The Poetical Works of John Payne :: :: University of Virginia Library

‘OH, whither, whither ridest thou, Sir Erwin?
The glitter of the dawn is in the sky;
And I hear the laverock singing,
Where the silken corn is springing
And the green-and-gold of summer's on the rye.’

‘O lady fair, I ride toward the setting;
For the glamour of the West is on my heart
And I hear a dream-voice calling
To the land where dews are falling
And the blossoms of the Springtide ne'er depart.’

‘Oh, what, oh, what thing seekest thou, Sir Erwin?
Is life no longer pleasant to thy soul?
Am I no more heart's dearest,
Though the summer skies are clearest
And the gold of June is fresh on copse and knoll?’

‘O sweet, I seek the land where love is holy
And the bloom of youth is ever on the flowers;
The land where joy is painless
And the eyes' delight is stainless
And the break of hope faints never in the weary noontide hours.’

‘Oh, rest awhile, oh, rest awhile, Sir Erwin!
The hills are yet ungilded by the sun.
Oh, tarry till the morning
Have chased the mists of dawning
And the weariness of noon be past and done!’

118

‘O lady fair, I may not tarry longer!
The sun is climbing fast above the grey
And I hear the trumpets blowing,
Where the eastern clouds are glowing
And the mists of night are breaking from the city of the day.’

Far out into the greenwood rides Sir Erwin,
Oh, far into the wild wood rideth he!
And there meet him sisters seven,
When the sun is high in heaven
And the gold of noon is bright on flower and tree.

Oh, wonder-lovely maidens were the seven,
With mantles of the crimson and the green,
With red-gold rings and girdles
And sea-blue shoes and kirtles
And eyes that shone like cornflowers in their locks' corn-golden sheen.

‘Oh, light thee down and dwell with us, heart's dearest!
And we will sing thee wonder-lovely songs
And we will strew with roses
The place where thy repose is
And teach thee all the rapture that unto love belongs.

‘Oh, light thee down and dwell with us, heart's dearest!
We have full many a secret of delight:
Thy day shall be one sweetness
Of love in its completeness
And the nightingale shall sing to thee the whole enchanted night.’

‘Oh, woe is me! I may not stay, fair maidens;
My quest is for a country far and wild;
The land where springs the Iris,
Where the end of all desire is
And the thought of love lives ever undefiled.’

119

‘Oh, light thee down and dwell with us, heart's dearest!
Thou wilt wear thy youth to eld in such a quest:
For it lies beyond the setting,
In the land of the Forgetting,
In the bosom of the everlasting rest!’

Far on into the greenwood rides Sir Erwin,
Oh, far into the wild wood rideth he!
And he sees a fair wife sitting,
At the hour when light is flitting
And the gold of sunset gathers on the sea.

Oh, very fair and stately was her seeming
And very sweet and dreamful were her eyes!
And as she sat a-weaving,
She sang a song of grieving,
Full low and sweet to anguish, mixt with sighs.

‘Oh, tell me what thou weavest there, fair lady,
I prithee tell me quickly what thou art!’
‘I am more fair than seeming
And I weave the webs of dreaming,
For the solace of the world-awearied heart.’

‘Oh, prithee tell me, tell to me, fair lady,
What song is that thou singest and so sweet?’
‘I sing the songs of sorrow,
That is golden on the morrow,
And I charm with them the sad hours' leaden feet.

‘Oh, light thee down and dwell with me, heart's dearest!
Thou hast wandered till thy face is furrowed deep;
But I will charm earth's cumbers
From the rose-meads of thy slumbers
And will fold thee in the lotus-leaves of sleep.’

120

‘Oh, woe is me! oh, woe is me, fair lady!
A hand of magic draws me on my quest
Toward the land of story,
Where glows the sunset-glory
And the light of love fades never from the West.’

‘Oh, light thee down and dwell with me, heart's dearest!
Thine eyes will lose their lustre by the way;
For it lies far out to yonder,
Where the setting sun dips under
And the funeral pyres are burning for the day.’

Oh, far thorough the greenwood rides Sir Erwin,
Oh, far out of the wild wood rideth he!
And he comes where waves are plashing
And the wild white crests are dashing
On the pebbles of a gray and stormy sea.

Far down toward the tide-flow rides Sir Erwin,
Oh, far adown the shingle rideth he!
And he sees a shallop rocking
Upon the wild waves' flocking,
And an ancient steersman sitting in the lee.

Oh, very weird and gruesome was that steersman,
With hair that mocked for white the driven snow!
The light of some strange madness
Was in his eyes' gray sadness
And he showed like some pale ghost of long ago.

‘Oh, sail with me! oh, sail with me, Sir Erwin!
Thou hast wandered in thy questing far enough.
I will bring thee where Love's ease is
For ever, though the breezes
Blow rudely and the broad green way be rough.’

121

‘Reach hand to me, reach hand to me, old steersman!
I will sail with thee for questing o'er the main.
Although thine eyes look coldly,
I will dare the venture boldly;
For I weary for an ending of my pain.’

Oh, long they rode on billows, in the glory
Of the gold and crimson standards of the West!
So came they, in the setting,
To the land of the Forgetting,
Where the weary and the woeful are at rest.

‘Oh, what can be this land that is so peaceful,
That lies beyond the setting of the sun?
I hear a dream-bell ringing
And I hear a strange sweet singing
And the tender gold of twilight's on the dun.

‘Oh, what are these fair forms that float toward me
And what are these that hold me by the hand,
As if they long had sought me?
And what art thou hast brought me
O'er the ocean to this dream-enchanted strand?’

‘Fair knight, this is the land of the Hereafter
And the name that men do know me by is Death:
For the love, from life that's flying,
Lives ever for the dying
And the stains of it are purged with 'scape of breath.’

There is a legend that the more distant-seeming end of the rainbow begins in Fairyland.