Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
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| JUVENILE POEMS. |
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 | Poems |  |
219
JUVENILE POEMS.
221
TO THE MEMORY OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
(1831.)
Where is Alastor gone,—
The fairy queen's own latest born,
Where is he gone?
Has the far-scenting roe-buck at the time
Appointed, shed his antlers? does the pride
Of the wide solitary forests lie
Moss-overgrown in slimy lizard's nook?
Has the swift ostrich of the desert lost
The long limb of her strength, and laid her down
On the hard earth, which erewhile her feet spurned,
Where mole and burrowing owl,
And red-eyed weazel, prowl?
The fairy queen's own latest born,
Where is he gone?
Has the far-scenting roe-buck at the time
Appointed, shed his antlers? does the pride
Of the wide solitary forests lie
Moss-overgrown in slimy lizard's nook?
Has the swift ostrich of the desert lost
The long limb of her strength, and laid her down
On the hard earth, which erewhile her feet spurned,
Where mole and burrowing owl,
And red-eyed weazel, prowl?
Must he too die like other men,
Who lived not like them? He who knew no world
Outside the heart;—
The spirit whose home was the adytum lit
By phantasies as by the stars in their
Blueness of wondrous height; each thought a world
As are the stars, pursuant of its end
Of being; speculating, working, strong,
Having its rayings wrought
Around its brother thought.
Who lived not like them? He who knew no world
Outside the heart;—
The spirit whose home was the adytum lit
By phantasies as by the stars in their
Blueness of wondrous height; each thought a world
222
Of being; speculating, working, strong,
Having its rayings wrought
Around its brother thought.
An earthless garden grew
Around him, aromatic laurel boughs
Waved twining there:
Flowers of Arcadian nature strengthened there,
Transplanted from the wizard's world of dream,
Yea, the old wizard's wand itself did shoot
Like the high priest's, and gave strange blossoming,
And fruit intoxicating mightily.
And a bright rainbow'd shower fell glitteringly
From the most holy font of his clear soul,
Upon this gardened plain
Where Fancy held her reign.
Around him, aromatic laurel boughs
Waved twining there:
Flowers of Arcadian nature strengthened there,
Transplanted from the wizard's world of dream,
Yea, the old wizard's wand itself did shoot
Like the high priest's, and gave strange blossoming,
And fruit intoxicating mightily.
And a bright rainbow'd shower fell glitteringly
From the most holy font of his clear soul,
Upon this gardened plain
Where Fancy held her reign.
A shrine was in the midst
Luxuriously bedecked in its own fire,
As is the sun.
And his heart beat, and his brain whirled, when he
Turned to it; and words leaped forth from his tongue
As its light glorified him, Memnon-like;
And the words were, as pundit, sanscrit-learned,
Revivifies from times of demi-gods,
Drawn from the deepest wells of consciousness,
The world received not; but he proudly passed
The world, and carol'd to
Himself as prophets only do.
Luxuriously bedecked in its own fire,
As is the sun.
And his heart beat, and his brain whirled, when he
Turned to it; and words leaped forth from his tongue
As its light glorified him, Memnon-like;
And the words were, as pundit, sanscrit-learned,
Revivifies from times of demi-gods,
Drawn from the deepest wells of consciousness,
The world received not; but he proudly passed
223
Himself as prophets only do.
The goddess of that shrine
No man hath e'er held commune with, nor seen
With mortal eye,
But thou, wild wingless angel, didst not pause,
But entered to the blaze where spirits alone
Can worship; and didst make libations till
Thou wast so purified, men knew thee not.
Would I could trace thy footsteps up the porch
And to the altar there, so that I too
Would sacrifice in ruth
To thee who worshipped truth.
No man hath e'er held commune with, nor seen
With mortal eye,
But thou, wild wingless angel, didst not pause,
But entered to the blaze where spirits alone
Can worship; and didst make libations till
Thou wast so purified, men knew thee not.
Would I could trace thy footsteps up the porch
And to the altar there, so that I too
Would sacrifice in ruth
To thee who worshipped truth.
Few mourners have appeared:
And meet it is; for he was ever grieved
By others' grief:
Few staves are lifted for the pilgrimage
To follow him; few of the busy world
Can go up to the realms where he did go;
Or breathe the atmosphere he breathed; or cast
The old shell off, and come forth cleansed as he;
Few, few have striven
To make earth heaven.
And meet it is; for he was ever grieved
By others' grief:
Few staves are lifted for the pilgrimage
To follow him; few of the busy world
Can go up to the realms where he did go;
Or breathe the atmosphere he breathed; or cast
The old shell off, and come forth cleansed as he;
Few, few have striven
To make earth heaven.
Men say that he fell blind
By daring to approach this source of Light;
That he fell lame
By travelling far in desperate paths: even so—
Yet reverence we not the martyr? None
Are left us like him; none are left to tune
The cythera, as he did tune it o'er
The white spring flowers on Adonais' grave:
Lone Adonais and Alastor lone!
Their spirits went together; and their earths
Resolved each to the elements they loved,—
One to sunshine and storm,
One flowers and fruits to form.
By daring to approach this source of Light;
That he fell lame
224
Yet reverence we not the martyr? None
Are left us like him; none are left to tune
The cythera, as he did tune it o'er
The white spring flowers on Adonais' grave:
Lone Adonais and Alastor lone!
Their spirits went together; and their earths
Resolved each to the elements they loved,—
One to sunshine and storm,
One flowers and fruits to form.
Sage follows sage afar;
Dark lapse of time between, now marked alone
By their advent.
As star by star arises on the night,
Up through the shades of time past they appear
In lambent haloes burning steadily.
Revolving onward, the eternal wheel
Circles; and still a shine from these wan flames,
God-kindled, follows on. Another flame,
Subtle as lightning,
Is added to the brightening.
Dark lapse of time between, now marked alone
By their advent.
As star by star arises on the night,
Up through the shades of time past they appear
In lambent haloes burning steadily.
Revolving onward, the eternal wheel
Circles; and still a shine from these wan flames,
God-kindled, follows on. Another flame,
Subtle as lightning,
Is added to the brightening.
Still poets reappear,
And still the glow doth thicken to the dawn.
Redness of morn
Gilds our horizon soon! Alastor, thou
Shalt be our guide into the unknown time;
And we will bind about thy cenotaph
The laurel and the olive, and the rose,
The poppy and perennial ivy too;
Glow-worms shall glimmer through the dark green leaves,
And great sphynx-moths fly round it evermore.
And when our many chains are burst,
We'll say, ‘Alastor, thou wast first.’
And still the glow doth thicken to the dawn.
Redness of morn
Gilds our horizon soon! Alastor, thou
Shalt be our guide into the unknown time;
225
The laurel and the olive, and the rose,
The poppy and perennial ivy too;
Glow-worms shall glimmer through the dark green leaves,
And great sphynx-moths fly round it evermore.
And when our many chains are burst,
We'll say, ‘Alastor, thou wast first.’
226
TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN KEATS.
(1832; revised.)
Thou dark-haired love-child, passed
Beyond the censer's odour and its dust,
Enamoured life,
So weak and yet so beautiful thou wert,
A reverential wish doth draw me thus
To rise to thee with measured words, when now
No one regards the poet's quivering string,
Since thine was hushed, who brought the myrtle here
From perfect Arcadie, whose verse
Young earth's freshness could rehearse.
Beyond the censer's odour and its dust,
Enamoured life,
So weak and yet so beautiful thou wert,
A reverential wish doth draw me thus
To rise to thee with measured words, when now
No one regards the poet's quivering string,
Since thine was hushed, who brought the myrtle here
From perfect Arcadie, whose verse
Young earth's freshness could rehearse.
Would that my tears were such
As in the wakening morning, from its leaves
That myrtle drops;
They might be worthy of thy sodded grave,
And sympathetic strengthening afford
To me, the mourner, bending over it,
Until the modern world is rolled away,
And all the splendours of the earlier time
Come down upon this leaden life of ours,
Through an unfolding sky,
Trembling in melody.
As in the wakening morning, from its leaves
That myrtle drops;
They might be worthy of thy sodded grave,
And sympathetic strengthening afford
To me, the mourner, bending over it,
Until the modern world is rolled away,
And all the splendours of the earlier time
Come down upon this leaden life of ours,
227
Trembling in melody.
A bier for earth's beloved!
Trees of Dodona's murmuring prophesies,
Scatter your leaves,
Strewn on the wintry bareness of the clay!
Let the sharp blanching eddies of the storm
Whirl them around the fossed wall where the dead,
The heretic dead, repose beside the tombs
Of ancient Romans, whose songs knew no blight
Of horrors mediæval, but were filled
With blooms and odours from the golden age:
Leaves of the cold last year
Cover his wintry bier.
Trees of Dodona's murmuring prophesies,
Scatter your leaves,
Strewn on the wintry bareness of the clay!
Let the sharp blanching eddies of the storm
Whirl them around the fossed wall where the dead,
The heretic dead, repose beside the tombs
Of ancient Romans, whose songs knew no blight
Of horrors mediæval, but were filled
With blooms and odours from the golden age:
Leaves of the cold last year
Cover his wintry bier.
Through the stripped pergola
The wind wails low, the hard soil blackens round
The dead flower-stem;
Sunk in wet weeds foul rottenness consumes
The pleasant things that were, as it must be
When the wheat falls, to be the bread for us;
And what the thresher leaves the night-wind sweeps:
After the curfew comes the silent hour:
Night reigns most dark before
Morn's breezes evermore.
The wind wails low, the hard soil blackens round
The dead flower-stem;
Sunk in wet weeds foul rottenness consumes
The pleasant things that were, as it must be
When the wheat falls, to be the bread for us;
And what the thresher leaves the night-wind sweeps:
After the curfew comes the silent hour:
Night reigns most dark before
Morn's breezes evermore.
No eventide was thine,
But like the young athlete from the bath,
For one brief hour,
You stood in the arena yet uncrowned,
Doubtful, although beyond all venturers strong;
Yes, strong to guide Hyperion's coursers round
The love-inscribèd zodiac of all time:
Thou youth, who in the gardens Athenine,
The noblest sage had leant upon with pride,
And called thee Musagætes, and thy lyre
Wreathed with the bay
Of the god of day.
But like the young athlete from the bath,
228
You stood in the arena yet uncrowned,
Doubtful, although beyond all venturers strong;
Yes, strong to guide Hyperion's coursers round
The love-inscribèd zodiac of all time:
Thou youth, who in the gardens Athenine,
The noblest sage had leant upon with pride,
And called thee Musagætes, and thy lyre
Wreathed with the bay
Of the god of day.
Not thus, not thus, indeed,
The over-crowded noisy stage received
Thy artful song;
But now the numerous voices have stilled down,
The stage is filled with actors hailing thee,
Hailing thee all too late: the winter's gone,
The dreadful tears are dried that wet the couch
Of thy farewell; the flowers, the fruits, have come;
The firmament of fame
Surrounds thee as with flame.
The over-crowded noisy stage received
Thy artful song;
But now the numerous voices have stilled down,
The stage is filled with actors hailing thee,
Hailing thee all too late: the winter's gone,
The dreadful tears are dried that wet the couch
Of thy farewell; the flowers, the fruits, have come;
The firmament of fame
Surrounds thee as with flame.
And why should we lament
The bitterness that marred not—nay, made pure
And free of fear?
We do not think the Beautiful was soiled,
The melody made less joyful to his ear;
And all else is gone past for evermore,
Or hangs about him like a thin dark veil,
Round the great lustrous limbs now defiled:
Suffering is a hymn,
Sung by the seraphim.
The bitterness that marred not—nay, made pure
And free of fear?
We do not think the Beautiful was soiled,
The melody made less joyful to his ear;
And all else is gone past for evermore,
229
Round the great lustrous limbs now defiled:
Suffering is a hymn,
Sung by the seraphim.
But not for songs like his,—
A mortal bound to earth by all the ties
Of subtlest sense,
And art unsatisfied, untamed, and force
Beyond that known by fettered schoolmen's brains:
Stronger than nimblest faun, behold him dance
Before the wine-fed leopards; hear him shout,
Io Iacche! the meridian sun
Browns his bare breast,—dead is he, or but gone
Into the shade to rest his cymballed hands?
Bacchus hath but shed
Slumber on his dark eyelid.
A mortal bound to earth by all the ties
Of subtlest sense,
And art unsatisfied, untamed, and force
Beyond that known by fettered schoolmen's brains:
Stronger than nimblest faun, behold him dance
Before the wine-fed leopards; hear him shout,
Io Iacche! the meridian sun
Browns his bare breast,—dead is he, or but gone
Into the shade to rest his cymballed hands?
Bacchus hath but shed
Slumber on his dark eyelid.
He sleeps, and dreams perchance,—
Still dreams, of kisses from the crescented
Queen of the stars;
Or of the dolphin-like round waves that froth
About the feet of Aphrodite, still
In wonder at herself born thus so fair;
Or of the dark heart of the forest shade,
Where Pan, retired from gods' or mortals' ken,
Utters his regular snore
Day and night evermore.
Still dreams, of kisses from the crescented
Queen of the stars;
Or of the dolphin-like round waves that froth
About the feet of Aphrodite, still
In wonder at herself born thus so fair;
Or of the dark heart of the forest shade,
Where Pan, retired from gods' or mortals' ken,
Utters his regular snore
Day and night evermore.
230
Fragrant, and cool, and calm:
Numberless gnats upon the mellowing air
Of sunset spin,
The old boughs reach up to the darkening heaven,
The nightingale makes paradise of pain,
And fills obscurity with loveliness:
Or, yet again—a green hill whence is seen
The far strand strewn with shells, and barred with waves;
Unearthly brightness breaks the clouds—the moon!
Endymion, sleepest thou?
Sleep no more now.
Numberless gnats upon the mellowing air
Of sunset spin,
The old boughs reach up to the darkening heaven,
The nightingale makes paradise of pain,
And fills obscurity with loveliness:
Or, yet again—a green hill whence is seen
The far strand strewn with shells, and barred with waves;
Unearthly brightness breaks the clouds—the moon!
Endymion, sleepest thou?
Sleep no more now.
I would some words inurn
Worthy the poet's name to whom I bow,
Yet none he needs;
Thou, vestal of the night's mid-watch, and thou,
The heralded of Hesperus, ye speak
Of that sweet name, and shall speak on for aye:
For such as love him with the love he gave,
His cenotaph is raised in Rome,
But the poet hath no tomb.
Worthy the poet's name to whom I bow,
Yet none he needs;
Thou, vestal of the night's mid-watch, and thou,
The heralded of Hesperus, ye speak
Of that sweet name, and shall speak on for aye:
For such as love him with the love he gave,
His cenotaph is raised in Rome,
But the poet hath no tomb.
231
THE INCANTATION OF HERVOR.
(1833.)
At moonrise, Hervor left her couch
Clad and tired and armed, the while
She ceased not muttering magic runes.
The sail was spread, the strenuous oar
Whitened the dark blue waters,
Still she muttered the magic runes;
In one night more they gained the strand,
And she ran forth to the battle-ground
Muttering still the magic runes.
Clad and tired and armed, the while
She ceased not muttering magic runes.
The sail was spread, the strenuous oar
Whitened the dark blue waters,
232
In one night more they gained the strand,
And she ran forth to the battle-ground
Muttering still the magic runes.
‘Father Angantyr, wake, awake!
Thine only daughter, Suafa's child,
Doth charge thee to wake up again,
And give her the gold-hilted sword
Forged by the Dwarves for Suafarla!’
Her right fore-finger pointed like a spear
To the corse-kernel'd mound; no voice replied.
Thine only daughter, Suafa's child,
Doth charge thee to wake up again,
And give her the gold-hilted sword
Forged by the Dwarves for Suafarla!’
Her right fore-finger pointed like a spear
To the corse-kernel'd mound; no voice replied.
‘Ye of the iron shrouds, and shirts of brass,
Ye of the mast-like lance and glaive,
From beneath the stones I stir ye,
From beneath the roots of trees;
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She darkened her eyes with her long fair hands,
She listened and listened, no answer came.
Ye of the mast-like lance and glaive,
From beneath the stones I stir ye,
From beneath the roots of trees;
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She darkened her eyes with her long fair hands,
She listened and listened, no answer came.
‘Are the sons of Angrim wholly dust?
Are they who gloried in blood now ashes?
Ha, ha! can none of the strong dead speak?
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She thrust her arms abroad, with quivering tongue
She cursed, she cursed them in their rottenness.
Are they who gloried in blood now ashes?
Ha, ha! can none of the strong dead speak?
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She thrust her arms abroad, with quivering tongue
She cursed, she cursed them in their rottenness.
233
‘Dust, ashes, worms! so may ye ever be,
Dust, ashes, worms! within your ribs
May the vermin lodge for ever!
It shall be so, unless ye hear me,
And yield up the charmèd sword!’
Here paused she again, and her eyes were seen
Burning out through the dark brown night.
Slowly a dreadful wailing rose;
A white light oozed from out the mould,
She seemed to stand i' the salt sea foam:
The turf was rent, and the black earth yawned.
ANGANTYR.Dust, ashes, worms! within your ribs
May the vermin lodge for ever!
It shall be so, unless ye hear me,
And yield up the charmèd sword!’
Here paused she again, and her eyes were seen
Burning out through the dark brown night.
Slowly a dreadful wailing rose;
A white light oozed from out the mould,
She seemed to stand i' the salt sea foam:
The turf was rent, and the black earth yawned.
O, daughter Hervor, raker among dead bones,
Speaker unto the sealed-up ears of Death,
Why call'st thou? wilt thou rush to hell?
Is sense departed and Odin's gift lost,
That thou art here thus desperately tongued?
Nor father, nor brother, nor friend,
Did cut the turf for me—
Two men escaped-and one still holds
Tirsing, the sword thou seekest,
Tirsing, the incurable wounder.
HERVOR.
Tell'st thou a lie! oh father, so may'st thou
For evermore within flame-chains be bound,
234
If Tirsing be not given me!
ANGANTYR.
And if so, Hervor, hear!
The dead can prophesy, thy race
One by one by this sword shall bleed!
At one of thy sons, O Hervor!
Men shall point and cry, ‘Lo there!
The mother-murderer!’ if this sword shakes
Against his thigh, O Hervor!
HERVOR.
Angantyr! never may'st thou frighten me,
I care not what the dead man's voice can tell.
Angantyr, spells are mine, thou shalt not rest
Until that sword be mine also:
I thought thee brave, but I have found thy hall,
And thou dost quail: it is not good to rust
The sword of heroes;—give it forth!
ANGANTYR.
Stalwart in courage, youngling maid,
Who speakest the runes at midnight,
Powerful in herbs; who holdest the spear
Rune-graven, and standest in helmet and shoe,
Before the blackness and brightness of graves,
The brand thou seekest beneath me lies,
Wrapt in fire thou darest not touch.
235
Lo! how I shall wrench it from thee!
I shall hold its edge unhurt;
The white fire of tombs cannot burn me,
I dread not the white light of death.
ANGANTYR.
Horrible suffering!
Hold thine arm
Away from me:
Perish not yet,
Cover thine eyes
If thou canst not endure it.
HERVOR.
Nothing I see
But what I before knew.
ANGANTYR.
What seest thou now?
HERVOR.
Father! strange things!
ANGANTYR.
Now I ask thee again.
HERVOR.
I see a hand, but it is not that
Of mortal living or dead, and a sword
236
Tirsing is mine! thou hast done well!
Greater triumph now is mine
Than if all Norway bowed to me.
ANGANTYR.
Woman, thou dost not understand,
Rash speech is thine, that sword's thy bane,
Even as 'twas king Hialmar's bane
When in my hand it clove him down:
Hold it thou and hoard it well,
But touch not its two charmèd edges.
Farewell, daughter, all my lands,
Men and ships, arms, gold, and gods,
With this devouring sword are thine.
HERVOR.
Well I shall hold it, I shall lift it,
Till all eyes have seen and feared it,
And my unborn sons shall wield it!
I return now to my bold men,
Where the waves vex the rocking helm:
No wish is mine to lie beside ye
In the hall that burns with death;
No joy is mine to wait morn here
Where the adder is fat and strong,
Or keep thy tomb from closing now.
Sleep then, sires of warriors, sleep!
237
FOUR ACTS OF SAINT CUTHBERT.
FIRST. SAINT CUTHBERT'S TRIAL OF FAITH.
A fair-faced man our Cuthbert was,
The fairest ever seen,
His hair was fair and his eyebrow dark,
And bonny blue his eyen.
The fairest ever seen,
His hair was fair and his eyebrow dark,
And bonny blue his eyen.
His kin were lewd and he was meek,
So he left them in God's fear,
And at morn he sat at his shealing's yett;
The sun shone warm and clear.
So he left them in God's fear,
And at morn he sat at his shealing's yett;
The sun shone warm and clear.
The sun was high, it was so still
On hill and stream and wood,
That forth with he broke into songs
Of praise to God so good.
On hill and stream and wood,
That forth with he broke into songs
Of praise to God so good.
The Saints above the firmament
Said one to another then:
‘Hear ye that song from a land so dark
Of wicked and violent men?’
Said one to another then:
‘Hear ye that song from a land so dark
Of wicked and violent men?’
238
But Christ Himself above the Saints
Heard what was said and sung;
‘The heart of man is dark,’ quoth He,
‘This Cuthbert is but young.’
Heard what was said and sung;
‘The heart of man is dark,’ quoth He,
‘This Cuthbert is but young.’
Therewith a cloud passed o'er the sun
And a shadow o'er Cuthbert's face;
At once his limbs waxed lax and shrank,
And blisters rose apace.
And a shadow o'er Cuthbert's face;
At once his limbs waxed lax and shrank,
And blisters rose apace.
The gold hair of his head grew gray,
His beard grew gray also,
He laid his breviary aside,
For his hand shook to and fro.
His beard grew gray also,
He laid his breviary aside,
For his hand shook to and fro.
The husbond crossed the stubble-field
Bringing his daily bread,
But when that leprous face he saw,
The evil man was glad.
Bringing his daily bread,
But when that leprous face he saw,
The evil man was glad.
‘Ha, Cuthbert, but yestreen a boy,
So old how canst thou be—
Now know I that thou art no Saint,
But God doth punish thee.’
So old how canst thou be—
Now know I that thou art no Saint,
But God doth punish thee.’
The husbond throws his cakes of rye
Upon the bench and goes,
But as he turned the meekest words
Of thanks from Cuthbert rose.
Upon the bench and goes,
But as he turned the meekest words
Of thanks from Cuthbert rose.
239
The maiden from the hill came next
With a bunch of flowers so kind;
Her bowl of milk each second night
Well knew he where to find.
With a bunch of flowers so kind;
Her bowl of milk each second night
Well knew he where to find.
A mountain maid, she was abashed
A clerk to look upon,
And she would wait at eve till he
Into his cell was gone,
Then steal within the yett, and lay
The can upon a stone.
A clerk to look upon,
And she would wait at eve till he
Into his cell was gone,
Then steal within the yett, and lay
The can upon a stone.
That day she sat upon the knoll,
And saw him kneeling there;
She deemed it could not Cuthbert be,
So gray was his brown hair.
And saw him kneeling there;
She deemed it could not Cuthbert be,
So gray was his brown hair.
Then down with silent feet she came
And hid behind the trees,
That by his shealing's end grew straight,
The howf of summer bees.
And hid behind the trees,
That by his shealing's end grew straight,
The howf of summer bees.
She looked from out this covert good,
She saw the change so grim;
But more than ever beautiful
She thought his evening hymn.
She saw the change so grim;
But more than ever beautiful
She thought his evening hymn.
240
The tears then from her sweet eyes fell,
To think of his beautië,
More swiftly gone than sorrel flowers,
More changed than autumn tree.
To think of his beautië,
More swiftly gone than sorrel flowers,
More changed than autumn tree.
Now Cuthbert as he rose from prayer,
He saw the shaking leaves,
And heard the sobs, then asked he,
‘Who is it thus that grieves—
Is it the maiden from the hill
The alms of milk that leaves?’
He saw the shaking leaves,
And heard the sobs, then asked he,
‘Who is it thus that grieves—
Is it the maiden from the hill
The alms of milk that leaves?’
With that he passed the shealing's end,
Among the trees and bent,
But the maiden rose right hastily,
And away in fear she went.
Among the trees and bent,
But the maiden rose right hastily,
And away in fear she went.
The good man smiled to see her run,
Nor murmured he at all,
But read within the holy book
Until the night 'gan fall;
Then cheerfully for sleep turned round,
And shut his wicket small.
Nor murmured he at all,
But read within the holy book
Until the night 'gan fall;
Then cheerfully for sleep turned round,
And shut his wicket small.
Thereafter hunger in him rose,
But none brought cakes of rye,
And sore thirst made him very faint,
But no herd-maid came nigh:
Upon his knees he stumbled down
That praying he might die.
But none brought cakes of rye,
And sore thirst made him very faint,
But no herd-maid came nigh:
241
That praying he might die.
‘As is his prayer shall be his meed,’
Said Christ upon his throne;
When lo, he askèd not for strength
And beauty once his own.
Said Christ upon his throne;
When lo, he askèd not for strength
And beauty once his own.
He askèd not the bread and milk
The neighbours wont to give,
But he gave thanks to God who had
Measured his time to live.
The neighbours wont to give,
But he gave thanks to God who had
Measured his time to live.
The brown cloud passed from off the sun
Now hidden five days and more,
And from his face—he rose therefrom
More beautiful than before!
Now hidden five days and more,
And from his face—he rose therefrom
More beautiful than before!
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SECOND. SAINT CUTHBERT'S PENANCE.
This bield of Melrose wide and tall,
Whereof we four are freres,
Was at the time established first
When Cuthbert grew in years.
Whereof we four are freres,
Was at the time established first
When Cuthbert grew in years.
And so he joined the banded few
Who left their cares and strife,
With vows eschewing shows and gear,
To live a cloistered life.
Who left their cares and strife,
With vows eschewing shows and gear,
To live a cloistered life.
I ween he was more humble than
The lowliest brother there,
Scarce would he dare to look up to
The great gilt rood at prayer
The lowliest brother there,
Scarce would he dare to look up to
The great gilt rood at prayer
Scarce would he take his turn to read
Aloud at the midday meal,
Although he was so learnèd,—
He would the same conceal.
Aloud at the midday meal,
Although he was so learnèd,—
He would the same conceal.
243
Scarce would he speak with fewest words
Of Jesu's love and dole,
But ever and anon the tears
Over his eyelids stole.
Of Jesu's love and dole,
But ever and anon the tears
Over his eyelids stole.
The man whom Jesu died to bless
He sometimes looked like too,
But then his gladness suddenly
To woful sadness grew.
He sometimes looked like too,
But then his gladness suddenly
To woful sadness grew.
Oft would he scan from day to day
Saint Chrysostom's great book,
And all this watching-time no food
Within his lips he took.
Saint Chrysostom's great book,
And all this watching-time no food
Within his lips he took.
Oft by the night, the winter night,
When all are fain to cower,
And other monks their rosaries laid
Aside till matin hour,
He went forth on the crispèd frost
Right through the snow or shower.
When all are fain to cower,
And other monks their rosaries laid
Aside till matin hour,
He went forth on the crispèd frost
Right through the snow or shower.
Then gathered some with whisperings
And twinklings of the eye,
Who went about from cell to cell
Saint Cuthbert to decry.
And twinklings of the eye,
Who went about from cell to cell
Saint Cuthbert to decry.
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But still their spite he noted not,
So byeward and so meek,
And when that night was deepest dark
The door was heard to creak.
So byeward and so meek,
And when that night was deepest dark
The door was heard to creak.
Then from his pallet suddenly
A cunning frere arose;
‘I'll see,’ quoth he, ‘where in the mirk
Our stalwart Cuthbert goes.’
A cunning frere arose;
‘I'll see,’ quoth he, ‘where in the mirk
Our stalwart Cuthbert goes.’
So saying from his couch he slid
And softly followèd him,
Across the wood into the haugh,
Led by the snow-marks dim.
And softly followèd him,
Across the wood into the haugh,
Led by the snow-marks dim.
Late at sunset the sleet had blown
Into the eye of day;
Their slow steps verily were cold,
Imprinted in the clay.
Into the eye of day;
Their slow steps verily were cold,
Imprinted in the clay.
He followed to the river's edge;
But soon repented he
That ever he did on such a chace
With the other freres agree.
But soon repented he
That ever he did on such a chace
With the other freres agree.
For fear came like an icicle
Into his curdled brain,
And sure he felt the cold more keen
Than earthly frost or rain.
Into his curdled brain,
And sure he felt the cold more keen
Than earthly frost or rain.
245
But from the stars shot arrowy sparks
As if alone to him;
Till he waxed more wrothful than afraid,
All woebegone but grim.
As if alone to him;
Till he waxed more wrothful than afraid,
All woebegone but grim.
Quoth he, ‘The youth must have some nook
Wherein to bait him soon;
I'll find him out although I die
I' the sedges in a swoon.’
Wherein to bait him soon;
I'll find him out although I die
I' the sedges in a swoon.’
Upon the sand he set his foot,
He sank up to his thigh,
And further in, hands raised in prayer,
He saw sweet Cuthbert lie.
He sank up to his thigh,
And further in, hands raised in prayer,
He saw sweet Cuthbert lie.
And a voice in his ear
Said clear and low,
‘Until my servant press his bier
What thou hast seen let no man hear;
Thy steps are loosened, go!’
Said clear and low,
‘Until my servant press his bier
What thou hast seen let no man hear;
Thy steps are loosened, go!’
246
THIRD. SAINT CUTHBERT'S HERMITAGE.
The Saint had grown in years, as I
Have now by our Father's grace—
When he left the cloister for the cell,
Alone for a lonelier place.
Have now by our Father's grace—
When he left the cloister for the cell,
Alone for a lonelier place.
He travelled without sack or scrip
As the sun doth day by day,
Till the patient staff he leant upon
Was chafèd half away.
As the sun doth day by day,
Till the patient staff he leant upon
Was chafèd half away.
Nor when he came into a town
Did he go near the lord,
But with the humblest did he house,
And sat at the scantest board.
Did he go near the lord,
But with the humblest did he house,
And sat at the scantest board.
At length upon Norhumber-land,
Beside the hungering sea,
He stood as the landward breezes brought
The fisherman home with glee.
Beside the hungering sea,
He stood as the landward breezes brought
The fisherman home with glee.
247
‘Why stand ye here,’ the fisher said,
‘Your eye on the waters gray?’
‘I see,’ quoth he, ‘an island small,
Afar, like peace, away.’
‘Your eye on the waters gray?’
‘I see,’ quoth he, ‘an island small,
Afar, like peace, away.’
‘An isle of rocks and sand it is,
And no fresh spring is there,
And in its blackened clefts and holes
Devils and changelings fare.’
And no fresh spring is there,
And in its blackened clefts and holes
Devils and changelings fare.’
‘A hermit's benison be thine,—
Its name I now would learn;’
‘Father, a poor man's thanks are mine,
The island's name is Ferne.’
Its name I now would learn;’
‘Father, a poor man's thanks are mine,
The island's name is Ferne.’
Next day upon Ferne's beach he stept
From the good fisher's bark;
His welcome such as Noah's was
When he issued from the ark.
From the good fisher's bark;
His welcome such as Noah's was
When he issued from the ark.
The boards of a tangled wreck and boughs
There stranded by the tide,
Took he for balks to bigg a bower
Wherein he might abide.
There stranded by the tide,
Took he for balks to bigg a bower
Wherein he might abide.
Next, that the waters might not swell
Upon him in the night,
He made a wall with stones, four men
Can't shift with all their might.
Upon him in the night,
He made a wall with stones, four men
Can't shift with all their might.
248
That done, amidst his earthen floor,
Beside his pan and wood,
He caused a crystal spring to rise
By signing of the rood.
Beside his pan and wood,
He caused a crystal spring to rise
By signing of the rood.
With that he worken in the earth
And sowed his onions there;
And when the crows and sea-mews came,
They understood his care;
And sowed his onions there;
And when the crows and sea-mews came,
They understood his care;
And lifting up their beaks unfed,
Flew silently away;
Also the mermaids, devils and wraiths,
They came no more that way.
Flew silently away;
Also the mermaids, devils and wraiths,
They came no more that way.
So Christ doth aid his faithful Saints
To do such wondrous things,
Their humbleness surpassing far
The power and force of kings.
To do such wondrous things,
Their humbleness surpassing far
The power and force of kings.
Also it is more beautiful
Than Arthur's painted arms,
Or belle Isonde's long locks of love,
Or Queen Guenever's charms.
Than Arthur's painted arms,
Or belle Isonde's long locks of love,
Or Queen Guenever's charms.
And happy it is beyond the song
Of minstrelle's gemmèd keys;
Whom knights with guerdons in their hands
Can purchase as they please.
Of minstrelle's gemmèd keys;
Whom knights with guerdons in their hands
Can purchase as they please.
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Roundel and flourish and gleeman's chime!
Hark! in the ha' we hear them now,
The wine is flowing rife I trow,
This is an Easter gay!
Saint Cuthbert! pray ye for us all
Before we pass away.
Hark! in the ha' we hear them now,
The wine is flowing rife I trow,
This is an Easter gay!
Saint Cuthbert! pray ye for us all
Before we pass away.
King Egfrid from Norhumber-land,
And Saint Theodore also,
With a silver crosier o'er the waves
To Cuthbert's island go.
And Saint Theodore also,
With a silver crosier o'er the waves
To Cuthbert's island go.
True tears then from his old eyes came,
(Blest ground whereon they fell!)
For a gyve of love did hold his heart
To his God-fashioned cell.
(Blest ground whereon they fell!)
For a gyve of love did hold his heart
To his God-fashioned cell.
‘I go,’ said he, ‘at God's good heste
Unto high places now,
Would that I might be spared, but all
At God's good heste should bow.’
With that he humbly bended down,
And so received the mitre-crown.
Unto high places now,
Would that I might be spared, but all
At God's good heste should bow.’
With that he humbly bended down,
And so received the mitre-crown.
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FOURTH. SAINT CUTHBERT'S DEATH.
My words are few and like the days
That o'er this brow may flit
Ere you my brethren well-beloved
See my mass-tapers lit.
That o'er this brow may flit
Ere you my brethren well-beloved
See my mass-tapers lit.
Saint Cuthbert knew before they came,
When death-pains he should dree,
And for the last time took the cup
Kneeling on naked knee.
When death-pains he should dree,
And for the last time took the cup
Kneeling on naked knee.
Then turned he on the altar-steps
Amidst the altar's light,
And laid aside his ring and staff,
And cope so richly dight.
Amidst the altar's light,
And laid aside his ring and staff,
And cope so richly dight.
Lastly he doffed his mitre there,
And every one 'gan weep:
Quickly he blessed them: then went forth
As a child that goes to sleep.
And every one 'gan weep:
Quickly he blessed them: then went forth
As a child that goes to sleep.
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‘Now follow me not,’ said he, ‘no one
Must follow me I trow,
Save a brother who can hold the oar,
I need none other now.’
Must follow me I trow,
Save a brother who can hold the oar,
I need none other now.’
They kissed his garments' hem and feet,
They kissed them o'er and o'er,
And many times they stayed him quite
That they might kiss them more.
But he had caused them all to go
Before he reached the shore.
They kissed them o'er and o'er,
And many times they stayed him quite
That they might kiss them more.
But he had caused them all to go
Before he reached the shore.
And now he seats him in the boat
With a rower by his side,—
Along the greenery of the sea
And foam-blossom they glide.
With a rower by his side,—
Along the greenery of the sea
And foam-blossom they glide.
Soon they come to the long black swell
That heaves their bark about:
Hark, on the naked craigs of Ferne,
The breakers, how they shout!
That heaves their bark about:
Hark, on the naked craigs of Ferne,
The breakers, how they shout!
Nearer they come, the boatman now
Holds on to the landing-stone,
Saint Cuthbert riseth from his seat
And totters out alone.
Holds on to the landing-stone,
Saint Cuthbert riseth from his seat
And totters out alone.
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‘Father,’ said the boatman, ‘now
The sun dips in the sea,—
Must I return alone, and when
Shall I come back for thee?’
The sun dips in the sea,—
Must I return alone, and when
Shall I come back for thee?’
The west was red, the cold wind blew,
The clouds were gathering grim,
Twilight was settling into night,
When Cuthbert answered him:
The clouds were gathering grim,
Twilight was settling into night,
When Cuthbert answered him:
‘Come when it seemeth good to thee,
Or come no more at all,
But if thou com'st uncowl thy head,
And bring with thee a pall.’
Or come no more at all,
But if thou com'st uncowl thy head,
And bring with thee a pall.’
No more the rower asked, but watched
The feeble feet go on,
When lo, the door of his ancient hut
Was opened gently from within.
And an odorous light
Streamed out on the night;
He entered, and it closed him in;
The Saint to heaven was gone.
The feeble feet go on,
When lo, the door of his ancient hut
Was opened gently from within.
And an odorous light
Streamed out on the night;
He entered, and it closed him in;
The Saint to heaven was gone.
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THE DANCE OF DEATH.
Clerk Hubert lay asleep:
Not in deep sleep, but in the feverish sense
Midway between
The active living daylight and the world
Of dusk-eyed dreamland, when the memory
Goes dancing with the fancy light of heel,
Singing the while a fitful chant, of things
That may have happened and been long forgot,
Or those whose interest is of yesterday,
With other things that we
Mortals can never see.
Not in deep sleep, but in the feverish sense
Midway between
The active living daylight and the world
Of dusk-eyed dreamland, when the memory
Goes dancing with the fancy light of heel,
Singing the while a fitful chant, of things
That may have happened and been long forgot,
Or those whose interest is of yesterday,
With other things that we
Mortals can never see.
Clerk Hubert lay asleep:
Not in deep sleep, but in the uncouth life
Wherein whate'er,
Waking, we have dwelt most upon, comes back
In a new garb and startles us awake,
Or keeps us bound upon the night-mare's back
Until its tale is told and all its train
Of maskers have performed their antic feats.
Presto! they change; behold
The maskers turned to gold.
Not in deep sleep, but in the uncouth life
Wherein whate'er,
Waking, we have dwelt most upon, comes back
In a new garb and startles us awake,
Or keeps us bound upon the night-mare's back
Until its tale is told and all its train
Of maskers have performed their antic feats.
Presto! they change; behold
The maskers turned to gold.
254
Gold, gold, the much desired,—
And then, God wot, if any one did mark
The sleeper's face,
They would descry a broad smile flickering there;
For truly pleased, yea, blessed he is to gain
What he had sought so long; he calls his bonds
All in, but when he seeks the heaps to pay,
The gnomes have buried them! Those sinewy gnomes,
Beardless and yellow, and his usurers,
Threadbare and lank and grim,
Treble and bass, strike up their hymn.
And then, God wot, if any one did mark
The sleeper's face,
They would descry a broad smile flickering there;
For truly pleased, yea, blessed he is to gain
What he had sought so long; he calls his bonds
All in, but when he seeks the heaps to pay,
The gnomes have buried them! Those sinewy gnomes,
Beardless and yellow, and his usurers,
Threadbare and lank and grim,
Treble and bass, strike up their hymn.
At other times right sad
And full of lamentations are these dreams:
When the lone heart
Is mourner, and before we rest ourselves
As cold night comes, we cast the black weeds off,
And they whose brow was veiled, who have gone hence,
Hold us in talk amidst the loneliness
And darkness: lighting up our lives again
With some familiar action, as of old.
And the tear doth dry
In the slumberer's eye.
And full of lamentations are these dreams:
When the lone heart
Is mourner, and before we rest ourselves
As cold night comes, we cast the black weeds off,
And they whose brow was veiled, who have gone hence,
Hold us in talk amidst the loneliness
And darkness: lighting up our lives again
With some familiar action, as of old.
And the tear doth dry
In the slumberer's eye.
By other beds, moth winged
And very gentle, are those sylphs that flit
'Tween night and morn;
A subtle love-drink do they bring with them;
And the deluded sleeper throws his arms
Into the vacant air and turns again,
Dreaming a hundred love joys in one dream.
'Tis said these baseless fancies can assume
The forms of all things but the sun and moon,
And stars that give us light
From other spheres more bright.
And very gentle, are those sylphs that flit
'Tween night and morn;
A subtle love-drink do they bring with them;
255
Into the vacant air and turns again,
Dreaming a hundred love joys in one dream.
'Tis said these baseless fancies can assume
The forms of all things but the sun and moon,
And stars that give us light
From other spheres more bright.
Clerk Hubert lay quite still;
And I would now relate the dream he had,
If dream it was.
A set of Emblems old he had that day
Been conning, and Hans Holbein's Dance of Death;
And as the eyelid closed upon the sense,
These pictures came again, waxed into life,
And fleetly through the windings of his brain
The morthead apparition junketted,
And now and then he showed
His scythe so long and broad,
And I would now relate the dream he had,
If dream it was.
A set of Emblems old he had that day
Been conning, and Hans Holbein's Dance of Death;
And as the eyelid closed upon the sense,
These pictures came again, waxed into life,
And fleetly through the windings of his brain
The morthead apparition junketted,
And now and then he showed
His scythe so long and broad,
And made a staff of it
For leaping to and fro; then would he stop
A-listening like;
When, if he heard the sound of winsome mirth,
Or children's untired laugh at evensong
Or age's groan,—which mattered not,—he sprang
Alert, and silenced it for ever. Swart
And ugly and albeit wise seemed he,
He neither gibber'd nor did make a moan,
No sound at all he made whate'er he did,
Hither and there,
And everywhere.
For leaping to and fro; then would he stop
A-listening like;
When, if he heard the sound of winsome mirth,
Or children's untired laugh at evensong
Or age's groan,—which mattered not,—he sprang
Alert, and silenced it for ever. Swart
And ugly and albeit wise seemed he,
256
No sound at all he made whate'er he did,
Hither and there,
And everywhere.
And now in the dark night
The minster bell began to jowl eleven,—
The Christian bell,
With its deep sound o'er slumbering roofs; then up
Death mounted, in the mid-air o'er the spire
The new day was just kissing with the old.
But scarcely had the clock told half its tale,
In at the carven window of the spire
He went, where was the bellman pulling stout,
By the rope that twisted
The bell as he listed.
The minster bell began to jowl eleven,—
The Christian bell,
With its deep sound o'er slumbering roofs; then up
Death mounted, in the mid-air o'er the spire
The new day was just kissing with the old.
But scarcely had the clock told half its tale,
In at the carven window of the spire
He went, where was the bellman pulling stout,
By the rope that twisted
The bell as he listed.
Then Death put forth his hand,
And at the same time that the man did pull
He smote the bell,
That split like earthen cup from rim to ring;—
A labourer heard it as he counting lay,
And counting only six, he thought 'twas morn,
And groped about to find the tinder-flint.
Another heard it, a young student, still
Sitting as he had sat since yesterday,
Scanning and poring,
Scribing and scoring.
And at the same time that the man did pull
He smote the bell,
That split like earthen cup from rim to ring;—
A labourer heard it as he counting lay,
And counting only six, he thought 'twas morn,
And groped about to find the tinder-flint.
Another heard it, a young student, still
Sitting as he had sat since yesterday,
Scanning and poring,
Scribing and scoring.
257
So with a wearied sigh
He laid his cheek upon his hand a while,
Some strength to gain,
To recommence his task and finish it;
But Death sucked up the oil that stored his lamp,
And, with a moment's dance, the barbèd flame
Went up, and he was in the dark. Away
Sped Death above the city in a swirl
Of wind, and every chimney rocked, and some
Fell down and battered
The street, ruin-scattered.
He laid his cheek upon his hand a while,
Some strength to gain,
To recommence his task and finish it;
But Death sucked up the oil that stored his lamp,
And, with a moment's dance, the barbèd flame
Went up, and he was in the dark. Away
Sped Death above the city in a swirl
Of wind, and every chimney rocked, and some
Fell down and battered
The street, ruin-scattered.
Out of sight speeds he on high,
And the clouds burst open, the rain comes down
As the winds arise
Rattling the hinges of windows and doors;
He is here, is there, is everywhere:
And as he passes the frog turns up
Its white belly, and the strong-limbed trees
Bend to the shivering earth, and pour
Their yellowing leaves like the dust of years,
And the wavering bat
On the earth falls flat.
And the clouds burst open, the rain comes down
As the winds arise
Rattling the hinges of windows and doors;
He is here, is there, is everywhere:
And as he passes the frog turns up
Its white belly, and the strong-limbed trees
Bend to the shivering earth, and pour
Their yellowing leaves like the dust of years,
And the wavering bat
On the earth falls flat.
The everlasting hills
Throw down their rocks at his approach;
The eagle old
Soars till the lightning sears her wing,
And falls where the blind bat fell before;
He touches the bridge as he onward speeds,
The keystone drops and the great arch falls,
Damming the black triumphant stream,
As the foam boils up
Like a poison cup.
Throw down their rocks at his approach;
The eagle old
Soars till the lightning sears her wing,
258
He touches the bridge as he onward speeds,
The keystone drops and the great arch falls,
Damming the black triumphant stream,
As the foam boils up
Like a poison cup.
In the cottager's thatch
He boreth a hole for the wolfish wind
To enter by.
From her storm-strewn nest the small bird flies,
The cottager doth the same, you'll hear
His cry, and you'll hear the thunder growl,
And the rush of the stream, and the forest's roar,
The wheezing catarrh from the chimney-nook
Of the palsy-shaken, and childhood's whine,—
And each one's breath
Is sucked by Death.
He boreth a hole for the wolfish wind
To enter by.
From her storm-strewn nest the small bird flies,
The cottager doth the same, you'll hear
His cry, and you'll hear the thunder growl,
And the rush of the stream, and the forest's roar,
The wheezing catarrh from the chimney-nook
Of the palsy-shaken, and childhood's whine,—
And each one's breath
Is sucked by Death.
Clerk Hubert sweated cold,
As the tempest still more revelled and shook
His casement loose;
And now it seemed it was the ending hour
Of the old year, and that men kept awake,—
He heard their songs at intervals he thought,—
Waiting upon the bell to toll the twelve,
That they might with their hot drink wish good luck
Of the New Year, as is the custom old;
Again his casement shook, it shattered, and
Death stretched in
His hand and his chin.
As the tempest still more revelled and shook
His casement loose;
And now it seemed it was the ending hour
Of the old year, and that men kept awake,—
He heard their songs at intervals he thought,—
Waiting upon the bell to toll the twelve,
That they might with their hot drink wish good luck
Of the New Year, as is the custom old;
259
Death stretched in
His hand and his chin.
Clerk Hubert started up,—
Opening his eyes in wonder he beheld
The Ancient One.
Men see in sleep,—but whether he still slept,
Or whether 'twas a trance, a charm, that wrought
At that strange instant of eternal time,
When earth and sun combine to start afresh,
And we must add a cypher to our date—
The blood and brain this epoch shares perchance—
Or whether 'twas a restlessness of heart,
I know not, but he started and stood up;
For who can answer ‘Nay,’
When Death sayeth ‘Yea.’
Opening his eyes in wonder he beheld
The Ancient One.
Men see in sleep,—but whether he still slept,
Or whether 'twas a trance, a charm, that wrought
At that strange instant of eternal time,
When earth and sun combine to start afresh,
And we must add a cypher to our date—
The blood and brain this epoch shares perchance—
Or whether 'twas a restlessness of heart,
I know not, but he started and stood up;
For who can answer ‘Nay,’
When Death sayeth ‘Yea.’
‘Come out, come out with me,
And I will show thee one night's government
Of my vast realm:
Sceptre and sword and throne I have none, these
I give unto my helpmates: but come thou,
And heaven and hell will be revealed to thee
And all the opening pageants of the grave.
Come thou with me;
I touch thine eyes, they see.
And I will show thee one night's government
Of my vast realm:
Sceptre and sword and throne I have none, these
I give unto my helpmates: but come thou,
And heaven and hell will be revealed to thee
And all the opening pageants of the grave.
Come thou with me;
I touch thine eyes, they see.
260
‘I am the one whose thought
Is as the deed; no power before me went,
And none shall come
Behind me; I am strengthened with the years:
A nether Omega am I: a chain
I bound round all things lasts for evermore:
Under my touch, Man vanishes as doth
The worm he germinates, the moth that comes
From the maggot, the invisible living thing
That stirs upon the moth,—I am inborn
With all lives, and
With all lives I expand.
Is as the deed; no power before me went,
And none shall come
Behind me; I am strengthened with the years:
A nether Omega am I: a chain
I bound round all things lasts for evermore:
Under my touch, Man vanishes as doth
The worm he germinates, the moth that comes
From the maggot, the invisible living thing
That stirs upon the moth,—I am inborn
With all lives, and
With all lives I expand.
‘But fear me not, I am
The hoary dust, the shut ear, the profound,
The heart at rest,
The tongueless negative of nature's lies,—
Fear me not, for I am the blood that flows
Within thee; I am change; it is even I
Creates a joy and triumph when thou feel'st
New powers within thee; I alone can make
The old give place
To thy onward race.
The hoary dust, the shut ear, the profound,
The heart at rest,
The tongueless negative of nature's lies,—
Fear me not, for I am the blood that flows
Within thee; I am change; it is even I
Creates a joy and triumph when thou feel'st
New powers within thee; I alone can make
The old give place
To thy onward race.
‘All men are born to me;
I am the father, mother,—yet ye hate
Me foolishly:
An easy spirit and a free lives on,
But he who fears the ice doth stumble; walk
Peacefully, confidently; I'm thy friend,
To walk with thee in peace: but grudge and weep
And carp, I'll be a cold chain round thy neck
Into the grave, each day a link drawn in,
Until thy face shall be upon the turf,
And the hair from thy crown
Be blown like thistle-down.’
I am the father, mother,—yet ye hate
Me foolishly:
An easy spirit and a free lives on,
261
Peacefully, confidently; I'm thy friend,
To walk with thee in peace: but grudge and weep
And carp, I'll be a cold chain round thy neck
Into the grave, each day a link drawn in,
Until thy face shall be upon the turf,
And the hair from thy crown
Be blown like thistle-down.’
The speaker without breath
Here ceasèd, and Clerk Hubert winced and groaned,
Withouten power
To speak the horrors that within him stirred,—
A desperate case was his indeed, till Death
Grew tired of waiting, and took hold of him,
Or nearly did—in vain again he tried
To shout, now mouth to mouth with that dread lord,
Who stood by the bed,
Close to his head.
Here ceasèd, and Clerk Hubert winced and groaned,
Withouten power
To speak the horrors that within him stirred,—
A desperate case was his indeed, till Death
Grew tired of waiting, and took hold of him,
Or nearly did—in vain again he tried
To shout, now mouth to mouth with that dread lord,
Who stood by the bed,
Close to his head.
Such trembling seized his limbs
As shook the stented couch; whereat the dame
Who by him lay,
The wedded mistress of this learnèd Clerk,
Woke up in gentle fear for her good lord,
And roused him up and made him tell his dream,
Signing the cross on her brow and his own,
For he averr'd Death next would come to her,
And that her life
Would end the strife.
As shook the stented couch; whereat the dame
Who by him lay,
The wedded mistress of this learnèd Clerk,
Woke up in gentle fear for her good lord,
And roused him up and made him tell his dream,
Signing the cross on her brow and his own,
262
And that her life
Would end the strife.
But this she would not hear,
But rather deemed his love alone had brought
The phantom there.
He answered, ‘Nay, that Death was by them still,
And that her passing-bell was in his ear,
Nor would a few months pass till every man
Would hear it.’ Then she soothed him with sweet words,
Again in a short while
Once more sleep held them in its coil.
But rather deemed his love alone had brought
The phantom there.
He answered, ‘Nay, that Death was by them still,
And that her passing-bell was in his ear,
Nor would a few months pass till every man
Would hear it.’ Then she soothed him with sweet words,
Again in a short while
Once more sleep held them in its coil.
But the morning arose
On a long sheeted corse,
And the stable-boy combing
A coal-black horse:
The corse was Clerk Hubert's;
The black horse ere long
Drew the bier to the church-vault
With prayer and song.
On a long sheeted corse,
And the stable-boy combing
A coal-black horse:
The corse was Clerk Hubert's;
The black horse ere long
Drew the bier to the church-vault
With prayer and song.
263
A FABLE.
(1832.)
Two striplings in the ancient time
Between themselves agreed to climb
The Holy Mount; perchance they'd see
Something of life's great mystery,
Through the smoke or through the fires
That hill's Tartarean throat respires.
Forthwith they fixed with leathern thong
Their brazen sandals high and strong,
And bent their knees to the ascent
A league or two, when overspent
And breathless, one of them cried out,
‘Comrade, hold! I'm not so stout
As thus to urge for long; I'll call
The sun to stay awhile his fall,
And give us time to rest us here!’
So with a self-complacent peer
Adown the slope, he stretched himself
Like one who would give all his pelf
For a snug retreat and a full wine-cup,
And would say to himself, I shall drink it up,
I deserve it all, I have done enough,
Labour without a fee's all stuff!
The other adventurer looked up still,
Scanning and measuring all the hill;
Lost he seem'd in expectation,
Living on hope's immaterial ration;
But now, while nursing his left foot
As if it were sick, cried the first, ‘Let's put
A great stone here to mark the spot
Before we start again; why not?’
His comrade half indignant rose
And clipt a snail by its shrinking nose
Between his finger and his thumb,
And with a grand flourish derisive and dumb,
Placed it for the monument,
Then set himself to the ascent.
So now again for an hour or so
Abreast like loving friends they go;
Wading scoria, vaulting creeks
Where the sluggish lava reeks,
When suddenly he who before had stopt,
In a fainting fit of laughter dropt.
‘Ha! my comrade bold,’ quoth he,
‘I have been thinking, ha, ha, he!
I have been thinking, that a cat,
Or a squirrel, a weasel, or even a rat,
Could climb this hill much better than we!
What fools we are one drop of sweat
To lose in such a monstrous fret,
Making a toil of a pleasure. No!
Let's lie down here an hour or so,
Until the sun gets round the hill.’
‘Nay!’ cries his companion, ‘if you will
Rest here, you shall rest alone, not I,
And long enough before you spy
The top, I'm there.' With that he left
The weak one seeking a shady cleft.
Between themselves agreed to climb
The Holy Mount; perchance they'd see
Something of life's great mystery,
Through the smoke or through the fires
That hill's Tartarean throat respires.
Forthwith they fixed with leathern thong
Their brazen sandals high and strong,
And bent their knees to the ascent
A league or two, when overspent
And breathless, one of them cried out,
‘Comrade, hold! I'm not so stout
As thus to urge for long; I'll call
The sun to stay awhile his fall,
And give us time to rest us here!’
So with a self-complacent peer
Adown the slope, he stretched himself
Like one who would give all his pelf
For a snug retreat and a full wine-cup,
264
I deserve it all, I have done enough,
Labour without a fee's all stuff!
The other adventurer looked up still,
Scanning and measuring all the hill;
Lost he seem'd in expectation,
Living on hope's immaterial ration;
But now, while nursing his left foot
As if it were sick, cried the first, ‘Let's put
A great stone here to mark the spot
Before we start again; why not?’
His comrade half indignant rose
And clipt a snail by its shrinking nose
Between his finger and his thumb,
And with a grand flourish derisive and dumb,
Placed it for the monument,
Then set himself to the ascent.
So now again for an hour or so
Abreast like loving friends they go;
Wading scoria, vaulting creeks
Where the sluggish lava reeks,
When suddenly he who before had stopt,
In a fainting fit of laughter dropt.
‘Ha! my comrade bold,’ quoth he,
‘I have been thinking, ha, ha, he!
I have been thinking, that a cat,
Or a squirrel, a weasel, or even a rat,
Could climb this hill much better than we!
265
To lose in such a monstrous fret,
Making a toil of a pleasure. No!
Let's lie down here an hour or so,
Until the sun gets round the hill.’
‘Nay!’ cries his companion, ‘if you will
Rest here, you shall rest alone, not I,
And long enough before you spy
The top, I'm there.' With that he left
The weak one seeking a shady cleft.
Onward sped he through the glare,
With naked breast and loosened hair;
Onward still he won his way
And touched the sky ere close of day.
With naked breast and loosened hair;
Onward still he won his way
And touched the sky ere close of day.
Next morn a rabble with horn-books, beads,
Bells, drums, masks, and other small needs
For mumming and make-believe, descried
The laggard slumbering on his side.
He was not half-way up the hill,
And yet a great way above them still;
Something they wanted to gabble about,
And there was he! so they raised a shout,
Wonderful!—a mere boy! oh,
Such love of science and such a flow
Of perseverance, courage, all
Supposable virtues great and small!
Doubtless he hath toiled all night
Without either supper or lantern-light,
And now returns in time to greet
Our wise-heads with the hill's last feat.
Mighty traveller! They shout,
Till he starts and wakes and looks about,
Rubbing his eyes and wondering why
They stare at him so, stare and cry,
Mighty traveller! But soon
He saw it was indeed full moon,
Full tide I rather ought to say
For him and his affairs that day.
—'Tis true he had been outstripped far,
But why should that be the smallest bar;
His comrade, the true conqueror, he
Is just too high for them to see,—
Down steps Sir Magnanimity
With air coquettish, pleased and shy,
The mummers raise him shoulder high,
And with their awkward backs round bent,
The youth of genius smiles content.
On to the temple where all stuff
Useless elsewhere shares the puff
Of incense now they carry him,
With damnable clatter and chant of hymn;
Cobbler, patcher, quidnunc, drone,
‘Idea-less girl,’ and long-tongued crone,
Running together, a quack never lacks
Bolstering from bolstered quacks,
‘Claw me—claw thee,’ suits both the backs!
But it is, good sooth, a stint of labour
To dance and leap, with pipe and tabor
Stunning the wide-mouthed beholders,
With a false god on one's shoulders;
So they seat him on the shrine
And aver he looks divine,
Although at first he feels but queer,
And now and then begins to fear
His honours may be overdone,
Even if he be Apollo's son;
When lo, like Moses from Sinai,
The other traveller stands close by!
He had seen the moon's eclipse
Through the fire from Etna's lips,
With Orion had he spoken,
His fast with honey-dew had broken,
Seen the nether world unveiled,
Nor had fainted nor had quailed:
And here he stands amidst the throng,
On his tongue a wise sweet song,
In his hand a laurel fair,
An opal rainbow round his hair,
Truth reigning from his great mild eye,
And in his heart humility.
Cease their din the rabble-rout,
And mutter and whisper all about,
‘What's his name, and whence comes he?
What may here his business be?
Do you understand his speech?
He seems at once to sing and preach!’
The cobblers, patchers, quidnuncs, drones,
‘Idea-less girls’ and long-tongued crones,
Nod and wink and say, ‘So, so,
We've chosen our Genius, and want no mo’,
One like ourselves we've chosen, one
Who has not with such haste begun,
One who can sing and who can preach,
Who can whistle as well as teach,
But one who is not such a dunce
As to addle our heads by them all at once!’
With that they drive him from the place,
They raise their hands against his face,
They will not suffer his eyes' sharp light,
They mock him and drive him into night.
O saddest sight of all, they steal
The laurel when his senses reel,
And give it to their favourite!
Bells, drums, masks, and other small needs
For mumming and make-believe, descried
The laggard slumbering on his side.
He was not half-way up the hill,
And yet a great way above them still;
Something they wanted to gabble about,
And there was he! so they raised a shout,
Wonderful!—a mere boy! oh,
Such love of science and such a flow
Of perseverance, courage, all
Supposable virtues great and small!
266
Without either supper or lantern-light,
And now returns in time to greet
Our wise-heads with the hill's last feat.
Mighty traveller! They shout,
Till he starts and wakes and looks about,
Rubbing his eyes and wondering why
They stare at him so, stare and cry,
Mighty traveller! But soon
He saw it was indeed full moon,
Full tide I rather ought to say
For him and his affairs that day.
—'Tis true he had been outstripped far,
But why should that be the smallest bar;
His comrade, the true conqueror, he
Is just too high for them to see,—
Down steps Sir Magnanimity
With air coquettish, pleased and shy,
The mummers raise him shoulder high,
And with their awkward backs round bent,
The youth of genius smiles content.
On to the temple where all stuff
Useless elsewhere shares the puff
Of incense now they carry him,
With damnable clatter and chant of hymn;
Cobbler, patcher, quidnunc, drone,
‘Idea-less girl,’ and long-tongued crone,
Running together, a quack never lacks
267
‘Claw me—claw thee,’ suits both the backs!
But it is, good sooth, a stint of labour
To dance and leap, with pipe and tabor
Stunning the wide-mouthed beholders,
With a false god on one's shoulders;
So they seat him on the shrine
And aver he looks divine,
Although at first he feels but queer,
And now and then begins to fear
His honours may be overdone,
Even if he be Apollo's son;
When lo, like Moses from Sinai,
The other traveller stands close by!
He had seen the moon's eclipse
Through the fire from Etna's lips,
With Orion had he spoken,
His fast with honey-dew had broken,
Seen the nether world unveiled,
Nor had fainted nor had quailed:
And here he stands amidst the throng,
On his tongue a wise sweet song,
In his hand a laurel fair,
An opal rainbow round his hair,
Truth reigning from his great mild eye,
And in his heart humility.
Cease their din the rabble-rout,
And mutter and whisper all about,
268
What may here his business be?
Do you understand his speech?
He seems at once to sing and preach!’
The cobblers, patchers, quidnuncs, drones,
‘Idea-less girls’ and long-tongued crones,
Nod and wink and say, ‘So, so,
We've chosen our Genius, and want no mo’,
One like ourselves we've chosen, one
Who has not with such haste begun,
One who can sing and who can preach,
Who can whistle as well as teach,
But one who is not such a dunce
As to addle our heads by them all at once!’
With that they drive him from the place,
They raise their hands against his face,
They will not suffer his eyes' sharp light,
They mock him and drive him into night.
O saddest sight of all, they steal
The laurel when his senses reel,
And give it to their favourite!
But whether the history endeth here,
Doth not certainly appear:
Time bears a wallet at his back,
And very willingly ‘gives the sack’
To much that glitters proud and fine;
While the shoots that nature loves ne'er tine,
But grow and grow, and the birds of the air
Find nourishment and harbour there.
Doth not certainly appear:
Time bears a wallet at his back,
And very willingly ‘gives the sack’
269
While the shoots that nature loves ne'er tine,
But grow and grow, and the birds of the air
Find nourishment and harbour there.
| Poems | |