 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
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LEGENDS.
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
The windows and the garden door
Must now be closed for night,
And you, my little girl, no more
Can watch the snow-flakes white
Fall, like a silver net, before
The face of dying light.
Must now be closed for night,
And you, my little girl, no more
Can watch the snow-flakes white
Fall, like a silver net, before
The face of dying light.
Draw down the curtains every fold,
Let not a gap let in the cold,
Bring your low seat toward the fire,
And you shall have your heart's desire;
A story of that favourite book
In which you often steal a look,
Let not a gap let in the cold,
Bring your low seat toward the fire,
And you shall have your heart's desire;
A story of that favourite book
In which you often steal a look,
Regretful not to understand
Words of a distant time and land;—
That small square book that seems so old
In tawny white and faded gold,
And which I could not leave to-day,
Even with the snow and you to play.—
It was on such a night as this,
Six hundred years ago,
The wind as loud and pitiless,
As loaded with the snow,
A night when you might start to meet
A friend in an accustomed street,
That a lone child went up and down
The pathways of an ancient town.
A little child, just such as you,
With eyes, though clouded, just as blue,
With just such long fine golden hair,
But wet and rough for want of care,
And just such tender tottering feet
Bare to the cold and stony street.
Words of a distant time and land;—
That small square book that seems so old
In tawny white and faded gold,
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Even with the snow and you to play.—
It was on such a night as this,
Six hundred years ago,
The wind as loud and pitiless,
As loaded with the snow,
A night when you might start to meet
A friend in an accustomed street,
That a lone child went up and down
The pathways of an ancient town.
A little child, just such as you,
With eyes, though clouded, just as blue,
With just such long fine golden hair,
But wet and rough for want of care,
And just such tender tottering feet
Bare to the cold and stony street.
Alone! this fragile human flower,
Alone! at this unsightly hour,
A playful, joyful, peaceful form,
A creature of delight,
Become companion of the storm,
And phantom of the night!
No gentler thing is near,—in vain
Its warm tears meet the frozen rain,
No watchful ears await its cries
On every name that well supplies
The childly nature with a sense
Of love and care and confidence;
It looks before, it looks behind,
And staggers with the weighty wind,
Till, terror overpowering grief,
And feeble as an autumn leaf,
It passes down the tide of air,
It knows not, thinks not, how or where.
Alone! at this unsightly hour,
A playful, joyful, peaceful form,
A creature of delight,
Become companion of the storm,
And phantom of the night!
No gentler thing is near,—in vain
Its warm tears meet the frozen rain,
No watchful ears await its cries
On every name that well supplies
The childly nature with a sense
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It looks before, it looks behind,
And staggers with the weighty wind,
Till, terror overpowering grief,
And feeble as an autumn leaf,
It passes down the tide of air,
It knows not, thinks not, how or where.
Beneath a carven porch, before
An iron-belted oaken door,
The tempest drives the cowering child,
And rages on as hard and wild.
This is not shelter, though the sleet
Strikes heavier in the open street,
For, to that infant ear, a din
Of festive merriment within
Comes, by the contrast, sadder far
Than all the outer windy war,
With something cruel, something curst,
In each repeated laughter-burst;
A thread of constant cheerful light,
Drawn through the crevice on the sight,
Tells it of heat it cannot feel,
And all the fire-side bliss
That home's dear portals can reveal
On such a night as this.
How can those hands so small and frail,
Empassioned as they will, avail
Against that banded wall of wood
Standing in senseless hardihood
Between the warmth and love and mirth,
The comforts of the living earth,
And the lorn creature shivering there,
The plaything of the savage air?
An iron-belted oaken door,
The tempest drives the cowering child,
And rages on as hard and wild.
This is not shelter, though the sleet
Strikes heavier in the open street,
For, to that infant ear, a din
Of festive merriment within
Comes, by the contrast, sadder far
Than all the outer windy war,
With something cruel, something curst,
In each repeated laughter-burst;
A thread of constant cheerful light,
Drawn through the crevice on the sight,
Tells it of heat it cannot feel,
And all the fire-side bliss
That home's dear portals can reveal
On such a night as this.
How can those hands so small and frail,
Empassioned as they will, avail
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Standing in senseless hardihood
Between the warmth and love and mirth,
The comforts of the living earth,
And the lorn creature shivering there,
The plaything of the savage air?
We would not, of our own good will,
Believe in so much strength of ill,
Believe that life and sense are given
To any being under Heaven
Only to weep and suffer thus,
To suffer without sin
What would be for the worst of us
A bitter discipline.
Yet now the tiny hands no more
Are striking that unfeeling door;
Folded and quietly they rest,
As on a cherub's marble breast;
And from the guileless lips of woe
Are passing words confused and low,
Remembered fragments of a prayer,
Learned and repeated otherwhere,
With the blue summer overhead,
On a sweet mother's knee,
Beside the downy cradle-bed,
But always happily.
Believe in so much strength of ill,
Believe that life and sense are given
To any being under Heaven
Only to weep and suffer thus,
To suffer without sin
What would be for the worst of us
A bitter discipline.
Yet now the tiny hands no more
Are striking that unfeeling door;
Folded and quietly they rest,
As on a cherub's marble breast;
And from the guileless lips of woe
Are passing words confused and low,
Remembered fragments of a prayer,
Learned and repeated otherwhere,
With the blue summer overhead,
On a sweet mother's knee,
Beside the downy cradle-bed,
But always happily.
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Though for those holy words the storm
Relaxes not its angry form,
The child no longer stands alone
Upon the inhospitable stone:
There now are two,—one to the other
Like as a brother to twin-brother,
But the new-comer has an air
Of something wonderful and rare,
Something divinely calm and mild,
Something beyond a human child:
His eyes come through the thickening night
With a soft planetary light,
And from his hair there falls below
A radiance on the drifting snow,
And his untarnished childly bloom
Seems but the brighter for the gloom.
Relaxes not its angry form,
The child no longer stands alone
Upon the inhospitable stone:
There now are two,—one to the other
Like as a brother to twin-brother,
But the new-comer has an air
Of something wonderful and rare,
Something divinely calm and mild,
Something beyond a human child:
His eyes come through the thickening night
With a soft planetary light,
And from his hair there falls below
A radiance on the drifting snow,
And his untarnished childly bloom
Seems but the brighter for the gloom.
See what a smile of gentle grace
Expatiates slowly o'er his face!
As, with a mien of soft command,
He takes that numbed and squalid hand,
And with a voice of simple joy
And greeting as from boy to boy,
He speaks, “What do you at this door?
Why called you not on me before?
What like you best? that I should break
This sturdy barrier for your sake,
And let you in that you may share
The warmth and joy and cheerful fare;—
Or will you trust to me alone,
And heeding not the windy moan
Nor the cold rain nor lightning-brand,
Go forward with me, hand in hand?
Within this house, if e'er on earth,
You will find love and peace and mirth;
And there may rest for many a day,
While I am on mine open way;
And should your heart to me incline,
When I am gone,
Take you this little cross of mine
To lean upon,
And setting out what path you will,
Careless of your own strength and skill,
You soon will find me; only say,
“What wish you most to do to-day?”
The child looks out into the night,
With gaze of pain and pale affright,
Then turns an eye of keen desire
On the thin gleam of inward fire,
Then rests a long and silent while,
Upon that brother's glorious smile.
—You've seen the subtle magnet draw
The iron by its hidden law,
So seems that smile to lure along
The child from an enclosing throng
Of fears and fancies undefined,
And to one passion fix its mind,—
Till every struggling doubt to check
And give to love its due,
It casts its arms about his neck,
And cries, “With you, with you,—
For you have sung me many a song,
Like mine own mother's, all night long,
And you have play'd with me in dreams,
Along the walks, beside the streams,
Of Paradise,—the blessèd bowers,
Where what men call the stars are flowers,
And what to them looks deep and blue
Is but a veil which we saw through,
Into the garden without end,
Where you the angel-children tend:
So that they asked me when I woke,
Where I had been, to whom I spoke,
What I was doing there, to seem
So heavenly-happy in my dream?
Expatiates slowly o'er his face!
As, with a mien of soft command,
He takes that numbed and squalid hand,
And with a voice of simple joy
And greeting as from boy to boy,
He speaks, “What do you at this door?
Why called you not on me before?
What like you best? that I should break
This sturdy barrier for your sake,
And let you in that you may share
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Or will you trust to me alone,
And heeding not the windy moan
Nor the cold rain nor lightning-brand,
Go forward with me, hand in hand?
Within this house, if e'er on earth,
You will find love and peace and mirth;
And there may rest for many a day,
While I am on mine open way;
And should your heart to me incline,
When I am gone,
Take you this little cross of mine
To lean upon,
And setting out what path you will,
Careless of your own strength and skill,
You soon will find me; only say,
“What wish you most to do to-day?”
The child looks out into the night,
With gaze of pain and pale affright,
Then turns an eye of keen desire
On the thin gleam of inward fire,
Then rests a long and silent while,
Upon that brother's glorious smile.
—You've seen the subtle magnet draw
The iron by its hidden law,
So seems that smile to lure along
The child from an enclosing throng
Of fears and fancies undefined,
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Till every struggling doubt to check
And give to love its due,
It casts its arms about his neck,
And cries, “With you, with you,—
For you have sung me many a song,
Like mine own mother's, all night long,
And you have play'd with me in dreams,
Along the walks, beside the streams,
Of Paradise,—the blessèd bowers,
Where what men call the stars are flowers,
And what to them looks deep and blue
Is but a veil which we saw through,
Into the garden without end,
Where you the angel-children tend:
So that they asked me when I woke,
Where I had been, to whom I spoke,
What I was doing there, to seem
So heavenly-happy in my dream?
Oh! take me, take me, there again,
Out of the cold and wind and rain,
Out of this dark and cruel town,
Whose houses on the orphan frown;
Bear me the thundering clouds above
To the safe kingdom of your love:
Or if you will not, I can go
With you barefooted through the snow;—
I shall not feel the bitter blast,
If you will take me home at last.”
Out of the cold and wind and rain,
Out of this dark and cruel town,
Whose houses on the orphan frown;
Bear me the thundering clouds above
To the safe kingdom of your love:
Or if you will not, I can go
With you barefooted through the snow;—
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If you will take me home at last.”
Three kisses on its dead-cold cheeks,—
Three on its bloodless brow,—
And a clear answering music speaks,
“Sweet brother! come there now:
It shall be so; there is no dread
Within the aureole of mine head;
This hand in yours, this living hand,
Can all the world of cold withstand,
And, though so small, is strong to lift
Your feet above the thickest drift;
The wind that round you raged and broke
Shall fold about us like a cloak,
And we shall reach that garden soon,
Without the guide of sun or moon.”
So down the mansion's slippery stair,
Into the midnight weather,
Pass, as if sorrows never were,
The weak and strong together.
Three on its bloodless brow,—
And a clear answering music speaks,
“Sweet brother! come there now:
It shall be so; there is no dread
Within the aureole of mine head;
This hand in yours, this living hand,
Can all the world of cold withstand,
And, though so small, is strong to lift
Your feet above the thickest drift;
The wind that round you raged and broke
Shall fold about us like a cloak,
And we shall reach that garden soon,
Without the guide of sun or moon.”
So down the mansion's slippery stair,
Into the midnight weather,
Pass, as if sorrows never were,
The weak and strong together.
—This was the night before the morn,
On which the Hope of Man was born,
And long ere dawn can claim the sky,
The tempest rolls subservient by;
While bells on all sides sing and say,
How Christ the child was born to-day;
Free as the sun's in June, the rays
Mix merry with the Yuhl-log's blaze;
Some butterflies of snow may float
Down slowly, glistening in the mote,
But crystal-leaved and fruited trees
Scarce lose a jewel in the breeze;
Frost-diamonds twinkle on the grass,
Transformed from pearly dew,
And silver flowers encrust the glass,
Which gardens never knew.
On which the Hope of Man was born,
And long ere dawn can claim the sky,
The tempest rolls subservient by;
While bells on all sides sing and say,
How Christ the child was born to-day;
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Mix merry with the Yuhl-log's blaze;
Some butterflies of snow may float
Down slowly, glistening in the mote,
But crystal-leaved and fruited trees
Scarce lose a jewel in the breeze;
Frost-diamonds twinkle on the grass,
Transformed from pearly dew,
And silver flowers encrust the glass,
Which gardens never knew.
The inmates of the house, before
Whose iron-fended heedless door,
The children of our nightly tale
Were standing, rise refreshed and hale,
And run, as if a race to win,
To let the Christmas morning in.
They find, upon the threshold stone,
A little Child, just like their own;
Asleep it seems, but when the head
Is raised, it sleeps, as sleep the dead;
The fatal point had touched it, while
The lips had just begun a smile,
The forehead 'mid the matted tresses
A perfect-painless end expresses,
And, unconvulsed, the hands may wear
The posture more of thanks than prayer.
Whose iron-fended heedless door,
The children of our nightly tale
Were standing, rise refreshed and hale,
And run, as if a race to win,
To let the Christmas morning in.
They find, upon the threshold stone,
A little Child, just like their own;
Asleep it seems, but when the head
Is raised, it sleeps, as sleep the dead;
The fatal point had touched it, while
The lips had just begun a smile,
The forehead 'mid the matted tresses
A perfect-painless end expresses,
And, unconvulsed, the hands may wear
The posture more of thanks than prayer.
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They tend it straight in wondering grief,—
And, when all skill brings no relief,
They bear it onward, in its smile,
Up the Cathedral's central aisle:
There, soon as Priests and People heard
How the thing was, they speak not word,
But take the usual Image, meant
The blessèd babe to represent,
Forth from its cradle, and instead
Lay down that silent mortal head.
Now incense-cloud and anthem-sound
Arise the beauteous body round;
Softly the carol chant is sung,
Softly the mirthful peal is rung,
And, when the solemn duties end,
With tapers earnest troops attend
The gentle corpse, nor cease to sing,
Till, by an almond tree,
They bury it, that the flowers of spring
May o'er it soonest be.
And, when all skill brings no relief,
They bear it onward, in its smile,
Up the Cathedral's central aisle:
There, soon as Priests and People heard
How the thing was, they speak not word,
But take the usual Image, meant
The blessèd babe to represent,
Forth from its cradle, and instead
Lay down that silent mortal head.
Now incense-cloud and anthem-sound
Arise the beauteous body round;
Softly the carol chant is sung,
Softly the mirthful peal is rung,
And, when the solemn duties end,
With tapers earnest troops attend
The gentle corpse, nor cease to sing,
Till, by an almond tree,
They bury it, that the flowers of spring
May o'er it soonest be.
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THE BROWNIE.
A gentle household Spirit, unchallenged and unpaid,
Attended with his service a lonely servant-maid.
Attended with his service a lonely servant-maid.
She seemed a weary woman, who had found life unkind,
Whose youth had left her early and little left behind.
Whose youth had left her early and little left behind.
Most desolate and dreary her days went on until
Arose this unseen stranger her labours to fulfil.
Arose this unseen stranger her labours to fulfil.
But now she walked at leisure, secure of blame she slept,
The meal was always ready, the room was always swept.
The meal was always ready, the room was always swept.
And by the cheerful fire-light, the winter evenings long,
He gave her words of kindness and snatches of sweet song;—
He gave her words of kindness and snatches of sweet song;—
With useful housewife secret and tales of faeries fair,
From times when gaunt magicians and dwarfs and giants were;—
From times when gaunt magicians and dwarfs and giants were;—
Thus, habit closing round her, by slow degrees she nurst
A sense of trust and pleasure, where she had feared at first.
A sense of trust and pleasure, where she had feared at first.
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When strange desire came on her, and shook her like a storm,
To see this faithful being distinct in outward form.
To see this faithful being distinct in outward form.
He was so pure a nature, of so benign a will,
It could be nothing fearful, it could be nothing ill.
It could be nothing fearful, it could be nothing ill.
At first with grave denial her prayer he laid aside,
Then warning and entreaty, but all in vain, he tried.
Then warning and entreaty, but all in vain, he tried.
The wish upgrew to passion,—she urged him more and more,—
Until, as one outwearied, but still lamenting sore,
Until, as one outwearied, but still lamenting sore,
He promised in her chamber he would attend her call,
When from the small high window the full-moon light should fall.
When from the small high window the full-moon light should fall.
Most proud and glad that evening she entered to behold
How there her phantom Lover his presence would unfold;
How there her phantom Lover his presence would unfold;
When, lo! in bloody pallor lay, on the moonlit floor,
The Babe she bore and murdered some thirteen years before.
The Babe she bore and murdered some thirteen years before.
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VENUS AND THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT.
“Why are thine eyes so red, Sir Knight,
And why thy cheek so pale?
Thou tossest to and fro all night,
Like a ship without a sail.”
And why thy cheek so pale?
Thou tossest to and fro all night,
Like a ship without a sail.”
The Knight rose up, and answered quick:
“Too long in lust I lie,
And now my heart is pleasure-sick;
I must go hence, or die.
“Too long in lust I lie,
And now my heart is pleasure-sick;
I must go hence, or die.
“I must go hence, and strive to win,
By penitential tears,
God's pardon for the shame and sin
Of these luxurious years.
By penitential tears,
God's pardon for the shame and sin
Of these luxurious years.
“No man his life can rightly keep
Apart from toil and pain;
I would give all these joys, to weep
My youth's sweet tears again!”
Apart from toil and pain;
I would give all these joys, to weep
My youth's sweet tears again!”
“I will not let thee go, Sir Knight;
But I will make thee new
Untold devices of delight,
That shall thy soul imbue;
But I will make thee new
Untold devices of delight,
That shall thy soul imbue;
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“And thou, these sickly thoughts defy,
Undo these vain alarms;
What God can give thee more than I,—
More Heaven than in mine arms?”
Undo these vain alarms;
What God can give thee more than I,—
More Heaven than in mine arms?”
“Venus! I fear thy wanton heart,
I fear thy glittering eyes;
I shrink and tremble, lest thou art
A demon in disguise.”
I fear thy glittering eyes;
I shrink and tremble, lest thou art
A demon in disguise.”
With high disdain the Ladie strove,
Then uttered, sad and low,
“Oh! hard return for so much love!
Ungrateful mortal! go.”
Then uttered, sad and low,
“Oh! hard return for so much love!
Ungrateful mortal! go.”
The Knight, with none to check or meet,
Thus left the marble dome;
And soon his weary, wounded, feet
Were near the gates of Rome.
Thus left the marble dome;
And soon his weary, wounded, feet
Were near the gates of Rome.
There, where imperial Tiber flows,
Pope Urban rode along;
And “Kyrie Eleison,” rose
From all the thickening throng.
Pope Urban rode along;
And “Kyrie Eleison,” rose
From all the thickening throng.
“Thou that hast power to stay God's wrath,
And darkest souls to shrive,
Stop, holy Father! on thy path,
And save a soul alive.
And darkest souls to shrive,
Stop, holy Father! on thy path,
And save a soul alive.
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“For I, a noble Christian Knight,
Have served, for many a year,
In dalliance of impure delight,
A demon, as I fear.
Have served, for many a year,
In dalliance of impure delight,
A demon, as I fear.
“If Venus sooth a demon be,
As thou hast skill to tell,
God's face how shall I ever see,
How shun the deep of hell?”
As thou hast skill to tell,
God's face how shall I ever see,
How shun the deep of hell?”
—“Too well that fiend, and all her power,
Most hapless man! I know;
If thou hast been her paramour,
No grace can I bestow.
Most hapless man! I know;
If thou hast been her paramour,
No grace can I bestow.
“I could the demon's self assoil,
As well as pardon thee;
Thy body hath been her willing spoil,
Thy soul must be her fee!
As well as pardon thee;
Thy body hath been her willing spoil,
Thy soul must be her fee!
“For sooner shall this peelèd staff
Put out both leaf and bloom,
Than God shall strike thy sentence off
His dreadful book of doom!”
Put out both leaf and bloom,
Than God shall strike thy sentence off
His dreadful book of doom!”
The Knight his feeble knee upraised,
Past weeping through the crowd;
And some in silent pity gazed,
And some with horror loud.
Past weeping through the crowd;
And some in silent pity gazed,
And some with horror loud.
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“Then shall I never, never, see
Thy countenance divine,
Jesus! that died in vain for me,—
Sweet Mary, mother! thine?”
Thy countenance divine,
Jesus! that died in vain for me,—
Sweet Mary, mother! thine?”
Now forth this child of woe had gone
Full fourteen days, when, lo!
The staff the Pope laid hand upon
Began to bud and blow:
Full fourteen days, when, lo!
The staff the Pope laid hand upon
Began to bud and blow:
Green leaves, and flowers of perfect white,
The very growth of heaven;—
Sure witness to that wretched Knight
Of all his sins forgiven!
The very growth of heaven;—
Sure witness to that wretched Knight
Of all his sins forgiven!
Oh! far and wide, o'er earth and tide,
Swift messengers are sped,
To hail the sinner justified,
The late devoted head.
Swift messengers are sped,
To hail the sinner justified,
The late devoted head.
In vain—in vain! Straight back again
He bent his hopeless way,—
And Venus shall her Knight retain,
Until God's judgment-day.
He bent his hopeless way,—
And Venus shall her Knight retain,
Until God's judgment-day.
Mysterious end of good remorse!
Strong lesson to beware,
Ye priests of mercy! how ye force
Poor sinners to despair.
Strong lesson to beware,
Ye priests of mercy! how ye force
Poor sinners to despair.
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THE NORTHERN KNIGHT IN ITALY.
This is the record, true as his own word,
Of the adventures of a Christian knight,
Who, when beneath the foul Karasmian sword
God's rescued city sunk to hopeless night,
Desired, before he gain'd his northern home,
To soothe his wounded heart at Holy Rome.
Of the adventures of a Christian knight,
Who, when beneath the foul Karasmian sword
God's rescued city sunk to hopeless night,
Desired, before he gain'd his northern home,
To soothe his wounded heart at Holy Rome.
And having found, in that reflected heaven,
More than Cæsarean splendours and delights,
So that it seemed to his young sense was given
An unimagined world of sounds and sights;—
Yet, half regretful of the long delay,
He joined some comrades on their common way.
More than Cæsarean splendours and delights,
So that it seemed to his young sense was given
An unimagined world of sounds and sights;—
Yet, half regretful of the long delay,
He joined some comrades on their common way.
The Spring was mantling that Italian land,
The Spring! the passion-season of our earth,
The joy, whose wings will never all expand,—
The gladsome travail of continuous birth,—
The force that leaves no creature unimbued
With amorous Nature's bland inquietude.
The Spring! the passion-season of our earth,
The joy, whose wings will never all expand,—
The gladsome travail of continuous birth,—
The force that leaves no creature unimbued
With amorous Nature's bland inquietude.
300
Though those hard sons of tumult and bold life,
Little as might be, own'd the tender power,
And only show'd their words and gestures rife
With the benign excitement of the hour,—
Yet one, the one of whom this tale is told,
In his deep soul was utterly controll'd.
Little as might be, own'd the tender power,
And only show'd their words and gestures rife
With the benign excitement of the hour,—
Yet one, the one of whom this tale is told,
In his deep soul was utterly controll'd.
New thoughts sprung up within him,—new desires
Opened their panting bosoms to the sun;
Imagination scattered lights and fires
O'er realms before impenetrably dun;
His senses, energized with wondrous might,
Mingled in lusty contest of delight.
Opened their panting bosoms to the sun;
Imagination scattered lights and fires
O'er realms before impenetrably dun;
His senses, energized with wondrous might,
Mingled in lusty contest of delight.
The once-inspiring talk of steel and steeds
And famous captains lost its ancient zest;
The free recital of illustrious deeds
Came to him vapid as a thrice-told jest;
His fancy was of angels penance-bound
To convoy sprites through heavenly ground.
And famous captains lost its ancient zest;
The free recital of illustrious deeds
Came to him vapid as a thrice-told jest;
His fancy was of angels penance-bound
To convoy sprites through heavenly ground.
The first-love vision of those azure eyes,
Twin stars that blessed and kept his spirit cool,
Down-beaming from the brazen Syrian skies,
Now seem'd the spectral doting of a fool,—
Unwelcome visitants that stood between
Him and the livelier glories of the scene.
Twin stars that blessed and kept his spirit cool,
Down-beaming from the brazen Syrian skies,
Now seem'd the spectral doting of a fool,—
Unwelcome visitants that stood between
Him and the livelier glories of the scene.
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What wanted he with such cold monitors?
What business had he with the past at all?
Well, in the pauses of those clamorous wars,
Such dull endearment might his heart enthral,
But, in this universe of blissful calm,
He had no pain to need that homely balm.
What business had he with the past at all?
Well, in the pauses of those clamorous wars,
Such dull endearment might his heart enthral,
But, in this universe of blissful calm,
He had no pain to need that homely balm.
Occasion, therefore, in itself though slight
He made of moment to demand its stay,
Where some rare houses, in the clear white light,
Like flakes of snow among the verdure lay;
And bade the company give little heed,
He would o'ertake them by redoubled speed.
He made of moment to demand its stay,
Where some rare houses, in the clear white light,
Like flakes of snow among the verdure lay;
And bade the company give little heed,
He would o'ertake them by redoubled speed.
But now at length resolved to satisfy
The appetite of beauty, and repair
Those torpid years which he had let glide by,
Unconscious of the powers of earth and air,
He rested, roved, and rested while he quafft
The deepest richness of the sunny draught.
The appetite of beauty, and repair
Those torpid years which he had let glide by,
Unconscious of the powers of earth and air,
He rested, roved, and rested while he quafft
The deepest richness of the sunny draught.
Eve after eve he told his trusty band
They should advance straight northward on the morrow,
Yet when he rose, and to that living land
Addressed his farewell benison of sorrow,
With loveliest aspect Nature answer'd so,
It seem'd almost impiety to go.
They should advance straight northward on the morrow,
Yet when he rose, and to that living land
Addressed his farewell benison of sorrow,
With loveliest aspect Nature answer'd so,
It seem'd almost impiety to go.
302
Thus days were gather'd into months, and there
He linger'd, sauntering without aim or end:
Not unaccompanied; for wheresoe'er
His steps, through wood, or glen, or field, might tend,—
A bird-like voice was ever in his ear,
Divinely sweet and rapturously clear.
He linger'd, sauntering without aim or end:
Not unaccompanied; for wheresoe'er
His steps, through wood, or glen, or field, might tend,—
A bird-like voice was ever in his ear,
Divinely sweet and rapturously clear.
From the pinaster's solemn-tented crown,—
From the fine olive spray that cuts the sky,—
From bare or flowering summit, floated down
That music unembodied to the eye:
Sometime beside his feet it seemed to run,
Or fainted, lark-like, in the radiant sun.
From the fine olive spray that cuts the sky,—
From bare or flowering summit, floated down
That music unembodied to the eye:
Sometime beside his feet it seemed to run,
Or fainted, lark-like, in the radiant sun.
Soon as this mystic sound attained his ear,
Barriers arose, impermeable, between
Him and the two wide worlds of hope and fear;—
His life entire was in the present scene;
The passage of each day he only knew
By the broad shadows and the deepening blue.
Barriers arose, impermeable, between
Him and the two wide worlds of hope and fear;—
His life entire was in the present scene;
The passage of each day he only knew
By the broad shadows and the deepening blue.
303
His senses by such ecstasy possest,
He chanced to climb a torrent's slippery side,
And, on the utmost ridge refusing rest,
Took the first path his eager look descried;
And paused, as one outstartled from a trance,
Within a place of strange significance.
He chanced to climb a torrent's slippery side,
And, on the utmost ridge refusing rest,
Took the first path his eager look descried;
And paused, as one outstartled from a trance,
Within a place of strange significance.
A ruin'd temple of the Pagan world,—
Pillars and pedestals with rocks confused,—
Art back into the lap of nature hurl'd,
And still most beautiful, when most abused;
A Paradise of pity, that might move
Most careless hearts, unknowingly, to love!
Pillars and pedestals with rocks confused,—
Art back into the lap of nature hurl'd,
And still most beautiful, when most abused;
A Paradise of pity, that might move
Most careless hearts, unknowingly, to love!
A very garden of luxurious weeds,
Hemlock in trees, acanthine leaves outspread,
Flowers here and there, the growth of wind-cast seeds,
With vine and ivy draperies overhead;
And by the access, two nigh-sapless shells,
Old trunks of myrtle, haggard sentinels!
Hemlock in trees, acanthine leaves outspread,
Flowers here and there, the growth of wind-cast seeds,
With vine and ivy draperies overhead;
And by the access, two nigh-sapless shells,
Old trunks of myrtle, haggard sentinels!
Amid this strife of vigour and decay
An Idol stood, complete, without a stain,
Hid by a broad projection from the sway
Of winter gusts and daily-rotting rain.
Time and his agents seem'd alike to spare
A thing so unimaginably fair.
An Idol stood, complete, without a stain,
Hid by a broad projection from the sway
Of winter gusts and daily-rotting rain.
Time and his agents seem'd alike to spare
A thing so unimaginably fair.
304
By what deep memory or what subtler mean
Was it, that at the moment of this sight,
The actual past—the statue and the scene,
Stood out before him in historic light?
He knew the glorious image by its name—
Venus! the Goddess of unholy fame.
Was it, that at the moment of this sight,
The actual past—the statue and the scene,
Stood out before him in historic light?
He knew the glorious image by its name—
Venus! the Goddess of unholy fame.
He heard the tread of distant generations
Slowly defiling to their place of doom;
And thought how men, and families, and nations
Had trusted in the endless bliss and bloom
Of Her who stood in desolation there,
Now lorn of love and unrevered prayer.
Slowly defiling to their place of doom;
And thought how men, and families, and nations
Had trusted in the endless bliss and bloom
Of Her who stood in desolation there,
Now lorn of love and unrevered prayer.
Beauty without an eye to gaze on it,
Passion without a breast to lean upon,
Feelings unjust, unseemly, and unfit,
Troubled his spirit's high and happy tone;
So back with vague imaginative pain
He turned the steps that soon returned again.
Passion without a breast to lean upon,
Feelings unjust, unseemly, and unfit,
Troubled his spirit's high and happy tone;
So back with vague imaginative pain
He turned the steps that soon returned again.
For there henceforth he every noon reposed
In languor self-sufficient for the day,
Feeling the light within his eyelids closed,
Or peeping, where the locusts, like a ray,
Shot through its crevice, and, without a sound,
The insect hosts enjoyed their airy round.
In languor self-sufficient for the day,
Feeling the light within his eyelids closed,
Or peeping, where the locusts, like a ray,
Shot through its crevice, and, without a sound,
The insect hosts enjoyed their airy round.
305
Day-dreams give sleep, and sleep brings dreams anew;
Thus oft a face of untold tenderness,
A cloud of woe with beauty glistening through,
Brooded above him in divine distress,—
And sometimes bowed so low, as it would try
His ready lips, then vanished with a sigh:
Thus oft a face of untold tenderness,
A cloud of woe with beauty glistening through,
Brooded above him in divine distress,—
And sometimes bowed so low, as it would try
His ready lips, then vanished with a sigh:
And round him flowed through that intense sunshine
Music, whose notes at once were words and tears;
“Paphos was mine, and Amathus was mine,
Mine were the Idalian groves of ancient years,—
The happy heart of Man was all mine own,
Now I am homeless and alone—alone!”
Music, whose notes at once were words and tears;
“Paphos was mine, and Amathus was mine,
Mine were the Idalian groves of ancient years,—
The happy heart of Man was all mine own,
Now I am homeless and alone—alone!”
At other times, to his long-resting gaze,
Instinct with life the solid sculpture grew,
And rose transfigured, 'mid a golden haze,
Till lost within the impermeable blue;
Yet ever, though with liveliest hues composed,
Sad-swooning sounds the apparition closed.
Instinct with life the solid sculpture grew,
And rose transfigured, 'mid a golden haze,
Till lost within the impermeable blue;
Yet ever, though with liveliest hues composed,
Sad-swooning sounds the apparition closed.
As the strong waters fill the leaky boat
And suck it downwards, by unseen degrees;—
So sunk his soul, the while it seemed to float
On that serene security of ease,
Into a torpid meditative void,
By the same fancies that before upbuoyed.
And suck it downwards, by unseen degrees;—
So sunk his soul, the while it seemed to float
On that serene security of ease,
Into a torpid meditative void,
By the same fancies that before upbuoyed.
306
His train, though wondering at their changeful lord,
Had no distaste that season to beguile
With mimic contests and well-furnished board,—
And even he would sometimes join awhile
Their sports, then turn, as if in scorn, away
From such rude commerce and ignoble play.
Had no distaste that season to beguile
With mimic contests and well-furnished board,—
And even he would sometimes join awhile
Their sports, then turn, as if in scorn, away
From such rude commerce and ignoble play.
One closing eve, thus issuing forth, he cried,
“Land of my love! in thee I cast my lot;—
Till death thy faithful subject I abide,—
Home, kindred, country, knighthood, all forgot,—
Names that I heed no more, while I possess
Thy heartfelt luxury of loveliness!”
“Land of my love! in thee I cast my lot;—
Till death thy faithful subject I abide,—
Home, kindred, country, knighthood, all forgot,—
Names that I heed no more, while I possess
Thy heartfelt luxury of loveliness!”
That summer night had all the healthy cool
That nerves the spirit of the youthful year;
Yet, as to eyes long fixed on a deep pool,
The waters dark and bright at once appear,
So, through the freshness on his senses soon
Came the warm memories of the lusty noon.
That nerves the spirit of the youthful year;
Yet, as to eyes long fixed on a deep pool,
The waters dark and bright at once appear,
So, through the freshness on his senses soon
Came the warm memories of the lusty noon.
Such active pleasure tingling through his veins,
Quicken'd his pace beneath the colonnade,
Chesnut, and ilex—to the moonèd plains
A bronze relief and garniture of shade,—
When, just before him, flittingly, he heard
The tender voice of that familiar bird.
Quicken'd his pace beneath the colonnade,
Chesnut, and ilex—to the moonèd plains
A bronze relief and garniture of shade,—
When, just before him, flittingly, he heard
The tender voice of that familiar bird.
307
Holding his own, to catch that sweeter breath,
And listening, so that each particular sound
Was merged in that attention's depth, his path
Into the secret of the forest wound;
The clear-drawn landscape, and the orb's full gaze,
Gave place to dimness and the wild-wood's maze.
And listening, so that each particular sound
Was merged in that attention's depth, his path
Into the secret of the forest wound;
The clear-drawn landscape, and the orb's full gaze,
Gave place to dimness and the wild-wood's maze.
That thrilling sense, which to the weak is fear,
Becomes the joy and guerdon of the brave;
So, trusting his harmonious pioneer,
His heart he freely to the venture gave,
And through close brake, and under pleachèd aisle,
Walked without sign of outlet many a mile.
Becomes the joy and guerdon of the brave;
So, trusting his harmonious pioneer,
His heart he freely to the venture gave,
And through close brake, and under pleachèd aisle,
Walked without sign of outlet many a mile.
When, turning round a thicket weariedly,
A building, of such mould as well might pass
From graceful Greece to conquering Italy,
Rose in soft outline from the silver'd grass,
Whose doors thrown back and inner lustre show'd
It was no lorn and tenantless abode.
A building, of such mould as well might pass
From graceful Greece to conquering Italy,
Rose in soft outline from the silver'd grass,
Whose doors thrown back and inner lustre show'd
It was no lorn and tenantless abode.
Children of all varieties of fair,
And gaily vested, cluster'd round the portal,
Until one Boy, who had not mien and air
Of future manhood, but of youth immortal,
Within an arch of light, came clear to view,
Descending that angelic avenue.
And gaily vested, cluster'd round the portal,
Until one Boy, who had not mien and air
Of future manhood, but of youth immortal,
Within an arch of light, came clear to view,
Descending that angelic avenue.
308
“Stranger! the mistress of this happy bower,”
Thus the bright messenger the knight addrest—
“Bids us assert her hospitable power,
And lead thee in a captive or a guest;
Rest is the mate of night,—let opening day
Speed the rejoicing on thy work and way.”
Thus the bright messenger the knight addrest—
“Bids us assert her hospitable power,
And lead thee in a captive or a guest;
Rest is the mate of night,—let opening day
Speed the rejoicing on thy work and way.”
Such gentle bidding might kind answer earn;
The full moon's glare put out each guiding star;
He summ'd the dangers of enforc'd return,
And now first marvell'd he had roved so far:
Then murmur'd glad acceptance, tinged with fear,
Lest there unmeet his presence should appear.
The full moon's glare put out each guiding star;
He summ'd the dangers of enforc'd return,
And now first marvell'd he had roved so far:
Then murmur'd glad acceptance, tinged with fear,
Lest there unmeet his presence should appear.
Led by that troop of youthful innocence,
A hall he traversed, up whose heaven-topt dome
Thick vapours of delightful influence
From gold and alabastar altars clomb,
And through a range of pillar'd chambers past,
Each one more full of faerie than the last.
A hall he traversed, up whose heaven-topt dome
Thick vapours of delightful influence
From gold and alabastar altars clomb,
And through a range of pillar'd chambers past,
Each one more full of faerie than the last.
To his vague gaze those peopled walls disclosed
Graces and grandeurs more to feel than see,—
Celestial and heroic forms composed
In many a frame of antique poesy;
But, wheresoe'er the scene or tale might fall,
Still Venus was the theme and crown of all.
Graces and grandeurs more to feel than see,—
Celestial and heroic forms composed
In many a frame of antique poesy;
But, wheresoe'er the scene or tale might fall,
Still Venus was the theme and crown of all.
309
There young Adonis scorn'd to yield to her,
Soon by a sterner nature overcome;
There Paris, happy hapless arbiter,
For beauty barter'd kingdom, race, and home;
Save what Æneas rescued by her care,
As the Didonian wood-nymph pictured there.
Soon by a sterner nature overcome;
There Paris, happy hapless arbiter,
For beauty barter'd kingdom, race, and home;
Save what Æneas rescued by her care,
As the Didonian wood-nymph pictured there.
But ere he scanned them long, a Lady enter'd,
In long white robes majestical array'd,
Though on her face alone his eyes were centred,
Which weird suspicion to his mind convey'd,
For every feature he could there divine
Of the old marble in the sylvan shrine.
In long white robes majestical array'd,
Though on her face alone his eyes were centred,
Which weird suspicion to his mind convey'd,
For every feature he could there divine
Of the old marble in the sylvan shrine.
On his bewilderment she gently smiled,
To his confusion she benignly spoke;
And all the fears that started up so wild
Lay down submissive to her beauty's yoke:
It was with him as if he saw through tears
A countenance long-loved and lost for years.
To his confusion she benignly spoke;
And all the fears that started up so wild
Lay down submissive to her beauty's yoke:
It was with him as if he saw through tears
A countenance long-loved and lost for years.
She asked, “if so he will'd,” the stranger's name,
And, when she heard it, said, “the gallant sound
Had often reached her on the wing of fame,
Though long recluse from fortune's noisy round;
Her lot was cast in loneliness, and yet
On noble worth her woman-heart was set.”
And, when she heard it, said, “the gallant sound
Had often reached her on the wing of fame,
Though long recluse from fortune's noisy round;
Her lot was cast in loneliness, and yet
On noble worth her woman-heart was set.”
310
Rare is the fish that is not meshed amain,
When Beauty tends the silken net of praise;
Thus little marvel that in vaunting strain
He spoke of distant deeds and brave affrays,
Till each self-glorious thought became a charm,
For her to work against him to his harm.
When Beauty tends the silken net of praise;
Thus little marvel that in vaunting strain
He spoke of distant deeds and brave affrays,
Till each self-glorious thought became a charm,
For her to work against him to his harm.
Such converse of melodious looks and words
Paused at the call of other symphonies,
Invisible agencies that draw the cords
Of massive curtains, rising as they rise,
So that the music's closing swell reveal'd
The Paradise of pleasure there conceal'd.
Paused at the call of other symphonies,
Invisible agencies that draw the cords
Of massive curtains, rising as they rise,
So that the music's closing swell reveal'd
The Paradise of pleasure there conceal'd.
It was a wide alcove, thick-wall'd with flowers,
Gigantic blooms, of aspect that appear'd
Beyond the range of vegetative powers,
A flush of splendour almost to be fear'd,
A strange affinity of life between
Those glorious creatures and that garden's Queen.
Gigantic blooms, of aspect that appear'd
Beyond the range of vegetative powers,
A flush of splendour almost to be fear'd,
A strange affinity of life between
Those glorious creatures and that garden's Queen.
Luminous gems were weaving from aloft
Fantastic rainbows on the fountain spray,—
Cushions of broider'd purple, silken-soft,
Profusely heaped beside a table lay,
Whereon all show of form and hue increast
The rich temptation of the coming feast.
Fantastic rainbows on the fountain spray,—
Cushions of broider'd purple, silken-soft,
Profusely heaped beside a table lay,
Whereon all show of form and hue increast
The rich temptation of the coming feast.
311
There on one couch, and served by cherub hands,
The Knight and Lady banqueted in joy:
With freshest fruits from scarce discover'd lands,
Such as he saw in pictures when a boy,
And cates of flavours excellent and new,
That to the unpalled taste still dearer grew.
The Knight and Lady banqueted in joy:
With freshest fruits from scarce discover'd lands,
Such as he saw in pictures when a boy,
And cates of flavours excellent and new,
That to the unpalled taste still dearer grew.
Once, and but once, a spasm of very fear
Went through him, when a breeze of sudden cold
Sigh'd, like a dying brother, in his ear,
And made the royal flowers around upfold
Their gorgeous faces in the leafy band,
Like the mimosa touched by mortal hand.
Went through him, when a breeze of sudden cold
Sigh'd, like a dying brother, in his ear,
And made the royal flowers around upfold
Their gorgeous faces in the leafy band,
Like the mimosa touched by mortal hand.
Then almost ghastly seem'd the tinted sheen,
Saltless and savourless those luscious meats,
Till quick the Lady rose, with smile serene,
As one who could command but still entreats,
And filling a gold goblet, kissed the brim,
And passed it bubbling from her lips to him.
Saltless and savourless those luscious meats,
Till quick the Lady rose, with smile serene,
As one who could command but still entreats,
And filling a gold goblet, kissed the brim,
And passed it bubbling from her lips to him.
At once absorbing that nectareous draught,
And the delicious radiance of those eyes,
At doubt and terror-fit he inly laughed,
And grasped her hand as 'twere a tourney's prize;
And heard this murmur, as she nearer drew,
“Yes, I am Love, and Love was made for you!”
And the delicious radiance of those eyes,
At doubt and terror-fit he inly laughed,
And grasped her hand as 'twere a tourney's prize;
And heard this murmur, as she nearer drew,
“Yes, I am Love, and Love was made for you!”
312
They were alone: the attendants, one by one,
Had vanished: faint and fainter rose the air
Oppressed with odours: through the twilight shone
The glory of white limbs and lustrous hair,
Confusing sight and spirit, till he fell,
The will-less, mindless, creature of the spell.
Had vanished: faint and fainter rose the air
Oppressed with odours: through the twilight shone
The glory of white limbs and lustrous hair,
Confusing sight and spirit, till he fell,
The will-less, mindless, creature of the spell.
In the dull deep of satisfied desire
Not long a prisoner lay that knightly soul,
But on his blood, as on a wave of fire,
Uneasy fancies rode without control,
Voices and phantoms that did scarcely seem
To take the substance of an order'd dream.
Not long a prisoner lay that knightly soul,
But on his blood, as on a wave of fire,
Uneasy fancies rode without control,
Voices and phantoms that did scarcely seem
To take the substance of an order'd dream.
At first he stood beside a public road,
Hedged in by myrtle and embower'd by plane,
While figures, vested in old Grecian mode,
Drew through the pearly dawn a winding train,
So strangely character'd, he could not know
Were it of triumph or funereal woe.
Hedged in by myrtle and embower'd by plane,
While figures, vested in old Grecian mode,
Drew through the pearly dawn a winding train,
So strangely character'd, he could not know
Were it of triumph or funereal woe.
For crowns of bay enwreath'd each beauteous head,
Beauty of perfect maid and perfect man;
Slow-paced the milk-white oxen garlanded;
Torch-bearing children mingled as they ran
Gleaming amid the elder that uphold
Tripods and cups and plates of chasèd gold.
Beauty of perfect maid and perfect man;
Slow-paced the milk-white oxen garlanded;
Torch-bearing children mingled as they ran
Gleaming amid the elder that uphold
Tripods and cups and plates of chasèd gold.
313
But then he marked the flowers were colourless,
Crisp-wither'd hung the honourable leaves,
And on the faces sat the high distress
Of those whom Self sustains when Fate bereaves:
So gazed he, wondering how that pomp would close,
When the dream changed, but not to his repose.
Crisp-wither'd hung the honourable leaves,
And on the faces sat the high distress
Of those whom Self sustains when Fate bereaves:
So gazed he, wondering how that pomp would close,
When the dream changed, but not to his repose.
For now he was within his father's hall,
No tittle changed of form or furniture,
But all and each a grave memorial
Of youthful days, too careless to endure,—
There was his mother's housewife-work, and there,
Beside the fire, his grandame's crimson chair:
No tittle changed of form or furniture,
But all and each a grave memorial
Of youthful days, too careless to endure,—
There was his mother's housewife-work, and there,
Beside the fire, his grandame's crimson chair:
Where, cowering low, that ancient woman sat,
Her bony fingers twitching on her knee,
Her dry lips muttering fast he knew not what,
Only the sharp convulsion could he see;
But, as he looked, he felt a conscience dim
That she was urging God in prayer for him.
Her bony fingers twitching on her knee,
Her dry lips muttering fast he knew not what,
Only the sharp convulsion could he see;
But, as he looked, he felt a conscience dim
That she was urging God in prayer for him.
Away in trembling wretchedness he turn'd,
And he was in his leman's arms once more;
Yet all the jewell'd cressets were outburn'd,
And all the pictured walls, so gay before,
Show'd, in the glimmer of one choking lamp,
Blotched with green mould and worn by filthy damp.
And he was in his leman's arms once more;
Yet all the jewell'd cressets were outburn'd,
And all the pictured walls, so gay before,
Show'd, in the glimmer of one choking lamp,
Blotched with green mould and worn by filthy damp.
314
Enormous bats their insolent long wings
Whirl'd o'er his head, and swung against his brow,
And shrieked—“We cozen'd with our ministerings
The foolish knight, and have our revel now:”
And worms bestrew'd the weeds that overspread
The floor with silken flowers late carpeted.
Whirl'd o'er his head, and swung against his brow,
And shrieked—“We cozen'd with our ministerings
The foolish knight, and have our revel now:”
And worms bestrew'd the weeds that overspread
The floor with silken flowers late carpeted.
His sick astonished looks he straight addressed
To her whose tresses lay around his arm,
And fervent breath was playing on his breast,
To seek the meaning of this frightful charm;
But she was there no longer, and instead,
He was the partner of a demon's bed,—
To her whose tresses lay around his arm,
And fervent breath was playing on his breast,
To seek the meaning of this frightful charm;
But she was there no longer, and instead,
He was the partner of a demon's bed,—
That, slowly rising, brought the lurid glare
Of its fixed eyes close opposite to his;
One scaly hand laced in his forehead hair,
Threatening his lips with pestilential kiss,
And somewise in the fiendish face it wore,
He traced the features he did erst adore.
Of its fixed eyes close opposite to his;
One scaly hand laced in his forehead hair,
Threatening his lips with pestilential kiss,
And somewise in the fiendish face it wore,
He traced the features he did erst adore.
With one instinctive agony he drew
His sword, that Palestine remember'd well
And, quick recoiling, dealt a blow so true,
That down the devilish head in thunder fell:—
The effort seem'd against a jutting stone
To strike his hand, and then he woke—alone!
His sword, that Palestine remember'd well
And, quick recoiling, dealt a blow so true,
That down the devilish head in thunder fell:—
The effort seem'd against a jutting stone
To strike his hand, and then he woke—alone!
315
Alone he stood amid those ruins old,
His treasury of sweet care and pleasant pain;
The hemlock crushed defined the body's mould
Of one who long and restless there had lain;
His vest was beaded with the dew of dawn,
His hand fresh-blooded, and his sword fresh drawn!
His treasury of sweet care and pleasant pain;
The hemlock crushed defined the body's mould
Of one who long and restless there had lain;
His vest was beaded with the dew of dawn,
His hand fresh-blooded, and his sword fresh drawn!
The eastern star, a crystal eye of gold,
Full on the statued form of Beauty shone,
Now prostrate, powerless, featureless and cold,
A simple trunk of deftly carven stone:
Deep in the grasses that dismember'd head
Lay like the relics of the ignoble dead.
Full on the statued form of Beauty shone,
Now prostrate, powerless, featureless and cold,
A simple trunk of deftly carven stone:
Deep in the grasses that dismember'd head
Lay like the relics of the ignoble dead.
But Beauty's namesake and sidereal shrine
Now glided slowly down that pallid sky,
Near and more near the thin horizon line,
In the first gush of morning, there to die,—
While the poor Knight, with wilder'd steps and brain,
Hasten'd the glimmering village to regain.
Now glided slowly down that pallid sky,
Near and more near the thin horizon line,
In the first gush of morning, there to die,—
While the poor Knight, with wilder'd steps and brain,
Hasten'd the glimmering village to regain.
With few uncertain words and little heed
His followers' anxious questions he put by,
Bidding each one prepare his arms and steed,
For “they must march before the sun was high,
And neither Apennine or Alp should stay
Though for a single night, his homeward way.”
His followers' anxious questions he put by,
Bidding each one prepare his arms and steed,
For “they must march before the sun was high,
And neither Apennine or Alp should stay
Though for a single night, his homeward way.”
316
On, on, with scanty food and rest he rode,
Like one whom unseen enemies pursue,
Urging his favourite horse with cruel goad,
So that the lagging servants hardly knew
Their master of frank heart and ready cheer,
In that lone man who would not speak or hear.
Like one whom unseen enemies pursue,
Urging his favourite horse with cruel goad,
So that the lagging servants hardly knew
Their master of frank heart and ready cheer,
In that lone man who would not speak or hear.
Till when at last he fairly saw behind
The Alpine barrier of perennial snow,
He seem'd to heave a burthen off his mind,—
His blood in calmer current seem'd to flow,
And like himself he smiled once more, but cast
No light or colour on that cloudy past.
The Alpine barrier of perennial snow,
He seem'd to heave a burthen off his mind,—
His blood in calmer current seem'd to flow,
And like himself he smiled once more, but cast
No light or colour on that cloudy past.
From the old Teuton forest, echoing far,
Came a stern welcome, hailing him restored
To the true health of life in peace or war,
Fresh morning toil, that earns the generous board;
And waters, in the clear unbroken voice
Of childhood, spoke—“Be thankful and rejoice!”
Came a stern welcome, hailing him restored
To the true health of life in peace or war,
Fresh morning toil, that earns the generous board;
And waters, in the clear unbroken voice
Of childhood, spoke—“Be thankful and rejoice!”
Glad as the dove returning to his ark
Over the waste of universal sea,
He heard the huge house-dog's familiar bark,
He traced the figure of each friendly tree,
And felt that he could never part from this
His home of daily love and even bliss.
Over the waste of universal sea,
He heard the huge house-dog's familiar bark,
He traced the figure of each friendly tree,
And felt that he could never part from this
His home of daily love and even bliss.
317
And in the quiet closure of that place,
He soon his first affection linked anew,
In that most honest passion finding grace,
His soul with primal vigour to endue,
And crush the memories that at times arose,
To stain pure joy and trouble high repose.
He soon his first affection linked anew,
In that most honest passion finding grace,
His soul with primal vigour to endue,
And crush the memories that at times arose,
To stain pure joy and trouble high repose.
Never again that dear and dangerous land,
So fresh with all her weight of time and story,
Her winterless delights and slumbers bland,
On thrones of shade, amid a world of glory,
Did he behold: the flashing cup could please
No longer him who knew the poison-lees.
So fresh with all her weight of time and story,
Her winterless delights and slumbers bland,
On thrones of shade, amid a world of glory,
Did he behold: the flashing cup could please
No longer him who knew the poison-lees.
So lived he, pious, innocent, and brave,
The best of friends I ever saw on earth:
And now the uncommunicable grave
Has closed on him, and left us but his worth;
I have revealed this strange and secret tale,
Of human fancy and the powers of bale.
The best of friends I ever saw on earth:
And now the uncommunicable grave
Has closed on him, and left us but his worth;
I have revealed this strange and secret tale,
Of human fancy and the powers of bale.
He told it me, one autumn evening mild,
Sitting, greyhair'd, beneath an old oak tree,
His dear true wife beside him, and a child,
Youngest of many, dancing round his knee,—
And bade me, if I would, in fragrant rhymes
Embalm it, to be known in after-times.
Sitting, greyhair'd, beneath an old oak tree,
His dear true wife beside him, and a child,
Youngest of many, dancing round his knee,—
And bade me, if I would, in fragrant rhymes
Embalm it, to be known in after-times.
A bird is by no means an uncommon actor in a drama of this kind. It is recorded that, at the Council of Basle, three pious doctors were wont to walk out daily and discuss points of deep theology, but that, as soon as the song of a certain nightingale reached their ears, their argument was inevitably confused; they contradicted themselves, drew false conclusions, and were occasionally very near falling into heresy. The thought struck one of them to exorcise the nightingale, and the devil flew visibly out of a bush, and left the disputants at peace. See also the beautiful story of “The Monk and Bird,” in Mr. Trench's poems.
318
CHARLEMAGNE, AND THE HYMN OF CHRIST.
“And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of
Olives.”—
Matt. xxvi. 30; Mark xiv. 26.
The great King Karl sat in his secret room,—
He had sat there all day;
He had not called on minstrel knight or groom
To wile one hour away.
He had sat there all day;
He had not called on minstrel knight or groom
To wile one hour away.
Of arms or royal toil he had no care,
Nor e'en of royal mirth;
As if a poor lone monk he rather were,
Than lord of half the earth.
Nor e'en of royal mirth;
As if a poor lone monk he rather were,
Than lord of half the earth.
But chance he had some pleasant company,
Dear wife, familiar friend,
With whom to let the quiet hours slip by,
As if they had no end.
Dear wife, familiar friend,
With whom to let the quiet hours slip by,
As if they had no end.
The learnèd Alcuin, that large-browed clerk,
Was there within, and none beside;
A book they read, and, where the sense was dark,
He was a trusty guide.
Was there within, and none beside;
A book they read, and, where the sense was dark,
He was a trusty guide.
What book had worth so long to occupy
The thought of such a king,
To make the weight of all that sovereignty
Be a forgotten thing?
The thought of such a king,
To make the weight of all that sovereignty
Be a forgotten thing?
319
Surely it were no other than the one,
Whose every line is fraught
With what a mightier King than He had done,
Conquered, endured, and taught.
Whose every line is fraught
With what a mightier King than He had done,
Conquered, endured, and taught.
There his great soul, drawn onward by the eye,
Saw in plain chronicle portrayed
The slow unfolding of the mystery
On which its life was stayed.
Saw in plain chronicle portrayed
The slow unfolding of the mystery
On which its life was stayed.
There read he how when Jesus, our dear Lord,
To men of sin and dust had given,
By the transforming magic of his word,
The bread of very Heaven;
To men of sin and dust had given,
By the transforming magic of his word,
The bread of very Heaven;
So that our race, by Adam's fatal food
Reduced to base decline,
Partaking of that body and that blood,
Might be again divine,—
Reduced to base decline,
Partaking of that body and that blood,
Might be again divine,—
After this wondrous largess, and before
The unimagined pain,
Which, in Gethsemane, the Saviour bore
Within his heart and brain,—
The unimagined pain,
Which, in Gethsemane, the Saviour bore
Within his heart and brain,—
He read, how these two acts of Love between,
Ere that prolific day was dim,
Christ and his Saints, like men with minds serene,
Together sung a hymn.
Ere that prolific day was dim,
Christ and his Saints, like men with minds serene,
Together sung a hymn.
320
These things he read in childly faith sincere,
Then paused and fixed his eye,
And said with kingly utterance—“I must hear
That Hymn before I die.
Then paused and fixed his eye,
And said with kingly utterance—“I must hear
That Hymn before I die.
“I will send forth through sea and sun and snows
To lands of every tongue,
To try if there be not some one which knows
The music Jesus sung.
To lands of every tongue,
To try if there be not some one which knows
The music Jesus sung.
“For I have found delight in songs profane
Trolled by a foolish boy,
And when the monks intone a pious strain,
My heart is strong in joy;
Trolled by a foolish boy,
And when the monks intone a pious strain,
My heart is strong in joy;
“How blessèd then to hear those harmonies,
Which Christ's own voice divine engaged!
'Twould be as if a wind from Paradise
A wounded soul assuaged.”
Which Christ's own voice divine engaged!
'Twould be as if a wind from Paradise
A wounded soul assuaged.”
Within the Emperor's mind that anxious thought
Lay travailing all night long,
He dreamed that Magi to his hand had brought
The burthen of the Song;
Lay travailing all night long,
He dreamed that Magi to his hand had brought
The burthen of the Song;
And when to his grave offices he rose,
He kept his earnest will,
To offer untold guerdons unto those
Who should that dream fulfil.
He kept his earnest will,
To offer untold guerdons unto those
Who should that dream fulfil.
321
But first he called to counsel in the hall
Wise priests of reverend name,
And with an open countenance to them all
Declared his hope and aim.
Wise priests of reverend name,
And with an open countenance to them all
Declared his hope and aim.
He said, “It is God's pleasure, that my will
Is made the natural law
Of many nations, so that out of ill
All good things I may draw.
Is made the natural law
Of many nations, so that out of ill
All good things I may draw.
“Therefore this holy mission I decree,
Sparing no pains or cost,
That thus those sounds of dearest memory
Be not for ever lost.”
Sparing no pains or cost,
That thus those sounds of dearest memory
Be not for ever lost.”
They spake. “Tradition streameth thro' our race,
Most like the gentle whistling air,
To which of old Elias veiled his face,
Conscious that God was there:
Most like the gentle whistling air,
To which of old Elias veiled his face,
Conscious that God was there:
“Not in the storm, the earthquake, and the flame,
That troubled Horeb's brow,
The splendour and the power of God then came,
Nor thus he cometh now.
That troubled Horeb's brow,
The splendour and the power of God then came,
Nor thus he cometh now.
“The silent water filtereth through earth,
One day to bless the summer land;
The Word of God in Man slow bubbleth forth,
Touched by a worthy hand.
One day to bless the summer land;
The Word of God in Man slow bubbleth forth,
Touched by a worthy hand.
322
“Thus, in the memory of some careful Jew
May lurk the record of a tune
Wont to be sung in ceremonial due
After the Paschal noon;
May lurk the record of a tune
Wont to be sung in ceremonial due
After the Paschal noon;
“And thy deep yearning for this mystic song
May give mankind at last
Some charm and blessing that has slept full long
The slumber of the Past.”
May give mankind at last
Some charm and blessing that has slept full long
The slumber of the Past.”
The King rejoiced, and, at this high behest,
Men, to all toil and change inured,
Passed out to search the World if East or West
That legend still endured.
Men, to all toil and change inured,
Passed out to search the World if East or West
That legend still endured.
What good or ill those venturous hearts befell,
What glory or what shame,—
How far they wandered, I have not to tell;
Each has his separate fame.
What glory or what shame,—
How far they wandered, I have not to tell;
Each has his separate fame.
I only know, that when the weight of hours
The prime of mortal heads had bowed,
He, slowly letting go his outward powers,
Spoke from his couch aloud:—
The prime of mortal heads had bowed,
He, slowly letting go his outward powers,
Spoke from his couch aloud:—
“My soul has waited many a lingering year
To taste that one delight,
And now I know at last that I shall hear
The hymn of Christ to-night.
To taste that one delight,
And now I know at last that I shall hear
The hymn of Christ to-night.
323
“Look out, good friends! be prompt to welcome home,
Straight to my presence bring,
My messengers, who hither furnished come
The Song of Christ to sing.”
Straight to my presence bring,
My messengers, who hither furnished come
The Song of Christ to sing.”
Dark sank that night, but darker rose the morn,
That found the western earth
Of the divinest presence stripped and shorn
It ever woke to birth.
That found the western earth
Of the divinest presence stripped and shorn
It ever woke to birth.
It seemed beyond the common lawful sway
Of Death and Nature o'er our kind,
That such a one as He should pass away.
And aught be left behind.
Of Death and Nature o'er our kind,
That such a one as He should pass away.
And aught be left behind.
In Aachen Abbey's consecrated ground,
Within the hollowed stone,
They placed the imperial body, robed and crowned,
Seated as on a throne.
Within the hollowed stone,
They placed the imperial body, robed and crowned,
Seated as on a throne.
While the blest spirit holds communion free
With that eternal quire,
Of which on earth to trace the memory
Was his devout desire.
With that eternal quire,
Of which on earth to trace the memory
Was his devout desire.
It is probable that the hymn sung on this occasion was the Hallel, or part of it. The Hallel is invariably chanted in all Jewish families on the two first evenings of the Passover, and consists of Psalms 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, and 118, and is also read in the synagogue on every day of that feast. The music is not different from that of other Hebrew chants; but the Song of Moses, which is chanted on the seventh day of the Passover, has a peculiar traditional air, which is probably the earliest musical composition preserved to our times.
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