University of Virginia Library

Canto 4

But now at last, despite the glimmering charm,
The gliding motion round about his couch
And the soft voice like evening in his ears,
Gilbert, as now the wound to healing grew,
So yearned out of the East for Western fields.
Not for the streets of London he repined,
But he remembered, deep in country soil,
A rising spire that pointed to the clouds,
And circling rooks and heavy slumbrous trees,
And grasses of green England growing bright.
A rude and pealing music broke his dreams
Often; and he would start up in his bed.
Only the eastern moon and eastern stars
In a hot silence bickered and were still.
And buzzing flies, and all that nightly stings,
Stings and is shrill, the human ear torments,
These things tormented him in dead of night.
For here a branded heaven his eyes beheld,
A windless midnight, and like staring eyes
Great stars upon him lent an aspect fierce.
And more and more he longed for English nights,
For drifting clouds and silent falling dew,
For the soft crowded gardens of the West,
The drowsing bird and gradual ceasing song,
The trees from moment until moment stirred,
The foliage now wind-taken and now still.
Then the sweet cattle with low voices he
Recalled amid the angry hum of flies,
Voices of milk far-off, the lowing kine,
Or the dim music of a hundred doves.
Alas, how cool, how fragrant and afar
These ancient sounds and ancient sights appeared,
And often would he speak to her of these.
But she though wishing every wish of his
To grant, and being moved by all this speech
Of him who lay sore wounded on the couch
Yet could not face again a lonely life,
Where this strange influence had lain on her.
If she had seen him never, never nursed
This alien soldier back unto his strength,
Then little had she heard of English clouds
Or English gloamings, or the floating bird,
Or smell of the heaped hay of which he spoke,
Forgetful of his wound a moment then
And rising on his arm to speak to her.
But he had burst into her life, and now
Not easily could she a parting bear.
For much it was to her although perhaps
Briefly she saw him, briefly heard his voice,
Yet much it was to her to know that he
Was sleeping under the same dome as she;
For being woman she could lie content,
Knowing the masonry that wound her round,
Him also held; there was no need of speech,
Or even of look, though both of these were sweet;
The moonbeam that upon her fell, on him
Fell with an equal silver: this she knew,
And knowing this her eastern patience kept.
But if he went from her to cross the sea,
And the great water put between the two
And nevermore unto the East returned,
But there where he was born, in peace remained,
Perhaps another maiden of his race
To take unto his bosom and his heart,
How should she the bright noontide of the East
Or darted light from many a blistering star
Endure alone? So she made bold to speak.
And somewhat in such words as follow here,
Did she in her sweet jargon with long sighs
The heavy secret of her heart disclose:
“Oh, sir, I fain would help you to the shore
From which to battle for your master's tomb
You crossed the Seas, and since in many a fight
Wert crowned with glory, till at last unhorsed
And deeply wounded to our house wast brought,
Where not unkindly, as I think by me,
Nor by my father hast thou tended been.
For more as to a guest or neighbour dear
Have we discoursed with thee, and hour on hour
Unwearying beside the lamp have talked.
But ah, I grudge thee to thy cloudy skies,
And to the breaking sound of English seas,
I speak quite simply out, I love thee then,
And love with the quick passion of our race,
Since first beneath our portal thou hast come.
But what perhaps was fancy then has grown
Into a something not to be despised
And not discarded lightly; for each hour,
Each moment has been guiding me to thee.
My life was shattered, but to be rebuilt
On grander issues, and on mightier thoughts
Than ever in this lonely East had been.
Thou art a new thing come from far away,
Bringing a different air, another light
With thee and having seen the one no more
I can forget, or part thee from my mind.
Then if I aid thee to escape, how then
Stands the lone soul that watches thee depart?
Why should I send thee from me to my hurt?”