Gods, Saints & Men By Eugene Lee-Hamilton ... With Ten Full-Page Illustartions Designed by Enrico Mazzanti |
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| THE LAST LOVE OF VENUS. |
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| I. |
| II. |
 | Gods, Saints & Men |  |
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THE LAST LOVE OF VENUS.
The Gods of beauty and of gladness
Lived on; but exiled and in sadness.
Long since their last adorer's prayer
Had died upon the desert air,
And round their temple's shattered column,
The silence was complete and solemn.
In shirt of hair, the scourge in hand,
A thousand saints in every land
Usurped their high antique command.
The chant of monks, the parting knell
Upon the ear for ever fell;
Or else the savage clank of steel
As men stalked armed from head to heel.
Each radiant and immortal God
The lonely path of exile trod
In pale disguise; or had retreated
To distant shores, and lay secreted.
Thus in a mountain's deep recess,
In undiminished loveliness,
Dwelt Venus in the middle ages,
Decoying some stray knights and pages,
And cheering exile's endless leisure
With mortal loves and earthly pleasure.
Where loudest rose War's shriek and rattle,
Rallying the Paynim in the battle,
A strange knight-errant might be seen
Of superhuman strength and mien,
Whose vizor's closed and narrow bars
Concealed the dazzling face of Mars.
A few on some far distant sea,
Where adverse winds had made them roam,
Had seen the car of Neptune flee
At their approach across the foam,
With Tritons spouting in the breeze,
And green-haired Oceanides.
Disguised, Apollo sought the gloom
Of many a bare monastic room,
And like a sunbeam peeped and peered
At many a monk who nothing feared.
When they were copying after matins
Some lyric poet of the Latins,
He whispered softly in their ear:
Of worlds of beauty which had perished,
Of things divine no longer cherished,
Of sounds which men had loved to hear.
Lived on; but exiled and in sadness.
Long since their last adorer's prayer
Had died upon the desert air,
And round their temple's shattered column,
The silence was complete and solemn.
In shirt of hair, the scourge in hand,
A thousand saints in every land
Usurped their high antique command.
The chant of monks, the parting knell
Upon the ear for ever fell;
Or else the savage clank of steel
As men stalked armed from head to heel.
Each radiant and immortal God
The lonely path of exile trod
In pale disguise; or had retreated
To distant shores, and lay secreted.
Thus in a mountain's deep recess,
In undiminished loveliness,
Dwelt Venus in the middle ages,
Decoying some stray knights and pages,
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With mortal loves and earthly pleasure.
Where loudest rose War's shriek and rattle,
Rallying the Paynim in the battle,
A strange knight-errant might be seen
Of superhuman strength and mien,
Whose vizor's closed and narrow bars
Concealed the dazzling face of Mars.
A few on some far distant sea,
Where adverse winds had made them roam,
Had seen the car of Neptune flee
At their approach across the foam,
With Tritons spouting in the breeze,
And green-haired Oceanides.
Disguised, Apollo sought the gloom
Of many a bare monastic room,
And like a sunbeam peeped and peered
At many a monk who nothing feared.
When they were copying after matins
Some lyric poet of the Latins,
He whispered softly in their ear:
Of worlds of beauty which had perished,
Of things divine no longer cherished,
Of sounds which men had loved to hear.
So lived the Gods, expecting ever
The happier days which followed never,
While all their bright dependent train
Had shape of imps and goblins ta'en:
The Fauns and Dryads changed themselves
Into queer wayward forest elves;
The Naiads lurked as spiteful Nixes
In sunless pools, or dreaded Pixies,
Who could assume a deadly beauty,
Could lure the Christian from his duty,
And while his earthly peace they stole,
Endangered his immortal soul.
The happier days which followed never,
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Had shape of imps and goblins ta'en:
The Fauns and Dryads changed themselves
Into queer wayward forest elves;
The Naiads lurked as spiteful Nixes
In sunless pools, or dreaded Pixies,
Who could assume a deadly beauty,
Could lure the Christian from his duty,
And while his earthly peace they stole,
Endangered his immortal soul.
I love the legends which relate
To these strange exiles and their fate;
Long since from high Olympus hurled,
And wandering through an altered world:
Bright forms of beauty which intrude
Mid times of stern and savage mood,
And hover o'er midæval gloom
Like flowers waving o'er a tomb.
I love to note their secret dealings
With mortals ever and anon,
When all was changed, thought, life and feeling,
And nature's votaries were gone.
I love in this prosaic day
To watch, through fancy's rainbow portal,
The rapid loves of an immortal,
With one of merely human clay;
So gather round and let me tell
The strange adventure which befell
A Knight of that same Suabian band
Who left their northern mountain home,
When, to be crowned by Papal hand,
Imperial Otho came to Rome.
To these strange exiles and their fate;
Long since from high Olympus hurled,
And wandering through an altered world:
Bright forms of beauty which intrude
Mid times of stern and savage mood,
And hover o'er midæval gloom
Like flowers waving o'er a tomb.
I love to note their secret dealings
With mortals ever and anon,
When all was changed, thought, life and feeling,
And nature's votaries were gone.
I love in this prosaic day
To watch, through fancy's rainbow portal,
The rapid loves of an immortal,
With one of merely human clay;
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The strange adventure which befell
A Knight of that same Suabian band
Who left their northern mountain home,
When, to be crowned by Papal hand,
Imperial Otho came to Rome.
He was a youth of noble blood
Named Wolfram, whose o'er-dreamy mood
Earned him small love from other knights.
He cared not for their tales of fights,
He seldom in their converse shared,
Nor for their sports and revels cared.
They called him love-sick, for they knew
That he at home had said adieu
To one to whom he was betrothed.
He loved the thing which most they loathed.
He loved that soft Italian land,
He spoke its soft seductive tongue,
He loved the southern breeze which fanned
The vines which there in garlands hung.
But most of all young Wolfram cherished
Those Roman ruins, strange and vast,
Which vaguely spoke of greatness perished,
And of a far forgotten past;
Where self-sown flowers sought to deck
Each fragment of the mighty wreck.
He loved to roam alone and linger
Where Time, with slow reluctant finger,
Was wiping gradually away
The splendours of the Cæsars' sway.
Named Wolfram, whose o'er-dreamy mood
Earned him small love from other knights.
He cared not for their tales of fights,
He seldom in their converse shared,
Nor for their sports and revels cared.
They called him love-sick, for they knew
That he at home had said adieu
To one to whom he was betrothed.
He loved the thing which most they loathed.
He loved that soft Italian land,
He spoke its soft seductive tongue,
He loved the southern breeze which fanned
The vines which there in garlands hung.
But most of all young Wolfram cherished
Those Roman ruins, strange and vast,
Which vaguely spoke of greatness perished,
And of a far forgotten past;
Where self-sown flowers sought to deck
Each fragment of the mighty wreck.
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Where Time, with slow reluctant finger,
Was wiping gradually away
The splendours of the Cæsars' sway.
Not far from where the knights were quartered,
Beside the Tiber where they watered
Their glossy steeds at break of day,
Immense and lonely ruins lay:
Baths, temple, palace,—none I ween
Now knew what once their use had been.
The giant masses, crumbling slowly,
Like rocks, and yet not shapeless wholly,
Formed mighty courts, where none except
The lonely goat-herd ever stepped;
Where all around was verdure sighing,
Where columns in the grass were lying,
Where wild acanthus, strong and green,
Was round the marble leafage seen
Of shivered capital and frieze;
Where violets nodded in the breeze,
And half concealed the fragments fair
Of broken statues scattered there:
A rounded arm, or an upturned face
Still smiling on the lonely place.
While from this world of shattered marble
And new-born green rose up the warble
Of birds unnumbered, quick to sing
The praises of awakening spring.
Here, mid the rubbish and the flowers,
Would Wolfram linger many hours,
And often ask himself with wonder
Before those mighty arches yonder,
What strange and giant men were they
Who, in a long-forgotten day,
Had built such stout and lofty halls,
Compared with which his castle's walls,
Suspended like an eagle's nest
Upon his Suabian mountain's crest,
And which the foe had feared to scale,
Had seemed but insecure and frail;
And then his thoughts would wander home,
Far from this vast and crumbling Rome,
To where his sweet affianced bride
Sat, fair of hair and modest-eyed,
Awaiting with ill-hidden yearning
The happy time of his returning.
Beside the Tiber where they watered
Their glossy steeds at break of day,
Immense and lonely ruins lay:
Baths, temple, palace,—none I ween
Now knew what once their use had been.
The giant masses, crumbling slowly,
Like rocks, and yet not shapeless wholly,
Formed mighty courts, where none except
The lonely goat-herd ever stepped;
Where all around was verdure sighing,
Where columns in the grass were lying,
Where wild acanthus, strong and green,
Was round the marble leafage seen
Of shivered capital and frieze;
Where violets nodded in the breeze,
And half concealed the fragments fair
Of broken statues scattered there:
A rounded arm, or an upturned face
Still smiling on the lonely place.
While from this world of shattered marble
And new-born green rose up the warble
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The praises of awakening spring.
Here, mid the rubbish and the flowers,
Would Wolfram linger many hours,
And often ask himself with wonder
Before those mighty arches yonder,
What strange and giant men were they
Who, in a long-forgotten day,
Had built such stout and lofty halls,
Compared with which his castle's walls,
Suspended like an eagle's nest
Upon his Suabian mountain's crest,
And which the foe had feared to scale,
Had seemed but insecure and frail;
And then his thoughts would wander home,
Far from this vast and crumbling Rome,
To where his sweet affianced bride
Sat, fair of hair and modest-eyed,
Awaiting with ill-hidden yearning
The happy time of his returning.
One day that Wolfram thus alone
Was roaming through this world of stone,
His eyes, all careless, chanced to fall
Upon an opening in the wall,
Half hidden by a waving screen
Of ivy and luxuriant green.
He pushed the leaves aside and found
A passage leading under ground;
And soon was in a vaulted room,
Bare, spacious, and half-plunged in gloom,
Which led to many other halls,
Bare like itself, with frescoed walls.
All would in total gloom have slept
Had not the summer sunshine crept
Into one hall whose vault, more thin,
Seemed lately to have fallen in.
The pictured floors were dimly seen,
Inlaid with marbles white and green,
Where griffins battled, fierce of mien,
And mermen strange, whose curling tails
Were covered o'er with fishy scales,
While round each group a wreath of vine
With hanging grapes was made to twine.
O'er all these strange designs he passed
From hall to hall and reached the last;
It was a small and dome-shaped hall,
Where high upon a pedestal
A single marble statue stood,
Sole tenant of that solitude,
Who in the faint mysterious light
Looked down upon him cold and white.
Was roaming through this world of stone,
His eyes, all careless, chanced to fall
Upon an opening in the wall,
Half hidden by a waving screen
Of ivy and luxuriant green.
7
A passage leading under ground;
And soon was in a vaulted room,
Bare, spacious, and half-plunged in gloom,
Which led to many other halls,
Bare like itself, with frescoed walls.
All would in total gloom have slept
Had not the summer sunshine crept
Into one hall whose vault, more thin,
Seemed lately to have fallen in.
The pictured floors were dimly seen,
Inlaid with marbles white and green,
Where griffins battled, fierce of mien,
And mermen strange, whose curling tails
Were covered o'er with fishy scales,
While round each group a wreath of vine
With hanging grapes was made to twine.
O'er all these strange designs he passed
From hall to hall and reached the last;
It was a small and dome-shaped hall,
Where high upon a pedestal
A single marble statue stood,
Sole tenant of that solitude,
Who in the faint mysterious light
Looked down upon him cold and white.
A superstitious terror crept
O'er Wolfram's heart: he backward stept.
It was a statue, sure he felt,
To which the Christian ne'er had knelt;
One of those Pagan gods who stole
The peace of man's immortal soul;
One of the few intact, unbroken,
Of whom his friend, the Monk, had spoken;
One of those baleful ancient Gods,
Whom Jesus, after fearful odds,
Had banished from the face of earth,
And who, some said, were nought but devils
Who still at times held impious revels,
Mid scenes of strange unhallowed mirth.
O'er Wolfram's heart: he backward stept.
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To which the Christian ne'er had knelt;
One of those Pagan gods who stole
The peace of man's immortal soul;
One of the few intact, unbroken,
Of whom his friend, the Monk, had spoken;
One of those baleful ancient Gods,
Whom Jesus, after fearful odds,
Had banished from the face of earth,
And who, some said, were nought but devils
Who still at times held impious revels,
Mid scenes of strange unhallowed mirth.
Whiter and whiter seemed to loom
Her limbs of marble in the gloom,
No lanky saint, berobed and pure,
Such as in churches stand demure;
But one whose limbs were softly rounded,
Of beauty splendid and unbounded;
'Twas Venus such as from the wave,
She rose to conquer and enslave.
He knew her not, but felt her power,
And something made him shrink and cower,
For potent was the fiend indeed,
And well might to damnation lead.
If she should move? With thumping heart,
He quickly turned him to depart,
And, as he did so, felt a dread
Lest, if he only turned his head,
She should pursue with silent tread.
Her limbs of marble in the gloom,
No lanky saint, berobed and pure,
Such as in churches stand demure;
But one whose limbs were softly rounded,
Of beauty splendid and unbounded;
'Twas Venus such as from the wave,
She rose to conquer and enslave.
He knew her not, but felt her power,
And something made him shrink and cower,
For potent was the fiend indeed,
And well might to damnation lead.
If she should move? With thumping heart,
He quickly turned him to depart,
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Lest, if he only turned his head,
She should pursue with silent tread.
And yet, what made him linger near,
Despite his faith and pious fear?
What made him on the morrow seek
That chamber empty and antique;
That silent form which seemed to speak?
What made him tread with trembling feet
Once more that strange secure retreat,
In which for half a thousand years
No step had ventured to disturb
A godess potent and superb?
Despite his faith and pious fear?
What made him on the morrow seek
That chamber empty and antique;
That silent form which seemed to speak?
What made him tread with trembling feet
Once more that strange secure retreat,
In which for half a thousand years
No step had ventured to disturb
A godess potent and superb?
And through her strong and subtle power,
He lingered daily many an hour,
There in the strange and lonely place,
Merely to look upon her face,
In which his eyes could only see
Inscrutable placidity.
How dull, how coarse, his northern bride
Seemed by that marble statue's side!
This was the effigy; but where
Was she whose image was so fair?
Where was the godess? Where was she,
Whose face must still more glorious be?
Had not the Monk distinctly said
The Gods were conquered—but not dead?
Then might she not be lurking near
To this her marble statue here?
The Monk had said that they were devils
Who held unhallowed midnight revels;
But if their shape was like to this,
To have from such a fiend one kiss
And then be damned, were boundless bliss!
He lingered daily many an hour,
There in the strange and lonely place,
Merely to look upon her face,
In which his eyes could only see
Inscrutable placidity.
How dull, how coarse, his northern bride
Seemed by that marble statue's side!
This was the effigy; but where
Was she whose image was so fair?
Where was the godess? Where was she,
Whose face must still more glorious be?
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The Gods were conquered—but not dead?
Then might she not be lurking near
To this her marble statue here?
The Monk had said that they were devils
Who held unhallowed midnight revels;
But if their shape was like to this,
To have from such a fiend one kiss
And then be damned, were boundless bliss!
So Wolfram thought, and time passed on,
Till came the Eve of good St. John.
The thousand bells of Christian Rome,
In solemn swing from every dome,
Had for the faithful scarce sufficed
To utter forth the praise of Christ.
In long black files, and two by two,
The Monks had crawled the cloisters through,
To chant with white and listless faces
The vespers in the holy places;
And well might Monk and Layman pray,
Upon that waning summer day,
For, on that eve beyond a doubt,
All evil spirits were about.
It was the eve on which, 'twas said,
The fallen Gods might raise their head,
Emerging from deep hidden mines
To haunt once more their ancient shrines;
The Virgin could not move a finger,
To save the wretches who might linger
Among the ruins—unhallowed haunts,
Where leering fiends with impious taunts
Derided Mother Church, and even
Sweet Mary's self, the Queen of Heaven.
Till came the Eve of good St. John.
The thousand bells of Christian Rome,
In solemn swing from every dome,
Had for the faithful scarce sufficed
To utter forth the praise of Christ.
In long black files, and two by two,
The Monks had crawled the cloisters through,
To chant with white and listless faces
The vespers in the holy places;
And well might Monk and Layman pray,
Upon that waning summer day,
For, on that eve beyond a doubt,
All evil spirits were about.
It was the eve on which, 'twas said,
The fallen Gods might raise their head,
Emerging from deep hidden mines
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The Virgin could not move a finger,
To save the wretches who might linger
Among the ruins—unhallowed haunts,
Where leering fiends with impious taunts
Derided Mother Church, and even
Sweet Mary's self, the Queen of Heaven.
All this the Knight had often heard,
But yet, though still his conscience feared,
A force, 'gainst which he strove in vain,
Led him to seek the ruins again,
Upon this balmy afternoon,
The longest of declining June.
The sun had set, and now reposed
All Nature, after fiery hours.
Sweet languid scents, as evening closed,
Rose up from all the drowsy flowers.
Upon a fallen column sitting,
Young Wolfram watched the first bats flitting.
A sudden yearning, vague and strange,
A sense of some great coming change,
Came o'er his heart, which now stood still,
And now beat high with sudden thrill.
Strange leafy rustles reached his ear,
Like whispered words too low to hear.
All round him waved that blood-red flower
Which, in Adonis' mortal hour,
First sprang, full-petall'd, from the ground,
Born of the drippings of his wound.
The nightingales began to wake
Each other with their rapid shake,
And like wee meteors, here and there
The fire-flies darted through the air.
But yet, though still his conscience feared,
A force, 'gainst which he strove in vain,
Led him to seek the ruins again,
Upon this balmy afternoon,
The longest of declining June.
The sun had set, and now reposed
All Nature, after fiery hours.
Sweet languid scents, as evening closed,
Rose up from all the drowsy flowers.
Upon a fallen column sitting,
Young Wolfram watched the first bats flitting.
A sudden yearning, vague and strange,
A sense of some great coming change,
Came o'er his heart, which now stood still,
And now beat high with sudden thrill.
Strange leafy rustles reached his ear,
Like whispered words too low to hear.
All round him waved that blood-red flower
12
First sprang, full-petall'd, from the ground,
Born of the drippings of his wound.
The nightingales began to wake
Each other with their rapid shake,
And like wee meteors, here and there
The fire-flies darted through the air.
It was a night for mighty Love
To visit Earth from spheres above;
And as the stars in deeper blue,
More brilliant and more numerous grew,
So did the ruins sweeter get,
And sweeter yet, and sweeter yet.
Each towering mass of Roman brick,
Beclad with ivy dark and thick,
Grew ghostly in the dusky light,
And mingled slowly with the night.
The nightingales their chorus hushed;
The breeze no more the verdure brushed;
And silence settled upon all,
Except, at whiles, the owlet's call.
But suddenly was heard to float
Across the night a wondrous note,
Which seemed at hand and yet remote,
Like human voices grandly blending,
But far all human tones transcending.
The strange and all-pervading sound
Appeared to Wolfram now to flow
From heights above, now from below,
And now to gird him all around.
To visit Earth from spheres above;
And as the stars in deeper blue,
More brilliant and more numerous grew,
So did the ruins sweeter get,
And sweeter yet, and sweeter yet.
Each towering mass of Roman brick,
Beclad with ivy dark and thick,
Grew ghostly in the dusky light,
And mingled slowly with the night.
The nightingales their chorus hushed;
The breeze no more the verdure brushed;
And silence settled upon all,
Except, at whiles, the owlet's call.
But suddenly was heard to float
Across the night a wondrous note,
Which seemed at hand and yet remote,
Like human voices grandly blending,
But far all human tones transcending.
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Appeared to Wolfram now to flow
From heights above, now from below,
And now to gird him all around.
SONG.
Lo, the still Powerful, though the Forbidden,
Now is approaching: prepare, prepare;
Come from each lurking place, safe and hidden,
Gods of the woods, and the streams, and the air!
Now is approaching: prepare, prepare;
Come from each lurking place, safe and hidden,
Gods of the woods, and the streams, and the air!
Fairer she is than Men's loveliest daughters;
When she approaches the air feels mirth;
Laughing run on the rejoicing waters;
Gladness returns to the cheerless earth!
When she approaches the air feels mirth;
Laughing run on the rejoicing waters;
Gladness returns to the cheerless earth!
Round her all outlawed Divinities cluster;
Many they be as they come in her train,
Strong, ever young, at her bidding they muster;
Shapes long unseen are emerging again.
Many they be as they come in her train,
Strong, ever young, at her bidding they muster;
Shapes long unseen are emerging again.
Wreaths from her bower the wood nymphs are weaving,
Satyr and Faun again people the dusk,
Oak-prisoned Dryads the oak bark are cleaving,
Lurking where roses are fragrant of musk.
Satyr and Faun again people the dusk,
Oak-prisoned Dryads the oak bark are cleaving,
Lurking where roses are fragrant of musk.
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When she revisits her fane that is shattered
Every anemone lifteth its head;
Long though the Gods have been hidden and scattered,
Ne'er will they perish till Nature be dead.
Every anemone lifteth its head;
Long though the Gods have been hidden and scattered,
Ne'er will they perish till Nature be dead.
The chorus ceased, and for a space
Deep silence reigned throughout the place;
But hark: a strange and distant strain
Falls on his ear—and now again.
Is't joyous music from afar
Coming in gusts which fitful are?
Is it a sound of hurrying feet
Which many echoes now repeat?
See, see, amid the ruins, out there,
That bright and ever-growing glare
As of a hundred torches' flare!
Deep silence reigned throughout the place;
But hark: a strange and distant strain
Falls on his ear—and now again.
Is't joyous music from afar
Coming in gusts which fitful are?
Is it a sound of hurrying feet
Which many echoes now repeat?
See, see, amid the ruins, out there,
That bright and ever-growing glare
As of a hundred torches' flare!
He started up, while ever nearer
The sounds approached, and ever clearer
A sound of cymbals, pipes and drums
Mixed with the shout “She comes! She comes!”
Then, past a wild procession swept
Of forms that bounded, danced and leapt,
Divine and beauteous and fantastic,
With gestures strange and orgiastic;
Who ever fair and ever young
Innumerable flowers flung
Upon the path of one by far
More fair than earthly beauties are,
And whom a strange tumultuous throng
Of frenzied votaries bore along
Enthroned upon a golden car.
And as the apparition fast
Before the dazzled Wolfram passed,
He saw, he felt—that she was one
With her whom he had loved in stone.
No time he had to pause or think,
No time to tremble or to shrink
Upon the Pagan revel's brink;
For he was whirled and swept away
By all those beings wild and gay;
Whither he knew not. When, at last
His wondering eyes around he cast
He stood in halls antique and vast.
The sounds approached, and ever clearer
A sound of cymbals, pipes and drums
Mixed with the shout “She comes! She comes!”
Then, past a wild procession swept
Of forms that bounded, danced and leapt,
Divine and beauteous and fantastic,
With gestures strange and orgiastic;
15
Innumerable flowers flung
Upon the path of one by far
More fair than earthly beauties are,
And whom a strange tumultuous throng
Of frenzied votaries bore along
Enthroned upon a golden car.
And as the apparition fast
Before the dazzled Wolfram passed,
He saw, he felt—that she was one
With her whom he had loved in stone.
No time he had to pause or think,
No time to tremble or to shrink
Upon the Pagan revel's brink;
For he was whirled and swept away
By all those beings wild and gay;
Whither he knew not. When, at last
His wondering eyes around he cast
He stood in halls antique and vast.
Antique indeed, but cold no longer:
A rosy radiance filled them stronger
Than mortal eyes at first could bear,
While wondrous scents o'ercharged the air.
What unknown hands had unknown flowers
In garlands round each column bound?
What hands had stripped celestial bowers
To wreathe with buds the walls around?
What magic wand had summoned up
The bubbling waters, which again
Made music in each marble cup
Which had for ages thirsty lain?
What was this palace of delight,
Created in a single night?
And lo, like some bright ebbing flood,
The motley crowd, he knew not how,
Had ebbed and in a circle stood
Of which the centre he was now—
What could it mean? Was he a God
That all seemed waiting for his nod;
That faery forms thus gathered round him,
And with verbena garlands crowned him;
That on his path they flowers flung,
All trembling as he was and pale;
That in his praises hymns were sung
Which bade a new Adonis hail?
A rosy radiance filled them stronger
Than mortal eyes at first could bear,
While wondrous scents o'ercharged the air.
What unknown hands had unknown flowers
In garlands round each column bound?
What hands had stripped celestial bowers
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What magic wand had summoned up
The bubbling waters, which again
Made music in each marble cup
Which had for ages thirsty lain?
What was this palace of delight,
Created in a single night?
And lo, like some bright ebbing flood,
The motley crowd, he knew not how,
Had ebbed and in a circle stood
Of which the centre he was now—
What could it mean? Was he a God
That all seemed waiting for his nod;
That faery forms thus gathered round him,
And with verbena garlands crowned him;
That on his path they flowers flung,
All trembling as he was and pale;
That in his praises hymns were sung
Which bade a new Adonis hail?
Through each bright hall, as Wolfram passed
Hailed like a God, and neared the last,
The one in which the Statue stood,
Why in his veins rushed fierce the blood,
Why thumped his heart and then stood still?
Why through his frame ran chill on chill?
One thought possessed him, one alone—
Would she be there, no more of stone?
Would she be there and breathe and move
With tongue to speak and heart to love?
Ah, well might Wolfram pause ere seeing
The worshipped, loved, and dreaded being,
For when she burst upon his sight
She seemed the focus of all light.
She stood upon the self-same spot:
Was she the Statue's self, or not?
Her glorious form was nude no more,
Strange iridescent robes she wore
By which she was completely draped,
Save where one rounded limb escaped,
Which in its rosiness might be
Of flame-illumined ivory.
Hailed like a God, and neared the last,
The one in which the Statue stood,
Why in his veins rushed fierce the blood,
Why thumped his heart and then stood still?
Why through his frame ran chill on chill?
One thought possessed him, one alone—
17
Would she be there and breathe and move
With tongue to speak and heart to love?
Ah, well might Wolfram pause ere seeing
The worshipped, loved, and dreaded being,
For when she burst upon his sight
She seemed the focus of all light.
She stood upon the self-same spot:
Was she the Statue's self, or not?
Her glorious form was nude no more,
Strange iridescent robes she wore
By which she was completely draped,
Save where one rounded limb escaped,
Which in its rosiness might be
Of flame-illumined ivory.
The Goddess moved to meet the knight,
Who still stood dazzled at the sight
Of one so measurelessly fair,
And laid her hand upon his arm:
“Be welcome, Wolfram—Fear no harm,”
She said, so softly that her words
Like echoes of Æolian chords
Seemed floating through the scented air;
“Be welcome, Wolfram, child of clay,
Thou on whose heart a sunny ray
Has fallen in a gloomy world;
Thou whose fidelity has moved me;
Thou that hast worshipped and hast loved me,
Though long from brighter regions hurled,
Be welcome; lay all fear aside,
And with an exiled goddess bide.”
“O Lady, whosoe'er thou be,”
The simple warrior answer made,
“If e'er young Wolfram's stainless blade
Can serve thee, or in some degree
Perchance contribute to redress
The wrongs of boundless loveliness;
Or if my life can serve thy cause,
Think not that I shall fear or pause,
And though I had to scale high Heaven,
Right gladly would my life be given.”
Who still stood dazzled at the sight
Of one so measurelessly fair,
And laid her hand upon his arm:
“Be welcome, Wolfram—Fear no harm,”
She said, so softly that her words
Like echoes of Æolian chords
Seemed floating through the scented air;
“Be welcome, Wolfram, child of clay,
Thou on whose heart a sunny ray
Has fallen in a gloomy world;
18
Thou that hast worshipped and hast loved me,
Though long from brighter regions hurled,
Be welcome; lay all fear aside,
And with an exiled goddess bide.”
“O Lady, whosoe'er thou be,”
The simple warrior answer made,
“If e'er young Wolfram's stainless blade
Can serve thee, or in some degree
Perchance contribute to redress
The wrongs of boundless loveliness;
Or if my life can serve thy cause,
Think not that I shall fear or pause,
And though I had to scale high Heaven,
Right gladly would my life be given.”
The fallen Goddess eyed the youth
In whose blue eyes lay nought but truth,
And with a smile of sadness said,
As by the hand her guest she led:
“Alas, brave child, thy wish is vain,
Thy shining blade were weak indeed,
Where brighter falchions like a reed
Have hope betrayed and snapt in twain.
The friend of exiles, Time, alone
Can my usurping foes dethrone,
But come,” she added, “and partake,
Before the red-winged morning break,
Of what, alas, can only be
An exile's hospitality.”
And with these words she led her guest
Towards a couch-encircled board,
O'er which strange lamps their radiance poured,
And which with fruits and flowers was dressed,
Kissed into ripeness by a sun,
More fiercely amorous than the one
That sun-burnt Latian shepherds shun;
And many a massy golden cup
From mid the fruits and flowers gleamed,
And fare of savour yet undreamed,
Such as alone is heaped up
When mortals with immortals sup.
O happy and bewildered youth,
Is all around thee dream or truth?
Those ministering nymphs that hover
Around thee; o'er ambitious lover,
Those nymphs divine alone less fair,
Than thy immortal hostess there,
That feast, those flowers, and that light
Those couches which thy limbs invite,
That chorus of celestial voices,
Which near at hand thine ear rejoices;
Is't all a dream of false delight?
In whose blue eyes lay nought but truth,
And with a smile of sadness said,
As by the hand her guest she led:
“Alas, brave child, thy wish is vain,
Thy shining blade were weak indeed,
Where brighter falchions like a reed
Have hope betrayed and snapt in twain.
The friend of exiles, Time, alone
Can my usurping foes dethrone,
But come,” she added, “and partake,
19
Of what, alas, can only be
An exile's hospitality.”
And with these words she led her guest
Towards a couch-encircled board,
O'er which strange lamps their radiance poured,
And which with fruits and flowers was dressed,
Kissed into ripeness by a sun,
More fiercely amorous than the one
That sun-burnt Latian shepherds shun;
And many a massy golden cup
From mid the fruits and flowers gleamed,
And fare of savour yet undreamed,
Such as alone is heaped up
When mortals with immortals sup.
O happy and bewildered youth,
Is all around thee dream or truth?
Those ministering nymphs that hover
Around thee; o'er ambitious lover,
Those nymphs divine alone less fair,
Than thy immortal hostess there,
That feast, those flowers, and that light
Those couches which thy limbs invite,
That chorus of celestial voices,
Which near at hand thine ear rejoices;
Is't all a dream of false delight?
20
SONG.
One morn in the days that are olden,
When young were mankind and the world,
The sea, dawn-illumined and golden,
Was sleeping, by ripple uncurl'd.
When young were mankind and the world,
The sea, dawn-illumined and golden,
Was sleeping, by ripple uncurl'd.
A perfume of lemon was given
To the air by the groves of the shore;
All sunny and silent the heaven;
Not a sound of a song or an oar.
To the air by the groves of the shore;
All sunny and silent the heaven;
Not a sound of a song or an oar.
But suddenly over the waters,
A music came floating along,
A music more sweet than the daughters
Of man ever uttered in song.
A music came floating along,
A music more sweet than the daughters
Of man ever uttered in song.
O'er the face of the sea as it slumbered,
Then ripple on ripple swept fast,
Which seemed like the kisses unnumber'd,
Of Gods who invisible pass'd.
Then ripple on ripple swept fast,
Which seemed like the kisses unnumber'd,
Of Gods who invisible pass'd.
And Venus the snowy and scented
From the watery mirror uprose,
Enthroned on a shell that was tinted
Like the innermost leaf of a rose.
From the watery mirror uprose,
Enthroned on a shell that was tinted
Like the innermost leaf of a rose.
21
Through Nature and Man ran a quiver
Announcing the Goddess's birth,
Who came to throw open for ever
The flood-gates of Love upon Earth.
Announcing the Goddess's birth,
Who came to throw open for ever
The flood-gates of Love upon Earth.
And Man saw how beauteous was Woman,
And Woman how comely was Man,
Through all that was mortal and human
A thrill of anxiety ran;
And Woman how comely was Man,
Through all that was mortal and human
A thrill of anxiety ran;
And all felt a sudden emotion:
The worker in iron and gold,
The warrior, the netter of ocean,
The merchant that bartered and sold.
The worker in iron and gold,
The warrior, the netter of ocean,
The merchant that bartered and sold.
The rustic who trudged heavy laden
By a fount, empty hearted and dull,
Stopped short and looked long at the maiden
As she stood till her pitcher was full;
By a fount, empty hearted and dull,
Stopped short and looked long at the maiden
As she stood till her pitcher was full;
Through his veins ran a thrill and a fire,
A wish to possess her or die;
In her heart there up leapt a desire,
Through her lips passed a word and a sigh.
A wish to possess her or die;
In her heart there up leapt a desire,
Through her lips passed a word and a sigh.
And filled was Creation with kisses,
With pantings and amorous sobs,
With pleasure from hidden abysses,
With hopes and delusions and throbs;
With pantings and amorous sobs,
With pleasure from hidden abysses,
With hopes and delusions and throbs;
22
All beauty was changed to perfection,
And ugliness even was fair;
And hand-maids held kings in subjection,
And conquered the conquerors were.
And ugliness even was fair;
And hand-maids held kings in subjection,
And conquered the conquerors were.
But how have the mortals requited
The gift that was made to them then—
The gift that inflamed and delighted
The thankless descendants of men?
The gift that was made to them then—
The gift that inflamed and delighted
The thankless descendants of men?
Say, where is the smoke of her altar,
And where the libations of wine,
And the prayers that the striplings would falter,
And the wreaths that the maidens would twine?
And where the libations of wine,
And the prayers that the striplings would falter,
And the wreaths that the maidens would twine?
Of the statues once raised in her honour
How many unshattered remain?
And the hymns that heaped praises upon her,
Will man ever breathe them again?
How many unshattered remain?
And the hymns that heaped praises upon her,
Will man ever breathe them again?
But though Venus is worshipped no longer,
She lives, and her power men feel;
And Desire waxes stronger and stronger
At the shrines of their saints as they kneel.
She lives, and her power men feel;
And Desire waxes stronger and stronger
At the shrines of their saints as they kneel.
For though conquered and exiled from Heaven,
Her reign upon earth is not done;
And the flame which she feeds rages even
In the heart of the Monk and the Nun.
Her reign upon earth is not done;
And the flame which she feeds rages even
In the heart of the Monk and the Nun.
23
And after long months of dissembling,
In spite of the thunders above,
They follow in fear and in trembling
The mighty commandment of Love.
In spite of the thunders above,
They follow in fear and in trembling
The mighty commandment of Love.
The Goddess took a myrtle wreath,
As scented as her own sweet breath,
And placed it on her lover's brow:
“By this, my own eternal sign,”
She said, “young Wolfram, thou art mine,
“Body and soul, for ever now.”
And holding in her hand high up
A golden and o'er-brimming cup
Of Samian wine she bade him drink,
And pass Oblivion's fatal brink.
He took the glittering cup and drank,
And scarce had done so when he sank
Into the arms of Love and Sleep;—
Celestial slumber, not so deep
But that he felt each flaming kiss
And thrill of life-consuming bliss.
As scented as her own sweet breath,
And placed it on her lover's brow:
“By this, my own eternal sign,”
She said, “young Wolfram, thou art mine,
“Body and soul, for ever now.”
And holding in her hand high up
A golden and o'er-brimming cup
Of Samian wine she bade him drink,
And pass Oblivion's fatal brink.
He took the glittering cup and drank,
And scarce had done so when he sank
Into the arms of Love and Sleep;—
Celestial slumber, not so deep
But that he felt each flaming kiss
And thrill of life-consuming bliss.
Then on his senses, as he slept,
After a while strange visions crept.
It seemed to him that through the air
He travelled with his goddess fair;
Upon a light and rosy car,
Drawn by a hundred rustling doves,
To seek in lands unknown and far
A harbour for eternal loves.
Above a sunny sea they flew,
Where, in clear depths of crystal blue,
She showed him Nereids scaly-tailed,
Who as they passed swam up and hailed,
And Tritons loud on sea-shells blowing,
With weedy beards and long locks flowing;
Who with the car kept rapid pace,
With gladness on each oozy face;
And as the airy chariot sped
The frightened clouds before it fled.
They passed o'er isles whose groves of palm
Were mirrored in the waters calm;
And next with faery speed they went
O'er tracts of sun-bathed continent,
Where cities fair, with temples white,
Glimmered beneath them in the light.
And then their dove-drawn car skimmed lightly
Where flowers decked the meadows brightly;
And over woods and woodland lawns,
By Satyrs peopled, and by Fauns,
Whose sunburnt limbs full length were laid
Where dots of sunshine pierced the shade,
And who upstarted from their bed
To hail the dove-drawn car o'er-head;
And Wood-Nymphs white as Parian marble
Bathing with merry romp and scream
In shallows where the wood-birds' warble
Chimed with the babbling of the stream.
In all its golden age the world
Was thus beneath his eyes unfurled;
And she who showed it was more fair
Than all the beauty lavished there.
After a while strange visions crept.
It seemed to him that through the air
He travelled with his goddess fair;
24
Drawn by a hundred rustling doves,
To seek in lands unknown and far
A harbour for eternal loves.
Above a sunny sea they flew,
Where, in clear depths of crystal blue,
She showed him Nereids scaly-tailed,
Who as they passed swam up and hailed,
And Tritons loud on sea-shells blowing,
With weedy beards and long locks flowing;
Who with the car kept rapid pace,
With gladness on each oozy face;
And as the airy chariot sped
The frightened clouds before it fled.
They passed o'er isles whose groves of palm
Were mirrored in the waters calm;
And next with faery speed they went
O'er tracts of sun-bathed continent,
Where cities fair, with temples white,
Glimmered beneath them in the light.
And then their dove-drawn car skimmed lightly
Where flowers decked the meadows brightly;
And over woods and woodland lawns,
By Satyrs peopled, and by Fauns,
Whose sunburnt limbs full length were laid
Where dots of sunshine pierced the shade,
25
To hail the dove-drawn car o'er-head;
And Wood-Nymphs white as Parian marble
Bathing with merry romp and scream
In shallows where the wood-birds' warble
Chimed with the babbling of the stream.
In all its golden age the world
Was thus beneath his eyes unfurled;
And she who showed it was more fair
Than all the beauty lavished there.
But o'er the scene there came a change,
A transformation passing strange:
The sun grew rayless, small and white,
And shed a pale and silvery light;
They still flew on; but underneath
Lay stretched a bare and moon-lit heath.
Nor did less wondrous change take place
In his companion's form and face:
Why grew her eye so dim and cold?
Why grew her cheek so thin and old?
As if each minute as it fled
Heaped years of ravage on her head?
Why grew so strangely curved her back?
Why took her voice so shrill a crack?
“Venus!” he cried, with outstretched arms,
As if to clutch the escaping charms,
“Venus, my Venus!”—but in vain
The desperate lover shrieked again.
O'er stock and stone, o'er dam and ditch,
He now was riding with a witch!
A prancing broomstick was their steed,
Which bore them on with magic speed.
No rosy doves of rustling feather,
But bats went with them winged with leather.
And as they passed each Christian steeple,
While soundly slept the Priest and people
The Witch unhooked the bells, and threw
Them in the fields o'er which they flew.
A transformation passing strange:
The sun grew rayless, small and white,
And shed a pale and silvery light;
They still flew on; but underneath
Lay stretched a bare and moon-lit heath.
Nor did less wondrous change take place
In his companion's form and face:
Why grew her eye so dim and cold?
Why grew her cheek so thin and old?
As if each minute as it fled
Heaped years of ravage on her head?
Why grew so strangely curved her back?
Why took her voice so shrill a crack?
“Venus!” he cried, with outstretched arms,
As if to clutch the escaping charms,
26
The desperate lover shrieked again.
O'er stock and stone, o'er dam and ditch,
He now was riding with a witch!
A prancing broomstick was their steed,
Which bore them on with magic speed.
No rosy doves of rustling feather,
But bats went with them winged with leather.
And as they passed each Christian steeple,
While soundly slept the Priest and people
The Witch unhooked the bells, and threw
Them in the fields o'er which they flew.
O monstrous Witch! O crazy flight!
O endless, endless, endless night!
Abhorring her he clasped her tight,
Afraid to fall from awful height.
“Hag! set me down!” he screamed in vain,
“O set me down!” he screamed again;
A cackling laugh was all he heard,
More eloquent than spoken word.
Northward their journey now seemed tending.
He saw no more the southern trees,
But dusky fir-trees now were bending
Beneath him in the chilly breeze
And soon they reached a mighty range
Of peaks which ghostly looked and strange;
Up ample valleys bright as day,
And gorges which in shadow lay,
They onward flew for ever higher,
On unseen wings that nought could tire:
Along the sharp and shining edges
Of walls of rock and narrow ledges,
And heard the roaring torrent flow
Unfathomably deep below;
Until they reached the plains where dwelt
Untrodden snows that ne'er might melt;
Their moon-projected shadow raced
Beneath them on the spotless waste.
“The Alps” he thought, and on they flew,
O'er frozen lakes and glaciers blue.
But when the mighty chain at last
In all its desert breadth was past,
And when the broom-stick flew again
O'er habitable hill and plain,
Familiar seemed the scene he scanned:
It was his own good Suabian land.
And high above the valley soon
He saw illumined by the moon
His father's castle, like a nest
Of eagles on a jagged crest.
Three times they circled round the towers
(What an abyss, Almighty Powers!)
Then for a window of the keep
The Witch made straight and bade him peep.
He looked into the well-known room:
A single lamp lit up the gloom.
There sat his granny, spinning slowly,
And, at her feet, in thought lost wholly,
Sat his Betrothed, whose candid brow
Unutterably sad looked now.
He called her name; she seemed to hear,
And raised her arms in sudden fear;
He saw no more: the broom-stick steed
Bore him away with dizzy speed;
And on and on, across the night,
He and the Witch pursued their flight.
O endless, endless, endless night!
Abhorring her he clasped her tight,
Afraid to fall from awful height.
“Hag! set me down!” he screamed in vain,
“O set me down!” he screamed again;
A cackling laugh was all he heard,
More eloquent than spoken word.
Northward their journey now seemed tending.
He saw no more the southern trees,
But dusky fir-trees now were bending
Beneath him in the chilly breeze
And soon they reached a mighty range
Of peaks which ghostly looked and strange;
27
And gorges which in shadow lay,
They onward flew for ever higher,
On unseen wings that nought could tire:
Along the sharp and shining edges
Of walls of rock and narrow ledges,
And heard the roaring torrent flow
Unfathomably deep below;
Until they reached the plains where dwelt
Untrodden snows that ne'er might melt;
Their moon-projected shadow raced
Beneath them on the spotless waste.
“The Alps” he thought, and on they flew,
O'er frozen lakes and glaciers blue.
But when the mighty chain at last
In all its desert breadth was past,
And when the broom-stick flew again
O'er habitable hill and plain,
Familiar seemed the scene he scanned:
It was his own good Suabian land.
And high above the valley soon
He saw illumined by the moon
His father's castle, like a nest
Of eagles on a jagged crest.
Three times they circled round the towers
(What an abyss, Almighty Powers!)
Then for a window of the keep
28
He looked into the well-known room:
A single lamp lit up the gloom.
There sat his granny, spinning slowly,
And, at her feet, in thought lost wholly,
Sat his Betrothed, whose candid brow
Unutterably sad looked now.
He called her name; she seemed to hear,
And raised her arms in sudden fear;
He saw no more: the broom-stick steed
Bore him away with dizzy speed;
And on and on, across the night,
He and the Witch pursued their flight.
Away, away o'er hill and vale;
Away, away, through the moonlight pale;
Away o'er fields by famine stricken;
And ever seemed their pace to quicken:
Past gabled towns whose towers quaint
Looked by the moon distinct yet faint,
And filled his heart with terror vague,
As if their silence meant the plague—
O monstrous Witch! O frantic race!
Will morn ne'er show its blessed face?
Then o'er a battle-field they sped,
Where lay the dying and the dead.
The moon lit up their upturned faces,
Showed friends and foes in strange embraces;
Showed how the wounded tried to lift
The crushing weight, and posture shift;
Showed here and there a wounded horse,
With what remained of ebbing force,
Lift its long neck above the plain,
And try to rise, and sink again;
While, still afar, an evil howl
Told where the wolves began to prowl.
And suddenly the Witch with glee
Showed him a form which seemed to be
His Father's, near a heap of slain.
“Stop, stop!” he shrieked, “I know his face!”
But they pursued their crazy race
O'er plain and valley. But at last,
As o'er a lonely moor they passed,
She showed him on the scanty heather
A Witches' Sabbath: met together,
A hundred witches in a reel,
Danced back to back and heel to heel.
Some had from broom-sticks just alighted,
And many fiends he also sighted
Who to the witches with strange sport
Paid their abominable court.
A nameless horror filled his soul,
More potent than the hag's control.
He seized his sword, and with one stroke
Cut off her head,—and then awoke.
Away, away, through the moonlight pale;
Away o'er fields by famine stricken;
And ever seemed their pace to quicken:
Past gabled towns whose towers quaint
Looked by the moon distinct yet faint,
And filled his heart with terror vague,
As if their silence meant the plague—
O monstrous Witch! O frantic race!
Will morn ne'er show its blessed face?
Then o'er a battle-field they sped,
Where lay the dying and the dead.
29
Showed friends and foes in strange embraces;
Showed how the wounded tried to lift
The crushing weight, and posture shift;
Showed here and there a wounded horse,
With what remained of ebbing force,
Lift its long neck above the plain,
And try to rise, and sink again;
While, still afar, an evil howl
Told where the wolves began to prowl.
And suddenly the Witch with glee
Showed him a form which seemed to be
His Father's, near a heap of slain.
“Stop, stop!” he shrieked, “I know his face!”
But they pursued their crazy race
O'er plain and valley. But at last,
As o'er a lonely moor they passed,
She showed him on the scanty heather
A Witches' Sabbath: met together,
A hundred witches in a reel,
Danced back to back and heel to heel.
Some had from broom-sticks just alighted,
And many fiends he also sighted
Who to the witches with strange sport
Paid their abominable court.
A nameless horror filled his soul,
More potent than the hag's control.
30
Cut off her head,—and then awoke.
'Twas night no more, but early day.
With wondering eyes he looked around:
A lately fallen statue lay
Beside him, headless, on the ground;
The head—that head whose pagan beauty
Had lured him from his Christian duty,
Some paces further off had rolled.
And, by the legend we are told
That, lest in after years the youth
Should doubt his strange adventure's truth,
Or doubt the strong unhallowed power
Of her who loved him for an hour,
A wreath of myrtle in his sleep
Had on his brow been branded deep.
With wondering eyes he looked around:
A lately fallen statue lay
Beside him, headless, on the ground;
The head—that head whose pagan beauty
Had lured him from his Christian duty,
Some paces further off had rolled.
And, by the legend we are told
That, lest in after years the youth
Should doubt his strange adventure's truth,
Or doubt the strong unhallowed power
Of her who loved him for an hour,
A wreath of myrtle in his sleep
Had on his brow been branded deep.
| Gods, Saints & Men | |