Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

Shyly shunning the sound and glare
Of the tumultuous thoroughfare,
By black back streets where the moonless sky
In a sallow sluice 'twixt the housetops high
Flow'd, silent save for the distant drum
Of the throbbing town with its human hum,
Its feet that flutter, and wheels that whirl,
Aurora Clair, the weaving-girl,
Walk'd home to her father's house; where thin
Weak ragged skirts of the town let in
Long rural patches thro' lanes obscure.

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2.

Aurora Clair was a maiden pure
Of body and soul, as the Mother Maid
To whom this motherless maiden pray'd
At morn and eve in her chapel small
Of the great grey church, that hath room for all,
The rich and the poor, and the old and young,
The whole year round, and the whole day long.
And in virgin blossom as nobly fair
Of form and face was Aurora Clair
From head to foot as a queen should be,
Tho' only a poor man's child was she;
Who early and late, with good cheer unchid,
Work'd for bread as her father did.
She at her loom, where she wove and spun
The quaintest creation under the sun,
Wild men with crowns and wild beasts with horns,
Pards, griffins, lions, and unicorns:
He with his chisel and graving-knife,
Whereby he wrought to a wondrous life
Frame and panel, that under his hand
Burst into blossoms of faëry-land.

3.

'Twas the night of the City Saint's Feast Day.
By the side of Aurora all the way
(Proud of his tenth year turn'd) with joy
Ran, merrily carolling, rosy Roy,

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Her garrulous, gold-hair'd, bright boy-brother.
The city was swarming, the suburbs were still.
The boy and the maiden took care of each other.
There was nobody else to take care of them. Ill
(To that saint's dishonour) at home in bed
Their father was lying. Their mother lay chill
In the churchyard grass with a cross at her head.

4.

Beauty, Innocence, Feebleness!
In risk and peril these roam by night
Thro' a great town's populous wilderness.
As Aurora found: when with footstep light
The children, to shorten their homeward way,
Cross'd into the great suburban square;
Which, emptied now of its idlers, lay
In a vacant monotony, all as bare
Of an image responsive to ear or eye
As the silent brain of the fool; save where
Some Ædile (encouraging art thereby)
Had set up the statue, in bronze bran-new,
Of that famous darling of chivalry,
Who neither fear nor reproach e'er knew.
For which reason perchance, or to save its pence,
The City's Municipal Providence
Vouchsafed not even one lamp, which might
With its humble halo have served to mark
The spot, now dark and deserted quite,
Where the sworded statue stood in the dark.

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5.

There, a voice, no Bayard's, as by went she,
The virgin scared. 'Twas the vulgar voice
Of a burly Don Juan who, bold and free,
With speech to the point, and more plain than choice,
His prey pursued. And the night was late,
The spot deserted, the neighbourhood lone.
Fierce indignation, by fear made great,
Wild cries for help that were heard by none,
Tears, struggles, and prayers,—what avail were they
From the prowler's clutch to release his prey?

6.

Then Aurora Clair, in her extreme need,
Lifting her looks to the midnight sky
Saw there (as tho' Heaven had taken heed,
And sent him to answer her helpless cry)
Sworded and helm'd, on his stately steed,
The form of the gallantest Christian knight
Of the whole world's gallantest Christian nation,
With his right arm raised as in act to smite.
And, “O Bayard,” she cried with the inspiration
Of a sudden hope which that welcome sight
Had awaked in her maiden imagination,
“O Bayard, thou champion of chivalry, thou
Fair saviour of innocence, save me now!”

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7.

Hoarse laughter greeted the maiden's prayer.
Not much for statues Don Juans care.
“Too rusty the good knight's sword is grown,”
Her tormentor mock'd, as he touch'd his own.
“But thy champion, pretty one, prithee invite
To supper with us at the tavern to-night.”

8.

Scarce had the insolent jest been utter'd
Ere the laugh changed into a howl of pain
And bewilder'd wrath, as the hot blood sputter'd,
Cooling that boisterous boaster's brain.
The arms that were dragging Aurora Clair
Dropp'd; and, as tho' at a god's command,
The brute fell flat on the flintstone there,
Struck in the dark by an unseen hand.

9.

A miracle! so did Aurora deem;
Whose only lore being folk-lore old
Had fill'd her with faith in full many a dream
Of faëry and magic and knighthood bold.
And she thought that her champion, arm'd in bronze,
Had really return'd at her invocation
From Elysium, eager to add for the nonce
A fresh renown to his reputation
By rescuing thus from a roisterous churl
That of a poor little weaving-girl.

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10.

A miracle? Truly Aurora was right.
And moreover a miracle, no mere dream,
But a fact of miraculous meaning and might,
A dictating flash of the Will Supreme.
For who is it stands at the maiden's side?
What second superlative apparition?
Her own child-brother: but glorified
By the transfiguring intuition
(Never to noble emotion denied)
Of a sudden supreme self-recognition:
Which hath left its flash in the eyes' deep light,
And its pulse in the nostril panting wide,
And its merciless might in the marble-white
Firm lips lock'd fast as a fort defied,
And fists by triumphant intention tight
Clench'd with fate in their fingers fixt.
'Tis an image of awe and of beauty mixt.
For the form of the child is a child's no more,
But a half-god's, hero's, or saint's, of yore;
Which its own supernatural inward heat
To a supernatural height hath raised.
Even so on Goliath dead at his feet
Might an infant David have gazed.

11.

One moment, swift and yet infinite,
Had reveal'd to Roy, as by lightning-light,

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A danger for her whose defender strong
He believed himself, with a pride proved true:
The infernal approach of a nameless wrong:
A deed to prohibit, a deed to do.
Not a moment's doubt! not a questioning fear!
Once the duty known, are the means not clear?
Or, the foe being there, is the weapon not here?

12.

The weapon! what weapon? This child, half-clad,
Weak, ignorant—what were the means it had,
What weapon sought it, what weapon found,
For smiting, bathed in his blood, to the ground
That gay cavalier, whose sword at his side
In the starlight shone with a saucy pride?

13.

Doubter! learn, then, and understand
There is everywhere, ever, a stone at hand
For the arm that is seeking the means of death.
A philosopher said, and this fabulist saith,
Nature adapts to the use of her lord
The implements that she forges. Sword

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And shield lack never where'er there be
A soldier ready to use them. He
Who, having a cause for which to fight,
Hath also courage and will to smite,
Finds waiting for him in pebble or reed
Just such a weapon as serves his need.

14.

Statues we, too, have seen and known.
Irreproachable their renown!
Perfectly polisht in every part,
Models were they of immaculate art.
Noble the names of them, lofty the mien,
Uncontested the fame serene.
Each every pace of his Pegasus knew,
And could pass with applause thro' a classic review
Upon galloping dactyle or spondee sedate,
With the requisite word at the regular rate.
And so, to the pure statuesque in time
Promoted, there they repose sublime.

15.

Well, and good! But O statues fair,
Why so deaf to our desperate prayer?
Draw your swords and defend us, pray!
Cannot you hear what the challengers say?
Quick, to the rescue! and, undefeated,
Save that importunate maid, maltreated

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Much by her modern admirers bold,
Perishing Poësy! Ah! still cold
And stolid, you stand on your pedestals tall
Solemn, but solemnly helpless all.
Whilst they woo her, pursue her, would fain enjoy her,
But shame her at best, and at worst destroy her.
Feel and be men, then! The cause of our harm is
That hearts sine ira leave hands sine armis.

Δια το δυμον εχειν οπλον εχει—They have arms because they have anger.—Aristotle.

ταδ' οργανα προς το εργον η φυσις ποιει, αλλ' ου το εργον προς τα οργανα.—For Nature accommodates the instruments to the work, not the work to the instruments.—Arist: De Part. Animal, lib. iv. cap. 12.