Fra Dolcino, and other poems By A. and L. [Arabella and Louisa Shore] |
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| DOLCINO. |
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 | Fra Dolcino, and other poems |  |
31
DOLCINO.
I. AT TRENT.
That hiss of scorn, that howl of hate,
Did my own bitterness create?
No, e'en when first that call began,
There was a calmness in my breast,
And still the little children ran
To him who loved their prattle best.
I taught the truths I ever taught,
Humility and Poverty,
And loved the more the Church I sought
With God's own fire to purify.
How came this change that I, one day,
Stood like a hunted beast at bay?
Did my own bitterness create?
No, e'en when first that call began,
There was a calmness in my breast,
And still the little children ran
To him who loved their prattle best.
I taught the truths I ever taught,
Humility and Poverty,
And loved the more the Church I sought
With God's own fire to purify.
How came this change that I, one day,
Stood like a hunted beast at bay?
Slandered and outcast, forth I went,
But after me their shafts were sent.
The innocent shrank and closed their gate
On one they counted with God's foes;
I had no buckler for that hate,
My heart beat bare against its blows.
I wandered far, for mischief kept
A murderous watch where'er I slept—
And still till hooted, pelted off,
Choked dumb with menace or with scoff,
Repeating, in my walk forlorn,
To ears of apathy or scorn
Words once o'er quick soft spirits streaming
Like notes celestial strings let fall,
But thro' dull folds of sense now seeming
Crazed mutterings mechanical.
Thus moving through the world alone
I thought my heart was turned to stone;
For worms on earth and bird in tree
Seemed more than men akin to me.
But after me their shafts were sent.
The innocent shrank and closed their gate
On one they counted with God's foes;
I had no buckler for that hate,
My heart beat bare against its blows.
32
A murderous watch where'er I slept—
And still till hooted, pelted off,
Choked dumb with menace or with scoff,
Repeating, in my walk forlorn,
To ears of apathy or scorn
Words once o'er quick soft spirits streaming
Like notes celestial strings let fall,
But thro' dull folds of sense now seeming
Crazed mutterings mechanical.
Thus moving through the world alone
I thought my heart was turned to stone;
For worms on earth and bird in tree
Seemed more than men akin to me.
I came to Trent—and there and then,
With those who knew me not, I found
A little while a standing-ground
Amidst, not outside, fellow-men.
They said: “The madman hath an eye
That melts the soul, we know not why.”
“Fanatic or inspired,” they said,
“Saint Francis' son or rebel-Friar,
Apostle or Apostate, fed
With seraph-light or Tophet's fire,
What know we till we hear him speak?”
They bade me preach—my whitened cheek
Betrayed the change that made me weak.
What knew I now of human feelings,
Or of God's spiritual dealings?
I too—who most of all abhorred
The draping faith I seemed to wear,
The mask of vows my heart abjured,
Which yet to break I scarce did care,
Since nothing now to me seemed true,
And freed I still found nought to do.
Yet if I spoke, might help divine
Supply this perished strength of mine,
Or I, at worst, might catch again
Some echoes of the ancient strain.
With those who knew me not, I found
A little while a standing-ground
Amidst, not outside, fellow-men.
They said: “The madman hath an eye
That melts the soul, we know not why.”
“Fanatic or inspired,” they said,
“Saint Francis' son or rebel-Friar,
Apostle or Apostate, fed
With seraph-light or Tophet's fire,
What know we till we hear him speak?”
They bade me preach—my whitened cheek
Betrayed the change that made me weak.
What knew I now of human feelings,
Or of God's spiritual dealings?
33
The draping faith I seemed to wear,
The mask of vows my heart abjured,
Which yet to break I scarce did care,
Since nothing now to me seemed true,
And freed I still found nought to do.
Yet if I spoke, might help divine
Supply this perished strength of mine,
Or I, at worst, might catch again
Some echoes of the ancient strain.
The summer's burden grew and swelled
Through long hot hours—the vine-boughs held
Such dangling heaps of grapes as made
The green look purple,—there I stay'd.
I stood beneath the trellised shade,
Where the gold smiles of radiant eves
Shot through the myriad-flickering leaves;
Or in the smooth fair city-square,
Beside the fountain's leaping gold;
Window and door and pavement there
Could scarce their crowd of listeners hold.
Though pierced with sense of bitter need,
Yet powerless any more to feed
On inner hope or outer creed,—
I spoke to them of faith and love,
And called God's fire their hearts to prove.
Did any there the preacher's probe?—
One face I used to single out
Fixed star-like in the shifting rout;
Forehead of pearl and milk-white robe
At first I saw, indifferent yet,—
Within a dark-browed window set.
She kindled not, alone her face
Seemed calm, throughout that crowded place;
As one who all beforehand knew,
But noted if my strains were true
To that which did her life control—
The long-loved music in her soul.
Through long hot hours—the vine-boughs held
Such dangling heaps of grapes as made
The green look purple,—there I stay'd.
I stood beneath the trellised shade,
Where the gold smiles of radiant eves
Shot through the myriad-flickering leaves;
Or in the smooth fair city-square,
Beside the fountain's leaping gold;
Window and door and pavement there
Could scarce their crowd of listeners hold.
Though pierced with sense of bitter need,
Yet powerless any more to feed
On inner hope or outer creed,—
I spoke to them of faith and love,
And called God's fire their hearts to prove.
Did any there the preacher's probe?—
One face I used to single out
Fixed star-like in the shifting rout;
Forehead of pearl and milk-white robe
34
Within a dark-browed window set.
She kindled not, alone her face
Seemed calm, throughout that crowded place;
As one who all beforehand knew,
But noted if my strains were true
To that which did her life control—
The long-loved music in her soul.
I knew that clear and gentle gaze
Was watching me in all my ways;
And sure I was, if I should e'er
Be to my purpose insincere
By words unpaired with thoughts, by aim
That shrivelled e'er to act it came—
The arrow slipping from the string
Strained at the moment for its spring—
By earthlier passion shooting through
God's rainbow-web a sullied hue—
That eye would sadden with the pain
Of angel's insight—not in vain!
Was watching me in all my ways;
And sure I was, if I should e'er
Be to my purpose insincere
By words unpaired with thoughts, by aim
That shrivelled e'er to act it came—
The arrow slipping from the string
Strained at the moment for its spring—
By earthlier passion shooting through
God's rainbow-web a sullied hue—
That eye would sadden with the pain
Of angel's insight—not in vain!
And often when I spoke aloud,
And others throbbed and burned and wept,
I saw that still its tender cloud
The wistful face that watched me kept.
I had not found the golden key
That oped the gates of Mystery.
But when a thought of God's own making,—
From lips it blanched, like lightning breaking—
In words that knew not how 'twas done
Wrung forth some radiant truth from prison,
I saw a face upturned like one
On which the morning just had risen.
And others throbbed and burned and wept,
I saw that still its tender cloud
The wistful face that watched me kept.
I had not found the golden key
That oped the gates of Mystery.
But when a thought of God's own making,—
From lips it blanched, like lightning breaking—
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Wrung forth some radiant truth from prison,
I saw a face upturned like one
On which the morning just had risen.
Her home, a dark square turret, rose
High in a stately palace—those
Who knew her said she lived apart
In silence with her own pure heart.—
When sometimes in the twilight dim
I saw her gazing from her tower
That overhung the river's brim,
Such cold and holy calm she kept
I thought her angel from a bower
Of Paradise some starlight hour
Had looked down on her ere she slept,
With eyes that wedded her to him.—
But I was strangely troubled soon—
I dreamed one night I saw arise
A solemn, perfect, pearl-white moon,
Above the ruins of my world,
In the unfathomed depths of skies,
And with white wings half unfurled,
Changed to a queen-goddess, stand
Beckoning with a silver hand.
High in a stately palace—those
Who knew her said she lived apart
In silence with her own pure heart.—
When sometimes in the twilight dim
I saw her gazing from her tower
That overhung the river's brim,
Such cold and holy calm she kept
I thought her angel from a bower
Of Paradise some starlight hour
Had looked down on her ere she slept,
With eyes that wedded her to him.—
But I was strangely troubled soon—
I dreamed one night I saw arise
A solemn, perfect, pearl-white moon,
Above the ruins of my world,
In the unfathomed depths of skies,
And with white wings half unfurled,
Changed to a queen-goddess, stand
Beckoning with a silver hand.
There came an evening, warm with June,
Yet all forgot by star and moon.
The summer night, in feverish rest,
As with her secrets quite opprest,—
Perfumes that came one knew not whence,
And glimmering lights, half sight, half sense,—
Held, till the glad releasing morrow,
A balmy mystery of sorrow.
The river had its ghosts of trees,
Grave monumental effigies;
The air was charged with passion, dark
Yet nursing an electric spark,
And from its slumbering sultry breast
Came now and then a panting breath,
Like sighs from a full heart exprest,
That might be love, that might be death.
But I, whose deepest depths were seething
With the fierce problem “Live or die,”
Could feel no treacherous languor breathing
From dewy earth or dusky sky.
The wounded oryx fears no snare;
My soul was careless with despair,
As blank of wish, as bare of might,
As was that hour of form and light.
Yet all forgot by star and moon.
The summer night, in feverish rest,
As with her secrets quite opprest,—
36
And glimmering lights, half sight, half sense,—
Held, till the glad releasing morrow,
A balmy mystery of sorrow.
The river had its ghosts of trees,
Grave monumental effigies;
The air was charged with passion, dark
Yet nursing an electric spark,
And from its slumbering sultry breast
Came now and then a panting breath,
Like sighs from a full heart exprest,
That might be love, that might be death.
But I, whose deepest depths were seething
With the fierce problem “Live or die,”
Could feel no treacherous languor breathing
From dewy earth or dusky sky.
The wounded oryx fears no snare;
My soul was careless with despair,
As blank of wish, as bare of might,
As was that hour of form and light.
Another mood then took its place—
“Dark night,” I said, “I'll conquer doubt;
Into thy stern blind vacant face
I' ll gaze, and force the answer out.”
I took a boat—with steady stroke,
Long, slow, and sad, my oarblade broke
The river's solid sleep—I passed
The houses leaning o'er the wave,
Where lights from all those windows cast
Turned it to an illumined grave.
Each bright-eyed casement gliding under,
“In all those homes of souls,” I thought,
“None needs or cares for me.” What wonder?
Myself the strange divorce had wrought,
By loving souls that had not learned
Their own existence; so I pined,
Debarred the dues of love returned,
And sweet solicitudes of kind.
Hush! hark! an answer comes—but whence?
So softly, thrillingly intense,
Melting of voice and lute, that made
Ethereal passion,—comes the strain
From that shy lattice in the shade?
Or else from some immortal pain,
Some angel, kneeling to complain,
Low at God's feet, with wings close furled,
For a bereaved, benighted world?
“Dark night,” I said, “I'll conquer doubt;
Into thy stern blind vacant face
I' ll gaze, and force the answer out.”
I took a boat—with steady stroke,
Long, slow, and sad, my oarblade broke
The river's solid sleep—I passed
The houses leaning o'er the wave,
Where lights from all those windows cast
Turned it to an illumined grave.
37
“In all those homes of souls,” I thought,
“None needs or cares for me.” What wonder?
Myself the strange divorce had wrought,
By loving souls that had not learned
Their own existence; so I pined,
Debarred the dues of love returned,
And sweet solicitudes of kind.
Hush! hark! an answer comes—but whence?
So softly, thrillingly intense,
Melting of voice and lute, that made
Ethereal passion,—comes the strain
From that shy lattice in the shade?
Or else from some immortal pain,
Some angel, kneeling to complain,
Low at God's feet, with wings close furled,
For a bereaved, benighted world?
I knew the singer and the song—
'T was made before my birth for me;
It touched the key-note of my long
Desires and of my destiny.
I knew it held the pass-word, too,
For her closed being. From that hour
I gained the word that, straight and true,—
First touching like a ray of gold
That face uplifted like a flower,—
Should pierce and split the outer fold,
And quiver in her heart's deep hold.
But then came pain: the morning look,
The evening peace, her face forsook;
Yet by the struggle, not the calm,
I knew my wish had won its palm!
'T was made before my birth for me;
It touched the key-note of my long
Desires and of my destiny.
I knew it held the pass-word, too,
For her closed being. From that hour
I gained the word that, straight and true,—
First touching like a ray of gold
That face uplifted like a flower,—
Should pierce and split the outer fold,
And quiver in her heart's deep hold.
38
The evening peace, her face forsook;
Yet by the struggle, not the calm,
I knew my wish had won its palm!
And so I learned, for weal or woe,
Our life-threads were entwisted so,
That not a thought could move in one,
A word be born, a deed be done,
A sigh slip from one heart, but drew,
Perforce, the other after too.
Yet never, never dared we yet
O'erstep the bar between us set.
I still the Friar, God's wrath and grace
Preaching in the market-place;
She still, so bending in the shade,
The ivory image of a maid.
Our life-threads were entwisted so,
That not a thought could move in one,
A word be born, a deed be done,
A sigh slip from one heart, but drew,
Perforce, the other after too.
Yet never, never dared we yet
O'erstep the bar between us set.
I still the Friar, God's wrath and grace
Preaching in the market-place;
She still, so bending in the shade,
The ivory image of a maid.
But when,—as if two fearful foes,
Caught, past escaping, in one place,
Should, in defiance, turn and close,
Trembling, yet desperate, face to face—
Our two souls met, the tender strife
Rushed into speech that, clear and strong,
All the great secret told, and life
Broke out at once in flower and song.
Our eyes upon each other dwelt,
As with a long-accustomed gaze;
Our hands, though then first meeting, felt
As 't were the touch of all our days.
And when “I love you!” sounded clear,
It made so utterly a part
Of our whole selves, we seemed to hear
Each but the beating of the heart.
Yet e'en when hand in hand was laid,
Eyes lost in eyes, in life-long grant
Of breath and being, you had said
That moment sealed the covenant
Of two who love, but meet no more,
Not to accept, but to abjure.
Caught, past escaping, in one place,
Should, in defiance, turn and close,
Trembling, yet desperate, face to face—
Our two souls met, the tender strife
Rushed into speech that, clear and strong,
All the great secret told, and life
Broke out at once in flower and song.
Our eyes upon each other dwelt,
As with a long-accustomed gaze;
Our hands, though then first meeting, felt
As 't were the touch of all our days.
39
It made so utterly a part
Of our whole selves, we seemed to hear
Each but the beating of the heart.
Yet e'en when hand in hand was laid,
Eyes lost in eyes, in life-long grant
Of breath and being, you had said
That moment sealed the covenant
Of two who love, but meet no more,
Not to accept, but to abjure.
O Margaret! my pale sweet dream,
My bridal pearl, my fateful prize!
Thou swan that floatest down the stream
Of my disastrous destinies,
To charm it smooth, my love in death!
I knew, when first love's asking breath
Won that quick flash from silent eyes,
Whose silence was such wondrous speech,
We staked the very life of each!
My bridal pearl, my fateful prize!
Thou swan that floatest down the stream
Of my disastrous destinies,
To charm it smooth, my love in death!
I knew, when first love's asking breath
Won that quick flash from silent eyes,
Whose silence was such wondrous speech,
We staked the very life of each!
When for my Margaret I forswore
Vows God had heard not, faith had ceased
To hold, men saw in me no more
Than love-smit man and perjured priest.
They knew not that angelic hands
Unlinked those fetters' cursed rings,
To tie me safe with flower-soft bands
From wandering lost in desert sands;
Or—for who dare say how at last
Such o'erstrained fate may taint and blast?—
From rushing loose to revellings
In lawless pastures unconfined,
Yet set me free to serve mankind.
I know not how I rent my tether,
But Love and Freedom came together.
Vows God had heard not, faith had ceased
To hold, men saw in me no more
Than love-smit man and perjured priest.
They knew not that angelic hands
Unlinked those fetters' cursed rings,
To tie me safe with flower-soft bands
From wandering lost in desert sands;
40
Such o'erstrained fate may taint and blast?—
From rushing loose to revellings
In lawless pastures unconfined,
Yet set me free to serve mankind.
I know not how I rent my tether,
But Love and Freedom came together.
True Freedom—for that first false oath
Unhallowed not the purer one
That bound to noble service both,
Not each to petrify alone.
God bade me, when he raised for me
The curtain of that sanctuary,
No more believe a being ground
To worthless dust was what He needed
To make the gems with which He's crowned,
And hearts that bled to death unheeded;
No more upon His altar fling
A cankered Self's vile offering,
Now in another purer Self absorbed,
A life by love and sacrifice full-orbed,
The constant prayer of constant lofty aims,
The sacrament of deeds like heavenward flames.—
O pale soft cheek! O innocent dark eyes,
That fixed on mine their grave and sweet surprise,
Thanking for love and offering sacrifice!
Unhallowed not the purer one
That bound to noble service both,
Not each to petrify alone.
God bade me, when he raised for me
The curtain of that sanctuary,
No more believe a being ground
To worthless dust was what He needed
To make the gems with which He's crowned,
And hearts that bled to death unheeded;
No more upon His altar fling
A cankered Self's vile offering,
Now in another purer Self absorbed,
A life by love and sacrifice full-orbed,
The constant prayer of constant lofty aims,
The sacrament of deeds like heavenward flames.—
O pale soft cheek! O innocent dark eyes,
That fixed on mine their grave and sweet surprise,
Thanking for love and offering sacrifice!
God knows, my Margaret, thou wouldst not be,
E'en thou, the all of life thou art to me,
Didst thou not wed with me my mission too,
This great, austere, desolate enterprise,
And join thy lovely strength with mine to do
What Pope's command and Emperor's arms defies.
God led me to thee for thy good and mine,
And to yet nobler issues, sweet young wife,
Thou beauteous outcast from the fancied shrine,
The prison-paradise of woman's life,
The narrow bounds that keep them to old age,
Walking the path all walk, all they desire.
Enough for me that to this pilgrimage
Which dares above their meadow-track aspire,
Thou bring'st the woman's heart that doth express
Infinite love in those small sweetnesses
Which, innocent as play of breeze in bower
With twinkling leaflets, yet means nothing less
Than God's eternal primal law, whose power
Joins two opposing halves in perfectness!
E'en thou, the all of life thou art to me,
41
This great, austere, desolate enterprise,
And join thy lovely strength with mine to do
What Pope's command and Emperor's arms defies.
God led me to thee for thy good and mine,
And to yet nobler issues, sweet young wife,
Thou beauteous outcast from the fancied shrine,
The prison-paradise of woman's life,
The narrow bounds that keep them to old age,
Walking the path all walk, all they desire.
Enough for me that to this pilgrimage
Which dares above their meadow-track aspire,
Thou bring'st the woman's heart that doth express
Infinite love in those small sweetnesses
Which, innocent as play of breeze in bower
With twinkling leaflets, yet means nothing less
Than God's eternal primal law, whose power
Joins two opposing halves in perfectness!
II. DALMATIA.
1
Blue glared above that lone land-tongueThe hot sky; on the red bare rocks,
All twisted by the sea-wind's shocks,
Stone-pines, distorted giants, hung;
42
Itself out seaward, midway placed,
A dragon-tree fantastic sprung,
That seemed a demon sneering on the waste!
2
All day brown figures on the ground,Wild women, savage children, still
As upright stones, upon the hill
Crouch in their rags, without a sound.
Red burn the grouped geraniums round,
The cactus wreathes with flowers of flame
The line of cliffs,—no ship is bound
That way, to give the weird lone land a name!
3
But they, that pair, the long day throughOn yon rock sitting, who were those?
O fairest woman Europe knows,
What's in this lorn sea-nook for you?
Like idlers that have nought to do,
In too sweet opiates tranced for speech,
Watch ye the pictures on the blue?
The sweet half ring of snow-white fairy beach,
4
That in its lucid water seesThe zoning rocks, flung from their heights
Long purple shadows, jewel lights
On the clear wave that comes and flees?
43
Poised like a butterfly, or fast
Flying a seagull on the breeze,
With one wide lateen sail and raking mast?
5
The fisher, in the morn's clear thrill,Who slow and slow, in doubtful hope,
Draws in, as by an endless rope,
The heavy net, wave-hidden, still?
Or if they roam, is 't but at will
For grey sea-mosses in some cove,
Or sea-flower-cup gay colours fill,
Or else for nothing but to talk of love?
6
Dalmatia's are those rocks untrod,And these are hiding from the hand
Of vengeful Power o'er sea and land
Stretched after them with flaming rod;
That lonely land, that mountain sod,
The pigmy isles that fret those seas,
Hold many a fugitive for God—
Ah, 'scaped too oft in vain, in days like these!
7
These fled to breathe from hate and crime,To gather strength a little while,
In this, a moment's fairy isle,
To heights of purer ether climb;
44
As, first beheld in half-year's gloom,
The long lost sun's whole disk sublime
O'er icy hills up from his Polar tomb;
8
To feel far off the world unblestWith its strong tyrants bad and bold,
Forgotten like dead monsters old
Of primal fen, while Love, fair guest,
Wakes fresh in each pure long-closed breast;
As some fair statue first to light
Unprisoned from its earthy rest,
That dark for ages held its dazzling white.
9
Yet not e'en thus may he escapeHis mission's haunting thought; self-vowed
He waits all-vigilant—like that proud
Stone lion on the mountain cape,
The strait that witnessed Helen's rape,
Whose ripples Greece from Asia sever,
Watching with beacon eyes—a shape
On solemn outstretched paws resting for ever!
10
So waits he by the Adrian foam,While she in tender silence reads
Thoughts soon to ripen into deeds
With battle shout and beat of drum.
45
To him this one deep privileged
Love-dream, and she who chose for home
The bark in tempest launched, to ruin pledged!
III. VERCELLI.
“Oh, only love! thou gav'st me this sweet pause
To train me how to love and aid thee best,
To fit my womanhood for sterner laws
Than build the birdmate's nest.
A pause but not a close—with whisper deep
Duty dissolves Love's Eden of a day;
On lids long troubles have weighed down to sleep,
Sharp smites the kindling ray.
To train me how to love and aid thee best,
To fit my womanhood for sterner laws
Than build the birdmate's nest.
A pause but not a close—with whisper deep
Duty dissolves Love's Eden of a day;
On lids long troubles have weighed down to sleep,
Sharp smites the kindling ray.
But smite it does—the fairy land is gone,
Old haunts and kindred lives rise round us fast;
So be this foreign love-dream left upon
The pillow of the past.
Thy people calls to thee, the brotherhood
Wanders unfathered now; for Sagarelli
Hath sealed his gentle madness with his blood—
They need thee in Vercelli.
Old haunts and kindred lives rise round us fast;
So be this foreign love-dream left upon
The pillow of the past.
Thy people calls to thee, the brotherhood
Wanders unfathered now; for Sagarelli
Hath sealed his gentle madness with his blood—
They need thee in Vercelli.
Milano calls; the friends who yearn for thee,
And, with thee, for the vision bending down,
Yet leaving not the skies, till there shall be
One Italy, one crown.
Behold, they say, the prophecies converge
From cloud to lightning,—heaven is all alight,
Red with foreshadowed war,—be thou, they urge,
The trumpet of the fight.
And, with thee, for the vision bending down,
Yet leaving not the skies, till there shall be
One Italy, one crown.
46
From cloud to lightning,—heaven is all alight,
Red with foreshadowed war,—be thou, they urge,
The trumpet of the fight.
'Tis true the trumpet may be silenced ere
Those whom it leads have gained an inch of ground;
For first he falls, who first alone shall dare
Rouse foes couched all round.
And am I brave enough to doom thee so,
I, all so happy once? am I resigned
To worship at thy grave who hast lived to show
Me crowned above my kind?
Those whom it leads have gained an inch of ground;
For first he falls, who first alone shall dare
Rouse foes couched all round.
And am I brave enough to doom thee so,
I, all so happy once? am I resigned
To worship at thy grave who hast lived to show
Me crowned above my kind?
Can I believe, for whom thou wert life's sun,
Earth will be brighter for that sun's eclipse?
That the great tide will roll more freely on,
O'er wrecks of noblest ships?
It matters not—the way is dark, but straight;
Twins are my love and pride; I wedded thee,
Thee and thy greatness; work thou out thy fate,
Then—oh call soon for me!”
Earth will be brighter for that sun's eclipse?
That the great tide will roll more freely on,
O'er wrecks of noblest ships?
It matters not—the way is dark, but straight;
Twins are my love and pride; I wedded thee,
Thee and thy greatness; work thou out thy fate,
Then—oh call soon for me!”
He comes to fling that new-enriched life
On the great altar, nor comes he alone;
The light soft hand that waved him to the strife
Is welded to his own.
Yet strife he brings not, flapping not aloft,
A storm-bird with harsh cry, but like the swallow,
With summer on its wings, and piping soft,
For fuller songs to follow.
On the great altar, nor comes he alone;
The light soft hand that waved him to the strife
Is welded to his own.
Yet strife he brings not, flapping not aloft,
A storm-bird with harsh cry, but like the swallow,
With summer on its wings, and piping soft,
For fuller songs to follow.
47
But in his children burned Saint Dominic,
A frenzy in their blood; and cowled hate
Gnashed dragon-teeth at him, the heretic,
Who stormed their sacred gate.
Thrice in their gripe he fell, and thrice God's arm
Withdrew him for the work that was to reach
To lives yet ages off—either a charm
Of subtly-moving speech,
A frenzy in their blood; and cowled hate
Gnashed dragon-teeth at him, the heretic,
Who stormed their sacred gate.
Thrice in their gripe he fell, and thrice God's arm
Withdrew him for the work that was to reach
To lives yet ages off—either a charm
Of subtly-moving speech,
Or lingering love of some who once had held
The Fra Dolcino first and best of men,
The willing martyr loosed, the glimpse dispelled
Of heaven within his ken.
So from the city life and peopled plains,
O'erawed by crosier, filled with priestly feet,
And eyes cowl-shadowed, as with blood the veins,
He turned for some retreat.
The Fra Dolcino first and best of men,
The willing martyr loosed, the glimpse dispelled
Of heaven within his ken.
So from the city life and peopled plains,
O'erawed by crosier, filled with priestly feet,
And eyes cowl-shadowed, as with blood the veins,
He turned for some retreat.
The summer richness round Vercelli laid,
Where battled walls like a dark ring of shields
Lock in the town, from happy breadths of shade
Severed, and shining fields,
Whose seas of grass are streaked with streams that roll
Diamonds from clefts in Alpine marble rent,
Thence trickling into verdure: these his soul
Felt like a banishment.
Where battled walls like a dark ring of shields
Lock in the town, from happy breadths of shade
Severed, and shining fields,
Whose seas of grass are streaked with streams that roll
Diamonds from clefts in Alpine marble rent,
Thence trickling into verdure: these his soul
Felt like a banishment.
Leaving those sunny levels then, he tracked
Safety and liberty up lawless vales,
Where only Nature's wrath those mountain-backed
And sullen haunts assails,
Castle or den, wherein amid the rocks
To all foiled outcasts from the pastures driven
By stronger herds, or singly or in flocks,
Uneasy footing's given.
Safety and liberty up lawless vales,
Where only Nature's wrath those mountain-backed
And sullen haunts assails,
48
To all foiled outcasts from the pastures driven
By stronger herds, or singly or in flocks,
Uneasy footing's given.
There did the haughty Ghibeline chieftain—couched
Outside the tamed Vercelli in his pride,
And from his fortress like a dragon crouched
And curled by Sesia's side,
Flinging grim scorn at all nets woven for
Body or soul—to Fra Dolcino call:
“What! art thou outlawed, hunted down, at war
With slaves and tyrants all?
Outside the tamed Vercelli in his pride,
And from his fortress like a dragon crouched
And curled by Sesia's side,
Flinging grim scorn at all nets woven for
Body or soul—to Fra Dolcino call:
“What! art thou outlawed, hunted down, at war
With slaves and tyrants all?
“Welcome to Robiallo! See unrolled
The Biandrate's banner o'er thy head,
To warn the Guelphs off from the prey I hold
Safe where they dare not tread.”
But clipped were Biandrate's eagle-wings,
And foes were busy; lowlier friends, yet brave
As any noble, and from deeper springs,
A surer refuge gave.
The Biandrate's banner o'er thy head,
To warn the Guelphs off from the prey I hold
Safe where they dare not tread.”
But clipped were Biandrate's eagle-wings,
And foes were busy; lowlier friends, yet brave
As any noble, and from deeper springs,
A surer refuge gave.
49
IV. VAL SESIA.
Oh, if from all the fairy lands that night
Pilots us to, upon whose shores of dream
Dusk breaks to magic dawn, by such a light
We sought a home for him
Whose life was like a beautiful, austere
Vision in some weird Patmos all untrod,
Wind-haunted peaks without, within, the clear
Calm grotto-shrines of God!
Pilots us to, upon whose shores of dream
Dusk breaks to magic dawn, by such a light
We sought a home for him
Whose life was like a beautiful, austere
Vision in some weird Patmos all untrod,
Wind-haunted peaks without, within, the clear
Calm grotto-shrines of God!
There, where Val Sesia, like a beauteous cup,
Is from the mountains melted out, 't is given—
That Paradise in darkness treasured up!
That mountain-guarded Heaven!
That secret happiness! that dell of charms!
In whose deep heart of sleep one minstrel sings,
And dreams his endless poems in the arms
Of giant-granite kings!
Is from the mountains melted out, 't is given—
That Paradise in darkness treasured up!
That mountain-guarded Heaven!
That secret happiness! that dell of charms!
In whose deep heart of sleep one minstrel sings,
And dreams his endless poems in the arms
Of giant-granite kings!
But thou, O dreamer of a deeper song
Than even Nature's murmuring child can teach!
Seek it, to find, high up its course, ere long,
A refuge out of reach.
And first, on Colma's fairy tower, sky-kissed,
Out of lakes, mountains, streams, soft breadths, bright lines,
Fix the one vale where, clear thro' golden mist,
Wood-cleaving Sesia shines.
Than even Nature's murmuring child can teach!
Seek it, to find, high up its course, ere long,
A refuge out of reach.
And first, on Colma's fairy tower, sky-kissed,
Out of lakes, mountains, streams, soft breadths, bright lines,
Fix the one vale where, clear thro' golden mist,
Wood-cleaving Sesia shines.
50
There is thy home! find, then, the path that flees
Out of the world, between huge heights and deeps,
Where million towers of monster chestnut-trees
O'ergreen untrodden steeps.
Rooted in æons of th'unpeopled world,
Now with leaf-laden boughs they darken this,
Covering like pebbles boulders, that lie hurled
Half-way to the abyss.
Out of the world, between huge heights and deeps,
Where million towers of monster chestnut-trees
O'ergreen untrodden steeps.
Rooted in æons of th'unpeopled world,
Now with leaf-laden boughs they darken this,
Covering like pebbles boulders, that lie hurled
Half-way to the abyss.
And still those depths and heights! and still around
The boundless, endless shade thro' which the gleam
From Sesia's bed deep down, too far for sound,
Breaks white, a dazzling dream.
But the glen narrows, deepens, winds away,
The naked brows that hail God's storms appear,
The path descends, sweet mysteries to betray,—
The glorious voice is near!
The boundless, endless shade thro' which the gleam
From Sesia's bed deep down, too far for sound,
Breaks white, a dazzling dream.
But the glen narrows, deepens, winds away,
The naked brows that hail God's storms appear,
The path descends, sweet mysteries to betray,—
The glorious voice is near!
Go when heaven's glories stoop to thee in throngs,
Ascend the dell when first the hills are waking;
Hear that immortal minstrel, full of songs,
Chaunt every step he's taking!
See on those regal heads the Sun's young pride
Kiss into crowns of gold their misty hoods,
And in gold-dews bathe all the mountain-side,
All its delicious woods;
Ascend the dell when first the hills are waking;
Hear that immortal minstrel, full of songs,
Chaunt every step he's taking!
See on those regal heads the Sun's young pride
Kiss into crowns of gold their misty hoods,
And in gold-dews bathe all the mountain-side,
All its delicious woods;
While the huge bases underneath still lie,
With their hushed dreaming forests, in a swoon,
Ignorant of the morning; but from high
Slides down the splendour soon,
Touches the river, kindles at a bound
Its infant-spray, shoots jewelled shafts anon,
Till with a thousand glad gold bubbles crowned
It dances on and on.
With their hushed dreaming forests, in a swoon,
Ignorant of the morning; but from high
Slides down the splendour soon,
51
Its infant-spray, shoots jewelled shafts anon,
Till with a thousand glad gold bubbles crowned
It dances on and on.
Prophet of God's Aurora! upward go,
Track to its cradle-cave the wanderer's sweep,
Rushing in whirls white-fringed with lisping snow,
In opal pools asleep.
Still curves the vale, the stream, a soul in pain,
Still twisting with it, panting, dives, to pierce
Rock-jaws and disappear; then bursts again
From ruin, doubly fierce.
Track to its cradle-cave the wanderer's sweep,
Rushing in whirls white-fringed with lisping snow,
In opal pools asleep.
Still curves the vale, the stream, a soul in pain,
Still twisting with it, panting, dives, to pierce
Rock-jaws and disappear; then bursts again
From ruin, doubly fierce.
The dell shrinks closer, nearer press the rocks,
Narrower the stream shoots, higher climb in air
Brown village-roofs that cling to white stone blocks,
Perched, balanced, hanging there.
The mountain sheer before them like a tomb
Bids ask, “In yon grim walls who of mankind
Could—save a murderer flying from his doom—
Shelter or passage find?”
Narrower the stream shoots, higher climb in air
Brown village-roofs that cling to white stone blocks,
Perched, balanced, hanging there.
The mountain sheer before them like a tomb
Bids ask, “In yon grim walls who of mankind
Could—save a murderer flying from his doom—
Shelter or passage find?”
For this is Campordoglio; here begin
Val Sesia's secrets; here the strong old man,
The peasant ruler, shut his stern life in,
To brood, to wait, to plan.
Lo! here Milano's den, that round thick tower
On solid pillars—gourds, with their green shade,
Fill chinks and crevices, vines make a bower
Round granite balustrade.
Val Sesia's secrets; here the strong old man,
The peasant ruler, shut his stern life in,
To brood, to wait, to plan.
Lo! here Milano's den, that round thick tower
On solid pillars—gourds, with their green shade,
Fill chinks and crevices, vines make a bower
Round granite balustrade.
52
That ruin yet sad guardianship imparts
To yon grey roofs that press around; of old
The shrine of outlawed faiths, defiant hearts,
Was that unconquered hold.
These were all here; and that grim Warden hailed
With outstretched arms the Priest of his wild cause;
Him had he loved when Church and World assailed
The scorner of their laws;
To yon grey roofs that press around; of old
The shrine of outlawed faiths, defiant hearts,
Was that unconquered hold.
These were all here; and that grim Warden hailed
With outstretched arms the Priest of his wild cause;
Him had he loved when Church and World assailed
The scorner of their laws;
Loved more because the darling of his sire,
His own Emilio, followed, with the faith
That turns a young heart to a vase of fire,
That prophet-priest of Death.
Noble and rough, as Nature's splintered heaps
Of stone, built up by her to walls and towers,
There lived he, in his wild heart's stormy deeps,
Through long, lone, wintry hours,
His own Emilio, followed, with the faith
That turns a young heart to a vase of fire,
That prophet-priest of Death.
Noble and rough, as Nature's splintered heaps
Of stone, built up by her to walls and towers,
There lived he, in his wild heart's stormy deeps,
Through long, lone, wintry hours,
Nursing the dead form which no hours that roll
Shall bring breath back to, in his fresh springtide
Slain by Dolcino's foes—his life, his soul
Henceforth were petrified
Into a tomb for that one being lost—
There kept he watch above
His murdered heart's delight, th'ensanguined ghost,
To hatred curdling love;
Shall bring breath back to, in his fresh springtide
Slain by Dolcino's foes—his life, his soul
Henceforth were petrified
Into a tomb for that one being lost—
There kept he watch above
His murdered heart's delight, th'ensanguined ghost,
To hatred curdling love;
Yea, at the very altar,—in his hand
The God for him made bread—
He swore to wreak his vengeance on the land
With that dear life-blood red.
And lived and donned rude armour, day by day
Set furrowed brows against the mountain blast,
Chased wolf and wild boar, dreaming of the prey
That he should pin at last!
The God for him made bread—
He swore to wreak his vengeance on the land
With that dear life-blood red.
53
Set furrowed brows against the mountain blast,
Chased wolf and wild boar, dreaming of the prey
That he should pin at last!
There, O Dolcino, with the souls thou 'st charmed
Rest thee awhile; it may not be for long
That thou shalt worship, undisturbed, unharmed,
With fire of prayer and song.
There in the flame of mystic altars mould
Thy splendid fancies, wing again thy youth
With eagle impulses, whose eyes behold
The central light of Truth.
Rest thee awhile; it may not be for long
That thou shalt worship, undisturbed, unharmed,
With fire of prayer and song.
There in the flame of mystic altars mould
Thy splendid fancies, wing again thy youth
With eagle impulses, whose eyes behold
The central light of Truth.
There love thy loves, the heart of friendship prove,
But with a passion purified, a ray
All merged and circled in the fuller love
That sunders soul from clay.
There praying, waiting, count th'allotted days
For the Deliverer, born of some great line,
Fixed by all high souls with prophetic gaze,
Summoned by song divine.
But with a passion purified, a ray
All merged and circled in the fuller love
That sunders soul from clay.
There praying, waiting, count th'allotted days
For the Deliverer, born of some great line,
Fixed by all high souls with prophetic gaze,
Summoned by song divine.
Still track we further up the vale the soul's
Impassioned flight beyond Earth's space and time,
To Riva cradled in its soft green knolls,
Watched by a Form sublime.
There stays the foot—the glen no further goes,
Locked sternly in between those two half-bare,
Half-piny portals, that will ne'er unclose—
And lo! before us there,
Impassioned flight beyond Earth's space and time,
To Riva cradled in its soft green knolls,
Watched by a Form sublime.
There stays the foot—the glen no further goes,
Locked sternly in between those two half-bare,
Half-piny portals, that will ne'er unclose—
And lo! before us there,
54
That turretted and crested Head, that springs,
A sparkling crown, o'er all the mountain range,
Gazing in snowy scorn on lesser kings,
Cold, clear, defying change,
Throned in sky-sapphire! Mountain rosed at dawn
Into a thing as fair as terrible,
Thou shy, austere divinity! withdrawn,
As by a sudden spell,
A sparkling crown, o'er all the mountain range,
Gazing in snowy scorn on lesser kings,
Cold, clear, defying change,
Throned in sky-sapphire! Mountain rosed at dawn
Into a thing as fair as terrible,
Thou shy, austere divinity! withdrawn,
As by a sudden spell,
Within thy sanctuary of cloud so oft—
O Monte Rosa, happy at thy feet
The rural sweetness sleeps, howe'er aloft
The clouds in battle meet,
Where slope the hills down to the silver glance
Of rivulet thro' Eden plots which passes,
Where sunshine bathes in dew, and crickets dance
And chirp in thymy grasses.
O Monte Rosa, happy at thy feet
The rural sweetness sleeps, howe'er aloft
The clouds in battle meet,
Where slope the hills down to the silver glance
Of rivulet thro' Eden plots which passes,
Where sunshine bathes in dew, and crickets dance
And chirp in thymy grasses.
There passed him, with the light bare feet that trod
So beautifully and so nobly free,
Those creatures modelled by the hand of God
From earth of Italy;
Those sweet-eyed girls with smiles that still enthral
The gazer, in some mild Madonna traced
By peasant-painter on the chapel wall,—
Who moved in nymph-like haste,
So beautifully and so nobly free,
Those creatures modelled by the hand of God
From earth of Italy;
Those sweet-eyed girls with smiles that still enthral
The gazer, in some mild Madonna traced
By peasant-painter on the chapel wall,—
Who moved in nymph-like haste,
Plying the spindle, and, from open brows
Bound by the crimson fillet, glancing back
To watch the lambs and kids that stop to browse
Or frolic off the track;
Or where the green-isled cottage thatched and grey
O'erlooks a few calm grazing sheep and kine,
And the gay grace of girlhood loosed in play,
By innocence made divine.
Bound by the crimson fillet, glancing back
To watch the lambs and kids that stop to browse
Or frolic off the track;
55
O'erlooks a few calm grazing sheep and kine,
And the gay grace of girlhood loosed in play,
By innocence made divine.
How o'er the sward their aimless shadows flit!
While one o'erhead doth in a green ash-tree
Stripping fresh leaves off for the cattle sit,
And to their rippling glee
Soft answer laughs—then suddenly demure,
Cries “Watch the babe,”—there seated on a knoll,
A pretty, solemn, human miniature,
Small casket of a soul.
While one o'erhead doth in a green ash-tree
Stripping fresh leaves off for the cattle sit,
And to their rippling glee
Soft answer laughs—then suddenly demure,
Cries “Watch the babe,”—there seated on a knoll,
A pretty, solemn, human miniature,
Small casket of a soul.
Gay group, ye guess not how with thoughts of home,
A thing half known, ne'er to be had again,
Ye touch th'Elijah of God-braving Rome,
And make a pleasant pain.
Time was in that heart's chambers cold and lonely
Kept sternly waste for God, had entered in,
From touch of human joy's wild pulses, only
A bitter sense of sin.
A thing half known, ne'er to be had again,
Ye touch th'Elijah of God-braving Rome,
And make a pleasant pain.
Time was in that heart's chambers cold and lonely
Kept sternly waste for God, had entered in,
From touch of human joy's wild pulses, only
A bitter sense of sin.
But now the purity of youth, the grace
Of womanhood, the sanctity of beauty,
Could waft a perfume to his storm-girt place
On mountain heights of Duty;
And he could think, “O Italy! thy daughters
Yet on thy sons may breathe, as wind on wave
When God shall move upon the torpid waters,
In storms that clear and save!”
Of womanhood, the sanctity of beauty,
Could waft a perfume to his storm-girt place
On mountain heights of Duty;
And he could think, “O Italy! thy daughters
Yet on thy sons may breathe, as wind on wave
When God shall move upon the torpid waters,
In storms that clear and save!”
| Fra Dolcino, and other poems | |