 | Carol and Cadence |  |
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BALLADS AND ROMANCES.
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THE RIME OF MELISANDE.
“O Melisande,
By Surrie strand,
Red Rose of Tripoli,
From Paris Town to Askalon,
In all the lands the sun shines on,
Was never maid like thee.
By Surrie strand,
Red Rose of Tripoli,
From Paris Town to Askalon,
In all the lands the sun shines on,
Was never maid like thee.
Blue are thine eyes
As summer skies,
Thy hair as ripening corn;
On good and vile
Thy sweet lips smile,
Sans ever trace of scorn.
As summer skies,
Thy hair as ripening corn;
On good and vile
Thy sweet lips smile,
Sans ever trace of scorn.
All hearts rejoice
To hear thy voice,
Like linnet's on the wing:
E'en Rudel right,
That witsome wight,
Thy praise uneath might sing.
To hear thy voice,
Like linnet's on the wing:
E'en Rudel right,
That witsome wight,
Thy praise uneath might sing.
Unto this end
A man might spend
His life, to gain thy grace;
There's none may think
Of care or swink
That looks upon thy face.”
A man might spend
His life, to gain thy grace;
There's none may think
Of care or swink
That looks upon thy face.”
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The ghittern's clang
Called all the folk to hear.
“All over the world,” quoth he, “I've strayed;
“But never I saw so sweet a maid,
“So fair and frank and dear!”
The fair one's fame,
Like wind-borne flame,
Went spreading, place to place:
Full was the land
Of Melisande,
Her goodness and her grace:
And those among,
To whom Fate flung
The tidings of the case,
The news of her
To Rudel's ear
Came in a little space.
Like wind-borne flame,
Went spreading, place to place:
Full was the land
Of Melisande,
Her goodness and her grace:
And those among,
To whom Fate flung
The tidings of the case,
The news of her
To Rudel's ear
Came in a little space.
In him for nought,
At first, it wrought;
He took thereof scant heed.
But, oh, what a parlous thing is Love,
That whiles but couples 'twixt dove and dove
And whiles, for a word
In the distance heard,
Men's hearts to death bids bleed!
At first, it wrought;
He took thereof scant heed.
But, oh, what a parlous thing is Love,
That whiles but couples 'twixt dove and dove
And whiles, for a word
In the distance heard,
Men's hearts to death bids bleed!
Now by His law
The hearkened saw
In Rudel's heart so deep
Sank and so wrought
Within his thought,
On wake and eke in sleep,
That, before long,
None other song
There sang, none other strain,
Than her sweet name,
Whose far-flown fame
Had witched him, heart and brain.
The hearkened saw
In Rudel's heart so deep
Sank and so wrought
Within his thought,
On wake and eke in sleep,
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None other song
There sang, none other strain,
Than her sweet name,
Whose far-flown fame
Had witched him, heart and brain.
The thought of her
In him did stir
At every time and place;
He spoke by light
And dreamed by night
Of nothing but her grace;
And like a fire
Was his desire
To look upon her face.
In him did stir
At every time and place;
He spoke by light
And dreamed by night
Of nothing but her grace;
And like a fire
Was his desire
To look upon her face.
No more his rhymes,
As aforetimes,
Of divers ladies were:
One only praise
Was in his lays;
None other maid might share
His minstrelsy
With her whom he
Held only worth and fair.
As aforetimes,
Of divers ladies were:
One only praise
Was in his lays;
None other maid might share
His minstrelsy
With her whom he
Held only worth and fair.
All Europe rang
With what he sang
In praise of Melisande;
From hall to court
Flew his report
In every Chrisom land,
Till oversea
It won where she
Abode by Surrie strand.
With what he sang
In praise of Melisande;
From hall to court
Flew his report
In every Chrisom land,
Till oversea
It won where she
Abode by Surrie strand.
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And she, — for kind
And mild of mind
She was as sweet of show
And keen of wit,
— By word of writ,
Gave him full fain to know
That all above
She held his love
And service evenso.
And mild of mind
She was as sweet of show
And keen of wit,
— By word of writ,
Gave him full fain to know
That all above
She held his love
And service evenso.
Now in those days
That prince of praise,
Who fell by Antioch wall,
Kaiser and Knight,
That Redbeard hight,
A new crusade let call
And Paynim-free
Christ's sanctuary
To make, bade Christians all.
That prince of praise,
Who fell by Antioch wall,
Kaiser and Knight,
That Redbeard hight,
A new crusade let call
And Paynim-free
Christ's sanctuary
To make, bade Christians all.
His standard raised,
Whereon there blazed
The Cross, all thither ran:
Whoso delayed
From the crusade
Must bear the dastard's ban:
From France to Greece,
There was no peace
For any Chrisom man.
Whereon there blazed
The Cross, all thither ran:
Whoso delayed
From the crusade
Must bear the dastard's ban:
From France to Greece,
There was no peace
For any Chrisom man.
Now, to Rudel
When it befell
To hear his lady's word,
Joy in his spright
Was at its height
And longing in him stirred
Her face to see
And know if she
Were even as he heard.
When it befell
To hear his lady's word,
Joy in his spright
Was at its height
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Her face to see
And know if she
Were even as he heard.
So, by the sign
To Palestine
That every Christian bade,
Though from the Quest
He right of rest
Had earned by service made,
Occasion yet
His mind was set
To take by the Crusade
To Palestine
That every Christian bade,
Though from the Quest
He right of rest
Had earned by service made,
Occasion yet
His mind was set
To take by the Crusade
And oversea
To Tripoli,
Seeking his lady bright,
Fare, there, if well
She willed, to dwell,
Undistant from her sight,
So, of her grace,
He whiles her face
Might see and be her knight.
To Tripoli,
Seeking his lady bright,
Fare, there, if well
She willed, to dwell,
Undistant from her sight,
So, of her grace,
He whiles her face
Might see and be her knight.
And if in her
His sight should stir
No love, no kindness wake,
He might, at least,
Yet faring East,
Arms for the Cross uptake
And at Christ's call,
By Zion wall,
Die fighting for her sake.
His sight should stir
No love, no kindness wake,
He might, at least,
Yet faring East,
Arms for the Cross uptake
And at Christ's call,
By Zion wall,
Die fighting for her sake.
So for good gold
His land he sold
And for his lady dear
Gifts, with the price,
Of rare device,
He bought and travelling-gear.
His land he sold
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Gifts, with the price,
Of rare device,
He bought and travelling-gear.
His wede he shed
And donned instead
A palmer's hat and gown;
Then, taking horse,
Came, in due course
Of time, to Marseilles town.
And donned instead
A palmer's hat and gown;
Then, taking horse,
Came, in due course
Of time, to Marseilles town.
There, for his need,
A ship of speed
He hired, a caravel,
With arms and crew
And all things due
For travel furnished well.
A ship of speed
He hired, a caravel,
With arms and crew
And all things due
For travel furnished well.
So, on the main
Launching, Sardaine
And Corsica between
He passed and through
Th'untroubled blue
Drove of the Sea Tyrrhene.
Launching, Sardaine
And Corsica between
He passed and through
Th'untroubled blue
Drove of the Sea Tyrrhene.
Then, faring free,
To Sicily
He came, with wind in poop,
And lest some thief
From out the Riff,
Some corsair on them swoop
To Sicily
He came, with wind in poop,
And lest some thief
From out the Riff,
Some corsair on them swoop
And ship and crew
And him thereto
Bear off to slavery,
Ran through the gates
Of Reggio Straits
Into the Ionian Sea.
And him thereto
Bear off to slavery,
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Of Reggio Straits
Into the Ionian Sea.
Thence breezes fleet
Bore them to Crete,
Where, for fresh meat and drink,
Some little tide
They did abide,
To ease them of their swink.
Bore them to Crete,
Where, for fresh meat and drink,
Some little tide
They did abide,
To ease them of their swink.
Then, in fair weather,
Loosing their tether,
After a resting-while,
They Eastward bent
Their course, intent
On making Cyprus Isle.
Loosing their tether,
After a resting-while,
They Eastward bent
Their course, intent
On making Cyprus Isle.
But scarce from sight
Sank Ida's height
When all the sky turned black
And thence there blew
A wind undue,
That turned them from their track.
Sank Ida's height
When all the sky turned black
And thence there blew
A wind undue,
That turned them from their track.
So, many a day
And night, astray
They drove before the blast
Till, tempest-ragged,
The torn sails flagged
Upon the stricken mast.
And night, astray
They drove before the blast
Till, tempest-ragged,
The torn sails flagged
Upon the stricken mast.
The heavens scowled,
The tempest howled
Athwart the sails and ropes;
And never sight
Of bay or bight
There offered to their hopes.
The tempest howled
Athwart the sails and ropes;
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Of bay or bight
There offered to their hopes.
Until, one morn,
With day new-born,
Down sudden dropped the storm;
The cloud-veil drew
From off heaven's blue
And forth the sun shone warm.
With day new-born,
Down sudden dropped the storm;
The cloud-veil drew
From off heaven's blue
And forth the sun shone warm.
A dead calm held
The seas enspelled;
Of breezes breath was none;
They, whose need late
For cold was great,
Now sweltered in the sun;
The seas enspelled;
Of breezes breath was none;
They, whose need late
For cold was great,
Now sweltered in the sun;
And to and fro
They drifted slow
Till hope within them died,
And still their eyes
But seas and skies
On every hand espied.
They drifted slow
Till hope within them died,
And still their eyes
But seas and skies
On every hand espied.
Nor provend more
There was in store,
To stay the failing breath;
And eke Rudel
By fever fell
Was stricken unto death.
There was in store,
To stay the failing breath;
And eke Rudel
By fever fell
Was stricken unto death.
So drifted they
From day to day,
Whilst all of life despaired;
Till, as upon
The prow, anon,
The captain Eastward stared,
From day to day,
Whilst all of life despaired;
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The prow, anon,
The captain Eastward stared,
The man cried out,
'Twixt hope and doubt,
Misdeeming of his eyes;
For o'er the brine
He saw a line
Of shores and hills arise.
'Twixt hope and doubt,
Misdeeming of his eyes;
For o'er the brine
He saw a line
Of shores and hills arise.
From the sea's face
It rose apace,
Like visions in a dream;
And on its marge,
Where light lay large,
He saw spires flash and gleam.
It rose apace,
Like visions in a dream;
And on its marge,
Where light lay large,
He saw spires flash and gleam.
Roofs rose and towers
And domes, like flowers
Of gold, against the sky;
Upon that sight,
So glad and bright,
A man might look and die.
And domes, like flowers
Of gold, against the sky;
Upon that sight,
So glad and bright,
A man might look and die.
“The saints I thank!”
The captain sank,
Thus crying, on his knee;
“I know that land,
“That silver strand,
“Fringed with the date-palm tree.
The captain sank,
Thus crying, on his knee;
“I know that land,
“That silver strand,
“Fringed with the date-palm tree.
“I know the port with the white-walled town
“And the creek where the golden sands slope down,
“To meet the mounting sea;
“I know the beach, with the babbling rill;
“The grey old castle upon the hill
“And the tower I know, with the standard still
“That beareth the lilies three;
“The spires and the pinnacled palaces
“I know and the domes. It is, it is
“The Land of Tripoli!”
“And the creek where the golden sands slope down,
“To meet the mounting sea;
“I know the beach, with the babbling rill;
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“And the tower I know, with the standard still
“That beareth the lilies three;
“The spires and the pinnacled palaces
“I know and the domes. It is, it is
“The Land of Tripoli!”
Their hopes leapt up at the heartening word;
There was never a man so weak that heard
But sprang to the sheets again:
The sail rose up on the swaying mast:
It was land, it was blesséd land, at last:
Forgotten were all their fears and fain
They would have cheered; but their throats were dry
And the shout came out like a broken sigh
Or the wail of a soul in pain.
There was never a man so weak that heard
But sprang to the sheets again:
The sail rose up on the swaying mast:
It was land, it was blesséd land, at last:
Forgotten were all their fears and fain
They would have cheered; but their throats were dry
And the shout came out like a broken sigh
Or the wail of a soul in pain.
The town lay silent; beneath the skies
It slept in the dawning glow;
There was never a sign for the straining eyes.
But “Up with the flag!” the captain cries;
“'Twill waken the folk, I trow.”
So up, with a shout and the halyards' creak,
The black ball ran to the topmost peak
And the banner of France at the main broke out
And hung in the calm, as if in doubt
Of welcoming, ay or no.
It slept in the dawning glow;
There was never a sign for the straining eyes.
But “Up with the flag!” the captain cries;
“'Twill waken the folk, I trow.”
So up, with a shout and the halyards' creak,
The black ball ran to the topmost peak
And the banner of France at the main broke out
And hung in the calm, as if in doubt
Of welcoming, ay or no.
At the sight and the sound the town awoke:
Away on the ramparts the sackbuts spoke;
The drums beat a point of war;
The trumpets thundered over the sea
And forth of the battlements, sweet to see,
There broke and blossomed the Lilies Three,
Paled with the crosses four,
The crosses four and the triple star,
The flag of the Paynim feared afar,
The banner of Raymond, Lord of Bar
And Count of the Surrie shore.
Away on the ramparts the sackbuts spoke;
The drums beat a point of war;
The trumpets thundered over the sea
And forth of the battlements, sweet to see,
There broke and blossomed the Lilies Three,
Paled with the crosses four,
The crosses four and the triple star,
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The banner of Raymond, Lord of Bar
And Count of the Surrie shore.
Then heaven took pity and sent a breeze;
A light air wrinkled the crests of the seas
And made the taut ropes sing;
The canvas fluttered, the seas slid by;
The land drew nigher and ever nigh;
And wearily into the little port
The carvel crawled, like a hart amort
Or a bird with a broken wing.
A light air wrinkled the crests of the seas
And made the taut ropes sing;
The canvas fluttered, the seas slid by;
The land drew nigher and ever nigh;
And wearily into the little port
The carvel crawled, like a hart amort
Or a bird with a broken wing.
The count's folk hailed as the ship drew nigh,
Loud calling from the quay;
“Ho, ye of the carvel!” was the cry:
“Why come ye hither to Tripoli?
“Whence, whence and whither, and what bear ye
Withal for lading, say!”
Loud calling from the quay;
“Ho, ye of the carvel!” was the cry:
“Why come ye hither to Tripoli?
“Whence, whence and whither, and what bear ye
Withal for lading, say!”
“From France,” the captain, “we come,” replied.
“Long, long have we tossed on the angry tide,
“Have toiled and travelled it far and wide,
“Driven of the winds astray.
“Nor stuffs nor jewels we bear for freight;
“Yet that, which is more of worth and rate
In wise men's eyes than they,
“We bring, nought else than a minstrel wight,
“Whose like is none in the sheer sun's sight,
“To wit, Sir Geoffrey, of Rudel hight,
“Baron and Prince of Blaye.
“Long, long have we tossed on the angry tide,
“Have toiled and travelled it far and wide,
“Driven of the winds astray.
“Nor stuffs nor jewels we bear for freight;
“Yet that, which is more of worth and rate
In wise men's eyes than they,
“We bring, nought else than a minstrel wight,
“Whose like is none in the sheer sun's sight,
“To wit, Sir Geoffrey, of Rudel hight,
“Baron and Prince of Blaye.
“The sweetest singer in all the land,
“For love of the Lady Melisande,
“His last hath he looked on the fair French strand
“And launched on the surging spray;
“He hath given himself to the salt sea's guile,
“Hath wended and wearied him many a mile,
“So but he might see her sweet eyes smile
“And kiss her dainty hand,
“So but he might hear her welcome say
“And louting low in her presence, pray
For favour on his suit.
“But sick, alas! is the bard to death:
“There's little left in his breast of breath;
“The death-swoon holds him mute.
“He'll never again the folk rejoice
“With ditties dearer than gems of choice;
“He'll never again uplift his voice
“Or sing to the laughing lute.”
“For love of the Lady Melisande,
“His last hath he looked on the fair French strand
“And launched on the surging spray;
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“Hath wended and wearied him many a mile,
“So but he might see her sweet eyes smile
“And kiss her dainty hand,
“So but he might hear her welcome say
“And louting low in her presence, pray
For favour on his suit.
“But sick, alas! is the bard to death:
“There's little left in his breast of breath;
“The death-swoon holds him mute.
“He'll never again the folk rejoice
“With ditties dearer than gems of choice;
“He'll never again uplift his voice
“Or sing to the laughing lute.”
All rent, that heard
The captain's word,
With cries of grief the air;
For known was Rudel of every man
That numbered his name of the Chrisom clan;
And straight to the palace one there ran,
As if the news to bear.
The captain's word,
With cries of grief the air;
For known was Rudel of every man
That numbered his name of the Chrisom clan;
And straight to the palace one there ran,
As if the news to bear.
Nor was it long
Ere, through the throng
That lined the harbour's marge,
Thrusting athwart
The inner port,
There showed a stately barge.
Ere, through the throng
That lined the harbour's marge,
Thrusting athwart
The inner port,
There showed a stately barge.
Hung were its sides, within, without,
With purple and cramoisie all about:
A dozen steersmen, tall and stout,
Six upon either side,
Swayed, as, with stalwart strokes and strong,
They drove the ponderous barge along
The slow resurgent tide.
With purple and cramoisie all about:
A dozen steersmen, tall and stout,
Six upon either side,
Swayed, as, with stalwart strokes and strong,
They drove the ponderous barge along
The slow resurgent tide.
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But none on the barge or the crew might look;
For lo! at the stern, in the curtained nook,
Like a pictured saint in a pious book,
Under the awning's shade,
With eyes of azure and hair of flame
And forehead flushed with a rosy shame,
A lily of light in a golden frame,
There sat a shining maid.
For lo! at the stern, in the curtained nook,
Like a pictured saint in a pious book,
Under the awning's shade,
With eyes of azure and hair of flame
And forehead flushed with a rosy shame,
A lily of light in a golden frame,
There sat a shining maid.
Her hair was gold
As the corn-crowned wold,
Her eyes as summer sea;
Since God in heaven set day and night,
Was never a maid so sweet of sight,
So fair of face as she.
Men looked on her face and bent the knee;
They gazed in her melting eyes of blue;
They noted her princely port and knew
The flower of Christiantie,
The loveliest lady whom ever upon
The sunbeams burned and the moonlight shone,
A brighter of blee than any star
And whiter of wit than lilies are,
The Lady Melisande of Bar,
The Rose of Tripoli.
As the corn-crowned wold,
Her eyes as summer sea;
Since God in heaven set day and night,
Was never a maid so sweet of sight,
So fair of face as she.
Men looked on her face and bent the knee;
They gazed in her melting eyes of blue;
They noted her princely port and knew
The flower of Christiantie,
The loveliest lady whom ever upon
The sunbeams burned and the moonlight shone,
A brighter of blee than any star
And whiter of wit than lilies are,
The Lady Melisande of Bar,
The Rose of Tripoli.
The bark lay low;
The barge slid slow;
And up on the deck stepped that lady light;
She took her way
Where Rudel lay
And kneeling, bent o'er the dying knight.
The barge slid slow;
And up on the deck stepped that lady light;
She took her way
Where Rudel lay
And kneeling, bent o'er the dying knight.
The death-swoon held
His sense enspelled:
But syne on his brow her lips she prest;
And with the bliss
Of that her kiss,
The breath came back to his bated breast.
His sense enspelled:
But syne on his brow her lips she prest;
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Of that her kiss,
The breath came back to his bated breast.
He opened his eyes: by Our Lady's grace,
Life flickered up for a moment's space:
He opened his eyes on his lady's face
And met her look of love.
He felt him pillowed upon her breast
And thought him already at rest, at rest,
Encompanied round of the ransomed blest,
In Paradise above.
Life flickered up for a moment's space:
He opened his eyes on his lady's face
And met her look of love.
He felt him pillowed upon her breast
And thought him already at rest, at rest,
Encompanied round of the ransomed blest,
In Paradise above.
He gave God thanks for the gotten goal;
Nought more to wish for; Life made whole,
Love's blisses over the sated soul
Full-flowing, tide on tide!
He had lighted at last on the Golden Shore;
He had entered in at the Heavenly Door;
There was nothing on earth to live for more;
And so in Heaven he died.
Nought more to wish for; Life made whole,
Love's blisses over the sated soul
Full-flowing, tide on tide!
He had lighted at last on the Golden Shore;
He had entered in at the Heavenly Door;
There was nothing on earth to live for more;
And so in Heaven he died.
Under a monument sweet to see,
In the Templars' chapel at Tripoli,
They laid him with mourning and melody,
As one of high estate;
To rest they laid him on royal wise,
Bewept of the tears of his lady's eyes:
And there, — till the day of the Great Assize,
When God all peoples, both small and great,
Shall call to reckoning up, — await,
Geoffrey of Rudel lies.
In the Templars' chapel at Tripoli,
They laid him with mourning and melody,
As one of high estate;
To rest they laid him on royal wise,
Bewept of the tears of his lady's eyes:
And there, — till the day of the Great Assize,
When God all peoples, both small and great,
Shall call to reckoning up, — await,
Geoffrey of Rudel lies.
There sleeps he, freed
From all Life's need,
From all its cares and charms:
Solved is his soul
Of joy and dole,
Of gladnesses and harms.
Men hold him mad;
But his hope he had;
For he died in his lady's arms.
From all Life's need,
From all its cares and charms:
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Of joy and dole,
Of gladnesses and harms.
Men hold him mad;
But his hope he had;
For he died in his lady's arms.
WANDERERS.
1.
Marineres, a-steering through the shadow of the peak,
Who are ye and whence are ye and what is it ye seek?
Who are ye and whence are ye and what is it ye seek?
Lovers, lovers, laboured of the winds of Will are we;
And we seek the lands of love that shine beyond the Western sea.
And we seek the lands of love that shine beyond the Western sea.
Dip your oars in, marineres! Here harboureth but strife.
Here hate is but to find, not love. This is the Land of Life.
Here hate is but to find, not love. This is the Land of Life.
2.
Marineres, a-rocking on the white waves' wrinkled crest,
Who are ye and whence are ye and whither is your quest?
Who are ye and whence are ye and whither is your quest?
Seekers, seekers, sorrowing for what we may not find,
Our quest is for the plains of peace that lie beyond the wind.
Our quest is for the plains of peace that lie beyond the wind.
Marineres, hoist up your sails! Here shall you find but leisure.
Here is no peace for such as you. This is the Land of Pleasure.
Here is no peace for such as you. This is the Land of Pleasure.
3.
Marineres, a-floating on the silence of the sea,
Who are ye and whence are ye and what is it seek ye?
Who are ye and whence are ye and what is it seek ye?
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Roamers, roamers, riding on the ocean's boundless breast;
And for the world, where stress is not nor sorrow, is our quest.
And for the world, where stress is not nor sorrow, is our quest.
Turn your prows, then, marineres, and bend your oars above!
This, this the Land of Sorrow is. Men call it Land of Love.
This, this the Land of Sorrow is. Men call it Land of Love.
4.
Marineres, slow-wending through the sprinkles of the foam,
Who are ye and what are ye and wherefore do ye roam?
Who are ye and what are ye and wherefore do ye roam?
Rovers, rovers, drifting on the troubled tides of life,
Seeking for the shores we go where silence is from strife.
Seeking for the shores we go where silence is from strife.
Marineres, shake out your sails! This is the Land of Dreams.
Here strife for ever is 'twixt that which is and that which seems.
Here strife for ever is 'twixt that which is and that which seems.
5.
Marineres, with wrinkled brows and tresses tossed and grey,
Who are ye and what are ye and whither is your way?
Who are ye and what are ye and whither is your way?
Dreamers, dreamers, shipwrecked of the storms of thought we are;
And we seek the Land of Silentness, behind the evening star.
And we seek the Land of Silentness, behind the evening star.
Marineres, draw in your oars! Light down and spare your breath!
This, this the Land of Silence is. Men call it Land of Death.
This, this the Land of Silence is. Men call it Land of Death.
NOVEMBER GHOSTS.
The day had been dreary with rain and mist:
But, when the dark came with the night to the tryst,
A wind blew out of the Orient sky
And swept the heavens clear and the world-all dry.
But, when the dark came with the night to the tryst,
A wind blew out of the Orient sky
And swept the heavens clear and the world-all dry.
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I passed through the darkling, the desolate plain,
Alone with the night in the world inane:
No light was; but blank was the land and drear
With Autumn ended and Winter near.
Alone with the night in the world inane:
No light was; but blank was the land and drear
With Autumn ended and Winter near.
The clouds lay lieger about the moon;
She showed not the tip of her shining shoon;
The wind went wailing without surcease;
'Twas silence and solitude, yet not peace.
She showed not the tip of her shining shoon;
The wind went wailing without surcease;
'Twas silence and solitude, yet not peace.
Care followed close on my faring feet;
The stillness throbbed, like a pulse abeat:
My heart was heavy; and as I went,
My sad soul echoed the wind's lament.
The stillness throbbed, like a pulse abeat:
My heart was heavy; and as I went,
My sad soul echoed the wind's lament.
The souls were abroad in the moonless night;
The echoes murmured of dead delight;
They spoke of women I loved and men
Who went with me hand in hand erewhen.
The echoes murmured of dead delight;
They spoke of women I loved and men
Who went with me hand in hand erewhen.
The wind in mine ear, as it passed in flight,
Shrilled, “Fool, what ails thee to fare by night,
“What time in November the leaves are shed
“And the air is alive with the restless dead?
Shrilled, “Fool, what ails thee to fare by night,
“What time in November the leaves are shed
“And the air is alive with the restless dead?
“Go, shelter at home from the ghosts of the Past,
“From the rueful night and the raging blast!”
And back to the hearthside I turned to go
And sat me down by the fire aglow.
“From the rueful night and the raging blast!”
And back to the hearthside I turned to go
And sat me down by the fire aglow.
But the ghosts came in with me out of the cold;
The dead came up from under the mould,
From the desert-sands and the deeps of the sea,
And entered in at the door with me.
The dead came up from under the mould,
From the desert-sands and the deeps of the sea,
And entered in at the door with me.
They sat by the hearth with me all night,
Till the path of the dawn in the East waxed white;
Then faded away without farewell;
And the crow of the cock was their passing-bell.
Till the path of the dawn in the East waxed white;
Then faded away without farewell;
And the crow of the cock was their passing-bell.
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FLOUTED LOVE.
Love came luting,
When the crocuses were budding, shooting
Thin green spearheads through the garden-mould.
Get thee gone, Love! Thou art come too early.
Winter yet is king and Boreas burly
Yet abroad is;
Yet the world unthawed is.
Get thee gone and shelter from the cold!
When the crocuses were budding, shooting
Thin green spearheads through the garden-mould.
Get thee gone, Love! Thou art come too early.
Winter yet is king and Boreas burly
Yet abroad is;
Yet the world unthawed is.
Get thee gone and shelter from the cold!
Love came singing
Down the alleys, when the world was ringing
With the blackbirds' and the thrushes' rhyme.
Get thee gone, Love! Who hath time for wooing,
When the world is lush with Life's renewing,
When all gay is
And our monarch May is?
Get thee gone and come in summertime!
Down the alleys, when the world was ringing
With the blackbirds' and the thrushes' rhyme.
Get thee gone, Love! Who hath time for wooing,
When the world is lush with Life's renewing,
When all gay is
And our monarch May is?
Get thee gone and come in summertime!
Love came glowing
Down the alleys, when the roses, blowing,
Filled the flowerbeds with their fragrant bloom.
Get thee gone, Love! Who hath care for kisses,
When the world-all with the summer blisses
Filled and fair is,
Fragrant when the air is?
Haply August will for thee have room.
Down the alleys, when the roses, blowing,
Filled the flowerbeds with their fragrant bloom.
Get thee gone, Love! Who hath care for kisses,
When the world-all with the summer blisses
Filled and fair is,
Fragrant when the air is?
Haply August will for thee have room.
Love came lagging,
When the lilies in the sun were flagging
And the August-flame was on the wheat.
Get thee gone, Love! Who hath coolth for courting,
When the corncrakes in the sun are sporting,
Ripe when corn is
And each meadow shorn is?
Get thee gone and shelter from the heart!
When the lilies in the sun were flagging
And the August-flame was on the wheat.
Get thee gone, Love! Who hath coolth for courting,
When the corncrakes in the sun are sporting,
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And each meadow shorn is?
Get thee gone and shelter from the heart!
Love came crying,
When the woodlands in the wind were sighing
And the world the Autumn's liveries wore.
Get thee gone, Love! Who can think of wedding,
When the trees their summer suits are shedding,
When the sheaves are
Reaped and sere the leaves are?
Get thee gone till apple-time be o'er!
When the woodlands in the wind were sighing
And the world the Autumn's liveries wore.
Get thee gone, Love! Who can think of wedding,
When the trees their summer suits are shedding,
When the sheaves are
Reaped and sere the leaves are?
Get thee gone till apple-time be o'er!
Love came calling,
Down the alleys, when the snows were falling
And the frostflakes silvered wood and wold.
Get thee gone, Love! Get thee gone, late comer!
Who hath heart for thee, when sped is Summer?
Where the rime is,
Room for love nor time is.
Nay, the year and I are over-old.
Down the alleys, when the snows were falling
And the frostflakes silvered wood and wold.
Get thee gone, Love! Get thee gone, late comer!
Who hath heart for thee, when sped is Summer?
Where the rime is,
Room for love nor time is.
Nay, the year and I are over-old.
THE DEATH OF HAFIZ.
1.
News came in the night from the land of my love;
It was wafted me down on the wings of a dove.
It was wafted me down on the wings of a dove.
In the visions of midnight a voice to me said,
“Dwell no more, o my heart, in the house of the dead!
“Dwell no more, o my heart, in the house of the dead!
To Paradise-Garden thee home They recall.
Why linger so long on this base-fostering ball?
Why linger so long on this base-fostering ball?
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What little of light and what scantling of sooth
It yields is the bud and the blossom of youth.
It yields is the bud and the blossom of youth.
But bitter as fennel's the fruitage of age
And the bird breaks its wings on the wires of the cage.
And the bird breaks its wings on the wires of the cage.
Thy wings were to winnow the firmament framed;
Yet with beating the bars of this madhouse they're maimed.
Yet with beating the bars of this madhouse they're maimed.
From the ramparts of Heaven they warble to thee.
Hark, Gabriel hails from the Boundary-Tree!
Hark, Gabriel hails from the Boundary-Tree!
They call thee to cast off the bondage of earth;
They bid thee return to the land of thy birth.
They bid thee return to the land of thy birth.
Too long hast thou sung for this world, where none hears:
Henceforth shalt thou sing with the seraphs, thy peers.”
Henceforth shalt thou sing with the seraphs, thy peers.”
2.
All night on the garden there glittered the moon:
The land was as light as the Midsummer noon.
The land was as light as the Midsummer noon.
The roses breathed balm, on the sprays as they swung;
The nightingales sang, as they never had sung.
The nightingales sang, as they never had sung.
All night Hafiz sat by the murmuring stream,
His head on his hand and his eyes on his dream.
His head on his hand and his eyes on his dream.
His brows were begirt with the moon's aureole
And with visions of Paradise filled was his soul.
And with visions of Paradise filled was his soul.
For cupmates, he drank with the Archangels Seven;
They gave him to eat of the honey of Heaven.
They gave him to eat of the honey of Heaven.
All night thus he sat by the rivulet's head;
And when the morn morrowed, the poet was dead.
And when the morn morrowed, the poet was dead.
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SIR ROSWAL.
1.
The night is dead; The East grows red; On holm and head
The larks sing free.
“Up, up, sir Knight; The world is white; The bark is dight,
“To sail the sea.”
The larks sing free.
“Up, up, sir Knight; The world is white; The bark is dight,
“To sail the sea.”
Sir Roswal woke; On elm and oak In glory broke
The morning sun.
He heard the bird; The voice he heard, The warning word,
But saw no one.
The morning sun.
He heard the bird; The voice he heard, The warning word,
But saw no one.
But, in the bay, Whereo'er, to play With newborn Day,
The ripples flocked,
Upon the tide, With sail set wide, But none to guide,
A shallop rocked.
The ripples flocked,
Upon the tide, With sail set wide, But none to guide,
A shallop rocked.
The breeze blew straight From Dawn elate, From th'Eastern Gate
And day begun;
And nought in sight But the line of light, That led outright
To the westering sun.
And day begun;
And nought in sight But the line of light, That led outright
To the westering sun.
He saw the line, The fresh sun's shine, That lay for sign
Upon the blue.
The lands of rest, Beyond the West, It showed; his quest
He saw and knew.
Upon the blue.
The lands of rest, Beyond the West, It showed; his quest
He saw and knew.
2.
The blithe breeze bellied the canvas wet;
He sprang to the rudder and sail he set,
To fare, in the wake of the westering beams,
Over the seas, to the Land of Dreams.
He sprang to the rudder and sail he set,
To fare, in the wake of the westering beams,
Over the seas, to the Land of Dreams.
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Over the seas in the wakening sun,
Over the seas in the heavy noon,
Over the seas, when the day is done,
Over the seas, in the flooding moon;
Over the seas in the heavy noon,
Over the seas, when the day is done,
Over the seas, in the flooding moon;
Over the seas to the world of the West,
Over the seas to the gates of gold!
The things which he bore for the wroughten quest
He hath forgotten. The tale is told.
Over the seas to the gates of gold!
The things which he bore for the wroughten quest
He hath forgotten. The tale is told.
HER GRAVE.
Quiet is the night
And the moon upon the graves is shining, shining:
And it's oh, my love, my love, I'm pining, pining
For your sight!
And the moon upon the graves is shining, shining:
And it's oh, my love, my love, I'm pining, pining
For your sight!
About me and above,
The summertide is merry making, making:
And it's oh, my heart, my heart is breaking, breaking
For my love!
The summertide is merry making, making:
And it's oh, my heart, my heart is breaking, breaking
For my love!
Many is the day
Since the daisies o'er your head are blowing, blowing;
And they say that dead folk's hair keeps growing, growing
In the clay.
Since the daisies o'er your head are blowing, blowing;
And they say that dead folk's hair keeps growing, growing
In the clay.
The shadows come and go
O'er your restplace and the moon is beaming, beaming:
And it's fain I'd know of what you're dreaming, dreaming,
There below.
O'er your restplace and the moon is beaming, beaming:
And it's fain I'd know of what you're dreaming, dreaming,
There below.
You were never wholly mine,
But for something not of earth went yearning, yearning:
And the heart in me, the heart is burning, burning
For a sign.
But for something not of earth went yearning, yearning:
And the heart in me, the heart is burning, burning
For a sign.
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Like waves upon the beach,
The grasses o'er your head are thronging, thronging:
And the soul in me, the soul is longing, longing
For your speech.
The grasses o'er your head are thronging, thronging:
And the soul in me, the soul is longing, longing
For your speech.
At your grave I bend the knee,
Where beneath the clay you sleep, your narrow cell in;
And with lips to earth, I whisper, “Helen! Helen!
“Speak to me!”
Where beneath the clay you sleep, your narrow cell in;
And with lips to earth, I whisper, “Helen! Helen!
“Speak to me!”
Nought you answer me, my dear;
Yet my name whiles in some windwaft ringing, ringing,
Or some bird, methinks, that passes, singing, singing,
Can I hear.
Yet my name whiles in some windwaft ringing, ringing,
Or some bird, methinks, that passes, singing, singing,
Can I hear.
Was it you, dear, in the bird
And the breeze that whispered, “Love me!” sighing, sighing,
To my soul, that through the dark goes crying, crying
For your word?
And the breeze that whispered, “Love me!” sighing, sighing,
To my soul, that through the dark goes crying, crying
For your word?
The moon shines white and wide;
The shadows on your tomb go questing, questing;
And it's oh, I would that I were resting, resting
By your side!
The shadows on your tomb go questing, questing;
And it's oh, I would that I were resting, resting
By your side!
On your bed the roses bloom:
If you've room for roses o'er you creeping, creeping,
You for me, who fain by you were sleeping, sleeping,
Might make room.
If you've room for roses o'er you creeping, creeping,
You for me, who fain by you were sleeping, sleeping,
Might make room.
Here in Autumn with its hips
And its flowers in June the rose is dwelling, dwelling,
Of your cheek the tale alternate telling, telling,
And your lips.
And its flowers in June the rose is dwelling, dwelling,
Of your cheek the tale alternate telling, telling,
And your lips.
There's a lily round the place
Where your head is, dear, its blossoms twining, twining,
With the whiteness and the sweetness shining, shining,
Of your face.
Where your head is, dear, its blossoms twining, twining,
With the whiteness and the sweetness shining, shining,
Of your face.
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In the moon's unearthly light,
Through your covering-stone, pellucid seeming, seeming,
Methinks I see your forehead's dreaming, dreaming
Arch of white.
Through your covering-stone, pellucid seeming, seeming,
Methinks I see your forehead's dreaming, dreaming
Arch of white.
And in the pearl-grey skies,
Where the moon whiles veils her figure slender, slender,
Methinks I see the grey so tender, tender
Of your eyes.
Where the moon whiles veils her figure slender, slender,
Methinks I see the grey so tender, tender
Of your eyes.
You left me long agone
For the sleep that hath no earthly waking, waking:
And it's oh, my heart, my heart is aching, aching
For the dawn!
For the sleep that hath no earthly waking, waking:
And it's oh, my heart, my heart is aching, aching
For the dawn!
Will you know me, when we meet
And the Resurrection-trumpet's speaking, speaking,
Or must I through Time and Space go seeking, seeking
For my sweet?
And the Resurrection-trumpet's speaking, speaking,
Or must I through Time and Space go seeking, seeking
For my sweet?
You were young and I am old;
But, when age and youth in death are meeting, meeting,
Both from memory as a tale go fleeting, fleeting,
That is told.
But, when age and youth in death are meeting, meeting,
Both from memory as a tale go fleeting, fleeting,
That is told.
I shall know you, when you rise,
With your seraph-garments round you streaming, streaming,
By your turn of head and by the beaming, beaming
Of your eyes.
With your seraph-garments round you streaming, streaming,
By your turn of head and by the beaming, beaming
Of your eyes.
What is Death and what is Birth?
Nay, if living living is and dying, dying,
There is none can tell till he is lying, lying
In the earth.
Nay, if living living is and dying, dying,
There is none can tell till he is lying, lying
In the earth.
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But the end of night is nigh
And the darkness in the East is greying, greying.
“Till to-morrow,” so I leave you, saying, saying,
Not “Good bye!”
And the darkness in the East is greying, greying.
“Till to-morrow,” so I leave you, saying, saying,
Not “Good bye!”
Till we meet again, my dear,
Hands in that Eternal Morning linking, linking,
Where no sorrow is nor longsome thinking, thinking,
Hope nor fear.
Hands in that Eternal Morning linking, linking,
Where no sorrow is nor longsome thinking, thinking,
Hope nor fear.
Till to-morrow, then, adieu!
For the fulness of the times is nighing, nighing,
When pain pain no more shall be nor sighing sighing
For us two.
For the fulness of the times is nighing, nighing,
When pain pain no more shall be nor sighing sighing
For us two.
THE DEATH OF PAN.
1.
In that old Treatise of the Cheronaean,
Of how the Oracles have ceased to be,
'Tis told of Epitherses the Nicæan
How he, from Lemnos Island in the Ægean
Faring to Brindisi in Italy,
Of how the Oracles have ceased to be,
'Tis told of Epitherses the Nicæan
How he, from Lemnos Island in the Ægean
Faring to Brindisi in Italy,
Was of a calm, in the Ionian Ocean,
O'ertaken, hard by the Echinades.
The sails, as drenched with some narcotic potion,
Slept on the mast; and sudden, without motion,
The vessel stood upon the windless seas.
O'ertaken, hard by the Echinades.
The sails, as drenched with some narcotic potion,
Slept on the mast; and sudden, without motion,
The vessel stood upon the windless seas.
Thence, duck-like, on the slow sea-swell it drifted,
Still forging Northward, for a long day's while,
From wave to wave-crest by the surges shifted,
Until, no more by swell or current lifted,
It stopped, as if hand-stayed, by Paxos Isle.
Still forging Northward, for a long day's while,
From wave to wave-crest by the surges shifted,
Until, no more by swell or current lifted,
It stopped, as if hand-stayed, by Paxos Isle.
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There, the clouds gathering and the darkness nearing,
The prudent captain in the little bight,
Where the ship halted was, cast anchor, fearing
Lest by and by the wind should rise and veering,
The vessel cast upon the cliffs by night.
The prudent captain in the little bight,
Where the ship halted was, cast anchor, fearing
Lest by and by the wind should rise and veering,
The vessel cast upon the cliffs by night.
Now, when the heavens with night were overdarkened
And most folk slept, of those the bark aboard,
In the mid-mirkness, by the midnight starkened,
When but the helmsman and the sailors hearkened,
Who on the deck with him kept watch and ward,
And most folk slept, of those the bark aboard,
In the mid-mirkness, by the midnight starkened,
When but the helmsman and the sailors hearkened,
Who on the deck with him kept watch and ward,
Rending the silence and the night in sunder,
From out the secret places of the land
There of a sudden spoke a voice of thunder;
Whereat the awakened folk, for fear and wonder,
Arose and gathered in a trembling band.
From out the secret places of the land
There of a sudden spoke a voice of thunder;
Whereat the awakened folk, for fear and wonder,
Arose and gathered in a trembling band.
Thrice upon Thamos' name, it thundered, crying,
The Egyptian pilot of the bark wind-bound,
Louder and louder still and nearer nighing;
What while the folk, affrighted of replying,
In silence hearkened to the horrent sound:
The Egyptian pilot of the bark wind-bound,
Louder and louder still and nearer nighing;
What while the folk, affrighted of replying,
In silence hearkened to the horrent sound:
Till Thamos, taking on the prow his station,
Said, “Here am I! What wouldest thou with me?”
Whereto the voice, “Look thou, on thy salvation,
“That, to Palodes come, thou proclamation
“Make of the death there of the great God Pan!”
Said, “Here am I! What wouldest thou with me?”
Whereto the voice, “Look thou, on thy salvation,
“That, to Palodes come, thou proclamation
“Make of the death there of the great God Pan!”
Therewith it stinted; nor the echo faded
Was of its speaking, when a mighty wind,
Blowing from the island, all the air invaded
And on the ship, that, by its anchors aided,
Rode at a standstill, falling from behind,
Was of its speaking, when a mighty wind,
Blowing from the island, all the air invaded
And on the ship, that, by its anchors aided,
Rode at a standstill, falling from behind,
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Smote with such fury that each hempen cable
Parted, as though a skein of silk it were,
And out to seaward, on the wild waves' babel,
The ship went driving through the midnight sable,
Across the clamours of the wind-vexed air.
Parted, as though a skein of silk it were,
And out to seaward, on the wild waves' babel,
The ship went driving through the midnight sable,
Across the clamours of the wind-vexed air.
So for a day and night it scudded, fleeing
Before the tempest, till, at set of sun,
What time Palodes headland rose in seeing,
The storm as sudden sank as it to being
Came and the wind dropped with the daylight done.
Before the tempest, till, at set of sun,
What time Palodes headland rose in seeing,
The storm as sudden sank as it to being
Came and the wind dropped with the daylight done.
The ship stood still before the promontory,
Arrested by some power past that of man,
And Thamos, standing in the sunset-glory,
Unto the cliffs and to the forests hoary
Thundered the tidings of the death of Pan.
Arrested by some power past that of man,
And Thamos, standing in the sunset-glory,
Unto the cliffs and to the forests hoary
Thundered the tidings of the death of Pan.
Whereat from all the plains and peaks came leaping
Such sounds of pine as pass the written word;
Hill answered headland, woe on woe upheaping;
The air was full of wailing and of weeping,
That rent the rueful hearts in all that heard.
Such sounds of pine as pass the written word;
Hill answered headland, woe on woe upheaping;
The air was full of wailing and of weeping,
That rent the rueful hearts in all that heard.
Up from the meadows rose the lamentation
And sank in music from the mourning skies;
Heaven answered Earth; and still, without cessation,
Its song of grief and funeral salutation
The world-all chanted on melodious wise.
And sank in music from the mourning skies;
Heaven answered Earth; and still, without cessation,
Its song of grief and funeral salutation
The world-all chanted on melodious wise.
The death-dirge of a world it was that floated
From earth to heaven and from heaven to earth,
In monodies of music throstle-throated;
The passion of the Past-time, death-devoted
By the same breath that gave the Present birth.
From earth to heaven and from heaven to earth,
In monodies of music throstle-throated;
The passion of the Past-time, death-devoted
By the same breath that gave the Present birth.
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2.
Thence, (quoth the teller) nowise understanding
These things, we on our voyage, thus delayed,
Fared in due course to Brindisi, where landing
And of the things which late had passed demanding,
It, amongst others, unto us was said
These things, we on our voyage, thus delayed,
Fared in due course to Brindisi, where landing
And of the things which late had passed demanding,
It, amongst others, unto us was said
How in Jerusalem, the town Judæan,
What time the tidings of Pan's death heard we,
One for a new God hailed, a Galilean,
For victim fall'n unto the rage plebeian,
Had died the death upon the ignoble tree;
What time the tidings of Pan's death heard we,
One for a new God hailed, a Galilean,
For victim fall'n unto the rage plebeian,
Had died the death upon the ignoble tree;
And how, as he his last breath rendered, dying,
Dead darkness curtained all the heavenly plain;
The Temple-veil was rent, whilst voices sighing
Shrilled through the silence, “Woe!” and “Havoc!” crying,
And earthquakes tore the shuddering earth in twain.
Dead darkness curtained all the heavenly plain;
The Temple-veil was rent, whilst voices sighing
Shrilled through the silence, “Woe!” and “Havoc!” crying,
And earthquakes tore the shuddering earth in twain.
Now this the God, by whom the old Gods' races,
I doubt not, died, was, Phoebus, Zeus and Pan,
To whom Olympus' peoples, Muses, Graces,
Furies and Fates, their dim diminished faces
Must veil, the foreappointed Son of Man.
I doubt not, died, was, Phoebus, Zeus and Pan,
To whom Olympus' peoples, Muses, Graces,
Furies and Fates, their dim diminished faces
Must veil, the foreappointed Son of Man.
3.
Thus in one moment met th'opposing ages,
The Past-time mingled with the coming years,
The old frank world of heroes, singers, sages,
And the new time that on the Future's pages
Began to grave its writ of blood and tears.
The Past-time mingled with the coming years,
The old frank world of heroes, singers, sages,
And the new time that on the Future's pages
Began to grave its writ of blood and tears.
As different was the manner of their parting
As was the fashion of their use with men.
The new world moaned and menaced in its starting,
Thundering, discordant; whilst the old, departing,
In dulcet tones bewailed itself and Pan.
As was the fashion of their use with men.
The new world moaned and menaced in its starting,
Thundering, discordant; whilst the old, departing,
In dulcet tones bewailed itself and Pan.
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Not with volcano-voice the lovesome fancies
Bygone the old age mourned nor thunder-clang;
The mountains for the mirthful old romances,
The forests for the nymphs' and Dryads' dances
Vociferous vented not their parting pang.
Bygone the old age mourned nor thunder-clang;
The mountains for the mirthful old romances,
The forests for the nymphs' and Dryads' dances
Vociferous vented not their parting pang.
Across the star-thrilled air their chiming chorus
Threnodial to the rueful heavens rang;
The old world died, as it had lived, canorous;
In waves of wailing music, soft, sonorous,
The high Hellenian Gods their death-song sang.
Threnodial to the rueful heavens rang;
The old world died, as it had lived, canorous;
In waves of wailing music, soft, sonorous,
The high Hellenian Gods their death-song sang.
The new age 'twas its “O ye world, rejoice!”s
That by the mouth of blast and tempest roared:
To the discordant choir of earthquake-voices,
It thundered forth its tidings of accord;
Uncertain, as it might be, of the choices
'Twixt grief and gladness, jubilance and sorrow,
Which, in the treasuries of the Future stored,
For the new world-all waited on the morrow,
With the New Covenant and the New Lord.
That by the mouth of blast and tempest roared:
To the discordant choir of earthquake-voices,
It thundered forth its tidings of accord;
Uncertain, as it might be, of the choices
'Twixt grief and gladness, jubilance and sorrow,
Which, in the treasuries of the Future stored,
For the new world-all waited on the morrow,
With the New Covenant and the New Lord.
ANGELS' VISITS.
Day drops to night
And a voice in mine ear with the last of the light!
Who else might whisper so soft and clear?
Who else should it be but you, my dear?
And a voice in mine ear with the last of the light!
Who else might whisper so soft and clear?
Who else should it be but you, my dear?
A sound of wings,
A sense in my soul of heavenly things,
A waft from the thither side of death;
And the air is full of your balmy breath.
A sense in my soul of heavenly things,
A waft from the thither side of death;
And the air is full of your balmy breath.
You come once more
To me, my sweet, from the wishless shore:
You have not forgotten, among the blest,
The lover that lay on your living breast.
To me, my sweet, from the wishless shore:
You have not forgotten, among the blest,
The lover that lay on your living breast.
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What am I worth
That you still should think of me here on earth,
You that the asphodels pluck in the skies
And drink of the dews of Paradise?
That you still should think of me here on earth,
You that the asphodels pluck in the skies
And drink of the dews of Paradise?
Yet still, my dove,
You stoop to me from your spheres above;
You bring me the honey of highest Heaven
And sing me the songs of the Seraphs Seven.
You stoop to me from your spheres above;
You bring me the honey of highest Heaven
And sing me the songs of the Seraphs Seven.
Where have you been,
Since you leant to me last from the sky serene?
What ways have you wandered in Heaven afar
And what is the news from the latest star?
Since you leant to me last from the sky serene?
What ways have you wandered in Heaven afar
And what is the news from the latest star?
What worlds are new
In the starry spheres and the bounds of blue?
Is Heaven still deaf to the worldly hum?
Is't not yet time for the Gods to come?
In the starry spheres and the bounds of blue?
Is Heaven still deaf to the worldly hum?
Is't not yet time for the Gods to come?
When shall I free,
The heavens with you to wander, be?
When shall I looked on the sorry sun
My last have and you and I be one?
The heavens with you to wander, be?
When shall I looked on the sorry sun
My last have and you and I be one?
You answer nought;
For the dwellers in Heaven hark not men's thought;
Your speech I catch not; but, oh, your voice!
The sound of it makes my heart rejoice.
For the dwellers in Heaven hark not men's thought;
Your speech I catch not; but, oh, your voice!
The sound of it makes my heart rejoice.
Nor what you say
In the tongue of the angels take I may;
I see but the halo your head above,
That thrills my heart with its light of love.
In the tongue of the angels take I may;
I see but the halo your head above,
That thrills my heart with its light of love.
The night wears by;
Alack! The dawn-tide is drawing nigh,
The hour when the roll of the blest they call
And you must be back in the heavenly hall.
Alack! The dawn-tide is drawing nigh,
The hour when the roll of the blest they call
And you must be back in the heavenly hall.
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The East grows white;
A spirit-kiss on my lips falls light;
A flutter of wings in the dawning grey;
And nothing is left in the world but Day.
A spirit-kiss on my lips falls light;
A flutter of wings in the dawning grey;
And nothing is left in the world but Day.
With morning come,
The seraph-voice in my ears is dumb;
The day o'erfloods me with dole and fret:
But all night have I talked with the angels yet.
The seraph-voice in my ears is dumb;
The day o'erfloods me with dole and fret:
But all night have I talked with the angels yet.
THE WRATH OF VENUS.
Lady Venus on the land
Of Ætolia laid her malison erewhen,
Cast her curse upon its women and its men,
From the mountains on the skyline to the strand;
For that wroth she was with those who dwelt therein
And that, when uplifted 'twas to punish sin,
Hard and heavy, even as lovely, was her hand.
Of Ætolia laid her malison erewhen,
Cast her curse upon its women and its men,
From the mountains on the skyline to the strand;
For that wroth she was with those who dwelt therein
And that, when uplifted 'twas to punish sin,
Hard and heavy, even as lovely, was her hand.
Now the sin, that had been done
'Gainst the glory of the Goddess and her praise
And the usance long established of old days
For the worship of her whiteness, was that one,
Hight Harpalycus, a native of the parts
Of Beth Shemesh, whence the sun at morning starts,
His accustomed course from East to West to run,
'Gainst the glory of the Goddess and her praise
And the usance long established of old days
For the worship of her whiteness, was that one,
Hight Harpalycus, a native of the parts
Of Beth Shemesh, whence the sun at morning starts,
His accustomed course from East to West to run,
At Cyrene by the sea,
In his travel from the Mountains of the Moon,
Whence Selene walks the world with shining shoon,
Taking ship and faring thence to Sicily,
Wrecked and ruined was and with his fellows four,
In the desert parts of Dyme came ashore,
Where none other folk there were than they and he.
In his travel from the Mountains of the Moon,
Whence Selene walks the world with shining shoon,
Taking ship and faring thence to Sicily,
Wrecked and ruined was and with his fellows four,
In the desert parts of Dyme came ashore,
Where none other folk there were than they and he.
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Waste the land was and the clime;
Not a house, a fold, a field there was to spy:
But a temple on the heights there stood hard by,
Whither folk in April gathered, at the time,
Called and sacred after Aphrodite's name,
When the fields with roses rathe are all aflame,
To do homage to the Lady of the Prime.
Not a house, a fold, a field there was to spy:
But a temple on the heights there stood hard by,
Whither folk in April gathered, at the time,
Called and sacred after Aphrodite's name,
When the fields with roses rathe are all aflame,
To do homage to the Lady of the Prime.
Now mid-March was not yet o'er
And the temple still of men deserted stood;
But the doves, that in the sacred olive-wood
Dwelt and nested, seeing folk upon the shore
And unfearful, never doubting they were some
Who to feed them for their Lady's love were come,
Thither flew and lighted down their feet before.
And the temple still of men deserted stood;
But the doves, that in the sacred olive-wood
Dwelt and nested, seeing folk upon the shore
And unfearful, never doubting they were some
Who to feed them for their Lady's love were come,
Thither flew and lighted down their feet before.
But the strangers, knowing nought
Of the puissance of the Lady of the Loves,
Nor the sacredness of those her darling doves,
And by hunger unto madness wellnigh wrought,
Slew the silly birds and roasting them with fire,
Ate them, doubting not of Aphrodite's ire
And the ruin on their heads that thus they brought.
Of the puissance of the Lady of the Loves,
Nor the sacredness of those her darling doves,
And by hunger unto madness wellnigh wrought,
Slew the silly birds and roasting them with fire,
Ate them, doubting not of Aphrodite's ire
And the ruin on their heads that thus they brought.
Now from high Olympus hall
Cytherea spied the sacrilegious deed
And her turtledoves belovèd seeing bleed,
Cried so loudly that the heavens were like to fall;
Then, athirst for vengeance being on the churls,
Took the thunderbolts, which Jove her father hurls,
And with flaming arrows smote and slew them all.
Cytherea spied the sacrilegious deed
And her turtledoves belovèd seeing bleed,
Cried so loudly that the heavens were like to fall;
Then, athirst for vengeance being on the churls,
Took the thunderbolts, which Jove her father hurls,
And with flaming arrows smote and slew them all.
There their bodies days and nights
Lay and withered in the wind, until the Prime
Of the year came and the customary time
When the people to the temple on the heights
Thronged for worship; who, unwotting what had past
And the dead for seamen taking, storm-upcast,
Burned and buried them with due funereal rites.
Lay and withered in the wind, until the Prime
Of the year came and the customary time
When the people to the temple on the heights
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And the dead for seamen taking, storm-upcast,
Burned and buried them with due funereal rites.
Now to Cypris, prone to ire,
As the jealous Gods were ever and are still,
This an outrage seemed against her sovereign will;
And she sent upon the land a plague of fire
And a pestilence, through hut and hall that flew
And the terror-stricken people smote and slew,
Youth and elder, mother, daughter, son and sire;
As the jealous Gods were ever and are still,
This an outrage seemed against her sovereign will;
And she sent upon the land a plague of fire
And a pestilence, through hut and hall that flew
And the terror-stricken people smote and slew,
Youth and elder, mother, daughter, son and sire;
Neither slackened in her rage,
Till the folk, unknowing how they had misdone,
On the high Gods' temple-altars, all as one,
So their wrath they peradventure might assuage,
Offered sacrifice and supplication strait
Made for guidance how the plague they might abate
That with blood and fire went blotting out Life's page.
Till the folk, unknowing how they had misdone,
On the high Gods' temple-altars, all as one,
So their wrath they peradventure might assuage,
Offered sacrifice and supplication strait
Made for guidance how the plague they might abate
That with blood and fire went blotting out Life's page.
Long for answer nothing came,
Though with sacrifices still the altars smoked,
Till, at last, unto her priests, for aid invoked,
Venus showed herself, in raiment robed of flame,
And implored of them to help their innocence,
Gave them knowledge of the cause of the offence
And the outrage 'gainst the glory of her name.
Though with sacrifices still the altars smoked,
Till, at last, unto her priests, for aid invoked,
Venus showed herself, in raiment robed of flame,
And implored of them to help their innocence,
Gave them knowledge of the cause of the offence
And the outrage 'gainst the glory of her name.
Then, besought of them to tell
How her wrath might be assuaged, so from the pest
Yet delivered might they be, the living rest,
Nor ensue their stricken brethren down to hell,
She made answer that nought else might her appease
But that, even as the offence came by the seas,
Whence she rose to birth and beauty in the shell,
How her wrath might be assuaged, so from the pest
Yet delivered might they be, the living rest,
Nor ensue their stricken brethren down to hell,
She made answer that nought else might her appease
But that, even as the offence came by the seas,
Whence she rose to birth and beauty in the shell,
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So each year upon the strand
They the fairest, featest maid, that was to find
In the whole Ætolian land, should bring and bind
And there, naked, fast and fettered foot and hand,
Leave her lonely at a certain day and hour,
For a monster from the sea-deeps to devour,
Which Poseidon should despatch, at her demand.
They the fairest, featest maid, that was to find
In the whole Ætolian land, should bring and bind
And there, naked, fast and fettered foot and hand,
Leave her lonely at a certain day and hour,
For a monster from the sea-deeps to devour,
Which Poseidon should despatch, at her demand.
And the first, (the Goddess said,)
Whom to sacrifice it thus behoved them bring,
Was Hippolyta, the daughter of the King,
Who, of all the Ætolian damsels yet unwed,
Was the fairest. “Her, then, offer ye to me
“First,” said Venus, “for the purging of the sea;
“And my wrath shall leave you living, in her stead.”
Whom to sacrifice it thus behoved them bring,
Was Hippolyta, the daughter of the King,
Who, of all the Ætolian damsels yet unwed,
Was the fairest. “Her, then, offer ye to me
“First,” said Venus, “for the purging of the sea;
“And my wrath shall leave you living, in her stead.”
When the folk this dire decree
Heard, they flocked to Cypris' altars, as one man,
And with tears and prayers and sacrifice began
To beseech her of her ruth on bended knee:
But the Goddess, in her anger and her pride,
To their prayers and supplications nought replied
But that so, as she had said it, must it be.
Heard, they flocked to Cypris' altars, as one man,
And with tears and prayers and sacrifice began
To beseech her of her ruth on bended knee:
But the Goddess, in her anger and her pride,
To their prayers and supplications nought replied
But that so, as she had said it, must it be.
So Hippolyta the fair
They, with wailing and with weeping and lament,
To a spot on the seashore, where, being spent,
Dry the billows left the shingle, bore and there,
Loath and lingering, as of Venus it was said,
Left her lonely in her misery and her dread,
Vestured only in her glittering golden hair.
They, with wailing and with weeping and lament,
To a spot on the seashore, where, being spent,
Dry the billows left the shingle, bore and there,
Loath and lingering, as of Venus it was said,
Left her lonely in her misery and her dread,
Vestured only in her glittering golden hair.
There she stood against the rock,
Bound and fettered, felon-fashion, hand and foot,
With her ivory breasts, like globes of ripening fruit,
Hewn and moulded from a milky marble block,
With her lovely piteous face to Heaven upturned
And her slender shape half-hidden, half-discerned,
Through her golden hair, down-streaming, lock on lock.
Bound and fettered, felon-fashion, hand and foot,
With her ivory breasts, like globes of ripening fruit,
Hewn and moulded from a milky marble block,
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And her slender shape half-hidden, half-discerned,
Through her golden hair, down-streaming, lock on lock.
Now the sun had lost its heat
And the sea before her shimmered, fold on fold,
Like a swelling, smiling plain of gaufred gold;
Whilst the world-heart in its pulses seemed to beat
And the ripples in the forefront of the tide,
That began now for the ebbing to subside,
Lapped and lingered at her little silver feet.
And the sea before her shimmered, fold on fold,
Like a swelling, smiling plain of gaufred gold;
Whilst the world-heart in its pulses seemed to beat
And the ripples in the forefront of the tide,
That began now for the ebbing to subside,
Lapped and lingered at her little silver feet.
The vesper-tide was nigh;
The drowsing world disposed itself to sleep;
The sunset-glory lay on height and deep;
All smiled before her, sea and shore and sky;
Nought in earth below there was or heaven above,
Nought but peace, and all things looked on her with love,
Wretched maid that on the morrow was to die.
The drowsing world disposed itself to sleep;
The sunset-glory lay on height and deep;
All smiled before her, sea and shore and sky;
Nought in earth below there was or heaven above,
Nought but peace, and all things looked on her with love,
Wretched maid that on the morrow was to die.
The sun into the West
Sank down and as a blossom droops and dies,
The colour paled and faded from the skies;
No spray there was on ocean's slumbering breast,
No sound of song on earth or pipe of bird;
No windwaft o'er the wave the stillness stirred;
There was nothing in the weary world but rest.
Sank down and as a blossom droops and dies,
The colour paled and faded from the skies;
No spray there was on ocean's slumbering breast,
No sound of song on earth or pipe of bird;
No windwaft o'er the wave the stillness stirred;
There was nothing in the weary world but rest.
Then came the waxing moon:
Like a bubble floating up from the sky-line,
Through the pearly heavens she rose and rose, divine,
Shedding silence with the silver of her shoon.
From the waters, in the footsteps of her beams,
Rose the road, whereby they seek the world of dreams
More than Life can give who ask of bliss and boon.
Like a bubble floating up from the sky-line,
Through the pearly heavens she rose and rose, divine,
Shedding silence with the silver of her shoon.
From the waters, in the footsteps of her beams,
Rose the road, whereby they seek the world of dreams
More than Life can give who ask of bliss and boon.
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Then the maiden slept, outworn,
And in sleep, thrice-blessèd sleep, awhile forgot
All the terrors, past and present, of her lot,
All the horrors of her coming fate forlorn:
And the night, when she awoke, was nigh to death:
Chill the air was with its cold departing breath
And pallescent was Selene's silver horn.
And in sleep, thrice-blessèd sleep, awhile forgot
All the terrors, past and present, of her lot,
All the horrors of her coming fate forlorn:
And the night, when she awoke, was nigh to death:
Chill the air was with its cold departing breath
And pallescent was Selene's silver horn.
But a narrow band of grey
Told the tale in the far East of coming dawn
And the curtains of the darkness half-withdrawn
Now began to be from earth and sea away.
Chill, the breeze, that tells of daybreak, on her blew;
And she shuddered, as she felt its breath and knew
That she looked upon the dawn of her last day.
Told the tale in the far East of coming dawn
And the curtains of the darkness half-withdrawn
Now began to be from earth and sea away.
Chill, the breeze, that tells of daybreak, on her blew;
And she shuddered, as she felt its breath and knew
That she looked upon the dawn of her last day.
Straying streaks of pearl and rose
In the Orient grew and gathered for the Morn,
And half-hesitating Day seemed to be born,
For that all things shun the birth and dying throes:
And as, mounting high, the first rays of the sun
O'er the ocean slid and lit the darkness done,
A sight she saw, the blood in her that froze.
In the Orient grew and gathered for the Morn,
And half-hesitating Day seemed to be born,
For that all things shun the birth and dying throes:
And as, mounting high, the first rays of the sun
O'er the ocean slid and lit the darkness done,
A sight she saw, the blood in her that froze.
Black and buoyant as a cork,
Something floated on the waves far out to sea.
As a dragon's head high-horned it seemed to be
And about its neck a lizard's lambelled torque.
But anon, above the waters, scale on scale,
In the sun she saw upheaved a bifid tail
And the tiger of the sea-deeps knew, — the Orc.
Something floated on the waves far out to sea.
As a dragon's head high-horned it seemed to be
And about its neck a lizard's lambelled torque.
But anon, above the waters, scale on scale,
In the sun she saw upheaved a bifid tail
And the tiger of the sea-deeps knew, — the Orc.
As the sunlight on it smote,
All the terrors of its aspect came to view.
Full five fathoms long and glistering black of hue
As the seaweed was its body broad and bloat:
As a crocodile's its snout was and its teeth:
Mailed and armoured it above was and beneath
And with horns its head was horrent, like a goat.
All the terrors of its aspect came to view.
Full five fathoms long and glistering black of hue
As the seaweed was its body broad and bloat:
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Mailed and armoured it above was and beneath
And with horns its head was horrent, like a goat.
Ever greater grew the light,
Till the monster, as it seemed, from sleep awoke.
As the sun on him, insistent, stroke by stroke,
Laid its load of radiance new, the lazy might
Of his fins he stirred and woke the affrighted air
With a bellow, as he slowly made for where
On the shore she stood, a flame of gold and white.
Till the monster, as it seemed, from sleep awoke.
As the sun on him, insistent, stroke by stroke,
Laid its load of radiance new, the lazy might
Of his fins he stirred and woke the affrighted air
With a bellow, as he slowly made for where
On the shore she stood, a flame of gold and white.
Wellnigh palsied, in her fear,
Was Hippolyta the fair, as, in the dawn,
O'er the pathway on the waters new sun-drawn,
Came the horror ever nearer and more near:
Nothing lived within her brain but deathly dread;
Life and thought and sense, it seemed, in her were dead;
Dumb her tongue was, blind her eye and deaf her ear.
Was Hippolyta the fair, as, in the dawn,
O'er the pathway on the waters new sun-drawn,
Came the horror ever nearer and more near:
Nothing lived within her brain but deathly dread;
Life and thought and sense, it seemed, in her were dead;
Dumb her tongue was, blind her eye and deaf her ear.
Then a ray of hope divine
Through her being thrilled and casting off the spell,
On her knees upon the silver sand she fell
And her piteous arms uprearing to the shine,
With her heart and soul for succour, ere she died,
To the Lord of Light and Life in Heaven she cried,
To the tutelary God of all her line.
Through her being thrilled and casting off the spell,
On her knees upon the silver sand she fell
And her piteous arms uprearing to the shine,
With her heart and soul for succour, ere she died,
To the Lord of Light and Life in Heaven she cried,
To the tutelary God of all her line.
And sudden, as she prayed,
The air shone round about her with a sheen
That was nowise of the sun; for of the screen
Of the mists his rising radiance yet was stayed;
And looking up in wonder, at her side
One of bright and shining countenance she spied,
All, from top to toe, in golden mail arrayed.
The air shone round about her with a sheen
That was nowise of the sun; for of the screen
Of the mists his rising radiance yet was stayed;
And looking up in wonder, at her side
One of bright and shining countenance she spied,
All, from top to toe, in golden mail arrayed.
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A helm of gold be wore,
As red of sheen and radiant as the Day,
With wings thereto of no less glorious ray,
And in his hand a silver lyre he bore.
A sword upon his hip sinister gleamed
And bright as any diamond it beamed;
And a silver bow there showed his shoulders o'er.
As red of sheen and radiant as the Day,
With wings thereto of no less glorious ray,
And in his hand a silver lyre he bore.
A sword upon his hip sinister gleamed
And bright as any diamond it beamed;
And a silver bow there showed his shoulders o'er.
Bright his weapons were and bright
Was the glittering golden mail his limbs that clad;
But brighter far his face was and more glad;
And the radiance of the dawn was not more white
Than his forehead fair and broad; nor morning-red
On the waking earth, from dark delivered, shed
Greater gladness than his presence nor more light.
Was the glittering golden mail his limbs that clad;
But brighter far his face was and more glad;
And the radiance of the dawn was not more white
Than his forehead fair and broad; nor morning-red
On the waking earth, from dark delivered, shed
Greater gladness than his presence nor more light.
Immortal radiant youth
In his aspect was, and from his starry eyes,
That the sapphires put to shame of summer skies,
The unsleeping splendour shone of stainless truth:
And as down upon that lovesome maid he smiled,
The glory of his countenance all mild
And softened was with sweet celestial ruth.
In his aspect was, and from his starry eyes,
That the sapphires put to shame of summer skies,
The unsleeping splendour shone of stainless truth:
And as down upon that lovesome maid he smiled,
The glory of his countenance all mild
And softened was with sweet celestial ruth.
As the damsel on him gazed,
Fear and horror of a sudden her forsook;
For that that was in his mien and in his look
From her thought which all foresuffered things erased:
All that had till then befallen her was not;
Nay, the plague, the curse, the doom, were all forgot,
And in her heart the pitying Gods she praised.
Fear and horror of a sudden her forsook;
For that that was in his mien and in his look
From her thought which all foresuffered things erased:
All that had till then befallen her was not;
Nay, the plague, the curse, the doom, were all forgot,
And in her heart the pitying Gods she praised.
Meanwhile that hateful beast,
Slow-steering through the waters to the shore,
The spaces of the seas left not to oar,
Nor e'er with sluggish fins from travel ceased
Till, come at last to land, along the beach
His loathly length he dragged, intent to reach
The maid, that stood with face toward the East.
Slow-steering through the waters to the shore,
The spaces of the seas left not to oar,
Nor e'er with sluggish fins from travel ceased
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His loathly length he dragged, intent to reach
The maid, that stood with face toward the East.
Nor noted he the knight,
With drawn and shining sword for him that stayed,
But ran with gaping jaws upon the maid;
For whom swift intervening, that fair wight
In the beast's accursed vitals plunged his sword;
Whereat, though not death-stricken, loud he roared
And ocean-ward betook himself in flight.
With drawn and shining sword for him that stayed,
But ran with gaping jaws upon the maid;
For whom swift intervening, that fair wight
In the beast's accursed vitals plunged his sword;
Whereat, though not death-stricken, loud he roared
And ocean-ward betook himself in flight.
But, before he had o'erwon
The shallows and to his accustomed caves
For shelter plunged beneath the whelming waves,
His silver bow unslung, that shining one
A shaft into his brain drove through the eye;
And bellowing, on his back he turned to die
And floated, belly upward, in the sun.
The shallows and to his accustomed caves
For shelter plunged beneath the whelming waves,
His silver bow unslung, that shining one
A shaft into his brain drove through the eye;
And bellowing, on his back he turned to die
And floated, belly upward, in the sun.
Then, returning to the maid,
The stranger with his sword the galling bands
And chains smote off that bound her feet and hands
And looking on her, smiling, thus he said;
“Now, sweet one, is thy danger done away
“And I, my task fulfilled, farewell may say
“And leave thee to thy kinsfolk, unafraid.”
The stranger with his sword the galling bands
And chains smote off that bound her feet and hands
And looking on her, smiling, thus he said;
“Now, sweet one, is thy danger done away
“And I, my task fulfilled, farewell may say
“And leave thee to thy kinsfolk, unafraid.”
His speech, as 'twere a knell,
Smote shattering on her hopes; her hands upraised
Appealing-wise, without word said, she gazed
With eyes on him, wherein the tears did swell.
Looks looks encountering, Love, that unto none
Belovéd pardoneth loving, in each one
Love lit; and in each other's arms they fell.
Smote shattering on her hopes; her hands upraised
Appealing-wise, without word said, she gazed
With eyes on him, wherein the tears did swell.
Looks looks encountering, Love, that unto none
Belovéd pardoneth loving, in each one
Love lit; and in each other's arms they fell.
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All through the summer day,
Through the morning and the sultry noontide hours,
On the wild sea-beach, transformed to Paphian bowers,
In loveliking close-linked, those lovers lay,
Till, what time the westering sun began to sink,
From about his neck her arms he did unlink
And arising, said, “Fair maid, I must away.
Through the morning and the sultry noontide hours,
On the wild sea-beach, transformed to Paphian bowers,
In loveliking close-linked, those lovers lay,
Till, what time the westering sun began to sink,
From about his neck her arms he did unlink
And arising, said, “Fair maid, I must away.
“Nay, I may not tarry here;
“For that Phoebus of the Sun I am,” he said,
“And must back unto my sphere, ere day be dead.
“But, my sweetest, for the future have no fear,
“For that I will with my sister Venus plead,
“So the doom she for the sacrilegious deed
“Shall remit and all be joy again and cheer.
“For that Phoebus of the Sun I am,” he said,
“And must back unto my sphere, ere day be dead.
“But, my sweetest, for the future have no fear,
“For that I will with my sister Venus plead,
“So the doom she for the sacrilegious deed
“Shall remit and all be joy again and cheer.
“And now, belovéd one,”
And he kissed her, whilst she wept upon his breast,
“Hence must I; for the sun is in the West.
“Sweet maid,” he said, “my time on earth is done.
“Farewell!” And as he spoke these words, there came
All about him as the flowering of a flame
And the God soared back in glory to the sun.
And he kissed her, whilst she wept upon his breast,
“Hence must I; for the sun is in the West.
“Sweet maid,” he said, “my time on earth is done.
“Farewell!” And as he spoke these words, there came
All about him as the flowering of a flame
And the God soared back in glory to the sun.
On the morrow, with the day,
Came Hippolyta her kin, unhoping more
Than to find her dead and mangled on the shore
And with rites funereal bear her bones away.
But what words can tell their joy, when safe and sound,
Freed of fetters and of bonds, the maid they found
And the monster on the billows dead that lay.
Came Hippolyta her kin, unhoping more
Than to find her dead and mangled on the shore
And with rites funereal bear her bones away.
But what words can tell their joy, when safe and sound,
Freed of fetters and of bonds, the maid they found
And the monster on the billows dead that lay.
So, with rapture and acclaim,
Her, whom thither, for the stricken folk's relief,
They had brought with lamentation and with grief,
To her father back they carried; and Love's Dame,
Being sated of her wrath, her vengeful hand
Stayed and lifted, so the plague from out the land
And the people stinted sudden as it came.
Her, whom thither, for the stricken folk's relief,
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To her father back they carried; and Love's Dame,
Being sated of her wrath, her vengeful hand
Stayed and lifted, so the plague from out the land
And the people stinted sudden as it came.
From the loves of God and maid
Sprang a son, the shining face and eyes of fire
Who inherited for birthright of his sire.
Phoebogenitus they named him, as she bade,
Fair Hippolyta; and he th' Ætolian land
Many happy years, with right and royal hand,
To his grandsire dead in due succession swayed.
Sprang a son, the shining face and eyes of fire
Who inherited for birthright of his sire.
Phoebogenitus they named him, as she bade,
Fair Hippolyta; and he th' Ætolian land
Many happy years, with right and royal hand,
To his grandsire dead in due succession swayed.
Back contentment, as of old,
To the land came and to those therein that dwelt,
And the Gods Etern, by Phoebus' favour, dealt
Ever kindlier with the folk. The age of gold
Come again seemed and the soft Saturnian reign
Of the older milder Gods. — But dreams, you'll say?
Nay, what are we all but dreams? The tale is told.
To the land came and to those therein that dwelt,
And the Gods Etern, by Phoebus' favour, dealt
Ever kindlier with the folk. The age of gold
Come again seemed and the soft Saturnian reign
Of the older milder Gods. — But dreams, you'll say?
Nay, what are we all but dreams? The tale is told.
WIND VOICES.
I.
The casements rattle; the wind screams past;
The souls are abroad on the breath of the blast;
Their voices shriek in the shrilling rains;
Their fingers paddle the window-panes.
The souls are abroad on the breath of the blast;
Their voices shriek in the shrilling rains;
Their fingers paddle the window-panes.
My cats from the hearthrug raise the head;
They listen awhile to the lilt of the dead:
Their heads, then, shaking, as if “In vain!”
To motion, they fall to sleep again.
They listen awhile to the lilt of the dead:
Their heads, then, shaking, as if “In vain!”
To motion, they fall to sleep again.
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But the souls of the dead are stirring still;
The air is full of their voices shrill.
Ghost-hands go sweeping the strings of wire;
Ghost-fingers clutch at the climbing fire.
The air is full of their voices shrill.
Ghost-hands go sweeping the strings of wire;
Ghost-fingers clutch at the climbing fire.
What is it, o dead, ye would with me?
I hear your voices, though nought I see,
Nor aught of your speaking I understand;
For your speech is the speech of the spirit-land.
I hear your voices, though nought I see,
Nor aught of your speaking I understand;
For your speech is the speech of the spirit-land.
My dog and my cat your speech comprize;
I read it writ in their gleaming eyes:
The message they catch of your passing-bell;
But they keep their secret and will not tell.
I read it writ in their gleaming eyes:
The message they catch of your passing-bell;
But they keep their secret and will not tell.
Yet that which ye will with me I guess
And the meaning of this your shrilling stress:
Your crying clamour upon me calls
Come dance with the dead in the shadow-halls.
And the meaning of this your shrilling stress:
Your crying clamour upon me calls
Come dance with the dead in the shadow-halls.
You will me follow and fare with you
To the land where there's neither old nor new,
The world that is quit of Space and Time,
Where Rest is the word of Life's lacking rhyme.
To the land where there's neither old nor new,
The world that is quit of Space and Time,
Where Rest is the word of Life's lacking rhyme.
Nay, ready I were with you to go:
But bond to the body's the soul, heigho!
Till that is weary of stress and strife,
This still must hive in the house of Life.
But bond to the body's the soul, heigho!
Till that is weary of stress and strife,
This still must hive in the house of Life.
Yet work (who knows how much?) to do's for the twain;
And till it be ended, ye call in vain.
Who knows when the body (and 'faith, 'tis tough!)
Will lay down its arms and cry “Enough?”
And till it be ended, ye call in vain.
Who knows when the body (and 'faith, 'tis tough!)
Will lay down its arms and cry “Enough?”
What matter to you if I keep the tryst,
(Whose flesh is dust and whose souls are mist,)
In an hour or a day or an hundred years,
The tryst with you and your shadow-peers?
(Whose flesh is dust and whose souls are mist,)
In an hour or a day or an hundred years,
The tryst with you and your shadow-peers?
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To you are an hour and a year alike:
No clocks in your limboes the centuries strike:
An age is to you of the spirit-land
As a grain of its grains to the desert-sand.
No clocks in your limboes the centuries strike:
An age is to you of the spirit-land
As a grain of its grains to the desert-sand.
What matter to you for more or less?
Like me, in patience your souls possess!
Go, get you back to the shadow-shore
Nor trouble the live untimely more.
Like me, in patience your souls possess!
Go, get you back to the shadow-shore
Nor trouble the live untimely more.
II.
In vain my speech is. My cats lift up
Their heads from the hearth. In a shadow-cup
A shadow-hand pours a shadow-wine
And proffers the bowl to these lips of mine.
Their heads from the hearth. In a shadow-cup
A shadow-hand pours a shadow-wine
And proffers the bowl to these lips of mine.
Ah would I might drain it, your draught of sleep!
My soul's athirst for your poppied deep
And the juice of the grapes whence your hands express
The drowsy drink of forgetfulness.
My soul's athirst for your poppied deep
And the juice of the grapes whence your hands express
The drowsy drink of forgetfulness.
Enough have I quaffed of the wine of dreams,
The draught that sunders 'twixt “Is” and “Seems;”
For nought but seeming is Life; and thirst
For that which we know not of all's the worst.
The draught that sunders 'twixt “Is” and “Seems;”
For nought but seeming is Life; and thirst
For that which we know not of all's the worst.
And yet must a sentinel keep his room,
'Spite hunger and thirst, till the crack of doom.
There's none can license him thence go free
Save him who set him, whoever he be.
'Spite hunger and thirst, till the crack of doom.
There's none can license him thence go free
Save him who set him, whoever he be.
Though broken he be on Fortune's wheel,
Still true to his troth is the sentry leal:
And Life to the living the soldier's post's,
As well ye know it, ye grieving ghosts.
Still true to his troth is the sentry leal:
And Life to the living the soldier's post's,
As well ye know it, ye grieving ghosts.
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And so to your limboes get you back,
Sad souls! I follow upon your track,—
And seek no more with your clamorous breath
To hasten the flight of the wings of Death.
Sad souls! I follow upon your track,—
And seek no more with your clamorous breath
To hasten the flight of the wings of Death.
For he in his own time comes, the churl!
Though old worlds and new worlds about him whirl:
And nought can quicken or clog the pace
Of the Lord of the spheres of Time and Space.
Though old worlds and new worlds about him whirl:
And nought can quicken or clog the pace
Of the Lord of the spheres of Time and Space.
WRECK AND PORT.
In the middle passion of light and life,
When the surge of the rose-red years began
To broaden and brighten out to the span
That beareth the ultimate life of man
Through the fair free fields, where the corn burns rife
And the distance heaves with the gold
Of the mountains, shining and sweet to behold,
Wherein hope harbours for young and old,
At the time when I girt myself for the strife,
With the radiant joy of a man's desire,
Who hath learnt to what aim his thoughts aspire,
What work to his hand is right,
There fell on my soul a scathing fire,
A lightning of barren and waste desire;
And sudden my day was night
And my Summer blight.
When the surge of the rose-red years began
To broaden and brighten out to the span
That beareth the ultimate life of man
Through the fair free fields, where the corn burns rife
And the distance heaves with the gold
Of the mountains, shining and sweet to behold,
Wherein hope harbours for young and old,
At the time when I girt myself for the strife,
With the radiant joy of a man's desire,
Who hath learnt to what aim his thoughts aspire,
What work to his hand is right,
There fell on my soul a scathing fire,
A lightning of barren and waste desire;
And sudden my day was night
And my Summer blight.
I had said to myself for many a year,
Lo, many there be and to spare that strain
For wealth and worship, for grace and gain
And splendid safety from toil and pain.
They are many and bold and strong, and clear
Their voices and bright their eyes:
Yea, surely, for nothing beneath the skies,
Not even for winning of Paradise,
Their strength and their skill might flinch or fear.
They have girt them with valour and faith and mirth
For gaining the guerdons of Heaven and Earth,
The prizes of land and sea,
So valiant they are and so worship-worth.
These are the chosen of Life's first birth.
Is there any thing left for me,
Where such men be?
Lo, many there be and to spare that strain
For wealth and worship, for grace and gain
And splendid safety from toil and pain.
They are many and bold and strong, and clear
Their voices and bright their eyes:
Yea, surely, for nothing beneath the skies,
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Their strength and their skill might flinch or fear.
They have girt them with valour and faith and mirth
For gaining the guerdons of Heaven and Earth,
The prizes of land and sea,
So valiant they are and so worship-worth.
These are the chosen of Life's first birth.
Is there any thing left for me,
Where such men be?
The beautiful youths with the flowering hair
And the eyes that lighten with lovely flame,
The rose-red mouths and the lips that claim
The love of all women in Beauty's name,
When these, that are many and fierce and fair,
All over the love-lands go
And set maids' hearts and their cheeks aglow
With the languorous words from their lips that flow,
Whilst the conquering charm of their beauty rare
Brims women's souls with a wildering bliss,
So their mouths lift up of themselves for their kiss
And they clasp breast to breast,
I said to myself, “Is there room to miss
For a man like me in a world like this?
Am I not, mid the rest,
An unbid guest?
And the eyes that lighten with lovely flame,
The rose-red mouths and the lips that claim
The love of all women in Beauty's name,
When these, that are many and fierce and fair,
All over the love-lands go
And set maids' hearts and their cheeks aglow
With the languorous words from their lips that flow,
Whilst the conquering charm of their beauty rare
Brims women's souls with a wildering bliss,
So their mouths lift up of themselves for their kiss
And they clasp breast to breast,
I said to myself, “Is there room to miss
For a man like me in a world like this?
Am I not, mid the rest,
An unbid guest?
Is there room for me in the midst of these,
Hawkeyed and splendid with strong desire,
Of these that are fashioned of iron and fire,
That know no sadness nor ever tire,
Till their hand have won them their bodies' ease,
Power and the praise of men,
Whose strength for desire is the strength of ten,
Bearing them onward o'er waste and fen,
Through maze of mountain and surge of seas,
Till had their hope and their wish is won
And into the sunset reddens their sun?
Is there any place for me
To press with their feet through the darkness dun?
I shall surely weary, hardly begun;
I shall faint by the way maybe
Or sink in the sea.
Hawkeyed and splendid with strong desire,
Of these that are fashioned of iron and fire,
That know no sadness nor ever tire,
Till their hand have won them their bodies' ease,
Power and the praise of men,
Whose strength for desire is the strength of ten,
Bearing them onward o'er waste and fen,
Through maze of mountain and surge of seas,
Till had their hope and their wish is won
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Is there any place for me
To press with their feet through the darkness dun?
I shall surely weary, hardly begun;
I shall faint by the way maybe
Or sink in the sea.
For, lo, full stern is the battle's stress
And the field is full of the men of war,
Horsemen and footmen, and passing sore
The blows they barter. The battle's roar
Rises like thunder right pitiless
And only the strong win through.
Men's life-blood rains, like a ruddy dew,
And many a heart, that is weak and true,
Sinks down to death for the day's duresse.
Art thou strong to buckle on helmet and mail
And conquer, alas! when so many fail
And fall in the front of faith?
And I said to myself, “I am weak and pale;
My voice is the voice of the winds that wail:
I am strong for nothing but death;
I am scant of breath.”
And the field is full of the men of war,
Horsemen and footmen, and passing sore
The blows they barter. The battle's roar
Rises like thunder right pitiless
And only the strong win through.
Men's life-blood rains, like a ruddy dew,
And many a heart, that is weak and true,
Sinks down to death for the day's duresse.
Art thou strong to buckle on helmet and mail
And conquer, alas! when so many fail
And fall in the front of faith?
And I said to myself, “I am weak and pale;
My voice is the voice of the winds that wail:
I am strong for nothing but death;
I am scant of breath.”
“Are they worth the winning, indeed?” I said,
“The prizes of Life that men pursue
And weary after, the loves they woo,
The fames they conquer with derring-do?
The laurels that light on the heavy head,
When life is failing fast,
Is it worth the struggle to clutch them at last,
When youth and passion and faith are past
And the hope of the heart is with the dead,
To lie alone in a living tomb
And watch the phantoms of youth and bloom
That over the gravestones stray?
Surely, to sit in the uttermost room,
Unheeded, were better than such a doom.
Shall I venture on such a way?”
And I answered, “Nay.”
“The prizes of Life that men pursue
And weary after, the loves they woo,
The fames they conquer with derring-do?
The laurels that light on the heavy head,
When life is failing fast,
Is it worth the struggle to clutch them at last,
When youth and passion and faith are past
And the hope of the heart is with the dead,
To lie alone in a living tomb
And watch the phantoms of youth and bloom
That over the gravestones stray?
Surely, to sit in the uttermost room,
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Shall I venture on such a way?”
And I answered, “Nay.”
So I bound up the yearnings of youth in my soul,
As those that prune off the budded rose,
Or e'er at the flowertide its beauty blows,
And lo, in the heart of the shrouding snows,
The blooms, that blew not when the land was whole,
Under the summer sun,
Burst out at the Yule and the flowerets' queen
Shines ruddy and sweet in her robe of green,
Sweeter for hoarding her scented soul.
I heartened myself to be dumb and wait,
Content with the calm of a low estate,
Careless of aught but rest:
And “Haply,” I said, “if it pleases Fate,
Some rose in my life shall ripen late.
Meanwhile I will bear in my breast
Peace, that is best.”
As those that prune off the budded rose,
Or e'er at the flowertide its beauty blows,
And lo, in the heart of the shrouding snows,
The blooms, that blew not when the land was whole,
Under the summer sun,
Burst out at the Yule and the flowerets' queen
Shines ruddy and sweet in her robe of green,
Sweeter for hoarding her scented soul.
I heartened myself to be dumb and wait,
Content with the calm of a low estate,
Careless of aught but rest:
And “Haply,” I said, “if it pleases Fate,
Some rose in my life shall ripen late.
Meanwhile I will bear in my breast
Peace, that is best.”
So I made for myself a nest of calm,
A harbour of quiet and fair content,
And dwelt there and watched, whilst the wild years went
To the goal of their flight in the far extent
Of the Future, singing their wailing psalm
Of passion and toil and woe.
I looked from my coign on their whirling flow
And hoped with each hope that the noble know
And joyed in each vision of peace and balm:
I was one with all faiths and all loves that strain
From the mire of the world to the azure plain
And the rifts where the sun shines through:
I was one with the flowers and the stars and the rain;
For my soul was unperjured and pure from stain
And the phantoms that men pursue
I never knew.
A harbour of quiet and fair content,
And dwelt there and watched, whilst the wild years went
To the goal of their flight in the far extent
Of the Future, singing their wailing psalm
Of passion and toil and woe.
I looked from my coign on their whirling flow
And hoped with each hope that the noble know
And joyed in each vision of peace and balm:
I was one with all faiths and all loves that strain
From the mire of the world to the azure plain
And the rifts where the sun shines through:
I was one with the flowers and the stars and the rain;
For my soul was unperjured and pure from stain
And the phantoms that men pursue
I never knew.
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My thought was a desert under the sky
Of a lonely land in the wastes of air,
And never the foot of the fiend came there
Nor the shapes of magic, that bring despair,
When the mirage they conjure is flitted by
And the world lies bare and cold.
The voice of its birds was the songs of old
And its winds, in the flight of their wings of gold,
Were filled with the harmonies fair and high,
That spring, for the balm of the weary ways,
From the lips of the bard and his hand that plays
With the strings of the harp of life.
The dews that fell there were love and praise;
Content was its sun and its moon of days;
Love-lys in its paths was rife
And red loose-strife.
Of a lonely land in the wastes of air,
And never the foot of the fiend came there
Nor the shapes of magic, that bring despair,
When the mirage they conjure is flitted by
And the world lies bare and cold.
The voice of its birds was the songs of old
And its winds, in the flight of their wings of gold,
Were filled with the harmonies fair and high,
That spring, for the balm of the weary ways,
From the lips of the bard and his hand that plays
With the strings of the harp of life.
The dews that fell there were love and praise;
Content was its sun and its moon of days;
Love-lys in its paths was rife
And red loose-strife.
And so, as the days and the years grew long,
The dew and the rain and the sun and the wind
And all things gracious and fair and kind,
That had gathered and harboured with me, combined
To stir in my heart the seeds of song:
And lo, in the lonely land
It blossomed and burgeoned on every hand:
The flowers flamed up in a glorious band
And forth of my heart, in a tuneful throng,
The thrushes startled, the linnets flew,
Singing their hearts out in ditties new.
The grey of the sky grew bright:
At the sound and the scent, the sun thrust through,
The air rained gold and the day broke blue.
I had won from the womb of Night
Its soul of light.
The dew and the rain and the sun and the wind
And all things gracious and fair and kind,
That had gathered and harboured with me, combined
To stir in my heart the seeds of song:
And lo, in the lonely land
It blossomed and burgeoned on every hand:
The flowers flamed up in a glorious band
And forth of my heart, in a tuneful throng,
The thrushes startled, the linnets flew,
Singing their hearts out in ditties new.
The grey of the sky grew bright:
At the sound and the scent, the sun thrust through,
The air rained gold and the day broke blue.
I had won from the womb of Night
Its soul of light.
Oh, how the hope and the love flowered out
In blossom of ballad and carol and lay,
That had hidden in silentness many a day!
There is never a wood in the middle May,
When the Springtide wakens the warbling rout
Of linnet and lark and wren,
That thrills with sweet sound as my heart thrilled then.
I sang for myself and not for men,
As a happy child in the sun will shout.
Though my heart with the music wept and bled,
They were tears of delight, the tears I shed,
Joy from the dusk unbound.
Song fed me not yet with bitter bread;
I cared not who listened to what I said.
The love in my life had found
Its gate of sound.
In blossom of ballad and carol and lay,
That had hidden in silentness many a day!
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When the Springtide wakens the warbling rout
Of linnet and lark and wren,
That thrills with sweet sound as my heart thrilled then.
I sang for myself and not for men,
As a happy child in the sun will shout.
Though my heart with the music wept and bled,
They were tears of delight, the tears I shed,
Joy from the dusk unbound.
Song fed me not yet with bitter bread;
I cared not who listened to what I said.
The love in my life had found
Its gate of sound.
So life lay lovesome with song and Spring,
Until one morn, at the dawning hour,
The height of the heavens was all a-flower
With flakes of crimson, as if a shower
Of roses before the coming king
The skies in the sun's way cast;
And scarce was the moment of daybreak past
When up in the East, as a curtain vast,
The portals of Paradise opening,
From over the face of the heavens there drew;
And forth of the deeps of the radiant blue,
Down-fluttering from above,
Through the golden webs of the morning-dew,
An angel for me there came to view,
A seraph, half maid, half dove,
Whose name was Love.
Until one morn, at the dawning hour,
The height of the heavens was all a-flower
With flakes of crimson, as if a shower
Of roses before the coming king
The skies in the sun's way cast;
And scarce was the moment of daybreak past
When up in the East, as a curtain vast,
The portals of Paradise opening,
From over the face of the heavens there drew;
And forth of the deeps of the radiant blue,
Down-fluttering from above,
Through the golden webs of the morning-dew,
An angel for me there came to view,
A seraph, half maid, half dove,
Whose name was Love.
She sank through the shimmering sunshot air,
All robed and rounded with flowering fires.
The silver sound of the seraph-choirs
With hymning voices and smitten lyres,
That hailed their sister from Heaven's stair,
Sang round her, as she came.
Like a sweet saint stepped from a missal-frame,
Unhastening, light as a flower of flame,
She floated down, through the dawning fair,
To where I waited in rapt amaze,
My whole soul whelmed in my ravished gaze,
And lit at my feet to rest;
Then, fluttering up, like a rosy haze,
That wanders at dawn in the meadow-ways,
She fled to my longing breast,
As a bird to its nest.
All robed and rounded with flowering fires.
The silver sound of the seraph-choirs
With hymning voices and smitten lyres,
162
Sang round her, as she came.
Like a sweet saint stepped from a missal-frame,
Unhastening, light as a flower of flame,
She floated down, through the dawning fair,
To where I waited in rapt amaze,
My whole soul whelmed in my ravished gaze,
And lit at my feet to rest;
Then, fluttering up, like a rosy haze,
That wanders at dawn in the meadow-ways,
She fled to my longing breast,
As a bird to its nest.
The Springtides over were all, in sum;
There was nothing left of the pleasant Prime:
The season of lilac and leafing lime
Was all fordone by the new sweet time;
The glory of golden Summer come,
The magic of middle June,
In cloth of gold of the radiant noon
And silver clad of the flooding moon,
Had ousted the flowertide frolicsome:
The cowslip-clusters their bloom had shed;
The windflowers, the violets all were dead,
The day of the primrose done.
With roses yellow and white and red
And gold-heart lilies the land was spread:
The world-all was overrun
With flooding sun.
There was nothing left of the pleasant Prime:
The season of lilac and leafing lime
Was all fordone by the new sweet time;
The glory of golden Summer come,
The magic of middle June,
In cloth of gold of the radiant noon
And silver clad of the flooding moon,
Had ousted the flowertide frolicsome:
The cowslip-clusters their bloom had shed;
The windflowers, the violets all were dead,
The day of the primrose done.
With roses yellow and white and red
And gold-heart lilies the land was spread:
The world-all was overrun
With flooding sun.
Spring's birds had followed her banished feet;
No nightingales sang in the hawthorn brake;
No merles made music for April's sake;
No throstles warbled by hill and lake;
No cuckoos fluted; no finches fleet
Fled, trilling, from tree to tree.
But a myriad songsters from oversea,
Kingbird and cardinal, colibri,
Tanager, piped in the heart of the heat.
With living jewels the woods did blaze:
The rose-red doves of the fairy days,
The golden loriots trolled;
The bluebirds of Paradise sang on the sprays;
The lyre-birds flashed through the forest-ways
And the martlets of pearl and gold
Of the fables old.
No nightingales sang in the hawthorn brake;
No merles made music for April's sake;
No throstles warbled by hill and lake;
No cuckoos fluted; no finches fleet
Fled, trilling, from tree to tree.
But a myriad songsters from oversea,
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Tanager, piped in the heart of the heat.
With living jewels the woods did blaze:
The rose-red doves of the fairy days,
The golden loriots trolled;
The bluebirds of Paradise sang on the sprays;
The lyre-birds flashed through the forest-ways
And the martlets of pearl and gold
Of the fables old.
High summer harboured in holt and shaw;
The days were woven of gold and rose;
The land was lush with the ripe repose,
The state serene of the summer shows;
And life was the life without a flaw
Of the noontide of the year.
But woe unto him for whom o'er dear
Is life, who knows not of doubt or fear!
E'en Love must hearken to Nature's law
That all things end, as they have begun.
One day, at the hour when light is done
And dusk the dark foresaith,
My angel fled back to her home in the sun;
And down in her place came another one,
Black-vestured and cold of breath,
Whose name was Death.
The days were woven of gold and rose;
The land was lush with the ripe repose,
The state serene of the summer shows;
And life was the life without a flaw
Of the noontide of the year.
But woe unto him for whom o'er dear
Is life, who knows not of doubt or fear!
E'en Love must hearken to Nature's law
That all things end, as they have begun.
One day, at the hour when light is done
And dusk the dark foresaith,
My angel fled back to her home in the sun;
And down in her place came another one,
Black-vestured and cold of breath,
Whose name was Death.
He blew on the world with his breath of ice;
And the sun and the Summer straight were gone;
The grasses faded from lea and lawn
And sad as the dusk was the tearful dawn.
He breathed on the landscape once and twice,
And sudden the sky grew grey:
The flowers all shrivelled; from bough and spray
The dead leaves dropped and the birds away
Fled back oversea. He breathed on it thrice
And over the meadows the mists stooped low,
The land with the pall of the shrouding snow
Lay silent on every hand;
The frost-chains fettered the waters' flow;
And whereas mine eyes turned to and fro,
They saw but, for Summer bland,
A winter land.
And the sun and the Summer straight were gone;
The grasses faded from lea and lawn
And sad as the dusk was the tearful dawn.
He breathed on the landscape once and twice,
And sudden the sky grew grey:
The flowers all shrivelled; from bough and spray
The dead leaves dropped and the birds away
Fled back oversea. He breathed on it thrice
And over the meadows the mists stooped low,
164
Lay silent on every hand;
The frost-chains fettered the waters' flow;
And whereas mine eyes turned to and fro,
They saw but, for Summer bland,
A winter land.
My life died down with the dying light;
No tears were left in mine eyes to weep;
My thought was drowned in that frozen deep,
My spirit sunken in seas of sleep.
The sun from the moon and the day from the night
I knew not nor toad from bird.
I rose not, when morning broke, nor stirred,
When the voice of the rain in mine ears I heard:
My sense was darkened and dimmed my sight.
Of nothing I thought and nothing deemed
When the thunder roared and the lightning gleamed
And the wind fared to and fro.
For countless centuries, so it seemed,
In the numbing ice-sleep I lay and dreamed,
Under the shroud of the snow,
A dream of woe.
No tears were left in mine eyes to weep;
My thought was drowned in that frozen deep,
My spirit sunken in seas of sleep.
The sun from the moon and the day from the night
I knew not nor toad from bird.
I rose not, when morning broke, nor stirred,
When the voice of the rain in mine ears I heard:
My sense was darkened and dimmed my sight.
Of nothing I thought and nothing deemed
When the thunder roared and the lightning gleamed
And the wind fared to and fro.
For countless centuries, so it seemed,
In the numbing ice-sleep I lay and dreamed,
Under the shroud of the snow,
A dream of woe.
But Death and Winter themselves must list
To Nature's fiat that all must die,
To live again, as the years go by:
And so, one morning, unknowing why,
I woke and found that the dank frost-mist
Had vanished from vale and lea;
The fields from the pall of the snow were free;
The rills unhindered ran to the sea;
And as 'twere a webwork of amethyst,
A soft haze hovered o'er wood and wold.
The air was clear of the cruel cold;
A breeze blew out of the West,
With warmth from a sun of paly gold,
That drowsed in the heavens, dim and old,
As one that hath found, in Life's quest,
A port of rest.
To Nature's fiat that all must die,
To live again, as the years go by:
And so, one morning, unknowing why,
I woke and found that the dank frost-mist
Had vanished from vale and lea;
The fields from the pall of the snow were free;
The rills unhindered ran to the sea;
And as 'twere a webwork of amethyst,
A soft haze hovered o'er wood and wold.
The air was clear of the cruel cold;
A breeze blew out of the West,
With warmth from a sun of paly gold,
165
As one that hath found, in Life's quest,
A port of rest.
The robin fluted upon the bough:
The leaves, but yesterday sere and shed,
Now dappled the brake with gold and red.
The world had arisen again from the dead:
It was as if Spring on the old year's brow
Had set once more its sign,
Its token of freedom from winter-pine,
That makes the world-all arise and shine
And the field-furrows germ beneath the plough.
But it was not the season of bird and flower:
'Twas Autumn's Springtide, the quiet hour,
October's placid cease
From strife and passion, ere Life must cower
Once more, like a slave, to Winter's power;
Nor Summer nor Spring's increase,
But Autumn-peace.
The leaves, but yesterday sere and shed,
Now dappled the brake with gold and red.
The world had arisen again from the dead:
It was as if Spring on the old year's brow
Had set once more its sign,
Its token of freedom from winter-pine,
That makes the world-all arise and shine
And the field-furrows germ beneath the plough.
But it was not the season of bird and flower:
'Twas Autumn's Springtide, the quiet hour,
October's placid cease
From strife and passion, ere Life must cower
Once more, like a slave, to Winter's power;
Nor Summer nor Spring's increase,
But Autumn-peace.
| Carol and Cadence | |