the church that lies hid in the glade;
But one day I shall learn, if I pass where they grow,
For more sweet they will greet their old playmate I know.

Ah! the Cottage is gone, and no longer I see
The old glade, the old paths, and no lark sings for me;
But I still must believe that the fairies are there,
That the light grows more bright, as they glide thro'the air.

173

Old Playthings

He wondered that the real sports of childhood should not so delight him, as the emblems of these sports, when the child that had carried them on was standing, grown up to manhood, in his presence.—Carlyle's translation of “Life of Quintus Fixlein.”

Strange memories haunt me from youth's primrose-ways.
As thus mid Toys in sober years I stand,—
Here is the ball that once, in happier days,
Flew lightly bounding from my lifted hand!

Here is the bat that won in well-thought field,
And here the kite that soared above the cloud,
Here is the boyish rapier, here the shield,
And here the bugle that blew long and loud!

Here is the fairy boat I loved to sail!—
The sight recalls a calm and liquid joy,
I plunge, I plunge, and now the shore I hail,
Where one dear willow bends to greet the boy.

174

Come back! come back! O tender vernal prime!
Sail, fairy bark, across that mimic sea!
Fly, fly, O Kite! as in that grand old time;
Soar, soar to heaven, and bear my heart with thee.

Wave, wave, loved Elm! in whose green throne I read
How fair Prince Ahmed loved the fay of old,
—But ah! Time's silver hand is on my head,
O Friends! I have outlived the age of gold.

Take, take them hence, the symbols of my youth,
For nevermore my childhood's sun will rise;
Fade gorgeous dream before the dull grey truth!
O rainbow, vanish from these leaden skies!

—But no! we ne'er unlearn what Life hath taught,
In the grave pauses of our childish-play;—
I hear the dear old voices yet in thought,
I yearn for the still faces far away.

Again I stand in youth's enchanted ground,
That ground whereon no pilgrim ever sleeps,
Again I see the Mill's weird sails go round,
While o'er the stream the one dear willow weeps.

Again the apple reddens in the leaves,
The gauzy petal drops from sylvan brier,
The tall laburnum, near our cottage eaves,
Dips its long garlands in the sunset's fire.

175

Again I see, encampt in that dim land,
The soldier-poppy in the glad green corn.
Again a child with brave Boy Blue I stand,
And scare the cattle with my elfin horn.

Once more they shine, those summers long and bright,
Their sun, new-set, makes roses in my West,
Soft glows within the consecrating light,
As thus, in youth's green bowers, a man I rest.

176

Household Words

Words that bring back the glad and peaceful Hours,
That watched our frolics in the sun and shade,
When every wind seemed whispering to the Flowers,
Of lovelier worlds where lovelier children play'd,
Are household words.

Words that recall the feelings of our youth,
The garden where our names in emerald grew,
The truth we loved when fairy tales were truth,
When God and Goddess, Fay and Faun, were true,
Are household words.

The tiny words that grew from tiny acts,
The low love-language of the childish heart,
The stammer that interpreted strange facts,
Or strove some schoolboy legend to impart,
Are household words.

177

The names we drew from dell or mossy bower,
When Mab or Ariel for our sponsors stood,
Names haply borrowed from some Greek-called flower,
Or given in praise by Love when we were good,
Are household words.

Nor less the words our statelier years record,
By Fancy coined yet bearing Reason's stamp,
Words with which Wit has played, or Love adored,
Slaves of the Ring, or servants of the Lamp,
Are household words,

The words of men who clothe our thoughts with speech,
Gay proverb, sparkling phrase, or road-side song,
Words that like sunbeams through the darkness reach,
Crown lowly worth, or brand imperial wrong,
Are household words.

The words of men who walked in War's red ways,
Or spake their fireside thoughts to child or wife,
The simple words that dealing blame or praise,
Ring down the echoing avenues of life,
Are household words.

Glad words that breathe of sunshine and of morn,
Sweet words that on the wings of evening fly,
Kind words that greet the child when he is born,
And loving words that bless us when we die,
Are household words.

178

Living

When from the amber clouds, in sunset regions,
The sweet west winds come panting with delight,
When the huge shadows, in their darkening legions,
Break from their grasp and fly o'er plain and height,
I live, I live.

When in the forest where the wood-doves murmur,
Or with the merle's ripe note the covert rings.
I feel my tread upon the turf grow firmer,
Or half with Plato wave my soul's young wings,
I live, I live.

When the tall ferns, that house the Fairy people,
Stand trembling round me, as the morning grows,
Or when, far-off, I see the soaring steeple,
That dim and ghostlike on the twilight shows,
I live, I live.

179

When in the garden's still, embowered recesses,
A crownless king, I lift my regal spade,
And charm from Toil a strength that heals and blesses.
A perfume from the mould my hand has laid,
I live, I live,

When called by silver trumpets of the Morning,
Forth from his dazzling portals walks the Sun,
And the Earth hears that old melodious warning,
And wakes her happy children, one by one,
I live, I live.

When human-like the moon-awakened Ocean,
Slow rolls his hollow echoes on the air,
And from that endless sound and restless motion
I draw a strength that bids man do and dare,
I live, I live.

When on the lonely barren moor I wander,
Lit by the yellow glare of flaming gorse,
Or, plumed with courage, cease to dream and ponder,
And, centaur-like, fly onward, man and horse,
I live, I live.

The wind across the heath I hail delighted,
The hanging round of everlasting blue;
And while I gaze, half glad and half affrighted,
And shadowy faces look me thro' and thro',
I live, I live.

180

I live when Hope renews her morning splendour,
When Memory floats the evening clouds above,
By tender fancies linked to truths as tender,
By faith heroic and victorious love,
I live, I live.

181

The Cloister in the Hills

This and the following poem, as well as some sonnets in another part of this volume, are reprinted from the “Children's Summer,” Seventeen Illustrations by E. V. B. The Forest Dream was also written to illustrate a water-colour drawing by the same delightful artist.

There is a cleft in far-off purple hills,
Where angels in a cloister sing and play;
The doubtful moon, while eve outgrows the day,
Hangs her pale crescent o'er the glens and rills.

There, music of young winds and waters born,
Blends with the angels' music as it fades,
And ever, thro' declining lights and shades,
Sounds far away one wandering bugle-horn.

And often there a Seraph-woman sings,
Mid purple twilights to the listening moon,
And oft the traveller hears her mystic tune,
Or feels the brightness of her open wings.

And children hear her that belated sleep
In the blue hollow of those shadowy hills,
And far-off sounds, but not of winds or rills,
Stir them with thoughts for childish dreams too deep,

182

Until they wake and fain to heaven would climb,
To hear the angels sing in purer air;
And as they climb, arises stair on stair,
Far up the hills and into heights sublime.

So let them climb and hear the ancient tales
That angels tell, but not of human woes;
So let them climb with palm-branch and with rose,
Where holier moonlight, mellower air, prevails.

So let them stand and hear the angels' lay,
And stroke the birds whose song their singing stills,
So touch the stars that diadem the hills,
And feel as angels feel when angels pray.

183

Angels in the Woods

Heaven still is with us, and the angels walk,
Seen or unseen, in city and in glen;
And half we hear their old melodious talk,
Half see them crown'd with glory as they walk,
When most we love, and loving most, are men.

Hence what surprise, what passion can there be
To step at once into the golden air?
Faith still is ours: what better men than we
In this ripe age of our dear world may be?
Hearts that believe and love do well to dare.

Step boldly mid the foxglove and the fern,
And kiss the vermeil lips of woodland rose,
And hear the warble of the tripping burn,
That sings amid the foxglove and the fern,
And sobs among the pebbles as it flows.

184

Wade where the reeds and yellow flags are seen,
And mossy stones, a fairy bridge, are laid;
But cease, for gliding the tall flowers between,
The Playmates of the angels, glad, serene,
Chase the long sunbeams flying down the glade.

What tree beyond the stream, across the skies
Spreads its green beauty to the air and sun?
What golden apples, tinct with crimson dyes,
Thro' emerald leaves, before the glimmering skies,
Shine, as that holier fruit, on Eve undone?

O tree! that yet maturer earth shall bear,
O fruit! one day no fable but a fact,
O child! with king-cups in thy glittering hair,
Glad prophecies of what our earth shall bear,
When song and dream condense to noble act.

O lovely Forms! that over reed and grass,
Shed light and fragrance and a vernal morn!
O lovely Forms! that pass me and repass,
Here would I lie for ever on the grass,
And wait until the promised age be born.

Here would I watch those Seraph-lords supreme,
With radiant fingers, pointing, hand o'er hand,
To younger angels on the charmèd stream,
While the large shadows of those wings supreme,
Touch with rare moonlight brook and flowery strand.

185

Here would I see those children in a ring
Dance with the angels or with angels play,
Or hear the songs those crownèd harpers sing
To angels linked with children in a ring,
And garlanded with the celestial May.

So grace and gladness in my soul should dwell,
Till the old world again grew young and good:
And holier men should holier children tell,
How dreams come true, and how good angels dwell
By each bright hearth, and haunt each bourne and wood.

186

The Forest-Dream

I stood one eve within a forest's shade,
I saw the sunlight flow,
Flickering and dancing down the pillared glade,
A golden shadow, that with shadows played,
On a green floor below.

I saw the soft blue sky thro' latticed trees-
Soft sky and tender clouds;
I saw the branches tremble to the breeze.
Saw, as they trembled, still and far-off leas
To holy musings bowed.

The sweetness and the quiet of the place
Deep thro' my soul had gone,
Till, in some world not ours, I seemed to trace
The skirts of parting glory, saw the face
Of glory coming on.

187

“Ah me!” I said, “how beautiful and glad
“This sylvan realm might be,
“Peopled with shapes too holy to be sad—
“Shapes lovely as the fabled Foreworld had,
“When Fancy yet was free.

“Some pastoral quaint of ancient Greece were fit
“To be enacted here;
“Or haply here the Fairy Court might sit,
“Or fairy children flowery garlands knit,
“To lead the silk-necked steer;

“Or yet more fit, amid a scene so calm,
“Might deep-winged angels stand,
“Or dance, as in great Milton's lofty psalm,
“Face fronting face, and palm enfolding palm,
“A holy happy band.”

So mused I, in that sacred forest shade,
When suddenly I heard
Low voices murmuring down the pillared glade,
While, mixed with song, soft music round me played,
Till flowers and leaves were stirred.

See! through the boughs that part on every side,
What children come this way?
See, how the forest opens far and wide
For entrance to the joyous shapes that glide
Into its emerald day.

188

Ah! see what pictures hang upon the air,
Making the sunset dim;
Full eyes, all loaded with dark light, are there,
That gleam mysterious under golden hair,
Round cheek and rosy limb.

Ah, happy steer! by gentle children led,
And wreathed with flowery chain,
Slant ever thus thy meek and graceful head,
And bear us to some Eden, long, long fled,
Or bring it back again.

O wonder not, tho' heaven should open wide,
And o'er its flaming wall,
A wingèd messenger should downward glide,
Angels with children—angels, too, abide,
Or come when children call.

Pass on, O Dream of antique truth and love!
Fade, cherub, with thy flowers!
Pass on, O gracious creatures! as ye move,
Fair boys with garlands sing of worlds above,
And bring them down to ours.

Pass on, pass on, with merry shout and play!
Pass on, with flute and reed!
Thro' the long forest aisles ye fade away,
Sweet sounds! sweet shapes!—ye fade with fading day,
And leave us poor, indeed!

189

The Bird and the Bower

I had a little bower when I was young;
A bird sang there,
And I, poor child, still listened while it sung
Its magic air.

For still it said, or still it seemed to say,
“The world is thine;
“See how the roses redden, waters play,
“And moonbeams shine.

“See how the sun, with golden, dreaming light,
“The valley fills;
“See how he crowds with a blue gloom like night
“The noonday hills.

“Deep in the foxglove's bell, where'er thou go,
“Still drones the bee,
“And the red trout, where warbling brooklets flow,
“Leaps up for thee.

190

“For thee the sun and moon were made of yore,
“The cloud and star;
“For thee God made the After, the Before,
“The Near and Far.

“All love, all power, all worship, all delight,
“All fancies wild;
“All rainbow hopes, all dreams of day and night,
“For thee, O child!

“The fairy sitting in her home of fern,
“The piping faun,
“The nymph that bears aloft her river urn,
“Or guards the lawn.

“For thee God made the genii of the air,
“And of the deep,
“And the quaint elves that charm, with witchery rare,
“The world of sleep.

“All, all is thine! thou, thou alone art king,
“Fair, good, and wise!
“Fresh, fresh from heaven, before thee life's great spring,
“Full-blossomed, lies.”

Thus in my little bower, when I was young,
The song began,
And all life's summer through the siren sung,
To lure the man.

191

But now grey autumn thins that magic bower,
The green leaves fall,
And the old glory fades from tree and flower,
When wild winds call.

I hear no more the fairy bugles blow,
The stars are dim,
I hear no more, at the sea's ebb and flow,
The sea-maid's hymn.

With lowly heart and meek sad thought I stand,
A dreamer vain;
But ah! that vision of the morning land
Returns again.

I dreamt it once, perchance as childhood dreams,
When life began;
I dream it now, nor think it less beseems
The time-taught man.

I cannot tell if I shall find it true,
In worlds afar,
If I shall win, in that o'erhanging blue,
My regal star.

But still the heart a far-off glory sees,
Strange music hears;
A something not of earth still haunts the breeze,
The sun, and spheres.

192

Still, still I clasp my hands, still look and pine,
Still weep and pray,
Still, still am followed by a voice divine,
And far away.

What mean these yearnings, these mysterious sighs,
This hope like fear,
This feeling in the dark, these sudden cries,
When none are near?

All things that be, all love, all thought, all joy,
Sky, cloud and star,
Spell-bind the man, as once the growing boy,
And point afar;

Point to some world of endless, endless truth,
Delight, and power,
And thus comes back that grand old dream of youth,—
The bird and bower.

193

Psalm

I

All things good for good unite,
Evil things not long are single;
'Tis the dark hours bring the light,
Sightless atoms fashion sight,
Discords still for concord mingle.

II

To the wise and to the brave,
Living is as fair as loving;
Death brings flowers, on every grave
Moonlight sleeps, and willows wave
Lifelike while warm winds are moving.

194

Old feelings

Once in my childish days I heard
A woman's voice that slowly read,
How 'twixt two shadowy mountains sped,
Four coloured steeds, four chariots whirr'd.

For a magnificent personification of the winds, see Zechariah, chapter vi.

“In the first chariot were red horses; and in the second chariot black horses; and in the third chariot white horses; and in the fourth chariot grisled and bay horses. Then I answered and said unto the angel that talked with me, What are these, my lord? And the angel answered and said unto me, These are the four spirits of the heavens, which go forth from standing before the Lord of all the earth.”

I watched until she laid the book
On the white casement-ledge again;
My heart beat high with joyful pain
On that strange oracle to look.

Day after day I would ascend
The staircase in that large old house,
And still and timorous as a mouse
I sat and made that book my friend.

I saw the birth of seas and skies,
The first sweet woman, first brave man;
I saw how morning light began,
How faded, over Paradise.

195

I stood with the first Arab boy;
I saw the mother and the child
Of Oriental vision wild,
Laugh by the well for utter joy.

I saw a youth go forth at morn,
A traveller to the Syrian land,
And in the lonely evening stand,
An exile weary and forlorn.

I saw him by the roadside lay
His sunken head upon a stone,
And while he slumbered, still and lone,
A dream fell on him, fair as day.

I saw a golden ladder reach
From earth to heaven among the stars,
And up and down its gleaming bars
Trod stately angels, without speech.

What wonders did I not behold!
Dark gorgeous women, turban'd men,
White tents, like ships, in plain and glen,
Slaves, palm-trees, camels, pearls, and gold.

Ah! many an hour I sat and read,
And God seemed with me all day long;
Joy murmured a sweet undersong,
I talkt with angels, with them fed.

196

It was an old deserted room;
There was a skylight arch'd above,
And the blue heaven look'd thro' like love,
Softening and colouring mortal gloom.

No playmate had I, knew no game,
Yet sometimes left my book to run
And blow bright bubbles in the sun;
In after life we do the same!

That time is gone; you think me weak.
That I regret that perish'd time,
That I recal my golden prime
With beating heart and blushing cheek.

That time is gone: I live for truth,
Glad to resign each rainbow sham;
But, still remembering what I am,
I praise my sweet and saintly youth.

So great a hope made truce with fear.
My joy and wonder were so strong,
So rare and delicate a song
Young Life was singing in mine ear!

I therefore still in fancy climb
Up to that old and faded room,
Where feelings like fresh roses bloom
Over the grave of that fair time.

197

Influences

The World still gives what most seems ours,

The doctrine embodied in this poem—written more than twenty years ago, and first published in the Athenæum—is finely touched in a remarkable article on Shelley, by “One who knew him,” in the Allantic Monthly for February, 1863. “The ability to receive influence is the most exalted faculty which human nature can attain; while the exercise of an arbitrary power centering in itself is not only debasing, but is an actual destroyer of human faculty.”

Its beauty silent, ripe, and sweet,
Its truth, which we are proud to greet,
Still moulds and strengthens all our powers.

The sun, round whom the planets glide,
The moon, that gives the light she takes,
The flowers in meadows and in brakes,
The flowing and the ebbing tides.

The granite rock, on which are laid,
Level or slanted, marl and stone,
With blooms and mosses overgrown,
Meek children of the Sun and shade.

The bridging rainbow; the blue gloom
That in romantic gorges sleeps,
The floating amber mist that creeps
O'er dreamy fields where cowslips bloom.

198

The pale-green, azure light that gleams
Round the sky's rim when suns are low,
Full of a sweet dead Long-ago,
Yet breathing Hope's delicious dreams.

The World still gives what most seems ours,
Sun, moon, and wave, with clouds that die,
And trees that yearn to reach the sky,
Fashion our minds and mould our powers.

Men whom we champion, wrong or right,
And women fond with fragrant breath,
Flowing thro'lips that kiss till death,
And eyelids trembling with delight.

The children that about us play,
With golden hair and soft white flesh,
Smooth as magnolia flowers, and fresh
Full cheeks that blush like dawning day.

The songs the elder poets sung,
The lays of Greece, the Hebrew's psalm,
The thought of wise men, grave and calm,
Late-born or dead when Time was young.

The soul is like a mirror fair,
Reflecting every shape and hue,
Yet as it changes, changing too
All that we know and all we are.

199

The World still gives what most seems ours;
As ebbs and flows, in calm and strife,
This everlasting sea of life,
So ebb and flow our human powers.

200

The Last Day

All seems eternal now.—Shelley.

One day, my darling lake beside,
In a low reedy marsh I walk'd,
Where swans, like snowy shadows glide,
And as with wildering thoughts I talk'd,
With scornful wail the swans replied.

It was a dull still afternoon,
No human voice was in the air,
Nor warbled note nor whistled tune,
Nor shout of one that hath no care,
From sunrise till eve's mellow moon.

The reeds stood round me, stiff and lank,
The green-gold beetle on a stone
Lay motionless, and rank on rank,
Red hips and ruby berries shone,
Yet shook not on their mossy bank.

201

The elm-trees crost their arms of green,
And stood erect, like men resign'd
To see what never should be seen,
And bear their fate with equal mind,
Both what will be, and what hath been.

There were no shadows in the grass,
No spots of brightness near the trees,
No birds to pass me or repass;
There was no motion, was no breeze:
All lifeless stretcht the whole morass.

Dense, grey, and sullen o'er me spread
The low near level of the sky,
No cloud was sailing overhead;
But here and there I saw on high,
Blue breaks, yet blue of greenish dye.

There was a smell of mild decay,
Of withering fragrance, mouldering wood.
But how or whence it came that way
I know not; in my strange wild mood
I did not know the hour of day.

To me it seemed there were no hours,
Was neither After nor Before,
Were neither men nor heavenly powers,
And never would be any more,
That God was dead, and all was o'er.

202

It was the last, last day I thought,
Here ended all our bliss and pain,
What God and man had wrought was wrought,
And nothing could be changed again,
Nothing be either lost or sought.

All is eternal now, I said.
The swans will ever wail and scream,
The flat grey sky still o'er me spread;
And life, one fixed and endless dream,
Shall bring no change to heart or head,

203

Athanase

In the early morning hours.
Wandered Athanase alone,
Ere the dew was off the flowers,
Ere the first fresh light was gone.
When the voices of the Morning,
Wind and water, chimed and rang,
When the lark with regal scorning
Into the blue æther sprang.

Athanase beheld the splendour
Of the clouds and of the skies,
Saw the colours fair and tender,
Fade before his longing eyes.
Saw a coming and a going,
White and blue, through waving trees,
As though sky and cloud were flowing
Down the smooth stream of the breeze.

Sense of wild and wooing sweetness,
On the bosom of the morn,
More complete for incompleteness,
Rose from violets newly born,

204

Song of lark unseen above him,
Fainted in a long delight,
And the clouds that seemed to love him,
Soared and swooned upon his sight.

Then a thought, half thought, half feeling,
With sweet sorrow touch'd his soul,
Glimpses of a world revealing,
Far from man's delight and dole.
Sense of music past him flowing,
Sound of far-off endless seas,
With a coming and a going
Of glad faces in the breeze.

And advancing and retiring,
Golden shores and rivers bright,
Filled his soul with strange desiring,
And his eyes with starry light.
And he look'd through blue abysses,
Of the heaven above his head,
And he yearned to know what blisses,
Or what griefs await the Dead.

Upward soar the rocks around him,
Downward dive the rocks below,
And a mighty spell hath bound him-
Vainly, vainly would he go.
On the verge he bends him slowly,
Gazes on a quiet lake;
Deep below its waters holy
For the sky a mirror make.

205

Thought of joy and thought of terror!
Gazing down the grey abyss,
He beholds in that fair mirror,
Shadowy forms in shadowy bliss.
Then a yearning for completeness,
And a thirst for ampler life,
And a brightness and a sweetness
Waver in luxurious strife.

Calmly standing, deeply gazing,
Turning not to left or right,
Nor depressing, nor upraising,
His fix'd vision for delight.
Gazing through those grey abysses,
Drunk with rapture and with dread,
Leaping down, he learns what blisses
And what griefs await the Dead.

206

Ascension

I will climb, I will climb,
Up the mountains, I said,
I will hear the glad chime
Of the stars overhead.

I have listened too long
To the voices of earth,
And I pine for the song
Of the gods in their mirth.

On the heights, on the hills,
Where the stars seem to rest,
Where bright manna distils
From the groves of the Blest.

I will stand, I will stand,
I will listen, all night,
For the songs of the land
Where the gods walk in light.

207

Then I climbed, and I climbed.
Thro' the sweet sunset hour,
While the fairy bells chimed
From the castle and tower.

I was fed on pure balm,
And I mounted aloft,
Thro' the blue floating calm,
On warm breezes and soft.

Till the glades and the dells
Vanish'd out of the day,
And the far fairy bells
Faded slowly away.

Then I stood all alone,
And Hope look'd from my eyes;
But the stars they had flown
Higher up, with the skies.

As I mounted my heaven
Had mounted with me,
And no song from the Seven
Burst majestic and free.

But mount higher and higher,
O clasper of stars!
Ascend like a fire
O'er the cloud's purple bars.

208

If thy goal still retreat,
Know thy goal still is there;
And the starlight is sweet,
As it smiles down the air.

O! fed with pure balm,
Can that food be in vain?
Wilt thou leave the blue calm
For the dark earth again?

If thy stars, if thy sky,
Fall and pass from thy sight,
Thou shalt climb till on high
Breaks a lordlier light.

Thou shalt climb, thou shalt climb,
Up the mountains, and see
How a sky more sublime,
Sweeter stars wait for thee.

Thou shalt see the abodes
Where, in music and love,
Calm and regal, the gods
Lie and banquet above.

Thou shalt rest as they rest,
Thou shalt smile when they sing;
Thou shalt feast with the Blest,
And with kings be a king.

209

Hymn

When in the green and glimmering lanes I linger,
And gather roses, kissing their red lips;
Or when, deep-dyed by Autumn's ruddy finger,
I feast on bunches ripe of coral hips,
I praise thee, World.

When I am smothered under children's faces,
Dazzled by floating air and warm blue eyes,
And catching glimpses, mid their wild embraces,
Of delicate white limbs that scorn disguise,
I praise thee, World.

When I am bedded deep in flowering grasses,
Watching the sailing clouds and wandering air,
Or borrowing wings from every bird that passes,
Or facing the bold sun, with stare for stare,
I praise thee, World.

210

When by the marbled lake I lie and listen
To one sweet voice that sings to me alone,
Veiled by green leaves whose silver faces glisten
In breezy light down the blue summer blown,
I praise thee, World.

When her white ivory fingers twine and quiver,
Twinkling thro' mine, and when her golden hair
Flows down her neck, like sunlight down a river,
And half she is, and half she is not there,
I praise thee, World.

When I can look from my proud height above her,
In her quaint faëry face, or o'er her bend,
And know I am her friend but not her lover,
That she is not my lover but my friend,
I praise thee, World.

When Margaret pale, and rare and gorgeous Helen,
Or sweet Ottilia, love, weep, smile, or feast,
For the still world of lovely forms I dwell in,
And for thy Poet, for our king and priest,
I praise thee, World.

When I have heard the imprisoned echoes breaking
From rolling clouds, like shouts of gods in fight,
Or armies calling armies, when awaking,
They rise all breathless from too large delight,
I praise thee, World.

211

When I have seen the scarlet lightnings falling
From cloudy battlements, like throneless kings;
Have seen great angels that, to angels calling,
Open and shut their gold and silver wings,
I praise thee. World.

When I have passed a nobler life in sorrow;
Have seen rude masses grow to fulgent spheres;
Seen how To-day is father of To-morrow,
And how the Ages justify the Years,
I praise thee. World.

Goethe

212

A Song of Night

The stars in heaven are silver-fair,
The honied scents of the woodbine float,
On the smooth wave of the moon-warm air;
The thistle-down flies o'er the castle moat,
And no owl is hooting thro' the night.

Joy wakes and sings in my heart of hearts,
My soul is feeding among the flowers.
The sorrow is dead and the cloud departs,
And I dream once more in youth's glorious bowers,
And no owl is hooting thro' the night.

But, ah! a voice and a fear within
Seem to hint of grief and of crime unknown,
And over my brightness the shadow of sin,
Like a black veil o'er a fair girl, is thrown,
And the owl is hooting thro' the night.

213

It comes with a clash, it comes with a storm.
The light and the music fade away,
And far above the phantom-form
Of the witch-like moon walks cold and gray,
And the owl is hooting thro' the night.

I mount, I float on the wings of the wind,
The terror within me, the storm without,
The death before me, the peril behind,
In the driving mist of an endless doubt,
While the owl is hooting thro' the night.

If Love were near, or if Faith's pale star
Shone on the edge of the trembling cloud,
Where the new spring morning burns afar,
I should rise as the dead rise from their shroud.
When the owl is hooting thro' the night.

I should rise all glad with a radiant hope,
I should rise inflamed with passionate song,
And under the Morning's still blue cope,
Feel the love in my heart grow deep and strong,
Tho' the owl is hooting thro' the night.

O, Life, that ever lives in the sky,
That throbs in the star, that flows in the sea,
That still lives on when all things die,
Power, Love or God, live, live in me,
Like music or fragrance or morning light.

214

Hesperia

In those good days, when yet-the world was new,
And man and angel talked, as friends now do,
When woman and her seraph-lover kist
Beneath the veil of that first silver mist
That watered Eden, ere the sinful showers
Began to fall on the young gardener's flowers,
Far off, beyond the mountains of the West,
A second Eve a second Adam blest,
As he blest her, each finding life complete
In their sweet selves, and in their children sweet;
And seraph-lovers oft, at night and morn,
For some dear woman's sake would leave their heaven forlorn.

Beyond these mountains, lone and far away,
Hesperia named, another Eden lay.
Tho' here some raindrops fell, at rise and close of day.
Once, two young sisters—passing where the gate
Of this sweet second Eden, like a fate,
Barring that tempting entrance seemed to wait-

215

Paused where a forest, sacred, mystic rose.
Breathless and silent with a dread repose,
It reared its walls of emerald, vast and high,
Roofed by the cloudy marble of the sky,
Touched with the dim religion of old days,
A sanctuary for everlasting praise.
Its columns giant trees, whose mighty shades,
Mingling, took shape in aisles and dim arcades;
With gorgeous leaves and blossoms some had bound
Their massive boles and gnarlèd branches round;
Some stood with wide-spread arms; and from aloft
Some drooped green wavering plumes all velvet-soft;
Or half expectant, half in mute surprise,
Watched as some great event were coming from the skies.
Birds of sweet voice as ever God had given
Sang to the royal sun and laughing heaven,
And when he fell into the awful sea
Thanked Him who made the sun with wild melodious glee;
The virgin Earth, all fresh with singing showers,
Wooed to her fragrant breast the first-born flowers;
In kingly purple clothed and turbaned pride,
They in the cool green silence lived and died.
Each as it fell, more beautiful in death,
Gave to a lovelier heir both bloom and breath,
That bud and leaf more richly might unfold,
Arrayed in living cloth of crimson, blue, and gold.
Quick down immeasured depths of forest-night,
Glanced the free insects, waving wings of light,
Or piloted themselves, like rainbow gleams
On the still bosom of the crystal streams,

216

In which the portraiture of the blue sky
Was mirrored, and in sweet inconstancy
Shone violet cloud and silver mist afar,
Round the pale crescent moon, and one deep distant star.

Hither the sisters came.

217

The Judgment of Uriel

[A large hall open to the sky. Michael is seated on a throne. Before him kneel The rebel angels in complete armour. Uriel stands haughtily on one side.]
Angels.
Have mercy, Michael, we that sinned repent.

Mi.
Before such sin as yours, even mercy fades,
As fades the glory from your drooping wings.
The grace ye ask, O angels, is denied.

Ur.
Ha, who denies it?

Mi.
I do, in the name
And with the will of Him who sent me here.

Ur.
But art thou sent?

Mi.
I am.

Ur.
I know not that.

Mi.
Nay; if ye doubt that I am sent by Him,
Demand what sign ye please; it shall be given.

Ur.
Will he refuse no sign that we may ask?

Mi.
None.

Ur.
Let the self-same fire, then, fall from heaven,
Of which the eternal coronet is wrought,
And diadem my brow. So shall I stand

218

God-crowned, and with a God co-sov'reign God,
The lord of evil I, as he of good.

Mi.
Ah! angel, who can wear God's crown but God?

Ur.
The enemy of God. Do thou my will.

Mi.
What dost thou see?

Ur.
I see the heavens unfold,
And from their dazzling clefts a sunlike flame
Falls and still falls, till, taking shape, it grows,
To likeness of the eternal diadem,
And clasps my brow. I see—

Mi.
Thou feel'st a crown
Woven of scarlet flames, that twist and flow
About thy branded brow. Why dost thou start,
And look up to the heavens, as one struck blind?

Ur.
What, is there no one will put out that fire?
Oh put it out; let it not reach the sky.
Ah! me. The angry drops of blood-red flame
Fall thickly from the warring firmament.
The hail smites sharply, and the wailing winds
Sound through the thunder. 'T is a fearful night!
I thirst! I thirst! There is a lake afar,
A lake of cool fresh water, far away.
Give me one drop to cool my fiery tongue.
Oh take this burning circle off my head!
Indeed, I do not wish to be a king.
It is so sad, so sad, to be alone.
I had a dream, and in my dream I thought
There was an angel once who would be God.
'T was a presumptuous wish to climb so high.
Ah me! the clouds roll off. I see a star

219

That swims in the grey distance, and I feel
The fresh breath of the vigorous morning air.
It is the sun I see, and not a star.
It is the day. I am glad it was a dream.
I had forgotten you were waiting here.
Go, tell your master that I feel his power,
But will not own it. I, too, am a king,
And thus I fold me in my kingliness.

Mi.
I see thee stand and gather up thy robe,
That starts away like some full sail at sea,
By sudden wind inflated. Yet no wind
Is here to lift it, but a whirling flame
Catches the struggling folds with violent grasp.
Now darkness falls, but still I see thee stand
With burning diadem on wasted brows,
And robes from which the fiery flakes fall fast
Drifting against thy angel limbs. Behold
The judgment of the rebel Uriel.

220

The Lost Angel

It was the dawn; the early day
With rosy finger drew away
The veil of night—a various grey.

The stars that in the dark had stood,
Half prominent and half subdued,
An archangelic multitude,

On the blue summit of the sky,
Now one by one came down from high,
And died, as all fair things must die.

One star alone grew yet more bright,
Grew larger with the death of night,
And cast on flower and tree fresh light:

But chiefly fell its mystic beams
On the pale maiden of my dreams,
Who weeps by Eden's holy streams.

221

She, self-reproached and self-betray'd,
Half sorrowful and half dismay'd,
Grieves under an enchanted shade.

“O star,” she cries, “dost thou regain
“Thine ancient splendour? fair domain
“Made fairer to increase my pain!

“O star! be sad as I am sad,
“Our dear lost angel is not glad,
“And can we have the joy we had?”

So grieves she still, so still resents
Her angel's fate, and scarce laments
The trespass she but half repents.

But through the lattice-work of trees
A red and angry light she sees,
That rolls along the rolling breeze:

It comes that way, it grows more red,
Self-moving, self-concentrated;
She sees it come, she droops her head.

It comes more near: she sees, she hears,
She moves not: if she fears, she fears
As one who looks for falling spheres;

And may not feel, and cannot know,
Whether such things as weal and woe.
Or love and grief, abide below.

222

It comes, it stands the dawn beneath,
She feels the presence and the breath
Of him whom we poor men call Death:

In crimson heart of flaming cloud
His shadowy head a Shadow bowed,
But opened wings like daylight's shroud,

Embroidered by the sunset skies,
When day lay dead on Paradise,
And Eve taught Adam it would rise.

It touches her, her heart is cold,
Her eyes may look, but not behold,
And misty waves are round her roll'd.

223

The Two Sisters

Awake! awake! the royal hills
Are diademed with rosy light,
The forests murmur, warbling rills
Leap, flashing, down the height.

Where stately trees like pillars rise,
A child is kneeling on the sod,
Her face is gazing on the skies,
Her heart is fixed on God.

Her prayer is said, she rises now,
She seeks the dear familiar bower,
Shadowed by many a leafy bough,
Perfumed by many a flower.

With fingers pale the bridal vine
Still clasps her forest lord, and strays
Where warm voluptuous sunbeams shine,
A thousand various ways;

224

Or drops the curtain, that she weaves,
In folds before that temple fair:
A lovely tapestry of leaves,
That stirs with every air.

The child approacht the lone retreat,
With quickened step and eager eye;
She called—Awake! O sister, sweet!
But there was no reply.

She drew the leafy veil apart,
She looked above, but nothing said,
And entering with a beating heart,
She stood before the dead.

Alone and with the Dead she stood,
The Dead, asleep among the flowers,
That yesternight her hand had strew'd,
Marked not the changing hours.

She knew not it was morning prime,
Shall never know the silent noon,
Shall never heed the twilight time,
Nor chronicle the moon.

A broken lily in her hand,
A drooping rose on drooping head;
Even Nature seemed to understand
Her queenliest flower lay dead.

225

The Child, with aspect sad and still,
Stood gazing at her sister's side,
Content, if it had been God's will,
That moment to have died.

She felt like Eve, when Eden's gate
Had closed on her for evermore,
She felt that life was desolate,
That Paradise was o'er.

Then drop the curtain, fold by fold,
Over the consecrated Bower,
And veil from curious eyes and cold
The dead and living Flower.

226

Uriel

The seraph Uriel, as the records tell
That angels write, from his allegiance fell:
And He who rules the worlds beyond the sun,
He in whom love and wisdom are made one,
Did hurl him from his royalty of light
To dwell amid the souls that wail in night;
Then Uriel felt his beauty fade away,
And a great grief came o'er him day by day,
But as his splendour withered for his sin,
Stronger and brighter grew the love within;
And so in silence, in his fiery gaol
He stood, rejoiced that love could yet prevail.

One day the ancient Gods that weep below
Accosted Uriel: “Uriel this great woe
“Will never pass, the stars will seek the sun,
“The universe shall end as it begun;
“But thro' the endless circle of the years
“Which angels know, shall neither hopes nor fears
“Visit the dwellers in these realms of fire;
“Therefore, when hate and anguish shall inspire,

227

“Ease thy full heart with curses deep as ours.
“For love will never win thee Eden's bowers.”
Then Uriel answered: “He who made the night,
“Crowned it with stars, and with the pure delight
“Of the clear moon: He who made all things frail,
“Decrees that sovran beauty shall prevail;
“There is no sorrow, friends, but it has still
“Some soul of sweetness in it; there's no ill
“But comes from him who made it and is good
“As fruit in season, leaf in budding wood,
“But if in this dread world all hope were vain,
“If penance were eternal, if such pain
“He could inflict and I endure, my will
“Would be to love thro' all this cruel ill.”
He ended, and the ancient Gods below
Ceased wailing, when they saw the mild calm glow
That wandered over that good angel's face,
Like moonlight on smooth waters, till the grace
That lay in his brave bearing and soft speech
Melted the hatred from the hearts of each;
And they stood up, and thro' the streets of Hell
The surge of countless voices rose and fell,
Praising the silent Power that dwells above,
Singing, “We love thee, Lord, for thou art Love.”

Then the red dungeon burst its grates and bars,
And light came leaping in from suns and stars,
Lapsing down dreadful rifts; the Shapes below
Saw fragments of blue sky above them glow,
Like windows, thro' the clefts; they felt the air
Cooling their branded foreheads; everywhere

228

They saw the faces of young angels shine,
And golden fingers point to thrones divine,
While a low whisper murmured like the breeze
That comes and goes on tops of full-leafed trees,
And thus it said: “O loving angels, rise,
“Borne by your love thro' the unfolding skies;
“There is no sin, no sorrow, and no hell
“But they must cease where hearts love long and well,
“Where lips praise God in anguish, and confess
“There's love in pain, that even wrong can bless.”

The whisper ceased, and every soul, forgiven
By love, for love's sweet sake went up to heaven;
Each stood before his throne, fair, glad, and calm,
And God sat in the midst and heard the psalm
Which joyful angels raised in chorus bland,
And Uriel sat, like God, on God's right hand.

229

Vesta

No; I did not marry you
That you should enslave my soul;
And this right is somewhat new
Of an absolute control.

Most ignoble is the thought,
Very false the word you say;
Soul and body was I bought,
On that dreadful marriage day!

No; in my pure womanhood,
I belong to none on earth.
Henceforth be it understood
That we are of equal birth.

Man art thou and woman I;
Soul and body are our own;
We must live and we must die
Sovrans of ourselves alone.

233

Tread rebellious passion down;
Purity is man's best grace;
Fiery gaze and wrathful frown
Drive the godlike from his face.

Learn, dear friend, a nobler lore,
Marriage has a sacred dread;
Holy as she was before,
Is the maid when she is wed.

234

Song

Cold heart, I heed not thee;
Cold heart, judge thou not me;
Soon, soon, must I depart:
Farewell, farewell, cold heart!
Farewell, farewell!

As in the lonely vale,
Fadeth the windflower pale,
Where bee nor butterfly
Mourns when her blossoms die,
In her sweet cell.

So none will mourn for me,
Child, man on shore, on sea,
So too, must I depart:
Farewell, farewell, cold heart!
Farewell, farewell!

235

Joy and Despondency

In youth's glad hour I left the eddying dance,
When the large shadows hovered on the wall,
And where proud rocks athwart the ocean glance,
I trod the shore alone, the king of all.

There, as the yellow evening faded fast,
I paced with measured step the barren sand,
Or watched the dwarfing sail and dwindling mast
Fly down the sunset to the morning-land.

Or when the sky was crost with cloudy bars.
Silent I stood on lone and lovely leas,
Or climbed some hill-top overlook'd by stars,
When God seemed passing in the conscious breeze.

Then strength and gladness to my heart were given,
Then soul grew sense and sense refined to soul:
“I am a king, I cried, elect of Heaven!
“I am a part of one majestic whole.

236

“With the great tide of things I ebb and flow,
“I help to ring the world's melodious chime;
“I know life's fairest mysteries, and I know
“Her music and her universal rhyme.”

Lulled in ambrosial dreams all night I lay;
Through lucid air, God's darling, I was borne:
But, ah! I said, these dreams may pass away,—
I with blank eyes may wake and see the morn.

237

Doubt

It came at length; I rose to face the day;
Rude laughter met me, voices loud and wild,
Music and mystery both had past away,
An orphan I, for God had left his child.

I paced the lone uncomfortable sand,
The sea lay flat and sullen as a pond,
Ah! what if there should be no morning-land,
Should be no sunrise and no shore beyond.

Then doubt on doubt of subtle thread I spun,
Firm were the strands, the thread was all compact,
From sense and fancy hateful help I won,
Built thought on thought and buttressed fact by fact.

“Spring comes, ” I cried, “but never more return
“The leaf and blossom of the perished year,
“On tree and tower red fruit and berry burn,
“But not the same the old autumn suns held dear.

238

“All grows and ripens, falls, decays, and dies;
“There is no second life for flower or tree,
“O suffering soul! be humble and be wise!
“Nor dream new worlds have any need of thee!

“Yet, tho'thy fruit must fall, thy blossom fade,
“Like all fair things before the unpitying Hours,
“Live, like thy fellow-mortals of the glade,
“And die like thy co-rivals of the bowers.”

239

Faith

“And yet,” I mused, “the World is deep and wide.
“And the full circle of our life expands,
“Broadening and brightening on an endless tide,
“That ebbs and flows between these mystic lands.

“There is no death for that which dwells apart,
“Mid changing forms a secret strength remains;
“All work endures, strong mind and noble heart
“Touch to fine issues nobler hearts and brains.

“True word, kind deed, sweet song shall vibrate still,
“In rings that wander thro' celestial air,
“And human will shall build for human will,
“Fair basement to a palace yet more fair.

“O God! I will not ask to know thy thought,
“I will not climb thy hills or span thy sky,
“Shall the child compass what the man hath wrought.
“Can man do more than feel the God on high!

240

“Not endless life, but endless love, I crave,
“The gladness and the calm of holier springs,
“The hope that makes men resolute and brave,
“The joyful life in the great Life of Things.

“The soul that loves and works will need no praise,
“But, fed with sunlight and with morning breath,
“Will make our common days eternal days,
“And fearless greet the mild and gracious death.”

241

The Golden City

He shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of Heaven from God, having the glory of God.”—Revelation.

On the green country of the dead I look;
Earth sleeps, and there is silence all around,
I only hear the music of the brook,
I listen, but I hear no other sound.

I look on heaven, I see the ancient Moon,
I see the eternal Stars, each on his throne;
My spirit fails, I hear no more the tune
Of that sweet brook; earth fades; I am alone.

I am alone, far off in some strange land,
Some world of dream, both like and unlike ours;
I hear a music none may understand,
A sound of waters gliding among flowers.

Glorified multitudes of perfect men,
Giants in intellect, but babes in heart,
Are wandering through a green and sunny glen,
Basking in splendour never to depart.

245

Luminous spirits, angels darkly bright,
And gliding shapes with glories round their head.
And prophets standing in a cloudy light,
And poets that gaze upwards as they tread.

Far in the distance, even as a star,
A golden city rears its giant towers.
The lightning of its glory shines afar,
I see its wondrous domes, its happy bowers!

No sun is there to light it, not a ray
Falls or from moon or star; it never knows
The death or resurrection of the day,
But in one everlasting summer glows.

Silent it lies—a wondrous splendour broods
Over each sapphire dome and minaret,
A splendour as of beauteous multitudes
Of setting suns, still setting, never set.

Wondering I turned away, a Shape drew near—
“O son of man, what seest thou?” he said;
I answered not the Shape for very fear,
For awful was the glory round his head.

“Fear not, O child of Earth!” the spirit cried;
Then spake I, slowly gathering up my powers,
“Spirit, where am I?” “Mortal,” he replied,
“I dare not name to thee this land of ours;

246

“But if aught else thou wouldest understand,
“I will reveal it, if thou question me.”
“Then asked I, “What is that triumphant band,
“Whose is that golden city that I see?”

“What are those glorious Shapes, broad-browed, heaveneyed,
“Who seek that city, so serenely bright?”
“They are the morning-stars of God,” he cried,
“They are the children of the primal light.

“This is the church of the eternal Priest,
“These are the nations of the only King,
“These are the banquetters at his great feast,
“These are the minstrels that his praises sing.

“That is the golden city of the free,
“Come down from heaven to be man's bright abode.”
“What is the wondrous splendour that I see?”
“The shadow of the beauty men call God.”

He ceast, and lo, the vision faded fast,
The golden city faded from my view,
Each beauteous figure, as it swiftly past,
Dim and yet dimmer in the distance grew.

And now once more upon the earth I look,
I see the Church asleep beneath the moon,
I see the patient moon—the unseen brook
Plays to the quiet woods its pleasant tune.

247

Eternal blessings, reverent church! be thine:
O patient moon, my blessing be with thee,
For thou hast raised within this soul of mine
A vision that I never hoped to see.

And often when my spirit is brought low,
And when my human heart is out of tune,
Shall I behold that moon in beauty glow,
And see the church asleep beneath the moon.

Coleridge.

251

SONNETS.

Child's Play

[_]

(A Volume of Illustrations by E. V. B.)

O fairy Volume, fresh from fairyland,
Glad welcome take, for such beseems thy birth,
And take my rhyme of praise, tho' little worth,
For grateful hearts not always song command.
Bright dreams thou bringest of a happier Earth,
Dreams of a Heaven not too good or grand,
Where daisies grow, nor is there any dearth
Of nut or berry: where old castles stand
Yearning towards the Sunset, on the strand;
And children piping to green fields go forth,
Or singing, dance with angels, hand in hand,
Or birdlike mix with birds, in careless mirth;
A heaven where trees have not too heavenly girth,
Where all can feel what none may understand.

252

Eleanor's Well

Sweet fields were ours touched with a mellow glow,
From gorgeous cloud at rise, at set of sun,
And shadowing trees, but no glad spring had run
Beside our homes, to bless the day and night,
But see! the water flows with gentle might,
In metal highway thro' green pastures led,
And o'er the sculptured bason see it shed
A silver stream, a fall of sparkling light!
Thus with wise heart a gentle fancy wed,
Long summer morns, hath for our solace wrought;
So noble work succeeds to noble thought,
So the hand justifies the heart and head,
So the child's play to earnest close is brought,
So piety from poetry is wed.

253

Summer Days

Our verses with the days of summer rhyme.
For all our summer days are not the same,
Nor comes there one that as her sister came,
But various, as a flower in its own clime,
Days are there for some simple grace sublime,
And days whose witching beauty is their fame,
Some in white clouds float lingering past, and some
Which dance along in wind and light we praise;
Some to lorn heaths with lark and cuckoo come,
Or sleep with pink-striped moths in sylvan ways.
Some with brown bees in thymy gardens hum,
Some walk in splendour, some in silvery haze;
Days are there too, when heaven and earth are dumb.
Old dim mysterious far-off-feeling days.

254

Children Reading

Few books our children have and need but few,
For they are pupils of the birds and bees;
They read old stories in the stars and trees,
And watch the clouds when April skies are blue;
Or sing and dance upon the daisied leas,
Or gather diamonds in the morning dew.
Few books are theirs, but lo! the playful breeze,
Still hides and flutters in the leaves of Two;
Slaves of the Lamp and Ring, more wonders please
Their fancy than the young Aladdin knew,
While far, far off, across those slumbering seas
They glide with Crusoe in his frail canoe.
Such simple lore with childhood best agrees;
Once wisest men believed the fairies true.

255

The Child and the Bird's Nest

He saw it falling from the broken spray
Of the tall apple-tree that overhung
The hawthorn hedge, where its blithe tenant sung.
Hid in the vestal blossoms of the May.
Wrought of green moss and lichen red and gray,
This cincturing cell! No softer circle spread
Round the meek birds whom Lady Venus fed,
For Love still dwells among the birds they say!
Yes! take thy prize, white eggs faint-tinged with blue,
Whose spots, dark-centered, into purple run.
Yes! take thy prize, but yet a moment rue
The cruel wrong the ungracious winds have done.
And with mild sorrow shadowing all the sun,
Dear Child! to humble griefs and cares be true.

256

My Poets

I lived with the great poets evermore,
Yet evermore I felt their sway grow less:
First Byron wrought in me a deep distress;
Then Shelley made me weep, smile, love, adore,
And, feeling as he felt, I learnt to see
What grace, what poesy, what wisdom crown'd
The mystical sweet spirit and profound
Of the melodious Seer of Galilee.
But now these poets speak not; silent now
Their old and magisterial command;
Shakspeare must soothe my age; for Spenser's brow
I have no crown, who love not Fairyland.
Two Poets are there only whom I know,
Goethe the strong, and, strong and sweet, George Sand.

257

The Haunted Shore

I walk'd at sunset by the lonely waves,
When Autumn stood about me, gold and brown:
I watch'd the great red Sun, in clouds, go down,
An orient King, that mid his bronzèd slaves
Dies, leaning on his sceptre, with his crown.
A hollow moaning from innumerous caves,
In green and glassy darkness sunk below,
Told of some grand and ancient deed of woe,
Of murdered kings that sleep in weltering graves.
Still thro the sunshine wavering to and fro,
With sails all set, the little vessels glide;
Mild is the Eve and mild the ebbing Tide.
And yet that hollow moaning will not go,
Nor the old Fears that with the sea abide.

258

The Young Crusaders

These are the children that in ancient time,
When yet the holy grave and cross were dear,
An infant Knighthood, took the shield and spear,
Thrilled with a gentle awe and hope sublime.
Nor wonder if an angel by the pier
Their leader be, or if an angel climb
Over the vessel's side their course to steer,
While bells above the stars for blessing chime.
For still in that wild error we revere
The simple grace of the world's maiden prime,
The venturous promise that makes glad the year,
The faith and deed that charm like some old rhyme.
Glide, with the angels then, through waters clear,
Children! we will not call your love a crime.

259

Copenhagen

“He followed his master with his dear head bent down, and sad eyes, in which I could see the tears.”

Dear fellow-creature! ranked among those steeds,
That mighty Homer lifted to the Gods,
And worthier far, in their august abodes,
Of that ambrosia on which godhead feeds,
Than men with low desires or common needs.
O nobly travel Fame's eternal roads,
Still following where the laurelled conqueror leads,
And named with him in high poetic odes.
Kind fellow-creature! weep celestial tears,
For love celestial to all life is lent,
One thought, one feeling man to man endears,
And with man's lot thy lowlier lot is blent,
Touched with his grief when stricken love appears,
In battle brave and watchful near the tent.

260

Consecration

Across the throbbing heaven slow creeps the breeze,
The Stars look down on me with earnest eyes,
Revealers of the past eternities
And prophets of the future; the strong skies
Lean lovingly o'er earth; the lonely leas
Checquered with shadows of quick-grazing sheep,
And moving branchery of forest trees,
Trembling beneath the watchful moon in sleep,
Are gliding into this calm soul of mine,
Hanging its templed walls with pictures fair.
Open it is unto the heavens divine,
To the glad breathings of the summer air
From shores eternal, holy as the shrine
Wherein a little child first kneels in prayer.

261

Renunciation

Wakeful I lay all night and thought of God.
Of heaven, and of the crowns pale martyrs gain.
Of souls in high and purgatorial pain,
And the red path which murdered seers have trod:
I heard the trumpets which the angels blow,
I saw the cleaving sword, the measuring rod.
I watched the stream of sound continuous flow.
Past the gold towers where seraphs make abode.
But now I let the aching splendour go,
I dare not call the crownèd angels peers,
Henceforth! I am content to dwell below,
Mid common joys, with humble smiles and tears.
Delighted in the sun and breeze to grow,
A child of human hopes and human fears.