 | Lays of France |  |
But Pharamond heard that sweet sound,
As the one strange thing waited for
Through death; and, waking at the sore
Inconstant words, his hands unwound
The shining chain and tress that bound
His limbs; and, in the glorious gloom
Of that unconsecrated tomb,
He rose up, dumb and mighty,—pale
And terrible in blood-stained mail,
And the gold on him as a belt,—
He rose up,—a great soul that felt
Death ended ere a word from God:
And, going forth, he once more trod
The waste ways of the human earth;
And, terrible, and giving birth
To wide dismay, he crossed all lands,
Mountains and forests, and the sands
Of deserts, and the pathless seas,
And where suns burnt or snows did freeze
The summer,—going back to take
Her soul for vows she could not break.
As the one strange thing waited for
Through death; and, waking at the sore
Inconstant words, his hands unwound
The shining chain and tress that bound
His limbs; and, in the glorious gloom
Of that unconsecrated tomb,
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And terrible in blood-stained mail,
And the gold on him as a belt,—
He rose up,—a great soul that felt
Death ended ere a word from God:
And, going forth, he once more trod
The waste ways of the human earth;
And, terrible, and giving birth
To wide dismay, he crossed all lands,
Mountains and forests, and the sands
Of deserts, and the pathless seas,
And where suns burnt or snows did freeze
The summer,—going back to take
Her soul for vows she could not break.
And yet again, the last rich eve
—Ere, for this Chaitivel, whom woe
Lay waiting for, she thought to leave
The past for ever, yea, and go.
Through earths and heavens that ne'er should know
Other than her new love of her,—
Fearing not that the dead should stir
Nor fate remember,—as they stayed,
Having used up their words and sighed
To soften hours that yet delayed
Their souls from mingling to divide
No more for ever,—Sarrazine,
Making her voice sad as might be
Some bird's last singing in the tree
It nested in, said:
—Ere, for this Chaitivel, whom woe
Lay waiting for, she thought to leave
The past for ever, yea, and go.
Through earths and heavens that ne'er should know
Other than her new love of her,—
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Nor fate remember,—as they stayed,
Having used up their words and sighed
To soften hours that yet delayed
Their souls from mingling to divide
No more for ever,—Sarrazine,
Making her voice sad as might be
Some bird's last singing in the tree
It nested in, said:
As I lean
This way upon your bosom, love,
Dreaming how it shall be above,
—Yea, when we go from star to star,
Finding innumerable ways
To heaven,—a little thought flies far
Behind me, to the piteous days
Of one whom no soft memory stays,
Maybe, from cursing me down there
To death—who might have made life fair
And death less bitter, with one care;
One fond angelic word: O you,
Whose love quite governs me and finds
No will in me but your will binds
And turns it all to serving you—
You might have hated, if you knew
How I was sterner than the death
That gave him ease of the last breath,
Watching him hollow out his grave
In his deep boyish love of me!
I had a thousand ways to save
And strengthen him and make him flee;
Nay, but I rather chose to see
His passionate face from day to day
Consuming near me, knowing well
The different thoughts that made their prey
His heart, having a word to say
—A word unsaid yet!—ah, what spell
Of peace should I delight to weave
Over his grave there! I would take
The very waste the autumns leave
Upon it, thinking, for his sake
Who lies there, no one stays to grieve,
And I would change it into flowers
Forced up and fostered in my heart,
So I might soften the least part
Of death, and make him quite forgive
And never hate me for the hours
That made death sweeter than to live.
This way upon your bosom, love,
Dreaming how it shall be above,
—Yea, when we go from star to star,
Finding innumerable ways
To heaven,—a little thought flies far
Behind me, to the piteous days
Of one whom no soft memory stays,
Maybe, from cursing me down there
To death—who might have made life fair
And death less bitter, with one care;
One fond angelic word: O you,
Whose love quite governs me and finds
No will in me but your will binds
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You might have hated, if you knew
How I was sterner than the death
That gave him ease of the last breath,
Watching him hollow out his grave
In his deep boyish love of me!
I had a thousand ways to save
And strengthen him and make him flee;
Nay, but I rather chose to see
His passionate face from day to day
Consuming near me, knowing well
The different thoughts that made their prey
His heart, having a word to say
—A word unsaid yet!—ah, what spell
Of peace should I delight to weave
Over his grave there! I would take
The very waste the autumns leave
Upon it, thinking, for his sake
Who lies there, no one stays to grieve,
And I would change it into flowers
Forced up and fostered in my heart,
So I might soften the least part
Of death, and make him quite forgive
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That made death sweeter than to live.
Ah, love, but, now, I feel, as though
I may forget all this, and say
It was another woman, yea,
And not this Sarrazine; for, so
Your love hath changed me, I may throw
The past into a grave, and shrink
From ever looking o'er the brink
To see the dead in it and see
A mouldering form of one like me.
I may forget all this, and say
It was another woman, yea,
And not this Sarrazine; for, so
Your love hath changed me, I may throw
The past into a grave, and shrink
From ever looking o'er the brink
To see the dead in it and see
A mouldering form of one like me.
And he who never had a joy
In life because of her,—he heard
Quite plainly; and she did destroy
His slender hope with every word.
And, in the silence, his soul prayed
That she might never take away
The little joy it was to stay
Not far off in the place she made
Her heaven, to steal there unbetrayed,
And only see her from some shade.
But that night, ere they bade farewell,
A fear of unknown sadness fell
Between them; and her lover went
To wait for joy, with such a heart
As if an omen had been sent
Sorrow would come to take joy's part.
In life because of her,—he heard
Quite plainly; and she did destroy
His slender hope with every word.
And, in the silence, his soul prayed
That she might never take away
The little joy it was to stay
Not far off in the place she made
Her heaven, to steal there unbetrayed,
And only see her from some shade.
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A fear of unknown sadness fell
Between them; and her lover went
To wait for joy, with such a heart
As if an omen had been sent
Sorrow would come to take joy's part.
And when he sought her the next morn,
Lo, there was one who sat forlorn
In the room with her,—a mute, pale,
Uncertain semblance of a man
Dreary and wasted past the span
Of mortal sorrow; with a frail
Still passionate look he haunted her,
As though his pain changed with each stir
Her hand or body made;—and, lo,
When, fearful, with a voice that burned
His heart, he asked concerning him,
And why he came to her,—she turned
And trembled, looking to and fro,
And said, indeed, it was not so;
Only a chill mist seemed to dim
Her sight; but surely none was there
Beside himself and her. Then, straight
That other answered him from where
He stood: a voice lent by mere fate
It seemed to be, and, thin as air,
The void form seemed to vacillate,
As though sound shook it through and through:
—O lover, loved of her whom I
Must love unloved for ever,—you
Have nought to hate me for; e'en death
Found little he might purify,
When he divided the last sigh
I gave her with an earthly breath;
And now I have long learnt to take
Content in ways that could not break
Your peace or hers: none hindereth
My soul from loving of her still:
I pray God keep her from the chill
Of seeing me; and only this—
Which he hath granted for my bliss
Shall all suffice me—to traverse
Quite after her his universe
And dwell in the enchanted place
Her shadow filleth with her grace:
Do thou not grudge me this I pray;
And this she cannot take away.
Lo, there was one who sat forlorn
In the room with her,—a mute, pale,
Uncertain semblance of a man
Dreary and wasted past the span
Of mortal sorrow; with a frail
Still passionate look he haunted her,
As though his pain changed with each stir
Her hand or body made;—and, lo,
When, fearful, with a voice that burned
His heart, he asked concerning him,
And why he came to her,—she turned
And trembled, looking to and fro,
And said, indeed, it was not so;
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Her sight; but surely none was there
Beside himself and her. Then, straight
That other answered him from where
He stood: a voice lent by mere fate
It seemed to be, and, thin as air,
The void form seemed to vacillate,
As though sound shook it through and through:
—O lover, loved of her whom I
Must love unloved for ever,—you
Have nought to hate me for; e'en death
Found little he might purify,
When he divided the last sigh
I gave her with an earthly breath;
And now I have long learnt to take
Content in ways that could not break
Your peace or hers: none hindereth
My soul from loving of her still:
I pray God keep her from the chill
Of seeing me; and only this—
Which he hath granted for my bliss
Shall all suffice me—to traverse
Quite after her his universe
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Her shadow filleth with her grace:
Do thou not grudge me this I pray;
And this she cannot take away.
The phantom flickered as a flame
Blown blue and rent about by wind;
It seemed that every word became
A second agony like death
Racking a soul caught and confined
In the strained film of some last breath;
But, when the utterance ceased, the same—
A cheerless wraith of form and face
Shrinking into the room's far place
Of shade—that semblance did abide
Before the living man who held
That living woman for his bride:
And still when, stricken with amaze,
He said: that other hath his gaze
Upon thee and but now he held
The speech thou must have heard, she grew
As one whom many deaths pursue,
Pale and affrighted, but averred
She nothing saw neither had heard
At all one speaking.
Blown blue and rent about by wind;
It seemed that every word became
A second agony like death
Racking a soul caught and confined
In the strained film of some last breath;
But, when the utterance ceased, the same—
A cheerless wraith of form and face
Shrinking into the room's far place
Of shade—that semblance did abide
Before the living man who held
That living woman for his bride:
And still when, stricken with amaze,
He said: that other hath his gaze
Upon thee and but now he held
The speech thou must have heard, she grew
As one whom many deaths pursue,
Pale and affrighted, but averred
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At all one speaking.
And, behold,
As they sat speechless through the day
The spirit of the boy did stay
Saddening them both and making cold
Their hearts; he stirred not from the gloom
Of the far corner of the room,
Crouched like a phantom in a tomb.
As they sat speechless through the day
The spirit of the boy did stay
Saddening them both and making cold
Their hearts; he stirred not from the gloom
Of the far corner of the room,
Crouched like a phantom in a tomb.
But a more fearful thing befell
Ere night; and they have done full well
To call this man the Chaitivel—
The wretched one.
Ere night; and they have done full well
To call this man the Chaitivel—
The wretched one.
For when, at eve,
He went to her, and did believe
God and her love for evermore
Had power to make her his,—before
He could have taken her or laid
A trembling hand on her,—there past
One between her and him. A blast
Brought him in fearfully and made
Unearthly winter chill the place;
A torn grave garment seemed the last
Earth-relic on him; form and face
Were mysteries where no man could trace
A part of former man,—within,
Without, he was become what sin
His soul invented; for, intense,
He bore the hell of it. And this
Was he who thought to buy the bliss
Of holding one frail woman his
For ever, yea, at the expense
And loss of half his soul. Mere flame
His thought seemed as he stood between,
Finding a voice that might have been
A man's: and then, in God's great name,
He said:—Touch not her body, thou!
Mine only hath it been; and now
I come and hold her for her vow
Mine only!
He went to her, and did believe
God and her love for evermore
Had power to make her his,—before
He could have taken her or laid
A trembling hand on her,—there past
One between her and him. A blast
Brought him in fearfully and made
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A torn grave garment seemed the last
Earth-relic on him; form and face
Were mysteries where no man could trace
A part of former man,—within,
Without, he was become what sin
His soul invented; for, intense,
He bore the hell of it. And this
Was he who thought to buy the bliss
Of holding one frail woman his
For ever, yea, at the expense
And loss of half his soul. Mere flame
His thought seemed as he stood between,
Finding a voice that might have been
A man's: and then, in God's great name,
He said:—Touch not her body, thou!
Mine only hath it been; and now
I come and hold her for her vow
Mine only!
Then he took her, fair
And deathly, fainting in the clutch
Of his grim darkness, with her hair
Sweeping the ground, and all her bare
Delicious beauty free from touch
Borne desolately. Her lover there
Could find no way to strive at all
With that appalling shape of dim
Illimitable darkness:—him
No sword reached; but the blow did fall
On Sarrazine: then, with a yell
Unearthly, which no tongue could tell
The horror of, that spectre fled
Bearing the body of her dead,
Dragging it inward to his hell
For ever.
And deathly, fainting in the clutch
Of his grim darkness, with her hair
Sweeping the ground, and all her bare
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Borne desolately. Her lover there
Could find no way to strive at all
With that appalling shape of dim
Illimitable darkness:—him
No sword reached; but the blow did fall
On Sarrazine: then, with a yell
Unearthly, which no tongue could tell
The horror of, that spectre fled
Bearing the body of her dead,
Dragging it inward to his hell
For ever.
But her soul did stay:
Amazed with knowledge, and aghast
To see, that moment and too late,
The real eternities and vast
Terrific truths of love and fate.
Amazed with knowledge, and aghast
To see, that moment and too late,
The real eternities and vast
Terrific truths of love and fate.
The Wretched one sank down, and lay
Knowing and suffering no more,
As though he struck some dark closed door
At the blank end of being and ceased
Against the darkness.—Who can say
If one may die so, rent away
From life and after-life, and eased
At once from destiny? How long
He felt not: but he felt again
The irremediable pain
Recall him; and he woke among
Dread repetitions of the plain
And reeking horror: then his sight
Met all things uttering the vast
Relentless record: then, at last,
Beheld her soul remaining white
And whole and beautiful, no blight
Or ruin cleaving on it. Free
Of the torn frame now would she be,
And all acquitted! And the drear
And clanging night subsided near
And far; and holy stillness grew.
Knowing and suffering no more,
As though he struck some dark closed door
At the blank end of being and ceased
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If one may die so, rent away
From life and after-life, and eased
At once from destiny? How long
He felt not: but he felt again
The irremediable pain
Recall him; and he woke among
Dread repetitions of the plain
And reeking horror: then his sight
Met all things uttering the vast
Relentless record: then, at last,
Beheld her soul remaining white
And whole and beautiful, no blight
Or ruin cleaving on it. Free
Of the torn frame now would she be,
And all acquitted! And the drear
And clanging night subsided near
And far; and holy stillness grew.
There, after all, remained they two
Together: death's mere subtle change
Dividing. And a new voice—strange,
Ineffable in the night,—it seemed
One in a distant star were heard
Singing celestially,—brought word
Revealing more than he had dreamed
Of love about him: for the speech
Of her rapt spirit gazing straight
Into the veilless face of fate
Was heard there; seeming to beseech
Unyielding destinies and strive
With angels. Only, visible there,
In the clear wonder death did give
The face of her unfading soul,
She seemed an angel, thrice more fair
Than she had seemed a woman.
Together: death's mere subtle change
Dividing. And a new voice—strange,
Ineffable in the night,—it seemed
One in a distant star were heard
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Revealing more than he had dreamed
Of love about him: for the speech
Of her rapt spirit gazing straight
Into the veilless face of fate
Was heard there; seeming to beseech
Unyielding destinies and strive
With angels. Only, visible there,
In the clear wonder death did give
The face of her unfading soul,
She seemed an angel, thrice more fair
Than she had seemed a woman.
Yea;
But now, for many a league away,
Where he was wandering by day
And night, through many a land beyond
The seas and deserts,—Pharamond
Beheld her in that hour: and, whole
Immeasurable miles between,
Across the dark, her soul had seen
And trembled at him. Strong and loud
And dreadful were his feet that trod
Thundering on mountain or on cloud—
Traversing earth and sea and air—
With vehement will defying God
To take her; for the golden hair
Gleamed like a flaunted robe of flame
Through earth and hell and heaven. He came
With no help of the wind or storm,
Or miracle by sea or land,
Or deathly terror: in the form
Of one most mighty, with the brand
Of blood upon stained steel he bore
Till doom, and blood upon his hand,
And burning badge of one who swore
To bear his love for evermore,
He came on through the night. And hate
A long way off did emanate
And fly before him, making felt
The coming of a fiend. And, lo,
Vengeful, a great way off, he dealt
Defiance with his voice.
But now, for many a league away,
Where he was wandering by day
And night, through many a land beyond
The seas and deserts,—Pharamond
Beheld her in that hour: and, whole
Immeasurable miles between,
Across the dark, her soul had seen
And trembled at him. Strong and loud
And dreadful were his feet that trod
Thundering on mountain or on cloud—
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With vehement will defying God
To take her; for the golden hair
Gleamed like a flaunted robe of flame
Through earth and hell and heaven. He came
With no help of the wind or storm,
Or miracle by sea or land,
Or deathly terror: in the form
Of one most mighty, with the brand
Of blood upon stained steel he bore
Till doom, and blood upon his hand,
And burning badge of one who swore
To bear his love for evermore,
He came on through the night. And hate
A long way off did emanate
And fly before him, making felt
The coming of a fiend. And, lo,
Vengeful, a great way off, he dealt
Defiance with his voice.
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