 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
49
SECTION III. LIFE AND FATE
51
THE RING OF FAUSTUS.
There is a tale of Faustus,—that one day
Lucretia the Venetian, then his love,
Had, while he slept, the rashness to remove
His magic ring, when fair as a god he lay;
Lucretia the Venetian, then his love,
Had, while he slept, the rashness to remove
His magic ring, when fair as a god he lay;
And that a sudden horrible decay
O'erspread his face; a hundred wrinkles wove
Their network on his cheek; while she above
His slumber crouched, and watched him shrivel away.
O'erspread his face; a hundred wrinkles wove
Their network on his cheek; while she above
His slumber crouched, and watched him shrivel away.
There is upon Life's hand a magic ring—
The ring of Faith-in-Good, Life's gold of gold;
Remove it not, lest all Life's charm take wing;
The ring of Faith-in-Good, Life's gold of gold;
Remove it not, lest all Life's charm take wing;
Remove it not, lest straightway you behold
Life's cheek fall in, and every earthly thing
Grow all at once unutterably old.
Life's cheek fall in, and every earthly thing
Grow all at once unutterably old.
52
SUNKEN GOLD.
In dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships;
And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,
Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell
With love's old gifts, once kissed by long-drowned lips;
And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,
Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell
With love's old gifts, once kissed by long-drowned lips;
And round some wrought gold cup the sea-grass whips,
And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell,
Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell
And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips.
And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell,
Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell
And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips.
So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes
Beneath the now hushed surface of myself,
In lonelier depths than where the diver gropes;
Beneath the now hushed surface of myself,
In lonelier depths than where the diver gropes;
They lie deep, deep; but I at times behold
In doubtful glimpses, on some reefy shelf,
The gleam of irrecoverable gold.
In doubtful glimpses, on some reefy shelf,
The gleam of irrecoverable gold.
53
LIFE'S GAME.
Life's Evil Genius with the sunless wings
And our white Guardian Angel sit and play
Their silent game of skill from day to day,
Where thoughts are pawns, and deeds are set as kings.
And our white Guardian Angel sit and play
Their silent game of skill from day to day,
Where thoughts are pawns, and deeds are set as kings.
And every move on that strange chessboard brings
Some change in us—in what we do or say;
Till with our life the winner sweeps away
The last few pawns to which his rival clings.
Some change in us—in what we do or say;
Till with our life the winner sweeps away
The last few pawns to which his rival clings.
We seem permitted, ever and anon,
To catch a glimpse of that great fatal game
By which our soul shall be or lost or won.
To catch a glimpse of that great fatal game
By which our soul shall be or lost or won.
We watch one move, then turn away in shame;
But though we lack the courage to look on,
The game goes on without us all the same.
But though we lack the courage to look on,
The game goes on without us all the same.
54
SOULAC.
A strange square house, all battered, used to stand
Upon the Gascon coast, where sparse pines keep
A doubtful footing, as the salt winds sweep
The restless hillocks of ill-bladed sand.
Upon the Gascon coast, where sparse pines keep
A doubtful footing, as the salt winds sweep
The restless hillocks of ill-bladed sand.
A house? it was the bell-loft, Norman-plann'd,
Of long-lost Soulac's minster, buried deep
In sand, which Ocean never seized to heap
In its eternal battle with the land.
Of long-lost Soulac's minster, buried deep
In sand, which Ocean never seized to heap
In its eternal battle with the land.
All else was gone: fit image of the fate
That overtakes the rich and stately pile
Which, arch on arch, life's early dreams create.
That overtakes the rich and stately pile
Which, arch on arch, life's early dreams create.
The real slowly clogs it, nave and aisle,
Transept and apse; and we are glad, if late,
Some humble vestige shelters us awhile.
Transept and apse; and we are glad, if late,
Some humble vestige shelters us awhile.
55
BY THE FIRE.
I sat beside the log-fire years ago,
And, in the dusk made forecasts by its flare,
Meting the Future out, to each his share,
While danced the restless shadows to and fro.
And, in the dusk made forecasts by its flare,
Meting the Future out, to each his share,
While danced the restless shadows to and fro.
And when at last the yellow flame grew low
And leapt and licked no more, I still sat there
Watching with eyes fast fixed, but mind elsewhere
The darkening crimson of the flameless glow.
And leapt and licked no more, I still sat there
Watching with eyes fast fixed, but mind elsewhere
The darkening crimson of the flameless glow.
And now at dusk, I watch once more to-day
The slowly-sinking flame, the faint dull crash
Of crimson embers deadening into gray;
The slowly-sinking flame, the faint dull crash
Of crimson embers deadening into gray;
But see alone the Past, misspent and rash,
And wasted gifts, and chances thrown away.
The Present and the Future? All is ash.
And wasted gifts, and chances thrown away.
The Present and the Future? All is ash.
56
LETHE.
I had a dream of Lethe,—of the brink
Of sluggish waters, whither strong men bore
Dead pallid loves; while others, old and sore,
Brought but their tottering selves, in haste to drink:
Of sluggish waters, whither strong men bore
Dead pallid loves; while others, old and sore,
Brought but their tottering selves, in haste to drink:
And having drunk, they plunged, and seemed to sink
Their load of love or guilt for evermore,
Reaching with radiant brow the sunny shore
That lay beyond, no more to think and think.
Their load of love or guilt for evermore,
Reaching with radiant brow the sunny shore
That lay beyond, no more to think and think.
Oh, who will give me, chained to Memory's strand,
A draught of Lethe, salt with final tears,
Were it one drop within the hollow hand?
A draught of Lethe, salt with final tears,
Were it one drop within the hollow hand?
Oh, who will rid me of the wasted years,
The thought of life's fair structure vainly planned,
And each false hope that mocking reappears?
The thought of life's fair structure vainly planned,
And each false hope that mocking reappears?
57
HOUNDS OF FATE.
The Spaniards trained their bloodhounds once to play
A fearful part in battle, and to track
The Indians in the swamps where they fell back;
And every hound received a soldier's pay.
A fearful part in battle, and to track
The Indians in the swamps where they fell back;
And every hound received a soldier's pay.
Sooner or later, where the Indians lay,
Hiding their last red gold from screw and rack,
Scenting men's flesh, appeared the Cuban pack
And filled the forest with their booming bay.
Hiding their last red gold from screw and rack,
Scenting men's flesh, appeared the Cuban pack
And filled the forest with their booming bay.
And so the hounds of Fate have hunted down
The luckless owners of the virgin gold
Which we call Genius, since the world began;
The luckless owners of the virgin gold
Which we call Genius, since the world began;
Save that the hunted Indians are unknown,
While poet and discoverer are enrolled
In bitter glory on the Book of Man.
While poet and discoverer are enrolled
In bitter glory on the Book of Man.
58
THE ‘EISERNE JUNGFRAU.’
TO FATE.
Thou art that Virgin all of screws and steel,
Born in some feudal dungeon of the Rhine,
Whose arms were lined with knives; whose gory shrine
Stood in the torture-room with rack and wheel.
Born in some feudal dungeon of the Rhine,
Whose arms were lined with knives; whose gory shrine
Stood in the torture-room with rack and wheel.
First at her feet they made the victim kneel,
Then kiss her lips; and, on a silent sign,
Her steel arms opened—daggers line on line—
And gave the hug that never walls reveal.
Then kiss her lips; and, on a silent sign,
Her steel arms opened—daggers line on line—
And gave the hug that never walls reveal.
Thy arms of horror close not upon all:
Long whiles they never move; and nothing shows
What means the silent riddle of thy face.
Long whiles they never move; and nothing shows
What means the silent riddle of thy face.
But now and then, when scarcely we recall
What thing thou art, they turn upon their screws
And lock us in their murderous embrace.
What thing thou art, they turn upon their screws
And lock us in their murderous embrace.
59
THE SLEDGE.
Men throw their better instincts to their worse
Much as that Russian mother threw her young
Out of the sledge, to stop the wolves that sprung
Faster and faster than the maddened horse.
Much as that Russian mother threw her young
Out of the sledge, to stop the wolves that sprung
Faster and faster than the maddened horse.
With each new victim, taking fresher force,
The wild pursuit goes on with shriller tongue;
Another and another child is flung
In dizzy panic and without remorse;
The wild pursuit goes on with shriller tongue;
Another and another child is flung
In dizzy panic and without remorse;
The snow-clad firs fly past in endless line;
But faster bound the wolves, still eight or nine,
Nearer and nearer, brazen-eyed and shrill;
But faster bound the wolves, still eight or nine,
Nearer and nearer, brazen-eyed and shrill;
And when the furious courser stops at last,
Vaguely we look around for what we cast
Out of Life's sledge, as if we had it still.
Vaguely we look around for what we cast
Out of Life's sledge, as if we had it still.
60
THE WRECK ROCK BELL.
Above Life's waves, with wild ill-omened toll,
Just like that warning buoy-bell which is washed
By livid breakers, where a ship has crashed,
I hear a bell of shipwreck in my soul.
Just like that warning buoy-bell which is washed
By livid breakers, where a ship has crashed,
I hear a bell of shipwreck in my soul.
The bitter waste surrounds it; woe's waves roll
For ever t'wards it; spray of hope long dashed
Leaps over it; and, ever faster lashed,
It howls its dirge of ruin on the shoal.
For ever t'wards it; spray of hope long dashed
Leaps over it; and, ever faster lashed,
It howls its dirge of ruin on the shoal.
‘Too late, too late,’ it thunders through the dark,
With brazen tongue, that drips eternal brine,
‘Thy race is run; thou wouldst not heed or hark.
With brazen tongue, that drips eternal brine,
‘Thy race is run; thou wouldst not heed or hark.
‘Too late, too late. Man sails, by foul or fine,
One voyage only in his life's swift bark;
One and no more. What made thee shipwreck thine?’
One voyage only in his life's swift bark;
One and no more. What made thee shipwreck thine?’
61
THE SILENT FELLOW.
‘Who art thou, silent brother? Art thou Pain,—
In face so like me; sitting on the bed
In which I lie?’—‘Pain for to-day has said
Good-night.’—‘Then Weariness?’—‘No; wrong again.’
In face so like me; sitting on the bed
In which I lie?’—‘Pain for to-day has said
Good-night.’—‘Then Weariness?’—‘No; wrong again.’
Thou hast a branch of bay, still wet with rain:
Art thou my former self, from years long fled?
Or Hope or Loneliness?’—‘No, Hope is dead,
And thy old self lies low in Time's dull plain.
Art thou my former self, from years long fled?
Or Hope or Loneliness?’—‘No, Hope is dead,
And thy old self lies low in Time's dull plain.
‘None of all these am I; although men say
I have a look of all. The part I play
Is to reflect what stronger gods control:
I have a look of all. The part I play
Is to reflect what stronger gods control:
‘I am thy Sonnet Spirit; and to-day
I bring a branch of Dead Sea fruit, not bay,
Plucked by the bitter waters of the soul.’
I bring a branch of Dead Sea fruit, not bay,
Plucked by the bitter waters of the soul.’
62
NERO'S SAND.
Once, under Nero, there was lack of bread
In mighty Rome; and eyes were strained to meet
The ships from Egypt, laden with the wheat
With which the Mistress of the World was fed.
In mighty Rome; and eyes were strained to meet
The ships from Egypt, laden with the wheat
With which the Mistress of the World was fed.
But when at last, with every swelled sail spread,
They hove in sight, there ran from street to street
A sudden rumour that the longed-for fleet
Brought sand for Nero's circuses instead.
They hove in sight, there ran from street to street
A sudden rumour that the longed-for fleet
Brought sand for Nero's circuses instead.
So Fate misfreights the vessel of our lives
Which might have carried grain of very gold
And fills it to the water-mark with sand;
Which might have carried grain of very gold
And fills it to the water-mark with sand;
And Folly's breezes helping, it arrives
Safely in port, where Death unloads the hold,
And all the cheated angels round it stand.
Safely in port, where Death unloads the hold,
And all the cheated angels round it stand.
63
MEETING OF GHOSTS.
When years have passed, is't wise to meet again?
Body and Mind have changed; and is it wise
To take old Time, the Alterer, by surprise,
And see how he has worked in human grain?
Body and Mind have changed; and is it wise
To take old Time, the Alterer, by surprise,
And see how he has worked in human grain?
We think that what once was, must still remain;
Ourself a ghost, we bid a ghost arise;
Two spectres look into each other's eyes,
And break the image that their hearts contain.
Ourself a ghost, we bid a ghost arise;
Two spectres look into each other's eyes,
And break the image that their hearts contain.
Mix not the Past and Present: let the Past
Remain in peace within its jewelled shrine,
And drag it not into the hum and glare;
Remain in peace within its jewelled shrine,
And drag it not into the hum and glare;
Mix not two faces in the thoughts that last;
The one thou knewest, fair in every line,
And one unknown, which may be far from fair.
The one thou knewest, fair in every line,
And one unknown, which may be far from fair.
64
THE RANSOM OF PERU.
The conquered Inca to Pizarro said:
‘I swear to fill this hall with virgin gold,
As high as any Spaniard here can hold
His steel-gloved hand, if thou wilt spare my head.’
‘I swear to fill this hall with virgin gold,
As high as any Spaniard here can hold
His steel-gloved hand, if thou wilt spare my head.’
Then streamed the ingots from their rocky bed:
For weeks and weeks the tide of treasure roll'd
To reach the mark; but when the sum was told,
The victor only strangled him instead.
For weeks and weeks the tide of treasure roll'd
To reach the mark; but when the sum was told,
The victor only strangled him instead.
And many have said to Fate: ‘If I may eat
Life's sweet coarse bread, the ransom shall be pour'd
In rhymes of gold at thy victorious feet.’
Life's sweet coarse bread, the ransom shall be pour'd
In rhymes of gold at thy victorious feet.’
But like Pizarro waiting for his hoard,
Fate gave them chains; and letting them complete
The glittering heap, then drew the strangling cord.
Fate gave them chains; and letting them complete
The glittering heap, then drew the strangling cord.
65
SIAMESE TWINS.
Know you how died those twins, famed far and near,
Who, tethered hip to hip, with Fate's strong thread,
Were forced to walk through life with equal tread,
And to be friends and share at last one bier?
Who, tethered hip to hip, with Fate's strong thread,
Were forced to walk through life with equal tread,
And to be friends and share at last one bier?
How one awoke one day, and could not hear
His brother's breath, and felt, and found him dead;
And how, compelled to share a dead man's bed,
He died of an unutterable fear?
His brother's breath, and felt, and found him dead;
And how, compelled to share a dead man's bed,
He died of an unutterable fear?
Body and Mind have link of like dread kind:
Woe to the Body, blind and helpless clod,
That wakes one day, and hears the Mind no more;
Woe to the Body, blind and helpless clod,
That wakes one day, and hears the Mind no more;
But ten times woe to the surviving Mind,
Born to create, command, and play the god:
Bound to a corpse, it struggles still to soar.
Born to create, command, and play the god:
Bound to a corpse, it struggles still to soar.
66
CÆSAR'S GHOST.
In that sharp war where Cæsar's slayers died,
There was a moment when it seemed decreed,
As sank the sun blood-red in clumps of reed,
That victory should take the guilty side:
There was a moment when it seemed decreed,
As sank the sun blood-red in clumps of reed,
That victory should take the guilty side:
But just as they were winning fast and wide,
The ghost of Cæsar, on a phantom steed,
Bore down on Cassius with a soundless speed,
And with a sword of shadow turned the tide.
The ghost of Cæsar, on a phantom steed,
Bore down on Cassius with a soundless speed,
And with a sword of shadow turned the tide.
I think that in Life's battle, now and then,
The ghost of some high impulse or great plan,
Which they have murdered, may appear to men,
The ghost of some high impulse or great plan,
Which they have murdered, may appear to men,
And, like the shade of Cæsar, check the van
Of their success, though odds to one be ten,
And cow their soul, as only phantoms can.
Of their success, though odds to one be ten,
And cow their soul, as only phantoms can.
67
A SPANISH LEGEND.
There is a story in a Spanish book,
About a noisy reveller, who, one night,
Returning home with others, saw a light
Shine from a window, and climbed up to look;
About a noisy reveller, who, one night,
Returning home with others, saw a light
Shine from a window, and climbed up to look;
And saw, within the room, hanged to a hook,
His own self-strangled self, grim, rigid, white;
And, stricken sober by that livid sight,
Feasting his eyes, in wordless horror shook.
His own self-strangled self, grim, rigid, white;
And, stricken sober by that livid sight,
Feasting his eyes, in wordless horror shook.
Has any man a fancy to look in,
And see as through a window, in the Past,
His nobler self, self-choked with coils of sin,
And see as through a window, in the Past,
His nobler self, self-choked with coils of sin,
Or sloth, or folly?—round the throat whipped fast,
The nooses give the face a stiffened grin:
'Tis but thyself; look well; why be aghast?
The nooses give the face a stiffened grin:
'Tis but thyself; look well; why be aghast?
68
IN THE WOOD OF DEAD SEA FRUIT.
I lay beneath the trees of Dead Sea Fruit,
Whose every leaf records a life's mistake;
And pored with eyes eternally awake
Upon the bitter waters at their root;
Whose every leaf records a life's mistake;
And pored with eyes eternally awake
Upon the bitter waters at their root;
Searching dead chances; letting If's eyes shoot
Through depths that profitable thoughts forsake
As birds forsake Avernus, when the lake
Yields its old fumes, that numb both man and brute.
Through depths that profitable thoughts forsake
As birds forsake Avernus, when the lake
Yields its old fumes, that numb both man and brute.
This is the pool which mirrors him who bends
Over its stillness, such as once he was,
Not such as now he is, in face and eyes:
Over its stillness, such as once he was,
Not such as now he is, in face and eyes:
Its depths are strewn with all that youth misspends;
With all the wasted chances that life has;
And there all Ophir, all Golconda, lies.
With all the wasted chances that life has;
And there all Ophir, all Golconda, lies.
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