University of Virginia Library

THE DEVIL'S SABBATH.

(Loch Coruisk, Island of Skye. Night.)

THE ÆON.
Welcome, Buchanan! once again I greet you
Here 'mong the Mountains as in London yonder!
Right glad am I in mine own realm to meet you,
Far from the haunts where priests and pedants wander.
Once more I thank you for your vindication
Of one so long malign'd in foolish fiction!
Your book shall long survive the execration
Of critics through your Master's benediction!
You've reconstructed, much as fools have slighted you,
The one true Jesus and the one true Devil.
Wherefore to prove our love we've now invited you
To join our new Walpurgis-Night, and revel!

THE POET.
What heights are those that rise so sadly o'er me?
What waters sad are those beneath me sleeping?
Dark as a dream the shadows part before me
And show the snow-white gleam of torrents leaping!

THE ÆON.
This is the lonely Corry of the Water
By which you walked and sung in days departed;
And she who stands beside me is my daughter,
Last of the maiden Muses merry-hearted;
The others left the land when Byron perish'd,
But she, the fruit of sad amours and stealthy,
Lived on, a sickly child, the deeplier cherish'd
Because she never has been strong or healthy.

VOICES.
From rock to rock,
Still faster and faster,
Upward we flock
At thy call, O Master!

THE POET.
What shapes are these?

THE ÆON.
Sinners and sages
Of all degrees,
Sexes, and ages!
Poor devils, how blindly they grope about,
Thinking they climb but never succeeding!
As they wind like serpents in and out,
Their mouths are panting, their lips are bleeding!

NEW MUSE.
Hilló! hilló! come hither to me!

VOICES.
We hear thy voice, but we cannot see
Thy face, O Lady of Love and Light!
Upward, upward like sparks we flee,
Blown in the winds of the woeful night!
Thine old wild tunes in our brains are ringing,
Tho' we are weary and spirit-sore,
Singing, singing, and upward springing,
Whither we know not, ever more!

SHE SINGS.
Sing me a song of the Dove
And the Hawk that slew him!
From a golden heaven above
Eyes like the eyes of thy love
Gazed downward to him!
Sing me the song of the Dove
And the Hawk that slew him!

VOICES.
Room for the Wisdom! Stand aside!
Here he cometh goggle-eyed,
Solver of the great I AM,
Scorner of the Snake and Lamb,
Measurer of space and time,
Up the steep path see him climb,
Vacant heir of all the ages,
First of Fools and last of Sages.
See! he stoops and from the ground
Lifteth something large and round,
Smiles, and nods, and looks profound,—
Hither, Master!
Faster, faster,
Show us now what thou hast found!

THE WISE MAN.
A trifle! yet even to one so ripe
In knowledge as I, the one thing needed,—
The missing skull of the Archetype
Whence our father Adam the First pro ceeded!

THE MUSE.
Hilló! Hilló! come hither to me.

VOICES.
We hear thy voice, but we cannot see
Thy face, O Lady of Love and Light!
Upward, upward we struggle and flee,
Blown in the winds of this woeful night!

THE MUSE.
Sing me a song of a Tree
And the fruit forbidden!
Of a fool who sought to see
What from God himself is hidden!
Weary and sad stands he,
By his children's children chidden,
Under the Cross of the Tree
Of the fruit forbidden!

THE POET.
What is yonder priestly train
Struggling upward through wind and rain?

THE ÆON.
Those are the priests of Priapus. Sadly
They worship the God of the Grove, not gladly
As in the frolicsome days departed
When men and women were innocent-hearted—
The phallic emblems you may espy
Looming crimson against the sky,
But now they are hung with weeds, instead
Of pure white lilies and roses red,
And none of the faithful dare to pay
Their duty to them in open day!

THE POET.
Pause here! How peaceful and how still
Is this green glade on the moonlit hill,—
The tumult dies to a peaceful call
Like the hum of a distant waterfall!
Here is a porch of marble red that leads
Into a roofless Temple thick with weeds,
And yonder in the shadow I can see
The glimmer of some nude Divinity.
But who is this who lifts his lonely head
Far from the eddying throng that yonder groans?
His face is calm and godlike, and his tread
Royal and proud, as if he walk'd on thrones;
Gravely he stands and muses, listening
From time to time to those faint human cries!

THE ÆON.
Knowest thou not the last Apollo, King
Of the unpitying heart and eagle eyes?
The place is calm, yet (cast thine eyes around)
'Tis strewn with marble bones of Gods long sped,—
Creatures obscene are crawling on the ground,
And yonder Venus armless is, and dead!

THE POET.
Nay, something stirs 'mid yonder shadows! See!
She wrings her hands and moans, and looks at me!

THE ÆON.
Peace with thee, Gretchen!. . . Hark, her piteous cry
Rings through the grove and echoes to the sky!
And lo, the mad tumultuous crowd
Beneath us answer, laughing loud!
‘By the pinching of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes!’
Hilló, hilló! this way, this way!
Shrieking stumbling things of clay,
Nymphs and Satyrs of To-day!

THE POET.
Alas, why break a peace so calm and stately
With clamour of the hogs from Circe's pen?

THE ÆON.
The demigod's conceit annoys me greatly,
And so I love to vex him now and then.
Have no fear, they will not stay,
Just one rush and they're away,
From the sty and from the street
Fast they flock and on they fleet.
See! my kinsman, goat-foot Pan,
And Silenos on his ass,
Catamites and harlots wan
Follow shrieking through the grass,
Herodias and Magdalen
Clashing cymbals head the throng,
Naked maids and maniac men
Follow them with dance and song.
Bring the boon he once loved well,
Rain it on his frozen heart;
Break the spell with shouts from Hell,
Grieve the godhead and depart!

A VOICE.
What ho, you things of dirt and dust,
I come with news that must surprise you,—
But first lie down, my Lady of Lust,
Giggling nymph with the swelling bust!
Let us dissect and anatomise you!

VOICES.
Whence do you come, and what is your name?

VOICE.
My name's Peer Gynt, and I come from Thulé!

VOICES.
Return, old fellow, from whence you came,
Or join our sports and be honoured duly.

VOICE.
I join your infamous pagan revel!
I, the apostle of Truth and Sanity!—
My task it is to expose the Devil
And all his plottings against Humanity!
Wherever the cloven foot has been
I trace the proofs and the signs obscene;
Wherever your naked Venus stands
I hold the mirror of Truth before her,—
In vain she seizes with trembling hands
A scarf or a shift and flings it o'er her!
O Sin, my friends, is everywhere,
In the song of the birds, in the light of the air,
In the baby's prattle, the virgin's kiss,
In the mother's love, in the lover's bliss,
And Sin and Death since the world's creation
Have led to eternal and deep damnation.
Here are comrades three times three
Who preach the gospel of Sin with me!
We charge you now in the Name Divine
To leave the pleasures ye think so fine,
To quit these heights where the Devil prowls,
And come to our Heaven of Ghosts and Ghouls.

THE ÆON.
By Hell and all its lights profane,
‘'Tis good John Calvin risen again!—
How busily the peddling knave
Searches about for souls to save;
Yet Conscience, to a fine art turn'd,
Loses the wisdom fools have learn'd,
And he who augur-like broods o'er
The beast's foul entrails evermore,
Or searches all his soul and skin
For specks of filth or spots of sin,
May busy be among his kind
But lacks his birthright and grows blind.
Nay, Life's full cup, howe'er so brittle,
Is better than a stinking skull!
Men mope too much and live too little,
And thus grow functionless and null.
Leave to green girls and criticasters
That hide-bound throng of Little Masters,
And let us hasten onward, flying
To yonder heights of snow-white flame,
Where throngs of spirits multiplying
Are loudly calling out my name.

ELFIN VOICES.
The bugle blows from the elfin dells
With a hark and a hey halloo,—
Fays of the Glens, of the Crags and Fells,
Come hither and join our crew!

ECHOES.
We come, we come, from the crags and fells—
Hark! hark! halloo! halloo!

THE POET.
Stay, for I know you, Shapes divine
Who hover'd round me long ago,—
Stay, on this way-worn heart of mine
Pour the glad peace it used to know!

THE ELFINS.
The bugle is blowing from height to height
Under the skies o' blue,
We fly, we fly thro' the shining night
With a hark and a hey halloo!

ECHOES.
Halloo! halloo! halloo!

THE POET.
From crag to crag, from peak to peak,
I follow swiftly where ye fly,—
O stay, sweet Shapes, and on my cheek
Breathe gently as in days gone by!
Alas! they hear but will not stay;
They come, they smile, and fade away!

THE ÆON.
Pause here,—where from the topmost height
The torrent hangs its scarf of white,
And while the phantom shapes slip by,
Behold the Boy who cannot die,
With face turn'd upward to the sky!

THE POET.
Aye me, I know him, and he seems
Mine other brighter self long dead,—
Smiling he sits alone and dreams,
While the wild cataract leaps and gleams
From rock to rock above his head.

THE BOY.
Waterfall, waterfall,
Would that I were you!
To leap and leap, and call and call
All night through!
Pausing, pausing far up there,
Plunging downward thro' the air,
Ever resting, ever flowing,
Ever coming, ever going,
Calling, calling,
Falling, falling.
Where the heather bells are blowing,
Underneath the blue!
Morning tide and evenfall,
And all night thro',
You leap and leap, and call and call!
Would that I were you!
(He gazes into the pool.)
Fay of the Fall, I can see you there,
Dancing down in the pools below me,—
You leap and laugh like a lady fair,
Naked, white footed, with wild bright hair,
And cool spray-kisses you love to throw me.
I can see your face through its veil of foam,
When you pause a space in the bright moon-ray,
Combing your locks with a silver comb,
Then vanishing merrily away!
I think you are living, Fay of the Fall,
Though you are great and I am small;
The clouds are living, the winds are living,
The trees, the heather, the grass, are living
And I am living among them all!
(A pause. He speaks again.)
Who walks yonder over the height?
(Hush! hush! 'Tis she! 'tis she!)
I know you, Lady of the Light,
Holding high, with your hand so white,
Your silver lamp,—you search for me!
Silent I crouch in the shade of the hill,
And the voices around are hushed and still
But my heart throbs loudly unaware,
For I hear you murmuring, ‘Is he there?’
Yonder up in the sky you stand,
Naked and bright, with your maidens round you,
And suddenly one of the shining band
Leaps down to touch me, and cries, ‘We've found you!’
Moon-Fay, Moon-Fay, Maid of the Night,
You turn my face up like a flower,
And the smile of the Lady of the Light
Falls on my cheeks like a silver shower!
Hold me close and clasp me round,
Moon-Fay, Moon-Fay, while I gaze!
Naked, beautiful, golden-crown'd,
Your Queen stands there with her troops of Fays.
She lifts her finger and past they fly,
Everywhere, everywhere under the sky,
To find the wonderful living things,
Those that fly, and those that creep,
To light the dark with their luminous wings,
And to kiss the eyelids of folk asleep!
Onward and round with a fairy sound
One whirls in your arms, O Waterfall!
The Moon is living, the Fays are living,
The trees, the winds, and the grass are living,
And I am living among them all!
(A pause. He closes his eyes.)
The Waterfall is sleepy, like me!
Its voice sounds faint and far away—
Close my eyelids with kisses three,
And pillow my head on your breast, dear Fay!

ELFIN VOICES.
The bugle blows from the Elfin dells
With a hark and a hey halloo!
Fays of the Glens, of the Crags and Fells,
Come hither and join our crew!
This Boy was born where our sisters weep,
'Mong weary women and men,—
This night we gather around his sleep
He has summers seven and ten—
Sound asleep in the white moonbeam
His head on his arm he lies,—
Come with our flowers from the Land of Dream
And rain them on his eyes!

A VOICE.
What will you give him?

ANOTHER.
The gift of dreaming.

FIRST VOICE.
And you?

ANOTHER VOICE.
The gift of loving tears.

FIRST VOICE.
And you, bright Fays around him beaming?

VOICES.
The melody that the Silence hears!

FIRST VOICE.
And you, O Kelpie, with human eyes
Rolling there 'neath the Waterfall?

THE KELPIE.
Unrest and trouble and strife like mine,
And the aching heart that is under all!

FIRST VOICE.
And you, O Good Folk, thronging round
The King and Queen of the Elfin band?

VOICES.
Summer gladness and summer sound,
And all the pity of Fairyland!

THE POET.
Vision divine! How soon it passed away!
While God abides, hard, cold, and unforgiving!

THE ÆON.
Time snows upon thee, and thy hair grows gray,
And yet that Golden Boyhood still is living!
Here 'mong the mountains still thy soul may see
The light of Fairyland that fadeth never,
And all those gifts the Elfins brought to thee
Abide and live within thy soul for ever!

A VOICE.
Γ)/παγε, Σατανα, οπισω μου!
Why cheat the fool and give his dreams persistence?
Have we not proved that Spirits such as thou
Are visions like those Elves, without existence?
The man is gray,—his race is almost run.—
Through Death's dark gate his feet full soon must wander;
Like lights on some sad feast-day, one by one
The stars have been put out in Heaven yonder.

THE ÆON.
What toad is this that croaks here in the shade?
Out!—let us see thee,—old Abomination!

VOICE.
Thou pose as friend of Man? Stick to thy trade
Of cheats and lying, filth and fornication.
Thou knowest men are mad such dreams to cherish,
Since they are beasts, and like the beasts must perish!
Teach them to live their lives and eat and revel,
Tell them to snatch their pleasure ere it flies,—
A retrospective sentimental Devil
Is but a priest or parson in disguise.

THE ÆON.
Brekekex! koäx, koäx!.
Toads and frogs, they are croaking still!
Round bald heads and slimy backs
Huddle together under the hill.
Ever thus since Time began
They've crawled and spat on the path of Man,—
Up to the heights where the moon shines clear!
Leave the infernal croakers here!

VOICES.

THE ÆON.
They're having a little spread of their own
In a ruin'd Church with a crumbling steeple—
Priests and parsons, eclectic grown,
Hob and nob with the scribbling people.
Journalists, poets, and criticasters
Join in the literary revel.
Salutation, my merry masters!
Don't you know me? Your friend, the Devil!

VOICES.
Go away, for you don't exist!
God and yourself have reached finality;
All now left in a World of Mist
Is the creed of sensuous Morality.

A VOICE.

THE ÆON.
Phantoms of men, that never knew
The golden Boyhead and the Fable,
Leave them to feast, as dogs may do,
On fragments from the Churchman's table—
Trimmers and tinkers, neither false nor true,
Low foreheads, sensual mouths, and minds unstable!
Away, away! the peaks up yonder
Grow brighter yet while we are upward soaring;
Between us and the moon wild spirits wander,
Their eyes on that divine white Light, adoring.

THE ELVES.
The bugles are blowing from height to height,
Under the heavens so blue;
Hark, they are ringing from height to height
With a hark and a hey halloo!

ECHOES.
Halloo! halloo! halloo!

THE POET.
Where art thou, Master?

THE ÆON.
(far off)
Here above thee!
Follow on through the shadows grey,
And if thy limbs are too slow to move thee,
Grasp the skirt of a passing Fay!

VOICES.
Fast through the night, from height to height,
In thy train, O Queen, we flee—
There is Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me!

THE POET.
In a blood-red robe that parts to show,
The wondrous bosom white as snow,
Around her neck a thin red line,
A pale crown on her golden hair,
She flitteth through the grey moonshine,
For ever sweet, for ever fair.
Haggard and fierce, with dripping sword,
Beside her stalks her savage lord,
And following her, the Maries share
Her loveliness and her despair.
O rose-red mouth, O sphinx-like eyes
That witched the Boy and fired his blood—
Still on my soul, O Mary, lies
Thy spell of woeful womanhood!
Deathless, a Queen thou reignest still
In memory's desolate domain,
And as we gaze, our pulses thrill
To share thy passion and thy pain!

VOICES.
Fast through the night, from height to height,
O Queen, we follow thee,—
There is Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me!

THE POET.
Fairyland of Love and Sorrow,
Thickly close your shadows round me!
Once again your dreams I borrow,
Love hath kiss'd me, clasp'd me, crown'd me!
Out of every dell and hollow
Bright shapes beckon, and I follow!
Forms of olden myth and fancy
Witch the night with necromancy;
Elf and Lover, Gnome and Lady,
Kiss and clasp in woodlands shady;
From the torrent Kelpies crying
Hail the Fays above them flying;
Hither, thither, upward streaming
To the stars above them beaming,
To the heights by dream-shapes haunted,
Fly the Fairy Folk enchanted!

VOICES.
The bugle is blowing from height to height
Under the heavens of blue,—
We fly, we fly through the mists of night,
With a hark and a hey halloo!

ECHOES.
Halloo! halloo! halloo!

THE ÆON.
On the topmost peak I stand,
Come, ye Dreams and Shadows, come!
At the lifting of my hand
Kneel around me and be dumb!
O crowd of woeful things,
Gods, and Demi-gods, and Fays,
Hush your hearts and fold your wings,
While the Emblem I upraise!

VOICES.
See! see! see!

THE POET.
Why gaze they downward, hungering from the peaks
To some dim Shape that climbeth from below?
Why turn thine own eyes thither, while thy cheeks
Seem wan with some new woe?

VOICES.
See! see! see!
He cometh hither, the Jew,
The Weariful One they slew
'Tween thief and thief on the Tree!
With hair as white as snow
He climbeth from below,
His feet and hands drip blood,—
Alack! He traileth on,
Though old and woebegone,
His heavy Cross of wood!

THE JEW.
How long, O God, how long!

THE POET.
O piteous cry,
For ever heard while the swift years rush by!
Vapour and mist enfold the feeble form,
Beneath Him as he goes the abysses loom,
Answer'd by woeful Spirits of the Storm
Moaning He trails His Cross through gulfs of gloom.

VOICES.
Dry thy tears and raise thy head,
He is quick that once was dead!

THE POET.
Christ of the broken Heart, and is it Thou
Who standest 'mong Thy brethren there on high?
Erect and silver-hair'd, Thou takest now
The gentle benediction of the Sky;
Tumultuous, multitudinous, as the crests
Of storm-vex'd billows on a moonstruck sea,
The gods flock round and smite their naked breasts,
Calling aloud on Thee!
And towering o'er them, ring'd with Shapes divine,
Osiris, Zeus, Apollo, Vishnu, Brahm,
Forms of the Phallus, Virgins of the Shrine,
Thou standest starry-eyed, supreme and calm,
And on Thy mirror'd head the waves of Light
Creep soft and silvern from a million spheres,
Sprinkling ablution from the baths of Night
And shining on Thy face worn thin with tears.
Saviour of men, if Thou hast spoken truth,
Blesser of men, if men by pain are blest,
Scorner of darkness, star of Love and ruth,
Grey time-worn Phantom of the world's unrest,
Now to the heights Thou comest, and before Thee
All gods that men have made are kneeling low,
Thy brother and sister stars in Heaven adore Thee,
Lord of Eternal Woe!
And yet, O Father Christ, I seek not Thee,
Though to Thy spell I yearn and bend the knee;
Thou hast no power my empty heart to fill,
Thou hast no answer to my soul's despair,
Thine eyes are holy but Thy touch is chill,
Heaven still is homeless though Thou shinest there!

MATER SERAPHICA.
Son of my Soul! light of my eyes!
Still with my blessing on thy brow,
Cast off thy burthen, and arise!

THE POET.
Holy of Holies, is it thou?
Thou livest, thou art not dead and cold!
Thy touch is warm, as 'twas of old!
And on thy face there shines anew
The Love Divine from which I grew!
O mother! all Eternity
Burns to one steadfast light in thee,
And all the tears of all Creation
Cease, to thy glad transfiguration!

SHE SPEAKS.
Lean thy head on my breast!

THE POET.
O the bliss, O the rest!
It is worth all the pain
To be with thee again!

SHE SPEAKS.
All thy sorrows are done,—
I am with thee, my son!

EPODE.