University of Virginia Library

Canto 7

Meanwhile in England, by the grey sea-ridge
Did Gilbert's father and his mother old
Mourn over him, from the red hour of dawn,
Which slowly lit the sea and brought the day,
Till in mid-heaven, like to an empress' throne,
The sun above the vassal waters reigned,
And so till he declined transparent bright,
Or on a cloudy wonder glorious,
The vast orb in the Western ocean sunk,
Ceased not these two in silence to lament.
What use for words? O'er the lone waste they gazed,
The waste that would not yield them up their son,
Or bring on its horizon any sail.
And the days passed, the months passed, and the years,
But never the red dawn on lighted sea,
Or the sun standing noon-tide emperor,
Or setting in the wonder of his clouds,
Gave them a hope or faintest gleam of hope.
At length the father said: “What think you, wife?
Here to abide will bring not Gilbert back,
For he may touch upon a different shore,
And landed make for London in his zeal.
He knows not that we have forsook the town,
Wearied at last of bales and merchandise.
If he should sudden upon London burst,
Thinking to take us by some sweet surprise,
And full of memories, of adventure hard,
Of battle-shocks, perchance imprisonment,
And many evils happily escaped,
Think the long night to while away from rest;
What should he think to find a closèd house,
A barred up mansion, and a solitude,
Where mighty welcome he might most expect.”
But she replied: “He will not come again,
For I am sure within me he is dead.
Some word, some wandering whisper from the sea
Had reached us all this time full sure am I,
Or some belated warrior of our host,
Released perhaps from foreign chains would find
A way to me to tell me of his fate,
Whether alive or dead.” Then said the man,
“Surely a wonder would it be if we
Had any word or wandering whisper heard,
Or any warrior from afar had come
To apprise us of his state. That were indeed
Too great things to expect; no, his first news
Will be himself. But all these things apart,
Whether our son be dead or still alive,
Doth not the lonely surge increase our pain,
Doth not the nightly billow with slow break
Still more and more our loss accentuate?
Alas, how the bereavèd mind can read
Its proper desolation into waves!
And mingle with that mighty music all
That lies about the heart and will not leave us
Thought-free a moment. Then I say again
The pain were less, where all that murmur comes
Of various life, and various faces seen,
For nothing, no not London, vast houses
And loud and hoarse the narrow-streeted town,
Can interpose between us and our dead,
Or once distract us from our memory.
Still even slight and passing things may make
The intolerable weight a little lift,
And in the shifting show and changèd scene
Relief is drawn, relief however short.
Is not this wise then, for a double cause,
Now to forsake, if only for a time,
The melancholy coast and hanging clouds,
The grey reminding rocks and floating gulls?”
So these two journey back to London town,
A journey then tardy and dangerous,
Full of delays, and ever with a fear
Of footpad or of mounted robber met.
At last the little city, large to them,
Still in the madding cloaks of masonry,
Yet with a smokeless charm, upon them broke.
There then once more they rested agèd limbs,
And still desired the coming of their son.
But he, whether because more sultry grew
The air and full of buzzings and of stings,
Lay in long fever; ever at his side
The Eastern damsel with cool hands of peace,
And in the whirl of his delirium
Ever and ever “London” would he cry,
And “London”; so that word of all our tongue
She treasured fast and murmured to herself,
And thought she, “If his flight I do contrive,
And loose him to the far and pined for shore,
And to those reverend hearts that mourn for him,
To London will he go, whate'er the way,
However far the plains and seas between,
And if he will not suffer me to go
But as his page to follow and attend,
For all his whims who knows if I know not?
If he forbid me then to follow him,
Unseen, unheard I will to London haste,
And saying his sweet name from door to door,
At last I will discover him, and then
Let him do with me even as he please.”
And “London” still she murmured to herself.