Golden Histories, etc :: :: University of Virginia Library

All day they built, and wall and tower stood crown'd
Among the sunbeams. Here some column grew
To perfect shape, here some thin minaret
Soared to the clouds; here dome or massy roof
Swelled to completion, or ethereal arch
Up like a rainbow sprang, till all the work
Looked glorious, and the angels called it good.

Strong limb, fine hand, true eye, and subtle brain
Had toiled, thro' glowing days and balmy nights,
For nine long years, at their imperial task;
And now the work its crowning finish took,
The workmen smiled, then whispered to their hearts
Soft flattering words, and paused amid their toil,
Like men who feel that they have greatly done.

So pausing, under the large star of day,
For they all night, and till the dawn had wrought,
What saw they, or what felt they, that they looked

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Helpless, bewildered, like to men that wake,
Dashed out of sleep by some mysterious woe!
Was it a dream, or did their labour fade
Dreamlike away? did stone from stone withdraw,
And all that mighty fabric which o'erhung
The day and night, like some frail vision pass?
They looked, they touched, they moved, they called aloud.
It was no dream-no dream: the solid walls
Were vanished, and their nine years' labour lost.

With the new day did they their task renew,
For noble hearts should fight for evermore,
And conquer fate; and lo! the hands that shape
The temples of their gods, and down all time
Transmit the perfect beauty they create,
Are pliant, strong, fine-fingered, ample-palmed,
Instinct with hope and courage as with art.

So thrice three days the master-masons wrought,
And thrice three nights the uncreating Powers,
That love not Order, which makes strong the world,
Nor Beauty, that gives gladness to all life,
Undid what they had done. The angels looked
Forth from their silver bowers at morn or eve,
And wept, and broke their harpstrings, but no strength
Was in their hands, for evil is of God,

“I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.”—Isaiah xiv.7.

Who makes a nobler good grow out of ill,
From old disorder calls new order up,

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And crowns the sons of Chaos, bearing palms.

So thrice three days they toiled, but when the night,
Following the tenth fair day, with opiate wand
Closed the tired eyes of men, Manoli slept,
And a dream came, and with the dream a voice:
“Cease! cease! Manoli! so the vision said,
“Cease: for your solid-seeming walls and towers
“Shall fade, and fade, until the victim come
“Whom the dark lords demand. Swear, therefore, swear,
“Swear one and all; and secret be the oath.
“Swear that the first sweet woman, whom ye see,
“The first sweet woman that with morning comes,
“To cheer and serve you, be it wife or maid,
“Sister or daughter, ere her tender life
“Have opened all its blossoms to the sun,
“Shall perish; housed with death ere yet she die.”

Manoli heard and took the deadly oath
Scarce knowing what he did. So much the hearts
Of men who live for some o'ermastering thought,
That shapes or seems to shape the world anew,
Forget the world that is: still loving more
The far-off image of a faultless life,
Some fair ideal-world without a tear,
Than common men with common griefs and joys.

Till sunrise slept Manoli; with the sun
He rose, and, wind-like, clomb the neighbouring height,
And with great eyes, far travelling o'er the fields,

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Far o'er the fields and o'er the level road,
Looked left, then right, then left, then right again.
O fear! O sorrow! whom does he behold?
Whom sees he coming? Through the dewy fields,
Amid the lily flowers—a lily too—
She comes; he sees her; he beholds her come,
His darling of one summer, his sweet wife!
Manoli clasped his hands, he looked to heaven,
As men do ever when sharp peril calls.
He prayed. What can men do when they are weak,
And God alone in all the world is strong—
What can men do but pray? “O God,” he cried,
“Send Thou the foaming rain-flood, let it scoop
“The earth away, and ye, O rivers! flow,
“And hurl the boiling wave o'er thundering rocks,
“To stay my darling, my beloved, my wife!”

And the Lord heard him, and the rain-floods walked
Broad-trampling over earth, and rivers rose,
And smoking waves fell thundering o'er the rocks,
But she went onward—nearer to her fate!
Manoli knelt, and clasped his hands again;
“O God!” he cried, “send Thou a conquering wind,
“Whose passionate breath shall root up pine and oak.
“O wind! heap rock on rock, and hill on hill,
“To stay my friend, my darling, my sweet wife!”
God heard, and pitied, and the obedient wind
Came down, and with its wild and panting breath
Uprooted pine and oak, heaped rock on rock.
Piled hill on hill, to stay Manoli's wife!

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But in long mazes, round and round she went,
Still onward, onward, nearer to her fate.

Meanwhile the master-masons saw her come,—
The lords of art that, throned above all life,
Make thought and fancy blossom out of stone,
And live for them—them only. Far away
They saw her come, and as a sudden breeze
Creeps o'er still waters, shivering as it creeps,
So ran the sharp delight thro' every soul;
For hope rose glittering like some pilot star,
And the large lust of beauty that demands
All sacrifice of child,or wife, or self,

“The affections, even in the affectionate, are powerless against the tyranny of ideas.”—(Lewes' “Life of Goethe,”vol.i.p.146.)

Looked now for ripe fulfilment. So they stood,
With open, breathless lips, and lifted hands,
And full-orbed eyes, quivering with eager joy,
Expectant, silent. But Manoli came,
And raised his wife and bore her in his arms,
And said-as any child in sport might say:

Rest, O my noble love, rest, rest, awhile!
“Rest, royal heart, until we raise thee here
“A dainty pleasure-hall; where marble blooms
“Into all fairy shapes of lily and rose.
“Far from rude sights and sounds here rest, love, rest
“And sleep as men who sleep in Paradise!”
Then, as she stood, the marble tower grew up,
With bloom of rose and lily. Swift and calm,
As men that mean to do a dreadful deed,
The master-masons built, and with them built

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Manoli; and the walls rose high and higher,
From dainty ankle up to dainty knee—
Till all that childlike pleasure left her face,
And, “Ah,” she cried, “enough, enough, my love!
“Enough! Manoli, master, stop the work—
“Stop it; your sport grows deadly. Hear my cry!
“Oh! hear your little one—your pet—your wife!
“By that first kiss you gave me when we sate
“Among the violets by the mossy tree,
“And by the timid kiss that answered yours,
“Hear, hear, Manoli—husband—master—hear!”

Manoli heard. But they went building on,
And the wall rose, from ankle fair, to knee
Yet fairer; and from knee to fairest waist,
Up to her roseate breast—love's proper home.
Then fear came o'er her, and she cried again:
“Manoli! O Manoli—husband—friend!
“Enough, enough! Cease, cease, your building, love!—
“You frighten me, more timid now than wont,
“Oh! think of the sweet babe that shall be born—
“My child and thine! Oh! think of his meek smile,
“And of his twining fingers catching yours,
“His father—O my lord! Manoli! cease,
“Cease ere you kill the child; the walls close round
“My little one, thy child, thy child and mine!”

He heard her, but he still went building on,
And the wall rose from ankle fair to knee
Yet fairer, from fair knee to fairest waist,

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From fairest waist to breast all violet-veined,
Love's proper home, till o'er her pleading eyes,
And lovely, lifted hands, the marble bower
Rose, covering all her beauty from the day,
While thus her loving voice came mixed with tears,—
“Now, now the walls close round. I die, I die.
“My lord, farewell! I kiss thee ere I die;
“Forgive me if with deed, or thought of mine,
“Not knowing it, I have offended thee.
“Manoli! master! now the darkness comes,
“I feel for thy dear hand amid the gloom,
“My lord, my love, my master, give it me,
“Oh! give it me, Manoli, ere I die,
“Oh! give it, give it!” Thus she wailed and prayed,
Till all that love and sorrow from the world
Had passed for ever, and amid the fear
And gloom of the great shadow men call Death,
She slept as those who sleep in Paradise.

But they went building on, and stone on stone
Was reared, and the great fabric touched the sky,
As days clasped hand with days. Supreme it stood,
Majestic, massive, silent, beautiful!
And men came there, and wondered while they gazed,
And thronged around the masters, as they told
Of the true, noble life that passed away,
To round their labour to full-sphered success:—
For always the great conquest of the world
Is won with blood. 'T was so in elder years,
The splendid yesterdays our fathers knew:

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'T is so in these pale faded years of ours;
And when these busy hands and brains are still,
And mightier builders work with lordlier aims,
The same old doom will reign, and men will die,
To crown their age with beauty, and to bring
Imperial days while they go building on.