 | [Poems by Moody in] William Vaughn Moody : A Study by David Dodds Henry |  |
239
A CHORUS OF WAGNER
From sheer-walled sunless mountain-gorge so deepThat fierce-tongued torrents steal thence faint and sweet
As meek-maid's laugh across the spangled wheat,
Rambleth some shade-born monster up the steep,
Dragging its fold, a coiled and clammy heap,
Up, up the slant cliffs to the glory-seat
Where rings on rings of circling angels beat
From the clear air a rainbow's jewelled sweep.
A hush intense—a sudden storm of rays
Hurled clanging on the brute's sepulchral head—
Dim bestial yellings—and a shrivelled, dead,
Contorted horror clearing the abyss,
One wild eye glaring—and a hateful hiss
Plunging and splintering down the craggy ways.
LIFE AND DEATH
From the German
One stroked the hair where yet the soft light played,
Saying: ‘I would have loved her had she stayed.’
Saying: ‘I would have loved her had she stayed.’
One turned with passionate sobbing to the wall:
‘So long to love, and this the end of all!’
‘So long to love, and this the end of all!’
One bent and kissed the mute lips with a smile:
‘Patience, sweet love, 'tis only for a while.’
‘Patience, sweet love, 'tis only for a while.’
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THE PICTURE
DRYAD—LAUGH in the eyes—just see
The dewy lid with the sunlight snared
In the mesh, and the primal woodland glee
In the supple head-poise, firm and free,
And the gladsome curve where the bosom's bared!
The dewy lid with the sunlight snared
In the mesh, and the primal woodland glee
In the supple head-poise, firm and free,
And the gladsome curve where the bosom's bared!
Strange that it always serves them so;
People dowered a thousand ways—
Minds diverse as the shuttle-glow
Of the sea, where the coral breaks its flow—
Just the same—like a witch's gaze!
People dowered a thousand ways—
Minds diverse as the shuttle-glow
Of the sea, where the coral breaks its flow—
Just the same—like a witch's gaze!
Witch for him (so the story goes)
Him the deep-eyed seer of dreams,
Painter of gloried bits and gleams
Of the over-world—ah! she held him close,
And wound him round with her chains of rose
Him the deep-eyed seer of dreams,
Painter of gloried bits and gleams
Of the over-world—ah! she held him close,
And wound him round with her chains of rose
Till she had him fast; bound hand and knee:
His eye would follow till sight grew dim
The silken shimmer of gown swept free
By her lithe round limb—and she let him be
And fed her heart on her hate for him.
His eye would follow till sight grew dim
The silken shimmer of gown swept free
By her lithe round limb—and she let him be
And fed her heart on her hate for him.
What time had he, while his brain was a-throng
With dewy dreams, flush fancyings,
Sly satyr-shapes in woodsy rings,
Wan breasts a-glimmer in seas of song,
To think of days had been dead so long?
With dewy dreams, flush fancyings,
Sly satyr-shapes in woodsy rings,
Wan breasts a-glimmer in seas of song,
To think of days had been dead so long?
Besides 'twas scarce but a paltry hour
In a heap of years—nor the thing so much;
To crush a gnat that has spoiled your bower
Of summer languor; it needs but a touch,
Then back to your book, or lute, or flower.
In a heap of years—nor the thing so much;
To crush a gnat that has spoiled your bower
Of summer languor; it needs but a touch,
Then back to your book, or lute, or flower.
Ah! but the crushed gnat chanced to be
What you call a man: then 'twere time to doubt:
To be sure but a thing o' the fields, a clout,
Only worth in this, he could breathe, and see,
Even love, perhaps, between you and me.
What you call a man: then 'twere time to doubt:
To be sure but a thing o' the fields, a clout,
Only worth in this, he could breathe, and see,
Even love, perhaps, between you and me.
What, the face looks not so blithe, you think?
Something stirs in a gloom apart,
Flings arms out just to let them sink,
Gropes and moans for the dry lips' drink,
Gasps, and clutches the bursting heart?
Something stirs in a gloom apart,
Flings arms out just to let them sink,
Gropes and moans for the dry lips' drink,
Gasps, and clutches the bursting heart?
241
Yes, for listen! the thing's accursed;
'Tis a bit of hell in a gilded frame.
What right had she—though her hate was flame,
Though it gnawed at her heart's mid-core, and versed
The whole round sky with her dead love's name
'Tis a bit of hell in a gilded frame.
What right had she—though her hate was flame,
Though it gnawed at her heart's mid-core, and versed
The whole round sky with her dead love's name
From zenith sun to horizon line—
What right had she to step smiling, twine
Her sunny hair through the warp of his life?
Were simple death not a vengeance fine?
What right had she to forge Love for a knife?
What right had she to step smiling, twine
Her sunny hair through the warp of his life?
Were simple death not a vengeance fine?
What right had she to forge Love for a knife?
Could I solve the riddle? What, I, the crone
With the shrivelled lip and the faded eye?
Could I tell how the song-burst under the sky
Broke and fluttered and sank to a moan?
Perhaps I might—were the face not I.
With the shrivelled lip and the faded eye?
Could I tell how the song-burst under the sky
Broke and fluttered and sank to a moan?
Perhaps I might—were the face not I.
DANCE MUSIC
(The King's Dwarf speaks.)
Yes, I knew I need but beckon, though your silly bosom bled
That you had to leave off dancing, you would follow where I led,
That's what comes of telling secrets which might cost your dainty head.
That you had to leave off dancing, you would follow where I led,
That's what comes of telling secrets which might cost your dainty head.
Perish all their ball-room music! with its sudden shouts and calls,
With its trills like dryad's laughter, and its notes like bacchanals
Having round a mossy hillock where the wind god laughs and lolls:
With its trills like dryad's laughter, and its notes like bacchanals
Having round a mossy hillock where the wind god laughs and lolls:
For you needs must join the revel, and then presto! in a trice
They have changed to hags of witches, with hooked heads and greedy eyes,
Singing spells about a cauldron whence the fumes of hell arise!
They have changed to hags of witches, with hooked heads and greedy eyes,
Singing spells about a cauldron whence the fumes of hell arise!
Give your soul up to such music, let your spirit drift and dream,
You may fare a pretty journey: on you go where fawn's eyes gleam
Slyly through the dark grape bunches, on where hamadryads scream.
You may fare a pretty journey: on you go where fawn's eyes gleam
Slyly through the dark grape bunches, on where hamadryads scream.
Pelting river-gods with oak-balls, on where great white cities be
With their feet thrust in the ocean and their arms flung drowsily
Over hills that scarcely breathe for fear the dozers start and sigh:
With their feet thrust in the ocean and their arms flung drowsily
Over hills that scarcely breathe for fear the dozers start and sigh:
On you walk through stately gardens, palace porches, corridors,
Blazing halls as full of candles as the sky is full of stars,
And for every light a reveller who wears a mask that bars
Blazing halls as full of candles as the sky is full of stars,
And for every light a reveller who wears a mask that bars
All his forehead's ghastly meaning till some maiden masterful
Beckons to you, so you follow where the lamps burn blue and dull;
Then she turns and takes her mask off, and you see a grinning skull.
Beckons to you, so you follow where the lamps burn blue and dull;
Then she turns and takes her mask off, and you see a grinning skull.
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Brain-sick fancies, do you call them? Call them any name you dare,
Only hear that hautboy shouting, ‘What have we to do with care?’
‘Youth is ours and love and laughter: twine us roses for our hair!’
Only hear that hautboy shouting, ‘What have we to do with care?’
‘Youth is ours and love and laughter: twine us roses for our hair!’
‘Twine her roses, longing lover, for her hair is softer gold
‘Than the eyes of eastern idols in their stony sockets hold.’
But the anxious viol whispers, ‘Dwells a dragon on the wold;
‘Than the eyes of eastern idols in their stony sockets hold.’
But the anxious viol whispers, ‘Dwells a dragon on the wold;
‘Dwells a dragon by the forest; let thy love go never near,
‘Lest the sea-green lustful eye-balls and the twisting claw appear
‘Through the tree stems where she lingers, and thy love go mad with fear.
‘Lest the sea-green lustful eye-balls and the twisting claw appear
‘Through the tree stems where she lingers, and thy love go mad with fear.
‘Dwells a dragon by the castle; let thy love's glance never fall
‘Where the brazen gates lie open, lest she see the monster crawl
‘Through the courtyard to the portal of the very banquet hall.’
‘Where the brazen gates lie open, lest she see the monster crawl
‘Through the courtyard to the portal of the very banquet hall.’
Then the horn begins to question: ‘What has made her eyes so wild?
‘Did you kiss her warm as ever, and she never moved or smiled?
‘Dare you turn and face the horror, fold on scaly fold up-piled?’
‘Did you kiss her warm as ever, and she never moved or smiled?
‘Dare you turn and face the horror, fold on scaly fold up-piled?’
But you smile and tap your slipper to the tune the fiddlers play,
And you think it strange such music should seem anything but gay;
‘How the swift notes rush and sparkle, like a mountain brook,’ you say;
And you think it strange such music should seem anything but gay;
‘How the swift notes rush and sparkle, like a mountain brook,’ you say;
‘How they leap and laugh and tumble till that wildest plunge of all
‘Breaks them to a mist of silver that has hardly weight to fall,
‘To the tarn that sleeps far under, rimmed with cedars like a wall.’
‘Breaks them to a mist of silver that has hardly weight to fall,
‘To the tarn that sleeps far under, rimmed with cedars like a wall.’
But they fall at last!—yes, listen, did my senses play the fool?
Why did those slow ripples widen through the basin brown and cool?
I heard whispers when that drowned face stirred the surface of the pool
Why did those slow ripples widen through the basin brown and cool?
I heard whispers when that drowned face stirred the surface of the pool
‘But a wretched dwarf’ (your eyes hint) ‘gnarled and shrunk as mountain yew.’
‘Joys escape such?’—nay, I answer, had God made me fair like you
I could never dance to music as these dunces choose to do.
‘Joys escape such?’—nay, I answer, had God made me fair like you
I could never dance to music as these dunces choose to do.
'Tis too dreadful: that dim minor startled at the ball-room glare,
With its starved hands clutched convulsive in its tangled mass of hair,
Does it stand and wonder at them? I could vow I saw it there!
With its starved hands clutched convulsive in its tangled mass of hair,
Does it stand and wonder at them? I could vow I saw it there!
Saw it there? Saw twenty rather, wraiths of women such as trod
Measures blithe as those your fan beats, never knew the lips of God
Blew them warning in the flute notes—till they sank beneath the sod.
Measures blithe as those your fan beats, never knew the lips of God
Blew them warning in the flute notes—till they sank beneath the sod.
Now they know it: that's the reason why they plead so with their hands
As the dancers circle past them. See that faintest one who stands
By the wall and weeps her heart out that no dancer understands!
As the dancers circle past them. See that faintest one who stands
By the wall and weeps her heart out that no dancer understands!
243
A SICK-ROOM FANCY
Out of the broken life,
The choking tomb;
Out of the storm and strife,
The glare and gloom—
(Sad heart, 'tis meant for thee,
Take thou the prophecy)
Beauty and bloom.
The choking tomb;
Out of the storm and strife,
The glare and gloom—
(Sad heart, 'tis meant for thee,
Take thou the prophecy)
Beauty and bloom.
What finger can unwind
All subtle threads that bind
Body and soul and mind?
What thought may stand and say
‘Thus flies the shade away?’
What knowledge may scan
The unimagined plan,
Saying ‘Cannot’ and ‘Can’?
All subtle threads that bind
Body and soul and mind?
What thought may stand and say
‘Thus flies the shade away?’
What knowledge may scan
The unimagined plan,
Saying ‘Cannot’ and ‘Can’?
How dewy fresh it keeps,
The little wilding flower,
In the glass beside the bed.
See, he no longer sleeps
But turns his weary head
And gazes at the flower;
Sunburst of glad surprise
Brimming the sunken eyes.
The little wilding flower,
In the glass beside the bed.
See, he no longer sleeps
But turns his weary head
And gazes at the flower;
Sunburst of glad surprise
Brimming the sunken eyes.
A soul is in the rose—
Her gentle soul, who knows?
Which, bound by Death's dread law,
Yet could not quite forego
Love's presence, haply saw
The flower-form, used it so.
Her gentle soul, who knows?
Which, bound by Death's dread law,
Yet could not quite forego
Love's presence, haply saw
The flower-form, used it so.
A soul is in the rose—
Her gentle soul, who knows?
Waiting the time to rest
Upon the pallid breast
Of him, the loved and best:
(Placed there by one who knew
Their secret, and was true)
So, hand in hand, lip on lip,
All circling bonds to slip;
So leave the twilight room,
One breath of vague perfume;
Out to immensity.
Starlight and sky and sea,
Wandering, while on while,
Nearer that argent isle
Which from the dawn of time,
Gemmed in seas hyaline,
Wrapped in a cloudless clime,
Bird-song, bee-humming,
Ever through soft sky-shine
Bided their coming.
Her gentle soul, who knows?
Waiting the time to rest
Upon the pallid breast
Of him, the loved and best:
(Placed there by one who knew
Their secret, and was true)
So, hand in hand, lip on lip,
All circling bonds to slip;
So leave the twilight room,
One breath of vague perfume;
Out to immensity.
Starlight and sky and sea,
Wandering, while on while,
Nearer that argent isle
Which from the dawn of time,
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Wrapped in a cloudless clime,
Bird-song, bee-humming,
Ever through soft sky-shine
Bided their coming.
Languid eyes trying
If they can see
Through chest of dying
Life's verity.
Truth weareth strange guide;
Follow thy fancy!
Ere they must close
Comfort the dying eye,
Thus, little rose.
If they can see
Through chest of dying
Life's verity.
Truth weareth strange guide;
Follow thy fancy!
Ere they must close
Comfort the dying eye,
Thus, little rose.
THE ANSWER
You will give me gems an island king
Hung in a hill-maid's hair
To pleasure him in the lacing light
Of red and blue on her brow's moon-white
While she danced before him half the night?
Hung in a hill-maid's hair
To pleasure him in the lacing light
Of red and blue on her brow's moon-white
While she danced before him half the night?
And silks so palpitant with sun
Of eastern afternoons
One clad therein might walk through halls
Where not one lamp-ray lights the walls
As through streets flush with festivals?
Of eastern afternoons
One clad therein might walk through halls
Where not one lamp-ray lights the walls
As through streets flush with festivals?
Nay! I've three roses for my hair:
And one was plucked at morn—
This bud with petals pure as snow
Save where a timid eager glow
Of blush pink stains the midmost row.
And one was plucked at morn—
This bud with petals pure as snow
Save where a timid eager glow
Of blush pink stains the midmost row.
And this great creamy half-blown one
Was plucked the self-same noon;
Seeing the closed leaves who would guess
The flame it feeds and cherishes,
Deep down, see, where my fingers press?
Was plucked the self-same noon;
Seeing the closed leaves who would guess
The flame it feeds and cherishes,
Deep down, see, where my fingers press?
And this red rose was plucked at night;
This blown rose, burning red,
Where every petal flaunts to view
The very precious inmost hue
And secret soul of the other two.
This blown rose, burning red,
Where every petal flaunts to view
The very precious inmost hue
And secret soul of the other two.
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Nay! Find some other woman's brow
To hang your jewels on;
Have I not roses for my hair?
I know your silks are strange and rare,
But—O, the robe God lets me wear!
To hang your jewels on;
Have I not roses for my hair?
I know your silks are strange and rare,
But—O, the robe God lets me wear!
ANGELLE
I
(Count Bertram speaks.)
Was it not glorious? the street
One blaze of banners, flags, and flowers,
The stone bridge to my charger's feet
Made soft with woven stuffs, white showers
Of roses from the crowded roofs
Left him no spot to plant his hoofs
One blaze of banners, flags, and flowers,
The stone bridge to my charger's feet
Made soft with woven stuffs, white showers
Of roses from the crowded roofs
Left him no spot to plant his hoofs
That was not snowed knee-deep with bloom
Plucked by our burgher-girls to crown
Me, who dared bid the old proud town,
Bowed low so long in wrath and gloom,
Rise up and shake her neck and feel
Fall off the riven ring of steel.
Plucked by our burgher-girls to crown
Me, who dared bid the old proud town,
Bowed low so long in wrath and gloom,
Rise up and shake her neck and feel
Fall off the riven ring of steel.
My life's one dream had come about;
Our town was free; Duke Leon dead;
In five days I should go to wed
His daughter, and so wipe quite out
The old stain, banish every trace
Of the old hatred and disgrace.
Our town was free; Duke Leon dead;
In five days I should go to wed
His daughter, and so wipe quite out
The old stain, banish every trace
Of the old hatred and disgrace.
Why was it then, that when I threw
My glance to one low balustrade,
The whole rich city seemed to fade
Before a mere girl's face, that drew
All meaning from the earth and skies
And held it in her lips and eyes?
My glance to one low balustrade,
The whole rich city seemed to fade
Before a mere girl's face, that drew
All meaning from the earth and skies
And held it in her lips and eyes?
A streak of sunlight sifting through
The gnarled magnolia's rose pink dome
Above the wall, cared not to roam
The musky under-glooms of blue,
When once it found and kissed to flame
The hair that held her face in frame.
The gnarled magnolia's rose pink dome
Above the wall, cared not to roam
The musky under-glooms of blue,
When once it found and kissed to flame
The hair that held her face in frame.
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Did twenty thousand people strain
Their throats, my name on high to raise?
It all seemed cheap beside the praise
Her calm brow gave me, while a band
Of white-robed boys placed in my hand
The broidered banner of our land.
Their throats, my name on high to raise?
It all seemed cheap beside the praise
Her calm brow gave me, while a band
Of white-robed boys placed in my hand
The broidered banner of our land.
Only a moment one may guess,
The spell had strength to hold me: then
I rose up. I was lord of men
Who freed my city from distress;
Round me my grateful people bowed—
And she was one face in the crowd.
The spell had strength to hold me: then
I rose up. I was lord of men
Who freed my city from distress;
Round me my grateful people bowed—
And she was one face in the crowd.
A face to stare at, doubtlessly,
And I almost a stranger, so
I plucked Count Armon's sleeve to know
Her name and state. He screened his eye
With one broad gauntlet from the sun:
‘Angelle, the sole uncloistered nun
And I almost a stranger, so
I plucked Count Armon's sleeve to know
Her name and state. He screened his eye
With one broad gauntlet from the sun:
‘Angelle, the sole uncloistered nun
‘Our town boasts,’ laughed he, ‘calm and cold
As marble martyr in her niche:
'Twas she who worked your banner's rich,
Soft blazoning. A shame, I hold,
Such eyes should dim their violet fire
On paltry needle-work, for hire!”
As marble martyr in her niche:
'Twas she who worked your banner's rich,
Soft blazoning. A shame, I hold,
Such eyes should dim their violet fire
On paltry needle-work, for hire!”
That task at least (I dared have said)
Was not for hire: each burning thread
Which caught the sun above my head
Was stained her very heart's core red.
Each stitch, I knew, had been a prayer,
Each pin thrust a thanksgiving, there.
Was not for hire: each burning thread
Which caught the sun above my head
Was stained her very heart's core red.
Each stitch, I knew, had been a prayer,
Each pin thrust a thanksgiving, there.
How had I thought to ride away!
About me birds and brooks and bees,
Above me milk-white orchard trees,
And in my heart a tune so gay
The quail's low drum, the throstle's throat,
Were discord to its meanest note.
About me birds and brooks and bees,
Above me milk-white orchard trees,
And in my heart a tune so gay
The quail's low drum, the throstle's throat,
Were discord to its meanest note.
And now—how leans her cheek death pale
Against her idle wheel tonight?
What deems she of earth's bale and blight,
Of all earth's bitter blight and bale?
Three days, and then I ride away—
Why has my bread turned stone, I say?
Against her idle wheel tonight?
What deems she of earth's bale and blight,
Of all earth's bitter blight and bale?
Three days, and then I ride away—
Why has my bread turned stone, I say?
247
II
(It is the evening of the second day after. Angelle speaks.)
Ah, dearest, here is a sight of sights
To stop one's weeping: only see,
Three blood-red blooms on my cactus tree
Tonight of all the nights!
To stop one's weeping: only see,
Three blood-red blooms on my cactus tree
Tonight of all the nights!
My cactus waited a winter through
To bloom, for an end it had in mind;
My heart, deep hid in its lifeless rind,
It had its purpose, too.
To bloom, for an end it had in mind;
My heart, deep hid in its lifeless rind,
It had its purpose, too.
Tomorrow doubtless the blooms will fall,
Only a broken stem remain
Of the bright like blood and the dim like rain
Wrapped up in the lucent ball:
Only a broken stem remain
Of the bright like blood and the dim like rain
Wrapped up in the lucent ball:
But the stalk will cherish, I dare avow,
The daylong pride of its diadem;
I shall not forget that I wore a gem
Two nights on my worthless brow.
The daylong pride of its diadem;
I shall not forget that I wore a gem
Two nights on my worthless brow.
Two long, long nights, from dusk to dusk!
Is not that much? I ask no more.
My heart would burst did a third night pour
Its chrismal flame and musk.
Is not that much? I ask no more.
My heart would burst did a third night pour
Its chrismal flame and musk.
Last week my heart was as cold and dead
As the glass-green stem of my cactus-tree;
Last night on a sudden one, two, three
Buds burst out warm and red.
As the glass-green stem of my cactus-tree;
Last night on a sudden one, two, three
Buds burst out warm and red.
Tomorrow doubtless the blooms will fall,
Only a broken stem remain
Of the bright like blood and the dim like rain
Wrapped up in the lucent ball:
Only a broken stem remain
Of the bright like blood and the dim like rain
Wrapped up in the lucent ball:
But the stalk will perish, I dare avow,
The daylong pride of its diadem;
I shall not forget that I wore a gem
Two nights on my worthless brow.
The daylong pride of its diadem;
I shall not forget that I wore a gem
Two nights on my worthless brow.
III
(Obelin, a vagabond minstrel, continueth his tale before the Abbess.)
Had I the art Fra Gochil knows,
I'd paint, not tell you, the story's close;
The grace and pomp of the tourney shows!
I'd paint, not tell you, the story's close;
The grace and pomp of the tourney shows!
248
Mere words can ne'er suffice to tell
Of the great lists shaped like a scallop shell,
Where they fought three days for the silver bell.
Of the great lists shaped like a scallop shell,
Where they fought three days for the silver bell.
When the count brought home his just-wed bride
He hung a silver bell by the side
Of the throne where she sat languid-eyed,
He hung a silver bell by the side
Of the throne where she sat languid-eyed,
To watch the gallant jousting game;
And he challenged every knight who came
To tilt for the prize in his lady's name.
And he challenged every knight who came
To tilt for the prize in his lady's name.
And on the third day came a knight
With blue shield moon-shape, star bedight,
So all clapped hands at the gracious sight.
With blue shield moon-shape, star bedight,
So all clapped hands at the gracious sight.
Behind his visor all saw glare
Such eyes as shine from a wild beast's lair,
The queen leaned forward from her chair.
Such eyes as shine from a wild beast's lair,
The queen leaned forward from her chair.
Our count laughed up as he took his lance
Some jest to his bride with the brows askance:
He never dreamed of the deed's mischance.
Some jest to his bride with the brows askance:
He never dreamed of the deed's mischance.
Steel clashed on steel in a storm of sound:
Dust cleared: our count lay on the ground,
Pierced through the breast with a mortal wound:
Dust cleared: our count lay on the ground,
Pierced through the breast with a mortal wound:
While over him, with bared head, stood
Dead Leon's son, our foe. ‘God's rood!’
He cried, ‘here wash I out in blood
Dead Leon's son, our foe. ‘God's rood!’
He cried, ‘here wash I out in blood
‘The shameful bond that linked my race
To his: behold how I erase
The stain and cancel the disgrace!’
To his: behold how I erase
The stain and cancel the disgrace!’
Then fell a strange thing: from her throne
The bride came down, her wild hair blown
About her, all her pale face grown
The bride came down, her wild hair blown
About her, all her pale face grown
One fire, and all her soul one thirst
To bind the bonds that her kinsman burst,
And keep her faith—come best or worst:
To bind the bonds that her kinsman burst,
And keep her faith—come best or worst:
When who should burst in through the ring
About the wounded knight, who fling
His wife one side, and sink and cling
About the wounded knight, who fling
His wife one side, and sink and cling
About his form with moanings wild—
But just that maid we townsfolk styled
Angelle, the saintly and undefiled?
But just that maid we townsfolk styled
Angelle, the saintly and undefiled?
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Who (we loved to say) heard Heaven's own hymn
As her faced yearned out of its hair's soft rim,
Too gold for a lover's breath to dim:
As her faced yearned out of its hair's soft rim,
Too gold for a lover's breath to dim:
With the brow too white neath the parted strands
For aught but the brow of the saint who stands
With the young Christ clinging to both her hands.
For aught but the brow of the saint who stands
With the young Christ clinging to both her hands.
We had worshipped her as we worshipped God,—
And lo! she lay on the earth like a clod,
A common thing, to be spurned and trod!
And lo! she lay on the earth like a clod,
A common thing, to be spurned and trod!
[OMITTED]
Next day when the funeral train went through
The great bridge gate, the people knew
Who walked behind, brow-bound with rue,
The great bridge gate, the people knew
Who walked behind, brow-bound with rue,
Blackvested, and with muffled face,
And the women moralled, knitting their lace,
Of her deadly sin and its swift disgrace.
And the women moralled, knitting their lace,
Of her deadly sin and its swift disgrace.
IV
The nuns rose up and left the room:
The abbess sat in the purple gloom.
The abbess sat in the purple gloom.
The minstrel let the lute-notes fail,
Then turned in question of the tale.
Then turned in question of the tale.
‘How shameful that no purest life
Is free from fleshly sin and strife!
Is free from fleshly sin and strife!
‘If punishment were yours to tell
What had you meted the maid Angelle?’
What had you meted the maid Angelle?’
The abbess let her stern gaze fall
On the wan white Christ in the shadowed wall.
On the wan white Christ in the shadowed wall.
‘If I had sought some way to win
To show my hate of her deadly sin
To show my hate of her deadly sin
‘I had gone bare-head and with naked feet
And held her hand through the crowded street.’
And held her hand through the crowded street.’
THE AMBER-WITCH
I went across the twilight moor,
Through pine woods purply glimmering,
I heard, not half a league before,
The glad sea sing.
Through pine woods purply glimmering,
I heard, not half a league before,
The glad sea sing.
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The glad, glad sea sang low to me,
And low I answered, stooping blind
Through brake and bough, till every tree
Lay dark behind.
And low I answered, stooping blind
Through brake and bough, till every tree
Lay dark behind.
From out the moon-soaked sleepy sands,
With vacant laughter, like a fool,
The sea had scooped with his two hands
A green, green pool.
With vacant laughter, like a fool,
The sea had scooped with his two hands
A green, green pool.
All naked on a pale green stone,
Where circling water-snakes burned rich,
Sat waiting, eager-eyed and lone,
The amber-witch.
Where circling water-snakes burned rich,
Sat waiting, eager-eyed and lone,
The amber-witch.
She drew my head upon her knee;
About my body everywhere
The bright snakes burned, and over me
Drooped her wild hair.
About my body everywhere
The bright snakes burned, and over me
Drooped her wild hair.
Her body swayed into a tune,
Her lips were writhen as with pain,
Her eyes swam dim while she did croon
A dim, dim strain.
Her lips were writhen as with pain,
Her eyes swam dim while she did croon
A dim, dim strain.
I stooped into the wood black-pined,
I startled at the moon-bright moor,
I heard, not half a league behind,
The mad sea roar.
I startled at the moon-bright moor,
I heard, not half a league behind,
The mad sea roar.
The mad sea clamored hoarse on me,
And nought I answered, lest the moon
Should let her amber hair float free,
And stoop, and croon.
And nought I answered, lest the moon
Should let her amber hair float free,
And stoop, and croon.
THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN
King Arthur sat at Carleon upon Usk
At Christmas feast, and one by one, the knights
Had told them each his tale of wonder-deed
Or wonder-vision, till the circle came
Unto Owain, the silent dreamer he,
Though like a storm in battle. All had turned
For wonder at his silence, for he sat
With eyes wide-fixed and staring, as he saw
Beyond the flame of jewels, flash of silk,
And blaze of burnished metal of the room,
Something the others saw not. As they sat
A gate clanged; on the stone-paved outer court
Quick hoof-beats rang; the door burst open wide;
Into the hall and to the very board
There rode a lady, clad in clinging silk
Flame-colored, and her horse like summer cloud
Piled in the west at noon-day, save the mane
Pale saffron, and the nostrils poppy-red.
Nor spake she any word, but by Owain
Halted, and drew off the ring she wore,
Then loud enough so all within the room
Could hear the words, hissed, ‘Beardless! traitor! fool!
Shame of all knighthood! shame of all mankind!’
Then turned her steed and vanished.
Long they sat,At Christmas feast, and one by one, the knights
Had told them each his tale of wonder-deed
Or wonder-vision, till the circle came
Unto Owain, the silent dreamer he,
Though like a storm in battle. All had turned
For wonder at his silence, for he sat
With eyes wide-fixed and staring, as he saw
Beyond the flame of jewels, flash of silk,
And blaze of burnished metal of the room,
Something the others saw not. As they sat
A gate clanged; on the stone-paved outer court
Quick hoof-beats rang; the door burst open wide;
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There rode a lady, clad in clinging silk
Flame-colored, and her horse like summer cloud
Piled in the west at noon-day, save the mane
Pale saffron, and the nostrils poppy-red.
Nor spake she any word, but by Owain
Halted, and drew off the ring she wore,
Then loud enough so all within the room
Could hear the words, hissed, ‘Beardless! traitor! fool!
Shame of all knighthood! shame of all mankind!’
Then turned her steed and vanished.
Nor dared to look upon Owain, for fear
To see the change such speech had wrought in him,
The choice-culled flower of gentlest chivalry,
Thus trodden in the dust and spit upon.
Saddest of all was Arthur, for he loved
The high-browed youth who came but yesterday
To prove him worthy of the Table Round,
And his heart yearned unto him, and he said:
‘Tell us, I pray thee, thou our newest friend,
The meaning of the sight that we have seen.
Frankly we ask it, for we know right well
The meaning is not such a one as seems.’
Then lifted up Owain his sunken head
And spake unto them:
Now recounteth Owain how that in his wanderings he did come one day at noon upon a marble basin, in the centre of a fair valley; whereof when he would have drunk, a knight arose from the reed-flags to give him battle concerning it. Then did Owain slay that knight, being moved thereto by his great thirst and longing for the cool water. When now he had gazed long upon the dead, was he seized of a strange fancy, that he did off his helm and corslet and put on the armor of the other, together with a fair ring that was upon his finger. Which done, he looked into the pool and saw that his face had suffered change, being no more his own, but so like unto the dead knight's face that it was a marvel to him. Thereupon he spied a horse tethered near by in the wood, and when he had mounted, it bare him of his own will through that valley into a gated town, even unto the portals of a great palace. Continueth the story after this wise:
And as I walked along the lofty hall,Such magic lay within the mail I wore,
All was familiar to me, yet all strange.
A greyhound licked my hand, I stroked his head
And called him by his name; a lazy page
Teasing a falcon gained his sharp reproof;
The very faces of the tapestry,
The twisting dragons of the panelled walls,
Met me with a most wondrous wontedness,
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Forget not, thou'rt Owain!’ So as I walked,
Pondering the strangeness of the things that fell,
There came a sense of voices near at hand.
Beneath me, in the flower-filled central court,
I saw a maid beside a tiny lake
Feeding the swans; upon the balustrade
Above her leaned an ape-faced swarthy dwarf,
His green eyes large with some discovery,
Mighty of portent. Straight I hid me there,
And listened while he told with cunning glee
How he had stolen to their lady's room,
All in the sleepy heat of afternoon,
And heard her murmur secrets as she slept,
About the wondrous fountain in the dell,
And call upon the nixie of the spring,
Naming her mother, and a hundred names
Of soft endearment, so the dwarf was like
To burst with laughter at the thought of it,
Their pretty lady with the haughty brows
Born of a nixie, of a water-fay!
Then, with one lean hand by his pursed mouth,
And leaning low across the balustrade,
With sly-arched brows, he said the best was yet:
'Twas not for love the wedding-bells should ring
Next morning when their lady wed her lord,
But he was strong in fight, and he alone
Could guard the fountain where the nixie dwelt
From every comer. I could hear no more,
But I had heard so much as filled my veins
With longing and with laughter, and I went
Along the lofty sounding corridors,
Past massy columns twined with silver snakes,
Through gloomy doors where red-gold lions crouched,
Their heads upon their paws, until I came
Unto a dim-lit chamber, where were maids
Twenty and one, more fair than Guinevere
When Guinevere was fairest, Easter day.
They sat beneath the yellow light of reeds
Working some wondrous piece of needlecraft,
And in their midst sat one so beautiful
It stopped the heart's beat but to look on her.
Against the dark green woof her dainty head
Drooped goldenly; her slim hands clasped her knee,
All heedless how the busy maidens wrought,
In threads of silk upon a tapestry,
Christ's passion and the raising of the Host.
Long time I stood in utter wonderment,
For love of that sweet face and queenly hair
Against the green woof drooping goldenly;
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Unto the portals. And three pages came,
And led my charger through the moonlit streets
Unto a mighty castle on a hill.
Here recounteth Owain how that at morning servants came to put on him raiment for his marriage; and he suffered them to do their will. But the shirt of mail would he not put off, for fear to lose the spell which made like unto that other. Then fared he in a great company to the church, and was married to the lady he had seen, being too full of lust and fleshly evil to know that deed for a wrong. And ever after wore he the magic shirt, save in secret, and each day went he to guard the fountain, as he had been no other than he who did aforetime that service. But after a tide waxed he weary of his life, for the secret troubled him, and he began to hate his bride, thinking her not a human creature, but one born of a sprite. So one day he went not to the fountain, but wandered all day in the forest, right heavy of heart. Nathless at night did he return, and lay down beside that fair lady that he had taken to wife. Continueth the story after this wise:
At midnight I awoke: the mellow moonLay everywhere; within the tangled vine
Outside the painted pane a nightingale
Poured out his passionate heart; and as I lay
A change came over me. I was as one
Who feels a leprous sickness ooze away
Out of his limbs and eyeballs at Christ's touch.
Again I saw my fair bride's dainty head
Against the woof of green droop goldenly,
All halo-rimmed with utter loveliness.
Again I walked beside her where old saints
Yearned from dim-blazoned windows, while the choir
Chanted aloft the bridal symphony;
And in her eyes, upturned to meet mine own,
There was a startled splendor, as she felt
Love bursting rose-like where hate's thorns had been;
For through the borrowed semblance that I wore
Her spirit subtly felt the soul of me,
And rose to meet it like a very bride.
So as I lay and thought such thoughts of her,
Within my heart arose a hungering
To clasp her in my arms and with great love
Wipe out her bitter wrong: and with a cry
I turned unto her. Lo! the moonlight fell
Bright on the pillow where her head had lain,
But she was gone. I gazed about the room,
But all was silent. Only the glad bird
Outside the window panted out his song,
Until its gladness grew a ghostly thing
More sad than sorrow. Full of choking fear
I stole along the dim-lit corridors,
Peered into niches, listened long at doors,
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And seek her by the fountain in the dell.
Through the bright streets and misting country lanes,
Like to a guilty spirit I stole on,
Fearing to find what I most longed to see.
But when I drew anigh unto the slope
That leadeth to the well, a bright, sharp laugh
Made my veins ache with horror: crouching down,
I looked between the thronging slant-stemmed trees,
Into a little marshy bed of reeds,
Made by the o'erflowing well. There lay my bride,
Her white and naked body green with slime,
Her gold hair bound with pale-blue water snakes,
Which, knotted in the centre, on her brow
Let fall for pendant gem a wide-mouthed frog.
About her limbs and waist, huge fold on fold,
A striped snake reached as far as to her breast,
And ended in a wrinkled human head,
Glaring and witch-like, with eyes pale as flame
Under the dripping crown of water weeds.
With low, glad cries my lady fondled it,
And on the livid mouth and one black fang
Pressed eager kisses.
I could bear no more,
But tearing off the magic coat of mail,
Which changed my semblance into him I slew,
I turned and fled into the mighty wood,
And fled and fled until my brain was gone,
So that I slept with wolves, while noisome things
Crept o'er me as I lay without the will
To brush them from my face. O gentle king!
The lady who burst in upon our feast
Was she I wed deceitfully: and now,
Seeing that I have sinned a bitter sin,
And am no longer worthy in men's sight
To sit beside you at the Table Round,
Grant me to go, and struggle, if I may,
To free from witchery and evil spells
The life I should have cherished to the end,
With all the potence of pure chivalry.
But tearing off the magic coat of mail,
Which changed my semblance into him I slew,
I turned and fled into the mighty wood,
And fled and fled until my brain was gone,
So that I slept with wolves, while noisome things
Crept o'er me as I lay without the will
To brush them from my face. O gentle king!
The lady who burst in upon our feast
Was she I wed deceitfully: and now,
Seeing that I have sinned a bitter sin,
And am no longer worthy in men's sight
To sit beside you at the Table Round,
Grant me to go, and struggle, if I may,
To free from witchery and evil spells
The life I should have cherished to the end,
With all the potence of pure chivalry.
Thus speaking, with head sunken low, Owain
Went from the Christmas feast at Carleon.
Went from the Christmas feast at Carleon.
APPLAUSE
Under the chandelier's blazeSee how they listen and gaze.
Listen, their eyes growing tender,
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My music spreads in their skies
Flushes and sparkles and dies.
I, who have wrought them the wonder,
What do I care for their cries,
Plaudits, and loud-clapping thunder?
All that I care for is yonder:
A strip of brow in the dotted maze,
One loosened strand cutting through it, and under,
Blown by a rapture of gladness asunder,
Thrilling me through with an exquisite praise,
Her two eyes.
THE BRIAR ROSE
I
‘O low strange hills,’ the minstrel said,
‘O low hills sad against the sun,
O starved trees where the moon hangs dead,
What plains are these, so vast and dun,
Ere my long way be over-won?
‘O low hills sad against the sun,
O starved trees where the moon hangs dead,
What plains are these, so vast and dun,
Ere my long way be over-won?
‘What snarls of wicket weed and grass
Clutch at my lute and bridle reign?
What dull bird cryeth as we pass?
Through what more lonely lands of pain
Dost lead me, O blind quest and vain?
Clutch at my lute and bridle reign?
What dull bird cryeth as we pass?
Through what more lonely lands of pain
Dost lead me, O blind quest and vain?
‘Slow, slow my steed, thy hoof-hold slips,
The way grows brambled, roofed and wet;
The air tastes sweet upon my lips!’
And as he peered out, fear-beset,
The roses held him like a net.
The way grows brambled, roofed and wet;
The air tastes sweet upon my lips!’
And as he peered out, fear-beset,
The roses held him like a net.
II
In loop and shaft and intertwine,
Sprang domed and pillared from the swamps
The ancient tangle of the vine;
Through purple vistæd underdamps
The ripe-heart roses shone for lamps.
Sprang domed and pillared from the swamps
The ancient tangle of the vine;
Through purple vistæd underdamps
The ripe-heart roses shone for lamps.
Couched low among the crowding stems
A slumbrous people suffered wrong,
Hoar kings brow-girt with ancient gems,
Dark breasts of warriors, scarred and strong,
And throats of boys laid bare for song.
A slumbrous people suffered wrong,
Hoar kings brow-girt with ancient gems,
Dark breasts of warriors, scarred and strong,
And throats of boys laid bare for song.
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And as the wandering minstrel stood,
With terror was his spirit wrung,
To hear within the darkling wood
The sweet low hissing of the tongue
Wherewith these grievous folk were stung.
With terror was his spirit wrung,
To hear within the darkling wood
The sweet low hissing of the tongue
Wherewith these grievous folk were stung.
But unto longing was his heart
As shawn unto the shawn-player;
The thronging thicket yearned apart,
The lamping flowers as torches were
To light him on his way to her.
As shawn unto the shawn-player;
The thronging thicket yearned apart,
The lamping flowers as torches were
To light him on his way to her.
And silver lauds and trumpetings
Made festival along his veins,
‘Lo, many vassals, many kings,
Love curses utterly and banes,
But one, oh, at last attains!’
Made festival along his veins,
‘Lo, many vassals, many kings,
Love curses utterly and banes,
But one, oh, at last attains!’
III
Upon her threshold he was fain
To pause, till from the richer glooms
His eye might some clear vision gain,
And saw within the rush-strewn rooms
The maids asleep beside their looms.
To pause, till from the richer glooms
His eye might some clear vision gain,
And saw within the rush-strewn rooms
The maids asleep beside their looms.
Through worn leads of the lattice panes
The stealthy briar boughs had crept,
And shed their red and yellow rains
Upon the floor, and overleapt
The warp-frames where the weavers slept.
The stealthy briar boughs had crept,
And shed their red and yellow rains
Upon the floor, and overleapt
The warp-frames where the weavers slept.
Within the middle of the bower
The red moon through the vine lacings
Was sifted in a dreamy shower,
About a web's old picturings
Of slant horns and triumphant wings.
The red moon through the vine lacings
Was sifted in a dreamy shower,
About a web's old picturings
Of slant horns and triumphant wings.
Against the web angelical,
Where long ago, grown weary weak,
She drooped and let the shuttle fall,
Still drooped she, and her eyelids meek
Still darkened on his patient cheek.
Where long ago, grown weary weak,
She drooped and let the shuttle fall,
Still drooped she, and her eyelids meek
Still darkened on his patient cheek.
And as the minstrel gazed at her,
The forms upon the arrased wall
Seemed to take note of him and stir;
King leaned to bearded seneschal,
And spectral wrath was on them all.
The forms upon the arrased wall
Seemed to take note of him and stir;
King leaned to bearded seneschal,
And spectral wrath was on them all.
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He thought of her uplifted eyes,
How they would pierce his spirit's core
With their importunate surmise;
And knew that death would be less sore
Than the still wonder that they wore.
How they would pierce his spirit's core
With their importunate surmise;
And knew that death would be less sore
Than the still wonder that they wore.
Upon his soul vain sorrow burst—
A phantasy, a sick man's whim;
The overweening love that durst
Conceive such bliss would be for him
Smote him with shame in every limb.
A phantasy, a sick man's whim;
The overweening love that durst
Conceive such bliss would be for him
Smote him with shame in every limb.
He saw his weary life outspread,
With all its grey and graceless days,
When for a dole of bitter bread
He had been fain, in hollow lays,
To sing a mindless tyrant's praise.
With all its grey and graceless days,
When for a dole of bitter bread
He had been fain, in hollow lays,
To sing a mindless tyrant's praise.
His childhood's trust seemed as a bough
Uncomforted of bud or leaf,
His boyhood's pride a poor hedge row
Of ragged thorn, and manhood's grief
A stony field without a sheaf.
Uncomforted of bud or leaf,
His boyhood's pride a poor hedge row
Of ragged thorn, and manhood's grief
A stony field without a sheaf.
So where he knelt he dared not touch
Her garment's hem; but seeing how
His soul was drowsy overmuch,
And it seemed nigh as sweet to bow,
And sleep her sleep while time should flow,—
Her garment's hem; but seeing how
His soul was drowsy overmuch,
And it seemed nigh as sweet to bow,
And sleep her sleep while time should flow,—
With quiet murmur over him
He let the lapping water close;
And as he sank from dream to dream
Through shuttled depths of green and rose,
Where peace like branching coral grows,
He let the lapping water close;
And as he sank from dream to dream
Through shuttled depths of green and rose,
Where peace like branching coral grows,
He smiled to think how she would wake,
And say, ‘How changed is all the place!
My minstrel here for my poor sake
Has slept right long, and now, for grace,
I cannot recollect his face!’
And say, ‘How changed is all the place!
My minstrel here for my poor sake
Has slept right long, and now, for grace,
I cannot recollect his face!’
| [Poems by Moody in] William Vaughn Moody : A Study by David Dodds Henry | |