University of Virginia Library

Go, Ellen, visit Conisbro'
When gusty Autumn's wildest day
To the grey ruin's age and woe
Shall wild and fitting homage pay.
Then shall his shadow in the sun
Make stormy sunshine doubly fair;
Beneath shall wail the flooded Dun;
And Music's Muse shall meet thee there.
Start not Eliza's form to see
That castled mound's brown shades among;
But bless the dead maid's melody,
Nor marvel if “her speech is song.”
To die is but to put off sin,
As morn puts off night's vapour foul;
The dead are learners, who begin
To sing the music of the soul.
They teach the born-in-heav'n to feel
How angel-voiced are human woes;
And tempt the heavenly-born to steal
From earth, the smile of sorrow's rose.
Oh, beautiful in tears, to them
Who know not grief, that flower may seem,
Reflected on its thorny stem,
In mortal life's impassion'd stream!

I.

Lone darkness lit her lamps on high,
Star waking star o'er all the sky;
And Mercy from his throne divine
Watch'd over sleeping Etheline.
She slept, and with her slept
The baby on her breast.
Sleeping, she wept
In dreams, for Adwick—and his woes;
(Oh, if she loved another,
So sister loveth brother!)
And not from bless'd repose,
But sorrowful unrest,
She waked, to hear, around her ringing,
Sounds, sweet as of an angel singing,
When, thus, a voice like woman's sung,
With more than music on her tongue.

II.

III.

The wild song ceased; and with a scream,
Upraised in bed, the maiden said,
“Could she be here? I do not dream.
Where art thou? thou who sung'st so well!
My Telma! Friend, loved long and well!
Answer me!
Oh, Beautiful and Terrible!
Answer me!
Why hast thou absent been so long?
I know, my envy did thee wrong;
But I have miss'd thee, yearn'd for thee.
Beloved and Dreadful! let me see
Thy visage pale! and tell to me
Thy dreadful tale.”

IV.

No voice replies. Nor form, nor face,
In glittering twilight, can she trace.
In vain, she seeks repose;
In vain, her eyelids close:
Sleepless, she tosses, till the grey
Of morning brightens into day.

V.

Day follows day, and Etheline
Is happier than a bride;
Still nursing little Telmarine
At lonely Waterside.
Them madness guards, and watches well,
With vigilance invincible;
And he may yet on man depend,
Whom madness watches, as a friend.

VI.

Week follows week; and unseen hands
For Etheline wild berries bring,
Pure water from the living spring,
And fire-wood from the shore;
Kind whisperings reach her listening ear;
Unseen, a kind shape near her stands;
And friendly feet are wandering near,
Though Konig comes no more.
Yet Adwick loves not Telmarine!
Her sire is loved by Etheline,
And Adwick hates that sire!
The man is mad. A cruel thought,
And half-form'd dark intentions float
Within his brain of fire.
The wretch is mad—oppress'd—reviled:
God! will he kill the rescued child?

VII.

But Konig comes to Waterside!
He seeks, at length, lost Telma there;
And saith, (his calmness is despair,)
“The lost may with her rival bide;
For after anger, love is sweet;
And friends long-parted long to meet.”
The self-caught trapper rues the hour
When first he tried his cruel power
(Oh, heartless deed!) to undermine
The virgin name of Etheline,
And do an orphan wrong.
His shaft is shot, and ill it sped;
For she loves him, and he the dead!
Defeated is the strong.
Lo, at her cottage-door they stand!
She deeply moved,
Yet coldly meeting her beloved;
He, with feign'd gladness, courteously
Pressing her small unoffer'd hand;
And watching on the shadow'd sand,
His form of loftiest majesty.
The scarcely-welcomed welcome guest
Enters her home, with heart depress'd;
Around he pries, with cunning eyes,
But finds not what he seeks;
Then, pausing, speaks.

VIII.

“Daughter of merchant strangers! thou
Endanger'd art, and lonely now.
Within a bow-shot of my tower,
I have a shelter'd plot and bower;
There dwell thou safe, my queen and guest;
This I, who might command, request.
For who seeks now thy dwelling lonely?
Fish-eating, hare-fed Adwick only—
A headlong, blaze-brain'd, wisdom-troubling
Fool, with new good old evils doubling;
And thou, by shielding that doom'd man,
Incurr'st the King-Priest's deadly ban.
Well saith the saw of ancient date,
‘The empty friend devours his mate:’
Shun, then, th' accursed, or share his fate.
Is it because his savaged brow
Darkens a rebel's lip below,
While sun-tann'd hide, and storm-comb'd hair,
(Fit raiment both, for wolf and bear,)
Clothe broadest breast, and largest limb,
That maidens run such risks for him?”

IX.

He said, and from his forehead fair
Stroked back dark locks of glossy hair,
Smiling in scorn. She wrongly deem'd
That he was tranquil as he seem'd,
And, cautious, answer'd—boastfully
Feigning a false security:
“If we have caused his many sorrows,
Shall I hate him who suffers for us?
My father loved the outcast man
Whom priest and priestling therefore ban,
For well they know that Adwick knows
How vain are all their shams and shows!
But though the power that awes ev'n thee
Might well appal a maid like me,
I go not hence, Sir. Who will dare
To storm th' enchantress in her lair?
Weird daughter of a wizard sire,
Can I not flood the heav'ns with fire?
And slay, far off, the covert foe
Who but in thought might work me woe?
Nor force nor fraud of man I fear;
Nor, Konig, am I lonely here.”

X.

“Not lonely here?” confused, he said;
And from his lip its colour fled,
When, at her feet, he saw a child,
The little foundling, Telmarine.
With Telma's smile, on him it smiled,
With Telma's locks of raven hue,
And upturn'd eyes of darkest blue.
Confused, he named its mother's name!
While pale, as death's cold brow, became
The cheek of Etheline.

XI.

“Telma!” he said; nor waited long
Ere seem'd at once to come and go
The shadow of a shape of woe,
(Like the last look of kindness sent
From dying eyes, it came and went,)
And, thus, a voice replied in song:
“Oh, Konig, if the living knew,
What death-freed spirits only know,
That none are happy, but the true;
Wert thou like moonlight on the snow,
Or dew on lilies—bright and pure;
Oh, if thy soul were anchor'd sure—
Not on thy gods of death and strife,
Fierce Jove, arm'd Pallas, fiery Mars,
(Nor on glad Orus, and the stars,
Or Jareeha, hurrying white
Behind the troubled gloom of night,)
But on the Lord of Love and Life;
Thou would'st not need to hear it said,
That bless'd are they who love the dead.
Who that hath loved, as truth doth love,
Loved only once, and lost his love,
But in his heart of hearts hath said,
“Safe is the love that loves the dead?”
Then, Come! our marriage-feast is spread;
Celestial guests inquire for thee;
Sweet is the love that loves the dead!
And angels wait for thee and me:
Be happy yet! espouse the dead:
Safe is the love that loves the dead!
Oh, well is he who weds the dead!”

XII.

When ceased that voice “whose speech was song,”
Still Konig fondly listen'd long.
“Thou art not here?” at length, he cried,
“Thou trouble-tried, and purified!
Thy voice I heard, but where art thou?
Oh, let me see thee! see thee now!
Yet, ere this fever'd dream is o'er,
Let me embrace thee!—once, once more!”

XIII.

Then, said the voice “whose speech was song,”
“If thou would'st see me yet again
Where human weakness dwells with pain,
Go, follow him, whose eyes of hate
Have watch'd thee early, watch'd thee late,
And been thy watchers long.
He comes, in frenzied passion strong:
I see his dreadful scowl:
If ought on earth is sad or foul,
Behold it—in a ruin'd soul!
Look on the havock thou hast made!
On Adwick look! destroy'd, betray'd!
Thou did'st not smite him with thy hand;
The smitten might such blow withstand:
Behold him—Lost! in spirit blind!
Thy guilty heart hath slain his mind.”

XIV.

Lo, while he listen'd, Adwick came!
Bare were his limbs, his breast was bare.
Blue glitter'd through his matted hair
His pain-changed eyes of ghastly flame,
As if a wintry tempest threw
Cold lightning on their freezing blue;
And these wild words he utter'd there:
“The crow doth croak. What croaketh he?
‘Dead horse! dead horse!’ Where may it be?
At Cadeby-Force it lies a corse,
And there a dead maid, near the horse.
The lean crow croak'd, ‘At Cadeby-Force
I come to feed, dead horse, dead horse!
Oh, won't I feed at Cadeby-Force,
Where lies, with thee, the maiden's corse?’
‘Be mine, dead maid,’ the starved crow pray'd,
‘At Cadeby-Force, be mine, dead horse!’
‘Nay,’ saith the worm, ‘be ours, dead maid!’
She shall—but not at Cadeby-Force.”

XV.

Brighter the maniac's eyes became;
Speech, mix'd with laughter, from him brake;
On Konig glared the eyes of flame;
And, thus, to Konig Adwick spake:
“Fish-eating Adwick, in the lake
Hath caught a curious lady-fish:
I caught it, Konig, for thy sake,
And thine shall be the fish.
Would'st see again thy loved one's face?
Then, must thou see my lady-fish:
Come! I will lead thee to the place
Where thou may'st see my fish.”

XVI.

“Follow me, Lord!” he yell'd aloud;
And Konig, fearless, follow'd him,
Entering the forest's mazes dim,
In sadness bow'd.
They traversed realms of verdant night,
And many a treeless isle of light,
Whose peaceful bliss the eyes of Love
Watch'd fondly through the blue above;
A wilderness of shaded flowers;
A wilderness of virgin-bowers;
Of beauty (calm, not passionless,)
And lonely song, a wilderness;
For on, on, far and long, they went
Through paths of green bewilderment,
Where oft the ouzle, perch'd on high,
Beneath his clouds, above his woods,
Pour'd his full notes in gushing floods,
Flattering the wood rill tunefully;
Then, listen'd to its still reply,
In all a bard's regality,
And seem'd sole lord of earth and sky.
Soul-meekening sadness sweetly crept
The region o'er—and Konig wept:
His sighs to echoes soft replied;
He knew not why—but still he sigh'd.
They reach'd at last the mount where stood
The Father of the boundless wood,
An oak, before whose vastness man,
Dwarf'd to a gnat's dimensions, shrunk.
Twelve full-sized men had fail'd to span,
With outstretch'd arms, his giant trunk.
One mighty limb, extended forth,
Might have a war-ship's frame supplied;
One shoulder, twisted to the north,
A thousand winters had defied;
(All eldest things had even told
The hoary ages, as they roll'd,
That he alone on earth was old;)
And still the knotted hands prepared
Their time-tried wrists and knuckles bared,
The storms of centuries to dare.
The tree was call'd the Wizard's chair;
And in his hollow trunk the gloom
Reveal'd an uncouth banquet-room:
Perchance, in after ages dined
In such a tree stout Robin Hood,
Amid the depths of Barnesdale Wood
Feasting his men on hart and hind.
“Here enter!” growl'd the maniac grim;
And Konig enter'd—following him
Into the god-made forest-hall,
With the mute step of funeral.
Slowly undarken'd then the gloom.
They stood within a living tomb,
Before a form—a lifeless one—
Whose lifted head long hair had on;
Black, it descended like a veil,
Half hiding features fix'd and pale;
The light, if light it were, of eyes;
And the still shape of lifeless thighs.
Alone unclothed by that sad vest
Were two fair shoulders, one round breast,
Snow-sculptured legs, with small thin feet,
White as a winding sheet,
Or stainless ivory;
And fingers, taper'd slenderly,
Which—when the fond enamour'd breeze
Pulsed gently through surrounding trees—
Seem'd dallying with the long loose hair.
Erect, as if she stood in pray'r,
The beauteous Horror glimmer'd there!
“How dost thou like her?” whisper'd then
The seeming cruelest of men:
One groan replied! a low dull sound
Follow'd; and on the ground,
At Adwick's feet, lord Konig lay
Blackening, and senseless as the clay.

XVII.

“Dog! that fear'st bones!” said Adwick. “Thou
Shalt do the outcast's bidding now.
Who now shall say to Adwick, ‘Stand
Apart from blessing! let no hand
Touch him or his! no living thing
Approach his withering?’
Soon, all shall know me. Heav'n is mine!
The priests are mine, their altars mine,
To work for good, not ill:
Their sov'reign shall be Telmarine,
And she shall do my will;
For earth and heav'n are mine.
Am I not God? Sweet Etheline
Shall be God's God! heav'n's queen and mine.
I am of Kings the King.
Deny'st thou this, mine enemy?
Ha!—shape abhorr'd! lord Konig's Lord!
Laugh'st thou in hell-black mockery?
Laugh—but the mercy of my might
Shall smite thy blackness into light;
Frown—Ay, with thunder bridge thine eyes,
Swell, if thou wilt, to mountain-size,
And with a look eclipse the skies!
But—Ah! again? What form, what face
Fold'st thou within thy vast embrace?
Oh, those dear locks! those lips of snow,
Those eyes of death, and cheeks of woe!
They freeze me into stone!
Yet triumph not, All-evil Thing!
The king of priests, and thou his king,
And all your instruments of ill,
Shall do my will,
And work for good alone.”

XVIII.

In envy, hatred, jealousy,
In sorrowing pride's intensity,
(Worst madness of worst misery,)
On fearful thoughts his spirit feasts;
And he will seek the King of Priests,
Though doom'd to die, if he draw nigh
The hallow'd kernel of the wood,
His dwelling long ago;
Where Mystery, fed on “weeping blood,”
Is restless as a wintry flood,
And cold as mountain-snow;
Restless as fire! yet still unchanged;
Or as the changeful, never changed,
Unalterable sky!