 | Anne Evans: Poems and Music |  |
93
ORINDA.
A Ballad.
At sundown of a summer's day,
When the world was growing still,
Came sad Orinda forth alone
And climbed the stony hill.
When the world was growing still,
Came sad Orinda forth alone
And climbed the stony hill.
She sought the wide and dreary moor,
Where tracks were few and small;
But where Orinda set her foot
Was never a track at all.
Where tracks were few and small;
But where Orinda set her foot
Was never a track at all.
Nor man nor beast she met abroad
Amid the gorse and ling,
Only the little flittermouse
Was chirping on the wing.
Amid the gorse and ling,
Only the little flittermouse
Was chirping on the wing.
The moor lay bleak on either hand,
But as far as one might see,
Right on before Orinda's face,
There stood a single tree.
But as far as one might see,
Right on before Orinda's face,
There stood a single tree.
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And on that tree, as on a mark,
Her two blue eyes were set:
She held her course through ling and gorse,
Nor turned for any let.
Her two blue eyes were set:
She held her course through ling and gorse,
Nor turned for any let.
What time she rose above the hill
The sky was glowing red;
But ay on the way the twilight gray
Came thickening overhead.
The sky was glowing red;
But ay on the way the twilight gray
Came thickening overhead.
And when she drew anigh the tree,
The moon shone broad and bright:
A sighing silvery tree it stood
Alone there in the night.
The moon shone broad and bright:
A sighing silvery tree it stood
Alone there in the night.
Across the shadow of the tree
There flowed a glittering brook:
Orinda turned and followed it,
With never a backwood look.
There flowed a glittering brook:
Orinda turned and followed it,
With never a backwood look.
The brook flowed on from East to West,
Flowed on from North to South;
Flowed on below a rugged rock,
And past a cavern's mouth.
Flowed on from North to South;
Flowed on below a rugged rock,
And past a cavern's mouth.
And when she saw that same cavern
She balanced never a whit,
But waded through the chill water
And entered into it.
She balanced never a whit,
But waded through the chill water
And entered into it.
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All in the low and black cavern
She reckoned slowly o'er
Twenty paces at the side;
Twenty, and no more.
She reckoned slowly o'er
Twenty paces at the side;
Twenty, and no more.
Thereby a hidden opening was,
The trick whereof she knew,
Which groping in the damp darkness
She found, and so passed through.
The trick whereof she knew,
Which groping in the damp darkness
She found, and so passed through.
Thence mounted she a winding stair
Up to a narrow door:
The key which should that door undo
On a silken string she wore.
Up to a narrow door:
The key which should that door undo
On a silken string she wore.
She kissed the faded silken string,
She kissed the little key:
“O mother dear! O mother dead!
Thy lost love rescues me!”
She kissed the little key:
“O mother dear! O mother dead!
Thy lost love rescues me!”
So entered she a dim chapel,
By veinéd vaulting spanned,
On many clustered marble shafts
Upreared on either hand;
By veinéd vaulting spanned,
On many clustered marble shafts
Upreared on either hand;
Wherein, through mazy masonry,
Deep-set in arches old,
Fell window-slants of stained moonshine
Across the pavement cold.
Deep-set in arches old,
Fell window-slants of stained moonshine
Across the pavement cold.
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And as Orinda lightly trod
Adown that chapel fair,
The lustres rose up one by one,
And glided over her hair.
Adown that chapel fair,
The lustres rose up one by one,
And glided over her hair.
Into an ancient rich cloister
She from the chapel passed,
And where the shadow shrouded her,
Made she her halt at last.
She from the chapel passed,
And where the shadow shrouded her,
Made she her halt at last.
All black and white, in the clear moonlight,
Stood up the chapel wall:
Right to the tip of the pinnacles
You might scan the tracery small;
Stood up the chapel wall:
Right to the tip of the pinnacles
You might scan the tracery small;
And eke the grim and starkthroat crew
Of gurgoyles gaping wide,
Which, weather-scarred, with eyeballs hard,
Into the cloister pried.
Of gurgoyles gaping wide,
Which, weather-scarred, with eyeballs hard,
Into the cloister pried.
So quiet was all, that high on the wall,
In a little whiff of wind,
You might hear the edge of an ivy-leaf
Grate on the stone behind.
In a little whiff of wind,
You might hear the edge of an ivy-leaf
Grate on the stone behind.
Also the beat of the old clock
At work within his tower:
Orinda hearkened wistfully
What time he told the hour.
At work within his tower:
Orinda hearkened wistfully
What time he told the hour.
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And “Dost thou count to me,” she said,
“These hours which come and go;
Or count them to the waiting Dead,
Whose bodies lie below?”
“These hours which come and go;
Or count them to the waiting Dead,
Whose bodies lie below?”
But when the last of the midnight strokes
Came shivered in its fall,
A sound of rustling raiment rose,
And pattering feet withal.
Came shivered in its fall,
A sound of rustling raiment rose,
And pattering feet withal.
And straight there swept a darksome train
The lofty cloister through,
Of nuns who toward the chapel went
In silence, two and two.
The lofty cloister through,
Of nuns who toward the chapel went
In silence, two and two.
And last of all walked slowly by
The abbess old and frail,
Who led a little blooming maid
With never a hood nor veil.
The abbess old and frail,
Who led a little blooming maid
With never a hood nor veil.
So passed they into chapel all,
And soon upon the air
Came echoes of low orisons
Across the cloister-square.
And soon upon the air
Came echoes of low orisons
Across the cloister-square.
Then suddenly there burst abroad
Strong harmony of praise:—
Orinda stood and wept aloud:
So would she end her days!
Strong harmony of praise:—
Orinda stood and wept aloud:
So would she end her days!
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The service o'er, those nuns once more,
With dull and muffled sound,
Swept all before Orinda's face,
To lowly pallets bound.
With dull and muffled sound,
Swept all before Orinda's face,
To lowly pallets bound.
“Henceforth,” she thought, “O tranquil souls,
Be your calm rest my own!
But yet this night I would be free
To watch here all alone.”
Be your calm rest my own!
But yet this night I would be free
To watch here all alone.”
The last again of the darksome train
Came by that abbess mild;
And still beside her, hand in hand,
There walked the blooming child.
Came by that abbess mild;
And still beside her, hand in hand,
There walked the blooming child.
“A solemn masque,” Orinda said:
“These two play Life and Death:”
Anon the child began to speak
To the abbess, under her breath,
“These two play Life and Death:”
Anon the child began to speak
To the abbess, under her breath,
“I love to stand by the North window;
But I would I could look through;
For my father he dwells in the North,
And my little brother too.”
But I would I could look through;
For my father he dwells in the North,
And my little brother too.”
“O North and South,” the abbess replied,
“'Tis a world of sorrow and sin:
Without yon wall it is perilous all:
Rest thankful, child, within.”
“'Tis a world of sorrow and sin:
Without yon wall it is perilous all:
Rest thankful, child, within.”
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The child looked out upon the sky,
And musing spoke again:
“One's heart may cry for its liberty
Most when the most in vain.”
And musing spoke again:
“One's heart may cry for its liberty
Most when the most in vain.”
No further answer uttered then
That abbess grave and old;
But softly on the child's red lip
She laid a finger cold;
That abbess grave and old;
But softly on the child's red lip
She laid a finger cold;
And softly down the long cloister,
And by a little door,
The unequal footsteps passed away:
Orinda heard no more.
And by a little door,
The unequal footsteps passed away:
Orinda heard no more.
She lingered in the lone cloister,
Nor marked how time sped by,
But the clock went on in his old tower
And the moon went over the sky.
Nor marked how time sped by,
But the clock went on in his old tower
And the moon went over the sky.
The light came gliding to her foot,
Came gleaming in her face:
Then with a sigh departed she
From that cold lurking-place.
Came gleaming in her face:
Then with a sigh departed she
From that cold lurking-place.
She came into a great garden,
Beside a granite wall:
Bright casements there enframéd were
In niches old and small.
Beside a granite wall:
Bright casements there enframéd were
In niches old and small.
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She stood before a little window,
The midmost of the row;
With a blowing eglantine above,
And lily-buds below.
The midmost of the row;
With a blowing eglantine above,
And lily-buds below.
“Ah, fair white flowers,” Orinda said,
“'Tis meet ye thrive so well,
Where sprights in saintly innocence
And peace unbroken dwell!”
“'Tis meet ye thrive so well,
Where sprights in saintly innocence
And peace unbroken dwell!”
There rose a face in that window:
Looked right out on her own;
All in a woful staring trance,
And with a shuddering groan.
Looked right out on her own;
All in a woful staring trance,
And with a shuddering groan.
“They took me ere my life was done,
And laid me here in the pit!
I am pent up quick in the close darkness!
I am mad, I am mad of it!”
And laid me here in the pit!
I am pent up quick in the close darkness!
I am mad, I am mad of it!”
So ghastly glared the unblinking eyes,
The fixéd eyes of gray,
So fierce and frantic was the voice,
Orinda shrank away.
The fixéd eyes of gray,
So fierce and frantic was the voice,
Orinda shrank away.
And that child's words came back to her,
With a sharp sudden pain:
“One's heart may cry for its liberty,
Most when the most in vain.”
With a sharp sudden pain:
“One's heart may cry for its liberty,
Most when the most in vain.”
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She wandered in the still garden,
All fresh with summer dew,
Through hedges of sweet lavender,
And rosemary, and rue;
All fresh with summer dew,
Through hedges of sweet lavender,
And rosemary, and rue;
By old thick-flowering elder-trees
Low-branching overhead,
She wandered with a mind perturbed,
And with a faltering tread;
Low-branching overhead,
She wandered with a mind perturbed,
And with a faltering tread;
Till straying down a broad alley,
When the moon was low in the West,
She found a little hazel-bower
Wherein she sank to rest.
When the moon was low in the West,
She found a little hazel-bower
Wherein she sank to rest.
At length the day began to dawn
Up in the silent sky;
But she amid the waxing light
Slept on right heavily.
Up in the silent sky;
But she amid the waxing light
Slept on right heavily.
The stare looked out from the walnut-tree,
And piped so sweet and clear:
The lark and the throstle 'gan merrily whistle,
And blithe birds far and near.
And piped so sweet and clear:
The lark and the throstle 'gan merrily whistle,
And blithe birds far and near.
The lightfoot squirrel was astir:
The bee flew humming by;
But she amid the wakening all
Slept on right heavily.
The bee flew humming by;
But she amid the wakening all
Slept on right heavily.
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At the convent gate, ere the morn grew late,
A minstrel took his stand;
With a ragged cloak upon his back
And a cithern in his hand.
A minstrel took his stand;
With a ragged cloak upon his back
And a cithern in his hand.
The nuns' confessor paced the court
With measured steps and slow,
A-reading in a little book
As he went to and fro.
With measured steps and slow,
A-reading in a little book
As he went to and fro.
“No good cometh of light music,”
Said he, when he drew near:
“Go on thy way; or if thou wilt stay
And taste of the traveller's cheer,
Said he, when he drew near:
“Go on thy way; or if thou wilt stay
And taste of the traveller's cheer,
“Yet will we none of that thy craft
Fantastical and vain:
Here is no leisure for such-like pleasure
We sing in another strain.”
Fantastical and vain:
Here is no leisure for such-like pleasure
We sing in another strain.”
With that he turned him into the house,
And the minstrel hung his head;
But the portress pale brought a draught of ale,
And a crust of the wheaten bread.
And the minstrel hung his head;
But the portress pale brought a draught of ale,
And a crust of the wheaten bread.
Full dearly loved this pale portress
The airs of her youth gone by:
She sent him away, but she bade him play
By the garden wall so high.
The airs of her youth gone by:
She sent him away, but she bade him play
By the garden wall so high.
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There was a broad and smooth alley
Lay close within the wall;
Screenéd from view by the rows of yew,
Which stood so trim and tall.
Lay close within the wall;
Screenéd from view by the rows of yew,
Which stood so trim and tall.
Of threescore years, and five to that,
This portress lacked not much:
She had been lame for many a day,
And went ay with a crutch.
This portress lacked not much:
She had been lame for many a day,
And went ay with a crutch.
Yet swiftly stole she from the gate
To win that alley near:
And over the wall came the gay music
She had a mind to hear.
To win that alley near:
And over the wall came the gay music
She had a mind to hear.
She fell a-dancing then and there,
Her crutch she flung away:
Down fell her hood, and down it hung,
Down fell her locks of gray.
Her crutch she flung away:
Down fell her hood, and down it hung,
Down fell her locks of gray.
And eke she prattled while she danced:
“I doubt, I doubt,” quoth she,
“There's never a one i' the old house yon
Could step so jauntily!”
“I doubt, I doubt,” quoth she,
“There's never a one i' the old house yon
Could step so jauntily!”
When sad Orinda, sleeping on,
Heard that same minstrel play,
She dreamed a dream of a noble knight,
And a castle far away.
Heard that same minstrel play,
She dreamed a dream of a noble knight,
And a castle far away.
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She never minded in her sleep,
Though waking well she knew,
How far away that castle lay,
Beyond the waters blue.
Though waking well she knew,
How far away that castle lay,
Beyond the waters blue.
She never minded in her dream
How that brave knight was dead;
Though her own hands had garlanded
The stone above his head.
How that brave knight was dead;
Though her own hands had garlanded
The stone above his head.
Time past arose on that old air,
And closed her lightly round;
And she lay still in the green arbour,
With gentle fancies crowned.
And closed her lightly round;
And she lay still in the green arbour,
With gentle fancies crowned.
But when the minstrel changed his tune,
Her mood was overthrown:
A trouble came across her face,
And from her lips a moan.
Her mood was overthrown:
A trouble came across her face,
And from her lips a moan.
Then opening slow bewildered eyes,
She marvelled much to spy
That silly portress, bent and lame,
A-frolicking hard by.
She marvelled much to spy
That silly portress, bent and lame,
A-frolicking hard by.
And in a while those very words
Came back to her again:
“One's heart may cry for its liberty
Most when the most in vain.”
Came back to her again:
“One's heart may cry for its liberty
Most when the most in vain.”
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The portress was a scared woman
When next she turned her round,
To light upon that strange lady
Within the garden ground.
When next she turned her round,
To light upon that strange lady
Within the garden ground.
And “If you be the portress here,
As so you seem to be,
And that the key of the outer gate,
Come open it now for me.”
As so you seem to be,
And that the key of the outer gate,
Come open it now for me.”
The portress was a scared woman,
A-panting where she stood:
She pounced upon her crutch anon,
And shuffled on her hood.
A-panting where she stood:
She pounced upon her crutch anon,
And shuffled on her hood.
She tarried for no parley then,
But up the alley hied,
Betook her to the outer gate,
And flung it open wide.
But up the alley hied,
Betook her to the outer gate,
And flung it open wide.
And thus Orinda, once for all,
The convent bounds forsook;
Back toward the moor she went her way,
Beside the winding brook.
The convent bounds forsook;
Back toward the moor she went her way,
Beside the winding brook.
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