Lyrical Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lyrical Poems

By Francis Turner Palgrave

Palgrave, Francis Turner (1824-1897)

LYRICAL POEMS

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF FREE ATHENS

MELUSINE

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MELUSINE

1

Here, as one sits on the sand,
So brimming and smooth comes the sea,
That 'tis almost the same to be here,
And within its bosom to be;—
Glassily lisping, lisping low, lisping amorously:—
A wash of crystal runs up
And freshens the pebbled shore,
And can hardly float the drift,
Or turn the light sea-weed o'er.
The Sun, like an aged king,—
Aged, yet still in his might,—
Has one more half hour of glory
His wealth on the world to fling,
A golden path to the west and the lands beyond the night.

2

The wild sharp rocks around
Grow wilder against the sky,
As the fisherman sees at his feet
A film of green go by;
Fringed, as the work of a girl, and folded curiously.
Careless, he picks from the brine;
Careless, he drops from his sight;
When lo! between him and the sun,
What flashes as light in light?
What maiden, what gray-green eyes,
Pale gleam of golden hair,
Pale as gold pure from the mine,
Lips eager with fear and surprise;—
What deep-sea maiden, what pearl and wonder of Ocean, is there?

3

His heart leapt high as he look'd;
For oft had he heard men say
How the royal girls of the deep
Beneath their green heaven play,
Fairer than any we see in the sun-light of common day.

And the love of Kathleen in her pride,
And the smile of Kathleen in her glee,
Faded and fell from his heart
As he looked on the maid of the sea:
‘'Tis not I have a crown of gold,
Nor a palace on earth for my Love;
But I clasp her with human love;
With a man's blood my heart is bold;
The sun of the sea-world is dim to the merest star-light above.’

4

With tears, large tears, she pray'd him
The green-fringed fillet restore,
That she might go under the seas
To her home and her girlhood once more,
The central calm of the deep, however earth's tempests roar.
But the blood was strong at his heart,
And he ask'd and denied so long,
That, whether o'ermaster'd by love
Or sense of incurable wrong,
She bent to the passionate prayer,
She gave ear to the name of wife;

Within his cottage to dwell,
Having part in human care,
And changing for earthly things her birthright of Ocean life.

From the happy kingdom
Without sun or snow,
Frost or rain or tempest,
Melusine must go.

There no night comes near them,
Nor the gloom of storms;
But their emerald heaven
Glows with blazing forms.

There the gray sea-serpent
From the liquid skies
Leans his hairy forehead
And his searching eyes.

There the forest corals
Stretching thousand hands,
Burn with flowers of ruby
On the silver sands.

O'er the windless level
Purple shadows flow
Where, in their dim heaven,
Monsters flash and go.

Souls of wave-whelm'd seamen
There white arms caress;
Whilst their friends bemoan them,
Lapt in happiness.

Day runs into day, as
One who draws no breath
Through a year of visions;
Neither life nor death:—

As when storms are silent
In their summer cave,
All the plains of Ocean
Are one single wave:—

Neither life nor death, but
Deeper calm between,
Deeper peace than Eden's:—
Ah! for Melusine!

1

The happy days go by;
The life of earth is bless'd, where, by the mere,
The cottage sees its second self below
So still, so clear,
That calm itself has no more to bestow.

2

Gray mountains all around
Immoveable; green meadows bosom'd high,
Haunted with solitude; the clinking bell
Far off, yet nigh,
Where the still herds like spots of shadow dwell:—

3

Lush aspens by the lake;
Lake-level pastures; and the hidden nook
Where, o'er worn boulders arrowy breaking by,
The clear brown brook
Makes stillness stiller with its one sweet cry:—

4

Gray mountains all around;
Above, the crystal azure, perfect, pale;

As if a skirt of Eden's heaven forgot
Arch'd o'er the vale,
Guarding a peace beyond earth's common lot.

5

All these things, day by day,
So wrought on her, though fairy-born and wild,
—As the soft handling of the mother steals
Into the child,
Till it becomes the gentleness it feels,—

6

That from the seas her heart
Turn'd landward to that cottage-life:—the kine,
The garden, the low bee-hive bench, the trough
Of hustling swine,
The colt that neigh'd beholding her far off.

7

Rarely her steps were set
To that small village by the bay, where he
Follow'd his craft, and with some inborn sense
Of courtesy
Kept from her eyes the nets and cordage, whence

8

He drew their food. But she,
When heat of summer spoil'd the chase afloat,
Would lead him to the lake, and grasp the oar
Of some small boat
That lay there, and push merrily from the shore.

9

But in the midmost mere's
Deep crystal, pure, invisible, where the keel
Hung like a bird o'er some sheer mountain glen,
A light would steal
Into her eyes, a passionate tone:—and then

10

Quick tears: till now she seized
Her oar, and breathless made the land, and wild
Ran in, and leant above her firstborn's cot,
And slowly smiled,
As when one sees a face too long forgot.

Queen of the crystalline lake,
Lift thy lilied head on high;
Lift thy pearl-wreathed arms, and take
One who weeps, and knows not why:
To her home 'neath Ocean green
Bear the long-sought Melusine.

Where thy silver palace shines,
Where the secret caverns be,
Spar-wall'd labyrinthine mines
Winding to the central sea;
Where the waves await their Queen,
Carry thou fair Melusine.

All our merry maids are dumb,
All our grottoes gloom'd with night;
Coral groves of crimson bloom,
Missing her, are bare and white;
All our pearls have lost their sheen,
Changed to tears for Melusine.

Queen of the crystalline lake,
Lift thy lilied head on high!

All beneath the seas awake
Wild lament, and tear, and sigh,
As soft snows with rain between,
For the love of Melusine.

1

O Man, who, in the foolish heart of pride,
Holds himself born of the superior kind,
And boasts his crude half-knowledge, coarse and blind,
Scorning the smaller footsteps at his side,
And narrower scale of less-experienced mind:—

2

While Nature, working in her unspoil'd child,
Oft gives an insight better than the lore
That he attains, plying the plough and oar,
Or 'mong the blunted souls by lust defiled,
Or smooth-worn by the world, and rounded o'er.

3

For She, foreseeing what we lose by life,
Is born afresh in every babe, and new:—

And most men raze her stamp, and prove untrue;
But the girl's heart is less with self at strife,
And keeps till night some drops of dawning's dew.

4

So Melusine, when again she saw the cot,
And touch'd her babe, and lull'd its yearning cries,
Felt all the mother at her bosom rise,
And took the colour of her earthly lot,
And that wild music faded from her eyes.

5

Then pass'd forth on the common household ways;
Making base things by her sweet service sweet,
Letting the year in one long present fleet,
As though the past at will she could efface,
And all to-morrows would to-day repeat.

6

And all things round unchanged, unchangeable
Appear'd: the mountains; the green slopes on high;
The trees; the sunny pastures of the kye;
The lake that kept its crystal secrets well;
And the clear streamlet with its long sweet cry.

7

Only the babe grew, lovelier in his growth;
Pacing the earthen floor with solemn feet;
Then, with quick turns, and cries of laughter sweet;
Then, the loud, sturdy steps of sunburnt youth,
Till her brave fisher-boy stood forth complete.

8

Also a gray-eyed girl, who smiled and went
Just as the little words that Melusine
Alone could follow, came her lips between;
O'er whom, with folded hands, the mother bent
Weekly; one small green mound in churchyard green.

9

Thus fared she many years: and though by right
Born Queen beneath the waves, so graciously
She set herself to all, whate'er might be,
Of duty, that no maid through Erin bright
Was wifelier in her low estate than she.

10

One morn the boy, now capable and strong,
Cried, ‘Mother, I would with my father go:

Why warn me from the waves, and speak of woe
And perils that to seamen's toil belong?
I am a man; and a man's life must know.’

11

—Once more she stroked the hair, so often stroked
In golden childhood, kiss'd so often then,—
And said, ‘Go forth, my child, now man 'mongst men;
Go, prosper:’—then 'neath smiles her fear she cloak'd,
Sighing ‘'Tis Nature's cry: I strove in vain.’

12

So they went forth, the seaman and his son.
She sate, and pray'd a prayer, and took her wheel;
And though to the green grave half bent to steal,
Thought ‘'Twill but make me feel the more alone;’
And with soft fingers fed the flying reel.

13

Higher the sun went up in windless blue,
Such calm as almost is akin to fear;
A blaze shot skyward from the crystal mere;
The very gnat that humm'd her chamber through
Was comfort,—solitude press'd in so near.

14

Through the small open casement stream'd the noise
Of utter silence, audible, intense.
She rose and look'd out on the lake; and thence
The cry as of a child came; a child's voice;
Once heard:—then, utter silence, blank, intense.

15

And all things round unchanged, unchangeable,
Appear'd: the lone gray hills; the perfect sky;
The trees; the sunny pastures of the kye;
The lake in sapphire beauty mirror-still;
And the clear streamlet with its long sweet cry.

16

To the small churchyard and the mound of green
She look'd; and a white flame above it burn'd,
That went before her eyes, where'er she turn'd.
And then a change fell on sweet Melusine,
And her whole heart toward the lost infant yearn'd.

17

And that fair landscape round, so still, so fair,
Was hateful in its fairness:—the pure sky,

The mountains in their gray unsympathy,
The presences within the silent air,
Mock'd her. And, as one who himself must fly,

18

She turn'd, and 'gainst the wall she set her eyes,
Crying ‘My baby’!: nor spoke other word;
Nor could she pray, nor look around; nor heard
The sudden roar and menace of the skies,
Nor how the lake through its dim depths was stirr'd:—

19

Nor how the seas were calling to the shore
With outstretch'd angry arms and thunder voice,
Wracking whole fleets in pride like riven toys;
And deep beneath the riot and uproar,
The flute-clear paean of a wild Rejoice!

20

But she lay long; and all those vanish'd days
Of the lost treasure came within her breast:
The throes, the glory when her girl she press'd;
The smile that first broke o'er the passive face;
The gracious limbs, the warm, the oft-caress'd:

21

The little hands that hid the face in play;
The shout of pride, half cry, half triumph sweet,
When first alone upon the trembling feet;
The lisp, that makes the mother's heart so gay,
When once the doubtful lips her name repeat:—

22

The flower, the lamb, the baby Melusine:—
And then she knew not what she was, nor where:
But struck blind hands out in her blind despair,
Pierced by that saddest, last, Such things have been—;
And where beside the cradle, stripp'd and bare,

23

An old sea-basket lay, her fingers sought
Some faded thing, some relic torn and small,
Dear though long hid from touch and sight of all,
Which for the little one those hands had wrought
In days that God himself could not recall.

24

—Ah, Melusine! ah mother now no more!
For what she sought, her passion seeks in vain:

Another relic 'tis she sees again,—
The amulet which her youthful forehead bore
When at her will she clove the vassal main.

25

There, since that sunset hour when in the bay
She bade farewell to all she once had been,
Had slept the magic of the fillet green;
As dormant till some city's destined day,
The earthquake lurks within its cave unseen.

26

With that, upon her all her youth rush'd in
As the great wave when Etna heaves the sea;
The long long years on earth pass'd utterly,
As night's sad dreams, at first awakening,
Break up to shreds, and fade, and we are free.

27

So, long pent Nature had at last her way!
And Melusine leapt back to her early lot,
Seeking the bay, since youth unseen, forgot,
And headlong plunged,—where in the surf they lay,
A seaman and his son,—and knew them not.

28

—Then Nature, like the deep sea, closed o'er all,—
Souls, passions, little lives: no bead of air,
No ripple:—as yestreen, the vale was fair
Next day, next century: nor does aught recall
What in old time was loved and suffer'd there.

29

Her's was the last word; and the landscape took
The impassive shadow of her quiet sway.
Still round the vale the mountains keep their gray
Long watch, above the mere and arrowy brook,
And the free herds in their lone pastures stray.

30

She has resumed her own; and there is rest.
All trace of what was once has now gone by;
Save where the cottage-gable, bare and high,
Poor forlorn mimic of the mountain crest,
Cuts its gray slope against the calm clear sky.