Christ's Company and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

—Mark, while uncertain about his own destiny, sees La Faerie in a dream, and hears two of its inhabitants relate their story in conversation with one another. Their union had been opposed, the lover unwillingly slew a rival of whom he had no fears, and after three years killed himself, on a report of the lady's forced marriage. On his death the lady retired to a convent, and after nine years died.

I

Sat Mark within the shadow of a gloom
Made by his banner hung against the sun,
Woven blue and green; beside him in the room
Another chair, whereon were made to run
Strange beasts, and on the top a white, white dove
Strained always its spread wings towards that serene
Heaven of the banner woven blue and green.

II

At that time went the clouds from far above,
Wind-grouped, to pause with golden ministries
About the sun; at that time no remove
From very life were those hued images
And whelming sounds one has who dreams, yet wakes,
Musing about the inmost core of things,
The land of wonder and its splendorings.

114

III

About high hills embowering endless lakes,
About strange mariners on savage shores,
About sea-billows swelling with huge aches,
About black murders done on secret moors,
About the panic dances in the night,
About stern booming sounds in solitudes,
And moon-made goblins seen in shuddering woods.

IV

To Mark that sunset shaped its end aright,
Coming to this, that in the chair by Mark
His lady sat, no later than last night,
When they two sat together until dark,
He, kissing at her shadow in his heart,
She, perfect in her hues; he, heart-elate;
Both silent, like the love-bird and its mate.

V

We nothing understand for our sad part
How what has been, becomes what is to be:
We wake from cabin dreams with bodeful start
And find ourselves at welter in the sea;
So miserable, prayer might feel afraid
Of God, except that ever Fancy leaves
Some slippery trail of joy while she deceives.

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VI

Now on Mark's eyes a husky shadow preyed,
In which his eyeballs smouldered black and fierce;
And presently he bit his banner's braid,
Straining it tighter lest some glint should pierce
And make less holy that which was his thought:
He would as soon have spoken of his dreams
As opened them to unabated beams.

VII

So onward fares in dreams till he is brought
To life and death, in summit of them both;
Tottering upon half thoughts, pale, scarcely raught,
Clinging upon him, frantical to clothe
Their thinness in the shadow substances
In which his soul was ravelled, tissue-wise,—
Live memories, sweetest thoughts, and glad surprise.

VIII

Now hither, moonbeams, in your essences
Fading from night, ere night herself can close:
Now Boreals, splintered on ice palaces
In twenty sunsets and a million glows;
Now hither all sweet lights and ravishments
Of colour, primes, and germs, and slow decays,
And stealing time-marks, and uncertain sways.

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IX

And vast and mighty overfalls and rents
In tawny clouds, through which the pale sun shows
A revelation—give me sacraments
Of poetry to swear on; for by those,
And other such-like mighty mysteries
Dream-born, dream-nursed, my lady's life hath grown
To be the marvel we shall gaze upon.

X

Whence cometh she? for sure again his eyes
Are fed on her, the chair again enfolds
His love, his sweetest; yet he scarce descries
His lady in the shadow he beholds;
His lady there, not perfect in her hues,
Too pale for her; but ere his passion speaks,
The crimson, flagging slowly to her cheeks,

XI

There fluctuates in tongues of flame that use
Their splendours on the heart's weak blood to feed:
Back, forward, backward; utterly suffuse
The heavenly places where it is their need;
And now the circles of sweet violet
Are traced beneath her mystical blue eyes:
Oh, let her lift them ere her lover dies!

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XII

My lady lives in perfect glory set,
My lady lives all perfect in her hues,
And is yon orb La Faërie, which doth fret
With little glints the stillness which doth muse,
And lightens vainly on her presence meek
Yet mighty in its saddened majesty,—
A statue always heaving with a sigh!

XIII

Herewith that lover felt his passion speak,
Beginning, “An angel out of paradise,”
Yet marks her lips apart ere he can wreak
The pains within him on the ecstacies;
And she is shaken through her presence sweet,
Yet on he breaks impetuous: “Rosalys!”
(First to pronounce that music be it his),

XIV

“O love! O love! O sweet! let me but meet
Thy hand in mine, and we shall be the thing
That poets sing of in their highest heat,
And, therefore, more than poets, journeying—
Oh! thus and thus; I bless thee, thus and thus:
I'll bear thee, dearest, tenderly alive,
Where'er yon orb of swiftness shall arrive.

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XV

“For see, it grew most largely over us,
Put forth two wings, and glowed with presences,
Shaking with spangles, thronged, tumultuous,
With happy faces, like the waves of seas,
Still changing as it moved, and one serene
Bright ray of redness touched upon thy face,
Then vanished starlike, with a final trace

XVI

“Of blue that glided swiftly into green;
It is La Faërie, that happy place;
And all those happy faces we have seen
Are lovers proved and worthy of their grace.
I take this token for our summoning;
Wherefore, O love, 'tis now to flee away,
Leaving the dead world and the dying day.”

XVII

This passion was a dream, I think, to cling
About the heart, and never come to deed;
There are some passions which do only ring
An inward voice, and inly are decreed;
This passion faded quickly, being spent
Before the coming on of words wherein
Its argentine completedness to win.

119

XVIII

But this no dream, that ever as he leant
Full-browed towards her, swift as is the flight
Of white doves from some resting eminent
Towards the green beneath, where they alight
After one cleaving of the air with wings,
Two lovers, as they seemed, together sped
Down through the still air in the twilight spread,

XIX

Coming as from La Faërie, which with rings
Of amethyst darker belting its thick blues
And hinted greens, across heaven's quarterings,
Beyond the sunset pours its bickering hues,
Like runes, and fuses all things to the point,
Where all things seem to keep good company,
And yet may change, nor lose one just degree.

XX

Those lovers twain, be very sure, did join 't,
That fellowship of beauty, and they sat
In front of all its harmonies; Aroynt,
You could not say at such a time as that
To any evil thing, for there was nought
But seemed at one with all things, no surprise
In that vast scape of mingled forms and dyes.

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XXI

Presently ran a thread of talk inwrought
Into the silence, which was musical,
From those paired lips, rich-purpled, overfraught
With kisses, hanging only till the fall
Of converse: then she answered unto him:—
“All that long time they were tormenting me,
My lips formed silently the name of thee.

XXII

“Those three with their pressed brows curved, and the rim
Of their long eyes settled in watchful scorn;
And he, who could not, like them, always dim
His fury in the cruel system, worn
By them, of scorn, which masked a killing rage;
Sisters and father: spite of scorn and blame,
My lips were curving ever with thy name.

XXIII

“And so I kept me, looking not on age
Defaced with fury, nor on that tiger-like
Contempt crouched ring on ring! a weary stage
Of life it was;—one watching how to strike,
One silent in prevention; once alone
Did they surprise me. Shall I tell you it,
That triumph of those cruel women's wit?

121

XXIV

“My strife was at its height a day, when one
Of them came pitying to me, that she knew
And sorrowed for my heart; her softened tone
Touched me as the baked earth is touched by dew;
Wherefore I loosened from my hold on calm,
Suddenly fluttered in half joy, half shame,
And broke my heart in uttering out thy name.

XXV

“Whereat they laughed from ambush, and her palm
Smote me to redness on my cheek; for me,
I wept along, regardless, on my arm,
Amidst the laughter of the cruel three.”
“O love, O suffering love!” Can I rehearse
How they two kissed in memory of her wrong?
Then took she up her sequel like a song.

XXVI

“Until the old man leaped out with a curse,
To see me in my constant weeping there,
Making confession, bearing all his worse,
Because my better gave me grace to spare;
So drove me home in my still place to yearn.”
He.—“We met.” She.—“Yes, yes.” He.—“Ah, after that you gave
Dear prayers to me to pity and to save.

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XXVII

“Yet after wouldst not, dearest, in my turn,
Though I prayed, lover-like, with eye and lip;
I chill, I chill; thou wouldst not, wouldst not learn
My plan; so let that indignation slip,
Which should have wrought deliverance. Oh, thou sweet,
Why wouldst not listen? Almost am I grieving
To think of all that gladness of our leaving.”

XXVIII

She.—“And yet sometimes it happened us to meet,
And sure the sudden rapture of a look,
On which we lived whole days in thought, complete
In filling up what should have been, partook
Of ecstasy, threefold of ecstasy.”
He.—“O me! you know not, love, how terrible
To see thy heaven; then writhe alone in hell.

XXIX

“For you, as women can, went tranquilly
Among them all; I knew not how you beat
To fold me closely, as I beat for thee;
You left me always maddening in my heat.”
She.—“Well, well, sometimes we met.” He.—“Yes, yes, we met;
Once when the olives, like blue smoke, were faint,
I saw you coming towards me, like a saint.

123

XXX

“How you were there, I there, I know not; let
This knowledge serve; how anguishing we clung
On one another; 'twas something, that.” She.—Ah! fret
No more; bethink thee of that time you swung
Up to my window, and that pale, pale lad
Watching you in and out; and never spoke,
Nor crossed your path, but looked as if he woke.

XXXI

“What joy had he compared with what you had;
He, looking for my eyes the whole day long,
He, sickening for my hands.” He.—“It makes me mad.”
She.—“He ne'er had aught from me—could I belong
To two at once? he cast himself away
On me and thee.” He.—“It makes me very sad
To think of all the bitterness he had.”

XXXII

She.—“Poor face, poor face! Yes, still I see the glow
On his lithe lips whenever I came near;
Give love for love, at last he said; and No
I answered, but I stroked his long lank hair,
And that was well.” He.—“'Twas well.” She.—“And then my sire
Cut me with querulous curses, and the three
Sprang from their tiger-lair, and tore at me.

124

XXXIII

“Had they not so, I know not but the wire
Of pity had been strung to love for him:
Therefore we do not blame them.” He.—“No, suspire
With pity for that phantom grey and grim;
Once was our meeting in the narrow street,
Thy sire chafed fiercely, palsying with his sword
At mules and servants, as became a lord.

XXXIV

“You, gold and velvet falling to your feet,
You, golden cinctures floating round your head;
And still the crowd drove us together, sweet,
I saw but you amid the hustling tread
Of those sworn servitors and their fierce chief,
Who thrust right furiously against my breast,
And clutched upon and tore aside my vest.

XXXV

“Were the three with you then?” She.—“Another grief
We had, that sometimes if we heard a bell,
Or all things shook together in change, or if
Some splendour just seen vanished as it fell
From heaven with sweet superb upon the green,
We saw, and saw not, sickened, all in vain,
We cried aloud, as children cry in pain.”

125

XXXVI

He.—“Yes; one time in the church, I think you mean,
In my sick longing for your face I watched
How one sat always reading in the screen
A book of saints where gold and crimson matched;
And lo! you came, yet came not: shadow-shade
Darkened upon the windows, and a trance
Baffled me for a moment in its dance.

XXXVII

“Like to a blind man holding out his head
To solemn night, one sat within the porch,
Who starting at some noise which had been made,
At that time, I remember, in the church,
Turned slowly his look inwards with his eyes
Full, yet of dreamlight, oh! so weird and wan,
Still musing of the thing he dreamed upon.

XXXVIII

“I would have passed, knowing him, but sighs,
Which either breathed, made pause between us twain,
We looked at one another; his surprise
Grew full within him; but the sense of pain
Steadied him, and his words came hot and fast—
‘Thou canst not love, thou dost not love, as I,
I seek for death, the one of us shall die!’

126

XXXIX

“Well, I was sad; and yet I would have passed;
And yet my sword was out; his sword swung thick
Hissing about my head; I struck at last,
And felt my sword slide instant to the quick,
Then drag through bitten flesh, all wet and cold;
His blood spun out and burst against the wall;
I listened afterwards to hear it fall.

XL

“Thence thrice had new things swallowed up the old,
Thrice had the summer boughs drooped down with song,
Three summers had consumed spring's manifold
Incenses in their fervid censers hung,
And it was now the autumn yellow-haired,
When died I for thy love; for they had said
Three years before that you perforce were wed.

XLI

“Three years I saw you never, yet I spared
To slay myself, and then it was enough;
I ne'er should see you, and no longer cared;
Joyfully died I, thus I gave rebuff
To the foul lie that hankered in my brain,
That love was dead within me, for I knew
'Twas still in me that love should pierce me through.

127

XLII

“Even as of old when thrilled I with sweet pain
Of love, but now the old love, overborne
By faces new and those long years, seemed fain
To lurk in secret places and to mourn
Its potence lost; and yet I knew full well
That it was there, and might revive at once,
If anything should touch it for the nonce,

XLIII

“If any breath should breathe that ancient spell,
If any look should give thy face recall;
But still the occasion came not which should quell
The unmeaning present, and 'twas natural
That I should die, for such a life was death,—
That I should let my sluggish soul have scope
To find despair, since it abandoned hope.

XLIV

“Oh! one might live in anguish, and draw breath
Of liquid flame, unshrinking; but to feel
The heart freeze harder, while o'erflourisheth
The life of sense, and that to uncongeal,
Awaits the blindness of some accident,
This is the death indeed. Ah! who would wend
Through years of lifeless life to such an end?”

128

XLV

She.—“But thrice three years were counted in event
Of patience strong in its grave monotone;
Nine solemn years fell over, ere I leant
To give deliverance to my soul outgrown;
Nine years the sunbeams saddened into night,
Nine years the moonbeams tasted my sad cheek,
Nine years the visions left me wan and weak.

XLVI

“What, you were dead? I died too, and outright
I buried me, where might I evermore
See visionary change of shadow-light
Steal through my prison, telling o'er and o'er
The crevices and hues of grey-cold stone,
That anguish might be dulled by watching so,
And slowly, slower, cease my pulses slow.

XLVII

“And if at any time some vision lone
Should shape towards me, it might solemner
Pass over that cold mirror, and be gone
Without surprise, joining the wistful stir
Of gentle death within me; mystical
I watched the moon-forms in the unstirred nights,
Trembling upon each other with delights

129

XLVIII

“Which touched me to the core, and drew the fall
Of tears, soon checked, one flutter and its pause;
Dear heart, I cried for thee whene'er the pall
Drawn from my heart gave me such sudden cause;
A dread time was the day, severe and dull,
Ministering of nought, but with the night came hot
Reflections from the life which now was not.

XLIX

“Wherefore I wandered forth by night, brimful
Of fiery thought, which ever overbrimmed
Like a fire-fountain in its rise and lull,
Dewing the fair locks of the vapour-dimmed
White-raimented sweet saints who bosomed round;
I sought the wild path of the soaring moon,
My star, my fate, who gave me all that boon.

L

“But when she levelled with the horizon's mound
Her speckled mirror, speeding fast away,
Then every spot and tuft upon the ground,
Rounded with shadow, domed and coned, and gray,
And shaking with the secrets of the wind,
Circled my feet so lovingly, and made
Their signs to me, that I no farther strayed;

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LI

Until the lion colour, which had skinned
The nether clouds, had left them black and vast
In the moon's setting; then too paled and thinned
The unshaped purpose which had bound me fast;
And all was withered, dark, and gray again;
Except that sadness, ere she took her place,
Granted me to bemoan my minished space.”

LII

“‘Then,’ cried I out, impatient in my pain,
‘Earth has her need of heaven, to order right
The many wrongs of which she bears the stain:
O God! O God of heaven! again 'tis night,
Now all things wear their weird and pallid look;
I wait for something which will never come;
Let the heavens answer; be no longer dumb

LIII

“It was as when one gazes on a book;
Those agonies foredoomed, like weary thought,
Came with the power of ravishment, and took
The passive nature, which resisted nought,
Caught it, and bore it onwards, and anon
Let fall, let sink, upon the former state
Of intense apathy completing fate.

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LIV

“Now those nine years had all my bloom foredone,
And sapped my form, and left me stooped and wan.
When those nine years at length upon me shone,
Flashed out the strange road I had journeyed on,
And towards the end I wondered what the end
Would be, astonished at that period
Of mad self-torture, the forgotten God

LV

“By silence making for Himself amends
Upon my silence: ‘God,’ I shrieked aloud,
‘My life, my life! oh, give me life to spend,
Give back the life I've murdered in the cloud!’
This was my waking; with wild eyes I saw
Before me nothing, not one step to take:
Ah! best have prayed, still sleeping, not to wake!

LVI

“No voices anywhere, which is the law;
No answer, save the silence of the heaven;
No consolation, save the awe in awe;
No hope, save portion with the unforgiven;
No love, for thy dear image in that hour
Seemed loosened from my heart; I groaned, and said,
‘Where art thou, love, now that I am dismayed?’

132

LVII

“But in that winter time I marked the tower
Of ashen light—the snow had clad the pine
Upon the mountain—how the glens did pour
Like cataracts downwards towards the gorged ravine,
Leap after leap, snow-shadow and snow-light,
And steppe on steppe; and upwards, pine on pine,
The snowy mountain rose up crystalline.

LVIII

“And panic-struck I watched the changeful height
Until the sunset mocked me with its rose,
Until that rose was blenched in utter night,
And all was gray and barren on the snows.
I lay upon a little mound below,
I ceased not gazing on the darkened line
Where heaven o'erhung the mountain palatine.

LIX

“And then outwent there, like a whisper's flow,
A little stir of light about the sky;
The mountain's head came out by touches slow,
And the moon took her clouds, and wrought thereby
A vision's bed, and presently she came,
My star, my fate, all hurried to my sight,
And on my weak sense burst the Infinite.

133

LX

“Oh, I was lapped in gold, and dipped in flame,
Those billowy-bosomed clouds were all aglow
With presences, and I beheld the same,
Those ministrants came crowding row on row,
And in their sovereignties thy face was plain;
Flame hands and voices calling me away—
I gathered up my soul and left the clay.”

LXI

Who hath despaired let him despair again;
What hath been shall be, and our very life
Is reproduction; pleasure's shadow, pain;
Earth's destiny, to live and die in strife;
Man's reason, but the tracer of God's will,
A faint and scarcely faithful shadow thrown
From the all-Reason who abides alone.

LXII

God's reason,—Let alone this evil still;
Let heaven still stand above the earth, apart,
As though the heaven were brass, inflexible,
As though the earth were not the heaven's heart.
Mark rose as if from dreams, and sadly prayed,
With night's thick darkness poured upon his head;
Of him I saw no more: consider this,
How long ago died Mark and Rosalys.