 | Preludes and Romances |  |
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IV
PRELUDE: ON FIRLE BEACON
Fair are the hills of Sussex, low and long,
And softly rounded as a mother's arm
About a cradle, dimpled, naked, strong;
A fence against the fear of some dim harm,
Earthquake, or tide, or terror from the sea,
Darkly foretold, none knoweth when to be.
And softly rounded as a mother's arm
About a cradle, dimpled, naked, strong;
A fence against the fear of some dim harm,
Earthquake, or tide, or terror from the sea,
Darkly foretold, none knoweth when to be.
They are a border-land, a several realm,
A refuge yet of outlawed deities,
Old simple gods, haunters of beech and elm,
Yew-shaded hollows, hidden cavities
Where the horse treads not; heathen gods forlorn,
Houseless, unfeared, unworshipped, all men's scorn.
A refuge yet of outlawed deities,
Old simple gods, haunters of beech and elm,
Yew-shaded hollows, hidden cavities
Where the horse treads not; heathen gods forlorn,
Houseless, unfeared, unworshipped, all men's scorn.
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They are a wonderland, where shapes well-known,
Hayrick or homestead, bush or tree-top, seen
Far off, take forms of faerie not their own;
Where viewless things, half-human, lurk between
The beechwood stems, or on some lonely spur
Hide in the sparse low-growing juniper.
Hayrick or homestead, bush or tree-top, seen
Far off, take forms of faerie not their own;
Where viewless things, half-human, lurk between
The beechwood stems, or on some lonely spur
Hide in the sparse low-growing juniper.
Abiding peace is on them. Like the calm
Cold monument in a cathedral aisle
That keeps some great one's likeness; and the psalm
Rolls daily o'er the head, and like a smile
The sunlight falls upon the carven brow,
And peace for ever is his portion now;
Cold monument in a cathedral aisle
That keeps some great one's likeness; and the psalm
Rolls daily o'er the head, and like a smile
The sunlight falls upon the carven brow,
And peace for ever is his portion now;
So a memorial of diviner mould
Are these to Time himself, that ancient Time
That died or ever this, that we call old,
Rose fresh and young in his forgotten prime;
The lark-song is their anthem, and the drone
Of unseen insect-wings an organ-tone.
Are these to Time himself, that ancient Time
That died or ever this, that we call old,
Rose fresh and young in his forgotten prime;
The lark-song is their anthem, and the drone
Of unseen insect-wings an organ-tone.
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Many a grassy path lies o'er the down
To lead the rare-seen wayfarer from farm
To lonely farm, from town to little town,
By stony hollows where in quick alarm
The coneys rush to refuge, and o'er crests
Green, gentle-rising, where the lapwing nests.
To lead the rare-seen wayfarer from farm
To lonely farm, from town to little town,
By stony hollows where in quick alarm
The coneys rush to refuge, and o'er crests
Green, gentle-rising, where the lapwing nests.
'Twas August, hot and cloudless; a light haze
Dreamed over land and sea; when forth they set,
That little company, by chalk-white ways
To gain that high, long-fronted parapet
Whose dominance looks down on Firle, and frowns
Across to Caburn and the Lewes Downs.
Dreamed over land and sea; when forth they set,
That little company, by chalk-white ways
To gain that high, long-fronted parapet
Whose dominance looks down on Firle, and frowns
Across to Caburn and the Lewes Downs.
They wandered long in that high-lifted world,
The far-off sea to left-hand, and to right
The wide weald far beneath, a map unfurled,
Dark woods, and golden fields, and emerald light
A jewel-gleam on tree or hill or mead,
The prick of revelation dull eyes need.
The far-off sea to left-hand, and to right
The wide weald far beneath, a map unfurled,
Dark woods, and golden fields, and emerald light
A jewel-gleam on tree or hill or mead,
The prick of revelation dull eyes need.
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Till, coming to the Beacon-top, they stayed,
And on the sun-warmed turf at ease reclining
Gazed in long silence on the landscape laid
(As if just for their joy was its designing)
In lavish feast before them, all their own,
As a boy's vision of an offered throne.
And on the sun-warmed turf at ease reclining
Gazed in long silence on the landscape laid
(As if just for their joy was its designing)
In lavish feast before them, all their own,
As a boy's vision of an offered throne.
Till presently: “Lo, there Newhaven lies,”
One said, “and Lewes there!”—“Nay, break not so
The spell!” came soft reproof from one more wise.
“In such an hour 'tis richer not to know,
But to let Fancy like a falcon soar,
And for herself the wonder-world explore.
One said, “and Lewes there!”—“Nay, break not so
The spell!” came soft reproof from one more wise.
“In such an hour 'tis richer not to know,
But to let Fancy like a falcon soar,
And for herself the wonder-world explore.
“The golden-streeted port, the castled steep,
The haunted hollows and far hills forlorn,
Let us in dreamland for one hour keep!
Let Now be Then, Here Yonder, Joy unworn!
We blind our eyes by seeking overmuch
Content of poorer senses, taste or touch.”
The haunted hollows and far hills forlorn,
Let us in dreamland for one hour keep!
Let Now be Then, Here Yonder, Joy unworn!
We blind our eyes by seeking overmuch
Content of poorer senses, taste or touch.”
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“Oh,” cried another,” for the eyes to see
Earth as she lieth in the lap of Heaven,
All miracle, all Eden! view her free
From Man, from Mind, that worketh as a leaven
To change her nature, so that use and grace
All perish save to make Man's dwelling-place.
Earth as she lieth in the lap of Heaven,
All miracle, all Eden! view her free
From Man, from Mind, that worketh as a leaven
To change her nature, so that use and grace
All perish save to make Man's dwelling-place.
“As some fair church forsaken, where a brood
Of bats have entered, everything defiling,
And made foul nests in altar-cloth or rood,
And marred the rich mosaic and rare tiling;
The carven tomb or jewelled shrine provides
Fit place to feed or breed—what use besides?
Of bats have entered, everything defiling,
And made foul nests in altar-cloth or rood,
And marred the rich mosaic and rare tiling;
The carven tomb or jewelled shrine provides
Fit place to feed or breed—what use besides?
“So taketh Man this temple marvellous,
With splendour decked, enriched by heavenly art,
Where angels and archangels numerous
Have laboured with such love that every part
Doth its due service to the One Divine,
Each stone an altar, every tree a shrine;
With splendour decked, enriched by heavenly art,
Where angels and archangels numerous
Have laboured with such love that every part
Doth its due service to the One Divine,
Each stone an altar, every tree a shrine;
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“And uses Earth so ignorantly ill
As doth no creature else; her beauty scars,
Her working changes by his woeful skill;
No fairest spot he visits but he mars,
No live thing seeth but he seeks to slay,
No pure thing but defiles; this is his way.
As doth no creature else; her beauty scars,
Her working changes by his woeful skill;
No fairest spot he visits but he mars,
No live thing seeth but he seeks to slay,
No pure thing but defiles; this is his way.
“And we, who would, can see not for the blindness
Of use, and long-sealed eyes, and wonted words;
Save at rare moments when Heav'n's loving-kindness
Shows us the earth of flowers and beasts and birds,
Revealing, for our heart-sick nature's cure,
Beauty the one thing holy, righteous, pure.”
Of use, and long-sealed eyes, and wonted words;
Save at rare moments when Heav'n's loving-kindness
Shows us the earth of flowers and beasts and birds,
Revealing, for our heart-sick nature's cure,
Beauty the one thing holy, righteous, pure.”
Another took in turn the word: “They gain
Much but lose more, who, ever seeking cause,
Pass semblance over, and while they explain
With keen analysis all Nature's laws,
No eyes have for the simple revelation,
The mystic light that streams from all creation.
Much but lose more, who, ever seeking cause,
Pass semblance over, and while they explain
With keen analysis all Nature's laws,
No eyes have for the simple revelation,
The mystic light that streams from all creation.
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“Therefore no more doth Art steal heavenly fire;
Statue and high-roofed temple take no more
The touch divine; nor gleam nor dream inspire
The painter; while man's spirit, loth to soar,
Prisoner herself, her fellow-prisoner calls
Only to gild her chain and deck her prison-walls.”
Statue and high-roofed temple take no more
The touch divine; nor gleam nor dream inspire
The painter; while man's spirit, loth to soar,
Prisoner herself, her fellow-prisoner calls
Only to gild her chain and deck her prison-walls.”
Answered the gentle voice of youth and joy:
“Despair not thus! For Time is justified,
As Wisdom, of his children. Let Hope buoy
On waiting wings till the returning tide!
Tend we the tree of knowledge, leaf and root!
Who knows how fair our sons shall find the fruit?
“Despair not thus! For Time is justified,
As Wisdom, of his children. Let Hope buoy
On waiting wings till the returning tide!
Tend we the tree of knowledge, leaf and root!
Who knows how fair our sons shall find the fruit?
“We see not; but 'tis something men have seen
Through opened gates a glory not of Man;
We soar not; but we know that there have been
Winged spirits, and we claim us of their clan.
The seed they left us, though it slumber long,
Shall yet break out in statue, picture, song.
Through opened gates a glory not of Man;
We soar not; but we know that there have been
Winged spirits, and we claim us of their clan.
The seed they left us, though it slumber long,
Shall yet break out in statue, picture, song.
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“Man of himself can nothing make of beauty;
This gift God keepeth at His own award;
With labour man can compass law and duty,
But loveliness is largesse of the Lord;
Though for long years the oracles be dumb,
Know surely there is yet a seer to come!”
This gift God keepeth at His own award;
With labour man can compass law and duty,
But loveliness is largesse of the Lord;
Though for long years the oracles be dumb,
Know surely there is yet a seer to come!”
Awhile was silence. Then the Poet spake:
“Lo, here a story kindred to our theme,
A pleasant tale, which whoso will may take
For parable, how every highest dream
And every perfect work is from above,
And comes to man unearned, the gift of Love.”
“Lo, here a story kindred to our theme,
A pleasant tale, which whoso will may take
For parable, how every highest dream
And every perfect work is from above,
And comes to man unearned, the gift of Love.”
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THE STATUE
I
This too was written as a tale of old
On those sere wrinkled leaves in artless phrase.
Among the Grecian Histories 'tis told
How once a sculptor of the golden days
Won fame by infamy and life by death,
Though now his name no man remembereth.
On those sere wrinkled leaves in artless phrase.
Among the Grecian Histories 'tis told
How once a sculptor of the golden days
Won fame by infamy and life by death,
Though now his name no man remembereth.
A wind of piety upon a time
Blew through the Westward Isles, and temples rose
Like flowers in every city. 'Twas the prime
Of glorious Art; and never such as those
Before were seen, nor after shall be wrought
Dwellings with such divinity o'erfraught.
Blew through the Westward Isles, and temples rose
Like flowers in every city. 'Twas the prime
Of glorious Art; and never such as those
Before were seen, nor after shall be wrought
Dwellings with such divinity o'erfraught.
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By trailing ropes some gained the ruinous deck,
And downward to her bowels made their way.
There, dead or sleeping, careless of the wreck,
In the dim inmost twilight one man lay,
Sleeping or dead; and overshadowing him
The freight, a marble mass, rough-hewn and grim.
And downward to her bowels made their way.
There, dead or sleeping, careless of the wreck,
In the dim inmost twilight one man lay,
Sleeping or dead; and overshadowing him
The freight, a marble mass, rough-hewn and grim.
There was none else, no living thing nor dead,
Nor other burden in the empty darkness;
The ribs re-echoed hollow to their tread;
Their eyes found nothing but that marble starkness.
Yet breathing seemed the man; and near him stood
A shrunken wine-skin and the crusts of food.
Nor other burden in the empty darkness;
The ribs re-echoed hollow to their tread;
Their eyes found nothing but that marble starkness.
Yet breathing seemed the man; and near him stood
A shrunken wine-skin and the crusts of food.
Him to the upper light they bore; and soon
Fanned by the freshness he awoke and sighed,
And stared, as one that struggles out of swoon,
On the strange faces round; and then more wide
Wandered his glance about that unknown bight,
The cliffs, the town, the temple on the height.
Fanned by the freshness he awoke and sighed,
And stared, as one that struggles out of swoon,
On the strange faces round; and then more wide
Wandered his glance about that unknown bight,
The cliffs, the town, the temple on the height.
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Which when he saw, a sudden eagerness
Lit up the leaden dimness of his gaze;
And half he rose. And then a quick distress
Smote him as one remembering old dismays;
And a hoarse question broke from his wan lip:
“The marble, is it whole within the ship?”
Lit up the leaden dimness of his gaze;
And half he rose. And then a quick distress
Smote him as one remembering old dismays;
And a hoarse question broke from his wan lip:
“The marble, is it whole within the ship?”
Nor with reply contented, soon he rose
And feebly back returned where he was found,
And the great marble in its grey repose
With anxious fingers felt and fumbled round,
And stooped and pried in that wan-lighted place,
And searched it everywhere from crown to base.
And feebly back returned where he was found,
And the great marble in its grey repose
With anxious fingers felt and fumbled round,
And stooped and pried in that wan-lighted place,
And searched it everywhere from crown to base.
But when his eyes and hands were satisfied
That all unriven and flawless lay his treasure,
Back to the upper air he climbed, and cried
Strange thanksgiving in a rhapsodic measure,
Facing the shining temple on the shore,
With palms raised flatwise to the blue heaven o'er:
That all unriven and flawless lay his treasure,
Back to the upper air he climbed, and cried
Strange thanksgiving in a rhapsodic measure,
Facing the shining temple on the shore,
With palms raised flatwise to the blue heaven o'er:
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“Dear Lady, sweet on land and strong on sea,
Making life gladness, keeping death at bay!
Behold again thy servant offers thee
His service to the utmost for no pay.
The power is thine, the eye, the hand, the brain;
Breathe on him till he make thee breathe again!”
Making life gladness, keeping death at bay!
Behold again thy servant offers thee
His service to the utmost for no pay.
The power is thine, the eye, the hand, the brain;
Breathe on him till he make thee breathe again!”
Then mightily, as one refreshed with wine,
He stretched himself and lightly leapt on land,
And swiftly mounted to the pillared shrine,
And laughed glad-hearted laughter, seeing it stand
In flawless beauty, yet untenanted,
With fireless altar and bare statue-bed.
He stretched himself and lightly leapt on land,
And swiftly mounted to the pillared shrine,
And laughed glad-hearted laughter, seeing it stand
In flawless beauty, yet untenanted,
With fireless altar and bare statue-bed.
By this the tidings of the shipwrecked man
In gathering wonder went about the town;
But while the rumour through the market ran,
A livelier interest beat the murmur down;
For round the head that hid the distant blue
The long-awaited ship to haven drew.
In gathering wonder went about the town;
But while the rumour through the market ran,
A livelier interest beat the murmur down;
For round the head that hid the distant blue
The long-awaited ship to haven drew.
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Then every street was emptied, house and stall
Lay open to the pilferer, none to care;
While, like a slipping hillside, one and all
The gathering townsfolk to the harbour fare
To greet the coming goddess, who should bless
Their temple with her crowning loveliness.
Lay open to the pilferer, none to care;
While, like a slipping hillside, one and all
The gathering townsfolk to the harbour fare
To greet the coming goddess, who should bless
Their temple with her crowning loveliness.
How changed were their glad faces, when the tale
Ran through the throng, that all their hope destroyed;
The night-long labouring in the deadly gale,
And jaws of death too instant to avoid
Save the too heavy burden of her womb
The good ship yielded to the yawning doom.
Ran through the throng, that all their hope destroyed;
The night-long labouring in the deadly gale,
And jaws of death too instant to avoid
Save the too heavy burden of her womb
The good ship yielded to the yawning doom.
Then were there tears and anger, questioning
And blaming, random and unreasonable;
Till, vexed by the intolerable sting
Of disappointment, the impetuous rabble
Cried for the blood of those in trust, who dared
Let slip their treasure, and their own lives spared.
And blaming, random and unreasonable;
Till, vexed by the intolerable sting
Of disappointment, the impetuous rabble
Cried for the blood of those in trust, who dared
Let slip their treasure, and their own lives spared.
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Already flew the stone and flashed the steel,
The tools of haste and fury, when a shout,
Sharp as a trumpet, turned them head and heel
To see who shouted. On the wall without
Stark as a statue, lo, the stranger stood,
And swayed with Hermes' urgence their mad mood.
The tools of haste and fury, when a shout,
Sharp as a trumpet, turned them head and heel
To see who shouted. On the wall without
Stark as a statue, lo, the stranger stood,
And swayed with Hermes' urgence their mad mood.
“Beware! Be warned! Madmen! Behold the hand
Of Heaven, a sign of favour to your isle!
Servant of Aphrodite, here I stand,
Announcing that within a little while
In yonder temple will she take the throne
In fairer likeness than the world hath known.
Of Heaven, a sign of favour to your isle!
Servant of Aphrodite, here I stand,
Announcing that within a little while
In yonder temple will she take the throne
In fairer likeness than the world hath known.
“Tell ye whose eyes have seen her, how she sleeps
In marble cerements! How the tempest bore—
When the false image weltered to the deeps—
The veritable goddess safe to shore!
There without form she sleepeth in the stone;
This hand hath she ordained to make her known.”
In marble cerements! How the tempest bore—
When the false image weltered to the deeps—
The veritable goddess safe to shore!
There without form she sleepeth in the stone;
This hand hath she ordained to make her known.”
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As one inspired he spake. The light-moved mob
Tamed to his master-words, and to the strand
All followed. Then, with many a laboured sob
And muscle-crack, went up the heavy sand,
And by the stony stairway of the street,
The marble, on an hundred human feet.
Tamed to his master-words, and to the strand
All followed. Then, with many a laboured sob
And muscle-crack, went up the heavy sand,
And by the stony stairway of the street,
The marble, on an hundred human feet.
And ever that imperious man's command
Became the free-will of the multitude.
As when a god unseen goes through the land,
And strong religion changes all the lewd,
A wave of impulse carried all who heard
In swift obedience to the stranger's word.
Became the free-will of the multitude.
As when a god unseen goes through the land,
And strong religion changes all the lewd,
A wave of impulse carried all who heard
In swift obedience to the stranger's word.
So, none forbidding, to the temple gate
They came; and, none forbidding, onward bore
Up the broad marble steps the massy weight;
And, still no man forbidding, passed the door
And entered the white echoing empty hall,
And heavily raised it on the pedestal.
They came; and, none forbidding, onward bore
Up the broad marble steps the massy weight;
And, still no man forbidding, passed the door
And entered the white echoing empty hall,
And heavily raised it on the pedestal.
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Then came the times of Saturn to the isle,
Light winds, soft sunshine, gentle, kindly rain;
No strife of neighbours, no sea-robber's guile;
Large were the clusters, plump the bounteous grain.
And ever in the temple on the height
Toiled the strange sculptor and the chips lay white.
Light winds, soft sunshine, gentle, kindly rain;
No strife of neighbours, no sea-robber's guile;
Large were the clusters, plump the bounteous grain.
And ever in the temple on the height
Toiled the strange sculptor and the chips lay white.
And one who, hid in shadow, watched his toil
Told with what nimble ease his fingers wrought.
He seemed as one who breaks the clayey coil
Round a cast image, rather than with thought
And patient finger-touches of fine skill
To fashion formless marble to his will.
Told with what nimble ease his fingers wrought.
He seemed as one who breaks the clayey coil
Round a cast image, rather than with thought
And patient finger-touches of fine skill
To fashion formless marble to his will.
Like racing clouds the shining hours went by,
The happy day, the never dreadful night;
And lo, the work was ended, and the cry
Rang through the isle to call men to the sight;
And to the feast from hamlet and seaport
The whole world came with revelry and sport.
The happy day, the never dreadful night;
And lo, the work was ended, and the cry
Rang through the isle to call men to the sight;
And to the feast from hamlet and seaport
The whole world came with revelry and sport.
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Sweet were the garlands, rich the incense smoke,
Bright every garment, all lips curved with laughter,
Until amid the mist the white shape broke
Upon their eyes, and a great hush came after;
As after earthquake all men's faces change,
And our own voices suddenly seem strange.
Bright every garment, all lips curved with laughter,
Until amid the mist the white shape broke
Upon their eyes, and a great hush came after;
As after earthquake all men's faces change,
And our own voices suddenly seem strange.
There was no lightest-hearted that could look
Not reverently upon that face divine;
The jest died on the lip; the gay glance took
A sudden soberness; all eyes 'gan shine
With the high gladness of a poet's hour
Who hears within his soul some word of power.
Not reverently upon that face divine;
The jest died on the lip; the gay glance took
A sudden soberness; all eyes 'gan shine
With the high gladness of a poet's hour
Who hears within his soul some word of power.
There was no speaking; but a murmur went,
Like winds on moorlands, through the thronging hall;
One look was on all faces; one intent,
One inspiration in the hearts of all.
To every man that marble silence seems
A new religion nobler than his dreams.
Like winds on moorlands, through the thronging hall;
One look was on all faces; one intent,
One inspiration in the hearts of all.
To every man that marble silence seems
A new religion nobler than his dreams.
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Long was the orgasm of that ecstasy,
Ere silently by one and one the crowd
Departed from the temple. Lo, the sky,
The green land, the wide sea, each little cloud,
Seemed changed—a book, long uninterpreted,
Now clearly in the ears of all men read.
Ere silently by one and one the crowd
Departed from the temple. Lo, the sky,
The green land, the wide sea, each little cloud,
Seemed changed—a book, long uninterpreted,
Now clearly in the ears of all men read.
Quick through the neighbour islands ran the tale,
And drew a thousand strangers o'er the sea.
More quick did proud vaingloriousness prevail
Above that first pure flame of piety;
And, like a beggar summoned to a crown,
The island flaunted in her new renown.
And drew a thousand strangers o'er the sea.
More quick did proud vaingloriousness prevail
Above that first pure flame of piety;
And, like a beggar summoned to a crown,
The island flaunted in her new renown.
But ever with them in much honour held
Continued he who wrought their marble pride,
A silent presence, with deep eyes that quelled
Enquiry and near fellowship denied.
And the glad days went like a spendthrift's wealth,
Uncounted happiness and careless health.
Continued he who wrought their marble pride,
A silent presence, with deep eyes that quelled
Enquiry and near fellowship denied.
And the glad days went like a spendthrift's wealth,
Uncounted happiness and careless health.
103
II
What is this crying on the summer air?
What is this tumult? Who, ah, who is he
The furious rabble with fierce faces bear—
Tossing and beating like an angry sea—
To what wild doom? We know those dœdal eyes!
'Tis he, the sculptor, in what haggard guise!
What is this tumult? Who, ah, who is he
The furious rabble with fierce faces bear—
Tossing and beating like an angry sea—
To what wild doom? We know those dœdal eyes!
'Tis he, the sculptor, in what haggard guise!
With clamour and with curses and with blows
They brought him bleeding to the judgment-seat.
He looked: he saw no faces but of foes;
Then, rising hardly, stood upon his feet,
And beckoning in the old imperious way,
Made sudden silence while he said his say.
They brought him bleeding to the judgment-seat.
He looked: he saw no faces but of foes;
Then, rising hardly, stood upon his feet,
And beckoning in the old imperious way,
Made sudden silence while he said his say.
“O friends, whose fury is more kind than love,
If ye hate hear me, if ye love me, kill!
For none more guilty breathes the air above;
And save ye slay me outright, torture still
Must wait on torment, and my tongue be made,
Forced to confession, a self-murdering blade.”
If ye hate hear me, if ye love me, kill!
For none more guilty breathes the air above;
And save ye slay me outright, torture still
Must wait on torment, and my tongue be made,
Forced to confession, a self-murdering blade.”
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Like the night-screaming wind that whirls the dead
To icy hells, so wailed the bleak despair
In that wild voice, nor one knew what was said;
Yet each sharp syllable that stabbed the air
Stung to the naked heart; and when he stilled,
An awful silence the thronged faces filled.
To icy hells, so wailed the bleak despair
In that wild voice, nor one knew what was said;
Yet each sharp syllable that stabbed the air
Stung to the naked heart; and when he stilled,
An awful silence the thronged faces filled.
Therefore, beholding wished-for death delay,
And keen blades sheathing offer hope no more,
He turned him, as a wild thing turns to bay,
To face the unseen Furies, urging sore;
And rending his own heartstrings, uttered loud
His agonies to the awe-stricken crowd.
And keen blades sheathing offer hope no more,
He turned him, as a wild thing turns to bay,
To face the unseen Furies, urging sore;
And rending his own heartstrings, uttered loud
His agonies to the awe-stricken crowd.
“There was a man enamoured from his birth
Of gracious outlines, curve of moulded limbs,
Wood-slope on river-cliff, snow-muffled earth,
Bosomy clouds, soft hills, and pencilled rims
Of low horizons, and the maidenly
Long arms of witch-elms on the winter sky.
Of gracious outlines, curve of moulded limbs,
Wood-slope on river-cliff, snow-muffled earth,
Bosomy clouds, soft hills, and pencilled rims
Of low horizons, and the maidenly
Long arms of witch-elms on the winter sky.
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“And ere his lips knew letters, he could shape
With infant fingers creatures of the clay;
And, learning by his labour, sought to ape
The human face and form in childish play;
Then, early come to manhood, knew the whole
Of his rich birthright and the sculptor's soul.
With infant fingers creatures of the clay;
And, learning by his labour, sought to ape
The human face and form in childish play;
Then, early come to manhood, knew the whole
Of his rich birthright and the sculptor's soul.
“I do remember well that hour's delight
When first with chisel-tooth I touched the skin
Of satin-surfaced marble, smooth and white,
Dreaming to find the dream that slept within;
The quick surprise, the joy of power, the feel
Of that soft hardness giving to the steel.
When first with chisel-tooth I touched the skin
Of satin-surfaced marble, smooth and white,
Dreaming to find the dream that slept within;
The quick surprise, the joy of power, the feel
Of that soft hardness giving to the steel.
“Alas, how many a time I flung afar
My chisel, like a mutinous mage-wand
That would not work my will, and did but mar
The shape my eye saw through the marble bond;
Yet, to the task returning, ever wrought
Little by little nearer to my thought.
My chisel, like a mutinous mage-wand
That would not work my will, and did but mar
The shape my eye saw through the marble bond;
Yet, to the task returning, ever wrought
Little by little nearer to my thought.
106
“Yet, past success conception still would soar,
As o'er the heron climbing climbs the hawk.
What mattered that men praised me more and more?
The beauty of beauties still my hand did balk.
Though each new effort half the distance gained,
Still by the half the goal lay unattained.
As o'er the heron climbing climbs the hawk.
What mattered that men praised me more and more?
The beauty of beauties still my hand did balk.
Though each new effort half the distance gained,
Still by the half the goal lay unattained.
“Aye, like the flowing and the ebbing tide,
Art touched its topmost, and despair returned,
Again and yet again; and for no pride
Could I forget the dream to which I yearned:
A marble womanhood whose nakedness
Were more religious than a vestal's dress.
Art touched its topmost, and despair returned,
Again and yet again; and for no pride
Could I forget the dream to which I yearned:
A marble womanhood whose nakedness
Were more religious than a vestal's dress.
“Alas, one loved me, and I loved her—she
Beyond the world, I only next my art.
Once in a woeful day she came on me
Eating despair, and from my bitter heart
With softly-worded whispers won the tale
Of that dark Hell of artist souls—To Fail.
Beyond the world, I only next my art.
Once in a woeful day she came on me
Eating despair, and from my bitter heart
With softly-worded whispers won the tale
Of that dark Hell of artist souls—To Fail.
107
“She stilled to sudden whiteness; but her eyes
Burned with a raptured fire; and when that hush
Was ended, and with wild and weakling cries
I cursed myself for fool, a new rare blush
Mounted on her wan cheek; and she 'gan thrill me,
Putting her hand upon my lips to still me.
Burned with a raptured fire; and when that hush
Was ended, and with wild and weakling cries
I cursed myself for fool, a new rare blush
Mounted on her wan cheek; and she 'gan thrill me,
Putting her hand upon my lips to still me.
“She spake: ‘I too have dreamed, and in my dreaming
Foreseen a coming glory to be won
For me and thee together. For earth's teeming
Is ever of the twain and not the one;
And for thine art's perfection needs a soul
Wedded and welded in a perfect whole.
Foreseen a coming glory to be won
For me and thee together. For earth's teeming
Is ever of the twain and not the one;
And for thine art's perfection needs a soul
Wedded and welded in a perfect whole.
“‘O unwise sculptor, who for love's desire
Bade deathless marble mortal woman be,
And beauty melt as snow before love's fire,
And art fall basely from her great degree!
For her hath Death long swallowed, and he is dead,
And earth the poorer for that wife ill-wed.
Bade deathless marble mortal woman be,
And beauty melt as snow before love's fire,
And art fall basely from her great degree!
For her hath Death long swallowed, and he is dead,
And earth the poorer for that wife ill-wed.
108
“‘But thou with me consider, could thine art
Of this weak flesh a marble woman win,
Or hide in rock-bands, which shall burst apart
As Love breaks out to meet Art breaking in;
For as the sea-shell liveth in the stone
Imprisoned, so may human flesh and bone.’
Of this weak flesh a marble woman win,
Or hide in rock-bands, which shall burst apart
As Love breaks out to meet Art breaking in;
For as the sea-shell liveth in the stone
Imprisoned, so may human flesh and bone.’
“And then she spake of marvels, sorceries
Of Thessaly, and old Egyptian spells,
Taught her long since by one among the wise,
A woman feared amid her native fells,
Who knew what words enchanted Niobe,
And what laid Daphne in a laurel-tree.
Of Thessaly, and old Egyptian spells,
Taught her long since by one among the wise,
A woman feared amid her native fells,
Who knew what words enchanted Niobe,
And what laid Daphne in a laurel-tree.
“Alas, how blinded were mine eyes! Mine ears
How stopped! that I should heed her, and allow
That softest heart and fount of golden tears
To turn itself to stone, that living brow
To lose its sunny changes and grow still
For ever, just to glut diseased self-will!
How stopped! that I should heed her, and allow
That softest heart and fount of golden tears
To turn itself to stone, that living brow
To lose its sunny changes and grow still
For ever, just to glut diseased self-will!
109
“'Twas midnight, and the full moon shone on her;
Her whiter limbs against the marble gleamed
Of the huge stone to be her sepulchre.
‘Farewell,’ her dark eyes whispered, and there seemed
Echoes of farewell from long lonely years
To murmur through the room, and ghostly tears.
Her whiter limbs against the marble gleamed
Of the huge stone to be her sepulchre.
‘Farewell,’ her dark eyes whispered, and there seemed
Echoes of farewell from long lonely years
To murmur through the room, and ghostly tears.
“But harder than the marble was my heart
In dire ambition. The dark words were said
'Twixt her and me; fulfilled the fearful art;
She stepped upon the stone as to a bed,
And all her warm blood froze, and every limb
Mixed with the marble, white and dead and dim.
In dire ambition. The dark words were said
'Twixt her and me; fulfilled the fearful art;
She stepped upon the stone as to a bed,
And all her warm blood froze, and every limb
Mixed with the marble, white and dead and dim.
“And sleep came on me, and a cruel dream
Of love and wedded life. But in the morn
No wife lay by me: that great stone did gleam
Still in the house, and all the house forlorn;
And to my tools I hasted, to set free
My marble prisoner for the world to see.
Of love and wedded life. But in the morn
No wife lay by me: that great stone did gleam
Still in the house, and all the house forlorn;
And to my tools I hasted, to set free
My marble prisoner for the world to see.
110
“But lo, there came a crying to my door,
Some wind of rumour woke, I know not how;
And ever grew the question more and more
‘Where is thy wife?’ Some brand was on my brow
Of toil or sorrow; and all voices cried
‘A murderer! Let him die as she has died!’
Some wind of rumour woke, I know not how;
And ever grew the question more and more
‘Where is thy wife?’ Some brand was on my brow
Of toil or sorrow; and all voices cried
‘A murderer! Let him die as she has died!’
“Before the judge they haled me; and I knew
My life lay at a wind-breath. Then aloud
I cried before them, ere the judgment flew,
‘O Aphrodite, judge me!’ And the crowd
Stilled for a moment, and upon the still
A voice came none knew whence, not loud nor shrill:
My life lay at a wind-breath. Then aloud
I cried before them, ere the judgment flew,
‘O Aphrodite, judge me!’ And the crowd
Stilled for a moment, and upon the still
A voice came none knew whence, not loud nor shrill:
“‘To winds and waves the marble and the man!’
No more; but this had saved me; for indeed
Divine that voice was. And in haste they ran
Shoreward, and found the ship, the seafolks' meed
Giv'n yearly to the goddess of the sea.
Therein they set the marble freight and me.
No more; but this had saved me; for indeed
Divine that voice was. And in haste they ran
Shoreward, and found the ship, the seafolks' meed
Giv'n yearly to the goddess of the sea.
Therein they set the marble freight and me.
111
The sails were set and bound the rudder-bands;
Like a fair purpose blew the steady wind.
By rocky islands and low purple lands
We passed, and land and landmarks left behind.
Nor rope I touched, nor sail, but with good will
My fate gave to the goddess to fulfil.
Like a fair purpose blew the steady wind.
By rocky islands and low purple lands
We passed, and land and landmarks left behind.
Nor rope I touched, nor sail, but with good will
My fate gave to the goddess to fulfil.
“All day I saw her in the silver waves,
And nightly in great dreams she came to me,
And ever showed me, over rocks and caves,
A shining temple looking o'er the sea,
A vacant temple and bare pedestal;
Till I knew certainly how fate should fall.
And nightly in great dreams she came to me,
And ever showed me, over rocks and caves,
A shining temple looking o'er the sea,
A vacant temple and bare pedestal;
Till I knew certainly how fate should fall.
“Ye know, ye men of Melos, how I brought
My treasure hither through the deadly storm;
And how these hands in yonder temple wrought
Your goddess in such all-surpassing form;
And what great love hath Aphrodite shown
To this your island, all the world hath known.
My treasure hither through the deadly storm;
And how these hands in yonder temple wrought
Your goddess in such all-surpassing form;
And what great love hath Aphrodite shown
To this your island, all the world hath known.
112
“But this ye know not, how no dragging day
Nor dreadful night has since gone o'er my head
Without so dark oppression that I pray
From morn till midnight only to be dead.
The moon shows blacker than a tarnished shield,
And green earth bloody as a battle-field.
Nor dreadful night has since gone o'er my head
Without so dark oppression that I pray
From morn till midnight only to be dead.
The moon shows blacker than a tarnished shield,
And green earth bloody as a battle-field.
“And in my ears there sounds with every breath
The voice of her I loved, who still doth cry
To be delivered from that iron death
And icy prison, where in agony
Her cramped and palsied muscles must endure,
Save the hand frees her that did once immure.
The voice of her I loved, who still doth cry
To be delivered from that iron death
And icy prison, where in agony
Her cramped and palsied muscles must endure,
Save the hand frees her that did once immure.
“Ye cruel men of Melos! Even now,
Had ye not stayed me, I had set her free,
Had broke the marble casing of her brow,
And loosed the rigid fetter of the knee,
And from the ruins of the shattered stone,
As from a corpse, that gracious soul had flown.”
Had ye not stayed me, I had set her free,
Had broke the marble casing of her brow,
And loosed the rigid fetter of the knee,
And from the ruins of the shattered stone,
As from a corpse, that gracious soul had flown.”
113
Abrupt he ended, for his eye had seen
How all men hung attentive, and the hands
That held had loosed him; marked the space between
The low wall's barrier and where he stands;
And with a quick leap, like a wild thing's bound,
He is forth and runs upon the outer ground.
How all men hung attentive, and the hands
That held had loosed him; marked the space between
The low wall's barrier and where he stands;
And with a quick leap, like a wild thing's bound,
He is forth and runs upon the outer ground.
No outstretched hand could grasp him, nor no threat
Stay him, nor fleetest foot could overtake;
Up the steep street his urgent course is set
Towards the temple that white thing to break.
The wild goat, swiftest climber of the crag,
Beside those flying feet had seemed to lag.
Stay him, nor fleetest foot could overtake;
Up the steep street his urgent course is set
Towards the temple that white thing to break.
The wild goat, swiftest climber of the crag,
Beside those flying feet had seemed to lag.
Fierce their pursuit was, deadly their intent;
But ere they reached the temple, they might hear
A blow, a crash, a cry of full content;
And, entered, saw the sculptor fallen, near
The image maimed, whose mighty arm had slain
In falling him who outraged thus the fane.
But ere they reached the temple, they might hear
A blow, a crash, a cry of full content;
And, entered, saw the sculptor fallen, near
The image maimed, whose mighty arm had slain
In falling him who outraged thus the fane.
114
He smiled in death; above him the cold face
(So some averred) a calm unwonted wore.
Two white doves, or things dovelike, from the place
Flew softly. Rumour made the story more;
And lo, the goddess in her marred estate
Seemed rather grown diviner and more great.
(So some averred) a calm unwonted wore.
Two white doves, or things dovelike, from the place
Flew softly. Rumour made the story more;
And lo, the goddess in her marred estate
Seemed rather grown diviner and more great.
| Preludes and Romances | |