The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

All round, the solemn slumber of the snow,
No sigh, no stir, no breath,—
But in the midst, scarce audible, slow, low,
The throbbing pulse of Death. . . .

The hours creep on, the dreary days are shed,
Measured by that slow beat;
And all the while god Balder lieth dead,
Wrapt in his winding-sheet.

II. The Light on the Snow.

O Death, Death, press thy hand so lean and bare
Upon thy beating heart!
O Death, raise up thy head and scent the air
With nostrils cold apart!

Awaken from thy trance, O Death, and rise,
And hearken with thine ears! . . .

474

Death stirs, and like a snake with glistening eyes
His luminous head uprears. . . .

Awaken! listen! Far across the night,
And down the drifts of snow,
There stirs a lonely light,—a blood-red light
That moveth to and fro.

Sniall as a drop of dew, most dim to sight,
It glimmereth afar. . . .
O Death, it cometh hither,—growing bright
And luminous as a star.

O Death, pale Death,
What do thine eyes behold?
What lonely star flasheth afar
Across the wintry wold?

The world is folded in its shroud of white;
The skies are smother'd deep;
There is no lamp at all in heaven, to light
Death Balder's sleep.

There is no lamp at Balder's head, no star
Outlooking from the cloud;
White is the snow-drift woven near and far,
And white is Balder's shroud.

O death, pale Death, across the lone white land
No heavenly rays are shed,—
Yet still thou-gazest, clutching Balder's hand,
At yonder gleam blood-red. . . .

It crawleth as a snail along the ground,
Still far and faint to see,
O Death, it creepeth surely, with no sound,
Across the night, to thee.

O gentle Death,
Why dost thou crouch so low?
A star it seems, a star that travelleth
From snow to snow.

Nearer it cometh, and across the night
Its beams fall crimson red,
The drifts beneath it glimmer and grow bright
Like cheeks lamp-lit and dead.

O gentle Death,
Hither it cometh slow;—
A Shadow creepeth with the same, O Death
From snow to snow.

III. The Face and the Voice.

Nearer and nearer o'er the waste of white
It steals, and doth not fade:
A light, and in the glimmer of the light
A form that casts a shade.

Nearer and nearer, till Death's eyes behold
A semblance strange and gray,
A silent shape that stoopeth and doth hold
The lamp to light its way.

Bent is he as a weary snow-clad bough,
Gaunt as a leafless tree,
But glamour of moonlight lies upon his brow,
Most strange to see!

And in one hand a silvern lanthorn swings
Fill'd with a crimson light,
And round his frame wind-blown and shivering clings
A robe of starry white. . . .

O Death, pale Death,
Well may thy cold heart beat!
The form that comes hath piercëd hands, O Death,
And bloody piercëd feet.

Slowly he crawleth under the cold skies,
His limbs trail heavy as lead,
Pale fixëd blue his eyes are, like the eyes
Of one that sleeps stone-dead.

Ay me, for never thro' so wan a wold
Walk'd one so sadly fair—
The wild snows drift, the wind blows shrill and cold,
And those soft feet are bare. . . .

O who is this that walketh the wintry night,
With naked hands and feet!
O who is this that beareth a blood-red light,
And weareth a winding-sheet!

The night is still, no living thing makes moan;
Silent the cold skies loom;—
But hark! what voice is this, so faintly blown
Across the gloom?

475

‘Balder! Balder!’
Hush! that cry!
The form stands white i' the chilly night,
Holding its lamp on high.

‘Balder! Balder!
Where art thou?’
The snow smooths still with fingers chill
Dead Balder's brow.

O gentle Death,
What voice is this that cries?
What sad shape stands with lifted hands
Alone under the skies?

‘Balder! O Balder!
Answer me!’
He stands and softly sighs,
And vacant are his eyes
As if they cannot see!

Yet in the weary gloom full faint they glow,
And fix themselves at last—
He sees dead Balder sleeping in the snow,
And thither he fleeteth fast!

He comes now swifter than a bark
Which bitter tempests blow,—
Dreadful he flashes down the dark,
With black prints on the snow!

‘Wake, Balder! wake!’
His voice calls now—
The shrill cry circles like a snake
Round Balder's brow!

Oh, who is this that walketh the wintry night
With naked hands and feet?
O who is this that beareth a blood-red light
And weareth a winding-sheet?

There is a gleam upon his brow and hair
Ev'n as of luminous hands,
Swiftly he comes to Balder's side, and there
He stands!

And Death crawls moaning from his snowy seat
To grasp his raiment hem,
And toucheth with his mouth the piercëd feet,
Yea, softly kisseth them.

O Death! pale Death!
He gazeth down on thee—
His smile is like no smile of thing of breath,
Yet is it sweet to see.

He lifts the lamp—and lo! its red rays glance
On Balder's sleeping eyes—
‘Balder! O Balder! from thy trance
Arise!’ . . . .

Strange flash'd the wondrous ray
Aslant the silent snows;
Death wail'd—and slowly, gaunt and gray,
Dead Balder rose!

IV. ‘Wake, Balder! Wake!’

Silent rose Balder, ev'n as one
Who wakens from a swoon,
Turning his head from side to side
In the red wintry moon.

Wrapt in his winding-sheet of snow
He loom'd in the dim light,
And marble-pale his cold cheeks gleam'd
Under his locks of white.

‘Wake, Balder! wake!’ the strange voice cried;
Dead Balder woke and heard,
And turn'd his face to his who spake,
Shiv'ring, but said no word.

‘Wake, Balder! wake!’ the strange voice cried;
And Balder woke and knew,—
And lo! upon his lips and hair
A golden glimmer grew!

O who art thou with blessed voice,
Who biddest my heart beat?
And wherefore hast thou waken'd me
From sleep so heavenly sweet?’

Then answer'd back that tall still form,
In a clear voice and low,
Stretching his arms and brightening,
White-robed, and pale as snow.

‘I am thine elder Brother
Come from beyond the sea;
For many a weary night and day
I have been seeking thee!’

Oh, Balder's cheeks are shining bright,
And smiles are on his face—
‘I dream'd, and saw one with a lamp
Passing from place to place.

476

‘And ever, as he wander'd on,
Softly he cried to me—
Art thou mine elder Brother?
Then shall my lips kiss thee!’

‘I am thine elder Brother,
Come from beyond the sea;
Balder, my brother Balder,
Kiss thou me!’

Death moans, and crouching on the snow
Uplooketh with eyes dim,
For Balder on his brother's breast
Hath fallen, kissing him.

‘Thou art mine elder Brother,
The risen Balder cries;
‘I know thee by thy gentle voice
And by thy tearful eyes.

‘Thou art mine elder Brother,
Most heavenly sad and sweet,
Yet wherefore hast thou piercëd hands
And naked piercëd feet?

‘O wherefore are thy cheeks so chill,
Thy lips so cold and blue,
And wherefore com'st thou in thy shroud,
As if arisen too?’

The white Christ smiled in Balder's face,
But softly his tears ran—
‘Like thee I lived, like thee I loved,
And died, like thee, for Man.’

V. The Birth and Death.

The white Christ cried, and on the air
His voice like music rang,
And Balder listen'd silently
As if an angel sang.

‘Out of the dark Earth was I born,
Under the shining blue,
And to a human height I rose,
And drank the light, and grew.

‘The land was beauteous where I dwelt,
A still and silent land,
Where little pools of heaven fall
And gleam 'mid wastes of sand.

‘I loved the bright beasts of the earth,
And birds both great and small;
I loved all God made beautiful,
But mortals most of all.

‘For on their faces framed of clay,
And in their eyes divine,
I saw the shadow of the dream
Which nightly sadden'd mine.

‘But when I knew their days were dark,
And all their spirits sore,
Because of this same silent Death
Creeping from door to door,

‘I raised my hands to heaven and cried
On him that fashion'd me,
My Father dear who dwells in heaven,
And suffers Death to be.

‘And sweet and low this answer came
Out of the quiet sky—
All that is beautiful shall abide,
All that is base shall die!

‘Take thou thy cross and bear it well,
And seek my servant Death:
Thou too shalt wither like a flower
Before his bitterest breath.

‘Yea, thou shalt slumber in his arms
Three nights and days, and then,
With that cold kiss upon thy lips,
Awaken once again!

‘And when thou wakenest at last
Thy work is yet undone,
For thou shalt roam the Earth, and seek
Thy Brethren one by one!

‘Yea, one by one unto thy heart
Thy kin shall gather'd be,
Each pallid from the kiss of Death
And beautiful like thee!’

‘O Balder, when my dark day came,
And in despair I died,
The same sad Death sang low to me,
Who croucheth at thy side!

‘And all my living breath was gone
For three long nights and days,
And by my side the phantom knelt
Like one that waits and prays.

‘But when my Father's voice again
Came faint and low to me,
I rose out of my grave, and saw
Earth sleeping silently.

477

‘He who had hush'd me in his arms
Was busy other-where. . . .
I stood and watch'd my Father's eyes
Shine down thro' azure air.

‘Then softly, with a happy smile,
Along the land I crept,
And found the men that I had loved,
Who waited, lived, and wept.

‘And lo, I blessed them one and all,
And cried with a human cry,
“All that is beautiful shall abide,
All that is base shall die.”

‘But when my loving task was done,
My soul took better cheer,
And wandering thro' the world unseen
I sought my Brethren dear.

‘All in my robe of snowy white
From realm to realm I trod,
Seeking my Brethren who had died,
The golden Sons of God!’

VI. The Paracletes.

‘I wander'd east, thro' shining realms
Of bright and brazen day,
And there, by a great river's side,
I saw a Brother pray.

‘For past his feet the corpses drave
Along the yellow tide,
Chased by the emerald water-snakes
And vultures crimson-eyed.

‘And from the banks there rose a wail
Of women for their dead;
They wept and tore their linen robes,
And plunged 'neath wheels of dread.

‘Upon his brow he wore a crown,
But his black feet were bare,
And in his bright and brooding eyes
There dwelt a piteous care.

‘From his red lips there came a sound
Like music of a psalm,
And those who listen'd ceased their tears
And grew divinely calm.

‘On his own grave he sat and smiled,
A spirit dark and sweet,
And there were flowers upon his head
And fruits around his feet. . . .

‘I wander'd west where eagles soar
Far o'er the realms of rains,
And there, among pale mountain peaks,
One hung in iron chains.

‘His head was hoary as the snow
Of that serene cold clime,
Yet like a child he smiled, and sang
The cradle song of Time.

‘And as he sang upon his cross,
And in no human tones,
The cruel gods who placed him there
Were shaken on their thrones.

‘I kiss'd him softly on the lips,
And sighing set him free—
He wanders now in the green world,
Divine, like thee and me. . . .

‘Then faring on with foot of fire
I cross'd the windy main.
And reach'd a mighty continent
Wash'd green with dew and rain.

‘There swift as lightning in the sun
Ran beauteous flocks and herds,
And there were forests flashing bright,
And many-colour'd birds.

‘And there the red-skin'd hunters chased
The deer and wild black kine,—
And lo! another gentle god
Was sitting in a shrine!

‘His skin enwrought, as if he lived,
With mystic signs, sat he;
Shaven his forehead, and his face
Was painted terribly.

‘Yet was he gentle as the dew,
And gracious as the rain:
With healing gifts he made men glad
Upon that mighty plain. . . .

‘I wander'd south, where rivers roll'd
Yellow with slime and sand,
And, black against an orange sky,
I saw another stand.

‘Two cymbals held he as he stood,
And clash'd them with shrill wail:
The clash was as the thunder's voice,
Heard 'mid the drifting gale.

478

‘Black was his skin as blackest night,
Naked as night each limb,
Yet in his eyeballs, on his cheeks,
The heavenly dew did swim. . . .

‘O Balder, these thy Brethren were
Surely as they were mine.
I wander north, and thee I find
The best and most divine!

‘Yea, each of these was offer'd up
As thou hast been, and I;
Their blood was drifted ev'n as smoke
Up to the silent sky.

‘All these loved Man and the green Earth
As thou hast done, and I;
And each of these by stronger gods
Was smitten down to die.

‘Yet ever when I came, and spake
The word and made the sign,
Their souls grew clothed in gentleness
And rose again with mine!

‘Yea, for the love of living men
They stood renew'd in breath,
And smote the great gods from their thrones
With looks made strong thro' Death.

‘With faces fair they rose and wrought
Against the gods with me,
To make the green Earth beautiful
From shining sea to sea.

‘Yea, Balder, these thy Brethren were,
Surely as they were mine:
My Father's blessing on thy lips,
For thou, too, art divine!’

VII.

Beneath his feet the pale Death crouch'd
Ev'n as a lean white bear,
Watching with dark and dreamful eyes
That face so strangely fair.

But paler, sadder, wearier,
Stood Balder in his shroud,
While overhead a star's still hand
Parted the drifting cloud;

And from the lattices of heaven
The star look'd down on him;
But Balder saw not, and his eyes
With tearful dews were dim,

‘O Brother, on my sense still lies
The burthen of my sleep,
A weight is on me like the weight
Of winter on the Deep.

‘For I remember as I wake
Mine old glad life of dream—
The vision of the bridal Earth,
The glory and the gleam!

‘Oh, beautiful was the bright Earth,
And round her purple bed
The torches of great rivers burnt
Amber and blue and red!

‘And beautiful were living men,
Wandering to and fro,
With sun and moon and stars for lights,
And flowers and leaves below.

‘But evermore this phantom Death
Was darkening the sun,
Seeking the sweetest to destroy.
Sparing and pitying none.

‘And lo, I live, and at my feet
Death cold and silent lies,—
While in thine own dear Father's name
Thou biddest me arise.

‘O wherefore should I rise at all
Since all is black above,
And trampled 'neath the feet of gods
Lie all the shapes I love?

‘Ay me, the dead are strewn with snows,
They sleep and cannot see,
With no soft voice to waken them
As thine has waken'd me!

‘And wherefore should my soul forget
What cruel kin were mine,
Tho' in another Father's name
Thou greetest me divine?’

The white Christ gazed in Balder's face,
And held his hand, and cried,
‘Divine thou art and beautiful,
And therefore must abide!

‘And in mine own dear Father's name
I greet and bid thee rise,
And we shall stand before his throne
And look into his eyes.’

479

But Balder moan'd, ‘Who made the Earth,
And all things foul or fair?
Who made the white bear on the berg,
The eagle in the air?

‘Who made the lightning's forkëd flame,
Who thunder's blacken'd brand?
Who fashion'd Death, with fatal eyes,
Chill breath, and clammy hand?’

Death stirred and clung to Bilder's feet
And utter'd forth a cry—
A thousand starry hands drew back
The curtains of the sky!

And countless eyes look'd calmly down
Thro' azure clear and cold,
And lo! the round red moon became
A shining lily of gold!

Then on the wilderness of snow
A lustrous sheen was shed,
And splendour as of starlight grew
Around the white Christ's head.

And Christ cried, gazing down on Death,
Making a mystic sign,
‘Now blessings on my servant Death,
For he too is divine.

‘O Balder, he who fashion'd us,
And bade us live and move,
Shall weave for Death's sad heavenly hair
Immortal flowers of love.

‘Ah! never fail'd my servant Death,
Whene'er I named his name,—
But at my bidding he hath flown
As swift as frost or flame.

‘Yea, as a sleuth-hound tracks a man,
And finds his form, and springs,
So hath he hunted down the gods
As well as human things!

‘Yet only thro' the strength of Death
A god shall fall or rise—
A thousand lie on the cold snows,
Stone still, with marble eyes.

‘But whosoe'er shall conquer Death,
Tho' mortal man he be,
Shall in his season rise again,
And live, with thee, and me!

‘And whosoe'er loves mortals most
Shall conquer Death the best,
Yea, whosoe'er grows beautiful
Shall grow divinely blest.’

The white Christ raised his shining face
To that still bright'ning sky.
‘Only the beautiful shall abide,
Only the base shall die!’

VIII.

But Balder moan'd, ‘O beauteous Earth
Now lying cold and dead,
Bright flash'd the lamps of flowers and stars
Around thy golden head!

‘And beautiful were beast and bird,
And lamb and speckled snake,
And beautiful were human things
Who gladden'd for my sake.

‘But lo! on one and all of those
Blew the cold blighting breath,
Until I died that they might live
And bought their life with death.

‘Behold, I live, and all is dark,
And wasted is my pain,
For glimmering at my feet I see
The fatal eyes again.

‘Why stays he here upon the Earth?
Why lingers he below?
The empty heavens wait for him,—
'Tis ended—let him go!’

Death look'd up with a loving face,
And smiled from the white ground;—
The stars that sat upon their thrones
Seem'd singing with low sound.

The white Christ cried, ‘The green Earth lives!
She sleeps, but hath not died!
She and all fair things thou hast named
Shall quicken and abide!

‘O Balder, those great gods to whom
Thy radiant life was given,
Were far too frail to keep their plight
And summon Death to heaven.

‘There is no god of all thy kin
Dare name that name aloud:

480

When his cold hand was on thy heart,
Each crouch'd within his cloud.

‘Thou couldst not buy the boon of those,
They were too weak and poor;
Fain would they buy a boon of thee,
Now thy strange sleep is o'er!

‘Yet now for evermore fulfilled
Is thine ancestral rune,
For thou indeed hast conquer'd Death
And won thy gentle boon.

‘Yea, thou hast died as fair things die
In earth, and air, and deep,
Yet hast thou risen thrice beautiful
Out of thy solemn sleep.

‘For life thrice seal'd and sanctified
Is on thy lips and eyes;
And whatsoe'er grows fair like thee
By love shall also rise.

‘Lo! out of beauty cast away
Another beauty grows:
What Death reaps in the fields of life
In fairer fields he sows.

‘And thro' a thousand gates of gloom,
With tracts of life between,
The creatures that the Father made
Creep on, now hid, now seen;

‘And duly out of every doom
A sweeter issue flows,
As out of dreary dooms of gods
At last thy glory rose!

‘So fairer yet, and ever fair,
Thy soul divine shall gleam,
A spirit springing from a tomb
And rainbow'd into dream!

‘O kiss me, Brother, on the mouth,
Yea, kiss me thrice again;
For when I feel thy kiss, I feel
The sun, and the wind, and the rain!

‘The dead Earth wakens 'neath thy feet,
Flame kindles thro' the sod. . . .
O kiss me with thy human lips,
Thou brightest born of God!’