The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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A MAN'S VENGEANCE
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
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A MAN'S VENGEANCE
Read this letter, read it slowly. You'll remember as you read
If 'tis written in blood, your action made the heart that penned it bleed:
If it throbs and aches with anguish, bear in mind, remember too,
That the anguish was your doing, all the soul-pangs caused by you.
If 'tis written in blood, your action made the heart that penned it bleed:
If it throbs and aches with anguish, bear in mind, remember too,
That the anguish was your doing, all the soul-pangs caused by you.
Take your memory to a moment when we lived as closest friends,
I a toiler, you an artist following Art's impassioned ends:
I immersed in daily labour, studying law with cobwebbed brain;
You the rather studying woman—studying pleasure, shirking pain.
I a toiler, you an artist following Art's impassioned ends:
I immersed in daily labour, studying law with cobwebbed brain;
You the rather studying woman—studying pleasure, shirking pain.
From your shadowy grove of lime-trees, looking westward, you could see
'Mid the blossoms a white blossom in my garden close to me
In the radiant summer evens—one than blossoms fairer far,
Her my wife, my joy, my rainbow, my dim life's imperial star.
'Mid the blossoms a white blossom in my garden close to me
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Her my wife, my joy, my rainbow, my dim life's imperial star.
For she was my heaven of fulness, rapture past all utterance deep:
Her first whisper brought the sunrise, her last kiss brought softest sleep.
Even her slightest laugh was music; and one knew not when she smiled
If the sun shone through her glances, or an angel through a child!
Her first whisper brought the sunrise, her last kiss brought softest sleep.
Even her slightest laugh was music; and one knew not when she smiled
If the sun shone through her glances, or an angel through a child!
—Yes, you saw her and you loved her; lusted rather, should I say?
Felt that here another victim gracious Art set in your way:
Noble Art, so true and tender! Art who poisons countless lives,—
Looks on women all as models, be they maidens, be they wives.
Felt that here another victim gracious Art set in your way:
Noble Art, so true and tender! Art who poisons countless lives,—
Looks on women all as models, be they maidens, be they wives.
When I saw the new look coming as her brown eyes met your own,
When I felt within my spirit daily chillier, more alone,
Then I knew that you were praising with an artist's eager heart
The one god who knows no pity, calm-eyed blood-stained bay-crowned Art.
When I felt within my spirit daily chillier, more alone,
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The one god who knows no pity, calm-eyed blood-stained bay-crowned Art.
I might see her in the sunlight, watch her beauty day by day
Garbed in glowing silks and satins, radiant blue or pearly grey;
I might see her,—safely shielded by her jewels, her brocade;
See her glory at the noonday, covered chastely, if displayed:
Garbed in glowing silks and satins, radiant blue or pearly grey;
I might see her,—safely shielded by her jewels, her brocade;
See her glory at the noonday, covered chastely, if displayed:
I might see her thus—the husband—you might see her in the gloom,
Crush the blossoms that adorned her, crush her young soul's whiter bloom,
Lift off jewel after jewel, till you took the fairest one
That the starlight gives the lover, not the noonday, not the sun.
Crush the blossoms that adorned her, crush her young soul's whiter bloom,
Lift off jewel after jewel, till you took the fairest one
That the starlight gives the lover, not the noonday, not the sun.
I might see her all surrounded by a host of friends to guard,
Call her wife, and yet between us find a hundred gateways barred:
I might see her fair and queenly, chiding subjects from her throne
In the sunshine,—you might see her in the friendlier dark, alone.
Call her wife, and yet between us find a hundred gateways barred:
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In the sunshine,—you might see her in the friendlier dark, alone.
I might hear her merry laughter, I might hear her lightly jest;
You might see her sob with passion, be the midnight's starcrowned guest:
I might hold her hand and kiss it, I might worship, I might weep;
You might strain her to your bosom, hear her call you in her sleep.
You might see her sob with passion, be the midnight's starcrowned guest:
I might hold her hand and kiss it, I might worship, I might weep;
You might strain her to your bosom, hear her call you in her sleep.
Yet your rapture was a moment's,—for the death-god bent and seized
Her my priceless love, my darling; with desire but half appeased,
While her mouth to yours was cleaving, like the sea-flower to the rock,
Death's hand tore the mouths asunder, with an ice-cold sudden shock.
Her my priceless love, my darling; with desire but half appeased,
While her mouth to yours was cleaving, like the sea-flower to the rock,
Death's hand tore the mouths asunder, with an ice-cold sudden shock.
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Did a thought of me, I wonder, at that moment cross her heart,
Stay the pulse and freeze the life-blood? was it that which made her start,
Draw her lips from yours and, moaning, with her hand upon her side,
Pass from this world in a moment, in mid-frenzy's hottest tide?
Stay the pulse and freeze the life-blood? was it that which made her start,
Draw her lips from yours and, moaning, with her hand upon her side,
Pass from this world in a moment, in mid-frenzy's hottest tide?
Strange it was and wildly sudden. You were holding in your arms
Her a living breathing woman, with the touch, the scent, that charms:
In one instant all was altered; now your lust was left alone
With a body pure as marble, but as breathless as the stone.
Her a living breathing woman, with the touch, the scent, that charms:
In one instant all was altered; now your lust was left alone
With a body pure as marble, but as breathless as the stone.
Half I smiled when first I heard it. It was hard to lose her so;
Hard that when the thirst was urgent, all that quenched the thirst should go;
Hard that when the wine to please you, a girl's amorous mouth, was found,
Death should dash the glass to pieces, spill the sweet draught on the ground.
Hard that when the thirst was urgent, all that quenched the thirst should go;
Hard that when the wine to please you, a girl's amorous mouth, was found,
Death should dash the glass to pieces, spill the sweet draught on the ground.
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Spring would gleam again—the summer still would raise the rose from death,
Not the flower-scent in her kisses, not the rose within her breath:
As a lily dead and withered she the queen of lilies lay;
You for ever now were vanquished, you the victor of a day.
Not the flower-scent in her kisses, not the rose within her breath:
As a lily dead and withered she the queen of lilies lay;
You for ever now were vanquished, you the victor of a day.
She was buried in the summer,—and the green grass closed above
All the love-god's hand had fashioned, all that lust had stolen from love:
But the flowers, the grass, received her—she was nineteen—with a sigh;
It was early yet to join them, she was over-young to die.
All the love-god's hand had fashioned, all that lust had stolen from love:
But the flowers, the grass, received her—she was nineteen—with a sigh;
It was early yet to join them, she was over-young to die.
As I thought the matter over, as I turned it in my brain,
Having nought but vengeance left me, nothing else to seek or gain,
As it seemed a spirit whispered, “Let thy vengeance for a crime
Monstrous, be more monstrous even; let the struggle be sublime.
Having nought but vengeance left me, nothing else to seek or gain,
As it seemed a spirit whispered, “Let thy vengeance for a crime
Monstrous, be more monstrous even; let the struggle be sublime.
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“Puny mortals war like mortals—as the sun-god warred of old,
Crushing down the night's dim armies with his sword and shafts of gold,
As the Titans fought the giants, let the deathless struggle be;
Lo! a sword and shield immortal in the darkness wait for thee.
Crushing down the night's dim armies with his sword and shafts of gold,
As the Titans fought the giants, let the deathless struggle be;
Lo! a sword and shield immortal in the darkness wait for thee.
“Venture down into the darkness, and observe within the tomb
All that once confronted morning like a flower in fullest bloom,
All that once with sovereign beauty unashamed smiled at the sun:
Venture down; observe and ponder what a mortal's hand has done.
All that once confronted morning like a flower in fullest bloom,
All that once with sovereign beauty unashamed smiled at the sun:
Venture down; observe and ponder what a mortal's hand has done.
“In the deep unholy darkness, under stones of monstrous size,
Mixed with horror of corruption, lurk what once were sunbright eyes:
In the foul and hideous darkness, by the crawling worms caressed,
Lies what once was peerless sweetness, what was once a woman's breast.
Mixed with horror of corruption, lurk what once were sunbright eyes:
In the foul and hideous darkness, by the crawling worms caressed,
Lies what once was peerless sweetness, what was once a woman's breast.
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“'Mid the terror of the darkness, far from scents of flower and tree,
Rest remains of what was sweeter than all blossoms once to thee;
Heeding not the bitter North wind, nor the West wind, nor the South,
Lies what lured a world to worship, what was once a woman's mouth.
Rest remains of what was sweeter than all blossoms once to thee;
Heeding not the bitter North wind, nor the West wind, nor the South,
Lies what lured a world to worship, what was once a woman's mouth.
“In the silence of the darkness, in the blackness dense, supreme,
Where no whisper now may travel, where no star may ever gleam,
Rests, the one thing still unchanging though nought else unchanged be there,
Raven as the raven darkness, lovely still, a woman's hair.
Where no whisper now may travel, where no star may ever gleam,
Rests, the one thing still unchanging though nought else unchanged be there,
Raven as the raven darkness, lovely still, a woman's hair.
“Ponder this, discern and heed it,—mark the thing with equal eyes;
In the spring be ever mindful, when the sunlight floods the skies,
When the flowers awake from dreaming and put on their robes of bloom,
That, though heaven be full of splendour, it is dark within the tomb.
In the spring be ever mindful, when the sunlight floods the skies,
When the flowers awake from dreaming and put on their robes of bloom,
That, though heaven be full of splendour, it is dark within the tomb.
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“When in summer the blue ocean spreads its wide expanse for thee,
When thy soul may daily commune with the pure soul of the sea,
With the stars by night, remember there is one whom darkness bars
From the joy of the wide water, from communion with the stars.
When thy soul may daily commune with the pure soul of the sea,
With the stars by night, remember there is one whom darkness bars
From the joy of the wide water, from communion with the stars.
“When the groves in autumn shiver, as their red leaves one by one
Whirl around the waning chariot of the fast receding sun,
When the waves grow fierce, remember there is one who never more
Will rejoice when autumn's storm-blasts toss the pale foam on the shore.
Whirl around the waning chariot of the fast receding sun,
When the waves grow fierce, remember there is one who never more
Will rejoice when autumn's storm-blasts toss the pale foam on the shore.
“When imperial winter lords it with his robes of spotless white,
Loading every branch with blossoms than the summer's bloom more bright,
Think of one who loved the winter—then remember that the snow
Reigns on earth with sovereign whiteness, but grim darkness reigns below.
Loading every branch with blossoms than the summer's bloom more bright,
Think of one who loved the winter—then remember that the snow
Reigns on earth with sovereign whiteness, but grim darkness reigns below.
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“There the sword thou seekest flashes. Take it from the hand divine.
Let the sword God's hand wields alway for one hour be poised in thine.
Wouldst thou know where thou mayest find it? Venture once more through the gloom:
Lo! the Avenger's sword is lying by thy dead wife in her tomb.
Let the sword God's hand wields alway for one hour be poised in thine.
Wouldst thou know where thou mayest find it? Venture once more through the gloom:
Lo! the Avenger's sword is lying by thy dead wife in her tomb.
“Yes: the sword that through the eras flashes forth and cleaves its way
Through the struggling human myriads rests within a grave to-day.
Stoop once more the tomb to enter. From thy dead wife's hand adored
Take the bright blade never tarnished, take the living glittering sword.
Through the struggling human myriads rests within a grave to-day.
Stoop once more the tomb to enter. From thy dead wife's hand adored
Take the bright blade never tarnished, take the living glittering sword.
“Not with any rapier human shalt thou slay her slayer. No:
Let him live till perfect vengeance has full time to bud and grow;
Let his soul be slowly tortured—then when twenty years have sped
Thou mayest challenge him to battle, thou mayest strike the body dead.
Let him live till perfect vengeance has full time to bud and grow;
Let his soul be slowly tortured—then when twenty years have sped
Thou mayest challenge him to battle, thou mayest strike the body dead.
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“That a mortal sword can compass; but for this thou hast to wait
Till the twenty years have vanished, till revenge more fierce and great
Crowns with blood-red flowers of triumph her whom death's cold fingers grasp:
When the heavenly sword is crimson, put it back within her clasp.'
Till the twenty years have vanished, till revenge more fierce and great
Crowns with blood-red flowers of triumph her whom death's cold fingers grasp:
When the heavenly sword is crimson, put it back within her clasp.'
So I sought the tomb at midnight. All the clustering flowers were sweet:
There were fuchsias, red geraniums,—their soft petals brushed my feet,
Their pure fragrance floated round me. But their dewkissed tender bloom
Well I knew could never reach her, her I worshipped in the tomb.
There were fuchsias, red geraniums,—their soft petals brushed my feet,
Their pure fragrance floated round me. But their dewkissed tender bloom
Well I knew could never reach her, her I worshipped in the tomb.
At the flowers I gazed and loved them: she had loved all blossoms so.
“Heartless flowers,” I thought, “to blossom since my loved one cannot know!
How your beauty gleams triumphant, how your fragrance fills the air
With delight and peace unmeasured, though it sharpens my despair!”
“Heartless flowers,” I thought, “to blossom since my loved one cannot know!
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With delight and peace unmeasured, though it sharpens my despair!”
Something touched my hand and roused me—not a cold touch but a warm.
From the flowers my head I lifted. Lo! beside me stood a form.
Well my whole thrilled spirit knew it; just the same old haunting grace,
And the deep hair deep as darkness, framing still the imperial face.
From the flowers my head I lifted. Lo! beside me stood a form.
Well my whole thrilled spirit knew it; just the same old haunting grace,
And the deep hair deep as darkness, framing still the imperial face.
But its sweetness was the one thing, just the one thing that I knew:
Sweeter still and ever sweeter the bright marvellous same smile grew:
Vainly strove the waning moonlight, and the stars forsook the skies,
For a softer light and lovelier shone within a woman's eyes.
Sweeter still and ever sweeter the bright marvellous same smile grew:
Vainly strove the waning moonlight, and the stars forsook the skies,
For a softer light and lovelier shone within a woman's eyes.
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Then the fragrance of the blossoms grew intenser, but it seemed
That with her their fragrance blended, that for her their beauty gleamed,
And I knew that I was waking, that I dreamed not now nor slept:
For the first time since she left me, leaning on the cross, I wept.
That with her their fragrance blended, that for her their beauty gleamed,
And I knew that I was waking, that I dreamed not now nor slept:
For the first time since she left me, leaning on the cross, I wept.
Then I raised my head and watched her, and she spoke at last and said:
“I am living and I love thee. Since I love thee, hate is dead.
Since I give thee all my sweetness, thine for ever, thy reward,
By this marble cross for ever leave thy vengeance and thy sword.”
“I am living and I love thee. Since I love thee, hate is dead.
Since I give thee all my sweetness, thine for ever, thy reward,
By this marble cross for ever leave thy vengeance and thy sword.”
For a moment I stood awestruck: in my hands I hid my face.
Then I looked, but all was lonely. Very silent was the place.
She had vanished. Gazing Eastward, morning's first soft golden gleam
Showed that hell and death and darkness had passed nightward like a dream.
Then I looked, but all was lonely. Very silent was the place.
She had vanished. Gazing Eastward, morning's first soft golden gleam
Showed that hell and death and darkness had passed nightward like a dream.
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That was all, but that was ample. From the moment when I knew
That the living woman waited, that her living soul was true,
All things changed their form, their colour. All was altered by the sun
As it rent the clouds proclaiming that an endless night was done.
That the living woman waited, that her living soul was true,
All things changed their form, their colour. All was altered by the sun
As it rent the clouds proclaiming that an endless night was done.
As I pondered, while the sunlight o'er the graveyard poured its flame,
Every tomb was there unaltered,—yet not one tomb seemed the same.
Had not she, the dead sweet woman whom I thought no God could save,
Stood with living foot triumphant 'mid the blossoms on her grave?
Every tomb was there unaltered,—yet not one tomb seemed the same.
Had not she, the dead sweet woman whom I thought no God could save,
Stood with living foot triumphant 'mid the blossoms on her grave?
Had not she who loved all roses touched the roses by her tomb
With the feet the blossoms worshipped, mixed her own white deathless bloom
With the sweetness, with the whiteness, of the flowers that clustered there?
Had not she who banished gladness, with the same hand slain despair?
With the feet the blossoms worshipped, mixed her own white deathless bloom
With the sweetness, with the whiteness, of the flowers that clustered there?
Had not she who banished gladness, with the same hand slain despair?
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Yes: the crosses stood unaltered,—nay, transfigured every one
In the pure light of the morning, in the sweet flame of the sun.
What was lying beneath was simply the worn raiment of the dead;
By each tomb a figure standing lifted heavenward sun-bright head.
In the pure light of the morning, in the sweet flame of the sun.
What was lying beneath was simply the worn raiment of the dead;
By each tomb a figure standing lifted heavenward sun-bright head.
I could see the mighty army in that golden glad sunrise
With my vision now exalted, with my purged illumined eyes.
By one tomb a mother waited: lo! the love eternal smiled
On the face that change had touched not. By the next grave stood a child.
With my vision now exalted, with my purged illumined eyes.
By one tomb a mother waited: lo! the love eternal smiled
On the face that change had touched not. By the next grave stood a child.
They were there, the host immortal; they were safe, and they were glad:
Though I marked a hundred faces, not one face of all was sad.
All the iron-bound gates I dreaded, gates that fiendlike legions guard
By one hand—and it was love's hand—in one instant were unbarred.
Though I marked a hundred faces, not one face of all was sad.
All the iron-bound gates I dreaded, gates that fiendlike legions guard
By one hand—and it was love's hand—in one instant were unbarred.
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In the graves the raiment rested—set apart, just put aside,
Like the robes that shine and glitter at the noonday on a bride:
It is not the gorgeous raiment, not the lustrous wedding-white,
That the bridegroom claims and covets on the exultant wedding-night.
Like the robes that shine and glitter at the noonday on a bride:
It is not the gorgeous raiment, not the lustrous wedding-white,
That the bridegroom claims and covets on the exultant wedding-night.
Star by star God shapes and shatters, but each star's task may be done
When to golden dust he grinds it,—and the gold dust makes a sun.
From the sun new life proceedeth, and a universe anew
Soon exults with emerald leafage, ocean-wastes of boundless blue.
When to golden dust he grinds it,—and the gold dust makes a sun.
From the sun new life proceedeth, and a universe anew
Soon exults with emerald leafage, ocean-wastes of boundless blue.
It may be the Force that leads us, labouring on from age to age,
Hath the power to cause all anguish, and the strength too to assuage.
He who struck aside my fetters, changed to rapture speechless pain,
In each star we see may loosen, after ages, every chain.
Hath the power to cause all anguish, and the strength too to assuage.
He who struck aside my fetters, changed to rapture speechless pain,
In each star we see may loosen, after ages, every chain.
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Though vast hosts of men be martyred, though their blood be freely poured
By the hands of fate that tracks them on each planet's emerald sward,
Greener grows the grass, it may be: and the dead may rise again
More than conquerors through the death-stroke, more than deathless through their pain.
By the hands of fate that tracks them on each planet's emerald sward,
Greener grows the grass, it may be: and the dead may rise again
More than conquerors through the death-stroke, more than deathless through their pain.
It may be the Power immortal has no power to raise or crown
Till the life that seems so precious we ourselves disdain, lay down:
On the eyes that search for morning everlasting light may stream;
There may be, beyond earth's beauty, beauty passing thought or dream.
Till the life that seems so precious we ourselves disdain, lay down:
On the eyes that search for morning everlasting light may stream;
There may be, beyond earth's beauty, beauty passing thought or dream.
Though the prophet, growing hoary, feels his task not wholly done;
Sees the peaks his foot will tread not, gilded by the setting sun;
Though he knows the dream that lured him, glorious in the morning light,
Now with gentle hands must lead him towards the silence, towards the night;
Sees the peaks his foot will tread not, gilded by the setting sun;
Though he knows the dream that lured him, glorious in the morning light,
Now with gentle hands must lead him towards the silence, towards the night;
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Though he knows that he will reap not, though his hand the seed has sown,
That the brazen towers will fall not, till a mightier blast be blown,
He remembers, as his sword-arm wearier grows, while eyes grow dim,
That the host goes marching onward, that it tarries not for him.
That the brazen towers will fall not, till a mightier blast be blown,
He remembers, as his sword-arm wearier grows, while eyes grow dim,
That the host goes marching onward, that it tarries not for him.
Onward ever towards its triumph, though the leaders' forms may fall,
Moves that never-pausing army, following Freedom's trumpet-call:
And the victors, when their glances scan the path by which they came,
Will remember their dead leaders, iron hearts and swords of flame.
Moves that never-pausing army, following Freedom's trumpet-call:
And the victors, when their glances scan the path by which they came,
Will remember their dead leaders, iron hearts and swords of flame.
I will carry out my vengeance, on myself the stroke shall fall;
I who would have slain all foemen, I myself will die for all:
Yes, to-morrow when the sunlight bids the blossoms smile and bloom,
You will find my body lying by the cross that crowns a tomb.
I who would have slain all foemen, I myself will die for all:
Yes, to-morrow when the sunlight bids the blossoms smile and bloom,
You will find my body lying by the cross that crowns a tomb.
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—Yet . . . the hardest is the highest. It is harder far to live
With that sweet ghost of the darkness still elusive, fugitive;
Once again mine eyes have seen her—now life's task is harder far,
For mine eyes that searched the darkness, having found, have lost a star.
With that sweet ghost of the darkness still elusive, fugitive;
Once again mine eyes have seen her—now life's task is harder far,
For mine eyes that searched the darkness, having found, have lost a star.
Still to hold fast to the vision; to believe that love is near;
Daily still to struggle onward, without rapture, without fear;
To retain one's faith in sunset, when the sun has left the sky,
In gold blossoms in white winter,—this is harder than to die.
Daily still to struggle onward, without rapture, without fear;
To retain one's faith in sunset, when the sun has left the sky,
In gold blossoms in white winter,—this is harder than to die.
Harder, harder was it doubtless, when the risen Jesus turned
Heavenward, still to toil and wrestle though the whole soul upward yearned;
Harder was it, stranger was it, than the wrestle ere he came:
One may grope 'mid utter darkness, one is dazed by flickering flame.
Heavenward, still to toil and wrestle though the whole soul upward yearned;
Harder was it, stranger was it, than the wrestle ere he came:
One may grope 'mid utter darkness, one is dazed by flickering flame.
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None the less, 'tis life that beckons. I'll renounce, if so God wills,
For the grander hope that quickens even the grand despair that kills:
Setting forth by strenuous labour, earnest words or heartfelt song,
That the highest noblest vengeance is to prove, and spare, the wrong.
For the grander hope that quickens even the grand despair that kills:
Setting forth by strenuous labour, earnest words or heartfelt song,
That the highest noblest vengeance is to prove, and spare, the wrong.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |