diff options
Diffstat (limited to '34298.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 34298.txt | 27944 |
1 files changed, 27944 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/34298.txt b/34298.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b16757 --- /dev/null +++ b/34298.txt @@ -0,0 +1,27944 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer +Lytton, Bart. M.P., by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P. + +Author: Edward Bulwer Lytton + +Release Date: November 12, 2010 [EBook #34298] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR *** + + + + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: D. Maclise. R.A. R. Young. + + Signature of Edward Bulwer Lytton + LONDON ROUTLEDGE, WARNE AND ROUTLEDGE FARRINGDON STREET.] + + + + + [Illustration: THE POEMS OF SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART. + + The slight plank creaks--high mount the waves and high, + Hark! with the tempest's shrieks the human cry! + Upon the bridge but _one_ man now!---- + _THE NEW TIMON._ + + LONDON ROUTLEDGE, WARNE AND ROUTLEDGE FARRINGDON STREET.] + + + + + THE + POETICAL WORKS + OF + SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART. M.P. + + A NEW EDITION + + LONDON: + ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, & ROUTLEDGE, + FARRINGDON STEEET; + NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET. + 1860. + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE. + + + In this collection of the Author's Poems will be found some + not before printed, and some entirely re-written from the more + imperfect productions of earlier years. Few, if any, that have + previously appeared, have escaped revision and alteration. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + THE NEW TIMON _Page_ 1 + CONSTANCE; OR, THE PORTRAIT 88 + MILTON 119 + EVA 140 + THE FAIRY BRIDE 149 + THE BEACON 159 + THE LAY OF THE MINSTREL'S HEART 163 + NARRATIVE LYRICS; OR, THE PARCAE. + IN SIX LEAVES FROM THE SIBYL'S BOOK. + I.--NAPOLEON AT ISOLA BELLA 166 + II.--MAZARIN 169 + III.--ANDRE CHENIER 173 + IV.--MARY STUART AND HER MOURNER 176 + V.--THE LAST DAYS OF ELIZABETH 179 + VI.--CROMWELL'S DREAM 186 + + KING ARTHUR.--BOOKS I. TO XII. 193 + + CORN-FLOWERS.--BOOK I. + THE FIRST VIOLETS 467 + THE IMAGE ON THE TIDE 468 + IS IT ALL VANITY? 469 + THE TRUE JOY-GIVER 472 + BELIEF; THE UNKNOWN LANGUAGE 473 + THE PILGRIM OF THE DESERT 475 + THE KING AND THE WRAITH 477 + LOVE AND DEATH 478 + THE POET TO THE DEAD 479 + MIND AND SOUL 486 + THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 488 + THE LOVE OF MATURER YEARS 489 + THE EVERLASTING GRAVE-DIGGER 491 + THE DISPUTE OF THE POETS 492 + GANYMEDE 500 + MEMNON 501 + THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD 502 + TO A WITHERED TREE IN JUNE 502 + ON THE REPERUSAL OF LETTERS WRITTEN IN YOUTH 504 + THE DESIRE OF FAME 505 + THE LOYALTY OF LOVE 507 + A LAMENT 508 + LOST AND AVENGED 508 + THE TREASURES BY THE WAYSIDE 510 + ADDRESS TO THE SOUL IN DESPONDENCY 512 + + CORN-FLOWERS--BOOK. II. + THE SABBATH 513 + THE HOLLOW OAK 514 + LOVE AND FAME 515 + LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT 516 + LOVE'S SUDDEN GROWTH 517 + THE LOVE-LETTER 518 + THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYES 518 + DOUBT 519 + THE ASSURANCE 519 + MEMORIES, THE FOOD OF LOVE 520 + ABSENT, YET PRESENT 521 + LOVERS' QUARRELS 522 + THE LAST SEPARATION 524 + THE POPE AND THE BEGGAR 525 + THE BEAUTIFUL DESCENDS NOT 526 + THE LONG LIFE AND THE FULL LIFE 527 + THE MIND AND THE HEART 528 + THE LAST CRUSADER 529 + FOREBODINGS 531 + ORAMA; OR, FATE AND FREEWILL 532 + + EARLIER POEMS. + THE SOULS OF BOOKS 536 + LA ROCHEFOUCAULD AND CONDORCET 539 + JEALOUSY AND ART 540 + THE MASTER TO THE SCHOLAR 540 + THE TRUE CRITIC 541 + TALENT AND GENIUS 541 + EURIPIDES 542 + THE BONES OF RAPHAEL 543 + THE ATHENIAN AND THE SPARTAN 546 + THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE MISANTHROPE 548 + THE IDEAL WORLD 551 + EPIGRAPH 561 + + * * * * * + + + + +THE NEW TIMON. + + + I. + + O'er royal London, in luxuriant May, + While lamps yet twinkled, dawning crept the day. + Home from the hell the pale-eyed gamester steals; + Home from the ball flash jaded Beauty's wheels; + The lean grimalkin, who, since night began, + Hath hymn'd to love amidst the wrath of man, + Scared from his raptures by the morning star, + Flits finely by, and threads the area bar; + From fields suburban rolls the early cart; + As rests the revel, so awakes the mart. + Transfusing Mocha from the beans within, + Bright by the crossing gleams the alchemic tin,-- + There halts the craftsman; there, with envious sigh, + The houseless vagrant looks, and limps foot-weary by. + + Behold that street,--the Omphalos of Town! + Where the grim palace wears the prison's frown, + As mindful still, amidst a gaudier race, + Of the veil'd Genius of the mournful Place-- + Of floors no majesty but Griefs had trod, + And weary limbs that only knelt to God.[A] + + What tales, what morals, of the elder day-- + If stones had language--could that street convey! + Why yell the human bloodhounds panting there?-- + To drown the Stuart's last forgiving prayer.[B] + Again the bloodhounds!--whither would they run? + To lick the feet of Stuart's ribald son. + There, through the dusk-red towers, amidst his ring + Of Vans and Mynheers, rode the Dutchman king; + And there--did England's Goneril thrill to hear + The shouts that triumph'd o'er her crownless Lear? + There, where the gaslight streams on Crockford's door, + Bluff Henry chuckled at the jests of More; + There, where you gaze upon the last H. B., + Swift paused, and mutter'd, "Shall I have that see?" + There, where yon pile, for party's common weal, + Knits votes that serve, with hearts abhorring, Peel, + Blunt Walpole seized, and roughly bought, his man;-- + Or, tired of Polly, St. John lounged to Anne. + Well, let the world change on,--still must endure + While Earth is Earth, one changeless race--the Poor! + Within that street, on yonder threshold stone, + What sits as stone-like?--Penury, claim thine own! + She sate, the homeless wanderer,--with calm eyes + Looking through tears, yet lifted to the skies; + Wistful, but patient, sorrowful, but mild, + As asking God when He would claim his child. + A face too youthful for so hush'd a grief;-- + The worm that gnaw'd the core had spared the leaf; + Though worn the cheek, with hunger, or with care, + Yet still the soft fresh childlike bloom was there; + And each might touch you with an equal gloom, + The youth, the care, the hunger, and the bloom;-- + As if, when round the cradle of the child + With lavish gifts the gentler fairies smiled, + One vengeful sprite, forgotten as the guest, + Had breathed a spell to disenchant the rest, + And prove how slight each favour, else divine, + If wroth the Urganda of the Golden Mine! + + Now, as the houseless sate, and up the sky + Dawn to day strengthen'd, pass'd a stranger by: + He saw and halted;--she beheld him not-- + All round them slept, and silence wrapt the spot. + To this new-comer Nature had denied + The gifts that graced the outcast crouch'd beside: + With orient suns his cheek was swarth and grim, + And low the form, though lightly shaped the limb; + Yet life glow'd vigorous in that deep-set eye, + With a calm force that dared you to defy; + And the strong foot was planted on the stone + Firm as a gnome's upon his mountain throne; + Simple his garb, yet what the wealthy wear, + And conscious power gave lordship to his air. + + Lone in the Babel thus the maid and man; + Long he gazed silent, and at last began: + "Poor homeless outcast--dost thou see me stand + Close by thy side, yet beg not? Stretch thy hand." + The voice was stern, abrupt, yet full and deep: + The outcast heard, and started as from sleep, + And meekly rose, and stretch'd the hand and sought + To murmur thanks--the murmur fail'd the thought. + He took the slight thin hand within his own: + "This hand hath nought of honest labour known; + And yet methinks thou'rt honest!--speak, my child." + And his face broke to beauty as it smiled. + But her unconscious eyes, cast down the while, + Met not the heart that open'd in the smile: + Again the murmur rose, and died in air. + "Nay, what thy mother and her home, and where?" + Lo, with those words, the rigid ice that lay + Layer upon layer within, dissolves away, + And tears come rushing from o'ercharged eyes:-- + "There is my mother--there her home--the skies!" + Oh, in that burst, what depth of lone distress! + O desolation of the motherless! + Yet through the anguish how survived the trust, + Home in the skies, though in the grave the dust! + The man was moved, and silence fell again; + Upsprung the sun--Light re-assumed the reign;-- + Love ruled on high! Below, the twain that share + Men's builded empires--Mammon and Despair! + + At length, with pitying eye and soothing tone, + The stranger spoke: "Thy bitterer grief mine own; + Amidst the million, lonely as thou art, + Mine the full coffers, but the beggar'd heart. + Yet Gold--earth's demon, when unshared, receives + God's breath, and grows a god, when it relieves. + Trust still our common Father, orphan one, + And He shall guide thee, if thou trust the son. + Nay, follow, child." And on with passive feet, + Ghost-like she follow'd through the death-like street. + They paused at last a stately pile before; + The drowsy porter oped the noiseless door; + The girl stood wistful still without;--the pause + The guide divined, and thus rebuked the cause:-- + "Enter, no tempter let thy penury fear; + I have a sister, and her home is here." + + + II. + + And who the wanderer that hath shelter won + Beneath the roof of Fortune's favour'd son? + Ill stars predoom'd her, and she stole to birth + Fresh from the Heaven,--Law's outcast on the earth; + The child of Love betraying and betray'd, + The blossom open'd in the Upas shade;-- + So ran the rumour; if the rumour lied, + The humble mother wept, but not denied: + Ne'er had the infant's slumber known a rest + On childhood's native shield--a father's breast. + Dead or neglectful, 'twas to her the same; } + But, oh, how dear!--yea, dearer for the shame, } + All that God hallows in a mother's name! } + Here, one proud refuge from a world's disdain, + Here the lost empress half resumes her reign;-- + Here the deep-fallen Eve sees Eden's skies + Smile on the desert from the cherub's eyes. + Sweet to each human heart the right to love; + But 'tis the deluge consecrates the dove; + And haply scorn yet more the child endears, + Cradled in misery, and baptized with tears. + + Each then the all on earth unto the other,-- + The sinless infant and the erring mother: + The one soon lost the smile which childhood wears, + Chill'd by the gloom it marvels at--but shares; + The other, by that purest love made pure, + Learn'd to redeem, by labouring to endure; + Who can divine what hidden music lies + In the frail reed, till winds awake its sighs? + + Hard was their life, and lonely was their hearth; + There, kindness brought no holiday of mirth; + No kindred visited, no playmate came;-- + Joy, the proud worldling, shunn'd the child of shame! + Yet in the lesson which, at stolen whiles, + 'Twixt care and care, the respite-hour beguiles, + The mother's mind the polish'd trace betrays } + Of early culture and serener days; } + And gentle birth still moulds the delicate phrase. } + By converse, more than books (for books too poor), + Learn'd Lucy more than books themselves insure; + For if, in truth, the mother's heart had err'd, + Pure now the life, and holy was the word: + The fallen state no grov'ling change had wrought; + Meek if the bearing, lofty was the thought; + So much of noble in the lore instill'd, + You felt the soul had ne'er the error will'd;-- + That fraud alone had duped its wings astray + From their true instinct tow'rds empyreal day. + Thus life itself, if sadd'ning, still refined, + And through the heart the culture reach'd the mind. + As to the moon the tides attracted move, + So flow'd the intellect beneath the love.-- + To nurse the sickness, to assuage the care, + To charm the sigh into the happier prayer; + Forestall the unutter'd wish with ready guess; + Wise in the exquisite tact of tenderness! + These Lucy's study;--and, in grateful looks, + Seraphs write lessons more divine than books. + + So dawn'd her youth:--Youth, Nature's holiday! + Fair time, which dreams so gently steal away; + When Life--dark volume, with its opening leaf + Of Joy,--through fable dupes us into grief-- + Tells of a golden Arcady;--and then + Read on,--comes truth;--the Iron world of men! + But from her life thy opening poet page + Was torn!--Its record had no Golden Age. + + Behold her by the couch, on bended knees! + There the wan mother--there the last disease! + Dread to the poor the least suspense of health,-- + Their hands their friends, their labour all their wealth: + Let the wheel rest from toil a single sun, + And all the humble clock-work is undone. + The custom lost, the drain upon the hoard, + The debt that sweeps the fragment from the board, + How mark the hunger round thee, and be brave-- + Foresee thy orphan, and not fear the grave? + Lower and ever lower in the grade + Of penury fell the mother and the maid, + Till the grim close; when, as the midnight rain + Drove to the pallet through the broken pane, + The dying murmur'd: "Near,--thy hand,--more near! + I am not what scorn deem'd,--yet not severe + The doom which leaves me, in the hour of death, + The right to bless thee with my parting breath-- + These, worn till now, wear thou, his daughter. Live + To see thy sire, and tell him--I forgive!" + Cold the child thrills beneath the hands that press + Her bended neck--slow slackens the caress-- + Loud the roof rattles with the stormy gust; + The grief is silent, and the love is dust; + From the spent fuel God's bright spark is flown; + And there the Motherless, and Death--alone! + + Then fell a happy darkness o'er the mind;-- + That trance, that pause, the tempest leaves behind: + Still, with a timid step, around she crept, + And sigh'd, "She sleeps!" and smiled. Too well she slept! + Dark strangers enter'd in the squalid cell; + Rude hirelings placed the pauper in the shell; + Harsh voices question'd of the name and age; + Ev'n paupers live upon the parish page. + She answers not, or sighs, and smiles, and keeps + The same meek language:--"Hush! my mother sleeps." + They thrust some scanty pence into her palm, + And led her forth, scarce marv'ling at her calm; + And bade her work, not beg--be good, and shun + All bad companions--so their work was done, + And the wreck left to drift amidst the roar + Of the Great Ocean with the rocky shore. + + And thou hast found the shelter!--from thine eyes + Melt the long shadows. Dawn is in the skies. + Low on the earth, while Night endures,--unguess'd + Hope folds the wing and slumbers on its nest; + Let but a sunbeam to the world be given-- + And hark--it singeth at the gates of Heaven! + + + III. + + Yet o'er that house there hung a solemn gloom; + The step fell timid in each gorgeous room, + Vast, sumptuous, dreary as some Eastern pile, + Where mutes keep watch--a home without a smile; + Still as if silence reign'd there, like a law, + And left to pomp no attribute but awe; + Save when the swell of sombre festival + Jarr'd into joy the melancholy hall, + So some chance wind in mournful autumn wrings + Discordant notes, although from music-strings. + Wild were the wealthy master's moods and strange, + As one whose humour found its food in change; + Now for whole days content apart to dwell + With books and thought--his world the student's cell; + And now, with guests around the glittering board, + The hermit-Timon shone the Athenian lord. + There bloom'd the bright ephemerals of the hour, + Whom the fierce ferment forces into flower, + The gorgeous nurslings of the social life, + Sprung from our hotbeds--Vanity and Strife! + Lords of the senate, wrestlers for the state, + Grey-hair'd in youth, exhausted, worn,--and great; + Pale Book-men,--charming only in their style; + And Poets, jaundiced with eternal bile;-- + All the poor Titans our Cocytus claims, + With tortured livers, and immortal names:-- + Such made the guests, Amphitryons well may boast, + But still the student travail'd in the host;-- + These were the living books he loved to read, + Keys to his lore, and comments on his creed. + From them he rose with more confirm'd disdain + Of the thorn-chaplet and the gilded chain. + Oft, from such stately revels, to the shed + Where Hunger couch'd, the same dark impulse led; + Intent, the Babel, Art has built, to trace, + Here scan the height, and there explore the base; + That structure call'd "The Civilized," as vain + As its old symbol on the Shinar plain, + Where Pride collects the bricks and slime, and then + But builds the city to divide the men; + Swift comes the antique curse,--smites one from one, + Rends the great bond, and leaves the pile undone. + + Man will _o'er muse_--when musing on mankind: + The vast expanse defeats the searching mind, + Blent in one mass each varying height and hue:-- + Wouldst thou seize Nature, Artist?--bound the view! + But He, in truth, is banish'd from the ties + That curb the ardent, and content the wise; + From the pent heart the bubbling passions sweep, + To spread in aimless circles o'er the deep. + + Still in extremes--in each was still betray'd + A soul at discord with the part it play'd; + A soul in social elements misplaced, + Bruised by the grate and yearning for the waste, + And wearing custom, as a pard the chain, + Now with dull torpor, now with fierce disdain. + + All who approach'd him by that spell were bound, + Which nobler natures weave themselves around: + Those stars which make their own charm'd atmosphere; + Not wholly love, but yet more love than fear, + A mystic influence, which, we know not why, + Makes some on earth seem portions of our sky. + + In truth, our Morvale (such his name) could boast + Those kinglier virtues which subject us most; + The ear inclined to every voice of grief, + The hand that oped spontaneous to relief, + The heart, whose impulse stay'd not for the mind } + To freeze to doubt what charity enjoin'd, } + But sprang to man's warm instinct for mankind; } + Honour, truth's life-sap, with pervading power + Nurturing the stem to crown it with the flower; + And that true daring not alone to those + Whom fault or fate has marshall'd into foes; + But the rare valour that confronts with scorn + The monster shape, of Vice and Folly born, + Which some "the World," and some "Opinion," call, + Own'd by no heart, and yet enslaving all; + The bastard charter of the social state, + Which crowns the base to ostracise the great; + The eternal quack upon the itinerant stage, + This the "good Public," that "the enlighten'd Age," + Ready alike to worship and revile, + To build the altar, or to light the pile; + Now "Down with Stuart and the Reign of Sin," + Now "Long live Charles the Second and Nell Gwynne;" + Now mad for patriots--hot for revolution, + Now all for hanging and the Constitution. + Honour to him, who, self-complete, if lone, + Carves to the grave one pathway all his own; + And, heeding nought that men may think or say, + Asks but his soul if doubtful of the way. + + + IV. + + Such was the better nature Morvale show'd; + Now view the contrast which the worse bestow'd. + Large was his learning, yet so vague and mix'd + It guided less the reason than unfix'd; + The dauntless impulse and the kingly will, + Prompted to good, but leapt the checks to ill; + Quick in revenge, and passionately proud, + His brightest hour still shone forth from a cloud, + And none conjecture on the next could form-- + So play'd the sunbeam on the verge of storm. + + Still young--not youthful--life had pass'd through all + Age sighs, and smiles, and trembles to recall. + From childhood fatherless and lone begun + His fiery race, beneath as fierce a sun, + Where all extremes of Love and Horror are, + Soft Camdeo's lotos bark, grim Moloch's gory car; + Where basks the noonday luminously calm, + O'er eldest grot and immemorial palm; + And in the grot, the Goddess of the Dead + And the couch'd strangler, list the wanderer's tread, + And where the palm leaves stir with breeze-like sigh, + Sports the fell serpent with his deathful eye. + + Midst the exuberant life of that fierce zone, + Uncurb'd, self-will'd to man had Morvale grown. + His sire (the offspring of an Indian maid + And English chief), whose orient hues betray'd + The Varna Sankara[C] of the mix'd embrace. + Carved by his sword a charter from disgrace; + Assumed the father's name, the Christian's life, + And his sins cursed him with an English wife: + A haughty dame, whose discontented charms + That merchant, Hymen, bargain'd to his arms. + In war he fell: his wife--the bondage o'er, + Loath'd the dark pledge the abhorred nuptials bore-- + Yet young, her face more genial wedlock won, + And one bright daughter made more loath'd the son. + Widow'd anew, for London's native air, + And two tall footmen, sigh'd the jointured fair: + Wealth hers, why longer from its use exiled?-- + She fled the land and the abandon'd child; + Yet oft the first-born, 'midst the swarthier race, + Gazed round and miss'd the fair unloving face. + In vain the coldness, nay, the hate had been, + Hate, by the eyes that love, is rarely seen. + + Yet more he miss'd the playmate, sister, child, + With looks that ever on his own had smiled; + With rosy lips, caressing and caress'd; + Led by his hand and cradled on his breast: + But, as the cloud conceals and breaks in flame, + The gloom of youth the fire of man became. + Not his the dreams that studious life allows, + "Under the shade of melancholy boughs,"-- + Dreams that to lids the Muse anoints belong,-- + Rocking the passions on soft waves of song: + No poet he; adventure, wandering, strife, + War and the chase, wrung poetry from life. + + One day a man, who call'd his father "friend," + Told o'er his rupees and perceived his end. + Life's business done--a million made--what still + Remain'd on earth? Wealth's last caprice--a Will! + The man was childless--but the world was wide; + He thought on Morvale, made his will,--and died. + They sought and found the unsuspecting heir + Crouch'd in the shade that near'd the tiger's lair; + His gun beside, the jungle round him--wild, + Lawless and fierce as Hagar's wandering child:-- + To this fresh nature the sleek life deceased + Left the bright plunder of the ravaged East. + + Much wealth brings want,--that hunger of the heart + Which comes when Nature man deserts for Art: + His northern blood, his English name, create + Strife in the soul, till then resign'd to fate; + The social world with blander falsehood graced, + Smiles on his hopes, and lures him from the waste. + Alas! the taint that sunburnt brow bespeaks, + Divides the Half-Caste from the world he seeks: + In him proud Europe sees the Paria's birth, + And haughty Juno spurns his barren hearth. + Half heathen, and half savage,--all estranged + Amidst his kind, the Ishmael roved unchanged. + + Small need to track his course from year to year, + Till wearied passion paused in its career: + Youth goads us on to action; lore of men + Brings thought--thought books--books quiet; well, and then? + Alas! we move but in the Hebrews' ring;[D] + Our onward steps but back the landmarks bring, + Until some few at least escape the thrall, + And breathe the space beyond the flaming wall: + Feel the large freedom which in faith is given, + And poise the wings that shall possess the heaven. + + He sought his mother. She, intent to shun, + Closed that last refuge on the homeless son, + Till death approach'd, and Conscience, that sad star, + Which heralds night, and plays but on the bar + Of the Eternal Gate,--laid bare the crime, + And woke the soul upon the brink of time. + Haply if close, too closely, we would read + That sibyl page, the motive of the deed, + Remorse for him her life abandon'd, weaves + Fear for the dearer one her death bereaves; + And penitent lines consign'd, with eager prayer, + The lorn Calantha to a brother's care. + Not till long moons had waned in distant skies, + O'er the last mandate wept the Indian's eyes; + But the lost sister lived, the flower of yore + Bloom'd from the grave,--and earth was sweet once more; + Fair Florence holds the heart he yearns to meet; + Swift, when heart yearns to heart, how swift the feet! + Well, and those arms have clasp'd a sister now! + Thy tears have fallen on a sister's brow! + Alas! a sister's heart thy doom forbade; + Thy lot as lonely, and thy hearth as sad. + Is that pale shade the Peri-child in truth, + Who shone, like Morning, on the hills of Youth? + Is that cold voice the same that rang through air, + Blithe as the bird sings in rebuke of care? + + Certes, to those who might more closely mark, + That dove brought nought of gladness to his ark; + No loving step, to meet him homeward, flew; + Still at his voice her pale cheek paler grew. + The greeting kiss, the tender trustful talk,-- + Arm link'd in arm--the dear familiar walk; + The sweet domestic interchange of cares, + Memories and hopes--this union was not theirs. + Partly perchance the jealous laws that guard + The Eastern maids, their equal commune barr'd; + For still, in much the antique creed retain'd + Its hold, and India in the Alien reign'd: + That superstitious love which would secure + What the heart worships, for the world too pure; + And wrap with solemn mystery and divine, + From the crowd's gaze, the idol and the shrine, + In him was instinct,--generous if austere; + More priestly reverence, than dishonouring fear. + Yet wherefore shun no less, if this were all, + His lonely chamber than his crowded hall? + For days, for weeks, perchance, unseen, aloof + Far as the poles, beneath one common roof, + She drew around her the cold spells, which part + From forward sympathies the unsocial heart. + Yet, strange to say, each seem'd to each still dear; + And love in her but curb'd by stronger fear; + And love in him by some mysterious pride, + That sought the natural tenderness to hide: + Did she but name him, you beheld her raise + Moist eyes to heaven, as one who inly prays. + News of her varying health he daily sought, + And his mood alter'd with the tidings brought: + If worse than wonted, it was sad to view + That stern man's trembling lip and waning hue,-- + Sad, yet the sadness with an awe was blent,-- + No words e'er gave the struggling passion vent; + And still that passion seem'd not grief alone, + Some curse seem'd labouring in the stifled groan: + Some angrier chord the mix'd emotion wrench'd; + The brow was darken'd, and the hand was clench'd. + + There was a mystery that defied the guess, + In so much love, and so much tenderness. + What sword, invisible to human eyes, + So sternly sever'd Nature's closest ties: + To leave each yearning unto each--apart-- + All ice the commune, and all warmth the heart? + + + V. + + But how gain'd she, whom pity strange and rare + Gave the night's refuge,--more than refuge there? + At morn the orphan hostess had received + The orphan outcast,--heard her and believed,-- + And Lucy wept her thanks, and turn'd to part; + But the sad tale had touch'd a woman's heart. + Calantha's youth was lone, her nature kind, + She knew no friend--she sigh'd a friend to find; + That chasten'd speech, the grace so simply worn, + Bespoke the nurture of the gentle-born; + And so she gazed upon the weeping guest, + Check'd the intended alms, and murmur'd "Rest, + For both are orphans,--I should shelter thee, + And, weep no more--thy smile shall comfort me." + + Thus Lucy rested--finding day by day + Her grateful heart the saving hand repay. + Calantha loved her as the sad alone + Love what consoles them;--in that life her own + Seem'd to revive, and even hope to flower: + Ah, over Sorrow Youth has such sweet power! + The very menials linger'd as they went, + To spy the fairy to their dwelling sent, + To list her light step on the stair, or hark + Her song;--yes, _now_ the dove was in the ark! + Ev'n the cold Morvale, spell'd at last, was found + Within the circle drawn his guest around; + Less rare his visits to Calantha grew, + And her eye shrunk less coldly from his view + The presence of the gentle third one brought + Respite to memory, gave fresh play to thought; + And as some child to strifeful parents sent, + Laps the long discord in its own content, + This happy creature seem'd to reach that home, + To say--"Love enters where the guileless come!" + It was not mirth, for mirth she was too still; + It was not wit, wit leaves the heart more chill; + But that continuous sweetness, which with ease + Pleases all round it, from the wish to please,-- + This was the charm that Lucy's smile bestow'd; + The waves' fresh ripple from deep fountains flow'd;-- + Below exhaustless gratitude,--above, + Woman's meek temper, childhood's ready love. + + Yet oft, when night reprieved the tender care, + And lonely thought stole musing on to prayer; + As some fair lake reflects, when day is o'er, + With clearer wave from farther glades the shore, + So, her still heart remember'd sorrows glass'd; + And o'er its hush lay trembling all the past, + Again she sees a mother's gentle face; + Again she feels a mother's soft embrace; + Again a mother's sigh of pain she hears, + And starts--till lo, the spell dissolves in tears! + Tears that too well the faithful grief reveal, + Which smiles, by day made duties, would conceal. + + + VI. + + It was a noon of summer in its glow, + And all was life, but London's life, below; + As by the open casement half reclined + Calantha's languid form;--a gentle wind + Brought to her cheek a bloom unwonted there, + And stirr'd the light wave of the golden hair. + Hers was a beauty that made sad the eye, + Lovely in fading, like a twilight sky; + The shape so finely, delicately frail, + As form'd for climes unruffled by a gale; + The lustrous eye, through which looks forth the soul, + Bright and more brightly as it nears the goal; + The fever'd counterfeit of healthful bloom, + The rose so living yet so near the tomb; + The veil the Funeral Genius lends his bride, + When, fair as Love, he steals her to his side, + And leads her on till at the nuptial porch, + He murmurs, "Know me now!" and lowers the torch. + What made more sad the outward form's decay, + A soul of genius glimmer'd through the clay; + Oft through the languor of disease would break + That life of light Parnassian dreamers seek; + And music trembled on each aspen leaf + Of the boughs drooping o'er the fount of grief. + + Genius has so much youth no care can kill; + Death seems unnatural when it sighs--"Be still." + That wealth, which Nature prodigally gave, + Shall Life but garner for its heir the Grave? + What noble hearts that treasure might have bless'd! + How large the realm that mind should have possess'd! + Love in the wife, and wisdom in the friend, + And earnest purpose for a generous end, + And glowing sympathy for thoughts of power + And playful fancy for the lighter hour; + All lost, all cavern'd in the sunless gloom + Of some dark memory, beetling o'er the tomb;-- + Like bright-wing'd fairies, whom the hostile gnome + Has spell'd and dungeon'd in his rocky home, + The wanderer hears the solitary moan, + Nor dreams the fairy in the sullen stone. + + Contrasting this worn frame and weary breast, + Fresh as a morn of April bloom'd the guest: + April has tears, and mists the morn array; + The mists foretell the sun,--the tears the May. + Lo, as from care to care the soother glides, + How the home brightens where the heart presides! + Now hovering, bird-like, o'er the flowers,--at times + Pausing to chant Calantha's favourite rhymes, + Or smooth the uneasy pillow with light hand; + Or watch the eye, forestalling the demand, + Complete in every heavenly art--above + All, save the genius of inventive love. + + The window open'd on that breadth of green, + To half the pomp of elder days the scene. + Gaze to thy left--there the Plantagenet + Look'd on the lists for Norman knighthood set;[E] + Bright issued forth, where yonder archway glooms, + Banner and trump, and steed, and waves of plumes, + As with light heart rides wanton Anne to brave + Tudor's grim love, the purple and the grave. + Gaze to the right, where now--neat, white, and low, + The modest Palace looks like Brunswick Row;[F] + There, echoed once the merriest orgies known, + Since the frank Norman won grave Harold's throne; + There, bloom'd the mulberry groves, beneath whose shade + His easy loves the royal Rowley made; + Where Villiers flaunted, and where Sedley sung, + And wit's loose diamonds dropp'd from Wilmot's tongue! + All at rest now--all dust!--wave flows on wave; + But the sea dries not!--what to us the grave? + It brings no real homily, we sigh, + Pause for awhile and murmur, "All must die!" + Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more, + Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore. + + And o'er the altered scene Calantha's eye + Roves listless--yet Time's Great the passers by! + Along the road still fleet the men whose names + Live in the talk the moment's glory claims. + There, for the hot Pancratia of Debate + Pass the keen wrestlers for that palm,--the State. + Now, "on his humble but his faithful steed," + Sir Robert rides--he never rides at speed-- + Careful his seat, and circumspect his gaze; + And still the cautious trot the cautious mind betrays. + Wise is thy heed!--how stout soe'er his back, + Thy weight has oft proved fatal to thy hack![G] + Next, with loose rein and careless canter view + Our man of men, the Prince of Waterloo; + O'er the firm brow the hat as firmly press'd, + The firm shape rigid in the button'd vest; + Within--the iron which the fire has proved, + And the close Sparta of a mind unmoved! + + Not his the wealth to some large natures lent, + Divinely lavish, even where misspent, + That liberal sunshine of exuberant soul, + Thought, sense, affection, warming up the whole; + The heat and affluence of a genial power, + Rank in the weed as vivid in the flower; + Hush'd at command his veriest passions halt, + Drill'd is each virtue, disciplined each fault; + Warm if his blood--he reasons while he glows, + Admits the pleasure--ne'er the folly knows; + If Vulcan for our Mars a snare had set, + He had won the Venus, but escaped the net; + His eye ne'er wrong, if circumscribed the sight, + Widen the prospect and it ne'er is right, + Seen through the telescope of habit still, + States seem a camp, and all the world--a drill! + + Yet oh, how few his faults, how pure his mind, + Beside his fellow-conquerors of mankind; + How knightly seems the iron image, shown + By Marlborough's tomb, or lost Napoleon's throne! + Cold if his lips, no smile of fraud they wear, + Stern if his heart, still "Man" is graven there; + No guile--no crime his step to greatness made, + No freedom trampled, and no trust betray'd; + The eternal "I" was not his law--he rose + Without one art that honour might oppose, + And leaves a human, if a hero's, name, + To curb ambition while it lights to fame. + + But who, scarce less by every gazer eyed, + Walks yonder, swinging with a stalwart stride? + With that vast bulk of chest and limb assign'd + So oft to men who subjugate their kind; + So sturdy Cromwell push'd broad-shoulder'd on; + So burly Luther breasted Babylon; + So brawny Cleon bawl'd his Agora down; + And large-limb'd Mahmoud clutch'd a Prophet's crown! + + Ay, mark him well! the schemer's subtle eye, + The stage-mime's plastic lip your search defy-- + He, like Lysander, never deems it sin + To eke the lion's with the fox's skin; + Vain every mesh this Proteus to enthrall, + He breaks no statute, and he creeps through all;-- + First to the mass that valiant truth to tell, + "Rebellion's art is never to rebel,-- + Elude all danger but defy all laws,"-- + He stands himself the Safe Sublime he draws! + In him behold all contrasts which belong + To minds abased, but passions roused, by wrong; + The blood all fervour, and the brain all guile, + The patriot's bluntness, and the bondsman's wile. + One after one the lords of time advance,-- + Here Stanley meets,--how Stanley scorns, the glance! + The brilliant chief, irregularly great, + Frank, haughty, rash,--the Rupert of Debate; + Nor gout, nor toil, his freshness can destroy, + And Time still leaves all Eton in the boy;-- + First in the class, and keenest in the ring, + He saps like Gladstone, and he fights like Spring; + Ev'n at the feast, his pluck pervades the board, + And dauntless game-cocks symbolize their lord. + Lo where atilt at friend--if barr'd from foe-- + He scours the ground, and volunteers the blow, + And, tired with conquest over Dan and Snob, + Plants a sly bruiser on the nose of Bob; + Decorous Bob, too friendly to reprove, + Suggests fresh fighting in the next remove, + And prompts his chum, in hopes the vein to cool, + To the prim benches of the Upper School: + + Yet who not listens, with delighted smile, + To the pure Saxon of that silver style; + In the clear style a heart as clear is seen, + Prompt to the rash--revolting from the mean. + + Next cool, and all unconscious of reproach, + Comes the calm "Johnny who upset the coach."[H] + How form'd to lead, if not too proud to please,-- + His fame would fire you, but his manners freeze. + Like or dislike, he does not care a jot; + He wants your vote, but your affection not; + Yet human hearts need sun, as well as oats, + So cold a climate plays the deuce with votes.-- + And while his doctrines ripen day by day, + His frost-nipp'd party pines itself away;-- + From the starved wretch its own loved child we steal-- + And "Free Trade" chirrups on the lap of Peel![I]-- + But see our statesman when the steam is on, + And languid Johnny glows to glorious John! + When Hampden's thought, by Falkland's muses dress'd, + Lights the pale cheek, and swells the generous breast; + When the pent heat expands the quickening soul,-- + And foremost in the race the wheels of genius roll! + + + VII. + + What gives the Past the haunting charms that please + Sage, scholar, bard?--The shades of men like these! + Seen in our walks;--with vulgar blame or praise, + Reviled or worshipp'd as our faction sways: + Some centuries hence, and from that praise or blame, + As light from vapour, breaks the steady flame, + And the trite Present which, while acted, seems + Time's dullest prose,--fades in the land of dreams, + Gods spring from dust, and Hero-Worship wakes + Out of that Past the humble Present makes. + And yet, what matter to ourselves the Great? + What the heart touches--_that_ controls our fate! + From the full galaxy we turn to one, + Dim to all else, but to ourselves the sun; + And still, to each, some poor, obscurest life, + Breathes all the bliss, or kindles all the strife. + Wake up the countless dead!--ask every ghost + Whose influence tortured or consoled the most: + How each pale spectre of the host would turn + From the fresh laurel and the glorious urn, + To point where rots beneath a nameless stone, + Some heart in which had ebb'd and flow'd its own! + + So one by one, Calantha listlessly + Beheld and heeded not the Great pass by. + But now, why sudden that electric start? + She stands--the pale lips soundless, yet apart! + She stands, with clasped hands and strained eye-- + A moment's silence--one convulsive cry, + And sinking to the earth, a seeming death + Smites into chill suspense the senses and the breath: + Quick by the unconscious hostess knelt the guest, + Bathed the wan brows, and loosed the stifling vest; + As loosed the vest,--like one whose sleep of fear + Is keen with dreams that warn of danger near,-- + Calantha's hand repell'd the friendly care, + And faintly clasp'd some token hoarded there, + Perchance some witness of the untold grief,-- + Some sainted relic of a lost belief, + Some mournful talisman, whose touch recalls + The ghost of time in Memory's desolate halls, + And, like the vessels that, of old, enshrined + The soil of lands the exile left behind,-- + Holds all youth rescues from that native shore + Of hope and passion, life shall tread no more. + + Calantha wakes, but not to sense restored, + The mind still trembled on the jarring chord, + And troubled reason flicker'd in the eye, + As gleams and wanes a star in some perturbed sky. + Yet still, through all the fever of the brain, + Terror, more strong, can Frenzy's self restrain. + Few are her words, and if at times they seem + To touch the dark truths shadow'd on her dream, + She starts, with whitening lip--looks round in fear, + And murmurs, "Nay! my brother did not hear!" + Then smiles, as if the fear were laid at rest, + And clasps the token treasured at her breast, + And whispers, "Lucy, guard my sleep;--they say + That sleep is faithless, and that dreams betray!" + + Yet oft the while--to watch without the door, + The brother's step glides noiseless o'er the floor,-- + There meekly waits, until the welcome ray + Of Lucy's smile gives comfort to the day, + Till Lucy's whisper murmurs, "Be of cheer," + And Pity dupes Affection's willing ear. + Once, and but once, within the room he crept, + When all was silent, and they deem'd she slept, + Not softer to the infant's cradle steals + The mother's step;--she hears not, yet she feels, + As by strange instinct, the approach;--her frame + Convulsed and shuddering as he nearer came; + Till the wild cry,--the waiving hand convey + The frantic prayer, so bitter to obey; + And with stern brow, belying the wrung heart, + And voiceless lips compress'd, he turns him to depart. + + + VIII. + + Much wondering Lucy mused,--nor yet could find + Why one so mournful shrunk from one so kind. + Awe that had chill'd the gratitude she felt + For Morvale, now in pity learn'd to melt: + This tender patience in a man so stern, + This love untiring--fear the sole return, + This rough exterior, with this gentle breast, + Awoke a sympathy that would not rest; + The wistful eye, the changing lip, the tone + Whose accents droop'd, or gladden'd, from her own, + Haunted the woman's heart, which ever heaves + Its echo back to every sound that grieves. + Light as the gossamer its tissue spins + O'er freshest dews when summer morn begins, + Will Fancy weave its airy web above + The dews of Pity, in the dawn of Love.-- + At length, Calantha's reason wakes;--the strife + Calms back,--the soul re-settles to the life. + Freed from her post, flies Lucy to rejoice + The anxious heart, so wistful for her voice; + Not at his wonted watch the brother found, + She seeks his door--no answer to her sound; + She halts in vain, till, eager to begin + The joyous tale, the bright shape glides within. + For the first time beheld, she views the lone + And gloomy rooms the master calls his own; + Not there the luxury elsewhere, which enthralls + With pomp the gazer in the rich man's halls; + Strange arms of Eastern warfare, quaintly piled, + Betray'd the man's fierce memory of the child,-- + And litter'd books, in mystic scrolls enshrined + The solemn Sibyl of the elder Ind. + The girl treads fearful on the dismal floors, + And with amazed eye the gloomy lair explores; + Thus, as some Peri strays where, couch'd in cells + With gods dethroned, the brooding Afrite dwells, + From room to room her fairy footsteps glide, + Till, lo! she starts to see him by her side.-- + With crimson cheek, and downcast eyes, that quail + Beneath his own, she hurries the glad tale, + Then turns to part--but as she turns, still round + She looks,--and lingers on the magic ground, + And eyes each antique relic with the wild + Half-pleased, half-timorous, wonder of a child; + And as a child's the lonely inmate saw, + And smiled to see the pleasure and the awe; + And soften'd into kindness his deep tone, + And drew her hand, half-shrinking, in his own, + And said, "Nay, pause and task the showman's skill, + What moves thee most?--come, question me at will." + + Listening she linger'd, and she knew not why + Time's wing so swiftly never seem'd to fly; + Never before unto her gaze reveal'd + The Eastern fire, the Eastern calm conceal'd: + Child of the sun, and native of the waste, + Cramp'd in the formal chains it had embraced, + His heart leapt back to its old haunts afar, + As leaps the lion from the captive bar; + And, as each token flash'd upon the mind, + Back the bold deeds that life had left behind, + The dark eye blazed, the rich words roll'd along, + Vivid as light, and eloquent as song; + At length, with sudden pause, he check'd the stream, + And his soul darken'd from the gorgeous dream. + "So," with sad voice he said, "my youth went by, + Fresh was the wave, if fitful was the sky; + What is my manhood?--curl'd and congeal'd, + A stagnant water in a barren field: + Gall'd with strange customs,--in the crowd alone; + And courting bloodless hearts that freeze my own. + In the far lands, where first I breathed the air,-- + Smile if thou wilt,--this rugged form was fair, + For the swift foot, strong arm, bold heart give grace + To man, when danger girds man's dwelling-place,-- + Thou seest the daughter of my mother, now, + Shrinks from the outcast branded on my brow; + My boyhood tamed the panther in his den, + The wild beast feels man's kindness more than men. + Like with its like, they say, will intertwine,-- + I have not tamed one human heart to mine!"-- + He paused abruptly. Thrice his listener sought + To shape consoling speech from soothing thought, + But thrice she fail'd, and thrice the colour came + And went, as tenderness was check'd by shame! + At length her dove-like eyes to his she raised, + And all the comfort words forbade, she gazed; + Moved by her childlike pity, but too dark + In hopeless thought than pity more to mark; + "Infant," he murmur'd, "not for others flow + The tears the wise, how hard soe'er, must know; + As yet, the Eden of a guileless breast, + Opes a frank home to every angel guest; + Soft Eve, look round!--The world in which thou art + Distrusts the angel, nor unlocks the heart-- + Thy time will come!"-- + + He spoke, and from her side + Was gone,--the heart his wisdom wrong'd replied! + + [A] Where now stands St. James's palace stood the hospital dedicated + to St. James, for the reception of fourteen leprous maidens. + + [B] Charles the First attended divine service in the Royal Chapel + immediately before he walked through the park to his scaffold + at Whitehall. In the palace of St. James's, Monk and Sir John + Granville schemed for the restoration of Charles II. + + [C] The Sanscrit term, denoting the mixture or confusion of classes; + applied to that large portion of the Indian population excluded + from the four pure castes. + + [D] According to Eastern commentators, the march of the Israelites + in the Desert was in a charmed circle; every morning they set + out on their journey, and every night found themselves on the + same spot as that from which the journey had commenced. + + [E] The Tilt-yard. + + [F] Since this was written, to Buckingham Palace has been prefixed a + front which is not without merit--in thrusting out of sight the + other three sides of the building. + + [G] The reader need scarcely be reminded, that these lines were + written years before the fatal accident which terminated an + illustrious life. If the lines be so inadequate to the subject, + the author must state freely that he had the misfortune to + differ entirely from the policy pursued by Sir Robert Peel at + the time they were written; while if that difference forbade + panegyric, his respect for the man checked the freedom of + satire. The author will find another occasion to attempt, so far + as his opinions on the one hand, and his reverence on the other, + will permit--to convey a juster idea of Sir Robert Peel's + defects or merits, perhaps as a statesman, at least as an + orator. + + [H] Lord Stanley's memorable exclamation on a certain occasion which + now belongs to history,--"Johnny's upset the coach!" Never was + coach upset with such perfect _sang-froid_ on the part of the + driver. + + [I] Written before Sir Robert's avowed abandonment of protection. + Prophetic. + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + I. + + London, I take thee to a Poet's heart! + For those who seek, a Helicon thou art. + Let schoolboy Strephons bleat of flocks and fields, + Each street of thine a loftier Idyl yields; + Fed by all life, and fann'd by every wind, + There burns the quenchless Poetry--_Mankind!_ + Yet not for me the Olympiad of the gay, + The reeking SEASON'S dusty holiday:-- + Soon as its summer pomp the mead assumes, + And Flora wanders through her world of blooms, + Vain the hot field-days of the vex'd debate, + When Sirius reigns,--let Tapeworm rule the state! + Vain Devon's cards, and Lansdowne's social feast, + Wit but fatigues, and Beauty's reign hath ceased. + His mission done, the monk regains his cell; + Nor even Douro's matchless face can spell. + Far from Man's works, escaped to God's, I fly, + And breathe the luxury of a smokeless sky. + Me, the still "LONDON," not the restless "TOWN" + (The light plume fluttering o'er the helmed crown), + Delights;--for there the grave Romance hath shed + Its hues; and air grows solemn with the Dead. + If, where the Lord of Rivers parts the throng, + And eastward glides by buried halls along, + My steps are led, I linger, and restore + To the changed wave the poet-shapes of yore; + See the gilt barge, and hear the fated king + Prompt the first mavis of our Minstrel spring;[J] + Or mark, with mitred Nevile,[K] the array } + Of arms and craft alarm "the Silent way," } + The Boar of Gloucester, hungering, scents his prey! } + Or, landward, trace where thieves their festive hall + Hold by the dens of Law,[L] (worst thief of all!) + The antique Temple of the armed Zeal + That wore the cross a mantle to the steel; + Time's dreary void the kindling dream supplies, + The walls expand, the shadowy towers arise, + And forth, as when by Richard's lion side, + For Christ and Fame, the Warrior-Phantoms ride! + Or if, less grave with thought, less rich with lore, + The later scenes, the lighter steps explore, + If through the haunts of living splendour led-- + Has the quick Muse no empire but the Dead? + In each keen face, by Care or Pleasure worn, + Grief claims her sigh, or Vice invites her scorn; + And every human brow that veils a thought + Conceals the Castaly which Shakespeare sought. + + + II. + + Amidst the crowd (what time the glowing Hours + Strew, as they glide, the summer world with flowers), + Who fly the solitude of sweets to drown + Nature's still whisper in the roar of Town; + Who tread with jaded step the weary mill-- + Grind at the wheel, and call it "Pleasure" still;-- + Gay without mirth, fatigued without employ, + Slaves to the joyless phantom of a joy;-- + Amidst this crowd was one who, absent long, + And late return'd, outshone the meaner throng; + And, truth to speak, in him were blent the rays + Which form a halo in the vulgar gaze; + Howden's fair beauty, Beaufort's princely grace, + Hertford's broad lands, and Courtney's vaunted race; + And Pembroke's learning in that polish'd page, + Writ by the Grace, 'the Manners and the Age!' + Still with sufficient youth to please the heart, + But old enough for mastery in the art;-- + Renown'd for conquests in those isles which lie + In rosy seas beneath a Cnidian sky, + Where the soft Goddess yokes her willing doves, + And meets invasion with a host of Loves; + Yet not unlaurell'd in the war of wile + Which won Ulysses grave Minerva's smile, + For those deep arts the diplomat was known + Which mould the lips that whisper round a throne. + + Long in the numbing hands of Law had lain + Arden's proud earldom, Arden's wide domain. + Kinsman with kinsman, race with race had vied + To snatch the prize, and in the struggle died; + Till all the rights the crowd of heirs made dim, + Death clear'd--and solved the tangled skein in him. + There was but ONE who in the bastard fame + Wealth gives its darlings, rivall'd Arden's name: + A rival rarely seen--felt everywhere, + With soul that circled bounty like the air, + Simple himself, but regal in his train, + Lavish of stores he seem'd but to disdain; + To art a Medici--to want a god, + Life's rougher paths grew level where he trod. + Much Arden (Arden had a subtle mind, + Which sought in all philosophy to find) + Loved to compare the different means by which + Enjoyment yields a harvest to the rich-- + Himself already marvell'd to behold + How soon trite custom wears the gleam from gold; + Well, was his rival happier from its use + Than he (his candour whisper'd) from abuse? + He long'd to know this Morvale, and to learn: + They met--grew friends--the Sybarite and the stern. + Each had some fields in common: mostly those + From which the plant of human friendship grows. + Each had known strong vicissitudes in life; + The present ease, and the remember'd strife. + Each, though from differing causes, nursed a mind + At war with Fate, and chafed against his kind. + Each with a searching eye had sought to scan + The solemn Future, soul predicts to man; + And each forgot how, cloud-like passions mar, + In the vex'd wave, the mirror of the star;-- + How all the unquiet thoughts which life supplies + May swell the ocean but to veil the skies; + And dark to Man may grow the heaven that smiled + On the clear vision Nature gave the Child. + Each, too, in each, where varying most they seem, + Found that which fed half envy, half esteem. + As stood the Pilgrim of the waste before + The stream that parted from the enchanted shore, + Though on the opposing margent of the wave + Those fairy boughs but _seeming_ fruitage gave; + Though his stern manhood in its simple power, + If cross'd the barrier, soon had scorn'd the bower; + Yet, as some monk, whom holier cloisters shade, + Views from afar the glittering cavalcade, + And sighs, as sense against his will recalls + Fame's knightly lists and Pleasure's festive halls,-- + So, while the conscience chid, the charm enchain'd, + And the heart envied what the soul disdain'd. + + While Arden's nature in his friend's could find + An untaught force that awed his subtler mind-- + Awed, yet allured;--that Eastern calm of eye + And mien--a mantle and a majesty, + At once concealing all the strife below + It shames the pride of lofty hearts to show, + And robing Art's lone outlaw with the air + Of nameless state the lords of Nature wear;-- + This kingly mien contrasting this mean form, + This calm exterior with this heart of storm, + Touch'd with vague interest, undefined and strange, + The world's quick pupil whose career was change. + + Forth from the crowded streets one summer day, } + Rode the new friends; and cool and silent lay } + Through shadowy lanes the chance-directed way. } + As with slow pace and slacken'd rein they rode, + Men's wonted talk to deeper converse flow'd. + + "Think'st thou," said Arden, "that the Care, whose speed + Climbs the tall bark and mounts the flying steed, + And (still to quote old Horace) hovers round + Our fretted roofs, forbears yon village ground?-- + Think'st thou that Toil drives trouble from the door; + And does God's sun shine brightest on the Poor?" + + "I know not," answer'd Morvale, "but I know + Each state feels envy for the state below; + Kings for their subjects--for the obscure, the great: + The smallest circle guards the happiest state. + Earth's real wealth is in the heart;--in truth, + As life looks brightest in the eyes of youth, + So simple wants--the simple state most far + From that entangled maze in which we are, + Seem unto nations what youth is to man,"-- + + "'When wild in woods the noble savage ran,'" + Said Arden, smiling. "Well, we disagree; + Even youth itself reflects no charms for me; + And all the shade upon my life bestow'd + Spreads from the myrtle which my boyhood sow'd." + His bright face fell,--he sigh'd. "And canst thou guess + Why all once coveted now fails to bless?-- + Why all around me palls upon the eye, + And the heart saddens in the summer sky? + It is that youth expended life too soon: + A morn too glowing sets in storm at noon." + + "Nay," answer'd Morvale, gently, "hast thou tried + That _second_ youth, to which ev'n follies guide; + Which to the wanderer SENSE, when tired and spent, + Proclaims the fount by which to fix the tent? + The heart but rests when sense forbears to roam; + We win back freshness when Love smiles on Home;-- + Home not to _thee_, O happy one! denied." } + } + "To me of all," the impatient listener cried, } + "Thy words but probe the wounds I vainly hide; } + That which I pine for, thou hast pictured now;-- + The hearth, the home, the altar, and the vow; + The tranquil love, unintertwined with shame; + The child's sweet kiss;--the Father's holy name; + The link to lengthen a time-honour'd line;-- + These not for me, and yet these should be mine." + "If," said the Indian, "counsel could avail, + Or pity soothe, a friend invites thy tale." + + "Alas!" sigh'd Arden, "nor confession's balm + Can heal, nor wisdom whisper back to calm. + Yet hear the tale--thou wilt esteem me less-- + But Grief, the Egoist, yearneth to confess. + I tell of guilt--and guilt all men must own, + Who but avow the loves their youth has known. + Preach as we will, in this wrong world of ours, + Man's fate and woman's are contending powers; + Each strives to dupe the other in the game,-- + Guilt to the victor--to the vanquish'd shame!" + He paused, and noting how austerely gloom'd + His friend's dark visage, blush'd, and thus resumed. + "Nay, I approve not of the code I find, + Not less the wrong to which the world is kind. + But, to be frank, how oft with praise we scan + Men's actions only when they deal with man; + Lo, gallant Lovelace, free from every art + That stains the honour or defiles the heart,-- + _With men_;--but how, if woman the pursuit? + What lies degrade him, and what frauds pollute; + Yet still to Lovelace either sex is mild, + And new Clarissas only sigh--'How wild!'" + + "Enough," said Morvale; "I perforce believe: + Strong Adam owns no equal in his Eve; + But worse the bondage in your bland disguise; + Europe destroys,--kind Asia only buys! + If dull the Harem, yet its roof protects, + And Power, when sated, still its slave respects. + With you, ev'n pity fades away with love,-- + No gilded cage gives refuge to the dove; + Worse than the sin the curse it leaves behind: + Here the crush'd heart, or there the poison'd mind,-- + Your streets a charnel or a market made, + For the lorn hunger, or the loathsome trade. + Pardon,--Pass on!" + "Behold, the Preface done," + Arden resumed, "now opens Chapter One!" + + + III. + + LORD ARDEN'S TALE. + + "Rear'd in a court, a man while yet a boy, + Hermes said 'Rise,' and Venus sigh'd 'Enjoy;' + My earlier dreams, like tints in rainbows given, + Caught from the Muse, glow'd but in clasping heaven; + The bird-like instinct of a sphere afar + Pined for the air, and chafed against the bar. + But can to Guelphs Augustan tastes belong? + Or _Georgium Sidus_ look benign on song? + My short-lived Muse the ungenial climate tried, + Breathed some faint warbles, caught a cold, and died! + Wise kinsmen whisper'd 'Hush! forewarn'd in time; + The feet that rise are not the feet of Rhyme; + Your cards are good, but all is in the lead, + Play out the heart, and you are lost indeed: + Leave verse, my boy, to unaspiring men-- + The eagle's pinion never sheds a pen!' + + "So fled the Muse! What left the Muse behind? + The aimless fancy and the restless mind; + The eyes, still won by whatsoe'er was bright, + But lost the star's to prize the diamond's light. + Man, like the child, accepts the bauble boon. + And clasps the coral where he ask'd the moon. + Forbid the pomp and royalty of heaven,-- + To the born Poet still the earth is given; + Duped by each glare in which Corruption seems + To give the glory imaged on his dreams: + Thus, what had been the thirst for deathless fame, + Grew the fierce hunger for the Moment's name; + Ambition placed its hard desires in Power, + And saw no Jove but in the Golden Shower. + No miser I--no niggard of the store-- + The end Olympus, but the means the ore: + I look'd below--there Lazarus crawl'd disdain'd; + I look'd aloft--there, who but Dives reign'd? + He who would make the steeps of power his home, + Must mask the Titan till he rules the Gnome. + If I insist on this, my soul's disease, + Excuse for fault thy practised sight foresees: + It makes the moral of my tale, in truth, + And boyhood sow'd the poison of my youth. + + "Meanwhile men praised, and women smiled;--the wing, + Bow'd from the height, still bask'd beneath the spring. + Pass by the Paphian follies of that day,-- + When true love comes, it is to close our May. + Well, ere my boyish holiday was o'er, + The grim god came, and mirth was mine no more: + A well-born pauper, I seem'd doom'd to live + By what great men to well-born paupers give: + I had an uncle high in power and state, + Who ruled three kingdoms' and one nephew's fate. + This uncle loved, as English thanes will all, + An autumn's respite in his rural hall; + In slaughtering game, relax'd his rigid breast; + And so,--behold me martyr'd to his guest! + + + IV. + + "Wandering, one day, in discontented mood + By a clear brook--through grassy solitude, + Leading the dance of light waves chanting low-- + A little world of sunshine seem'd to grow + Out from the landscape--as with sudden spring + From bosk and brake--leapt the stream glittering. + Lo, the meek home, its porch with roses twined, + Green sward before, a sacred tower behind; + On the green sward the year's last flowers were gay, + And the last glory of the golden day + Paused on the spire, that, shining, soar'd to cleave + Those clouds, the loveliest, that precede the eve. + + "Along the bank, beneath the bowering tree, + Young fairies play'd--young voices laugh'd in glee; + One voice more mellow'd in its silver sound, + Yet blithe as rang the gladdest on the ground; + One shape more ripen'd, one sweet face more fair, + Yet not less happy, the Titania there. + Soft voice, fair face, I hear, I see ye still! + Shades and dim echoes from the blissful hill + Behind me left, to cast but darkness o'er + The waste slow-lengthening to the grave before! + + "So Love was born. With love invention came; + I won my entrance, but conceal'd my name. + A village priest her father, poor and wise, + In aught that clears to mortal sight the skies, + But blind and simple as a child to all + The things that pass upon the earth we crawl; + The mask'd Lothario to his eyes appear'd + A student youth, by Alma Mater rear'd + The word to preach, the hunger to endure, + And see Ambition close upon a Cure;-- + A modest youth, who own'd his learning slight, + And brought his taper to the master's light. + This tale believed, the good man's harmless pride + Was pleased the bashful neophyte to guide: + Spread out his books, and, moved to pity, press'd + The backward pupil to the daily guest. + + "So from a neighbouring valley, where they deem + My home, each noon I cross the happy stream, + And hail the eyes already watchful grown, + And clasp the hand that trembles in my own; + But not for guilt had I conceal'd my name, + The young warm passion nursed no thought of shame; + The spell that bound ennobled while it charm'd, + And Romeo's love Lothario's guile disarm'd; + And vain the guile had been!--impure desire + Round that chaste light but hover'd to expire: + Her angel nature found its own defence, + Ev'n in the instincts of its innocence; + As that sweet plant which opens every hue + Of its frank heart to eyes content to view, + But folds its leaves and shrinks in coy disdain + From the least touch that would the bloom profane. + Link'd with the woman's Meekness, side by side, + Stood, not to lose but guard the angel, Pride; + Pride, with the shield for honour, not the heart, + Sacred from stain, not proof against the dart. + Brief,--then, such love it was my lot to win + As sways a life to every grief but--sin. + + + V. + + "Yet in the light of day to win and wed, + To boast a bride, yet not to own a shed; + To doom the famine, yet proclaim the bliss, + And seal the ruin in the nuptial kiss;-- + Love shunn'd such madness for the loved one's sake; + What course could Prudence sanction Love to take? + Lenient I knew my kinsman to a vice; + But, oh, to folly Cato less precise! + And all my future, in my kinsman bound, + Shadow'd his humours--smiled in him or frown'd; + But uncles still, however high in state, } + Are mortal men--and Youth has hope to wait, } + And Love a conqueror's confidence in Fate.-- } + A secret Hymen reconciled in one + Caution and bliss--if Mary could be won? + Hard task!--I said it was my lot to win + Sway o'er a life for grief;--this was not sin. + To her I told my name, rank, doubts, and fears, + And urged the prayer too long denied with tears-- + 'Reject'st thou still,' I cried, 'well, then to me + The pride to offer all life holds to thee; + I go to tell my love, proclaim my choice-- + Clasp want, mar fate, meet ruin, and rejoice, + So that, at least, when next we meet, thy sigh + Shall own this truth--"He better loved than I."' + + "With that, her hand upon my own she laid, + Look'd in my eyes--the sacrifice was made; + Alas, she had no mother!--Nature moved + That heart to this--she trusted, for she loved! + + "I had a friend of lowlier birth than mine, + The sunnier spot allured the trailing vine. + My rising fortunes had the southern air, + And fruit might bless the plant that clamber'd there. + My smooth Clanalbin!--shrewd, if smooth, was he, + His soul was prudent, though his life was free; + Scapin to serve, and Machiavel to plot, + Red-hair'd, thin-lipp'd, sly, supple,--and a Scot! + To him the double project I confide, + To cloak the rite, and yet to clasp the bride; + Long he resisted--solemnly he warn'd, + And urged the perils love had seen and scorn'd. + At length subdued, he groan'd a slow consent, + And pledged a genius practised to invent. + A priest was found--a license was procured, + Due witness hired, and secrecy assured; + All this his task:--'tis o'er;--and Mary's life + Bound up in one who dares not call her wife! + + "Alas--alas, why on the fatal brink + Of the abyss--doth not the instinct shrink? + The meaner tribe the coming storm foresees-- + In the still calm the bird divines the breeze-- + The ox that grazes shuns the poison-weed-- + The unseen tiger frights afar the steed-- + To man alone no kind foreboding shows + The latent horror or the ambush'd foes; + O'er each blind moment hangs the funeral pall, + Heaven shines, earth smiles--and night descends on all! + + "But I!--fond reader of imagined skies, + Foretold my future in those stars--her eyes! + O heavenly Moon, circling with magic hues + And mystic beauty all thy beams suffuse, + Is not in love thine own fair secret seen? + Love smooths the rugged--love exalts the mean: + Love in each ray inspires the hush'd alarm, + Love silvers every shadow into charm. + + + VI. + + "O lonely beech, beneath whose bowering shade + The tryst, encircling Paradise, was made, + How the heart heard afar the hurrying feet, + And swell'd to breathless words--'At last we meet!' + But Autumn fades--dark Winter comes, and then + Fate from Elysium calls me back to men; + We part!--not equal is the anguish;--she + Parts with all earth in that farewell to me; + For not the grate more bars the veiled nun + From the fair world with which her soul has done, + Than love the heart, that vows, without recall, + To one,--fame, honour, memory, hope, and all! + But I!--behold me in the dazzling strife, + The gaud, the pomp, the joyous roar of life,-- + Man, with man's heart insatiate, ever stirr'd + By the crowd's breath to conflict with the herd; + Which never long one thought alone can sway,-- + The dream fades from us when we leap to-day. + New scenes surround me, new ambitions seize,-- + All life one fever,--who defy disease?-- + Each touch contagion:--living with the rest, + The world's large pulse keeps time in every breast. + Yet still for her--for her alone, methought, + Its web of schemes the vulgar labour wrought: + To ransom fate--to soar, from serfdom, free, + Snap the strong chains of high-born penury; + And, grown as bold to earth as to the skies, + Proclaim the bliss of happy human ties:-- + So, ever scheming, the soothed conscience deem'd! + Fate smiled, and speeded all for which I schemed. + My noble kinsman saw with grave applause + My sober'd moods, too wise to guess the cause. + ''Tis well,' said he, one evening; 'you have caught + From me the ardour of the patriot's thought; + No more distinguish'd in the modes of vice, + Forsworn the race-course, and disdain'd the dice: + A nobler race, a mightier game await + The soul that sets its cast upon the state. + Thoughtful, poor, calm, yet eager; such, in truth, + He who is great in age should be in youth, + Lo, your commencement!' + + "And my kinsman set + Before the eyes it brighten'd--the Gazette! + Oh, how triumphant, Calendar of Fame! + Halo'd in type, emerged the aspirant's name! + + "'We send you second to a court, 'tis true; + Small, as befits a diplomat so new,' + Quoth my wise kinsman: 'but requiring all + Your natural gifts;--to rise not is to fall! + And harkye, stripling, you are handsome, young, + Active, ambitious, and from statesmen sprung! + _Wed_ well--add wealth to power by me possess'd, + And sleep on roses,--I will find the rest! + But one false step,--pshaw, boy! I do not preach + Of saws and morals, his own code to each,-- + By one false step, I mean one foolish thing, + And the wax melts, my Icarus, from your wing! + Let not the heart the watchful mind betray,-- + Enough!--no answer!--sail the First of May!' + + "Here, then, from vapour broke at last the sun! + Station, career, fame, fortune, all begun! + Now, greater need than ever to conceal + The secret spring that moved the speeding wheel; + And half forgetting that I wish'd forgot, + Each thought divides the absent from my lot. + One night, escaped my kinsman's hall, which blazed + With dames who smiled, and garter'd peers who praised, + I seek my lonely home,--ascend the stair,-- + Gain my dim room,--what stranger daunts me there? + A grey old man!--I froze his look before; } + The Gorgon's eye scarce fix'd its victim more,-- } + The bride's sad father on the bridegroom's floor! } + In the brief pause, how terrible and fast, + As on the drowning seaman, rush'd the past! + How had he learn'd my name,--abode,--the tie + That bound?--for all spoke lightning in his eye. + Lo, on the secret in whose darkness lay + Power, future, fortune, pour'd the hateful ray! + Thus silence ceased. + + "'When first my home you deign'd + To seek, what found you?--cheeks no tears had stain'd! + Untroubled hearts, and conscience clear as day: + And lips that loved, where now they fear, to pray: + 'Twixt kin and kin, sweet commune undefiled-- + The grateful father--the confiding child! + What now that home?--behold! its change may speak + In hair thus silver'd--in this furrow'd cheek! + My child'--(he paused, and in his voice, not eyes, + Tears seek the vent indignant pride denies) + 'My child--God pardon me!--I was too proud + To call her "daughter!"--what shall call the crowd? + Man--man, she cowers beneath a Father's eye, + And shuns his blessing--with one wish to die; + And I that death-bed will resign'd endure + If--speak the word--the soul that parts is pure?' + + "'Who dares deny it?' I began, but check'd + In the warm burst--cold wisdom hiss'd--'Reflect; + Thy fears had outstripp'd truth--as yet unknown, + The vows, the bond!--are these for thee to own?' + The father mark'd my pause, and changing cheek, + 'Go on!--why falter if the truth thou speak?' + "Who dares deny it?"--Thou!--thy lip--thine eye-- + Thy heart--thy conscience--_these_ are what deny? + O Heaven, that I were not thy priest!' + + "His look + Grew stern and dark--the natural Adam shook + The reverend form an instant;--like a charm + The pious memory stay'd the lifted arm; + And shrunk to self-rebuke the threatening word, + 'Man's not my weapons--I thy servant, Lord!' + Moved, I replied--'Could love suffice alone } + In this hard world,--the love to thee made known, } + A bliss to cherish, 'twere a pride to own: } + And if I pause, and if I falter--yet + I hide no shame, I strive with no regret. + Believe mine honour--wait the ripening hour; + Time hides the germ, the season brings the flower.' + Wildly he cried--'What words are these?--but one + Sentence I ask--her sire should call thee _son_! + Hist, let the heavens but hear us!--in her life + Another lives--if pure she is thy wife! + Now answer!' + + I had answer'd, as became + The native manhood and the knightly name; + But shall I own it? the suspicious chill, + The world-wise know, froze up the arrested will. + Whose but _her_ lips, sworn never to betray, + Had fail'd their oath, and dragg'd my name to day? + True, she had left the veil upon the shrine, + But set the snare to make confession mine. + Thus half resentment, half disdain, repell'd + The man's frank justice, and the truth withheld. + Yet, so invoked, I scorn'd at least the lie, + And met the question with this proud reply:-- + 'If thou dost doubt thy child, depart secure, + My love is sinless, and her soul is pure. + This by mine honour, and to Heaven, I swear! + Dost thou ask more?--then bid thy child declare; + What she proclaims as truth, myself will own; + What she withholds, alike I leave unknown; + What she demands, I am prepared to yield; + Now doubt or spurn me--but my lips are seal'd.' + I ceased, and stood with haughty mien and eye, + That seem'd all further question to defy; + He gazed, as if still spell'd in hope or fear, + And hungering for the word that fail'd the ear. + At last, and half unconscious, in the thrall + Of the cold awe, he groan'd-- + + 'And is this all? + Courage, poor child--there may be justice yet-- + Justice, Heaven, justice!' + + With this doubtful threat + He turn'd, was gone!--that look of stern despair, + The uncertain footstep tottering down the stair, + The clapping door; and then that void and chill, + Which would be silence, were the conscience still; + That sense of something gone, we would recall; + The soul's dim stun before it feels its fall. + + + VII. + + "Next day, the sire my noble kinsman sought; + One ruling senates must be just, he thought. + What chanced, untold--what follow'd may declare: } + Behold me summon'd to my uncle's chair! } + See his cold eye--_I_ saw my ruin there! } + I saw and shrunk not, for a sullen pride + Embraced alike the kinsman and the bride: + Scorn'd here, the seeming snare by cunning set; + And there, coarse thraldom, with rebellion met. + + "Brief was my Lord-- + + 'An old man tells me, sir, + You woo his child, to wed her you demur; + Who knows, perhaps (and such his shrewd surmise), + The noose is knit--you but conceal the ties! + Please to inform me, ere I go to court, + How stands the matter?--sir, my time is short.' + + "'My Lord,' I answer'd, with unquailing brow, + 'Not to such ears should youth its faults avow; + And grant me pardon if I boldly speak, + Youth may have secrets honour shuns to seek. + I own I love, proclaim that love as pure! + If this be sin--its sentence I endure. + All else belongs unto that solemn shrine, + In the veil'd heart, which manhood holds divine. + Men's hearths are sacred, so our laws decree; + Are hearts less sacred? mine at least is free. + Suspect, disown, forsake me, if thou wilt; + I prize the freedom where thou seest the guilt.' + My kinsman's hand half-shaded the keen eye, + Which glanced askant;--he paused in his reply. + At length, perchance, his practised wit foresaw + Threats could not shake where interest fail'd to awe; + And judged it wise to construe for the best + The all I hid, the little I confess'd; + Calmly he answer'd-- + + 'Sir, I like this heat; + Duper or duped, a well-bred man's discreet; + Take but this hint (one can't have all in life), + You lose the uncle if you win the wife. + In this, you choose Rank, Station, Power, Career; + In that, Bills, Babies,--and the Bench, I fear. + Hush;--'the least said' (old proverb, sir, but true!)-- + As yet your fault indulgently I view. + Words,--notes (sad stuff!)--some promise rashly made-- + Action for breach--_that_ scandal must be stay'd. + I trust such scrapes will teach you to beware; + 'Twill cost some hundreds--that be my affair. + Depart at once--to-morrow--nay, to-day: + When fairly gone, there will be less to pay!' + So spoke the Statesman, whom experience told + The weight of passion in the scales of gold. + Pleased I escape, but how reprieve enjoy? + One word from her distrusted could destroy! + Yet that distrust the whispering heart belied, + Self ceased, and anger into pity died; + I thought of Mary in her desolate hour, + And shudder'd at the blast, and trembled for the flower. + Why not go seek her?--chide the impatient snare; } + Or if faith linger'd, win it to forbear? } + Now was the time, no jealous father there! } + Swift as the thought impell'd me, I obey'd! + 'Tis night; once more I greet the moonlit shade; + Once more I see the happy murmuring rill; + The white cot bower'd beneath the pastoral hill! + An April night, when, after sparkling showers, + The dewy gems betray the cradled flowers, + As if some sylphid, startled from her bed + In the rath blossom by the mortal's tread, + Had left behind her pearly coronal.-- + Bright shone the stars on Earth's green banquet-hall; + You seem'd, abroad, to see, to feel, to hear + The new life flushing through the virgin year; + The visible growth--the freshness and the balm; + The pulse of Nature throbbing through the calm; + As wakeful, over every happy thing, + Watch'd through the hush the Earth's young mother--Spring! + Calm from the lattice shot a steady ray; } + Calm on the sward its silvery lustre lay; } + And reach'd, to glad the glancing waves at play. } + I stood and gazed within the quiet room;-- + Gazed on her cheek;--_there_, spring had lost its bloom! + Alone she sate! _Alone!_--that worn-out word, + So idly spoken, and so coldly heard; + Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known, + Of hope laid waste, knells in that word--ALONE! + + "Who contemplates, aspires, or dreams, is not + Alone: he peoples with rich thoughts the spot. + The only loneliness--how dark and blind!-- + Is that where fancy cannot dupe the mind; + Where the heart, sick, despondent, tired with all, + Looks joyless round, and sees the dungeon wall; + When even God is silent, and the curse + Of torpor settles on the universe; + When prayer is powerless, and one sense of dearth + Abysses all, _save_ solitude, on earth! + So sate the bride!--the drooping form, the eye + Vacant, yet fix'd,--that air which Misery, + The heart's Medusa, hardens into stone, + Sculptured the Death which dwelleth in the lone! + Oh, the wild burst of joy,--the life that came } + Swift, brightening, bounding through the lips and frame, } + When o'er the floors I stole, and whisper'd soft her name! } + 'Come--come at last! Oh, rapture!' + Who can say + Why meaner natures hold mysterious sway + Over the nobler? Why mine orb malign + Ruled as a fate a spirit so divine; + Giving or light or darkness all its own + Unto a star so near the Sapphire Throne? + + "'So thou art come!' + 'Hush! say whose lips reveal'd + All _these_ soft traitors swore to guard conceal'd-- + Our love--my name?' + 'Not I--not I--thy wife! + No, truth to thee more dear than fame, than life: + A friend, my father's friend, the secret told; + How guess'd I know not. Oh! if Love controll'd + My heart that hour--that bitter hour--when, there + Bent that old man who----Husband, hear my prayer + Have mercy on my father!--break, oh, break + This crushing silence!--bid his daughter speak, + And say, Thou'rt not dishonour'd?' + + 'If thou wilt, + Tell all;--dishonour not alone in guilt! + Men's eyes dishonour in the fallen see;-- + Speak, and dishonour thou inflict'st on me: + The debt, the want, the beggary, and the shame,-- + The pauper branded on the noble's name! + Speak and inflict--I still can spurn--the doom; + Unveil the altar to prepare the tomb! + I, who already in my grasp behold, + Bright from Hesperian fields, the fruit of gold, + By which alone the glorious prize we gain, + Foil'd of the goal will die upon the plain. + I own two brides, both dear alike, and see + In one Ambition--in the other Thee: + Destroy thy rival, and to her destroy'd + Succeeds despair to make the world a void.' + Then, with stern frankness to that shrinking ear, + I told my hopes,--in her my only fear; + Told, with a cheek no humbling blushes dyed, + How met the sire--how unavow'd the bride! + 'Thus have I wrong'd--this cruel silence mine; + And now be truth, and truth is vengeance, thine!' + I ceased to speak; lo, she had ceased to weep; + Her white lips writhed, as Suffering in its sleep; + And o'er the frame a tremulous shudder went, + As every life-stream to the source was sent: + The very sense seem'd absent from the look, + And with the Heart, its temple, Reason shook! + So there was silence; such a silence broods + In winter nights, o'er frost-bound solitudes, + Darkness, and ice, and stillness all in one,-- + The silence without life, the withering without sun. + But o'er that silence, as at night's full noon, + Through breathless cloud, shimmers the sudden moon; + A sad but heavenly smile a moment stirr'd, + And heralded the martyr's patient word: + 'Fear not; pursue thy way to fortune, fame; + I will not soil thy glory with my shame. + Betray! avenge!--For ever, until thou + Proclaim the bond and ratify the vow, + Closed in this heart, as lamps within the tomb, + Shall waste the light, that lives amidst the gloom,-- + That lives, for oh! the day _shall_ come at length, + Though late, though slow,--(give hope, for hope is strength!)-- + When, from a father's breast no more exiled, + The wife may ask forgiveness for the child?'" + + + VIII. + + "And so you parted?" with a moisten'd eye, + Said Morvale;--"nay, man, spare me the reply; + Too much the Eve has moved me----" + "Not to feel + That for the serpent which thy looks reveal," + Said Arden, sadly smiling; "yet in truth, + See how the grey world grafts its age on youth; + See how we learn to prize the bullion Vice, + Coin'd in all shapes, yet still but Avarice; + The stamp may vary,--you the coin may call + 'Ambition,' 'Power,' 'Success,'--but Gold is all. + Mine is the memoir of a selfish age: + Turn every leaf--slight difference in the page; + Through each, the same fierce struggle to secure + Earth's one great end--distinction from the Poor; + All our true wealth, like alchemists of old, + Fused in the furnace--for a grain of gold. + + + IX. + + "Well then, we parted,--to make brief the tale, + I take my orders, and my leave, set sail; + For weeks, for months, fond letters, long nor few, + Keep hope alive with love for ever new: + If she had suffer'd, she betray'd it not; + All save one sweetness--'that we loved' forgot. + She never named her father;--once indeed + The name _was_ writ, but blurr'd;--it was decreed + That she should fill the martyr-measure,--hide + Not the dart only, but the bleeding side, + And, wholly generous in the offering made, + Veil even sorrow, lest it should upbraid. + + "At length one letter came--the _last_; more blest + In faith, in love, false hope, than all the rest; + But at the close some hastier lines appear, + Tremblingly writ, and stain'd with many a tear, + In which, less said than timorously implied + (The maid still blushing through the secret bride), + I heard her heart through that far distance beat: + The hour Eve's happiest daughter dreads to meet,-- + The hour of Nature's agony was nigh,-- + Husband and father, false one, where was I? + + "Slow day on slow day, unrevealing, crept, + And still its ice the freezing silence kept: + Fear seized my soul, I could no longer brook + The voiceless darkness which the daylight took. + I feign'd excuse for absence;--left the shore: + Fair blow the winds;--behold her home once more! + + "Her home! a desert! Still, though rank and wild, + On the rank grass the heedless floweret smiled; + Still by the porch you heard the ungrateful bee; + Still brawl'd the brooklet's unremembering glee; + But they--the souls of the sweet pastoral ground? + Green o'er the father rose the sullen mound! + Amidst his poor he slept; _his_ end was known,-- + Life's record rounded with the funeral stone: + But she?--but Mary?--but my child?--what dews + Fall on _their_ graves?--what herbs which heaven renews + Pall their pure clay?--Oh! were it mine at least + To weep, beloved, where your relics rest!-- + Bear with me, Morvale,--pity if you can-- + These thoughts unman me--no, they prove me man!" + "Man of the cities," with a mutter'd scorn, + Groan'd the stern Nomad from the lands of Morn,-- + "Man of the sleek, far-looking prudence, which + Beggars life's May, life's Autumn to enrich; + Which, the deed doing, halts not in its course, + But, the deed done, finds comfort in remorse. + Man, in whom sentiment, the bloodless shade + Of noble passion, alternates with trade,-- + Hard in his error--feeble in his tears, + And huckstering love, yet prattling of the spheres!" + So mused the sombre savage, till the pale + And self-gnaw'd worldling nerved him to his tale:-- + "The hireling watch'd the bed where Mary lay, + In stranger arms my first-born saw the day. + Below,--unseen _his_ travail, all unknown + _His_ war with Nature, sate the sire alone: + He had not thrust the one he still believed, + If silent, sinless, or in sin deceived-- + He had not thrust her from a father's door; + So Shame came in, and cower'd upon the floor, + And face to face with Shame, he sate to hear + The groan above bring torture to his ear. + In that sad night, when the young mother slept, + Forth from his door the elder mourner crept; + Absent for days, none knowing whither bent, + Till back return'd abruptly as he went. + With a swift tremulous stride he climb'd the stair, } + Through the closed chamber gleam'd his silver hair, } + And Mary heard his voice soft--pitying--as in prayer! } + 'Child, child, I was too hard!--But woe is wild; + Now I know all!--again I clasp my child!' + Within his arms, upon his heart again + His Mary lay, and strove for words in vain; + She strove for words, but better spoke through tears + The love the heart through silence vents and hears. + + "All this I gather'd from the nurse, who saw + The scene, which dews from hireling eyes could draw; + So far;--her sob the pastor heard, and turn'd, + Waved his wan hand, nor what more chanced she learn'd. + + "Next morn in death the happier father lay, + From sleep to Heaven his soul had pass'd away; + He had but lived to pardon and to bless + His child;--emotion kills in its excess, + And that task done, why longer on the rack + Stretch the worn frame?--God's mercy call'd him back. + The day they buried him, while yet the strife + Of sense and memory raged for death and life + In Mary's shatter'd brain, her father's friend, + Whose hand, perchance, had sped him to his end, + Whose zeal officious had explored, reveal'd + My name, the half, worse half, of all conceal'd, + Sought her, and saw alone: When gone, a change + Came o'er the victim, terrible and strange; + All grief seem'd hush'd--a stern tranquillity + Calm'd the wan brow and fix'd the glassy eye; + She spoke not, moved not, wept not,--on her breast + Slept Earth's new stranger--not more deep its rest. + They fear'd her in that mood--with noiseless tread + Stole from the room; and, ere the morn, she fled. + Gone the young Mother with her babe!--no trace; + As the wind goes, she vanish'd from the place; + They search'd the darkness of the wood, they pried + Into the secrets of the tempting tide, + In vain,--unseen on earth as in the wave, + Where life found refuge or despair a grave." + "And is this all?" said Morvale-- + "No, my thought + Guess'd at the clue; her father's friend I sought, + A stern hard man, of Calvin's iron mould, + And yet I moved him, and his tale he told. + It seem'd (by me unmark'd), amidst the rest, + My uncle's board had known this homely guest. + Our evil star had led the guest, one day, + Where through the lone glade wound our lovers' way, + To view, with Age's hard, suspecting eyes, + The high-born courtier in the student's guise. + Thus, when the father, startled to vague fears, + By his child's waning cheek and unrevealing tears, + First to his brother priest for counsel came, + He urged stern question--track'd the grief to shame, + Guess'd the undoer, and disclosed the name. + + "Time went--the priest had still a steady trust + In Mary's honour; but, to mine unjust, + Divined some fraud--explored, and found a clue, + There had been marriage, if the rites were due; + Had learn'd Clanalbin's name, as one whose eye + Had seen, whose witness might attest the tie. + This news to Mary's father was convey'd + The eve her infant on her heart was laid. + + "That night he left his home, he did not rest + Till found Clanalbin--'Well, and he confess'd?' + I cried impatient;--my informer's eye + Flash'd fire--'Confess'd the fraud,' was his reply. + 'The fraud!'--'The impious form, the vile disguise! + Mock priest, false marriage, hell's whole woof of lies!' + 'Lies!--had the sound earth open'd its abyss + Beneath my feet, my soul had shudder'd less. + Lies!--but not mine!--his own!--not mine such ill. + O wife, I fly--to right, avenge, and claim thee still!'" + "Thy hand--I wrong'd thee," Morvale falter'd, while + His strong heart heaved--"Thou didst avenge the guile? + Thou found'st thy friend--thy witness--well! and he?"-- + "Had spoken truth, the truth of perfidy. + This man had loved me in his own dark way, + Loved for past kindness in our wilder day, + Loved for the future, which, obscure for him, + Link'd with my fate, with that grew bright or dim. + I told thee how he warr'd with my intent, + The strong dissuasion, and the slow consent: + The slow consent but veil'd the labour'd wile; + That I might yet be great, he grovell'd to be vile. + _'Twas_ a false Hymen--a mock priest--and she + The pure, dishonour'd--the dishonourer free! + + "This then the tale that, while it snapp'd the chord, + Still to the father's heart the child restored; + This told to her by the hard zealot's tongue, + Had the last hope from spoil'd existence wrung; + Had driven the outcast through the waste to roam, + And with the altar shatter'd ev'n the home. + No! trust ev'n then,--ev'n then, hope, was not o'er: + One morn the wanderer reach'd Clanalbin's door. + O steadfast saint! amidst the lightning's scathe, + Still to the anchor clung the lingerer Faith; + Still through the tempest of a darken'd brain, + Where misery gnaw'd and memory rack'd in vain, + The last lone angel that deserts the grief + Of noble souls, survived and smiled,--BELIEF! + There had she come, herself myself to know, + And bow'd the head, and waited for the blow! + What matter how the villain soothed, or sought + To mask the crime?--enough that it was wrought; + She heard in silence,--when all said, all learn'd, + Still silent linger'd; then a flush return'd + To the pale cheek,--the Woman and the Wrong + Rear'd the light form,--the voice came clear and strong. + 'Tell him my father's grave is closed; the dread + Of shame sleeps with him--dying with the dead: + Tell him on earth we meet no more;--in vain + Would he redress the wrong, and clear the stain, + His child is nameless; and his bride--what now + To her, too late, the mockery of the vow? + I was his wife--his equal;--to endure + Earth's slander? Yes!--because my soul was pure! + Now, were he kneeling here,--fame, fortune won,-- + My pride would bar him from the fallen one. + Say this; if more he seek my fate, reply-- + 'Once stain the ermine, and its fate--to die!' + I need not tell thee if my fury burst + Against the wretch--the accurser--the accurst! + I need not tell thee if I sought each trace + That lured false hope to woe's lorn resting-place; + If, when all vain,--gold, toil, and art essay'd, + Still in my sunlight stalk'd the avenging shade, + Lost to my life for ever;--on the ground + Where dwell the spectres,--Conscience--ever found!" + + + X. + + "True was the preface to thy gloomy tale; + Pity can soothe not--counsel not avail," + Said Morvale, moodily. "What bliss foregone! + What years of rich life wasted! What a throne + In the arch-heaven abandon'd! And for what? + Darkness and gold!--the slave's most slavish lot! + Thy choice forsook the light--the day divine-- + God's loving air--for bondage and the mine! + Oh! what delight to struggle side by side + With one loved soother!--up the steep to guide + Her steps--as clinging to thy hardier form, + She treads the thorn and smiles upon the storm! + And when firm will and gallant heart had won + The hill-top opening to the steadfast sun, + Look o'er the perils of the vanquish'd way, + And bless the toil through which the victory lay, + And murmur--'Which the sweeter fate, to dare + With thee the evil, or with thee to share + The good?' Nay, haunting must thine error be; + Thee Camdeo gave the blest Amrita tree,[M] + The ambrosia of the gods,--to scorn the prize, + And choose the Champac[N] for its golden dyes: + Thou hast forsaken--(thou must bear the grief)-- + The immortal fruitage for the withering leaf!" + + "Nay," answer'd Arden, writhing, "cease to chide; + Who taunts the ordeal should the fire have tried. + If Fortune's priests had train'd thy soul, like mine, } + To worship Fortune's as the holiest shrine, } + Perchance my error, cynic, had been thine!" } + + "Pardon," said Morvale; "and my taunt to shame, + Know me thus weak,--I envy while I blame; + _Thou hast been loved!_ And had I err'd like thee; + Mine had been crime, from which thy soul is free, + Thy gentler breast the traitor could forgive----" + "Never!" cried Arden-- + "_Does the Traitor live?_" + And as the ear that hissing whisper thrill'd, + That calm stern eye the very life-blood chill'd; + For there, the instinct Cain bequeath'd us spoke, + And from the chain the wild's fierce savage broke. + "O yes!" the fiery Alien thus renew'd; + "I know how holy life by law is view'd; + I know how all life's glory may be marr'd, + If safe the clay, which, as life's all, ye guard. + Law--Law! what is it but the word for gold? + Revenge is crime, if taken--Law if sold! + Vile tongues, vile scribes, may rot your name away, + But Law protects you,--with a fine to pay! + The child dishonour'd, the adulterous wife, + Gold requites all, save this base garment--life! + So, _life_ alone is sacred!--_so_, your law + Hems the worm's carcass with a godhead's awe: + So, if some mighty wrong with black despair + Blots out your sun, and taints to plague the air; + If with a human impulse shrinks the soul + Back from the dross which compensates the whole; + If from the babbling court, the legal toil, + And the lash'd lackey's guerdon, ye recoil, + And seize your vengeance with your own right arm, + How every dastard quivers with alarm! + Mine be the heart, that can itself defend-- + Hate to the foe, devotion to the friend!-- + The fearless trust, and the relentless strife: + Honour unsold, and wrong avenged with life!" + He ceased, with trembling lip and haughty crest, + The native heathen labouring in the breast! + As waves some pine, with all its storm of boughs, + O'er the black gulf Norwegian winds arouse, + Shook that strong spirit, gloomy and sublime, + Bending with troubled thought above the abyss of crime! + + + XI. + + Long was the silence, till to calm restored + The moody Indian and the startled lord. + "And yet," resumed the first, with softer mien, + And lip that smiled, half mocking, yet serene, + "Not long thy sorrow dimm'd thy life;--unless + Men's envy wrong thee, thou mightst more confess + Of loves, perchance as true and as deceived; + Of rose-wreaths wither'd in the hands that weaved. + Talk to the world of Arden's dazzling lord, } + And tales of joyous love go round the board; } + Who, though adoring less, by beauty more adored?" } + + "Ill dost thou read the human heart, my friend, + If bounding man's life with the novel's end; + Where lovers married, ever after love-- + To birds alone the turtle and the dove! + Where wicked men (if I be of the gang) + Repent, turn hermits, or cut throats and hang! + Our souls repent,--our lives but rarely change; + Grief halts awhile, then goads us on to range. + More woo'd than wooing, scarce I feign'd to feel-- + What magic to the magnet draws the steel? + Wealth soon grew mine, the parasital fame + Conceal'd the nature while it deck'd the name; + Kinsman on kinsman died, each death brought gold; + In birth, wealth, fame, strange charms the sex behold! + The outward grace the life of courts bestows, + The tongue that learns unconsciously to gloze, + All drew to mine the fates I could but mar; + And Aphrodite was my native star! + Forgive the boast, not blessings these, but banes, + If spring sows only flowers, small fruit the autumn gains! + I mark my grave coevals gather round + Their harvest-home, with sheaves for garners bound; + And I, that planted but the garden, see + How the blooms fade! no harvest waits for me!" + + "Yet didst thou never love again? as o'er + The soft stream, gliding by the enamell'd shore, + Didst thou ne'er pause, and in some lovelier vale + Moor thy light prow, and furl thy silken sail?" + "But once," said Arden; "years on years had fled, + And half it soothed to think my Mary dead. + For I had sworn (could faith, could honour less?) + My hearth at least to priestly loneliness; + To wed no other while she lived, and be, + If found at last, for late atonement free. + I kept the vow, till this ambiguous doom, + Half wed, half widow'd, took a funeral gloom; + So many years had pass'd, no tidings gain'd, + The chance so slight that yet the earth retain'd, + At length, though doubtful, I believed that time + Had from the altar ta'en the ban of crime. + Impulse, occasion, what you will, at last + Seized one warm moment to abjure the past. + + + XII. + + "Far other, she, who charm'd me thus awhile, + Thought in each glance, and mind in every smile; + Genius was hers, with all the Iris dyes + That paint on cloud the arch that spans the skies; + Wild in caprice, impassion'd, and yet coy, + Woman when mournful, a frank child in joy; + The Phidian dream, in one concentring all } + The thousand spells with which the charmers thrall, } + And pleasing most the eye which years begin to pall. } + I do not say I loved her as, in truth, + We only love when life is in its youth; + But here at least I thought to fix my doom, + And from the weary waste reclaim a home. + Enough I loved, to woo, to win, to bind + To her my fate, if Heaven had so assign'd! + The nuptial day was fix'd, the plighting kiss + Glow'd on my lips;--that moment the abyss, + Which, hid by moss-grown time, yet yawn'd as wide + Beneath my feet, divorced me from her side. + A letter came--Clanalbin's hand; what made + Treason so bold to brave the man betray'd? + I break the seal--O Heaven! my Mary yet + Lived; in want's weeds the wretch his victim met; + Track'd to her home (a beggar's squalid cell!), } + Told all the penitence that lips could tell: } + 'Come back and plead thyself, and all may yet be well!' } + Had I a choice? could I delay to choose?-- + Here conscience dragg'd me, there it might excuse. + + "Few hurried lines, obscurely dark with all + The war within, my later vows recall, + Breathe passionate prayer--for hopeless pardon sue, + And shape soft words to soothe the stern adieu. + So, as some soul the beckoning ghost obeys, + The haunting shadow of the vanish'd days + Lures to the grave of Youth my charmed tread, + And sighs, 'At length thou shalt appease the Dead!' + + "Scarce had I reach'd the shores of England, ere + New pomps spring round me,--I am Arden's heir! + The last pretender to the princely line, + Whose flag had waved from towers in Palestine, + Borne to our dark Walhalla,--left me poor + In all which sheds a blessing on the boor.-- + Yes, thou art right! how, at each sickening grasp + For the heart's food, had gold befool'd my clasp! + Gorged with a satrap's treasure, the soul's dearth + Envied the pauper crawling to his hearth." + "But Mary--she--thy wife before Heaven's eye?" + "Lost as before!" was Arden's anguish-cry; + "Not beggary, famine--not her child (for whom, + What could she hope from earth?--as stern a doom!) + Could bow the steel of that proud chastity, + Which scorn'd as alms the atonement due from me! + Out of the sense of wrong her grandeur grown, + She look'd on shame from Sorrow as a throne. + Once more more she fled;--no sign!--again the same + Vain track--vain chase!--Not _here_ was I to blame!" + + "Thou track the outcast!" mutter'd Morvale!--"No! + Too far from Luxury lies the world of Woe!" + + "Henceforth," sigh'd Arden, "hope, aim, end, confined + To one--my heart, if tortured, is resign'd; + So lately seen, oh! sure she liveth yet! + Once found--oh! strong thine eloquence, Regret! + The palace and the coronal, the gauds + With which our vanity our will defrauds,-- + These may not tempt her, but the simple words + 'I love thee still,' will touch on surer chords, + And youth rush back with that young melody, + To the lone moonlight and the trysting-tree!" + + As the tale ceased, the fields behind them lay,-- + The huge town once more open'd on the way; + The whir of wheels, the galliard cavalcade; + The crowd of pleasure, and the roar of trade; + The solemn abbey soaring through the dun + And reeking air, in which sunk slow the sun; + The dusky trees, the sultry flakes of green; + The haunts where Fashion yawns away the spleen;-- + Vista on vista widens to reveal + Ease on the wing, and Labour at the wheel! + The friends grew silent in that common roar, + The Real around them, the Ideal o'er; + So the peculiar life of each, the unseen + Core of our being--what we are, have been-- + The spirit of our memory and our soul + Sink from the sight, when merged amidst the whole; + Yet atom atom never can absorb, + Each drop moves rounded in its separate orb. + + [J] "One of the most remarkable pictures of ancient manners which + has been transmitted to us, is that in which the poet Gower + describes the circumstances under which he was commanded by + King Richard II.-- + + 'To make a book after his hest.' + + The good old rhymer---- ... had taken boat, and upon the broad + river he met the king in his stately barge.... The monarch + called him on board his own vessel, and desired him to book + 'some new thing.'--This was the origin of the Confessio + Amantis."--KNIGHT'S _London_, vol. i. art. _The Silent Highway._ + + [K] "What a picture Hall gives us of the populousness of the Thames, + in the story which he tells us of the Archbishop of York + (brother to the King-maker), after leaving the widow of Edward + IV. in the sanctuary of Westminster, 'sitting below on the + rushes all desolate and dismayed,' and when he opened his + windows and looked on the Thames, he might see the river full of + boats of the Duke of Gloucester his servants, watching that no + person should go to sanctuary, nor none should pass + unsearched."--Id. ibid. + + [L] A favourite rendezvous a few years since (and probably even + still) for the heroes of that fraternity, more dear to Mercury + than to Themis, was held at Devereux Court, occupying a part of + the site on which stood the residence of the Knights Templars. + + [M] The Amrita is the name given by the mythologists of Thibet + to the heavenly tree which yields its ambrosial fruits to the + gods. + + [N] The Champac, a flower of a bright gold-colour, with which + the Indian women are fond of adorning their hair. Moore alludes + to the custom in the "Veiled Prophet." + + "The maid of India blest again to hold + In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold," &c. + + + +PART THE THIRD. + + + I. + + Lord Arden's tale robb'd Morvale's couch of sleep, + The star still trembled on the troubled deep, + O'er the waste ocean gleam'd its chilling glance, + To make more dark the desolate expanse. + + This contrast of a fate, but vex'd by gales + Faint with too full a balm from Rhodian Vales;[O] + This light of life all squander'd upon one + Round whom hearts moved, as planets round a sun, + Mocks the lone doom _his_ barren years endure, + As wasted treasure but insults the poor. + Back on his soul no faithful echoes cast + Those tones which make the music of the past. + No memories hallow, and no dreams restore + Love's lute, far heard from Youth's Hesperian shore;-- + The flowers that Arden trampled on the sod, + Still left the odour where the step had trod; + Those flowers, so wasted!--had for _him_ but smiled + One bud,--its breath had perfumed all the wild! + He own'd the moral of the reveller's life, + So Christian warriors own the sin of strife,-- + But, oh! how few can lift the soul above + Earth's twin-born rulers,--Fame and Woman's Love! + + Just in that time, of all most drear, upon + Fate's barren hill-tops, gleam'd the coming sun; + From nature's face the veil of night withdrawn, + Earth smiled, and Heaven was open'd in the dawn! + + How chanced this change?--how chances all below? + What sways the life the moment doth bestow: + An impulse, instinct, look, touch, word, or sigh-- + Unlocks the Hades, or reveals the sky. + + + II. + + 'Twas eve; Calantha had resumed again + The wonted life, recaptured to its chain; + In the calm chamber, Morvale sat, and eyed + Lucy's lithe shape, that seem'd on air to glide; + Eyed with complacent, not impassion'd, gaze; + So Age looks on, where some fair Childhood plays: + Far as soars Childhood from dim Age's scope, + Beauty to him who links it not with hope! + + "Sing me, sweet Lucy," said Calantha, "sing + Our favourite song--'_The Maiden and the King_.' + Brother, thou lov'st not music, or, at least, + But some wild war-song that recalls the East. + Who loves not music, still may pause to hark + Nature's free gladness hymning in the lark: + As sings the bird sings Lucy! all her art + A voice in which you listen to a heart." + + A blush of fear, a coy reluctant "nay" + Avail her not--thus ran the simple lay:-- + + THE MAIDEN AND THE KING. + + I. + + "And far as sweep the seas below, + My sails are on the deep; + And far as yonder eagles go, + My flag on every keep. + + "Why o'er the rebel world within + Extendeth not the chart? + No sail can reach--no arms can win + The kingdom of a heart!" + + So sigh'd the king--the linden near; + A listener heard the sigh, + And thus the heart he did not hear, + Breathed back the soft reply:-- + + II. + + "And far as sweep the seas below, + His sails are on the deep; + And far as yonder eagles go, + His flag on every keep; + + "LOVE, _thou_ art not a king alone, + Both slave and king thou art! + Who seeks to sway, must stoop to own + The kingdom of a heart!" + + So sigh'd the Maid, the linden near, + Beneath the lonely sky; + Oh, lonely _not_!--for angels hear + The humblest human sigh! + + III. + + His ships are vanish'd from the main, + His banners from the keep; + The carnage triumphs on the plain; + The tempest on the deep. + + "The purple and the crown are mine"-- + An Outlaw sigh'd--"no more; + But still as greenly grows the vine + Around the cottage door! + + "Rest for the weary pilgrim, Maid, + And water from the spring!" + Before the humble cottage pray'd + The Man that was a King. + + Oh, was the threshold that he cross'd + The gate to fairy ground? + He would not for the kingdom lost, + Have changed the kingdom found! + + Divine interpreter thou art, O Song! + To thee all secrets of all hearts belong! + How had the lay, as in a mirror, glass'd + The sullen present and the joyless past, + Lock'd in the cloister of that lonely soul!-- + Ere the song ceased, to Lucy's side he stole, + And, with the closing cadence, mournfully + Lifted his doubtful gaze:--so eye met eye. + + If thou hast loved, re-ope the magic book; + Say, do its annals date not from a look? + In which two hearts, unguess'd perchance before, + Rush'd each to each, and were as two no more; + While all thy being--by some Power, above + Its will constrain'd--sigh'd, trembling, "This is Love." + + A look! and lo! they knew themselves alone! + Calantha's place was void--the witness gone; + They had not mark'd her sad step glide away, + When in sweet silence sank, less sweet, the lay; + For unto both abruptly came the hour + When springs the rose-fence round the fairy bower; + When earth shut out, all life transferr'd to one, + Each _other_ life seems cloud before the sun; + It comes, it goes, we know if it depart + But by the warmer light and quicken'd heart. + + And what then chanced? O, leave not told, but guess'd; + Is Love a god?--a temple, then, the breast! + Not to the crowd in cold detail allow + Its delicate worship, its mysterious vow! + Around the first sweet homage in the shrine + Let the veil fall, and but the Pure divine! + Coy as the violet shrinking from the sun, + The blush of Virgin Youth first woo'd and won; + And scarce less holy from the vulgar ear + The tone that trembles but with noble fear: + Near to God's throne the solemn stars that move + The proud to meekness, and the pure to love! + + Let days pass on; nor count how many swell + The episode of Life's hack chronicle! + Changed the abode, of late so stern and drear, + How doth the change speak--"Love hath enter'd here!" + How lightly sounds the footfall on the floor! + How jocund rings sweet laughter, hush'd no more! + Wide from two hearts made happy, wide and far, + Circles the light in which they breathe and are; + Liberal as noontide streams the ambient ray, + And fills each crevice in the world with day. + + And changed is Lucy! where the downcast eye, + And the meek fear, when that dark man was by? + Lo! as young Una thrall'd the forest-king, + She leads the savage in her silken string; + Plays with the strength to her in service shown, + And mounts with infant whim the woman's throne! + Charm'd from his lonely moods and brooding mind, + And bound by one to union with his kind, + No more the wild man thirsted for the waste; + No more, 'mid joy, a joyless one, misplaced; + His very form assumed unwonted grace, + And bliss gave more than beauty to his face: + Let but delighted thought from all things cull + Sweet food and fair--hiving the Beautiful, + And lo! the form shall brighten with the soul! + The gods bloom only by joy's nectar bowl. + + Nor deem it strange that Lucy fail'd to trace } + In that dark brow, the birthright of disgrace, } + And Europe's ban on Earth's primeval race. } + + Were she less pure, less harmless, less the child, + Not on the savage had the soft one smiled. + Ev'n as the young Venetian loved the Moor, + Love gains the shrine when Pity opes the door; + Love like the Poet, whom it teaches, where + Round it the Homely dwells, invents the Fair; + And takes a halo from the air it gilds + To crown a Seraph for the Heaven it builds. + And both were children in this world of ours, + Maiden and savage! the same mountain flowers, + Not trimm'd in gardens, not exchanged their hues, + Fresh from the natural sun and hardy dews, + For the faint fragrance and the sickly dyes + Which, Art calls forth by walling out the skies: + _So_ children both, each seem'd to have forgot + How poor the maid's--how rich the lover's lot; + Ne'er did the ignorant Indian pause in fear, + Lest friends should pity, and lest foes should sneer. + "What will the world say?"--question safe and sage; + The parrot's world should be his gilded cage; + But fly, frank wilding, with free wings unfurl'd, + Where thy mate carols--there, behold thy world! + And stranger still that no decorous pride + Warn'd her, the beggar, from the rich man's side. + Sneer, ye world-wise, and deem her ignorance art; + She saw her wealth (and blush'd not) in her heart!-- + Saw through the glare of gold his lonely breast; + He had but gold, and hers was all the rest. + + Pleased in the bliss to her, alas! denied, } + Calantha hail'd her brother's plighted bride: } + "Glad thou the heart which I made sad," she sigh'd. } + Since Arden's tale, but once the friends had met, + Nor known to one the other's rapture yet; + Some fancied clue, some hope awhile restored, + Had from the Babel lured the brilliant lord. + The wonted commune Morvale fail'd to miss,-- + We want no confidant in happiness. + + Baffled, and sick of hope, wealth, life, and all, + One night return'd the noble to his hall; + He found some lines, stern, brief, in Morvale's hand,-- + Brief with dark meaning,--stern with rude command,-- + Bidding his instant presence. Arden weigh'd } + Each word; some threat was in each word convey'd; } + A chill shot through his heart--foreboding he obey'd. } + + + III. + + What caused the mandate?--wherefore do I shrink? + The stream runs on,--why tarry at the brink? + Nay, let us halt, and in the pause between + Sorrow and joy, behold the quiet scene;-- + The chamber stately in that calm repose, + Which Time's serene, sweet conqueror, ART bestows; + There, in bright shapes which claim our homage still, + Live the grand exiles from the Olympian Hill; + Still the pale Queen Cithaeron forests know, + Turns the proud eye, and lifts the deathful bow; + Still on the vast brow of the father-god, + Hangs the hush'd thunder of the awful nod; + Still fair, as when on Ida's mountain seen, + By Troy's young shepherd, Beauty's bashful Queen; + Still Ind's divine Iacchus laughing weaves + His crown of clustering grapes and glossy leaves; + Still thou, Arch-type of Song, ordain'd to soothe + The rest of Heroes, and with deathless youth + Crown the Celestial Brotherhood--dost hold, + Brimm'd with the drink of gods, the urn of gold! + + All live again! The Art which images + Man's noblest conquest, as it slowly frees + Thought out of matter, labouring patient on, + Till springs a god-world from reluctant stone, + Charm'd Morvale more than all the pomp and glow + With which the Painter limns a world we know. + + 'Twas noon, and broken by the gentle gloom + Of coolest draperies, through the shadowy room, + In moted shaft aslant, the curious ray + Forced lingering in, through tiers of flowers, its way, + Glanced on the lute (just hush'd, to leave behind + Elysian dreams, the music of the mind), + Play'd round the songstress, and with warmer flush + Steep'd the young cheek, unconscious of its blush, + And fell, as if in worship, at thy base, + O sculptured Psyche[P] of the soul-lit face, + Bending to earth resign'd the mournful eye, + Since earth must prove the pathway to the sky; + Doom'd here, below, Love's footprint to explore } + Till Jove relents, the destined wandering o'er, } + And in celestial halls, Soul meets with Love once more.[Q] } + + And, side by side, the lovers sat,--their words + Low mix'd with notes from Lucy's joyous birds, + Sole witnesses and fit--those airy things, + That, 'midst the bars, can still unfold the wings, + And soothe the cell with language, learn'd above; + As the caged bird--so on the earth is love! + Their talk was of the future; from the height + Of Hope, they saw the landscape bathed in light, + And, where the golden dimness veil'd the gaze, + Guess'd out the spot, and mark'd the sites of happy days; + Till silence came, and the full sense and power + Of the blest Present,--the rich-laden Hour + That overshadow'd them, as some hush'd tree + With mellow fruitage bending heavily,-- + What time, beneath the tender gloom reclined, + Dies on the lap of summer-noon the wind! + + Roused from the lulling spell with startled blush + At such strange power in silence, to the hush + The maid restored the music, while she sought + Fresh banks for that sweet river--loving thought. + + "Tell me," she said, "if not too near the gloom + Of some sad tale, the rash desire presume; + What severs so the chords that should entwine + With one warm bond our sister's heart and thine? + Why does she love yet dread thee? what the grief + That shrinks from utterance and disdains relief? + Hast thou not been too stern?--nay, pardon! nay, + Let thy words chide me,--not thy looks dismay!" + "Not unto thee, beneath whose starry eye + Each wild wave hushes, did my looks reply; + They were the answer to mine own dark thought, + Which back the grief, thy smile had banish'd, brought. + + "Well--to the secrets of my soul thy love + Hath such sweet right, I lift the veil above + Home's shattered gods, and show what wounds belong + To writhing honour and revengeless wrong.-- + + "Rear'd in the desert, round its rugged child, + All we call life, group'd, menacing and wild; + But to man's soul there is an inner life; + _There_, one soft vision smiled away the strife! + A fairy shape, that seem'd afar to stand + On the lost shores of Youth--the Fairy land; + A voice that call'd me 'brother;'--years had fled + Since my rough breast had pillow'd that sweet head, + Yet still my heart throbb'd with the pressure; still + Tears, such as mothers know, my eyes would fill; + Prayers, such as fathers pray, my soul would breathe; + The oak were sere but for that jasmine-wreath! + At length, wealth came; my footsteps left the wild,-- + Again we met:--to woman grown the child: + How did we meet?--that heart to me was dead! + The bird, far heard amidst the waste was fled! + With earthlier fires that breast had learn'd to burn; + And what yet left? but ashes in the urn: + Woo'd and abandon'd! all of love, hope, soul + Lavish'd--now lifeless!--well, were this the whole! + But the good name--the virgin's pure renown-- + Woman's white robe, and Honour's starry crown, + Lost, lost, for ever!" + + O'er his visage past + His trembling hand,--then, hurriedly and fast, + As one who from the knife of torture swerves, + Then spurns the pang, as pride the weakness nerves, + Resumed--"As yet _that_ secret was withheld, + All that I saw, was sorrow that repell'd,-- + A dreary apathy, whose death-like chill + Froze back my heart and left us sever'd still. + + "One night I fled that hard indifferent eye; + To crowds, the heart that Home rejects, will fly!-- + Gay glides the dance, soft music fills the hall: + I fled, to find, the loneliness through all! + Thou know'st but half a brother's bond I claim,-- + My mother's daughter bears her father's name; + My mother's heart had long denied her son, + And loath'd the tie that pride had taught to shun. + My sister's lips, forbid the bond to own, + Left the scorn'd life, a brother breathed, unknown.[R] + Not even yet the alien blood confest; + Who, in the swart hues of the Eastern guest + And unfamiliar name, could kindred trace + With the young Beauty of the Northern Race?-- + Calm in the crowd I stood, when hark, a word + Smote on my ear, and stunn'd the soul that heard! + A sound, with withering laughter muttered o'er, + Blistering the name--O God!--a sister bore; + Nought clear, and nought defined, save scorn alone,-- + Not heard the name scorn coupled with her own; + Somewhat of nuptials fix'd, of broken ties, + The foul cause hinted in the vile surmise, + The gallant's fame for conquests, lightly won, + For homes dishonour'd, and for hearts undone: + Not one alone on whom my wrath could seize, + From lip to lip the dizzying slander flees; + No single ribald separate from the herd, + Through the blent hum one stinging tumult stirr'd; + One felt, unseen, infection circling there + A bodiless venom in the common air, + And as the air impalpable!--so seem + The undistinguished terrors of a dream, + Now clear, now dim, transform'd from shape to shape, + The gibbering spectres scare us and escape. + + "Fearful the commune, in that dismal night, + Between the souls which could no more unite,-- + The lawful anger and the shaming fears, + Man's iron question, woman's burning tears; + All that, once utter'd, rend for aye the ties + Of the close bond God fashion'd in the skies. + I learn'd at last,--for 'midst my wrath, deep trust + In what I loved, left even passion just; + And I believed the word, the lip, the eye, + That to my horrid question flash'd reply;-- + I learn'd at last that but the name was stain'd, + Honour was wreck'd, but Purity remain'd. + Oh pardon, pardon!--if a doubt that sears, + A word that stains, profane such holy ears! + So, oft amidst my loneliness, my heart + Hath communed with itself, and groan'd apart,-- + Recall'd that night, and in its fierce despair, + Shaped some full vengeance from the desert air,-- + That I forgot what angel, new from Heaven, + Sweet spotless listener, to my side was given! + + "But who the recreant lover?--this, in vain + My question sought; that truth not hard to gain; + And my brow darken'd as I breathed the threat + Fierce in her shrinking ear, 'that wrath should reach him yet!' + I left her speechless; when the morning came, } + With the fierce pang, writhed the self-tortured frame, } + The poison hid by Woe, drain'd by despairing Shame. } + + "Few words, half-blurr'd by shame, the motive clear'd, + For the false wooer, not herself, she feared; + 'Accept,' she wrote 'O brother, sternly just, + The life I yield,--but holy be my dust! + Hear my last words, for, _them_ Death sanctify! + Forbear his life for whom it soothes to die. + And let my thought, the memory of old time, + The soul that flees the stain, nor knew the crime, + Strike down thine arm! and see me in the tomb, + Stand, like a ghost, between Revenge and Doom!' + + "I bent, in agony and awe, above + The broken idol of my boyhood's love. + Echo'd each groan and writhed with every throe, + And cried, 'Live yet! O dove, but brood below, + Hide with thy wings the vengeance and the guilt, + And give my soul thy softness if thou wilt!' + And, as I spoke, the heavy eye unclosed, + The hand press'd mine, and in the clasp reposed, + The wan lip smiled, the weak frame seem'd to win + Strange power against the torture-fire within; + The leach's skill the heart's strong impulse sped, + She lived--she lived:--And my revenge was dead! + + "She lived!--and, clasp'd within my arms, I vow'd + To leave the secret in its thunder-shroud, + To shun all question, to refuse all clue, + And close each hope that honour deems its due; + _But while she lived!_--the weak vow halted there, + Her life the shield to that it tainted mine to spare! + + "But to have walk'd into the thronging street, + But to have sought the haunt where babblers meet, + But to have pluck'd one idler by the sleeve, + And asked, '_who_ woo'd yon fairhair'd bride, to leave?' + And street, and haunt, and every idler's tongue, + Had given the name with which the slander rung-- + To me alone,--to _me_ of all the throng, + The unnatural silence mask'd the face of wrong. + But I had sworn! and, of myself in dread, + From the loath'd scene, from mine own wrath, I fled. + + "We left the land, in this a home we find. + Home! by our hearth the cleaving curse is shrined! + Distrust in her--and shame in me; and all + The unspoken past cold present hours recal; + And unconfiding hearts, and smiles but rife + With the bland hollowness of formal life! + In vain my sacrifice, she fears me still! + Vain her reprieve;--grief barr'd from vent can kill. + And then, and then (O joy through agony!) + My oath absolves me, and my arm is free! + The lofty soul may oft forgive, I own, + The lighter wrong that smites itself alone; + But vile the nature, that when wrong hath marr'd + All the rich life it was our boast to guard + But weeps the broken heart and blasted name;-- + Here the mean pardon were the manhood's shame; + And I were vilest of the vile, to live + To see Calantha's grave--and to forgive: + _Forgive!_" + + There hung such hate upon that word, + The weeping listener shudder'd as she heard, + And sobb'd-- + + "Hush, hush! lest Man's eternal Foe } + Hear thee, and tempt! Oh, never may'st thou know } + Beside one deed of Guilt--how blest is guiltless Woe!" } + Then, close, and closer, clinging to his side, + Frank as the child, and tender as the bride, + Words--looks--and tears themselves combine the balm, + Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm! + As holy herbs (that rocks with verdure wreathe, + And fill with sweets the summer air they breathe,) + In winter wither, only to reveal + Diviner virtues--charged with powers to heal, + So are the thoughts of Love!--if Heaven is fair, + Blooms for the earth, and perfumes for the air;-- + Is the Heaven dark?--doth sorrow sear the leaf? + They fade from joy to anodynes for grief! + From theme to theme she lures his thought afar, + From the dark haunt in which its demons are; + And with the gentle instinct which divines + Interest more strong than aught which Self entwines + With its own suffering--changed the course of tears, + And led him, child-like, through her own young years. + The silent sorrows of a patient mind-- + Grief's loveliest poem, a soft soul resign'd, + Charm'd and aroused---- + "O tell me more!" he cried; + "Ev'n from the infant let me trace the bride. + Of thy dear life I am a miser grown, + And grudge each smile that did not gild my own; + Look back--thy _Father?_ Canst thou not recal + _His_ kiss, _his_ voice? Fair orphan! tell me all." + + "My Father? No!" sigh'd Lucy; "at that name + Still o'er my mother's cheek the fever came; + Thus, from the record of each earlier year, + That household tie moved less of love than fear; + Some wild mysterious awe, some undefined + Instinct of woe was with the name entwined. + Lived he?--I knew not; knew not till the last + Sad hours, when Memory struggled to the Past, + And she--my dying mother--to my breast + Clasp'd these twain relics--let them speak the rest!" + With that, for words no more she could command, + She placed a scroll--a portrait--in his hand; + And overcome by memories that could brook + Not ev'n love's comfort,--veil'd her troubled look, + And glided swiftly thence. Nor he detain'd: + Spell bound, his gaze upon the portrait strain'd: + That brow--those features! that bright lip, which smiled + Forth from the likeness!--Found Lord Arden's child! + The picture spoke as if from Mary's tomb, + Death in the smile and mockery in the bloom. + The scroll, unseal'd--address'd the obscurer name + That Arden bore, ere lands and lordship came; + And at the close, to which the Indian's eyes } + Hurried, these words:-- } + "In peace thy Mary dies; } + Forgive her sternness in her sacrifice! } + It had one merit--_that I loved!_ and till + Each pulse is hush'd shall love, yet fly, thee still. + Now take thy child! and when she clings with pride + To the strong shelter of a father's side, + Tell her, a mother bought the priceless right + To bless unblushing her she gave to light; + Bought it as those who would redeem a past + Must buy--by penance, faithful to the last. + Thorns in each path, a grave the only goal, + Glides mine, atoning, to my father's soul!" + + What at this swift revealment--dark and fast + As fleets the cloud-wrack, o'er the Indian past? + No more is Lucy free with her sweet dower } + Of love and youth! Another has the power } + To bar the solemn rite, to blast the marriage bower. } + "Will this proud Saxon of the princely line + Yield his heart's gem to alien hands like mine? + What though the blot denies his rank its heir: } + The more his pride will bid his love repair } + By loftiest nuptials--O supreme despair! } + Shall I divulge the secret! shall I rear, + Myself, the barrier,--and the bliss so near?" + + He scorn'd himself, and raised his drooping crest: + "Mine be Man's honour--leave to God the rest!" + As thus his high resolve, a sudden cry } + Startled his heart. He turn'd: Calantha by! } + Why on the portrait glares her haggard eye? } + + "Whose likeness this? Thou know'st not, brother? speak! + What mean that clouded brow--that changing cheek? + Thou know'st not!" + "Yes!" + And as the answer came, + With Death's strong terror shook the sister's frame, + A bitterer pang, an icier shudder, ran + Through _his_ fierce nature-- + "Dost _thou_ know the man? + Ha! his own tale! O dull and blinded! how, + Flash upon flash, descends the lightning now! + _Thou_, his forsaken--_his_! And I--who--nay! + Look up Calantha; for, befal what may, + He shall----" + The promise, or the threat, was said + To ears already deafen'd as the dead! + His arm but breaks the fall: the panting breast + Yet heaves convulsive through the stifling vest. + The robe, relax'd, bids doubt--if doubt yet be-- + Merge the last gleam in starless certainty! + Lo there, the fatal gift of love and woe + Miming without the image graved below-- + The same each likeness by each sufferer worn, + Or differing but as noonday from the morn. + In Lucy's portrait, manhood's earliest youth + Shone from the clear eye with a light like truth. + There, play'd that fearless smile with which we meet + The sward that hides the swamp before our feet; + The bright on-looking to the Future, ere + Our sins reflect their own dark shadows there:-- + Calantha's portrait spoke of one in whom, + Young yet in years; the heart had lost its bloom; + The lip of joy the lip of pride had grown; + It smiled--the smile we love to trust had flown. + In the collected eye and lofty mien + The graver power experience brings was seen; + Beautiful both; and if the manlier face + Had lost youth's candid and luxuriant grace, + A charm as fatal as the first it wore, + Pleased less--and yet enchain'd and haunted more. + + And this the man to whom his heart had moved! + Whose hand he had clasp'd, whose child he loved!--he loved! + This, out of all the universe--O Fate! + This, the dark orb, round which revolved his hate; + This, the swart star malign, whose baleful ray + Ruled in his House of Life; and day by day, + And hour by hour, upon the tortured past + One withering, ruthless, demon influence cast! + There writhes the victim--there, unmasking, now + The invoked Alecto frowns from Arden's brow. + O'er that fierce nature, roused so late from sleep, + Course the black thoughts, and lash to storm the deep. + Love flies dismay'd--the sweet delusions, drawn + By Hope, fade ghost-like in the lurid dawn; + As when along the parch'd Arabian gloom + Life prostrate falls before the dread Simoom, + No human mercy the strong whirlwind faced, + And its wrath reign'd sole monarch of the waste! + + + IV. + + The Hours steal on. Like spectres, to and fro + Hurry hush'd footsteps through the house of woe. + That nameless chill, which tells of life that dies, + Broods o'er the chamber where Calantha lies. + + The Hours steal on--and o'er the unquiet might + Of the great Babel--reigns, dishallow'd, Night. + Not, as o'er Nature's world, She comes, to keep + Beneath the stars her solemn tryst with Sleep, + When move the twin-born Genii side by side, + And steal from earth its demons where they glide; + Lull'd the spent Toil--seal'd Sorrow's heavy eyes, + And dreams restore the dews of Paradise; + But Night, discrown'd and sever'd from her twin, + No pause for Travail, no repose for Sin, + Vex'd by one chafed rebellion to her sway, + Flits o'er the lamp-lit streets--a phantom day! + Alone sat Morvale in the House of Gloom, + Alone--no! Death was in the darken'd room; + All hush'd save where, at distance faintly heard, + Lucy's low sob the depth of silence stirr'd; + Or where, without, the swift wheels hurrying by, + Bear those who live--as if life could not die. + Alone he sat! and in his breast began + Earth's deadliest strife--the Angel with the Man! + Not his the light war with its feeble rage + Which prudent scruples with faint passions wage, + (The small heart-conflicts which disturb the wise, + Whom reason succours when the anger tries, + Such as to this meek social ring belong, + In conscience weak, but in discretion strong;) + But that known only to man's franker state, + In love a demigod--a fiend in hate, + Him, not the reason but the instincts lead, + Prompt in the impulse, ruthless in the deed. + + And if the wrong might seem too weak a cause + For the fell hate--not his were Europe's laws.-- + Some think dishonour, if it halt at crime, + A stingless asp,--what injury in the slime? + As if but this poor clay--this crumbling coil + Of dust for graves--were all the foul can soil! + As if the form were not the type (nor more + Than the mere type) of what chaste souls adore! + That Woman-Royalty, a spotless name, + For sires to boast--for sons unborn to claim, + That heavenly purity of thought--as free + From shame as sin, the soul's virginity, + If these be lost--why what remains?--the form? + Has _that_ such worth?--Go, envy then the worm! + + And well to him may such belief belong, + And India's memories blacken more the wrong; + In Eastern lands, by tritest tales convey'd, + How Honour guards from sight itself the maid; + Home's solemn mystery, jealous of a breath, + Screen'd by religion, and begirt with death:-- + Again he cower'd beneath the hissing tongue, + Again the gibe of scurril laughter rung, + Again the Plague-breath air itself defiled, + And Mockery grinn'd upon his mother's child! + All the heart's chaste religion overthrown, + And slander scrawl'd upon the altar-stone! + + And if that memory pause, what shapes succeed? + The martyr leaning on the broken reed! + The life slow-poison'd in the thoughts that shed + Shame o'er the joyless earth;--and there, the dead! + Marvel not ye, the soft, the fair, the young, + Whose thoughts are chords to Love's sweet music strung, + Whose life the sterner genius--Hate, has spared, + If on his soul no torch but Ate's glared! + If in the foe was lost to sight the bride, + The foe's meek child!--that memory was denied! + The face, the tale, the sorrow, and the love, } + All fled--all blotted from the breast: Above } + The Deluge not one refuge for the Dove! } + There is no Lethe like one guilty dream, + It drowns all life that nears the leaden stream; + And if the guilt seem sacred to the creed, + Between the stars and earth, but stands the Deed! + So in his breast the Titan feud began: + Which shall prevail--the Angel or the Man? + + The Injurer comes! the lone light breaking o'er } + The gloom, waves flickering to the open door, } + And Arden's step is on the fatal floor! } + Around he gazed, and hush'd his breath,--for Fear + Cast its own shadow on the wall,--a drear + And ominous prescience of the Death-king there + Breathed its chill horror to the heavy air; + O'er yon recess--which bars with draperied pall + The baffled gaze--the unbroken shadows fall. + The lurid embers on the hearth burn low; + The clicking time-piece sounds distinct and slow; + And the roused instinct hate's suspense foreshows + In the pale Indian's lock'd and grim repose. + + So Arden enter'd, and thus spoke; the while + His restless eye belied his ready smile: + "Return'd, I find thy mandate, and attend + To hear a mystery, or to serve a friend." + "Or front a foe!" + A stifled voice replied. + O'er Arden's temples flush'd the knightly pride. + "What means that word, which jars, not daunts, the ear? + I own no foe,--if foe there be, no fear." + + "Pause and take heed--then with as firm a sound + Disdain the danger--when the foe is found! + What, if thou had'st a sister, whom the grave + To thy sole charge--a sacred orphan--gave-- + What, if a traitor had, with mocking vows, + Won the warm heart, and woo'd the plighted spouse, + Then left--a scoff;--what, if his evil fame, + Alone sufficed to blast the virgin name, + What--hourly gazing on a life forlorn, + Amidst a solitude wall'd round with scorn, + Shame at the core--death gnawing at the cheek-- + What, from the suitor, would the brother seek?" + + "Wert _thou_ that brother," with unsteady voice, + Arden replied: "not doubtful were thy choice: + Were I that Suitor----" + "Ay?" + "I would prepare + To front the vengeance, or--the wrong repair." + + "Yes"--hiss'd the Indian--"front that mimic strife, + That coward's die, which leaves to chance the life; + That mockery of all justice, framed to cheat + Right of its due--such vengeance thou wouldst meet!-- + Be Europe's justice blind and insecure! + Stern Ind asks more--her son's revenge is sure! + 'Repair the wrong!'--Ay, in the Grave be wed! + Hark! the Ghost calls thee to the bridal bed! + Come (nay, this once thy hand!)--come!--from the shrine + I draw the veil!--Calantha, he is thine! + Man, see thy victim!--dust!--Joy--Peace and Fame, } + _These_ murder'd first--the blow that smote the frame } + Was the most merciful!--at length it came. } + Here, by the corpse to which thy steps are led, + Beside thee, murderer, stands the brother of the Dead!" + + Brave was Lord Arden--brave as ever be + Thor's northern sons--the Island Chivalry; + But in that hour strange terror froze his blood, + Those fierce eyes mark'd him shiver as he stood; + But oh! more awful than the living foe + That frown'd beside--the Dead that smiled below! + That smile which greets the shadow-peopled shore, + Which says to Sorrow--"Thou canst wound no more!" + Which says to Love that would rejoin--"Await!" + Which says to Wrong that would redeem--"Too late!" + That lingering halo of our closing skies + Cold with the sunset never more to rise! + + Though his gay conscience many a heavier crime + Than this had borne, and drifted off to Time; + Though this but sport with a fond heart which Fate + Had given to master, but denied to mate, + Yet seem'd it as in that least sin arose + The shapes of all that Memory's deeps disclose; + The general phantom of a life whose waste + Had spoil'd each bloom by which its path was traced, + Sporting at will, and moulding sport to art, + With that sad holiness--the Human Heart! + Upon his lip the vain excuses died, + In vain his manhood struggled for its pride; + Up from the dead, with one convulsive throe, + He turn'd his gaze, and voiceless faced his foe: + Still, as if changed by horror into stone, + He saw those eyes glare doom upon his own; + Saw that remorseless hand glide sternly slow + To the bright steel the robe half hid below,-- + Near, and more near, he felt the fiery breath + Breathe on his cheek; the air was hot with death, + And yet he sought nor flight--nor strove for prayer, + As one chance-led into a lion's lair, + Who sees his fate, nor deems submission shame,-- + Unarm'd to combat, and unskill'd to tame, + What could this social world afford its child, + Against the roused Nemaean of the wild! + + A lifted arm--a gleaming steel--a cry + Of savage vengeance!--swiftly--suddenly, + As through two clouds a star--on the dread time + Shone forth an angel face and check'd the startled crime! + She stood, the maiden guest, the plighted bride, + The victim's daughter, by the madman's side; + Her airy clasp upon the murtherous arm, + Her pure eyes chaining with a solemn charm: + Like some blest thought of mercy, on a soul + Brooding on blood--the holy Image stole! + And, as a maniac in his fellest hour + Lull'd by a look whose calmness is its power, + Backward the Indian quail'd--and dropp'd the blade!-- + To see the foeman kneeling to the maid; + As with new awe and wilder, Arden cried, + "Out from the grave, O com'st thou, injured bride!" + Then with a bound he reach'd the Indian-- + "Lo! + I tempt thy fury, and invite thy blow; + But, by man's rights o'er men,--oh, speak! whose eyes + Ope, on life's brink, my youth's lost paradise? + The same--the same--(look, look!)--the same--lip, brow, + Form, aspect,--all and each--fresh, fair as now, + Bloom'd my heart's bride!"-- + Silent the Indian heard, + Nor seem'd to feel the grasp, nor heed the word! + As when some storm-beat argosy glides free + From its vain wrath,--subsides a baffled sea,-- + His heaving breast calm'd back--the tempest fell, + And the smooth surface veil'd the inward hell. + Yet his eye, resting on the wondering maid, + Somewhat of woe, perchance remorse, betray'd, + And grew to doubtful trouble--as it saw + Her aspect brightening slowly from its awe, + Gazing on Arden till shone out commix'd, + Doubt, hope, and joy, in the sweet eyes thus fix'd;-- + Till on her memory all the portrait smil'd, + And voice came forth, "O Father, bless thy child!" + + As from the rock the bright wave leaps to day, + The mighty instinct forced its living way: + No need of further words;--all clear--all told; + A father's arms the happy child enfold: + Nature alone was audible!--and air + Stirr'd with the gush of tears, and gasps of murmur'd prayer! + + Motionless stands the Indian; on his breast, + As one the death-shaft pierces, droops his crest; + His hands are clasp'd--one moment the sharp thrill + Shakes his strong limbs;--then all once more is still; + And form and aspect the firm calmness take + Which clothes his kindred savage at the stake. + So--as she turn'd her looks--the woe behind + That quiet mask, the girl's quick heart divined,-- + "Father!" she cried--"Not all, not all on me + Lavish thy blessings!--Him, who saved me, see! + Him who from want--from famine--from a doom, + Frowning with terrors darker than the tomb, + Preserved thy child!" + + Before the Indian's feet } + She fell, and murmur'd--"Bliss is incomplete } + Unless thy heart can share--thy lips can greet!" } + Again the firm frame quiver'd;--roused again, + The bruised eagle struggled from the chain; + Till words found way, and with the effort grew + Man's crowning strength--Man's evil to subdue. + + "Foeman--'tis past!--lo, in the strife between + Thy world and mine, the eternal victory seen! + Thou, with light arts, my realm hast overthrown, + And, see, revenge but threats to bless thine own! + My home is desolate--my hearth a grave-- + The Heaven one hour that seem'd like justice gave, + The arm is raised, the sacrifice prepared-- + The altar kindles, and the victim's--spared! + Free as before to smite and to destroy, + Thou com'st to slaughter to depart in joy! + + "From the wayside yon drooping flower I bore; + Warm'd at my heart--its root grew to the core, + Dear as its kindred bloom seen through the bar + By some long-thrall'd, and loneliest prisoner-- + Now comes the garden's Lord, transplants the flower, + And spoils the dungeon to enrich the bower? + + "So be it, law--and the world's rights are thine + Lost the stern comfort, Nature's law and mine! + She calls thee 'Father,' and the long deferr'd, + Long-look'd for vengeance, withers at the word! + Take back thy child! Earth's gods to thee belong! } + To me the iron of the sense of wrong } + Heaven makes the heart which Earth oppresses--strong!" } + + "Not so,--not so we part! O _husband_!" cried + The Girl's full soul--"Divorce not thus thy bride! + Yes, Father, yes!--in woe thy Lucy won + This generous heart; shall joy not leave us one?" + + A moment Arden paused in mute surprise + (How charm'd that outcast Beauty's blinded eyes?) + Then, with the impulse of the human thought, + Prompt to atonement for the evil wrought, + "Hear her!" he said--"her words her father's heart + Echoes.--Not so--nor ever, may ye part! + Nobly, hast thou an elder right than mine + Won to this treasure;--still its care be thine; + Withhold thy pardon if thou wilt,--but take + The holiest offering wrong to man can make!" + + Slowly the Indian lifts his joyless head, + Pointing with slow hand to the present dead, + And from slow lips comes heavily the breath: + "Behold, between us evermore--is Death!" + + "Maiden, recal my tale;--thou clasp'st the hand + Which shuts the Exile from the promised land; + Can the dead victim's brother, undefiled, + From him who slew the sister take the child!" + With that, he bent him o'er the shuddering maid, + On her fair looks a solemn hand he laid; + Lifted eyes, tearless still--but dark with all + The cloud, that not in _such_ soft dews can fall: + "If to the Dead an offering still must be, + All vengeance calls for be fulfill'd in me! + I make myself the victim!--Thou dread Power + Guiding to guilt the slow chastising hour, + Far from the injurer's hearth by her made pure, + Let this lone roof thy thunder-stroke allure!-- + + "Go hence--(nay, near me not!) behold!--the kind + Oblivion closes round her darken'd mind; + If, when she wake, it be awhile for grief, + Soon dries the rain-drop on the April leaf!" + + He said, and vanish'd, with a noiseless tread, + Within the folds which curtain'd round the dead! + So, the stern Dervish of the East inters + His sullen soul with Death in sepulchres! + + His new-found prize, while yet th' unconscious sense + Sleeps in the mercy of the brief suspense, + With gliding feet, the Father steals away. + Grief bends alone above the lonely clay; + But over grief and death th' Eternal Eye + Shines down,--and Hope lives ever in the sky. + + [O] The perfumes from the island of Rhodes,--to which the roses + that still bloom there gave the ancient name,--are wafted for + miles over the surrounding seas. + + [P] The Psyche of Naples, the most intellectual and (so to speak) + the most _Christian_ of all the dreams of beauty which Grecian + art has embodied in the marble. + + [Q] Every one knows, through the version of Mrs. Tighe, the lovely + allegory of Eros and Psyche, which Apuleius--the neglected + original, to whom all later romance writers are unconsciously + indebted--has bequeathed to the delight of poets and the + recognition of Christians. + + [R] The reader will bear in mind these lines, important to the + clearness of the story; and remember that Calantha bore a + different name from her half-brother--that her mother's + unnatural prejudice or pride of race had forbidden her ever + to mention that brother's name; and that, therefore, her + relationship to Morvale, until he sought her out, was wholly + unknown to all: the reader will remember, also, that during + Calantha's subsequent residence in Morvale's house, she lived as + woman lives in the East, and was consequently never seen by her + brother's guests. + + + +PART THE FOURTH. + + + I. + + To Joy's brisk ear there's music in the throng; + Glorious the life of cities to the strong! + What myriad charms, all differing, smile for all + The hardier Masks in the Great Carnival! + Amidst the vast disguise, some sign betrays + To each the appointed pleasure in the maze; + Ambition, pleasure, love, applause, and gold, + Allure the young, and baby[S] yet the old. + For here, the old, if nerves and stubborn will + Defy Experience, linger, youthful still, + Haunt the same rounds of idlesse, or of toil + That lure the freshest footsteps to the soil, + Still sway the Fashion or control the State, + Gay at the ball, or fierce at the debate. + It is not youth, it is the zest of life } + Surviving youth--in age itself as rife, } + That fits the Babel and enjoys the strife; } + But not for you _our_ world's bright tumults are, + Soft natures, born beneath the Hesperus star,-- + To us, the storm is but the native breath; + To you, the quickening of the gale is death; + Leave Strife to battle with its changeful clime, + And seek the peace which saves the weak, in time! + Not Man's but Nature's world be yours!--The shade + Where, all unseen, the cushat's nest is made, + Less lone to you than pomps which but bestow + The tinkling cymbal and the painted show. + + The lights of revel flash from Arden's halls; + There, throng the shapes that troop where Comus calls; + But not Sabrina more apart and lone + From the loud joy, on her pure coral throne, + Than thou, sad maiden!--round the holy tide + Swell the gay notes, the airy dancers glide; + But o'er the shadowy grot the waters roll, + And shut the revel from the unconscious soul! + + What rank has noblest, manhood's grace most fair, + Bend low to her now hail'd as Arden's heir? + If rumour doubts the birthright to his name, + The father's wealth redeems the mother's shame; + And kindly thoughts o'er lordly pride prevail, + "The Earl's best lands are not in the entail!" + + How Arden loved his child!--how spoke that love + Of those dead worlds the light herb waves above; + Layer upon layer--those strata of the past, + Those gone creations buried in the last! + Their bloom, their life, their glory past away, + Speak in this relic of a vanish'd day. + There, in that guileless face, revived anew + The visions glistening through life's morning dew, + Fair Hope, pure Honour, undefiled Truth-- + The young shape stood before him as his youth![T] + And in this love his chastisement was found-- + The thorns he had planted, here enclosed him round; + He, whom to see had been to love,--in vain + Here loved; that heart no answer gave again-- + It lived upon the past,--it dwelt afar, + This new-found bond from what it loved the bar. + Her conscience chid, yet, while it chid, her thought + Still the cold past, to freeze the present, brought; + How love the sire round whom such shadows throng, + The mother's death-bed and the lover's wrong? + The dazzling gifts, which had through life beguiled + All other souls, are powerless with his child. + Vain the melodious tongue, and vain the mind, + Sparkling and free as wavelets in the wind; + The roseate wreath the handmaid Graces twine + Round sternest hearts,--soft infant, breaks on thine; + Child, candid, simple, frank, to her allied, + Far more, the nature sever'd from her side, + With its fresh instincts and wild verdure, fann'd + By fragrant winds, from haunted Fable-land; + Than all the garden graces which betray + By the bough's riches the worn tree's decay. + What charms the ear of Childhood?--not the page + Of that romance which wins the sober sage; + Not the dark truths, like warning ghosts, which pass + Along the pilgrim path of _Rasselas_; + Not wit's wrought crystal which, so coldly clear, + Reflects, in _Zadig_, learning's icy sneer; + Unreasoning, wondering, stronger far the thrall + Of Aimee's cave,[U] or young Aladdin's hall; + And so the childhood of the heart will find } + Charms in the poem of a child-like mind, } + To which the vision of the world is blind! } + Ev'n as the savage, 'midst the desert's gloom, + Sees, hid from us, the golden fruitage bloom, + And, where the arid silence wraps us all, + Lists the soft lapse of the glad waterfall! + + So Lucy loved not Arden!--vainly yearn + His moisten'd eyes;--Can softness be so stern? + That soul how gentle! but that smile how cold! + A marble shape the parent arms enfold! + No hurrying footstep bounds his own to meet, + No joyous smiles with morning's welcome greet, + Not him that heart--so bless'd with love--can bless, } + Lost the pure Eden of a child's caress; } + He saw--he felt, and suffer'd powerless! } + Remorse seized on him;--his gay spirit quail'd; + The cloud crept on,--it gather'd, it prevail'd. + The spectre of the past--the martyr bride, + Sat at his board, and glided by his side; + Sigh'd, "With the dead, Love the Consoler dies," + And spoke his sentence in his child's cold eyes! + And now a strange and strong desire was born, } + With the young instinct of life's credulous morn, } + In that long sceptic-breast, so world-corrupt and worn. } + + From the rank soil in which grim London shrouds + Her dead,--the green halls of the ghastly crowds-- + To bear his Mary's dust; the dust to lay + By the clear rill, beside her father's clay, + Amidst those scenes which saw the rapture-strife + And growth of passion--life's sweet storm of life, + Consign the silent pulse, the mouldering heart, + Deaf to the joy to meet--the woe to part; + Rounding and binding there as into one + Sad page, the tale of all beneath the sun; + And there, before that grave--beneath the beam + Of the lone stars, and by that starlit stream, + To lead the pledge of the fresh morn of love, + And while the pardoning skies seem'd soft above, + Murmur, "For her sake, her, who, reconciled, + Hears us in heaven, give me thy heart, my child!" + But first--before his conscious soul could dare + For the consoling balm to pour the prayer, + _Alone_ the shadows of the past to brave, + Alone to commune with the accusing grave, + And shrive repentance of its haunting gloom + Before Life's true Confessional--the Tomb;-- + Such made his dream!--Oh! not in vain the creed + Of old that knit atonement with the dead! + The penitent offering, the lustrating tide, + The wandering, haunted, hopeful homicide, + Who sees the spot to which the furies urge, + Where halt the hell-hounds, and where drops the scourge, + And the appeased Manes pitying sigh-- + "Thou hast atoned! once more enjoy the sky!" + + Such made the dream he rushes to fulfil!-- + Round the new mound babbled the living rill; + A name, the name that Arden's wife should bear, + Sculptured the late and vain repentance there. + O'er the same bridge which once to rapture led, + Went the same steps their pathway to the dead: + Night after night the same lone shadow gave + A tremulous darkness to the hurrying wave; + Lost,--and then, lengthening from the neighbouring yews, + Dimm'd the wan shimmer of the moonlit dews, + Then gain'd a grave;--and from the mound was thrown, + Still as the shadow of yon funeral stone! + + + II. + + Meanwhile to Morvale!--Sorrow, like the wind + Through trees, stirs varying o'er each human mind; + Uprooting some, from some it doth but strew + Blossom and leaf, which spring restores anew; + From some, but shakes rich powers unknown in calm, + And wakes the trouble to extract the balm. + Let weaker natures suffer and despair, + Great souls snatch vigour from the stormy air; + Grief not the languor,--Grief the action brings; + And clouds the horizon but to nerve the wings. + + Up from his heavy thought, one dawning day, + The Indian, silent, rose, and went his way; + Palace and pomp and wealth and ease resign'd, } + As one new-born, he plunged amidst his kind, } + Whither, with what intent, he scarce divined. } + He turn'd to see, through mists obscure and dun, + The domes and spires of the vex'd Babylon; + Before him smiled the mead and waved the corn, + And Nature's music swell'd the hymns of Morn. + A sense of freedom, of the large escape + From the pent walls our customs round us shape; + The imperfect sympathies which curse the few, + Who ne'er the chase the many join pursue; + The trite convention, with its cold control, + Which thralls the habit, yet not links the soul; + --The sense of freedom pass'd into his breast, + But found no hope it flatter'd and caress'd; + So the sad captive, when at length made free, + Shrinks from the sunlight he had pined to see; + Feels on the limb the custom of the chain, + Each step a struggle and each breath a pain, + And knows--return'd unto the world too late, + No smile shall greet him at his lonely gate; + Seal'd every eye, of old that watch'd and wept; + The world he knew has vanish'd while he slept! + + He wander'd on, alone, on foot,--alone, + As in the waste his earlier steps had known. + Forth went the peasant--Adam's curse begun;-- + Home went the peasant in the western sun; + He heard the bleating fold, the lowing herd, + The last shrill carol of the nestling bird! + He saw the rare lights of the hamlet gleam + And fade;--the stars grow stiller on the stream; + Swart, by the woodland, cower'd the gipsy tent + Whence peer'd dark eyes that watch'd him as he went-- + He paused and turn'd:--Him more the outlaws charm + Than the trim hostel and the happy farm. + Strangers, like him, from antique lands afar, + Aliens untamed where'er their wanderings are, + High Syrian sires of old;[V]--dark fragments torn + From the great creed of Isis,--now forlorn + In rags--all earth their foe, and day by day + Worn in the strife with social Jove away-- + Wretched, 'tis true, yet less enslaved, their strife, + Than our false peace with all this masque of life, + Convention's lies,--the league with Custom made, + The crimes of glory, and the frauds of trade. + Rest and rude food the lawless Nomads yield; + The dews rise ghost-like from the whitening field, + And ghost-like on the wanderer glides the sleep + Through which the phantom Dreams their witching Sabbat keep! + + At dawn, while yet, around the Indian, lay + The dark, fantastic groups,--resumed the way; + Before his steps the landscape spreads more free + And fresh from man;--ev'n as a broadening sea, + When, more and more the harbour left behind, + The lone sail drifts before the strengthening wind. + Behold the sun!--how stately from the East, + Bright from God's presence, comes the glorious Priest! + Deck'd as beseems the Mighty One to whom + Heaven gives the charge to hallow and illume! + How, as he comes,--through the Great Temple, EARTH, + Peels the rich Jubilee of grateful mirth! + The infant flowers their odour-censers swinging, + Through aisled glades Air's Anthem-Chorus ringing; + While, like some soul lifted aloft by love, + High and alone the sky-lark halts above, + High, o'er the sparkling dews, the glittering corn, + Hymns his frank happiness and hails the morn! + + He stands upon the green hill's lighted brow, + And sees the world at smiling peace below, + Hamlet and farm, and thy best type, Desire + Of the sad Heart,--the heaven-ascending spire! + + He stood and mused, and thus his musing ran:-- + "How strong, how feeble, is thine art, O Man! + Thou coverest Earth with wonders--at thy hand + Curbs the meek water, blooms the subject land: + Why halts thy magic here?--Why only deck'd + Earth's sterile surface, mournful Architect? + Why art thou powerless o'er the world within? + Why raise the Eden, yet retain the sin? + Why, while the earth, thou but enjoy'st an hour, + Proclaims thy splendour and attests thy power, + Why o'er the spirit does thy sorcery cease?-- + Lo the sweet landscape round thee lull'd in peace! + Why wakes each heart to sorrow, care, and strife? + Why with yon temple so at war the life? + Why all so slight the variance, or in grief + Or guilt,--the sum of suffering and relief, + Between the desert's son whose wild content + Redeems no waste, enthralls no element, + And ye the Magians?--ye the giant birth + Of Lore and Science--Brahmins of the Earth? + Behold the calm steer drinking in the stream, + Behold the glad bird glancing in the beam. + Say, know ye pleasure,--ye, the Eternal Heirs + Of stars and spheres--life's calm content, like theirs? + Your stores enrich, your powers exalt, the few, + And curse the millions wealth and power subdue; + And ev'n the few!--what lord of luxury knows + The joy in strife, the sweetness in repose, + Which bless the houseless Arab?--Still behind } + Ease waits Disgust, and with the falling wind } + Droop the dull sails ordain'd to speed the mind. } + Increasing wants the sum of care increase, + The piled-up knowledge but sepulchres peace, + Ye quell the instincts, the free love, frank hate, + And bid hard Reason hold the scales of Fate-- + What is your gain?--from each slain instinct springs + A hydra passion, poisoning while it stings; + Free love, foul lust;--the frank hate's manly strife + A plotting mask'd dissimulating life;-- + Truth flies the world--one falsehood taints the sky + Each form a phantom, and each word a lie! + + "Yet what am I?--the crush'd and baffled foe, + Who dared the strife, yet would denounce the blow. + What arms had I against this world to wield? + What mail the naked savage heart to shield? + To this hoar world I brought the trusts of youth, + Warm zeal for men, and fix'd repose in truth-- + Amongst the young I look'd for young desires, + Love which adores, and Honour which aspires-- + Amongst the old, for souls set free from all + The earthlier chains which young desires enthrall, + Serene and gentle both to soothe and chide, + The sires to pity, yet the seers to guide-- + And lo! this civilised and boasted plan, + This order'd ring and harmony of man, + One hideous, cynic, levelling orgy, where + Youth Age's ice, and Age Youth's fever share-- + The unwrinkled brow, the calculating brain, + The passion balanced with the weights of gain, + And Age more hotly clutching than the boy + At the lewd bauble and the gilded toy. + + "Why should I murmur?--why accuse the strong? + I own Earth's law--the conquer'd are the wrong, + Am I ambitious?--in this world I stand + Closed from the race, an Alien in the land. + Dare I to love?--O soul, O heart, forget + That dream, that frenzy!--what is left me yet? + Revenge!"--His dark eyes flash'd--yet straightway died + The passionate lightning--"No!--revenge denied! + All the wild man in the tame slave is dead, + The currents stagnate in the girded bed! + Back to my desert!--yet, O sorcerer's draught, + O smooth false world,--what soul that once has quaff'd, + Renounces not the ancient manliness? + _Now_, could the Desert the charm'd victim bless? + Can the caged bird, escaped from bondage, share + As erst the freedom of the hardy air? + Can the poor peasant, lured by Wealth's caprice + To marts and domes, find the old native peace + In the old hut?--on-rushing is the mind: + It ne'er looks back on what it leaves behind. + Once cut the cable and unfurl the sail, + And spreads the boundless sea, and drifts the hurrying gale! + + "Come then, my Soul, thy thoughts thy desert be! + Thy dreams thy comrades!--I escape to thee! + Within, the gates unbar, the airs expand, + No bound but Heaven confines the Spirit's Land! + Such luxury yet as what of Nature lives + In Art's lone wreck, the lingering instinct gives; + Joy in the sun, and mystery in the star, + Light of the Unseen, commune with the Far; + Man's law,--his fellow, ev'n in scorn, to save, + And hope in some just World beyond the Grave!" + + So went he on, and day succeeds to day, + Untired the step, though purposeless the way; + At night his pause was at the lowliest door, + The beggar'd heart makes brothers of the Poor; + They who most writhe beneath Man's social wrong, + But love the feeble when they hate the strong. + Laud not to me the optimists who call + Each knave a brother--Parasites of all-- + Praise not as genial his indifferent eye, + Who lips the cant of mock philanthropy; + He who loathes ill must more than half which lies + In this ill world with generous scorn despise; + Yet of the wrong he hates, the grief he shares, + His lip rebuke, his soul compassion, wears; + The Hermit's wrath bespeaks the Preacher's hope + Who loves men most--men call the Misanthrope! + + At times with honest toil reposed--at times + Where gnawing wants beset despairing crimes, + Both still betray'd the sojourn of his soul, + Here wise to cheer, there fearless to control. + His that strange power the Church's Fathers had + To awe the fierce and to console the sad; + For he, like them, had sinn'd;--like them had known + Life's wild extremes;--their trials were his own! + Were we as rich in charity of deed + As gold--what rock would bloom not with the seed? + We give our alms, and cry--"What can we more?" + One hour of time were worth a load of ore! + Give to the ignorant our own wisdom!--give + Sorrow our comfort,--lend to those who live + In crime, the counsels of our virtue,--share + With souls our souls, and Satan shall despair! + Alas, what converts one man, who would take + The cross and staff, and house with Guilt, could make! + + Still, in his breast, 'midst much that well might shame + The virtues Christians in themselves proclaim, + There dwelt the Ancient Heathen;--still as strong + Doubts in Heaven's justice,--curses for man's wrong. + Revenge, denied indeed, still rankled deep + In thought--and dimm'd the day, and marr'd the sleep + And there were hours when from the hell within + Faded the angel that had saved from sin; + When the fell Fury, beckoning through the gloom, + Cried "Life for life--thou hast betray'd the tomb!" + For the grim Honour of the ancient time + Deem'd vengeance duty and forgiveness crime; + And the stern soul fanatic conscience scared, + For blood _not_ shed, and injury weakly spared;-- + Woe, if in hours like these, O more than woe, + Had the roused tiger met the pardon'd foe! + + Nor when his instinct of the life afar + Soar'd from the soil and task'd the unanswering star, + Came more than _Hope_--that reflex-beam of Faith-- + That fitful moonlight on the unknown path; + And not the glory of the joyous sun, + That fills with light whate'er it shines upon; + From which the smiles of God as brightly fall + On the lone charnel as the festive hall! + + Now Autumn closes on the fading year, + The chill wind moaneth through the woodlands sere; + At morn the mists lie mournful on the hill,-- + The hum of summer's populace is still! + Hush'd the rife herbage, mute the choral tree, + The blithe cicala, and the murmuring bee; + The plashing reed, the furrow on the glass + Of the calm wave, as by the bank you pass + Scaring the lazy trout,--delight no more; + The god of fields is dead--Pan's lusty reign is o'er! + Solemn and earnest--yet to holier eyes + Not void of glory, arch the sober'd skies + Above the serious earth!--The changes wrought + Type our own change from passion into thought. + What though our path at every step is strewn + With leaves that shadow'd in the summer noon; + Through the clear space more vigorous comes the air, + And the star pierces where the branch is bare. + What though the birds desert the chiller light; + To brighter climes the wiser speed their flight. + So happy Souls at will expand the wing, + And, trusting Heaven, re-settle into Spring. + + An old man sat beneath the yellowing beech, + Vow'd to the Cross, and wise the Word to teach. + A patriarch priest, from earth's worst tempters pure, + Gold and Ambition!--sainted and obscure! + Before his knee (the Gospel in his hands, + And sunshine at his heart), a youthful listener stands! + + The old man spoke of Christ--of Him who bore } + Our form, our woes;--that man might evermore } + In succouring woe-worn man, the God, made Man, adore! } + "My child," he said, "in the far-heathen days, + Hope was a dream, Belief an endless maze; + The wise perplex'd, yet still with glimpse sublime + Of ports dim-looming o'er the seas of Time + Guess'd HIM unworshipp'd yet--the Power above + Or Dorian Phoebus, or Pelasgic Jove! + Guess'd the far realm, not won by Charon's oar + Not the pale joys the brave who gain abhor; + No cold Elysium where the very Blest + Envy the living and deplore the rest;[W] + Where ev'n the spirit, as the form, a ghost, + Dreams back life's conflicts on the shadowy coast, + Hears but the clashing steel, the armed train, + And waves the airy spear, and murders hosts again! + More just the prescience of the eternal goal, + Which gleam'd 'mid Cyprian shades, on Zeno's soul, + Or shone to Plato in the lonely cave; + God in all space, and life in every grave! + Wise lore and high,--but for the _few_ conceived; + By schools discuss'd, but not by crowds believed. + The angel-ladder touch'd the heavenly steep, + But at its foot the patriarchs did but sleep; + They did not preach to nations 'Lo your God;' + No thousands follow'd where their footsteps trod; + Not to the fisherman they said 'Arise!' + Not to the lowly they reveal'd the skies;-- + Aloof and lone their shining course they ran + Like stars too high to gild the world of man:[X] + Then, not for schools--but for the human kind-- + The uncultured reason, the unletter'd mind; + The poor, the oppress'd, the labourer, and the slave, + God said, 'Be light!'--And light was on the Grave! + No more alone to sage and hero given, + Ope for all life the impartial Gates of Heaven! + Enough hath Wisdom dream'd, and Reason err'd, + All they would seek is found!--O'er Nature sleeps the Word! + + "Thou ask'st why Christ, so lenient to the _deed_, + So sternly claims the _faith_ which founds the creed; + Because, reposed in faith the soul has calm; + The hope a haven, and the wound a balm; + Because the light, dim seen in Reason's Dream, + On all alike, through faith alone, could stream. + God will'd support to Weakness, joy to Grief, + And so descended from his throne--BELIEF! + Nor this alone--Have faith in things above, + The unseen Beautiful of Heavenly Love; + And from that faith what virtues have their birth, + What spiritual meanings gird, like air, the Earth! + A deeper thought inspires the musing sage! + To youth what visions--what delights to age! + A loftier genius wakens in the world, + To starrier heights more vigorous wings unfurl'd. + No more the outward senses reign alone, + The soul of Nature glides into our own. + To reason less is to imagine more; + They most aspire who meekly most adore! + + "Therefore the God-like Comforter's decree-- + 'His sins be loosen'd who hath faith in me.' + Therefore he shunn'd the cavils of the wise, + And made no schools the threshold of the skies: + Therefore he taught no Pharisee to preach + His Word--the simple let the simple teach. + Upon the infant on his knee he smiled, + And said to Wisdom, 'Be once more a child!'" + + The boughs behind the old man gently stirr'd, + By one unseen those Gospel accents heard; + Before the preacher bow'd the pilgrim's head: + "Heaven to this bourne my rescued steps hath led, + Grieving, perplex'd--benighted, yet with dim + Hopes in God's justice,--be my guide to Him! + In vain made man, I mourn and err!--restore + Childhood's pure soul, and ready trust, once more!" + The old man on the stranger gazed;--unto + The stranger's side the young disciple drew, + And gently clasp'd his hand;--and on the three + The western sun shone still and smilingly; + But, round--behind them--dark and lengthening lay + The massive shadow of the closing day. + "See," said the preacher, "Darkness hurries on, + But Man, toil-wearied, grieves not for the Sun; + He knows the light that leaves him shall return, + And hails the night because he trusts the morn! + Believe in God as in the Sun,--and, lo! + Along thy soul, morn's youth restored shall glow! + As rests the earth, so rest, O troubled heart, + Rest, till the burthen of the cloud depart; + Rest, till the gradual veil, from Heaven withdrawn, + Renews thy freshness as it yields the dawn!" + + Behold the storm-beat wanderer in repose! + He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose, + Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings, + And floats the music borne from seraph-strings. + Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives, + Proclaiming God where'er Creation lives; + But _there_ the doubt will come!--the clear design + Attests the Maker and suggests the Shrine; + But in that visible harmonious plan, + What present shows the _future_ world to man? + What lore detects, beneath our crumbling clay, + A soul exiled, and journeying back to day; + What knowledge, in the bones of charnel urns, + The etherial spark, the undying thought, discerns? + How from the universal war, the prey + Of life on life, can love explore the way? + Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air, + And the fierce SELF that strives and slays is there. + What but that SELF to Man doth Nature teach? + Where the charm'd link that binds the all to each? + Where the sweet Law--(doth Nature boast its birth)-- + "Good will to man, and charity to earth?" + Not in the world without, but that within, + Reveal'd, not instinct--soul from sense can win! + And where the Natural halts, where cramp'd, confined, + The seen horizon bounds the baffled mind, + The Inspired begins--the onward march is given; + Bridging all space, nor ending ev'n in Heaven! + There, veil'd on earth, we mark divinely clear, + Duty and end--the There explains the Here! + We see the link that binds the future band, + Foeman with foeman gliding hand in hand; + And feel that Hate is but an hour's--the son + Of earth, to perish when the earth is done-- + But Love eternal; and we turn below, + To hail the brother where we loathed the foe; + There, in the soft and beautiful Belief, + Flows the true Lethe for the lips of Grief; + There, Penury, Hunger, Misery, cast their eyes, + How soon the bright Republic of the Skies! + There, Love, heart-broken, sees prepared the bower, + And hears the bridal step, and waits the nuptial hour! + There, smiles the mother we have wept! there bloom + Again the buds asleep within the tomb; + There, souls regain what hearts had lost before + In that fix'd moment call'd the--Evermore! + + Refresh'd in that soft baptism, and reborn, + The Indian woke, and on the world was morn! + All things seem'd new--rose-colour'd in the skies + Shone the hoar peaks of the old memories; + No more enshrouded with unbroken gloom + Calantha's injured name and early tomb-- + No more with woe (how ill-suppress'd by pride!) + Thought sounds the gulf that parts the promised bride! + Faithful no less to Death, and true to Love, + This blooms again--that shall rejoin, above! + The Stoic courage had the wound conceal'd; + The Christian hope the wound's sharp torture heal'd. + As rude the waste, but now before him shone } + The star;--he rose, and cheerful journey'd on, } + Full of the God most with us when alone! } + + + III. + + 'Tis night,--a night by fits now foul, now fair, + As speed the cloud-wracks through the gusty air: + At times the wild blast dies--and high and far, + Through chasms of cloud, looks down the solemn star-- + Or the majestic moon;--so watchfires mark + Some sleeping War dim-tented in the dark; + Or so, through antique Chaos and the storm + Of Matter, whirl'd and writhing into form, + Pale angels peer'd! + + Anon, from brief repose + The winds leap forth, the cloven deeps reclose; + Mass upon mass, the hurtling vapours driven, + As one huge blackness walls the earth from heaven!-- + In one of these brief lulls--you see, serene, + The village church spire 'mid its mounds of green, + The scattered roof-tops of the hamlet round, + And the swoll'n rill that girds the holy ground. + + A plank that rock'd above the rushing wave, + The dizzy pathway to a wanderer gave; + There, as he paused, from the lone churchyard, slow + Emerged a form the wanderer's eyes should know! + It gains the opposing margent of the stream, + Full on the face shines calm the crescent beam; + It halts upon the bridge! Now, Indian, learn + If in thy soul the heathen yet can yearn! + Swift runs the wave, the instinct and the hour, + The lonely night, when evil thoughts have power, + The foe before thee, and no things that live + To witness vengeance--Canst thou still forgive? + Scarce seen by each the face of each--when, deep + O'er the lost moon, the cloud's loud surges sweep; + Yea, as a sea devours the fated bark, + Vanish'd the heaven, and closed the abyss of dark! + You heard the roaring of the mighty blast, + The groaning trees uprooted as it pass'd + The wrath and madness of the starless rill, + Swell'd by each torrent rushing from the hill. + The slight plank creaks--high mount the waves and high, + Hark! with the tempest's shrieks the human cry! + Upon the bridge but _one_ man now!--below, + The night of waters and the drowning foe! + The Indian heard the death-cry and the fall; + Still o'er the wild scene hung the funeral pall! + What eye can pierce the darkness of the wave? } + What hand guide rescue through the roaring grave? } + Not for such craven questions pause the brave! } + Again the moon!--again the churchyard's green, + Spire, hamlet, mead, and rill distinct are seen; + But on the bridge _no_ form, no life! The beam + Shoots wan and broken on the tortured stream; + Vague, indistinct, what yonder moveth o'er + The troubled tide, and struggles to the shore? + Hark, where the sere bough of the tossing tree + Snaps in the grasp of some strong agony, + And the dull plunge, and stifled cry betray + Where the grim water-fiend reclasps his prey! + + Still shines the moon--still halts the panting storm, + It moves again--the shadow shapes to form, + Lo! where yon bank shelves gradual, and the ray + Silvers the reed, it cleaves its vigorous way!-- + Saved from the deep, but happier far to save, + The foeman wrests the foeman from the grave! + Still shines the moon--still halts the storm!--above + His sons, looks down divine the Father-Love! + Upon the Indian's breast droops Arden's head, + Its marble beauty rigid as the dead. + What skill so fondly tends the soul's eclipse, + Chafes the stiff limb, and breathes in breathless lips? + Wooes back the flickering life, and when, once more, + The ebbing blood the wan cheek mantles o'er; + When stirs the pulse, when opes the glazing eye, + What voice of joy finds listeners in the sky? + "Bless thee, my God!--this mercy thine!--he lives: + Look in my heart, forgive, for it forgives!" + + Then, while yet clear the heaven, he flies--he gains + The nearest roof--prompt aid his prayer obtains; + Well known the noble stranger's mien--they bear + To the rude home, and ply the zealous care; + Life with the dawn comes sure, if faint and slow, + And all night long the foeman watch'd the foe! + + Day dawns on earth, still darkness wraps the mind; + Sleep pass'd, the waking is a veil more blind: + The soul, scared roughly from its mansion, glides + O'er mazy wastes through which the meteor guides. + + The startled menial, who, alone of all + The hireling pomp that swarms in Arden's hall, + Attends his lord,--dismay'd lest one so high, + A rural Galen should permit to die, + Departs in haste to seek the subtler skill + Which from the College takes the right to kill; + And summon Lucy to the solemn room + To watch the father's life,--fast by the mother's tomb. + Meanwhile such facile arts as nature yields, + Draughts from the spring and simples from the fields, + Learn'd in his savage youth, the Indian plies; + The fever slakes, the cloudy darkness flies; + O'er the vex'd vision steals the lulling rest, + And Arden wakes to sense on Morvale's breast! + + On Morvale's breast!--and through the noiseless door + A fearful footfall creeps, and lo! once more + Thou look'st, pale daughter, on thy father's foe! + Not with the lurid eye and menaced blow; + Not as when last, between the murtherous blade + And the proud victim, gleam'd the guardian maid-- + Thy post is his!--that breast the prop supplies + That thine should yield;--as thine so watch those eyes, + Wistful and moist, that waning life above; + Recal the Heathen's hate!--behold the Christian's love! + + The learned leech proclaims the danger o'er; + When life is safe, can Fate then harm no more? + + The danger past for Arden, but for you + Who watch the couch, what danger threats anew? + How meet in pious duty and fond care, + In hours when through the eye the heart is bare? + How join in those soft sympathies, and yet + The earlier link, the tenderer bond forget? + How can the soul the magnet-charm withstand, + When chance brings look to look, and hand to hand! + No, Indian, no--if yet the power divine + Above the laws of our low world be thine; + If yet the Honour which thy later creed + Softens, not quells, revere the injured dead, + Fly, ere the full heart cries, "I love thee still"-- + And find thy guardian in the angel--WILL! + That power was his! + + Along the landscape lay + The hazy rime of winter's dawning day: + Snake-like the curving mists betray'd the rill, + The last star gleam'd upon the Eastern hill, + Still slept beneath the leafless trees the herd; + Still mute the sharp note of the sunless bird; + No sound, no life; as to some hearth, bereft + By death, of welcome, since his wanderings left, + Comes back the traveller;--so to earth, forlorn + Returns the ungreeted melancholy Morn. + + Forth from the threshold stole the Indian!--far + Spread the dim land beneath the waning star. + Alas! how wide the world his heart will find + Who leaves one spot--the heart's true home, behind! + He paused--one upward look upon the gloom + Of the closed casement, the love-hallow'd room, + Where yet, perchance, while happier Suffering slept + Its mournful vigil tender Duty kept; + One prayer! What mercy taught us prayer?--as dews + On drooping herbs--as sleep tired life renews, + As dreams that lead, and lap our griefs in Heaven, + To souls through Prayer, dew, sleep, and dream, are given! + So bow'd, not broken, and with manly will, + Onwards he strode, slow up the labouring hill! + + If Lucy mourn'd his absence, not before + Her sire's dim eyes the face of grief she wore; + Haply her woman heart divined the spell + Of her own power, by flight proclaim'd too well; + And not in hours like these may self control + The generous empire of a noble soul: + Lo, her first thought, first duty--the soft reign + Of Woman--patience by the bed of pain! + As mute the father, yet to him made clear + The cause of flight untold to Lucy's ear; + Thus ran the lines that met, at morn, his eyes:-- + "Farewell! my place a daughter now supplies!-- + Thou hast pass'd the gates of Death, and bright once more + Smile round thy steps the sunlight and the shore. + Farewell; and if a soul, where hatred's gall + Melts into pardon that embalmeth all, + Can with forgiveness bless thee;--from remorse + Can pluck the stone which interrupts the course + Of thought to God;--and bid the waters rest + Calm in Heaven's smile,--poor fellow-man, be blest! + I, that can aid no more, now need an aid + Against myself; by mine own thoughts dismay'd: + I dare not face thy child--I may not dare + To commune with my heart--thy child is there! + I hear a voice that whispers hope, and start + In shame, to shun the tempter and depart. + How vile the pardon that I yield would seem, + If shaped and colour'd from the egoist's dream; + A barter'd compromise with thoughts that take + The path of conscience but for passion's sake-- + If with the pardon I could say--'The Tomb + Devours the Past, so let the Moment bloom, + And see Calantha's brother reconciled, + Kneel to Calantha's lover, for his child!' + It may not be; sad sophists were our vain + Desires, if Right were not a code so plain; + In good or ill leave casusits on the shelf, + 'He never errs who sacrifices self!'" + + Great Natures, Arden, thy strange lot to know + And lose!--twin souls thy mistress and thy foe! + How flash'd they, high and starry, through the dull + World's reeking air--earnest and beautiful! + Erring perchance, and yet divinely blind, + Such hero errors purify our kind! + One noble fault that springs from SELF'S disdain + May oft more grace in Angel eyes obtain, + Than a whole life, without a seeming flaw, + Which served but Heaven, because of Earth in awe, + Which in each act has loss or profit weigh'd, + And kept with Virtue the accounts of Trade! + He too was born, lost Idler, to be great, + The sins that dwarf'd, he had a soul to hate. + Ambition, Ease, Example had beguiled, + And our base world in fawning had defiled; + Yet still, contrasting all he _did_, he _dream'd_; + And through the Wordling's life the Poet gleam'd. + His eye not blind to Virtue; to his ear + Still spoke the music of the banish'd sphere; + Still in his thought the Ideal, though obscured, + Shamed the rank meteor which his sense allured. + Wreck if he was, the ruin yet betray'd + The shatter'd fane for gods departed made; + And still, through weeds neglected and o'erthrown, + The blurr'd inscription show'd the altar-stone. + So scorn'd he not, as folly or as pride, + The lofty code which made the Indian's guide; + But from that hour a subtle change came o'er + The thoughts he veil'd, the outward mien he wore; + A mournful, weary gloom, a pall'd distaste + Of all the joys so warmly once embraced. + His eye no more _looks onward_. but its gaze + Rests where Remorse a life misspent surveys: + What costly treasures strew that waste behind; + What whirlwinds daunt the soul that sows the wind! + By the dark shape of what he _is_, serene + Stands the bright ghost of what he might have been: + Here the vast loss, and there the worthless gain-- + Vice scorn'd, yet woo'd, and Virtue loved in vain. + + 'Tis said, the Nightingale, who hears the thrill + Of some rich lute, made vocal by sweet skill, + To match the music strains its wild essay, + Feels its inferior art, and envying, pines away: + So, waked at last, and scarcely now confest, + Pined the still Poet in the Worldling's breast! + So with the Harmony of Good, compared + Its lesser self--so languish'd and despair'd. + + Awhile, from land to land he idly roved, + And join'd life's movement with a heart unmoved. + No more loud cities ring with Arden's name, + Applaud his faults, and call his fashion "Fame!" + Disgust with all things robes him as he goes, + In that pale virtue, Vice, when weary, knows. + Yet his, at least, one rescue from the past; + His, one sweet comfort--Lucy's love at last! + That bed of pain o'er which she had watch'd and wept-- + That grave, where Love forgot its wrongs and slept-- + That touching sorrow and that still remorse + Unlock'd her heart, and gave the stream its course. + From her own grief, by griefs more dark beguiled, + Rose the consoling Angel in the Child! + Yet still the calm disease, whose mute decay + No leech arrests, crept gradual round its prey. + Death came, came gently, on his daughter's breast, + Murm'ring, "Remember where this dust should rest." + They bear the last Lord of that haughty race + Where winds the wave round Mary's dwelling-place; + And side by side (oh, be it in the sky + As in the earth!)--the long-divided lie! + + Doth life's last act one wrong at least repair-- + His nameless child to wealth at least the heir? + So Arden's will decreed--so sign'd the hand; + So ran the text--not so Law rules the land: + "I do bequeath unto my _child_,"[Y]--that word + Alone on strangers has the wealth conferr'd. + O'erjoy'd Law's heirs the legal blunder read, + And Justice cancels Nature from the deed. + O moral world! deal sternly if thou wilt + With the warm weakness as the wily guilt, + But spare the harmless! Wherefore shall the child + Be from the pale which shelters Crime exiled? + Why heap such barriers round the sole redress + Which sin can give to sinless wretchedness? + Why must the veriest stranger thrust aside + Our flesh--our blood, because a name's denied? + Give all thou hast to whomsoe'er thou please, + Foe, alien, knave, as whim so Law decrees; + But if thy heart speaks, if thy conscience cries-- + "I give my child"--the law thy voice belies; + Chicanery balks all effort that atones, + And Justice robs the wretch that Nature owns! + + So abject, so despoil'd, so penniless, + Stood thy love-born in the world's wilderness, + O Lord of lands and towers, and princely sway! + O Dust, from whom with breath has pass'd away + The humblest privilege the beggar finds + In rags that wrap his infant from the winds! + + In the poor hamlet where her grandsire died, + Where sleeps her mother by the magnate's side, + The orphan found a home. Her story known, + Men's hearts allow the right men's laws disown. + Though lost the birthright, and denied the name, + Her pastor-grandsire's virtues shield from shame; + Pity seeks kind pretext to pour its balms, + And yields light toils that saves the pride from alms. + A soft respect the orphan's steps attends, + And the sharp thorn at least the rose defends. + So flows o'ershadow'd, but not darksome by, + Her life's lone stream--the banks admit the sky + Day's quiet taskwork o'er, when Ev'ning grey + Lists the last carol on the quivering spray, + When lengthening shades reflect the distant hill, + And the near spire, upon the lulled rill; + Her sole delight with pensive step to glide + Along the path that winds the wave beside, + A moment pausing on the bridge, to mark + Perchance the moonlight vista through the dark: + Or watch the eddy where the wavelets play + Round the chafed stone that checks their happy way, + Then onward stealing, vanish from the view, + Where the star shimmers on the solemn yew, + As shade from earth and starlight from the sky + Meet--and repose on Death's calm mystery. + + Moons pass'd--Behold the blossom on the spray! + Hark to the linnet!--On the world is May! + Green earth below and azure skies above; + May calling life to joy, and youth to love; + While Age, charm'd back to rosy hours awhile, + Hears the lost vow, and sees the vanish'd smile. + And does not May, lone Child, revive in thee, + Blossom and bud and mystic melody; + Does not the heart, like earth, imbibe the ray? + Does not the year's recal thy life's sweet May? + When like an altar to some happy bride, + Shone all creation by the loved one's side? + Yes, Exile, yes--_that_ Empire is thine own, + Rove where thou wilt, awaits thee still thy throne! + Lo, where the paling cheek, the unconscious sigh, + The slower footstep, and the heavier eye, + Betray the burthen of sweet thoughts and mute, + The slight tree bows beneath the golden fruit! + + 'Tis eve. The orphan gains the holy ground, } + And listening halts;--the boughs that circle round } + Vex'd by no wind, yet rustle with a sound, } + As if that gentle form had scared some lone + Unwonted step more timid than its own! + All still once more; perchance some daunted bird, + That loves the night, the murmuring leaves had stirr'd? + She nears the tomb--amaze!--what hand unknown + Has placed those pious flowers upon the stone? + Why beats her heart? why hath the electric mind, + Whose act, whose hand, whose presence there, divined? + Why dreading, yearning, turn those eyes to meet + The adored, the lost?--Behold him at her feet! + His, those dark eyes that seek her own through tears, + His hand that clasps, and his the voice she hears, + Broken and faltering--"Is the trial past? + Here, by the dead, art thou made mine at last? + Far--in far lands I heard thy tale!--And thou + Orphan and lone!--no bar between us now! + No Arden now calls up the wrong'd and lost; + Lo, in this grave appeased the upbraiding ghost! + Orphan, I am thy father now!--Bereft + Of all beside,--this heart at least is left. + Forgive, forgive--Oh, canst thou yet bestow + One thought on him, to whom thou art all below? + Who could desert but to remember more? + Canst thou the Heaven, the exile lost, restore? + Canst thou----" + + The orphan bow'd her angel head; + Breath blent with breath--her soul her silence said; + Eye unto eye, and heart to heart reveal'd;-- + And lip on lip the eternal nuptials seal'd! + + The Moon breaks forth--one silver stream of light + Glides from its fount in heaven along the night-- + Flows in still splendour through the funeral gloom + Of yews,--and widens as it clasps the tomb-- + Through the calm glory hosts as calm above + Look on the grave--and by the grave is LOVE! + + [S] "At best it _babies_ us."--YOUNG. + + [T] "For, oh! he stood before me as my youth."--COLERIDGE'S + _Wallenstein_. + + [U] The beautiful story of Aimee--the delight of all + children--is in the collection entitled "The Temple + of the Fairies." + + [V] According to the exploded hypothesis of Voltaire, that the + Gipsies are a Syrian tribe, the remains of the long scattered + fraternity of Isis. + + [W] Whoever is well acquainted with the heathen learning must often + have been deeply impressed with the mournful character of the + mythological Elysium. Even the few admitted to the groves of + asphodel, unpurified by death, retain the passions and pine with + the griefs of life; they envy the mortal whom the poet brings to + their moody immortality; and, amidst the disdained repose, sigh + for the struggle and the storm. + + [X] Not only were the lofty and cheering notions of the soul, that + were cherished by the more illustrious philosophers of Greece, + confined to a few, but even the grosser and dimmer belief in + a future state, which the vulgar mythology implied, was not + entertained by the multitude. Plato remarked that few, even in + his day, had faith in the immortality of the soul; and indeed + the Hades of the ancients was not for the Many. Amongst those + condemned we find few criminals, except the old Titans, and such + as imitated them in the one crime--blasphemy to the fabled gods: + and the dwellers of Elysium are chiefly confined to the poets + and the heroes, the oligarchy of earth. + + [Y] If a man wishes to leave a portion to his natural child, his + lawyer will tell him to name the child as if it were a stranger + to his blood. If he says, "I leave to John Tompson, of + Baker-street, L10,000," John Tompson may probably get the + legacy; if he says, "I leave to my son, John Tompson, of + Baker-street, L10,000," and the said John Tompson _is_ his son + (_a natural one_), it is a hundred to one if John Tompson ever + touches a penny! Up springs the Inhuman Law, with its multiform + obstacles, quibbles, and objections--proof of identity--evidence + of birth!--Many and many a natural child has thus been robbed + and swindled out of his sole claim upon redress--his sole chance + of subsistence. In most civilised countries a father is + permitted to own the offspring, whom, unless he do so, he has + wronged at its very birth--whom, if he do not so, he wrongs + irremedially; with us the error is denied reparation, and the + innocence is sentenced to outlawry. Our laws, with relation to + illegitimate children, are more than unjust--they are inhuman. + + + + +CONSTANCE; OR, THE PORTRAIT. + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + I. + + On Avon's stream, in day's declining hours, + The loitering Angler sees reflected towers; + Adown the hill the stately shadows glide, + And force their frown upon the gentle tide: + Another shade, as stately and as slow, + Steals down the slope and dims the peace below: + There, side by side, your noiseless shadows fall, + Time-wearied Lord, and time-defying hall! + As Song's sweet Master fled the roar of Rome, + For the Bandusian fount and Sabine home, + A soul forsook the beaten tracks of life, + Sought the lone bye-path and escaped the strife; + And paused, reviving 'mid the haunts of youth, + To conjure fancies back, or muse on truth. + One home there is, from which, howe'er we stray, + True as a star, the smile pursues our way; + The home of thoughtful childhood's mystic tears, + Of earliest Sabbath bells on sinless ears, + Of noonday dreamings under summer trees, + And prayers first murmur'd at a mother's knees. + Ah! happy he, whose later home as man + Is made where Love first spoke, and Hope began, + Where haunted floors dear footsteps back can give, + And in our Lares all our fathers live! + + Graced with those gifts the vulgar mostly prize, + And if used wisely, precious to the wise, + Wealth and high lineage;--Ruthven's name was known + Less for ancestral greatness than its own: + With boyhood's dreams the grand desire began + Which, nerved by labour, lifts _from_ rank the man + Ev'n as the eye in Art's majestic halls + Not on the frame but on the portrait falls; + So to each nobler life the gaze we bound, + Nor heed what casework clasps the picture round. + + But who can guess that crisis of the soul + When the old glory first forsakes the goal? + When Knowledge halts and sees but cloud before; + When sour'd Experience whispers 'hope no more;' + When every onward footstep from our side + Parts the slow friend or hesitating guide; + When envy rots the harvest in the sheaf; + When faith in virtue seems the child's belief; + And life's last music sighs itself away + On some false lip, that kiss'd but to betray? + Thus from a world that wrong'd him, self-exiled, + The man resought the birthplace of the child. + Rest comes betimes, if toil commence too soon; + The brightest sun is stillest at the noon; + Weary at mid-day, genius halts the course, + And hails the respite which renews the force. + + + II. + + Deep in the vale from which those towers arose, + A life more shatter'd, sought more late repose; + In Seaton long had men and marts obey'd + The unerring hierarch in thy temple, Trade. + Trade, the last earth-god; whom the Olympian Power + Begot on Danae, as the Golden Shower, + To whose young hands the weary Jove resign'd. + Some ages since, the scales that weigh mankind. + But that dire Fate, who Jove himself controll'd, + Still shakes the urn, although the lots are gold: + Reverses came, the whirlwind of a day + Swept the strong labours of a life away; + Rased out of sight whate'er is sold or bought, + And left but name and honour--men said "nought." + True, knavery whisper'd, "Only still disguise: + Credit is generous, if you blind its eyes; + The borrow'd prop arrests the house's fall, + And one rich chance may yet reconquer all." + There on his priest the earth-god lost control, + And from the wreck the merchant saved his soul + "Alone, I rose," he said; "I fall alone-- + Nor one man's ruin shall accuse mine own." + And so, life passing from the gorgeous stage, + The curtain fell on Poverty and Age. + + + III. + + Yet one fair flower survived the common dearth, + And one sweet voice gave music still to earth; + On Fortune's victim Nature pitying smiled; + "Still rich!" the father cried, and clasp'd his child. + + Beautiful Constance!--As the icy air + Congeals the earth, to make more clear the star, + So the meek soul look'd lovelier from thine eyes, + Through the sharp winter of the alter'd skies. + Yet the soft child had memories unconfess'd, + And griefs that wept not on a father's breast. + In brighter days, such love as fancy knows + (That youngest love whose couch is in the rose) + Had sent the shaft, which, when withdrawn in haste, + Leaves not a scar by which the wound is traced; + But if it rest, more fatal grows the smart, + And deepening from the surface, gains the heart; + In truth, young Harcourt had the gifts that please,-- + Wit without effort, beauty worn with ease; + The courtier's mien to veil the miser's soul, + And that self-love which brings such self-control. + High-born, but poor, no Corydon was he + To dream of love and cots in Arcady; + His tastes were like the Argonauts of old, + And only pastoral if the fleece was gold. + The less men feel, the better they can feign-- + To act a Romeo, needs it Romeo's pain? + No, the calm master of the Histrio's art + Keeps his head coolest while he storms your heart; + Thus, our true mime no boundary overstept, + Charm'd when he smiled, and conquer'd when he wept. + + Meanwhile, what pass'd the father had not guess'd, + Nor learn'd the courtship till the suit was press'd; + Then prudence woke, and judgment, grown austere, } + Join'd trade's slow caution with affection's fear, } + And whisper'd this wise counsel--"Wait a year!" } + In vain the lover pleaded to the maid; + "A year soon passes," Constance smiling said. + Just then--for Harcourt's service was the sword-- + Duty ordain'd what gentle taste abhorr'd; + Cursed by a country which at times forgets + It boasts an empire where the sun ne'er sets, + Some isle, resentful of our lax control, + Rebels on purpose to distract his soul. + A month had scorch'd him on that hateful shore, + When paled those charms to which such faith he swore; + News came that left to Constance not a grace, + The sire's reverses changed the daughter's face;-- + "Oh heavens!--so handsome! Gone in one short hour!" + "What," quoth a friend, "The Lady?" + + "No, the dower." + + + IV. + + Yet still, fair Constance in her lone retreat + Cheer'd the dull hours with faithful self-deceit; + What though no tidings came to brighten time, + To doubt of Harcourt seem'd less grief than crime. + Easier to blame the elements unkind, + The distant clime, the ocean, and the wind, + Think them all leagued to intercept the scroll, + Than place distrust where soul confides in soul. + But ever foremost in her wish was yet + To hide remembrance lest it seem'd regret; + That in her looks this comfort still might be, + "Father, I smile--and joy yet lives for thee!" + Thus Seaton deem'd her childish fancy flown; + To the worn mind fresh hearts are realms unknown; + As we live on, the finer tints of truth + Fade from the landscape.--Age is blind to youth. + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + I. + + Oft to a creek, in Shakspeare's haunted stream, + What time the noon invites of song to dream, + Where stately oak with silver poplar weaves + The hospitable shade of amorous leaves, + And, lightly swerved by winding shores askance, + The limpid river wreathes its flying dance,[A] + Young Constance came;--a bank with wild flowers drest + As for a fairy's sleep, her sylvan rest. + Behind, the woodlands, opening, left a glade, + With swards all sunshine in the midst of shade; + Save where pale lilacs droop'd against the ray + Around the cot which meekly shunn'd the day: + But stern and high, above the deep repose + Of vale and wave, the towers of Ruthven rose; + Like souls unshelter'd because high they are, + The nearer heaven the more from peace afar; + Built by the mighty Architect, to form + Bulwarks for man, and battle with the storm; + To soar and suffer with defying crest, + And guard the humble, not partake their rest. + + A lonely spot! at times a passing oar + Dash'd the wave quicker to the gradual shore; + But swift, as, when some footfall nears her lair, + Starts the fond cushat from her tender care, + SILENCE came back, with wings that seem'd to brood + In watch more loving over solitude. + + + II. + + Thus Constance sate, by some sweet sorcerer's rhyme + Charm'd into worlds beyond the marge of Time, + When a dim shadow o'er the herbage stole, + And light boughs stirr'd above the violet knoll; + In vain the shadow stole, the light bough stirr'd, + Her sense yet spell-bound by the magic word; + Spell-bound no less, his steps the stranger stay'd-- + And gazed as Cymon on the sleeping Maid.-- + And, oh! that brow so angel-clear from guile, + That childlike lip unconscious of its smile, + That virgin bloom where blushes went and came + From deeps of feeling never stirr'd by shame, + Seem'd like the Una of the Poet's page + Charm'd into life by some bright Archimage. + Not till each gaudier Venus crowds adore, + And desecrate adoring--dupes no more, + Comes the true Goddess, by her blushes known-- + The dove her symbol, innocence her zone! + At the first glance her birth the Urania proves. + Heaven smiles, and Nature blossoms where she moves. + + + III. + + The virgin rose; the gazer quick withdrew; + The favouring thicket closed her form from view. + Slow went she homeward up the sunlit ground; + Unseen he followed, where the woodlands wound; + The spell that first arrested now lured on, + And in that spell a frown from earth seem'd gone. + As in the languid noon of summer day + Birds fold the pinion and suspend the lay-- + So hopes lie silent in the human heart + Till all at once the choirs to music start, + From the long hush rejoicing wings arise, + Sport round the blooms, or glance into the skies. + + + IV. + + She gain'd the cot; irresolute he stood, + Where the wall ceased amidst the circling wood, + When voices rude and sudden jarr'd his ear, + And thro' the din came woman's wail of fear; + Then all grew silent as he gain'd the door + Which gaped ajar;--he cross'd the threshold floor: + Now sounds more low;--he still pass'd on and saw, + Track'd to its covert, Want at bay with Law.-- + The Daughter clinging to the Father's breast; + The Father's struggle from the clasp that press'd; + The hard officials, with familiar leer + And ribald comfort barb'd with cynic sneer; + On these, the Lord of lavish thousands glanced, + Law louted lowly as that Wealth advanced. + "And what this old Man's crime?"--"My orders say," + Quoth Law, and smiled--"a debt he cannot pay!" + Then from his child the poor proud captive broke-- + Sign'd to the door--raised moistening eyes, and spoke-- + "I thank thee, Heaven! that in my prosperous time + I was not harsh to others--for this crime; + Sirs, I am ready!"--Ere the word was o'er, + The parchment fell in fragments on the floor. + "The crime is rased!" cried Wealth.--"My Lord," said Law, + "I humbly thank your Lordship, and withdraw." + + + V. + + Hat'st thou the world, O Misanthrope, austere? + Do one kind act, and all the world grows dear! + Say'st thou--"Alas, kind acts requited ill, + Made me loathe men!"--I answer, "Do them still." + On its own wings should Good itself upbuoy; + Rejoicing heaven, because it feels but joy.-- + + Oft from that date did Ruthven gaily come, + Where hope, revived, with Constance found a home; + Well did he soothe the griefs his host had known, + But well--too proud for pity--veil'd his own. + Silent, he watch'd the gentle daughter's soul, + Scann'd every charm, and peerless found the whole, + He spoke not love; and if his looks betray'd, + The anxious Sire was wiser than the Maid. + Still, ever listening, on her lips he hung, + Hush'd when she spoke--enraptured when she sung; + And when the hues her favourite art bestow'd, + Like a new hope from the fair fancy glow'd, + As the cold canvas with the image warms, + As from the blank start forth the breathing forms, + So would he look within him, and compare + With those mute shapes the new-born phantoms there. + Upon the mind, as on the canvas rose, + The young fresh world the Ideal only knows; + The world of which both Art and Passion are + Builders;--to this so near--from this so far. + What music charm'd the verse on which she gazed!-- + How doubly dear the poet that she praised! + And when he spoke, and from the affluent mind + That books had stored, and intercourse refined, + Pour'd forth the treasures,--still his choice addrest + To her mild heart what seem'd to please it best; + And yet the maiden dream'd not that _he_ loved + Who flatter'd never, and at times reproved-- + Reproved--but, oh, so tenderly! and ne'er + But for such faults as soils the purest bear; + A trust too liberal in our common race, + Dividing scarce the noble from the base, + A sight too dazzled by the outward hues-- + A sense though clear, too timid to refuse; + Yielding the course that it would fain pursue, + Still to each guide that proffer'd it the clue; + And that soft shrinking into self--allied, + If half to Diffidence--yet half to Pride. + He loved her, and she loved him not; revered + His lofty nature, and in reverence fear'd. + The glorious gifts--the kingly mind she saw, + Yet seeing felt not tenderness, but awe. + And the dark beauty of his musing eye + Chill'd back the heart, from which it woo'd reply: + Harcourt--the gay--the prodigal of youth, + Still charm'd her fancy, while he chain'd her truth. + + + VI. + + Seaton, meanwhile, the heart of Ruthven read, + With hopes which robb'd the future of its dread; + Could he but live to see his child the bride + Of one so wise, so kind, lover at once and guide! + Silent at first, at last the deeps o'er-flow'd. + One eve they sate without their calm abode, + Father and Child, and mark'd the vermeil glow + Of clouds that floated where the sun set slow; + But on the opposing towers of Ruthven shone + The last sweet splendour, and when gradual gone, + Left to the space above that grand decay + The rosiest tints, and last to fade away. + The Father mused; then with impulsive start + Turn'd and drew Constance closer to his heart, + Murmuring--"Ah, there, let but thy lot be cast, + And Fate withdraws all sadness from the past. + Blest be the storm that wreck'd us, here to find + One whom my soul had singled from mankind + If mine the palace still, and his the cot,-- + For that sweet prize which Fortune withers not." + Then, wrapt too fondly in his tender dream + To note his listener, he pursues the theme. + Pale as the dead, she hears his gladness speak, + Sees the rare smile illume the careworn cheek; + Dear if the lover in her sunny day, + More dear the Sire since sunshine pass'd away. + How dare to say,--"No, let thy smile depart, + And take back sorrow from a daughter's heart?" + + + VII. + + And while they sate, along the sward below + Came Ruthven's stately form, and footstep slow; + She saw--she fled--her chamber gain'd--and there + Sobb'd out that grief which youth believes despair. + Thenceforth her solitude was desolate; + Forebodings chill'd her as a shade from Fate. + At Ruthven's step her colour changed--and dread + Hush'd her low voice: such signs his hope misled. + Hope, to its own vain dreams the idle seer, + Whisper'd--"First love comes veil'd in virgin fear!" + And now, o'er Harcourt's image, as the rust + O'er the steel mirror, crept at length distrust. + The ordeal year already pass'd away, + And still no voice came o'er the dreary sea; + No faithful joy to cry--"The ordeal's past, + And loved as ever, thou art mine at last." + + + VIII. + + But Ruthven's absence now, if not to grief, + At least to one vague terror, gave relief: + For days, for weeks, some cause, unknown to all, + Had won the lonely Master from his hall.-- + Much Seaton marvell'd! half disposed to blame; } + "Gone, and no word ev'n absence to proclaim!" } + When, sudden as he went, the truant came. } + Franker his brow, and brighter was his look, + And with a warmer clasp his host's wan hand he took: + "Joy to thee, friend, thy race is not yet o'er, + Thy fortunes still thy genius shall restore: + Thy house from ruin reascends, to stand + Firm as of old, a column of the land.-- + Joy, Seaton, joy!"--"O mock me not--Explain! + The bark once sunk beneath the obdurate main, + No tide throws up!"--"New galleons Fortune gives. + Fortune ne'er dies for him whose honour lives."-- + "Is fortune not the usurer?--Kind while yet + The hand that borrows may repay the debt; + When all is lavish'd, she hath nought to lend!" + "But can she give not? Hast thou call'd me Friend?" + He paused, and glanced on Constance--while his breast + Heaved with the tumult which the lip represt. + Till she, but looking on her father's face, + In his joy joyous,--sprang from his embrace, + Before the Benefactor paused, and bow'd; + Falter'd a blessing, knelt, and wept aloud: + "Not there, not there, O Constance," Ruthven cried, + "Here be thy place--for ever side by side! + Thanks--and to me!--Ah no! the boon be thine, + Thy heart the generous, and the grateful mine. + Oh pardon--if my soul its suit delay'd + Till the world's dross the worldly equal made; + And left to thee to grant and me receive + Man's earliest treasures--Paradise and Eve! + Beloved one, speak! Not mine the silver tongue, + And toil leaves manhood nought that lures the young; + But in these looks is truth--these accents, love: + And in thy faith all that survive above + The graves of Time, as in Elysium meet!-- + Hope flies to thee as to its last retreat." + Speechless she heard--till, as he paused, the voice + Of the fond Sire usurp'd and doom'd the choice: + "May she repay thee!" In his own he drew + Her hand and Ruthven's, smiled and join'd the two-- + "Ah! could I make thee happy,"--thus she said + And ceased:--her sentence in his eyes she read-- + Eyes that the rashness of delight reveal: + Love gave the kiss, and Fate received the seal. + + [A] Imitated from Horace (Lib. ii., Od. 3). + + Qua pinus ingens albaque populus + Umbram hospitalem consociare amant + Ramis, et obliquo laborat + Lympha fugax trepidare rivo.--_Horat. Carm._, ii. 3. + + + +PART THE THIRD. + + + I. + + Between two moments in the life of man + An airy bridge divided worlds may span; + Fine as the hair which sways beneath a soul + By Azrael summon'd to the spectre goal, + It springs abrupt from that sharp point in time + Where, soft behind us in its orient clime, + Lies the lost garden-land of young Romance: + Beyond, with cloud upon the cold expanse, + Looms rugged Duty;--and betwixt them swell + Abysmal deeps, in which to fall were hell. + O thou, who tread'st along that trembling line, + The stedfast step, the onward gaze be thine! + Dread Memory most!--the light thou leav'st would blind, + Thy foot betrays thee if thou look behind! + + If Constance yet escaped not from the past, + At least she strove:--the chain may break at last. + Veil'd by the smile, Grief can so safely grieve: + Love that confides, a smile can so deceive: + And Ruthven kneeling at the altar's base + Guess'd not the idol which profaned the place; + But smiles forsake when secret hours bestow + The angry self-confessional of woe; + When trembling thought and stern-eyed conscience meet, + And truth rebukes ev'n duty for deceit. + Ah! what a world were this if all were known, + And smiles on others track'd to tears alone! + Oft, had he seem'd less lofty to her eye, + Her soul had spoken and confess'd its lie: + But sometimes natures least obscured by clay + Shine through an awe that scares the meek away; + And, near as life may seem to life,--alas! + Each hath closed portals, nought but love can pass. + Thus the resolve, in absence nursed, forsook + Her lip, and died, abash'd, before his look; + His foes his virtues--honour seem'd austere, + And all most reverenced most provoked the fear. + + + II. + + Pass by some weeks: to London Seaton went, + His genius glorying in its wonted vent; + New props are built, and new foundations laid, + And once more rose thy crowded temple--Trade! + Then back the sire and daughter bent their way, + There, where the troth was pledged, let Hymen claim the day! + With Constance came a friend of earlier years, + Partner of childhood's smiles and pangless tears; + Leaf intertwined with leaf, their youth together + Ripen'd to bloom through life's first April weather. + To Juliet Constance had no care untold, + Here grief found sympathy and wept consoled; + On woman's pitying heart could woman here + Mourn perish'd hope, or pour remorseful fear; + And breathe those prayers which woman breathes for one, + Who fading from her world is still its sun. + These made their commune, when from darkening skies, + Pale as lost joys, stars gleam'd on tearful eyes. + They guess'd not how the credulous gaze of love + Dwelt on the moon that rose their roof above, + Saw as on Latmos fall the enchanted beams-- + And bless'd the Dian for Endymion's dreams. + + + III. + + Meanwhile, to England Harcourt's steps return'd, + And Seaton's new-born state the earliest news he learn'd: + What the emotions of this injured man? + He had a friend--and thus his letter ran: + "Back to this land, where merit starves obscure, + Where wisdom says--'Be anything but poor,' + Return'd, my eyes the path to wealth explore, + And straight I hear--'Constance is rich once more!' + Thou know'st, my friend, with what a dexterous craft + I 'scaped the cup a tenderer dupe had quaff'd; + For in the chalice misery holds to life, + What drop more nauseous than a dowerless wife? + Yet she was fair, and gentle, charming--all + That man would make his partner at a ball! + And, for the partner of a life, what more? + Plate at the board, a porter at the door! + Cupid and Plutus, though they oft divide, + If bound to Hymen should walk side by side; + A boon companion halves the longest way,-- + When Plutus join'd, I own that Love was gay; + But Plutus left, where Hymen did begin, + The way look'd dreary and the God gave in: + Now his old comrade once more is bestow'd, + And Cupid starts refresh'd upon the road. + 'But how,' thou ask'st, 'how dupe again the ear, + In which thy voice slept silent for a year? + And how explain, how'--Why impute to thee + Questions whose folly thy quick glance can see? + Who loves is ever glad to be deceived, + Who lies the most is still the most believed. + Somewhat I trust to Eloquence and Art, + And where these fail--thank Heaven she has a heart! + More it disturbs me that some rumours run, + That Constance, too, can play the faithless one; + That, where round pastoral meads blue streamlets purl, + Chloe has found a Thyrsis--in an Earl! + And oh! that Ruthven! Hate is not for me; + Who loves not, hates not,--both bad policy! + Yet _could_ I hate, through all the earth I know + But that one man my soul would honour so. + Through ties remote--by some Scotch grand-dam's side, + We are, if scarce related, yet allied; + And had his mother been a barren dame, + Mine were those lands, and mine that lordly name: + Nay, if he die without an heir, ev'n yet-- + Oh, while I write, perchance the seal is set! + Farewell! a letter speeds to her retreat, + The prayer that wafts her Harcourt to her feet; + There to explain the past--his faith defend, + And claim, _et cetera_--Yours, in haste, my friend!" + + + IV. + + To Constance came a far less honest scroll, + Yet oh, each word seem'd vivid from the soul! + Fear, hope--reports that madden'd, yet could stir + No faith in one who ne'er could doubt of her: + Wild vows renew'd--complaints of no replies + To lines unwrit; the eloquence of lies! + And more than all, the assurance still too dear, + Of Love surviving that vast age--a year! + Such were the tidings to the maiden borne, + And--woe the day--upon her Bridal Morn! + + + V. + + It was the loving twilight's rosiest hour, + The Love-star trembled on the ivied tower, + As through the frowning archway pass'd the bride, + With Juliet, whispering courage, by her side; + For Ruthven went before, that first of all + His voice might welcome to his father's hall: + There, on the antique walls, the lamp from high + Show'd the stern wrecks of battle-storms gone by. + Gleam'd the blue mail, indented with the glaive, + Droop'd the dull banner, breezeless, on the stave; + Below the Gothic masks, grotesque and grim, + Carved from the stonework, like a wizard's whim, + Hung the accoutrements that lent a grace + To the old warrior-pastime of the chase. + Cross-bows by hands, long dust, once deftly borne; + The Hawker's glove, the Huntsman's soundless horn; + On the huge hearth the hospitable flame + Lit the dark portrait in its mouldering frame; + Statesmen in senates, knights in fields, renown'd, + On their new daughter ominously frown'd; + To the young Stranger, shivering to behold, + The Home she enter'd seem'd the tomb of old. + + + VI. + + "Doth it so chill thee, Constance? Dare I own, + The charm that haunts what childhood's years have known, + How many dreams of fame beyond my sires, + Wing'd the proud thought that now no more aspires! + Here, while I paced, at the dusk twilight time, + As the deep church-bell toll'd the curfew chime; + In the dim Past my spirit seem'd to live, + To every relic some weird legend give; + And muse such hopes of glorious things to be, + As they, the Dead, mused once;--wild dreams--fulfill'd in thee! + Ah, never 'mid those early visions shone, + A face so sweet, my Constance, as thine own! + And what if all that charm'd me then, depart? + Clear, through the fading mists, smiles my soft heav'n--thy heart! + What, drooping still! Nay love, we are not all + So sad within, as this time-darken'd hall. + Come!"--and they pass'd (still Juliet by her side) + To a fair chamber, deck'd to greet the bride. + There, all of later luxury lent its smile, + To cheer, yet still beseem, the reverend pile. + What though the stately tapestry met the eyes, + Gay were its pictures, brilliant were its dyes; + There, graceful cressets from the gilded roof, + In mirrors glass'd the landscapes of the woof. + There, in the Gothic niche, the harp was placed, + There ranged the books most hallow'd by her taste; + Through the half-open casement you might view + The sweet soil prank'd with flowers of every hue; + And on the terrace, crowning the green mountain, + Gleam'd the fair statue, play'd the sparkling fountain: + Within, without, all plann'd, all deck'd to greet + The Queen of all--whose dowry was deceit! + Soft breathed the air, soft shone the moon above-- + All save the bride's sad heart, whispering Earth's Hymn to Love! + As Ruthven's hand sought hers, on Juliet's breast + She fell; and passionate tears, till then supprest, + Gush'd from averted eyes. To him the tears + Betray'd no secret that could rouse his fears-- + For joy, as grief, the tender heart will melt-- + The tears but proved how well his love was felt. + And, with the delicate thought that shunn'd to hear + Thanks for the cares, which cares themselves endear, + He whisper'd, "Linger not!" and closed the door, + And Constance sobbed--"Thank Heaven, alone with thee once more!" + + + VII. + + Across his threshold Ruthven lightly strode, + And his glad heart from its full deeps o'erflow'd, + Pass'd is the Porch--he gains the balmy air, + Still crouch the night winds in their forest lair. + The moonlight silvers the unrustling pines, + On the hush'd lake the tremulous glory shines. + A stately shadow o'er the crystal brink, + Reflects the shy stag as its halt to drink; + And the slow cygnet, where it midway glides, + Breaks into sparkling rings the faintly heaving tides. + Wandering along his boyhood's haunts, he mused; + The hour, the heaven, the bliss his soul suffused; + It seem'd all hatred from the world had flown, + And left to Nature, Love and God alone! + Ev'n holiest passion holier render'd there, + His every thought breathed gentle as a prayer. + + + VIII. + + Thus, as the eve grew mellowing into night, + Still from yon lattice stream'd the unwelcome light-- + "Why loitering yet, and wherefore linger I?" + And at that thought ev'n Nature pall'd his eye; + He miss'd that voice, which with low music fill'd + The starry heaven of the rapt thoughts it thrill'd; + He gain'd the hall--the lofty stair he wound-- + Behold, the door of his heart's fairy-ground! + The tapestry veil'd him, as its folds, half-raised, + Gave to his eye the scene on which it gazed: + Still Constance wept--and hark what sounds are those + What awful secret those wild sobs disclose!-- + "No, leave me not!--I cannot meet his eyes! + O Heaven! must life be ever one disguise! + What seem'd indifference when we pledged the troth, + Now grown--O wretch!--to terrors that but loathe! + Oh that the earth might swallow me!" Again + Gush forth the sobs, while Juliet soothes in vain. + "Nay, nay, be cheer'd--we must not more delay; + Cease these wild bursts till I his steps can stay; + No, for thy sake--for thine--I must begone." + She 'scaped the circling arms, and Constance wept alone. + + + IX. + + By the opposing door, from that unseen, + Where Ruthven stood behind the arras-screen, + Pass'd Juliet. Suddenly the startled bride + Look'd up, and lo, the Wrong'd One by her side! + They gazed in silence face to face: his own, + Sad, stern, and awful, chill'd her heart to stone. + At length the low and hollow accents stirr'd + His blanching lip, that writhed with every word: + "Hear me a moment, nor recoil to hear; + A love so hated wounds no more thine ear. + I thank thee--I--!" His lips would not obey + His pride,--and all the manly heart gave way. + Low at his feet she fell: the alter'd course + Of grief ran deep'ning into vain remorse; + "Forgive me!--O forgive!" + "Forgive!" he cried, + And passion rush'd in speech, till then denied. + "Vile mockery! Bid me in the desert live + Alone with treason--and then say 'Forgive!' + Thou dost not know the ruins thou hast made, + Faith in _all_ things thy falsehood has betray'd! + Thou, the last refuge, where my baffled youth + Dream'd its safe haven, murmuring--'Here is Truth!' + Thou in whose smile I garner'd up my breast, + Exult! thy fraud surpasses all the rest. + No! close, my heart--grow marble! Human worth + Is not; and falsehood is the name for earth!" + + + X. + + Wildly, with long disorder'd strides, he paced + The floor to feel the world indeed a waste; + For as the earth if God were not above, + Man's hearth without the Lares--Faith and Love! + But what his woe to hers?--for him at least + Conscience was calm, though ev'ry hope had ceased. + But she!--all sorrow for herself had paused, + To live in that worse anguish she had caused: + "No, Ruthven, no! Thy pardon not for me; + But oh that Heaven may shed its peace on thee + So worthless I, so worthless thy regret; + Oh that repentance could requite thee yet! + Oh that a life that henceforth ne'er shall own, + One thought, one wish, one hope, but to atone,-- + Obedience, honour----" + + "These may make the wife + A faultless statue:--love but breathes the life! + Poor child! Nay, weep not; bitterer far, in truth, + Than mine, the fate to which thou doom'st thy youth: + For manhood's pride the love at last may quell, + But when could Woman with Indifference dwell? + No sorrow soothed, no joy enhanced since shared. + O Heaven--the solitude thy soul has dared! + But thou hast chosen! Vain for each regret; + All that is left--to seem that we forget. + No word of mine my wrongs shall e'er recall; + Thine, wealth and pomp, and reverence--take them all! + May they console thee, Constance, for a heart + That--but enough! So let the loathed depart; + These chambers thine, my step invades them not; + Sleep, if thou canst, as in thy virgin cot. + Henceforth all love has lost its hated claim; + If wed, be cheer'd; our wedlock but a name. + Much as thou scorn'st me, know this heart above + The power of beauty, when disarm'd of love. + And so, may Heaven forgive thee!" + + "Ruthven, stay! + Generous--too noble: can no distant day + Win thy forgiveness also, and restore + Thy trust, thy friendship, even though love be o'er?" + He paused a moment with a soften'd eye;-- + "Alas! thou dreadest, while thou ask'st, reply: + If ever, Constance, that blest day should come, + When crowds can teach thee what the loss of Home; + If ever, when with those who court thee there, + The love that chills thee now, thou canst compare, + And feel that if thy choice thou couldst recall, + Him now unloved, thy love would choose from all + Why then, one word, one whisper!--oh, no more--" + And fearful of himself, he closed the door! + + + +PART THE FOURTH. + + + I. + + Ah, yes, Philosopher, thy creed is true! + 'Tis our own eyes that give the rainbow's hue: + What we call Matter, in this outer earth, + Takes from our senses, those warm dupes, its birth. + How fair to sinless Adam Eden smiled; + But sin brought tears, and Eden was a wild! + Man's soul is as an everlasting dream, + Glassing life's fictions on a phantom stream: + To-day, in glory all the world is clad-- + Wherefore, O Man?--because thy heart is glad. + To-morrow, and the self-same scene survey-- + _The same!_ Oh no--the pomp hath pass'd away! + Wherefore the change? _Within_, go, ask reply-- + Thy heart hath given its winter to the sky! + Vainly the world revolves upon its pole;-- + Light--Darkness--Seasons--these are in the soul! + + + II. + + "Trite truth," thou sayest--well, if trite it be, + Why seek we ever from ourselves to flee? + Pleased to deceive our sight, and loath to know, + We bear the climate with us where we go! + + To that immense Bethesda, whither still + Each worse disease seeks cures for every ill; + To that great well, in which the Heart at strife, + Merges its own amidst the common life,-- + Whatever name it take, or Public Zeal, + Or Self-Ambition, still as sure to heal,-- + From his sad hearth his sorrows Ruthven bore; + Long shunn'd the strife of men, now sought once more. + Flock'd to his board the Magnates of the Hour + Who clasp for Fame its spectre-likeness--Power! + The busy, babbling, talking, toiling race-- + The Word-besiegers of the Fortress--Place! + Waves, each on each, in sunlight hurrying on, + A moment gilded--in a moment gone; + For Honours fool but with deluding light-- + The place it glides through, _not the wave_, is bright![B] + The means, if not his ends, with these the same, + In Ruthven, Party hail'd a Leader's name! + Night after night the listening Senate hung + On that roused mind, by Grief to Action stung! + Night after night, when Action, spent and worn, + Left yet more sad the soul it had upborne; + The sight of Home the frown of Life renew'd-- + The World gave Fame and Home a Solitude! + + + III. + + And Constance? sever'd from a husband's side, + No heart to cherish, and no hand to guide, + Still, as if ev'n the very name of wife + Drew her soul upward into loftier life, + The solemn sense of woman's holiest tie + Arm'd every thought against the memory. + 'Mid shatter'd Lares stood the Marriage Queen-- + As on a Roman's hearth, with marble smile serene: + New to her sight that galaxy of mind + Which moves round men who light and guide their kind, + Where all shine equal in their joint degrees + And rank's harsh outlines vanish into ease. + As Power and Genius interchange their hues + So genial life the classic charm renews; + Some Scipio's wit a Terence may refine, + Some Caesar's pomp exalt a Maro's line-- + The polish'd have their flaws, but least espied + Amongst the polish'd is the angle pride; + And, howsoever Envy grudge their state, + Their own bland laws democratize the great. + + + IV. + + With those fair orbs which lit her common air } + That which should be her guardian planet there } + Now cold if radiant did the wife compare? } + If so, alas we lose the Chaldee's power + To shape the life if we neglect the hour. + And in the crowd was now their only meeting-- + They who from crowds should so have hail'd retreating. + But in the crowd if eye encounter'd eye, + Whence came her blush, or wherefore heaved his sigh? + Ah! woe when lost the Heavenly confidence, + Man's gentle right, and woman's strong defence!-- + Like the frank sunflower, Household Love to-day + Must ope its leaves;--what shades it, brings decay. + + + V. + + The world look'd on, and construed, as it still + Interprets, all it knows not into ill. + "Man's home is sacred," flattering proverbs say; + Yes, if you give the home to men's survey, + But if that sanctum be obscured or screen'd, + In every shadow doubt suggests a fiend: + So churchyards seen beneath a daylight sky + Are holy to the clown who saunters by; + But vex his vision by the glimmering light, + And straight the holiness expires in fright; + He hears a goblin in the whispering grass, + And cries "Heaven save us!"--at the Parson's ass! + "Was ever Lord so newly wed so cold? + Poor thing!--forsaken ere a year be told! + Doubtless some wanton--whom we know not, true, + But those proud sinners are so wary too! + Oh! for the good old days--one never heard + Of men so shocking under George the Third!" + So ran the gossip. With the gossip came + The brood it hatch'd--consolers to the dame. + The soft and wily wooers, who begin + Through sliding pity, the smooth ways to sin. + My lord is absent at the great debate, + Go, soothe his lady's unprotected state; + Go, gallant,--go, and wish the cruel Heaven + To thee such virtue, now so wrong'd, had given! + Yes, round her flock'd the young world's fairest ones, + The soft Rose-Garden's incense-breathing sons: + Roused from his calm, Lord Ruthven's watchful eye + Mark'd the new clouds that darken'd round his sky; + And raptured saw--though for his earth too far-- + How fleets and fades each cloud before that stainless Star. + + + VI. + + Now came the graver trial, though unseen + By him who knew not where the grief had been-- + He knew not that an earlier love had steel'd + Her heart to his--that curse, at least conceal'd; + Enough of sorrow in his lonely lot-- + The why, what matter--that she loved him not? + + One night, when Revel was in Ruthven's hall, + He near'd the brilliant cynosure of all: + "Deign" (thus he whisper'd) "to receive with grace + Him who may hold the honours of my race:-- + When the last Ruthven dies, behold his heir!" + He said, she turn'd--O Heaven!--and Harcourt there! + Harcourt the same as when her glance he charm'd, + For surer conquest by compassion arm'd-- + The same, save where a softer shadow, cast + O'er his bright looks, reflected the sad Past! + Now, when unguarded and in crowds alone, + The Future dark--the household gods o'erthrown; + Now, when those looks (that seem, the while they grieve, + Ne'er to reproach)--can pity best deceive; + The sole affection she of right can claim-- + Now, Virtue, tremble not--the Tempter came! + + + VII. + + He came, resolved to triumph and avenge-- + Sure of a heart whose sorrow spoke no change; + Pleased at the thought to bind again the chain-- + For they who love not still can love to reign; + Calm in the deeper and more fell design + To sever those whom outward fetters join-- + To watch the discord Scandal rumours round, + Fret every sore, and fester every wound; + Could he but make Dissension firm and sure, + Success would render larger schemes secure; + "Let Ruthven die but childless!" ran his prayer, + And in the lover's sigh cold avarice prompts the heir. + He came and daily came, and daily schemed-- + Soft, grave, and reverent, but the friend he seem'd. + These distant cousins, from their earliest days, + To different goals had trod their varying ways: + If Ruthven oft with generous hand supplied + What were call'd luxuries, did Shoreditch decide, + But what no Jury of Mayfair could doubt + Are just the things life cannot live without; + Yet gifts are sometimes as offences view'd, + And envy is the mean man's gratitude; + And, truth to own, whate'er the one bestow'd, + More from his own large, careless nature flow'd + Than through the channels tenderer sources send, + When Favour equals--since it asks a Friend. + But Ruthven loved not, in the days gone by, + The cold, quick shrewdness of that stealthy eye, + That spendthrift recklessness, which still was not + The generous folly which itself forgot. + You love the prodigal; the miser loathe, + Yet oft the clockwork is the same in both: + Ope but the works--the penury and excess + Chime from one point--the central selfishness:-- + And though men said (for those, who wear with ease + The vulgar vices, seldom much displease), + "His follies injure but himself alone!" + His follies spared no welfare but his own: + Mankind he deem'd the epitome of self, + And never laid that volume on the shelf. + Somewhat of this, had Ruthven mark'd before-- + Now he was less acute, or Harcourt more: + The first absorb'd in sorrow or in thought; + The last in craft's smooth lessons deeper taught. + Not over anxious to be undeceived + Ruthven reform in what was rot believed; + They held the same opinions on the state, + And were congenial--in the last debate; + Harcourt had wish'd to join the patriot crew + Who botch our old laws with a patch of new; + Ruthven the wish approved; and found the seat-- + And so the Cousins' union grew complete. + + Well then at board behold the constant guest, + With love as yet by eyes alone exprest: + From the past vows he dared not yet invoke + The ancient Voice;--yet of the past he spoke. + Whene'er expected least, he seem'd to glide + A faithful shadow to her haunted side. + But why relate how men their victims woo!-- + He left undone no art that can undo. + + + VIII. + + And what deem'd Constance now, that, face to face, + She could the contrast of the Portraits trace?-- + Could see the image of the soul in each + By thought reflected on the waves of speech-- + Could listen here (as when the Master's ease + Glides with light touch along melodious keys) + To those rich sounds which, flung to every gale, + Genius awakes from Wisdom's music scale; + And there admire when lively Fashion wound + Its toy of small talk into jingling sound. + Like those French trifles, elegant enough, + Which serve at once for music and for snuff, + Some minds there are which men you ask to dine + Take out, wind up, and circle with the wine. + Two tunes they boast; this Flattery--Scandal that; + The one A sharp--the other something flat: + Such was the mind that for display and use + Cased in _ricoco_, Harcourt could produce-- + Touch the one spring, an air that charm'd the town + Tripp'd out and jigg'd some absent virtue down; + Touch next the other, and the bauble plays + "Fly from the world" or "Once in happier days." + For Flattery, when a Woman's heart its aim, + Writes itself _Sentiment_--a prettier name. + And to be just to Harcourt and his art, + Few Lauzuns better play'd a Werter's part; + He dress'd it well, and Nature kindly gave + His brow the paleness and his locks the wave. + Mournful his smile, unconscious seem'd his sigh; + You'd swear that Goethe had him in his eye. + Well these had duped when young Romance surveys + Life's outlines--lost amid its own soft haze. + Compared with Ruthven still doth Harcourt seem + The true Hyperion of the Delian dream. + Ah, ofttimes Love its own wild choice will blame, + Slip the blind bondage, yet doat on the same. + Was it thus wilful, Constance, still with thee, + Or did the reason set the fancy free? + + [B] Schiller. + + + +PART THE FIFTH. + + I. + + The later summer in that second spring + When the turf glistens with the fairy ring, + When oak and elm assume a livelier green, + And starry buds on water-flowers are seen; + When parent nests the new-fledged goldfinch leaves, + And earliest song in airiest meshes weaves; + When fields wave undulous with golden corn, + And August fills his Amalthaean horn-- + The later summer shone on Ruthven's towers, + And Lord and wife (with guests to cheer the hours, + Not faced alone) to that grey pile return'd; + Harcourt with these, and Seaton, who had learn'd + Eno' to call him from his world of strife, + To watch that Home which makes the Woman's life. + Not ev'n to Juliet Constance had betray'd + Those griefs the House-gods if they cause should shade, + Nor friendship now in truth the grief could share-- } + A dying parent needed Juliet's care, } + In climes where Death comes soft--in Tuscan air. } + And least to Seaton would his child have shown + One hidden wound; her heart still spared his own. + But when the father trembling at her side + Saw the smooth tempter, not the watchful guide,-- + Saw through the quicksands flow each sever'd life, + Here the cold Lord and there the courted wife, + Then fearful, wrathful--yet uncertain still; + For warning ofttimes makes more sure the ill, + Or fires suspicion to believe the worst, + Or bids temptation be more fondly nurst;-- + Nought ripens evil like too prompt a blame, + And virtue totters if you sap its shame;-- + Uncertain thus came Seaton, with the rest, + His prudence watchful, and his fears supprest, + Resolved to learn what fault, if fault were there, + Had outlaw'd Constance from a husband's care, + And left the heart (the soul's frail fort) unbarr'd, + For youth to storm. "Well age," he sigh'd, "shall guard." + + + II. + + Meantime, the cheek of Constance lost its rose, + Food brought no relish, slumber no repose: + The wasted form pined hour by hour away, + But still the proud lip struggled to be gay; + And Ruthven still the proud lip could deceive, + Till the proud man forgot the proud in smiling grieve! + + + III. + + In that old pile there was a huge square tower, + Whence look'd the warder in its days of power; + Still, in the arch below, the eye could tell + Where on the steel-clad van the grim portcullis fell; + And from the arrow-headed casements, deep + Sunk in the walls of the abandon'd keep, + The gaze look'd kingly in its wide command + O'er all the features of the subject land; + From town and hamlet, copse and vale, arise + The hundred spires of Ruthven's baronies; + And town and hamlet, copse and vale, around, + Its arms of peace the azure Avon wound. + + + IV. + + A lonely chamber in this rugged tower, + The lonely lady made her favourite bower-- + From her more brilliant chambers crept a stair, + That, through a waste of ruin, ended there; + And there, unseen, unwitness'd, none intrude, + Nor vex the spirit from the solitude. + How, in what toil or luxury of mind, + Could she the solace or the Lethe find? + Music or books?--nay, rather, might be guess'd + The art her maiden leisure loved the best; + For there the easel and the hues were brought, + Though all unseen the fictions that they wrought. + Harcourt more bold the change in Constance made; + Sure, love lies hidden in that depth of shade! + That cheek how hueless, and that eye how dim,-- + "Wherefore," he thought and smiled, "if not for him?" + More now his manner and his words, disarm'd + Of their past craft, the anxious sire alarm'd. + True, there was nought in Constance to reprove, + But still what hypocrite like lawless love? + One eve, as in the oriel's arch'd recess + Pensive he ponder'd, linking guess with guess, + Words reach'd his ear--if indistinct--yet plain + Enough to pierce the heart and chill the vein. + 'Tis Constance, answering in a faltering tone + Some suit; and what--was by the answer shown + "Yes!--in an hour," it said.--"Well, be it so."-- + "The place?"--"Yon keep."--"Thou wilt not fail me!"--"No!" + 'Tis said;--she first, then Harcourt, quits the room. + "Would," groan'd the Sire, "my child were in the tomb!" + He gasp'd for breath, the fever on his brow-- + "Was it too late?--What boots all warning now? + If saved to-day--to-morrow, and the same } + Danger and hazard! had he spared the shame } + To leave the last lost Virtue but a name." } + + + V. + + Sickening and faint, he gain'd the outer air, + Reach'd the still lake, and saw the master there; + Listless lay Ruthven, droopingly the boughs + Veil'd from the daylight melancholy brows; + Listless he lay, and with indifferent eye + Watch'd the wave darken as the cloud swept by. + The father bounded to the idler's side-- } + "Awake, cold guardian of a soul!" he cried; } + "Why, sworn to cherish, fail'st thou ev'n to guide?" } + "Why?" echoed Ruthven's heart--his eye shot flame-- + "Dare she complain, or he presume to blame?" + Thus ran the thought, he spoke not;--silent long + As Pride kept back the angry burst of wrong. + At length he rose, shook off the hand that prest, + And calmly said, "I listen for the rest-- + Whatever charge be in thy words convey'd, + Speak;--I will answer when the charge is made!" + + + VI. + + Like many an offspring of our Saxon clime, + Who makes one seven-day labour-week of time, + Who deems reprieve a sloth, repose a dearth, + And strikes the Sabbath of the soul from earth; + In Seaton's life the Adam-curse was strong; + He loved each wind that whirl'd the sails along; + He loved the dust that wrapt the hurrying wheel; + And, form'd to act, but rarely paused to feel. + Thus men who saw him move among mankind, + Saw the hard purpose and the scheming mind, + And the skill'd steering of a sober brain, + Prudence the compass and the needle gain. + But now, each layer of custom swept away, + The Man's great nature leapt into the day: + He stretch'd his arms, and terrible and wild, + His voice went forth--"I gave thee, Man, my child; + I gave her young and innocent--a thing + Fresh from the Heaven, no stain upon its wing; + One form'd to love, and to be loved, and now + (Few moons have faded since the solemn vow) + How do I find thou hast discharged the trust? + Account!--nay, frown not--to thy God thou must, + Pale, wretched, worn, and dying: Ruthven, still + These lips should bless thee, couldst thou only kill. + But is that all?--Death is a holy name, + Tears for the dead dishonour not!--but Shame! + O blind, to bid her every hour compare + With thine his love--with thy contempt his care! + Yea, if the light'ning blast thee, I, the Sire, + Tell thee thy heart of steel attracts the fire; + Hadst thou but loved her, that meek soul I know-- + Know all"--His passion falter'd in its flow; + He paused an instant, then before the feet + Of Ruthven fell. "Have mercy! Save her yet! + Take back thy gold: say, did I not endure, + And can again, the burthen of the poor? + But she--the light, pride, angel, of my life-- + God speaks in me--O husband, save thy wife!" + + + VII. + + "Save! and from whom, old Man?" Yet, as he spoke, + A gleam of horror on his senses broke; + "From whom? What! know'st thou not who made the first, + Though fading fancy, youth's warm visions nurst? + This Harcourt--this"--he stopp'd abrupt--appall'd! + Those words how gladly had his lips recall'd; + For at the words--the name--all life seem'd gone + From Ruthven's image:--as a shape of stone, + Speechless and motionless he stood! At length + The storm suspended burst in all its strength: + "And this to me--at last to me!" he cried, + "Thine be the curse, who hast love to hate allied: + Why, when my life on that one hope I cast, + Why didst thou chain my future to her past-- + Why not a breath to say, 'She loved before; + Pause yet to question, if the love be o'er!' + Didst thou not know how well I loved her--how + Worthy the Altar was the holy vow? + That in the wildest hour my suit had known, + Hadst thou but said, 'Her heart is not her own,' + Thou hadst left the chalice with a taste of sweet? + I--I had brought the Wanderer to her feet-- + Had seen those eyes through grateful softness shine, + Nor turn'd--O God!--with loathing fear from mine; + And from the sunshine of her happy breast + Drawn one bright memory to console the rest!-- + But now, thy work is done--till now, methought, + There was one plank to which the shipwreck'd caught. + Forbearance--patience might obtain at last + The distant haven--see! the dream is past-- + She loves another! In that sentence--hark + The crowning thunder!--the last gleam is dark; + Time's wave on wave can but the more dissever; + The world's vast space one void for ever and for ever!" + + + VIII. + + Humbled from all his anger, and too late + Convinced whose fault had shaped the daughter's fate, + The father heard; and in his hands he veil'd + His face abash'd, and voice to courage fail'd; + For how excuse--and how console? And so, + As when the tomb shuts up the ended woe, + Over that burst of anguish closed the drear + Abyss of silence--sound's chill sepulchre! + At length he dared the timorous looks to raise, + But gone the form on which he fear'd to gaze. + Calm at his feet the wave crept murmuring; + Calm sail'd the cygnet with its folded wing; + Gently above his head the lime-tree stirr'd, + The green leaves rustling to the restless bird; + But he who, in the beautiful of life, + Alone with him should share the heart at strife, + Had left him there to the earth's happy smile-- + Ah! if the storms within earth's calmness could beguile! + + + IX. + + With a swift step, and with disorder'd mind, + Through which one purpose still its clue could find, + Lord Ruthven sought his home. "Yes, mine no more," + So mused his soul, "to hope or to deplore; + No more to watch the heart's Aurora break + O'er that loved face, the light to life to speak-- + No more, without a weakness that degrades, + Can Fancy steal from Truth's eternal shades! + Yes, we must part! But if one holier thought + Still guards that shrine my fated footstep sought, + Perchance, at least, I yet her soul may save, + And leave her this one hope--a husband's grave!" + + + X. + + Home gain'd, he asks--they tell him--her retreat: + He winds the stairs, and midway halts to meet + His rival passing from that mystic room, + With a changed face, half sarcasm and half gloom. + Writhed Ruthven's lip--his hands he clench'd;--his breast + Heaved with man's natural wrath; the wrath the man supprest. + "Her name, at least, I will not make the gage + Of that foul strife whose cause a husband's rage." + So, with the calmness of his lion eye, + He glanced on Harcourt, and he pass'd him by. + + + XI. + + And now he gains, and pauses at the door-- } + Why beats so loud the heart so stern before? } + He nerved his pride--one effort, and 'tis o'er. } + Thus, with a quiet mien, he enters:--there + Kneels Constance yonder--can she kneel in prayer? + What object doth that meek devotion chain + In yon dark niche? Before his steps can gain + Her side, she starts, confused, dismay'd, and pale, + And o'er the object draws the curtain veil. + But there the implements of art betray + What thus the conscience dare not give to day. + A portrait? whose but his, the loved and lost, + Of a sweet past the melancholy ghost? + So Ruthven guess'd--more dark his visage grown, + And thus he spoke:--"Once more we meet alone. + Once more--be tranquil--hear me! not to upbraid, + And not to threat, thy presence I invade; + But if the pledge I gave thee I have kept, + If not the husband's rights the wife hath wept, + If thou hast shared whatever gifts be mine-- + Wealth, honour, freedom, all unbought, been THINE, + Hear me--O hear me, for thy father's sake! + For the full heart that thy disgrace would break! + By all thine early innocence--by all + The woman's Eden--wither'd with her fall-- + I, whom thou hast denied the right to guide, + Implore the daughter, not command the bride; + Protect--nor only from the sin and shame, + Protect from _slander_--thine, my Mother's--name! + For hers thou bearest now! and in her grave + Her name thou honourest, if thine own thou save! + I know thou lov'st another! Dost thou start? + From him, as me--the time hath come to part; + And ere for ever I relieve thy view-- + The one thou lov'st must be an exile too. + Be silent still, and fear not lest my voice + Betray thy secret--Flight shall seem _his_ choice; + A fair excuse--a mission to some clime, + Where--weep'st thou still? For thee there's hope in time! + This heart is not of iron, and the worm + That gnaws the thought, soon ravages the form; + And then, perchance, thy years may run the course + Which flows through love undarken'd by remorse. + And now, farewell for ever!" As he spoke, + From her cold silence with a bound she broke, + And clasp'd his hand. "Oh, leave me not! or know, + Before thou goest, the heart that wrong'd thee so, + But wrongs no more." + + "No more?--Oh, spurn the lie; + Harcourt but now hath left thee! Well--deny!" + "Yes, he hath left me!" "And he urged the suit + That--but thou madden'st me! false lips, be mute!" + --"He urged the suit--it is for ever o'er; + Dead with the folly youth's crude fancies bore, + One word, nay less, one gesture" (and she blush'd) + "Struck dumb the suit, the scorn'd presumption crush'd." + --"What! and yon portrait curtain'd with such care?" + "There did I point and say '_My heart is there_!'" + + Amazed, bewilder'd--struggling half with fear + And half delight--his steps the curtain near. + He lifts the veil: that face--It is his own! + But not the face her later gaze had known; + Not stern, nor sad, nor cold,--but in those eyes, + The wooing softness love unmix'd supplies; + The fond smile beaming the glad lips above, + Bright as when radiant with the words "I love." + An instant mute--oh, canst thou guess the rest? + The next his Constance clinging to his breast; + All from the proud reserve, at once allied + To the girl's modesty, the woman's pride, + Melting in sobs and happy tears--and words + Swept into music from long-silent chords. + Then came the dear confession, full at last. + Then stream'd life's Future on the fading Past; + And as a sudden footstep nears the door, + As a third shadow dims the threshold floor-- + As Seaton, entering in his black despair, + Pauses the tears, the joy, the heaven to share-- + The happy Ruthven raised his princely head, + "Give her again--this day in truth we wed!" + + And when the spring the earth's fresh glory weaves + In merry sunbeams and green quivering leaves, + A joy-bell ringing through a cloudless air + Knells Harcourt's hopes and welcomes Ruthven's heir. + + + + +MILTON. + +IN FOUR PARTS. + + +ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER. + +This Poem was originally composed in very early youth. It was first +published in 1831, and though unfortunately coupled with a very jejune +and puerile burlesque called 'The Siamese Twins' (which to my great +satisfaction has been long since forgotten), it was honoured by a very +complimentary notice in the _Edinburgh Review_, and found general favour +with those who chanced to read it. In the present edition, although the +conception and the general structure remain the same, many passages have +been wholly re-written, and the diction throughout carefully revised, +and often materially altered. I have sought, in short, from an affection +for the subject (too partial it may be) to give to the ideas which +visited me in the freshness of youth, whatever aid from expression they +could obtain in the taste and culture of mature manhood. No doubt, +however, faults of exuberance in form, as in fancy, still remain, and +betray the age in which we scarcely look beyond the Spring that delights +us, nor comprehend that the multitude of the blossoms can be injurious +to the bearing of the tree. Nevertheless, such faults may find more +indulgence among my younger readers than those of an opposite nature, +incident to the style, closer and more compressed, which my present +theories of verse have led me to adopt in most of the poems I have +composed of late years. + +It will be observed that the design of this poem is that of a picture. +It is intended to portray the great Patriot Poet in the three cardinal +divisions of life--Youth, Manhood, and Age. The first part is founded +upon the well-known, though ill-authenticated, tradition of the Italian +lady or ladies seeing Milton asleep under a tree in the gardens of his +college, and leaving some tributary verses beside the sleeper. Taking +full advantage of this legend, and presuming to infer from Milton's +Italian verses (as his biographers have done before me) that in his tour +through Italy he did not escape the influence of the master passion, I +have ventured to connect, by a single thread of romantic fiction, the +segments of a poem in which narrative after all is subservient to +description. This idea belongs to the temerity of youth, but I trust it +has been subjected to restrictions more reverent than those ordinarily +imposed on poetic licence. + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + "Such sights as youthful poets dream + On summer eve by haunted stream."--L'ALLEGRO. + + + I. + + It was the Minstrel's merry month of June; + Silent and sultry glow'd the breezeless noon; + Along the flowers the bee went murmuring; + Life in its myriad forms was on the wing; + Play'd on the green leaves with the quiv'ring beam, + Sang from the grove, and sparkled from the stream, + When, where yon beech-tree veil'd the soft'ning ray, + On violet-banks young Milton dreaming lay. + + For him the Earth below, the Heaven above, + Doubled each charm in the clear glass of youth; + And the vague spirit of unsettled love + Roved through the visions that precede the truth, + While Poesy's low voice so hymn'd through all + That ev'n the very air was musical. + + + II. + + The sunbeam rested, where it pierced the boughs, + On locks whose gold reflected back the gleaming; + On Thought's fair temple in majestic brows + On Love's bright portal--lips that smiled in dreaming. + + Dreams he of Nymph half hid in sparry cave? + Or of his own Sabrina chastely "sitting + Under the glassy cool translucent wave," + The loose train of her amber tresses knitting? + Or that far shadow, yet but faintly view'd, + Where the Four Rivers take their parent springs, + Which shall come forth from starry solitude, + In the last days of angel-visitings, + When, soaring upward from the nether storm, + The Heaven of Heavens shall earthly guest receive, + And in the long-lost Eden smile thy form, + Fairer than all thy daughters, fairest Eve? + + + III. + + Has the dull Earth a being to compare + With those that haunt that spirit-world--the brain? + Can shapes material vie with forms of air, + Nature with Phantasy?--O question vain! + Lo, by the Dreamer, fresh from heavenly hands, + Youth's dream-inspirer--Virgin Woman stands. + She came, a stranger from the Southern skies, + And careless o'er the cloister'd garden stray'd, + Till, pausing, violets on the bank to cull, + Over the Dreamer bent the Beautiful. + + Silent, with lifted hand and lips apart, + Silent she stood, and gazed away her heart. + Like purple Maenad fruits, when down the glade + Shoots the warm sunbeam,--into darksome glow + Light kiss'd the ringlets wreathing brows of snow; + And softer than the rosy hues that flush + Her native heaven, when Tuscan morns arise, + The sweet cheek brighten'd with the sweeter blush, + As virgin love from out delighted eyes + Dawn'd as Aurora dawns.-- + + Thus look'd the maid, + And still the sleeper dream'd beneath the shade. + + Image of Soul and Love! So Psyche crept + To the still chamber where her Eros slept; + While the light gladden'd round his face serene,[A] + As light doth ever,--when Love first is seen. + + Felt he the touch of her dark locks descending, + Or with his breath her breathing fused and blending, + That, like a bird we startle from the spray, + Pass'd the light Sleep with sudden wings away? + Sighing he woke, and waking he beheld; + The sigh was silenced, as the look was spell'd; + Look charming look, the love that ever lies + In human hearts, like light'ning in the air, + Flash'd in the moment from those meeting eyes, + And open'd all the Heaven! + + O Youth, beware! + For either, light should but forewarn the gaze; + Woe follows love, as darkness doth the blaze! + + + IV. + + And their eyes met--one moment and no more; + Moment in time that centred years in feeling. + As when to Thetis, on her cavern'd shore, + Knelt her young King,--he rose, and murmur'd, kneeling. + Low though the murmur, it dissolved the charm + Which had in silence chain'd the modest feet; + And maiden shame and woman's swift alarm + Crimson'd her cheek and in her pulses beat: + She turn'd, and, as a spell that leaves the place + It fill'd with phantom beauty cold and bare, + She fled;--and over disenchanted space + Rush'd back the common air! + + + V. + + Time waned--and thoughts intense, and grave and high, + With sterner truths foreshadow'd Minstrel dreams; + Yet never vanish'd from the Minstrel's eye + That meteor blended with the morning beams. + Time waned, and ripe became the long desire, + Which, nursed in youth, with restless manhood grew + A passion--to behold that heart of Earth, + Yet trembling with the silver Mantuan lyre, + To knightly arms by Tasso tuned anew:-- + So the fair Pilgrim left his father's hearth. + Into his soul he drunk the lofty lore, + Floating like air around the clime of song; + Beheld the starry sage,[B] what time he bore + For truth's dear glory the immortal wrong; + Communed majestic with majestic minds; + And all the glorious wanderer heard or saw + Or felt or learn'd or dream'd, were as the winds + That swell'd the sails of his triumphant soul; + As then, ev'n then, with ardour yet in awe, + It swept Time's ocean to its distant goal. + + + VI. + + It was the evening--and a group were strewn + O'er such a spot as ye, I ween, might see, + When basking in the summer's breathless noon, + With upward face beneath the drowsy tree; + While golden dreams the willing soul receives, + And Elf-land glimmers through the checkering leaves. + + It was the evening--still it lay, and fair, + Lapp'd in the quiet of the lulling air; + Still, but how happy! like a living thing + All love itself--all love around it seeing; + And drinking from the earth, as from a spring, + The hush'd delight and essence of its being. + And round the spot (a wall of glossy shade) + The interlaced and bowering trees reposed; + And through the world of foliage had been made + Green lanes and vistas, which at length were closed + By fount, or fane, or statue white and hoar, + Startling the heart with the fond dreams of yore. + And near, half-glancing through its veil of leaves, + An antique temple stood in marble grace; + Where still, if fondly wise, the heart conceives + Faith in the lingering Genius of the Place: + Seen wandering yet perchance at earliest dawn + Or greyest eve--with Nymph or bearded Faun. + Dainty with mosses was the grass you press'd, + Through which the harmless lizard glancing crept. + And--wearied infants on Earth's gentle breast-- + In every nook the little field-flowers slept. + But ever when the soft air draws its breath + (Breeze is a word too rude), with half-heard sigh, + From orange-shrubs and myrtles--wandereth + The Grove's sweet Dryad borne in fragrance by. + And aye athwart the alleys fitfully + Glanced the fond moth enamour'd of the star; + And aye, from out her watch-tower in the tree, + The music which a falling leaf might mar, + So faint--so faery seem'd it--of the bird + Transform'd at Daulis thrillingly was heard. + And in the centre of that spot, which lay + A ring embosom'd in the wood's embrace, + A fountain, clear as ever glass'd the day, + Breathed yet a fresher luxury round the place; + But now it slept, as if its silver shower, + And the wide reach of its aspiring sound, + Were far too harsh for that transparent hour:-- + Yet--like a gnome that mourneth underground-- + You caught the murmur of the rill which gave + The well's smooth calm the passion of its wave; + Ev'n as man's heart that still, with secret sigh, + Stirs through each thought that would reflect the sky. + + + VII. + + And, group'd around the fountain, forms were seen, + Shaped as for courts in loving Chivalry, + Such as Boccacio placed, 'mid alleys green, + Listening to tales in careless Fiesole! + Dress'd as for nymphs, the classic banquet there + Was spread on grassy turfs, with coolest fruit + And drinks Falernian--while the mellow air + Heaved to the light swell of the amorous lute; + And by the music lovers grew more bold, + And Beauty blush'd to secrets, murmuring told. + + + VIII. + + But 'mid that graceful meeting, there were none + Who yielded not to him--that English guest. + Nor by sweet lips, half wooing to be won, + Were words that thrill and smiles that sigh suppress'd; + And fair with lofty brow, and locks of gold, + And manhood stately with a Dorian grace, + He seem'd like some young Spartan, when of old + The simple sons of thoughtful Hercules + On Elis stood, and look'd the lords of Greece. + Oh! little dream'd those flatterers as they gazed + On him--the radiant cynosure of all, + While on their eyes his youth's fresh glory blazed, + What that bright heart was destined to befall! + That worst of wars--the Battle of the Soil-- + Which leaves but Crime unscath'd on either side! + The daily fever, and the midnight toil; + The hope defeated, and the name belied; + Wrath's fierce attack, and Slander's slower art, + The watchful viper of the evil tongue;-- + The sting which pride defies, but not the heart-- + The noblest heart is aye the easiest wrung: + The flowers, the fruit, the summer of rich life, + Cast on the sands and weariest paths of earth; + The march--but not the action--of the strife + Without;--and Sorrow coil'd around his hearth: + The film, the veil, the shadow, and the night, + Along those eyes which now in all survey + A tribute and a rapture;--the despite + Of Fortune wreak'd on his declining day; + The clouds slow-labouring upward round his heart;-- + Oh! little dream'd they this!--nor less what light + Should through those clouds--a new-born glory--start; + And from the spot man's mystic Father trod, + Circling the round Earth with a solemn ray, + Cast its great shadow to the Throne of God! + + + IX. + + The festive rite was o'er--the group was gone, + Yet still our wanderer linger'd there alone-- + For round his eye, and in his heart, there lay + The tender spells which cleave to solitude. + Who, when some gay delight hath pass'd away, + Feels not a charmed musing in his mood, + A poesy of thought, which yearns to pour + Still worship to the Spirit of the Hour? + Ah! they who bodied into deity + The rosy Hours, I ween, did scarcely err. + Sweet hours, ye _have_ a life, and holily + That life is worn! and when no rude sounds stir + The quiet of our hearts--we inly hear + The hymnlike music of your floating voices, + Telling us mystic tidings of the sphere + Where hand in hand your linked choir rejoices, + And filling us with calm and solemn thought, + Diviner far than all our earth-born lore hath taught. + + With folded arms and upward brow, he leant + Against the pillar of a sleeping tree; + When, hark! the still boughs rustled, and there went + A murmur and a sigh along the air, + And a light footstep, like a melody, + Pass'd by the flowers. He turn'd;--What Nymph is there? + What Hamadryad from the green recess + Emerging into beauty like a star?-- + He gazed--sweet Heaven! 'tis she whose loveliness + Had in his England's gardens first (and far + From these delicious groves) upon him beam'd, + And look'd to life the wonders he had dream'd. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + + + X. + + They met again and oft! what time the Star + Of Hesperus hung his rosy lamp on high; + Love's earliest beacon, from our storms afar, + Lit in the loneliest watch-tower of the sky, + Perchance by souls that, ere this world was made, + Were the first lovers the first stars survey'd. + And Mystery o'er their twilight meeting threw + The charm that nought like mystery doth bestow: + Her name--her birth--her home he never knew; + And she--_his_ love was all she sought to know. + And when in anxious or in tender mood + He pray'd her to disclose at least her name, + A look from her the unwelcome prayer subdued + So sad the cloud that o'er her features came: + Her lip grew blanch'd, as with an ominous fear, + And all her heart seem'd trembling in her tear. + So worshipp'd he in silence and sweet wonder, + Pleased to confide, contented not to know; + And Hope, life's checkering moonlight, smiled asunder + Doubts, which, like clouds, rise ever from below. + And thus his love grew daily, and perchance + Was all the stronger circled by romance. + He found a name for her, if not her own, + Haply as soft, and to her heart as dear-- + "Zoe"--name stolen from the tuneful Greek, + It meaneth 'life,' when common lips do speak-- + And more on those that love;--sweet language known + To lovers, sacred to themselves alone; + Words, like Egyptian symbols, set apart + For the mysterious Priesthood of the Heart. + + Creep slowly on, O charm'd reluctant Time-- + Rarely so hallow'd, Time, creep slowly on-- + Ev'n I would linger in my truant rhyme, + Nor tell too soon how soon those hours were gone. + Flowers bloom again--leaves glad once more the tree-- + Poor life, there comes no second Spring to thee! + + [A] In the story of Cupid and Psyche, told in Apuleius, it is + said that the lamp itself gladdened at the aspect of the + god.--"Cujus aspectu lucernae quoque lumen _hilaratum_ + increbuit." + + [B] Galileo--according to the popular legend of Milton's visit + to him. + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + "Protinus insoliti subierunt corda furores, + Uror amans intus, flammaque totus eram. + Interea misero quae jam mihi sola placebat + Ablata est oculis non reditura meis."--MILT. ELEG. VII. + + + I. + + Who shall dispart the Poet's golden threads, + From the fine tissues of Philosophy?-- + Mounts to one goal, each guess that _upward_ leads, + Whether it soar in some impassion'd sigh + Or some still thought; alike, it doth but tend + To Light that draws it heavenward.--'Tis but one + Great law that from the violet lifts the dew + At dawn and twilight to the amorous sun, + Or calls the mist, which navies glimmer through, + From the vast hush of an unfathom'd sea. + The Athenian guess'd that when our souls descend + From some lost realm (sad aliens here to be), + Dim broken memories of the state before + Form what we call our 'reason';[C]--nothing taught + But all remember'd;--gleams from elder lore, + Pallid revivals of sublimer thought, + Which, though by fits and dreamily recall'd, + Make all the light our sense receives below; + Like the vague hues down-floating--disenthrall'd + From their bright birthplace, the lost Iris-bow. + + Is this Philosophy or Song? Why ask? + How judge?--The instant that we leave the ground + Of the hard Positive, who saith "I _know_?" + Conjecture, fancy, faith--'tis _these_ we task, + When Reason passes but an inch the bound + In which our senses draw the captive's breath. + And never yet Philosopher severe + Strove for a glimpse beyond the Bridge of Death, + But straight he enter'd on that atmosphere + Poets illume:--Let Logic prove the Known; + Truths that we know not, if we would explore, + We must imagine! Link, then, evermore + Together--each so desolate alone, + O Poesy, O Knowledge!-- + + Is not Love, + Of all those memories which to parent skies + Mount struggling back--(as to their source above, + In upward showers, imprison'd founts arise;) + Oh, is not Love the strongest and the clearest? + Love, and thine eyes instinctive seek the Heaven; + Love, and a hymn from every star thou hearest; + Love, and a world beyond the sense is given; + Love, and how many a glorious sleeping power + Wakes in thy breast and lifts thyself from thee; + Love, and, till then so wedded to the Hour, + Thy thoughts go forth and ask Eternity! + + Lose what thou lovest, and the life of old + Is from thine eyes, O soul, no more conceal'd; + Look beyond Death, and through thy tears behold + There, where Love goes--thine ancient home reveal'd. + + + II. + + The lovers met in twilight and in stealth. + Like to the Roc-bird in the Orient Tale, + That builds its nest in pathless pinnacles, + And there collects and there conceals the wealth, + Which paves the surface of the Diamond Vale, + Love hoards aloof the glories that it stealeth; + And gems, but found in life's enchanted dells, + On airy heights that kiss the heaven concealeth. + + All nature was a treasury which their hearts + Rifled and coin'd in passion; the soft grass, + The bee's blue palace in the violet's bell; + The sighing leaves which, as the day departs, + The light breeze stirreth with a gentle swell; + The stiller boughs blent in one emerald mass, + Whence, rarely floating liquid Eve along, + Some unseen linnet sent its vesper song; + All furnish'd them with images and words, + And thoughts which spoke not, but lay hush'd like prayer; + Their love made life one melody, like birds, + And circled earth with its own rosy air. + What in that lovely climate doth the breast + Interpret not into some sound of love? + Canst thou ev'n gaze upon the hues that rest, + Like the god's smile, upon the pictured dream + Limn'd on mute canvas by the golden Claude, + Nor feel thy pulses as to music move?-- + Nor feel thy soul by some sweet presence awed? + Nor know that presence by its light,--and deem + The Landscape breathing with a Voice Divine, + "Love, for the land on which ye gaze is mine?" + + + III. + + But all round them was _life_--the _living_ scene, + The real sky, and earth, and wave, and air: + The turf on which Egeria's steps had been, + The shade, stream, grotto, which had known her care. + Still o'er them floated an inspiring breath-- + The fragrance and the melody of song-- + The legend--glory--verse--that vanquish'd death + Still through the orange glades were borne along, + And sunk into their souls to swell the hoard + Of those rich thoughts the miser Passion stored! + + + IV. + + But _they_ required no fuel to the flame + Which burn'd within them, all undyingly; + No scene to steep _their_ passion in romance, + No spell from _outward_ nature to enhance + The nature at their bosoms: all the same + Their love had been if cast upon a rock, + And frown'd on from the Arctic's haggard sky. + Nay, ev'n the vices and the cares, which move + Like waves o'er that foul ocean of dull life, + That rolls through cities in a sullen strife + With heaven, had raged on them, nor in the shock + Crumbled one atom from their base of love. + And, like still waters, poesy lay deep + Within the hush'd yet haunted soul of each; + And the fair moon, and all the stars that steep + Heaven's silence and its spirit in delight, + Had with that tide a sympathy and speech! + For them there was a glory in the night, + A whisper in the forest, and the air; + Love is the priest of Nature, and can teach + A world of mystery to the few that share, + With self-devoted faith, the winged Flamen's care. + + + V. + + In _each_ lay poesy--for Woman's heart + Nurses the stream, unsought, and oft unseen; + And if it flow not through the tide of art, + Nor woo the glittering daylight--you may ween + It slumbers, but not ceases; and, if check'd + The egress of rich words, it flows in thought, + And in its silent mirror doth reflect + Whate'er Affection to its banks has brought. + This makes her love so glowing and so tender, + Dyeing it in such deep and dreamlike hues; + Earth--Heaven--creative Genius--all that render, + In man, their wealth and homage to the muse; + Do but, in _her_, enrich the heart, and throng + To centre there what men disperse in song. + O treasure! which awhile the world outweighs + That blessed human heart Youth calls its own! + Measure the space some envied Caesar sways + With that which stretches from the heavenly throne + Into the Infinite;--and then compare + All after-conquests in the dim and dull + Bounds of the Real, with the realms that were + Youth's, when its reign was o'er the Beautiful! + He who loves nobly and is nobly loved + Is lord of the Ideal. Could it last! + It doth--it doth! lasts mournful but unmoved, + In the still Ghost-land that reflects the Past. + Age will forget its wintry yesterday, + But not one sunbeam that rejoiced its May; + Showing, perchance, that all which we resume + Of this hard life, beyond the Funeral River, + Are the fair blossoms of the age of bloom; + And hearts mourn most the things that live for ever. + + + VI. + + Twice glided through her course the wandering Queen + Who rules the stars and deeps, since first they met. + 'Tis eve once more, that earliest hour, serene + With the last light, before the sun hath set; + And Zoe waits her lover on the hill, + Waits, looking forth afar:--The parting ray + Of the reluctant Day-god linger'd still; + Aslant it glinted through the pinewood boughs, + Broadly to rest upon the ruins grey, + That at her feet in desolate glory lay. + Through chasm and chink, the myrtle's glossy green, + Votive of old to Cytheraea's brows-- + Rose over wrecks, and smiled: And there, like Grief + Close-neighbouring Love, the aloe forced between + Myrtle with myrtle clasp'd--its barbed leaf. + Where Zoe stands, the Caesar's Palace stood, + And from that lofty terrace ye survey, + Naked within their thunder-riven tomb, + The bones of that dead Titaness call'd Rome. + Beyond, the Tiber, through the Latian Plain + With many a lesser sepulchre bestrew'd, + Mourn'd songless onward to the Tyrrhene main; + Around, in amphitheatre afar + The hills lay basking in the purple sky; + Till all grew grey, and Maro's shepherd-star + Look'd through the silence with a loving eye. + And soft from silver clouds stole forth the Moon, + Hush'd as if still she watch'd Endymion. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + + + VII. + + They sate them on a fallen column, where + The wild acanthus clomb the shatter'd stone, + Mocking the sculptured mimicry--which there + Was graven on the pillar'd pomp o'erthrown,[D] + Flowerless, if green, the herbage type-like decks + Art that will flower not over Glory's wrecks. + + "Ah, doth not Heaven seem near us when alone? + How air and moonbeam interchange delight! + How like the homeward bird my soul hath flown + Unto its rest!--O glorious is the night, + Glorious with stars, and starry thoughts, and Thee!" + Her sweet voice paused; then from the swelling heart + Sigh'd--"Joy to meet, but O despair to part!" + + "And wherefore part? Out of all time to me + Thou cam'st emerging from the depth of dreams, + As rose the Venus from her native sea; + And at thy coming, Light with all his beams + Illumed Creation's golden Jubilee. + What, if my life be wrench'd from youth too soon + To find in duty Manhood's troubled doom,-- + Lo, where yon star clings ever through the gloom + Fast by the labouring melancholy moon, + So shine, unsever'd from thy pilgrim's side, + And gift his soul with an immortal bride." + Trembling she heard--no answer but a sigh-- + Sighing, still trembled; tenderly he raised + Her downcast cheek, and sought the wish'd-for eye. + On the long lashes hung slow-gathering tears: + And that subdued, despondent thought which wears + Woe, as a Nun the fatal funeral veil, + Silent and self-consuming--cast its gloom + O'er the sad face yet sadder for its bloom. + He gazed, and felt within him, as he gazed, + His heart beneath the dire foreboding quail, + Ev'n as the gifted melancholy seer + Knows by his shudder when a grief is near. + "Thou answerest not--yet my soul trusts in thee; + Albeit--as if for child of earth too fair + Thy love vouchsafed, thy life conceal'd from me, + Nymph-like, thou comest out of starry air,-- + And I, content the Beautiful to see, + Presumed till now no hardier human prayer. + But now, the spell the hour appointed breaks, + Now in these lips a power that thralls me speaks; + I seek mine England, canst thou leave thy Rome? + Start not--but let this hand still rest in thine; + Canst thou not say 'thy home shall be my home,' + Canst thou not say 'thy People shall be mine?'" + + + VIII. + + Wildly she falter'd, starting from his breast, + "What dost thou ask--must it all end in this! + Art thou not happy, Ingrate? Rest, O, rest, + England has toil--Italia happiness!" + And as she spoke--a loftier light than pride + Flash'd from his eye, and thus the MAN replied,-- + "Hear and approve me--In my father's land + Age-long have men, as Heathens, bow'd the knee + To the dire Statue with the sceptred hand, + Which Force enthrones for Thought's idolatry. + But now I hear the signal-sound afar, + Like the first clarion waking sleep to war, + When slumbering armies gird a doomed town. + Dread with the whirlwind, glorious with the light, + Strong with the thunderbolt, comes rushing down + TRUTH:--Let the mountains reel beneath her might! + Vigour and health her angry wings dispense, + And speed the storm, to clear the pestilence. + For this, at morn, when through the gladd'ning air + Larks rise to heaven--arose my freeman's prayer. + For this, has Night in solemn prophet-dreams + Limn'd Time's great morrow--now its day-star gleams! + Yea, ere I loved thee, ere a sigh had ask'd + Ev'n if the love of woman were for me, + A Shape of queenlier grief than ever task'd + The votive hearts of antique Chivalry, + Born to command the sword, inspire the song, + Unveil'd her beauty, and reveal'd her wrong. + The Cause she pleads for with the world began; + The realm torn from her is the Soul of Man-- + And her great name despoil'd is--Liberty! + And now she calls me with imperial voice + Homeward o'er land and ocean to her cause; + Sworn to her service at mine own free choice, + Shall I be recreant when the sword she draws?" + + + IX. + + She look'd upon that brow so fair and high, + Too bright for sorrow as too bold for fear; + She look'd upon the depth of that large eye + Whence (ev'n when lost to daylight) starry clear + Shone earth's sublimest soul;--then tremblingly + On his young arm her gentle hand she laid, + And in the simple movement more was said + Of the weak woman's heart, than ever yet + Of that sweet mystery man's rude speech hath told. + The touch rebuked him as he thrill'd to it; + Back to their deep the stormier passions roll'd, + And left his brow (as when the heaven above + Smiles through departing cloud) serene with love. + "Come then--companion in this path sublime; + Link life with life, and strengthen soul with soul; + If vain the hope that lights the onward time; + If back to darkness fade the phantom goal; + If Dreams, that now seem prophet-visions, be + Dreams, and no more--still let me cling to thee! + Still, seeing thee, have faith in human worth, + And feel the Beautiful yet lives for earth! + Come, though from marble domes and myrtle bowers, + Come, though to lowly roofs and northern skies; + In its own fancies Love has regal towers, + And orient sunbeams in beloved eyes. + Trust me, whatever fate my soul may gall, + Thou at thy woman-choice shalt ne'er repine; + Trust me, whatever storm on me may fall, + This man's true breast shall ward the bolt from thine. + Hark, where the bird from yon dark ilex breathes + Soul into night,--so be thy love to me! + Look, where around the bird the ilex wreathes + Still, sheltering boughs,--so be my love to thee! + O dweller in my heart, the music thine! + And the deep shelter--wilt thou scorn it? mine!" + He ceased, and drew her closer to his breast; + Soft from the ilex sang the nightingale: + Thy heart, O woman, in its happy rest + Hush'd a diviner tale! + And o'er her bent her lover; and the gold + Of his rich locks with her dark tresses blended; + And still, and calm, and tenderly, the lone + And mellowing night upon their forms descended; + And thus, amid the ghostly walls of old, + Seen through that silvery, moonlit, lucent air, + They seem'd not wholly of an earth-born mould, + But suited to the memories breathing there-- + Two Genii of the mix'd and tender race, + Their charmed homes in lonely coverts singling, + Last of their order, doom'd to haunt the place, + And bear sweet being interfused and mingling, + Draw through their life the same delicious breath, + And fade together into air in death. + Oh! what then burn'd within her, as her fond + And pure lips yearn'd to breathe the enduring vow? + All was forgot, save him before her now-- + A blank, a non-existence, lay beyond-- + All was forgot--all feeling, thought, but this-- + For ever parted, or for ever his! + + The voice just stirs her lip--what sound is there? + The cleft stone sighing to the curious air? + The night-bird rustling, or the fragment's fall, + Soft amid weeds, from Caesar's ruin'd wall? + + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + + From his embrace abrupt the maiden sprang + With low wild cry despairing:--In the shade + Of that dark tree where still the night-bird sang, + Stood a stern image statue-like, and made + A shadow in the shadow;--locks of snow + Crown'd, with the awe of age, the solemn brow; + Lofty its look with passionless command, + As some old chief's of grand inhuman Rome: + Calm from its stillness moved the beckoning hand, + And low from rigid lips it murmur'd "Come!"-- + + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + + [C] Plato. + + [D] The foliage of the Corinthian capital is borrowed from the + acanthus. + + + +PART THE THIRD. + + "I argue not + Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot + Of heart or hope, but still bear up, and steer + Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? + The conscience, friend."--MILTON'S _Sonnet to Cyriack Skinner_. + + + I. + + Years have flown by;--and Strife hath raged and ceased; + Still on the ear the halted thunder rings; + And still in halls, where purple tyrants feast, + Glares the red warning to inebriate kings. + Midnight is past: the lamp with steadfast light + A silent cell, a mighty toil illumes; + And hot and lurid on the student's sight + Flares the still ray which, like himself, consumes + Its life in gilding darkness. Damp and chill + Gather the dews on aching temples wan, + Wrung from the frame which fails the unconquer'd will + In the fierce struggle between soul and man. + + + II. + + Alas! no more to golden palaces, + To starlit founts and dryad-haunted trees, + The SWEET DELUSION wafts the dreamy soul; + But with slow step and steadfast eyes that strain + Dazzled and scathed, towards the far-flaming goal + He braved the storm, and labour'd up the plain + O doubtful labour, but O glorious pain! + On the doom'd sight the gradual darkness steals + Bates he a jot of heart and hope?--he feels + But in his loss a world's eternal gain.[E] + Blame we or laud the Cause, all human life + Is grander by one grand self-sacrifice; + While earth disputes if righteous be the strife, + The martyr soars beyond it to the skies. + Yes, though when Freedom had her temple won + She rear'd a scaffold to obscure a shrine; + And, by the human sacrifice of one, + Sullied the million,--who could then define + The subtle tints where good and evil blend?-- + There comes no rainbow when the floods descend! + Who, just escaped the chain and prison-bar, + Halts on the bridge to guess where glides the stream; + Who plays the casuist 'mid the roar of war; + Or in the arena builds the Academe? + Whate'er their errors, lightly those condemn + Who, had they felt not, fought not, glow'd and err'd, + Had left us what their fathers left to them-- + Either the thraldom of the passive herd + Stall'd for the shambles at the master's word, + Or the dread overleap of walls that close, + And spears that bristle:--And the last they chose. + Calm from the hills their children gaze to-day, + And breathe the airs to which they forced the way. + + + III. + + And thou, of whom I sing--what should we all, + Whate'er our state-creed, venerate in thee? + Purpose heroic; and majestical + Disdain of self;--the soul in which we see + Conviction, welding, from the furnace-zeal, + Duty, the iron mainspring of the mind; + Ardour, if fierce, yet fired for England's weal; + And man's strong heart-throb beating for mankind. + These move our homage, doubtful though we be + If ev'n thy pen acquits the headman's steel, + When thy page cites the crownless Dead--and pleads + Defence for nations in a judgeless cause: + Judgeless, for time shall ne'er decide what deeds + Damn or absolve the hosts whom Freedom leads + O'er the pale border-land of dying laws + Into the vague world of Necessity. + + + IV. + + He lifts his look where on the lattice bar, + Through clouds fast gathering, shines a single star; + Large on the haze of his receding sight + It spreads, and spreads, and floods all space with light; + Nature's last glorious mournful smile on him + Ev'n while on earth so near the Seraphim. + Now from the blaze he veils with tremulous hand + The scorching eyes:--and now the starlight fades: + Midnight and cloud resettle on the Land, + And o'er her champion's vision rush the shades. + + What rests to both?--the inner light that glows + Out from the gloom that Fate on each bestows; + There is no PRESENT to a hope sublime; + Man has eternity, and Nations time! + + [E] The Council of State ordered, January 1649-50, "That Mr. Milton + do prepare something in answer to the book of Salmasius, and + when he hath done itt, bring itt to the Council." He was + present, says his biographer, at the discussion which led to the + order, and though warned that the loss of sight would be the + certain consequence of obeying it, did so.--He called to mind, + to use his own image, the two destinies the oracle announced to + Achilles:--"If he stay before Troy, he will return to his land + no more, but have everlasting glory--if he withdraw, long will + be his life and short his fame." + + + +PART THE FOURTH. + + "Thus With The Year + Seasons Return, But Not To Me Returns + Day, Or The Sweet Approach Of Even Or Morn, + Or Sight Of Vernal Bloom, Or Summer's Rose, + Or Flocks, Or Herds, Or Human Face Divine; + But Cloud Instead, And Ever-during Dark + Surrounds Me."--_paradise Lost, Book III._ + + "Though Fall'n On Evil Days, + In Darkness, And With Danger Compass'd Round, + And Solitude; Yet Not Alone, While Thou + Visit'st My Slumbers Nightly, Or When Morn + Purples The East."--_paradise Lost, Book VII._ + + + I. + + Its gay farewell to hospitable eaves + The swallow twitter'd in the autumn heaven; + Dumb on the crisp earth fell the yellowing leaves, + Or, in small eddies, fitfully were driven + Down the bleak waste of the remorseless air. + Out, from the widening gaps in dreary boughs, + Alone the laurel smiled,--as freshly fair + As its own chaplet on immortal brows, + When Fame, indifferent to the changeful sun, + Sees waning races wither, and lives on.-- + An old man sate before that deathless tree + Which bloom'd his humble dwelling-place beside; + The last pale rose which lured the lingering bee + To the low porch it scantly blossom'd o'er, + Nipp'd by the frost-air had that morning died. + The clock faint-heard beyond the gaping door, + Low as a death-watch, click'd the moments' knell; + And through the narrow opening you might see + Uncertain foot-prints on the sanded floor + (Uncertain foot-prints which of blindness tell); + The rude oak board, the morn's untasted fare; + The scatter'd volumes and the pillow'd chair, + In which, worn out with toil and travel past, + Life, the poor wanderer, finds repose at last. + + + II. + + The old man felt the fresh air o'er him blowing + Waving thin locks from musing temples pale; + Felt the quick sun through cloud and azure going, + And the light dance of leaves upon the gale, + In that mysterious symbol-change of earth + Which looks like death, though but restoring birth. + Seasons return; for him shall not return + Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn. + Whatever garb the mighty mother wore, + Nature to him was changeless evermore.-- + List, not a sigh!--though fall'n on evil days, + With darkness compass'd round--those sightless eyes + Need not the sun; nightly he sees the rays, + Nightly he walks the bowers of Paradise. + High, pale, still, voiceless, motionless, alone, + Death-like in calm as monumental stone, + Lifting his looks into the farthest skies, + He sate: And as when some tempestuous day + Dies in the hush of the majestic eve, + So on his brow--where grief has pass'd away, + Reigns that dread stillness grief alone can leave. + + + III. + + And while he sate, nor saw, nor sigh'd,--drew near + A timorous trembling step;--from the far clime + The Pilgrim Woman came: long year on year, + In brain-sick thought that takes no heed of time, + How had she pined to gaze upon that brow + Last seen in youth, when she was young:--AND NOW! + And now! O words that make the sepulchre + Of all our Past! Life sheds no sadder tear + Than, when recalling what the Hours inter + Of hopes, of passions, of the things that made + Our hearts once quicken with tumultuous bliss, + We feel what worlds within ourselves can fade, + Sighing "And now!"--Alas the nothingness + Even of love--had it no life but this! + + + IV. + + Thus as she stood and gazed, and noiseless wept, + Two young slight forms across the threshold crept + And reach'd the blind grey man, and kiss'd his hand, + And then a moment o'er his lips there stray'd + The old, familiar, sweet yet stately smile. + On either side the children took their stand, + And all the three were silent for awhile: + Till one, the gentler, whisper'd some soft word, + Mingling her young locks with that silvery hair; + And the old man the child's meek voice obey'd, + Rose,--lingering yet to breathe the gladsome air-- + Or catch the faint note of the neighbouring bird; + Then leaning on the two, his head he bow'd, + And from the daylight pensive pass'd away. + Sharp swept the wind, the thrush forsook the spray, + And the poor Pilgrim wept at last aloud. + + + V. + + Hark, from within, slow and sonorous stole + Deep organ-tones; with solemn pomp of sound + Meet to bear up the disimprison'd soul + From mortal homage in material piles, + To blend with Angel Halleluiahs!--Round + The charmed place the notes melodious roll + As with a visible flood: adown the aisles + Of Nature's first cathedrals (vistas dim, + Through leafless woodlands), far and farther float + On to the startled haunts of toiling men, + The marching music-tides: the heavenly note + Thrills through the reeking air of alleys grim; + Awes wolf-eyed Guilt close skulking in its den; + Lulls Childhood, wailing with white lips for bread, + On the starved breast of nerveless Penury; + Fever lies soothed upon its burning bed: + Indignant Worth stills its world-weary sigh; + The widow'd bride looks upward from the dead, + And deems she hears his welcome to the sky. + On, the grand music, more and more remote, + Bore the grey blind man's soul, itself a hymn, + Till lost in air amid the Seraphim. + + + VI. + + Our life is as a circle, and our age + Back to our youth returns at last in dreams; + The intermediate restless pilgrimage + Vexing the earth with toils, the air with schemes, + Pays our hard tribute to the work-day world. + That done, as some storm-shatter'd argosy + Puts to the port from whence its sail unfurl'd, + The soul regains the first familiar shore, + And greets the quiet it disdain'd before. + He who in youth from purple poetry + Flush'd the grey clouds in this cold common sky, + After his shadeless undelusive noon + Shall mark the roseate hues, which morning wore, + Herald the eve, and gird his setting sun; + And the last Hesperus shine on Helicon. + O long (yet nobly, since for man) resign'd + Nature's most sovereign, care's most soothing boon; + Again, again, with vervain fillets bind + Anointed brows--O Mage supreme of song! + Again before the enchanted crystal glass + Let the celestial phantoms glide along-- + Thou, whose sweet tears yet hallow Lycidas; + Thou, who the soul of Plato didst unsphere, + By chaste Sabrina's beryl-paven cell! + If now no more thou deign'st to charm the ear + "With measures ravish'd from Apollo's shell," + Re-wake the harp which mournful willows hide + Left by the captives of Jerusalem; + For thou hast thought of Sion, and beside + The streams of Babylon, hast wept--like them! + + + VII. + + Aged, forsaken--to the crowd below + (As to the Priest[F] who chronicled the time), + "_One Milton!_--_The blind Teacher_"--be it so. + Neglect and ruin make but more sublime + The last lone column which survives the dearth + Of a lost city,--when it lifts on high. + Above the waste and solitude of earth + Its front: and soars, the Neighbour of the Sky. + + To him a Voice floats down from every star; + An Angel bends from every cloud that rolls; + Life has no mystery from our sight more far + Than the still joy in solemn Poet-souls. + As some vast river, fresh'ning lands unknown + Where never yet a human footstep trod, + Leave the grand Song to flow majestic on + And hymn delight, from all its waves, to God. + + + VIII. + + A death-bell ceased;--beneath the vault were laid + A great man's bones;--and when the rest were gone, + Veil'd, and in sable widow-'d weeds array'd, + An aged woman knelt upon the stone. + Low as she pray'd, the wailing notes were sweet + With the strange music of a foreign tongue: + Thrice to that spot came feeble, feebler feet, + Thrice on that stone were humble garlands hung. + On the fourth day some formal hand in scorn + The flowers that breathed of priestcraft cast away; + But the poor stranger came not with the morn, + And flowers forbidden deck'd no more the clay. + A heart was broken!--and a spirit fled! + Whither--let those who love and hope decide-- + But in the faith that Love rejoins the dead, + The heart was broken ere the garland died. + + [F] Burnett. + + + + +EVA. + +A TRUE STORY. + + +I. + +THE MAIDEN'S HOME. + + A cottage in a peaceful vale; + A jasmine round the door; + A hill to shelter from the gale; + A silver brook before. + Oh, sweet the jasmine's buds of snow, + In mornings soft with May; + Oh, silver-clear the waves that flow, + Reflecting heaven, away! + A sweeter bloom to Eva's youth + Rejoicing Nature gave; + And heaven was mirror'd in her truth + More clear than on the wave. + Oft to that lone sequester'd place + My boyish steps would roam, + There was a look in Eva's face + That seem'd a smile of home. + And oft I paused to hear at noon + A voice that sang for glee; + Or mark the white neck glancing down,-- + The book upon the knee.-- + + +II. + +THE IDIOT BOY. + + Who stands between thee and the sun?-- + A cloud himself,--the Wandering One! + A vacant wonder in the eyes,-- + The mind, a blank, unwritten scroll;-- + The light was in the laughing skies, + And darkness in the Idiot's soul. + He touch'd the book upon her knee-- + He look'd into her gentle face-- + "Thou dost not tremble, maid, to see + Poor Arthur by thy dwelling-place. + I know not why, but where I pass + The aged turn away; + And if my shadow vex the grass, + The children cease from play. + _My_ only playmates are the wind, + The blossom on the bough! + "Why are thy looks so soft and kind? + Thou dost not tremble--thou!" + Though none were by, she trembled not-- + Too meek to wound, too good to fear him; + And, as he linger'd on the spot, + She hid the tears that gush'd to hear him.-- + + +III. + +PRAYER OF ARTHUR'S FATHER. + + "O Maiden!"--thus the sire begun-- + "O Maiden, do not scorn my prayer: + I have a hapless idiot son, + To all my wealth the only heir; + And day by day, in shine or rain, + He wanders forth, to gaze again + Upon those eyes, whose looks of kindness + Still haunt him in his world of blindness; + A sunless world!--all arts to yield + Light to the mind from childhood seal'd + Have been explored in vain. + Few are his joys on earth;--above, + For every ill a cure is given-- + God grant me life to cheer with love + The wanderer's guileless path to Heaven." + He paused--his heart was full--"And now, + What brings the suppliant father here? + Yes, few the joys that life bestows + On him whose life is but repose-- + One night, from year to year;-- + Yet not so dark, O maid, if thou + Couldst let his shadow catch thy light, + Couldst to his lip that smile allow + Which comes but at thy sight; + Couldst--(for the smile is still so rare, + And oh, so innocent the joy!) + His presence, though it pain thee, bear, + Nor fear the harmless idiot boy!" + Then Eva's father, from her brow + Parted the golden locks, descending + To veil the sweet face, downwards bending:-- + And, pointing to the swimming eyes, + The dew-drops glist'ning on the cheek, + "Mourner!" _the happier_ father cries, + "These tears her answer speak!" + + Oh, sweet the jasmine's buds of snow, + In mornings soft with May; + Oh, silver-clear the waves that flow + In summer skies away;-- + But sweeter looks of kindness seem + O'er human trouble bow'd, + And gentle hearts reflect the beam + Less truly than the cloud. + + +IV. + +THE YOUNG TEACHER. + + Of wonders on the land and deeps + She spoke, and glories in the sky-- + The Eternal life the Father keeps, + For those who learn from Him to die. + So simply did the maiden speak-- + So simply and so earnestly, + You saw the light begin to break, + And Soul the Heaven to see; + You saw how slowly, day by day, + The darksome waters caught the ray + Confused and broken--come and gone-- + The beams as yet uncertain are, + But still the billows murmur on, + And struggle for the star. + + +V. + +THE STRANGER SUITOR. + + There came to Eva's maiden home + A Stranger from a sunnier clime; + The lore that Hellas taught to Rome, + The wealth that Wisdom works from Time, + Which ever, in its ebb and flow, + Heaves to the seeker on the shore + The waifs of glorious wrecks below, + The argosies of yore;-- + Each gem that in that dark profound + The Past,--the Student's soul can find; + Shone from his thought, and sparkled round + The Enchanted Palace of the Mind. + In man's best years, his form was fair, + Broad brow with hyacinth locks of hair; + A port, though stately, not severe; + An eye that could the heart control; + A voice whose music to the ear, + Became a memory to the soul. + It seem'd as Nature's hand had done + Her most to mould her kingly son; + But oft beneath the sunlit Nile + The grim destroyer waits its prey, + And dark, below that fatal smile, + The lurking demon lay. + + How trustful in the leafy June, + She roved with him the lonely vale; + How trustful by the tender moon, + She blushed to hear a tenderer tale. + O happy Earth! the dawn revives, + Day after day, each drooping flower-- + Time to the heart _once_ only gives + The joyous Morning Hour. + "To him--oh, wilt thou pledge thy youth, + For whom the world's false bloom is o'er? + My heart shall haven in thy truth, + And tempt the faithless wave no more. + In my far land, a sun more bright + Sheds rose-hues o'er a tideless sea; + But cold the wave, and dull the light, + Without the sunshine found in thee. + Say, wilt thou come, the Stranger's bride, + To that bright land and tideless sea? + There is no sun but by thy side-- + My life's whole sunshine smiles in thee!" + + Her hand lay trembling on his arm, + Averted glow'd the happy face; + A softer hue, a mightier charm, + Grew mellowing o'er the hour--the place; + Along the breathing woodlands moved + A PRESENCE dream-like and divine-- + How sweet to love and be beloved, + To lean upon a heart that's thine! + Silence was o'er the earth and sky-- + By silence Love is answer'd best-- + _Her_ answer was the downcast eye, + The rose-cheek pillow'd on his breast. + What rustles through the moonlit brake? + What sudden spectre meets their gaze? + What face, the hues of life forsake, + Gleams ghost-like in the ghostly rays? + You might have heard his heart that beat, + So heaving rose its heavy swell-- + _No more the Idiot_--at her feet, + The Dark One, roused to reason, fell. + Loosed the last link that thrall'd the thought, + The lightning broke upon the blind-- + The jealous love the cure had wrought, + The Heart in waking woke the Mind. + + +VI. + +THE MARRIAGE. + + To and fro the bells are swinging, + Cheerily, clearly, to and fro; + Gaily go the young girls, bringing + Flowers the fairest June may know. + Maiden, flowers that bloom'd and perish'd + Strew'd thy path the bridal day; + May the Hope thy soul has cherish'd, + Bloom when these are pass'd away! + + The Father's parting prayer is said, + The daughter's parting kiss is given; + The tears a happy bride may shed, + Like dews ascend to heaven; + And leave the earth from which they rise, + But balmier airs, and rosier dyes. + + +VII. + +THE HERMIT. + + Years fly; beneath the yew-tree shade + Thy father's holy dust is laid; + The brook glides on, the jasmine blows; + But where art thou, the wandering wife, + And what the bliss, and what the woes, + Glass'd in the mirror-sleep of life? + For whether life may laugh or weep, + Death the true waking--life the sleep. + None know! afar, unheard, unseen-- + The present heeds not what has been; + This herded world together press'd, + Can miss no straggler from the rest-- + Not so! Nay, all _one_ heart may find, + Where Memory lives, a saint enshrined-- + Some altar-hearth, in which our shade + The Household-god of Thought is made, + And each slight relic hoarded yet + With faith more solemn than regret. + Who tenants thy forsaken cot-- + Who tends thy childhood's favourite flowers-- + Who wakes, from every haunted spot, + The Ghosts of buried Hours? + 'Tis He whose sense was doom'd to borrow + From thee the Vision and the Sorrow-- + To whom the Reason's golden ray, + In storms that rent the heart was given; + The peal that burst the clouds away + Left clear the face of heaven! + And wealth was his, and gentle birth, + A form in fair proportions cast; + But lonely still he walk'd the earth-- + The Hermit of the Past. + It was not love--that dream was o'er! + No stormy grief, no wild emotion; + For oft, what once was love of yore, + The memory soothes into devotion! + He bought the cot:--The garden flowers-- + The haunts his Eva's steps had trod, + Books--thought--beguiled the lonely hours, + That flow'd in peaceful waves to God. + + +VIII. + +DESERTION. + + She sits, a Statue of Despair, + In that far land, by that bright sea; + She sits, a Statue of Despair, + Whose smile an Angel seem'd to be-- + An angel that could never die, + Its home the heaven of that blue eye! + The smile is gone for ever there-- + She sits, the Statue of Despair! + She knows it all--the hideous tale-- + The wrong, the perjury, and the shame;-- + Before the bride had left her vale, + Another bore the nuptial name; + Another lives to claim the hand + Whose clasp, in thrilling, had defiled: + Another lives, O God, to brand + The Bastard's curse upon her child! + ANOTHER!--through all space she saw + The face that mock'd th' unwedded mother's! + In every voice she heard the Law, + That cried, "Thou hast usurp'd another's!" + And who the horror first had told?-- + From _his_ false lips in scorn it came-- + "Thy charms grow dim, my love grows cold; + My sails are spread--Farewell." + Rigid in voiceless marble there-- + Come, sculptor, come--behold Despair! + + The infant woke from feverish rest-- + Its smiles she sees, its voice she hears-- + The marble melted from the breast, + And all the Mother gush'd in tears. + + +IX. + +THE INFANT-BURIAL + + To and fro the bells are swinging, + Heavily heaving to and fro; + Sadly go the mourners, bringing + Dust to join the dust below. + Through the church-aisle, lighted dim, + Chanted knells the ghostly hymn, + _Dies irae, dies illa, + Solvet saeclum in favilla!_ + Mother! flowers that bloom'd and perish'd, + Strew'd thy path the bridal day; + Now the bud thy grief has cherish'd, + With the rest has pass'd away! + Leaf that fadeth--bud that bloometh, + Mingled there, must wait the day + When the seed the grave entombeth + Bursts to glory from the clay. + _Dies irae, dies illa, + Solvet saeclum in favilla!_ + Happy are the old that die, + With the sins of life repented; + Happier he whose parting sigh + Breaks a heart, from sin prevented! + Let the earth thine infant cover + From the cares the living know; + Happier than the guilty lover-- + Memory is at rest below! + Memory, like a fiend, shall follow, + Night and day, the steps of Crime; + Hark! the church-bell, dull and hollow, + Shakes another sand from time! + Through the church-aisle, lighted dim, + Chanted knells the ghostly hymn; + Hear it, False One, where thou fliest, + Shriek to hear it when thou diest-- + _Dies irae, dies illa, + Solvet saeclum in favilla!_ + + +X. + +THE RETURN. + + The cottage in the peaceful vale, + The jasmine round the door, + The hill still shelters from the gale, + The brook still glides before. + + Without the porch, one summer noon, + The Hermit-dweller see! + In musing silence bending down, + The book upon his knee. + + Who stands between thee and the sun?-- + A cloud herself,--the Wand'ring One!-- + A vacant sadness in the eyes, + The mind a razed, defeatured scroll; + The light is in the laughing skies, + And darkness, Eva, in thy soul! + The beacon shaken in the storm, + Had struggled still to gleam above + The last sad wreck of human love, + Upon the dying child to shed + One ray--extinguish'd with the dead: + O'er earth and heaven then rush'd the night! + A wandering dream, a mindless form-- + A Star hurl'd headlong from its height, + Guideless its course, and quench'd its light. + Yet still the native instinct stirr'd + The darkness of the breast-- + She flies, as flies the wounded bird + Unto the distant nest. + O'er hill and waste, from land to land, + Her heart the faithful instinct bore; + And there, behold the Wanderer stand + Beside her Childhood's Home once more! + + +XI. + +LIGHT AND DARKNESS. + + When earth is fair, and winds are still, + When sunset gilds the western hill, + Oft by the porch, with jasmine sweet, + Or by the brook, with noiseless feet, + Two silent forms are seen; + So silent they--the place so lone-- + They seem like souls when life is gone, + That haunt where life has been: + And his to watch, as in the past + Her soul had watch'd his soul. + Alas! _her_ darkness waits the last, + The grave the only goal! + It is not what the leech can cure-- + An erring chord, a jarring madness: + A calm so deep, it must endure-- + So deep, thou scarce canst call it sadness; + A summer night, whose shadow falls + On silent hearths in ruin'd halls. + Yet, through the gloom, she seem'd to feel + His presence like a happier air, + Close by his side she loved to steal, + As if no ill could harm her there! + And when her looks his own would seek, + Some memory seem'd to wake the sigh, + Strive for kind words she could not speak, + And bless him in the tearful eye. + O sweet the jasmine's buds of snow, + In mornings soft with May, + And silver-clear the waves that flow + To shoreless deeps away; + But heavenward from the faithful heart + A sweeter incense stole;-- + The onward waves their source desert, + But Soul returns to Soul! + + + + +THE FAIRY BRIDE. + +A TALE[A] + + +PART I. + + "And how canst thou in tourneys shine, + Or tread the glittering festal floor? + On chains of gold and cloth of pile, + The looks of high-born Beauty smile; + Nor peerless deeds, nor stainless line, + Can lift to fame the Poor!" + + His Mother spoke; and Elvar sigh'd-- + The sigh alone confess'd the truth; + He curb'd the thoughts that gall'd the breast-- + High thoughts ill suit the russet vest; + Yet Arthur's Court, in all its pride, + Ne'er saw so fair a youth. + + Far, to the forest's stillest shade, + Sir Elvar took his lonely way; + Beneath an oak, whose gentle frown + Dimm'd noon's bright eyes, he laid him down + And watch'd a Fount that through the glade, + Sang, sparkling up to day. + + "As sunlight to the forest tree"-- + 'Twas thus his murmur'd musings ran-- + "And as amidst the sunlight's glow, + The freshness of the fountain's flow-- + So--(ah, they never mine may be!)-- + Are Gold and Love to Man." + + And while he spoke, a gentle air + Seem'd stirring through the crystal tides; + A gleam, at first both dim and bright, + Trembled to shape, in limbs of light, + Gilded to sunbeams by the hair + That glances where IT glides;[B] + + Till, clear and clearer, upward borne, + The Fairy of the Fountain rose: + The halo quivering round her, grew + More steadfast as the shape shone through-- + O sure, a second, softer Morn + The Elder Daylight knows! + + Born from the blue of those deep eyes, + Such love its happy self betray'd + As only haunts that tender race, + With flower or fount, their dwelling-place-- + The darling of the earth and skies + She rose--that Fairy Maid! + + "Listen!" she said, and wave and land + Sigh'd back her murmur, murmurously-- + "A love more true than minstrel sings, + A wealth that mocks the pomp of kings, + To him who wins the Fairy's hand + A Fairy's dower shall be. + + "But not to those can we belong + Whose sense the charms of earth allure? + If human love hath yet been thine, + Farewell,--our laws forbid thee mine. + The Children of the Star and Song, + We may but bless the Pure!" + + "Dream--lovelier far than e'er, I ween, + Entranced the glorious Merlin's eyes-- + Through childhood, to this happiest hour, + All free from human Beauty's power, + My heart unresting still hath been + A prophet in its sighs. + + "Though never living shape hath brought + Sweet love, that second life, to me, + Yet over earth, and through the heaven, + The thoughts that pined for love were driven:-- + I see thee--and I feel I sought + Through Earth and Heaven for thee!" + + +PART II. + + Ask not the Bard to lift the veil + That hides the Fairy's bridal bower; + If thou art young, go seek the glade, + And win thyself some fairy maid; + And rosy lips shall tell the tale + In some enchanted hour. + + "Farewell!" as by the greenwood tree, + The Fairy clasp'd the Mortal's hand-- + "Our laws forbid thee to delay-- + Not ours the life of every day!-- + And Man, alas! may rarely be + The Guest of Fairy-land. + + "Back to thy Prince's halls depart, + The stateliest of his stately train: + Henceforth thy wish shall be thy mine-- + Each toy that gold can purchase, thine-- + A fairy's coffers are the heart + A mortal cannot drain." + + "Talk not of wealth--that dream is o'er!-- + These sunny looks be all my gold!" + "Nay! if in courts thy thoughts can stray + Along the fairy-forest way, + Wish but to see thy bride once more-- + Thy bride thou shalt behold. + + "Yet hear the law on which must rest + Thy union with thine elfin bride; + If ever by a word--a tone-- + Thou mak'st our tender secret known, + The spell will vanish from thy breast-- + The Fairy from thy side. + + "If thou but boast to mortal ear + The meanest charm thou find'st in me, + If"--here his lips the sweet lips seal, + Low-murmuring, "Love can ne'er reveal-- + It cannot breathe to mortal ear + The charms it finds in thee!" + + +PART III. + + High joust, by Carduel's ancient town, + The Kingly Arthur holds to-day; + Around their Queen; in glittering row, + The Starry Hosts of Beauty glow. + Smile down, ye stars, on his renown + Who bears the wreath away! + + O chiefs who gird the Table Round-- + O war-gems of that wondrous ring!-- + Where lives the man to match the might + That lifts to song your meanest knight, + Who sees, preside on Glory's ground, + His Lady and his King? + + What prince as from some throne afar, + Shines onward--shining up the throng? + Broider'd with pearls, his mantle's fold + Flows o'er the mail emboss'd with gold; + As rides, from cloud to cloud, a star, + The Bright One rode along! + + Twice fifty stalwart Squires, in air + The stranger's knightly pennon bore; + Twice fifty Pages, pacing slow, + Scatter his largess as they go; + Calm through the crowd he pass'd, and, there, + Rein'd in the Lists before. + + Light question in those elder days + The heralds made of birth and name. + Enough to wear the spurs of gold, + To share the pastime of the bold. + "Forwards!" their wands the Heralds raise, + And in the Lists he came. + + Now rouse thee, rouse thee, bold Gawaine! + Think of thy Lady's eyes above; + Now rouse thee for thy Queen's sweet sake, + Thou peerless Lancelot of the Lake! + Vain Gawaine's might, and Lancelot's vain!-- + _They_ know no Fairy's love. + + Before him swells the joyous tromp, + He comes--the victor's wreath is won! + Low to his Queen Sir Elvar kneels, + The helm no more his face conceals; + And one pale form amidst the pomp, + Sobs forth--"My gallant son!" + + +PART IV. + + Sir Elvar is the fairest knight + That ever lured a lady's glance; + Sir Elvar is the wealthiest lord + That sits at good King Arthur's board; + The bravest in the joust or fight, + The lightest in the dance. + + And never love, methinks, so blest + As his, this weary world has known; + For, every night before his eyes, + The charms that ne'er can fade arise-- + A star unseen by all the rest-- + A Life for him alone. + + And yet Sir Elvar is not blest-- + He walks apart with brows of gloom-- + "The meanest knight in Arthur's hall + His lady-love may tell to all; + He shows the flower that glads his breast-- + His pride to boast its bloom! + + "And I who clasp the fairest form + That e'er to man's embrace was given, + Must hide the gift as if in shame! + What boots a prize we dare not name? + The sun must shine if it would warm-- + A cloud is all my heaven!" + + Much proud Genevra[C] marvell'd, how + A knight so fair should seem so cold; + What if a love for hope too high, + Has chain'd the lip and awed the eye? + A second joust--and surely now + The secret shall be told. + + For, _there_, alone shall ride the brave + Whose glory dwells in Beauty's fame; + Each, for his lady's honour, arms-- + His lance the test of rival charms. + Joy unto him whom Beauty gave + The right to gild her name! + + Sir Lancelot burns to win the prize-- + First in the Lists his shield is seen; + A sunflower for device he took-- + "_Where'er thou shinest turns my look._" + So as he paced the Lists, his eyes + Still sought the Sun--his Queen! + + "And why, Sir Elvar, loiterest thou?-- + Lives there no fair thy lance to claim?" + No answer Elvar made the King; + Sullen he stood without the ring. + "Forwards!" An armed whirlwind now + On horse and horseman came! + + And down goes princely Caradoc-- + Down Tristan and stout Agrafrayn,-- + Unscath'd, alone, amidst the field, + Great Lancelot bears his victor-shield; + The sunflower bright'ning through the shock, + And through that iron rain. + + "Sound, trumpets--sound!--to South and North! + I, Lancelot of the Lake, proclaim, + That never sun and never air, + Or shone or breathed on form so fair + As hers--thrice, trumpets, sound it forth!-- + Our Arthur's royal dame!" + + And South and North, and West and East, + Upon the thunder-blast it flies! + Still on his steed sits Lancelot, + And even echo answers not; + Till, as the stormy challenge ceased, + A voice was heard--"He lies!" + + All turn'd their mute, astonish'd gaze, + To where the daring answer came, + And lo! Sir Elvar's haughty crest!-- + Fierce on the knight the gazers press'd;-- + Their wands the sacred Heralds raise,-- + Genevra weeps for shame. + + "Sir Knight," King Arthur smiling said + (In smiles a king should wrath disguise), + "Know'st thou, in truth, a dame so fair, + Our Queen may not with her compare? + Genevra, weep, and hide thy head-- + Sir Lancelot, yield the prize." + + "O, grace, my liege, for surely each + The dame he serves should peerless hold, + To loyal eye and faithful breast + The loved one is the loveliest." + The King replied, "Not crafty speech-- + Bold deeds--excuse the bold! + + "So name thy fair, defend her right! + A list!--Ho Lancelot, guard thy shield. + Her name?"--Sir Elvar's visage fell: + "A vow forbids the name to tell." + "Now out upon the recreant Knight + Who courts yet shuns the field! + + "Foul shame, were royal name disgraced + By some light leman's taunting smile! + Whoe'er--so run the tourney's laws-- + Would break a lance in Beauty's cause, + Must name the Highborn and the Chaste-- + The nameless are the vile." + + Sir Elvar glanced, where, stern and high, + The scornful champion rein'd his steed; + Where o'er the Lists the seats were raised, + And jealous dames disdainful gazed, + He glanced, nor caught one gentle eye-- + Courts grow not friends at need: + + "King! I have said, and keep my vow." + "Thy vow! I pledge thee mine in turn, + Ere the third sun shall sink,--or bring + A fair outshining yonder ring, + Or find mine oath as thine is now + Inflexible and stern. + + "Thy sword, unmeet to serve the right,-- + Thy spurs, unfit for churls to wear, + Torn from thee;--through the crowd, which heard + Our Lady weep at vassal's word, + Shall hiss the hoot,--'Behold the knight, + Whose lips belie the fair!' + + "Three days I give; nor think to fly + Thy doom; for on the rider's steed, + Though to the farthest earth he ride,-- + Disgrace once mounted, clings beside; + And Mockery's barbed shafts defy + Her victim's swiftest speed." + + Far to the forest's stillest shade, + Sir Elvar took his lonely way: + Beneath the oak, whose gentle frown + Still dimm'd the noon, he laid him down, + And saw the Fount that through the glade + Sang sparkling up to day. + + Alas, in vain his heart address'd, + With sighs, with prayers, his elfin bride;-- + What though the vow conceal'd the name, + Did not the boast the charms proclaim? + The spell has vanish'd from his breast, + The fairy from his side. + + Oh, not for vulgar homage made, + The holier beauty form'd for one; + It asks no wreath the arm can win; + Its lists--its world--the heart within; + All love, if sacred, haunts the shade-- + The star shrinks from the sun! + + Three days the wand'rer roved in vain; + Uprose the fatal dawn at last! + The Lists are set, the galleries raised, + And, scorn'd by all the eyes that gazed, + Alone he fronts the crowd again, + And hears the sentence pass'd. + + Now, as, amidst the hooting scorn, + Rude hands the hard command fulfil, + While rings the challenge--"Sun and air + Ne'er shone, ne'er breathed, on form so fair + As Arthur's Queen,"--a single horn + Came from the forest hill. + + A note so distant and so lone, + And yet so sweet,--it thrill'd along, + It hush'd the Champion on his steed, + Startled the rude hands from their deed, + Charm'd the stern Arthur on his throne, + And still'd the shouting throng. + + To North, to South, to East, and West, + They turn'd their eyes; and o'er the plain, + On palfrey white, a Ladye rode; + As woven light her mantle glow'd. + Two lovely shapes, in azure dress'd, + Walk'd first, and led the rein. + + The crowd gave way, as onward bore + That vision from the Land of Dreams; + Veil'd was the gentle rider's face, + But not the two her path that grace. + How dim beside the charms they wore + All human beauty seems! + + So to the throne the pageant came, + And thus the Fairy to the King: + "Not unto thee for ever dear, + By minstrel's song, to knighthood's ear + Beseems the wrath that wrongs the vow, + Which hallows ev'n a name. + + "Bloom there no flowers more sweet by night? + Come, Queen, before the judgment throne; + Behold Sir Elvar's nameless bride! + Now, Queen, his doom thyself decide." + She raised her veil,--and all her light + Of beauty round them shone! + + The bloom, the eyes, the locks, the smile, + That never earth nor time could dim;-- + Day grew more bright, and air more clear, + As Heaven itself were brought more near.-- + And oh! _his_ joy, who felt, the while, + That light but glow'd for him! + + "My steed, my lance, vain Champion, now + To arms: and Heaven defend the right!"-- + Here spake the Queen, "The strife is past," + And in the Lists her glove she cast, + "And I myself will crown thy brow, + Thou love-defended Knight!" + + He comes to claim the garland crown; + The changeful thousands shout his name; + And faithless beauty round him smiled, + How cold, beside the Forest's Child, + Who ask'd not love to bring renown, + And clung to love in shame! + + He bears the prize to those dear feet: + "Not mine the guerdon! oh, not mine!" + Sadly the fated Fairy hears, + And smiles through unreproachful tears; + "Nay, keep the flowers, and be they sweet + When I--no more am thine!" + + She lower'd the veil, she turn'd the rein, + And ere his lips replied, was gone. + As on she went her charmed way, + No mortal dared the steps to stay: + And when she vanish'd from the plain + All space seem'd left alone! + + Oh, woe! that fairy shape no more + Shall bless thy love nor rouse thy pride! + He seeks the wood, he gains the spot-- + The Tree is there, the Fountain not;-- + Dried up:--its mirthful play is o'er. + Ah, where the Fairy Bride? + + Alas, with fairies as with men, + Who love are victims from the birth! + A fearful doom the fairy shrouds, + If once unveil'd by day to crowds. + The Fountain vanish'd from the glen, + The Fairy from the earth! + + [A] As the subject of this tale is suggested by one of the Fabliaux, + the author has represented Arthur and Guenever, according to the + view of their characters taken in those French romances--which + he hopes he need scarcely say is very different from that taken + in his maturer Poem upon the adventures and ordeal of the Dragon + King. + + [B] "With hair that gilds the water as it glides."--MARLOWE, Edw. + II. + + [C] As Guenever is often called Genevra in the French romances, the + latter name is here adopted for the sake of euphony. + + + + +THE BEACON. + + + I. + + How broad and bright athwart the wave, + Its steadfast light the Beacon gave! + Far beetling from the headland shore, + The rock behind, the surge before,-- + How lone and stern and tempest-sear'd, + Its brow to Heaven the turret rear'd! + Type of the glorious souls that are + The lamps our wandering barks to light, + With storm and cloud round every star, + The Fire-Guides of the Night! + + + II. + + How dreary was that solitude! + Around it scream'd the sea-fowl's brood; + The only sound, amidst the strife + Of wind, and wave, that spoke of life, + Except when Heaven's ghost-stars were pale, + The distant cry from hurrying sail. + From year to year the weeds had grown + O'er walls slow-rotting with the damp; + And, with the weeds, decay'd, alone, + The Warder of the lamp. + + + III. + + But twice in every week from shore + Fuel and food the boatmen bore; + And then so dreary was the scene, + So wild and grim the warder's mien, + So many a darksome legend gave + Awe to that Tadmor of the wave, + That scarce the boat the rock could gain, + Scarce heaved the pannier on the stone, + Than from the rock and from the main, + Th' unwilling life was gone. + + + IV. + + A man he was whom man had driven + To loathe the earth and doubt the heaven; + A tyrant foe (beloved in youth) + Had call'd the law to crush the truth; + Stripp'd hearth and home, and left to shame + The broken heart--the blacken'd name. + Dark exile from his kindred, then, + He hail'd the rock, the lonely wild: + Upon the man at war with men + The frown of Nature smiled. + + + V. + + But suns on suns had roll'd away; + The frame was bow'd, the locks were grey: + And the eternal sea and sky + Seem'd one still death to that dead eye; + And Terror, like a spectre, rose + From the dull tomb of that repose. + No sight, no sound, of human-kind; + The hours, like drops upon the stone! + What countless phantoms man may find + In that dark word--"ALONE!" + + + VI. + + Dreams of blue Heaven and Hope can dwell + With Thraldom in its narrowest cell; + The airy mind may pierce the bars, + Elude the chain, and hail the stars: + Canst thou no drearier dungeon guess + In _space_, when space is loneliness? + The body's freedom profits none, + The heart desires an equal scope; + All nature is a gaol to one + Who knows nor love nor hope! + + + VII. + + One day, all summer in the sky, + A happy crew came gliding by, + With songs of mirth, and looks of glee-- + A human sunbeam o'er the sea! + "O Warder of the Beacon," cried + A noble youth, the helm beside, + "This summer-day how canst thou bear + To guard thy smileless rock alone, + And through the hum of Nature hear + No heart-beat, save thine own?" + + + VIII. + + "I cannot bear to live alone, + To hear no heart-heat, save my own; + Each moment, on this crowded earth, + The joy-bells ring some new-born birth; + Can ye not spare one form--but one, + The lowest--least beneath the sun, + To make the morning musical + With welcome from a human sound?" + "Nay," spake the youth,--"and is that all? + Thy comrade shall be found." + + + IX. + + The boat sail'd on, and o'er the main + The awe of silence closed again; + But in the wassail hours of night, + When goblets go their rounds of light, + And in the dance, and by the side + Of her, yon moon shall mark his bride, + Before that Child of Pleasure rose, + The lonely rock--the lonelier one, + A haunting spectre--till he knows + The human wish is won! + + + X. + + Low-murmuring round the turret's base + Wave glides on wave its gentle chase; + Lone on the rock, the warder hears + The oar's faint music--hark! it nears-- + It gains the rock; the rower's hand + Aids a gray, time-worn form to land. + "Behold the comrade sent to thee!" + He said--then went. And in that place + The Twain were left; and Misery + And Guilt stood face to face! + + + XI. + + Yes, face to face _once more_ array'd, + Stood the Betrayer--the Betray'd! + Oh, how through all those gloomy years, + When Guilt revolves what Conscience fears, + Had that wrong'd victim breathed the vow + _That if but face to face_--And now, + There, face to face with him he stood, + By the great sea, on that wild steep; + Around, the voiceless Solitude, + Below, the funeral Deep! + + + XII. + + They gazed--the Injurer's face grew pale-- + Pale writhe the lips, the murmurs fail, + And thrice he strives to speak--in vain! + The sun looks blood-red on the main, + The boat glides, waning less and less-- + No Law lives in the wilderness, + Except Revenge--man's first and last! + Those wrongs--that wretch--could they forgive? + All that could sweeten life was past; + Yet, oh, how sweet to live! + + + XIII. + + He gazed before, he glanced behind; + There, o'er the steep rock seems to wind + The devious, scarce-seen path, a snake + In slime and sloth might, labouring, make. + With a wild cry he springs;--he crawls; + Crag upon crag he clears;--and falls + Breathless and mute; and o'er him stands, + Pale as himself, the chasing foe-- + Mercy! what mean those clasped hands, + Those lips that tremble so? + + + XIV. + + "Thou hast cursed my life, my wealth despoil'd; + My hearth "is cold, my name is soil'd; + The wreck of what was Man, I stand + 'Mid the lone sea and desert land! + Well, I forgive thee all; but be + A human voice and face to me! + O stay--O stay--and let me yet + One thing, that speaks man's language, know!-- + The waste hath taught me to forget + That earth once held a foe!" + + + XV. + + O Heaven! methinks, from thy soft skies, + Look'd tearful down the angel-eyes; + Back to those walls to mark them go, + Hand clasp'd in hand--the Foe and Foe! + And when the sun sunk slowly there, + Low knelt the prayerless man in prayer. + He knelt, no more the lonely one; + Within, secure, a comrade sleeps; + That sun shall not go down upon + A desert in the deeps. + + + XVI. + + He knelt--the man who half till then + Forgot his God in loathing men,-- + He knelt, and pray'd that God to spare + The Foe to grow the Brother there; + And, reconciled by Love to Heaven, + Forgiving--was he not forgiven? + "Yes, man for man thou didst create; + Man's wrongs, man's blessings can atone! + To learn how Love can spring from Hate-- + Go, Hate,--and live alone." + + + + +THE LAY OF THE MINSTREL'S HEART. + + + It was the time when Spring on Earth + Gives Eden to the young; + On Provence shone the Vesper star; + Beneath fair Marguerite's lattice-bar + The Minstrel, Aymer, sung-- + + "The year may take a second birth, + But May is swift of wing; + The Heart whose sunshine lives in thee + One May from year to year shall see; + Thy love, eternal spring!" + + The Ladye blush'd, the Ladye sighed, + All Heaven was in that Hour! + The Heart he pledged was leal and brave-- + And what the pledge the Ladye gave?-- + Her hand let fall a flower! + + And when shall Aymer claim his Bride? + It is the hour to part! + He goes to guard the Saviour's grave;-- + Her pledge, a flower, the Maiden gave, + And _his_--the Minstrel's heart! + + Behold, a Cross, a Grave, a Foe! + _What else--Man's Holy Land?_ + High deeds, that level Rank to Fame, + Have bought young Aymer's right to claim + The high-born Maiden's hand. + + High deeds should ask no meed below-- + Their meed is in the sky. + The poison-dart, in Victory's hour, + Has pierced the Heart where lies the flower, + And hers its latest sigh! + + It is the time when Spring on Earth + Gives Eden to the young, + And harp and hymn proclaim the Bride, + Who smiles, Count Raimond, by thy side,-- + The Maid whom Aymer sung! + + And, darkly through the wassail mirth, + A pale procession see!-- + Turn, Marguerite, from the bridegroom turn-- + Thine Aymer's heart--the funeral urn-- + _His_ pledge, comes back to thee! + + Lo, on the Urn how wither'd lies + Thy gift--the scentless flower! + Amid those garlands, fresh and fair, + That prank the hall and glad the air, + What does that wither'd flower? + + One tear bedew'd the Ladye's eyes, + No tears beseem the day. + The dead can ne'er to life return + "A marble tomb shall grace the Urn," + She said, and turn'd away. + + The marble rose the Urn above, + The World went on the same; + The Ladye smiled. Count Raimond's bride, + And flowers, like hers, that bloom'd and died, + Each May returning came. + + The faded flower, the dream of love, + The poison and the dart, + The tearful trust, the smiling wrong, + The tomb,--behold, O Child of Song, + The History of thy Heart! + + + + +Narrative Lyrics. + +OR, + +THE PARCAE; + +IN SIX LEAVES FROM THE SIBYL'S BOOK. + + + +The Parcae.--Leaf the First. + +NAPOLEON AT ISOLA BELLA. + +In the Isola Bella, upon the Lago Maggiore, where the richest vegetation +of the tropics grows in the vicinity of the Alps, there is a lofty +laurel-tree (the bay), tall as the tallest oak, on which, a few days +before the battle of Marengo, Napoleon carved the word "BATTAGLIA." The +bark has fallen away from the inscription, most of the letters are gone, +and the few left are nearly effaced. + + + I. + + O fairy island of a fairy sea, + Wherein Calypso might have spell'd the Greek, + Or Flora piled her fragrant treasury, + Cull'd from each shore her Zephyr's wings could seek.-- + From rocks, where aloes blow. + + Tier upon tier, Hesperian fruits arise; + The hanging bowers of this soft Babylon; + An India mellows in the Lombard skies, + And changelings, stolen from the Lybian sun, + Smile to yon Alps of snow. + + + II. + + Amid this gentlest dream-land of the wave, + Arrested, stood the wondrous Corsican; + As if one glimpse the better angel gave + Of the bright garden-life vouschafed to man + Ere blood defiled the world. + + He stood--that grand Sesostris of the North-- + While paused the car to which were harness'd kings; + And in the airs, that lovingly sigh'd forth + The balms of Araby, his eagle-wings + Their sullen thunder furl'd. + + + III. + + And o'er the marble hush of those large brows, + Dread with the awe of the Olympian nod, + A giant laurel spread its breathless boughs, + The prophet-tree of the dark Pythian god, + Shadowing the doom of thrones! + + What, in such hour of rest and scene of joy, + Stirs in the cells of that unfathom'd brain? + Comes back one memory of the musing boy, + Lone gazing o'er the yet unmeasured main, + Whose waifs are human bones? + + + IV. + + To those deep eyes doth one soft dream return? + Soft with the bloom of youth's unrifled spring, + When Hope first fills from founts divine the urn, + And rapt Ambition, on the angel's wing, + Floats first through golden air? + + Or doth that smile recall the midnight street, + When thine own star the solemn ray denied, + And to a stage-mime,[A] for obscure retreat + From hungry Want, the destined Caesar sigh'd?-- + Still Fate, as then, asks prayer. + + + V. + + Under that prophet tree, thou standest now; + Inscribe thy wish upon the mystic rind; + Hath the warm human heart no tender vow + Link'd with sweet household names?--no hope enshrined + Where thoughts are priests of Peace. + + Or, if dire Hannibal thy model be, + Dread lest, like him, thou bear the thunder _home_! + Perchance ev'n now a Scipio dawns for thee, + Thou doomest Carthage while thou smitest Rome-- + Write, write "Let carnage cease!" + + + VI. + + Whispers from heaven have strife itself inform'd;-- + "Peace" was our dauntless Falkland's latest sigh, + Navarre's frank Henry fed the forts he storm'd. + Wild Xerxes wept the Hosts he doom'd to die! + Ev'n War pays dues to Love! + + Note how harmoniously the art of Man + Blends with the Beautiful of Nature! see + How the true Laurel of the Delian + Shelters the Grace!--Apollo's peaceful tree + Blunts ev'n the bolt of Jove. + + + VII. + + Write on the sacred bark such votive prayer, + As the mild Power may grant in coming years, + Some word to make thy memory gentle there;-- + More than renown, kind thought for men endears + A Hero to Mankind. + + Slow moved the mighty hand--a tremour shook + The leaves, and hoarse winds groan'd along the wood; + The Pythian tree the damning sentence took, + And to the sun the battle-word of blood + Glared from the gashing rind. + + + VIII. + + So thou hast writ the word, and sign'd thy doom: + Farewell, and pass upon thy gory way, + The direful skein the pausing Fates resume! + Let not the Elysian grove thy steps delay + From thy Promethean goal. + + The fatal tree the abhorrent word retain'd, + Till the last Battle on its bloody strand + Flung what were nobler had no life remain'd,-- + The crownless front and the disarmed hand + And the' foil'd Titan Soul; + + + IX. + + Now, year by year, the warrior's iron mark + Crumbles away from the majestic tree, + The indignant life-sap ebbing from the bark + Where the grim death-word to Humanity + Profaned the Lord of Day. + + High o'er the pomp of blooms, as greenly still, + Aspires that tree--the Archetype of Fame, + The stem rejects all chronicle of ill; + The bark shrinks back--the _tree_ survives the same-- + The _record_ rots away. + + BAVENO, Oct. 8, 1845. + + + +The Parcae.----Leaf the Second. + +MAZARIN. + +FAREWELL TO THE BEAUTIFUL, WITHOUT. + +"I was walking, some days after, in the new apartments of his palace. I +recognized the approach of the cardinal (Mazaria) by the sound of his +slippered feet, which he dragged one after the other, as a man enfeebled +by a mortal malady. I concealed myself behind the tapestry, and I heard +him say, 'Il faut quitter tout cela!' ('I must leave all that!') He +stopped at every step, for he was very feeble, and casting his eyes on +each object that attracted him, he sighed forth, as from the bottom of +his heart, 'II faut quitter tout cela! What pains have I taken to +acquire these things! Can I abandon them without regret? I shall never +see them more where I am about to go!'" &c.--MEMOIRES INEDITS DE LOUIS +HENRI, COMTE DE BRIENNE, _Barriere's Edition_, vol. ii. p. 115. + + + Serene the Marble Images + Gleam'd down, in lengthen'd rows; + Their life, like the Uranides, + A glory and repose. + + Glow'd forth the costly canvas spoil + From many a gorgeous frame; + One race will starve the living toil, + The next will gild the name. + + That stately silence silvering through, + The steadfast tapers shone + Upon the Painter's pomp of hue, + The Sculptor's solemn stone. + + Saved from the deluge-storm of Time, + Within that ark, survey + Whate'er of elder Art sublime + Survives a world's decay! + + There creeps a foot, there sighs a breath, + Along the quiet floor; + An old man leaves his bed of death + To count his treasures o'er. + + Behold the dying mortal glide + Amidst the eternal Art; + It were a sight to stir with pride + Some pining Painter's heart! + + It were a sight that might beguile + Sad Genius from the Hour, + To see the life of Genius smile + Upon the death of Power. + + The ghost-like master of that hall + Is king-like in the land; + And France's proudest heads could fall + Beneath that spectre hand. + + Veil'd in the Roman purple, preys + The canker-worm within; + And more than Bourbon's sceptre sways + The crook of Mazarin. + + Italian, yet more dear to thee + Than sceptre, or than crook, + The Art in which thine Italy + Still charm'd thy glazing look! + + So feebly, and with wistful eyes, + He crawls along the floor; + A dying man, who, ere he dies, + Would count his treasures o'er. + + And, from the landscape's soft repose, + Smiled thy calm soul, Lorraine; + And, from the deeps of Raphael, rose + Celestial Love again. + + In pomp, which his own pomp recalls, + The haggard owner sees + Thy cloth of gold and banquet halls, + Thou stately Veronese! + + While, cold as if they scorn'd to hail + Creations not their own, + The Gods of Greece stand marble-pale + Around the Thunderer's throne. + + There, Hebe brims the urn of gold; + There, Hermes treads the skies; + There, ever in the Serpent's fold, + Laocoon deathless dies. + + There, startled from her mountain rest, + Young Dian turns to draw + The arrowy death that waits the breast + Her slumber fail'd to awe. + + There, earth subdued by dauntless deeds, + And life's large labours done, + Stands, sad as Worth with mortal meeds, + Alcmena's mournful son.[B] + + They gaze upon the fading form + With mute immortal eyes;-- + Here, clay that waits the hungry worm; + There, children of the skies. + + Then slowly as he totter'd by, + The old Man, unresign'd, + Sigh'd forth: "Alas! and must I die, + And leave such life behind? + + "The Beautiful, from which I part, + Alone defies decay!" + Still, while he sigh'd, the eternal Art + Smiled down upon the clay. + + And as he waved the feeble hand, + And crawl'd unto the porch, + He saw the Silent Genius stand + With the extinguish'd torch! + + The world without, for ever yours, + Ye stern remorseless Three; + What, from that changeful world, secures + Calm Immortality? + + Nay, soon or late decays, alas! + Or canvass, stone, or scroll; + From all material forms must pass + To forms afresh, the soul. + + 'Tis but in that _which doth create_, + Duration can be sought; + A worm can waste the canvass;--Fate + Ne'er swept from Time, a Thought. + + Lives Phidias in his works alone?-- + His Jove returns to air: + But wake one godlike shape from stone, + And Phidian thought is there! + + Blot out the Iliad from the earth, + Still Homer's thought would fire + Each deed that boasts sublimer worth, + And each diviner lyre. + + Like light, connecting star to star, + Doth Thought transmitted run;-- + Rays that to earth the nearest are, + Have longest left the sun. + + + +The Parcae.--Leaf the Third. + +ANDRE CHENIER. + +FAREWELL TO THE BEAUTIFUL, WITHIN. + +"Andre Chenier, the original of whatever is truest to nature and genuine +passion, in the modern poetry of France, died by the guillotine, July +27, 1794. In ascending the scaffold, he cried, 'To die so young!' 'And +there was something here!' he added, striking his forehead, not in the +fear of death, but the despair of genius!"--See THIERS, vol. iv. p. 83. + + + Within the prison's dreary girth, + The dismal night, before + That morn on which the dungeon Earth + Shall wall the soul no more, + + There stood serenest images + Where doomed Genius lay, + The ever young Uranides + Around the Child of Clay. + + On blacken'd walls and rugged floors + Shone cheerful, thro' the night, + The stars--like beacons from the shores + Of the still Infinite. + + From Ida to the Poet's cell + The Pain-beguilers stole; + Apollo tuned his silver shell + And Hebe brimm'd the bowl. + + To grace those walls he needed nought + That tint or stone bestows; + Creation kindled from his thought: + He call'd--and gods arose. + + The visions Poets only know + Upon the captive smiled, + As bright within those walls of woe + As on the sunlit child; + + He saw the nameless, glorious things + Which youthful dreamers see, + When Fancy first with murmurous wings + O'ershadows bards to be; + + Those forms to life spiritual given + By high creative hymn; + From music born--as from their heaven + Are born the Seraphim.[C] + + Forgetful of the coming day, + Upon the dungeon floor + He sate to count, poor child of clay, + The wealth of genius o'er; + + To count the gems, as yet unwrought, + But found beneath the soil; + The bright discoveries claim'd by thought, + As future crowns for toil. + + He sees The Work his breath should warm + To life, from out the air: + The Shape of Love his soul should form, + Then leave its birthright there! + + He sees the new Immortal rise + From her melodious sea; + The last descendant of the skies + For man to bend the knee-- + + He sees himself within your shrine + O hero gods of Fame! + And hears the praise that makes divine + The human holy name. + + True to the hearts of men shall chime + The song their lips repeat; + When heroes chant the strain, sublime; + When lovers breathe it, sweet. + + Lo, from the brief delusion given, + He starts, as through the bars + Gleams wan the dawn that scares from Heaven + And Thought alike--its stars. + + Hark to the busy tramp below! + The jar of iron doors! + The gaoler's heavy footfall slow + Along the funeral floors! + + The murmur of the crowd that round + The human shambles throng; + That muffled sullen thunder-sound-- + The Death-cart grates along! + + "Alas, so soon!--and must I die," + He groan'd forth unresign'd; + "Flit like a cloud athwart the sky, + And leave no wrack behind! + + "And yet my Genius speaks to me; + The Pythian fires my brain; + And tells me what my life should be; + A Prophet--and in vain! + + "O realm more wide, from clime to clime, + Than ever Caesar sway'd; + O conquests in that world of time + My grand desire survey'd!"-- + + Blood-red upon his loathing eyes + Now glares the gaoler's torch: + "Come forth, the day is in the skies, + The Death-cart at the porch!" + + Pass on!--to thee the Parcae give + The fairest lot of all;-- + In golden poet-dreams to live, + And ere they fade--to fall! + + The shrine that longest guards a Name + Is oft an early tomb; + The Poem most secure of fame + Is--some wrong'd poet's doom! + + + +The Parcae.--Leaf the Fourth. + +MARY STUART AND HER MOURNER. + +"Mary Stuart perished at the age of forty-four years and two months. Her +remains were taken from her weeping servants, and a green cloth, torn in +haste from an old billiard table, was flung over her once beautiful +form. Thus it remained unwatched and unattended, except by a poor little +lap-dog, which could not be induced to quit the body of its mistress. +This faithful little animal was found dead two days afterwards; and the +circumstance made such an impression even on the hard-hearted minister +of Elizabeth, that it was mentioned in the official despatches." + + MRS. JAMIESON'S _Female Sovereigns--Mary Queen of Scots_. + + + The axe its bloody work had done; + The corpse neglected lay; + This peopled world could spare not one + To watch beside the clay. + + The fairest work from Nature's hand + That e'er on mortals shone, + A sunbeam stray'd from fairy land + To fade upon a throne;-- + + The Venus of the Tomb[D] whose form + Was destiny and death; + The Siren's voice that stirr'd a storm + In each melodious breath;-- + + Such _was_, what now by fate is hurl'd + To rot, unwept, away. + A star has vanish'd from the world; + And none to miss the ray! + + Stern Knox, that loneliness forlorn + A harsher truth might teach + To royal pomps, than priestly scorn + To royal sins can preach! + + No victims now that lip can make! + That hand how powerless now! + O God! and what a King--but take + A bauble from the brow? + + The world is full of life and love; + The world methinks might spare + From millions, one to watch above + The dust of monarchs there. + + And not one human eye!--yet lo + What stirs the funeral pall? + What sound--it is not human woe-- + Wails moaning through the hall? + + Close by the form mankind desert + One thing a vigil keeps; + More near and near to that still heart + It wistful, wondering creeps. + + It gazes on those glazed eyes, + It hearkens for a breath-- + It does not know that kindness dies, + And love departs from death. + + It fawns as fondly as before + Upon that icy hand. + And hears from lips, that speak no more, + The voice that can command. + + To that poor fool, alone on earth, + No matter what had been + The pomp, the fall, the guilt, the worth, + The Dead was still a Queen. + + With eyes that horror could not scare, + It watch'd the senseless clay:-- + Crouch'd on the breast of Death, and there + Moan'd its fond life away. + + And when the bolts discordant clash'd, + And human steps drew nigh, + The human pity shrunk abash'd + Before that faithful eye; + + It seem'd to gaze with such rebuke + On those who could forsake; + Then turn'd to watch once more the look, + And strive the sleep to wake. + + They raised the pall--they touch'd the dead, + A cry, and _both_ were still'd,-- + Alike the soul that Hate had sped, + The life that Love had kill'd. + + Semiramis of England, hail! + Thy crime secures thy sway: + But when thine eyes shall scan the tale + Those hireling scribes convey; + + When thou shalt read, with late remorse, + How one poor slave was found + Beside thy butcher'd rival's corse, + The headless and discrown'd; + + Shall not thy soul foretell thine own + Unloved, expiring hour, + When those who kneel around the throne + Shall fly the falling tower; + + When thy great heart shall silent break, + When thy sad eyes shall strain + Through vacant space, one thing to seek + One thing that loved--in vain? + + Though round thy parting pangs of pride + Shall priest and noble crowd; + More worth the grief, that mourn'd beside + Thy victim's gory shroud! + + + +The Parcae.--Leaf the Fifth. + +THE LAST DAYS OF ELIZABETH. + +"Her delight is to sit in the dark, and sometimes, with shedding tears, +to bewail Essex."--_Contemporaneous Correspondence._ + +"She refused all consolation; few words she uttered, and they were all +expressive of some hidden grief which she cared not to reveal. But sighs +and groans were the chief vent which she gave to her despondency, and +which, though they discovered her sorrows, were never able to ease or +assuage them. Ten days and nights she lay upon the carpet leaning on +cushions which her maids brought her," &c.--HUME. + + + I. + + Rise from thy bloody grave, + Thou soft Medusa of the Fated Line[F] + Whose evil beauty look'd to death the brave;-- + Discrowned Queen, around whose passionate shame + Terror and Grief the palest flowers entwine, + That ever veil'd the ruins of a Name + With the sweet parasites of song divine!-- + Arise, sad Ghost, arise, + And if Revenge outlive the Tomb, + Behold the Doomer brought to doom! + Lo, where thy mighty Murderess lies, + The sleepless couch--the sunless room,-- + Through the darkness darkly seen + Rests the shadow of a Queen; + Ever on the lawns below + Flit the shadows to and fro, + Quick at dawn, and slow at noon, + Halving midnight with the moon: + In the palace, still and dun, + Rests that shadow on the floor; + All the changes of the sun + Move that shadow nevermore. + + + II. + + Yet oft she turns from face to face, + A keen and wistful gaze, + As if the memory seeks to trace + The sign of some lost dwelling-place + Beloved in happier days;-- + Ah, what the clue supplies + In the cold vigil of a hireling's eyes? + Ah, sad in childless age to weep alone, + Look round and find no grief reflect our own!-- + O Soul, thou speedest to thy rest away, + But not upon the pinions of the dove; + When death draws nigh, how miserable they + Who have outlived all love! + As on the solemn verge of Night + Lingers a weary Moon, + Thou wanest last of every glorious light + That bathed with splendour thy majestic noon:-- + The stately stars that clustering o'er the isle + Lull'd into glittering rest the subject sea;-- + Gone the great Masters of Italian wile, + False to the world beside, but true to thee!-- + Burleigh, the subtlest builder of thy fame,-- + The serpent craft of winding Walsingham;-- + They who exalted yet before thee bow'd: + And that more dazzling chivalry--the Band + That made thy Court a Faery Land, + In which thou wert enshrined to reign alone-- + The Gloriana of the Diamond Throne;-- + All gone,--and left thee sad amidst the cloud. + + + III. + + To their great sires, to whom thy youth was known, + Who from thy smile, as laurels from the sun + Drank the immortal greenness of renown, + Succeeds the cold lip-homage scantly won + From the new race whose hearts already bear + The Wise-man's offerings to th' unworthy Heir. + Watching the glass in which the sands run low,-- + Hovers keen Cecil with his falcon eyes, + And musing Bacon[F] bends his marble brow.-- + But deem not fondly there + To weep the fate or pour th' averting prayer + Attend those solemn spies! + Lo, at the Regal Gate + The impatient couriers wait; + To speed from hour to hour the nice account + That registers the grudged unpitied sighs + Vexing the friendless void, before + The Stuart's step shall reeling mount + Tudor's steep throne, red with his Mother's gore! + + + IV. + + O piteous mockery of all pomp thou art, + Poor Child of Clay, worn out with toil and years! + As, layer by layer, the granite of the heart + Dissolving, melteth to the weakest tears + That ever Village Maiden shed above + The grave that robb'd her quiet world of love. + + Ten days and nights upon that floor + Those weary limbs have lain; + And every hour has added more + Of heaviness to pain. + As gazing into dismal air + She sees the headless phantom there, + The victim round whose image twined + The last wild love of womankind; + That lightning flash'd from stormy hearts, + Which now reveals the deeps of Heaven, + And now remorseless, earthward darts, + Rives, and expires on what its stroke hath riven! + + 'Twere sad to see from those stern eyes + Th' unheeded anguish feebly flow; + And hear the broken word that dies + In moanings faint and low;-- + But sadder still to mark the while, + The vacant stare--the marble smile, + And think, that goal of glory won. + How slight a shade between + The idiot moping in the sun + And England's giant Queen![G] + + + V. + + Call back the joyous Past! + Lo, England white-robed for a holyday! + While, choral to the clarion's kingly blast, + Shout peals on shout along the Virgin's way, + As through the swarming streets rolls on the long array. + Mary is dead!--Look from your fire-won homes, + Exulting Martyrs!--on the mount shall rest + Truth's ark at last! th' avenging Lutheran comes + And clasps THE BOOK ye died for to her breast![H] + With her, the flower of all the Land, + The high-born gallants ride, + And ever nearest of the band, + With watchful eye and ready hand, + Young Dudley's form of pride![I] + Ah, ev'n in that exulting hour, + Love half allures the soul from Power,-- + To that dread brow in bending down + Throbs up, beneath the manlike crown, + The woman's heart wild beating, + While steals the whisper'd worship, paid + Not to the Monarch, but the Maid, + Through tromps and stormy greeting. + + + VI. + + Call back the gorgeous Past! + The lists are set, the trumpets sound, + Still as the stars, when to the breeze + Sway the proud crests of stately trees, + Bright eyes, from tier on tier around, + Look down, where on its famous ground + Murmurs and moves the bristling life + Of antique Chivalry! + "Forward!"[J]--the signal word is given-- + Like cloud on cloud by tempest driven; + Steel lightens, and arm'd thunders close! + How plumes descend in flakes of snows; + How the ground reels, as reels a sea, + Beneath the inebriate rapture-strife + Of jocund Chivalry! + Who is the Victor of the Day? + Thou of the delicate form and golden hair + And Manhood glorious in its midst of May;-- + Thou who, upon thy shield of argent, bearest + The bold device, "The Loftiest is the Fairest!" + As bending low thy stainless crest, + "The Vestal throned by the West" + Accords the old Provencal crown + Which blends her own with thy renown;-- + Arcadian Sidney--Nursling of the Muse, + Flower of divine Romance,[K] whose bloom was fed + By daintiest Helicon's most silver dews, + Alas! how soon thy lovely leaves were shed-- + Thee lost, no more were Grace and Force united, + Grace but some flaunting Buckingham unmann'd, + And Force but crush'd what Freedom vainly righted-- + Behind, lo Cromwell looms, and dusks the land + With the swart shadow of his giant hand. + + + VII. + + Call back the Kingly Past! + Where, bright and broadening to the main, + Rolls on the scornful River,-- + Stout hearts beat high on Tilbury's plain,-- + Our Marathon for ever! + No breeze above, but on the mast + The pennon shook as with the blast. + Forth from the cloud the day-god strode; + Flash'd back from steel, the splendour glow'd,-- + Leapt the loud joy from Earth to Heaven, + As through the ranks asunder riven, + The Warrior-Woman rode! + Hark, thrilling through the armed Line + The martial accents ring, + "Though mine the Woman's form--yet mine, + "The Heart of England's King!"[L] + Woe to the Island and the Maid! + The Pope has preach'd the New Crusade,[M] + His sons have caught the fiery zeal; + The Monks are merry in Castile; + Bold Parma on the Main; + And through the deep exulting sweep + The Thunder-Steeds of Spain.-- + What meteor rides the sulphurous gale? + The Flames have caught the giant sail! + Fierce Drake is grappling prow to prow; + God and St. George for Victory now! + Death in the Battle and the Wind-- + Carnage before and Storm behind-- + Wild shrieks are heard above the hurtling roar + By Orkney's rugged strands, and Erin's ruthless shore. + Joy to the Island and the Maid! + Pope Sextus wept the Last Crusade! + His sons consumed before his zeal,-- + The Monks are woeful in Castile; + Your Monument the Main, + The glaive and gale record your tale, + Ye Thunder-Steeds of Spain! + + + VIII. + + Turn from the idle Past; + Its lonely ghost thou art! + Yea, like a ghost, whom charms to earth detain + (When, with the dawn, its kindred phantom train + Glide into peaceful graves)--to dust depart + Thy shadowy pageants; and the day unblest, + Seems some dire curse that keeps thee from thy rest. + Yet comfort, comfort to thy longing woe, + Thou wistful watcher by the dreary portal; + Now when most human, since most feeble, know, + That in the Human struggles the Immortal. + + Flash'd from the steel of the descending shears, + Oft sacred light illumes the parting soul; + And our last glimpse along the woof of years, + First reads the scheme that disinvolves the whole. + Yet, then, recall the Past! + Is reverence not the child of sympathy? + To feel for Greatness we must hear it sigh: + On mortal brows those halos longest last + Which blend for one the rays that verge from all. + Few reign, few triumph; millions love and grieve: + Of grief and love let some high memory leave + One mute appeal to life, upon the stone-- + That tomb from Time shall votive rites receive + When History doubts what ghost once fill'd a throne. + So,--indistinct while back'd by sunlit skies-- + But large and clear against the midnight pall, + Thy human outline awes our human eyes. + Place, place, ye meaner royalties below, + For Nature's holiest--Womanhood and Woe! + + Let not vain youth deride the age that still + Loves as the young,--loves on unto the last; + Grandest the heart when grander than the will-- + Bow we before the soul, which through the Past, + Turns no vain glance towards fading heights of Pride, + But strains its humbled tearful gaze to see, + Love and Remorse--near Immortality, + And by the yawning Grave, stand side by side. + + + +The Parcae.--Leaf the Sixth. + +CROMWELL'S DREAM. + +The conception of this Ode originated in a popular tradition of +Cromwell's earlier days. It is thus strikingly related by Mr. Forster, +in his very valuable Life of Cromwell:--"He laid himself down, too +fatigued in hope for sleep, when suddenly the curtains of his bed were +slowly withdrawn by a gigantic figure, which bore the aspect of a woman, +and which, gazing at him silently for a while, told him that he should, +before his death, be the greatest man in England. He remembered when he +told the story, and the recollection marked the current of his thoughts, +_that the figure had not made mention of the word King_." Alteration has +been made in the scene of the vision, and the age of Cromwell. + + + I. + + The Moor spread wild and far, + In the sharp whiteness of a wintry shroud; + Midnight yet moonless; and the winds ice-bound: + And a grey dusk--not darkness--reign'd around, + Save where the phantom of a sudden star + Peer'd o'er some haggard precipice of cloud:-- + Where on the wold, the triple pathway cross'd, + A sturdy wanderer wearied, lone, and lost, + Paused and gazed round; a dwarf'd but aged yew + O'er the wan rime its gnome-like shadow threw; + The spot invited, and by sleep oppress'd, + Beneath the boughs he laid him down to rest. + A man of stalwart limbs and hardy frame, + Meet for the ruder time when force was fame, + Youthful in years--the features yet betray + Thoughts rarely mellow'd till the locks are grey: + Round the firm lips the lines of solemn wile + Might warn the wise of danger in the smile; + But the blunt aspect spoke more sternly still + That craft of craft--THE STUBBORN WILL: + That which,--let what may betide-- + Never halts nor swerves aside; + From afar its victim viewing, + Slow of speed, but sure-pursuing; + Through maze, up mount, still hounding on its way, + Till grimly couch'd beside the conquer'd prey! + + + II. + + The loftiest fate will longest lie + In unrevealing sleep; + And yet unknown the destined race, + Nor yet his Soul had walk'd with Grace; + Still, on the seas of Time + Drifted the ever-careless prime,-- + But many a blast that o'er the sky + All idly seems to sweep,-- + Still while it speeds, may spread the seeds + The toils of autumn reap:-- + And we must blame the soil, and not the wind, + If hurrying passion leave no golden grain behind. + + + III. + + Seize--seize--seize![N] + Bind him strong in the chain, + On his heart, on his brain, + Clasp the links of the evil Sleep! + Seize--seize--seize-- + Ye fiends that dimly sweep + Up from the Stygian deep, + Where Death sits watchful by his brother's side! + Ye pale Impalpables, that are + Shadows of Truths afar, + Appearing oft to warn, but ne'er to guide,-- + Hover around the calm, disdainful Fates, + Reveal the woof through which the spindle gleams:-- + Open, ye Ebon gates! + Darken the moon--O Dreams! + + Seize--seize--seize-- + Bind him strong in the chain, + On his heart, on his brain, + Clasp the links of the evil Sleep! + + Awakes or dreams he still? + His eyes are open with a glassy stare, + On the fix'd brow the large drops gather chill, + And horror, like a wind, stirs through the lifted hair. + Before him stands the Thing of Dread-- + A giant shadow motionless and pale! + As those dim Lemur-Vapours that exhale + From the rank grasses rotting o'er the Dead, + And startle midnight with the mocking show + Of the still, shrouded bones that sleep below-- + So the wan image which the Vision bore + Was outlined from the air, no more + Than served to make the loathing sense a bond + Between the world of life, and grislier worlds beyond. + + + IV. + + "Behold!" the Shadow said, and lo, + Where the blank heath had spread, a smiling scene; + Soft woodlands sloping from a village green,[O] + And, waving to blue Heaven, the happy cornfields glow: + A modest roof, with ivy cluster'd o'er, + And Childhood's busy mirth beside the door. + But, yonder, sunset sleeping on the sod, + Bow Labour's rustic sons in solemn prayer; + And, self-made teacher of the truths of God, + The Dreamer sees the Phantom-Cromwell there! + "Art thou content, of these the greatest _Thou_," + Murmur'd the Fiend, "the Master and the Priest?" + A sullen anger knit the Dreamer's brow, + And from his scornful lips the words came slow, + "The greatest of the hamlet, Demon, No!" + Loud laugh'd the Fiend--then trembled through the sky, + Where haply angels watch'd, a warning sigh;-- + And darkness swept the scene, and golden Quiet ceased. + + + V. + + "Behold!" the Shadow said--a hell-born ray + Shoots through the Night, up-leaps the unholy Day, + Spring from the earth the Dragon's armed seed, + The ghastly squadron wheels, and neighs the spectre-steed. + Unnatural sounded the sweet Mother-tongue, + As loud from host to host the English war-cry rung; + Kindred with kindred blent in slaughter show + The dark phantasma of the Prophet-Woe! + A gay and glittering band! + Apollo's lovelocks in the crest of Mars-- + Light-hearted Valour, laughing scorn to scars-- + A gay and glittering band, + Unwitting of the scythe--the lilies of the land! + Pale in the midst, that stately squadron boasts + A princely form, a mournful brow; + And still, where plumes are proudest, seen, + With sparkling eye and dauntless mien, + The young Achilles[P] of the hosts. + On rolls the surging war--and now + Along the closing columns ring-- + "Rupert" and "Charles"--"The Lady of the Crown,"[Q] + "Down with the Roundhead Rebels, down!" + "St. George and England's king." + + A stalwart and a sturdy band,-- + Whose souls of sullen zeal + Are made, by the Immortal Hand + Invulnerable steel! + A kneeling host,--a pause of prayer, + A single voice thrills through the air + "They come. Up, Ironsides! + For TRUTH and PEACE unsparing smite! + Behold the accursed Amalekite!" + The Dreamer's heart beat high and loud, + For, calmly through the carnage-cloud, + The scourge and servant of the Lord, + This hand the Bible--that the sword-- + The Phantom-Cromwell rides! + + A lurid darkness swallows the array, + One moment lost--the darkness rolls away, + And, o'er the slaughter done, + Smiles, with his eyes of love, the setting Sun; + Death makes our foe our brother; + And, meekly, side by side, + Sleep scowling Hate and sternly smiling Pride, + On the kind breast of Earth, the quiet Mother! + Lo, where the victor sweeps along, + The Gideon of the gory throng, + Beneath his hoofs the harmless dead-- + The aureole on his helmed head-- + Before him steel-clad Victory bending, + Around, from earth to heaven ascending + The fiery incense of triumphant song. + So, as some orb, above a mighty stream + Sway'd by its law, and sparkling in its beam,-- + A power apart from that tempestuous tide, + Calm and aloft, behold the Phantom-Conqueror ride! + + "Art thou content--of these the greatest Thou, + Hero and Patriot?" murmur'd then the Fiend. + The unsleeping Dreamer answer'd, "Tempter, nay, + My soul stands breathless on the mountain's brow + And looks _beyond_!" Again swift darkness screen'd + The solemn Chieftain and the fierce array, + And armed Glory pass'd, like happier Peace, away. + + + VI. + + He look'd again, and saw + A chamber with funereal sables hung, + Wherein there lay a ghastly, headless thing + That once had been a king-- + And by the corpse a living man, whose doom, + Had both been left to Nature's gradual law, + Were riper for the garner-house of gloom.[R] + Rudely beside the gory clay were flung + The Norman sceptre and the Saxon crown;[S] + So, after some imperial Tragedy + August alike with sorrow and renown, + We smile to see the gauds that moved our awe, + Purple and orb, in dusty lumber lie,-- + Alas, what thousands, on the stage of Time, + Envied the baubles, and revered the Mine! + + Placed by the trunk--with long and whitening hair + By dark-red gouts besprent, the sever'd head + Up to the Gazer's musing eyes, the while, + Look'd with its livid brow and stony smile. + On that sad scene, his gaze the Dreamer fed, + Familiar both the Living and the Dead; + Terror, and hate, and strife concluded there, + Calm in his six-feet realm the monarch lay; + And by the warning victim's mangled clay + The Phantom-Cromwell smiled,--and bending down + With shadowy fingers toy'd about the shadowy crown. + "Art thou content at last?--a Greater thou + Than one to whom the loftiest bent the knee. + First in thy fierce Republic of the Free, + Avenger and Deliverer?" + + "Fiend," replied + The Dreamer, "who shall palter with the tide?-- + _Deliverer!_ Pilots who the vessel save + Leave not the helm while winds are on the wave. + THE FUTURE is the Haven of THE NOW!" + "True," quoth the Fiend--Again the darkness spread, + And night gave back to air the Doomsman and the Dead! + + + VII. + + "See," cried the Fiend;--he views + A lofty Senate stern with many a form + Not unfamiliar to the earlier strife; + Knit were the brows--and passion flush'd the hues, + And all were hush'd!--that, hush which is in life + As in the air, prophetic of a storm. + + Uprose a shape[T] with dark bright eye; + It spoke--and at the word + The Dreamer breathed an angry sigh; + And starting--clutch'd his sword; + An instinct bade him hate and fear + That unknown shape--as if a foe were near-- + For, mighty in that mien of thoughtful youth, + Spoke Fraud's most deadly foe--a soul on fire with Truth; + A soul without one stain + Save England's hallowing tears;--the sad and starry Vane. + There enter'd on that conclave high + A solitary Man! + And rustling through the conclave high + A troubled murmur ran; + A moment more--loud riot all-- + With pike and morion gleam'd the startled hall: + And there, where, since the primal date + Of Freedom's glorious morn, + The eternal People solemn sate, + The People's Champion spat his ribald scorn! + Dark moral to all ages!--Blent in one + The broken fasces and the shatter'd throne; + The deed that damns immortally is done; + And FORCE, the Cain of Nations-reigns alone! + The veil is rent--the crafty soul lies bare! + "Behold," the Demon cried, "the _Future_ Cromwell, there! + Art thou content, on earth the Greatest thou, + APOSTATE AND USURPER?"--From his rest + The Dreamer started with a heaving breast, + The better angels of the human heart + Not dumb to his,--The Hell-Born laugh'd aloud, + And o'er the Evil Vision rush'd the cloud! + + + [A] Talma. + + [B] Certainly the sculptor of the Farnese Hercules well conceived + that ideal character of the demi-god, which makes Aristotle + (Prob. 30) class the grand Personification of Labour amongst the + Melancholy. It is the union of mournful repose with colossal + power, which gives so profound a moral sentiment to that + masterpiece of art. + + [C] "Aus den Saiten, wie aus ihren Himmeln, + Neugebor'ne Seraphim."--_Schiller._ + + [D] Libitina, the Venus who presided over funerals. + + [E] Mary Stuart--"the soft Medusa" is an expression strikingly + applied to her in her own day. + + [F] See the correspondence maintained by Francis Bacon and Robert + Cecil (the sons of Elizabeth's most faithful friends) with the + Scottish court, during the Queen's last illness. + + [G] "It was after labouring for nearly three weeks under a + morbid melancholy, which brought on a stupor not unmixed + with some indications of a disordered fancy, that the Queen + expired."--_Aikin's translation of a Latin letter (author + unknown) to Edmund Lambert._ + + Robert Carey, who was admitted to an interview with Elizabeth in + her last illness, after describing the passionate anguish of her + sighs, observes, "that in all his lifetime before, he never knew + her fetch a sigh but when the Queen of Scots was beheaded." Yet + this Robert Carey, the well-born mendicant of her bounty, was + the first whose eager haste and joyous countenance told James + that the throne of the Tudors was at last vacant. + + [H] "When she (Elizabeth) was conducted through London amidst the + joyful acclamations of her subjects, a boy, who personated + Truth, was let down from one of the triumphal arches, and + presented to her a copy of the Bible. She received the book + with the most gracious deportment, placed it next her bosom," + &c.--HUME. + + [I] Robert Dudley, afterwards the Leicester of doubtful fame, + attended Elizabeth in her passage to the Tower. The streets, as + she passed along, were spread with the finest gravel; banners + and pennons, hangings of silk, of velvet, of cloth of gold, were + suspended from the balconies; musicians and singers were + stationed amidst the populace, as she rode along in her purple + robes, preceded by her heralds, &c. + + [J] The customary phrase was "_Laissez aller_." + + [K] "The Life of Sir Philip Sidney," as Campbell finely expresses + it, "was Poetry put in action." With him died the Provencal + and the Norman--the Ideal of the Middle Ages. + + [L] "I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but + I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England, too." + + She rode bareheaded through the ranks, a page bearing her + helmet, mounted on a war-horse, clad in steel, and wielding + a general's truncheon in her hand. + + [M] "Sextus Quintus, the present Pope, famous for his capacity + and his tyranny, had published a crusade against England, + and had granted plenary indulgences to every one engaged in + the present invasion."--HUME. This Pope was, nevertheless, + Elizabeth's admirer as well as foe, and said, "If a son could + be born from us two, he would be master of the world." + + [N] [Greek: Laze, laze, laze, laze] (seize, seize, seize).--_AEschyl. + Eumen._, 125. + + [O] The farm of St. Ives, where Cromwell spent three years, which + he afterwards recalled with regret--though not unafflicted with + dark hypochondria and sullen discontent. Here, as Mr. Forster + impressively observes, "in the tenants that rented from him, in + the labourers that served under him, he sought to sow the seeds + of his after troop of Ironsides.... _All the famous doctrines of + his later and more celebrated years were tried and tested in the + little farm of St. Ives...._ Before going to their field-work in + the morning, they (his servants) knelt down with their master in + the touching equality of prayer; in the evening they shared with + him again the comfort and exaltation of divine + precepts."--FORSTER'S _Cromwell_. + + [P] Prince Rupert. + + [Q] Henrietta Maria was the popular battle-cry of the Cavaliers. + + [R] The reader will recall the well-known story of Cromwell opening + the coffin of Charles with the hilt of a private soldier's + sword, and, after gazing on the body for some time, observing + calmly, that it seemed made for long life,-- + + "Had Nature been his executioner, + He would have outlived me!"--_Cromwell_, a MS. tragedy. + + [S] King Alfred's crown was actually sold after the execution of + Charles the First. + + [T] When Cromwell came down (leaving his musketeers without the + door) to dissolve the Long Parliament, Vane was in the act of + urging, through the last stage, the Bill that would have saved + the republic--See Forster's spirited account of this scene, + _Life of Vane_, p. 152. + + * * * * * + + + + +KING ARTHUR. + + +PREFACE. + +In prefixing to this poem a brief explanation of its design, I feel +myself involuntarily compelled to refer to the more popular distinctions +of Epic Fable, though I do not thereby presume to arrogate to my work +that title of Epic which Time alone has the prerogative to confer. + +Pope has, accurately and succinctly, defined the three cardinal +divisions of Epic Fable to consist in the Probable, the Allegorical, +and the Marvellous. For the Probable is indispensable to the vital +interest of the action, the Marvellous is the obvious domain of creative +invention, and the Allegorical is the most pleasing mode of insinuating +some subtler truth, or clothing some profounder moral. + +I accept these divisions, because they conform to the simplest +principles of rational criticism; and though their combination does not +form an Epic, it serves at least to amplify the region and elevate the +objects of Romance. + +It has been my aim so to blend these divisions, that each may harmonize +with the other, and all conduce to the end proposed from the +commencement. I have admitted but little episodical incident, and none +that does not grow out of what Pope terms "the platform of the story." +For the marvellous agencies I have not presumed to make direct use of +that Divine Machinery which the war of the Christian Principle with the +form of Heathenism might have suggested to the sublime daring of Milton, +had he prosecuted his original idea of founding an heroic poem upon the +legendary existence of Arthur;--and, on the other hand, the Teuton +Mythology, however imaginative and profound, is too unfamiliar and +obscure, to permit its employment as an open and visible agency;--such +reference to it as occurs, is therefore rather admitted as an +appropriate colouring to the composition, than made an integral part of +the materials of the canvas: and, not to ask from the ordinary reader an +erudition I should have no right to expect, the reference so made is in +the simplest form, and disentangled from the necessity of other +information than a few brief notes will suffice to afford. + +In taking my subject from chivalrous romance, I take, then, those +agencies from the Marvellous which chivalrous romance naturally and +familiarly affords--the Fairy, the Genius, the Enchanter: not wholly, +indeed, in the precise and literal spirit with which our nursery tales +receive those creations of Fancy through the medium of French Fabliaux, +but in the larger significations by which, in their conceptions of the +Supernatural, our fathers often implied the secrets of Nature. For the +Romance from which I borrow is the Romance of the North--a Romance, like +the Northern mythology, full of typical meaning and latent import. The +gigantic remains of symbol-worship are visible amidst the rude fables of +the Scandinavians, and what little is left to us of the earlier and more +indigenous literature of the Cymrians, is characterized by a mysticism +profound with parable. This fondness for an interior or double meaning +is the most prominent attribute in that Romance popularly called The +Gothic, the feature most in common with all creations that bear the +stamp of the Northern fancy: we trace it in the poems of the +Anglo-Saxons; it returns to us, in our earliest poems after the +Conquest; it does not _originate_ in the Oriental genius (immemorially +addicted to Allegory), but it instinctively _appropriates_ all that +Saraconic invention can suggest to the more sombre imagination of the +North--it unites to the Serpent of the Edda the flying Griffin of +Arabia, the Persian Genius to the Scandinavian Trold,--and wherever it +accepts a marvel, it seeks to insinuate a type. This peculiarity, which +distinguishes the spiritual essence of the modern from the sensual +character of ancient poetry, especially the Roman, is visible wherever a +tribe allied to the Goth, the Frank, or the Teuton, carries with it the +deep mysteries of the Christian faith. Even in sunny Provence it +transfuses a subtler and graver moral into the lays of the joyous +troubadour,[A]--and weaves "The Dance of Death" by the joyous streams, +and through the glowing orange-groves, of Spain. Onwards, this +under-current of meaning flowed, through the various phases of +civilization:--it pervaded alike the popular Satire and the dramatic +Mystery;--and, preserving its thoughtful calm amidst all the stirring +passions that agitated mankind in the age subsequent to the Reformation, +not only suffused the luxuriant fancy of the dreamy Spenser, but +communicated to the practical intellect of Shakspere that subtle and +recondite wisdom which seems the more inexhaustible the more it is +examined, and suggests to every new inquirer some new problem in the +philosophy of Human Life. Thus, in taking from Northern Romance the +Marvellous, we are most faithful to the genuine character of that +Romance, when we take with the Marvellous its old companion, the Typical +or Allegorical. But these form only two divisions of the three which I +have assumed as the components of the unity I seek to accomplish; there +remains the Probable, which contains the Actual. To subject the whole +poem to allegorical constructions would be erroneous, and opposed to the +vital principle of a work of this kind, which needs the support of +direct and human interest. The inner and the outer meaning of Fable +should flow together, each acting on the other, as the thought and the +action in the life of a man. It is true that in order clearly to +interpret the action, we should penetrate to the thought. But if we fail +of that perception, the action, though less comprehended, still +impresses its reality on our senses, and make its appeal to our +interest. + + [A] Rien n'est plus commun dans la poesie provencale que + l'allegorie; seulement elle est un jeu-d'esprit an lieu d'etre + une action.... Une autre analogie me parait plus spoutanee + qu'imitee--la poesie des troubadours qu'on suppose frivole, + a souvent retracee des sentiments graves et touchants," + &c.--VILLEMAIN, _Tableau du Moyen Age_. + +I have thus sought to maintain the Probable through that chain of +incident in which human agencies are employed, and through those +agencies the direct action of the Poem is accomplished; while the +Allegorical admits into the Marvellous the introduction of that subtler +form of Truth, which if less positive than the Actual, is wider in its +application, and ought to be more profound in its significance. + +For the rest, it may perhaps be conceded that this poem is not without +originality in the conception of its plot and the general treatment of +its details. I am not aware of any previous romantic poem which it +resembles in its main design, or in the character of its principal +incidents;--and, though I may have incurred certain mannerisms of my own +day, I yet venture to trust that, in the pervading form or style, the +mind employed has been sufficiently in earnest to leave its own peculiar +effigy and stamp upon the work. For the incidents narrated, I may, +indeed, thank the nature of my subject, if many of them could scarcely +fail to be new. The celebrated poets of chivalrous fable--Ariosto, +Tasso, and Spenser, have given to their scenery the colourings of the +West. The Great North from which Chivalry sprung--its polar seas, its +natural wonders, its wild legends, its antediluvian remains--(wide +fields for poetic description and heroic narrative)--have been, indeed, +not wholly unexplored by poetry, but so little appropriated, that even +after Tegner and Oehlenschlaeger, I dare to hope that I have found tracks +in which no poet has preceded me, and over which yet breathes the native +air of our National Romance. + +For the Manners preserved through this poem, I naturally reject those +which the rigid Antiquary would appropriate to the date of that +Historical Arthur, of whom we know so little, and take those of the age +in which the Arthur of Romance, whom we know so well, revived into +fairer life at the breath of Minstrel and Fabliast. The anachronism of +chivalrous manners and costume for the British chief and his Knighthood, +is absolutely required by all our familiar associations. On the other +hand, without affecting any precise accuracy in details, I have kept the +country of the brave Prince of the Silures (or South Wales) somewhat +more definitely in view, than has been done by the French Romance +writers; while in portraying his Saxon foes, I have endeavoured to +distinguish their separate nationality, without enforcing too violent a +contrast between the rudeness of the heathen Teutons and the _polished +Christianity of the Cymrian Knighthood_.[B] + + [B] In the more historical view of the position of Arthur, I + have, however, represented it such as it really appears to have + been,--not as the sovereign of all Britain, and the conquering + invader of Europe (according to the groundless fable of Geoffrey + of Monmouth), but as the patriot Prince of South Wales, + resisting successfully the invasion of his own native soil, and + accomplishing the object of his career in preserving entire the + nationality of his Welsh countrymen. In thus contracting his + sphere of action to the bounds of rational truth, his dignity, + both moral and poetic, is obviously enhanced. Represented as the + champion of all Britain against the Saxons, his life would have + been but a notorious and signal failure; but as the preserver of + the Cymrian Nationality--of that part of the British population + which took refuge in Wales, he has a claim to the epic glory of + success. + + It is for this latter reason that I have gone somewhat out of + the strict letter of history, in the poetical licence by which + the Mercians are represented as Arthur's principal enemies + (though, properly speaking, the Mercian kingdom was not then + founded): the alliance between the Mercian and the Welsh, which + concludes the Poem--is at least not contrary to the spirit of + History--since in very early periods such amicable bonds between + the Welsh and the Mercians were contracted, and the Welsh, on + the whole, were on better terms with those formidable borderers + than with the other branches of the Saxon family. + +May I be permitted to say a word as to the metre I have selected?--One +advantage it has,--that while thoroughly English, and not uncultivated +by the best of the elder masters, it has never been applied to a poem of +equal length, and has not been made too trite and familiar, by the +lavish employment of recent writers.[C] Shakspere has taught us its +riches in the Venus and Adonis,--Spenser in The Astrophel,--Cowley has +sounded its music amidst the various intonations of his irregular lyre. +But of late years, if not wholly laid aside, it has been generally +neglected for the more artificial and complicated Spenserian stanza, +which may seem, at the first glance, to resemble it, but which to the +ear is widely different in rhythm and construction. + + [C] Southey has used it in the "Lay of the Laureate" and "The Poet's + Pilgrimage,"--not his best-known and most considerable poems. + +The reader may perhaps remember that Dryden has spoken with emphatic +praise of the "quatrain, or stanza of four in alternate rhyme." He says +indeed, "that he had ever judged it more noble, and of greater dignity, +both for the sound and number, than any other verse in use amongst us." +That metre, in its simple integrity, is comprised in the stanza +selected, ending in the vigour and terseness of the rhyming couplet, +with which, for the most part, the picture should be closed or the sense +clenched. And whatever the imperfection of my own treatment of this +variety in poetic form, I hazard a prediction that it will be ultimately +revived into more frequent use, especially in narrative, and that its +peculiar melodies of rhythm and cadence, as well as the just and +measured facilities it affords to expression, neither too diffuse nor +too restricted, will be recognized hereafter in the hands of a more +accomplished master of our language. + +Here ends all that I feel called upon to say respecting a Poem which I +now acknowledge as the child of my most cherished hopes, and to which I +deliberately confide the task to uphold, and the chance to continue, its +father's name. + +To this work, conceived first in the enthusiasm of youth, I have +patiently devoted the best powers of my maturer years;--if it be +worthless, it is at least the worthiest contribution that my abilities +enable me to offer to the literature of my country; and I am unalterably +convinced, that on this foundation I rest the least perishable monument +of those thoughts and those labours which have made the life of my life. + + E. BULWER LYTTON. + + +NOTE. + +Of the notes inserted in the first edition I have retained only those +which appeared to me absolutely necessary in explanation of the text. +Among the notes omitted, was one appended to Book I., which defended at +some length, and by numerous examples, two alleged peculiarities of +style or mannerism:--I content myself here with stating briefly-- + +1st.--That in this work (as in my later ones generally) I have adopted +what appears to me to have been the practice of Gray (judging from the +editions of his Poems revised by himself), in the use of the capital +initial. I prefix it-- + +First, to every substantive that implies a personification; thus War, +Fame, &c, may in one line take the small initial as mere nouns, and in +another line the capital initial, to denote that they are intended as +personifications. This rule is clear--all personifications may be said +to represent proper names: love, with a small l, means but a passion or +affection; with a large L, Love represents some mythological power that +presides over the passion or affection, and is as much a proper name as +Venus, Eros, Camdeo, &c. + +Secondly, I prefix the capital in those rare instances in which an +adjective is used as a noun; as the Unknown, the Obscure,[D] &c. The +capital here but answers the use of all printed inventions, in +simplifying to the reader the author's meaning. If it be printed "he +passed through the obscure," the reader naturally looks for the noun +that is to follow the adjective; if the capital initial be used, as "He +passed through the Obscure," the eye conveys to the mind without an +effort the author's intention to use the adjective as a substantive. + + [D] So Pope, "Spencer himself affects the Obsolete." + +Thirdly, I prefix the capital initial where it serves to give an +individual application to words that might otherwise convey only a +general meaning; for instance-- + + "Or his who loves the madding Nymphs to lead + O'er the Fork'd Hill. + +that is, the Forked Hill, _par emphasis_,--Parnassus. + +The use of the capital in these instances seems to me warranted by +common sense, and the best authorities in the minor niceties of our +language. + +With regard to the other point referred to in the omitted note, I would +observe, that I have deliberately used the freest licence in the rapid +change of tense from past to present, or _vice versa_; as a privilege +essential to all ease, spirit, force, and variety, in narrative poetry; +and warranted by the uniform practice of Pope, Dryden, and Milton. I +subjoin a few examples:-- + + "So _prayed_ they, innocent, and to their thoughts + Firm peace recover'd soon and wonted calm; + On to their morning's rural work they _haste_, + Among sweet dews and flowers, where any row + Of fruit-trees over-woody reach'd too far + Their pamper'd boughs, and needed hands to check + Fruitless embraces; or they _led_ the vine + To wed the elm." + + MILTON'S _Paradise Lost_, Book v., from line 209 to 216. + +Here the tense changes three times. + +Again:-- + + "Straight _knew_ him all the bands + Of angels under watch, and to his state + And to his message high in honour _rise_, + For on some message high they _guess'd_ him bound." + + _Ibid._, Book v., from line 288 to 291. + + "Thus while he spoke, the virgin from the ground + _Upstarted_ fresh; already closed the wound; + And unconcern'd for all she felt before, + _Precipitates_ her flight along the shore: + The hell-hounds as ungorged with flesh and blood + _Pursue_ their prey and seek their wonted food; + The fiend remounts his courser, mends his pace, + And all the vision _vanish'd_ from the place." + + DRYDEN'S _Theod. and Honor_. + +Pope--not without reason esteemed for verbal correctness and +precision--far exceeds all in his lavish use of this privilege, as one +or two quotations will amply suffice to show. + + "She said, and to the steeds approaching near + _Drew_ from his seat the martial charioteer; + The vigorous Power[E] the trembling car _ascends_, + Fierce for revenge, and Diomed _attends_: + The groaning axle _bent_ beneath the load," &c. + + POPE'S _Iliad_, Book v. + + "Pierced through the shoulder first Decopis _fell_, + Next Eunomus and Thoon _sunk_ to Hell. + Chersidamas, beneath the navel thrust, + _Falls_ prone to earth, and _grasps_ the bloody dust; + Cherops, the son of Hipposus, _was_ near; + Ulysses reach'd him with the fatal spear; + But to his aid his brother Socus _flies_, + Socus the brave, the generous, and the wise; + Near as he _drew_ the warrior thus _began_," &c.--_Ibid._ + + "Behind, unnumber'd multitudes _attend_ + To flank the navy and the shores defend. + Full on the front the pressing Trojans bear, + And Hector first _came_ towering to the war. + Phoebus himself the rushing battle _led_, + A veil of clouds involves his radiant head-- + The Greeks _expect_ the shock; the clamours rise + From different parts and _mingle_ in the skies + Dire _was_ the hiss of darts by heaven flung, + And arrows, leaping from the bowstring, _sung_: + These _drink_ the life of generous warrior slain-- + Those guiltless _fall_ and _thirst_ for blood in vain." + + POPE'S _Odyssey_. + +In the last quotation, brief as it is, the tense changes six times. + + [E] In the corrupt and thoughtless mode of printing now in vogue, + Power is of course printed with a small p, and the sense of + the clearest of all English poets instantly becomes obscure. + + "The vigorous power the trembling car ascends." + + It is not till one has read the line twice over that one + perceives "the power" means "the God," which, when printed + "the Power," is obvious at a glance. + +I ask indulgence of the reader if I take this occasion to add a very +short comment upon three objections to this poem which have been brought +under my notice:-- + +1--that it contains too much learning; 2--that it abounds too much with +classical allusions; 3--that it indulges in rare words or archaisms. + +I wish I could plead guilty to the honourable charge that it contains +too much learning. A distinguished critic has justly observed, that the +greatest obstacle which the modern writer attempting an Epic would have +to encounter, would be, in his utter impossibility to attain the +requisite learning. For an Epic ought to embody the whole learning of +the period in which it is composed; and in the present age that is +beyond the aspiration of the most erudite scholar or the profoundest +philosopher. Still, any attempt at an Heroic Poem must at least comprise +all the knowledge which the nature of the subject will admit, and we +cannot but observe that the greatest narrative poems are those in which +the greatest amount of learning is contained. Beyond all comparison the +most learned poems that exist, in reference to the age in which they are +composed, are the "Iliad" and "Odyssey;" next to them, the "Paradise +Lost;" next to that, the "AEneid," in which the chief charm of the +six latter books is in that "exquisite erudition," which Mueller so +discriminately admires in Virgil; and after these, in point of learning, +come perhaps the "Divine Comedy," and the "Fairy Queen." So that I have +only to regret my deficiency of learning, rather than to apologize for +the excess of it. + +With regard to the classical allusions which I have permitted myself, +I might shelter my practice under the mantles of our great masters in +heroic song--Milton and Spenser; but in fact such admixture of the +Classic with the Gothic muse is so essentially the characteristic of the +minstrelsy of the middle ages, that without a liberal use of the same +combination, I could not have preserved the colouring proper to my +subject. And, indeed, I think the advice which one of the most elegant +of modern critics has given to the painter, is equally applicable to the +poet:-- + + "Non te igitur lateant antiqua numismata, gemmae, + Quodque refert specie veterum post saecula mentem; + Splendidior quippe ex illis assurgit imago + Magnaque se rerum facies aperit meditanti."[F] + + [F] DU FRESNOY _de Arte Graphica_. + +Lastly, the moderate use of archaisms has always been deemed admissible +in a narrative poem of some length, and rather perhaps an ornament than +a defect, where the action of the poem is laid in remote antiquity. And +I may add that not only the revival of old, but the invention of new +words, if sparingly resorted to, is among the least contestable of +poetic licences--a licence freely recognized by Horace, elaborately +maintained by Dryden, and tacitly sanctioned, age after age, by the +practice of every poet by whom our language has been enriched. I have +certainly not abused either of these privileges, for while I have only +adopted three new words of foreign derivation, I do not think there are +a dozen words in the whole poem which can be considered archaisms: and +in the three or four instances in which such words are not to be found +in Milton, Shakspere, or Spenser, they are taken from the Saxon element +of our language, and are still popularly used in the northern parts of +the island, in which that Saxon element is more tenaciously preserved. + +If these matters do not seem to the reader of much importance, in +reference to a poem of this design and extent, I will own to him +confidentially, that I incline to his opinion. But I have met with no +objections to the general composition of this work, more serious than +those to which the above remarks are intended to reply. Some objections +to special lines or stanzas which appeared to me prompted by a juster +criticism, or which occurred to myself in reperusal, I have carefully +endeavoured in this edition to remove. + + + + +BOOK I. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Opening--King Arthur keeps holiday in the Vale of Carduel--Pastimes-- +Arthur's sentiments on life, love, and mortal change--The strange +apparition--The King follows the Phantom into the forest--His return-- +The discomfiture of his knights--the Court disperses--Night--The +restless King ascends his battlements--His soliloquy--He is attracted +by the light from the Wizard's tower--Merlin described--The King's +narrative--The Enchanter's invocation--Morning--The Tilt-yard--Sports, +knightly and national--Merlin's address to Arthur--The Three Labours +enjoined--Arthur departs from Carduel--His absence explained by Merlin +to the Council--Description of Arthur's three friends, Caradoc, Gawaine, +and Lancelot--The especial love between Arthur and the last--Lancelot +encounters Arthur--The parting of the friends. + + + Our land's first legends, love and knightly deeds, 1 + And wondrous Merlin, and his wandering King, + The triple labour, and the glorious meeds + Sought in the world of Fable-land, I sing: + Go forth, O Song, amidst the banks of old, + And glide translucent over sands of gold. + + Now is the time when, after sparkling showers, 2 + Her starry wreaths the virgin jasmine weaves; + Now murmurous bees return with sunny hours; + And light wings rustic quick through glinting leaves; + Music in every bough; on mead and lawn + May lifts her fragrant altars to the dawn. + + Now life, with every moment, seems to start 3 + In air, in wave, on earth--above, below; + And o'er her new-born children, Nature's heart + Heaves with the gladness mothers only know; + On poet times the month of poets shone-- + May deck'd the world, and Arthur fill'd the throne. + + Hard by a stream, amidst a pleasant vale 4 + King Arthur held his careless holiday:-- + The stream was blithe with many a silken sail, + The vale with many a proud pavilion gay; + While Cymri's dragon, from the Roman's hold,[1] + Spread with calm wing o'er Carduel's domes of gold. + + Dark, to the right, thick forests mantled o'er 5 + A gradual mountain sloping to the plain; + Whose gloom but lent to light a charm the more, + As pleasure pleases most when neighbouring pain; + And all our human joys most sweet and holy, + Sport in the shadows cast from Melancholy. + + Below that mount, along the glossy sward 6 + Were gentle groups, discoursing gentle things; + Or listening idly where the skilful bard + Woke the sweet tempest of melodious strings; + Or whispering love--I ween, less idle they, + For love's the honey in the flowers of May. + + Some plied in lusty race the glist'ning oar; 7 + Some, noiseless, snared the silver-scaled prey; + Some wreathed the dance along the level shore; + And each was happy in his chosen way. + Not by one shaft is Care, the hydra kill'd, + So Mirth, determined, had his quiver fill'd. + + Bright 'mid his blooming Court, like royal Morn 8 + Girt with the Hours that lead the jocund Spring, + When to its smile delight and flowers are born, + And clouds are rose-hued,--shone the Cymrian King. + Above that group, o'er-arch'd from tree to tree, + Thick garlands hung their odorous canopy; + + And in the midst of that delicious shade 9 + Up sprang a sparkling fountain, silver-voiced, + And the bee murmur'd and the breezes play'd: + In their gay youth, the youth of May rejoiced-- + And they in hers--as though that leafy hall + Chimed the heart's laughter with the fountain's fall. + + Propped on his easy arm, the King reclined, 10 + And glancing gaily round the ring, quoth he-- + "'Man,' say our sages, 'hath a fickle mind, + And pleasures pall, if long enjoyed they be.' + But I, methinks, like this soft summer-day, + 'Mid blooms and sweets could wear the hours away;-- + + "Feel, in the eyes of Love, a cloudless sun, 11 + Taste, in the breath of Love, eternal spring; + Could age but keep the joys that youth has won, + The human heart would fold its idle wing! + If change there be in Fate and Nature's plan, + Wherefore blame us?--it is in Time, not Man." + + He spoke, and from the happy conclave there 12 + Echo'd the murmur, "Time is but to blame:" + Each knight glanced amorous on his chosen fair, + And to the glance blush'd each assenting dame: + But thought had dimm'd the smile in Arthur's eye, + And the light speech was rounded by a sigh. + + And while they murmur'd "Time is but to blame," 13 + Right in the centre of the silken ring, + Sudden stood forth (none marking whence it came), + The gloomy shade of some Phantasmal Thing; + It stood, dim-outlined in a sable shroud, + And shapeless, as in noon-day hangs a cloud. + + Hush'd was each lip, and every cheek was pale; 14 + The stoutest heart beat tremulous and high: + "Arise," it mutter'd from the spectral veil, + "I call thee, King!" Then burst the wrathful cry, + Feet found the earth, and ready hands the sword, + And angry knighthood bristled round its lord. + + But Arthur rose, and, waiving back the throng, 15 + Fronted the Image with a dauntless brow: + Then shrunk the Phantom, indistinct, along + The unbending herbage, noiseless, dark, and slow; + And, where the forest night at noonday made, + Glided,--as from the dial glides the shade. + + Gone;--but an ice-bound horror seemed to cling 16 + To air; the revellers stood transfix'd to stone; + While from amidst them, palely pass'd the King, + Dragg'd by a will more royal than his own: + Onwards he went; the invisible control + Compell'd him, as a dream compels the soul. + + They saw, and sought to stay him, but in vain, 17 + They saw, and sought to speak, but voice was dumb: + So Death some warrior from his armed train + Plucks forth defenceless when his hour is come. + He gains the wood; their sight the shadows bar, + And darkness wraps him as the cloud a star. + + Abruptly, as it came, the charm was past 18 + That bound the circle: as from heavy sleep + Starts the hush'd war-camp at the trumpet's blast, + Fierce into life the voiceless revellers leap; + Swift to the wood the glittering tumult springs, + And through the vale the shrill BON-LEF-HER rings.[2] + + From stream, from tent, from pastime near and far, 19 + All press confusedly to the signal cry-- + So from the ROCK OF BIRDS[3] the shout of war + Sends countless wings in clamour through the sky-- + The cause a word, the track a sign affords, + And all the forest gleams with starry swords. + + As on some stag the hunters single, gaze, 20 + Gathering together, and from far, the herd, + So round the margin of the woodland-maze + Pale beauty circles, trembling if a bird + Flutter a bough, or if, without a sound, + Some leaf fall breezeless, eddying to the ground. + + An hour or more had towards the western seas 21 + Speeded the golden chariot of the day, + When a white plume came glancing through the trees, + The serried branches groaningly gave way, + And, with a bound, delivered from the wood, + Safe, in the sun-light, royal Arthur stood. + + Who shall express the joy that aspect woke! 22 + Some laugh'd aloud, and clapp'd their snowy hands: + Some ran, some knelt, some turn'd aside and broke + Into glad tears:--But all unheeding stands + The King; and shivers in the glowing light; + And his breast heaves as panting from a fight. + + Yet still in those pale features, seen more near, 23 + Speak the stern will, the soul to valour true; + It shames man not to feel man's human fear, + It shames man only if the fear subdue; + And masking trouble with a noble guile, + Soon the proud heart restores the kingly smile. + + But no account could anxious love obtain, 24 + Nor curious wonder, of the portents seen: + "Bootless his search," he lightly said, "and vain + As haply had the uncourteous summons been. + Some mocking sport, perchance, of merry May." + He ceased; and, shuddering, turn'd his looks away. + + Now back, alas! less comely than they went, 25 + Drop, one by one, the seekers from the chace, + With mangled plumes and mantles dreadly rent;-- + Sore bleed the Loves in Elphin's blooming face: + Madoc, whose dancing scarcely brush'd the dew, + O grief! limps, crippled by a stump of yew! + + In short, such pranks had brier and bramble play'd, 26 + And stock and stone, with vest, and face, and limb, + That had some wretch denied the place was made + For sprites, a sprite had soon been made of him! + And sure, nought less than some demoniac power + Had looks so sweet bewitch'd to lines so sour. + + But shame and anger vanish'd when they saw 27 + Him whose warm smile a life had well repaid, + For noble hearts a noble chief can draw + Into that circle where all self doth fade; + Lost in the sea a hundred waters roll, + And subject natures merge in one great soul. + + Now once again quick question, brief reply, 28 + "What saw, what heard the King?" Nay, gentles, what + Saw or heard ye?"--"The forest and the sky, + The rustling branches,"--"And the Phantom not? + No more," quoth Arthur, "of a thriftless chace. + For cheer so stinted brief may be the grace. + + "But see, the sun descendeth down the west, 29 + And graver cares to Carduel now recall: + Gawaine, my steed;--Sweet ladies, gentle rest, + And dreams of happy morrows to ye all." + Now stirs the movement on the busy plain; + To horse--to boat; and homeward winds the train. + + O'er hill, down stream, the pageant fades away, 30 + More and more faint the plash of dipping oar; + Voices, and music, and the steed's shrill neigh, + From the grey twilight dying more and more; + Till over stream and valley, wide and far, + Reign the sad silence and the solemn star. + + Save where, like some true poet's lonely soul, 31 + Careless who hears, sings on the unheeded fountain; + Save where the thin clouds wanly, slowly roll + O'er the mute darkness of the forest mountain-- + Where, haply, busied with unholy rite, + Still glides that Phantom, and dismays the night. + + Sleep, the sole angel left of all below, 32 + O'er the lull'd city sheds the ambrosial wreaths, + Wet with the dews of Eden; Bliss and Woe + Are equals, and the lowest slave that breathes + Under the shelter of those healing wings, + Reigns, half his life, in realms too fair for Kings. + + Too fair those realms for Arthur; long he lay 33 + An exiled suppliant at the gate of dreams, + And vex'd, and wild, and fitful as a ray + Quivering upon the surge of stormy streams; + Thought broke in glimmering trouble o'er his breast, + And found no billow where its beam could rest.[4] + + He rose, and round him drew his ermined gown, 34 + Pass'd from his chamber, wound the turret stair, + And from his castle's steep embattled crown + Bared his hot forehead to the fresh'ning air. + How Silence, like a god's tranquillity, + Fill'd with delighted peace the conscious sky! + + Broad, luminous, serene, the sovereign moon 35 + Shone o'er the roofs below, the lands afar-- + The vale so joyous with the mirth at noon; + The pastures virgin of the lust of war; + And the still river shining as it flows, + Calm as a soul on which the heavens repose. + + "And must these pass from me and mine away?" 36 + Murmur'd the monarch; "Must the mountain home + Of those whose fathers, in a ruder day, + With naked bosoms rush'd on shrinking Rome, + Yield this last refuge from the ruthless wave, + And what was Britain be the Saxon's slave? + + "Why hymn our harps high music in our hall? 37 + Doom'd is the tree whose fruit was noble deeds-- + Where the axe spared the thunder-bolt must fall, + And the wind scatter as it list the seeds! + Fate breathes, and kingdoms wither at the breath; + But kings are deathless, kingly if their death!" + + He ceased, and look'd, with a defying eye, 38 + Where the dark forest clothed the mount with awe + Gazed, and then proudly turn'd;--when lo, hard by, + From a lone turret in his keep, he saw + Through the horn casement, a clear steadfast light, + Lending meek tribute to the orbs of night. + + And far, and far, I ween, that little ray 39 + Sent its pure streamlet through the world of air: + The wanderer oft, benighted on his way, + Saw it, and paused in superstitious prayer; + For well he knew the beacon and the tower, + And the great Master of the spells of power. + + There He, who yet in Fable's deathless page 40 + Reigns, compass'd with the ring of pleasing dread, + Which the true wizard, whether bard or sage, + Draws round him living, and commands when dead-- + The solemn Merlin--from the midnight won + The hosts that bow'd to starry Solomon. + + Not fear that light on Arthur's breast bestow'd, 41 + As with a father's smile it met his gaze; + It cheer'd, it soothed, it warm'd him while it glow'd; + Brought back the memory of young hopeful days, + When the child stood by the great prophet's knee, + And drank high thoughts to strengthen years to be. + + As with a tender chiding, the calm light 42 + Seem'd to reproach him for secreted care, + Seem'd to ask back the old familiar right + Of lore to counsel, or of love to share; + The prompt heart answers to the voiceless call, + And the step quickens o'er the winding wall. + + Before that tower precipitously sink 43 + The walls, down-shelving to the castle base; + A slender drawbridge, swung from brink to brink, + Alone gives fearful access to the place; + Now, from that tower, the chains the drawbridge raise, + And leave the gulf all pathless to the gaze. + + But close where Arthur stands, a warder's horn, 44 + Fix'd to the stone, to those who dare to win + The enchanter's cell, supplies the note to warn + The mighty weaver of dread webs within. + Loud sounds the horn, the chain descending clangs, + And o'er the abyss the dizzy pathway hangs; + + Mutely the door slides sullen in the stone, 45 + And closes back, the gloomy threshold cross'd; + There sate the wizard on a Druid throne, + Where sate DUW-IOU,[5] ere his reign was lost; + His wand uplifted in his solemn hand, + And the weird volume on its brazen stand. + + O'er the broad breast the heavy brows of thought 46 + Hang, as if bow'd beneath the load sublime + Of spoils from Nature's fading boundaries brought, + Or the dusk treasure-house of orient Time; + And the unutterable calmness shows + The toil's great victory by the soul's repose. + + Ev'n as the Tyrian views his argosies, 47 + Moor'd in the port (the gold of Ophir won), + And heeds no more the billow and the breeze, + And the clouds wandering o'er the wintry sun, + So calmly Wisdom eyes (its voyage o'er) + The traversed ocean from the beetling shore. + + A hundred years press'd o'er that awful head, 48 + As o'er an Alp, their diadem of snow; + And, as an Alp, a hundred years had fled, + And left as firm the giant form below; + So in the hush of some Chaonian grove, + Sat the grey father of Pelasgic Jove. + + Before that power, sublimer than his own, 49 + With downcast looks, the King inclined the knee; + The enchanter smiled, and, bending from his throne, + Drew to his breast his pupil tenderly; + And press'd his lips on that young forehead fair, + And with large hand smooth'd back the golden hair! + + And, looking in those frank and azure eyes, 50 + "What," said the prophet, "doth my Arthur seek + From the grey wisdom which the young despise? + The young, perchance, are right!--Fair infant, speak!" + Thrice sigh'd the monarch, and at length began: + "Can wisdom ward the storms of fate from man? + + "What spell can thrust Affliction from the gate? 51 + What tree is sacred from the lightning flame?" + "Son," said the seer, "the laurel!--even Fate, + Which blasts Ambition, but illumines Fame. + Say on."--The King smiled sternly, and obey'd-- + Track we the steps which track'd the warning shade. + + "On to the wood, and to its inmost dell 52 + Will-less I went," the monarch thus pursued, + "Before me still, but darkly visible, + The Phantom glided through the solitude; + At length it paused,--a sunless pool was near, + As ebon black, and yet as chrystal clear. + + "'Look, King, below,' whisper'd the shadowy One: 53 + What seem'd a hand sign'd beckoning to the wave; + I look'd below, and never realms undone + Show'd war more awful than the mirror gave; + There rush'd the steed, there glanced on spear the spear, + And spectre-squadrons closed in fell career. + + "I saw--I saw my dragon standard there,-- 54 + Throng'd there the Briton; there the Saxon wheel'd; + I saw it vanish from that nether air-- + I saw it trampled on that noiseless field; + On pour'd the Saxon hosts--we fled--we fled! + And the Pale Horse[6] rose ghastly o'er the dead. + + "Lo, the wan shadow of a giant hand 55 + Pass'd o'er the pool--the demon war was gone; + City on city stretch'd, and land on land; + The wondrous landscape broadening, lengthening on, + Till that small compass in its clasp contain'd + All this wide isle o'er which my fathers reign'd. + + "There, by the lord of streams, a palace rose; 56 + On bloody floors there was a throne of state; + And in the land there dwelt one race--our foes; + And on the single throne the Saxon sate! + And Cymri's crown was on his knitted brow; + And where stands Carduel, went the labourer's plough. + + "And east and west, and north and south I turn'd, 57 + And call'd my people as a king should call; + Pale in the hollow mountains I discern'd + Rude scatter'd stragglers from the common thrall; + Kingless and armyless, by crag and cave,-- + Ghosts on the margin of their country's grave. + + "And even there, amidst the barren steeps, 58 + I heard the tramp, I saw the Saxon steel; + Aloft, red Murder like a deluge sweeps, + Nor rock can save, nor cavern can conceal; + Hill after hill, the waves devouring rise, + Till in one mist of carnage closed my eyes! + + "Then spoke the hell-born shadow by my side-- 59 + 'O king, who dreamest, amid sweets and bloom, + Life, like one summer holiday, can glide, + Blind to the storm-cloud of the coming doom; + ARTHUR PENDRAGON, to the Saxon's sway + Thy kingdom and thy crown shall pass away.' + + "'And who art thou, that Heaven's august decrees 60 + Usurp'st thus?' I cried, and lo the space + Was void!--Amidst the horror of the trees, + And by the pool, which mirror'd back the face + Of Dark in crystal darkness--there I stood, + And the sole spectre was the Solitude! + + "I knew no more--strong as a mighty dream 61 + The trouble seized the soul, and seal'd the sense; + I knew no more, till in the blessed beam, + Life sprung to loving Nature for defence; + Vale, flower, and fountain laugh'd in jocund spring, + And pride came back,--again I was a king! + + "But, ev'n the while with airy sport of tongue 62 + (As with light wing the skylark from its nest + Lures the invading step) I led the throng + From the dark brood of terror in my breast; + Still frown'd the vision on my haunted eye, + And blood seem'd reddening in the azure sky. + + "O thou, the Almighty Lord of earth and heaven, 63 + Without whose will not ev'n a sparrow falls, + If to my sight the fearful truth was given, + If thy dread hand hath graven on these walls + The Chaldee's doom, and to the stranger's sway + My kingdom and my crown shall pass away,-- + + "Grant this--a freeman's, if a monarch's, prayer!-- 64 + LIFE, while my life one man from chains can save; + While earth one refuge, or the cave one lair, + Yields to the closing struggle of the brave!-- + Mine the last desperate but avenging hand; + If reft the sceptre, not resign'd the brand!" + + "Close to my clasp!" the prophet cried, "Impart 65 + To these iced veins the glow of youth once more; + The healthful throb of one great human heart + Baffles more fiends than all a magian's lore; + Brave child----" Young arms embracing check'd the rest, + And youth and age stood mingled breast to breast. + + "Ho!" cried the mighty master, while he broke 66 + From the embrace, and round from vault to floor + Mysterious echoes answered as he spoke; + And flames twined snake-like round the wand he bore. + And freezing winds tumultuous swept the cell, + As from the wings of hosts invisible: + + "Ho! ye spiritual Ministers of all 67 + The airy space below the Sapphire Throne, + To the swift axle of this earthly ball-- + Yea, to the deep, where evermore alone + Hell's king with memory of lost glory dwells. + And from that memory weaves his hell of hells;-- + + "Ho! ye who fill the crevices of air, 68 + And speed the whirlwind round the reeling bark-- + Or dart destroying in the forked glare, + Or rise--the bloodless People of the Dark, + In the pale shape of Dreams--when to the bed + Of Murder glide the simulated dead,-- + + "Hither ye myriad hosts!--O'er tower and dome, 69 + Wait the high mission, and attend the word; + Whether to pierce the mountain with the gnome, + Or soar to heights where never wing'd the bird; + So that the secret and the boon ye wrest + From Time's cold grasp, or Fate's reluctant breast!" + + Mute stood the King--when lo, the dragon-keep 70 + Shook to its rack'd foundations, as when all + Corycia's caverns and the Delphic steep + Shook to the foot-tread of invading Gaul; + Or, as his path when flaming AEtna frees, + Shakes some proud city on Sicilian seas; + + Reel'd heaving from his feet the dizzy floor; 71 + Swam dreamlike on his gaze the fading cell; + As falls the seaman, when the waves dash o'er + The plank that glideth from his grasp--he fell. + To eyes ungifted, deadly were the least + Of those last mysteries, Nature yields her priest. + + Morn, the joy-bringer, from her sparkling urn 72 + Scatters o'er herb and flower the orient dew; + The larks to heaven, and souls to thought return-- + Life, in each source, leaps rushing forth anew, + Fills every grain in Nature's boundless plan, + And wakes new fates in each desire of man. + + In each desire, each thought, each fear, each hope, 73 + Each scheme, each wish, each fancy, and each end, + That morn calls forth, say, who can span the scope? + Who track the arrow which the soul may send? + One morning woke Olympia's youthful son, + And long'd for fame--and half the world was won. + + Fair shines the sun on stately Carduel; 74 + The falcon, hoodwink'd, basks upon the wall; + The tilt-yard echoes with the clarion's swell, + And lusty youth comes thronging to the call; + And martial sports (the daily wont) begin, + The page must practise if the knight would win. + + Some spur the palfrey at the distant ring; 75 + Some, with blunt lance, in mimic tourney charge; + Here skirs the pebble from the poised sling, + Or flies the arrow rounding to the targe; + While Age and Fame sigh smiling to behold + The young leaves budding to replace the old. + + Nor yet forgot, amid the special sports 76 + Of polish'd Chivalry, the primal ten[8] + Athletic contests, known in elder courts + Ere knighthood rose from the great Father-men. + Beyond the tilt-yard spread the larger space, + For the strong wrestle, and the breathless race; + + Here some, the huge dull weights up-heaving throw; 77 + Some ply the staff, and some the sword and shield; + And some that falchion with its thunder-blow + Which HEUS[9] the Guardian, taught the Celt, to wield; + Heus, who first guided o'er "the Hazy Main" + Our Titan[10] sires from Defrobanni's plain. + + Life thus astir, and sport upon the wing, 78 + Why yet doth Arthur dream day's prime away? + Still in charm'd slumber lies the quiet King; + On his own couch the merry sunbeams play, + Gleam o'er the arms hung trophied from the wall; + And Cymri's antique crown surmounting all. + + Slowly he woke; life came back with a sigh 79 + (That herald, or that follower, to the gate + Of all our knowledge)--and his startled eye + Fell where beside his couch the prophet sate; + And with that sight rush'd back the mystic cell, + The awful summons, the arrested spell. + + "Prince," said the prophet, "with this morn awake 80 + From pomp, from pleasure, to high toils and brave; + From yonder wall the arms of knighthood take, + But leave the crown the knightly arms may save; + O'er mount and vale, go, pilgrim, forth alone, + And win the gifts which shall defend a throne. + + "Thus speak the Fates--till in the heavens the sun 81 + Rounds his revolving course, O King, return + To man's first, noblest birthright, TOIL:--so won + In Grecian fable, to the ambrosial urn + Of joyous Hebe, and the Olympian grove, + The labouring son Alemena bore to Jove. + + "By the stout heart to peril's sight inured, 82 + By the wise brain which toil hath stored and skill'd, + Valour is school'd and glory is secured, + And the large ends of fame and fate fulfill'd: + But hear the gifts thy year of proof must gain, + To fail in one leaves those achieved in vain. + + "The falchion, welded from a diamond gem, 83 + Hid in the Lake of Argent Music-Falls, + Where springs a forest from a single stem, + And moon-lit waters close o'er Cuthite halls-- + First taste the herb that grows upon a grave, + Then see the bark that wafts thee down the wave. + + "The silver Shield in which the infant sleep 84 + Of Thor was cradled,--now the jealous care + Of the fierce dwarf whose home is on the deep, + Where drifting ice-rocks clash in lifeless air; + And War's pale Sisters smile to see the shock + Stir the still curtains round the couch of Lok. + + "And last of all--before the Iron Gate 85 + Which opes its entrance at the faintest breath, + But hath no egress; where remorseless Fate + Sits, weaving life, within the porch of Death; + Earth's childlike guide shall wait thee in the gloom, + With golden locks, and looks that light the tomb. + + "Achieve the sword, the shield, the virgin guide, 86 + And in those gifts appease the Powers of wrath; + Be danger braved, and be delight defied, + From grief take wisdom, and from wisdom faith;-- + And though dark wings hang o'er these threaten'd halls, + Though war's red surge break thundering round thy walls, + + "Though, in the rear of time, these prophet eyes 87 + See to thy sons, thy Cymrians, many a woe; + Yet from thy loins a race of kings shall rise, + Whose throne shall shadow all the seas that flow; + Whose empire, broader than the Caesar won, + Shall clasp a realm where never sets the sun: + + "And thou, thyself, shalt live from age to age, 88 + A thought of beauty and a type of fame;-- + Not the faint memory of some mouldering page, + But by the hearths of men a household name: + Theme to all song, and marvel to all youth-- + Beloved as Fable, yet believed as Truth. + + "But if thou fail--thrice woe!" Up sprang the King: 89 + "Let the woe fall on feeble kings who fail + Their country's need! When eagles spread the wing, + They face the sun, not tremble at the gale: + And, if ordain'd heaven's mission to perform, + They bear the thunder where they cleave the storm." + + Ere yet the shadows from the castle's base 90 + Show'd lapsing noon--in Carduel's council-hall, + To the high princes of the Dragon race, + The mighty Prophet, whom the awe of all + As Fate's unerring oracle adored,-- + Told the self exile of the parted lord; + + For his throne's safety and his country's weal 91 + On high emprise to distant regions bound; + The cause must wisdom for success conceal; + For each sage counsel is, as fate, profound: + And none may trace the travail in the seed + Till the blade burst to glory in the deed. + + Few were the orders, as wise orders are, 92 + For the upholding of the chiefless throne; + To strengthen peace and yet prepare for war; + Lest the fierce Saxon (Arthur's absence known) + Loose death's pale charger from the broken rein, + To its grim pastures on the bloody plain. + + Leave we the startled Princes in the hall; 93 + Leave we the wondering babblers in the mart; + The grief, the guess, the hope, the doubt, and all + That stir a nation to its inmost heart, + When some portentous Chance, unseen till then, + Strides in the circles of unthinking men.[11] + + Where the screen'd portal from the embattled town 94 + Opes midway on the hill, the lonely King, + Forth issuing, guides his barded charger down + The steep descent. Amidst the pomp of spring + Lapses the lucid river; jocund May + Waits in the vale to strew with flowers his way. + + Of brightest steel (but not emboss'd with gold 95 + As when in tourneys rode the royal knight), + His arms flash sunshine back; the azure fold + Of the broad mantle, like a wave of light, + Floats tremulous, and leaves the sword-arm free.-- + Fair was that darling of all Poetry! + + Through the raised vizor beam'd the fearless eye, 96 + The limpid mirror of a stately soul; + Bright with young hope, but grave with purpose high; + Sweet to encourage, steadfast to control; + An eye from which subjected hosts might draw, + As from a double fountain, love and awe. + + The careless curl, that from the helm escaped, 97 + Gleam'd in the sunlight, lending gold to gold. + Nor fairer face, in Parian marble shaped, + Beam'd gracious down from Delian shrines of old; + Albeit in bolder majesty look'd forth + The hardy soul of the chivalric North + + O'er the light limb, and o'er the shoulders broad, 98 + The steel flow'd pliant as a silken vest; + Strength was so supple that like grace it show'd, + And force was only by its ease confest; + Ev'n as the storms in gentlest waters sleep, + And in the ripple flows the mighty deep. + + Now wound his path beside the woods that hang 99 + O'er the green pleasaunce of the sunlit plain, + When a young footstep from the forest sprang, + And a light hand was on the charger's rein; + Surprised, the adventurer halts,--but pleased surveys + The friendly face that smiles upon his gaze. + + Of all the flowers of knighthood in his train 100 + Three he loved best; young Caradoc the mild, + Whose soul was fill'd with song; and frank Gawaine,[12] + Whom mirth for ever, like a fairy child, + Lock'd from the cares of life; but neither grew + Close to his heart, like Lancelot the true. + + Gawaine when gay, and Caradoc when grave, 101 + Pleased: but young Lancelot, or grave or gay. + As yet life's sea had roll'd not with a wave + To rend the plank from those twin hearts away; + At childhood's gate instinctive love began, + And warm'd with every sun that led to man. + + The same sports lured them, the same labours strung, 102 + The same song thrill'd them with the same delight; + Where in the aisle their maiden arms had hung, + The same moon lit them through the watchful night; + The same day bound their knighthood to maintain + Life from reproach, and honour from a stain. + + And if the friendship scarce in each the same, 103 + The soul has rivals where the heart has not; + So Lancelot loved his Arthur more than fame, + And Arthur more than life his Lancelot. + Lost here Art's mean distinctions! knightly troth, + Frank youth, high thoughts, crown'd Nature's kings in both.[13] + + "Whither wends Arthur?" "Whence comes Lancelot?" 104 + "From yonder forest, sought at dawn of day." + "Why from the forest?" "Prince and brother, what, + When the bird startled flutters from the spray, + Makes the leaves quiver? What disturbs the rill + If but a zephyr floateth from the hill? + + "And ask'st thou why thy brother's heart is stirr'd 105 + By every tremor that can vex thine own? + What in that forest hadst thou seen or heard? + What was that shadow o'er thy sunshine thrown? + Thy lips were silent,--be the secret thine; + But half the trouble it conceal'd was mine. + + "Did danger meet thee in that dismal lair? 106 + 'Twas mine to face it as thy heart had done. + 'Twas mine----" "O brother," cried the King, "beware, + The fiend has snares it shames not man to shun;-- + Ah, woe to eyes on whose recoiling sight + Opes the dark world beyond the veil of light! + + "Listen to Fate; till once more eves in May 107 + Welcome BAL-HUAN back to yon sweet sky,[14] + The hunter's lively horn, the hound's deep bay, + May fill with joy the VALE OF MELODY,[15] + On spell-bound ears the Harper's tones may fall, + Love deck the bower, and Pleasure trim the hall-- + + "But thou, oh thou, my Lancelot shalt mourn 108 + The void, a life withdrawn bequeaths the soul; + No mirth shall greet thee in the buxom horn-- + Nor flash in liquid sunshine from the bowl; + Sorrow shall sit where I have dwelt,--and be + A second Arthur in its truth to thee. + + "Alone I go;--submit; since thus the Fates 109 + And the great Prophet of our race ordain; + So shall we drive invasion from our gates, + Guard life from shame, and Cymri from the chain; + No more than this my soul to thine may tell-- + Forgive,--Saints shield thee!--now thy hand--farewell!" + + "Farewell! Can danger be more strong than death-- 110 + Loose the soul's link, the grave-surviving vow? + Wilt thou find fragrance ev'n in glory's wreath, + If valour weave it for thy single brow? + No!--not farewell! What claim more strong than brother + Canst thou allow?"--"My Country is my Mother!"-- + + At the rebuke of those mild, solemn words, 111 + Friendship submissive bow'd--its voice was still'd; + As when some mighty bard with sudden chords + Strikes down the passion he before had thrill'd, + Making grief awe;--so rush'd that sentence o'er + The soul it master'd;--Lancelot urged no more; + + But loosing from the hand it clasp'd, his own, 112 + He waved farewell, and turn'd his face away; + His sorrow only by his silence shown:-- + Thus, when from earth glides summer's golden day, + Music forsakes the boughs, and winds the stream; + And life, in deep'ning quiet, mourns the beam. + + +NOTES TO BOOK I. + +1.--Page 201, stanza iv. + + _While Cymri's dragon, from the Roman's hold, + Spread with calm wing o'er Carduel's domes of gold._ + + The Carduel of the FABLIAUX is not easily ascertained: it is here + identified with Caerleon on the Usk, the favourite residence of + Arthur, according to the Welch poets. This must have been a city of + no ordinary splendour in the supposed age of Arthur, while still + fresh from the hands of the Roman; since, so late as the twelfth + century, Giraldus Cambrensis, in his well-known description, speaks + as an eye-witness of the many vestiges of its former splendour. + "Immense palaces, ornamented with gilded roofs, in imitation of + Roman magnificence, a tower of prodigious size, remarkable hot + baths, relics of temples," &c. (Giraldus Cambrensis, Sir R. Hoare's + translation, vol. i. p. 103.) Geoffrey of Monmouth (1. ix. c. 12) + also mentions, admiringly, the gilt roofs of Caerleon, a subject on + which he might be a little more accurate than in those other details + in his notable chronicle, not drawn from the same ocular experience. + The luxurious Romans, indeed, had bequeathed to the chiefs of Britain + abodes of splendour and habits of refinement which had no parallel in + the Saxon domination. Sir F. Palgrave truly remarks, that even in the + fourteenth century the edifices raised in Britain by the Romans were + so numerous and costly as almost to excel any others on this side of + the Alps. Caerleon (Isca Augusta) was the Roman capital of Siluria, + the garrison of the renowned Second or Augustan legion, and the + Palatian residence of the Praetor. It was not, however, according to + national authority, founded by the Romans, but by the mythical Belin + Mawr, three centuries before Caesar's invasion. It is scarcely + necessary to observe, that the dragon was the standard of the Cymry + (a word, by the way, which I trust my Welch readers will forgive me + for spelling Cymri). + +2.--Page 203, stanza xviii. + + _And through the vale the shrill BON-LEF-HER rings._ + + The shout of war. + +3.--Page 204, stanza xix. + + _So from the ROCK OF BIRDS the shout of war._ + + The Rock of Birds--CRAIG Y DERYN--so called from the number of birds + (chiefly those of prey) that breed on them. + +4.--Page 206, stanza xxxiii. + + _And found no billow where its beam could rest._ + + "Qual d'acqua chiara il tremolante lume," &c.--ARIOSTO, canto viii., + stanza 71. + +5.--Page 207, stanza xlv. + + _Where sate DUW-IOU, ere his reign was lost._ + + Duw-Iou (the Taranus of Lucan), the most solemn and august, though not + the most popular of the Druidical divinities; answering to the classic + Jupiter. + +6.--Page 209, stanza liv. + + _And the Pale Horse rose ghastly o'er the dead._ + + The White Horse, the standard of the Saxons. + +7.--Page 211, stanza lxx. + + _Shook to the foot-tread of invading Gaul._ + + PAUSAN. _Phoc._ c. 28. + +8.--Page 212, stanza lxxvi. + + _Of polish'd Chivalry, the primal ten._ + + The ten manly games (Gwrolgampau). + +9.--Page 212, stanza lxxvii. + + _Which HEUS, the Guardian, taught the Celt to wield._ + + HEUS is the same deity as ESUS, or HESUS, mentioned in Lucan, the Mars + of the Celts. According to the Welch triads, HEUS (or HU--Hu Gadarn; + _i. e._ the mighty Guardian, or Inspector) brought the people of Cymry + first into this isle, from the summer country called Defrobanni (in + the Tauric Chersonese), over the Hazy Sea (the German Ocean). Davies, + in his Celtic Researches, observes that some commentator, at least + as old as the twelfth century, repeatedly explains the situation of + Defrobanni as "that on which Constantinople now stands." "This + comment," adds Davies, "would not have been made without some + authority; it belongs to an age which possessed many documents + relating to the history of the Britons which are now no longer + extant." + + It would be extremely important towards tracing the origin of the + Cymry, if authentic and indisputable records of such traditions of + their migration from the East can be found in their own legends at + an age before learned conjecture could avail itself of the passages + in Herodotus and Strabo, which relate to the Cimmerians, and tend + to identify that people with our Cymrian ancestors. We find in the + first (1. i. c. 14), that the Cimmerians, chased from their original + settlements by the Nomadic Scythians, came to Lydia, where they took + Sardis (except the citadel). In this account Strabo, on the authority + of Callisthenes and Callinus, confirms Herodotus. + + In flying from their Scythian foes, the Cimmerians took their course + by the sea-coasts to Sinope, and the Cimmerian Bosphorus, and as, + after this flight, the old Cimmerian league was broken up, and the + tribes dispersed, this gives us the evident date for such migrations + as Hu Gadarn is supposed to head; and the coincidence between Welch + traditions (if genuinely ancient) and classical authority becomes + very remarkable. For the additional corroboration of the hypothesis + thus suggested, which is afforded by the identity between the + Cimmerians of Asia and the Cimbri of Gaul, see Strabo (1. vii. p. + 424, the Oxford edition, 1807). It is curious to note in Herodotus + (1. iv. c. 11) that the same domestic feuds which destroyed the + Cymrian empire in Britain destroyed the Cimmerians in their original + home. While the Scythians invaded them, they quarrelled amongst + themselves whether to fight or fly, and settled the dispute by + fighting each other, and flying from the enemy. + +10.--Page 212, stanza lxxvii. + + _Our Titan sires from Defrobanni's plain._ + + "Our Titan sires,"--according to certain mythologists, the Celts, or + Cimmerians, were the Titans. + +11.--Page 214, stanza xciii. + + _Strides in the circles of unthinking men._ + + Imitated from Schiller. + +12.--Page 215, stanza c. + + _And frank Gawaine, + Whom mirth for ever, like a fairy child, + Lock'd from the cares of life._ + + Some liberty, in the course of this poem, will be taken with the + legendary character, less perhaps of the Gawaine of the Fabliaux, + than of the Gwalchmai (Hawk of Battle) of the Welch bards. In both, + indeed, this hero is represented as sage, courteous, and eloquent; + but he is a livelier character in the Fabliaux than in the tales + of his native land. The characters of many of the Cymrian heroes, + indeed, vary according to the caprice of the poets. Thus Kai, in the + Triads, one of the Three Diademed chiefs of battle and a powerful + magician, is, in the French romances, Messire Queux, the chief + of the cooks; and in the Mabinogion,[A] he is at one time but an + unlucky knight of more valour than discretion, and at another time + attains the dignity assigned to him in the Triads, and exults + in supernatural attributes. And poor Gawaine himself, the mirror + of chivalry, in most of the Fabliaux is, as Southey observes, + "shamefully calumniated" in the MORT D'ARTHUR as the "false Gawaine." + The Caradoc of this poem is not intended to be identified with the + hero Caradoc Vreichvras. The name was sufficiently common in Britain + (it is the right reading for Caractacus) to allow to the use of the + poet as many Caradocs as he pleases. + +13.--Page 216, stanza ciii. + + _Frank youth, high thoughts, crown'd Nature's kings in both._ + + Lancelot was, indeed, the son of a king, but a dethroned and a + tributary one. The popular history of his infancy will be told in + a subsequent book. + +14.--Page 216, stanza cvii. + + _Welcome BAL-HUAN back to yon sweet sky._ + + Bal-Huan, the sun. Those heaps of stone found throughout Britain + (Crugiau or Carneu), were sacred to the sun in the Druid worship, + and served as beacons in his honour on May eve. May was his + consecrated month. The rocking-stones which mark these sanctuaries + were called amber-stones. + +15.--Page 216, stanza cvii. + + _May fill with joy the VALE OF MELODY._ + + Cwm-pPenllafar, the Vale of Melody--so called (as Mr. Pennant + suggests) from the music of the hounds when in full cry over the + neighbouring Rock of the Hunter. + + [A] I cannot quote the Mabinogion without expressing a grateful + sense of the obligations Lady Charlotte Guest has conferred + upon all lovers of our early literature, in her invaluable + edition and translation of that interesting collection of + British romances. + + + + +BOOK II. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Introductory reflections--Arthur's absence--Caradoc's suspended epic-- +The deliberations of the three friends--Merlin seeks them--The trial of +the enchanted forest--Merlin's soliloquy by the fountain--The return of +the knights from the forest--Merlin's selection of the one permitted +to join the King--The narrative returns to Arthur--The strange guide +allotted to him--He crosses the sea, and arrives at the court of the +Vandal--Ludovick, the Vandal King, described--His wily questions-- +Arthur's answers--The Vandal seeks his friend Astutio--Arthur leaves +the court--Conference between Astutio and Ludovick--Astutio's profound +statesmanship and subtle schemes--The Ambassador from Mercia--His +address to Ludovick--The Saxons pursue Arthur--Meanwhile the Cymrian +King arrives at the sea-shore--Description of the caves that intercept +his progress--He turns inland--The Idol-shrine--The wolf and the priest. + + + Oft in the sands, in idle summer days, 1 + Will childlike fondness write some cherish'd name, + Lull'd on the margin, while the wavelet plays, + And tides still dreaming on:--Alas! the same + On human hearts Affection prints a trace; + The sands record it, and the tides efface. + + If absence parts, Hope, ready to console, 2 + Whispers, "Be soothed, the absent shall return;" + If Death divides, a moment from the goal, + Love stays the step, and decks, but leaves, the urn, + Vowing remembrance;--let the year be o'er, + And see, remembrance smiles like joy, once more! + + In street and mart still plies the busy craft. 3 + Still Beauty trims for stealthy steps the bower; + By lips as gay the Hirlas horn[1] is quaft; + To the dark bourne still flies as fast the hour, + As when in Arthur men adored the sun; + And Life's large rainbow took its hues from One! + + Yet ne'er by Prince more loved a crown was worn, 4 + And hadst thou ventured but to hint the doubt + That loyal subjects ever ceased to mourn, + And that without him, earth was joy without,-- + Thou soon hadst join'd in certain warm dominions + The horned friends of pestilent opinions. + + Thrice bless'd, O King, that on thy royal head 5 + Fall the night-dews; that the broad-spreading beech + Curtains thy sleep; that in the paths of dread, + Lonely thou wanderest,--so thy steps may reach + RENOWN,--that bridge which spans the midnight sea, + And joins two worlds,--Time and Eternity! + + All is forgot save Poetry; or whether 6 + Haunting Time's river from the vocal reeds, + Or link'd not less in human souls together + With ends, which make the poetry of deeds; + For either poetry alike can shine-- + From Hector's valour as from Homer's line. + + Yet let me wrong ye not, ye faithful three, 7 + Gawaine, and Caradoc, and Lancelot! + Gawaine's light lip had lost its laughing glee + And gentle Caradoc had half forgot + That famous epic which his muse had hit on, + Of Trojan Brut--from whom the name of Briton. + + Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy,[2] 8 + Comes to this isle, and seeks to build a city, + Which Devils, then the Freeholders, destroy; + Till the sweet Virgin on Sir Brut takes pity, + And bids that Saint who now speaks Welsh on high,[3] + Baptize the astonish'd heathen in the Wye! + + This done, the fiends, at once disfranchised, fled; 9 + And to the Saint the Trojan built a chapel, + Where masses daily were for Priam said:-- + While thrice a week, the priests, that golden apple + By which three fiends, as goddesses disguised, + Bewitch'd Sir Paris, anathematized. + + But now this epic, in its course suspended, 10 + Slept on the shelf--(a not uncommon fate); + Ah, who shall tell, if, ere resumed and ended, + That kind of poem be not out of date? + For of all ladies there are none who chuse + Such freaks and turns of fashion, as the Muse. + + And then, sad Lancelot--but there I hold; 11 + Some griefs there are which grief alone can guess, + And so we leave whate'er he felt untold; + Light steps profane the heart's deep loneliness. + I, too, had once a friend, in happier years! + He fled,--he owed,--forgot;--Forgive these tears!-- + + Much, their sole comfort, much conversed the three 12 + Upon their absent Arthur; what the cause + Of his self-exile, and its ends, could be; + Much did they ponder, hesitate, and pause + In high debate if loyal love might still + Pursue his wanderings, though against his will. + + But first the awe which kings command, restrain'd; 13 + And next the ignorance of the path and goal; + So, thus for weeks they communed and remain'd; + Till o'er the woods a mellower verdure stole; + The bell-flower clothed the river-banks; the moon + Stood in the breathless firmament of June; + + When--as one twilight near the forest-mount 14 + They sate, and heard the vesper-bell afar + Swing from the dim Cathedral, and the fount + Hymn low its own sweet music to the star + Lone in the west--they saw a shadow pass + Where the pale beam shot silvering o'er the grass. + + They turn'd, beheld their Cymri's mighty seer, 15 + Majestic Merlin, and with reverence rose; + "Knights," said the soothsayer, smiling, "be of cheer + If yet alone (the stars themselves his foes) + Wanders the King,--now, of his faithful three + One, Fate permits; the choice with Fate must be. + + "Enter the forest--each his several way; 16 + Return as dies in air the vesper chime; + The fiend the forest populace obey + Hath not o'er mortals empire in the time + When holy sounds the wings of Heaven invite, + And prayer hangs charm-like on the wheels of Night. + + "What seen, what heard, mark mindful, and relate! 17 + Here will I tarry till your steps return." + Ne'er leapt the captive from the prison grate + With livelier gladness to the smiles of morn, + Than sprang those rivals to the forest-gloom, + And its dark arms closed round them like a tomb. + + Before the fount, with thought-o'ershadow'd brow, 18 + The prophet stood, and bent a wistful eye + Along its starlit shimmer;--"Ev'n as now," + He murmur'd, "didst thou lift thyself on high, + O symbol of my soul, and make thy course + One upward struggle to thy mountain source-- + + "When first, a musing boy, I stood beside 19 + Thy sparkling showers, and ask'd my restless heart + What secrets Nature to the herd denied, + But might to earnest hierophant impart; + Then, in the boundless space around and o'er, + Thought whisper'd--'Rise, O seeker, and explore; + + "'Can every leaf a teeming world contain, 20 + In the least drop can race succeed to race, + Yet one death-slumber in its dreamless reign + Clasp all the illumed magnificence of space-- + Life crowd the drop--from air's vast seas effaced-- + The leaf a world--the firmament a waste?'-- + + "And while Thought whisper'd, from thy shining spring 21 + The glorious answer murmur'd--'Soul of Man, + Let the fount teach thee, and its struggle bring + Truth to thy yearnings!--whither I began, + Thither I tend; my law is to aspire: + Spirit _thy_ source, be spirit _thy_ desire.' + + "And I have made the life of spirit mine; 22 + And, on the margin of my mortal grave, + My soul, already in an air divine + Ev'n in its terrors,--starlit, seeks to cleave + Up to the height on which its source must be-- + And falls again, in earthward showers, like thee. + + "System on system climbing, sphere on sphere, 23 + Upward for ever, ever, evermore, + Can all eternity not bring more near? + Is it in vain that I have sought to soar? + Vain as the Has been, is the long To be? + Type of my soul, O fountain, answer me!" + + And while he spoke, behold the night's soft flowers, 24 + Scentless to day, awoke, and bloom'd, and breathed; + Fed by the falling of the fountain's showers, + Round its green marge the grateful garland wreathed; + The fount might fail its source on high to gain-- + But ask the blossom if it soared in vain! + + The prophet mark'd, and, on his mighty brow, 25 + Thought grew resign'd, serene, though mournful still. + Now ceased the vesper, and the branches now + Stirr'd on the margin of the forest hill-- + And Gawaine came into the starlit space-- + Slow was his step, and sullen was his face. + + "What didst thou see?"--"The green-wood and the sky." 26 + "What hear?"--"The light leaf dropping on the sward." + And now, with front elate and hopeful eye, + Stood, in the starlight, Caradoc the bard; + The prophet smiled on that fair face (akin + Poet and prophet), "Child of Song, begin." + + "I saw a glow-worm light his fairy lamp, 27 + Close where a little torrent forced its way + Through broad-leaved water-sedge, and alder damp; + Above the glow-worm, from some lower spray + Of the near mountain-ash, the silver song + Of night's sweet chorister came clear and strong; + + "No thrilling note of melancholy wail; 28 + Ne'er pour'd the thrush more musical delight + Through noon-day laurels, than that nightingale + In the lone forest to the ear of Night-- + Ev'n as the light web by Arachne spun, + From bough to bough suspended in the sun, + + "Ensnares the heedless insect,--so, methought 29 + Midway in air my soul arrested hung + In the melodious meshes; never aught + To mortal lute was so divinely sung! + Surely, O prophet, these the sound and sign, + Which make the lot, the search determines mine," + + "O self-deceit of man!" the soothsayer sigh'd, 30 + "The worm but lent its funeral torch the ray; + The night-bird's joy but hail'd the fatal guide, + In the bright glimmer, to its thoughtless prey. + And thou, bold-eyed one--in the forest, what + Met _thy_ firm footstep?"--Out spoke Lancelot-- + + "I pierced the forest till a pool I reach'd, 31 + Ne'er mark'd before--a dark yet lucid wave; + High from a blasted oak the night-owl screech'd, + An otter crept from out its water-cave, + The owl grew silent when it heard my tread-- + The otter mark'd my shadow, and it fled. + + "This all I saw, and all I heard."--"Rejoice" 32 + The enchanter cried, "for thee the omens smile; + On thee propitious Fate hath fix'd the choice; + And thou the comrade in the glorious toil. + In death the poet only music heard; + But death gave way when life's firm soldier stirr'd. + + "Forth ride, a dauntless champion, with the morn; 33 + But let the night the champion nerve with prayer; + Higher and higher from the heron borne, + Wheels thy brave falcon to the heavenliest air, + Poises his wings, far towering o'er the foe, + And hangs aloft, before he swoops below; + + "Man let the falcon teach thee!--Now, from land 34 + To land thy guide, receive this chrystal ring; + See, in the chrystal moves a fairy hand, + Still, where it moveth, moves the wandering King-- + Or east, or north, or south, or west, where'er + Points the sure hand, thy onward path be there! + + "Thine hour comes soon, young Gawaine! to the port 35 + The light heart boundeth o'er the stormiest wave; + And thou, fair favourite[4] in the Fairy court, + To whom its King a realm in fancy gave; + Fear not from glory exiled long to be, + What toil to others, Nature brings to thee." + + Thus with kind word, well chosen, unto each 36 + Spoke the benign enchanter; and the twain, + Less favour'd, heart and comfort from his speech + Hopeful conceived; the prophet up the plain, + Gathering weird simples, pass'd--to Carduel they; + And song escapes to Arthur's lonely way. + + On towards the ocean-shore (for thus the seer 37 + Enjoin'd) the royal knight, deep musing, rode; + Winding green margins, till more near and near + Unto the main the exulting river flow'd. + Here too a guide, when reach'd the mightier wave, + The heedful promise of the prophet gave. + + Where the sea flashes on the argent sands, 38 + Soars from a lonely rock a snow-white dove: + No bird more beauteous to immortal lands + Bore Psyche rescued side by side with Love. + Ev'n as some thought which, pure of earthly taint, + Springs from the chaste heart of a virgin saint. + + It hovers in the heaven:--and from its wings 39 + Shakes the clear dewdrops of unsullying seas; + Then circling gently in slow-measured rings, + Nearer and nearer to its goal it flees, + And drooping, fearless, on that noble breast, + Murmuring low joy, it coos itself to rest. + + The grateful King, with many a soothing word, 40 + And bland caress, the guileless trust repaid; + When, gently gliding from his hand, the bird + Went fluttering where the hollow headlands made + A boat's small harbour; Arthur from the chain + Released the raft,--it shot along the main. + + Now in that boat, beneath the eyes of heaven, 41 + Floated the three, the steed, the bird, the man; + To favouring winds the little sail was given; + The shore fail'd gradual, dwindling to a span; + The steed bent wistful o'er the watery realm; + And the white dove perch'd tranquil at the helm. + + Haply by fisherman, its owner, left, 42 + Within the boat were rude provisions stored; + The yellow harvest from the wild bee reft, + Bread, roots, dried fish, the luxuries of a board + Health spreads for toil; while skins and flasks of reed + Yield, these the water, those the strengthening mead. + + Five days, five nights, still onward, onward o'er 43 + Light-swelling waves, bounded the bark its way: + At last the sun set reddening on a shore; + Walls on the cliff, and war-ships in the bay; + While from bright towers, o'erlooking sea and plain, + The Leopard-banners told the Vandal's reign. + + Amid those shifting royalties, the North 44 + Pour'd from its teeming breast, in tumult driven, + Now to, now fro, as thunder-clouds sent forth + To darken, burst,--and bursting, clear the heaven; + Ere yet the Nomad nations found repose, + And order dawn'd as Charlemain arose; + + Amidst that ferment of fierce races, won 45 + To yonder shores a wandering Vandal horde, + Whose chief exchanged his war-tent for a throne, + And shaped a sceptre from a conqueror's sword; + His sons, expell'd by rude intestine broil, + Sought that worst wilderness--the Stranger's soil. + + A distant kinsman, Ludovick his name, 46 + With them was exiled, and with them return'd. + A prince of popular and patriot fame; + To roast his egg your house he would have burn'd! + A patriot soul no ties of kindred knows-- + His kinsman's palace was the house he chose. + + A patriot gamester playing for a Crown, 47 + He watch'd the hazard with indifferent air, + Rebuked well-wishers with a gentle frown, + Then dropp'd the whisper--"What I win I share." + Who plays for power should make the odds so fall, + That one man's luck should seem the gain of all. + + The moment came, disorder split the realm; 48 + Too stern the ruler, or too feebly stern; + The supple kinsman slided to the helm, + And trimm'd the rudder with a dexterous turn; + A turn so dexterous, that it served to fling + _Both_ overboard--the people and the king! + + The captain's post repaid the pilot's task, 49 + He seized the ship as he had cleared the prow; + Drop we the metaphor as he the mask: + And, while his gaping Vandals wonder'd how, + Behold the patriot to the despot grown, + Filch'd from the fight, and juggled to the throne! + + And bland in words was wily Ludovick! 50 + Much did he promise, nought did he fulfil; + The trickster Fortune loves the hands that trick, + And smiled approving on her conjuror's skill! + The promised freedom vanish'd in a tax, + And bays, turn'd briars, scourged bewilder'd backs. + + Soon is the landing of the stranger knight 51 + Known at the court; and courteously the king + Gives to his guest the hospitable rite; + Heralds the tromp, and harpers wake the string; + Rich robes of miniver the mail replace, + And the bright banquet sparkles on the dais. + + Where on the wall the cloth, goldwoven, glow'd, 52 + Beside his chair of state, the Vandal lord + Made room for that fair stranger, as he strode + With a king's footstep, to the kingly board. + In robes so nobly worn, the wise old man + Saw some great soul, which cunning whisper'd "scan." + + A portly presence had the realm-deceiver; 53 + Ah eye urbane, a people-catching smile, + A brow of webs the everlasting weaver, + Where jovial frankness mask'd the serious guile; + Each word, well aim'd, he feather'd with a jest, + And, unsuspected, shot into the breast. + + Gaily he welcomed Arthur to the feast, 54 + And press'd the goblet, which unties the tongue; + As the bowl circled so his speech increased, + And chose such flatteries as seduce the young; + Seeming in each kind question more to blend + The fondling father with the anxious friend. + + If frank the prince, esteem him not the less; 55 + The soul of knighthood loves the truth of man; + The boons he sought 'twas needful to suppress, + Not mask the seeker; so the prince began-- + "Arthur my name, from YNYS VEL[5] I come, + And the steep homes of Cymri's Christendom. + + "Five days ago, in Carduel's halls a king, 56 + A lonely pilgrim now o'er lands and seas, + I seek such fame as gallant deeds can bring, + And hope from danger gifts denied to ease; + Lore from experience, thought from toil to gain, + And learn as man how best as king to reign." + + The Vandal smiled, and praised the high design; 57 + Then, careless, questioned of the Cymrian land: + "Was earth propitious to the corn and vine? + Was the sun genial?--were the breezes bland? + Did gold and gem the mountain mines conceal?"-- + "Our soil bears manhood, and our mountains steel," + + The Monarch answer'd; "and where these are found, 58 + All plains yield harvests, and all mines the gold."-- + "Your hills are doubtless," quoth the Vandal, "crown'd + With castled tower, and fosse-defended hold?"-- + "One hold the land--its mightiest fosse the sea; + And its strong walls the bosoms of the free." + + The Vandal mused, and thought the answers shrewd, 59 + But little suited to the listeners by; + So turn'd the subject, nor again renew'd + Sharp questions blunted by such bold reply. + Now ceased the banquet; to a chamber, spread + With fragrant heath, his guest the Vandal led. + + With his own hand unclasp'd the mantle's fold, 60 + And took his leave in blessings without number; + Bade every angel shelter from the cold, + And every saint watch sleepless o'er the slumber; + Then his own chamber sought, and rack'd his breast + To find some use to which to put the guest. + + Three days did Arthur sojourn in that court; 61 + And much he marvell'd how that warlike race + Bow'd to a chief, whom never knightly sport, + The gallant tourney, nor the glowing chase + Allured; and least those glory-lighted dyes + Which make death lovely in a warrior's eyes. + + Yet, 'midst his marvel, much the Cymrian sees 62 + For king to imitate and sage to praise; + Splendour and thrift in nicely-poised degrees, + Caution that guards, and promptness that dismays; + But Fraud will oftimes make the Fate it fears;-- + Some day, found stifled by the mask it wears. + + On his part, Arthur in such estimation 63 + Did the host hold, that he proposed to take + A father's charge of his forsaken nation. + "He loved not meddling, but for Arthur's sake, + Would leave his own, his guest's affairs to mind." + An offer Arthur thankfully declined. + + Much grieved the Vandal "that he just had given 64 + His last unwedded daughter to a Frank, + But still he had a wifeless son, thank Heaven! + Not yet provision'd as beseem'd his rank, + And one of Arthur's sisters----" Uther's son + Smiled, and replied--"Sir king, I have but one, + + "Borne by my mother to her former lord; 65 + Not young."--"Alack! youth cannot last like riches." + "Not fair."--"Then youth is less to be deplored." + "A witch."[6]--"_All_ women till they're wed _are_ witches! + Wived to my son, the witch will soon be steady!" + "Wived to your son?--she is a wife already!" + + O baseless dreams of man! The king stood mute! 66 + That son, of all his house the favourite flower, + How had he sought to force it into fruit, + And graft the slip upon a lusty dower! + And this sole sister of a king so rich, + A wife already!--Saints consume the witch! + + With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took 67 + Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest, + And sought a friend who served him, as a book + Read in our illness, in our health dismiss'd; + For seldom did the Vandal condescend + To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend! + + And yet Astutio was a man of worth 68 + Before the brain had reason'd out the heart; + But now he learned to look upon the earth + As peddling hucksters look upon the mart; + Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till; + And damn'd his fame to serve his master's will. + + Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, 69 + And kept his memory mapp'd in prim precision, + With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings, + And moral saws, which ran through each division, + All neatly colour'd with appropriate hue-- + The histories black, the morals heavenly blue! + + But state-craft, mainly, was his pride and boast; 70 + "The golden medium" was his guiding star, + Which means "move on until you're uppermost, + And then things can't be better than they are!" + Brief, in two rules he summ'd the ends of man-- + "Keep all you have, and try for all you can!" + + While these conferr'd, fair Arthur wistfully 71 + Look'd from the lattice of his stately room; + The rainbow spann'd the ocean of the sky, + An arch of glory in the midst of gloom; + So light from dark by lofty souls is won, + And on the rain-cloud they reflect the sun. + + As such, perchance, his thought, the snow-white dove, 72 + Which at the threshold of the Vandal's towers + Had left his side, came circling from above, + Athwart the rainbow and the sparkling showers, + Flew through the open lattice, paused, and sprung + Where on the wall the abandon'd armour hung; + + Hover'd above the lance, the mail, the crest, 73 + Then back to Arthur, and with querulous cries, + Peck'd at the clasp that bound the flowing vest, + Chiding his dalliance from the arm'd emprize, + So Arthur deem'd; and soon from head to heel + Blazed War's dread statue, sculptured from the steel. + + Then through the doorway flew the winged guide, 74 + Skimm'd the long gallery, shunn'd the thronging hall, + And, through deserted posterns, led the stride + Of its arm'd follower to the charger's stall; + Loud neigh'd the destrier[7] at the welcome clang + And drowsy horseboys into service sprang. + + Though threaten'd danger well the prince divined, 75 + He deem'd it churlish in ungracious haste + Thus to depart, nor thank a host so kind; + But when the step the courteous thought retraced, + With breast and wing the dove opposed his way, + And warn'd with scaring scream the rash delay. + + The King reluctant yields. Now in the court 76 + Paws with impatient hoof the barbed steed; + Now yawn the sombre portals of the fort; + Creaks the hoarse drawbridge;--now the walls are freed. + Through dun woods hanging o'er the ocean tide, + Glimmers the steel, and gleams the angel-guide. + + An opening glade upon the headland's prow 77 + Sudden admits the ocean and the day. + Lo! the waves cleft before the gilded prow, + Where the tall war-ship, towering, sweeps to bay. + Why starts the King?--High over mast and sail, + The Saxon Horse rides ghastly in the gale! + + Grateful to heaven, and heaven's plumed messenger, 78 + He raised his reverent eyes, then shook the rein: + Bounded the barb, disdainful of the spur, + Clear'd the steep cliff, and scour'd along the plain. + Still, while he sped, the swifter wings that lead + Seem to rebuke for sloth the swiftening steed. + + Nor cause unmeet for grateful thought, I ween, 79 + Had the good King; nor vainly warn'd the bird; + Nor idly fled the steed; as shall be seen, + If, where the Vandal and his friend conferr'd, + Awhile our path retracing, we relate + What craft deems guiltless when the craft of state. + + "Sire," quoth Astutio, "well I comprehend 80 + Your cause for grief; the seedsman breaks the ground + For the new plant; new thrones that would extend + Their roots, must loosen all the earth around; + For trees and thrones no rule than this more true, + What most disturbs the old best serves the new. + + "Thus all ways wise to push your princely son 81 + Under the soil of Cymri's ancient stem; + And if the ground the thriving plant had won, + What prudent man will plants that thrive condemn? + Sir, in your move a master hand is seen, + Your well play'd bishop caught both tower and queen." + + "And now checkmate!" the wretched sire exclaims, 82 + With watering eyes, and mouth that water'd too. + "Nay," quoth the sage; "a match means many games, + Replace the pieces, and begin anew. + You want this Cymrian's crown--the want is just."-- + "But how to get it?"--"Sir, with ease, I trust. + + "The witch is married--better that than burn 83 + (A well-known text--to witches not applied); + But let that pass:--great sir, to Anglia turn, + And mate your Vandal with a Saxon bride. + Her dower," cried Ludovick, "the dower's the thing." + "The lands and sceptre of the Cymrian King." + + Then to that anxious sire the learned man 84 + Bared the large purpose latent in his speech; + O'er Britain's gloomy history glibly ran; + Anglia's new kingdoms, he described them each; + But most himself to Mercia he addresses, + For Mercia's king, great man, hath two princesses! + + Long on this glowing theme enlarged the sage, 85 + And turn'd, return'd, and turn'd it o'er again; + Thus when a mercer would your greed engage + In some fair silk, or cloth of comely grain, + He spreads it out--upholds it to the day, + Then sighs "So cheap, too!"--and your soul gives way. + + He show'd the Saxon, hungering to devour 86 + The last unconquer'd realm the Cymrian boasts; + He dwelt at length on Mercia's gathering power, + Swell'd, year by year, from Elbe's unfailing hosts. + Then proved how Mercia scarcely could retain + Beneath the sceptre what the sword might gain. + + "For Mercia's vales from Cymri's hills are far, 87 + And Mercian warriors hard to keep afield; + And men fresh conquer'd stormy subjects are; + What can't be held 'tis no great loss to yield; + And still the Saxon might secure his end, + If where the foe had reign'd he left the friend. + + "Nay, what so politic in Mercia's king 88 + As on that throne a son-in-law to place?" + While thus they saw their birds upon the wing + Ere hatched the egg,--as is the common case + With large capacious minds, the natural heirs + Of that vast property--the things not theirs! + + In comes a herald--comes with startling news: 89 + "A Saxon chief has anchor'd in the bay, + From Mercia's king ambassador, and sues + The royal audience ere the close of day." + The wise old men upon each other stare, + "While monarchs counsel, thus the saints prepare," + + Astutio murmur'd, with a pious smile. 90 + "Admit the noble Saxon," quoth the King. + The two laugh out, and rub their palms, the while + The herald speeds the ambassador to bring; + And soon a chief, fair-hair'd, erect, and tall, + With train and trumpet, strides along the hall. + + Upon his wrist a falcon, bell'd, he bore; 91 + Leash'd at his heels six bloodhounds grimly stalk'd; + A broad round shield was slung his breast before; + The floors reclang'd with armour as he walk'd; + He gained the dais; his standard-bearer spread + Broadly the banner o'er his helmed head, + + And thrice the tromp his blazon'd herald woke, 92 + And hail'd Earl Harold from the Mercian king. + Full on the Vandal gazed the earl, and spoke: + "Greeting from Crida, Woden's heir, I bring, + And these plain words:--'The Saxon's steel is bare, + Red harvests wait it--will the Vandal share? + + "'Hengist first chased the Briton from the vale; 93 + Crida would hound the Briton from the hill; + Stern hands have loosed the Pale Horse on the gale; + The Horse shall halt not till the winds are still. + Be ours your foemen,--be your foemen shown, + And we in turn will smite them as our own. + + "'We need allies--in you allies we call; 94 + Your shores oppose the Cymrian's mountain sway; + Your armed men stand idle in your hall; + Your vessels rot within your crowded bay: + Send three full squadrons to the Mercian bands-- + Send seven tall war-ships to the Cymrian lands. + + "'If this you grant, as from the old renown 95 + Of Vandal valour, Saxon men believe, + Our arms will solve all question to your crown; + If not, the heirs you banish we receive; + But one rude maxim Saxon bluntness knows-- + We serve our friends, who are not friends are foes! + + "'Thus speaks King Crida.'" Not the manner much 96 + Of that brief speech wise Ludovick admired; + But still the matter did so nearly touch + The great state-objects recently desired, + That the sage brows dismiss'd in haste the frown, + And lips sore-smiling gulp'd resentment down. + + Fair words he gave, and friendly hints of aid, 97 + And pray'd the envoy in his halls to rest; + And more, in truth, to please the earl had said, + But that the sojourn of the earlier guest + (For not the parting of the Cymrian known) + Forbade his heart too plainly to be shown. + + But ere a long and oily speech had closed, 98 + Astutio, who the hall, when it begun, + Had left, to seek the prince (whom he proposed, + If yet the tidings to his ear had won + Of his foe's envoy, by some smooth pretext + To lull), came back with visage much perplext-- + + And whisper'd Ludovick--"The King has fled!" 99 + The Vandal stammer'd, stared, but versed in all + The quick resources of a wily head, + That out of evil still a good could call, + He did but pause, with more effect to wing + The stone that chance thus fitted to his sling. + + "Saxon," he said, "thus far we had premised, 100 + And if still wavering, not our heart in fault. + Three days ago, the Cymrian king, disguised, + First drank our cup, and tasted of our salt, + And hence our zeal to aid you we represt, + Deeming your foe was still the Vandal's guest. + + "Lo, while we speak, the saints the bond release; 101 + Arthur hath gone from us;--the host is free." + "Arthur--the Cymrian!" cried the envoy. "Peace; + In deeds, not words, men's love the Saxons see: + Gone!--whither wends he? But a word I need-- + Leave to the rest my bloodhounds and my steed." + + Dumb sate the Vandal, dumb with fear and shame: 102 + No slave to virtue, but its shade was he; + A tower of strength is in an honest name-- + 'Tis wise to seem what oft 'tis dull to be! + A kingly host a kingly guest betray! + The chafing Saxon brook'd not that delay-- + + But turn'd his sparkling eyes behind, and saw 103 + His knights and squires with zeal as fierce inflamed, + And out he spoke,--"The hospitable law + We will not trench, whate'er the guest hath claim'd + Let the host yield! forgive, that, hotly stirr'd, + His course I question'd; I retract the word. + + "If on your hearth he stands, protect; within 104 + Your realm if wandering, guard him as you may; + This hearth not ours, nor this our realm;--no sin + To chase our foeman, whatsoe'er his way: + Up spear--forth sword! to selle each Saxon man-- + Unleash the warhounds--stay us those who can!" + + Loud rang the armed tumult in the hall; 105 + Rush'd to the doors the Saxon's fiery band; + Yell'd the gaunt bloodhounds loosen'd from the thrall; + Steeds neigh'd; leapt forth the falchion to the hand; + Low on the earth the bloodhounds track'd the scent, + And where they guided there the hunters went. + + Amazed the Vandal with his friend debates 106 + What course were best in such extremes to choose; + Nicely they weigh;--the Saxons pass the gates: + Finely refine;--the chase its prey pursues. + And while the chase pursues, to him, whose way + The dove directs, well pleased, returns the lay. + + Twilight was on the earth, when paused the King 107 + Lone by the beach of far-resounding seas; + Rock upon rock, behind, a Titan ring, + Closed round a gorge o'erhung with breathless trees, + A horror of still umbrage; and, before, + Wave-hollow'd caves arch'd, ruinous, the shore. + + Column and vault, and seaweed-dripping domes, 108 + Long vistas opening through the streets of dark, + Seem'd like a city's skeleton; the homes + Of giant races vanish'd since the ark + Rested on Ararat: from side to side + Moan the lock'd waves that ebb not with the tide. + + Here, path forbid; where, length'ning up the land, 109 + The deep gorge stretches to a night of pine, + Veer the white wings; and there the slacken'd hand + Guides the tired steed; deeplier the shades decline; + Dull'd with each step into the darker gloom + Follows the ocean's hollow-sounding boom. + + Sudden starts back the steed, with bristling mane 110 + And nostrils snorting fear; from out the shade + Loom the vast columns of a roofless fane, + Meet for some god whom savage man hath made: + A mighty pine-torch on the altar glow'd + And lit the goddess of the grim abode-- + + So that the lurid idol, from its throne, 111 + Glared on the wanderer with a stony eye; + The King breathed quick the Christian orison, + Spurr'd the scared barb, and pass'd abhorrent by-- + Nor mark'd a figure on the floor reclined: + It watch'd, it rose, it crept, it dogg'd behind. + + Three days, three nights, within that dismal shrine, 112 + Had couch'd that man, and hunger'd for his prey. + Chieftain and priest of hordes that from the Rhine + Had track'd in carnage thitherwards their way; + Fell souls that still maintain'd their rites of yore, + And hideous altars rank with human gore. + + By monstrous Oracles a coming foe, 113 + Whose steps appal his gods, hath been foretold; + The fane must fall unless the blood shall flow; + Therefore three days, three nights he watch'd;--behold + At last the death-torch of the blazing pine + Darts on the foe the lightning of the shrine! + + Stealthily on, amidst the brushwood, crept 114 + With practised foot and unrelaxing eye, + The steadfast Murder;--where the still leaf slept + The still leaf stirr'd not: as it glided by + The mosses gave no echo; not a breath! + Nature was hush'd as if in league with Death! + + As moved the man, so, on the opposing side 115 + Of the deep gorge, with purpose like his own, + Did steps as noiseless to the blood-feast glide; + And as the man before his idol's throne + Had watch'd,--so watch'd, since daylight left the air, + A giant wolf within its leafy lair. + + Whether the blaze allured, or hunger stung, 116 + There still had cower'd and crouch'd the beast of prey; + With lurid eyes unwinking, spell-bound, clung + To the near ridge that faced the torchlit way; + As the steed pass'd, it rose! On either side, + Here glides the wild beast, there the man doth glide. + + But all unconscious of the double foe, 117 + Paused Arthur, where his resting-place the dove + Seem'd to select,--his couch a mound below; + A bowering beech his canopy above: + From his worn steed the barded mail released, + And left it, reinless, to its herbage-feast. + + Then from his brow the mighty helm unbraced, 118 + And from his breast the hauberk's heavy load; + On the tree's trunk the trophied arms he placed, + And, ere to rest the weary limbs bestow'd, + Thrice sign'd the cross the fiends of night to scare, + And guarded helpless sleep with potent prayer. + + Then on the moss-grown couch he laid him down, 119 + Fearless of night and hopeful for the morn: + On Slumber's lap the head without a crown + Forgot the gilded trouble it had worn; + The Warrior slept--the browsing charger stray'd-- + The dove, unsleeping, watch'd amidst the shade. + + And now, on either hand the dreaming King 120 + Death halts to strike: the crouching wild beast, here, + From the close crag prepares the rushing spring; + There, from the thicket creeping, near and near, + Steals the wild man, and listens for a sound-- + Lifts the pale steel, and gathers for the bound. + + But what befell? O thou, whose gentle heart 121 + Lists, scornful not, this undiurnal rhyme; + If, as thy steps to busier life depart, + Still in thine ear rings low the haunting chime, + When leisure suits once more forsake the throng, + Call childhood back, and redemand the song. + + +NOTES TO BOOK II. + +1.--Page 218, stanza iii. + + _By lips as gay the Hirlas horn is quaft._ + + The Hirlas, or drinking-horn, made of the buffalo horn, enriched with + gold or silver. The Hirlas song of "Owen Prince of Powys" is familiar + to all lovers of Welch literature. + +2.--Page 219, stanza viii. + + _Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy._ + + Caradoc's version of the descent of Brut differs somewhat from that of + Geoffrey of Monmouth, but perhaps it is quite as true. According to + Geoffrey, Brut is great-grandson to AEneas, and therefore not expelled + from "_flaming_ Troy." Caradoc follows his own (no doubt authentic) + legends, also, as to the aboriginal population of the island, which, + according to Geoffrey, were giants, not devils. The cursory and + contemptuous way in which that delicious romance-writer speaks of + these poor giants is inimitable--"_Albion a nemine, exceptis paucis + gigantibus, inhabitabatur._"--"Albion was inhabited by nobody--except, + indeed, a few giants!" + +3.--Page 219, stanza viii. + + _And bids that Saint, who now speaks Welch on high._ + + Saint BRAN, the founder of one of the three sacred lineages of + Britain, was the first introducer of Christianity among the Cymry. + +4.--Page 223, stanza xxxv. + + _And thou, fair favourite in the Fairy court._ + + Gwyn-ab-nudd, the king of the fairies. He is, also, sometimes less + pleasingly delineated as the king of the infernal regions; the Welch + Pluto--much the same as, in the chivalric romance-writers, Proserpine + is sometimes made the queen of the fairies. + +5.--Page 226, stanza lv. + + _"Arthur my name, from YNYS VEL I come._ + + Ynys Vel; one of the old Welch names for England. + +6.--Page 227, stanza lxv. + + _"A witch."--"All women till they're wed are witches!_ + + The witch MOURGE, or MORGANA (historically ANNA), was Arthur's sister. + +7.--Page 228, stanza lxxiv. + + _Loud neigh'd the destrier at the welcome clang._ + + _Destrier_;--This word has been objected to, but it is so familiarly + used by our Anglo-Norman minstrels, as well as by the great Masters of + romantic poetry, that I have ventured, though not without diffidence, + to retain it. MONTAIGNE, in his chapter on "the Warhorses called + Destriers," derives the word from the Latin _Dextrarius_. + + + + +BOOK III. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Arthur still sleeps--The sounds that break his rest--The war between the +beast and the man--How ended--The Christian foe and the heathen--The +narrative returns to the Saxons in pursuit of Arthur--Their chase is +stayed by the caverns described in the preceding book, the tides having +now advanced up the gorge through which Arthur passed, and blocked that +pathway--The hunt is resumed at dawn--The tides have receded from the +gorge--One of the hounds finds scent--The riders are on the track-- +Harold heads the pursuit--The beech-tree--The man by the water spring-- +The wood is left--The knight on the brow of the hill--Parley between the +earl and the knight--The encounter--Harold's address to his men, and his +foe--His foe's reply--The dove and the falcon--The unexpected succour-- +And conclusion of the fray--The narrative passes on to the description +of the Happy Valley--in which the dwellers await the coming of a +stranger--History of the Happy Valley--a colony founded by Etrurians +from Fiesole, forewarned of the destined growth of the Roman dominion-- +Its strange seclusion and safety from the changes of the ancient world-- +The law that forbade the daughters of the Lartian or ruling family to +marry into other clans--Only one daughter (the queen) is left now, and +the male line in the whole Lartian clan is extinct--The contrivance of +the Augur for the continuance of the royal house, sanctioned by two +former precedents--A stranger is to be lured into the valley--The simple +dwellers therein to be deceived into believing him a god--He is to be +married to the queen, and then, on the birth of a son, to vanish again +amongst the gods (_i.e._ to be secretly made away with)--Two temples at +the opposite ends of the valley give the only gates to the place--By the +first, dedicated to Tina (the Etrurian Jove), the stranger is to be +admitted--In the second, dedicated to Mantu (the god of the shades), he +is destined to vanish--Such a stranger is now expected in the Happy +Valley--He emerges, led by the Augur, from the temple of Tina--AEgle, the +queen, described--Her stranger-bridegroom is led to her bower. + + + We raise the curtain where the unconscious king 1 + Beneath the beech his fearless couch had made; + Here, the fierce fangs prepared their deadly spring; + There, in the hand of Murder gleam'd the blade; + And not a sound to warn him from above; + Where, still unsleeping, watch'd the guardian dove! + + Hark, a dull crash!--a howling, ravenous yell! 2 + Opening fell symphony of ghastly sound, + Jarring, yet blent, as if the dismal hell + Sent its strange anguish from the rent Profound: + Through all its scale the horrible discord ran, + Now mock'd the beast, now took the groan of man; + + Wrath, and the grind of gnashing teeth; the growl 3 + Of famine routed from its red repast; + Sharp shrilling pain; and fury from some soul + That fronts despair, and wrestles to the last. + Up sprang the King--the moon's uncertain ray + Through the still leaves just wins its glimmering way. + + And lo, before him, close, yet wanly faint, 4 + Forms that seem shadows, strife that seems the sport + Of things that oft some holy hermit saint + Lone in Egyptian plains (the dread resort + Of Nile's dethroned demon gods) hath view'd; + The grisly tempters, born of Solitude:-- + + Coil'd in the strong death-grapple, through the dim 5 + And haggard air, before the Cymrian lay + Writhing and interlaced with fang and limb, + As if one shape, what seem'd a beast of prey + And the grand form of Man!--The bird of Heaven + Wisely no note to warn the sleep had given; + + The sleep protected;--as the Savage sprang, 6 + Sprang the wild beast;--before the dreamer's breast + Defeated Murder found the hungry fang, + The wolf the steel:--so, starting from his rest, + The saved man woke to save! Nor time was here + For pause or caution; for the sword or spear; + + Clasp'd round the wolf, swift arms of iron draw 7 + From their fierce hold the buried fangs;--on high + Up-borne, the baffled terrors of its jaw + Gnash vain;--one yell howls, hollow, through the sky; + And dies abruptly, stifled to a gasp, + As the grim heart pants crushing in the grasp. + + Fit for a nation's bulwark, that strong breast 8 + To which the strong arms lock'd the powerless foe!-- + Nor oped the vice till breath's last anguish ceast; + 'Tis done; and dumb the dull weight drops below. + The kindred form, which now the King surveys, + Those arms, all gentle as a woman's, raise. + + Leaning the pale cheek on his pitying heart, 9 + He wipes the blood from face, and breast, and limb, + And joyful sees (for no humaner art + Which Christian knighthood knows, unknown to him) + That the fell fangs the nobler parts forbore, + And, thanks, sweet Virgin! life returns once more. + + The savage stared around: from dizzy eyes 10 + Toss'd the loose shaggy hair; and to his knee,-- + His reeling feet--up stagger'd--Lo, where lies + The dead wild beast!--lo, in his saviour, see + The fellow-man, whom--with a feeble bound + He leapt, and snatch'd the dagger from the ground; + + And, faithful to his gods, he sprang to slay; 11 + The weak limb fail'd him; gleam'd and dropp'd the blade; + The arm hung nerveless;--by the beast of prey + Murder, still baffled, fell:--Then, soothing, said + The gentle King--"Behold no foe in me!" + And knelt by Hate like pitying Charity. + + In suffering man he could not find a foe, 12 + And the mild hand clasp'd that which yearn'd to kill! + "Ha," gasp'd the gazing savage, "dost thou know + That I had doom'd thee in thy sleep?--that still + My soul would doom thee, could my hand obey?-- + Wake thou, stern goddess--seize thyself the prey!" + + "Serv'st thou a goddess," said the wondering King, 13 + "Whose rites ask innocent blood?--O brother, learn + In heaven, in earth, in each created thing, + One God, whom all call 'FATHER' to discern!" + "Can thy God suffer thy God's foe to live?"-- + "God once had foes, and said to man, 'Forgive!'" + + The Christian answer'd. Dream-like the mild words 14 + Fell on the ear, as sense again gave way + To swooning sleep; which woke but with the birds + In the cold clearness of the dawning day.-- + Strung by that sleep, the savage scowl'd around; + Why droops his head? Kind hands his wounds have bound. + + Lonely he stood, and miss'd that tender foe 15 + The wolf's glazed eye-ball mutely met his own; + Beyond, the pine-brand sent its sullen glow, + Circling blood-red the awful altar-stone; + Blood-red, as sinks the sun, from land afar, + Ere tempests wreck the Amalfian mariner; + + Or as, when Mars sits in the House of Death 16 + For doom'd Aleppo, on the hopeless Moor + Glares the fierce orb from skies without a breath, + While the chalk'd signal on the abhorred door + Tells that the Pestilence is come!--the pine + Unheeded wastes upon the hideous shrine; + + The priest returns not;--from its giant throne, 17 + The idol calls in vain:--its realm is o'er; + The Dire Religion flies the altar-stone, + For love has breathed on what was hate before. + Lured by man's heart, by man's kind deeds subdued, + Him who had pardon'd, he who wrong'd pursued. + + Meanwhile speeds on the Saxon chase, behind;-- 18 + Baffled at first, and doubling to and fro, + At last, the war-dogs, snorting, seize the wind, + Burst on the scent, which gathers as they go; + Day wanes, night comes; the star succeeds the sun, + To light the hunt until the quarry's won. + + At the first grey of dawn, they halt before 19 + The fretted arches of the giant caves; + For here the tides rush full upon the shore. + The failing scent is snatch'd amidst the waves,-- + Waves block the entrance of the gorge unseen; + And roar, hoarse-surging, up the pent ravine. + + And worn, and spent, and panting, flag the steeds, 20 + With mail and man bow'd down; nor meet to breast + The hell of waters, whence no pathway leads, + And which no plummet sounds;--Reluctant rest + Checks the pursuit, till sullenly and slow + Back, threatening still, the hosts of Ocean go,-- + + And the bright clouds that circled the fair sun 21 + Melt in the azure of the mellowing sky; + Then hark again the human hunt begun, + The ringing hoof, the hunter's cheering cry; + Round and around by sand, and cave, and steep, + The doubtful ban-dogs, undulating, sweep: + + At length, one windeth where the wave hath left 22 + The unguarded portals of the gorge, and there + Far-wandering halts; and from a rocky cleft + Spreads his keen nostril to the whispering air; + Then, with trail'd ears, moves cowering o'er the ground, + The deep bay booming breaks:--the scent is found. + + Hound answers hound--along the dank ravine 23 + Pours the fresh wave of spears and tossing plumes; + On--on; and now the idol-shrine obscene + The dying pine-brand flickeringly illumes; + The dogs go glancing through the the shafts of stone, + Trample the altar, hurtle round the throne: + + Where the lone priest had watch'd, they pause awhile; 24 + Then forth, hard breathing, down the gorge they swoop; + Soon the swart woods that close the far defile + Gleam with the shimmer of the steel-clad troop: + Glinting through leaves--now bright'ning through the glade, + Now lost, dispersed amidst the matted shade. + + Foremost rode Harold, on a matchless steed, 25 + Whose sire from Afric's coast a sea-king bore, + And gave the Mercian, as his noblest meed, + When (beardless yet) to Norway's Runic shore, + Against a common foe, the Saxon Thane + Led three tall ships, and loosed them on the Dane: + + Foremost he rode, and on his mailed breast 26 + Cranch'd the strong branches of the groaning oak. + Hark, with full peal, as suddenly supprest, + Behind, the ban-dog's choral joy-cry broke! + Led by the note, he turns him back, to reach, + Near the wood's marge, a solitary beech. + + Clear space spreads round it for a rood or more; 27 + Where o'er the space the feathering branches bend, + The dogs, wedg'd close, with jaws that drip with gore, + Growl o'er the carcass of the wolf they rend. + Shamed at their lord's rebuke, they leave the feast-- + Scent the fresh foot-track of the idol-priest; + + And, track by track, deep, deeper through the maze, 28 + Slowly they go--the watchful earl behind. + Here the soft earth a recent hoof betrays; + And still a footstep near the hoof they find;-- + So on, so on--the pathway spreads more large, + And daylight rushes on the forest marge. + + The dogs bound emulous; but, snarling, shrink 29 + Back at the anger of the earl's quick cry;-- + Near a small water spring, had paused to drink + A man half clad, who now, with kindling eye + And lifted knife, roused by the hostile sounds, + Plants his firm foot, and fronts the glaring hounds. + + "Fear not, rude stranger," quoth the earl in scorn; 30 + "Not thee I seek; my dogs chase nobler prey. + Speak, thou hast seen (if wandering here since morn) + A lonely horseman;--whither wends his way?" + "Track'st thou his step in love or hate?"--"Why, so + As hawk his quarry, or as man his foe." + + "Thou dost not serve his God," the heathen said; 31 + And sullen turn'd to quench his thirst again, + The fierce earl chafed, but longer not delay'd; + For what he sought the earth itself made plain + In the clear hoof-prints; to the hounds he show'd + The clue, and, cheering as they track'd, he rode. + + But thrice, to guide his comrades from the maze, 32 + Rings through the echoing wood his lusty horn. + Now, o'er waste pastures where the wild bulls graze, + Now labouring up slow-lengthening headlands borne, + The steadfast hounds outstrip the horseman's flight, + And on the hill's dim summit fade from sight. + + But scarcely fade, before, though faint and far, 33 + Fierce wrathful yells the foe at bay reveal. + On spurs the Saxon, till, like some pale star, + Gleams on the hill a lance--a helm of steel. + The brow is gain'd; a space of level land, + Bare to the sun--a grove at either hand; + + And in the middle of the space a mound; 34 + And on the mound a knight upon his barb. + No need for herald there his tromp to sound!-- + No need for diadem and ermine garb! + Nature herself has crown'd that lion mien; + And in the man the king of men is seen. + + Upon his helmet sits a snow-white dove, 35 + Its plumage blending with the plumed crest. + Below the mount, recoiling, circling, move + The ban-dogs, awed by the majestic rest + Of the great foe; and, yet with fangs that grin, + And eyes that redden, raves the madding din. + + Still stands the steed; still, shining in the sun, 36 + Sits on the steed the rider, statue-like: + One stately hand upon his haunch, while one + Lifts the tall lance, disdainful ev'n to strike; + Calm from the roar obscene looks forth his gaze, + Calm as the moon at which the watch-dog bays. + + The Saxon rein'd his war-horse on the brow 37 + Of the broad hill; and if his inmost heart + Ever confest to fear, fear touch'd it now;-- + Not that chill pang which strife and death impart + To meaner men, but such religious awe + As from brave souls a foe admired can draw: + + Behind a quick and anxious glance he threw, 38 + And pleased beheld spur midway up the hill + His knights and squires: again his horn he blew, + Then hush'd the hounds, and near'd the slope where still + The might of Arthur rested, as in cloud + Rests thunder; there his haughty crest he bow'd, + + And lower'd his lance, and said--"Dread foe and lord, 39 + Pardon the Saxon Harold, nor disdain + To yield to warrior hand a kingly sword. + Behold my numbers! to resist were vain, + And flight----" Said Arthur, "Saxon, is a word + Warrior should speak not, nor a King have heard. + + "And, sooth to say, when Cymri's knights shall ride 40 + To chase a Saxon monarch from the plain, + More knightly sport shall Cymri's king provide, + And Cymrian tromps shall ring a nobler strain. + Warrior, forsooth! when first went warrior, say, + With hound and horn--God's image for the prey?" + + Gall'd to the quick, the fiery earl erect 41 + Rose in his stirrups, shook his iron hand, + And cried--"ALFADER! but for the respect + Arm'd numbers owe to one, my Saxon brand + Should--but why words? Ho, Mercia to the field! + Lance to the rest!--yield, scornful Cymrian, yield!" + + For answer, Arthur closed his bassinet. 42 + Then down it broke, the thunder from that cloud! + And, ev'n as thunder by the thunder met, + O'er his spurr'd steed broad-breasted Harold bow'd; + Swift through the air the rushing armour flash'd, + And tempests in the shock commingling clash'd! + + The Cymrian's lance smote on the Mercian's breast, 43 + Through the pierced shield,--there, shivering in the hand, + The dove had stirr'd not on the Prince's crest, + And on his destrier bore him to the band, + Which, moving not, but in a steadfast ring, + With levell'd lances front the coming King. + + His shiver'd lance thrown by, high o'er his head, 44 + Pluck'd from the selle, his battle-axe he shook-- + Paused for an instant--breathed his foaming steed, + And chose his pathway with one lightning look: + On either side, behind the Saxon foes, + Cimmerian woods with welcome gloom arose; + + These gain'd, to conflict numbers less avail. 45 + He paused, and every voice cried--"Yield, brave King!" + Scarce died the word ere through the wall of steel + Flashes the breach, and backward reels the ring, + Plumes shorn, shields cloven, man and horse o'erthrown, + As the arm'd meteor flames and rushes on. + + Till then, the danger shared, upon his crest, 46 + Unmoved and calm, had sate the faithful dove, + Serene as, braved for some beloved breast, + All peril finds the gentle hero,--Love; + But rising now, towards the dexter side + Where darkest droop the woods, the pinions guide. + + Near the green marge the Cymrian checks the rein, 47 + And, ev'n forgetful of the dove, wheels round, + To front the foe that follows up the plain: + So when the lion, with a single bound, + Breaks through Numidian spears,--he halts before + His den,--and roots dread feet that fly no more. + + Their riven ranks reform'd, the Saxons move 48 + In curving crescent, close, compact, and slow + Behind the earl; who feels a hero's love + Fill his large heart for that great hero foe: + Murmuring, "May Harold, thus confronting all, + Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!"[1] + + Then to his band--"If prophecy and sign 49 + Paling men's cheeks, and read by wizard seers, + Had not declared that Odin's threatened line, + And the large birthright of the Saxon spears, + Were cross'd by SKULDA,[2] in the baleful skein + Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'[3] + + "If not forbid against his single arm 50 + Singly to try the even-sworded strife, + Since his new gods, or Merlin's mighty charm, + Hath made a host, the were-geld of his life-- + Not ours this shame!--here one, and there a field, + But men are waxen when the Fates are steel'd. + + "Seize we our captive, so the gods command-- 51 + But ye are men, let manhood guide the blow; + Spare life, or but with life-defending hand + Strike--and Walhalla take that noble foe! + Sound trump, speed truce."--Sedately from the rest + Rode out the earl, and Cymri thus address'd:-- + + "Our steels have cross'd: hate shivers on the shield; 52 + If the speech gall'd, the lance atones the word; + Yield, for thy valour wins the right to yield; + Unstain'd the scutcheon, though resign'd the sword. + Grant us the grace, which chance (not arms) hath won + Why strike the many who would save the one?" + + "Fair foe, and courteous," answered Arthur, moved 53 + By that chivalric speech, "too well the might + Of Mercia's famous Harold have I proved, + To deem it shame to yield as knight to knight; + But a king's sword is by a nation given; + Who guards a people holds his post from heaven. + + "This freedom which thou ask'st me to resign 54 + Than life is dearer; were it but to show + That with my people thinks their King!--divine + Through me all Cymri!--Streams shall cease to flow, + Yon sun to shine, before to Saxon strife + One Cymrian yields his freedom save with life. + + "And so the saints assoil ye of my blood; 55 + Return;--the rest we leave unto our cause + And the just Heavens!" All silent, Harold stood + And his heart smote him. Now, amidst that pause, + Arthur look'd up, and in the calm above + Behold a falcon wheeling round the dove! + + For thus it chanced; the bird which Harold bore 56 + (As was the Saxon wont), whate'er his way, + Had, in the woodland, slipp'd the hood it wore, + Unmark'd; and, when the bloodhounds bark'd at bay, + Lured by the sound, had risen on the wing, + Over the conflict vaguely hovering-- + + Till when the dove had left, to guide, her lord, 57 + It caught the white plumes glancing where they went; + High in large circles to its height it soar'd, + Swoop'd;--the light pinion foil'd the fierce descent; + The falcon rose rebounding to the prey; + And closed escape--confronting still the way. + + In vain the dove to Arthur seeks to flee; 58 + Round her and round, with every sweep more near, + The swift destroyer circles rapidly, + Fixing keen eyes that fascinate with fear, + A moment--and a shaft, than wing more fleet, + Hurls the pierced falcon at the Saxon's feet. + + Down heavily it fell;--a moment stirr'd 59 + Its fluttering plumes, and roll'd its glazing eye; + But ev'n before the breath forsook the bird, + Ev'n while the arrow whistled through the sky, + Rush'd from the grove which screen'd the marksman's hand, + With yell and whoop, a wild barbarian band-- + + Half clad, with hides of beast, and shields of horn, 60 + And huge clubs cloven from the knotted pine; + And spears like those by Thor's great children borne, + When Caesar bridged with marching[4] steel the Rhine, + Countless they start, as if from every tree + Had sprung the uncouth defending deity; + + They pass the King, low bending as they pass; 61 + Bear back the startled Harold on their way; + And roaring onward, mass succeeding mass, + Snatch the hemm'd Saxons from the King's survey. + On Arthur's crest the dove refolds its wing; + On Arthur's ear a voice comes murmuring,-- + + "Man, have I served thy God?" and Arthur saw 62 + The priest beside him, leaning on his bow; + "Not till, in all, thou hast fulfill'd the law-- + Thou hast saved the friend--now aid to shield the foe;" + And as a ship, cleaving the sever'd tides, + Right through the sea of spears the hero rides. + + The wild troop part submissive as he goes; 63 + Where, like an islet in that stormy main, + Gleam'd Mercia's steel; and like a rock arose, + Breasting the breakers, the undaunted Thane; + He doff'd his helmet, look'd majestic round; + And dropp'd the murderous weapon on the ground; + + And with a meek and brotherly embrace 64 + Twined round the Saxon's neck the peaceful arm. + Strife stood arrested--the mild kingly face, + The loving gesture, like a holy charm, + Thrill'd through the ranks: you might have heard a breath! + So did soft Silence seem to bury Death. + + On the fair locks, and on the noble brow, 65 + Fell the full splendour of the heavenly ray; + The dove, dislodged, flew up--and rested now, + Poised in the tranquil and translucent day. + The calm wings seem'd to canopy the head; + And from each plume a parting glory spread. + + So leave we that still picture on the eye; 66 + And turn, reluctant, where the wand of Song + Points to the walls of Time's long gallery: + And the dim Beautiful of Eld--too long + Mouldering unheeded in these later days, + Starts from the canvass, bright'ning as we gaze. + + O lovely scene which smiles upon my view, 67 + As sure it smiled on sweet Albano's dreams; + He to whom Amor gave the roseate hue + And that harmonious colour-wand which seems + Pluck'd from the god's own wing!--Arcades and bowers, + Mellifluous waters, lapsing amidst flowers, + + Or springing up, in multiform disport, 68 + From murmurous founts, delightedly at play; + As if the Naiad held her joyous court + To greet the goddess whom the flowers obey; + And all her nymphs took varying shapes in glee, + Bell'd like the blossom--branching like the tree. + + Adown the cedarn alleys glanced the wings 69 + Of all the painted populace of air, + Whatever lulls the noonday while it sings + Or mocks the iris with its plumes,--is there-- + Music and air so interfused and blent, + That music seems life's breathing element. + + And every alley's stately vista closed 70 + With some fair statue, on whose gleaming base + Beauty, not earth's, benignantly reposed, + As if the gods were native to the place; + And fair indeed the mortal forms, I ween, + Whose presence brings no discord to the scene! + + Oh, fair they are, if mortal forms they be! 71 + Mine eye the lovely error must beguile; + So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea[5] + Came Aphrodite to the rosy isle. + What time they left Olympian halls above, + To greet on earth their best beguiler--Love? + + Are they the Oreads from the Delphian steep 72 + Waiting their goddess of the silver bow? + Or shy Napaeae,[6] startled from their sleep, + Where blue Cithaeron guards sweet vales below, + Watching as home, from vanquished Ind afar, + Comes their loved Evian in the panther-car? + + Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers? 73 + Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band, + With spears that, thyrsus-like, glance, wreath'd with flowers, + And garland-fetters, linking hand to hand, + And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way, + Like starry buds from the loose crown of May? + + Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene 74 + From all the ruder world that lies afar; + Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen; + Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star! + What pass admits the stranger to your land? + Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band? + + Ages ago, what time the barbarous horde, 75 + From whose rough bosoms sprang Imperial Rome, + Drew the slow-widening circle of the sword + Till kingdoms vanish'd in a robber's home, + A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) + By his dark Caere,[7] from the danger fled: + + He left the vines of fruitful Fiesole, 76 + Left, with his household gods and chosen clan, + Intent beyond the Ausonian bounds to flee, + And Rome's dark shadow on the world of man. + So came the exiles to the rocky wall + Which, centuries after, frown'd on Hannibal + + Here, it so chanced, that down the deep profound 77 + Of some huge Alp--a stray'd Etrurian fell; + The pious rites ordain'd to explore the ground, + And give the ashes to the funeral cell; + Slowly they gain'd the gulf, to scare away + A vulture ravening on the mangled clay; + + Smit by a javelin from the leader's hand, 78 + The bird crept fluttering down a deep defile, + Through whose far end faint glimpses of a land, + Sunn'd by a softer daylight, sent a smile; + The Augur hail'd an omen in the sight, + And led the wanderers towards the glimmering light. + + What seem'd a gorge was but a vista'd cave, 79 + Long-drawn and hollow'd through primaeval stone; + Rude was the path, but as, beyond the grave + Elysium shines, the glorious landscape shone, + Broadening and brightening--till their wonder sees + Bloom through the Alps the lost Hesperides. + + There, the sweet sunlight, from the heights debarr'd, 80 + Gather'd its pomp to lavish on the vale; + A wealth of wild sweets glitter'd on the sward, + Screen'd by the very snow-rocks from the gale; + Murmur'd clear waters, murmur'd joyous birds, + And o'er soft pastures roved the fearless herds. + + His rod the Augur waves above the ground, 81 + And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil."[8] + With veiled brows the exiles circle round; + Along the rod propitious lightnings coil; + The gods approve; rejoicing hands combine, + Swift springs a sylvan city from the pine. + + What charm yet fails them in the lovely place? 82 + Childhood's gay laugh--and woman's tender smile. + A chosen few the venturous steps retrace; + Love lightens toil for those who rest the while; + And, ere the winter stills the sadden'd bird, + The sweeter music of glad homes is heard; + + And with the objects of the dearer care, 83 + The parting gifts of the old soil are home; + Soon Tusca's grape hangs flushing in the air, + And the glebe ripples with the golden corn; + Gleams on grey slopes the olive's silvery tree, + In her lone Alpine child,--far Fiesole + + Revives--reblooms, but under happier stars! 84 + Age rolls on age,--upon the antique world + Full many a storm hath graved its thunder scars; + Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language;[9]--hurl'd + To dust the shrines of Naith;[10]--the serpents hiss + On Asia's throne in lorn Persepolis; + + The seaweed rots upon the ports of Tyre: 85 + On Delphi's steep the Pythian's voice is dumb; + Sad Athens leans upon her broken lyre; + From the doom'd East the Bethlem Star hath come; + But Rome an empire from an empire's loss + Gains in the god Rome yielded to the Cross! + + And here, as in a crypt, the miser Time, 86 + Hoards, from all else, embedded in the stone, + One eldest treasure--fresh as when, sublime + O'er gods and men, Jove thunder'd from his throne-- + The garb, the arts, the creed, the tongue, the same + As when to Tarquin Cuma's sibyl came. + + The soil's first fathers, with elaborate hands, 87 + Had closed the rocky portals of the place; + No egress opens to unhappier lands: + As tree on tree, so race succeeds to race, + From sleep the passions no temptations draw, + And strife bows childlike to the patriarch's law; + + Lull'd was ambition; each soft lot was cast; 88 + Gold had no use; with war expired renown; + From priest to priest mysterious reverence past; + From king to king the mild Saturnian crown: + Like dews, the rest came harmless into birth; + Like dews exhaling--after gladd'ning earth. + + Not wholly dead, indeed, the love of praise-- 89 + When can that warmth from heaven forsake the heart? + The Hister's[11] lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays, + Still urn and statue caught the Arretian art, + And hands, least skill'd, found leisure still to cull + Some flowers, in offering to the Beautiful. + + Hence the whole vale one garden of delight; 90 + Hence every home a temple for the Grace: + Who worships Nature finds in Art the rite; + And Beauty grows the Genius of the Place. + Enough this record of the happy land: + Whom watch, whom wait ye for, O lovely band? + + Listen awhile!--The strength of that soft state, 91 + The arch's key-stones, are the priest and king; + To guard all power inviolate from debate, + To curb all impulse, or direct its wing, + In antique forms to mould from childhood all;-- + _This_ guards more strongly than the Alpine wall. + + The regal chief might wed as choice inclined, 92 + Not so the daughters sprung from his embrace, + Law, strong as caste, their nuptial rite confined + To the pure circle of the Lartian race; + Hence with more awe the kingly house was view'd, + Hence nipp'd ambition bore no rival feud. + + But now, as on some eldest oak, decay 93 + In the proud topmost boughs is serely shown; + While life yet shoots from every humbler spray-- + So, of the royal tribe one branch alone + Remains; and all the honours of the race + Lend their last bloom to smile in AEgle's face.[12] + + The great arch-priest (to whom the laws assign 94 + The charge of this sweet blossom from the bud), + Consults the annals archived in the shrine, + And, twice before, when fail'd the Lartian blood, + And no male heir was found, the guiding page + Records the expedient of the elder age. + + Rather than yield to rival tribes the hope 95 + That wakes aspiring thought and tempts to strife; + And (lowering awful reverence) rashly ope + The pales that mark the set degrees of life, + The priest (to whom the secret only known) + Unlock'd the artful portals of the stone; + + And watch'd and lured some wanderer, o'er the steep, 96 + Into the vale, return for ever o'er; + The gate, like Death's, reclosed upon the keep-- + Earth left its ghost as on the Funeral shore. + And what more envied lot could earth provide + Than calm Elysium--with a living bride? + + A priestly tale the simple flock deceived: 97 + The gods had care of their Tagetian child![13] + The nuptial garlands for a god they weaved; + A god himself upon the maid had smiled, + A god himself renew'd the race divine, + And gave new monarchs to the Lartian line. + + Yet short, alas! the incense of delight 98 + That lull'd the new-found Ammon of the Hour; + Like love's own star, upon the verge of night, + Trembled the torch that lit the bridal bower; + Soon as a son was born--his mission o'er-- + The stranger vanish'd to his gods once more. + + Two temples closed the boundaries of the place, 99 + One (vow'd to Tina) in its walls conceal'd + The granite portals, by the former race + So deftly fashion'd,--not a chink reveal'd + Where (twice unbarr'd in all the ages flown) + The stony donjon mask'd the door of stone. + + The fane of Mantu[14] form'd the opposing bound 100 + Of the long valley; where the surplus wave + Of the main stream a gloomy outlet found, + Split on sharp rocks beneath a night of cave, + And there, in torrents, down some lost ravine + Where Alps took root--fell heard, but never seen. + + Right o'er this cave the Death-Power's temple rose; 101 + The cave's dark vault was curtain'd by the shrine; + Here by the priest (the sacred scrolls depose) + Was led the bridegroom when renew'd the line; + At night, that shrine his steps unprescient trod-- + And morning came, and earth had lost the god! + + Nine days had now the Augur to the flock 102 + Announced the coming of the heavenly spouse; + Nine days his steps had wander'd through the rock, + And his eye watch'd through unfamiliar boughs, + And not a foot-fall in those rugged ways! + The lone Alps wearied on his lonely gaze-- + + But now this day (the tenth) the signal torch 103 + Streams from the temple; the mysterious swell + Of long-drawn music peals from aisle to porch:-- + He leaves the bright hall where the AEsars[15] dwell, + He comes, o'er flowers and fountains to preside, + He comes, the god-spouse to the mortal bride-- + + He comes, for whom ye watch'd, O lovely band, 104 + Scatter your flowers before his welcome feet! + Lo, where the temple's holy gates expand, + Haste, O ye nymphs, the bright'ning steps to meet + Why start ye back?--What though the blaze of steel + The form of Mars, the expanding gates reveal-- + + The face, no helmet crowns with war, displays 105 + Not that fierce god from whom Etruria fled; + Cull from far softer legends while ye gaze, + Not there the aspect mortal maid should dread! + Have ye no songs from kindred Castaly + Of that bright Wanderer from the Olympian[16] sky, + + Who, in Arcadian dells, with silver lute 106 + Hush'd in delight the nymph and breathless faun? + Or are your cold Etrurian minstrels mute + Of him whom Syria worshipp'd as the Dawn + And Greece as fair Adonis? Hail, O hail! + Scatter your flowers, and welcome to the vale! + + Wondering the stranger moves! That fairy land, 107 + Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness,[17] + That solemn seer who leads him by the hand; + The tongue unknown, the joy he cannot guess, + Blend in one marvel every sound and sight; + And in the strangeness doubles the delight. + + Young AEgle sits within her palace bower, 108 + She hears the cymbals clashing from afar-- + So Ormuzd's music welcomed in the hour + When the sun hasten'd to his morning-star. + Smile, Star of Morn--he cometh from above! + And twilight melts around the steps of Love. + + Save the grey Augur (since the unconscious child 109 + Sprang to the last kiss of her dying sire) + Those eyes by man's rude presence undefiled, + Had deepen'd into woman's. As a lyre + Hung on unwitness'd boughs, amidst the shade, + And but to air her soul its music made. + + Fair was her prison, wall'd with woven flowers, 110 + In a soft isle embraced by softest waters, + Linnet and lark the sentries to the towers, + And for the guard Etruria's infant daughters; + But stronger far than walls, the antique law, + And more than hosts, religion's shadowy awe. + + Thus lone, thus reverenced, the young virgin grew 111 + Into the age, when on the heart's calm wave + The light winds tremble, and emotions new + Steal to the peace departing childhood gave; + When for the vague Beyond the captive pines, + And the soul misses--what it scarce divines. + + Lo where she sits--(and blossoms arch the dome) 112 + Girt by young handmaids!--Near and nearer swelling + The cymbals sound before the steps that come + O'er rose and hyacinth to the bridal dwelling; + And clear and loud the summer air along + From virgin voices floats the choral song. + + Lo where the sacred talismans diffuse 113 + Their fragrant charms against the Evil Powers; + Lo where young hands the consecrated dews + From cusped vervain sprinkle round the flowers, + And o'er the robe, with broider'd palm-leaves sown, + That decks the daughter of the peaceful throne! + + Lo, on those locks of night the myrtle crown, 114 + Lo, where the heart beats quick beneath the veil; + Lo, where the lids, cast tremulously down, + Cloud stars which Eros as his own might hail; + Oh, lovelier than Endymion's loveliest dream, + Joy to the heart on which those eyes shall beam! + + The bark comes bounding to the islet shore, 115 + The trellised gates fly back: the footsteps fall + Through jasmined galleries on the threshold floor; + And, in the Heart-Enchainer's golden thrall, + There, spell-bound halt;--So, first since youth began + Her eyes meet youth in the charm'd eyes of man! + + And there Art's two opposed Ideals rest; 116 + There the twin flowers of the old world bloom forth; + The classic symbol of the gentle West, + And the bold type of the chivalric North. + What trial waits thee, Cymrian, sharper here + Than the wolf's death-fang or the Saxon's spear? + + But would ye learn how he we left afar, 117 + Girt by the stormy people of the wild, + Came to the confines of the Hesperus Star, + And the soft gardens of the Etrurian child; + Would ye, yet lingering in the wondrous vale, + Learn what time spares if sorrow can assail; + + What there, forgetful of the vanish'd dove, 118 + (Lost at these portals) did the king befall; + Pause till the hand has tuned the harp to love, + And notes that bring young listeners to the hall; + And he, whose sires in Cymri reign'd, shall sing + How Tusca's daughter loved the Cymrian King. + + +NOTES TO BOOK III. + +1.--Page 243, stanza xlviii. + + _Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!_ + + Walhalla. + +2.--Page 243, stanza xlix. + + _Were cross'd by SKULDA, in the baleful skein._ + + Skulda, the Norna, or Destiny, of the Future. + +3.--Page 243, stanza xlix. + + _Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'_ + + The Valkyrs, the Choosers of the Slain, who ride before the battle, + and select its victims; to whom, afterwards (softening their + character), they administer in Walhalla. + +4.--Page 245, stanza lx. + + _When Caesar bridged with marching steel the Rhine._ + + Plut. _in vit. Caes._--CAES. _Comment._ lib. iv. + +5.--Page 246, stanza lxxi. + + _So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea._ + + Hom. _Hymn_. + +6.--Page 246, stanza lxxii. + + _Or shy Napaeae, startled from their sleep._ + + Napaeae, the most bashful of all the rural nymphs; their rare apparition + was supposed to produce delirium in the beholder. + +7.--Page 247, stanza lxxv. + + _A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) + By his dark Caere, from the danger fled._ + + Caere of the twelve cities in the Etrurian league (though not + originally an Etrurian population), imparted to the Romans their + sacred mysteries: hence the word Caeremonia. This holy city was in + close connection with Delphi. An interesting account of it under its + earlier name "Agylla," will be found in Sir W. Gell's "Topography + of Rome and its vicinity." The obscure passage in Plutarch's life + of Sylla, which intimates that the Etrurian soothsayers had a + forewarning of the declining fates of their country, is well known + to scholars; who have made more of it than it deserves. + + I may as well observe that the adjective _Lartian_ is derived from + _Lars_ (or lord), in contradistinction to the adjective _Larian_ + derived from _Lar_ (or household god). + +8.--Page 248, stanza lxxxi. + + _His rod the Augur waves above the ground, + And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil._" + + Tina was the Jove of the Etrurians. The mode in which this people + (whose mysterious civilization so tasks our fancy and so escapes from + our researches) appropriated a colony, is briefly described in the + text. The Augur made lines in the air due north, south, east, and + west, marked where the lines crossed upon the earth; then he and the + chiefs associated with him sate down, covered their heads, and waited + some approving omen from the gods. The Etrurian Augurs were celebrated + for their power over the electric fluid. The vulture was a popular + bird of omen in the founding of colonies. See NIEBUHR, MULLER, &c. + +9.--Page 248, stanza lxxxiv. + + _Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language;--hurl'd._ + + The Etrurian language perished between the age of Augustus and that + of Julian.--LEITCH'S _Muller on Ancient Art_. + +10.--Page 248, stanza lxxxiv. + + _To dust the shrines of Naith;--the serpents hiss._ + + Naith, the Egyptian goddess. + +11.--Page 249, stanza lxxxix. + + _The Hister's lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays._ + + Hister, the Etruscan minstrel.--CAMSEE, CAMESE, or CAMOESE, the + mythological sister of Janus (a national deity of the Etrurians), + whose art of song is supposed to identify her with the Camoena or + muse of the Latin poets.--ARRETIUM, celebrated for the material + of the Etruscan vases. + +12.--Page 249, stanza xciii. + + _and all the honours of the race + Lend their last bloom to smile in AEgle's face._ + + The Etrurians paid more respect to women than most of the classical + nations, and admitted females to the throne. The Augur (a purely + Etruscan name and office) was the highest power in the state. In the + earlier Etruscan history, the Augur and the king were unquestionably + united in one person. Latterly, this does not appear to have been + necessarily (nor perhaps generally) the case. The king (whether we + call him lars or lucumo), as well as the augur, was elected out of + a certain tribe, or clan; but in the strange colony described in the + poem, it is supposed that the rank has become hereditary in the family + of the chief who headed it, as would probably have been the case even + in more common-place settlements in another soil. Thus, the first + Etrurian colonist, Tarchun, no doubt had his successors in his own + lineage. + + I cannot assert that AEgle is a purely Etruscan name; it is one common + both with the Greeks and Latins. In Apollodorus (ii. 5) it is given to + one of the Hesperides, and in Virgil (Eclog. vi. l. 20) to the fairest + of the Naiads, the daughter of the sun; but it is not contrary + to the conformation of the Etruscan language, as, by the way, many + of the most popular Latinized Etruscan words are, such as _Lucumo_, + for Lauchme; and even Porsena, or, as Virgil (contrary to other + authorities) spells and pronounces it, Pors[~e]nna (a name which + has revived to fresh fame in Mr. Macaulay's noble "Lays") is a sad + corruption; for, as both Niebuhr and Sir William G. remark, the + Etruscans had no _o_ in their language. Pliny informs us that they + supplied its place by the _v_. I apprehend that an Etrurian would + have spelt Porsena _Pvrsna_.[B] + +13.--Page 250, stanza xcvii. + + _The Gods had care of their Tagetian child!_ + + Tages--the tutelary genius of the Etrurians. They had a noble legend + that Tages appeared to Tarchun, rising from a furrow beneath his + plough, with a man's head and a child's body; sung the laws destined + to regulate the Etrurian colonist, then sunk, and expired. In Ovid's + Metamorphoses (xvi. 533) Tages is said to have first taught the + Etrurians to foretell the future. + +14.--Page 250, stanza c. + + _The fane of Mantu form'd the opposing bound._ + + MANTU, or MANDU, the Etrurian God of the Shades. + +15.--Page 251, stanza ciii. + + _He leaves the bright hall where the AEsars dwell._ + + AEsars, the name given _collectively_ to the Etrurian deities.--SUET. + AUG. 97. DIO. CASS. xxvi. p. 589. + +16.--Page 251, stanza cv. + + _Of that bright Wanderer from the Olympian sky._ + + Apollo. + +17.--Page 251, stanza cvii. + + _Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness._ + + Whatever the original cradle of the mysterious Etrurians, scholars, + with one or two illustrious exceptions, are pretty well agreed that + it must have been _somewhere_ in the East; and the more familiar we + become with the remains of their art, the stronger appears the + evidence of their early and intimate connection with the Egyptians, + though in themselves a race decidedly not Egyptian. See MICALI, + _Stor. deg. Antich. Pop._ But in referring to this delightful and + learned writer, to whom I am under many obligations in this part of + my poem, I must own, with such frankness as respect for so great an + authority will permit, that I think many of his assumptions are to + be taken with great qualification and reserve. + + [B] Dryden, with an accurate delicacy of erudition for which one + might scarcely give him credit, does not in his translation + follow Virgil's quantity, _Porsenna_, but makes the word short, + _Porsena_. + + + + +BOOK IV. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Invocation to Love--Arthur, AEgle, and the Augur--Dialogue between the +Cymrian and the Etrurian--Meanwhile Lancelot gains the sea-shore, where +he meets with the Aleman priest and his sons, and hears tidings of +Arthur--He tells them the tale of his own infancy--Crosses the sea-- +Lands on the coast of Brettannie--And is guided by the crystal ring in +quest of Arthur towards the Alps--He finds the King's charger, which +Arthur had left without the vaulted passage into the Happy Valley--But +the rock-gate being closed, he cannot discover the King; and, winding by +the foot of the Alps round the valley, gains a lake and a convent--The +story now returns to Arthur and AEgle--Descriptive stanzas--A raven +brings Arthur news from Merlin--The King resolves to quit the valley--He +seeks and finds the Augur--Dialogue--Parting scene with AEgle--Arthur +follows the Augur towards the fane of the funereal god. + + + Hail, thou, the ever young, albeit of Night 1 + And of primaeval Chaos eldest born; + Thou, at whose birth broke forth the Founts of Light, + And o'er Creation flush'd the earliest Morn! + Life, in thy life, suffused the conscious whole; + And formless matter took the harmonious soul. + + Hail, Love! the death-defier! age to age 2 + Linking, with flowers, in the still heart of man! + Dream to the bard, and marvel to the sage, + Glory and mystery since the world began. + Like the new moon, whose disk of silver sheen + But halves the circle Heaven completes unseen. + + Ghostlike amidst the unfamiliar Past, 3 + Dim shadows flit along the streams of Time; + Vainly our learning trifles with the vast + Unknown of ages!--Like the wizard's rhyme + We call the dead, and from the Tartarus + 'Tis but the dead that rise to answer us! + + Voiceless and wan, we question them in vain; 4 + They leave unsolved earth's mighty yesterday. + But wave thy wand--they bloom, they breathe again! + The link is found!--as _we_ love, so loved _they_! + Warm to our clasp our human brothers start, + All centuries blend when heart speaks out to heart. + + Arch Power, of every power most dread, most sweet, 5 + Ope at thy touch the far celestial gates; + Yet Terror flies with Joy before thy feet, + And, with the Graces, glide unseen the Fates. + Eos and Hesperus; one, with twofold light, + Bringer of day, and herald of the night. + + But, lo! again, where rise upon the gaze 6 + The Tuscan Virgin in the Alpine bower, + The steel-clad wanderer, in his rapt amaze, + Led through the flowerets to that living flower: + Eye meeting eye, as in that blest survey + Two hearts, unspeaking, breathe themselves away! + + Calm on the twain reposed the Augur's eye, 7 + A marble stillness on his solemn face; + Like some cold image of Necessity + When fated hands lay garlands on its base. + And slanted sunbeams, through the blossoms stealing, + Lit circled Childhood round the Virgin kneeling. + + Slow from charm'd wonder woke at last the King, 8 + Well the mild grace became the lordly mien, + As, gently passing through the kneeling ring, + The warrior knelt with Childhood to the queen; + And on the hand, that thrill'd in his to be, + Press'd the pure kiss of courteous chivalry; + + In the bold music of his mountain tongue, 9 + Speaking the homage of his frank delight. + Is there one common language to the young + That, with each word more troubled and more bright, + Stirr'd the quick blush--as when the south wind heaves + Into sweet storm the hush of rosy leaves? + + But now the listening Augur to the side 10 + Of Arthur moves; and, signing silently, + The handmaid children from the chamber glide, + And AEgle followeth slow, with drooping eye.-- + Then on the King the soothsayer gazed and spoke, + And Arthur started as the accents broke;-- + + For those dim sounds his mother-tongue express, 11 + But in some dialect of remotest age; + Like that in which the far SARONIDES[1] + Exchanged dark riddles with the Samian sage.[2] + Ghostlike the sounds; a founder of his race + Seem'd in that voice the haunter of the place. + + "Guest," said the priest, with labour'd words and slow, 12 + "If, as thy language, though corrupt, betrays + Thou art of those great tribes our records show + As the crown'd wanderers of untrodden ways + Whose eldest god, from pole to pole enshrined, + Gives Greece her KRONOS and her BOUDH to Ind; + + "Who, from their Syrian parent-stem, spread forth 13 + Their giant roots to every farthest shore, + Sires of young nations in the stormy North, + And slumberous East; but most renown'd of yore + In purple Tyre;--if, of PHOENICIAN race, + In truth thou art,--thrice welcome to the place! + + "Know us as sons of that old friendly soil 14 + Whose ports, perchance, yet glitter with the prows + Of Punic ships, when resting from their toil + In LUNA'S[3] gulf, the seabeat crews carouse. + Unless in sooth (and here he sigh'd) the day + Caere foretold hath come to RASENA!"[4] + + "Grave sir," quoth Arthur, piteously perplext, 15 + "Or much--forgive me, hath my hearing err'd, + Or of that People quoted in thy text, + (Perish'd long since)--but dimly have I heard: + Phoenicians! True, that name is found within + Our scrolls;--they came to MEL YNYS for tin! + + "As for my race, our later bards declare 16 + It springs from Brut, the famous Knight of Troy; + But if Sir Hector spoke in Welsh, I ne'er + Could clearly learn--meanwhile, I hear with joy, + My native language (pardon the remark) + Much as Noah spoke it when he left the ark. + + "More would my pleasure be increased to know 17 + That that fair lady has your own precision + In the dear music which, so long ago, + We _taught_--observe, not _learn'd_ from--the Phoenician." + "Speak as your fathers spoke the maiden can, + O many-vowell'd, ear-afflicting man!" + + The priest replied. "But, ere I yet disclose 18 + The bliss that Northia[5] singles for your lot, + Fain would I learn what change the gods impose + On the old races and their sceptres?--what + The latest news from RASENA?"--"With shame + I own, grave sir, I never heard that name!" + + The Augur stood aghast!--"O, ruthless Fates! 19 + Who then rules Italy?"--"The Ostrogoth." + "The Os----- the what?"--"Except the Papal states; + Unless the Goth, indeed, has ravish'd both + The Caesar's throne and the apostle's chair-- + Spite of the Knight of Thrace,--Sir Belisair."[6] + + "What else the warrior nations of the earth?" 20 + Groan'd the stunn'd Augur.--"Reverend sir, the Huns, + Franks, Vandals, Lombards,--all have warlike worth; + Nor least, I trust, old Cymri's Druid sons!" + "O, Northia, Northia! and the East?"--"In peace, + Under the Christian Emperor of Greece; + + "Whose arms of late have scourged the Paynim race, 21 + And worsted Satan!"--"Satan, who is he?" + Greatly the knight was shock'd in that fair place, + To find such ignorance of the powers that be: + So then, from Eve and Serpent he began; + And sketch'd the history of the Foe of Man. + + "Ah," said the Augur,--"here, I comprehend 22 + AEgypt, and Typhon, and the serpent creed![7] + So, o'er the East the gods of Greece extend, + And Isis totters?"--"Truly, and indeed," + Sigh'd Arthur, scandalized--"I see, with pain, + You have much to learn my monks could best explain-- + + "Nathless for this, and all you seek to know 23 + Which I, no clerk, though Christian, can relate, + Occasion meet my sojourn may bestow;-- + Now, wherefore, pray you, through yon granite gate + Have you, with signs of some distress endured, + And succour sought, my wandering steps allured?" + + "Pardon, but first, soul-startling stranger," said 24 + The slow-recovering Augur--"say if fair + The region seems to which those steps were led? + And next, the maid to whom you knelt compare + With those you leave. Are hers, in sober truth, + The charms that fix the roving heart of youth?" + + "Lovelier than all on earth mine eyes have seen 25 + Smiles the gay marvel of this gentle realm; + Of all earth's beauty that fair maid the queen; + And, might I place her glove upon my helm, + I would proclaim that truth with lance and shield, + In tilt and tourney, sole against a field!" + + "Since that be so (though what such custom means 26 + I rather guess than fully comprehend) + Answer again;--if right my reason gleans + From dismal harvests, and discerns the end + To which the beautiful and wise have come, + Hard are the fates beyond our Alpine home: + + "What makes, without, the chief pursuit of life?" 27 + "War," said the Cymrian, with a mournful sigh: + "The fierce provoke, the free resist, the strife, + The daring perish and the dastard fly; + Amidst a storm we snatch our troubled breath, + And life is one grim battle-field of death." + + "Then here, O stranger, find at last repose! 28 + Here, never smites the thunder-blast of war: + Here, all unknown the very name of foes; + Here, but with yielding earth men's contests are; + Our trophies--flower and olive, corn and wine:-- + Accept a sceptre, be this kingdom thine! + + "Our queen, the virgin who hath charm'd thine eyes-- 29 + Our laws her spouse, in whom the gods shall send, + Decree; the gods have sent thee;--what the skies + Allot, receive:--Here, shall thy wanderings end, + Here thy woes cease, and life's voluptuous day + Glide, like yon river through our flowers, away." + + "Kind sir," said Arthur, gratefully--"such lot 30 + Indeed were fair beyond what dreams display; + But earth has duties which"----"Relate them not!" + Exclaim'd the Augur--"or at least delay, + Till better known the kingdom and the bride, + Then youth, and sense, and nature, shall decide." + + With that, the Augur, much too wise as yet 31 + To hint compulsion, and secure from flight, + Arose, resolved each scruple to beset + With all which melteth duty in delight-- + Here, for awhile, we leave the tempted King, + And turn to him who owns the crystal ring. + + Oh, the old time's divine and fresh romance! 32 + When o'er the lone yet ever-haunted ways + Went frank-eyed Knighthood with the lifted lance, + And life with wonder charm'd adventurous days! + When light more rich, through prisms that dimm'd it, shone; + And Nature loom'd more large through the Unknown. + + Nature, not then the slave of formal law! 33 + Her each free sport a miracle might be: + Enchantment clothed the forest with sweet awe; + Astolfo[8] spoke from out the bleeding tree; + The fairy wreath'd his dance in moonlit air; + On golden sands the mermaid sleek'd her hair-- + + Then soul learn'd more than barren sense can teach 34 + (Soul with the sense now evermore at strife) + Wherever fancy wander'd man could reach-- + And what is now call'd poetry was life. + If the old beauty from the world is fled, + Is it that Truth or that Belief is dead? + + Not following, step by step, the devious King, 35 + But whither best his later steps are gain'd, + Moved the sure index of the fairy ring, + And since, at least, a moon hath wax'd and waned + What time the pilgrim left the fatherland-- + So towards his fresher footsteps veer'd the hand. + + Lo, now where pure Sabrina[9] on her breast 36 + Hushes sweet Isca, and, like some fair nun + That yearns, earth-wearied, for the golden rest, + Sees with delighted calm her journey done; + And broader, brighter, as she nears her grave, + Melts in the deep;--all daylight on the wave. + + Across that stream pass'd sprightly Lancelot, 37 + Then, towards those lovely lands which yet retain + The Cymrian freedom, rode, and rested not + Till, loud on Devon, broke the rough'ning main. + Through rocks abrupt, the strong waves force their way, + Here cleave the land--there, hew the indented bay. + + The horseman paused. Rude huts lay far and wide; 38 + The dipping sea-gulls wheel'd with startled shriek; + Drawn on the sands lay coracles of hide,[10] + And all was desolate; when, towards the creek, + Near which he halts, he hears the plashing oar; + A boat shoots in; the seamen leap to shore. + + Three were their number,--two in youthful prime, 39 + One of mid years;--tall, huge of limb the three; + Scarce clad, with weapons of a northward clime; + Clubs, spears, and shields--the uncouth armoury + Of man, while yet the wild beast is his foe. + Yet something still the lords of earth may show;-- + + The pride of eye, the majesty of mien, 40 + The front erect that looks upon the star: + While round each neck the twisted chains are seen + Of Teuton chiefs;--(and signs of chiefs they are + In Cymrian lands--where still the torque of gold[11] + Or decks the highborn or rewards the bold). + + Stern Lancelot frown'd; for in those sturdy forms 41 + The Christian Knight the Saxon foemen fear'd. + "Why come ye hither?--nor compell'd by storms, + Nor proffering barter?" As he spoke they near'd + The noble knight;--and thus the elder said, + "Nought save his heart the Aleman hath led! + + "Ere more I answer, say if this the shore, 42 + And thou the friend, of him who owns the dove? + Arthur the king,--who taught us to adore + By the man's deeds the God whose creed is love?" + Then Lancelot answer'd, with a moistening eye, + "Arthur's true knight and lealest friend am I." + + With that, he leapt from selle to clasp the hand 43 + Of him who honour'd thus the absent one: + And now behold them seated on the sand, + Frank faces smiling in the cordial sun; + The absent, there, seem'd present: to unite, + In loving bonds, his converts and his knight. + + Then told the Aleman the tale by song 44 + Already told--and we resume its flow + Where the mild hero charm'd the stormy throng + And twined the arm that shelter'd, round his foe: + Not meanly conquer'd but sublimely won-- + Stern Harold vail'd his plume to Uther's son. + + The Saxon troop resought the Vandal king, 45 + And Arthur sojourn'd with the savage race: + More easy such rude proselytes to bring + To Christian truth, than, in the wonderous place + Where now he rests, proud Wisdom he shall find! + For heaven dawns clearest on the simplest mind. + + But when his cause of wrong the Cymrian show'd; 46 + The heathen foe--the carnage-crimson'd fields; + With one fierce impulse those fierce converts glow'd, + And their wild war-howl chimed with clashing shields + But Arthur wisely shunn'd that last appeal + Of falling states,--the stranger's fatal steel. + + Yet to the chief (for there at least no fear) 47 + And his two sons, a slow consent he gave: + Show'd by the prince the stars by which to steer, + They hew'd a pine and launch'd it on the wave; + Bringing rough forms but dauntless hearts to swell + The force that guards the fates of Carduel. + + The story heard, the son of royal BAN[12] 48 + Questions the paths to which the King was led. + "Know," answered Faul (so hight the Aleman), + "That, in our father's days, our warriors spread + O'er lands wherein eternal summer dwells, + Beyond the snow-storm's siegeless pinnacles; + + "And on the borders of those lands, 'tis told, 49 + There lies a lake, some dead great city's grave, + Where, when the moon is at her full, behold + Pillar and palace shine up from the wave! + And o'er the lake, seen but by gifted seers, + Its phantom bark a silent phantom steers. + + "It chanced, as round our fires we sate at night, 50 + And saga-runes to wile our watch were sung, + That with the legends of our father's might + And wandering labours, this old tale was strung, + Then the roused King much question'd:--what we knew + We told, still question from each answer grew. + + "That night he slept not--with the morn was gone; 51 + And the dove led him where the snow-storms sleep." + Then Lancelot rose, and led his destrier on, + And gain'd the boat, and motion'd to the deep, + His purpose well the Alemen divine, + And launch once more the bark upon the brine. + + And ask to aid--"Know, friends," replied the knight, 52 + "Each wave that rolleth smooths its frown for me; + My sire and mother, by the lawless might + Of a fierce foe expell'd and forced to flee + From the fair halls of BENOIC, paused to take + Breath for new woes, beside a Fairy's lake. + + "With them was I, their new-born helpless heir, 53 + The hunted exiles gazed afar on home, + And saw the fires that dyed like blood the air + Pall with the pomp of hell the crashing dome. + They clung, they gazed--no word by either spoken; + And in that hush the sterner heart was broken. + + "The woman felt the cold hand fail her own; 54 + The head that lean'd fell heavy on the sod; + She knelt--she kiss'd the lips,--the breath was flown! + She call'd upon a soul that was with God: + For the first time the wife's sweet power was o'er-- + She who had soothed till then could soothe no more! + + "In the wife's woe, the mother was forgot. 55 + At last--(for I was all earth held of him + Who had been all to her, and now was not)-- + She rose, and look'd with tearless eyes, but dim, + In the babe's face the father still to see; + And lo! the babe was on another's knee!-- + + "Another's lip had kiss'd it into sleep, 56 + And o'er the sleep another, watchful, smiled;-- + The Fairy sate beside the lake's still deep, + And hush'd with chanted charms the orphan child! + Scared at the cry the startled mother gave, + It sprang, and, snow-like, melted in the wave. + + "There, in calm halls of lucent crystalline, 57 + Fed by the dews that fell from golden stars, + But through the lymph I saw the sunbeams shine, + Nor dream'd a world beyond the glist'ning spars; + Buoy'd by a charm that still endows and saves, + In stream or sea, the nurseling of the waves. + + "In my fifth year, to Uther's royal towers 58 + The fairy bore me, and her charge resign'd. + My mother took the veil of Christ--the Hours + With Arthur's life the orphan's life entwined. + O'er mine own element my course I take-- + All oceans smile on Lancelot of the Lake!" + + He said, and waved his hand: around the boat 59 + The curlews hover'd, as it shot to sea. + The wild men, lingering, watch'd the lessening float, + Till in the far expanse lost desolately, + Then slowly towards the hut they bent their way, + And the lone waves moan'd up the lifeless bay. + + Pass we the voyage. Hunger-worn, to shore 60 + Gain'd man and steed; there food and rest they found + In humble roofs. The course, resumed once more, + Stretch'd inland o'er not unfamiliar ground: + The wanderer smiles, by tower and town, to see + Cymri's old oak rebloom in Brettanie. + + Nathless, no pause, save such as needful rest 61 + Demands, delays him in the friendly land. + No tidings here of Arthur gain'd, his breast + Springs to the goal of the quick-moving hand, + Howbeit not barren of adventurous days, + Sweet danger found him in the devious ways. + + What foes encounter'd, or what damsels freed-- 62 + What demon spells in lonely forests braving, + Leave we to songs yet vocal to the reed + On ev'ry bank, beloved by poets, waving; + Our task unborrow'd from the muse of old, + Takes but the tale by nobler bards untold. + + Now as he journeys, frequent more and more 63 + The traces of the steps he tracks are found; + Fame, like a light, shines broadening on before + His path, and cleaves the shadows on the ground; + High deeds and gentle, bruited near and far, + Show where that soul went flashing as a star. + + At length he gains the Ausonian Alpine walls; 64 + Here, castle, convent, town, and hamlet fade; + Lone, through the rolling mists, the hoof-tread falls; + Lone, earth's mute giants loom amidst the shade: + Yet still, as sure of hope, he tracks the king, + Up steep, through gorge, where guides the crystal ring. + + One day--along by gloomy chasms his course-- 65 + He saw before him indistinctly pass + Through the dun fogs, what seem'd a phantom horse, + Like that which oft, amidst the dank morass, + Bestrid by goblin-meteor, starts the eye-- + So fleshless flitting--wan and shadowy. + + By a bare rock it paused, and feebly neigh'd. 66 + As the good knight, descending, seized the rein; + Dew-rusted mail the shrunken front array'd; + The rich selle rotted with the moulder-stain; + And on the selle were slung helm, axe, and mace; + And the great lance lay careless near the place. + + Then first the seeker's stricken spirit fell; 67 + Too well that helmet, with its dragon crest, + Speaks of the mighty owner; and too well + That steed, so oft by snowy hands carest, + When bright-eyed Beauty from the balcon bent + To crown the victor-lord of tournament. + + Near and afar he searched--he called in vain, 68 + By crag and combe, nought answering, and nought seen; + Return'd, the charger long refused the rein, + Clinging, poor slave, where last its lord had been. + At length the slow, reluctant hoofs obey'd + The soothing words; so went they through the shade: + + Following the gorge that wound the Alpine wall, 69 + Like the huge fosse of some Cyclopean town, + (While roaring round, invisible cataracts fall); + On the black rocks twilight comes ghostly down, + And deep and deeper still the windings go, + And dark and darker as to worlds below. + + Night halts the course, resumed at earliest day, 70 + Through day pursued, till the last sunbeams fell + On a broad mere whose margin closed the way. + Hark! o'er the waters swung the holy bell + From a grey convent on the rising ground, + Amidst the subject hamlet stretch'd around. + + Here, while both man and steeds the welcome rest 71 + Under the sacred roof of Christ receive, + We turn once more to AEgle and her guest. + Lo! the sweet valley in the flush of eve! + Lo! side by side, where through the rose-arcade, + Steals the love star, the hero and the maid! + + Silent they gaze into each other's eyes, 72 + Stirring the inmost soul's unquiet sleep; + So pierce soft star-beams, blending wave and skies, + Some holy fountain trembling to its deep! + Bright to each eye each human heart is bare, + And scarce a thought to start an angel there! + + Love to the soul, whate'er the harsh may say, 73 + Is as the hallowing Naiad to the well-- + The linking life between the forms of clay + And those ambrosia nurtures; from its spell + Fly earth's rank fogs, and Thought's ennobled flow + Shines with the shape that glides in light below. + + Seize, O beloved, the blooms the Hour allows! 74 + Alas, but once can flower the Beautiful! + Hark, the wind rustles through the trembling boughs, + And the stem withers while the buds ye cull! + Brief though the prize, how few in after hours + Can say, "at least the Beautiful _was_ ours!" + + Two loves (and both divine and pure) there are; 75 + One by the roof-tree takes its root for ever, + Nor tempests rend, nor changeful seasons mar-- + It clings the stronger for the storm's endeavour; + Beneath its shade the wayworn find their rest, + And in its boughs the calm bird builds its nest. + + But one more frail (in that more prized, perchance), 76 + Bends its rich blossoms over lonely streams + In the untrodden ways of wild Romance, + On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams,[13] + Few find the path;--O bliss! O woe to find! + What bliss the blossom!--ah! what woe the wind! + + Oh, the short spring!--the eternal winter!--All 77 + Branch,--stem all shatter'd; fragile as the bloom! + Yet this the love that charms us to recall + Life's golden holiday before the tomb; + Yea! _this_ the love which age again lives o'er, + And hears the heart beat loud with youth once more! + + Before them, at the distance, o'er the blue 78 + Of the sweet waves which girt the rosy isle, + Flitted light shapes the inwoven alleys through: + Remotely mellow'd, musical the while, + Floated the hum of voices, and the sweet + Lutes chimed with timbrels to dim-glancing feet. + + The calm swan rested on the breathless glass 79 + Of dreamy waters, and the snow-white steer + Near the opposing margin, motionless, + Stood, knee-deep, gazing wistful on its clear + And life-like shadow, shimmering deep and far, + Where on the lucid darkness fell the star. + + Near them, upon its lichen-tinted base, 80 + Gleam'd one of those fair fancied images + Which art hath lost--no god of Idan race, + But the wing'd symbol which, by Caspian seas, + Or Susa's groves, its parable addrest + To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest.[14] + + Light as the soul, whose archetype it was 81 + The Genius touch'd, yet spurn'd the pedestal; + Behind, the foliage, in its purple mass, + Shut out the flush'd horizon; clasping all, + Nature's hush'd giants stood to guard and girth + The only home of peace upon the earth. + + And when, at last, from AEgle's lips, the voice 82 + Came soft as murmur'd hymns at closing day, + The sweet sound seem'd the sweet air to rejoice-- + To give the sole charm wanting,--to convey + The crowning music to the Musical; + As with the soul of love infusing all! + + And to the Northman's ear that antique tongue, 83 + Which from the Augur's lips fell weird and cold, + Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales,[15] which strung + Enchanted pearls, won from the caves of old, + And woven round a sunbeam;--so was wrought + O'er cordial love the pure and delicate thought. + + She spoke of youth's lost years, so lone before, 84 + And coming to the present, paused and blush'd; + As if Time's wing were spell-bound evermore, + And Life, the restless, in the hour were hush'd: + The pause, the blush, said more than words, "And thou + Art found!--thou lov'st me!--Fate is powerless now!" + + That hand in his--that heart his own entwining 85 + With its life's tendrils,--youth his pardon be, + If in his heaven no loftier star were shining-- + If round the haven boom'd unheard the sea-- + If in the wreath forgot the thorny crown, + And the harsh duties of severe renown. + + Blame we as well the idlesse of a dream, 86 + As that entranced oblivion from the reign + Of the Great Curse, which glares in every beam + Of labouring suns to the stern race of Cain; + So life from earth did Nature here withdraw, + That the strange peace seem'd but earth's common law. + + Yet some excuse all stronger spirits take 87 + For all repose from toil (to strength the doom) + How sweet in that fair heathen soil to wake + The living palm God planted on the tomb! + And so, and long, did Passion's subtle art + Mask with the soul the impulse of the heart. + + Wonderous and lovely in that last retreat 88 + Of the old Gods,--the simple speech to hear + Tell of the Messenger whose beauteous feet + Had gilt the mountain-tops with tidings clear + Of veilless Heaven, while AEgle, thoughtful said, + "_This_, love makes plain--yes, love can ne'er be dead!" + + Now, as Night gently deepens round them, while 89 + Oft to the moon upturn their happy eyes-- + Still, hand in hand, they range the lulled isle. + Air knows no breeze, scarce sighing to their sighs; + No bird of night shrieks bode from drowsy trees, + Nought lives between them and the Pleiades; + + Save where the moth strains to the moon its wing, 90 + Deeming the Reachless near;--the prophet race + Of the cold stars forewarn'd them not; the Ring + Of great Orion, who for the embrace + Of Morn's sweet Maid had died,[16] look'd calm above + The last unconscious hours of human love. + + Each astral influence unrevealing shone 91 + O'er the dark web its solemn thread enwove; + Mars shot no anger from his fatal throne, + No beam spoke trouble in the House of Love; + Their closing path the treacherous smile illumed; + And the stern Star-kings kiss'd the brows they doom'd.-- + + 'Tis morn once more; upon the shelving green 92 + Of the small isle, alone the Cymrian stood + With his full heart,--when, suddenly, between + Him and the sun, the azure solitude + Was broken by a dark and rapid wing, + And a dusk bird swoop'd downward to the King. + + And the King's cheek grew pale, for well to him 93 + (As now the raven, settling, touch'd his feet), + Was known the mystic messenger:--where, grim + O'er the Black Valley,[17] demon shadows fleet + Glass'd on the lake whose horror scares away + Each harmless wing that skims the golden day. + + The Prophet's dauntless childhood stray'd and found 94 + The weird bird muttering by the waves of dread; + Three days and nights upon the haunted ground + The raven's beak the solemn infant fed: + And ever after (so the legend ran) + The lone bird tended on the lonely man. + + O'er the Man's temples fell the snows of age, 95 + As fresh the lustrous ebon of the Bird,-- + Less awe had credulous terror of the sage + Than that familiar by the Fiend conferr'd-- + So thought the crowd; nor knew what holy lore + Lives in all things whose instinct is to soar. + + Hoarse croaks the bird, and, with its round bright eye, 96 + Fixes the gaze of the recoiling King; + Slowly the hand, that trembles, cuts the tie + Which binds the white scroll gleaming from the wing, + And these the words, "Weak Loiterer from thy toil, + The Saxon's march is on thy father's soil." + + Bounded the Prince!--As when the sudden sun 97 + Looses the ice-chains on the halted rill, + Smites the dumb snow-mass, and the cataracts run + In molten thunder down the clanging hill, + So from his heart the fetters burst; and strong + In its rough course the great soul rush'd along. + + As looks a warrior on the fort he scales, 98 + His glance darts round the everlasting steeps-- + Not there escape!--the wildest fancy quails + Before those heights on which the whitening deeps + Of measureless heaven repose:--below their frown, + Planed as a wall, shears the smooth granite down. + + Marvel, indeed, how ev'n the enchanted wing 99 + Had o'er such rampires won to the abode: + But not for marvel paused the kindled King, + Swift, as Pelides stung to war, he strode; + While the dark herald, with its sullen scream, + Rose, and fled, dismal as an evil dream. + + Carved as for Love, a slender boat rock'd o'er 100 + The ripple with the murmuring marge at play, + He loosed its chain, he gain'd the adverse shore, + Startled the groups that flutter'd round his way, + Awed by the knitted brow and flashing eyes + Of him they deem'd the native of the skies. + + As towards the fane, which closed on hardy life 101 + The granite path to Labour's world behind, + O'er trampled flowers, strode the stern Child of Strife, + He saw the melancholy priest reclined + Under the shade of hush'd Dodonian boughs, + Bending, o'er mystic scrolls, calm, mournful brows.-- + + Loud on that musing leisure broke the cry 102 + Of the imperious Northman, "Rise, unbar + Your granite gates--the eagle seeks the sky, + The captive freedom, and the warrior war!" + Slow rose the Augur, and this answer gave, + "Man, see thy world--its outlet is the grave! + + "Thou hast our secret! Thou must share our fates: 103 + The Alps and Orcus guard ourselves--and thee! + To what new Mars shall Janus ope the gates? + Thou speak'st of war, and then demand'st the key!" + Scornful he turn'd--but thrill'd with wrath to feel + His sacred arm lock'd in a grasp of steel. + + "Trifle not, host,--Fate calls me to depart; 104 + On my shamed soul a prophet's voice hath cried! + Nor Alps nor Orcus like a loyal heart + Ensures the secret trustful lips confide." + The Augur sneer'd--"A loyal heart, forsooth! + And what says AEgle of the stranger's truth?" + + "Let AEgle answer," cried the noble lover; 105 + "Let AEgle judge the trust I hold from Heaven. + I faithless!--I--a King?--my labours over, + From mine own soil the surge of carnage driven, + And I will come, as kings should come, to claim + A mate for empire, and a meed for fame!"-- + + Long mused the Augur, and at length replied, 106 + His guile scarce mask'd in his malignant gaze, + "Take, as thou say'st, an answer from thy bride-- + Then, if still wearied of untroubled days-- + No more from Mantu[18] Pales shall control; + And one free gate shall open on thy soul!" + + He said, and drew his large robe round his form, 107 + And wrathful swept along, as o'er the sky + A cloud sweeps dark, secret with hoarded storm; + Behind him went the guest as silently; + Afar the gazing wonderers whisper'd, while + They cross'd the girdling wave and reach'd the isle. + + With violet buds, bright AEgle, in her bower, 108 + Knits the dark riches of her lustrous hair; + Her heart springs eager to the magic hour + When to loved eyes 'tis glorious to be fair: + Gleams of a neck, proud as the swan's, escape + The light-spun tunic rounded to the shape. + + The airy veil, its silver cloud dividing, 109 + Falls, and floats fragrant, from the violet crown. + What happy thought is in that breast presiding + Like some serenest bird that settles down + (Its wanderings over) on calm summer eves + Into its nest, amid the secret leaves? + + What happy thought in those large tranquil eyes 110 + Speaks of a bliss remote from human fear? + Speaks of a soul which like a star supplies + Its own circumfluent lustrous atmosphere; + Weaves beam on beam around its peace, and glows + Soft through the splendour which itself bestows? + + Who ever gazed on perfect happiness, 111 + Nor felt it as the shadow cast from God? + It seems so still in its sublime excess, + So brings all heaven around its hush'd abode, + That in its very beauty awe has birth, + Dismay'd by too much glory for the earth. + + Across the threshold now abruptly strode 112 + Her youth's stern guardian. "Child of RASENA," + He said, "the lover on thy youth bestow'd + For the last time on earth thine eyes survey, + Unless thy power can chain the faithless breast, + And sated bliss deigns gracious to be blest." + + "Not so!" cried Arthur, as his loyal knee 113 + Bent to the earth, and with the knightly truth + Of his right hand he clasp'd her own;--"to be + Thine evermore; youth mingled with thy youth, + Age with thine age; in thy grave mine; above, + Soul with thy soul--this is the Christian's love! + + "Oft wouldst thou smile, believing smile, to hear 114 + Thy lover speak of knighthood's holy vow-- + That vow holds falsehood more abhorr'd than fear,-- + And canst thou doubt both love and knighthood now?" + His words rush'd on--told of the threaten'd land, + The fates confided to the sceptred hand, + + Here gathering woes, and there suspended toil; 115 + And the stern warning from the distant seer. + "Thine be my people--thine this bleeding soil; + Queen of my realm, its groaning murmurs hear! + Then ask thyself, what manhood's choice should be; + False to my country, were I worthy thee?" + + Dim through her struggling sense the light came slow, 116 + Struck from those words of fire. Alas, poor child! + What, in thine isle of roses, shouldst thou know + Of earth's grave duties?--of that stormy wild + Of care and carnage--the relentless strife + Of man with happiness, and soul with life? + + Thou who hadst seen the sun but rise and set 117 + O'er one Saturnian Arcady of rest, + Snatch'd from the Age of Iron? Ever, yet, + Dwells that fine instinct in the noble breast, + Which each high truth intuitive receives, + And what the Reason grasps not, Faith believes. + + So in mute woe, one hand to his resign'd, 118 + And one press'd firmly on her swelling heart, + Passive she heard, and in her labouring mind + Strove with the dark enigma--"part!--to part!" + Till, having solved it by the beams that broke + From that clear soul on hers, struggling she spoke:-- + + "Thou bidst me trust thee!--This is my reply: 119 + Trust is my life--to trust thee is to live! + And ev'n farewell less bitter than thy sigh + For something AEgle is too poor to give. + Thou speak'st of dread and terror, strife and woe; + And I might wonder why they tempt thee so; + + "And I might ask how more can mortals please 120 + The heavens, than thankful to enjoy the earth? + But through its mist my soul, though faintly, sees + Where thine sweeps on beyond this mountain girth, + And, awed and dazzled, bending I confess + Life may have holier ends than happiness! + + "Yes, as thou offerest joy upon the shrine 121 + Of some bright good, all human joys above, + So does my heart its altar seek in thine, + Content to bleed:--Thee, not myself, I love!" + Sighing, she ceased; and yet still seem'd to sigh, + As doth the wave on which the zephyrs die. + + Then, as she felt his tears upon her hand, 122 + Sorrow woke sorrow, and her face she bow'd: + As when the silver gates of heaven expand, + And on the earth descends the melting cloud, + So sunk the spirit from sublimer air, + And all the woman rush'd on her despair. + + "To lose thee--oh, to lose thee! To live on 123 + And see the sun--not thee! Will the sun shine, + Will the birds sing, flowers bloom, when thou art gone? + Desolate, desolate! Thy right hand in mine, + Swear, by the Past, thou wilt return!--Oh, say, + Say it again!"----voice died in sobs away! + + Mute look'd the Augur, with his deathful eyes, 124 + On the last anguish of their lock'd embrace. + "Priest," cried the lover, "canst thou deem this prize + Lost to my future?--No, though round the place + Yon Alps took life, with all the dire array + Of demon legions, Love would force the way. + + "Hear me, adored one!" On the silent ear 125 + The promise fell, and o'er the unconscious frame + Wound the protecting arm.--"Since neither fear + Of the great Powers thou dost blaspheming name, + Nor the soft impulse native in man's heart + Restrains thee, doom'd one--hasten to depart. + + "Come, in thy treason merciful at least, 126 + Come, while those eyes by pitying slumbers bound, + See not thy shadow pass from earth!"----The priest + Spoke,--and now call'd the infant handmaids round; + But o'er that form with arms that vainly cling, + And words that idly comfort, bends the King. + + "Nay, nay, look up! It is these arms that fold;-- 127 + I still am here;--this hand, these tears, are mine." + Then, when they sought to loose her from his hold, + He waived them back with a fierce jealous sign; + O'er her hush'd breath his listening ear he bow'd, + And the awed children round him wept aloud. + + But when the soul broke faint from its eclipse, 128 + And his own name came, shaping life's first sigh, + His very heart seem'd breaking in the lips + Press'd to those faithful ones;--then tremblingly, + He rose;--he moved;--he paused;--his nerveless hand + Veil'd the dread agony of man unmann'd. + + Thus, from the chamber, as an infant meek 129 + The priest's slight arm led forth the mighty King; + In vain wide air came fresh upon his cheek, + Passive he went in his great sorrowing; + Hate, the mute guide,--the waves of death, the goal;-- + So, following Hermes, glides to Styx a soul. + + +NOTES TO BOOK IV. + +1.--Page 255, stanza xi. + + _Like that in which the far SARONIDES._ + + Saronides--the Druids of Gaul: "The Samian Sage"--PYTHAGORAS.. The + Augur is here supposed to speak Phoenician as the parent language + of Arthur's native Celtic. See note 2. + +2.--Page 255, stanza xi. + + _Exchanged dark riddles with the Samian sage._ + + Diodorus Siculus speaks with great respect of the SARONIDES as the + Druid priests of Gaul; and Mr. Davis, in his Celtic Researches, + insists upon it that _Saronides_ is a British word, compounded from + _ser_, stars; and _honydd,_ "one who discriminates or points out:" + in fine, according to him, the Saronides are Seronyddion, i. e. + _astronomers_. For the initiation of Pythagoras into the Druid + mysteries, see CLEM. ALEX. _Strom. L. i. Ex. Alex. Polyhist_. It + will be observed that the author here takes advantage of the + well-known assertions of many erudite authorities that the Phoenician + language is the parent of the Celtic, in order to obtain a channel of + oral communication between Arthur and the Etrurian;[C] though, + contented with those authorities, as sufficing for all poetic purpose, + he prudently declines entering into a controversy equally abstruse and + interminable, as to the affinity between the countrymen of Dido and + the scattered remnants of the Briton. It is not surprising that the + Augur should know Phoenician, for we have only to suppose that he + maintained, as well as he could in his retreat, the knowledge common + among his priestly forefathers. The intercourse between Etruria and + the Phoenician states (especially Carthage) was too considerable not + to have rendered the language of the last familiar to the learning of + the first;--to say nothing of those more disputable affinities of + origin and religion, which, if existing, would have made an + acquaintance with Phoenicia necessary to the solution of their + historical chronicles and sacred books. Nor, when the Augur afterwards + assures Arthur that AEgle also understands Phoenician, is any + extravagant demand made upon the credulity of the indulgent reader; + for, those who have consulted such lights as research has thrown upon + Etrurian records, are aware that their more high-born women appear to + have received no ordinary mental cultivation. + +3.--Page 256, stanza xiv. + + _In LUNA'S gulf, the sea-beat crews carouse._ + + Luna, a trading town on the gulf of Spezia, said to have been + founded by the Etrurian Tarchun.--See STRABO, lib. v.; CAT. Orig. + XXV. In a fragment of Ennius, Luna is mentioned. In Lucan's time + it was deserted, "desertae moenia Lunae."--LUC. i. 586. + +4.--Page 256, stanza xiv. + + _Coere foretold hath come RASENA!_ + + Rasena was the name which the Etrurians gave to themselves.--TWISS'S + NIEBUHR, vol. i. c. vii. MULLER, _die Etruesker_: DION. i. 30. + +5.--Page 256, stanza xviii. + + _The bliss that Northia singles for your lot._ + + Northia, the Etrurian deity which corresponds with the FORTUNE of the + Romans, but probably with something more of the sterner attributes + which the Greek and the Scandinavian gave to the FATES. I cannot but + observe here on the similarity in sound and signification between + the Etrurian Northia and the Norna of the Scandinavians. Norna with + the last is the general term applied to Fate. The Etrurian name for + the deities collectively--AESARS, is not dissimilar to that given + collectively to their deities by the Scandinavians; viz. AESIR, or + ASAS. + +6.--Page 257, stanza xix. + + _Spite of the Knight of Thrace,--Sir Belisair._ + + Belisarius, whose fame was then just rising under Justinian. The + Ostrogoth, Theodoric, was on the throne of Italy. + +7.--Page 257, stanza xxii. + + _"Ah," said the Augur--"here, I comprehend + Egypt, and Typhon, and the serpent creed!_ + + It is clear that all which the bewildered Augur could comprehend, + in the theological relations by which Arthur (no doubt with equal + glibness and obscurity) relieves his historical narrative, would be + that, in "worsting Satan," the Emperor of Greece is demolishing the + Typhon worship of the Egyptians, and enforcing the adoration of the + Dorian Apollo--that deity who had passed a probation on earth, and + expiated a mysterious sin by descending to the shades; and it would + require a more erudite teacher than we can presume Arthur to be, + before the Augur would cease to confuse with the Pagan divinity the + Divine Founder of the Christian gospel. + +8.--Page 259, stanza xxxiii. + + _Astolfo spoke from out the bleeding tree._ + + Ariosto, canto vi. + +9.--Page 259, stanza xxxvi. + + _Lo, now where pure Sabrina on her breast._ + + Sabrina, the Severn; whose legendary tale Milton has so exquisitely + told in the Comus.--ISCA, the Usk. + +10.--Page 259, stanza xxxviii. + + _Drawn on the sands lay coracles of hide._ + + The ancient British boats, covered with coria or hydes--"The ancient + Britons," as Mr. Pennant observes, "had them of large size, and even + made short voyages in them, according to the accounts we receive from + Lucan."--PENNANT, vol. i. p. 303. + +11.--Page 260, stanza xl. + + _In Cymrian lands--where still the torque of gold._ + + The twisted chain, or collar, denoted the chiefs of all the old tribes + known as Gauls to the Romans. It is by this badge that the critics in + art have rightly decided that the statue called "The Dying Gladiator" + is in truth meant to personify a wounded Gaul. The collar, or torque, + was long retained by the chiefs of Britain--and allusions to it are + frequent in the songs of the Welsh. + +12.--Page 261, stanza xlviii. + + _The story heard, the son of royal BAN._ + + According to the French romance-writers, Lancelot was the son of + King Ban of Benoic, a tributary to the Cymrian crown. The Welch + claim him, however, as a national hero, in spite of his name, which + they interpret as a translation from one of their own--Paladr-ddelt, + splintered spear. (LADY C. GUEST'S _Mabinogion_, vol. i. p. 91.) + In a subsequent page, Lancelot tells the tale (pretty nearly as it + is told in the French romance) which obtained him the title of + "Lancelot of the Lake."--See note in ELLIS'S edition of WAY'S + _Fabliaux_, vol. ii. p. 206. + +13.--Page 265, stanza lxxvi. + + _On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams._ + + "In medio ramos," &c.--VIRGIL, lib. vi. 282. + + "An elm displays her dusky arms abroad, + And empty dreams on every leaf are spread."--DRYDEN. + +14.--Page 265, stanza lxxx. + + _To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest._ + + Zendavest. Compare the winged genius of the Etrurians with the + Feroher of the Persians, in the sculptured reliefs of Persepolis. + (See HEEREN'S _Historical Researches, art. Persians_.) MICALI, vol. + ii. p. 174, points out some points of similarity between the Persian + and Etrurian cosmogony. It was peculiar to the Etrurians, amongst + the classic nations of Europe, to delineate their deities with wings. + Even when they borrowed some Hellenic god, they still invested him + with this attribute, so especially Eastern. + +15.--Page 266, stanza lxxxiii. + + _Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales, which strung._ + + In a legend of Bretagne, a fairy weaves pearls round a sunbeam, to + convince her lover of her magical powers. + +16.--Page 267, stanza xc. + + _Of Morn's sweet Maid had died, look'd calm above._ + + Hom. _Odys._, lib. v. + +17.--Page 267, stanza xciii. + + _O'er the Black Valley, demon shadows fleet._ + + Cwm Idwal (in Snowdonia). "A fit place to inspire murderous + thoughts,--environed with horrible precipices shading a lake lodged + in its bottom. The shepherds fable that it is the haunt of demons, + and that no bird dare fly over its damned waters."--PENNANT, vol. + iii. p. 324. + +18.--Page 269, stanza cvi. + + _No more from Mantu Pales shall control._ + + Mantu, the God of the Shades--PALES, the Pastoral Deity. + + [C] It may perhaps occur to the reader that Latin, with which Arthur + (in an age so shortly subsequent to the Roman occupation of + Britain) could scarcely fail to be well acquainted, might have + furnished a better mode of communication between himself and the + Augur. But the Latin language would have been very imperfectly + settled at the time of the supposed Etrurian emigration; would + have had small connection with the literature, sacred or + profane, of the Etrurians; and would long have been despised as + a rude medley of various tongues and dialects, by the proud and + polished race which the Romans subjected. + + + + +BOOK V. + + +ARGUMENT. + +The Council-hall in Carduel--The twelve Knights of the Round Table +described, viz., the three Knights of Council, the three Knights of +Battle, the three Knights of Eloquence, and the three Lovers--Merlin +warns the chiefs of the coming Saxons, and enjoins the beacon-fires to +be lighted--The story returns to Arthur--The dove has not been absent, +though unseen--It comes back to Arthur--The Priest leads the King +through the sepulchral valley into the temple of the Death-god-- +Description of the entrance of the temple, with the walls on which is +depicted the progress of the guilty soul through the realms below--The +cave, the raft, and the stream which conducts to the cataract--Arthur +enters the boat, and the dove goes before him--AEgle awakes from her +swoon, and follows the King to the temple--Her dialogue with the +Augur--She disappears in the stream--Meanwhile Lancelot wanders in the +valleys on the other side of the Alps, and is led to the cataract by +the magic ring--The apparition of the dove--He follows the bird up the +skirts of the cataract--He finds Arthur and AEgle, and conveys them to +the convent--The Christian hymn, and the Etrurian dirge--Arthur and +Lancelot seated by the lake--The Lady of the Lake appears in her pinnace +to Lancelot--The King's sight is purged from its film by the bitter +herb, and he enters the magic bark. + + + In the high Council Hall of Carduel, 1 + Beside the absent Arthur's ivory throne + (What time the earlier shades of evening fell), + Wan-silvering through the hush, the cresset shone + O'er the arch-seer,--as, 'mid the magnates there, + Rose his large front, august with prophet care; + + Rose his large front above the luminous guests, 2 + The deathless TWELVE of that heroic Ring, + Which, as the belt wherein Orion rests, + Girded with subject stars the starry king; + Without, strong towers guard Rome's elaborate wall; + Within is Manhood!--strongest tower of all. + + First, Muse of Cymri, name the Council three[1] 3 + Who, of maturer years and graver mien, + Wise in the past, conceived the things to be, + And temper'd impulse quick with thought serene; + Nor young, nor old--no dupes to rushing Hope, + Nor narrowing to tame Fear th' ignoble scope. + + Of these was Cynon of the highborn race, 4 + A cold but dauntless--calm but earnest man; + With deep eyes shining from a thoughtful face, + And spare slight form, for ever in the van + When ripening victories crown'd laborious deeds; + Reaper of harvest--sower not of seeds; + + For scarcely his the quick far-darting soul 5 + Which, like Apollo's shaft, strikes lifeless things + Into divine creation; but, the whole + Once rife, the skill which into concord brings + The jarring parts; shapes out the rudely wrought, + And calls the action living from the thought. + + Next Aron see--not rash, yet gaily bold, 6 + With the frank polish of chivalric courts; + Him from the right, no fear of wrong controll'd; + And toil he deem'd the sprightliest of his sports; + O'er War's dry chart, or Wisdom's mystic page, + Alike as smiling, and alike as sage; + + With the warm instincts of the knightly heart, 7 + That rose at once if insult touch'd the realm, + He spurn'd each state-craft, each deceiving art, + And rode to war, no vizor to his helm; + This proved his worth, this line his tomb may boast-- + "Who hated Cymri, hated Aron most!" + + But who with eastern hues and haughty brow, 8 + Stern with dark beauty sits apart from all? + Ah, couldst thou shun thy friends, Elidir!--thou + Scorning all foes, before no foe shalt fall! + On thy wrong'd grave one hand appeasing lays + The humble flower--oh, could it yield the bays! + + Courts may have known than thou a readier tool, 9 + States may have found than thine a subtler brain, + But states shall honour many a formal fool, + And many a tawdry fawner courts may gain, + Ere King or People in their need shall see + A soul so grand as that which fled with thee! + + For thou wert more than true; thou wert a Truth! 10 + Open as Truth, and yet as Truth profound; + Thy fault was genius--that eternal youth + Whose weeds but prove the richness of the ground-- + And dull men envied thee, and false men fear'd, + And where soar'd genius, there convention sneer'd. + + Ah, happy hadst thou fallen, foe to foe, 11 + The bright race run--the laurel o'er thy grave! + But hands perfidious strung the ambush bow, + And the friend's shaft the rankling torture gave-- + The last proud wish its agony to hide, + The stricken deer to covert crept and died. + + Next came the Warrior Three.[2] Of glory's charms 12 + (Glory, the bride of heroes) nobly vain, + Dark Mona's Owaine[3] shines with golden arms, + The Roland of the Cymrian Charlemain, + Scath'd by the storm the holy chief survives, + For Fame makes holy all its lightning rives. + + Beside, with simplest garb and sober mien, 13 + Solid as iron, not yet wrought to steel, + In his plain manhood Cornwall's chief[4] is seen, + Who (if wild tales some glimpse of truth reveal) + Gave Northern standards to the Indian sun-- + And wreaths from palms that shaded Evian won. + + Lo, he whose Fame outshines the Fabulous! 14 + Sublime with eagle front, and that grey crown + Which Age, the arch-priest, sets on laurell'd brows; + Lo, Geraint, bending with a world's renown! + Yet those grey hairs _one_ ribald scoffer found;-- + The moon sways ocean and provokes the hound. + + Next the three Chiefs of Eloquence;[5] the kings 15 + Whose hosts are thoughts, whose realm the human mind, + Who out of words evoke the souls of things, + And shape the lofty drama of mankind; + Wit charms the fancy, wisdom guides the sense; + To make men nobler--_that_ is Eloquence! + + As from the Mount of Gold, auriferous flows 16 + The Lydian wave, thy pomp of period shines, + Resplendent Drudwas--glittering as it goes + High from the mount, but labouring through the mines, + And thence the tides, enriching while they run, + Glass every fruit that ripens to the sun. + + But, like the vigour of a Celtic stream, 17 + Eliwlod's rush of manly sense along, + Fresh with the sparkles of a healthful beam, + And quick with impulse like a poet's song. + How listening crowds that knightly voice delights-- + If from those crowds are banish'd all but knights! + + The third, though young, well worthy of his place, 18 + Was Gawaine, courteous, blithe, and debonnair, + Arch Mercury's wit, with careless Cupid's face; + Frank as the sun, but searching as the air, + Who with bland parlance prefaced doughtiest blows, + And mildly arguing--arguing brain'd his foes. + + Next came the three--in mystic Triads hight 19 + "The KNIGHTS OF LOVE;"[6] some type, the name conveys, + For where no lover, there methinks no knight; + All knights were lovers in King Arthur's days: + Caswallawn; Trystan of the lion rock;[7] + And, leaning on his harp, calm Caradoc! + + Thus class'd, distinct in peace,--let war dismay, 20 + Straight in one bond the divers natures blend-- + So varying tints in tranquil sunshine play, + But form one iris if the rains descend; + And, fused in light against the clouds that lower, + Forbid the deluge while they own the shower! + + On the bright group the Prophet rests his gaze, 21 + Then the deep voice sonorous thrills aloud-- + "In Carduel's vale the steers unheeded graze, + To jocund winds the yellowing corn is bow'd, + By hearths of mirth the waves of Isca flow, + And Heaven above smiles down on peace below. + + "But far looks forth the warder from the tower, 22 + And to the halls of Cymri's antique kings + A soul that sees the future in the hour + The desolation of its burthen brings; + Hollow sounds earth beneath the clanging tread: + Yon fields shall yield no harvest but the Dead! + + "And waves shall rush in crimson to the deep, 23 + The Meteor Horse shall pale autumnal skies-- + From RAURAN'S lairs the joyous wolves shall leap-- + From EIFLE'S crags the screaming eagles rise-- + Yea! while I speak, these halls the havoc nears! + Red sets the sun behind the storm of spears! + + "The Sons of Woden sound no tromp before 24 + Their march! No herald comes their war to tell! + No plea for slaughter, dress'd in clerkly lore, + Makes death seem justice! As the rain-clouds swell, + When air is stillest, in BAL HUAN'S halls; + The herbage waves not till the tempest falls! + + "Of old ye know them; ye the elect remains 25 + Of perish'd races--rock-saved; anchoring here + The ark of empire! + For your latest fanes, + For your last hearths, for all to freemen dear, + And to God sacred; take the shield and brand! + Accurst each Cymrian who survives hisland!" + + "Accursed each Cymrian who survives his land!" 26 + Echo'd deep tones, hollow as blasts escaped + From Boreal caverns, and in every hand + The hilts of swords to sainted croziers shaped + Were grimly griped--as by that symbol sign + Hallowing the human wrath to war divine. + + The Prophet mark'd the deep unclamorous vow 27 + Of the pent passion; and the morning light + Of young Humanity flash'd o'er the brow + Dark with that wisdom which, like Nature's night, + Communes with stars and dreams; it flash'd and waned, + And the vast front its awful hush regain'd. + + "Princes, I am but as a voice; be you 28 + As deeds! The wind comes through the hollow oak, + And stirs the green woods that it wanders through, + Now wafts the seeds, now wings the levin-stroke, + Now kindles, now destroys:--that Wind am I, + Homeless on earth; the mystery of the sky! + + "But when the wind in noiseless air hath sunk, 29 + Behold the sower tends and rears the seeds; + Behold the woodman shapes the fallen trunk; + The viewless voice hath waked the human deeds; + Born of the germs, flowers bloom and harvests spring; + The pine uprooted speeds the Ocean King. + + "Warriors, since absent (not from wanton lust 30 + Of errant emprize, but by Fate ordain'd, + For all lone labouring, worthy of his trust) + He whose young lips in thirst of glory drain'd + All that of arts Mavortian elder Rome + Taught, to assail the foe, or guard the home; + + "Be ye his delegates, and oft with prayer 31 + Bring angels round his wild and venturous way; + As one great orb gives life and light to air, + So times there are when all a people's day + Shines from a single life! This known, revere + The exile; mourn not--let his soul be here. + + "Yours then, high chiefs, the conduct of the war, 32 + But heed this counsel (won or wrung from Fate), + Strong rolls the tide when curb'd its channels are, + Strong flows a force that but defends a state; + In Carduel's walls concentre Cymri's power, + And chain the Dragon to this charmed tower. + + "This night the moon should see the beacon brand 33 + Link fire to fire from Beli's Druid pile; + Rock call on rock, till blazes all the land + From Sabra's wave to Mona's parent isle! + Let Fredom write in characters of fire, + 'Who climbs my throne ascends his funeral pyre!'" + + The Prophet ceased; and rose with stern accord 34 + The warrior senate. Sudden every shield + Leapt into lightning from the clashing sword; + And choral voices consentaneous peal'd-- + "Hail to our guests! the wine of war is red; + Fire fight the banquet--steel prepare the bed!" + + While thus the peril threat'ning land and throne, 35 + Unharm'd, unheeding, dreaming goes the King, + Where from the brief Elysium, Acheron + Awaits the victim whom its priest shall bring. + And where art thou, meek guardian of the brave? + Though fails the eagle, still the dove may save! + + When, lured by signs that seem'd his aid to implore, 36 + From his good steed the lord of knighthood sprung, + [And left it wistful by the dismal door, + Since the cragg'd roof too low descending hung + For the great war-horse in its barb'd array; + And little dream'd he of the long delay,--] + + His path the dove nor favour'd nor forbade; 37 + Motionless, folding on sharp rocks its wing, + With its soft eyes it watch'd, resign'd and sad, + Where fates, ordain'd for sorrow, led the King; + Nor did he miss (till earth regain'd the day) + The plumed angel vanish'd from his way. + + Then oft, in truth, and oft in blissful hours, 38 + Miss'd was that faithful guide through stormier life. + Ah common lot! how oft, mid summer flowers, + We miss the soother of the winter strife; + How oft we mourn in Fortune's sunlit vale + Some silenced heart with which we shared the gale! + + But absent _not_ the dove, albeit unseen; 39 + In some still foliage it had found its nest: + At night it hover'd where his steps had been, + Pale through the moonbeams in the air of rest; + By the lull'd wave and shadowy banks it pass'd, + Lingering where love with AEgle linger'd last. + + And when with chiller dawn resought the lone 40 + And leafy gloom in which it shunn'd the day, + Beneath those boughs you might have heard it moan, + Low-wailing to itself its plaintive lay; + Till with the sun rose all the songs that fill + Morn with delight; and _then_ the dove was still. + + But now, as towards the Temple of the Shades 41 + The King went heavily--a gleam of light + Shot through the gloaming of the cedarn glades, + And the dove glided to his breast: the sight + Came like a smile from Heaven upon the King, + And his heart warm'd beneath the brooding wing. + + Strange was the thrill of joy, beyond belief, 42 + Sent from the soft touch of those plumes of down! + He was not all deserted in his grief, + The brows of Fate relax'd their iron frown; + And his soul quicken'd to that glorious power + Which fronts the future and subdues the hour; + + The joy it brought, the dove refused to share; 43 + As it it felt the tempest in the sky, + Trembling, it nestled to its shelter there, + Nor lifted to the light its drooping eye. + Not, as its wont, to guide it came; but brave + With him the ills from which it could not save. + + Now lost the lovelier features of the land, 44 + Dull waves replace the fount, dark pines the bowers, + Grey-streeted tombs, far stretch'd on either hand, + Rear the dumb city of the Funeral Powers. + Massive and huge, behold the dome of dread, + Where the stern Death-god frowns above the dead. + + Hewn from a rock, stand the great columns square, 45 + With triglyphs wrought and ponderous pediment; + Such as yet greet the musing wanderer, where, + Near the old Fane to which Etruria sent + Her sovereign twelve, the thick-sown violet blooms, + In Castel d'Asso's vale of hero-tombs.[8] + + Passing a bridge that spann'd the barrier wave, 46 + They reach'd the Thebes-like porch;--the Augur here, + First entering, leaves the King. Within the nave + Now swell the flutes (which went before the bier + What time the funeral chaunt of Pagan Rome + Knell'd some throne-shatterer to his six-feet home). + + Jar back the portals--long, in measured line, 47 + There stand within the mute Auruspices, + In each pale hand a torch; and near the shrine + Sit on still thrones, the guardian deities; + Here SETHLANS,[9] sovereign of life's fix'd domains-- + There fatal NORTHIA with the iron chains. + + Between the two the Death-god broods sublime; 48 + On his pale brow the inexorable peace + Which speaks of power beyond the shores of time; + Calm, not benign like the sweet gods of Greece,-- + Calm as the mystery which in Memphian skies + Froze life's warm current from a sphinx's eyes. + + With many a grausame shape unutterable, 49 + Limn'd were the cavernous sepulchral walls; + Life-like they stalk'd, the Populace of Hell, + Through the pale pomp of Acherontian halls; + Distinct as when the Trojan's living breath + Vex'd the wide silence in the wastes of death. + + Shown was the Progress of the guilty Soul 50 + From earth's warm threshold to the throne of doom; + Here the black genius to the dismal goal + Dragg'd the wan spectre from the unshelt'ring tomb; + While from the side it never more may warn + The better angel, sorrowing, fled forlorn. + + Hideous with horrent looks and goading steel 51 + The fiend drives on the abject cowering ghost + Where (closed the eighth) sev'n yawning gates reveal + The sev'nfold anguish that awaits the Lost; + By each the gryphon flaps his ravening wings, + And dire Chimaera whets her hungry stings. + + Here, ev'n that God, of all the kindliest one, 52 + Life of all life (in Tusca's later creed + Blent with the orient worship of the Sun, + Or His who loves the madding nymphs to lead + On the Fork'd Hill), abjures his genial smile,[10] + And, scowls transform'd, the Typhon of the Nile. + + Closed the eighth gate--for _there_, the happy dwell! 53 + No glimpse of joy beyond makes horror less. + But that closed gate upon the exiled hell + Sets hell's last seal of misery--Hopelessness! + Nathless, despite the Daemon's chasing thong, + Here, as if hoping still, the hopeless throng. + + Before the northern knight each nightmare dream 54 + Of Theban soothsayer or Chaldean mage, + Thus kindling in the torches' breathless beam, + As if incarnate with resistless rage, + And hell's true malice, starts from wall to wall; + He signs the cross, and looks unmoved on all. + + Before the inmost Penetralian doors, 55 + Holding a cypress-branch, the Augur stands; + The King's firm foot strides echoless the floors, + And with dull groan the temple veil expands; + Slow-moving on the brandish'd torches shine + Red o'er the wave that yawns behind the shrine; + + Red o'er the wave, as, under vaulted rock, 56 + Dark as Cocytus, the false smoothness flows; + But where the light fades--there is heard the shock + As hurrying down the headlong torrent goes; + With mocking oars, a raft sways, moor'd beside-- + What keel save Charon's ploughs that dismal tide? + + Proud Arthur smiled upon the guileful host, 57 + As welcome danger roused him and restored.-- + "Friend," quoth the King, "methinks your streams might boast + A gentler margin and a fairer ford!" + "As birth to man," replied the priest, "the cave, + O guest, to thee! as death to man the wave. + + "Doth it appal thee? thou canst yet return! 58 + There love, there sunny life;--and yonder"--"Fame, + Cymri, and God!" said Arthur. "Paynim, learn + Death has two victors, deathless both--THE NAME, + THE SOUL; to each a realm eternal given, + This rules the earth, and that achieves the heaven." + + He said, and seized a torch with scornful hand; 59 + The frail raft rock'd to his descending tread; + Upon the prow he fix'd the glowing brand, + And the raft drifted down the waves of dread. + So with his fortunes went confiding forth + The knightly Caesar of the Christian North. + + Then, from its shelter on his breast, the dove 60 + Rose, and sail'd slow before with doubtful wing; + The dun mists rolling round the vaults above, + Below, the gulf with torch-fires crimsoning; + Wan through the glare, or white amidst the gloom, + Glanced Heaven's mute daughter with the silver plume. + + Meanwhile to AEgle: from the happier trance, 61 + And from the stun of the first human ill + Labouring returns her soul!--As lightnings glance + O'er battle-fields, with sated slaughter still, + The fitful reason flickering comes and goes + O'er the past struggle--o'er the blank repose. + + At length with one long, eager, searching look, 62 + She gazed around, and all the living space + With one great loss seem'd lifeless!--then she strook + Her clench'd hand on her heart; and o'er her face + Settled ineffable that icy gloom, + Which only falls when hope abandons doom. + + Why breaks the smile--why waves the exulting hand? 63 + Why to the threshold moves that step serene? + The brow superb awes back the maiden band, + From the roused woman towers sublime the queen. + She pass'd the isle--and beam'd upon the crowd, + Bright as the May-moon when it bursts the cloud. + + Brief and imperious rings her question; quick 64 + A hundred hands point, answering, to the fane. + As on she sweeps, behind her, fast and thick, + Gather the groups far following in her train. + Behind some bird unknown, of glorious dyes, + So swarm the meaner people of the skies. + + Oh, the great force, that sleeps in woman's heart! 65 + She will, at least, behold that form once more; + See its last vestige from her world depart, + And mark the spot to haunt and wander o'er, + Rased in that impulse of the human breast + All the cold lessons on its leaves impress'd;-- + + Snapp'd in the strength of the divine desire 66 + All the vain swathes with which convention thralls;-- + Nature breaks forth, and at her breath of fire + The elaborate snow-pile's molten temple falls; + And meaner priestcrafts fly before that Truth, + Whose name is Passion, and whose altar, Youth! + + Unknown the egress, dreamless of the snare, 67 + Sole aim to look the last on the adored: + She gains the fane--she treads the aisle--and there + The deathlights guide her to the bridal lord; + On, through pale groups around the yawning cave, + She comes--and looks upon the livid wave. + + She comes--she sees afar amidst the dark, 68 + That fair, serene, undaunted, godlike brow-- + Sees on the lurid deep the lonely bark + Drift through the circling horror;--sees, and now + On light's far verge it hovers, wanes, and fades, + As roars the hungering cataract up the shades. + + Voiceless she look'd, and voiceless look'd and smiled 69 + On her the priest: strange though the marvel seem, + The old man, childless, loved her more than child; + She link'd each thought--she colour'd every dream; + But Love, the varying Genius, guides, in turn, + The soft to pity, to revenge the stern. + + Not his the sympathy which soothes the woe, 70 + But that which, wrathful, feels, and shares, the wrong. + He in the faithless view'd alone the foe; + The weak he righted when he smote the strong: + In one dread crime a twofold virtue seen, + Here saved the land, and there avenged the queen. + + So through the hush his hissing murmur stole-- 71 + "Ay, AEgle, blossom on the stem of kings, + Not to fresh altars glides the perjurer's soul, + Not to new maids the vows still thine he brings! + No rival mocks thee from the bloodless shore, + The dead, at least, are faithful evermore." + + As when around the demigod of love, 72 + Whom men Prometheus call, relentless fell + The flashing fires of Zeus, and Heaven above + Open'd in flame, in flame expanded Hell; + While gazing dauntless on the Thunderer's frown, + Sunk from the Earth, the Earth's Light-bringer down; + + So, while both worlds before its sight lay bare, 73 + And o'er one ruin burst the lightning shook, + Love, the Arch-Titan, in sublime despair, + Faced the rent Hades from the shatter'd rock; + And saw in Heaven, the future Heaven foreshown, + When Love shall reign where Force usurps the throne. + + The Woman heard, and gathering majesty 74 + Beam'd on her front, and crown'd it with command; + The pale priest shrunk before her tranquil eye, + And the light touch of her untrembling hand-- + "Enjoy," she said, with voice as clear as low, + "Enjoy thy hate; where love survives I go. + + "Sweetly thou smilest--sweetly, gentle Death, 75 + Kinder than life;--that severs, thou unitest! + To realms He spoke of goes this living breath, + A living soul, wherever space is brightest-- + Fair Love--I trusted, now I claim, thy troth! + Blest be thy couch, for it hath room for both!" + + She said, and from each hand that would restrain 76 + Broke, in the strength of her sublime despair; + Swift as the meteor on the northern main + Fades from the ice-lock'd sea-kings' livid stare-- + She sprang; the robe a sudden glimmer gave, + And o'er the vision swept the closing wave. + + Return, wild Song, to Lancelot! Behold 77 + Our Lord's lone house beside the placid mere! + There pipes the careless shepherd to his fold, + Or from the crags the shy capellae peer + Through the green rents of many a hanging brake, + Which sends its quivering shadow to the lake. + + And by the pastoral margins mournfully 78 + Wanders from dawn to eve the earnest knight; + And ever to the ring he turns his eye, + And ever does the ring perplex the sight; + The fairy hand that knew no rest before, + Rests now as fix'd as if its task were o'er. + + Towards the far head of the calm water turn'd 79 + The unmoving finger; yet, when gain'd the place, + No path for human foot the knight discern'd-- + Abrupt and huge, the rocks enclosed the space. + His scath'd front veil'd in everlasting snows, + High above eagles Alpine Atlas rose. + + No cleft! save that a giant torrent clove, 80 + For its fierce hurry to the lake it fed; + Check'd for a while in chasms conceal'd above, + Thence all its pomp the dazzling horror spread, + And from the beetling ridges, smooth and sheer, + Flash'd in one mass, down-roaring to the mere. + + Still to that spot the fairy hand inclined, 81 + And daily there with wistful searching eyes + Wander'd the knight; each day no path to find. + What step can scale that ladder to the skies? + What portals yawn in those relentless walls?-- + Still the hand points where still the cataract falls. + + One noon, as thus he gazed in stern despair 82 + On rock and torrent;--from the tortured spray, + And through the mists, into cerulean air, + A dove descending rush'd its arrowy way; + Swift as a falling star, which, falling, brings + Woe on the helmet-crown of Dorian kings![11] + + Straight to the wanderer's hand bore down the bird, 83 + With plumage crisp'd with fear, and piercing plaint; + Oft had he heedful, in his wanderings, heard + Of the great Wrong-Redresser, whom a saint + In the dove's guise directed--"Hail," he cried, + "I greet the token--I accept the guide!" + + And sudden as he spoke, arose the wing, 84 + (Warily veering towards the dexter flank + Of the huge chasm, through which leapt thundering + From Nature's heart her savage); on the bank + Of that fell stream, in root, and jag, and stone, + It traced the ladder to the glacier's throne. + + Slow sail'd the dove, and paused, and look'd behind, 85 + As labouring after, crag on crag, the knight + (Close on the deafening roar, and whirling wind + Lash'd from the surges), through the vaporous night + Of the grey mists, loom'd up the howling wild; + Strong in the charm the fairy gave the child. + + With bleeding hands, that leave a moment's red 86 + On stone and stem wash'd by the mighty spray, + He gains at length the inter-alpine bed, + Whose lock'd Charybdis checks the torrent's way, + And forms a basin o'er abysmal caves, + For the grim respite of the headlong waves. + + Torrents below--the torrents still above! 87 + Above less awful--as precipitous peak + And splinter'd ledge, and many a curve and cove + In the compress'd, indented margins, break + That crushing sense of power, in which we see + What, without Nature's God, would Nature be! + + Before him stretch'd the maelstrom of the abyss; 88 + And, in the central torrent, giant pines, + Uprooted from the bordering wilderness + By some gone winter's blast--in flashing lines + Shot through the whirl--then, pluck'd to the profound, + Vanish'd and rose, swift eddying round and round. + + But on the marge as on the wave thou art, 89 + O conquering Death!--what human, hueless face + Rests pillow'd on a silenced human heart? + What arm still clasps in more than love's embrace + That form for which yon vulture flaps its wing? + Kneel, Lancelot, kneel, thine eyes behold thy King! + + Alas! in vain--still in the Death-god's cave, 90 + Ere yet the torrent snatch'd the hurrying stream, + Beside a crag grey-shimmering from the wave, + And near the brink by which the pallid beam + Show'd one pent path along the rugged verge, + By which to leave the raft and 'scape the surge,-- + + Alas! in vain, that haven to the ark 91 + The dove had given!--just won the refuge-place, + When, thrice emerging from the sheeted dark, + White glanced a robe, and livid rose a face! + He saw, he sprang, he near'd, he grasp'd the vest! + And _both_ the torrent grappled to its breast. + + Yet in the immense and superhuman force, 92 + Love and despair bestow upon the bold, + The strong man battled with the Titan's course, + Grip'd rock and layer, and ledge, with snatching hold, + Bruised, bleeding, broken, onwards, downwards driven, + No wave his treasure from his grasp had riven + + Saved, saved--at last before his reeling eyes 93 + (Into the pool, that check'd the Fury, hurl'd) + Shone, as he rose, through all the hurtling skies, + The dove's white wing; and ere the maelstrom whirl'd + The madden'd waters to the central shock, + Show'd the gnarl'd roots of the redeeming rock. + + Less sense than instinct caught the wing that shone, 94 + The crags that shelter'd;--the wild billows gave + The failing limbs a force no more their own, + And as he turn'd and sunk, the swerving wave + Swoop'd round, dash'd on, and to the isthmus sped, + Still breast to breast, the living and the dead! + + Long vain were Lancelot's cares and knightly skill, 95 + Ere, through slow veins congeal'd, pulsed back the blood; + The very wounds, the valour of the will, + The peaks that broke the fury of the flood + Had help'd to save; alas, _the strong_ to save! + For Strength to toil, till Love re-opes the grave. + + Twice down the dismal path (the dove his guide) 96 + The fairy nursling bore his helpless load; + A chamois-hunter, in the vale descried, + Aided the convoy to the house of God. + Dark--wroth--convulsed, the earth-bound spirit lay; + Calm from the bier beside it, smiled the clay! + + O Song--for Lydian elegy too stern, 97 + Song, cradled in the Celt's rough battle-shield; + Rather from thee should man, the soldier, learn + To hide the wounds--heroic while conceal'd; + From foes without the mean the palm may win, + What tries the noble is the war within! + + Let the King's woe its muse in Silence claim, 98 + When sense return'd, and solitary life + Sate in the Shadow!--shade or sun the same, + Toil hath brief respite; man is made for strife, + Woman for rest!--rest, bright with dreams, is given, + Child of the heathen, in the Christian heaven! + + And to the Christian prince's plighted bride, 99 + The simple monks the Christian's grave accord, + With lifted cross and swinging censer, glide + To passing bells--the hermits of the Lord; + And at that hour, in her own native vale, + Her own soft race their mystic loss bewail. + + Methinks I see the Tuscan Genius yet, 100 + Lured, lingering by the clay it loved so well, + And listening to the two-fold dirge that met + In upper air;--here Nazarene anthems swell + Triumphal paeans!--there, the Alps behind, + Etrurian Naeniae,[12] load the lagging wind. + + Pauses the startled genius to compare 101 + The notes that mourn the life, at best so brief, + With those that welcome to empyreal air + The bright escaper from a world of grief? + Marvelling what creed, beyond the happy vale, + Can teach the soul the loathed Styx to hail! + + THE ETRURIAN NAENIAE. + + Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost? + No funeral rites appease thy tombless clay; + Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast, + O exile from the day? + + There, where the voice of love is heard no more, + Where the dull wave moans back the eternal wail, + Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore, + Thine own melodious vale? + + Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors, + And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face; + What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors? + What child renew the race? + + Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades, + Of all thy groves what rests?--the cypress tree! + As from the air a strain of music fades, + Dark silence buries thee! + + Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires, + Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home, + Where the stars light the AEsars' nuptial fires + In Tina's azure dome; + + From the fierce wave the god's celestial wing + Rapt thee aloft along the yielding air; + With amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring, + Bright Cupra[13] braids thy hair, + + Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn, + Far are the AEsars' joys from human woe: + But not the less forsaken and forlorn + Those thou hast left below! + + Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee, + The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth; + Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee-- + Art thou less lost to earth? + + Slow swells the sorrowing Naeniae's chanted strain: + Time, with slow flutes, our leaden footsteps keep; + Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain, + Hath but a loss to weep. + + THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMN + + Sing we Halleluiah--singing + Halleluiah to the Three; + Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging? + Where, O Grave, thy victory? + + As a sun a soul hath risen, + Rising from a stormy main; + When a captive breaks the prison, + Who but slaves would mourn the chain + + Fear for age subdued by trial, + Heavy with the years of sin: + When the sunlight leaves the dial, + And the solemn shades begin;-- + + _Not_ for youth!--although the bosom + With a sharper grief be wrung; + For the May wind strews the blossom, + And the angel takes the young! + + Saved from sins, while yet forgiven;-- + From the joys that lead astray, + From the earth at war with heaven, + Soar, O happy soul, away! + + From the human love that fadeth, + In the falsehood or the tomb; + From the cloud that darkly shadeth; + From the canker in the bloom; + + Thou hast pass'd to suns unsetting, + Where the rainbow spans the flood, + Where no moth the garb is fretting, + Where no worm is in the bud. + + Let the arrow leave the quiver, + It was fashioned but to soar; + Let the wave pass from the river, + Into ocean evermore! + + Mindful yet of mortal feeling, + In thy fresh immortal birth; + By the Virgin mother kneeling, + Plead for those beloved on earth. + + Whisper them thou hast forsaken, + "Woe but borders unbelief!" + Comfort smiles in faith unshaken: + Shall thy glory be their grief? + + Let one ray on them descending, + From the prophet Future stream; + Bliss is daylight never ending, + Sorrow but a passing dream. + + O'er the grave in far communion, + With the choral Seraphim, + Chaunt in notes that hail reunion, + Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;-- + + Singing Halleluiah--singing + Halleluiah to the Three; + Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging? + Where, O Grave, thy victory? + + So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's, 102 + In our Lord's holy ground--between the walls + Of the grey convent and the verdant creeks + Of the sequester'd mere; afar the falls + Of the fierce torrent from her native vale, + Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale. + + Survives that remnant of old races still, 103 + In its strange haven from the surge of Time? + There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill, + At the same hour when here, the vesper chime + Hymns the sweet Mother? Ah, can granite gate, + Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate? + + World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth 104 + What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken! + But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth? + Life but repeats its triple tale to men. + Three truths unite the children of the sod-- + All love--all suffer--and all feel a God! + + By AEgle's grave the royal mourner sate, 105 + And from his bended eyes the veiling hand + Shut out the setting sun; thus, desolate, + He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land, + And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words, + Vain to the oak, bolt-shatter'd, sing the birds! + + Vain is their promise of returning spring! 106 + Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core? + Comfort not sorrow--sorrow's self must bring + Its own stern cure!--All wisdom's holiest lore, + The "KNOW THYSELF" descends from heaven in tears; + The cloud must break before the horizon clears. + + The dove forsook not:--now its poised wing, 107 + Bathed in the sunset, rested o'er the lake; + Now brooded o'er the grave beside the King; + Now with hush'd plumes, as if it fear'd to wake + Sleep, less serene than Death's, it sought his breast, + And o'er the heart of misery claim'd its nest. + + Night falls--the moon is at her full;--the mere 108 + Shines with the sheen pellucid; not a breeze! + And through the hush'd and argent atmosphere + Sharp rise the summits of the breathless trees. + When Lancelot saw, all indistinct and pale, + Glide o'er the liquid glass a mistlike sail. + + Now, first from Arthur's dreams of fever gain'd, 109 + And since (for grief unlocks the secret heart) + Briefly confess'd, the triple toil ordain'd + The knightly brother knew;--so with a start + He strain'd the eyes, to which a fairy gave + Vision of fairy forms, along the wave. + + Then in his own the King's cold hand he took, 110 + And spoke--"Arise, thy mission calls thee now! + Let the dead rest--still lives thy country!--look, + And nerve thy knighthood to redeem its vow. + This is the lake whose waves the falchion hide, + And yon the bark that becks thee to the tide!" + + The mourner listless rose, and look'd abroad, 111 + Nor saw the sail;--though nearer, clearer gliding, + The Fairy nurseling, by the vapoury shroud + And vapoury helm, beheld a phantom guiding. + "Not this," replied the King, "the lake decreed; + Where points thy hand, but floats a broken reed! + + "Where are the dangers on that placid tide? 112 + Where are the fiends that guard the enchanted boon + Behold, where rests the pilgrim's plumed guide + On the cold grave--beneath the quiet moon! + So night gives rest to grief--with labouring day + Let the dove lead, and life resume, the way!" + + Then answer'd Lancelot--for he was wise 113 + In each mysterious Druid parable:-- + "Oft in the things most simple to our eyes, + The real genii of our doom may dwell-- + The enchanter spoke of trials to befal; + And the lone heart has trials worse than all! + + "Weird triads tell us that our nature knows 114 + In its own cells the demons it should brave; + And oft the calm of after glory flows + Clear round the marge of early passion's grave!" + And the dove came ere Lancelot ceased to speak, + To its lord's hand--a leaflet in its beak, + + Pluck'd from the grave! Then Arthur's labouring thought 115 + Recall'd the prophet words--and doubt was o'er; + He knew the lake that hid the boon he sought + Both by the grave, and by the herb it bore; + He took the bitter treasure from the dove, + And tasted Knowledge at the grave of Love, + + And straight the film fell from his heavy eyes; 116 + And moor'd beside the marge, he saw the bark, + And by the sails that swell'd in windless skies, + The phantom Lady in the robes of dark. + O'er moonlit tracks she stretch'd the shadowy hand, + And lo, beneath the waters bloom'd the land! + + Forests of emerald verdure spread below, 117 + Through which proud columns glisten far and wide, + On to the bark the mourner's footsteps go; + The pale King stands by the pale phantom's side; + And Lancelot sprang--but sudden from his reach + Glanced the wan skiff, and left him on the beach. + + Chain'd to the earth by spells, more strong than love, 118 + He saw the pinnace steal its noiseless way, + And on the mast there sate the steadfast dove, + With white plume shining in the steadfast ray-- + Slow from the sight the airy vessel glides, + Till Heaven alone is mirror'd on the tides. + + +NOTES TO BOOK V. + +1.--Page 273, stanza iii. + + _First, Muse of Cymri, name the Council Three._ + + Three counselling knights were in the court of Arthur, which + were Cynon the son of Clydno Eiddin, Aron the son of Kynfarch + ap Meirchion-gul, and Llywarch hen the son of Elidir Lydanwyn, + &c.--_Note in LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST'S edition of the Mabinogion_, + vol. i. p. 93. In the text, for the sake of euphony to English ears, + for the name of Llywarch is substituted that of his father, Elidir. + +2.--Page 275, stanza xii. + + _Next came the Warrior Three. Of glory's charms._ + + Three knights of battle were in the court of Arthur; Cadwr the Earl + of Cornwall, Lancelot du Lac, and Owaine the son of Urien Rheged; + and this was their characteristic, that they would not retreat from + battle, neither for spear, nor for arrow, nor for sword; and Arthur + never had shame in battle the day he saw their faces there, &c.--LADY + C. GUEST'S _Mabinog._, vol. i. p. 91. In the poem, for Lancelot of the + Lake, whose fame is not yet supposed to be matured, is substituted the + famous Geraint, the hero of a former generation. + +3.--Page 275, stanza xii. + + _Dark Mona's Owaine shines with golden arms._ + + Owaine's birth-place and domains are variously surmised: in the text + they are ascribed to Mona (Anglesea). St. Palaye, concurrently both + with French fabliasts and Welch bards, makes this hero very fond of + the pomp and blazonry of arms, and attributes to him the introduction + of buckles to spurs, furred mantles, and the use of gloves. + +4.--Page 275, stanza xiii. + + _In his plain manhood Cornwall's chief is seen._ + + Cadwr. + +5.--Page 275, stanza xv. + + _Next the three Chiefs of Eloquence; the kings._ + + There were three golden-tongued knights in the court of + Arthur--Gwalchmai (Gawaine), Drudwas, and Eliwlod.[D]--LADY + C. GUEST'S _Mabinog._, note, vol. i. p. 118. + +6.--Page 276, stanza xix. + + "_The KNIGHTS OF LOVE;" some type the name conveys._ + + The three ardent lovers of the island of Britain--Caswallawn, Tristan, + and Cynon (for the last, already placed amongst the counselling + knights, Caradoc is substituted).--LADY C. GUEST'S _Mabinog._, vol. i. + note to p. 94. + +7.--Page 276, stanza xix. + + _Caswallawn; Trystan of the lion rock._ + + Trystan's birth-place, Lyonness, is supposed to have been that part + of Cornwall since destroyed by the sea. See Southey's note to _Morte + d'Arthur_, vol. ii. p. 477. + +8.--Page 279, stanza xlv. + + _In Castel d'Asso's vale of hero-tombs._ + + Castel d'Asso (the Castellum Axia, in Cicero), the name now given to + the valleys near Viterbo, which formed the great burial-place of the + Etrurians. Near these valleys, and, as some suppose, on the site of + Viterbo, was Voltumna (Fanum Voltumnae), at which the twelve sovereigns + of the twelve dynasties, and the other chiefs of the Etrurians, met in + the spring of every year. Views of the rock-temples at Norchea, in + this neighbourhood, are to be seen in INGHIRAMI'S _Etrusc. Antiq._ + +9.--Page 280, stanza xlvii. + + _Here SETHLANS, sovereign of life's fix'd domains._ + + Sethlans, the Etrurian Vulcan. He appears sometimes to assume + the attributes of Terminus, though in a higher and more ethereal + sense--presiding over the bounds of life, as Terminus over those + of the land. + +10.--Page 280, stanza lii. + + _On the Fork'd Hill), abjures his genial smile._ + + Tinia, the Etrurian Bacchus (son of Tina), identified symbolically + with the god of the infernal regions. In the funeral monuments he + sometimes assumes the most fearful aspect. The above description of + the Etrurian Hades, with its eight gates, is taken in each detail + from vases and funeral monuments, most of which are cited by MICALI. + +11.--Page 285, stanza lxxxii. + + _Woe on the helmet-crown of Dorian kings!_ + + In moonless nights, every eighth year, the Spartan Ephors consulted + the heavens; if there appeared the meteor, which we call the + shooting-star, they adjudged their kings to have committed some + offence against the gods, and suspended them from their office till + acquitted by the Delphic oracle, or Olympian priests.--PLUT. _Agis_, + 11; MULLER'S _Dorians_, b. iii. c. 6. + +12.--Page 287, stanza c. + + _Etrurian Naeniae, load the lagging wind._ + + Naeniae, the funeral hymns borrowed by the Romans from the Etrurians. + +13.--Page 288, stanza vi. + + _Bright Cupra braids thy hair._ + + Cupra, or Talna, corresponding with Juno, the nuptial goddess. + + [D] The _w_ is to be pronounced as _oo_. + + + + +BOOK VI. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Description of the Cymrian fire-beacons--Dialogue between Gawaine and +Caradoc--The raven--Merlin announces to Gawaine that the bird selects +him for the aid of the King--The knight's pious scruples--He yields +reluctantly, and receives the raven as his guide--His pathetic farewell +to Caradoc--He confers with Henricus on the propriety of exorcising the +raven--Character of Henricus--The knight sets out on his adventures-- +The company he meets, and the obligation he incurs--The bride and the +sword--The bride's choice and the hound's fidelity--Sir Gawaine lies +down to sleep under the fairy's oak--What there befalls him--The fairy +banquet--The temptation of Sir Gawaine--The rebuke of the fairies--Sir +Gawaine, much displeased with the raven, resumes his journey--His +adventure with the Vikings, and how he comforts himself in his +captivity. + + + On the bare summit of the loftiest peak-- 1 + Crowning the hills round Cymri's Iscan home, + Rose the grey temple of the Faith Antique, + Before whose priests had paused the march of Rome, + When the Dark Isle reveal'd its drear abodes, + And the last Hades of Cimmerian gods; + + While dauntless Druids, by their shrines profaned, 2 + Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush, their swordless hands,[1] + And dire Religion, horror-breathing, chain'd + The frozen eagles,--till the shuddering bands + Shamed into slaughter, broke the ghastly spell, + And, lost in reeks of carnage, sunk the hell + + Quiver'd on column-shafts the poised rock, 3 + As if a breeze could shake the ruin down; + But storm on storm had sent its thunder-shock, + Nor reft the temple of its mystic crown-- + So awe of Power Divine on human breasts + Vibrates for ever, and for ever rests. + + Within the fane awaits a giant pyre, 4 + Around the pyre assembled warriors stand; + A pause of prayer;--and suddenly the fire + Flings its broad banner reddening o'er the land. + Shoot the fierce sparks and groan the crackling pines, + Toss'd on the Wave of Shields the glory shines. + + Lo, from dark night flash Carduel's domes of gold, 5 + Glow the jagg'd rampires like a belt of light. + And to the stars springs up the dragon-hold, + With one lone image on the lonely height-- + O'er those who saw a thrilling silence fell; + There, the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel! + + Forth on their mission rush'd the wings of flame; 6 + Hill after hill the land's grey warders rose; + First to the Mount of Bards the splendour came, + Wreath'd with large halo Trigarn's stern repose; + On, post by post, the fiery courier rode, + Blood-red Edeirnion's dells of verdure glow'd; + + Uprose the hardy men of Merioneth, 7 + When, o'er the dismal strata parch'd and bleak, + Like some revived volcano's lurid breath + Sprang the fierce fire-jet from the herbless peak; + Flash'd down on meeting streams the Basalt walls, + In molten flame Rhaiadyr's thunder falls. + + Thy Faban Mount, Caernarvon, seized the sign, 8 + And pass'd the watchword to the Fairies' Hill; + All Mona blazed--as if the isle divine + To Bel, the sun-god, drest her altars still; + Menai reflects the prophet hues, and far + To twofold ocean knells the coming war. + + Then wheeling round, the lurid herald swept 9 + To quench the stars yet struggling with the glare + Blithe to his task, resplendent Golcun leapt-- + The bearded giant rose on Moel-y-Gaer-- + Rose his six giant brothers,--Eifle rose, + And great Eryri lit his chasms of snows. + + So one vast altar was that father-land! 10 + But nobler altars flash'd in souls of men, + Sublimer than the mountain-tops, the brand + Found pyres in every lowliest hamlet glen + Soon on the rocks shall die the grosser fire-- + Souls lit to freedom burn till suns expire. + + Slowly the chiefs desert the blazing fane, 11 + (Sure of steel-harvests from the dragon seed) + Descend the mountain and the walls regain; + As suns to systems, there to each decreed + His glorious task,--to marshal star on star, + And weave with fate the harmonious pomp of war. + + Last of the noble conclave, linger'd two; 12 + Gawaine the mirthful, Caradoc the mild, + And, as the watchfires thicken'd on their view. + War's fearless playmate raised his hand and smiled, + Pointing to splendours, linking rock to rock;-- + And while he smiled--sigh'd earnest Caradoc. + + "Now by my head--(an empty oath and light!) 13 + No taller tapers ever lit to rest + Rome's stately Caesar;--sigh'st thou, at the sight, + For cost o'er-lavish, when so mean the guest?" + "Was it for this the gentle Saviour died? + Is Cain so glorious?" Caradoc replied. + + "Permit, Sir Bard, an argument on that," 14 + True to his fame, said golden-tongued Gawaine, + "The hawk may save his fledglings from the cat, + Nor yet deserve comparisons with Cain; + And Abel's fate, to hands unskill'd, proclaims + The use of practice in gymnastic games. + + "Woes that have been are wisdom's lesson-books-- 15 + From Abel's death, the men of peace should learn + To add an inch of iron to their crooks + And strike, when struck, a little in return-- + Had Abel known his quarterstaff, I wot, + Those Saxon Ap-Cains ne'er had been begot!" + + More had he said, but a strange, grating note, 16 + Half laugh--half croak, was here discordant heard; + An _ave_ rose--but died within his throat, + As close before him perch'd the enchanter's bird, + With head aslant, and glittering eye askew, + It near'd the knight--the knight in haste withdrew. + + "All saints defend me, and excuse a jest!" 17 + Mutter'd Sir Gawaine--"bird or fiend avaunt: + Oh, holy Abel, let this matter rest, + I do repent me of my foolish taunt!" + With that the cross upon his sword he kist, + And stared aghast--the bird was on his wrist. + + "Hem--_vade Satanas!--discede! retro_," 18 + The raven croak'd, and fix'd himself afresh; + "_Avis damnata!--salus sit in Petro_," + Ten pointed claws here fasten'd on his flesh; + The knight, sore smarting, shook his arm--the bird + Peck'd in reproach, and kept its perch unstirr'd. + + Quoth Caradoc--whose time had come to smile, 19 + And smile he did in grave and placid wise-- + "Let not thine evil thoughts, my friend, defile + The harmless wing descended from the skies." + "Skies!!!" said the knight--"black imps from skies descend + With claws like these!--the world is at an end!" + + "Now shame, Gawaine, O knight of little heart, 20 + How, if a small and inoffensive raven + Dismay thee thus, couldst thou have track'd the chart + By which AEneas won his Alban-haven? + On Harpies, Scylla, Cerberus, reflect-- + And undevour'd--rejoice to be but peckt." + + "True," said a voice behind them,--"gentle bard, 21 + In life as verse, the art is--to compare." + Gawaine turn'd short, gazed keenly, and breathed hard + As on the dark-robed magian stream'd the glare + Of the huge watch-fire--"Prophet," quoth Gawaine, + "My friend scorns pecking--let him try the pain! + + "Please to call back this--offspring of the skies! 22 + Unworthy I to be his earthly rest!" + "Methought," said Merlin, "that thy King's emprize + Had found in thine a less reluctant breast; + Again is friendship granted to his side-- + Thee the bird summons, be the bird thy guide." + + Dumb stared the knight--stared first upon the seer, 23 + Then on the raven,--who, demure and sly, + Turn'd on his master a respectful ear, + And on Gawaine a magisterial eye. + "What hath a king with ravens, seer, to do?" + "Odin, the king of half the world, had two. + + "Peace--if thy friendship answer to its boast, 24 + Arm, take thy steed and with the dawn depart-- + The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast; + Strange are thy trials, stalwart be thy heart." + "Seer," quoth Gawaine, "my heart I hope is tough + Nor needs a prop from this portentous chough. + + "You know the proverb--'birds of the same feather,' 25 + A proverb much enforced in penal laws,[2]-- + In certain quarters were we seen together + It might, I fear, suffice to damn my cause: + You cite examples apt and edifying-- + Odin kept ravens!--well, and Odin's frying!" + + The enchanter smiled, in pity or in scorn; 26 + The smile was sad, but lofty, calm, and cold-- + "The straws," he said, "on passing winds upborne + Dismay the courser--is the man more bold? + Dismiss thy terrors, go thy ways, my son, + To do thy duty is the fiend to shun. + + "Not for thy sake the bird is given to thee, 27 + But for thy King's."--"Enough," replied the knight, + And bow'd his head. The bird rose jocundly, + Spread its dark wing and rested in the light-- + "Sir Bard," to Caradoc the chosen said + In the close whisper of a knight well bred: + + "Vow'd to my King--come man, come fiend, I go, 28 + But ne'er expect to see thy friend again, + That bird carnivorous hath designs I know + Most Anthropophagous on doom'd Gawaine; + I leave you all the goods that most I prize-- + Three steeds, six hawks, four gre-hounds, two blue eyes. + + "Beat back the Saxons--beat them well, my friend, 29 + And when they're beaten, and your hands at leisure, + Set to your harp a ditty on my end-- + The most appropriate were the shortest measure: + Forewarn'd by me all light discourses shun, + And mostly--jests on Adam's second son." + + He said, and wended down the glowing hill. 30 + Long watch'd the minstrel with a wistful gaze, + Then join'd the musing seer--and both were still, + Still 'mid the ruins--girded with the rays: + Twin heirs of light and lords of time, grey Truth + That ne'er is young--and Song the only youth. + + At dawn Sir Gawaine through the postern stole, 31 + But first he sought one reverend friend--a bishop, + By him assoil'd and shrived, he felt his soul + Too clean for cooks that fry for fiends to dish up; + And then suggested, lighter and elater, + To cross the raven with some holy water. + + Henricus--so the prelate sign'd his name-- 32 + Was lord high chancellor in things religious; + With him church militant in truth became + (_Nam cedant arma togae_) church litigious; + He kept his deacons notably in awe + By flowers epistolar perfumed with law. + + No man more stern, more _fortiter in re_, 33 + No man more mild, more _suaviter in modo_; + When knots grew tough, it was sublime to see + Such polish'd shears go clippingly _in nodo_; + A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick, + Ne'er smooth'd a band, nor burn'd a heretic. + + He seem'd to turn to you his willing cheek, 34 + And beg you not to smite too hard the other; + He seized his victims with a smile so meek, + And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother, + No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup, + You vex'd his stream--he grieved--and eat you up. + + "Son," said Henricus, "what you now propose 35 + Is wise and pious--fit for a beginning; + But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose, + In sin, perverted appetite for sinning; + Hopeless to cure--we only can detect it, + First cross the bird and then (he groan'd) _dissect it_!" + + Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair 36 + Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze, + And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to care + For threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes, + But when the priest the closing words let drop + He hopp'd away as fast as he could hop. + + Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes, 37 + Tracts against Arius--bulls against Pelagius, + The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's-- + Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious, + For there, with open beak and glowering eye, + The bird seem'd croaking forth, "Dissect me! try!" + + This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan 38 + Relax'd; he gazed, recoil'd, and faltering said, + "'Tis clear the monster is the foe of man, + His beak how pointed! and his eyes how red! + Demons are spirits;--spirits, on reflexion, + Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection." + + "Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, "but the holy water!" 39 + "No," cried the Prelate, "ineffective here. + Try, but not now, a simple _noster-pater_, + Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not interfere; + Act for yourself--and say your catechism; + Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism." + + "A schism!"--"The church, though always in the right, 40 + Holds two opinions, both extremely able; + This makes the rubric rest on gowns of white, + That makes the church itself depend on sable; + Were I to exorcise that raven-back + 'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.[3] + + "Depart my son--at once, depart, I pray, 41 + Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease, + And call that creature--no, the other way-- + When fairly out, a _credo_, if you please;-- + Go,--_pax vobiscum_;--shut the door I beg, + And stay;--On Friday, flogging,--with an egg!" + + Out went the knight, more puzzled than before; 42 + And out, unsprinkled, flew the Stygian bird; + The bishop rose, and doubly lock'd the door; + His pen he mended, and his fire he stirr'd; + Then solved that problem--"Pons Diaconorum," + White equals black, plus x y botherorum. + + So through the postern stole the troubled knight; 43 + Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale, + Rung lively horns, and in the morning light + Flash'd the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail, + The welcome guests of War's blithe festival, + Keen for the feast, and summon'd to the hall. + + Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay, 44 + And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind, + Oft asking, "if he did mistake the way?"-- + Or hinting, "war was what he left behind;" + As noon came on, such sights and comments cease, + Lone through the pastures rides the knight in peace. + + Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine-- 45 + The bird went first in most indecent glee, + Now lost to sight, now gamb'ling back again-- + Now munch'd a beetle, and now chaced a bee-- + Now pluck'd the wool from meditative lamb, + Now pick'd a quarrel with a lusty ram. + + Sharp through his visor, Gawaine watch'd the thing, 46 + With dire misgivings at that impish mirth: + Day wax'd--day waned--and still the dusky wing + Seem'd not to find one resting-place on earth. + "Saints," groan'd Gawaine, "have mercy on a sinner, + And move that devil--just to stop for dinner!" + + The bird turn'd round, as if it understood. 47 + Halted the wing, and seem'd awhile to muse; + Then dives at once into a dismal wood, + And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues, + To hear (and hearing, hope once more revives), + Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clashing knives. + + An opening glade a pleasant group displays; 48 + Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast; + Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze; + To earth leaps Gawaine--"I shall dine at least." + His casque he doffs--"Good knights and ladies fair, + Vouchsafe a famish'd man your feast to share." + + Loud laugh'd a big, broad-shoulder'd, burly host; 49 + "On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he; + "Before one dines, 'tis well to know the cost-- + Thou'lt wed my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me." + "Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretch'd his platter, + "I'll first the pie discuss, and then--the matter." + + The ladies look'd upon the comely knight 50 + His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found; + The men admired that vasty appetite, + Meet to do honour to the Table Round; + The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn, + Brimm'd with pure drinks distill'd from barley corn. + + Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead, 51 + But long familiar to Milesian lays, + So huge that draught, it had dispatch'd with speed + Ten Irish chiefs in these degenerate days: + Sir Gawaine drain'd it, and Sir Gawaine laugh'd, + "Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught; + + "But, pray you pardon (sir, a slice of boar), 52 + Judged by your accent, mantles, beards, and wine, + (If wine this be) ye come from HUERDAN'S[4] shore, + To aid, no doubt, our kindred Celtic line; + Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at night + And march to Carduel? read I, sirs, aright?" + + "Stranger," replied the host, "your guess is wrong, 53 + And shows your lack of history and reflection; + Huerdan with Cymri is allied too long, + We come, my friend, to sever the connection: + But first (your bees are wonderful for honey), + Yield us your hives--in plainer words your money." + + "Friend," said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought 54 + Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours." + "True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought! + But shall Milesians waste in work their powers? + Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking," + "Faith," said Gawaine, "gold's easier got by asking." + + Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire-- 55 + Unsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted; + High rose the din, than all the din rose higher + The croak of that curs'd raven quite delighted; + Sir Gawaine finish'd his last slice of boar, + And said, "Good friends, more business and less roar. + + "If you want peace--shake hands, and peace, I say, 56 + If you want fighting, gramercy! we'll fight." + "Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay-- + The two conditions."--"Host, you're in the right, + To fight I'm willing, but to wed I'm loth: + I choose the first."--"Your word is bound to _both_: + + "Me first engaged, if conquer'd you are--dead, 57 + And then alone your honour is acquitted: + But conquer me, and then you must be wed; + You ate!--the contract in that act admitted." + "Host," cried the knight, half-stunn'd by all the clatter, + "I only said I would discuss the matter. + + "But if your faith upon my word reposed, 58 + That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind." + Few moments more, and host and guest had closed-- + For blows come quick when folks are so inclined: + They foin'd, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd, and hew'd-- + Paused, panted, eyed each other and renew'd; + + At length a dexterous and back-handed blow 59 + Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee. + "Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe; + "But for thy dinner wolves should dine on thee; + Yield--thou bleed'st badly--yield and ask thy life." + "Content," the host replied--"embrace thy wife!" + + "O cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan, 60 + "To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried! + My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown-- + I sate to dine, I rise--and I am married! + O worse than Esau, miserable elf, + He sold his birthright--but he kept himself." + + While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain 61 + Mourn'd the lost knight, the host his daughter led, + Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine-- + "Joy be with both!"--the bridegroom shook his head! + "I have a castle which I won by force-- + Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course: + + "Page, bind my scalp--to broken scalps we're used. 62 + Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit; + No man alive has Erin's maids accused, + And least _that_ maiden, of a want of spirit; + She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir, + When out of hand, just try your hand on her." + + Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes, 63 + To mark the bride by partial father praised, + But mounts his steed--the gleesome raven flies + Before; beside him rides the maid amazed: + "Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice, + "I hope your musings do not blame your choice?" + + "Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue, 64 + As with some effort be replied at all, + "Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung, + My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall; + Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife, + I doom a widow where I make a wife. + + "And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms 65 + Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius, + To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms; + Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious-- + Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever, + Till my return."--"Return! that may be never: + + "What if you fall? (since thus you tempt the Fates) 66 + The yew will flourish where the lily fades; + The laidliest widows find consoling mates + With far less trouble than the comeliest maids; + Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind, + Whate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd." + + That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet, 67 + But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear, + But while devising still some vile retreat, + The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near; + Just as the witching night begins to fall + They pass the gates and enter in the hall. + + Soon in those times primaeval came the hour 68 + When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair, + They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower, + Unbraced his mail, and left him with the fair; + Then first, demurely seated side by side, + The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride. + + No iron heart had he of golden tongue, 69 + To beauty none by nature were politer; + The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young, + And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter; + "'For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse, + Sith now no better--let me brave the worse." + + With that he took and kiss'd the lady's hand, 70 + The lady smiled, and Gawaine's heart grew bolder, + When from the roof by some unseen command, + Flash'd down a sword and smote him on the shoulder-- + The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke, + While from the lattice caw'd the merriest croak! + + Aghast he gazed--the sword within the roof 71 + Again had vanish'd; nought was to be seen-- + He felt his shoulder, and remain'd aloof. + "Fair dame," quoth he, "explain what this may mean." + The bride replied not, hid her face and wept; + Slow to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept. + + "Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch--no more," 72 + He bent to kiss the dew-drops from his rose, + When presto down the glaive enchanted shore-- + Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose. + "Ah, cruel father," groan'd the lady then, + "I hoped, at least, thou wert content with ten!" + + "Ten what?" said Gawaine.--"Gallant knights like thee, 73 + Who fought and conquer'd my deceitful sire; + Married, as thou, to miserable me, + And doom'd, as thou, beneath the sword to expire-- + By this device he gains their arms and steeds, + So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds." + + "Foul felon host," the wrathful knight exclaims, 74 + "Foul wizard bird, no doubt in league with him! + Have they no dread lest all good knights and dames + Save fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb? + But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner, + Thou keep the couch, and I--yon farthest corner!" + + This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing 75 + Went from his bride as far as he could go, + Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling; + Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow-- + So watch'd Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept, + Perch'd on the lattice-sill the raven slept. + + Blithe rose the sun, and blither still Gawaine; 76 + Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door-- + "Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the twain, + Amazed to see that living guest once more.-- + "Did you sleep well?"--"Why, yes," replied the knight, + "One gnat, indeed;--but gnats were made to bite. + + "Man must leave insects to their insect law;-- 77 + Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all-- + Depart I must,"--the raven gave a caw. + "And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall. + "Nay," said Gawaine, "I wend on ways of strife." + "Sir, hold your tongue--I choose it; I'm your wife." + + With that the lady took him by the hand, 78 + And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair; + Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand, + Brimm'd full the goblet, nor disdain'd to share-- + The host saith nothing or to knight or bride; + Forth comes the steed--a palfrey by its side. + + Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board 79 + His manchet to a hound with hungry face; + Sprung to his selle, and wish'd, too late, that sword + Had closed his miseries with a _coup de grace_. + They clear the walls, the open road they gain; + The bride rode dauntless--daunted much Gawaine. + + Gaily the fair discoursed on many things, 80 + But most on those ten lords--his time before, + Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings, + Had gone, "Proiapsoi," to the Stygian shore; + Then, each described and praised,--she smiled and said, + "But one live dog is worth ten lions dead." + + The knight prepared that proverb to refute. 81 + When the bird beckon'd down a delving lane, + And there the bride provoked a new dispute: + That path was frightful--she preferr'd the plain. + "Dame," said the knight, "not I your steps compel-- + Take thou the plain!--adieu! I take the dell." + + "Ah, cruel lord," with gentle voice and mien 82 + The lady murmur'd, and regain'd his side; + "Little thou know'st of woman's faith, I ween, + All paths alike save those that would divide; + Ungrateful knight--too dearly loved!"--"But then," + Falter'd Gawaine, "you said the same to _ten_!" + + "Ah no; their deaths alone their lives endear'd 83 + Slain for my sake, as I could die for thine;" + And while she spoke so lovely she appear'd + The knight did, blissful, towards her cheek incline-- + But, ere a tender kiss his thanks could say, + A strong hand jerk'd the palfrey's neck away. + + Unseen till then, from out the bosky dell 84 + Had leapt a huge, black-brow'd, gigantic wight; + Sudden he swung the lady from her selle, + And seized that kiss defrauded from the knight, + While, with loud voice and gest uncouth, he swore + So fair a cheek he ne'er had kiss'd before! + + With mickle wrath Sir Gawaine sprang from steed, 85 + And, quite forgetful of his wonted parle, + He did at once without a word proceed + To make a ghost of that presuming carle. + The carle, nor ghost nor flesh inclined to yield, + Took to his club, and made the bride his shield. + + "Hold, stay thine hand!" the hapless lady cried, 86 + As high in air the knight his falchion rears; + The carle his laidly jaws distended wide, + And--"Ho," he laugh'd, "for me the sweet one fears, + Strike, if thou durst, and pierce two hearts in one, + Or yield the prize--by love already won." + + In high disdain, the knight of golden tongue 87 + Look'd this way, that, revolving where to smite; + Still as he look'd, and turn'd, the giant swung + The unknightly buckler round from left to right. + Then said the carle--"What need of steel and strife? + A word in time may often save a life, + + "This lady me prefers, or I mistake, 88 + Most ladies like an honest hearty wooer; + Abide the issue, she her choice shall make; + Dare you, sir rival, leave the question to her? + If so, resheath your sword, remount your steed, + I loose the lady, and retire."--"Agreed," + + Sir Gawaine answer'd--sure of the result, 89 + And charm'd the fair so cheaply to deliver; + But ladies' hearts are hidden and occult, + Deep as the sea, and changeful as the river. + The carle released the fair, and left her free-- + "Caw," said the raven, from the willow tree. + + A winsome knight all know was fair Gawaine 90 + (No knight more winsome shone in Arthur's court:) + The carle's rough features were of homeliest grain, + As shaped by Nature in burlesque and sport; + The lady look'd and mused, and scann'd the two, + Then made her choice--the carle had spoken true. + + The knight forsaken, rubb'd astounded eyes, 91 + Then touch'd his steed and slowly rode away-- + "Bird," quoth Gawaine, as on the raven flies, + "Be peace between us, from this blessed day; + One single act has made me thine for life,-- + Thou hast shown the path by which I lost a wife!" + + While thus his grateful thought Sir Gawaine vents, 92 + He hears, behind, the carle's Stentorian cries; + He turns, he pales, he groans--"The carle repents! + No, by the saints, he keeps her or he dies!" + Here at his stirrups stands the panting wight-- + "The lady's hound, restore the hound, sir knight." + + "The hound," said Gawaine, much relieved, "what hound?" 93 + And then perceived he that the dog he fed, + With grateful steps the kindly guest had found, + And there stood faithful.--"Friend," Sir Gawaine said, + "What's just is just! the dog must have his due, + The dame had hers, to choose between the two." + + The carle demurr'd; but justice was so clear, 94 + He'd nought to urge against the equal law; + He calls the hound, the hound disdains to hear, + He nears the hound, the hound expands his jaw; + The fangs were strong and sharp, that jaw within, + The carle drew back--"Sir knight, I fear you win." + + "My friend," replies Gawaine, the ever bland, 95 + "I took thy lesson, in return take mine; + All human ties, alas, are ropes of sand, + My lot to-day, to-morrow may be thine; + But never yet the dog our bounty fed + Betray'd the kindness, or forgot the bread."[5] + + With that the courteous hand he gravely waved, 96 + Nor deem'd it prudent longer to delay; + Tempt not the reflow, from the ebb just saved! + He spurr'd his steed, and vanish'd from the way. + Sure of rebuke, and troubled in his mind, + An alter'd man, the carle his fair rejoin'd, + + That day the raven led the knight to dine 97 + Where merry monks spread no abstemious board; + Dainty the meat, and delicate the wine, + Sir Gawaine felt his sprightlier self restored; + When towards the eve the raven croak'd anew, + And spread the wing for Gawaine to pursue. + + With clouded brow the pliant knight obey'd, 98 + And took his leave and quaff'd his stirrup cup; + And briskly rode he through glen and glade, + Till the fair moon, to speak in prose, was up; + Then to the raven, now familiar grown, + He said--"Friend bird, night's made for sleep, you'll own. + + "This oak presents a choice of boughs for you, 99 + For me a curtain and a grassy mound." + Straight to the oak the obedient raven flew, + And croak'd with merry, yet malignant sound. + The luckless knight thought nothing of the croak, + And laid him down beneath the Fairy's Oak. + + Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree, 100 + Yet styled "the hollow oak of demon race;"[6] + But blithe Gwyn ab Nudd's elfin family + Were the gay demons of the slander'd place; + And ne'er in scene more elfin, near and far, + On dancing fairies glanced the smiling star. + + Whether thy chafing torrents, rock-born Caine, 101 + Flash through the delicate birch and glossy elm, + Or prison'd Mawddach[7] clangs his triple chain + Of waters, fleeing to the happier realm, + Where his course broad'ning smiles along the land;-- + So souls grow tranquil as their thoughts expand. + + High over subject vales the brow serene 102 + Of the lone mountain look'd on moonlit skies; + Wide glades far opening into swards of green, + With shimmering foliage of a thousand dyes, + And tedded tufts of heath, and ivyed boles + Of trees, and wild flowers scenting bosky knolls. + + And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe,[8] 103 + Or Iran's shy gazelle, on sheenest places, + Group'd still, or flitted the far alleys through; + The fairy quarry for the fairy chaces; + Or wheel'd the bat, brushing o'er brake and scaur, + Lured by the moth, as lures the moth the star. + + Sir Gawaine slept--Sir Gawaine slept not long, 104 + His ears were tickled, and his nose was tweak'd; + Light feet ran quick his stalwart limbs along, + Light fingers pinch'd him, and light voices squeak'd. + He oped his eyes, the left and then the right, + Fair was the scene, and hideous was his fright! + + The tiny people swarm around, and o'er him, 105 + Here on his breast they lead the morris-dance, + There, in each ray diagonal before him, + They wheel, leap, pirouette, caper, shoot askance, + Climb row on row each other's pea-green shoulder, + And point and mow upon the shock'd beholder. + + And some had faces lovelier than Cupido's, 106 + With rose-bud lips, all dimpling o'er with glee; + And some had brows as ominous as Dido's, + When Ilion's pious traitor put to sea; + Some had bull heads, some lions', but in small, + And some (the finer drest) no heads at all. + + By mortal dangers scared, the wise resort 107 + To means fugacious, _licet et licebit_; + But he who settles in a fairy's court, + Loses that option, _sedet et sedebit_; + Thrice Gawaine strove to stir, nor stirr'd a jot, + Charms, cramps, and torments nail'd him to the spot. + + Thus of his limbs deprived, the ingenious knight 108 + Straightway betook him to his golden tongue-- + "Angels," quoth he, "or fairies, with delight + I see the race my friends the bards have sung + Much honour'd that, in any way expedient, + You make a ball-room of your most obedient." + + Floated a sound of laughter, musical-- 109 + As when in summer noon, melodious bees + Cluster o'er jasmine roofs, or as the fall + Of silver bells, on the Arabian breeze; + What time with chiming feet in palmy shades + Move, round the soften'd Moor, his Georgian maids. + + Forth from the rest there stepped a princely fay-- 110 + "And well, sir mortal, dost thou speak," quoth he, + "We elves are seldom froward to the gay, + Rise up, and welcome to our companie." + Sir Gawaine won his footing with a spring, + Low bow'd the knight, as low the fairy king. + + "By the bright diadem of dews congeal'd, 111 + And purple robe of pranksome butterfly, + Your royal rank," said Gawaine, "is reveal'd, + Yet more, methinks, by your majestic eye; + Of kings with mien august I know but two, + Men have their Arthur,--happier fairies, you." + + "Methought," replied the elf, "thy first accost 112 + Proclaim'd thee one of Arthur's peerless train; + Elsewhere alas!--our later age hath lost + The blithe good-breeding of King Saturn's reign, + When, some four thousand years ago, with Fauns, + We Fays made merry on Arcadian lawns. + + "Time flees so fast it seems but yesterday! 113 + And life is brief for fairies as for men." + "Ha," said Gawaine, "can fairies pass away?" + "Pass like the mist on Arran's wave, what then? + At least we're young as long as we survive; + Our years six thousand--I have number'd five. + + "But we have stumbled on a dismal theme, 114 + As always happens when one meets a man-- + Ho! stop that zephyr!--Robin, catch that beam! + And now, my friend, we'll feast it while we can." + The moonbeam halts, the zephyr bows his wing, + Light through the leaves the laughing people spring. + + Then Gawaine felt as if he skirr'd the air, 115 + His brain grew dizzy, and his breath was gone; + He stopp'd at last, and such inviting fare + Never plump monk set lustful eyes upon. + Wild sweet-briars girt the banquet, but the brake + Oped where in moonlight rippled Bala's lake. + + Such dainty cheer--such rush of revelry-- 116 + Such silver laughter--such arch happy faces-- + Such sportive quarrels from excess of glee-- + Hush'd up with such sly innocent embraces, + Might well make _twice_ six thousand years appear + To elfin minds a sadly nipp'd career! + + The banquet o'er, the royal Fay intent 117 + To do all honour to King Arthur's knight, + Smote with his rod the bank on which they leant, + And Fairy-land flash'd glorious on the sight; + Flash'd, through a silvery, soft, translucent mist, + The opal shafts and domes of amethyst; + + Flash'd founts in shells of pearl, which crystal walls 118 + And phosphor lights of myriad hues redouble; + There, in the blissful subterranean halls, + When morning wakes the world of human trouble, + Glide the gay race; each sound our discord knows, + Faint-heard above, but lulls them to repose. + + O Gawaine, blush! Alas! that gorgeous sight, 119 + But woke the latent mammon in the man, + While fairy treasures shone upon the knight, + His greedy thoughts on lands and castles ran. + He stretch'd his hands, he felt the fingers itch, + "Sir Fay," quoth he, "you must be monstrous rich!" + + Scarce fall the words from those unlucky lips, 120 + Than down rush'd darkness, flooding all the place; + His feet a fairy in a twinkling trips; + The angry winglets swarm upon his face; + Pounce on their prey the tiny torturers flew, + And sang this moral while they pinch'd him blue: + + CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. + + Joy to him who fairy treasures + With a fairy's eye can see; + Woe to him who counts and measures + What the worth in coin may be. + + Gems from wither'd leaves we fashion + For the spirit pure from stain; + Grasp them with a sordid passion + And they turn to leaves again. + + CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. + + Here and there, and everywhere, + Tramp and cramp him inch by inch; + Fair is fair,--to each his share + You shall preach, and we will pinch. + + CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. + + Fairy treasures are not rated + By their value in the mart; + In thy bosom, Earth, created + For the coffers of the heart. + + Dost thou covet fairy money? + Rifle but the blossom bells-- + Like the wild bee, shape the honey + Into golden cloister-cells. + + CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. + + Spirit hear it, flesh revere it! + Stamp the lesson inch by inch! + Rightly merit, flesh and spirit, + This the preaching, that the pinch! + + CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. + + Wretched mortal, once invited, + Fairy land was thine at will; + Every little star had lighted + Revels when the world was still. + + Every bank a gate had granted. + To the topaz-paven halls-- + Every wave had roll'd enchanted, + Chiming from our music-falls. + + CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. + + Round him winging, sharp and stinging, + Clip him, nip him, inch by inch, + Sermons singing, wisdom bringing, + Point the moral with a pinch. + + CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. + + Now the spell is lost for ever, + And the common earth is thine; + Count the traffic on the river, + Weigh the ingots in the mine; + + Look around, aloft, and under, + With an eye upon the cost; + Gone the happy world of wonder! + Woe, thy fairy land is lost! + + CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. + + Nature bare is, where thine air is, + Custom cramps thee inch by inch, + And when care is, human fairies + Preach and--vanish, at a pinch! + + Sudden they cease--for shrill crow'd chanticleer; 121 + Grey on the darkness broke the glimmering light; + Slowly assured he was not dead with fear + And pinches, cautious peer'd around the knight; + He found himself replaced beneath the oak, + And heard with rising wrath the chuckling croak. + + "O bird of birds most monstrous and malific, 122 + Were these the inns to which thou wert to lead! + Now gash'd with swords, now claw'd by imps horrific; + Wives--wounds--cramps--pinches! Precious guide, indeed! + Ossa on Pelion piling, crime on crime: + Wretch, save thy throttle, and repent in time!" + + Thus spoke the knight--the raven gave a grunt, 123 + (That raven liked not threats to life or limb!) + Then with due sense of the unjust affront, + Hopp'd supercilious forth, and summon'd him-- + His mail once more the aching knight indued, + Limp'd to his steed, and ruefully pursued. + + The sun was high when all the glorious sea 124 + Flash'd through the boughs that overhung the way, + And down a path, as rough as path could be, + The bird flew sullen, delving towards the bay; + The moody knight dismounts, and leads with pain + The stumbling steed, oft backing from the rein. + + One ray of hope alone illumed his soul, 125 + "The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast," + The wizard's words had clearly mark'd the goal; + The goal once won--of course the guide was lost; + While thus consoled, its croak the raven gave, + Folded its wings and hopp'd into a cave. + + Sir Gawaine paused--Sir Gawaine drew his sword; 126 + The bird unseen scream'd loud for him to follow-- + His soul the knight committed to our Lord, + Stepp'd on--and fell ten yards into a hollow; + No time had he the ground thus gain'd to note, + Ere six strong hands laid gripe upon his throat. + + It was a creek, three sides with rocks enclosed, 127 + The fourth stretch'd, opening on the golden sand; + Dull on the wave an anchor'd ship reposed; + A boat with peaks of brass lay on the strand; + And in that creek caroused the grisliest crew + Thor ever nurst, or Rana[9] ever knew. + + But little cared the knight for mortal foes. 128 + From those strong hands he wrench'd himself away, + Sprang to his feet and dealt so dour his blows, + Cleft to the chin a grim Berseker lay, + A Fin fell next, and next a giant Dane-- + "Ten thousand pardons!" said the bland Gawaine. + + But ev'n in that not democratic age 129 + Too large majorities were stubborn things, + Nor long could one man strive against the rage + Of half a hundred thick-skull'd ocean kings-- + Four felons crept between him and the rocks, + Lifted four clubs and fell'd him like an ox. + + When next the knight unclosed his dizzy eyes, 130 + His feet were fetter'd and his arms were bound-- + Below the ocean and above the skies; + Sails flapp'd--cords crackled; long he gazed around; + Still where he gazed, fierce eyes and naked swords + Peer'd through the flapping sails and crackling cords-- + + A chief before him leant upon his club, 131 + With hideous visage bush'd with tawny hair. + "Who plays at bowls must count upon a rub," + Said the bruised Gawaine, with a smiling air; + "Brave sir, permit me humbly to suggest + You make your gyves too tight across the breast." + + Grinn'd the grim chief, vouchsafing no reply; 132 + The knight resumed--"Your pleasant looks bespeak + A mind as gracious;--may I ask you why + You fish for Christians in King Arthur's creek?" + "The kings of creeks," replied that hideous man, + "Are we, the Vikings and the sons of Ran! + + "Your beacon fires allured us to your strands, 133 + The dastard herdsmen fled before our feet, + Thee, Odin's raven guided to our hands; + Thrice happy man, Valhalla's boar to eat! + The raven's choice suggests it's God's idea, + And marks thee out--a sacrifice to Freya!" + + As spoke the Viking, over Gawaine's head 134 + Circled the raven with triumphal caw; + Then o'er the cliffs, still hoarse with glee, it fled. + Thrice a deep breath the knight relieved did draw, + Fair seem'd the voyage--pleasant seem'd the haven; + "Bless'd saints," he cried, "I have escaped the raven!" + + +NOTES TO BOOK VI. + +1.--Page 293, stanza ii. + + _Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush their swordless hands._ + + See Tacitus, lib. xiv. cap. 30, for the celebrated description of + the attack on the Druids, in their refuge in Mona, under Publius + Suetonius. + +2.--Page 296, stanza xxv. + + _"You know the proverb--'birds of the same feather,' + A proverb much enforced in penal laws._ + + In Welch laws it was sufficient to condemn a person to be found with + notorious offenders. + +3.--Page 299, stanza xl. + + _'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black._ + + If the celebrated controversy between Black and White, which divided + the Cymrian church in King Arthur's days, should seem to suggest a + parallel instance in our own,--the Author begs sincerely to say that + he is more inclined to grieve than to jest at a schism which threatens + to separate from so large a body of the upholders of the English + church the abilities and learning of no despicable portion of the + English clergy. There is a division more dangerous than that between + theologian and theologian--viz., a division between the Pastors and + their flocks--between the teaching of the pulpit and the sympathy of + the audience. Far from the Author be the rash presumption to hazard + any opinion as to matters of doctrine, on which--such as Regeneration + by Baptism--it cannot be expected that, for the sake of expediency + or even concord, the remarkable thinkers who have emerged from the + schools of Oxford should admit of compromise;--but he asks, with the + respect due to zeal and erudition, whether it be worth while to + inflame dispute, and risk congregations--for the colour of a gown? + +4.--Page 300, stanza lii. + + _(If wine this be) ye come from HUERDAN'S shore._ + + Huerdan, i. e. Ireland, pronounced, in the Poem, as a dissyllable. + +5.--Page 306, stanza xcv. + + _But never yet the dog our bounty fed + Betray'd the kindness or forgot the bread._ + + The whole of that part of Sir Gawaine's adventures, which includes + the incidents of the sword and the hound, is borrowed (with + alterations) from one of LE GRAND'S _Fabliaux_. + +6.--Page 307, stanza c. + + _Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree, + Yet styled the "hollow oak of demon race."_ + + In the domain of Nannau (which now belongs to the Vaughans) was + standing, to within a period comparatively recent, the legendary oak + called Derwen Ceubren yr Ellyll--the hollow oak, the haunt of demons. + +7.--Page 307, stanza ci. + + _Or prison'd Mawddach clangs his triple chain._ + + Mawddach, with its three waterfalls. + +8.--Page 308, stanza ciii. + + _And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe._ + + The deer in the park of Nannau are singularly small. + +9.--Page 312, stanza cxxvii. + + _Thor ever nursed, or Rana ever knew._ + + Ran, or Rana, the malignant goddess of the sea, in Scandinavian + mythology. + + + + +BOOK VII. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Arthur and the Lady of the Lake--They land on the Meteor Isle--which +then sinks to the Halls below--Arthur beholds the Forest springing from +a single stem--He tells his errand to the Phantom, and rejects the +fruits that It proffers him in lieu of the Sword--He is conducted by +the Phantom to the entrance of the caves, through which he must pass +alone--He reaches the Coral Hall of the Three Kings--The Statue crowned +with thorns--The Asps and the Vulture, and the Diamond Sword--The choice +of the Three Arches--He turns from the first and second arch, and +beholds himself, in the third, a corpse--The sleeping King rises at +Arthur's question--"if his death shall be in vain?"--The Vision of times +to be--Coeur de Lion and the age of Chivalry--The Tudors--Henry VII.--the +restorer of the line of Arthur and the founder of civil Freedom--Henry +VIII. and the Revolution of Thought--Elizabeth and the Age of +Poetry--The union of Cymrian and Saxon, under the sway of "Crowned +Liberty"--Arthur makes his choice, and attempts, but in vain, to draw +the Sword from the Rock--The Statue with the thorn-wreath addresses +him--Arthur called upon to sacrifice the Dove--His reply--The glimpse of +Heaven--The trance which succeeds, and in which the King is borne to the +sea shores. + + + As when, in Autumn nights and Arctic skies, 1 + An angel makes the cloud his noiseless car, + And, through cerulean silence, silent flies + From antique Hesper to some dawning star, + So still, so swift, along the windless tides + Her vapour-sail the Phantom Lady guides. + + Along the sheen, along the glassy sheen, 2 + Amid the lull of lucent night they go; + Till, in the haven of an islet green, + Murmuring through reeds, the gentle waters flow: + The shooting pinnace gains the gradual strand, + Hush'd as a shadow glides the Shape to land. + + The Cymrian, following, scarcely touch'd the shore 3 + When slowly, slowly sunk the meteor-isle, + Fathom on fathom, to the sparry floor + Of alabaster shaft and porphyr-pile, + Built as by Nereus for his own retreat, + Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet.[1] + + Far, through the crystal lymph, the pillar'd halls 4 + Went lengthening on in vista'd majesty; + The waters sapp'd not the enchanted walls, + Nor shut their roofless silence from the sky; + But every beam that lights this world of ours + Broke sparkling downward into diamond showers. + + And the strange magic of the place bestow'd 5 + Its own strange life upon the startled King, + Round him, like air, the subtle waters flow'd; + As round the Naiad flows her native spring; + Domelike collapsed the azure;--moonlight clear + Fill'd the melodious silvery atmosphere-- + + Melodious with the chaunt of distant falls 6 + Of sportive waves, within the waves at play, + And infant springs that bubble up the halls + Through sparry founts (on which the broken ray + Weaves its slight iris), hymning while they rise + To that smooth calm their restless life supplies, + + Like secret thoughts in some still poet's soul, 7 + That swell the deep while yearning to the stars:-- + But overhead a trembling shadow stole, + A gloom that leaf-like quiver'd on the spars, + And that quick shadow, ever moving, fell + From a vast Tree with root immoveable; + + In link'd arcades, and interwoven bowers 8 + Swept the long forest from that single stem! + And, flashing through the foliage, fruits or flowers + In jewell'd clusters, glow'd with every gem + Golgonda hideth from the greed of kings; + Or Lybian gryphons guard with drowsy wings. + + Here blush'd the ruby, warm as Charity, 9 + There the mild topaz, wrath-assuaging, shone + Radiant as Mercy; like an angel's eye, + Or a stray splendour from the Father's throne + The sapphire chaste a heavenly lustre gave + To that blue heaven reflected on the wave. + + Never from India's cave, or Oman's sea 10 + Swart Afrite stole for scornful Peri's brow, + Such gems as, wasted on that Wonder-tree, + Paled Sheban treasures in each careless bough; + And every bough the gliding wavelet heaves, + Quivers to music with the quivering leaves. + + Then first the Sovereign Lady of the deep 11 + Spoke;--and the waves and whispering leaves wore still, + "Ever I rise before the eyes that weep + When, born from sorrow, Wisdom wakes the will; + But few behold the shadow through the dark, + And few will dare the venture of the bark. + + "And now amid the Cuthites' temple halls 12 + O'er which the waters undestroying flow, + Heark'ning the mysteries hymn'd from silver falls + Or from the springs that, gushing up below, + Gleam to the surface, whence to Heaven updrawn, + They form the clouds that harbinger the Dawn,-- + + "Say what the treasures which my deeps enfold 13 + That thou would'st bear to the terrestrial day?" + Then Arthur answer'd--and his quest he told, + The prophet mission which his steps obey-- + "Here springs the forest from the single stem: + I seek the falchion welded from the gem!" + + "Pause," said the Phantom, "and survey the tree! 14 + More worth one fruit that weighs a branchlet down, + Than all which mortals in the sword can see. + Thou ask'st the falchion to defend a crown-- + But seize the fruit, and to thy grasp decreed + More realms than Ormuzd lavish'd on the Mede; + + "Than great Darius left his doomed son, 15 + From Scythian wastes to Abyssinian caves; + From Nimrod's tomb in silenced Babylon + To Argive islands fretting Asian waves; + Than changed to sceptres the rude Lictor-rods, + And placed the worm call'd Caesar with the gods! + + "Pause--take thy choice--each gem a host can buy, 16 + Seize--and yoke kings to War's triumphant car! + The Child of Earth, no Genii here defy, + The fruits unguarded, and the fiends afar-- + But dark the perils that surround the Sword, + And slight its worth--ambitious if its Lord; + + "True to the warrior on his native soil, 17 + Its blade would break in the Invader's clasp; + A weapon meeter for the sons of Toil, + When plough-shares turn to falchions in their grasp;-- + Leave the rude boor to battle for his hearth-- + Expand thy scope;--Ambition asks the Earth!" + + "Spirit or Sorceress," said the frowning King, 18 + "Panic like the Sun illumes an Universe; + But life and joy both Fame and Sun should bring; + And God ordains no glory for a curse. + The souls of kings should be the towers of law, + We right the balance, if the sword we draw! + + "Not mine the crowns the Persian lost or won, 19 + Tiaras glittering over kneeling slaves; + Mine be the sword that freed at Marathon, + The unborn races by the Father-graves-- + Or stay'd the Orient in the Spartan pass, + And carved on Time thy name, Leonidas." + + The Sibyl of the Sources of the Deep 20 + Heard nor replied, but, indistinct and wan, + Went as a Dream that through the worlds of Sleep + Leads the charm'd soul of labour-wearied man; + And ev'n as man and dream, so, side by side, + Glideth the mortal with the gliding guide. + + Glade after glade, beneath that forest tree 21 + They pass,--till sudden, looms amid the waves, + A dismal rock, hugely and heavily, + With crags distorted vaulting horrent caves; + A single moonbeam through the hollow creeps: + Glides with the beam the Lady of the deeps. + + Then Arthur felt the Dove that at his breast 22 + Lay nestling warm--stir quick and quivering, + His soothing hand the crisped plumes caress'd;-- + Slow went they on, the Lady and the King: + And, ever as they went, before their way + O'er prison'd waters lengthening stretch'd the ray. + + Now the black jaws as of a hell they gain; 23 + The Lake's pale Hecate pauses. "Lo," she said, + "Within, the Genii thou invadest reign. + Alone thy feet the threshold floors must tread-- + Lone is the path when glory is the goal;-- + Pass to thy proof--O solitary soul!" + + She spoke to vanish--but the single ray 24 + Shot from the unseen moon, still palely breaketh + The awe that rests with midnight on the way; + Faithful as Hope when Wisdom's self forsaketh-- + The buoyant beam the lonely man pursued-- + And, feeling God, he felt not Solitude. + + No fiend obscene, no giant spectre grim 25 + (Born or of Runic or Arabian Song), + Affronts the progress through the gallery dim, + Into the sudden light which flames along + The waves, and dyes the stillness of their flood + To one red horror like a lake of blood. + + And now, he enters, with that lurid tide, 26 + Where time-long corals shape a mighty hall: + Three curtain'd arches on the dexter side, + And on the floors a ruby pedestal, + On which, with marble lips, that life-like smiled, + Stood the fair Statue of a crowned Child: + + It smiled, and yet its crown was wreath'd of thorns, 27 + And round its limbs coil'd foul the viper's brood; + Near to that Child a rough crag, deluge-torn, + Jagg'd, with sharp shadow abrupt, the luminous flood; + And a huge Vulture from the summit, there, + Watch'd, with dull hunger in its glassy stare. + + Below the Vulture in the rock ensheathed, 28 + Shone out the hilt-beam of the diamond glaive; + And all the hall one hue of crimson wreathed, + And all the galleries vista'd through the wave; + As flush'd the coral fathom-deep below, + Lit into glory from the ruby's glow. + + And on three thrones there sate three giant forms, 29 + Rigid the first, as Death;--with lightless eyes, + And brows as hush'd as deserts, when the storms + Lock the tornado in the Nubian skies;-- + Dead on dead knees the large hands nerveless rest, + And dead the front droops heavy on the breast. + + The second shape, with bright and kindling eye 30 + And aspect haughty with triumphant life, + Like a young Titan rear'd its crest on high, + Crown'd as for sway, and harness'd as for strife; + But, o'er one-half his image, there was cast + A shadow from the throne where sate the last. + + And this, the third and last, seem'd in that sleep 31 + Which neighbours waking in a summer's dawn, + When dreams, relaxing, scarce their captive keep; + Half o'er his face a veil transparent drawn, + Stirr'd with quick sighs unquiet and disturb'd, + Which told the impatient soul the slumber curb'd. + + Thrill'd, but undaunted, on the Adventurer strode 32 + Then spoke the youthful Genius with the crown + And armour: "Hail to our august abode! + Guardless we greet the seeker of Renown. + In our least terror cravens Death behold, + But vainly frown our direst for the bold." + + "And who are ye?" the wondering King replied, 33 + "On whose large aspects reigns the awe sublime + Of fabled judges, that o'er souls preside + In Rhadamanthian Halls?" "The Lords of Time," + Answer'd the Giant, "And our realms are three, + The WHAT HAS BEEN, WHAT IS, and WHAT SHALL BE! + + "But while we speak my brother's shadow creeps 34 + Over the life-blood that it freezes fast; + Haste, while the king that shall discrown me sleeps, + Nor lose the Present--lo, how dead the Past! + Accept the trials, Prince beloved by Heaven, + To the deep heart--(that nobler reason,) given. + + "Thou hast rejected in the Cuthites' halls 35 + The fruits that flush Ambition's dazzling tree, + The Conqueror's lust of blood-stain'd coronals;-- + Again thine ordeal in thy judgment be! + Nor here shall empire need the arm of crime-- + But Fate achieve the lot, thou ask'st from Time. + + "Behold the threefold Future at thy choice, 36 + Choose right, and win from Fame the master-spell." + Then the concealing veils, as ceased the voice, + From the three arches with a clangor fell, + And clear as scenes with Thespian wonders rife + Gave to his view the Lemur-shapes of life. + + Lo the fair stream amidst that pleasant vale, 37 + Wherein his youth held careless holiday; + The stream is blithe with many a silken sail, + The vale with many a proud pavilion gay, + And in the centre of the rosy ring, + Reclines the Phantom of himself--the King. + + All, all the same as when his golden prime 38 + Lay in the lap of Life's soft Arcady; + When the light love beheld no foe but Time, + When but from Pleasure heaved the prophet sigh, + And Luxury's prayer was as "a Summer day, + 'Mid blooms and sweets to wear the hours away." + + "Behold," the Genius said, "is that thy choice 39 + As once it was?" "Nay, I have wept since then," + Answer'd the mortal with a mournful voice, + "When the dews fall, the stars arise for men!" + So turn'd he to the second arch to see + The imperial peace of tranquil majesty;-- + + The kingly throne, himself the dazzling king; 40 + Bright arms, and jewell'd vests, and purple stoles; + While silver winds, from many a music-string, + Rippled the wave of glittering banderolls: + From mitred priests and ermined barons, clear + Came the loud praise which monarchs love to hear! + + "Doth this content thee?" "Ay," the Prince replied, 41 + And tower'd erect, with empire on his brow; + "Ay, here at once a Monarch may decide, + Be but the substance worthy of the show! + Show me the men whose toil the pomp creates, + Pomp is the robe,--Content the soul, of States!" + + Slow fades the pageant, and the Phantom stage 42 + As slowly fill'd with squalid, ghastly forms; + Here, over fireless hearths cower'd shivering Age + And blew with feeble breath dead embers;--storms + Hung in the icy welkin; and the bare + Earth lay forlorn in Winter's charnel air. + + And Youth all labour-bow'd, with wither'd look, 43 + Knelt by a rushing stream whose waves were gold, + And sought with lean strong hands to grasp the brook, + And clutch the glitter lapsing from the hold, + Till with mad laugh it ceased, and, tott'ring down, + Fell, and on frowning skies scowl'd back the frown. + + No careless Childhood laugh'd disportingly, 44 + But dwarf'd, pale mandrakes with a century's gloom + On infant brows, beneath a poison-tree + With skeleton fingers plied a ghastly loom, + Mocking in cynic jests life's gravest things, + They wove gay King-robes, muttering "What are Kings?" + + And through that dreary Hades to and fro, 45 + Stalk'd all unheeded the Tartarean Guests; + Grim Discontent that loathes the Gods, and Woe + Clasping dead infants to her milkless breasts; + And madding Hate, and Force with iron heel, + And voiceless Vengeance sharp'ning secret steel. + + And, hand in hand, a Gorgon-visaged Pair, 46 + Envy and Famine, halt with livid smile, + Listening the demon-orator Despair, + That, with a glozing and malignant guile, + Seems sent the gates of Paradise to ope, + And lures to Hell by simulating Hope. + + "Can such things be below and God above?" 47 + Falter'd the King;--Replied the Genius--"Nay, + This is the state that sages most approve; + This is Man civilized!--the perfect sway + Of Merchant Kings;--the ripeness of the Art + Which cheapens men--the Elysium of the Mart. + + "Twixt want and wealth is placed the Reign of Gold; 48 + The reign for which each race advancing sighs, + And none so clamour to be bought or sold + As those gaunt shadows--Trade's grim merchandize. + Dread not their curse--for their delirious sight + Hails in the yellow pest 'The march of Light.'" + + "Better for nations," cried the wrathful King. 49 + "The antique chief, whose palace was the glen, + Whose crown the plumage of the eagle's wing, + Whose throne the hill-top, and whose subjects--men, + Than that last thraldom which precedes decay, + For Avarice reigns not till the hairs are grey. + + "Is it in marts that manhood finds its worth? 50 + When merchants reign'd--what left they to admire? + Which hath bequeath'd the nobler wealth to earth, + The steel of Sparta, or the gold of Tyre? + Beneath the night-shade let the mandrakes grow-- + Hide from my sight that Lazar-house of woe." + + So, turn'd with generous tears in manly eyes 51 + The hardy Lord of heaven-taught Chivalry; + Lo the third arch and last!--In moonlight, rise + The Cymrian rocks dark-shining from the sea, + And all those rocks, some patriot war, far gone, + Hallows with grassy mound and starlit stone. + + And where the softest falls the loving light, 52 + He sees himself, stretch'd lifeless on the sward, + And by the corpse, with sacred robes of white + Leans on his ivory harp a lonely Bard; + Yea, to the Dead the sole still watchers given + Are the Fame-Singer and the Hosts of Heaven. + + But on the kingly front the kingly crown 53 + Rests;--the pale right hand grasps the diamond glaive; + The brow, on which ev'n strife hath left no frown, + Calm in the halo Glory gives the Brave. + "Mortal, is _this_ thy choice?" the Genius cried. + "Here Death; there Pleasure; and there Pomp!--decide!" + + "Death," answer'd Arthur, "is nor good nor ill 54 + Save in the ends for which men die--and Death + Can oft achieve what Life may not fulfil, + And kindle earth with Valour's dying breath; + But oh, one answer to one terror deign, + My land--my people!--is that death in vain?" + + Mute droop'd the Genius, but the unquiet form 55 + Dreaming beside its brother king, arose. + Though dreaming still: as leaps the sudden storm + On sands Arabian, as with spasms and throes + Bursts the Fire-mount by soft Parthenope, + Rose the veil'd Genius of the Things to be! + + Shook all the hollow caves;--with tortur'd groan, 56 + Shook to their roots in the far core of hell; + Deep howl'd to deep--the monumental throne + Of the dead giant rock'd;--each coral cell + Flash'd quivering billowlike. Unshaken smiled, + From the calm ruby base the thorn-crown'd Child. + + The Genius rose; and through the phantom arch 57 + Glided the Shadows of His own pale dreams; + The mortal saw the long procession march + Beside that image which his lemur seems: + An armed King--three lions on his shield[2]-- + First by the Bard-watch'd Shadow paused and kneel'd. + + Kneel'd there his train--upon each mailed breast 58 + A red cross stamp'd; and, deep as from a sea + With all its waves, full voices murmur'd, "Rest + Ever unburied, Sire of Chivalry! + Ever by Minstrel watch'd, and Knight adored, + King of the halo-brow, and diamond sword!" + + Then, as from all the courts of all the earth, 59 + The reverent pilgrims, countless, clustering came; + They whom the seas of fabled Sirens girth, + Or Baltic freezing in the Boreal flame; + Or they, who watch the Star of Bethlem quiver + By Carmel's Olive mount, and Judah's river. + + From violet Provence comes the Troubadour; 60 + Ferrara sends her clarion-sounding son; + Comes from Iberian halls the turban'd Moor + With cymbals chiming to the clarion; + And, with large stride, amid the gaudier throng, + Stalks the vast Scald of Scandinavian song. + + Pass'd he who bore the lions and the cross, 61 + And all that gorgeous pageant left the space + Void as a heart that mourns the golden loss + Of young illusions beautiful. A Race + Sedate supplants upon the changeful stage + Light's early sires,--the Song-World's hero-age. + + Slow come the Shapes from out the dim Obscure, 62 + A noon-like quiet circles swarming bays, + Seas gleam with sails, and wall-less towns secure, + Rise from the donjon sites of antique days; + Lo, the calm sovereign of that sober reign! + Unarm'd,--with burghers in his pompless train. + + And by the corpse of Arthur kneels that king, 63 + And murmurs, "Father of the Tudor, hail! + To thee nor bays, nor myrtle wreath I bring; + But in thy Son, the Dragon-born prevail, + And in my rule Right first deposes Wrong, + And first the Weak undaunted face the Strong." + + He pass'd--Another, with a Nero's frown 64 + Shading the quick light of impatient eyes, + Strides on--and casts his sceptre, clattering, down, + And from the sceptre rushingly arise + Fierce sparks; along the heath they hissing run, + And the dull earth glows lurid as a sun. + + And there is heard afar the hollow crash 65 + Of ruin;--wind-borne, on the flames are driven: + But where, round falling shrines, they coil and flash, + A seraph's hand extends a scroll from heaven, + And the rude shape cries loud, "Behold, ye blind, + I who have trampled Men have freed the Mind!" + + So laughing grim, pass'd the Destroyer on; 66 + And, after two pale shadows, to the sound + Of lutes more musical than Helicon, + A manlike Woman march'd:--The graves around + Yawn'd, and the ghosts of Knighthood, more serene + In death, arose, and smiled upon the Queen. + + With her (at either hand) two starry forms 67 + Glide--than herself more royal--and the glow + Of their own lustre, each pale phantom warms + Into the lovely life the angels know, + And as they pass, each Fairy leaves its cell, + And GLORIANA calls on ARIEL! + + Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen 68 + Of orbs whose brightness makes her image bright, + Haught and imperious, through the borrow'd sheen, + Claims to herself the sovereignty of light; + And is herself so stately to survey, + That orbs which lend, but seem to steal, the ray. + + Elf-land divine, and Chivalry sublime, 69 + Seem there to hold their last high jubilee-- + One glorious _Sabbat_ of enchanted Time, + Ere the dull spell seals the sweet glamoury. + And all those wonder-shapes in subject ring + Kneel where the Bard still sits beside the King. + + Slow falls a mist, far booms a labouring wind, 70 + As into night reluctant fades the Dream; + And lo, the smouldering embers left behind + From the old sceptre-flame, with blood-red beam, + Kindle afresh, and the thick smoke-reeks go + Heavily up from marching fires below. + + Hark! through sulphureous cloud the jarring bray 71 + Of trumpet-clangours--the strong shock of steel; + And fitful flashes light the fierce array + Of faces gloomy with the calm of zeal, + Or knightlier forms, on wheeling chargers borne; + Gay in despair, and meeting zeal with scorn. + + Forth from the throng came a majestic Woe, 72 + That wore the shape of man--"And I"--It said + "I am thy Son; and if the Fates bestow + Blood on my soul and ashes on my head; + Time's is the guilt, though mine the misery-- + This teach me, Father--to forgive and die!" + + But here stern voices drown'd the mournful word, 73 + Crying--"Men's freedom is the heritage + Left by the Hero of the Diamond Sword," + And others answer'd--"Nay, the knightly age + Leaves, as its heirloom, knighthood, and that high + Life in sublimer life called loyalty." + + Then, through the hurtling clamour came a fair 74 + Shape like a sworded seraph--sweet and grave; + And when the war heaved distant down the air + And died, as dies a whirlwind, on the wave, + By the two forms upon the starry hill, + Stood the Arch Beautiful, august and still. + + And thus It spoke--"I, too, will hail thee, 'Sire,' 75 + Type of the Hero-age!--thy sons are not + On the earth's thrones. They who, with stately lyre, + Make kingly thoughts immortal, and the lot + Of the hard life divine with visitings + Of the far angels--are thy race of Kings. + + "All that ennobles strife in either cause, 76 + And, rendering service stately, freedom wise, + Knits to the throne of God our human laws-- + Doth heir earth's humblest son with royalties + Born from the Hero of the diamond sword, + Watch'd by the Bard, and by the Brave adored. + + Then the Bard, seated by the halo'd dead, 77 + Lifts his sad eyes--and murmurs, "Sing of Him!" + Doubtful the stranger bows his lofty head, + When down descend his kindred Seraphim; + Borne on their wings he soars from human sight, + And Heaven regains the Habitant of Light. + + Again, and once again, from many a pale 78 + And swift-succeeding, dim-distinguish'd, crowd, + Swells slow the pausing pageant. Mount and vale + Mingle in gentle daylight, with one cloud + On the fair welkin, which the iris hues + Steal from its gloom with rays that interfuse. + + Mild, like all strength, sits Crowned Liberty, 79 + Wearing the aspect of a youthful Queen: + And far outstretch'd along the unmeasured sea + Rests the vast shadow of her throne; serene + From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone, + Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne. + + And round her group the Cymrian's changeless race 80 + Blent with the Saxon, brother-like; and both + Saxon and Cymrian from that sovereign trace + Their hero line;--sweet flower of age-long growth; + The single blossom on the twofold stem;-- + Arthur's white plume crests Cerdic's diadem. + + Yet the same harp that Taliessin strung 81 + Delights the sons whose sires the chords delighted; + Still the old music of the mountain tongue + Tells of a race not conquer'd but united; + That, losing nought, wins all the Saxon won, + And shares the realm "where never sets the sun." + + Afar is heard the fall of headlong thrones, 82 + But from that throne as calm the shadow falls; + And where Oppression threats and Sorrow groans + Justice sits listening in her gateless halls, + And ev'n, if powerless, still intent, to cure, + Whispers to Truth, "Truths conquer that endure." + + Yet still on that horizon hangs the cloud, 83 + And on the cloud still rests the Cymrian's eye; + "Alas," he murmur'd, "that one mist should shroud, + Perchance from sorrow, that benignant sky!" + But while he sigh'd the Vision vanished, + And left once more the lone Bard by the dead. + + "Behold the close of thirteen hundred years; 84 + Lo, Cymri's Daughter on the Saxon's throne! + Free as their air thy Cymrian mountaineers, + And in the heavens one rainbow cloud alone, + Which shall not pass, until, the cycle o'er, + The soul of Arthur comes to earth once more. + + "Dost thou choose Death?" the giant Dreamer said. 85 + "Ay, for in death I seize the life of fame, + And link the eternal millions with the dead," + Replied the King--and to the sword he came + Large-striding;--grasp'd the hilt;--the charmed brand + Clove to the rock, and stirr'd not to his hand. + + The Dreaming Genius has his throne resumed; 86 + Sit the Great Three with Silence for their reign, + Awful as earliest Theban kings entomb'd, + Or idols granite-hewn in Indian fane; + When lo, the dove flew forth, and circling round, + Dropp'd on the thorn-wreath which the Statue crown'd. + + Rose then the Vulture with its carnage-shriek, 87 + Up coil'd the darting Asps; the bird above; + Below the reptiles:--poison-fang and beak, + Nearer and nearer gather'd round the dove; + When with strange life the marble Image stirr'd, + And sudden pause the Asps--and rests the Bird. + + "Mortal," the Image murmur'd, "I am He, 88 + Whose voice alone the enchanted sword unsheathes, + Mightier than yonder Shapes--eternally + Throned upon light, though crown'd with thorny wreaths; + Changeless amid the Halls of Time; my name + In heaven is YOUTH, and on the earth is FAME, + + "All altars need their sacrifice; and mine 89 + Asks every bloom in which thy heart delighted. + Thorns are my garlands--wouldst thou serve the shrine, + Drear is the faith to which thy vows are plighted. + The Asp shall twine, the Vulture watch the prey, + And Horror rend thee, let but Hope give way. + + "Wilt thou the falchion with the thorns it brings?" 90 + "Yea--for the thorn-wreath hath not dimm'd thy smile." + "Lo, thy first offering to the Vulture's wings, + And the Asp's fangs!"--the cold lips answer'd, while + Nearer and nearer the devourers came, + Where the Dove resting hid the thorns of fame. + + And all the memories of that faithful guide, 91 + The sweet companion of unfriended ways, + When danger threaten'd, ever at his side, + And ever, in the grief of later days, + Soothing his heart with its mysterious love, + Till AEgle's soul seem'd hovering in the Dove,-- + + All cried aloud in Arthur, and he sprang 92 + And sudden from the slaughter snatch'd the prey; + "What!" said the Image, "can a moment's pang + To the poor worthless favourite of a day + Appal the soul that yearns for ends sublime, + Aid sighs for empire o'er the world's of Time? + + "Wilt thou resign the guerdon of the Sword? 93 + Wilt thou forego the freedom of thy land? + Not one slight offering will thy heart accord? + The hero's prize is for the martyr's hand." + Safe on his breast the King replaced the guide, + Raised his majestic front, and thus replied: + + "For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give. 94 + Life;--and brave death prefer to ease and power; + But not for Fame or Cymri would I live + Soil'd by the stain of one dishonour'd hour; + And man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made, + By man's worst meanness--Trust for gain betray'd. + + "Let then the rock the Sword for ever sheathe, 95 + All blades are charmed in the Patriot's grasp! + He spoke, and lo! the Statue's thorny wreath + Bloom'd into roses--and each baffled asp + Fell down and died of its own poison-sting, + Back to the crag dull-sail'd the death-bird's wing. + + And from the Statue's smile, as when the morn 96 + Unlocks the Eastern gates of Paradise, + Ineffable joy, in light and beauty borne, + Flow'd; and the azure of the distant skies + Stole through the crimson hues the ruby gave, + And slept, like Happiness, on Glory's wave. + + "Go," said the Image, "thou hast won the Sword; 97 + He who thus values Honour more than Fame + Makes Fame itself his servant, not his lord; + And the man's heart achieves the hero's claim. + But by Ambition is Ambition tried, + None gain the guerdon who betray the guide!" + + Wondering the Monarch heard, and hearing laid 98 + On the bright hilt-gem the obedient hand; + Swift at the touch, leapt forth the diamond blade, + And each long vista lighten'd with the brand; + The speaking marble bow'd its reverent head, + Rose the three Kings--the Dreamer and the Dead; + + Voices far off, as in the heart of heaven, 99 + Hymn'd, "Hail, Fame-Conqueror in the Halls of Time;" + Deep as to hell the flaming vaults were riven; + High as to angels, space on space sublime + Open'd, and flash'd upon the mortal's eye + The Morning Land of Immortality. + + Bow'd down before the intolerable light, 100 + Sank on his knees the King; and humbly veil'd + The Home of Seraphs from the human sight; + Then the freed soul forsook him, as it hail'd + Through Flesh, its prison-house,--the spirit-choir; + And fled as flies the music from the lyre. + + And all was blank, and meaningless, and void; 101 + For the dull form, abandon'd thus below, + Scarcely it felt the closing waves that buoy'd + Its limbs, light-drifting down the gentle flow-- + And when the conscious life return'd again, + Lo, noon lay tranquil on the ocean main. + + As from a dream he woke, and look'd around, 102 + For the lost Lake and AEgle's distant grave; + But dark, behind, the silent headlands frown'd; + And bright, before him, smiled the murmuring wave; + His right hand rested on the falchion won; + And the Dove pruned her pinions in the sun. + + +NOTES TO BOOK VII. + +1.--Page 314, stanza iii. + + _Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet._ + + 'The silver-footed Thetis.'--HOMER. + +2.--Page 322, stanza lvii. + + _An armed King--three lions on his shield_-- + + Richard Coeur de Lion;--poetically speaking, the mythic Arthur was + the Father of the age of adventure and knighthood--and the legends + respecting him reigned with full influence in the period which + Richard Coeur de Lion here (generally and without strict prosaic + regard to chronology) represents; from the lay of the Troubadour + and the song of the Saracen--to the final concentration or chivalric + romance in the muse of Ariosto. + + + + +BOOK VIII. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Lancelot continues to watch for Arthur till the eve of the following +day, when a Damsel approaches the Lake--Lancelot's discreet behaviour +thereon, and how the Knight and the Damsel converse--The Damsel tells +her tale--Upon her leaving Lancelot, the fairy ring commands the Knight +to desert his watch, and follow the Maiden--The story returns to Arthur, +who, wandering by the sea-shore, perceives a bark with the Raven flag of +the sea-kings--The Dove enjoins him to enter it--The Ship is deserted, +and he waits the return of the Crew--Sleep falls upon him--The consoling +Vision of AEgle--What befalls Arthur on waking--Meanwhile Sir Gawaine +pursues his voyage to the shrine of Freya, at which he is to be +sacrificed--How the Hound came to bear him company--Sir Gawaine argues +with the Viking on the inutility of roasting him--The Viking defends +that measure upon philosophical and liberal principles, and silences +Gawaine--The Ship arrives at its destination--Gawaine is conducted to +the shrine of Freya--The Statue of the Goddess described--Gawaine's +remarks thereon, and how he is refuted and enlightened by the Chief +Priest--Sir Gawaine is bound, and in reply to his natural curiosity the +Priest explains how he and the Dog are to be roasted and devoured--The +sagacious proceedings of the Dog--Sir Gawaine fails in teaching the Dog +the duty of Fraternization--The Priest re-enters, and Sir Gawaine, with +much satisfaction, gets the best of the Argument--Concluding Stanzas to +Nature. + + + Lone by the lake reclined young Lancelot-- 1 + Night pass'd, the noonday slept on wave and plain; + Lone by the lake watch'd patient Lancelot; + Like Faith assured that Love returns again. + Noon glided on to eve; when from the brake + Brushed a light step, and paused beside the lake. + + How lovely to the margin of the wave 2 + The shy-eyed Virgin came! and, all unwitting + The unseen Knight, to the frank sunbeam gave + Her sunny hair--its snooded braids unknitting; + And, fearless, as the Naiad by her well, + Sleeked the loose tresses, glittering where they fell. + + And, playful now, the sandal silks unbound, 3 + Oft from the cool fresh wave with coy retreat + Shrinking,--and glancing with arch looks around, + The crystal gleameth with her ivory feet, + Like floating swan-plumes, or the leaves that quiver + From water-lilies, under Himera's river. + + Ah happy Knight, unscath'd, such charms espying, 4 + As brought but death to the profane of yore, + When Dian's maids to angry quivers flying + Pierced the bold heart presuming to adore! + Alas! the careless archer they disdain, + Can slay as surely, though with longer pain. + + But worthy of his bliss, the loyal Knight, 5 + Pure from all felon thoughts as Knights should be, + Revering, anger'd at his own delight, + The lone, unconscious, guardless modesty, + Rose, yet unseen, and to the copse hard by, + Stole with quick footstep and averted eye. + + But as one tremour of the summer boughs 6 + Scares the shy fawn, so with that faintest sound + The Virgin starts, and back from rosy brows + Flings wide the showering gold; and all around + Casts the swift trouble of her looks, to see + The white plume glisten through the rustling tree. + + As by some conscious instinct of the fear 7 + He caused, the Knight turns back his reverent gaze; + And in soft accents, tuned to Lady's ear + In gentle courts, her purposed flight delays; + So nobly timid in his look and tone + As if the power to harm were all her own. + + "Lady and liege, O fly not thus thy slave; 8 + If he offend, unwilling the offence, + For safer not upon the unsullying wave + Doth thy pure image rest, than Innocence + On the clear thoughts of noble men!" He said; + And low, with downcast lids, replied the maid. + + [Oh, from those lips how strangely musical 9 + Sounds the loathed language of the Saxon foe!] + "Though on mine ear the Cymrian accents fall, + And in my speech, O Cymrian, thou wilt know + The Daughter of the Saxon; marvel not, + That less I fear thee in this lonely spot + + "Than hadst thou spoken in my mother-tongue, 10 + Or worn the aspect of my father-race." + Here to her eyes some tearful memory sprung, + And youth's glad sunshine vanish'd from her face; + Like the changed sky, the gleams of April leave, + Or the quick coming of an Indian eve. + + Moved, yet embolden'd by that mild distress, 11 + Near the fair shape the gentle Cymrian drew, + Bent o'er the hand his pity dared to press, + And soothed the sorrow ere the cause he knew. + Frank were those times of trustful Chevisaunce,[1] + And hearts when guileless open to a glance. + + So see them seated by the haunted lake, 12 + She on the grassy bank, her sylvan throne, + He at her feet--and out from every brake + The Forest-Angels singing:--All alone + With Nature and the Beautiful--and Youth + Pure in each soul as, in her fountain, Truth! + + And thus her tale the Teuton maid begun: 13 + "Daughter of Harold, Mercia's Earl, am I. + Small need to tell to Knighthood's Christian son + What creed of wrath the Saxons sanctify. + With songs first chaunted in some thunder-field, + Stern nurses rock'd me in my father's shield. + + "Motherless both,--my playmate, sole and sweet, 14 + Years--sex, the same, was Crida's youngest child, + (Crida, the Mercian Ealder-King) our feet + Roved the same pastures when the Mead-month[2] smiled; + By the same hearth we paled to Saga runes, + When wolves descending howl'd to icy moons. + + "As side by side, two osiers o'er a stream, 15 + When air is still, with separate foliage bend; + But let a breezelet blow, and straight they seem + With trembling branches into one to blend: + So grew our natures,--when in calm, apart; + But in each care, commingling, heart to heart. + + "Her soul was bright and tranquil as a bird 16 + That hangs with silent wing in breathless heaven, + The plumes of mine the faintest zephyr stirr'd, + Light with each impulse by the moment given; + Blithe as the insect of the summer hours, + Child of the beam, and playmate of the flowers. + + "Thus into youth we grew, when Crida bore 17 + Home from fierce wars a British Woman-slave, + A lofty captive, who her sorrow wore + As Queens a mantle; yet not proud, though grave, + And grave as if with pity for the foe, + Too high for anger, too resign'd for woe. + + "Our hearts grew haunted by that patient face, 18 + And much we schemed to soothe the sense of thrall. + She learn'd to love us,--let our love replace + That she had lost,--and thank'd her God for all, + Even for chains and bondage:--awed we heard, + And found the secret in the Gospel Word. + + "Thus, Cymrian, we were Christians. First, the slave 19 + Taught that bright soul whose shadow fell on mine; + Thus we were Christians;--but, as through the cave + Flow hidden river-springs, the Faith Divine + We dared not give to-day--in stealth we sung + Hymns to the Cymrian's God, in Cymri's tongue. + + "And for our earlier names of heathen sound 20 + We did such names as saints have borne receive; + One name in truth, though with a varying sound; + Genevra I--and she sweet Genevieve,-- + Words that escaped from other ears, unknown, + But spoke as if from angels to our own. + + "Soon with thy creed we learn'd thy race to love, 21 + Listening high tales of Arthur's peerless fame, + But most such themes did my sweet playmate move; + To her the creed endear'd the champion's name, + With angel thoughts surrounded Christ's young chief, + And gave to Glory haloes from Belief. + + "Not long our teacher did survive, to guide 22 + Our feet, delighted in the new-found ways; + Smiling on us--and on the cross--she died, + And vanish'd in her grave our infant days; + We grew to woman when we learn'd to grieve, + And Childhood left the eyes of Genevieve. + + "Oft, ev'n from me, musing she stole away, 23 + Where thick the woodland girt the ruin'd hall + Of Cymrian kings, forgotten;--through the day + Still as the lonely nightingale midst all + The joyous choir that drown her murmur:--So + Mused Crida's daughter on the Saxon's foe. + + "Alas! alas! (sad moons have waned since then!) 24 + One fatal morn her forest haunt she sought + Nor thence return'd: whether by lawless men + Captured, or flying of her own free thought, + From heathen shrines abhorr'd;--all search was vain, + Ne'er to our eyes that smile brought light again." + + Here paused the maid, and tears gush'd forth anew, 25 + Ere faltering words rewove the tale once more; + "Roused from his woe, the wrathful Crida flew + To Thor's dark priests, and Odin's wizard lore. + Task'd was each rune that sways the demon hosts, + And the strong seid[3] compell'd revealing ghosts. + + "And answer'd priest and rune, and the pale Dead, 26 + 'That in the fate of her, the Thor-descended, + The Gods of Cymri wove a mystic thread, + With Arthur's life and Cymri's glory blended, + And Dragon-Kings, ordain'd in clouded years, + To seize the birthright of the Saxon spears. + + "'By Arthur's death, and Carduel's towers o'erthrown, 27 + Could Thor and Crida yet the web unweave, + Protect the Saxon's threaten'd gods;--alone + Regain the lost one, and exulting leave + To Hengist's race the ocean-girt abodes, + Till the Last Twilight[4] darken round the Gods.' + + "This heard and this believed, the direful King 28 + Convenes his Eorl-born and prepares his powers, + Relates the omens, and the tasks they bring, + And points the Valkyrs to the Cymrian towers. + Dreadest in war--and wisest in the hall, + Stands my great Sire--the Saxon's Herman-Saul.[5] + + "He to secure allies beyond the sea 29 + Departs--but first (for well he loved his child) + He drew me to his breast, and tenderly + Chiding my tears, he spoke, and speaking smil'd, + 'Whate'er betides thy father or thy land, + Far from our dangers Astrild[6] woos thy hand. + + "'Beorn, the bold son of Sweyn, the Goethland king 30 + Whose ocean war-steeds on the Baltic deeps + Range their blue pasture--for thy love shall bring + As nuptial-gifts, to Cymri's mountain keeps + Arm'd men and thunder. Happy is the maid, + Whose charms lure armies to her Country's aid + + What, while I heard, the terror and the woe, 31 + Of one who, vow'd to the meek Christian God, + Found the Earth's partner in the Heaven's worst foe! + For ne'er o'er blazing altars Slaughter trod + Redder with blood of saints remorsely slain, + Than Beorn, the Incarnate Fenris[7] of the main. + + "Yet than such nuptials more I fear'd the frown 32 + Of my dread father;--motionless I stood, + Rigid in horror, mutely bending down + The eyes that dared not weep.--So Solitude + Found me, a thing made soul-less by despair, + Till tears broke way, and with the tears flow'd prayer." + + Again Genevra paused: and, beautiful 33 + As Art hath imaged Faith, look'd up to heaven, + With eyes that glistening smiled. Along the lull + Of air, waves sigh'd--the winds of stealing Even + Murmur'd, birds sung, the leaflet rustling stirr'd; + His own loud heart was all the list'ner heard. + + "Scarce did my Sire return (his mission done), 34 + To loose the Valkyrs on the Cymrian foe, + Then came the galley which the sea-king's son + Sent for the partner of his realms of snow; + Shuddering, recoiling, forth I stole at night, + To the wide forest with wild thoughts of flight. + + "I reach'd the ruin'd halls wherein so oft 35 + Lost Genevieve had mused lone hours away, + When halting wistful there, a strange and soft + Slumber fell o'er me, or, more sooth to say, + A slumber not, but rather on my soul + A life-dream clear as hermit-visions stole. + + "I saw an aged and majestic form, 36 + Robed in the spotless weeds thy Druids wear, + I heard a voice deep as when coming storm + Sends its first murmur through the heaving air: + 'Return,' it said, 'return, and dare the sea, + The Eye that sleeps not looks from heaven on thee.' + + "The form was gone, the Voice was hush'd, and grief 37 + Fled from my heart; I trusted and obey'd: + Weak still, my weakness leant on my belief; + I saw the sails unfurl, the headlands fade; + I saw my father, last upon the strand, + Veiling proud sorrow with his iron hand. + + "Swift through the ocean clove the flashing prows 38 + And half the dreaded course was glided o'er, + When, as the wolves, which night and winter rouse + In cavernous lairs, from seas without a shore + Clouds swept the skies; and the swift hurricane + Rush'd from the North along the maddening main. + + "Startled from sleep upon the verge of doom, 39 + With wild cry, shrilling through the wilder blast, + Uprose the seamen, ghostlike through the gloom, + Hurrying and helpless; while the sail-less mast + Now lightning-wreathed, now indistinct and pale + Bow'd, or, rebounding, groan'd against the gale, + + "And crash'd at last;--its sullen thunder drown'd 40 + In the great storm that snapp'd it. Over all + Swept the long surges, and a gurgling sound + Told where some wretch, that strove in vain to call + For aid, where all were aidless, through the spray + Emerging, gasp'd, and then was whirl'd away. + + "But I, who ever wore upon my heart 41 + The symbol cross of Him who walk'd the seas, + Bow'd o'er that sign my head; and pray'd apart: + When through the darkness, on his crawling knees, + Crept to my side the chief, and crouch'd him there, + Mild as an infant, listening to my prayer. + + "And, clinging to my robes, 'Thee have I seen,' 42 + Faltering he said, 'when round thee coil'd the blue + Lightning, and rush'd the billow-swoop, serene + And scathless smiling; surely then I knew + That, strong in charms or runes that guard and save, + Thou mock'st the whirlwind and the roaring grave! + + "'Shield us, young Vala, from the wrath of Ran, 43 + And calm the raging Helheim of the deep.' + As from a voice within, I answer'd, 'Man, + Nor rune nor charm locks into mortal sleep + The Present God; by Faith all ills are braved; + Trust in that God; adore Him, and be saved." + + "Then, pliant to my will, the ghastly crew 44 + Crept round the cross, amid the howling dark-- + Dark, save when swift and sharp, and griding[8] through + The cloud-mass, clove the lightning, and the bark + Flash'd like a floating hell; low by that sign + All knelt, and voices hollow-chimed to mine. + + "Thus as we pray'd, lo, open'd all the Heaven, 45 + With one long steadfast splendour----calmly o'er + The God-Cross resting: then the clouds were riven + And the rains fell; the whirlwind hush'd its roar, + And the smooth'd billows on the ocean's breast, + As on a mother's, sighing, sunk to rest. + + "So came the dawn: o'er the new Christian fold, 46 + Glad as the Heavenly Shepherd, smiled the sun; + Then to those grateful hearts my tale I told, + The heathen bonds the Christian maid should shun, + And pray'd in turn their aid my soul to save + From doom more dismal than a sinless grave. + + "They, with one shout, proclaim their law my will, 47 + And veer the prow from northern snows afar, + Soon gentler winds the murmuring canvas fill, + Fair floats the bark where guides the western star. + From coast to coast we pass'd, and peaceful sail'd + Into lone creeks, by yon blue mountains veil'd. + + "Here all wide-scatter'd up the inward land 48 + For stores and water, range the blithesome crew; + Lured by the smiling shores, one gentler band + I join'd awhile, then left them, to pursue + Mine own glad fancies, where the brooklet clear + Shot singing onwards to the sunlit mere. + + "And so we chanced to meet!" She ceased, and bent 49 + Down the fresh rose-hues of her eloquent cheek; + Ere Lancelot spoke, the startled echo sent + Loud shouts reverberate, lengthening, plain to peak; + The sounds proclaim the savage followers near, + And straight the rose-hues pale,--but not from fear. + + Slowly Genevra rose, and her sweet eyes 50 + Raised to the Knight's, frankly and mournfully; + "Farewell," she said, "the winged moment flies, + Who shall say whither?--if this meeting be + Our last as first, O Christian warrior, take + The Saxon's greeting for the Christian's sake. + + "And if, returning to thy perill'd land, 51 + In the hot fray thy sword confront my Sire, + Strike not--remember me!" On her fair hand + The Cymrian seals his lips; wild thoughts inspire + Words which the lips may speak not:--but what truth + Lies hid when youth reflects its soul in youth! + + Reluctant turns Genevra, lingering turns, 52 + And up the hill, oft pausing, languid wends. + As infant flame through humid fuel burns, + In Lancelot's heart with honour, love contends; + Longs to pursue, regain, and cry, "Where'er + Thou wanderest, lead me; Paradise is there!" + + But the lost Arthur!--at that thought, the strength 53 + Of duty nerved the loyal sentinel: + So by the lake watch'd Lancelot;--at length + Upon the ring his looks, in drooping, fell, + And see, the hand, no more in dull repose, + Points to the path in which Genevra goes! + + Amazed, and wrathful at his own delight, 54 + He doubts, he hopes, he moves, and still the ring + Repeats the sweet command, and bids the Knight + Pursue the Maid as if to find the King. + Yielding at last, though half remorseful still, + The Cymrian follows up the twilight hill. + + Meanwhile along the beach of the wide sea, 55 + The dove-led pilgrim wander'd,--needful food, + The Maenad's fruits from many a purple tree + Flush'd for the vintage, gave; with musing mood, + Lonely he strays till AEthra[9] sees again + Her starry children smiling on the main. + + Around him then, curved grew the hollow creek; 56 + Before, a ship lay still with lagging sail; + A gilded serpent glitter'd from the beak, + Along the keel encoil'd with lengthening trail; + Black from a brazen staff, with outstretch'd wings + Soar'd the dread Raven of the Runic kings. + + Here paused the Wanderer, for here flew the Dove 57 + To the tall mast, and, murmuring, hover'd o'er; + But on the deck no watch, no pilot move, + Life-void the vessel as the lonely shore. + Far on the sand-beach drawn, a boat he spied, + And with strong hand he launch'd it on the tide. + + Gaining the bark, still not a human eye 58 + Peers through the noiseless solitary shrouds; + So, for the crew's return, all patiently + He sate him down, and watch'd the phantom clouds + Flit to and fro, where o'er the slopes afar + Reign storm-girt Arcas,[10] and the Mother Star. + + Thus sleep stole o'er him, mercy-hallow'd sleep; 59 + His own loved AEgle, lovelier than of old, + Oh, lovelier far--shone from the azure deep-- + And like the angel dying saints behold, + Bent o'er his brow, and with ambrosial kiss + Breathed on his soul her own pure spirit-bliss. + + "Never more grieve for me," the Vision said, 60 + "Behold how beautiful thy bride is now! + Who to yon Heaven from heathen Hades led + Me, thine Immortal? Mourner, it was thou! + Why shouldst thou mourn? In the empyreal clime + We know no severance, for we own no time. + + "Both in the Past and Future circumfused, 61 + We live in each;--all life's more happy hours + Bloom back for us;--all prophet Fancy mused + Fairest in days to come, alike are ours: + With me not yet--I ever am with thee, + Thy presence flows through my eternity. + + "Think thou hast bless'd the earth, and oped the heaven 62 + To her baptized, reborn, through thy dear love,-- + In the new buds that bloom for thee, be given + The fragrance of the primal flower above! + In Heaven we are not jealous!--But in aught + That heals remembrance and revives the thought, + + "That makes the life more beautiful, we bind 63 + Those who survive us in a closer chain; + In all that glads we feel ourselves enshrined; + In all that loves, our love but lives again." + Anew she kiss'd his brow, and at her smile + Night and Creation brighten'd! He the while, + + Stretch'd his vain arms, and clasp'd the mocking air, 64 + And from the rapture woke![11]--All fiercely round + Group savage forms, amidst the lurid glare + Of lifted torches, red; fierce tongues resound, + Discordant, clamouring hoarse--as birds of prey + Scared by man's footstep in some desolate bay. + + Mild through the throng a bright-hair'd Virgin came, 65 + And the roar hush'd;--while to the Virgin's breast + Soft-cooing fled the Dove. His own great name + Rang through the ranks behind; quick footsteps press'd + (As through arm'd lines a warrior) to the spot, + And to the King knelt radiant Lancelot. + + Here for a while the wild and fickle song 66 + Leaves the crown'd Seeker of the Silver Shield; + Thy fates, O Gawaine, done to grievous wrong + By the black guide perfidious, be reveal'd, + Nearing, poor Knight, the Cannibalian shrine, + Where Freya scents thee, and prepares to dine. + + Left by a bride, and outraged by a raven, 67 + One friend still shared the injured captive's lot; + For, as the vessel left the Cymrian haven, + The faithful hound, whom he had half forgot, + Swam to the ship, clomb up the sides on board, + Snarl'd at the Danes, and nestled by his lord. + + The hirsute Captain, not displeased to see a 68 + New _bonne bouche_ added to the destined roast + His floating larder had prepared for Freya, + Welcomed the dog, as Charon might a ghost; + Allow'd the beast to share his master's platter, + And daily eyed them both,--and thought them fatter! + + Ev'n in such straits, the Knight of golden tongue 69 + Confronts his foe with arguings just and sage, + Whether in pearls from deeps Druidic strung, + Or link'd synthetic from the Stagirite's page, + Labouring to show him how absurd the notion, + That roasting Gawaine would affect the Ocean. + + But that enlighten'd though unlearned man, 70 + Posed all the lore Druidical or Attic; + "One truth," quoth he, "instructs the Sons of Ran + (A seaman race are always democratic), + That truth once known, all else is worthless lumber: + 'THE GREATEST PLEASURE OF THE GREATEST NUMBER.' + + "No pleasure like a Christian roasted slowly, 71 + To Odin's greatest number can be given; + The will of freemen to the gods is holy; + The People's voice must be the voice of Heaven. + On selfish principles you chafe at capture, + But what are private pangs to public rapture? + + "You doubt that giving you as food for Freya 72 + Will have much mark'd effect upon the seas; + Let's grant you right:--all pleasure's in idea; + If thousands think it, you the thousands please. + Your private interest must not be the guide, + When interests clash majorities decide." + + These doctrines, wise, and worthy of the race 73 + From whose free notions modern freedom flows, + Bore with such force of reasoning on the case, + They left the Knight dumbfounded at the close; + Foil'd in the weapons which he most had boasted, + He felt sound logic proved he should be roasted. + + Discreetly waiving farther conversations, 74 + He, henceforth, silent lived his little hour; + Indulged at times such soothing meditations, + As, "Flesh is grass,"--and "Life is but a flower." + For men, like swans, have strains most edifying, + They never think of till the time for dying. + + And now at last, the fatal voyage o'er, 75 + Sir Gawaine hears the joyous shout of "Land!" + Two Vikings lead him courteously on shore: + A crowd as courteous wait him on the strand. + Fifes, viols, trumpets braying, screaming, strumming, + Flatter his ears, and compliment his coming. + + Right on the shore the gracious temple stands, 76 + Form'd like a ship, and budded but of log; + Thither at once the hospitable bands + Lead the grave Knight and unsuspicious dog, + Which, greatly pleased to walk on land once more, + Swells with unprescient bark the tuneful roar. + + Six Priests and one tall Priestess clothed in white, 77 + Advance--and meet them at the porch divine; + With seven loud shrieks, they pounce upon the Knight,-- + Whisk'd by the Priests behind the inmost shrine, + While the tall Priestess asks the congregation + To come at dawn to witness the oblation. + + Though somewhat vex'd at this so brief delay-- 78 + Yet as the rites, in truth, required preparing, + The flock obedient took themselves away;-- + Meanwhile the Knight was on the Idol staring, + Not without wonder at the tastes terrestrial + Which in that image hail'd a shape celestial. + + Full thirty ells in height--the goddess stood 79 + Based on a column of the bones of men, + Daub'd was her face with clots of human blood, + Her jaws as wide as is a tiger's den; + With giant fangs as strong and huge as those + That cranch the reeds, through which the sea-horse goes. + + "Right reverend Sir," quoth he of golden tongue, 80 + "A most majestic gentlewoman this! + Is it the Freya,[12] whom your scalds have sung, + Goddess of love and sweet connubial bliss? + If so--despite her very noble carriage, + Her charms are scarce what youth desires in marriage." + + "Stranger," said one who seem'd the hierarch-priest-- 81 + "In that sublime, symbolical creation, + The outward image but conveys the least + Of Freya's claims on human veneration-- + But (thine own heart if Love hath ever glow'd in), + Thou'lt own that Love is quite as fierce as Odin! + + "Hence, as the cause of full one half our quarrels, 82 + Freya with Odin shares the rites of blood;-- + In this--thou seest a hidden depth of morals, + But by the vulgar little understood;-- + We do not roast thee in an idle frolic! + But as a type mysterious and symbolic." + + The Hierarch motions to the priests around, 83 + They bind the victim to the Statue's base, + Then, to the Knight they link the wondering hound, + Some three yards distant--looking face to face. + "One word," said Gawaine--"ere your worships quit us, + How is it meant that Freya is to eat us?" + + "Stranger," replied the Priest, "albeit we hold 84 + Such questions idle, and perhaps profane; + Yet much the wise will pardon to the bold-- + When what they ask 'tis easy to explain-- + Still typing Truth, and shaped with sacred art, + We place a furnace in the statue's heart. + + "That furnace heated by mechanic laws 85 + Which gods to priests for godlike ends permit, + We lay the victim bound across the jaws, + And let him slowly turn upon a spit; + The jaws--(when done to what we think their liking) + Close;--all is over:--The effect is striking!" + + At that recital, made in tone complacent, 86 + The frozen Knight stared speechless and aghast, + Stared on those jaws to which he was subjacent, + And felt the grinders cranch on their repast. + Meanwhile the Priest said--"Keep your spirits up, + And ere I go, say when you'd like to sup?" + + "Sup!" falter'd out the melancholy Knight, 87 + "Sup! pious Sir--no trouble there, I pray! + Good though I grant my natural appetite, + The thought of Freya's takes it all away: + As for the dog--poor, unenlighten'd glutton, + Blind to the future,--let him have his mutton." + + 'Tis night: behold the dog and man alone! 88 + The man hath said his thirtieth _noster pater_, + The dog has supp'd, and having pick'd his bone + (The meat was salted), feels a wish for water; + Puts out in vain a reconnoitring paw, + Feels the cord, smells it, and begins to gnaw. + + Abash'd Philosophy, that dog survey! 89 + Thou call'st on freemen--bah! expand thy scope; + "_Aide-toi toi-meme, et Dieu t'aidera!_" + Doth thraldom bind thee?--gnaw thyself the rope.-- + Whatever Laws, and Kings, and States may be; + Wise men in earnest can be always free. + + By a dim lamp upon the altar stone 90 + Sir Gawaine mark'd the inventive work canine; + "Cords bind us both--the dog has gnaw'd his own; + O Dog skoinophagous[13]--a tooth for mine!-- + And both may 'scape that too-refining Goddess + Who roasts to types what Nature meant for bodies." + + Sir Gawaine calls the emancipated hound, 91 + And strives to show his own illegal ties; + Explaining how free dogs, themselves unbound, + With all who would be free should fraternize-- + The dog look'd puzzled, lick'd the fetter'd hand, + Prick'd up his ears--but would not understand. + + The unhappy Knight perceived the hope was o'er, 92 + And did again to fate his soul resign; + When hark! a footstep, and an opening door, + And lo, once more, the Hierarch of the shrine, + The dog his growl at Gawaine's whisper ceased, + And dog and Knight, both silent, watch'd the priest. + + The subtle captive saw with much content 93 + No sacred comrades had that reverend man; + Beneath a load of sacred charcoal bent, + The Priest approach'd; when Gawaine thus began: + "It shames me much to see you thus bent double, + And feel myself the cause of so much trouble. + + "Doth Freya's kitchen, ventrical and holy, 94 + Afford no meaner scullion to prepare + The festive rites?--on you depends it wholly + To heat the oven and to dress the fare?" + "To hands less pure are given the outward things, + To Hierarchs only, the interior springs," + + Replied the Priest--"and till my task be o'er, 95 + All else intruding, wrath divine incur." + Sir Gawaine heard and not a sentence more + Sir Gawaine said, than--"Up and seize him, Sir," + Sprung at the word, the dog; and in a trice + Griped the Priest's throat and lock'd it like a vice. + + "Pardon, my sacred friend," then quoth the Knight, 96 + "You are not strangled from an idle frolic, + When bit the biter, you'll confess the bite + Is full of sense, mordacious but symbolic; + In roasting men, O culinary brother, + Learn this grand truth--'one turn deserves another!'" + + Extremely pleased, the oratoric Knight 97 + Regain'd the vantage he had lost so long, + For sore, till then, had been his just despite + That Northern wit should foil his golden tongue. + Now, in debate how proud was his condition, + The opponent posed and by his own position! + + Therefore, with more than his habitual breeding, 98 + Resumed benignantly the bland Gawaine, + While much the Priest, against the dog's proceeding + With stifling gasps protested, but in vain-- + "Friend--(softly, dog; so--ho!) Thou must confess + Our selfish interests bid us coalesce.-- + + "Unknit these cords; and, once unloosed the knot, 99 + I pledge my troth to call the hound away, + If thou accede--a show of hands! if not + _That_ dog at least I fear must have his day." + High in the air, both hands at once appear! + "Carried, _nem. con._,--Dog, fetch him,--gently, here!" + + Not without much persuasion yields the hound! 100 + Loosens the throat, to gripe the sacred vest. + "Priest," quoth Gawaine, "remember, but a sound, + And straight the dog--let fancy sketch the rest!" + The Priest, by fancy too dismay'd already, + Fumbles the knot with fingers far from steady. + + Hoarse, while he fumbles, growls the dog suspicious, 101 + Not liking such close contact to his Lord + (The best of friends are sometimes too officious, + And grudge all help save that themselves afford). + His hands set free, the Knight assists the Priest, + And, _finis, funis_, stands at last released. + + True to his word--and party coalitions, 102 + The Knight then kicks aside the dog, of course; + Salutes the foe, and states the new conditions + The facts connected with the times enforce; + All coalitions nat'rally denote + The State-Metempsychosis--change of coat! + + "Ergo," quoth Gawaine,--"first, the sacred cloak; 103 + Next, when two parties, but concur _pro temp._ + Their joint opinions only should be spoke + By that which has most cause to fear the hemp. + Wherefore, my friend, this scarf supplies the gag + To keep the cat symbolic--in the bag!" + + So said, so done, before the Priest was able 104 + To prove his counter interest in the case, + The Knight had bound him with the victim's cable! + Closed up his mouth and cover'd up his face, + His sacred robe with hands profane had taken, + And left him that which Gawaine had forsaken. + + Then Gawaine stepp'd into the blissful air, 105 + Oh, the bright wonder of the Northern Night! + With Ocean's heart of music heaving there, + Under its starry robe!--and all the might + Of rock and shore, and islet deluge-riven, + Distinctly dark against the lustrous heaven! + + Calm lay the large rude Nature of the North, 106 + Glad as when first the stars rejoicing sang, + And fresh as when from kindling Chaos forth + (A thought of God) the young Creation sprang; + When man in all the present Father found, + And for the Temple, paused and look'd around! + + Nature, thou earliest Gospel of the Wise, 107 + Thou never-silent Hymner unto God! + Thou Angel-Ladder lost amid the skies, + Though at the foot we dream upon the sod! + To thee the Priesthood of the Lyre belong-- + They hear Religion and reply in Song! + + If he hath held thy worship undefiled 108 + Through all the sins and sorrows of his youth, + Let the Man echo what he heard as Child + From the far hill-tops of melodious Truth, + Leaving on troubled hearts some lingering tone + Sweet with the solace thou hast given his own! + + +NOTES TO BOOK VIII. + +1.--Page 332, stanza xi. + + _Frank were those times of trustful Chevisaunce._ + + Chevisaunce.--SPENSER. + +2.--Page 332, stanza xiv. + + _Roved the same pastures when the Mead-month smiled._ + + The MEAD-MONTH, June. + +3.--Page 334, stanza xxv. + + _And the strong seid compell'd revealing ghosts._ + + Magic. + +4.--Page 334, stanza xxvii. + + _Till the Last Twilight darken round the Gods._ + + At Ragnaroek, or the Twilight of the Gods, the Aser and the Giants + are to destroy each other, and the whole earth is to be consumed. + +5.--Page 334, stanza xxviii. + + _Stands my great Sire--the Saxon's Herman-Saul._ + + Herman-Saul (or Saule), often corruptly written Irminsula, Armensula, + &c., the name of the celebrated Teuton Idol, representing an armed + warrior on a column, destroyed by Charlemagne, A.D. 772. + +6.--Page 334, stanza xxix. + + _Far from our dangers Astrild woos thy hand._ + + Astrild, the Cupid of the Northern Mythology. + +7.--Page 334, stanza xxxi. + + _Than Beorn, the Incarnate Fenris of the main._ + + Fenris, the Demon Wolf, Son of Asa Lok. + +8.--Page 336, stanza xliv. + + _Dark, save when swift and sharp, and griding through._ + + Griding.--MILTON. "The _griding_ sword with discontinuous wound," &c. + +9.--Page 338, stanza lv. + + _Lonely he strays till AEthra sees again + Her starry children smiling on the main._ + + Both the Pleiades and the Hyades are said to be the daughters of + AEthra, one of the Oceanides, by Atlas. + +10.--Page 338, stanza lviii. + + _Reign storm-girt Arcas, and the Mother Star._ + + _Ursa Major_ and _Ursa Minor_, near the North Pole, supposed by the + Poets to be Arcas and his mother. + +11.--Page 339, stanza lxiv. + + _And from the rapture woke!--All fiercely round, &c._ + + The reader will perhaps perceive, that the above passage, containing + the Vision of AEgle, is partially borrowed from the apparition of + Clorinda, in TASSO.--_Cant._ xii. + +12.--Page 341, stanza lxxx. + + _Is it the Freya, whom your scalds have sung._ + + Freya is the goddess of love, beauty, and Hymen; the Scandinavian + Venus. + +13.--Page 343, stanza xc. + + _O Dog skoinophagous--a tooth for mine!_-- + + Id est, "rope-eating"--a compound adjective borrowed from such Greek + as Sir Gawaine might have learned at the then flourishing college + of Caerleon. The lessons of education naturally recur to us in our + troubles. + + + + +BOOK IX. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Invocation to the North--Winter, Labour, and Necessity, as agents of +Civilization--The Polar Seas described--The lonely Ship; its Leader +and Crew--Honour due from Song to the Discoverer!--The battle with the +Walruses--The crash of the floating Icebergs--The ship ice-locked-- +Arthur's address to the Norwegian Crew--They abandon the vessel and +reach land--The Dove finds the healing herb--Returns to the Ship, which +is broken up for log-huts--The winter deepens--The sufferings and torpor +of the crew--The effect of Will upon life--Will preserves us from ills +our own, not from sympathy with the ills of others--Man in his higher +development has a two-fold nature--in his imagination and his +feelings--Imagination is lonely, Feeling social--The strange affection +between the King and the Dove--The King sets forth to explore the +desert; his joy at recognizing the print of human feet--The attack of +the Esquimaux--The meeting between Arthur and his friend--The crew are +removed to the ice-huts of the Esquimaux--The adventures of Sir Gawaine +continued--His imposture in passing himself off as a priest of Freya--He +exorcises the winds which the Norwegian hags had tied up in bags--And +accompanies the Whalers to the North Seas--The storm--How Gawaine and +his hound are saved--He delivers the Pigmies from the Bears, and finally +establishes himself in the Settlement of the Esquimaux--Philosophical +controversy between Arthur and Gawaine, relative to the Raven--Arthur +briefly explains how he came into the Polar Seas in search of the Shield +of Thor--Lancelot and Genevra having sailed for Carduel--Gawaine informs +Arthur that the Esquimaux have a legend of a Shield guarded by a +Dwarf--The first appearance of the Polar Sun above the horizon. + + + Throned on the dazzling and untrodden height, 1 + Form'd of the frost-gems ages[1] labour forth + From the blanch'd air,--crown'd with the pomp of light + I' the midst of dark,--stern Father of the North, + Thee I invoke, as, awed, my steps profane + The dumb gates opening on thy death-like reign! + + Here did the venturous Ithacan[2] explore, 2 + Amidst the dusky, wan, Cimmerian waste, + By Ocean's farthest bounds--the spectre shore + Trod by the Dead, and vainly here embraced + The Phantom Mother. Pause, look round, survey + The ghastly realm beyond the shafts of Day. + + Magnificent Horror!--How like royal Death 3 + Broods thy great hush above the seeds of Life! + Under the snow-mass cleaves thine icy breath, + And, with the birth of fairy forests rife, + Blushes the world of white;[3]--the green that glads + The wave, is but the march of myriads; + + There, immense, moves uncouth leviathan; 4 + There, from the hollows of phantasmal isles, + The morse[4] emerging rears the face of man, + There, the huge bear scents, miles on desolate miles, + The basking seal;--and ocean shallower grows, + Where, through its world, a world, the kraken goes. + + Father of races, marching at the van 5 + Of the great league and armament of Thought;-- + When Eastern stars grew dim to drooping man, + And waned the antique light Prometheus brought, + The North beheld the new Alcides rise, + Unbind the Titan and relight the skies. + + Imperial WINTER, hail!--All hail with thee 6 + Labour, the stern Perfecter of Mankind, + Shaping the ends of human destiny + Out of the iron of the human mind: + For in our toils our fates we may survey! + And where rests Labour there begins decay. + + Winter, and Labour, and Necessity, 7 + Behold the Three that make us what we are! + Forced to invent--aspirers to the High, + Nerved to endure--the conquerors of the Far-- + So the crude nebula in movement hurl'd, + Takes form in moving, and becomes a world. + + Dumb Universe of Winter--there it lies 8 + Dim through the mist, a spectral skeleton! + Far in the wan verge of the solid skies + Hangs day and night the phantom of a moon; + And slowly moving on the horizon's brink + Floats the vast ice-field with its glassy blink.[5] + + But huge adown the liquid Infinite 9 + Drift the sea Andes--by the patient wrath + Of the strong waves uprooted from their site + In bays forlorn--and on their winter path + (Themselves a winter) glide, or heavily, where + They freeze the wind, halt in the inert air. + + Nor bird nor beast lessens with visible 10 + Life, the large awe of space without a sun; + Though in each atom life unseen doth dwell + And glad with gladness God the Living One. + HE breathes--but breathless hang the airs that freeze! + HE speaks--but noiseless list the silences! + + A lonely ship--lone in the measureless sea, 11 + Lone in the channel through the frozen steeps, + Like some bold thought launch'd on infinity + By early sage--comes glimmering up the deeps! + The dull wave, dirge-like, moans beneath the oar; + The dull air heaves with wings that glide before. + + From earth's warm precincts, through the sunless gate 12 + That guards the central vapour-home of Dark, + Into the heart of the vast Desolate, + Lone flies the Dove before the lonely bark. + While the crown'd seeker of the glory-spell + Looks to the angel and disdains the hell. + + Huddled on deck, one-half that hardy crew 13 + Lie shrunk and wither'd in the biting sky, + With filmy stare and lips of livid hue, + And sapless limbs that stiffen as they lie: + While the dire pest-scourge of the frozen zone[6] + Rots through the vein, and gnaws the knotted bone. + + Yet still the hero-remnant, sires perchance 14 + Of Rollo's Norman knighthood, dauntless steer + Along the deepening horror and advance + Upon the invisible foe, loud chanting clear + Some lusty song of Thor, the Hammer-God, + When o'er those iron seas the Thunderer trod, + + And pierced the halls of Lok! Still while they sung, 15 + The sick men lifted dim their languid eyes, + And palely smiled, and with convulsive tongue + Chimed to the choral chant, in hollow sighs; + Living or dying, those proud hearts the same + Swell to the danger, and foretaste the fame. + + On, ever on, labours the lonely bark, 16 + Time in that world seems dead. Nor jocund sun + Nor rosy Hesperus dawns; but visible Dark + Stands round the ghastly moon. For ever on + Labours the lonely bark, through lock'd defiles + That crisping coil around the drifting isles. + + Honour, thrice honour unto ye, O Brave! 17 + And ye, our England's sons, in the later day, + Whose valour to the shores of Hela gave + Names,--as the guides where suns deny the ray! + And, borne by hope and vivid strength of soul, + Made Man's last landmark Nature's farthest goal! + + Whom, nor the unmoulded chaos, with its birth 18 + Of uncouth monsters, nor the fierce disease, + Nor horrible famine, nor the Stygian dearth + Of Orcus dead'ning adamantine seas, + Scared from the Spirit's grand desire,--TO KNOW! + The Galileos of new worlds below! + + Man the Discoverer--whosoe'er thou art, 19 + Honour to thee from all the lyres of song! + Honour to him who leads to Nature's heart + One footstep nearer! To the Muse belong + All who enact what in the song we read; + Man's noblest poem is Man's bravest deed. + + On, ever on,--when veering to the West 20 + Into a broader desert leads the Dove; + A larger ripple stirs the ocean's breast, + A hazier vapour undulates above; + Along the ice-fields move the things that live, + Large in the life the misty glamours give. + + In flocks the lazy walrus lay around 21 + Gazing and stolid; while the dismal crane + Stalk'd curious near;--and on the hinder ground + Paused indistinct the Fenris of the main, + The insatiate bear,--to sniff the stranger blood,-- + For Man till then had vanish'd since the flood, + + And all of Man were fearless!--On the sea 22 + The vast leviathans came up to breathe, + With their young giants leaping forth in glee, + Or leaving whirlpools where they sank beneath. + And round and round the bark the narwal[7] sweeps, + With white horn glistening through the sluggish deeps. + + Uprose a bold Norwegian, hunger-stung, 23 + As near the icy marge a walrus lay, + Hurl'd his strong spear, and smote the beast, and sprung + Upon the frost-field on the wounded prey;-- + Sprung and recoil'd--as writhing with the pangs, + The bulk crawl'd towards him with its flashing fangs. + + Roused to fell life--around their comrade throng, 24 + Snorting wild wrath, the shapeless, grisly swarms-- + Like moving mounts slow masses trail along; + Aghast the man beholds the larva-forms-- + Flies--climbs the bark--the deck is scaled--is won; + And all the monstrous march heaves lengthening on. + + "Quick to your spears!" the kingly leader cries. 25 + Spears flash on flashing tusks; groan the strong planks + With the assault: front after front they rise + With their bright[8] stare; steel thins in vain their ranks, + And dyes with blood their birth-place and their grave; + Mass rolls on mass, as rolls on wave a wave. + + These strike and rend the reeling sides below; 26 + Those grappling clamber up and load the decks, + With looks of wrath so human on the foe, + They seem to horror like the mangled wrecks + Of what were men in worlds before the Ark! + Thus raged the immane and monster war--when, hark, + + Crash'd through the dreary air a thunder peal! 27 + In their slow courses meet two ice-rock isles + Clanging; the wide seas far-resounding reel; + The toppling ruin rolls in the defiles; + The pent tides quicken with the headlong shock: + Broad-billowing heave the long waves from the rock; + + Far down the booming vales precipitous 28 + Plunges the stricken galley,--as a steed + Smit by the shaft runs reinless,--o'er the prows + Howl the lash'd surges; Man and monster freed + By power more awful from the savage fray, + Here roaring sink--there dumbly whirl away. + + The water runs in maelstroms;--as a reed 29 + Spins in an eddy and then skirs along,-- + Dragg'd round and round, emerged and vanished + The mighty ship amidst the mightier throng + Of the revolving hell. With abrupt spring + Bounding at last--on it shot maddening. + + Behind it, thunderous swept the glacier masses, 30 + Shivering and splintering, hurtling each on each: + Narrower and narrower press the frowning passes:-- + Jamm'd in the farthest gorge the bark may reach, + Where the grim Scylla rocks the direful way, + The fierce Charybdis flings her mangled prey. + + As if a living thing, in every part 31 + The vessel groans--and with a dismal chime + Cracks to the cracking ice; asunder start + The brazen ribs:--and clogg'd and freezing, climb + Through cleft and chink, as through their native caves, + The gelid armies of the hardening waves. + + One sigh whose lofty pity did embrace 32 + The vanish'd many, the surviving few, + The Cymrian gave--then with a cheering face + He spoke, and breathed his soul into the crew: + "Ye whom the haught desire of Fame, whose air + Is storm, and tales of what your fathers were, + + "What time their valour wrought such deeds below 33 + As made the valiant lift them to the gods, + Impell'd with me to spare all meaner foe, + And vanquish'd Nature in the fiend's abodes;-- + Droop not nor faint!--Reserved, perchance, to give + Themes to such song as bids your Odin live:-- + + "A voice from those now gone in darkness down, 34 + Bids us endure!--Of all they ask'd in life + Our death would rob their lofty shades--RENOWN! + The wave hath pluck'd us from the monster strife, + Lo where the icebay frees us from the wave, + And yields a port in what we deem'd a grave! + + "Up and at work all hands to lash the bark 35 + With grappling-hook, and cord, and iron band + To yon firm peak, the Ararat of our ark, + Then with good heart pierce to the vapour-land; + For the crane's scream, and the bear's welcome roar + Tell where the wave joins solid to the shore." + + Swift as he spoke, the gallant Northmen sprang 36 + On the sharp ice,--drew from the frozen blocks + The mangled wreck;--with many a barbed fang + And twisted cable to the horrent rocks + Moor'd: and then, shouting up the solitude + Their guiding star, the Dove's pale wing, pursued. + + Round the dim bases of the glacier peaks, 37 + They see the silvery Arctic fox at play, + Sure sign of land,--aloft with ghastly shrieks, + Wheel the wan sea-gulls, luring to his prey + The ravening glaucus[9] sudden shooting o'er + The din of wings from the gray gleaming shore. + + At length they reach the land,--if land that be 38 + Which seems so like the frost-piles of the deep, + That where commenced the soil and ceased the sea + Shows dim, as is the bound between the sleep + And waking of some wretch whose palsied brain + Dulls him to ev'n the slow return of pain. + + Advancing farther, burst upon the eye 39 + Patches of green miraculously isled + In the white desert. Oh! the rapture cry + That greeted God, and gladden'd through the wild! + The very sight suffices to restore, + Green Earth--green Earth--the Mother smiles once more! + + Blithe from the turf the Dove the blessed leaves[10] 40 + That heal the slow plague of the sunless dearth + Bears to each sufferer whom the curse bereaves + Ev'n of all hope, save graves in that dear earth. + Woo'd by the kindly King they taste, to know + How to each ill God plants a cure below. + + Long mused the anxious hero, if to dare 41 + Once more the fearful sea--or from the bark + Shape ragged huts, and wait, slow-lingering there, + Till Eos issuing from the gates of Dark + Unlock the main? dread choice on either hand-- + The liquid Acheron, or the Stygian land. + + At length, resolved to seize the refuge given, 42 + Once more he leads the sturdiest of the crew + Back to the wreck--the planks, asunder riven, + And such scant stores as yet the living few + May for new woes sustain, are shoreward borne; + And hasty axes shape the homes forlorn. + + Now, every chink closed on the deathful air, 43 + In the dark cells the weary labourers sleep; + Deaf to the fierce roar of the hungering bear, + And the dull thunders clanging on the deep-- + Till on their waking sense the discords peal, + And to the numb hand cleaves unfelt the steel. + + What boots long told the tale of life one war 44 + With the relentless iron Element? + More, day by day, the mounting snows debar + Ev'n search for food,--yet oft the human scent + Lures the wild beast, which, mangling while it dies, + Bursts on the prey, to fall itself the prize! + + But as the winter deepens, ev'n the beast 45 + Shrinks from its breath, and with the loneliness + To Famine leaves the solitary feast. + Suffering halts patient in its last excess. + Closed in each tireless, lightless, foodless cave + Cowers a dumb ghost unconscious of its grave. + + Nature hath stricken down in that waste world 46 + All--save the Soul of Arthur! _That_, sublime, + Hung on the wings of heavenward faith unfurl'd, + O'er the far light of the predicted Time; + Believe thou hast a mission to fulfil, + And human valour grows a Godhead's will! + + Calm to that fate above the moment given 47 + Shall thy strong soul divinely dreaming go, + Unconscious as an eagle, entering heaven, + Where its still shadow skims the rooks below; + High beyond this, its actual world is wrought, + And its true life is in its sphere of thought. + + Yet who can 'scape the infection of the heart? 48 + Who, though himself invulnerably steel'd, + Can boast a breast indifferent to the dart + That threats the life his love in vain would shield? + When some large nature, curious, we behold + How twofold comes it from the glorious mould! + + How lone, and yet how living in the All! 49 + When it _imagines_ how aloof from men! + How like the ancestral Adam ere the fall, + In Eden bowers the painless denizen! + But when it _feels_--the lonely heaven resign'd-- + How social moves the man among mankind! + + Forth from the tomblike hamlet strays the King, 50 + Restless with ills from which himself is free; + In that dun air the only living thing + He skirts the margin of the soundless sea; + No--not alone, the musing Wanderer strays; + For still the Dove smiles on the dismal ways. + + Nor can tongue tell, nor thought conceive how far 51 + Into that storm-beat heart, the gentle bird + Had built the halcyon's nest. How precious are + In desolate hours, the Affections!--How, unheard + Mid Noon's melodious myriads of delight, + Thrills the low note that steals the gloom from night! + + And, in return, a human love replying 52 + To his caress, seem'd in those eyes to dwell, + That mellow murmur, like a human sighing, + Seem'd from those founts that lie i' the heart to swell. + Love wants not speech; from silence speech it builds, + Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds. + + That angel guide! His fate while leading on, 53 + It follow'd each quick movement of his soul. + As the soft shadow from the setting sun + Precedes the splendour passing to its goal, + Before his path the gentle herald glides, + Its life reflected from the life it guides. + + Was Arthur sad? how sadden'd seem'd the Dove! 54 + Did Arthur hope? how gaily soar'd its wings! + Like to that sister spirit left above, + The half of ours, which, torn asunder, springs + Ever through space, yearning to join once more + The earthlier half, its own and Heaven's before;[11] + + Like an embodied living Sympathy 55 + Which hath no voice and yet replies to all + That wakes the lightest smile, the faintest sigh,-- + So did the instinct and the mystery thrall + To the earth's son the daughter of the air; + And pierce his soul--to place the sister there. + + She was to him as to the bard his muse 56 + The solace of a sweet confessional: + The hopes--the fears which manly lips refuse + To speak to man, those leaves of thought that fall + With every tremulous zephyr from the Tree + Of Life, whirl'd from us down the darksome sea;-- + + Those hourly springs and winters of the heart 57 + Weak to reveal to Reason's sober eye, + The proudest yet will to the muse impart, + And grave in song the record of a sigh. + And hath the muse no symbol in the Dove?-- + Both give what youth most miss'd in human love! + + Over the world of winter strays the King, 58 + Seeking some track of hope--some savage prey + Which, famish'd, fronts and feeds the famishing; + Or some dim outlet in the darkling way + From the dumb grave of snows which form with snows + Wastes wide as realms through which a spectre goes. + + Amazed he halts:--Lo, on the rimy layer 59 + That clothes sharp peaks--the print of human feet! + An awe thrill'd through him, and thus spoke in prayer, + "Thee, God, in man once more then do I greet? + Hast thou vouchsafed the brother to the brother, + Links which reweave thy children to each other? + + "Be they the rudest of the clay divine, 60 + Warm with the breath of soul, how faint so ever, + Yea, though their race but threat new ills to mine, + All hail the bond thy sons cannot dissever! + Bow'd to thy will, of life or death dispose, + But if not human friends, grant human foes!" + + Thus while he pray'd, blithe from his bosom flew 61 + The guiding Dove, along the frozen plain + Of a mute river, winding vale-like through + Rocks lost in vapour from the voiceless main. + And as the man pursues, more thickly seen, + The foot-prints tell where man before has been. + + Sudden a voice--a yell, a whistling dart! 62 + Dim through the fog, behold a dwarf-like band + (As from the inner earth, its goblins) start; + Here threatening rush, there hoarsely gibbering stand! + Halts the firm hero; mild but undismay'd, + Grasps the charm'd hilt, but will not bare the blade. + + And with a kingly gesture eloquent, 63 + Seems to command the peace, not shun the fray; + Daunted they back recoil, yet not relent; + As Indians round the forest lord at bay, + Beyond his reach they form the deathful ring, + And every shaft is fitted to the string. + + When in the circle a grand shape appears, 64 + Day's lofty child amid those dwarfs of Night, + Ev'n through the hides of beasts (its garb) it rears + The glorious aspect of a son of light. + Hush'd at that presence was the clamouring crowd; + Dropp'd every hand and every knee was bow'd. + + Forth stepp'd the man, advancing towards the King; 65 + And his own language smote the Cymrian's ear, + "What fates, unhappy one, a stranger bring + To shores,"--he started, stopp'd,--and bounded near; + Gazed on that front august, a moment's space,-- + Rush'd,--lock'd the wanderer in a long embrace; + + Weeping and laughing in a breath, the cheek, 66 + The lip he kiss'd--then kneeling, clasp'd the hand; + And gasping, sobbing, sought in vain to speak-- + Meanwhile the King the beard-grown visage scann'd: + Amazed--he knew his Carduel's comely lord, + And the warm heart to heart as warm restored! + + Speech came at length: first mindful of the lives, 67 + Claiming his care and perill'd for his sake, + Not yet the account that love demands and gives + The generous leader paused to yield and take; + Brief words his follower's wants and woes explain;-- + "Light, warmth, and food.--_Sat verbum_," quoth Gawaine. + + Quick to his wondering and Pigmaean troops-- 68 + Quick sped the Knight; he spoke and was obey'd; + Vanish once more the goblin-visaged groups + And soon return caparison'd for aid; + Laden with oil to warm and light the air, + Flesh from the seal, and mantles from the bear. + + Back with impatient rapture bounds the King, 69 + Smiling as he was wont to smile of yore; + While Gawaine, blithesome as a bird of spring, + Sends his sweet laughter ringing to the shore; + Pains through that maze of questions, "How and Why?" + And lost in joy stops never for reply. + + Before them roved wild dogs too numb to bark, 70 + Led by one civilized majestic hound, + Who scarcely deign'd his followers to remark, + Save, when they touch'd him, by a snarl profound; + Teaching that _plebs_, as history may my readers, + How curs are look'd on by patrician leaders. + + Now gain'd the huts, silent with drowsy life, 71 + That scarcely feels the quick restoring skill; + Train'd with stern elements to wage the strife, + The pigmy race are Nature's conquerors still. + With practised hands they chafe the frozen veins, + And gradual loose the chill heart from its chains; + + Heap round the limbs the fur's thick warmth of fold, 72 + And with the cheerful oil revive the air. + Slow wake the eyes of Famine to behold + The smiling faces and the proffer'd fare; + Rank though the food, 'tis that which best supplies + The powers exhausted by the withering skies. + + This done, they next the languid sufferers bear 73 + (Wrapp'd from the cold) athwart the vapoury shade, + Regain the vale, and show the homes that there + Art's earliest god, Necessity, hath made; + Abodes hewn out from winter, winter-proof, + Ice-blocks the walls, and hollow'd ice the roof![12] + + Without, the snowy lavas, hard'ning o'er, 74 + Hide from the beasts the buried homes of men, + But in the dome is placed the artful door + Through which the inmate gains or leaves the den. + Down through the chasm each lowers the living load, + Then from the winter seals the pent abode. + + There ever burns, sole source of warmth and light, 75 + The faithful lamp the whale or walrus gives, + Thus, Lord of Europe, in the heart of Night, + Unjoyous not, thy patient brother lives! + To thee desire, to him possession sent, + Thine worlds of wishes,--his that inch, Content! + + But Gawaine's home, more dainty than the rest, 76 + Betray'd his tastes exotic and luxurious + The walls of ice in furry hangings dress'd + Form'd an apartment elegant if curious! + Like some gigantic son of Major Ursa + Turn'd inside out by barbarous _vice versa_. + + Here then he lodged his royal guest and friend, 77 + And having placed a slice of seal before him, + Quoth he, "Thou ask'st me for my tale, attend; + Then give me thine, _Heus renovo dolorem_!" + Therewith the usage villanous and rough, + Schemed in cold blood by that malignant chough; + + The fraudful dinner (its dessert a wife); 78 + The bridal roof with nose assaulting glaive; + The oak whose leaves with pinching imps were rife; + The atrocious trap into the Viking's cave; + The chief obdurate in his damn'd idea, + Of proving Freedom by a roast to Freya; + + The graphic portrait of the Nuptial goddess; 79 + And diabolic if symbolic spit; + The hierarch's heresy on types and bodies; + And how at last he posed and silenced it; + All facts traced clearly to that _corvus niger_, + Were told with pathos that had touch'd a tiger, + + So far the gentle sympathising Nine 80 + In dulcet strains have sung Sir Gawaine's woes; + What now remains they bid the historic line + With Dorian dryness unadorn'd disclose; + So counsel all the powers of fancy stretch, + Then leave the judge to finish off the wretch! + + Along the beach Sir Gawaine and the hound 81 + Roved all the night, and at the dawn of day + Came unawares upon a squadron bound + To fish for whales, arrested in a bay + For want of winds, which certain Norway hags + Had squeezed from heaven and bottled up in bags.[13] + + Straight when the seamen, fretting on the shore, 82 + Behold a wanderer clad as Freya's priest, + They rush, and round him kneeling, they implore + The runes, by which the winds may be released: + The spurious priest a gracious answer made, + And told them Freya sent him to their aid; + + Bade them conduct himself and hound on board, 83 + And broil two portions of their choicest meat. + "The spell," quoth he, "our sacred arts afford + To free the wind is in the food we eat; + We dine, and dining exorcise the witches, + And loose the bags from their infernal stitches. + + "Haste then, my children, and dispel the wind; 84 + Haste, for the bags are awfully inflating!" + The ship is gain'd. Both priest and dog have dined; + The crews assembled on the decks are waiting. + A heavier man arose the audacious priest, + And stately stepp'd he west and stately east! + + Mutely invoked St. David and St. Bran 85 + To charge a stout north-western with their blessing; + Then clear'd his throat and lustily began + A howl of vowels huge from Taliessin. + Prone fell the crews before the thundering tunes, + In words like mountains roll'd the enormous runes! + + The excited hound, symphonious with the song, 86 + Yell'd as if heaven and earth were rent asunder; + The rocks Orphean seem'd to dance along; + The affrighted whales plunged waves affrighted under; + Polyphlosboian, onwards booming bore + The deaf'ning, strident, rauque, Homeric roar! + + As lions lash themselves to louder ire, 87 + By his own song the Knight sublimely stung + Caught the full oestro of the poet's fire, + And grew more stunning every note he sung! + In each dread blast a patriot's soul exhales, + And Norway quakes before the storm of Wales. + + Whether, as grateful Cymri should believe, 88 + That blatant voice heroic burst the bags, + (For sure it might the caves of Boreas cleave + Much more the stitchwork of such losel hags!) + Or heaven, on any terms, resolved on peace; + The wind sprang up before the Knight would cease. + + Never again hath singer heard such praise 89 + As Gawaine heard; for never since hath song + Found out the secret how the wind to raise!-- + Around the charmer now the seamen throng, + And bribe his blest attendance on their toil, + With bales of bear-skin and with tuns of oil. + + Well pleased to leave the inhospitable shores, 90 + The artful Knight yet slowly seem'd to yield.-- + Now through the ocean plunge the brazen prores; + They pass the threshold of the world congeal'd; + Surprise the snorting mammoths of the main; + And pile the decks with Pelions of the slain. + + When, in the midmost harvest of the spoil, 91 + Pounce comes a storm unspeakably more hideous + Than that which drove upon the Lybian soil + Anchises' son, the pious and perfidious, + When whooping Notus, as the Nine assure us, + Rush'd out to play with Africus and Eurus. + + Torn each from each, or down the maelstrom whirl'd, 92 + Or grasp'd and gulph'd by the devouring sea, + Or on the ribs of hurrying icebergs hurl'd, + The sunder'd vessels vanish momently. + Scarce through the blasts which swept his own, Gawaine + Heard the crew shrieking "Chant the runes again!" + + Far other thoughts engaged the prescient knight, 93 + Fast to a plank he lash'd himself and hound; + Scarce done, than, presto, shooting out of sight, + The enormous eddy spun him round and round, + Along the deck a monstrous wave had pour'd, + Caught up the plank and toss'd it overboard. + + What of the ship became, saith history not. 94 + What of the man--the man himself shall show. + "Like stone from sling," quoth Gawaine, "I was shot + Into a ridge of what they call a _floe_,[14] + There much amazed, but rescued from the waters, + Myself and hound took up our frigid quarters. + + "Freed from the plank, drench'd, spluttering, stunn'd, and 95 + bruised, + We peer'd about us on the sweltering deep, + And seeing nought, and being much confused, + Crept side by side and nestled into sleep. + The nearest kindred most avoid each other, + So to shun Death, we visited his brother, + + "Awaked at last, we found the waves had stranded 96 + A store of waifs portentous and nefarious; + Here a dead whale was at my elbow landed, + There a sick polypus, that sea-Briareus, + Stretch'd out its claws to incorporate my corpus; + While howl'd the hound half buried by a porpoise! + + "Nimbly I rose, disporpoising my friend;-- 97 + Around me scatter'd lay more piteous wrecks, + With every wave the accursed Tritons send + Some sad memento of submergent decks, + Prows, rudders, casks, ropes, blubber, hides, and hooks, + Sailors, salt beef, tubs, cabin boys, and cooks. + + "Graves on the dead, with pious care bestow'd, 98 + (Graves in the ice hewn out with mickle pain + By axe and bill, which with the waifs had flow'd + To that strange shore) I next collect the gain; + Placed in a hollow cleft--and cover'd o'er;-- + Then Knight and hound proceeded to explore. + + "Far had we wander'd, for the storm had join'd 99 + To a great isle of ice, our friend the _floe_, + When as the day (three hours its length!) declined, + Out bray'd a roar; I stared around, and lo + A flight of dwarfs about the size of sea-moths, + Chased by two bears that might have eat behemoths! + + "Arm'd with the axe the Tritons had ejected, 100 + I rush'd to succour the Pigmaean nation, + In strife our valour, I have oft suspected, + Proportions safety to intoxication, + As drunken men securely walk on walls + From which the wretch who keeps his senses falls; + + "Let but the noble frenzy seize the brain, 101 + And strength divine seems breathed into the form; + The rill when swollen swallows up a plain, + The breeze runs mad before it blows a storm; + To do great deeds, first lose your wits,--then do them! + In fine--I burst upon the bears, and slew them! + + "The dwarfs, deliver'd, kneel, and pull their noses;[15] 102 + In tugs which mean to say 'The Pigmy Nation + A vote of thanks respectfully proposes + From all the noses of the corporation!' + Your Highness knows '_Magister Artis Venter_:' + On signs for breakfast my replies concenter! + + "Quick they conceive, and quick obey; the beasts 103 + Are skinn'd, and drawn, and quarter'd in a trice, + But Vulcan leaves Diana to the feasts, + And not a wood-nymph consecrates the ice-- + Bear is but so-so, when 'tis cook'd the best, + But bear just skinn'd and perfectly undrest! + + "Then I bethink me of the planks and casks 104 + Stow'd in the cleft--for fuel _quantum suff_: + I draw the dwarfs--sore chattering, from their tasks, + Choose out the morsels least obdurely tough; + With these I load the Pigmies--bid them follow-- + Regain the haven, and review the hollow. + + "But when those minnow-men beheld the whale 105 + It really was a spectacle affecting! + They shout, they sob, they leap--embrace the tail, + Peep in the jaws; then, round me re-collecting, + Draw forth these noselings from their hiding places, + Which serve as public speakers to their faces! + + "While I revolve what this salute may mean, 106 + They rush once more upon the poor balaena, + Clutch--rend--gnaw--bolt the blubber; but the lean + Reject as drying to the duodena! + This done,--my broil they aid me to obtain, + And, while I eat--the noses go again! + + "My tale is closed--the grateful Pigmies lead 107 + Myself and hound across the ice defiles; + Regain their people and recite my deed, + Describe the monsters and display the spoils; + With royal rank my feats the dwarfs repay, + And build the palace which you now survey! + + "The vanquish'd bears are trophied on the wall; 108 + The oil you scent once floated in the whale; + I had a vision to illume the hall + With lights less fragrant,--human hopes are frail! + With cares ingenious from the bruins' fat, + I made some candles,--which the ladies ate! + + "'Tis now your turn to tell the tale, Sir King,-- 109 + And by the way our comrade, Lancelot? + I hope he found a raven in the ring! + _Monstrum horrendum!_--Sire, I question not + That in your justice you have heard enough + When we get home--to crucify that chough!" + + "Gawaine," said Arthur, with his sunny smile, 110 + "Methinks thy heart will soon absolve the raven, + Thy friend had perish'd in this icy isle + But for thy voyage to the Viking's haven, + In every ill which gives thee such offence, + Thou seest the raven, I the Providence!" + + The Knight reluctant shook his learned head; 111 + "So please you, Sire, you cannot find a thief + Who picks our pouch, but Providence hath led + His steps to pick it;--yet, to my belief, + There's not a judge who'd scruple to exhibit + That proof of Providence upon a gibbet! + + "The chough was sent by Providence:--Agreed: 112 + We send the chough to Providence, in turn! + Yet in the hound and not the chough, indeed, + Your friendly sight should Providence discern; + For had the hound been just a whit less nimble, + Thanks to the chough, your friend had been a symbol!" + + "Thy logic," answer'd Arthur, "is unsound, 113 + But for the chough thou never had'st been married; + But for the wife thou ne'er hadst seen the hound;-- + The _Ab initio_ to the chough is carried: + The hound is but the effect--the chough the cause," + The generous Gawaine murmur'd his applause. + + "_Do veniam Corvo!_ Sire, the chough's acquitted!" 114 + "For Lancelot next," quoth Arthur, "be at ease, + The task fulfill'd to which he was permitted, + The ring veer'd home--I left him on the seas. + Ere this, be sure he hails the Cymrian shore, + And gives to Carduel one great bulwark more." + + Then Arthur told of fair Genevra flying 115 + From the scorn'd nuptials of the heathen fane; + Her Runic bark to his emprise supplying + The steed that bore him to the Northern main; + While she, with cheeks that blush'd and looks that fell, + Implored a Christian's home in Carduel. + + The gentle King well versed in woman's heart, 116 + And all the vestal thoughts that tend its shrine, + On Lancelot smiled--and answer'd, "Maid, depart; + Though o'er our roofs the thunder clouds combine, + Yet love shall guard, whatever war betide, + The Saxon's daughter--or the Cymrian's bride." + + A stately ship from glittering Spezia bore 117 + To Cymrian ports the lovers from the King; + Then on, the Seeker of the Shield, once more, + With patient soul pursued the heavenly wing. + Wild though that crew, his heart enthralls their own;-- + The great are kings wherever they are thrown. + + Nought of that mystery which the Spirit's priest, 118 + True Love, draws round the aisles behind the veil, + Could Arthur bare to that light joyous breast,-- + Life hath its inward as its outward tale, + Our lips reveal our deeds,--our sufferings shun; + What we have felt, how few can tell to one! + + The triple task--the sword not sought in vain, 119 + The shield yet hidden in the caves of Lok, + Of these spoke Arthur,--"Certes," quoth Gawaine, + When the King ceased--"strange legends of a rock + Where a fierce Dwarf doth guard a shield of light, + Oft have I heard my pigmy friends recite; + + "Permit me now your royal limbs to wrap 120 + In these warm relics of departed bears; + And while from Morpheus you decoy a nap, + My skill the grain shall gather from the tares. + The Pigmy tongue my erudite pursuits + Have traced _ad unguem_--to the nasal roots!" + + Slumbers the King--slumber his ghastly crew: 121 + How long they know not, guess not--night and dawn + Long since commingled in one livid hue: + Like that long twilight o'er the portals drawn, + Behind whose threshold spreads eternity! + When the sleep burst, and sudden in the sky + + Stands the great Sun!--Like the first glorious breath 122 + Of Freedom to the slave, like Hope upon + The hush of woe, or through the mists of death + A cheerful Angel--comes to earth the Sun! + Ice still on land--still vapour in the air, + But light--the victor Lord--but Light is there! + + On siege-worn cities, when their war is spent, 123 + From the far hill as, gleam on gleam, arise + The spears of some great aiding armament-- + Grow the dim splendours, broadening up the skies, + Till bright and brighter, the sublime array + Flings o'er the world the banners of the Day! + + Behold them where they kneel! the starry King, 124 + The dwarfs of night, the giants of the sea! + Each with the other linked in solemn ring, + Too blest for words!--Man's sever'd Family, + All made akin once more beneath those eyes + Which on their Father smiled in Paradise! + + +NOTES TO BOOK IX. + +1.--Page 346, stanza i. + + _Form'd of the frost-gems ages labour forth_ + + The mountains of hard and perfect ice are the gradual production, + perhaps, of many centuries.--_LESLIE'S Polar Seas and Regions._ + +2.--Page 346, stanza ii. + + _Here did the venturous Ithacan explore._ + + Ulysses. _Odys._, lib. xi. + +3.--Page 347, stanza iii. + + _And, with the birth of fairy forests rife, + Blushes the world of white._ + + The phenomenon of the red snow on the Arctic mountains is formed by + innumerable vegetable bodies; and the olive green of the Greenland Sea + by Medusan animalcules, the number of which Mr. Scoresby illustrates + by supposing that 80,000 persons would have been employed since the + creation in counting it.--See LESLIE. + +4.--Page 347, stanza iv. + + _The morse emerging rears the face of man._ + + The Morse, or Walrus, supposed to be the original of the Merman; from + the likeness its face presents at a little distance to that of a human + being. + +5.--Page 347, stanza viii. + + _Floats the vast ice-field with its glassy blink._ + + The ice-blink seen on the horizon. + +6.--Page 348, stanza xiii. + + _While the dire pest-scourge of the frozen zone._ + + Though the fearful disease known by the name of the scurvy is not + peculiar to the northern latitudes; and Dr. Budd has ably disproved + (in the Library of Practical Medicine) the old theory that it + originated in cold and moisture; yet the disease was known in the + north of Europe from the remotest ages, while no mention is made of + its appearance in more genial climates before the year 1260. + +7.--Page 349, stanza xxii. + + _And round and round the bark the narwal sweeps._ + + The Sea Unicorn. + +8.--Page 350, stanza xxv. + + _front after front they rise + With their bright stare._ + + The eye of the Walrus is singularly bright. + +9.--Page 351, stanza xxxvii. + + _The ravening glaucus sudden shooting o'er._ + + The Larus Glaucus, the great bird of prey in the Polar regions. + +10.--Page 352, stanza xl. + + _Blithe from the turf the Dove the blessed leaves._ + + Herbs which act as the antidotes to the scurvy (the cochlearia, &c.) + are found under the snows, when all other vegetation seems to cease. + +11.--Page 354, stanza liv. + + _The earthlier half, its own and Heaven's before._ + + In allusion to the well-known Platonic fancy, that love is the + yearning of the soul for the twin soul with which it was united in + a former existence, and which it instinctively recognizes below. + Schiller, in one of his earlier poems, has enlarged on this idea + with earnest feeling and vigorous fancy. + +12.--Page 357, stanza lxxiii. + + _Ice-blocks the walls, and hollow'd ice the roof!_ + + The houses of the Esquimaux who received Captain Lyon were thus + constructed:--the frozen snow being formed into slabs of about two + feet long and half a foot thick; the benches were made with snow, + strewed with twigs, and covered with skins; and the lamp suspended + from the roof, fed with seal or walrus oil, was the sole substitute + for the hearth, and furnished light and fire for cooking. + + The Esquimaux were known to the settlers and pirates of Norway by + the contemptuous name of dwarfs or pigmies--(_Skroellings_). + +13.--Page 358, stanza lxxxi. + + _which certain Norway hags + Had squeezed from heaven and bottled up in bags._ + + A well-known popular superstition, not, perhaps, quite extinct at this + day, amongst the Baltic mariners. + +14.--Page 360, stanza xciv. + + "_I was shot + Into a ridge of what they call a_ floe. + + The smaller kind of ice-field is called by the northern whale-fishers + "a floe,"--the name is probably of very ancient date. + +15.--Page 361, stanza cii. + + _"The dwarfs, deliver'd, kneel, and pull their noses._ + + A salutation still in vogue among certain tribes of the Esquimaux. + + + + +BOOK X. + + +ARGUMENT. + +The Polar Spring--The Boreal Lights and apparition of a double sun--The +Rocky Isle--The Bears--The mysterious Shadow from the Crater of the +extinct Volcano--The Bears scent the steps of Man: their movements +described--Arthur's approach--The Bears emerge from their coverts--The +Shadow takes form and life--The Demon Dwarf described--His parley with +Arthur--The King follows the Dwarf into the interior of the volcanic +rock--The Antediluvian Skeletons--The Troll-Fiends and their tasks-- +Arthur arrives at the Cave of Lok--The Corpses of the armed Giants--The +Valkyrs at their loom--The Wars that they weave--The Dwarf addresses +Arthur--The King's fear--He approaches the sleeping Fiend, and the +curtains close around him--Meanwhile Gawaine and the Norwegians +have tracked Arthur's steps on the snow, and arrive at the Isle--Are +attacked by the Bears--The noises and eruption from the Volcano--The +re-appearance of Arthur--The change in him--Freedom and its +characteristics--Arthur and his band renew their way along the coast; +ships are seen--How Arthur obtains a bark from the Rugen Chieftain; +and how Gawaine stores it--The Dove now leads homeward--Arthur reaches +England; and, sailing up a river, enters the Mercian territory--He +follows the Dove through a forest to the ruins built by the earliest +Cimmerians--The wisdom and civilization of the ancestral Druidical +races, as compared with their idolatrous successors at the time of the +Roman Conquerors, whose remains alone are left to our age--Arthur lies +down to rest amidst the moonlit ruins--The Dove vanishes--The nameless +horror that seizes the King. + + + Spring on the Polar Seas!--not violet-crown'd 1 + By dewy Hours, nor to cerulean halls + Melodious hymn'd, yet Light itself around + Her stately path, sheds starry coronals. + Sublime she comes, as when, from Dis set free, + Came, through the flash of Jove, Persephone: + + She comes--that grand Aurora of the North! 2 + By steeds of fire her glorious chariot borne, + From Boreal courts the meteors flaming forth, + Ope heav'n on heav'n, before the mighty Morn: + And round the rebel giants of the night + On earth's last confines bursts the storm of light. + + Wonder and awe! lo, where against the Sun 3 + A second Sun[1] his lurid front uprears! + As if the first-born lost Hyperion, + Hurl'd down of old, from his Uranian spheres, + Rose from the hell-rocks on his writhings pil'd, + And glared defiance on his Titan child. + + Now life, the polar life, returns once more, 4 + The reindeer roots his mosses from the snows; + The whirring sea-gulls shriek along the shore; + Through oozing rills the cygnet gleaming goes; + And, where the ice some happier verdure frees, + Laugh into light frank-eyed anemones. + + Out from the seas still solid, frown'd a lone 5 + Chaos of chasm and precipice and rock, + There, while the meteors on their revels shone, + Growling hoarse glee, in many a grauly flock, + With their huge young, the sea-bears sprawling play'd + Near the charr'd crater some mute Hecla made. + + Sullen before that cavern's vast repose, 6 + Like the lorn wrecks of a despairing race + Chased to their last hold by triumphant foes, + Darkness and Horror stood! But from the space + Within the cave, and o'er the ice-ground wan, + Quivers a Shadow vaguely mocking man. + + Like man's the Shadow falls, yet falling loses 7 + The shape it took, each moment changefully; + As when the wind on Runic waves confuses + The weird boughs toss'd from some prophetic tree. + Fantastic, goblin-like, and fitful thrown, + Comes the strange Shadow from the drear Unknown. + + It is _not_ man's--for they, man's savage foes, 8 + Whose sense ne'er fails them when the scent is blood, + Sport in the shadow the Unseen One throws, + Nor hush their young to sniff the human food; + But, undisturbed as if their home were there, + Pass to and fro the light-defying lair. + + So the bears gamboll'd, so the Shadow play'd, 9 + When sudden halts the uncouth merriment. + Now man, in truth, draws near, man's steps invade + The men-devourers!--Snorting to the scent, + Lo, where they stretch dread necks of shaggy snow, + Grin with white fangs, and greed the blood to flow! + + Grotesquely undulating, moves the flock, 10 + Low grumbling as the grisly ranks divide; + Some heave their slow bulk peering up the rock, + Some stand erect, and shift from side to side + The keen quick ear, the red dilating eye, + And steam the hard air with a hungry sigh. + + At length unquiet and amazed--as rings 11 + On to their haunt direct, the dauntless stride, + With the sharp instinct of all savage things + That doubt a prey by which they are defied, + They send from each to each a troubled stare; + And huddle close, suspicious of the snare. + + Then a huge leader, with concerted wile, 12 + Creeps lumbering on, and, to his guidance slow + The shagged armies move, in cautious file; + Till one by one, in ambush for the foe, + Drops into chasm and cleft,--and vanishing + With stealthy murther girds the coming King! + + He comes,--the Conqueror in the Halls of Time, 13 + Known by his silver herald in the Dove, + By his imperial tread, and front sublime + With power as tranquil as the lids of Jove,-- + All shapes of death the realms around afford:-- + From Fiends God guard him!--from all else his sword + + For he, with spring the huts of ice had left 14 + And the small People of the world of snows: + Their food the seal, their camp, at night, the cleft, + His bold Norwegians follow where he goes; + Now in the rear afar, their chief they miss, + And grudge the danger which they deem a bliss. + + Ere yet the meteors from the morning sky 15 + Chased large Orion,--in the hour when sleep + Reflects its ghost-land stillest on the eye, + Had stol'n the lonely King; and o'er the deep + Sought, by the clue the dwarfmen-legends yield, + And the Dove's wing--the demon-guarded Shield. + + The Desert of the Desolate is won. 16 + Still lurks, unseen, the ambush horrible-- + Nought stirs around beneath the twofold sun + Save that strange Shadow, where before it fell, + Still falling;--varying, quivering to and fro, + From the black cavern on the glaring snow. + + Slow the devourers rise, and peer around: 17 + Now crag and cliff move dire with savage life, + And rolling downward,--all the dismal ground + Shakes with the roar and bristles with the strife: + Not unprepared--(when ever are the brave?) + Stands the firm King, and bares the diamond glaive. + + Distinct through all the meteors, streams the brand, 18 + Light'ning along the air, the sea, the rock, + Bright as the arrow in that heavenly hand + Which slew the Python! Blinded halt the flock, + And the great roar, but now so rough and high, + Sinks into terror wailing timidly. + + Yet the fierce instinct and the rabid sting 19 + Of famine goad again the check'd array; + And close and closer in tumultuous ring, + Reels on the death-mass crushing towards its prey. + A dull groan tells where first the falchion sweeps-- + When into shape the cave-born Shadow leaps! + + Out from the dark it leapt--the awful form! 20 + Manlike, but sure not human! on its hair + The ice-barbs bristled: like a coming storm + The breath smote lifeless every wind in air; + Dread form deform'd, as ere the birth of Light, + Some son of Chaos and the Antique Night! + + At once a dwarf and giant--trunk and limb 21 + Knit in gnarl'd strength as by a monstrous chance, + Never chimera more grotesque and grim, + Paled AEgypt's priesthood with its own romance, + When, from each dire delirium Fancy knows, + Some Typhon-type of Powers destroying rose. + + At the dread presence, ice a double cold 22 + Conceived; the meteors from their dazzling play + Paused; and appall'd into their azure hold + Shrunk back with all their banners; not a ray + Broke o'er the dead sea and the doleful shore, + Winter's steel grasp lock'd the dumb world once more. + + Halted the war--as the wild multitude 23 + Left the King scatheless, and their leaders slain; + And round the giant dwarf the baleful brood + Came with low howls of terror, wrath, and pain, + As children round their father. _They_ depart, + But strife remains; Fear and the Human Heart; + + For Fear was on the bold! Then spoke aloud 24 + The horrent Image: "Child of hateful Day, + What madness snares thee to the glooms that shroud + The realms abandon'd to my secret sway? + Why on mine air first breathes the human breath? + Hath thy far world no fairer path to Death?" + + "All ways to Death, but one to Glory leads, 25 + That which alike through earth, or air, or wave, + Bears a bold thought to goals in noble deeds," + Said the pale King. "And this, methinks, the cave + Which hides the Shield that rock'd the sleep of one + By whom ev'n Fable shows what deeds were done! + + "I seek the talisman which guards the free, 26 + And tread where erst the Sire of freemen trod."[2] + "Ho!" laugh'd the dwarf, "Walhalla's child was He! + _Man_ gluts the fiend when he assumes the god."-- + "No god, Deceiver, though man's erring creeds + Make gods of men when godlike are their deeds; + + "And if the Only and Eternal One 27 + Hath, ere his last illuminate Word Reveal'd, + Left some grand Memory on its airy throne, + Nor smote the nations when to names they kneel'd-- + It is that each false god was some great truth!-- + To races Heroes are as Bards to youth!" + + Thus spoke the King, to whom the Enchanted Lake, 28 + Where from all sources Wisdom ever springs, + Had given unknown the subtle powers that wake + Our intuitions into cloudiest things, + Won but by those, who, after passionate dreams, + Taste the sharp herb and dare the solemn streams. + + The Demon heard; and as a moon that shines, 29 + Rising behind Arcturus, cold and still + O'er Baltic headlands black with rigid pines,-- + So on his knit and ominous brows a chill + And livid smile, revealed the gloomy night, + To leave the terror sterner for the light. + + Thus spoke the Dwarf, "Thou wouldst survive to tell 30 + Of trophies wrested from the halls of Lok, + Yet wherefore singly face the hosts of Hell? + Return, and lead thy comrades to the rock; + Never to one, on earth's less dreadful field, + The prize of chiefs do War's fierce Valkyrs yield." + + "War," said the King, "is waged on mortal life 31 + By men with men;--_that_, dare I with the rest: + In conflicts awful with no human strife, + Mightiest methinks, that soul the loneliest! + When starry charms from Afrite caves were won, + No Judah march'd with dauntless Solomon!" + + Fell fangs the demon gnash'd, and o'er the crowd 32 + Wild cumbering round his feet, with hungry stare + Greeding the man, his drooping visage bow'd; + "Go elsewhere, sons--your prey escapes the snare: + Yours but the food which flesh to flesh supplies; + Here not the mortal but the soul defies." + + Then striding to the cave, he plunged within; 33 + "Follow," he cried, and like a prison'd blast + Along the darkness, the reverberate din + Roll'd from the rough sides of the viewless Vast; + As goblin echoes, through the haunted hollow, + 'Twixt groan and laughter, chimed hoarse-gibbering, "Follow!" + + The King, recoiling, paused irresolute, 34 + Till through the cave the white wing went its way; + Then on his breast he sign'd the cross, and mute, + With solemn prayer, he left the world of day. + Thick stood the night, save where the falchion gave + Its clear sharp glimmer lengthening down the cave. + + Advancing; flashes rush'd irregular 35 + Like subterranean lightning, fork'd and red: + From warring matter--wandering shot the star + Of poisonous gases; and the tortured bed + Of the' old Volcano show'd in trailing fires, + Where the numb'd serpent dragg'd its mangled spires. + + Broader and ruddier on the Dove's pale wings 36 + Now glow'd the lava of the widening spaces; + Grinn'd from the rook the jaws of giant things, + The lurid skeletons of vanish'd races, + They who, perchance, ere man himself had birth, + Ruled the moist slime of uncompleted earth. + + Enormous couch'd fang'd Iguanodon,[3] 37 + To which the monster-lizard of the Nile + Were prey too small,--whose dismal haunts were on + The swamps where now such golden harvests smile + As had sufficed those myriad hosts to feed + When all the Orient march'd behind the Mede. + + There the foul, earliest reptile spectra lay, 38 + Distinct as when the chaos was their home; + Half plant, half serpent, some subside away + Into gnarl'd roots (now stone)--more hideous some, + Half bird--half fish--seem struggling yet to spring, + Shark-like the maw, and dragon-like the wing. + + But, life-like more, from later layers emerge 39 + With their fell tusks deep-stricken in the stone, + Herds,[4] that through all the thunders of the surge, + Had to the Ark which swept relentless on + (Denied to them)--knell'd the despairing roar + Of sentenced races time shall know no more. + + Under the limbs of mammoths went the path, 40 + Or through the arch immense of Dragon jaws, + And ever on the King, in watchful wrath, + Gazed the attendant Fiend, with artful pause + Where dread was deadliest; had the mortal one + Falter'd or quail'd, the Fiend his prey had won, + + And rent it limb by limb; but on the Dove 41 + Arthur look'd steadfast, and the Fiend was foil'd. + Now, as along the skeleton world they move, + Strange noises jar, and flit strange shadows. Toil'd + The Troll's[5] swart people, in their inmost home + At work on ruin for the days to come. + + A baleful race, whose anvils forge the flash 42 + Of iron murder for the limbs of war; + Who ripen hostile embryos, for the crash + Of earthquakes rolling slow to towers afar; + Or train from Hecla's fount the lurid rills, + To cities sleeping under shepherd hills; + + Or nurse the seeds, through patient ages rife 43 + With the full harvest of that crowning fire, + When for the sentenced Three--Time, Death, and Life-- + Our globe itself shall be the funeral pyre; + And, awed, in orbs remote some race unknown + Shall miss one star, whose smile had lit their own! + + Through the Phlegraean glare, innumerous eyes, 44 + Fierce with the murther-lust, scowl ravening, + And forms on which had never look'd the skies + Stalk near and nearer, swooping round the King, + Till from the blazing sword the foul array + Shrink back, and wolf-like follow on the way. + + Now through waste mines of iron, whose black peaks 45 + Frown o'er dull Phlegethons of fire below, + While, vague as worlds unform'd, sulphureous reeks + Roll on before them huge and dun,--they go. + Abrupt the vapours vanish, and the light + Bursts like a flood and rushes o'er the night. + + A mighty cirque with lustre belts the mine; 46 + Its walls of iron glittering into steel; + Wall upon wall reflected flings the shrine + Of armour! Vizorless the Corpses kneel, + Their glazed eyes fix'd upon a couch where, screen'd + With whispering curtains, sleeps the Kingly Fiend: + + Corpses of giants, who perchance had heard 47 + The tromps of Tubal, and had leapt to strife + Whose guilt provoked the Deluge: sepulchred + In their world's ruins, still a frown like life + Hung o'er vast brows,--and spears like turrets shone + In hands whose grasp had crush'd the Mastodon. + + Around the couch, a silent solemn ring, 48 + They whom the Teuton call the Valkyrs sate. + Shot through pale webs their spindles glistening; + Dread tissues woven out of human hate + For heavenly ends!--for there is spun the woe + Of every war that ever earth shall know. + + Below their feet a bottomless pit of gore 49 + Yawn'd, where each web, when once the woof was done, + Was scornful cast. Yet rising evermore + Out of the surface, wander'd airy on + (Till lost in upper space), pale winged seeds, + The future heaven-fruit of the hell-born deeds; + + For out of every evil born of time, 50 + God shapes a good for his eternity. + Lo where the spindles, weaving crime on crime, + Form the world-work of Charlemains to be;-- + How in that hall of iron lengthen forth + The fates that ruin, to rebuild, the North! + + Here, one stern Sister smiling on the King, 51 + Hurries the thread that twines his Nation's doom; + And, farther down, the whirring spindles sing + Around the woof which from his Baltic home + Shall charm the avenging Norman, to control + The shatter'd races into one calm whole. + + Already here, the hueless lines along, 52 + Grows the red creed of the Arabian horde; + Already here, the arm'd Chivalric Wrong + Which made the cross the symbol of the sword, + Which thy worst idol, Rome, to Judah gave, + And worshipp'd Mars upon the Saviour's grave! + + Already the wild Tartar in his tents, 53 + Dreamless of thrones--and the fierce Visigoth[6] + Who on Colombia's golden armaments + Shall loose the hell-hounds,--nurse the age-long growth + Of Desolation--as the noiseless skein + Clasps in its web, thy far descendants, Cain! + + Already, in the hearts of sires remote 54 + In their rude Isle, the spell ordains the germ + Of what shall be a Name of wonder, wrought + From that fell feast which Glory gives the worm, + When Rome's dark bird shall shade with thunder wings + Calm brows that brood the doom of breathless kings![7] + + Already, though the sad unheeded eyes 55 + Of Bards alone foresee, and none believe, + The lightning boarded from the farthest skies + Into the mesh the race-destroyers weave, + When o'er our marts shall graze a stranger's fold, + And the new Tarshish rot, as rots the old. + + Yea, ever there, each spectre hand the birth 56 + Weaves of a war--until the angel-blast + (Peal'd from the tromp that knells the doom of earth) + Shall start the livid legions from their last; + And man, with arm uplifted still to slay, + Reel on some Alp that rolls in smoke away! + + Fierce glared the dwarf upon the silent King, 57 + "There is the prize thy visions would achieve! + There, where the hush'd inexorable ring + Murder the myriads in the webs they weave, + Behind the curtains of Incarnate War, + Whose lightest tremour topples thrones afar,-- + + "Which ev'n the Valkyrs with their bloodless hands 58 + Dare never draw aside,--go seek the Shield! + Yet be what follows known!--yon kneeling bands + Whose camps were Andes, and whose battle-field + Left plains, now empires, rolling seas of gore, + Shall near the clang and heap to life once more. + + "Roused from their task, revengeful shall arise 59 + The never-baffled 'Choosers of the Slain;' + The Fiend thy hand shall wake, unclose the eyes + That flash'd on heavenly hosts their storms again, + And thy soul wither in the mighty frown + Before whose night an earlier sun sunk down. + + "The rocks shall close all path for flight save one, 60 + Where now the Troll-fiends wait to rend their prey, + And each malign and monster skeleton, + Reclothed with life as in the giant day + When yonder seas were valleys, scent thy gore, + And grin with fangs that gnash for food once more. + + "Ho, dost thou shudder, pale one? Back and live." 61 + Thrice strove the King for speech, and thrice in vain; + For he was man, and till our souls survive + The instincts born of flesh, shall Horror reign + In that Unknown beyond the realms of Sense, + Where the soul's darkness seems the man's defence. + + Yet as when through uncertain troublous cloud 62 + Breaks the sweet morning star, and from its home + Smiles lofty peace, so through the phantom crowd + Of fears the Eos of the world to come, + FAITH, look'd--revealing how earth-nourish'd are + The clouds, and how beyond their reach the star! + + Mute on his knee, amidst the kneeling dead 63 + He sank--the dead the dreaming fiend revered, + And he, the living God! Then terror fled, + And all the king illumed the front he rear'd. + Firm to the couch on which the fiend reposed + He strode;--the curtains, murmuring, round him closed. + + Now while this chanced, without the tortured rock 64 + Raged fierce the war between the rival might + Of beast and man; the dwarf king's ravenous flock + And Norway's warriors led by Cymri's knight. + For by the foot-prints through the snows explored, + On to the rock the bands had track'd their lord. + + Repell'd, not conquer'd, back to crag and cave, 65 + Sullen and watchful still, the monsters go; + And solitude resettles on the wave, + But silence not; around, aloft, alow + Roar the couch'd beasts, and answering from the main, + Shrieks the shrill gull and booms the dismal crane. + + And now the rock itself from every tomb 66 + Of its dead world within, sends voices forth, + Sounds direr far, than in its rayless gloom + Crash on the midnight of the farthest North. + From beasts our world hath lost, the strident yell, + The shout of giants and the laugh of hell. + + Reels all the isle; and every ragged steep 67 + Hurls down an avalanche;--all the crater-cave + Glows into swarthy red, and fire-showers leap + From rended summits, hissing to the wave + Through its hard ice; or in huge crags, wide-sounding + Spring where they crash--on rushing and rebounding. + + Dizzy and blind, the staggering Northmen fall 68 + On earth that rocks beneath them like a bark; + Loud and more loud the tumult swells with all + The Acheron of the discord. Swift and dark + From every cleft the smoke-clouds burst their way, + Rush through the void, and sweep from heaven the day. + + Smitten beneath the pestilential blast 69 + And the great terror, senseless lay the band, + Till the arrested life, with throes at last, + Gasp'd back: and holy over sea and land + Silence and light reposed. They look'd above + And calm in calmed air beheld the Dove! + + And o'er their prostrate lord was poised the wing; 70 + And when they rush'd and reach'd him, shouting joy, + There came no answer from the corpse-like King; + And when his true knight raised him, heavily + Droop'd his pale front upon the faithful breast, + And the closed lids seem'd leaden in their rest. + + And all his mail was dinted, hewn, and crush'd, 71 + And the bright falchion dim with foul dark gore; + And the strong pulse of the strong hand was hush'd; + Like a spent storm, that might, which seem'd before + Charged with the bolts of Jove, now from the sky + Drew breath more feeble than an infant's sigh. + + And there was solemn change on that fair face, 72 + Nor, whatsoe'er the fear or scorn had been, + Did the past passion leave its haggard trace; + But on the rigid beauty awe was seen, + As one who on the Gorgon's aspect fell + Had gazed, and freezing, yet survived the spell! + + Not by the chasm in which he left the day, 73 + But through a new-made gorge the fires had cleft, + As if with fires themselves were forced the way, + Had rush'd the King;--and sense and sinew left + The form that struggled till the strife was o'er: + So faints the swimmer when he gains the shore. + + But on his arm was clasp'd the wondrous prize: 74 + Dimm'd, tarnish'd, grimed, and black with gore and smoke, + Still the pure metal, through each foul disguise, + Like starlight scatter'd on dark waters, broke; + Through gore, through smoke it shone--the silver Shield, + Clear as dawns Freedom from her battle-field! + + Days follow'd days, ere from that speechless trance 75 + (Borne to green inlets isled amid the snows + Where led the Dove), the King's reviving glance + Look'd languid round on watchful, joyful brows; + Ev'n while he slept, new flowers the earth had given, + And on his heart brooded the bird of heaven! + + But ne'er as voice and strength and sense return'd, 76 + To his good knight the strife that won the Shield + Did Arthur tell; deep in his soul inurn'd + (As in the grave its secret) nor reveal'd + To mortal ear that mystery which for ever + Flow'd through his thought, as through the cave a river; + + Whether to Love, how true soe'er its faith, 77 + Whether to Wisdom, whatsoe'er its skill, + Till his last hour the struggle and the scath + Remain'd unutter'd and unutterable; + But aye, in solitude, in crowds, in strife, + In joy, that memory lived within his life: + + It made not sadness, though the calm, grave smile 78 + Never regain'd the flash that youth had given,-- + But as some shadow from a sacred pile + Darkens the earth from shrines that speak of heaven, + That gloom the grandeur of religion wore, + And seem'd to hallow all it rested o'er. + + Such Freedom is, O Slave, that would be free! 79 + Never her real struggles into life + Hath History told! As it hath been shall be + The Apocalypse of Nations; nursed in strife + Not with the present, nor with living foes, + But where the centuries shroud their long repose. + + Out from the graves of earth's primaeval bones, 80 + The shield of empire, patient Force must win: + What made the Briton free? not crashing thrones + Nor parchment laws. The charter must begin + In Scythian tents, the steel of Nomad spears; + To date the freedom, count three thousand years! + + Neither is Freedom mirth! Be free, O slave, 81 + And dance no more beneath the lazy palm. + Freedom's mild brow with noble care is grave, + Her bliss is solemn as her strength is calm; + And thought mature each childlike sport debars + The forms erect whose look is on the stars. + + Now as the King revived, along the seas 82 + Flow'd back, enlarged to life, the lapsing waters; + Kiss'd from their slumber by the loving breeze, + Glide, in light dance, the Ocean's silver daughters-- + And blithe and hopeful o'er the sunny strands, + Listing the long-lost billow, rove the bands. + + At length, O sight of joy!--the gleam of sails 83 + Bursts on the solitude! more near and near + Come the white playmates of the buxom gales.-- + The whistling cords, the sounds of man, they hear. + Shout answers shout;--light sparkles round the oar-- + And from the barks the boat skims on to shore. + + It was a race from Rugen's friendly soil, 84 + Leagued by old ties with Cymri's land and king, + Who, with the spring-time, to their wonted spoil + Of seals and furs had spread the canvas wing + To bournes their fathers never yet had known;-- + And found, amazed, hearts bolder than their own. + + Soon to the barks the Cymrian and their bands 85 + Are borne: Bright-hair'd, above the gazing crews, + Lone on the loftiest deck, the leader stands, + To whom the King (his rank made known) renews + All that his tale of mortal hope and fear + Vouchsafes from truth to thrill a mortal's ear; + + And from the barks whose sails the chief obey, 86 + Craves one to waft where yet the fates may guide.-- + With rugged wonder in his large survey, + That calm grand brow the son of AEgir[8] eyed, + And seem'd in awe, as of a god, to scan + Him who so moved his homage, yet was man. + + Smoothing his voice, rough with accustom'd swell 87 + Above the storms, and the wild roar of war, + The Northman answer'd, "Skalds in winter tell + Of the dire dwarf who guards the Shield of Thor, + For one whose race, with Odin's blent, shall be, + Lords of the only realm which suits the Free, + + "Ocean!--I greet thee, and this strong right hand 88 + Place in thine own to pledge myself thy man. + Choose as thou wilt for thee and for thy band, + Amongst the sea-steeds in the stalls of Ran. + Need'st thou our arms against the Saxon foe? + Our flag shall fly where'er thy trumpets blow!" + + "Men to be free must free themselves," the King 89 + Replied, proud-smiling. "Every father-land + Spurns from its breast the recreant sons that cling + For hope to standards winds not theirs have fann'd. + Thankful through thee our foe we reach;--and then + Cymri hath steel eno' for Cymrian men!" + + While these converse, Sir Gawaine, with his hound, 90 + Lured by a fragrant and delightsome smell + From roasts--not meant for Freya,--makes his round, + Shakes hands with all, and hopes their wives are well. + From spit to spit with easy grace he walks, + And chines astounded vanish while he talks. + + At earliest morn the bark to bear the King, 91 + His sage discernment delicately stores, + Rejects the blubber and disdains the ling + For hams of rein-deers and for heads of boars, + Connives at seal, to satisfy his men, + But childless leaves each loud-lamenting hen. + + And now the bark the Cymrian prince ascends, 92 + The large oars chiming to the chanting crew, + (His leal Norwegian band) the new-found friends + From brazen trumpets blare their loud adieu. + Forth bounds the ship, and Gawaine, while it quickens, + The wind propitiates--with three virgin chickens. + + Led by the Dove, more brightly day by day, 93 + The vernal azure deepens in the sky; + Far from the Polar threshold smiles the way-- + And lo, white Albion shimmers on the eye, + Nurse of all nations, who to breasts severe + Takes the rude children, the calm men to rear. + + Doubt and amaze with joy perplex the King: 94 + Not yet the task achieved, the mission done, + Why homeward steers the angel pilot's wing? + Of the three labours rests the crowning one; + Unreach'd the Iron Gates--Death's sullen hold-- + Where waits the Child-guide with the locks of gold. + + Yet still the Dove cleaves homeward through the air; 95 + Glides o'er the entrance of an inland stream; + And rests at last on bowers of foliage, where + Thick forests close their ramparts on the beam, + And clasp with dipping boughs a grassy creek, + Whose marge slopes level with the brazen beak. + + Around his neck the shield the Adventurer slung; 96 + And girt the enchanted sword. Then, kneeling, said + The young Ulysses of the golden tongue, + "Not now to phantom foes the dove hath led: + For, if I err not, this a Mercian haven, + And from the dove peeps forth at last the raven! + + "Not lone, nor reckless, in these glooms profound, 97 + Tempt the sure ambush of some Saxon host; + If out of sight, at least in reach of sound, + Let our stout Northmen follow up the coast; + Then if thou wilt, from each suspicious tree + Shake laurels down, but share them, Sire, with me!" + + "Nay," answer'd Arthur, "ever, as before, 98 + Alone the Pilgrim to his bourne must go; + But range the men conceal'd along the shore; + Set watch, from these green turrets, for the foe; + Moor'd to the marge where broadest hangs the bough, + Hide from the sun the glitter of the prow:-- + + And so farewell!" He said; to land he leapt; 99 + And with dull murmur from its verdant waves, + O'er his high crest the billowy forest swept. + As towards some fitful light the swimmer cleaves + His stalwart way,--so through the woven shades + Where the pale wing now glimmers and now fades. + + With strong hand parting the tough branches, goes 100 + Hour after hour the King; till light at last + From skies long hid, in ambient silver flows + Through opening glades, the length of gloom is past, + And the dark pines receding stand around + A silent hill with antique ruins crown'd. + + Day had long closed; and from the mournful deeps 101 + Of old volcanoes spent, the livid moon + Which through the life of planets lifeless creeps + Her ghostly way, deaf to the choral tune + Of spheres rejoicing, on those ruins old + Look'd down, herself a ruin,--hush'd and cold. + + Mutely the granite wrecks the King survey'd, 102 + And knew the work of hands Cimmerian, + What time in starry robes, and awe array'd, + Grey Druids spoke the oracles of man-- + Solving high riddles to Chaldean Mage, + Or the young wonder of the Samian Sage. + + A date remounting far beyond the day 103 + When Roman legions met the scythed cars, + When purer founts sublime had lapsed away + Through the deep rents of unrecorded wars, + And bloodstain'd altars cursed the mountain sod,[9] + Where the first faith had hail'd the Only God. + + For all now left us of the parent Celt, 104 + Is of that later and corrupter time,-- + Not in rude domeless fanes those Fathers knelt, + Who lured the Brahman from his burning clime, + Who charm'd lost science from each lone abyss, + And wing'd the shaft of Scythian Abaris.[10] + + Yea, the grandsires of our primaeval race 105 + Saw angel tracks the earlier earth upon, + And as a rising sun, the morning face + Of Truth more near the flush'd horizon shone; + Filling ev'n clouds with many a golden light, + Lost when the orb is at the noonday height. + + Through the large ruins (now no more), the last 106 + Perchance on earth of those diviner sires, + With noiseless step the lone descendant pass'd; + Not there were seen BAL-HUAN'S amber pyres; + No circling shafts with barbarous fragments strewn, + Spoke creeds of carnage to the spectral moon. + + But Art, vast, simple, and sublime, was there 107 + Ev'n in its mournful wrecks,--such Art foregone + As the first Builders, when their grand despair + Left Shinar's tower and city half undone, + Taught where they wander'd o'er the newborn world.-- + Column, and vault, and roof, in ruin hurl'd, + + Still spoke of hands that founded Babylon! 108 + So in the wrecks, the Lord of young Romance + By fallen pillars laid him musing down. + More large and large the moving shades advance, + Blending in one dim silence sad and wan + The past, the present, ruin and the man. + + Now, o'er his lids life's gentlest influence stole, 109 + Life's gentlest influence, yet the likest death! + That nightly proof how little needs the soul + Light from the sense, or being from the breath, + When all life knows a life unknown supplies, + And airy worlds around a Spirit rise. + + Still through the hazy mist of stealing sleep, 110 + His eyes explore the watchful guardian's wing, + There, where it broods upon the moss-grown heap, + With plumes that all the stars are silvering. + Slow close the lids--reopening with a start + As shoots a nameless terror through his heart. + + That strange wild awe which haunted Childhood thrills, 111 + When waking at the dead of Dark, alone, + A sense of sudden solitude which chills + The blood;--a shrinking as from shapes unknown; + An instinct both of some protection fled, + And of the coming of some ghastly dread. + + He look'd, and lo, the Dove was seen no more, 112 + Lone lay the lifeless wrecks beneath the moon, + And the one loss gave all that seem'd before + Desolate,--twofold desolation! + How slight a thing, whose love our trust has been, + Alters the world, when it no more is seen! + + He strove to speak, but voice was gone from him. 113 + As in that loss new might the terror took, + His veins congeal'd; and, interfused and dim, + Shadow and moonlight swam before his look; + Bristled his hair; and all the strong dismay + Seized as an eagle when it grasps its prey. + + Senses and soul confused, and jarr'd, and blent, 114 + Lay crush'd beneath the intolerable Power; + Then over all, one flash, in lightning, rent + The veil between the Immortal and the Hour; + Life heard the voice of unembodied breath, + And Sleep stood trembling face to face with Death. + + +NOTES TO BOOK X. + +1.--Page 366, stanza iii. + + _A second Sun his lurid front uprears!_ + + The apparition of two or more suns in the polar firmament is well + known. Mr. Ellis saw six--they are most brilliant at daybreak--and + though diminished in splendour, are still visible even after the + appearance of the real sun. + +2.--Page 369, stanza xxvi. + + _And tread where erst the Sire of freemen trod._ + + Thor's visit to the realms of Hela and Lok forms a prominent incident + in the romance of Scandinavian mythology. + +3.--Page 370, stanza xxxvii. + + _Enormous couch'd fang'd Iguanodon._ + + Dr. Mantell, in his "Wonders of Geology," computes the length of + the Iguanodon (formerly an inhabitant of the Wealds of Sussex) at + one hundred feet. + +4.--Page 371, stanza xxxix. + + _Herds, that through all the thunders of the surge._ + + The Deinotherium--supposed to have been a colossal species of + hippopotamus. + +5.--Page 371, stanza xli. + + _The Troll's swart people, in their inmost home._ + + In Scandinavian mythology, the evil spirits are generally called + Trolls (or Trolds). The name is here applied to the malignant race + of Dwarfs, whose homes were in the earth, and who could not endure + the sun. + +6.--Page 373, stanza liii. + + _Dreamless of thrones--and the fierce Visigoth._ + + Visigoth, _poetice_ for the Spanish ravagers of Mexico and Peru. + +7.--Page 373, stanza liv. + + _Calm brows that brood the doom of breathless kings!_ + + Napoleon. + +8.--Page 377, stanza lxxxvi. + + _That calm grand brow the son of AEgir eyed._ + + AEgir, the God of the Ocean, the Scandinavian Neptune. + +9.--Page 380, stanza ciii. + + _And bloodstain'd altars cursed the mountain sod._ + + The testimony to be found in classical writers as to the original + purity of the Druid worship, before it was corrupted into the idolatry + which existed in Britain at the time of the Roman conquest, is + strongly corroborated by the Welsh triads. These triads, indeed, + are of various dates, but some bear the mark of a very remote + antiquity--wholly distinct alike from the philosophy of the Romans + and the mode of thought prevalent in the earlier ages of the Christian + era; in short, anterior to all the recorded conquests over the Cymrian + people. These, like proverbs, appear the wrecks and fragments of some + primaeval ethics, or philosophical religion. Nor are such remarkable + alone for the purity of the notions they inculcate relative to the + Deity; they have often, upon matters less spiritual, the delicate + observation, as well as the profound thought, of reflective wisdom. It + is easy to see in them how identified was the Bard with the Sage--that + rare union which produces the highest kind of human knowledge. Such, + perhaps, are the relics of that sublimer learning which, ages before + the sacrifice of victims in wicker idols, won for the Druids the + admiration of the cautious Aristotle, as ranking among the true + enlighteners of men--such the teachers who (we may suppose to have) + instructed the mystical Pythagoras; and furnished new themes for + meditation to the musing Brahman. Nor were the Druids of Britain + inferior to those with whom the Sages of the western and eastern + world came more in contact. On the contrary, even to the time of + Caesar, the Druids of Britain excelled in science and repute those in + Gaul; and to their schools the Neophytes of the Continent were sent. + + In the Stanzas that follow the description of the more primitive + Cymrians, it is assumed that the rude Druid remains _now_ existent + (as at Stonehenge, &c.), are coeval only with the later and corrupted + state of a people degenerated to idol-worship, and that the Cymrians + previously possessed an architecture, of which no trace now remains, + more suited to their early civilization. If it be true that they + worshipped the Deity only in his own works, and that it was not until + what had been a symbol passed into an idol, that they deserted the + mountain-top and the forest for the temple, they would certainly have + wanted the main inducement to permanent and lofty architecture. Still + it may be allowed, at least to a poet, to suppose that men so sensible + as the primitive Saronides, would have held their schools and colleges + in places more adapted to a northern climate than their favourite oak + groves. + +10.--Page 380, stanza civ. + + _And wing'd the shaft of Scythian Abaris._ + + The arrow of Abaris (which bore him where he pleased) is supposed + by some to have been the loadstone. And Abaris himself has been, by + some ingenious speculators, identified with a Druid philosopher. + + + + +BOOK XI. + + +ARGUMENT. + +The Siege of Carduel--The Saxon forces--Stanzas relative to Ludovick +the Vandal, in explanation of the failure of his promised aid, and in +description of the events in Vandal-land--The preparations of the Saxon +host for the final assault on the City, under cover of the approaching +night--The state of Carduel--Discord--Despondence--Famine--The apparent +impossibility to resist the coming Enemy--Dialogue between Caradoc and +Merlin--Caradoc hears his sentence, and is resigned--He takes his harp +and descends into the town--The progress of Song; in its effects upon +the multitude--Caradoc's address to the people he has roused, and the +rush to the Council Hall--Meanwhile the Saxons reach the walls----The +burst of the Cymrians--The Saxons retire into the plain between the Camp +and the City, and there take their stand--The battle described--The +single combat between Lancelot and Harold--Crida leads on his reserve; +the Cymrians take alarm and waver--The prediction invented by the noble +devotion of Caradoc--His fate--The enthusiasm of the Cymrians, and the +retreat of the enemy to their Camp--The first entrance of a Happy Soul +into Heaven--The Ghost that appears to Arthur, and leads him through +the Cimmerian tomb to the Realm of Death--The sense of time and space +are annihilated--Death, the Phantasmal Everywhere--Its brevity +and nothingness--The condition of soul is life, whether here or +hereafter--Fate and Nature identical--Arthur accosted by his Guardian +Angel--After the address of that Angel (which represents what we call +Conscience), Arthur loses his former fear both of the realm and the +Phantom--He addresses the Ghost, which vanishes without reply to his +question--The last boon--The destined Soother--Arthur recovering, as +from a trance, sees the Maiden of the Tomb--Her description--The Dove +is beheld no more--Strange resemblance between the Maiden and the +Dove--Arthur is led to his ship, and sails at once for Carduel--He +arrives on the Cymrian territory, and lands with Gawaine and the Maiden, +near Carduel, amidst the ruins of a hamlet devastated by the Saxons--He +seeks a Convent, of which only one tower, built by the Romans, +remains--From the hill-top he surveys the walls of Carduel and the Saxon +encampment--The appearance of the holy Abbess, who recognizes the King, +and conducts him and his companions to the subterranean grottos built +by the Romans for a summer retreat--He leaves the Maiden to the care +of the Abbess, and concerts with Gawaine the scheme for attack on the +Saxons--The Virgin is conducted to the cell of the Abbess--Her thoughts +and recollections, which explain her history--Her resolution--She +attempts to escape--Meets the Abbess, who hangs the Cross round her +neck, and blesses her--She departs to the Saxon Camp. + + + King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel! 1 + From vale to mount one world of armour shines, + Round castled piles for which the forest fell, + Spreads the white war-town of the Teuton lines; + To countless clarions countless standards swell; + King Crida's hosts axe storming Carduel! + + There, all its floods the Saxon deluge pours; 2 + All the fierce tribes; from those whose fathers first, + With their red seaxes from the southward shores, + Carved realms for Hengist,--to the bands that burst + Along the Humber, on the idle wall + Rome built for manhood rotted by her thrall. + + There, wild allies from many a kindred race, 3 + In Cymrian lands hail Teuton thrones to be: + Dark Jutland wails her absent populace,-- + And large-limb'd sons, his waves no more shall see, + Leave Danube desolate! afar they roam + Where halts the Raven there to find a home! + + But wherefore fail the Vandal's promised bands? 4 + Well said the Greek, "Not till his latest hour + Deem man secure from Fortune;" in our hands + We clutch the sunbeam when we grasp at power;-- + No strength detains the unsubstantial prize, + The light escapes us as the moment flies. + + And monarchs envied Ludovick the Great! 5 + And wisdom's seers his wiles did wisdom call, + And Force stood sentry at his castle gate, + And Mammon soothed the murmurers in the hall; + For Freedom's forms disguised the despot's thought-- + He ruled by synods--and the synods bought! + + Yet empires rest not or on gold or steel; 6 + The old in habit strike the gnarled root; + But vigorous faith--the young fresh sap of zeal, + Must make the life-blood of the planted shoot-- + And new-born states, like new religions, need + Not the dull code, but the impassion'd creed. + + Give but a cause, a child may be a chief! 7 + What cause to hosts can Ludovick supply? + Swift flies the Element of Power, _Belief_, + From all foundations hollow'd to a lie. + One morn, a riot in the streets arose, + And left the Vandal crownless at the close. + + A plump of spears the riot could have crush'd! 8 + "Defend the throne, my spearmen!" cried the king. + The spearmen arm'd, and forth the spearmen rush'd, + When, woe! they took to reason on the thing! + And then conviction smote them on the spot, + That for that throne they did not care a jot. + + With scuff and scum, with urchins loosed from school, 9 + Thieves, gleemen, jugglers, beggars, swell'd the riot; + While, like the gods of Epicurus, cool + On crowd and crown the spearmen look'd in quiet, + Till all its heads that Hydra call'd "The Many," + Stretch'd hissing forth without a stroke at any. + + At first Astutio, wrong but very wise, 10 + Disdain'd the Hydra as a fabled creature, + The vague invention of a Poet's lies, + Unknown to Pliny and the laws of Nature-- + Nor till the fact was past philosophizing, + Saith he, "That's Hydra, there is no disguising! + + "A Hydra, Sire, a Hercules demands; 11 + So if not Hercules, assume his vizard." + The advice is good--the Vandal wrings his hands, + Kicks out the Sage--and rushes to a wizard. + The wizard waves his wand--disarms the sentry + And (wondrous man) enchants the mob--with entry. + + Thus fell, though no man touch'd him, Ludovick, 12 + Tripp'd by the slide of his own slippery feet. + The crown cajoled from Fortune by a trick, + Fortune, in turn, outcheated from the cheat; + Clapp'd her sly cap the glittering bauble on, + Cried "Presto!"--raised it--and the gaud was gone. + + Ev'n at the last, to self and nature true, 13 + No royal heart the breath of danger woke; + To mean disguise habitual instinct flew, + And the king vanish'd in a craftsman's cloak. + While his brave princes scampering for their lives, + _Relictis parmulis_--forgot their wives! + + King Mob succeeding to the vacant throne, 14 + Chose for his ministers some wild Chaldeans,-- + Who told the sun to close the day at noon, + Nor sweat to death his betters the plebeians; + And bade the earth, unvex'd by plough and spade, + Bring forth its wheat in quarterns ready made. + + The sun refused the astronomic fiat; 15 + The earth declined to bake the corn it grew; + King Mob then order'd that a second riot + Should teach Creation what it had to do. + "The sun shines on, the earth demands the tillage-- + Down Time and Nature, and hurrah for pillage!" + + Then rise _en masse_ the burghers of the town; 16 + Each patriot breast the fires of Brutus fill; + Gentle as lambs when riot reach'd the crown, + They raged like lions when it touch'd the till. + Rush'd all who boasted of a shop to rob, + And stout King Money soon dethroned King Mob. + + This done, much scandalised to note the fact 17 + That o'er the short tyrannic rise the tall, + The middle-sized a penal law enact + That henceforth height must be the same in all; + For being each born equal with the other, + What greater crime than to outgrow your brother? + + Poor Vandals, do the towers, when foes assail, 18 + So idly soar above the level wall? + Harmonious Order needs its music-scale; + The Equal were the discord of the All. + Let the wave undulate, the mountain rise; + Nor ask from Law what Nature's self denies. + + O vagrant Muse, deserting all too long, 19 + Freedom's grand war for frenzy's goblin dream, + The hour runs on, and redemands from song, + And from our Father-land the mighty theme. + The Pale Horse rushes and the trumpets swell, + King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel! + + Within the inmost fort by pine trees made, 20 + The hardy women kneel to warrior gods. + For where the Saxon armaments invade, + All life abandons their resign'd abodes. + The tents they pitch the all they prize contain; + And each new march is for a new domain. + + To the stern gods the fair-hair'd women kneel, 21 + As slow to rest the red sun glides along; + And near and far, hammers, and clanking steel, + Neighs from impatient barbs, and runic song + Mutter'd o'er mystic fires by wizard priests, + Invite the Valkyrs to the raven feasts. + + For after nine long moons of siege and storm, 22 + Thy hold, Pendragon, trembles to its fall! + Loftier the Roman tower uprears its form, + From the crush'd bastion and the shatter'd wall. + And but till night those iron floods delay + Their rush of thunder:--Blood-red sinks the day. + + Death halts to strike, and swift the moment flies: 23 + Within the walls (than all without more fell), + Discord with Babel tongues confounds the wise, + And spectral Panic, like a form of hell + Chased by a Fury, fleets,--or, stone-like, stands + Dull-eyed Despondence, palsying nerveless hands. + + And Pride, that evil angel of the Celt, 24 + Whispers to all "'tis servile to obey," + Robs order'd Union of its starry belt, + Rends chief from chief and tribe from tribe away, + And leaves the children wrangling for command + Round the wild death-throes of the Father-land. + + In breadless marts, the ill-persuading fiend 25 + Famine, stalks maddening with her wolfish stare; + And hearts, on whose stout anchors Faith had lean'd, + Bound at her look to treason from despair, + Shouting, "Why shrink we from the Saxon's thrall? + Is slavery worse than Famine smiting all?" + + Thus, in the absence of the sunlike king, 26 + All phantoms stalk abroad; dissolve and droop + Light and the life of nations--while the wing + Of Carnage halts but for its rushing swoop. + Some moan, some rave, some laze the hours away;-- + And down from Carduel blood-red sunk the day! + + Leaning against a broken parapet 27 + Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard, + When a voice smote him, and he turn'd and met + A gaze prophetic in its sad regard. + Beside him, solemn with his hundred years, + Stood the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers. + + "Dost thou remember," said the Sage, "that hour 28 + When seeking signs to Glory's distant way, + Thou heard'st the night bird in her leafy bower, + Singing sweet death-chaunts to her shining prey, + While thy young poet-heart, with ravish'd breath, + Hung on the music, nor divined the death?"[1] + + "Ay," the bard answer'd, "and ev'n now methought 29 + I heard again the ambrosial melody!" + "So," sigh'd the Prophet, "to the bard, unsought, + Come the far whispers of Futurity! + Like his own harp, his soul a wind can thrill, + And the chord murmur, though the hand be still. + + "Wilt thou for ever, even from the tomb, 30 + Live, yet a music, in the hearts of all; + Arise and save thy country from its doom; + Arise, Immortal, at the angel's call! + The hour shall give thee all thy life implor'd, + And make the lyre more glorious than the sword. + + "In vain through yon dull stupor of despair 31 + Sound Geraint's tromp and Owaine's battle cry; + In vain where yon rude clamour storms the air, + The Council Chiefs stem madd'ning mutiny; + From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone, + And on the breach stands Lancelot alone! + + "Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong; 32 + Fast into night the life of Freedom dies; + Awake, Light-Bringer, wake bright soul of song, + Kindler, reviver, re-creator rise! + Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath, + And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death!" + + Thrill'd at that voice the soul of Caradoc; 33 + He heard, and knew his glory and his doom. + As when in summer's noon the lightning shock + Smites some fair elm in all its pomp of bloom, + 'Mid whose green boughs each vernal breeze had play'd, + And air's sweet race melodious homes had made; + + So that young life bow'd sad beneath the stroke 34 + That sear'd the Fresh and still'd the Musical, + Yet on the sadness Thought sublimely broke: + Holy the tree on which the bolt doth fall! + Wild flowers shall spring the sacred roots around, + And nightly fairies tread the haunted ground; + + There, age by age, shall youth with musing brow, 35 + Hear Legend murmuring of the days of yore; + There, virgin love more lasting deem the vow + Breathed in the shade of branches green no more; + And kind Religion keep the grand decay + Still on the earth while forests pass away. + + "So be it, O voice from Heaven," the Bard replied, 36 + "Some grateful tears may yet embalm my name, + Ever for human love my youth hath sigh'd + And human love's divinest form is fame. + Is the dream erring? shall the song remain? + Say, can one Poet ever live in vain?" + + As the warm south on some unfathom'd sea, 37 + Along the Magian's soul, the awful rest + Stirr'd with the soft emotion: tenderly + He laid his hand upon the brows he blest, + And said, "Complete beneath a brighter sun + That course, The Beautiful, which life begun. + + "Joyous and light, and fetterless through all 38 + The blissful, infinite, empyreal space, + If then thy spirit stoopeth to recall + The ray it shed upon the human race, + See where the ray had kindled from the dearth, + Seeds that shall glad the garners of the earth! + + "Never true Poet lived and sung in vain! 39 + Lost if his name, and wither'd if his wreath, + The thoughts he woke--an element remain + Fused in our light and blended with our breath; + All life more noble, and all earth more fair. + Because that soul refined man's common air!"[2] + + Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unslung 40 + His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad, + Kissing the hand that doom'd his life, he sprung + Light from the shatter'd wall,--and swiftly strode + Where, herdlike huddled in the central space, + Droop'd, in dull pause, the cowering populace. + + There, in the midst he stood! The heavens were pale 41 + With the first stars, unseen amidst the glare + Cast from large pine-brands on the sullen mail + Of listless legions and the streaming hair + Of women, wailing for the absent dead, + Or bow'd o'er infant lips that moan'd for bread. + + From out the illumed cathedral hollowly 42 + Swell'd, like a dirge, the hymn; and through the throng + Whose looks had lost all commerce with the sky, + With lifted rood the slow monks swept along, + And vanish'd hopeless; From those wrecks of man + Fled ev'n Religion: Then the BARD began. + + Slow, pitying, soft it glides, the liquid lay, 43 + Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soul + Into the heart it coil'd its lulling way; + Wave upon wave the golden river stole: + Hush'd to his feet forgetful Famine crept, + And Woe, reviving, veil'd the eyes that wept. + + Then stern, and harsh, clash'd the ascending strain, 44 + Telling of ills more dismal yet in store; + Rough with the iron of the grinding chain, + Dire with the curse of slavery evermore; + Wild shrieks from lips belov'd pale warriors hear, + Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear; + + Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords; 45 + And men unquiet sought each other's eyes; + Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords, + Like linked legions march the melodies; + Till the full rapture swept the Bard along, + And o'er the listeners rush'd the storm of song! + + And the Dead spoke! from cairns and kingly graves 46 + The Heroes call'd;--and Saints from earliest shrines; + And the Land spoke!--Mellifluous river-waves; + Dim forests awful with the roar of pines; + Mysterious caves from legion-haunted deeps; + And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps;-- + + THE LAND OF FREEDOM call'd upon the Free! 47 + All Nature spoke; the clarions of the wind; + The organ swell of the majestic sea; + The choral stars! the Universal Mind + Spoke, like the voice from which the world began, + "No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man!" + + Then loud through all, as if mankind's reply, 48 + Burst from the Bard the Cymrian battle hymn! + That song which swell'd the anthems of the sky, + The Alleluia of the Seraphim; + When Saints led on the Children of the Lord, + And smote the Heathen with the Angel's sword.[3] + + As leaps the warfire on the beacon hills, 49 + Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine; + As into sunlight flash the molten rills, + Flash'd the glad claymores,[4] lightening line on line; + From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along, + From rank to rank rush'd forth the choral song.-- + + Woman and child--all caught the fire of men, 50 + To its own heaven that Alleluia rang, + Life to the spectres had return'd again; + And from the grave an armed Nation sprang! + Then spoke the Bard,--each crest its plumage bow'd, + As the large voice went lengthening through the crowd + + "Hark to the measur'd march!--The Saxons come! 51 + The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread; + Your fathers rush'd upon the swords of Rome + And climb'd her war-ships, when the Caesar fled! + The Saxons come! why wait within the wall? + They scale the mountain--let its torrents fall! + + "Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armour, YE! 52 + No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song,[5] + But where the warrior--there the Bard shall be! + All fields of glory to the Bard belong! + His realm extends wherever godlike strife + Spurns the base death, and wins immortal life. + + "Unarm'd he goes--his guard the shields of all, 53 + Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear! + Unarm'd he goes, that, falling, ev'n his fall + Shall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear! + Does his song cease?--avenge it by the deed, + And make his sepulchre--a nation freed!" + + He said, and where the chieftains wrangling sate, 54 + Led the grand army marshall'd by his song, + Into the hall--and on the wild debate, + King of all kings, A PEOPLE, pour'd along; + And from the heart of man--the trumpet cry + Smote faction down, "Arms, arms, and Liberty!"-- + + Meanwhile roll'd on the Saxon's long array; 55 + On to the wall the surge of slaughter roll'd; + Slow up the mount--slow heaved its labouring way; + The moonlight rested on the domes of gold; + No warder peals alarum from the Keep, + And Death comes mute, as on the realm of Sleep; + + When, as their ladders touch'd the ruin'd wall, 56 + And to the van, high-towering, Harold strode, + Sudden expand the brazen gates, and all + The awful arch as with the lava glow'd; + Torch upon torch the deathful sweep illumes, + The burst of armour and the flash of plumes! + + Rings Owaine's shout;--rings Geraint's thunder-cry, 57 + The Saxon's death-knell in a hundred wars; + And Cador's laugh of triumph;--through the sky + Rush tossing banderolls swift as shooting stars, + Trystan's white lion--Lancelot's cross of red, + And Tudor's[6] standard with the Saxon's head. + + And high o'er all, its scaled splendour rears 58 + The vengeful emblem of the Dragon Kings. + Full on the Saxon bursts the storm of spears; + Far down the vale the charging whirlwind rings, + While through the ranks its barbed knightood clave, + All Carduel follows with its roaring wave. + + And ever in the van, with robes of white 59 + And ivory harp, shone swordless Caradoc! + And ever floated in melodious might, + The clear song buoyant o'er the battle shock; + Calm as an eagle when the Olympian King + Sends the red bolt upon the tranquil wing. + + Borne back, and wedged within the ponderous weight 60 + Of their own jarr'd and multitudinous crowd, + Recoil'd the Saxons! As adown the height + Of some grey mountain, rolls the cloven cloud, + Smit by the shafts of the resistless day,-- + Down to the vale sunk dun the rent array. + + Midway between the camp and Carduel, 61 + Halting their slow retreat, the Saxons stood: + There, as the wall-like ocean ere it fell + On AEgypt's chariots, gather'd up the flood; + There, in suspended deluge, solid rose, + And hung expectant o'er the hurrying foes! + + Right in the centre, rampired round with shields, 62 + King Crida stood,--o'er him, its livid mane + The horse whose pasture is the Valkyr's fields + Flung wide;--but, foremost through the javelin-rain, + Blazed Harold's helm, as when, through all the stars + Distinct, pale soothsayers see the dooming Mars. + + Down dazzling sweeps the Cymrian Chivalry; 63 + Round the bright sweep closes the Saxon wall; + Snatch'd from the glimmer of the funeral sky, + Raves the blind murder; and enclasp'd with all + Its own stern hell, against the iron bar + Pants the fierce heart of the imprison'd War. + + Only by gleaming banners and the flash 64 + Of some large sword, the vex'd Obscure once more + Sparkled to light. In one tumultous clash + Merg'd every sound--as when the maelstrom's roar + By dire Lofoden, dulls the seaman's groan, + And drowns the voice of tempests in its own. + + The Cymrian ranks,--disparted from their van, 65 + And their hemm'd horsemen,--stubborn, but in vain, + Press through the levell'd spears; yet, man by man, + And shield to shield close-serried, they sustain + The sleeting hail against them hurtling sent, + From every cloud in that dread armament. + + But now, at length, cleaving the solid clang, 66 + And o'er the dead men in their frowning sleep, + The rallying shouts of chiefs confronted rang,-- + "Thor and Walhalla!"--answer'd swift and deep + By "Alleluia!" and thy chanted cry, + Young Bard sublime, "For Christ and Liberty!" + + Then the ranks open'd, and the midnight moon 67 + Stream'd where the battle, like the scornful main, + Ebb'd from the dismal wrecks its wrath had strewn. + Paused either host;--lo, in the central plain + Two chiefs had met, and in that breathless pause, + Each to its champion left a Nation's cause. + + Now, Heaven defend thee, noble Lancelot! 68 + For never yet such danger thee befel, + Though loftier deeds than thine emblazon not + The peerless Twelve of golden Carduel, + Though oft thy breast hath singly stemm'd a field,-- + As when thy claymore clang'd on Harold's shield! + + And Lancelot knew not his majestic foe, 69 + Save by his deeds; by Cador's cloven crest; + By Modred's corpse; by rills of blood below, + And shrinking helms above;--when from the rest, + Spurring,--the steel of his uplifted brand + Drew down the lightning of that red right hand. + + Full on the Saxon's shield the sword descends; 70 + The strong shield clattering shivers at the stroke, + And the bright crest with all its plumage bends + As to the blast with all its boughs an oak: + As from the blast an oak with all its boughs, + Retowering slow, the crest sublime arose. + + Grasp'd with both hands, above the Cymrian swung 71 + The axe that Odin taught his sons to wield, + Thrice through the air the circling iron sung, + Then crash'd resounding:--horse and horseman recl'd, + Though slant from sword and casque the weapon shore, + Down sword and casque the weight resistless bore. + + The bright plume mingles with the charger's mane; 72 + Light leaves the heaven, and sense forsakes the breath; + Aloft the axe impatient whirrs again,-- + The steed wild-snorting bounds and foils the death; + While on its neck the reins unheeded flow, + It shames and saves its Lord, and flies the foe. + + "Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons[7] lead!" 73 + Laugh'd hollow from his helm the scornful Thane. + Then towards the Christian knights he spurr'd his steed, + When midway in his rush--rushes again + The foe that rallied while he seem'd to fly, + As wheels the falcon ere it swoops from high;-- + + And as the falcon, while its talons dart 74 + Into the crane's broad bosom, splits its own + On the sharp beak, and, clinging heart to heart, + Both in one plumage blent, spin whirling down,-- + So in that shock each found, and dealt the blow; + Horse roll'd on horse, fell grappling foe on foe. + + First to his feet the slighter Cymrian leapt, 75 + And on the Saxon's breast set firm his knee; + Then o'er the heathen host a shudder crept, + Rose all their voices,--wild and wailingly; + "Woe, Harold, woe!" as from one bosom came, + The groan of thousands, and the mighty name. + + The Cymrian starts, and stays his lifted hand, 76 + For at that name from Harold's vizor shone + Genevra's eyes! Back in its sheath the brand + He plunged:--sprang Harold--and the foe was gone,-- + Lost where the Saxons rush'd along the plain, + To save the living or avenge the slain. + + Spurr'd to the rescue every Cymrian knight, 77 + Again confused, the onslaught raged on high; + Again the war-shout swell'd above the fight, + Again the chant "for Christ and Liberty," + When with fresh hosts unbreath'd, the Saxon king + Forth from the wall of shields leapt thundering. + + Behind the chief the dreadful gonfanon 78 + Spread;--the Pale Horse went rushing down the wind.-- + "On where the Valkyrs point to Carduel, on! + On o'er the corpses to the wolf consign'd! + On, that the Pale Horse, ere the night be o'er + Stall'd in yon tower, may rest his hoofs of gore!" + + Thus spoke the king, and all his hosts replied; 79 + Fill'd by his word and kindled by his look-- + (For helmless with his grey hair streaming wide, + He strided through the spears)--the mountains shook-- + Shook the dim city--as that answer rang! + The fierce shout chiming to the buckler's clang! + + Aghast, the Cymrians see, like Titan sons 80 + New-born from earth,--leap forth the sudden bands: + As when the wind's invisible tremour runs + Through corn-sheaves ripening for the reaper's hands, + The glittering tumult undulating flows, + And the field quivers where the panic goes. + + The Cymrians waver--shrink--recoil--give way, 81 + Strike with weak hands amazed; half turn to flee; + In vain with knightly charge the chiefs delay + The hostile mass that rolls resistlessly, + And the pale hoofs for aye had trampled down + The Cymrian freedom and the Dragon Crown, + + But for that arch preserver, under heaven, 82 + Of names and states, the Bard! the hour was come + To prove the ends for which the lyre was given:-- + Each thought divine demands its martyrdom. + "Where round the central standard rallying flock + The Dragon Chiefs--paused and spoke Caradoc! + + "Ye Cymrian men!" Hush'd at the calm sweet sound, 83 + Droop'd the wild murmur, bow'd the loftiest crest, + Meekly the haughty paladins group'd round + The swordless hero with the mailless breast, + Whose front, serene amid the spears, had taught + To humbled Force the chivalry of Thought. + + "Ye Cymrian men--from Heus the Guardian's tomb 84 + I speak the oracular promise of the Past. + Fear not the Saxon! Till the judgment doom + Free on their hills the Dragon race shall last, + If from you heathen, ye this night can save + One spot not wider than a single grave. + + "For thus the antique prophecy decrees,-- 85 + 'When where the Pale Horse crushes down the dead, + War's sons shall see the lonely child of peace + Grasp at the mane to fall beneath the tread-- + There, where he falleth let his dust remain, + There, bid the Dragon rest above the slain; + + "'There, let the steel-clad living watch the clay, 86 + Till on that spot their swords the grave have made, + And the Pale Horse shall melt in cloud away, + No stranger's step the sacred mound invade: + A people's life that single death shall save, + And all the land be hallow'd by a grave.' + + "So be the Guardian's prophecy fulfill'd, 87 + Advance the Dragon, for the grave is mine." + He ceased: while yet the silver accents thrill'd + Each mailed bosom down the listening line, + Bounded his steed, and like an arrow went + His plume, swift glancing through the armament. + + On through the tempest went it glimmering, 88 + On through the rushing barbs and levell'd spears; + On where, far streaming o'er the Teuton king, + Its horrent pomp the ghastly standard rears. + On rush'd to rescue all to whom his breath + Left what saves Nations,--the disdain of death! + + Alike the loftiest knight and meanest man, 89 + All the roused host, but now so panic-chill'd, + All Cymri once more as one Cymrian, + With the last light of that grand spirit fill'd, + Through rank on rank, mow'd down, down trampled, sped, + And reach'd the standard--to defend the dead. + + Wrench'd from the heathen's hand, one moment bow'd 90 + In the bright Christian's grasp the gonfanon; + Then from a dumb amaze the countless crowd + Swept,--and the night as with a sudden sun + Flash'd with avenging steel; life gain'd its goal, + And calm from lips proud-smiling went the soul! + + Leapt from his selle, the king-born Lancelot; 91 + Leapt from the selle each paladin and knight; + In one mute sign that where upon that spot + The foot was planted, God forbade the flight: + There shall the Father-land avenge the son, + Or heap all Cymri round the grave of one. + + Then, well-nigh side by side--broad floated forth 92 + The Cymrian Dragon and the Teuton Steed, + The rival Powers that struggle for the North; + The gory Idol--the chivalric Creed; + Odin's and Christ's confronting flags unfurl'd, + As which should save and which destroy a world! + + Then fought those Cymrian men, as if on each 93 + All Cymri set its last undaunted hope; + Through the steel bulwarks round them yawns the breach; + Vistas to freedom bright'ning onwards ope; + Crida in vain leads band on slaughter'd band, + In vain revived falls Harold's ruthless hand; + + As on the bull the pard will fearless bound, 94 + But if the horn that meets the spring should gore, + Awed with fierce pain, slinks snarling from the ground;-- + So baffled in their midmost rush, before + The abrupt assault, the savage hosts give way;-- + Yet will not own that man could thus dismay. + + "Some God more mighty than Walhalla's king, 95 + Strikes in yon arms"--the sullen murmurs run, + And fast and faster drives the Dragon wing-- + And shrinks and cowers the ghastly gonfanon; + They flag--they falter--lo, the Saxons fly!-- + Lone rests the Dragon in the dawning sky! + + Lone rests the Dragon with its wings outspread, 96 + Where the pale hoofs one holy ground had trod, + There the hush'd victors round the martyr'd dead, + As round an altar, lift their hearts to God. + Calm is that brow as when a host it braved, + And smiles that lip as on the land it saved! + + Pardon, ye shrouded and mysterious Powers, 97 + Ye far-off shadows from the spirit-clime, + If for that realm untrodden by the Hours, + Awhile we leave this lazar-house of Time; + With Song remounting to those native airs + Of which, though exiled, still we are the heirs. + + Up from the clay and towards the Seraphim, 98 + The Immortal, men called Caradoc, arose. + Round the freed captive whose melodious hymn + Had hail'd each glimmer earth, the dungeon, knows, + Spread all the aisles by angel worship trod; + Blazed every altar, conscious of the God. + + All the illumed creation one calm shrine; 99 + All space one rapt adoring ecstasy; + All the sweet stars with their untroubled shine, + Near and more near, enlarging through the sky; + All opening gradual on the eternal sight, + Joy after joy, the depths of their delight. + + Paused on the marge, Heaven's beautiful New-born, 100 + Paused on the marge of that wide happiness; + And as a lark that, poised amid the morn, + Shakes from its wing the dews--the plumes of bliss, + Sunn'd in the dawn of the diviner birth, + Shook every sorrow memory bore from earth: + + Knowledge (that on the troubled waves of sense 101 + Breaks into sparkles)--pour'd upon the soul + Its lambent, clear, translucent affluence, + And cold-eyed Reason loosed its hard control; + Each godlike guess beheld the truth it sought; + And Inspiration flash'd from what was Thought. + + Still'd evermore the old familiar train 102 + That fill the frail Proscenium of our deeds, + The unquiet actors on that stage, the brain, + Which, in the spangles of their tinsell'd weeds, + Mime the true soul's majestic royalties, + And strut august in Wonder's credulous eyes;-- + + Ambition's madness in the vain desires, 103 + Which seek a goddess but to clasp a cloud; + And human Passion that with fatal fires + Consumes the shrine to which its faith is vow'd; + And even Hope, that fairest nurse of Grief, + Crown'd with young flowers,--a blight in every leaf; + + All these are still--abandon'd to the worm, 104 + Their loud breath jars not on the calm above! + Only survived, as if the single germ + Of the new life's ambrosian being,--LOVE. + Ah, if the bud can give such bloom to Time, + What is the flower when in its native clime? + + Love to the radiant Stranger left alone 105 + Of all the vanish'd hosts of memory; + While broadening round, on splendour splendour shone, + To earth soft-pitying dropt the veilless eye, + And saw the shape, that love remember'd still, + Couch'd 'mid the ruins on the moonlit hill. + + And, with the new-born vision, piercing all 106 + Things past and future, view'd the fates ordain'd; + The fame achieved amidst the Coral Hall; + From war and winter Freedom's symbol gain'd, + What rests?--the Spirit from its realm of bliss, + Shot, loving down,--the guide to Happiness! + + Pale to the Cymrian King the Shadow came, 107 + Its glory left it as the earth it near'd, + In livid likeness as its corpse the same, + Wan with its wounds the awful ghost appear'd. + Life heard the voice of unembodied breath, + And Sleep stood trembling side by side with Death. + + "Come," said the Voice, "Before the Iron Gate 108 + Which hath no egress, waiting thee, behold + Under the shadow of the brows of Fate, + The childlike playmate with the locks of gold." + Then rose the mortal, following, and, before, + Moved the pale shape the angel's comrade wore. + + Where, in the centre of those ruins grey, 109 + Immense with blind walls columnless, a tomb + For earlier kings, whose names had pass'd away, + Chill'd the chill moonlight with its mass of gloom, + Through doors ajar to every prying blast + By which to rot imperial dust had past. + + The Vision went, and went the living King; 110 + Then strange and hard to human hear to tell + By language moulded but by thoughts that bring + Material images, what there befel! + The mortal enter'd Eld's dumb burial place, + And at the threshold, vanish'd Time and Space. + + Yea, the hard sense of time was from the mind 111 + Rased and annihilate;--yea, space to eye + And soul was presenceless? What rest behind? + Thought and the Infinite! the eternal I, + And its true realm the Limitless, whose brink + Thought ever nears: What bounds us when we think? + + Yea, as the dupe in tales Arabian, 112 + Dipp'd but his brow beneath the beaker's brim, + And in that instant all the life of man + From youth to age roll'd its slow years on him, + And while the foot stood motionless--the soul + Swept with deliberate wing from pole to pole, + + So when the man the Grave's still portals pass'd, 113 + Closed on the substances or cheats of earth, + The Immaterial, for the things it glass'd, + Shaped a new vision from the matter's dearth: + Before the sight that saw not through the clay, + The undefined Immeasurable lay. + + A realm not land, nor sea, nor earth, nor sky, 114 + Like air impalpable, and yet not air;-- + "Where am I led?" ask'd Life with hollow sigh. + "To Death, that dim phantasmal EVERY WHERE," + The Ghost replied. "Nature's circumfluent robe, + Girding all life--the globule or the globe." + + "Yet," said the Mortal, "if indeed this breath 115 + Profane the world that lies beyond the tomb; + Where is the Spirit-race that peoples death? + My soul surveys but unsubstantial gloom, + A void--a blank--where none preside or dwell, + Nor woe nor bliss is here, nor heaven nor hell." + + "And what is death?--a name for nothingness,"[8] 116 + Replied the Dead; "the shadow of a shade; + Death can retain no spirit!--woe and bliss, + And heaven and hell, are for the living made; + An instant flits between life's latest sigh + And life's renewal;--that it is to die! + + "From the brief Here to the eternal There 117 + We can but see the swift flash of the goal; + Less than the space between two waves of air, + The void between existence and a soul; + Wherefore, look forth; and with calm sight endure + The vague, impalpable, inane Obscure: + + "Lo, by the Iron Gate a giant cloud 118 + From which emerge (the form itself unseen) + Vast adamantine brows sublimely bow'd + Over the dark,--relentlessly serene; + Thou canst not view the hand beneath the fold, + The work it weaveth none but God behold. + + "Yet ever from this Nothingness of Death, 119 + That hand shapes out the myriad pomps of life; + Receives the matter when resign'd the breath, + Calms into Law the elemental strife; + On each still'd atom forms afresh bestows + (No atom lost since first Creation rose). + + "Thus seen, what men call Nature, thou surveyest, 120 + But matter boundeth not the still one's power; + In every deed its presence thou displayest. + It prompts each impulse, guides each winged hour, + It spells the Valkyrs to their gory loom, + It calls the blessing from the bane they doom: + + "It rides the steed, it saileth with the bark, 121 + Wafts the first corn-seed to the herbless wild, + Alike directing through the doom of dark, + The age-long nation and the new-born child; + Here the dread Power, yet loftier tasks await, + And NATURE, twofold, takes the name of FATE. + + "Nature or Fate, Matter's material life. 122 + Or to all spirit the spiritual guide, + Alike with one harmonious being rife, + Form but the whole which only names divide; + Fate's crushing power, or Nature's gentle skill, + Alike one Good--from one all-loving Will." + + While thus the Shade benign instructs the King, 123 + Near the dark cloud the still brows bended o'er, + They come: a soft wind with continuous wing + Sighs through the gloom and trembles through the door, + "Hark to that air," the gentle Phantom said, + "In each faint murmur flit unseen the dead,-- + + "Pass through the gate, from life the life resume, 124 + As the old impulse flies to heaven or hell." + While spoke the Ghost, stood forth amidst the gloom, + A lucent Image, crown'd with asphodel, + The left hand bore a mirror crystal-bright, + A wand star-pointed glitter'd in the right. + + "Dost thou not know me?--me, thy second soul?" 125 + Said the bright Image, with its low sweet voice, + "I who have led thee to each noble goal, + Mirror'd thy heart, and starward led thy choice? + To teach thee wisdom won in Labour's school, + I lured thy footsteps to the forest pool, + + "Show'd all the woes which wait inebriate power, 126 + And woke the man from youth's voluptuous dream; + Glass'd on the crystal--let each stainless hour + Obey the wand I lift unto the beam; + And at the last, when yonder gates expand, + Pass with thine angel, Conscience, hand in hand." + + Spoke the sweet Splendour, and as music dies 127 + Into the heart that hears, subsides away; + Then Arthur lifted his serenest eyes + Towards the pale Shade from the celestial day, + And said, "O thou in life belov'd so well, + Dream I or wake?--As those last accents fell, + + "So fears that, spite of thy mild words, dismay'd, 128 + Fears not of death, but that which death conceals, + Vanish;--my soul that trembled at thy shade, + Yearns to the far light which the shade reveals, + And sees how human is the dismal error + Thad hideth God, when veiling death with terror. + + "Ev'n thus some infant, in the early spring, 129 + Under the pale buds of the almond-tree, + Shrinks from the wind that with an icy wing + Shakes showering down white flakes that seem to be + Winter's wan sleet,--till the quick sunbeam shows + That those were blossoms which he took for snows. + + "Thou to this last and sovran mystery 130 + Of my mysterious travail guiding sent, + Dear as thou wert, I will not mourn for thee, + Thou wert not shaped for earth's hard element-- + Our ends, our aims, our pleasure, and our woe, + Thou knew'st them all, but thine we could not know. + + "Forgive that none were worthy of thy worth! 131 + That none took heed, upon the plodding way, + What diamond dew was on the flowers of earth, + Till in thy soul drawn upward to the day. + But now, why gape the wounds upon thy breast? + What guilty hand dismiss'd thee to the Blest? + + "For blest thou art, beloved and lost? Oh, speak, 132 + Say thou art with the Angels?"--As at night + Far off the pharos on the mountain-peak + Sends o'er dim ocean one pale path of light, + Lost in the wideness of the weltering Sea, + So, that one gleam along eternity + + Vouchsafed, the radiant guide (its mission closed) 133 + Fled, and the mortal stood amidst the cloud! + All dark above, lo at his feet reposed + Beneath the Brow's still terror o'er it bow'd, + With eyes that lit the gloom through which they smiled, + A Virgin shape, half woman and half child! + + There, bright before the iron gates of Death, 134 + Bright in the shadow of the awful Power + Which did as Nature give the human breath, + As Fate mature the germ and nurse the flower + Of earth for heaven,--Toil's last and sweetest prize, + The destined Soother lifts her fearless eyes! + + Through all the mortal's fame enraptured thrills 135 + A subtler tide, a life ambrosial, + Bright as the fabled element which fills + The veins of Gods to whom in Ida's hall + Flush'd Hebe brims the urn. The transport broke + The charm that gave it--and the Dreamer woke. + + Was it in truth a Dream? He gazed around, 136 + And saw the granite of sepulchral walls; + Through open doors, along the desolate ground, + O'er coffin dust--the morning sunbeam falls; + On mouldering relics life its splendour flings, + The arms of warriors and the bones of kings.-- + + He stood within that Golgotha of old, 137 + Whither the Phantom first had led the soul. + It was no dream! lo, round those locks of gold + Rest the young sunbeams like an auriole; + Lo, where the day, night's mystic promise keeps, + And in the tomb a life of beauty sleeps! + + Slow to his eyes, those lids reveal their own, 138 + And, the lips smiling even in their sigh, + The Virgin woke! Oh, never yet was known, + In bower or plaisaunce under summer sky, + Life so enrich'd with nature's happiest bloom + As thine, thou young Aurora of the tomb! + + Words cannot paint thee, gentlest cynosure 139 + Of all things lovely in that loveliest form, + Souls wear--the youth of woman! brows as pure + As Memphian skies that never knew a storm; + Lips with such sweetness in their honey'd deeps + As fills the rose in which a fairy sleeps; + + Eyes on whose tenderest azure aching hearts 140 + Might look as to a heaven, and cease to grieve; + The very blush,--as day, when it departs, + Haloes in flushing, the mild cheek of eve,-- + Taking soft warmth in light from earth afar, + Heralds no thought less holy than a star. + + And Arthur spoke! O ye, all noble souls, 141 + Divine how knighthood speaks to maiden fear! + Yet, is it fear which that young heart controuls + And leaves its music voiceless on the ear?-- + Ye, who have felt what words can ne'er express, + Say then, is fear as still as happiness? + + By the mute pathos of an eloquent sign, 142 + Her rosy finger on her lip, the maid + Seem'd to denote that on that coral shrine + Speech was to silence vow'd. Then from the shade + Gliding--she stood beneath the golden skies, + Fair as the dawn that brighten'd Paradise. + + And Arthur look'd, and saw the Dove no more; 143 + Yet, by some wild and wondrous glamoury, + Changed to the shape the new companion wore, + His soul the missing Angel seem'd to see; + And, soft and silent as the earlier guide, + The soft eyes thrill, the silent footsteps glide. + + Through paths his yester steps had fail'd to find, 144 + Adown the woodland slope she leads the king,-- + And pausing oft, she turns to look behind, + As oft had turn'd the Dove upon the wing; + And oft he question'd, still to find reply + Mute on the lip, yet struggling to the eye. + + Far briefer now the way, and open more 145 + To heaven, than those his whilom steps had won; + And sudden, lo! his galley's brazen prore + Beams from the greenwood burnish'd in the sun; + Up from the sward his watchful cruisers spring, + And loud-lipp'd welcome girds with joy the King. + + Now plies the rapid oar, now swells the sail; 146 + All day, and deep into the heart of night, + Flies the glad bark before the favouring gale; + Now Sabra's virgin waters dance in light + Under the large full moon, on margents green, + Lone with charr'd wrecks where Saxon fires have been. + + Here furls the sail, here rests awhile the oar, 147 + And from the crews the Cymrians and the maid + Pass with mute breath upon the mournful shore; + For, where yon groves the gradual hillock shade, + A convent stood when Arthur left the land. + God grant the shrine hath 'scaped the heathen's hand! + + Landing, on lifeless hearths, through roofless walls 148 + And casement gaps, the ghost-like starbeams peer; + Welcomed by night and ruin, hollow falls + The footstep of a King!--Upon the ear + The inexpressible hush of murder lay,-- + Wide yawn'd the doors, and not a watch dog's bay! + + They pass the groves, they gain the holt, and lo! 149 + Rests of the sacred pile but one grey tower, + A fort for luxury in the long-ago + Of gentile gods, and Rome's voluptuous power. + But far on walls yet spared, the moonbeams fell,-- + Far on the golden domes of Carduel! + + "Joy," cried the King, "behold, the land lives still!" 150 + Then Gawaine pointed, where in lengthening line + The Saxon watch-fires from the haunted hill + (Shorn of its forest old) their blood-red shine + Fling over Isca, and with wrathful flush + Gild the vast storm-cloud of the armed hush. + + "Ay," said the King, "in that lull'd Massacre 151 + Doth no ghost whisper Crida--'Sleep no more!' + "Hark, where I stand, dark murder-chief, on thee + I launch the doom! ye airs, that wander o'er + Ruins and graveless bones, to Crida's sleep + Bear Cymri's promise, which her king shall keep!" + + As thus he spoke, upon his outstretch'd arm 152 + A light touch trembled,--turning he beheld + The maiden of the tomb; a wild alarm + Shone from her eyes; his own their terror spell'd. + Struggling for speech, the pale lips writhed apart, + And, as she clung, he heard her beating heart; + + While Arthur marvelling soothed the agony 153 + Which, comprehending not, he still could share, + Sudden sprang Gawaine--hark! a timorous cry + Pierced yon dim shadows! Arthur look'd, and where + On artful valves revolved the stony door, + A kneeling nun his knight is bending o'er. + + Ere the nun's fears the knightly words dispel, 154 + As towards the spot the maid and monarch came, + On Arthur's brow the slanted moonbeams fell, + And the nun knew the King, and call'd his name, + And clasp'd his knees, and sobb'd through joyous tears, + "Once more; once more! our God his people hears!" + + Kin to his blood--the welcome face of one 155 + Known as a saint throughout the Christian land, + Arthur recall'd, and as a pious son + Honouring a mother--on that sacred hand + Bent low, in murmuring--"Say, what mercy saves + Thee, blest survivor in this shrine of graves?" + + Then the nun led them through the artful door, 156 + Mask'd in the masonry, adown a stair + That coil'd its windings to the grottoed floor + Of vaulted chambers desolately fair; + Wrought in the green hill, like an Oread's home, + For summer heats by some soft lord of Rome, + + On shells, which nymphs from silver sands might cull, 157 + On paved mosaics, and long-silenced fount, + On marble waifs of the far Beautiful + By graceful spoiler garner'd from the mount + Of vocal Delphi, or the Elean town, + Or Sparta's rival of the violet-crown-- + + Shone the rude cresset from the homely shrine 158 + Of that new Power, upon whose Syrian Cross + Perish'd the antique Jove! And the grave sign + Of the glad faith (which, for the lovely loss + Of poet-gods, their own Olympus frees + To men!--our souls the new Uranides), + + High from the base on which of old reposed 159 + Grape-crown'd Iacchus, spoke the Saving Woe! + The place itself the sister's tale disclosed. + Here, while, amidst the hamlet doom'd below, + Raged the fierce Saxon--was retreat secured; + Nor gnaw'd the flame where those deep vaults immured. + + To peasants, scatter'd through the neighbouring plains, 160 + The secret known;--kind hands with pious care + Supply such humble nurture as sustains + Lives most with fast familiar; thus and there + The patient sisters in their faith sublime, + Felt God was good, and waited for His time. + + Yet ever when the crimes of earth and day 161 + Slept in the starry peace, to the lone tower + The sainted abbess won her nightly way, + And gazed on Carduel!--'Twas the wonted hour + When from the opening door the Cymrian knight + Saw the pale shadow steal along the light. + + Musing, the King the safe retreat survey'd, 162 + And smooth'd his brow from times most anxious care; + Here--from the strife secure, might rest the maid + Not meet the tasks that morn must bring to share; + She, while he mused, the nun's mild aspect eyed, + And crept with woman's trust to woman's side. + + "King," said the gentle saint, "from what far clime 163 + Comes this fair stranger, that her eyes alone + Answer our mountain tongue?"--"May happier time," + Replied the King, "her tale, her land, make known! + Meanwhile, O kind recluse, receive the guest + To whom these altars seem the native rest." + + The sister smiled, "In sooth those looks," she said, 164 + "Do speak a soul pure with celestial air; + And in the morrow's awful hour of dread + Her heart methinks will echo to our prayer, + And breathe responsive to the hymns that swell + The Christian's curse upon the infidel. + + "But say, if truth from rumour vague and wild 165 + To this still world the friendly peasants bring, + 'That grief and wrath for some lost heathen child, + Urge to yon walls the Mercian's direful king?'"-- + "Nay," said the Cymrian, "doth ambition fail + When force needs falsehood, of the glozing tale? + + "And--but behold she droops, she faints, outworn 166 + By the long wandering and the scorch of day!" + Pale as a lily when the dewless morn, + Parch'd in the fiery dog-star, wanes away + Into the glare of noon without a cloud, + O'er the nun's breast that flower of beauty bow'd. + + Yet still the clasp retain'd the hand that press'd, 167 + And breath came still, though heaved in sobbing sighs. + "Leave her," the sister said, "to needful rest, + And to such care as woman best supplies; + And may this charge a conqueror soon recall, + And change the refuge to a monarch's hall!" + + Though found the asylum sought, with boding mind 168 + The crowning guerdon of his mystic toil + To the kind nun the unwilling King resign'd; + Nor till his step was on his mountain soil + Did his large heart its lion calm regain, + And o'er his soul no thought but Cymri reign. + + As towards the bark the friends resume their way, 169 + Quick they resolve the conflict's hardy scheme; + With half the Northmen, at the break of day + Shall Gawaine sail where Sabra's broadening stream + Admits a reeded creek, and, landing there, + Elude the fleet the neighbouring waters bear; + + Through secret paths with bush and bosk o'ergrown, 170 + Wind round the tented hill, and win the wall; + With Arthur's name arouse the leaguer'd town, + Give the pent stream the cataract's rushing fall, + Sweep to the camp, and on the Pagan horde + Urge all of man that yet survives the sword. + + Meanwhile on foot the king shall guide his band 171 + Round to the rearward of the vast array + Where yet large fragments of the forest stand + To shroud with darkness the avenger's way;-- + Thence, when least look'd for, burst upon the foe, + On war's own heart direct the sudden blow; + + Thus, front and rear assail'd, their numbers less 172 + (Perplex'd, distraught) avail the heathen's power. + Dire was the peril, and the sole success + In the nice seizure of the season'd hour; + The high-soul'd rashness of the bold emprise; + The fear that smites the fiercest in surprise; + + Whatever worth the enchanted boons may bear, 173 + The hero heart by which those boons were won; + The stubborn strength of that supreme despair, + When victory lost is all a land undone; + In the Man's cause, and in the Christian's zeal, + And the just God that sanctions Freedom's steel. + + Meanwhile, along a cavelike corridor 174 + The stranger guest the gentle abbess led; + Where the voluptuous hypocaust of yore + Left cells for vestal dreams saint-hallowed. + Her own, austerely rude, affords the rest + To which her parting kiss consigns the guest. + + But welcome not for rest that loneliness! 175 + The iron lamp the imaged cross displays; + And to that guide for souls, what mute distress + Lifts the imploring passion of its gaze? + Fear like remorse--and sorrow dark as sin? + Enter that mystic heart and look within! + + What broken gleams of memory come and go 176 + Along the dark!--a silent starry love + Lighting young Fancy's virgin waves below, + But shed from thoughts that rest ensphered above! + Oh, flowers whose bloom had perfumed Carmel, weave + Wreathes for such love as lived in Genevieve! + + A May noon resteth on the forest hill; 177 + A May noon resteth over ruins hoar; + A maiden muses on the forest hill, + A tomb's vast pile o'ershades the ruins hoar, + With doors now open to each prying blast, + Where once to rot imperial dust had pass'd; + + Through those dark portals glides the musing maid, 178 + And slumber drags her down its airy deep. + O wondrous trance! in Druid robes array'd, + What form benignant charms the life-like sleep? + What spells low-chaunted, holy-sweet, like prayer + Plume the light soul, and waft it through the air? + + Comes a dim sense as of an angel's being, 179 + Bathed in ambrosial dews and liquid day; + Of floating wings, like heavenward instincts, freeing + Through azure solitudes a spirit's way.-- + An absence of all earthly thought, desire, + Aim--hope, save those which love and which aspire; + + Each harder sense of the mere human mind 180 + Merged into some protective prescience; + Calm gladness, conscious of a charge consign'd + To the pure ward of guardian innocence; + And the felt presence, in that charge, of one + Whose smile to life is as to flowers the sun. + + Go on, thou troubled Memory, wander on! 181 + Dull, o'er the bounds of the departing trance, + Droops the lithe wing the airier life hath known; + Yet on the confines of the dream, the glance + Sees--where before he stood--the Enchanter stand, + Bend the vast brow and stretch the shadowy hand. + + And, human sense reviving, on the ear 182 + Fall words ambiguous, now with happy hours + And plighted love,--and now with threats austere + Of demon dangers--of malignant Powers + Whose force might yet the counter charm unbind, + If loosed the silence to her lips enjoin'd. + + Then, as that Image faded from the verge 183 + Of life's renew'd horizon--came the day; + Yet, ere the last gleams of the vision merge + Into earth's common light, their parting ray + On Arthur's brow the faithful memories leave, + And the Dove's heart still beats in Genevieve! + + Still she the presence feels,--resumes the guide, 184 + Till slowly, slowly waned the prescient power + That gave the guardian to the pilgrim's side;-- + And only rested, with her human dower + Of gifts sublime to soothe, but weak to save, + And blind to warn,--the Daughter of the Grave. + + Yet the lost dream bequeathed for evermore 185 + Thoughts that did, like a second nature, make + Life to that life the Dove had hover'd o'er + Cling as an instinct,--and, for that dear sake, + Danger and Death had found the woman's love + In realms as near the Angels as the Dove. + + And now and now is she herself the one 186 + To launch the bolt on that beloved life? + Shuddering she starts, again she hears the nun + Denounce the curse that arms the awful strife; + Again her lips the wild cry stifle,--"See + Crida's lost child, thy country's curse, in me!" + + Or--if along the world of that despair 187 + Fleet other spectres--from the ruin'd steep + Points the dread arm, and hisses through the air + The avenger's sentence on the father's sleep! + The dead seem rising from the yawning floor, + And the shrine steams as with a shamble's gore. + + Sudden she springs, and, from her veiling hands, 188 + Lifts the pale courage of her calmed brow; + With upward eyes, and murmuring lips, she stands, + Raising to heaven the new-born hope:--and now + Glides from the cell along the galleried caves, + Mute as a moonbeam flitting over waves. + + Now gain'd the central grot; now won the stair; 189 + The lamp she bore gleam'd on the door of stone; + Why halt? what hand detains?--she turn'd, and there, + On the nun's serge and brow rebuking, shone + The tremulous light; then fear her lips unchain'd + From that stern silence by the Dream ordain'd, + + And at those holy feet the Saxon fell 190 + Sobbing, "Oh, stay me not! Oh, rather free + These steps that fly to save _his_ Carduel! + Throne, altars, life--his life! In me, in me, + To these strange shrines, thy saints in mercy bring + Crida's lost Child!--Way, way to save thy king!" + + The sister listen'd; gladness, awe, amaze, 191 + Fused in that lambent atmosphere of soul, + FAITH in the wise All-Good!--so melt the rays + Of varying Iris in the lucid whole + Of light;--"Thy people still to Thee are dear, + O Lord," she murmur'd, "and Thy hand is here!" + + "Yes," cried the suppliant, "if my loss deplored, 192 + My fate unguess'd--misled and arm'd my sire; + When to his heart his child shall be restored, + Sure, war itself will in the cause expire! + Ruth come with joy,--and in that happy hour + Hate drop the steel, and Love alone have power?" + + Then the nun took the Saxon to her breast, 193 + Round the bow'd neck she hung her sainted cross, + And said, "Go forth--O beautiful and blest! + And if my king rebuke me for thy loss, + Be my reply the gain that loss bestow'd,-- + Hearths for his people, altars for his God!" + + She ceased;--on secret valves revolv'd the door; 194 + On the calm hill-top breath'd the dawning air; + One moment paused the steps of Hope, and o'er + The war's vast slumber look'd the Soul of Prayer. + So halts the bird that from the cage hath flown;-- + A light bough rustled, and the Dove was gone. + + +NOTES TO BOOK XI. + +1.--Page 386, stanza xxviii. + + _Hung on the music, nor divined the death?_ + + See Book ii. pp. 57, 58, from stanza xxvii. to stanza xxx. + +2.--Page 388, stanza xxxix. + + _Because that soul refined man's common air!_ + + Perhaps it is in this sense that Taliessin speaks in his mystical + poem called "Taliessin's History," still extant:-- + + "I have been an instructor + To the whole universe. + I shall remain till the day of doom + On the face of the earth." + +3.--Page 389, stanza xlviii. + + _And smote the Heathen with the Angel's sword._ + + The Bishops Germanus and Lupus, having baptized the Britains in the + river Alyn, led them against the Picts and Saxons, to the cry of + "Alleluia." The cry itself, uttered with all the enthusiasm of the + Christian host, struck terror into the enemy, who at once took to + flight. Most of those who escaped the sword perished in the river. + This victory, achieved at Maes-Garmon, was called "Victoria + Alleluiatica."--BRIT. ECCLES. ANTIQ., 335; BED., lib. i. c. i. 20. + +4.--Page 389, stanza xlix. + + _Flash'd the glad claymores, lightening line on line._ + + "The claymore of the Highlanders of Scotland was no other than the + cledd mawr (cle'mawr) of the Welch."--CYMRODORION, vol. ii. p. 106. + +5.--Page 390, stanza lii. + + _No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song._ + + No Cymrian bard, according to the primitive law, was allowed the + use of weapons. + +6.--Page 390, stanza lvii. + + _And Tudor's standard with the Saxon's head._ + + The old arms of the Tudors were three Saxons' heads. + +7.--Page 393, stanza lxxiii. + + "_Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons lead!_" + + Walloons,--the name given by the Saxons, in contumely, to the + Cymrians. + +8.--Page 399, stanza cxvi. + + '_And what is death?--a name for nothingness._" + + The sublime idea of the nonentity of death, of the instantaneous + transit of the soul from one phase and cycle of being to another, is + earnestly insisted upon by the early Cymrian bards, in terms which + seem borrowed from some spiritual belief anterior to that which does + in truth teach that the life of man once begun, has not only no end, + but no pause--and, in the triumphal cry of the Christian, "O grave, + where is thy victory!"--annihilates death. + + + + +BOOK XII. + + +ARGUMENT. + +Preliminary Stanzas--Scene returns to Carduel--a day has passed since +the retreat of the Saxons into their encampment--The Cymrians take +advantage of the enemy's inactivity, to introduce supplies into the +famished city--Watch all that day, and far into the following night, +is kept round the corpse of Caradoc--Before dawn, the burial takes +place--The Prophet by the grave of the Bard--Merlin's address to the +Cymrians, whom he dismisses to the walls, in announcing the renewed +assault of the Saxons--Merlin then demands a sacrifice from +Lancelot--gives commissions to the two sons of Faul the Aleman, and +takes Faul himself (to whom an especial charge is destined) to the +city--The scene changes to the Temple Fortress of the Saxons--The +superstitious panic of the heathen hosts at their late defeat--The magic +divinations of the Runic priests--The magnetic trance of the chosen +Soothsayer--The Oracle he utters--He demands the blood of a Christian +maid--The pause of the priests and the pagan king--The abrupt entrance +of Genevieve--Crida's joy--The priests demand the Victim--Genevieve's +Christian faith is evinced by the Cross which the Nun had hung round her +neck--Crida's reply to the priests--They dismiss one of their number to +inflame the army, and so insure the sacrifice--The priests lead the +Victim to the Altar, and begin their hymn, as the Soothsayer wakes from +his trance--The interruption and the compact--Crida goes from the Temple +to the summit of the tower without--The invading march of the Saxon +troops under Harold described--The light from the Dragon Keep--The +Saxons scale the walls, and disappear within the town--The irruption +of flames from the fleet--The dismay of that part of the army that had +remained in the camp--The flames are seen by the rest of the heathen +army in the streets of Carduel--The approach of the Northmen under +Gawaine--The light on the Dragon Keep changes its hue into blood-red, +and the Prophet appears on the height of the tower--The retreat +of the Saxons from the city--The joy of the Chief Priest--The time +demanded by the compact has expired--He summons Crida to complete the +sacrifice--Crida's answer--The Priest rushes back into the Temple--The +offering is bound to the Altar--Faul! the gleam of the enchanted +glaive--The appearance of Arthur--The War takes its last stand within +the heathen temple--Crida and the Teuton kings--Arthur meets Crida hand +to hand--Meanwhile Harold saves the Gonfanon, and follows the bands +under his lead to the river-side--He addresses them, re-forms their +ranks, and leads them to the brow of the hill--His embassy to +Arthur--The various groups in the heathen temple described--Harold's +speech--Arthur's reply--Merlin's prophetic address to the chiefs of the +two races--The End. + + + Flow on, flow on, fair Fable's happy stream, 1 + Vocal for aye with Eld's first music-chaunt, + Where, mirror'd far adown the chrystal, gleam + The golden domes of Carduel and Romaunt; + Still one last look on knighthood's peerless ring, + On mooned Dream-land and the Dragon King!-- + + Detain me yet amid the lovely throng, 2 + Hold yet thy _Sabbat_, thou melodious spell! + Still to the circle of enchanted song + Charm the high Mage of Druid parable, + The Fairy, bard-led from her Caspian Sea, + And Genius, lured from caves in Araby! + + Though me, less fair if less familiar ways, 3 + Sought in the paths by earlier steps untrod, + Allure--yet ever, in the marvel-maze, + The flowers afar perfume the virgin sod; + The simplest leaf in fairy gardens cull, + And round thee opens all the Beautiful! + + Alas! the sunsets of our Northern main 4 + Soon lose the tints Hesperian Fancy weaves; + Soon the sweet river feels the icy chain, + And haunted forests shed their murmurous leaves; + The bough must wither, and the bird depart, + And winter clasp the world--as life the heart! + + A day had pass'd since first the Saxons fled 5 + Before the Christian, and their war lay still; + From morn to eve the Cymrian riders spread + Where flocks yet graze on some remoter hill, + Pale, on the walls, fast-sinking Famine waits, + When hark, the droves come lowing through the gates! + + Yet still, the corpse of Caradoc around, 6 + All day, and far into the watch of night, + The grateful victors guard the sacred ground; + But in that hour when all his race of light + Leave Eos lone in heaven,--earth's hollow breast + Oped to the dawn-star and the singer's rest. + + Now, ere they lower'd the corpse, with noiseless tread 7 + Still as a sudden shadow, Merlin came + Through the arm'd crowd; and paused before the dead, + And, looking on the face, thrice call'd the name. + Then, hush'd through all an awed compassion ran, + And all gave way to the old quiet man. + + For Cymri knew that of her children none 8 + Had, like the singer, loved the lonely sage; + All felt, that there a father call'd a son + Out from that dreariest void,--bereaved age; + Forgot the dread renown, the mystic art, + And saw but sacred there--the human heart! + + And thrice the old man kiss'd the lips that smiled, 9 + And thrice he call'd the name,--then to the grave, + Hush'd as the nurse that bears a sleeping child + To its still mother's breast,--the form he gave: + With tender hand composed the solemn rest, + And laid the harp upon the silent breast. + + And then he sate him down, a little space 10 + From the dark couch, and so of none took heed; + But lifting to the twilight skies his face, + That secret soul which never man could read, + Far as the soul it miss'd, from human breath, + Rose--where Thought rises when it follows Death! + + And swells and falls in gusts the funeral dirge 11 + As hollow falls the mould, or swells the mound; + And (Cymri's warlike wont) upon the verge + The orbed shields are placed in rows around; + Now o'er the dead, grass waves;--the rite is done; + And a new grave shall greet a rising sun. + + Then slowly turn'd, and calmly moved the sage, 12 + On the Bard's grave his stand the Prophet took. + High o'er the crowd in all his pomp of age + August, a glory brighten'd from his look; + Hope flash'd in eyes illumined from his own, + Bright, as if there some sure redemption shone. + + Thus spoke the Seer: "Hosannah to the brave; 13 + Lo, the eternal heir-looms of your land! + A realm's great treasure-house! The freeman's grave + The hero creed that to the swordless hand + Thought, when heroic, gives an army's might;-- + And song to nations as to plants the light! + + "Cymrians, the sun yon towers will scarcely gild, 14 + Ere war will scale them! Here, your task is o'er. + Your walls your camp, your streets your battle-field; + Each house a fortress!--One strong effort more + For God, for Freedom--for your shrines and homes! + After the Martyr the Deliverer comes!" + + He ceased; and such the reverence of the crowd, 15 + No lip presumed to question. Wonder hush'd + Its curious guess, and only Hope aloud + Spoke in the dauntless shout: each cheek was flush'd: + Each eye was bright;--each heart beat high; and all + Ranged in due ranks, resought the shatter'd wall: + + Save only four, whom to that holy spot 16 + The Prophet's whisper stay'd:--of these, the one + Of knightly port and arms, was Lancelot; + But in the ruder three, with garments won + From the wild beast,--long hair'd, large limb'd, again + See Rhine's strong sons, the convert Alemen! + + When these alone remain'd beside the mound, 17 + The Prophet drew apart the Paladin, + And said, "What time, feud, worse than famine, found + The Cymrian race, like some lost child of sin + That courts, yet cowers from death;--serene through all + The jarring factions of the maddening hall, + + "Thou didst in vain breathe high rebuke to pride, 18 + With words sublimely proud. 'No post the man + Ennobles;--man the post! did He who died + To crown in death the end His birth began, + Assume the sceptre when the cross He braved? + Did He wear purple in the world He saved? + + "'Ye clamour which is worthiest of command,-- 19 + Place me, whose fathers led the hosts of Gaul, + Amongst the meanest children of your land; + Let me owe nothing to my fathers,--all + To such high deeds as raised, ere kings were known, + The boldest savage to the earliest throne!' + + "But none did heed thee, and in scornful grief 20 + Went thy still footsteps from the raging hall, + Where, by the altar of the bright Belief + That spans this cloud-world when its sun-showers fall, + Assured at least thy bride in heaven to be, + Genevra pray'd--not life but death with thee. + + "There, by the altar, did ye join your hands, 21 + And in your vow, scorning malignant Time, + Ye plighted two immortals! in those bands + Hope still wove flowers,--but earth was not their clime; + Then to the breach alone, resign'd, consoled, + Went Gaul's young hero.--Art thou now less bold? + + "Thy smile replies! Know, while we speak, the King 22 + Is on the march; each moment that delays + The foeman, speeds the conqueror on its wing; + If, till the hour is ripe, the Saxon stays + His rush, then idly wastes it on our wall, + Not ours the homes that burn, the shrines that fall! + + "But that delay vouchsafed not--comes in vain 23 + The bright achiever of enchanted powers; + He comes a king,--no people but the slain, + And round his throne will crash his blazing towers. + This is not all; for him, the morn is rife + With one dire curse that threatens more than life;-- + + "A curse, once launch'd, which withers every leaf 24 + In victory's crown, chills youth itself to age! + Here magic fails--for over love and grief + There is no glamour in the brazen page + Born of the mind, o'er mind extends mine art;-- + Beyond its circle beats the human heart! + + "Delay the hour--save Carduel for thy king; 25 + Avert the curse; from misery save thy brother!" + "Thrice welcome death," cried Lancelot, "could it bring + The bliss to bless mine Arthur! As the mother + Lives in her child, the planet in the sky, + Thought in the soul, in Arthur so live I." + + "Prepare," the Seer replied, "be firm!--and yield 26 + The maid thou lovest to her Saxon Sire." + Like a man lightning-stricken, Lancelot reel'd, + And as if blinded by the intolerant fire, + Cover'd his face with his convulsive hand, + And groan'd aloud, "What woe dost thou demand? + + "Yield her! and wherefore? Cruel as thou art! 27 + Can Cymri's king or Carduel's destiny + Need the lone offering of a loving heart, + Nothing to kings and states, but all to me?" + "Son," said the Prophet, "can the human eye + Trace by what wave light quivers from the sky; + + "Explore some thought whose utterance shakes the earth 28 + Along the airy galleries of the brain; + Or say, can human wisdom test the worth + Of the least link in Fate's harmonious chain? + All doubt is cowardice--all trust is brave-- + Doubt, and desert thy king;--believe and save." + + Then Lancelot fix'd his keen eyes on the sage, 29 + And said, "Am I the sacrifice or she? + Risks she no danger from the heathen's rage, + She, the new Christian?"--"Danger more with thee! + Can blazing roofs and trampled altars yield + A shelter surer than her father's shield? + + "If mortal schemes may foil the threatening hour, 30 + Thy heart's reward shall crown thine honour's test; + And the same fates that crush the heathen power + Restore the Christian to the conqueror's breast; + Yea, the same lights that gild the nuptial shrine + Of Arthur, shed a beam as bless'd on thine!" + + "I trust and I submit," said Lancelot, 31 + With pale firm lip. "Go thou--I dare not--I! + Say, if I yield, that I abandon not! + Her form may leave a desert to my eye, + But here--but _here_!"--No more his lips could say, + He smote his bleeding heart, and went his way! + + The Enchanter, thoughtful, turn'd, and on the grave 32 + His look relaxing fell,--"Ah, child, lost child! + To thy young life no youth harmonious gave + Music;--no love thine exquisite griefs beguiled; + Thy soul's deep ocean hid its priceless pearl:-- + And _he_ is loved and yet repines! O churl!" + + And murmuring thus, he saw below the mound 33 + The stoic brows of the stern Alemen, + Their gaunt limbs strewn supine along the ground, + Still as gorged lions couch'd before the den + After the feast; their life no medium knows,-- + Here headlong conflict, there inert repose! + + "Which of these feet could overtake the roe? 34 + Which of these arms could grapple with the bear?" + "My first-born," answer'd Faul, "outstrips the roe; + My youngest crushes in his grasp the bear." + "Thou, then, the swift one, gird thy loins, and rise: + See o'er the lowland where the vapour lies, + + "Far to the right, a mist from Sabra's wave; 35 + Amidst that haze explore a creek rush-grown, + Screen'd from the waters less remote, which lave + The Saxon's anchor'd barks, and near a lone + Grey crag where bitterns boom; within that creek + Gleams through green boughs a galley's brazen peak; + + This gain'd, demand the chief, a Christian knight, 36 + The bear's rough mantle o'er his rusted mail; + Tell him from me, to tarry till a light + Burst from the Dragon keep;--then crowd his sail, + Fire his own ship--and, blazing to the bay, + Cleave through yon fleet his red destroying way; + + "No arduous feat: the galleys are unmann'd, 37 + Moor'd each to each; let fire consume them all! + Then, the shore won, lead hitherwards the band + Between the Saxon camp and Cymrian wall. + What next behoves, the time itself will show, + Here counsel ceases;--there ye find the foe!" + + Heard the wild youth, and no reply made he, 38 + But braced his belt and griped his spear, and straight + As the bird flies, he flew. "My son, to thee," + Next said the Prophet, "a more urgent fate + And a more perilous duty are consign'd; + Mark, the strong arm requires the watchful mind. + + "Thou hast to pass the Saxon sentinels; 39 + Thou hast to thread the Saxon hosts alone; + Many are there whom thy far Rhine expels + His swarming war-hive,--and their tongue thine own; + Take from yon Teuton dead the mail'd disguise, + Thy speech their ears, thy garb shall dupe their eyes; + + "The watch-pass 'Vingolf'[1] wins thee through the van, 40 + The rest shall danger to thy sense inspire, + And that quick light in the hard sloth of man + Coil'd, till sharp need strike forth the sudden fire. + The encampment traversed, where the woods behind + Slope their green gloom, thy stealthy pathway wind; + + "Keep to one leftward track, amidst the chase 41 + Clear'd for the hunter's sport in happier days; + Till scarce a mile from the last tent, a space + Clasping grey crommell stones, will close the maze. + There, in the centre of that Druid ring, + Arm'd men will stand around the Cymrian King:-- + + "Tell him to set upon the tallest pine 42 + Keen watch, and wait, until from Carduel's tower, + High o'er the wood a starry light shall shine; + Not _that_ the signal, though it nears the hour, + But when the light shall change its hues, and form + One orb, blood-dyed, as sunsets red with storm; + + "Then, while the foe their camp unguarded leave, 43 + And round our walls their tides tempestuous roll, + To yon wood pile, the Saxon fortress, cleave; + Be Odin's Idol the Deliverer's goal. + Say to the King, 'In that funereal fane + Complete thy mission, and thy guide regain!'" + + While spoke the seer, the Teuton's garb of mail 44 + The son of Faul had donn'd, and bending now, + He kiss'd his father's cheek.--"And if I fail," + He murmur'd, "leave thy blessing on my brow, + My father!" Then the convert of the wild + Look'd up to Heaven, and mutely bless'd his child. + + "Thou wend with me, proud sire of dauntless men," 45 + Resumed the seer:--"On thine arm let my age + Lean, as shall thine upon _their_ children!"--Then + The loreless savage--the all-gifted sage, + By the strong bonds of will and heart allied; + Went towards the towers of Carduel side by side. + + To Crida's camp the swift song rushing flies; 46 + Round Odin's shrine wild Priests, rune muttering, + Task the weird omens hateful to the skies; + Pale by the idol stands the grey-hair'd king; + And, from without, the unquiet armament + Booms in hoarse surge, its chafing discontent. + + For in defeat (when first that multitude 47 + Shrunk from a foe, and fled the Cymrian sword) + The pride of man the wrath of gods had view'd; + Religious horror smote the palsied horde; + The field refused, till priest, and seid, and charm, + Explore the offence, and wrath divine disarm. + + All day, all night, glared fires, dark-red and dull 48 + With mystic gums, before the Teuton god, + And waved o'er runes which Mimer's trunkless skull + Had whisper'd Odin--the Diviner's rod, + And rank with herbs which baleful odours breathed, + The bubbling hell-juice in the cauldron seethed. + + Now towards that hour when into coverts dank 49 + Slinks back the wolf; when to her callow brood + Veers through still boughs, the owl; when from the bank + The glow-worm wanes; when heaviest droops the wood, + Ere the faint twitter of the earliest lark,-- + Ere dawn creeps chill and timorous through the dark; + + About that hour, of all the dreariest, 50 + A flame leaps up from the dull fire's repose, + And shoots weird sparks along the runes, imprest + On stone and elm-bark, ranged in ninefold rows; + The vine's deep flush the purpling seid assumes, + And the strong venom coils in maddening fumes. + + Pale grew the elect Diviner's alter'd brows; 51 + Swell'd the large veins, and writhed the foaming lips; + And as some swart and fateful planet glows + Athwart the disc to which it brings eclipse; + So that strange Pythian madness, whose control + Seems half to light and half efface the soul, + + Broke from the horror of his glazing look; 52 + His breath that died in hollow gusts away, + Seized by the grasp of unseen tempests, shook + To its rack'd base the spirit-house of clay; + Till the dark Power made firm the crushing spell, + And from the man burst forth the voice of hell. + + "The god--the god! lo, on his throne he reels! 53 + Under his knit brows glow his wrathful eyes! + At his dread feet a spectral Valkyr kneels, + And shrouds her face! And cloud is in the skies, + And neither sun nor star, nor day nor night, + But in the cloud a steadfast Cross of Light! + + "The god--the god! hide, hide me from his gaze! 54 + Its awful anger burns into the brain! + Spare me, O spare me! Speak, thy child obeys! + What rites appease thee, Father of the Slain?[2] + What direful omen do these signs foreshow? + What victim ask'st thou? Speak, the blood shall flow!' + + Sunk the Possest One--writhing with wild throes; 55 + And one appalling silence dusk'd the place, + As with a demon's wing. Anon arose, + Calm as a ghost, the soothsayer: form and face + Rigid with iron sleep! and hollow fell + From stonelike lips the hateful oracle. + + "A cloud, where Nornas nurse the thunder, lowers; 56 + A curse is cleaving to the Teuton race; + Before the Cross the stricken Valkyr cowers; + The Herr-god trembles on his column'd base; + A virgin's loss aroused the Teuton strife; + A virgin's love hath charm'd the Avenger's life; + + "A virgin's blood alone averts the doom; 57 + Revives the Valkyr, and preserves the god. + Whet the quick steel--she comes, she comes, for whom + The runes glow'd blood-red to the soothsayer's rod! + O king, whose wrath the Odin-born array'd, + Regain the lost, and yield the Christian maid!" + + As if that voice had quicken'd some dead thing 58 + To give it utterance, so, when ceased the sound, + The dull eye fix'd, and the faint shuddering + Stirr'd all the frame; then sudden on the ground + Fell heavily the lumpish inert clay, + From which the demon noiseless rush'd away. + + Then the grey priests and the grey king creep near 59 + The corpselike man; and sit them mutely down + In the still fire's red vaporous atmosphere; + The bubbling caldron sings and simmers on; + And through the reeks that from the poison rise, + Looks the wolf's blood-lust from those cruel eyes. + + So sat they, musing fell;--when hark, a shout 60 + Rang loud from rank to rank, re-echoing deep; + Hark to the tramp of multitudes without! + Near and more near the thickening tumults sweep; + King Crida wrathful rose: "What steps profane + Thy secret thresholds, Father of the Slain?" + + Frowning he strode along the lurid floors, 61 + And loud, and loud the invading footsteps ring; + His hand impetuous flings apart the doors:-- + "Who dare insult the god, and brave the king?" + Swift through the throng a bright-hair'd vision came; + Those stern lips falter with a daughter's name! + + Those hands uplifted, or to curse or smite, 62 + Fold o'er a daughter's head their tremulous joy! + Oh, to the natural worship of delight, + How came the monstrous dogma--"To destroy!" + Sure, Heaven foreshow'd its gospel to the wild + In earth's first bond--the father and the child! + + While words yet fail'd the bliss of that embrace, 63 + The muttering priests, unmoved, each other eyed; + Then to the threshold came their measured pace:-- + "Depart, Profane," their Pagan pontiff cried, + "Depart, Profane, too near your steps have trod + To altars darken'd with an angry God. + + "Dire are the omens! Skulda rides the clouds, 64 + Her sisters tremble[3] at the Urdar spring; + The hour demands us--shun the veil that shrouds + The Priests, the God, the Victim, and the King." + Shuddering, the crowds retreat, and whispering low, + Spread the contagious terrors where they go. + + Then the stern Elders came to Crida's side, 65 + And from their lock'd embrace unclasp'd his hands: + "Lo," said their chieftain, "how the gods provide + Themselves the offering which the shrine demands! + By Odin's son be Odin's voice obey'd; + The lost is found--behold, and yield the maid!" + + As when some hermit saint, in the old day 66 + Of the soul's giant war with Solitude, + From some bright dream which rapt his life away + Amidst the spheres, unclosed his eyes and view'd, + 'Twixt sleep and waking, vaguely horrible, + The grisly tempter of the gothic hell; + + So on the father's bliss abruptly broke 67 + The dreadful memory of his dismal god; + And, his eyes pleading ere his terrors spoke, + Look'd round the brows of that foul brotherhood. + Then his big voice came weak and strangely mild, + "What mean those words?--why glare ye on my child? + + "Do ye not know her? Elders, she is mine,-- 68 + My flesh, my blood, mine age's youngest-born! + Why are ye mute? Why point to yonder shrine? + Ay,"--and here haughty with the joy of scorn, + He raised his front.--"Ay, _be_ the voice obey'd! + Priests, ye forget,--it was a _Christian_ maid!" + + He ceased and laugh'd aloud, as humbled fell 69 + Those greedy looks, and mutteringly replied + Faint voices, "True, so said the Oracle!" + When the Arch-Elder, with an eager stride + Reach'd child and sire, and cried, "See Crida, there, + On the maid's breast the cross that Christians wear!" + + Those looks, those voices, thrill'd through Genevieve, 70 + With fears as yet vague, shapeless, undefined: + "Father," she murmur'd, "Father, let us leave + These dismal precincts; how those eyes unkind + Freeze to my soul; sweet father, let us go; + My heart to thine would speak! why frown'st thou so?" + + "Tear from thy breast that sign, unhappy one! 71 + Sign to thy country's wrathful gods accurst! + Back, priests of Odin, I am Odin's son, + And she my daughter; in my war-shield nurst, + Rear'd at your altars! Trample down the sign, + O child, and say--the Saxon's God is mine!" + + Infant, who came to bid a war relent, 72 + And rob ambition of its carnage-prize, + Is it on thee those sombre brows are bent? + For thee the death-greed in those ravening eyes? + Thy task undone, thy gentle prayer unspoken? + Ay, press the cross: it is the martyr's token! + + She press'd the cross with one firm faithful hand, 73 + While one--(_that_ trembled!)--clasp'd her father's knees; + As clings a wretch, that sinks in sight of land, + To reeds swept with him down the weltering seas, + And murmur'd, "Pardon; Him whose agony + Was earth's salvation, I may not deny! + + "Him who gave God the name I give to thee, 74 + 'FATHER,'--in Him, in Christ, is my belief!" + Then Crida turn'd unto the priests,--"Ye see," + Smiling, he said, "that I have done with grief: + Behold the victim! be the God obey'd! + The son of Odin dooms the Christian maid!" + + He said, and from his robe he wrench'd the hand, 75 + And, where the gloom was darkest, stalk'd away. + But whispering low, still pause the hellish band; + And dread lest Nature yet redeem the prey, + And deem it wise against such chance to arm + The priesthood's puissance with the host's alarm; + + To bruit abroad the dark oracular threats, 76 + From which the Virgin's blood alone can save; + Gird with infuriate fears the murtherous nets, + And plant an army to secure a grave; + The whispers cease--the doors one gleam of day + Give--and then close;--the blood-hound slinks away. + + Around the victim--where with wandering hand, 77 + Through her blind tears, she seems to search through space + For him who had forsaken--circling stand + The solemn butchers; calm in every face + And death in every heart; till from the belt + Stretch'd one lean hand and grasp'd her where she knelt. + + And her wild shriek went forth and smote the shrine, 78 + Which echo'd, shrilling back the sharp despair, + Through the waste gaps between the shafts of pine + To th' unseen father's ear. Before the glare + Of the weird fire, the sacrifice they chain + To stones impress'd with rune and shamble-stain. + + Then wait (for so their formal rites compel) 79 + Till from the trance that still his senses seals, + Awakes the soothsayer of the oracle; + At length with tortured spasms, and slowly, steals + Back the reluctant life--slow as it creeps + To one hard-rescued from the drowning deeps. + + And when from dim, uncertain, swimming eyes 80 + The gaunt long fingers put the shaggy hair, + And on the priests, the shrine, the sacrifice, + Dwelt the fix'd sternness of the glassy stare, + Before the god they led the demon-man, + And circling round the two their hymn began. + + So rapt in their remorseless ecstasy, 81 + They did not hear the quick steps at the door, + Nor that loud knock nor that impatient cry; + Till shook,--till crash'd, the portals on the floor,-- + Crash'd to the strong hand of the fiery thane; + And Harold's stride came clanging up the fane.-- + + But from his side bounded a shape as light 82 + As forms that glide through Elfheim's limber air; + Swift to the shrine--where on those robes of white + The gloomy hell fires scowl'd their sullen glare, + Through the death-chaunting choir,--she sprang,--she prest, + And bow'd her head upon the victim's breast; + + And cried, "With thee, with thee, to live or die, 83 + With thee, my Genevieve!" The Elders raised + Their hands in wrath, when from as stern an eye + And brow erect as theirs, they shrunk amazed-- + And Harold spoke, "Ye priests of Odin, hear! + Your gods are mine, their voices I revere. + + "Voices in winds, in groves, in hollow caves, 84 + Oracular dream, or runic galdra sought; + But ages ere from Don's ancestral waves + Such wizard signs the Scythian Odin brought, + A voice that needs no priesthood's sacred art, + Some earlier God placed in the human heart. + + "I bow to charms that doom embattled walls: 85 + To dreams revealing no unworthy foe; + A warrior's god in Glory's clarion calls; + Where war-steeds snort, and hurtling standards flow; + But when weak women for strong men must die, + My Man's proud nature gives your Gods the lie! + + "If--not yon seer by fumes and dreams beguiled, 86 + But Odin's self stood where his image stands, + Against the god I would protect my child! + Ha, Crida!--come!--_thy_ child in chains!--those hands + Lifted to smite!--and thou, whose kingly bann + Arms nations,--wake, O statue, into man!" + + For from his lair, and to his liegeman's side, 87 + Had Crida listening strode: When ceased the Thane, + His voice, comprest and tremulous, replied,-- + "The life thou plead'st for doth these shrines profane. + In Odin's son a father lives no more; + Yon maid adores the God our foes adore." + + "And I--and I, stern king!"--Genevra cries, 88 + "Her God is mine, and if that faith is crime, + Be just--and take a twofold sacrifice!" + "Cease," cried the Thane,--"is this, ye Powers, a time + For kings and chiefs to lean on idle blades,-- + Our leaders dreamers, and our victims maids? + + "Be varying gods by varying tribes addrest, 89 + I scorn no gods that worthy foes adore; + Brave was the arm that humbled Harold's crest, + And large the heart that did his child restore. + To all the valiant Gladsheim's Halls unclose;[4] + In Heaven the comrades were on Earth the foes. + + "And if our Gods are wrath, what wonder, when 90 + Their traitor priests creep whispering coward fears; + Unnerve the arms and rot the hearts of men, + And filch the conquest from victorious spears?-- + Yes, reverend elders, _one_ such priest I found, + And cheer'd my bandogs on the meaner hound!" + + "Be dumb, blasphemer," cried the Pontiff seer, 91 + "Depart, or dread the vengeance of the shrine; + Depart, or armies from these floors shall hear + How chiefs can mock what nations deem divine; + Then, let her Christian faith thy daughter boast, + And brave the answer of the Teuton host!" + + A paler hue shot o'er the hardy face 92 + Of the great Earl, as thus the Elder spoke; + But calm he answer'd, "Summon Odin's race; + On me and mine the Teuton's wrath invoke! + Let shuddering fathers learn what priests can dream, + And warriors judge if _I_ their Gods blaspheme! + + "But peace and hearken.--To the king I speak:-- 93 + With mine own lithsmen, and such willing aid + As Harold's tromps arouse,--yon walls I seek; + Be Cymri's throne the ransom of the maid. + On Carduel's wall if Saxon standards wave, + Let Odin's arms the needless victim save! + + "Grant me till noon to prove what men are worth, 94 + Who serve the War God by the warlike deed; + Refuse me this, King Crida, and henceforth + Let chiefs more prized the Mercian armies lead; + For I, blunt Harold, join no cause with those + Who, wolves for victims, are as hares to foes!" + + Scornful he ceased, and lean'd upon his sword; 95 + Whispering the Priests, and silent Crida, stood. + A living Thor to that barbarian horde + Was the bold Thane, and ev'n the men of blood + Felt Harold's loss amid the host's dismay + Would rend the clasp that link'd the wild array. + + At length out spoke the priestly chief, "The gods 96 + Endure the boasts, to bow the pride, of men; + The Well of Wisdom sinks in Hell's abode; + The Laeca shines beside the bautasten,[5] + And Truth too oft illumes the eyes that scorn'd, + By the death-flash from which in vain it warn'd. + + "Be the delay the pride of man demands 97 + Vouchsafed, the nothingness of man to show! + The gods unsoften'd, march thy futile bands: + Till noon, we spare the victim;--seek the foe! + But when with equal shadows rests the sun-- + The altar reddens, or the walls are won!" + + "So be it," the Thane replied, and sternly smiled; 98 + Then towards the sister-twain, with pitying brow, + Whispering he came,--"Fair friend of Harold's child, + Let our own gods at least be with thee now; + Pray that the Asas bless the Teuton strife, + And guide the swords that strike for thy sweet life." + + "Alas!" cried Genevieve, "Christ came to save, 99 + Not slay: He taught the weakest how to die; + For me, for _me_, a nation glut the grave! + That nation Christ's, and--No, the victim _I_! + Not now for _life_, my father, see me kneel, + But one kind look,--and then, how blunt the steel!" + + And Crida moved not! Moist were Harold's eyes; 100 + Bending, he whisper'd in Genevra's ear, + "Thy presence is her safety! Time denies + All words but these;--hope in the brave; revere + The gods they serve;--by acts our faith we test; + The holiest gods are where the men are best." + + "With this he turn'd, "Ye priests," he call'd aloud, 101 + "On every head within these walls, I set + Dread weregeld for the compact; blood for blood!" + Then o'er his brows he closed his bassinet, + Shook the black death-pomp of his shadowy plume, + And his arm'd stride was lost amidst the gloom.-- + + And still poor Genevieve with mournful eyes 102 + Gazed on the father, whose averted brows + Had more of darkness for her soul than lies + Under the lids of death. The murmurous + And lurid air buzzed with a ghostlike sound + From patient Murder's iron lip;--and round + + The delicate form which, like a Psyche, seem'd 103 + Beauty sublimed into the type of soul, + Fresh from such stars as ne'er on Paphos beam'd, + When first on Love the chastening vision stole,-- + The sister virgin coil'd her clasp of woe; + Ev'n as that Sorrow which the Soul must know + + Till Soul and Love meet never more to part. 104 + At last, from under his wide mantle's fold, + The strain'd arms lock'd on his loud-beating heart + (As if the anguish which the king controll'd, + The man could stifle),--Crida toss'd on high;-- + And nature conquer'd in the father's cry! + + Over the kneeling form swept his grey hair; 105 + On the soft upturn'd eyes prest his wild kiss; + And then recoiling, with a livid stare, + He faced the priests, and mutter'd, "Dotage this! + Crida is old,--come--come;" and from the ring + Beckon'd their chief, and went forth tottering. + + Out of the fane, up where the stair of pine 106 + Wound to the summit of the camp's rough tower, + King Crida pass'd. On moving armour shine + The healthful beams of the fresh morning hour; + He hears the barb's shrill neigh,--the clarion's swell, + And half his armies march to Carduel. + + Far in the van, like Odin's fatal bird 107 + Wing'd for its feast, sails Harold's raven plume. + Now from the city's heart a shout is heard, + Wall, bastion, tower, their steel-clad life resume; + Far shout! faint forms! yet seem they loud and clear + To that strain'd eyeball and that feverish ear. + + But not on hosts that march by Harold's side, 108 + Gazed the stern priest, who stood with Crida there; + On sullen gloomy groups--discatter'd wide, + Grudging the conflict they refused to share, + Or seated round rude tents and piled spears; + Circling the mutter of rebellious fears; + + Or, near the temple fort, with folded arms 109 + On their broad breasts, waiting the deed of blood; + On these he gazed--to gloat on the alarms + That made _him_ monarch of that multitude! + Not one man there had pity in his eye. + And the priest smiled,--then turn'd to watch the sky. + + And the sky deepen'd, and the time rush'd on. 110 + And Crida sees the ladders on the wall; + And dust-clouds gather round his gonfanon; + And through the dust-clouds glittering rise and fall + The meteor lights of helms, and shields, and glaives; + Up o'er the rampires mount the labouring waves; + + And joyous rings the Saxon's battle shout; 111 + And Cymri's angel cry wails like despair; + And from the Dragon Keep a light shines out, + Calm as a single star in tortured air, + To whose high peace, aloof from storms, in vain + Looks a lost navy from the violent main. + + Now on the nearest wall the Pale Horse stands; 112 + Now from the wall the Pale Horse lightens down; + And flash and vanish, file on file, the bands + Into the rent heart of the howling town; + And the Priest paling frown'd upon the sun,-- + Though the sky deepen'd and the time rush'd on. + + When from the camp around the fane, there rose 113 + Ineffable cries of wonder, wrath, and fear; + With some strange light that scares the sunshine, glows + O'er Sabra's waves the crimson'd atmosphere; + And dun from out the widening, widening glare, + Like Hela's serpents, smoke-reeks wind through air. + + Forth look'd the king, appall'd! and where his masts 114 + Soar'd from the verge of the far forest-land, + He hears the crackling, as when vernal blasts + Shiver Groninga's pines--"Lo, the same hand," + Cried the fierce priest, "which sway'd the soothsayer's rod, + Writes now the last runes of thine angry god!" + + And here and there, and wirbelling to and fro, 115 + Confused, distraught, pale thousands spread the plain; + Some snatch their arms in haste, and yelling go + Where the fleets burn; some creep around the fane + Like herds for shelter; prone on earth lie some + Shrieking, "The Twilight of the Gods hath come!" + + And the great glare hath redden'd o'er the town, 116 + And seems the strife it gildeth to appall; + Flock back dim straggling Saxons, gazing down + The lurid valleys from the jagged wall, + Still as on Cuthite towers Chaldean seers, + When some red portent flamed into the spheres. + + And now from brake and copse--from combe and dell, 117 + Gleams break;--steel flashes;--helms on helms arise; + Faint heard at first,--now near, now thunderous,--swell + The Cymrian mingled with the Baltic cries; + And, loud alike in each, exulting came + War's noblest music--a Deliverer's name. + + "Arthur!--for Arthur!--Arthur is at hand! 118 + Woe, Saxons, woe!" Then from the rampart height + Vanish'd each watcher; while the rescue-band + Sweep the clear slopes; and not a foe in sight! + And now the beacon on the Dragon Keep: + Springs from pale lustre into hues blood-deep: + + And on that tower stood forth a lonely man; 119 + Full on his form the beacon glory fell; + And joy revived each sinking Cymrian; + There, the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel! + Back o'er the walls, and back through gate and breach, + Now ebbs the war, like billows from the beach. + + Along the battlements swift crests arise, 120 + Swift follow'd by avenging, smiting brands, + And fear and flight are in the Saxon cries! + The portals vomit bands on hurtling bands; + And lo, wide streaming o'er the helms,--again + The Pale Horse flings on angry winds its mane! + + And facing still the foe, but backward borne 121 + By his own men, towers high one kingliest chief; + Deep through the distance roll his shout of scorn, + And the grand anguish of a hero's grief. + Bounded the Priest!--"The Gods are heard at last!-- + Proud Harold flieth;--and the noon is past! + + Come, Crida, come." Up as from heavy sleep 122 + The grey-hair'd giant raised his awful head; + As, after calmest waters, the swift leap + Of the strong torrent rushes to its bed,-- + So the new passion seized and changed the form, + As if the rest had braced it for the storm. + + No grief was in the iron of that brow; 123 + Age cramp'd no sinew in that mighty arm; + "Go," he said sternly, "where it fits thee, thou: + Thy post with Odin--mine with Managarm![6] + Let priests avert the dangers kings must dare; + My shrine yon Standard, and my Children--_there_!" + + So from the height he swept--as doth a cloud 124 + That brings a tempest when it sinks below; + Swift strides a chief amidst the jarring crowd; + Swift in stern ranks the rent disorders grow; + Swift, as in sails becalm'd swells forth the wind, + The wide mass quickens with the one strong mind. + + Meanwhile the victim, to the Demon vow'd, 125 + Knelt; every thought wing'd for the Angel goal, + And ev'n the terror which the form had bow'd + Search'd but new sweetness where it shook the soul. + Self was forgot, and to the Eternal Ear + Prayer but for others spoke the human fear. + + And when at moments from that rapt communion 126 + With the Invisible Holy, those young arms + Clasp'd round her neck, to childhood's happy union + In the old days recall'd her; such sweet charms + Did Comfort weave, that in the sister's breast + Grief like an infant sobb'd itself to rest. + + Up leapt the solemn priests from dull repose: 127 + The fires were fann'd as with a sudden wind; + While shrieking loud, "Hark, hark, the conquering foes! + Haste, haste, the victim to the altar bind!" + Rush'd to the shrine the haggard Slaughter-Chief.-- + As the strong gusts that whirl the fallen leaf + + I' the month when wolves descend, the barbarous hands 128 + Plunge on the prey of their delirious wrath, + Wrench'd from Genevra's clasp;--Lo, where she stands, + On earth no anchor,--is she less like Faith? + The same smile firmly sad, the same calm eye, + The same meek strength;--strength to forgive and die! + + "Hear us, O Odin, in this last despair! 129 + Hear us, and save!" the Pontiff call'd aloud; + "By the Child's blood we shed, thy children spare!" + And the knife glitter'd o'er the breast that bow'd. + Dropp'd blade;--fell priest!--blood chokes a gurgling groan; + Blood,--blood _not Christian_, dyes the altar-stone! + + Deep in the DOOMER'S breast it sank--the dart; 130 + As if from Fate it came invisibly; + Where is the hand?--from what dark hush shall start + Foeman or fiend?--no shape appalls the eye, + No sound the ear!--ice-lock'd each coward breath; + The Power the Deathsman call'd, hath heard him--Death! + + "While yet the stupor stuns the circle there, 131 + Fierce shrieks--loud feet--come rushing through the doors: + Women with outstretch'd arms and tossing hair, + And flying warriors, shake the solemn floors; + Thick as the birds storm-driven on the decks + Of some lone ship--the last an ocean wrecks. + + And where on tumult, tumult whirl'd and roar'd, 132 + Shrill'd cries, "The fires around us and behind, + And the last Fire-God and the Flaming-Sword!"[7] + And from without, like that destroying wind + In which the world shall perish, grides and sweeps + VICTORY--swift-cleaving through the battle deeps!-- + + VICTORY, by shouts of terrible rapture known, 133 + Through crashing ranks it drives in iron rain; + Borne on the wings of fire it blazes on; + It halts its storm before the fortress fane; + And through the doors, and through the chinks of pine, + Flames its red breath upon the paling shrine. + + Roused to their demon courage by the dread 134 + Of the wild hour, the priests a voice have found; + To pious horror show their sacred dead, + Invoke the vengeance, and explore the ground, + When, like the fiend in monkish legends known, + Sprang a grim image on the altar-stone! + + The wolf's hide bristled on the shaggy breast 135 + Over the brows, the forest buffalo + With horn impending arm'd the grisly crest, + From which the swart eye sent its savage glow: + Long shall the Saxon dreams that shape recall, + And ghastly legends teem with tales of FAUL![8] + + Needs here to tell, that when, at Merlin's hest, 136 + Faul led to Harold's tent the Saxon maid, + The wrathful Thane had chased the skulking priest + From the paled ranks, that evil Bode[9] dismay'd:-- + And the grim tidings of the rite to come + Flew lip to lip through that awed Heathendom. + + Foretaught by Merlin of her mission there, 137 + Scarce to her father's heart Genevra sprung + Than (while most soften'd) her impassion'd prayer + Pierced to its human deeps; and, roused and stung + By that keen pity, keenest in the brave,-- + Strength felt why strength is given, and rush'd to save:-- + + Amidst those quick emotions half forgot, 138 + Follow'd the tutor'd furtive Aleman; + On, when the portals crash'd, still heeded not, + Stole his light step behind the striding Thane. + From coign to shaft the practised glider crept, + A shadow, lost where shadows darkest slept. + + And safe and screen'd the idol god behind, 139 + He who once lurk'd to slay, kept watch to save;-- + Now _there_ he stood! And the same altar shrined + The wild man, the wild god! and up the nave + Flight flow'd on flight; and near and loud, the name + Of "ARTHUR" borne as on a whirlwind came. + + Down from the altar to the victim's side, 140 + While yet shrunk back the priests--the savage leapt, + And with quick steel gash'd the strong cords that tied; + When round them both the rallying vengeance swept; + Raised every arm;--O joy!--the enchanted glaive + Shines o'er the threshold! is there time to save? + + A torch whirls hissing through the air--it falls 141 + Into the centre of the murderous throng! + Dread herald of dread steps! the conscious halls + Quake where the falchion flames and flies along; + Though crowd on crowd behold the falchion cleave!-- + The Silver Shield rests over Genevieve! + + Bright as the shape that smote the Assyrian, 142 + The fulgent splendour from the arms divine + Paled the hell-fires round God's elected Man, + And burst like Truth upon the demon-shrine. + Among the thousands stood the Conquering One, + Still, lone, and unresisted as a sun! + + Now through the doors, commingling side by side, 143 + Saxon and Cymrian struggle hand in hand; + For there the war, in its fast ebbing tide, + Flings its last prey--there, Crida takes his stand; + There his co-monarchs hail a funeral pyre + That opes Walhalla from the grave of fire. + + And as a tiger swept adown a flood 144 + With meaner beasts, that dyes the howling water + Which whirls it onward, with a waste of blood, + And gripes a stay with fangs that leave the slaughter,-- + So where halts Crida, groans and falls a foe-- + And deep in gore his steps receding go. + + And his large sword has made in reeking air 145 + Broad space (through which, around the golden ring + That crownlike clasps the sweep of his grey hair,) + Shine the tall helms of many a Teuton king; + Lord of the West--broad-breasted Chevaline; + And Ymrick's son of Hengist's giant line; + + Fierce Sibert, throned by Britain's kingliest river, 146 + And Elrid, honour'd in Northumbrian homes; + And many a sire whose stubborn soul for ever + Shadows the fields where England's thunder comes. + High o'er them all his front grey Crida rears, + As some old oak whose crest a forest clears. + + High o'er them all, that front fierce Arthur sees, 147 + And knows the arch-invader of the land; + Swift through the chiefs--swift path his falchion frees; + Corpse falls on corpse before the avenger's hand; + For fair-hair'd AElla, Cantia's maids shall wail; + Hurl'd o'er the dead, rings Elrid's crashing mail; + + His follower's arms stunn'd Sibert's might receive, 148 + And from the death-blow snatch their bleeding lord; + And now behold, O fearful Genevieve, + O'er thy doom'd father shines the charmed sword, + And shaking, as it shone, the glorious blade, + The hand for very wrath the death delay'd. + + "At last, at last we meet, on Cymri's soil; 149 + And foot to foot! Destroyer of my shrines, + And murderer of my people! Ay, recoil + Before the doom thy quailing soul divines! + Ay--turn thine eyes,--nor hosts nor flight can save! + Thy foe is Arthur--and these halls thy grave!" + + "Flight," laugh'd the king, whose glance had wander'd round, 150 + Where through the throng had pierced a woman's cry, + "Flight for a chief, by Saxon warriors crown'd, + And from a Walloon!--this is my reply!" + And, both hands heaving up the sword enorme, + Swept the swift orbit round the luminous form; + + Full on the gem the iron drives its course, 151 + And shattering clinks in splinters on the floor; + The foot unsteadied by the blow's spent force, + Slides on the smoothness of the soil of gore; + Gore, quench the blood-thirst! guard, O soil, the guest! + For Freedom's heel is on the Invader's breast! + + When, swift beneath the flashing of the blade, 152 + When, swift before the bosom of the foe, + She sprang, she came, she knelt,--the guardian maid! + And startling vengeance from the righteous blow, + Cried, "Spare, oh spare, this sacred life to me, + A father's life!--I would have died for thee!" + + While thus within, the Christian God prevails, 153 + Without the idol temple, fast and far, + Like rolling storm-wrecks, shatter'd by the gales, + Fly the dark fragments of the Heathen War, + Where, through the fires that flash from camp to wave, + Escape the land that locks them in its grave? + + When by the Hecla of their burning fleet 154 + Dismay'd amidst the marts of Carduel, + The Saxons rush'd without the walls to meet + The Vikings' swords, which their mad terrors swell + Into a host--assaulted, rear and van, + The foe scarce smote before the flight began. + + In vain were Harold's voice, and name, and deeds, 155 + Unnerved by omen, priest, and shapeless fear, + And less by man than their own barbarous creeds + Appall'd,--a God in every shout they hear, + And in their blazing barks behold unfurl'd, + The wings of Muspell[10] to consume the world. + + Yet still awhile the heart of the great Thane, 156 + And the stout few that gird the gonfanon, + Build a steel bulwark on the midmost plain, + That stems all Cymri,--so Despair fights on. + When from the camp the new volcanoes spring, + With sword and fire he comes,--the Dragon King! + + Then all, save Harold, shriek to Hope farewell; 157 + Melts the last barrier; through the clearing space, + On towards the camp the Cymrian chiefs compel + The ardent followers from the tempting chase; + Through Crida's ranks to Arthur's side they gain, + And blend two streams in one resistless main. + + True to his charge as chief, 'mid all disdain 158 + Of recreant lithsmen--Harold's iron soul + Sees the storm sweep beyond it o'er the plain; + And lofty duties, yet on earth, control + The yearnings for Walhalla:--Where the day + Paled to the burning ships--he tower'd away. + + And with him, mournful, drooping, rent and torn, 159 + But captive not--the Pale Horse dragg'd its mane. + Beside the fire-reflecting waves, forlorn, + As ghosts that gaze on Phlegethon--the Thane + Saw listless leaning o'er the silent coasts, + The spectre wrecks of what at morn were hosts. + + Tears rush'd to burning eyes, and choked awhile 160 + The trumpet music of his manly voice, + At length he spoke: "And are ye then so vile! + A death of straw! Is that the Teuton's choice? + By all our gods, I hail that reddening sky, + And bless the burning fleets which flight deny! + + "Lo, yet the thunder clothes the charger's mane, 161 + As when it crested Hengist's helmet crown! + What ye have lost--an hour can yet regain; + Life has no path so short as to renown! + Shrunk if your ranks,--when first from Albion's shore + Your sires carved kingdoms, were their numbers more? + + "If not your valour, let your terrors speak. 162 + Where fly?--what path can lead ye from the foes? + Where hide?--what cavern will not vengeance seek? + What shun ye? Death?--Death smites ye in repose! + Back to your king: from Hela snatch the brave-- + We best escape, when most we scorn, the grave." + + Roused by the words, though half reluctant still, 163 + The listless ranks reform their slow array, + Sullen but stern they labour up the hill, + And gain the brow!--In smouldering embers lay + The castled camp, and slanting sunbeams shed + Light o'er the victors--quiet o'er the dead. + + Hush'd was the roar of war--the conquer'd ground 164 + Waved with the glitter of the Cymrian spears; + The temple fort the Dragon standard crown'd; + And Christian anthems peal'd on Pagan ears; + The Mercian halts his bands--their front surveys; + No fierce eye kindles to his fiery gaze. + + One dull, dishearten'd, but not dastard gloom 165 + Clouds every brow,--like men compell'd to die, + Who see no hope that can elude the doom, + Prepared to fall but powerless to defy. + Not those the ranks, yon ardent hosts to face! + The Hour had conquer'd earth's all-conquering race. + + The leader paused, and into artful show, 166 + Doubling the numbers with extended wing; + "Here halt," he said, "to yonder hosts I go + With terms of peace or war to Cymri's king." + He turn'd, and towards the Victor's bright array, + With tromp and herald, strode his bitter way. + + Before the signs to war's sublime belief 167 + Sacred, the host disparts its hushing wave. + Moved by the sight of that renowned chief, + Joy stills the shout that might insult the brave; + And princeliest guides the stately foeman bring, + Where Odin's temple shrines the Christian king. + + The North's fierce idol, roll'd in pools of blood, 168 + Lies crush'd before the Cross of Nazareth. + Crouch'd on the splinter'd fragments of their god, + Silent as clouds from which the tempest's breath + Has gone,--the butchers of the priesthood rest.-- + Each heavy brow bent o'er each stony breast. + + Apart, the guards of Cymri stand around 169 + The haught repose of captive Teuton kings; + With eyes disdainful of the chains that bound, + And fronts superb--as if defeat but flings + A kinglier grandeur over fallen power:-- + So suns shine larger in their setting hour. + + From these remote, unchain'd, unguarded, leant 170 + On the gnarl'd pillar of the fort of pine, + The Saturn of the Titan armament, + His looks averted from the alter'd shrine + Whence iron Doom the antique Faith has hurl'd, + For that new Jove who dawns upon the world! + + And one broad hand conceal'd the monarch's face; 171 + And one lay calm on the low-bended head + Of the forgiving child, whose young embrace + Clasp'd that grey wreck of Empire! All had fled + The heart of pride:--Thrones, hosts, the gods! yea all + That scaled the heaven, strew'd Hades with their fall! + + But Natural Love, the household melody, 172 + Steals through the dearth,--resettling on the breast; + The bird returning with the silenced sky, + Sings in the ruin, and rebuilds its nest; + Home came the Soother that the storm exiled,-- + And Crida's hand lay calm upon his child! + + Beside her sister saint, Genevra kneeleth, 173 + Mourning her father's in her Country's woes; + And near her, hushing iron footsteps, stealeth + The noblest knight the wondrous Table knows-- + Whispering low comfort into thrilling ears-- + When Harold's plume floats up the flash of spears. + + But the proud Earl, with warning hand and eye, 174 + Repels the yearning arms, the eager start; + Man amidst men, his haughty thoughts deny + To foes the triumph o'er his father's heart; + Quickly he turn'd--where shone amidst his ring + Of subject planets, the Hyperion King. + + There Tristan grateful--Agrafayn uncouth, 175 + And Owaine comely with the battle-scar, + And Geraint's lofty age, to venturous youth + Glory and guide, as to proud ships a star, + And Gawaine sober'd to his gravest smile,-- + Lean on the spears that lighten through the pile. + + There stood the stoic Alemen sedate, 176 + Blocks hewn from man, which love with life inspired; + There, by the Cross, from eyes serene with Fate, + Look'd into space the Mage! and carnage-tired, + On AEgis shields, like Jove's still thunders, lay + Thine ocean giants, Scandinavia! + + But lo, the front, where conquest's auriole 177 + Shone, as round Genius marching at the van + Of nations;--where the victories of the soul + Stamp'd Nature's masterpiece, perfected Man: + Fair as young Honour's vision of a king + Fit for bold hearts to serve, free lips to sing! + + So stood the Christian Prince in Odin's hall, 178 + Gathering in one, Renown's converging rays; + But, in the hour of triumph, turn, from all + War's victor pomp, his memory and his gaze; + Miss that last boon the mission should achieve, + And rest where droops the dove-like Genevieve. + + Now at the sight of Mercia's haughty lord, 179 + A loftier grandeur calms yet more his brow; + And leaning lightly on his sheathless sword, + Listening he stood, while spoke the Earl:--"I bow + Not to war's fortune, but the victor's fame; + Thine is so large, it shields thy foes from shame. + + "Prepared for battle, proffering peace I come; 180 + On yonder hills eno' of Saxon steel + Remains, to match the Cymrian Christendom; + Not slaves with masters, men with men would deal. + We cannot leave your land, our chiefs in gyves,-- + While chains gall Saxons, Saxon war survives. + + "Our kings, our women, and our priests release, 181 + And in their name I pledge (no mean return) + A ransom worthy of both nations--Peace; + Peace with the Teuton! On your hills shall burn + No more the beacon; on your fields no more + The steed of Hengist plunge its hoofs in gore. + + "Peace while this race remains--(our sons, alas, 182 + We cannot bind!) Peace with the Mercian men: + This is the ransom. Take it, and we pass + Friends from a foeman's soil: reject it,--then + Firm to this land we cling, as if our own, + Till the last Saxon falls, or Cymri's throne!" + + Abrupt upon the audience dies the voice, 183 + And varying passions stir the murmurous groups; + Here, to the wiser; there, the haughtier choice: + Youth rears its crest; but age foreboding droops; + Chiefs yearn for fame; the crowds to safety cling; + The murmurs hush, and thus replies the King:-- + + "Foe, thy proud speech offends no manly ear. 184 + So would I speak, could our conditions change. + Peace gives no shame, where war has brought no fear; + We fought for freedom,--we disdain revenge; + The freedom won, no cause for war remains, + And loyal Honour binds more fast than chains. + + "The Peace thus proffer'd, with accustom'd rites, 185 + Hostage and oath, confirm, ye Teuton kings, + And ye are free! Where we, the Christians, fight, + Our Valkyrs sail with healing on their wings; + We shed no blood but for our fatherland!-- + And so, frank soldier, take this soldier's hand!" + + Low o'er that conquering hand, the high-soul'd foe 186 + Bow'd the war plumed upon his raven crest; + Caught from those kingly words, one generous glow + Chased Hate's last twilight from each Cymrian breast; + Humbled, the captives hear the fetters fall, + Power's tranquil shadow--mercy, awes them all! + + Dark scowl the Priests;--with vengeance priestcraft dies! 187 + Slow looks, where Pride yet struggles, Crida rears; + On Crida's child rest Arthur's soft'ning eyes, + And Crida's child is weeping happy tears; + And Lancelot, closer at Genevra's side, + Pales at the compact that may lose the bride. + + When from the altar by the holy rood, 188 + Come the deep accents of the Cymrian Mage, + Sublimely bending o'er the multitude + Thought's Atlas temples crown'd with Titan age, + O'er Druid robes the beard's broad silver streams, + As when the vision rose on virgin dreams. + + "Hearken, ye Scythia's and Cimmeria's sons, 189 + Whose sires alike by golden rivers dwelt, + When sate the Asas on their hunter thrones; + When Orient vales rejoiced the shepherd Celt; + While EVE'S young races towards each other drawn, + Roved lingering round the Eden gates of dawn. + + "Still the old brother-bond in these new homes, 190 + After long woes shall bind your kindred races; + Here, the same God shall find the sacred domes; + And the same landmarks bound your resting-places, + What time, o'er realms to Heus and Thor unknown, + Both Celt and Saxon rear their common throne. + + "Meanwhile, revere the Word the viewless Hand 191 + Writes on the leaves of kingdom-dooming stars; + Through Prydain's Isle of Pines, from sea to land, + Where yet Rome's eagle leaves the thunder scars, + The sceptre sword of Saxon kings shall reach, + And new-born nations speak the Teuton's speech; + + "All save thy mountain empire, Dragon King! 192 + All save the Cymrian's Ararat--Wild Wales![11] + Here Cymrian bards to fame and God shall sing-- + Here Cymrian freemen breathe the hardy gales, + And the same race that Heus the Guardian led, + Rise from these graves--when God awakes the dead!" + + The Prophet paused, and all that pomp of plumes 193 + Bow'd as the harvest which the south wind heaves, + When, while the breeze disturbs, the beam illumes, + And blessings gladden in the trembling sheaves. + He paused, and thus renew'd: "Thrice happy, ye + Founders of shrines and sires of kings to be! + + "Hear, Harold, type of the strong Saxon soul, 194 + Supple to truth, untameable by force, + Thy dauntless blood through Gwynedd's chiefs shall roll,[12] + Through Scotland's monarchs take its fiery course, + And flow with Arthur's, in the later days, + Through Ocean-Caesars, either zone obeys. + + "Man of the manly heart, reward the foe 195 + Who braved thy sword, and yet forbore thy breast, + Who loved thy child, yet could the love forego + And give the sire;--thy looks supply the rest, + I read thine answer in thy generous glance! + Stand forth--bold child of Christian Chevisaunce!" + + Then might ye see a sight for smiles and tears, 196 + Young Lancelot's hand in Harold's cordial grasp, + While from his breast the frank-eyed father rears + The cheek that glows beneath the arms that clasp; + "Shrink'st thou," he said, "from bonds by fate reveal'd?-- + Go--rock my grandson in the Cymrian's shield!" + + "And ye," the solemn voice resumed, "O kings! 197 + Hearken, Pendragon, son of Odin, hear! + There is a mystery in the heart of things, + Which Truth and Falsehood seek alike with fear, + To Truth from heaven, to Falsehood, breathed from hell, + Comes yet to both the unquiet oracle. + + "Not vainly, Crida, priest, and rune, and dream, 198 + Warn'd thee of fates commingling into one + The silver river and the mountain stream; + From Odin's daughter and Pendragon's son, + Shall rise the royalties of farthest years + Born to the birthright of the Saxon spears. + + "The bright decree that seem'd a curse to hate, 199 + Blesses both races when fulfill'd by love; + From Cymri's Dragon England's power shall date, + And peace be born to Cymri from the Dove.[13] + Eternal links let nuptial garlands weave, + And Cymri's queen be Saxon Genevieve!" + + Perplex'd, reluctant with the pangs of pride, 200 + And shadowy doubts from dark religion thrown, + Stern Crida, lingering, turn'd his face aside; + Then rise the elders from the idle stone; + From fallen chains the kindred Teutons spring, + Low murmurs rustle round the moody king; + + On priest and warrior, while they whisper, dwells 201 + The searching light of that imperious eye; + Warrior and priest, the prophet word compels; + And overmasters like a destiny-- + When towards the maid the radiant conqueror drew, + And said, "Enslaver, it is mine to sue!" + + To Crida, then, "Proud chief, I do confess 202 + The loftier attribute 'tis thine to boast. + The pride of kings is in the power to bless, + The kingliest hand is that which gives the most; + Priceless the gift I ask thee to bestow,-- + But doubly royal is a generous foe!" + + Then forth--subdued, yet stately, Crida came, 203 + And the last hold in that rude heart was won: + "Hero, thy conquest makes no more my shame, + He shares thy glory who can call thee 'Son!' + So may this love-knot bind and bless the lands!" + Faltering he spoke--and join'd the plighted hands. + + There flock the hosts as to a holy ground, 204 + There, where the dove at last may fold the wing! + His mission ended, and his labours crown'd, + Fair as in fable stands the Dragon King-- + Below the Cross, and by his prophet's side, + With Carduel's knighthood kneeling round his bride. + + What gallant deeds in gentle lists were done, 205 + What lutes made joyaunce sweet in jasmine bowers, + Let others tell:--Slow sets the summer sun; + Slow fall the mists, and closing, droop the flowers; + Faint in the gloaming dies the vesper bell,-- + And Dream-land sleeps round golden Carduel. + + +NOTES TO BOOK XII. + +1.--Page 417, stanza xl. + + _"The watch-pass 'Vingolf' wins thee thro' the van._ + + Vingolf. Literally, "The Abode of Friends;" the name for the place + in which the heavenly goddesses assemble. + +2.--Page 419, stanza liv. + + _What rites appease thee, Father of the Slain?_ + + Father of the Slain, Valfader.--Odin. + +3.--Page 420, stanza lxiv. + + _Her sisters tremble at the Urdar spring._ + + "Her sisters tremble," &c.,--that is, the other two Fates (the Present + and the Past) tremble at the Well of Life. + +4.--Page 424, stanza lxxxix. + + _To all the valiant Gladsheim's Halls unclose._ + + Gladsheim, Heaven: Walhalla ("the Hall of the Chosen") did not exclude + brave foes who fell in battle. + +5.--Page 425, stanza xcvi. + + _The Laeca shines beside the bautasten._ + + The SCIN LAECA, or shining corpse, that was seen before the bautasten, + or burial-stone of a dead hero, was supposed to possess prophetic + powers, and to guard the treasures of the grave. + +6.--Page 429, stanza cxxiii. + + _Thy post with Odin--mine with Managarm!_ + + Managarm, the Monster Wolf (symbolically, WAR). "He will be filled + with the blood of men who draw near their end," &c. (PROSE EDDA). + +7.--Page 430, stanza cxxxii. + + _And the last Fire-God and the Flaming Sword!_ + + "And the last Fire-God and the Flaming Sword," _i.e._, Surtur the + genius, who dwells in the region of fire (Muspelheim), whose flaming + sword shall vanquish the gods themselves in the last day. (PROSE + EDDA). + +8.--Page 431, stanza cxxxv. + + _And ghastly legends teem with tales of FAUL!_ + + Faul is indeed the name of one of the malignant Powers peculiarly + dreaded by the Saxons. + +9.--Page 431, stanza cxxxvi. + + _From the paled ranks, that evil Bode dismay'd._ + + "Bode," Saxon word for Messenger. + +10.--Page 433, stanza clv. + + _The wings of Muspell to consume the world._ + + Muspell, Fire; the final destroyer. + +11.--Page 439, stanza cxcii. + + _All save the Cymrian's Ararat--Wild Wales!_ + + "Their Lord they shall praise, + And their language they shall preserve; + Their land they shall lose, + Except Wild Wales!" + PROPHECY OF TALIESSIN. + +12.--Page 439, stanza cxciv. + + _Thy dauntless blood through Gwynedd's chiefs shall roll._ + + This prediction refers to the marriage of the daughter of Griffith ap + Llewellyn (Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, whose name and fate are + not unfamiliar to those who have read the romance of "Harold, the last + of the Saxon Kings") with Fleance. From that marriage descended the + Stuarts, and indeed the reigning family of Great Britain. + +13.--Page 440, stanza cxcix. + + _From Cymri's Dragon England's power shall date, + And peace be born to Cymri from the Dove._ + + According to Welch genealogists, Arthur left no son: and I must + therefore invite the believer in Merlin's prophecy to suppose that it + was by a daughter that Arthur's line was continued, and the royalty of + Britain restored to the Cymrian kings, through the House of Tudor; + from the accession of which House may indeed be dated both the final + and cordial amalgamation of the Welch with the English, and the rise + of that power over the destinies of the civilized world, which England + has since established. The reader will pardon me, by the way, if I + have somewhat perplexed him, now and then, by a similarity between the + names of "Genevieve" and "Genevra." Both are used by the writers of + the French Fabliaux as synonymous with Guenever; and the more shrewd + will perhaps perceive that the reason why the name of Lancelot's + mistress has been made almost identical with that of Arthur's, is to + vindicate the fidelity of the Cymrian Queen Guenever from that scandal + which the levity of French romance has most improperly cast upon it, + in connection with Lancelot. It is to be presumed that those ancient + slanderers were misled by the confusion of names, and that it was his + own Genevra, and not Arthur's Genevieve, who received Lancelot's + homage.--But indeed my Lancelot is altogether a different personage + from the Lancelot represented in the Fabliaux as Arthur's nephew. + + * * * * * + + + + +CORN-FLOWERS. + +A COLLECTION OF POEMS. + + + "The Corn-flower opens as the sheaves are rife; + Song is the twin of golden Contemplation, + The Harvest-flower of life." + + +NOTE. + +Most of the Poems in this First Book have been recently composed, and +hitherto unpublished; and those which have appeared before, have been, +some materially altered, all carefully revised. + +In the Second Book some Poems were written in early life, and have been +but little altered; others--chiefly of a more thoughtful character--are +of later date, and are now printed for the first time. + + + + +CORN-FLOWERS. + +BOOK I. + + + + +THE FIRST VIOLETS. + + + Who that has loved knows not the tender tale + Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell? + Whose youth has paused not, dreaming, in the vale + Where the rath violets dwell? + + Lo, where they shrink along the lonely brake, + Under the leafless melancholy tree; + Not yet the cuckoo sings, nor glides the snake, + Nor wild thyme lures the bee; + + Yet at their sight and scent entranced and thrall'd, + All June seems golden in the April skies; + How sweet the days we yearn for,--_till fulfill'd_: + O distant Paradise, + + Dear Land to which Desire for ever flees; + Time doth no present to our grasp allow, + Say in the fix'd Eternal shall we seize + At last the fleeting Now? + + Dream not of days to come--of that Unknown + Whither Hope wanders--maze without a clue; + Give their true witchery to the flowers;--thine own + Youth in their youth renew. + + Avarice, remember when the cowslip's gold + Lured and yet lost its glitter in thy grasp. + Do thy hoards glad thee more than those of old? + _Those_ wither'd in thy clasp, + + From _these_ thy clasp falls palsied.--It was then + That thou wert rich--thy coffers are a lie; + Alas, poor fool, Joy is the wealth of men, + And Care their penury. + + Come, foil'd Ambition, what hast thou desired? + Empire and power?--O, wanderer, tempest-tost! + These once were thine, when life's gay spring inspired + Thy soul with glories lost. + + Let the flowers charm thee back to that rich time + When golden Dreamland lay within thy chart, + When Love bestow'd a realm indeed sublime-- + The boundless human heart. + + Hark, hark again, the tread of bashful feet! + Hark the boughs rustling round the trysting-place! + Let air again with one dear breath be sweet, + Earth fair with one dear face. + + Brief-lived first flowers--first love! The hours steal on + To prank the world in summer's pomp of hue, + But what can flaunt beneath a fiercer sun + Worth what we lose in you? + + Oft by a flower, a leaf, in some loved book + We mark the lines that charm us most;--Retrace + Thy life;--recall its loveliest passage;--Look, + Dead violets keep the place! + + + + +THE IMAGE ON THE TIDE. + + + Not a sound is heard + But my heart by thine, + Breathe not a word, + Lay thy hand in mine. + + How trembling, yet still, + On the lake's clear tide, + Sleep the distant hill, + And the bank beside. + + The near and the far, + Intermingled flow; + The herb and the star + Imaged both below. + + So deep and so clear, + Through the shadowy light, + The far and the near + In my soul unite; + + The future and past, + Like the bank and hill, + On the surface glass'd, + Though they tremble still; + + Disturb not the dream + Of this double whole; + The heav'n in the stream + On my soul thy soul. + + The sense cannot count + (As the waters glass + The forest and mount + And the clouds that pass) + + The shadows and gleams + In that stilly deep, + Like the tranquil dreams + Of a hermit's sleep. + + _One_ shadow alone + On my soul doth fall,-- + And yet in the one + It reflects on All. + + + + +IS IT ALL VANITY? + + + Doubting of life, my spirit paused perplext + Let fall its fardell of laborious care, + And the sharp cry of my great trouble vext + Unsympathizing air. + + Out on this choice of unrewarded toil, + This upward path into the realm of snow! + Oh for one glimpse of the old happy soil + Fragrant with flowers below! + + For what false gold, like alchemists, we yearn, + Wasting the wealth we never can recall, + Joy and life's lavish prime;--and our return? + Ashes, cold ashes, all! + + Could youth but dream what narrow burial-urns + Hopes that went forth to conquer worlds should hold, + How in a tomb the lamp Experience burns + Amidst the dust of old!-- + + Look back, how all the beautiful Ideal, + Sporting in doubtful moonlight, one by one + Fade from the rising of the hard-eyed Real, + Like Fairies from the sun. + + Love render'd saintlike by its pure devotion; + Knowledge exulting lone by shoreless seas + And Feelings tremulous to each emotion, + As May leaves to the breeze. + + And, oh, that grand Ambition, poet-nurst, + When boyhood's heart swells up to the Sublime, + And on the gaze the towers of Glory first + Flash from the peaks of Time! + + Are they then wiser who but nurse the growth + Of joys in life's most common element, + Creeping from hour to hour in that calm sloth + Which Egoists call "Content?" + + Who freight for storms no hopeful argosy, + Who watch no beacon wane on hilltops grey, + Who bound their all, where from the human eye + The horizon fades away? + + Alas for Labour, if indeed more wise + To drink life's tide unwitting where it flows; + Renounce the arduous palm, and only prize + The Cnidian vine and rose! + + Out from the Porch the Stoic cries "For shame!" + What hast thou left us, Stoic, in thy school? + "That pain or pleasure is but in the name?" + Go, prick thy finger, fool! + + Never grave Pallas, never Muse severe + Charm'd this hard life like the free, zoneless Grace; + Pleasure is sweet, in spite of every sneer + On Zeno's wrinkled face. + + What gain'd and left ye to this age of ours + Ye early priesthoods of the Isis, Truth,-- + When light first glimmer'd from the Cuthite's towers; + When Thebes was in her youth? + + When to the weird Chaldaean spoke the seer, + When Hades open'd at Heraclean spells, + When Fate made Nature her interpreter + In leaves and murmuring wells? + + When the keen Greek chased flying Science on, + Upward and up the infinite abyss?-- + Like perish'd stars your arts themselves have gone + Noiseless to nothingness! + + And what is knowledge but the Wizard's ring, + Kindling a flame to circumscribe a ground? + The belt of light that lures the spirit's wing + Hems the invoker round. + + Ponder and ask again "what boots our toil?" + Can we the Garden's wanton child gainsay, + When from kind lips he culls their rosy spoil + And lives life's holiday? + + Life answers "No--if ended here be life, + Seize what the sense can give--it is thine all; + Disarm thee, Virtue, barren is thy strife; + Knowledge, thy torch let fall. + + "Seek thy lost Psyche, yearning Love, no more! + Love is but lust, if soul be only breath; + Who would put forth one billow from the shore + If the great sea be--Death?" + + But if the soul, that slow artificer + For ends its instinct rears _from_ life hath striven, + Feeling beneath its patient webwork stir + Wings only freed in Heaven, + + _Then_ and but then to toil is to be wise; + Solved is the riddle of the grand desire + Which ever, ever, for the Distant sighs, + And must perforce aspire. + + Rise, then, my soul, take comfort from thy sorrow; + Thou feel'st thy treasure when thou feel'st thy load; + Life without thought, the day without the morrow, + God on the brute bestow'd; + + Longings obscure as for a native clime, + Flight from what is to live in what may be, + God gave the Soul.--Thy discontent with Time + Proves thine eternity. + + + + +THE TRUE JOY-GIVER. + + + Oh Oevoe, _liber Pater_, + Oh, the vintage feast divine, + When the God was in the bosom + And his rapture in the wine; + + When the Faun laugh'd out at morning; + When the Maenad hymn'd the night; + And the Earth itself was drunken + With the worship of delight; + + Oh Oevoe, _liber Pater_, + Whose orgies are upon + The hilltops of Parnassus, + The banks of Helicon;-- + + How often have I hail'd thee! + How often have I been + The bearer of the thyrsus, + When its wither'd leaves were green. + + Then the boughs were purple gleaming + With the dewdrop and the star; + And chanting came the wood-nymph, + And flashing came the car. + + Long faded are the garlands + Of the thyrsus that I bore, + When the wood-nymph chanted "Follow" + In the vintage-feast of yore. + + My vineyards are the richest + Falernian slopes bestow; + Has the vineherd lost his cunning? + Has the summer lost its glow? + + Oh, never on Falernium + The Care-Dispeller trod, + Its vine-leaves wreathe no thyrsus, + Its fruits allure no god. + + For ever young, Lyaeus; + For ever young his priest; + The Boy-god of the Morning, + The conqueror of the East, + + His wine is Nature's life-blood; + His vineyards bloom upon + The hilltops of Parnassus, + The banks of Helicon. + + But the hilltops of Parnassus + Are free to every age; + I have trod them with the Poet, + I have mapp'd them with the Sage; + + And I'll take my pert disciple + To see, with humble eyes, + How the Gladness-bringer honours + The worship of the wise. + + Lo, the arching of the vine-leaves; + Lo, the sparkle of the fount; + Hark, the carol of the Maenads; + Lo, the car is on the Mount! + + "Ho, room, ye thyrsus-bearers, + Your playmate I have been!" + "Go, madman," laughs Lyaeus, + "Thy thyrsus then was green." + + And adown the gleaming alleys + The gladness-givers glide; + And the wood-nymph murmurs "Follow," + To the young man by my side. + + + + +BELIEF; THE UNKNOWN LANGUAGE. + +AN IDYLL. + + + By summer-reeds a music murmur'd low, + And straight the Shepherd-age came back to me; + When idylls breathed where Himera's waters flow, + Or on the Hoemus hill, or Rhodope;[A] + + As when the swans, by Moschus heard at noon, + Mourn'd their lost Bion on the Thracian streams;[B] + Or when Simaethea murmur'd to the moon + Of Myndian Delphis,[C]--old Sicilian themes. + + Then softly turning, on the margent-slope + Which back as clear translucent waters gave, + Behold, a Shape as beautiful as Hope, + And calm as Grief, bent, singing o'er the wave. + + To the sweet lips, sweet music seem'd a thing + Natural as perfume to the violet. + All else was silent; not a zephyr's wing + Stirr'd from the magic of the charmer's net. + + What was the sense beneath the silver tone? + What the fine chain that link'd the floating measure? + Not mine, to say,--the language was unknown, + And sense was lost in undistinguish'd pleasure. + + Pleasure, dim-shadow'd with a gentle pain + As twilight Hesper with a twilight shroud; + Or like the balm of a delicious rain + Press'd from the fleeces of a summer cloud. + + When the song ceased, I knelt before the singer + And raised my looks to soft and childlike eyes, + Sighing? "What fountain, O thou nectar-bringer + Feeds thy full urn with golden melodies? + + "Interpret sounds, O Hebe of the soul, + Oft heard, methinks, in Ida's starry grove, + When to thy feet the charmed eagle stole, + And the dark thunder left the brows of Jove!" + + Smiling, the Beautiful replied to me, + And still the language flow'd in words unknown; + Only in those pure eyes my sense could see + How calm the soul that so perplex'd my own. + + And while she spoke, symphonious murmurs rose; + Dryads from trees, Nymphs murmur'd from the rills; + Murmur'd Maenalian Pan from dim repose + In the lush coverts of Pelasgic hills; + + Murmur'd the voice of Chloris in the flower; + Bent, murmuring from his car, Hyperion; + Each thing regain'd the old Presiding Power, + And spoke,--and still the language was unknown. + + Dull listener, placed amidst the harmonious Whole, + Hear'st thou no voice to sense divinely dark? + The sweetest sounds that wander to the soul + Are in the Unknown Language.--Pause, and hark! + + [A] Theocrit. Id. 7. + + [B] Mosch, Id. 3; Epitaph on Bion. + + [C] Theocrit. Id. 2. + + + + +THE PILGRIM OF THE DESERT. + + + Wearily flaggeth my Soul in the Desert; + Wearily, wearily. + Sand, ever sand, not a gleam of the fountain; + Sun, ever sun, not a shade from the mountain; + Wave after wave flows the sea of the Desert, + Drearily, drearily. + + Life dwelt with life in my far native valleys, + Nightly and daily; + Labour had brothers to aid and beguile; + A tear for my tear, and a smile for my smile; + And the sweet human voices rang out; and the valleys + Echoed them gaily. + + Under the almond-tree, once in the spring-time, + Careless reclining; + The sigh of my Leila was hush'd on my breast, + As the note of the last bird had died in its nest; + Calm look'd the stars on the buds of the spring-time, + Calm--but how shining! + + Below on the herbage there darken'd a shadow; + Stirr'd the boughs o'er me; + Dropp'd from the almond-tree, sighing, the blossom; + Trembling the maiden sprang up from my bosom; + Then the step of a stranger came mute through the shadow, + Pausing before me. + + He stood grey with age in the robe of a Dervise, + As a king awe-compelling; + And the cold of his eye like the diamond was bright, + As if years from the hardness had fashion'd the light, + "A draught from thy spring for the way-weary Dervise, + And rest in thy dwelling." + + And my herds gave the milk, and my tent gave the shelter; + And the stranger spell-bound me + With his tales, all the night, of the far world of wonder, + Of the ocean of Oman with pearls gleaming under; + And I thought, "O, how mean are the tents' simple shelter + And the valleys around me!" + + I seized as I listen'd, in fancy, the treasures + By Afrites conceal'd; + Scared the serpents that watch in the ruins afar + O'er the hoards of the Persian in lost Chil-Menar;-- + Alas! ill that night happy youth had more treasures + Than Ormus can yield. + + Morn came, and I went with my guest through the gorges + In the rock hollow'd; + The flocks bleated low as I pass'd them ungrieving, + The almond-buds strew'd the sweet earth I was leaving; + Slowly went Age through the gloom of the gorges, + Lightly Youth follow'd. + + We won through the Pass--the Unknown lay before me, + Sun-lighted and wide; + Then I turn'd to my guest, but how languid his tread, + And the awe I had felt in his presence was fled, + And I cried, "Can thy age in the journey before me + Still keep by my side?" + + "Hope and Wisdom soon part; be it so," said the Dervise, + "My mission is done." + As he spoke, came the gleam of the crescent and spear, + Chimed the bells of the camel more sweet and more near;-- + "Go, and march with the Caravan, youth," sigh'd the Dervise, + "Fare thee well!"--he was gone. + + What profits to speak of the wastes I have traversed + Since that early time? + One by one the procession, replacing the guide, + Have dropp'd on the sands, or have stray'd from my side; + And I hear never more in the solitudes traversed + The camel-bell's chime. + + How oft I have yearn'd for the old happy valley, + But the sands have no track; + He who scorn'd what was near must advance to the far, + Who forsaketh the landmark must march by the star, + And the steps that once part from the peace of the valley + Can never come back. + + So on, ever on, spreads the path of the Desert, + Wearily, wearily; + Sand, ever sand--not a gleam of the fountain; + Sun, ever sun--not a shade from the mountain; + As a sea on a sea, flows the width of the Desert, + Drearily, drearily. + + How narrow content, and how infinite knowledge! + Lost vale, and lost maiden! + Enclosed in the garden the mortal was blest: + A world with its wonders lay round him unguest; + That world was his own when he tasted of knowledge-- + Was it worth Aden? + + + + +THE KING AND THE WRAITH. + + +KING. + + Who art thou, who art thou, indistinct as the spray + Rising up from a torrent in vapour and cloud? + Ghastly Phantom, obscuring the splendour of day + And enveloped in awe, as a corpse with a shroud? + +WRAITH. + + King, my form is thy shade, + And my life is thy breath; + Lo, thy likeness display'd + In the mirror of Death! + +KING. + + My veins are as ice! 'Tis my voice that I hear! + 'Tis my form coming forth from the cloud that I see! + My voice?--can its sound be so dread to my ear? + My form?--can myself be so loathly to me? + +WRAITH. + + Never Man comes in sight + Of himself till the last; + In the flicker of light + When the fuel is past! + +KING. + + Nay, avaunt, lying Spectre, my fears are dispell'd, + For the likeness that fool'd me is fading away, + And I see, where the shape of a king was beheld, + But the coil of an earthworm that creeps into clay. + +WRAITH. + + As thy shade I began; + As thyself I depart; + And thy last looks, O Man, + See the worm that thou art! + + + + +LOVE AND DEATH. + + + O Strong as the eagle, + O mild as the dove, + How like and how unlike + O Death and O Love! + + Knitting earth to the heaven, + The near to the far, + With the step in the dust, + And the eye on the star. + + Ever changing your symbols + Of light or of gloom; + Now the rue on the altar, + The rose on the tomb. + + From Love, if the infant + Receiveth his breath, + The love that gave life + Yields a subject to Death. + + When Death smites the aged, + Escaping above + Flies the soul re-deliver'd + By Death unto Love. + + And therefore in wailing + We enter on life; + And therefore in smiling + Depart from its strife. + + Thus Love is best known + By the tears it has shed; + And Death's surest sign + Is the smile of the dead. + + The purer the spirit, + The clearer its view, + The more it confoundeth + The shapes of the two; + + For, if thou lov'st truly, + Thou canst not dissever + The grave from the altar, + The Now from the Ever; + + And if, nobly hoping, + Thou gazest above, + In Death thou beholdest + The aspect of LOVE. + + + + +THE POET TO THE DEAD. + + +PART I. + +RETROSPECTION FROM THE HALTING-PLACE. + + Let me pause, for I am weary, + Weary of the trodden ways; + And the landscape spreads more dreary + Where it stretches from my gaze. + + Many a prize I deem'd a blessing + When I started for the goal, + Midway in the course possessing + Adds a burthen to the soul. + + By the thorn that scantly shadeth + From the sloped sun reclin'd, + Let me look, before it fadeth + On the eastern hill behind;-- + + On the hill that life ascended, + While the dewy morn was young; + While the mist with light contended + And the early skylark sung. + + Then, as when at first united, + Rose together Love and Day; + Nature with her sun was lighted, + And my soul with Viola! + + O my young earth's lost Immortal! + Naiad vanish'd from the streams! + Eve, torn from me at the portal + Of my Paradise of Dreams! + + On thy name, with lips that quiver, + With a voice that chokes, I call.-- + Well! the cave may hide the river, + But the ocean merges all. + + Yet, if but in self-deceiving, + Can no magic charm thy shade? + Come unto my human grieving, + Come, but as the human maid! + + By the fount where love was plighted + Where the lone wave glass'd the skies; + By the hands that once united; + By the welcome of the eyes; + + By the silence sweetly broken + When the full heart murmur'd low, + And with sighs the words were spoken + Ere the later tears did flow; + + By the blush and soft confession; + By the wanderings side by side; + By the love-denied possession; + And the heavenlier, so denied; + + By the faith yet undiverted; + By the worship sacred yet; + To the soul so long deserted, + Come, as when of old we met; + + Blooming as my youth beheld thee + In the trysting-place of yore,-- + Hark a footfall! I have spell'd thee, + Lo, thy living smile once more! + + +PART II. + +THE MEETING-PLACE OF OLD. + + Glides the brooklet through the rushes, + Now with dipping boughs at play, + Now with quicker music-gushes + Where the pebbles chafe the way. + + Lonely from the lonely meadows + Slopes the undulating hill; + And the slowness of its shadows + But at sunset gains the rill: + + Not a sign of man's existence, + Not a glimpse of man's abode, + Yet the church-spire in the distance + Links the solitude with God. + + All so quiet, all so glowing, + In the golden hush of noon; + Nature's still heart overflowing + From the breathless lips of June. + + Song itself the bird forsaketh, + Save from wooded deeps remote, + Mellowly and singly breaketh, + Mellowly, the cuckoo's note. + + 'Tis the scene where youth beheld thee; + 'Tis the trysting-place of yore; + Yes, my mighty grief hath spell'd thee, + Blooming--living--mine once more! + + +PART III. + +LOVE UNTO DEATH. + + Hand in hand we stood confiding, + Boy and maiden, hand in hand, + Where the path, in twain dividing, + Reach'd the Undiscover'd Land. + + Oh, the Hebe then beside me, + Oh, the embodied Dream of Youth, + With an angel's soul to guide me, + And a woman's heart to soothe! + + Like the Morning in the gladness + Of the smile that lit the skies; + Liker Twilight in the sadness + Lurking deep in starry eyes! + + Gaudier flowerets had effaced thee + In the formal garden set; + Nature in the shade had placed thee + With thy kindred violet; + + As the violet to completeness + Coming even ere the day; + All thy life a silent sweetness + Waning with a warmer ray. + + So, upon the verge of sorrow + Stood we, blindly, hand in hand, + Whispering of a happy morrow + In that undiscover'd land. + + Thou, O meek one, fame foretelling, + Grown ambitious but for me; + While my heart, if proudly swelling, + Beat--ah, not for Fame, but thee! + + In that summer-noon we parted, + Life redundant over all. + Once again--O broken-hearted-- + When the autumn leaves did fall, + + Meeting--life from life to sever! + Parting,--as depart the dead, + When the dark "Farewell for ever," + Fades from marble lips, unsaid; + + As upon a bark that slowly + Lessens lone adown the sea, + Looks abandon'd Melancholy-- + Did thy still eyes follow me! + + Wilful in thy self devotion, + Patient on the desert shore, + Gazing, gazing, till from ocean + Waned thy last hope evermore. + + Gentle victim, they might bind thee, + But to fetter was to slay; + As a statue they enshrined thee, + At a sepulchre to pray; + + Bade the bloodless lips not falter; + Bade the cold despair be brave; + Yes, the next morn at the altar! + But the next moon in the grave! + + Little dream'd they when they bore thee + To the nuptial funeral shrine, + That to ME they did restore thee, + And release thy soul to mine! + + Well thy noble heart might smother + Nature's agonizing cry, + What can perjure to another + Faith--if firm eno' to die! + + Yet can ev'n the grave regain thee? + Gain as human love would see? + Darling--Pardon, I profane thee; + Angel, bend and comfort me! + + +PART IV. + +LOVE AFTER DEATH. + + Cold the loiterer who refuseth + At the well of life to drink, + Till the wave a sparkle loseth, + And the silver cord a link. + + But the flagging of the forces + In the journey of the soul, + If the first draught waste the sources, + If the first touch break the bowl!-- + + On the surface bright with pleasure + Still thy distant shade was cast; + Ah! the heart was where the treasure, + And the Present with the Past. + + If from Fame, the all-deceiver, + Toil contending garlands sought, + Oft our force if but our fever, + And our swiftness flight from Thought. + + Hollow Pleasure, vain Ambition, + Give me back the impulse free-- + Hope that seem'd its own fruition, + Life contented but to be, + + When the earth with Heaven was haunted + In the shepherd age of gold, + And the Venus rose enchanted + From the sunny seas of old. + + Cease, not mine the ignoble moral + Of an unresisted grief; + Can the lightning sear the laurel, + Or the winter fade its leaf? + + Flowerless, fruitless, to the dying, + Green as when the sap began, + Bolt and winter both defying,-- + So be manhood unto man. + + Once I wander'd forth dejected + In the later times of gloom; + And the icy moon reflected + _One_ still shadow o'er thy tomb. + + There, in desolation kneeling, + Snows around me, stars above, + Came that second world of feeling, + Came that second birth of Love, + + When regret grows aspiration, + When o'er chaos moves the breath; + And a new-born dim creation + Rising, wid'ning, dawns from death. + + Then methought my soul was lifted + From the anguish and the strife; + With a finer vision gifted + For the Spirituals of Life; + + For the links that, while they thrall us, + Upward mount in just degree, + Knitting even, if they gall us, + Life to Immortality; + + For the subtler glories blending + With the common air we know, + Ansel hosts to heaven ascending + Up the ladder based below. + + Straight each harsher iron duty + Did the sudden light illume; + Oh, what streams of solemn beauty + Take their sources in the tomb! + + +PART V. + +THE PANTHEISM OF LOVE PASSING INTO THE IDEAL. + + Then I rose, at dawn departing, + Wan the dead earth, wan the snow, + Wan the frost-beam dimly darting + Where the corn-seed lurk'd below; + + From that night, as streams dividing + At the fountain till the sea, + Wildly chafing, gently gliding, + Life has twofold lives for me; + + One by mart and forum passing, + Vex'd reflection of the crowd; + One the hush of forests glassing, + Or the changes of the cloud. + + By the calmer stream, for ever + Dwell the ghosts that haunt the heart, + And the phantoms and the river + Make the Poet-World of Art. + + There in all that Fancy gildeth, + Still thy vanish'd smile I see; + And each airy hall it buildeth + Is a votive shrine to thee! + + Do men praise the labour?--gladden'd + That the homage may endure; + Do they scorn it?--only sadden'd + That thine altar is so poor. + + If the Beautiful be clearer + As the seeker's days decline, + Should the Ideal not be nearer + As my soul approaches thine? + + Thus the single light bereft me + Fused through all creation flows; + Gazing where a sun had left me, + Lo, the myriad stars arose! + + +PART VI. + +THE MEMORY OF LOVE ASSOCIATES ITS CONSOLATIONS WITH ITS HOPES. + + Now the eastern hill-top fadeth + From the arid wastes forlorn, + And the only tree that shadeth + Has the scant leaves of the thorn. + + Not a home to smile before me, + Not a voice to cheer is heard; + Hush! the thorn-leaves tremble o'er me,-- + Hark, the carol of a bird! + + Unto air what charm is given? + Angel, as a link to thee, + Midway between earth and heaven + Hangs the delicate melody! + + How it teacheth while it chideth, + Is the pathway so forlorn? + Mercy over man presideth, + And--the bird sings from the thorn. + + Floating on, the music leads me, + As the pausing-place I leave, + And the gentle wing precedes me + Through the lulled airs of eve. + + Stay, O last of all the number, + Bathing happy plumes in light, + Till the deafness of the slumber, + Till the blindness of the night. + + Only for the vault to leave thee, + Only with my life to lose; + Let my closing eyes perceive thee, + Fold thy wings amid the yews. + + + + +MIND AND SOUL. + + + Hark! the awe-whisperd'd prayer, "God spare my mind!" + Dust unto dust, the mortal to the clod; + But the high place, the altar that has shrined + Thine image,--spare, O God! + + Thought, the grand link from human life to Thee, + The humble reed that by the Shadowy River + Responds in music to the melody + Of spheres that hymn for ever,-- + + The order of the mystic world within, + The airy girth of all things near and far; + Sense, though of sorrow,--memory, though of sin,-- + Gleams through the dungeon bar,-- + + Vouchsafe me to the last!--Though none may mark + The solemn pang, nor soothe the parting breath, + Still let me seek for God amid the dark, + And face, unblinded, Death! + + Whence is this fine distinction twixt the twain + Rays of the Maker in the lamp of clay + Spirit and Mind?--strike the material brain, + And soul seems hurl'd away. + + Touch but a nerve, and Brutus is a slave; + A nerve, and Plato drivels! Was it mind, + Or soul, that taught the wise one in the cave, + The freeman in the wind? + + If mind--O Soul! what is thy task on earth? + If soul! O wherefore can a touch destroy, + Or lock in Lethe's Acherontian dearth, + The Immortal's grief and joy? + + Hark, how a child can babble of the cells + Wherein, beneath the perishable brow, + Fancy invents, and Memory chronicles, + And Reason asks--as now: + + Mapp'd are the known dominions of the thought, + But who shall find the palace of the soul? + Along what channels shall the source be sought, + The well-spring of the whole? + + Look round, vain questioner,--all space survey, + Where'er thou lookest, lo, how clear is Mind! + The laws that part the darkness from the day, + And the sweet Pleiads bind, + + The thought, the will, the art, the elaborate power + Of the Great Cause from whence the All began, + Gaze on the star, or bend above the flower, + Still speak of Mind to man. + + But the arch soul of soul--from which the law + Is but the shadow, who on earth can see? + What guess cleaves upward through the deeps of awe, + Unspeakable, to thee? + + As in Creation lives the Father Soul, + So lives the soul He breathed amidst the clay; + Round it the thoughts on starry axles roll, + Life flows and ebbs away. + + If chaos smote the universe again, + And new Chaldeans shudder'd to explore + Amidst the maddening elements in vain + The harmonious Mind of yore, + + Would not God live the same?--the Unseen Spirit, + Whether that life or wills or wrecks Creation?-- + So lives, distinct, the god-spark we inherit, + When Mind is desolation. + + + + +THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. + + + From Heaven what fancy stole + The dream of some good spirit, aye at hand, + The seraph whispering to the exile soul + Tales of its native land? + + Who to the cradle gave + The unseen watcher by the mother's side, + Born with the birth, companion to the grave, + The holy angel-guide? + + Is it a fable?--"No," + I hear LOVE answer from the sunlit air, + "Still where _my_ presence gilds the darkness--know + Life's angel-guide is there?" + + Is it a fable?--Hark, + FAITH hymns from deeps beyond the palest star, + "_I_ am the pilot to thy wandering bark, + Thy guide to shores afar." + + Is it a fable?--sweet + From wave, from air, from every forest tree, + The murmur spoke, "Each thing thine eyes can greet + An angel-guide can be. + + "From myriads take thy choice, + In all that lives a guide to God is given; + Ever thou hear'st some angel guardian's voice + When Nature speaks of Heaven!" + + + + +THE LOVE OF MATURER YEARS. + + + Nay, soother, do not dream thine art + Can altar Nature's stern decree; + Or give me back the younger heart, + Whose tablets had been clear to thee. + + Why seek, fair child, to pierce the dark + That wraps the giant wrecks of old? + Thou wert not with me in the ark, + When o'er my life the deluge roll'd. + + To thee, reclining by the verge, + The careless waves in music flow + To me the ripple sighs the dirge + Of my lost native world below. + + Her tranquil arch as Iris builds + Above the Anio's torrent roar, + Thy life is in the life it gilds, + Born of the wave it trembles o'er. + + For thee a glory leaves the skies + If from thy side a step depart; + Thy sunlight beams from human eyes, + Thy world is in one human heart. + + And in the woman's simple creed + Since first the helpmate's task began, + Thou ask'st what more than love should need + The stern insatiate soul of Man. + + No more, while youth with vernal gale + Breathes o'er the brief Arcadia still;-- + But when the Wanderer quits the vale, + But when the footstep scales the hill, + + But when with awe the wide expanse, + The Pilgrim's earnest eyes explore, + How shrinks the land of sweet Romance, + A speck--it was the world before! + + And, hark, the Dorian fifes succeed + The pastoral reeds of Arcady: + Lo, where the Spartan meets the Mede, + Near Tempe lies--Thermopyle! + + Each onward step in hardy life, + Each scene that memory halts to scan, + Demands the toil, records the strife,-- + And love but once is all to man. + + Weep'st thou, fair infant, wherefore weep? + Long ages since the Persian sung + "The zephyr to the rose should keep, + And youth should only love the young." + + Ay, lift those chiding eyes of thine; + The trite, ungenerous moral scorn! + The diamond's home is in the mine, + The violet's birth beneath the thorn; + + There, purer light the diamond gives + Than when to baubles shaped the ray; + There, safe at least the violet lives + From hands that clasp--to cast away. + + Bloom still beside the mournful heart, + Light still the caves denied the star; + Oh Eve, with Eden pleased to part, + Since Eden needs no comforter! + + My soft Arcadian, from thy bower + I hear thy music on the hill; + And bless the note for many an hour + When I too--am Arcadian still. + + Whene'er the face of Heaven appears, + As kind as once it smiled on me, + I'll steal adown the mount of years, + And come--a youth once more, to thee. + + From bitter grief and iron wrong + When Memory sets her captive free, + When joy is in the skylark's song, + My blithesome steps shall bound to thee; + + When Thought, the storm-bird, shrinks before + The width of nature's clouded sea, + A voice shall charm it home on shore, + To share the halcyon's nest with thee: + + Lo, how the faithful verse escapes + The varying chime that laws decree, + And, like my heart, attracted, shapes + Each wandering fancy back--to _thee_. + + + + +THE EVERLASTING GRAVE-DIGGER. + + + Methought I stood amidst a burial-place + And saw a phantom ply the sexton's trade, + Pale o'er the charnel bow'd the phantom's face, + Noiseless the phantom spade + Gleam'd in the stars. + + Wondering I ask'd, "Whose grave dost thou prepare?" + The labouring ghost disdainful paused and said, + "To dig the grave is Death my father's care, + I disinter the dead + Under the stars." + + Therewith he cast a skull before my feet, + A skull with worms encircled, and a crown, + And mouldering shreds of Beauty's winding-sheet. + Chilling and cheerless down + Shimmer'd the stars. + + "And of the Past," I sigh'd, "are these alone + The things disburied? spare the dread repose, + Or bring once more the monarch to his throne, + To Beauty's cheek the rose." + Cloud wrapt the stars, + + While the pale sexton answer'd, "Fool, away! + Thou ask'st of Memory that which Faith must give; + Mine is the task to disinter the clay, + Hers to bid life revive,"-- + Cloud left the stars. + + + + +THE DISPUTE OE THE POETS. + + + An idyll scene of happy Sicily! + Out from its sacred grove on grassy slopes + Smiles a fair temple, vow'd to some sweet Power + Of Nature deified. In broad degrees + From flower-wreath'd porticos the shining stairs, + Through tiers of Myrtle in Corinthian urns, + Glide to the shimmer of an argent lake. + Calm rest the swans upon the glassy wave, + Save where the younger cygnets, newly-pair'd, + Through floating brakes of water-lilies, sail + Slowly in sunlight down to islets dim. + But farther on, the lake subsides away + Into the lapsing of a shadowy rill + Melodious with the chime of falls as sweet + As (heard by Pan in Arethusan glades) + The silvery talk of meeting Naiades. + + Where cool the sunbeam slants through ilex-boughs, + The fane above them and the rill below, + Two forms recline; nor, e'er in Arcady + Did fairer Manhood win an Oread's love, + Or lift diviner brows to earliest stars. + + The one of brighter hues, and darker curls + Clustering and purple as the fruit o' the vine, + Seem'd like that Summer-Idol of rich life + Whom sensuous Greece, inebriate with delight, + From Orient myth and symbol-worship brought + To blue Cithaeron blithe with bounding faun + And wood-nymph wild,--Nature's young Lord, Iacchus! + Bent o'er the sparkling brook, with careless hand + From sedge or sward, he pluck'd or reed or flower, + Casting away light wreaths on playful waves; + While,--as the curious ripple murmur'd round + Its odorous prey, and eddying whirl'd it on + O'er pebbles glancing sheen to sunny falls,-- + He laugh'd, as childhood laughs, in such frank glee + The very leaves upon the ilex danced + Joyous, as at some mirthful wind in May. + + The other, though the younger, more serene, + And to the casual gaze severer far, + To that bright comrade-shape; by contrast seem'd + As serious Morn, star-crown'd on Spartan hills, + To Noon, when hyacinths flush through Enna's vales, + Or murmurous winglets hum 'mid Indian palms. + Such beauty his as the first Dorian bore + From the far birthplace of Homeric men, + Beyond the steeps of Boreal Thessaly, + When to the swart Pelasgic Autocthon + The blue-eyed Pallas came with lifted spear, + And, her twin type of the fair-featured North. + Phoebus, the archer with the golden hair. + Bright was the one as Syrian Adon-ai, + Charming the goddess born from roseate seas; + And while the other, leaning on his lyre, + Lifted the azure light of earnest eyes + From flower and wave to the remotest hill + On which the soft horizon melted down, + Ev'n so methought had gazed Endymion, + With looks estranged from the luxuriant day, + To the far Latmos steep--where holy dreams + Nightly renew'd the kisses of the Moon. + + Entranced I stood, and held my breath to hear + The words that seem'd to warm upon their lips, + As if such contest as two Nightingales + Wage, emulous in music, on the peace + That surely dwelt between them, had anon + Forced its mellifluous anger:-- + + Then I learn'd + That the fair Two were orphans, rear'd to youth + Song and the lyre, where ringdoves coo remote, + And loitering bees cull sweets in Hyblan dells: + And that their discord, as their union, grew + Out of their rivalry in lyre and song. + Therewith did each in the accustom'd war + Of pastoral singers in Sicilian noons + Strive for his Right--(O Memory aid me now!) + In the sweet quarrel of alternate hymns. + + ANTHIOS. + + As the sunlight that plays on a stream, + As the zephyr that rustles a leaf, + On my soul comes the joy of the beam, + And a zephyr can stir it to grief. + + Whether pleasure or pain be decreed, + My voice but in music is heard; + By the sunny wave murmurs the reed; + From the sighing leaf carols the bird.-- + + LYKEGENES. + + Unto her hierarch Nature's voices come + But through the labyrinthine cells of Thought, + Not at the Porch, doth Isis hold her home, + Not to the Tyro are her mysteries taught; + + The secret dews of many a starry night + Feed the vast ocean's stately ebb and flow; + The leaf is restless where the branch is slight, + Still are the boughs whose shades stretch far below. + + ANTHIOS. + + As the skylark that mounts + With the dawn to the sun, + As the flash from the founts + Of the swift Helicon, + + Song comes;--and I sing! + Wouldst thou question me more? + Ask the wave or the wing + Why it sparkle or soar! + + LYKEGENES. + + Full be the soul if swift the inspiration! + The corn-flower opens as the sheaves are rife; + Song is the twin of golden Contemplation + The harvest-flower of life. + + The Cloud-compeller's bolt the eagle bears, + But when the wings the strength divine have won, + Full many a flight around the rock prepares + The Aspirer towards the Sun; + + Progressive heights to gradual effort given, + Till, all the plumes in light supreme unfurl'd, + It halts;--and knits unto the dome of heaven + This pendant ball--the World. + + ANTHIOS. + + Hail, O hail, Pierides, + Free Harmonia's zoneless daughters, + Whom abrupt the Moenad sees + By the marge of moonlit waters, + + Weaving joy in choral measure + To no law but your sweet pleasure; + Wanton winds in loosen'd hair + Lifting gold that gilds the air; + + Say, beneath what starry skies + Lurk the herbs that purge the eyes? + On what hill-tops should we cull + The moly of the Beautiful? + What the charm the soul to capture + In the cestus-belt of rapture, + When the senses, trembling under, + Glass the Shadow-land of Wonder, + And no human hand is stealing + O'er the music-scale of Feeling? + + As ceased the question rose delicious winds + Stirring the waves that kiss'd the tuneful reeds, + And all the wealth of sweets in bells of flowers; + So that, methought, out from all life, the Muse + Murmur'd responses low, and echo'd "FEELING!" + + LYKEGENES. + + Divine Corycides, + Whose chosen haunts are in mysterious cells, + And alleys dim through gleaming laurel-trees + Dusking the shrine of Delphian oracles,-- + Under whose whispering shade + Sits the lone Pythian Maid, + Whose soul is as the glass of human things; + While up from bubbling streams + In mists arise the Dreams + Pale with the future of tiara'd kings-- + Say, what the charm which from ambrosial domes + Draws the Immortal to Time's brazen towers, + When on the soul the gentle Thunderer comes-- + Comes but in golden showers? + When, through the sealed portals of the sense, + Fluent as air the Glory glides unsought; + And the serene effulgent Influence + Rains all the wealth of heaven upon the thought? + + And as the questions ceased, fell every wind. + The ilex-boughs droop'd heavy as the hush + In which the prophet Doves brood weird and calm + Amid Dodonian groves;--the broken light + On crisped waves grew smooth; on earth, in heaven, + The inexpressive majesty of Silence + Pass'd as some Orient sovereign to his throne, + When all the murmurs cease, and every brow + Bends down in awe, and not a breath is heard. + Yet spoke that stillness of the Eternal Mind + That thinks, and, thinking, evermore creates; + And Nature seem'd to answer Poesy + From her deep heart, in thought re-echoing "THOUGHT." + + ANTHIOS. + + Thou, whose silver lute contended + With the careless reed of Pan-- + Thou whose wanton youth descended + To the vales Arcadian, + At whose coming heavenlier joy + Lighteth even Jove's abode, + Ever blooming as the boy + Through thine ages as the god; + Fair Apollo, if the singer + Be like thee the gladness-bringer; + If the nectar he distil + Make the worn earth useful still; + As thyself when thou wert driven + To the Tempe from the heaven, + As the infant over whom + Saturn bends his brows of gloom, + Roves he not the world a-maying, + From his Idan halls exiled; + Or with Time repose in playing + As with Saturn's looks the child. + + Therewith from far, where unseen hamlets lay + In wooded valleys green, came mellowly + Laughter and infant voices, borne perchance + From the light hearts of happy Children, sporting + Round some meek Mother's knee;--ev'n so, methought + Did the familiar, human, innocent, gladness + Through golden Childhood answer Song, "THE CHILD." + + LYKEGENES. + + Lord of lustrating streams, + And altars pure, appalling secret Crime, + Eternal Splendour, whose all-searching beams + Illume with life the universe of Time, + All our own fates thy shrine reveals to us; + Thither comes Wisdom from the thrones of earth, + The unraveller of the sphinx--blind Oedipus, + Who knows not ev'n his birth! + On whom, Apollo, does thy presence shine + Through the clear daylight of translucent song? + Only to him who serveth at the shrine, + The priesthood can belong! + After due and deep probation, + Only dawns thy revelation + Unto the devout beseecher + Taught by thee to grow the teacher: + Shall the bearer of thy bow + Let the shafts at random go? + If the altar be divine, + Is the sacrifice a feast? + Should our hands the garland twine + For the reveller or the priest? + + Therewith from out the temple on the hill + Broke the rich swell of fifes and choral lyres, + And the long melody of such large hymns, + As to the conquest of the Python-slayer, + Hallow'd thy lofty chant, Calliope! + Thus from the penetralian aisles divine + The solemn God replied to Song, "THE PRIEST." + + ANTHIOS. + + And who can bind in formal duty + The Protean shapes of airy Beauty? + Who tune the Teian's lyre of gold + To priestly hymns in temples cold? + Accept the playmate by thy side, + Ordain'd to charm thee, not to guide. + The stream reflects each curve on shore, + And Song alike thy good and error; + Let Wisdom be the monitor, + But Song should be the mirror. + To truth direct while Science goes + With measured pace and sober eye; + The simplest wild-flower more bestows + Than Egypt's lore, on Poesy. + + The Magian seer who counts the stars, + Regrets the cloud that veils his skies; + To me, the Greek, the clouds are cars + From which bend down divinities! + + Like cloud itself this common day + Let Fancy make awhile the duller, + Its iris in the cloud shall play, + And weave thy world the pomp of colour. + + He paused; as if in concord with the Song + Seem'd to flash forth the universe of hues + In the Sicilian summer: on the banks + Crocus, and hyacinth, and anemone, + Superb narcissus, Cytherea's rose, + And woodbine lush, and lilies silver-starr'd; + And delicate cloudlets blush'd in lucent skies; + And yellowing sunbeams shot through purple waves; + And still from bough to bough the wings of birds, + And still from flower to flower the gorgeous dyes + Of the gay insect-revellers wandering went-- + And as I look'd I murmur'd, "Singer, yes, + As COLOUR to the world, so song to life!" + + LYKEGENES. + + Conceal'd from Saturn's deathful frown + The wild Curetes strove, + By chant and cymbal clash, to drown + The infant cries of Jove. + But when, full-grown, the Thunder-king, + Triumphant o'er the Titan's fall, + And throned in Ida, look'd on all, + And all subjected saw; + Saw the sublime Uranian Ring, + And every joyous living thing, + Calm'd into love beneath his tranquil law;-- + Then straight above, below, around, + His voice was heard in every sound; + The mountain peal'd it through the cave; + The whirlwind to the answering wave; + By loneliest stream, by deepest dell, + It murmur'd in mysterious Pan; + No less than in the golden shell + From which the falls of music well + O'er floors Olympian! + For Jove in all that breathes must dwell, + And speak through all to Man. + + Singer, who asketh Hermes for his rod, + To lead men's souls into Elysian bowers, + To whose belief the alter'd earth is trod + Still by Kronidian Powers, + If through thy veins the purer tide hath been + Pour'd from the nectar-streams in Hebe's urn, + That thou mightst both without thee and within + Feel the pervading Jove--wouldst thou return + To the dark time of old, + When Earth-born Force the Heir of Heaven controll'd, + And with thy tinkling brass aspire + To stifle Nature's music-choir, + And drown the voice of God? + + O Light, thou poetry of Heaven, + That glid'st through hollow air thy way, + That fill'st the starry founts of Even, + And all the azure seas of Day; + Give to my song thy glorious flow, + That while it glads it may illume, + Whether it gild the iris' bow, + And part its rays amid the gloom; + Or whether, one broad tranquil stream, + It break in no fantastic dyes, + But calmly weaving beam on beam, + Make Heaven distinct to human eyes; + A truth that floats serene and clear, + 'Twixt Gods and men an atmosphere; + Less seen itself than bringing all to sight, + And to man's soul what to man's world is Light. + + Then, as the Singer ceased, the western sun + Halted a moment o'er the roseate hill + Hush'd in pellucent air; and all the crests + Of the still groves, and all the undulous curves + Of far-off headlands stood distinctly soft + Against the unfathomable purple skies, + And linking in my thought the outward shows + Of Beauty with the inward types sublime, + By which through Beauty poets lead to Knowledge, + And are the lamps of Nature, + "Yes," I murmur'd, + "Song is to soul what unto life is LIGHT!" + + But gliding now behind the steeps it flush'd, + The disk of day sunk gradual, gradual down, + And in the homage of the old Religion + To the departing Sun,--the rival two + Ceased their dispute, and bent sweet serious brows + In chorus with the cusps of bended flowers, + Sighing their joint "Farewell, O golden Sun!" + Now Hesper came, the gentle shepherd-star, + Bright as when Moschus sung to it;--along + The sacred grove, and through the Parian shafts + Of the pale temple, shot the glistening rays, + And trembled in the tremor of the wave:-- + Then the fair rivals, as they silent rose, + Turn'd each to each in brotherlike embrace; + Lone amid starry solitude they stood, + In equal beauty clasp'd,--and _both_ divine.[D] + + [D] The reader will perceive that this poem is intended to + illustrate a dispute which can never, perhaps, be critically + solved--viz., whether the true business of the poet be to + delight or to instruct;--and he will therefore be disposed to + forgive me if he recognize certain thoughts or expressions + freely borrowed from the various poets, who may be said to + represent either side of the question. Among the moderns, + SCHILLER especially has suggested ideas and illustrations on + behalf of the more earnest creed professed by LYKEGENES--while + GOETHE has been pressed to the aid of ANTHIOS. The Greek poets + have here and there suggested a line on either side. After this + general acknowledgment of obligation, it would be but pedantic + to specify each special instance of imitative paraphrase or + direct translation. + + + + +GANYMEDE. + +"When Ganymede was caught up to Heaven, he let fall his pipe, on which +he was playing to his sheep."--ALEXANDER ROSS, _Myst. Poet._ + + + Upon the Phrygian hill + He sate, and on his reed the shepherd play'd. + Sunlight and calm: noon in the dreamy glade, + Noon on the lulling rill. + + He saw not, where on high + The noiseless eagle of the Heavenly King + Rested,--till rapt upon the rushing wing + Into the golden sky. + + When the bright Nectar Hall + And the still brows of bended gods he saw, + In the quick instinct both of shame and awe + His hand the reed let fall. + + Soul! that a thought divine + Bears into heaven,--thy first ascent survey! + What charm'd thee most on earth is cast away;-- + To soar--is to resign! + + + + +MEMNON. + + + Where Morning first appears, + Waking the rathe flowers in their Eastern bed, + Aurora still with her ambrosial tears, + Weeps for her Memnon dead. + + Him the Hesperides + Nursed on the marge of their enchanted shore, + And still the smile that then the Mother wore + Dimples the orient seas. + + He died; and lo, the while + The fire consumed his ashes, glorious things + With joyous songs, and rainbow-tinted wings, + Rose from the funeral pile. + + He died; and yet became + A music; and his Theban image broke + Into sweet sounds that with each sunrise spoke + The Mighty Mother's name. + + O type, thy truth declare! + Who is the Child of the Melodious Morn? + Who bids the ashes earth receives--adorn + With new-born choirs the air? + + What can the Statue be + That ever answers with enchanted voices + Each rising sun that on its front rejoices? + Speak!--"I AM POETRY!" + + + + +THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. + + + Upon a barren steep, + Above a stormy deep, + I saw an Angel watching the wild sea; + Earth was that barren steep, + Time was that stormy deep, + And the opposing shore--Eternity! + + "Why dost thou watch the wave? + Thy feet the waters lave, + The tide engulfs thee if thou dost delay." + "Unscathed I watch the wave, + Time not the Angel's grave, + I wait until the ocean ebbs away." + + Hush'd on the Angel's breast + I saw an Infant rest, + Smiling upon the gloomy hell below. + "What is the Infant press'd, + O Angel, to thy breast?" + "The child God gave me, in The Long Ago. + + "Mine all upon the earth, + The Angel's angel-birth, + Smiling each terror from the howling wild." + Never may I forget + The dream that haunts me yet, + OF PATIENCE NURSING HOPE--THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD + + + + +TO A WITHERED TREE IN JUNE. + + + Desolate tree! why are thy branches bare? + What hast thou done + To win strange winter from the summer air, + Frost from the sun? + + Thou wert not churlish in thy palmier year + Unto the herd; + Tenderly gav'st thou shelter to the deer, + Home to the bird. + + And ever once, the earliest of the grove, + Thy smiles were gay, + Opening thy blossoms with the haste of love + To the young May. + + Then did the bees, and all the insect wings + Around thee gleam; + Feaster and darling of the gilded things + That dwell i' the beam. + + Thy liberal course, poor prodigal, is sped; + How lonely now! + How bird and bee, light parasites, have fled + The leafless bough! + + "Tell me, sad tree, why are thy branches bare? + What hast thou done + To win strange winter from the summer air, + Frost from the sun?" + + "Never," replied that forest-hermit lone + (Old truth and endless!) + "Never for evil done, but fortune flown, + Are we left friendless. + + "Yet wholly, nor for winter nor for storm + Doth Love depart! + We are not all forsaken till the worm + Creeps to the heart! + + "Ah, nought without, within thee if decay, + Can heal or hurt thee. + Nor boots it, if thy heart itself betray, + Who may desert thee!" + + + + +ON THE REPERUSAL OF LETTERS WRITTEN IN YOUTH. + + + Strange, as when vaguely through the autumn haze + Loom the pale scenes last view'd in summer skies, + Out from the mist the thoughts of sunny days + And golden youth arise. + + Were ye, in truth, my thoughts?--along the years + Flies back the wondering and incredulous Mind, + In the still archives of lost hopes and fears + Your date and tale to find. + + Gradual and slow, reweaving link to link, + Epoch, and place, and image it recalls, + And owns the thoughts it never more can think,-- + Dim pictures in dim halls! + + Dim pictures now; and once ye breathed and moved, + And took your life as proudly from the sun + As if immortals!--schemed, aspired, and loved, + And sunk to rest;--sleep on! + + On a past self the present self amazed + Looks, and beholds no likeness!--Canst thou see + In the pale features of the phantom raised + One trace still true to thee? + + 'Twas said "The child is father to the man," + By one whose world was but the shepherd's range. + What seas beyond thy vale, Arcadian, + Ebb and reflow with change! + + In the great deeps of reason, heart, and soul, + Through shine or storm still roll the tides unfailing; + Each separate globule in the restless whole + In daily airs exhaling. + + Thus evermore, albeit to erring eyes, + The same wild surface dash to shore the spray, + That seeming oneness every moment dies, + Drop after drop, away. + + And stern indeed the prison of our doom + If self from self had no divine escape; + If each dead passion slept not in the tomb; + If childhood, age could shape. + + Happy the man in whom with every year + New life is born, re-baptized in the past,-- + In whom each change doth but as growth appear, + The loveliest change the last! + + Full many a sun shall vanish from the skies + And still the aloe show but leaves of thorn; + Leaf upon leaf, and thorn on thorn, arise, + And lo--the flower is born! + + + + +THE DESIRE OF FAME. + +WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF THIRTY. + + + I do confess that I have wish'd to give + My land the gift of no ignoble name. + And in that holier air have sought to live, + Sunn'd with the hope of Fame. + + Do I lament that I have seen the bays + Denied my own, not worthier brows above,-- + Foes quick to scoff, and friends afraid to praise,-- + More active hate than love? + + Do I lament that roseate youth has flown + In the hard labour grudged its niggard meed, + And cull from far and juster lands alone + Few flowers from many a seed? + + No! for whoever with an earnest soul + Strives for some end from this low world afar, + Still upward travels, though he miss the goal, + And strays--but towards a star. + + Better than fame is still the wish for fame, + The constant training for a glorious strife: + The athlete nurtured for the Olympian Game + Gains strength at least for life. + + The wish for Fame is faith in holy things + That soothe the life, and shall outlive the tomb-- + A reverent listening for some angel wings + That cower above the gloom. + + To gladden earth with beauty, or men's lives + To serve with action, or their souls with truth,-- + These are the ends for which the hope survives + The ignobler thirsts of youth. + + No, I lament not, though these leaves may fall + From the sered branches on the desert plain, + Mock'd by the idle winds that waft; and all + Life's blooms, its last, in vain! + + If vain for others, not in vain for me,-- + Who builds an altar let him worship there; + What needs the crowd? though lone the shrine may be, + Not hallow'd less the prayer. + + Eno' if haply in the after days, + When by the altar sleeps the funeral stone, + When gone the mists our human passions raise, + And Truth is seen alone: + + When causeless Hate can wound its prey no more, + And fawns its late repentance o'er the dead, + If gentle footsteps from some kindlier shore + Pause by the narrow bed. + + Or if yon children, whose young sounds of glee + Float to mine ear the evening gales along, + Recall some echo, in their years to be, + Of not all-perish'd song! + + Taking some spark to glad the hearth, or light + The student lamp, from now neglected fires,-- + And one sad memory in the sons requite + What--I forgive the sires. + + + + +THE LOYALTY OF LOVE. + + + I love thee, I love thee; + In vain I endeavour + To fly from thine image; + It haunts me for ever. + + All things that rejoiced me + Now weary and pall; + I feel in thine absence + Bereft of mine all. + + My heart is the dial; + Thy looks are the sun; + I count but the moments + Thou shinest upon. + + Oh, royal, believe me, + It is to control + Two mighty dominions, + The Heart and the Soul. + + To know that thy whisper + Each pang can beguile; + And feel that creation + Is lit by thy smile. + + Yet every dominion + Needs care to retain-- + Dost thou know when thou pain'st me + Or smile at the pain? + + Alas! the heart-sickness, + The doubt and the dread, + When some word that we pine for + Cold lips have not said! + + When no pulses respond to + The feelings we prove; + And we tremble to question + "If _this_ can be love;" + + At moments comparing + Thy heart with mine own, + I mourn not my bondage, + I sigh for thy throne. + + For if thou forsake me, + Too well I divine + That no love could defend thee + From sorrow like mine. + + And this, O ungrateful, + I most should deplore-- + That the heart thou hadst broken + Could shield thee no more! + + + + +A LAMENT. + + + I stand where I last stood with thee! + Sorrow, O sorrow! + There is not a leaf on the trysting-tree; + There is not a joy on the earth to me; + Sorrow, O sorrow! + When shalt thou be once again what thou wert? + Oh, the sweet yesterdays fled from the heart! + Have they a morrow?-- + Here we stood, ere we parted, so close side by side; + Two lives that once part, are as ships that divide + When, moment on moment, there rushes between + The one and the other, a sea;-- + Ah, never can fall from the days that have been + A gleam on the years that shall be! + + + + +LOST AND AVENGED. + + + O God, give me rest from a thought! + I cannot escape it nor brave; + Dread ghost of a joy that I sought + To harrow my soul from its grave! + + Farewell to the smile of the sun, + The cheerful Religion of Trust! + I centred my future in One, + And wake as it crumbles to dust! + + Oh, blest are the tears that are shed + For love that was true to the last. + The future restores us the dead, + The false we expel from the past.-- + + Yet all, when I summon my pride + Thyself as I find thee to see, + Again there descends to my side + The angel I dreamt thee to be. + + Again thou enchantest my ear; + My soul hangs again on thy breath, + And murmurs that melt in a tear + Repeat "I am thine unto death!" + + Again is the light of thine eyes + The limpid reflection of Truth; + Thy smile gives me back to the skies + That lit the ideals of youth. + + Oh, is it thyself that I mourn, + Or is it that dream of my heart + Which glides from the reach of my scorn, + And soars from the clay that thou art? + + Well, go--take this comfort with thee, + (I know thou art vain of thy power,) + Thou hast blighted existence for me, + Thou hast left not a germ for the flower; + + My star may escape the eclipse, + The music that tuned it is o'er; + The smile may return to my lips-- + It fades from my heart evermore; + + Yet dark on thy being will fall + A shade from the wreck of my own, + Long years shalt thou sigh over all + Thou hast in a day overthrown. + + For none shall exalt thee as I! + Ah, none whom thy spells may control + Shall deck thee in hues from the sky, + And breathe in thy statue his soul.-- + + None build from the glories of song + The brighter existence above, + The realm which to poets belong, + The throne they bestow where they love. + + Let earth its chill colours regain, + The moonlight depart from thy sea, + Explore through creation in vain + The fairy land vanish'd with me. + + I take back the all I had given: + Thy charm, with my folly is o'er; + From the rank I assign'd thee in heaven + Descend to thy level once more. + + O grief!--whether here or above, + Must my soul thus be sever'd from thine? + Ah, mourn--though I had not thy love-- + The sin that bereaves thee of mine. + + + + +THE TREASURES BY THE WAYSIDE. + +A TALE FOR SORROW. + + + The sky was dull, the scene was wild, + I wander'd up the mountain way; + And with me went a joyous child, + The man in thought, the child at play, + + My heart was sad with many a grief; + Mine eyes with former tears were dim; + The child!--a stone, a flower, a leaf, + Had each its fairy wealth to him! + + From time to time, unto my side + He bounded back to show the treasure; + I was not hard enough to chide, + Nor wise enough to share his pleasure. + + We paused at last--the child began + Again his sullen guide to tease; + "They say you are a learned man-- + So look, and tell me what are these?" + + Aroused with pain, my listless eyes + The various spoils scarce wander o'er; + Than straight they hail a sage's prize + In what seem'd infant toys before: + + This herb was one the glorious Swede + Had given a garden's wealth to find; + That stone had harden'd round a weed + The earliest deluge left behind. + + Fit stores for science, Discontent + Had pass'd unheeding on the wild; + And Nature had her wonders lent + As things of gladness to the child! + + Thus, through the present, Sorrow goes, + And sees its barren self alone; + While healing in the leaflet grows, + And Time blooms back within the stone. + + O THOU, so prodigal of good, + Whose wisdom with delight is clad; + How clear should be to Gratitude + The golden duty--to be glad! + + + + +ADDRESS TO THE SOUL IN DESPONDENCY. + + + No, Soul! not in vain thou hast striven, + Unless thou abandon the strife; + Forsworn to the banners of Heaven, + If false in the battle of life. + + Why--counting the gain or the loss-- + The badge of the temple assume? + March on! if thy sign be the Cross, + Thy triumph must be at the Tomb. + + Say, doth not the soldier rejoice + If placed by his chief at the van? + As spirit, submit to the choice + The noble would welcome as man. + + "Farewell to the splendour of light!" + The Greek could exulting exclaim, + Resign'd to the Hades of Night, + To live in the air as A NAME. + + Could he, for a future so vain, + Every pang in the present control, + Yet thou of a moment complain + In thine infinite life as a soul? + + Like thee, do not millions receive + Their chalice embitter'd with gall? + If good be creation--believe + _That_ good which is common to all! + + In evil itself, to the glance + Of the wise, half the riddles are clear + Were wisdom but perfect, perchance, + The rest might in love disappear. + + The thunder that scatters the pest + May be but a type of the whole; + And storms which have darken'd the breast + May bring but its health to the soul. + + Can earth, where the harrow is driven, + The sheaf in the furrow foresee,-- + Or thou guess the harvest of heaven + Where iron has enter'd in thee? + + * * * * * + + + + +CORN-FLOWERS. + +BOOK II. + + + + +THE SABBATH. + + + Fresh glides the brook and blows the gale, + Yet yonder halts the quiet mill; + The whirring wheel, the rushing sail, + How motionless and still! + + Six days of toil, poor child of Cain, + Thy strength the slave of Want may be; + The seventh thy limbs escape the chain-- + A God hath made thee free! + + Ah, tender was the law that gave + This holy respite to the breast, + To breathe the gale, to watch the wave, + And know--the wheel may rest! + + But where the waves the gentlest glide + What image charms, to lift, thine eyes? + The spire reflected on the tide + Invites thee to the skies. + + To teach the soul its nobler worth + This rest from mortal toils is given; + Go, snatch the brief reprieve from earth + And pass--a guest to Heaven. + + They tell thee, in their dreaming school, + Of Power from old dominion hurl'd, + When rich and poor, with juster rule, + Shall share the alter'd world. + + Alas! since Time itself began, + That fable hath but fool'd the hour; + Each age that ripens Power in Man, + But subjects Man to Power. + + Yet every day in seven, at least, + One bright republic shall be known;-- + Man's world awhile hath surely ceased, + When God proclaims his own! + + Six days may Rank divide the poor, + O Dives, from thy banquet-hall-- + The seventh the Father opes the door, + And holds His feast for all! + + + + +THE HOLLOW OAK. + + + Hollow is the oak beside the sunny waters drooping; + Thither came, when I was young, happy children trooping; + Dream I now, or hear I now--far, their mellow whooping? + + Gay below the cowslip bank, see the billow dances, + There I lay beguiling time--when I lived romances; + Dropping pebbles in the wave, fancies into fancies;-- + + Farther, where the river glides by the wooded cover, + Where the merlin singeth low, with the hawk above her + Came a foot and shone a smile--woe is me, the Lover! + + Leaflets on the hollow oak still as greenly quiver, + Musical amid the reeds murmurs on the river; + But the footstep and the smile?--woe is me for ever! + + + + +LOVE AND FAME. + +WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH. + + +I. + + It was the May when I was born, + Soft moonlight through the casement stream'd, + And still, as it were yestermorn, + I dream the dream I dream'd. + I saw two forms from fairy land, + Along the moonbeam gently glide, + Until they halted, hand in hand, + My infant couch beside. + + +II. + + With smiles, the cradle bending o'er, + I heard their whisper'd voices breathe-- + The one a crown of diamond wore, + The one a myrtle wreath; + "Twin brothers from the better clime, + A poet's spell hath lured to thee; + Say which shall, in the coming time, + Thy chosen fairy be?" + + +III. + + I stretch'd my hand, as if my grasp + Could snatch the toy from either brow; + And found a leaf within my clasp, + One leaf--as fragrant now! + If both in life may not be won, + Be mine, at least, the gentler brother-- + For he whose life deserves the one, + In death may gain the other. + + + + +LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. + + +I. + + Into my heart a silent look + Flash'd from thy careless eyes, + And what before was shadow, took + The Light of summer skies. + The first-born love was in that look; + The Venus rose from out the deep + Of those inspiring eyes. + + +II. + + My life, like some lone solemn spot + A spirit passes o'er, + Grew instinct with a glory not + In earth or heaven before. + Sweet trouble stirr'd the haunted spot, + And shook the leaves of every thought + Thy presence wander'd o'er! + + +III. + + My being yearn'd, and crept to thine, + As if in times of yore + Thy soul had been a part of mine, + Which claim'd it back once more. + Thy very self no longer thine, + But merged in that delicious life, + Which made us ONE of yore! + + +IV. + + There bloom'd beside thee forms as fair, + There murmur'd tones as sweet, + But round thee breathed the enchanted air + 'Twas life and death to meet. + And henceforth thou alone wert fair, + And though the stars had sung for joy, + Thy whisper only sweet! + + + + +LOVE'S SUDDEN GROWTH. + + +I. + + But yestermorn, with many a flower + The garden of my heart was dress'd; + A single tree has sprung to bloom, + Whose branches cast a tender gloom, + That shadows all the rest. + + +II. + + A jealous and a tyrant tree, + That seeks to reign alone; + As if the wind's melodious sighs, + The dews and sunshine of the skies, + Were only made for One! + + +III. + + A tree on which the Host of Dreams + Low murmur mystic things, + While hopes, those birds of other skies, + To dreams themselves chant low replies-- + Ah, wherefore have they wings? + + +IV. + + The seasons nurse the blight and storm, + The glory leaves the air-- + The dreams and birds will pass away, + The blossom wither from the spray-- + One day--the stem be bare-- + + +V. + + But mine has grown the Dryad's life, + Coeval with the tree; + The sun, the frost, the bloom, the fall, + My fate, sweet tree, must share them all, + To live and die with thee! + + + + +THE LOVE-LETTER. + + + As grains of gold that in the sands + Of Lydian waters shine, + The welcome sign of mountain lands + That veil the silent mine; + + Thus may the river of my thought, + That glideth now to thee, + Reveal the wealth as yet unwrought, + Which Love has heap'd in me! + + So strove I to enrich the scroll + To thy dear hands consign'd; + I thought to leave the lavish soul + No golden wish behind! + + Ah, fool! to think an hour could drain + What life can scarce explore-- + Enough, if guided by the grain, + Thy heart should seek the ore! + + + + +THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYES. + + + Those eyes--those eyes--how full of Heaven they are! + When the calm twilight leaves the heaven most holy; + Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star + Did ye drink in your liquid melancholy? + Tell me, beloved eyes! + + Was it from yonder orb that ever by + The quiet moon, like Hope by Patience, hovers, + The star to which hath sped so many a sigh, + Since lutes in Lesbos hallow'd it to Lovers? + Was that your Fount, sweet Eyes? + + Ye Sibyl books, in which the truths foretold + Inspire the Heart, your dreaming priest, with gladness, + Bright Alchemists that turn to thoughts of gold + The leaden cares ye steal away from sadness, + Teach only me, sweet Eyes! + + Hush! when I ask ye how, at length, to gain + The cell where Love, the sleeper, yet lies hidden, + Loose not those arch lips from their rosy chain; + Be every answer, save your own, forbidden-- + Feelings are words for Eyes! + + + + +DOUBT. + + + Bright laughs the sun; the birds, that are to air + Like song to life, are gaily on the wing; + In every mead the handmaid hours prepare + The delicates of spring;[E] + But, if she love me not! + To me at this fair season still hath been + In every wild-flower an exhaustless treasure, + And, when the young-eyed violet first was seen, + Methought to breathe was pleasure;-- + But, if she love me not! + How, in thy twilight, Doubt, at each unknown + Dim shape, the superstitious Love will start; + How Hope itself will tremble at its own + Light shadow on the heart!-- + Ah, if she love me not! + Well; I will know the worst, and leave the wind + To drift or drown the venture on the wave; + Life has two friends in grief itself most kind-- + Remembrance and the Grave-- + Mine, if she love me not! + + [E] "The choicest delicates from yonder mead."--_The Faithful + Shepherdess._ + + + + +THE ASSURANCE. + + + I am loved, I am loved--Jubilate! + Hark! hark! how the happy note swells + To and fro from the fairy bells, + With which the flowers melodiously + To their banquet halls invite the bee!-- + "He is loved, he is loved--Jubilate!" + + The echo at rest on her mountain-keep + Murmurs the sound in her broken sleep-- + "He is loved, he is loved--Jubilate!" + And those gossips, the winds, have come to scout + What the earth is so happy about, + And they catch the sound, and circle it round-- + "He is loved, he is loved--Jubilate!" + + And the rivers, who, all the world must know, + Were in love with the stars ever since they could flow, + With a dimpled cheek and a joyous sigh, + Whisper it up to the list'ning sky, + "He is loved, he is loved--Jubilate!" + + It is not the world that I knew before; + Where is the gloom that its glory wore? + Not a foe could offend, nor a friend betray, + Old Hatred hath gone to his grave to-day! + Hark! hark! his knell we toll, + Here's to the peace of his sinful soul! + On the earth below, in the heaven above, + Nothing is left me now but Love. + Love, Love, honour to Love, + I am loved, I am loved--Jubilate! + + + + +MEMORIES, THE FOOD OF LOVE. + + + When shall we come to that delightful day, + When each can say to each, "Dost thou remember?" + Let us fill urns with rose-leaves in our May, + And hive the thrifty sweetness for December! + + For who may deem the throne of love secure, + Till o'er the _Past_ the conqueror spreads his reign? + That only land where human joys endure, + That dim elysium where they live again! + + Swell'd by a thousand streams the deeps that float + The bark on which we risk our all, should be. + A rill suffices for the idler's boat: + It needs an ocean for the argosy. + + The heart's religion keeps, apart from time, + The sacred burial-ground of happy hours; + The past is holy with the haunting chime + Of dreamy sabbath bells from distant towers. + + Oft dost thou ask me, with that bashful eye, + "If I shall love thee evermore as now!" + Feasting as fondly on the sure reply, + As if my lips were virgin of the vow. + + Sweet does that question, "Wilt thou love me?" fall + Upon the heart that has forsworn its will: + But when the words hereafter we recall, + "Dost thou remember?" shall be sweeter still. + + + + +ABSENT, YET PRESENT. + + + As the flight of a river + That flows to the sea, + My soul rushes ever + In tumult to thee. + + A twofold existence + I am where thou art; + My heart in the distance + Beats close to thy heart. + + Look up, I am near thee, + I gaze on thy face; + I see thee, I hear thee, + I feel thine embrace. + + As a magnet's control on + The steel it draws to it, + Is the charm of thy soul on + The thoughts that pursue it. + + And absence but brightens + The eyes that I miss, + And custom but heightens + The spell of thy kiss. + + It is not from duty, + Though that may be owed,-- + It is not from beauty, + Though that be bestow'd; + + But all that I care for, + And all that I know, + Is that, without wherefore, + I worship thee so. + + Through granite as breaketh + A tree to the ray, + As a dreamer forsaketh + The grief of the day, + + My soul in its fever + Escapes unto thee; + O dream to the griever, + O light to the tree! + + A twofold existence + I am where thou art; + Hark, hear in the distance + The beat of my heart! + + + + +LOVERS' QUARRELS. + +AN OLD MAXIM REFUTED. + + + They never loved as thou and I, + Who preach'd the laughing moral, + That aught which deepens love can lie + In true love's lightest quarrel. + + They never knew, in times of fear, + The safety of affection, + Nor sought, when angry fate drew near, + Love's altar for protection. + + They never knew how kindness grows + A vigil and a care, + Nor watch'd beside the heart's repose + In silence and in prayer; + + For weaker love be storms enough + To frighten back desire; + We have no need of gales so rough + To fan our steadier fire. + + 'Twere sweet to kiss thy tears away, + If tears those eyes must know; + But sweeter still to hear thee say, + "Thou never badst them flow." + + The wrongful word will rankling live + When wrong itself has ceased, + And love, that all things may forgive, + Can ne'er forget the least. + + If pain can not from life depart, + There's pain enough around us; + The rose we wear upon the heart + Should have no thorn to wound us. + + And hollow sounds the wildest vow, + If memory wake, the while, + The bitter taunt--the darken'd brow, + The stinging of a smile. + + There is no anguish like the hour, + Whatever else befall us, + When one the heart has raised to power + Exerts it but to gall us. + + Yet if--this calm too blest to last-- + Some cloud, at times, must be, + I'm not so proud but I would cast + The fault alone on me. + + So deeply blent with thy dear thought, + All faith in human kindness, + Methinks if thou couldst change in aught, + The only bliss were blindness. + + But no--if rapture may not last, + It ne'er shall bring regret, + Nor leave one look in all the past + 'Twere mercy to forget. + + Repentance often finds, too late, + To wound us is to harden; + And love is on the verge of hate, + Each time it stoops for pardon. + + + + +THE LAST SEPARATION. + + + We shall not rest together, love, + When death has wrench'd my heart from thine; + The sun may smile thy grave above, + When clouds are dark on mine! + + I know not why, since in the tomb + No instinct fires the silent heart-- + And yet it seems a thought of gloom, + That even dust should part; + + That, journeying through the toilsome past, + Thus hand in hand and side by side, + The rest we reach should, at the last, + The shapes we wore divide; + + That the same breezes should not sigh + The self-same funeral boughs among,-- + Nor o'er one grave, at daybreak, die + The night-bird's lonely song! + + A foolish thought! the spirit goal + Is not where matter wastes away; + If soul at last regaineth soul, + What boots it where the dust decay? + + A foolish thought, yet human too! + For love is not the soul's alone: + It winds around the form we woo-- + The mortal we have known! + + The eyes that speak such tender truth, + The lips that every care assuage, + The hand that thrills the heart in youth, + And smoothes the couch in age; + + With these--The Human,--human love + Will twine its thoughts and weave its doom, + And still confound the life above + With death beneath the tomb! + + And who shall tell, in yonder skies, + What earthlier instincts we retain; + What link, to souls released, supplies + The old material chain? + + The stars that pierced this darksome state + May fade in that meridian shore; + And human love, like human hate, + Be memory--and no more! + + Away the doubt! alas, how cold + Would all the promised heaven appear, + Did yearning love no more behold + What made its Eden here! + + But wheresoe'er the spirit flies, + It haunts us in the shape it wore; + We give the angel in the skies + The mortal's smile of yore; + + Yet, ah, when souls from life escape, + Material forms no more they know; + Not Heaven itself restores the shape + So fondly loved below! + + Immortal spirits meet above; + But mine is still the human heart; + And in its faithful human love, + It mourns that dust should part! + + + + +THE POPE AND THE BEGGAR. + +THE DESIRES THE CHAINS, THE DEEDS THE WINGS. + + + I saw a soul beside the clay it wore, + When reign'd that clay the Hierarch-Sire of Rome; + A hundred priests stood ranged the bier before, + Within St. Peter's dome. + + And all was incense, solemn dirge, and prayer, + And still the soul stood sullen by the clay: + "O soul, why to thy heavenlier native air + Dost thou not soar away?" + + And the soul answer'd, with a ghastly frown, + "In what life loved, death finds its weal or woe; + Slave to the clay's Desires, they drag me down + To the clay's rot below!" + + It spoke, and where Rome's purple ones reposed, + They lower'd the corpse; and downwards from the sun + Both soul and body sunk--and darkness closed + Over that twofold one! + + Without the church, unburied on the ground, + There lay, in rags, a beggar newly dead; + Above the dust no holy priest was found, + No pious prayer was said! + + But round the corpse unnumber'd lovely things, + Hovering unseen by the proud passers by, + Form'd, upward, upward, upward, with bright wings, + A ladder to the sky! + + "And what are ye, O beautiful?" "We are," + Answer'd the choral cherubim, "His Deeds!" + Then his soul, sparkling sudden as a star, + Flash'd from its mortal weeds, + + And, lightly passing, tier on tier, along + The gradual pinions, vanish'd like a smile! + Just then, swept by the solemn-visaged throng + From the Apostle's pile. + + "Knew ye this beggar?" "Knew! a wretch, who died + Under the curse of our good Pope, now gone!" + "Loved ye that Pope?" "He was our Church's pride, + And Rome's most holy son!" + + Then did I muse: such are men's judgments; blind + In scorn or love! In what unguess'd-of things, + Desires or Deeds--do rags and purple find + The fetters or the wings! + + + + +THE BEAUTIFUL DESCENDS NOT. + + + In Cyprus, looking on the lovely sky, + Lone by the marge of music-haunted streams, + A youthful poet pray'd: "Descend from high, + Thou of whose face each youthful poet dreams. + Once more, Urania, to the earth be given + The beauty that makes beautiful the heaven." + + Swift to a silver cloudlet, floating o'er, + A rushing Presence rapt him as he pray'd; + What he beheld I know not, but once more + The midnight heard him sighing to the shade, + "Again, again unto the earth be given + The beauty that makes beautiful the heaven." + + "In vain," a sweet voice answer'd from the star, + "Her grace on thee Urania did bestow: + Unworthy he the loftier realms afar, + Who woos the gods above to earth below; + Rapt to the Beautiful thy soul must be, + And not the Beautiful debased to thee!" + + + + +THE LONG LIFE AND THE FULL LIFE. + +IMITATED FROM CLAUDIAN'S "OLD MAN OF VERONA." + + + In mine own hamlet, where, amidst the green, + By moss-grown pales white gleaming cots are seen, + There dwelt a peasant in his eightieth year, + Dear to my childhood--now to memory dear; + In the same hut in which his youth had pass'd + Dwelt his calm age, till earth received at last; + Where first his infant footsteps tottering ran, + Propp'd on his staff crawl'd forth the hoary man; + That quiet life no varying fates befell, + The patriarch sought no Laban's distant well; + Of Rothschild's wealth, of Wellesley's mighty name + To that seal'd ear no faintest murmur came. + His grand event was when the barn took fire, + His world the parish, and his king the squire. + Nor clock nor kalend kept account with time, + Suns told his days, his weeks the sabbath chime; + His spring the jasmine silvering round his door, + And reddening apples spoke of summer o'er. + To him the orb that set o'er yonder trees, + Tired like himself, lit no antipodes; + And the vast world of human fears and hopes + Closed to his sight where yon horizon slopes,-- + That beech which now o'ershadows half the way, + He saw it planted in my grandsire's day; + Rooted alike where first they braved the weather, + He and the oaks he loved grew old together. + Not ten miles distant stands our County-hall-- + To him remoter than to thee Bengal; + And the next shire appear'd to him to be + What seas that closed on Franklin seem to thee. + + Thus tranquil on that happy ignorance bore + The green old age still hearty at fourscore; + To him, or me--with half the world explored, + And half his years--did life the more afford? + There the grey hairs, and here the furrow'd breast! + Ask, first--is life a journey or a rest? + If rest, old Man, long life indeed was thine; + But if a journey--oh, how short to mine! + + + + +THE MIND AND THE HEART. + +"MA VIE C'EST UN COMBAT." + + + Why, ever wringing life from art + Do men my patient labour find? + I still the murmur of my heart, + My one consoler is my mind. + + Though every toil but wakes the spell + To rouse the Falsehood and the Foe, + Can all the storms that chafe the well, + Disturb the silent TRUTH below? + + The Mind can reign in Mind alone.-- + O Pride, the hollow boast confess! + What slave would not reject a throne + If built amidst a wilderness? + + Before my gaze I see my youth, + The ghost of gentler years, arise, + With looks that yearn'd for every truth, + And wings that sought the farthest skies. + + Fresh from the golden land of dreams, + Before this waking world began, + How bright the radiant phantom seems + Beside the time-worn weary man! + + How, then, the Heart rejoiced in all + That roused the quick aspiring Mind! + What glorious music Hope could call + From every Memory left behind! + + Experience drew not then to earth + The looks that Fancy rear'd above, + And all that took their kindred birth + From thought or feeling,--blent in love. + + In vain a seraph's hand had raised + The mask from Falsehood's fatal brow; + And still as fondly I had gazed + On looks that freeze to marble now. + + Can aught that Mind bestows on toil + Replace the earlier heavenly ray, + That did but tremble o'er the soil, + To warm creation into May? + + But now, in Autumn's hollow sigh, + The heart its waning season shows, + And all the clearness of the sky + Foretells the coming of the snows. + + Farewell, sweet season of the Heart, + And come, O iron rule of Mind, + I see the Golden Age depart, + And face the war it leaves behind. + + Me nevermore may Feeling thrall, + Resign'd to Reason's stoic reign-- + But oh, how much of what we call + Content--is nothing but Disdain! + + + + +THE LAST CRUSADER. + + + Left to the Saviour's conquering foes, + The land that girds the Saviour's grave; + Where Godfrey's crosier-standard rose, + He saw the crescent-banner wave. + + There, o'er the gently-broken vale, + The halo-light on Zion glow'd; + There Kedron, with a voice of wail, + By tombs[F] of saints and heroes flow'd; + + There still the olives silver o'er + The dimness of the distant hill; + There still the flowers that Sharon bore, + Calm air with many an odour fill. + + Slowly THE LAST CRUSADER eyed + The towers, the mount, the stream, the plain, + And thought of those whose blood had dyed + The earth with crimson streams in vain! + + He thought of that sublime array, + The Hosts, that over land and deep + The Hermit marshall'd on their way, + To see those towers, and halt to weep![G] + + Resign'd the loved familiar lands, + O'er burning wastes the cross to bear, + And rescue from the Paynim's hands + The empire of a sepulchre! + + And vain the hope, and vain the loss, + And vain the famine and the strife; + In vain the faith that bore the Cross, + The valour prodigal of life! + + And vain was Richard's lion-soul, + And guileless Godfrey's patient mind-- + Like waves on shore, they reach'd the goal, + To die, and leave no trace behind! + + "O God!" the last Crusader cried, + "And art thou careless of thine own? + For us thy Son in Salem died, + And Salem is the scoffer's throne! + + "And shall we leave, from age to age, + To godless hands the Holy Tomb? + Against thy saints the heathen rage-- + Launch forth thy lightnings, and consume!" + + Swift, as he spoke, before his sight + A form flash'd, white-robed, from above; + All Heaven was in those looks of light, + But Heaven, whose native air is love. + + "Alas!" the solemn Vision said, + "_Thy_ God is of the shield and spear-- + To bless the Quick and raise the Dead, + The Saviour-God descended here! + + "Ask not the Father to reward + The hearts that seek, through blood, the Son; + O warrior! never by the sword + The Saviour's Holy Land is won!" + + [F] The valley Jehoshaphat, through which rolls the torrent of + the Kedron, is studded with tombs. + + [G] See Tasso, Ger. Lib. cant. iii. st. vi. + + + + +FOREBODINGS. + + + What are ye?--Strangers from the Phantom shore? + Lights that precede Funereal Destinies, + Ev'n as the Spectres of the Sun, before + He rises from the dearth of Arctic seas? + What demon presence haunts the haggard air? + What ice-wind checks the blood and lifts the hair? + + What are ye?--"Nightmares known not to the sane, + A sick man's sickly dreams"--the Leech replies, + Then prates he much of viscera, spleen, and brain, + And lays the Ghost with Galen;--"To the wise + All things are matter;" well, we would be taught, + Come, Leech, dissect the brain;--Now show me _Thought_! + + Shame!--to the body, must the soul fulfil + A slavery thus subjected and entire? + Must every crevice into light be still + Choked with the clod? Each dread, and each desire + Of things unknown, be track'd unto its germ + In some crazed fibre rotting to the worm? + + Trust we the dry philosophies that sneer + Back every guess into the world of spirit, + And what were left the present to revere? + And where would fade the future we inherit? + Try Heaven and Hell by the physician's test, + And men know neither--while they well digest! + + What mortal hand the airy line can draw + 'Twixt Superstition in its shadowy terror + And still Religion in its starry awe?-- + Truth when sublime flows least distinct from error; + Light of itself eludes our human eyes; + Let it take colour, and it spans the skies! + + Doubtful Foreshadows, have ye then of yore + Never been prophets, murmuring weal or woe? + Beckoning no Sylla over seas of gore? + Warning no Julius of the fatal blow? + Seen in no mother-guise by that pale son + Who led the Mede, and sleeps in Marathon?[H] + + You, the Earth-shakers from whose right hands war + Falls, as from Jove's the thunderbolt, obey; + Gaul's sceptic Caesar had his guardian star, + Stout Cromwell's iron creed its chosen day. + 'Tis in proportion as men's lives are great, + That, fates themselves,--they glass the shades of Fate. + + The wisest sage the antique wisdom knew, + Gazing into blue space long silent hours, + Would commune with his Genius: as the dew + Recruits the river, so the unseen Powers + Of Nature feed with thoughts spiritual, soul.-- + Belief alone links knowledge to The Whole. + + Hail, then, each gleam, albeit of angry skies, + Terrible never to the noble sight! + Hail the dread lightning, if it lift the eyes + Up from the dust into the Infinite! + Look through thy grate, thou saddest captive, Doubt, + And thank the flash that shows a Heaven without. + + [H] Hippias, before the battle of Marathon, in which he was + slain, dreamt a dream that he slept with his mother.--See + Herodotus. + + + + +ORAMA; OR, FATE AND FREEWILL. + + + Thin, shadowy, scarce divided from the light, + I saw a phantom at the birth of morn: + Its robe was sable, but a fleecy white + Flow'd silvering o'er the garb of gloom; a horn + It held within its hand; no faintest breath + Stirr'd its wan lips--death-like, it seem'd not Death. + + My heart lay numb within me; and the flow + Of life, like water under icebergs, crept; + The pulses of my being seem'd to grow + One awe;--voice fled the body as it slept, + But from its startled depth arose the soul + And king-like spoke:-- + "What art thou, that dost seem + To have o'er Immortality control?" + And the Shape answer'd, not by sound, + "A Dream! + A Dream, but not a Dream: the Shade of things + To come--a herald from the throne of Fate. + I ruled the hearts of earth's primaeval kings, + I gave their life its impulse and its date: + Grey Wisdom paled before me, and the stars + Were made my weird interpreters--my hand + Aroused the whirlwind of the destined wars, + And bow'd the nations to my still command. + A Dream, but not a Dream;--a type, a sign, + Pale with the Future, do I come to thee. + The lot of Man is twofold; gaze on thine, + And choose thy path into eternity." + + Thus spoke the Shade; and as when autumn's haze + Rolls from a ghostly hill, and gives to view + The various life of troubled human days, + So round the phantom, pale phantasma grew, + And landscapes rose on either side the still + River of Time, whose waves are human hours.-- + "What," said my soul, "doth not the Omniscient Will + Foreshape, foredoom; if so, what choice is ours?" + The Ghost replied:-- + "Deem'st thou the art divine + Less than the human? Doth inventive Man + All adverse means in one great end combine, + And close each circle where the thought began, + So that his genius, bent on schemes sublime, + Scarce notes the obstructions to its purposed goal, + But turns each discord of the changeful time + Into the music of a changeless whole? + And deem'st thou Him who breathes, and worlds arise, + But the blind agent of His own cold law? + Fool! doth yon river less reflect the skies + Because some wavelet eddies round a straw? + Still to Man's choice is either margin given + Beside the Stream of Time to wander free: + And still, as nourish'd by the dews of Heaven, + Glides the sure river to the solemn sea. + Choose as thou wilt!"-- + Then luminously clear + Flash'd either margin from the vapoury shade; + What I beheld unmeet for mortal ear,-- + Nor dare I tell the choice the mortal made. + But when the Shape had left me, and the dawn + Smote the high lattice with a starbeam pale, + As a blind man when from his sight withdrawn + The film of dark,--or as unto the gale + Leaps the live war-ship from the leaden calm,-- + So joyous rose, look'd forth, and on to Fate + Bounded my soul! Yet nor the Olympian palm + Which fierce contestors hotly emulate, + Nor roseate blooms in Cytherean dell, + Nor laurel shadowing murmurous Helicon, + Strain'd my desire divinely visible + In the lone course it was my choice to run. + Wherefore was then my joy?--THAT I WAS FREE! + Not my life doom'd, as I had deem'd till then, + An iron link of grim Necessity,-- + A sand-grain wedged amidst the walls of men; + The good, the ill, the happiness or woe, + That waited, not a thraldom pre-decreed, + But from myself as from their germ to grow,-- + Let the Man suffer, still the Slave was freed! + Predestine earth, and heavenly Mercy dies; + The voice of sorrow wastes its wail on air; + Freewill restores the Father to the skies, + Unlocks from ice the living realm of prayer, + And gives creation what the human heart + Gives to the creature, life to life replying. + O epoch in my being, and mine art, + Known but to me!--How oft do thoughts undying + Like rainbows, spring between the cloud and beam, + Colouring the world yet painted on--a dream. + + * * * * * + + + + +EARLIER POEMS. + +CHIEFLY CRITICAL OR REFLECTIVE.[A] + + [A] These Poems, with one exception, have received but little + alteration since they were first composed, and are taken from + the little volume called "Eva, &c." The Poem called "THE IDEAL + WORLD," to which I refer as an exception, appeared in a much + ruder form in the earlier editions of the "Pilgrims of the + Rhine," to which it served as a Preface. I recast, and, indeed, + re-wrote it for the last edition of that work, from which (with + slight corrections, and the omission of the verses which + connected the poem with the tale by which it was first + accompanied) it is now reprinted. + + + + +THE SOULS OF BOOKS. + + +I. + + Sit here and muse!--it is an antique room-- + High-roof'd with casements, through whose purple pane + Unwilling Daylight steals amidst the gloom, + Shy as a fearful stranger. + There THEY reign + (In loftier pomp than waking life had known), + The Kings of Thought!--not crown'd until the grave. + When Agamemnon sinks into the tomb, + The beggar Homer mounts the Monarch's throne! + Ye ever-living and imperial Souls, + Who rule us from the page in which ye breathe, + All that divide us from the clod ye gave! + Law--Order--Love--Intelligence--the Sense + Of Beauty--Music and the Minstrel's wreath!-- + What were our wanderings if without your goals? + As air and light, the glory ye dispense, + Becomes our being--who of us can tell + What he had been, had Cadmus never taught + The art that fixes into form the thought-- + Had Plato never spoken from his cell, + Or his high harp blind Homer never strung?-- + Kinder all earth hath grown since genial Shakspeare sung! + + +II. + + Hark! while we muse, without the walls is heard + The various murmur of the labouring crowd, + How still, within those archive-cells interr'd, + The Calm Ones reign!--and yet they rouse the loud + Passions and tumults of the circling world! + From them, how many a youthful Tully caught + The zest and ardour of the eager Bar; + From them, how many a young Ambition sought + Gay meteors glancing o'er the sands afar-- + By them each restless wing has been unfurl'd, + And their ghosts urge each rival's rushing car! + They made yon Preacher zealous for the truth; + They made yon Poet wistful for the star; + Gave Age its pastime--fired the cheek of Youth-- + The unseen sires of all our beings are,-- + + +III. + + And now so still! This, Cicero, is thy heart; + I hear it beating through each purple line. + This is thyself, Anacreon--yet thou art + Wreath'd, as in Athens, with the Cnidian vine. + I ope thy pages, Milton, and, behold + Thy spirit meets me in the haunted ground! + Sublime and eloquent, as while, of old, + "It flamed and sparkled in its crystal bound;"[B] + These _are_ yourselves--your life of life! The Wise + (Minstrel or Sage) _out_ of their books are clay; + But _in_ their books, as from their graves, they rise, + Angels--that, side by side, upon our way, + Walk with and warn us! + Hark! the world so loud + And _they_, the movers of the world, so still! + + What gives this beauty to the grave? the shroud + Scarce wraps the Poet, than at once there cease + Envy and Hate! "Nine cities claim him dead, + Through which the living Homer begg'd his bread!" + And what the charm that can such health distil + From wither'd leaves--oft poisons in their bloom? + We call some books immoral! _Do they live?_ + If so, believe me, TIME hath made them pure. + In Books, the veriest wicked rest in peace-- + God wills that nothing evil should endure; + The grosser parts fly off and leave the whole, + As the dust leaves the disembodied soul! + Come from thy niche, Lucretius! Thou didst give + Man the black creed of Nothing in the tomb! + Well, when we read thee, does the dogma taint? + No; with a listless eye we pass it o'er, + And linger only on the hues that paint + The Poet's spirit lovelier than his lore. + None learn from thee to cavil with their God; + None commune with thy genius to depart + Without a loftier instinct of the heart. + Thou mak'st no Atheist--thou but mak'st the mind + Richer in gifts which Atheists best confute-- + FANCY AND THOUGHT! 'Tis these that from the sod + Lift us! The life which soars above the brute + Ever and mightiest, breathes from a great Poet's lute! + Lo! that grim Merriment of Hatred;[C]--born + Of him--the Master-Mocker of Mankind, + Beside the grin of whose malignant spleen, + Voltaire's gay sarcasm seems a smile serene,-- + Do we not place it in our children's hands, + Leading young Hope through Lemuel's fabled lands?-- + God's and man's libel in that foul yahoo!-- + Well, and what mischief can the libel do? + O impotence of Genius to belie + Its glorious task--its mission from the sky! + Swift wrote this book to wreak a ribald scorn + On aught the man should love or Priest should mourn-- + And lo! the book, from all its ends beguiled, + A harmless wonder to some happy child! + + +IV. + + All books grow homilies by time; they are + Temples, at once, and Landmarks. In them, we + Who _but_ for them, upon that inch of ground + We call "THE PRESENT," from the cell could see + No daylight trembling on the dungeon bar; + Turn, as we list, the globe's great axle round, + Traverse all space, and number every star, + And feel the Near less household than the Far! + There is no Past, so long as Books shall live! + A disinterr'd Pompeii wakes again + For him who seeks yon well; lost cities give + Up their untarnish'd wonders, and the reign + Of Jove revives and Saturn:--At our will + Rise dome and tower on Delphi's sacred hill; + Bloom Cimon's trees in Academe;[D]--along + Leucadia's headland sighs the Lesbian's song; + With Egypt's Queen once more we sail the Nile, + And learn how worlds are barter'd for a smile:-- + Rise up, ye walls, with gardens blooming o'er, + Ope but that page--lo, Babylon once more! + + +V. + + Ye make the Past our heritage and home: + And is this all? No: by each prophet-sage-- + No; by the herald souls that Greece and Rome + Sent forth, like hymns, to greet the Morning Star + That rose on Bethlehem--by thy golden page, + Melodious Plato--by thy solemn dreams, + World-wearied Tully!--and above ye all, + By THIS, the Everlasting Monument + Of God to mortals, on whose front the beams + Flash glory-breathing day--our lights ye are + To the dark Bourne beyond; in you are sent + The types of Truths whose life is THE TO-COME; + In you soars up the Adam from the fall; + In you the FUTURE as the PAST is given-- + Ev'n in our death ye bid us hail our birth;-- + Unfold these pages, and behold the Heaven, + Without one grave-stone left upon the Earth! + + [B] "Comus." + + [C] "Gulliver's Travels." + + [D] Plut. in "Vit. Cim." + + + + +LA ROCHEFOUCAULD AND CONDORCET + + + Led by the Graces, through a court he moved, + "All men revered him, and all women loved;"[E]-- + Happier than Paris, when to _him_ there came + The three Celestials--Learning, Love, and Fame, + He found the art to soothe them all, and see + The Golden Apple shared amidst the Three. + Yet he, this man, for whom the world assumed + Each rose that in Gargettian[F] gardens bloom'd, + Left to mankind a legacy of all + That from earth's sweetness can extract a gall. + With him, indeed, poor Love is but a name-- + Virtue a mask--Beneficence a game. + The Eternal Egotist, the Human Soul, + Sees but in Self the starting-post and goal. + Nipp'd in the frost of that cold, glittering air, + High thoughts are dwarf'd, and youth's warm dreams despair! + He lived in luxury, and he died in peace, + And saints in powder wept at his decease! + Man loves this sparkling satire on himself;-- + Gaze round--see Rochefoucauld on every shelf! + Look on the other;--Penury made him sour, + His learned youth the hireling slave of power; + His Manhood cast amidst the stormiest time, + A hideous stage, half frenzy and all crime:-- + Upon the Dungeon's floor of stone he died, + With Life's last Friend, his Horace, by his side! + Yet he--this Sage--who found the world so base, + Left what?--His "Progress of the Human Race." + A golden dream of man without a sin; + All virtue round him and all peace within! + Man does not love such portraits of himself, + And thrusts the unwelcome Flatterer from the shelf. + + [E] "The men respect you, and the women love you."--Such was the + subtle compliment paid by Prior to one equally ambitious of + either distinction; viz. Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke. + + [F] Epicurean. + + + + +JEALOUSY AND ART. + + + If bright Apollo be the type of Art, + So is flay'd Marsyas that of Jealousy: + With the bare fibres which for ever smart + Under the sunbeams that rejoice the sky. + Had Marsyas ask'd not with the god to vie, + The god had praised the cunning of his flute. + Thou stealest half Apollo's melody, + Tune but thy reed in concert with his lute. + Each should enrich the other--each enhance + By his own gift the common Beautiful: + That every colour more may charm the glance, + All varying flowers the garland-weavers cull; + Adorn'd by Contrast, Art no rival knows,-- + The violet steals not perfume from the rose. + + + + +THE MASTER TO THE SCHOLAR. + + + Write for the pedant Few, the vein shall grow + Cold at its source and meagre in its flow; + But for the vulgar Many wouldst thou write, + How coarse the passion, and the thought how trite! + "Nor Few, nor Many--riddles from thee fall?" + Author, as Nature smiles--so write;--for ALL! + + + + +THE TRUE CRITIC. + + + Taste is to sense, as Charity to soul, + A bias less to censure than to praise; + A quick perception of the arduous whole, + Where the dull eye some careless flaw surveys. + Every true critic--from the Stagirite + To Schlegel and to Addison--hath won + His fame by serving a reflected light, + And clearing vapour from a clouded sun. + Who envies him whose microscopic eyes + See but the canker in the glorious rose? + Not much I ween the Zoilus we prize, + Though even Homer may at moments doze. + Praise not to me the sharp sarcastic sneer, + Mocking the Fane which Genius builds to Time. + High works are Sabbaths to the Soul! Revere + Even some rare discord in the solemn chime. + When on the gaze the Venus dawns divine, + The Cobbler comes the slipper to condemn; + The Slave alone descends into the mine + To work the dross--the Monarch wears the gem. + + + + +TALENT AND GENIUS. + + + Talent convinces--Genius but excites; + This tasks the reason, that the soul delights. + Talent from sober judgment takes its birth, + And reconciles the pinion to the earth; + Genius unsettles with desires the mind, + Contented not till earth be left behind; + Talent, the sunshine on a cultured soil; + Ripens the fruit, by slow degrees, for toil; + Genius, the sudden Iris of the skies, + On cloud itself reflects its wondrous dyes: + And to the earth, in tears and glory, given, + Clasps in its airy arch the pomp of Heaven! + Talent gives all that vulgar critics need-- + And frames a horn-book for the Dull to read; + Genius, the Pythian of the Beautiful, + Leaves its large truths a riddle to the Dull-- + From eyes profane a veil the Isis screens, + And fools on fools still ask--"What Hamlet means?" + + + + +EURIPIDES. + + + If in less stately mould thy thoughts were cast + Than thy twin Masters of the Grecian stage, + Lone, 'mid the loftier wonders of the Past, + Thou stand'st--more household to the Modern Age;-- + Thou mark'st that change in Manners when the frown + Of the vast Titans vanish'd from the earth, + When a more soft Philosophy stole down + From the dark heavens to man's familiar hearth. + With thee came Love and Woman's influence o'er + Her sterner Lord; and Poesy, till then + A Sculpture, warm'd to Painting;[G] what before + Glass'd but the dim-seen Gods, grew now to men + Clear mirrors, and the Passions took their place, + Where a serene if solemn Awe had made + The scene a temple to the elder race: + The struggles of Humanity became + Not those of Titan with a God, nor those + Of the great Heart with that unbodied Name + By which our ignorance would explain our woes + And justify the Heavens,--relentless FATE;-- + But, truer to the human life, thine art + Made thought with thought, and will with will debate, + And placed the God and Titan in the Heart; + Thy Phaedra and thy pale Medea were + The birth of that most subtle wisdom, which + Dawn'd in the world with Socrates, to bear + Its last most precious offspring in the rich + And genial soul of Shakspeare. And for this + Wit blamed thee living, Dulness taunts thee dead.[H] + And yet the Pythian did not speak amiss + When in thy verse the latent truths she read, + And hail'd thee wiser than thy tribe.[I] Of thee + All genius in our softer times hath been + The grateful echo; and thy soul we see + Still through our tears--upon the later Scene. + Doth the Italian for his frigid thought + Steal but a natural pathos,--hath the Gaul + To mimes that ape the form of heroes taught + One step that reels not underneath the pall + Of the dark Muse--this praise we give, nor more + They just remind us--thou hast lived before! + But that which made thee wiser than the Schools + Was the long sadness of a much-wrong'd life; + The sneer of satire, and the gibe of fools, + The broken hearth-gods and the perjured wife. + For Sorrow is the messenger between + The Poet and Men's bosoms:--Genius can + Fill with unsympathizing Gods the Scene, + But Grief alone can teach us what is Man! + + [G] The celebrated comparison between Sculpture and the Ancient + Painting and the Modern Dramatic Poetry, is not applicable to + Euripides, who has a warmth and colour of passion which few, + indeed, of the moderns have surpassed, and from which most of + the modern writers have mediately, if not directly, borrowed + their most animated conceptions. + + [H] Among the taunting accusations which Aristophanes, in his Comedy + of the Frogs, lavishes upon Euripides, through the medium of + AEschylus, is that of having introduced female love upon the + stage! AEschylus, indeed, is made, very inconsistently, + considering his Clytemnestra (Ran. 1. 1042) to declare that + he does not know that _he_ ever represented a single woman in + love. At a previous period of the comedy, Euripides is also + ridiculed, through a boast ironically assigned to his own lips, + for having debased Tragedy by the introduction of domestic + interest--(household things, [Greek: oikeia pragmata]). Upon + these and similar charges have later critics, partly in England, + especially in Germany, sought by duller diatribes to perpetuate + a spirit of depreciation against the only ancient tragic poet + who has vitally influenced the later stage. The true merit of + Euripides is seen in the very ridicule of Aristophanes. + + [I] "Wise Sophocles, wiser Euripides, wisest of all, Socrates," + was the well-known decision of the Delphian Oracle. Yet the + wisdom of Euripides was not in the philosophical sentences with + which he often mars the true philosophy of the drama. His wisdom + is his pathos. + + + + +THE BONES OF RAPHAEL. + +When the author was in Rome, in the year 1833, the bones of Raphael were +discovered, and laid for several days in state in one of the churches. + + + Wave upon wave, the human ocean stream'd + Along the chancel of the solemn pile; + And, with a softer day, the tapers beam'd + Upon the Bier within the vaulted aisle:-- + And, mingled with the crowd, I halted there + And ask'd a Roman scholar by my side, + What sainted dust invoked the common prayer? + "Stranger!" the man, as in disdain, replied, + "Nine days already hath the Disinterr'd + Been given again to mortal eye, and all + The great of Rome, the Conclave and the Pope, + Have flock'd to grace the second funeral + Of him whose soul, until it fled, like Hope, + Gave Beauty to the World:--But haply thou, + A dweller of the North, hast never heard + Of one who, if no saint in waking life, + Communed in dreams with angels, and transferr'd + The heaven in which we trust his soul is now + To the mute canvas.--Underneath that pall + Repose the bones of Raphael!" + Not a word + I answer'd, but in awe I drew more near, + And saw the crowd toil on in busy strife, + Eager which first should touch the holy bier, + I ask'd a boor, more earnest than the rest, + "Whose bones are these?" + "I know not what his name; + But, since the Pope and Conclave have been here, + Doubtless a famous Saint!" + The Boor express'd + The very thought the wandering stranger guess'd. + Which wiser, he, the Scholar, who had sneer'd + To hear the Stranger canonize the Dead; + Or they, the Boor, the Stranger, who revered + The Saint, where he the Artist?--Answer, Fame, + Whose Saints are not the Calendar's! Perchance + Tasso and Raphael, age to age, have given + The earth a lustre more direct from Heaven + Than San Gennaro, or thy Dennis, France; + Or English George!--Read History.[J]-- + When the crowd + Were gone, I slipp'd some coins into the hand + Of a grave-visaged Priest, who took his stand + Beside the Bier, and bade him lift the shroud; + And there I paused, and gazed upon the all + The Worm had spared to Raphael.--He had died, + As sang the Alfieri of our land, + In the embrace of Beauty[K]--beautiful + Himself as Cynthia's lover!--That, the skull + Once pillow'd on soft bosoms, which still rise + With passionate life, in canvas;--in the void + Of those blank sockets shone the starry eyes, + That, _like_ the stars, found home in heaven! The pall + With its dark hues, gave forth, in gleaming white, + The delicate bones; for still an undestroy'd + Beauty, amidst decay, appear'd to dwell + About the mournful relics; and the light, + In crownlike halo, lovingly did fall + On the broad brow,--the hush'd and ruin'd cell + Of the old Art--Nature's sweet Oracle! + Believe or not, no horror seem'd to wrap + What has most horror for our life--the Dead: + The sleep slept soft, as in a mother's lap, + As if the Genius of the Grecian Death, + That with a kiss inhaled the parting breath, + That, wing'd for Heaven, stood by the charnel porch, + Lowering, with looks of love, th' extinguish'd torch, + Had taken watch beside the narrow bed; + And from the wrecks of the beloved clay + Had scared, with guardian eyes, each ghastlier shape away! + Come, Moralist, with truths of tritest worth, + And tell us how "to this complexion" all + That beautify the melancholy earth + "Must come at last!" The little and the low, + The mob of common men, rejoice to know + How the grave levels with themselves the great: + For something in the envy of the small + Still loves the vast Democracy of Death! + But flatter not yourselves--in death the fate + Of Genius still divides itself from yours: + Yea, ev'n upon the earth! For Genius lives + Not in your life--it does not breathe your breath, + It does not share your charnels;--but insures + In death itself the life that life survives! + Genius to you what most you value gave, + The noisy forum and the glittering mart, + The solid goods and mammon of the world, + In _these_ your life--and _these_ with life depart! + Grudge not what Genius to itself shall claim-- + A life that lived but in the dreams of Art, + A world whose sunshine was the smile from Fame. + These die not, Moralist, when all are hurl'd, + Fasces and sceptre, in the common grave:-- + Genius, in life or death, is still the same-- + Death but makes deathless what Life ask'd--THE NAME. + + [J] Gibbon, after a powerful sketch of the fraud, the corruption, + and the vices of George the Cappadocian, thus concludes:--"The + odious stranger, disguising every circumstance of time and + place, assumed the mask of a martyr, a saint, and a Christian + hero; and the infamous George of Cappadocia has been transformed + into the renowned St. George of England, the patron of arms, of + chivalry, and the garter."--_Gibbon's Decline and Fall_, vol. + iv. c. xxiii. + + [K] "Italian Beauty! didst thou not inspire + Raphael, who died in thy embrace?"--BYRON. + + + + +THE ATHENIAN AND THE SPARTAN. + +A DIALOGUE. + + + THE ATHENIAN. + + Stern Prisoner in thy rites of old, + To Learning blind, to Beauty cold,-- + Never for thee, with garlands crown'd, + The lyre and myrtle circle round; + Dull to the Lesbian ruby's froth, + Thou revellest in thy verjuice broth. + With Phidian art our temples shine, + Like mansions meet for gods divine; + Thou think'st _thy_ gods despise such toys, + And shrines are made--for scourging boys, + As triflers, thou canst only see + The Drama's Kings--our glorious Three. + No Plato fires your youth to thinking, + Your nobler school,--in Helots drinking! + Contented as your sires before-- + The Little makes ye loathe The More. + We, ever pushing forward, still + Take power, where powerless, from the will; + We, ever straining at the All, + With hands that grasp when feet may fall,[L]-- + Earth, ocean,--near and far,--we roam, + Where Fame, where Fortune,--there a home! + You hold all progress degradation, + Improvement but degeneration, + And only wear your scarlet coat + When self-defence must cut a throat. + Yet ev'n in war, your only calling, + A snail would beat your best at crawling; + We slew the Mede at Marathon, + While you were gazing at the moon![M] + Pshaw, man, lay by these antique graces, + True wisdom hates such solemn faces! + Spartans, if only livelier fellows, + Would make ev'n US a little jealous! + + THE SPARTAN (_calmly_). + + Friend, Spartans when they need improvement + Take models not from endless movement. + We found our sires the lords of Greece;-- + Ask'd why? this answer--"Laws and Peace." + Enough for us to hold our own; + Who grasps at shadows risks the bone. + You're ever up, and ever down,-- + There's something fix'd in True Renown. + The New has charms for men, I'm told; + Granted,--but all our gods are old. + Better to imitate a god + Than shift like men. + + THE ATHENIAN (_impatiently_). + + You are so odd! + There is no sense in these laconics. + Ho, Dromio! bring my last Platonics. + This mode of arguing, though emphatic, + Is quite eclipsed by the Socratic. + + SPARTAN. + + Friend-- + + ATHENIAN. + + _You_ have said. Now listen! Peace! + + SPARTAN. + + Friend-- + + ATHENIAN. + + Gods! his tongue will never cease! + I tell you, man is made for walking, + Not standing still. + + SPARTAN. + + My friend-- + + ATHENIAN. + + And talking! + Forward's my motto--life and motion! + + SPARTAN. + + Mine be the Rock, as thine the Ocean. + + TIME. + + Discuss, ye symbols of the twain + Great Creeds--THE STEADFAST AND IMPROVING; + The one shall rot that would remain, + The one wear out in moving! + + [L] Thucyd. lib. 1, c. 68-71 (The Speech of the Corinthians). + + [M] Herod. lib. 6, c. 120. + + + + +THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE MISANTHROPE. + +A DIALOGUE. + + + THE PHILANTHROPIST. + + Yes, thou mayst sneer, but still I own + A love that spreads from zone to zone: + No time the sacred fire can smother! + Where breathes the man, I hail the brother. + Man! how sublime,--from Heaven his birth-- + The God's bright Image walks the earth! + And if, at times, his footstep strays, + I pity where I may not praise. + + THE MISANTHROPE. + + Thou lov'st mankind. Pray tell me, then, + What history best excuses men? + Long wars for slight pretences made, + See murder but a glorious trade; + Each landmark from the savage state, + Doth virtue or a vice create? + Do ships speed plenty o'er the main?-- + What swells the sail? The lust of gain! + What makes a law where laws were not? + Strength's wish to keep what Strength has got! + If rise a Few--the true Sublime, + Who lend the light of Heaven to Time, + What the return the Many make? + The poison'd bowl! the fiery stake! + Thou lov'st mankind,--come tell me, then, + Lov'st thou the past career of men? + + THE PHILANTHROPIST. + + Nay, little should I love mankind, + If their dark PAST my praise could find, + It is because-- + + THE MISANTHROPE. + + A moment hold! + Enough gone times: _our own_ behold! + What lessons doth a past of woe + And crime upon our age bestow? + How few amongst the tribes of earth + Are rescued from the primal wild; + What countless lands the ocean's girth, + By savage rites and gore defil'd! + Afric--a mart of human flesh; + Asia--a satrapy of slaves! + And yonder tracts from Nature fresh, + Worn empires fill with knaves? + Are men at home more good and wise? + My friend, thou read'st the daily papers; + Perchance, thou seest but laughing skies, + Where I but mists and vapours. + But much the same seems each disease. + What most improved? The doctor's fees! + The Law can still oppress the Weak, + The Proud still march before the Meek. + Still crabbed Age and heedless Youth; + Still Power perplex'd, asks "What is Truth?" + To no result our squabbles come: + To some what's best is worst to some. + The few the cake amongst them carve, + And labourers sweat and poets starve; + And Envy still on Genius feeds, + And not one modest man succeeds. + All much the same for prince and peasant-- + I've done.--How dost thou love the PRESENT? + + THE PHILANTHROPIST. + + 'Tis not man's Present or man's Past; + _Beyond_, man's friend his eye must cast. + Must see him break each galling fetter; + To gain the best, desire the better-- + From Discontent itself we borrow + The glorious yearnings for the morrow; + Science and Truth like waves advance + Upon the antique Ignorance. + + THE MISANTHROPE. + + Like waves--the image not amiss! + They gain on that side--lose on this; + Pleased, after fifty ages, if + They gulp at last an inch of cliff. + + THE PHILANTHROPIST. + + You really cannot think by satire, + To mine the truths you cannot batter; + Man's destinies are brightening slowly, + With them entwined each thought most holy. + What though the PAST my horror moves, + No Eden though the PRESENT seems, + Who loves Mankind, their FUTURE loves, + And trusts, and lives-- + + THE MISANTHROPE. + + In dreams! + + WISDOM. + + In both extremes there seems convey'd, + A truth to own, and yet deny; + But what between the extremes has made + The master-difference? + + HOPE. + + I!-- + What wert thou, Wisdom, but for me? + Though thou the Past, the Present see, + Through ME alone, the eye can mark + The _Future_ dawning on the dark. + I plant the tree, and till the soil; + I show the fruit,--where thou the toil; + Where thou despondest, I aspire-- + Thine sad Content, mine bright Desire. + Under my earthlier name of HOPE, + The love to things unborn is given, + But call me FAITH--behold I ope + The flaming gates of Heaven! + Take ME from Man, and Man is both + The Dastard and the Slave; + And Love is lust, and Peace a sloth, + And all the Earth a Grave! + + + + +THE IDEAL WORLD. + + +ARGUMENT. + + SECTION I. + + The Ideal World--Its realm is everywhere around us--Its + inhabitants are the immortal personifications of all beautiful + thoughts--To that World we attain by the repose of the senses. + + SECTION II. + + Our dreams belong to the Ideal--The diviner love for which youth + sighs, not attainable in life--But the pursuit of that love, + beyond the world of the senses, purifies the soul, and awakes + the Genius--Instances in Petrarch--Dante. + + SECTION III. + + Genius, lifting its life to the Ideal becomes itself a pure + idea--It must comprehend all existence: all human sins and + sufferings--But, in comprehending, it transmutes them--The Poet + in his twofold being--The actual and the ideal--The influence + of Genius over the sternest realities of earth--Over our + passions--wars and superstitions--Its identity is with human + progress--Its agency, even where unacknowledged, is universal. + + SECTION IV. + + Forgiveness to the errors of our benefactors. + + SECTION V. + + The Ideal is not confined to Poets--Algernon Sydney recognizes + his Ideal in liberty, and believes in its triumph where the mere + practical man could behold but its ruins--Yet liberty in this + world must ever be an Ideal, and the land that it promises can + be found but in death. + + SECTION VI. + + Yet all have two escapes into the Ideal World; viz. Memory and + Hope--Example of Hope in youth, however excluded from action and + desire--Napoleon's son. + + SECTION VII. + + Example of Memory as leading to the Ideal--Amidst life, however + humble, and in a mind however ignorant--the village widow. + + SECTION VIII. + + Hence in Hope, Memory, and Prayer, all of us are Poets. + + +I. + + Around "this visible diurnal sphere," + There floats a world that girds us like the space; + On wandering clouds and gliding beams career + Its ever-moving, murmurous Populace. + There, all the lovelier thoughts conceived below, + Ascending live, and in celestial shapes. + To that bright World, O Mortal, wouldst thou go?-- + Bind but thy senses, and thy soul escapes: + To care, to sin, to passion close thine eyes; + Sleep in the flesh, and see the Dreamland rise! + Hark, to the gush of golden waterfalls, + Or knightly tromps at Archimagian walls! + In the green hush of Dorian Valleys mark + The River Maid her amber tresses knitting:-- + When glow-worms twinkle under coverts dark, + And silver clouds o'er summer stars are flitting, + With jocund elves invade "the Moone's sphere, + Or hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear;"[N] + Or, list! what time the roseate urns of dawn + Scatter fresh dews, and the first skylark weaves + Joy into song--the blithe Arcadian Faun + Piping to wood-nymphs under Bromian leaves, + While, slowly gleaming through the purple glade, + Come Evian's panther car, and the pale Naxian Maid. + + Such, O Ideal World, thy habitants! + All the fair children of creative creeds-- + All the lost tribes of Phantasy are thine-- + From antique Saturn in Dodonian haunts, + Or Pan's first music waked from shepherd reeds, + To the last sprite when heaven's pale lamps decline, + Heard wailing soft along the solemn Rhine. + + +II. + + Thine are the Dreams that pass the Ivory Gates, + With prophet shadows haunting poet eyes! + Thine the beloved illusions youth creates + From the dim haze of its own happy skies. + In vain we pine--we yearn on earth to win + The being of the heart, our boyhood's dream. + The Psyche and the Eros ne'er have been, + Save in Olympus, wedded!--As a stream + Glasses a star, so life the ideal love; + Restless the stream below--serene the orb above! + Ever the soul the senses shall deceive; + Here custom chill, there kinder fate bereave: + For mortal lips unmeet eternal vows! + And Eden-flowers for Adam's mournful brows! + We seek to make the moment's angel-guest + The household dweller at a human hearth; + We chase the bird of Paradise, whose nest + Was never found amid the bowers of earth.[O] + Yet loftier joys the vain pursuit may bring, + Than sate the senses with the boons of time; + The bird of Heaven hath still an upward wing, + The steps it lures are still the steps that climb, + And in the ascent, although the soil be bare, + More clear the daylight and more pure the air. + Let Petrarch's heart the human mistress lose, + He mourns the Laura, but to win the Muse: + Could all the charms which Georgian maids combine + Delight the soul of the dark Florentine, + Like one chaste dream of childlike Beatrice + Awaiting Hell's stern pilgrim in the skies, + Snatch'd from below to be the guide above, + And clothe Religion in the form of Love?[P] + + +III. + + O, thou true Iris! sporting on thy bow + Of tears and smiles--Jove's herald, Poetry! + Thou reflex image of all joy and woe-- + _Both_ fused in light by thy dear phantasy! + Lo! from the clay how Genius lifts its life, + And grows one pure Idea--one calm soul! + True, its own clearness must reflect our strife; + True, its completeness must comprise our whole: + But as the sun transmutes the sullen hues + Of marsh-grown vapours into vermeil dyes, + And melts them later into twilight dews, + Shedding on flowers the baptism of the skies; + So glows the Ideal in the air we breathe-- + So from the fumes of sorrow and of sin, + Doth its warm light in rosy colours wreathe + Its playful cloudland, storing balms within. + + Survey the Poet in his mortal mould + Man amongst men, descended from his throne! + The moth that chased the star now frets the fold, + Our cares, our faults, our follies are his own. + Passions as idle, and desires as vain, + Vex the wild heart, and dupe the erring brain. + From Freedom's field the recreant Horace flies + To kiss the hand by which his country dies; + From Mary's grave the mighty Peasant turns, + And hoarse with orgies rings the laugh of Burns. + While Rousseau's lips a lackey's vices own,-- + Lips that could draw the thunder on a throne! + But when, from Life the Actual, GENIUS springs, + When, self-transform'd by its own Magic rod, + It snaps the fetters and expands the wings, + And drops the fleshly garb that veil'd the god, + How the mists vanish as the form ascends!-- + How in its aureole every sunbeam blends! + By the Arch-Brightener of Creation seen, + How dim the crowns on perishable brows! + The snows of Atlas melt beneath the sheen, + Through Thebaid caves the rushing splendour flows, + Cimmerian glooms with Asian beams are bright, + And Earth reposes in a belt of light. + Now stern as Vengeance shines the awful form, + Arm'd with the bolt and glowing through the storm; + Sets the great deeps of human passion free, + And whelms the bulwarks that would breast the sea. + Roused by its voice the ghastly Wars arise, + Mars reddens earth, the Valkyrs pale the skies; + Dim Superstition from her hell escapes, + With all her shadowy brood of monster shapes; + Here Life itself lie scowl of Typhon[Q] takes; + There Conscience shudders at Alecto's snakes; + From Gothic graves at midnight yawning wide, + In gory cerements gibbering spectres glide; + And where o'er blasted heaths the lightnings flame, + Black secret hags "do deeds without a name!" + Yet through its direst agencies of awe, + Light marks its presence and pervades its law, + And, like Orion when the storms are loud, + It links creation while it gilds a cloud. + By ruthless Thor, free Thought, frank Honour stand, + Fame's grand desire, and zeal for Fatherland; + The grim Religion of Barbarian Fear, + With some Hereafter still connects the Here, + Lifts the gross sense to some spiritual source, + And thrones some Jove above the Titan Force, + Till, love completing what in awe began, + From the rude savage dawns the thoughtful man. + Then, O behold the glorious Comforter! + Still bright'ning worlds, but gladd'ning now the hearth, + Or like the lustre of our nearest star, + Fused in the common atmosphere of earth. + It sports like hope upon the captive's chain; + Descends in dreams upon the couch of pain; + To wonder's realm allures the earnest child; + To the chaste love refines the instinct wild; + And as in waters the reflected beam, + Still where we turn, glides with us up the stream; + And while in truth the whole expanse is bright, + Yields to each eye its own fond path of light, + So over life the rays of Genius fall,-- + Give each his track because illuming all. + + +IV. + + Hence is that secret pardon we bestow + In the true instinct of the grateful heart, + Upon the Sons of Song. The good they do + In the clear world of their Uranian art + Endures for ever; while the evil done + In the poor drama of their mortal scene, + Is but a passing cloud before the sun; + Space hath no record where the mist hath been. + Boots it to us, if Shakspeare err'd like man? + Why idly question that most mystic life? + Eno' the giver in his gifts to scan; + To bless the sheaves with which thy fields are rife, + Nor, blundering, guess through what obstructive clay + The glorious corn-seed struggled up to day. + + +V. + + But not to you alone, O Sons of Song, + The wings that float the loftier airs along. + Whoever lifts us from the dust we are, + Beyond the sensual to spiritual goals; + Who from the MOMENT and the SELF afar + By deathless deeds allures reluctant souls, + Gives the warm life to what the Limner draws, + Plato but thought what godlike Cato was.[R] + Recall the wars of England's giant-born, + Is Elyot's voice--is Hampden's death in vain? + Have all the meteors of the vernal morn + But wasted light upon a frozen main? + Where is that child of Carnage, Freedom, flown? + The Sybarite lolls upon the Martyr's throne, + Lewd, ribald jests succeed to solemn zeal; + And things of silk to Cromwell's men of steel. + Cold are the hosts the tromps of Ireton thrill'd, + And hush'd the senates Vane's large presence fill'd. + In what strong heart doth the old manhood dwell? + Where art thou Freedom?--Look--in Sidney's cell! + There still as stately stands the living Truth, + Smiling on age as it had smiled on youth. + Her forts dismantled, and her shrines o'erthrown, + The headsman's block her last dread altar-stone, + No sanction left to Reason's vulgar hope-- + Far from the wrecks expands her prophet's scope. + Millennial morns the tombs of Kedron gild, + The hands of saints the glorious walls rebuild,-- + Till, each foundation garnish'd with its gem, + High o'er Gehenna flames Jerusalem! + + O thou blood-stain'd Ideal of the free, + Whose breath is heard in clarions--Liberty! + Sublimer for thy grand illusions past, + Thou spring'st to Heaven--Religion at the last. + Alike below, or commonwealths, or thrones, + Where'er men gather some crush'd victim groans; + Only in death thy real form we see, + All life is bondage--souls alone are free. + Thus through the waste the wandering Hebrews went, + Fire on the march, but cloud upon the tent. + At last on Pisgah see the prophet stand, + Before his vision spreads the PROMISED LAND; + But where reveal'd the Canaan to his eye?-- + Upon the mountain he ascends to die. + + +VI. + + Yet whatsoever be our bondage here, + All have two portals to the Phantom sphere,-- + Who hath not glided through those gates that ope, + Beyond the Hour, to MEMORY or to HOPE! + Give Youth the Garden,--still it soars above-- + Seeks some far glory--some diviner love. + Place Age amidst the Golgotha--its eyes + Still quit the graves, to rest upon the skies; + And while the dust, unheeded, moulders there, + Track some lost angel through cerulean air. + + Lo! where the Austrian binds, with formal chain, + The crownless son of earth's last Charlemain-- + Him, at whose birth laugh'd all the violet vales + (While yet unfallen stood thy sovereign star, + O Lucifer of Nations)--hark, the gales + Swell with the victor-shout from hosts, whose war + Rended the Alps, and crimson'd Memphian Nile-- + "Way for the coming of the Conqueror's Son: + Woe to the Merchant-Carthage of the Isle! + Woe to the Scythian Ice-world of the Don! + O Thunder Lord, thy Lemnian bolts prepare, + The Eagle's eyrie hath its eagle heir!" + Hark, at that shout from north to south, grey Power + Quails on its weak, hereditary thrones; + And widow'd mothers prophesy the hour + Of future carnage to their cradled sons. + What! shall our race to blood be thus consign'd, + And Ate claim an heirloom in mankind? + Are these red lots unshaken in the urn? + Years pass--approach, pale Questioner--and learn + Chain'd to his rock, with brows that vainly frown, + The fallen Titan sinks in darkness down! + And sadly gazing through his gilded grate, + Behold the child whose birth, was as a fate! + Far from the land in which his life began; + Wall'd from the healthful air of hardy man; + Rear'd by cold hearts, and watch'd by jealous eyes, + His guardians jailors, and his comrades spies. + Each trite convention courtly fears inspire + To stint experience and to dwarf desire, + Narrows the action to a puppet stage, + And trains the eaglet to the starling's cage. + On the dejected brow and smileless cheek, + What weary thought the languid lines bespeak: + Till drop by drop, from jaded day to day, + The sickly life-streams ooze themselves away. + + Yet oft in HOPE a boundless realm was thine, + That vaguest Infinite--the Dream of Fame; + Son of the sword that first made kings divine, + Heir to man's grandest royalty--a Name! + Then didst thou burst upon the startled world, + And keep the glorious promise of thy birth; + Then were the wings that bear the bolt unfurl'd, + A monarch's voice cried, "Place upon the Earth!" + A new Philippi gain'd a second Rome, + And the Son's sword avenged the greater Caesar's doom. + + +VII. + + But turn the eye to Life's sequester'd vale, + And lowly roofs remote in hamlets green. + Oft in my boyhood where the moss-grown pale + Fenced quiet graves, a female form was seen; + Each eve she sought the melancholy ground, + And lingering paused, and wistful look'd around; + If yet some footstep rustled through the grass, + Timorous she shrunk, and watch'd the shadow pass. + Then, when the spot lay lone amidst the gloom, + Crept to one grave too humble for a tomb, + There silent bow'd her face above the dead, + For, if in prayer, the prayer was inly said; + Still as the moonbeam, paused her quiet shade, + Still as the moonbeam, through the yews to fade. + Whose dust thus hallow'd by so fond a care? + What the grave saith not--let the heart declare. + + On yonder green two orphan children play'd; + By yonder rill two plighted lovers stray'd. + In yonder shrine two lives were blent in one, + And joy-bells chimed beneath a summer sun. + Poor was their lot--their bread in labour found; + No parent bless'd them, and no kindred own'd; + They smiled to hear the wise their choice condemn; + They loved--they loved--and love was wealth to them! + Hark--one short week--again the holy bell! + Still shone the sun, but dirge-like boom'd the knell; + And when for that sweet world she knew before + Look'd forth the bride,--she saw a grave the more. + Full fifty years since then have pass'd away, + Her cheek is furrow'd, and her hair is grey. + Yet when she peaks of _him_ (the times are rare), + Hear in her voice how youth still trembles there! + The very name of that young life that died, + Still heaves the bosom, and recalls the bride. + Lone o'er the widow's hearth those years have fled, + The daily toil still wins the daily bread; + No books deck sorrow with fantastic dyes: + Her fond romance her woman heart supplies; + And, to the sabbath of still moments given, + (Day's taskwork done)--to memory, death, and heaven, + There may--(let poets answer me!) belong + Thoughts of such pathos as had beggar'd song. + + +VIII. + + Yes, while thou hopest, music fills the air; + While thou rememberest, life reclothes the clod; + While thou canst feel the electric chain of prayer, + Breathe but a thought, and be a soul with God! + Let not these forms of matter bound thine eye, + He who the vanishing point of Human things + Lifts from the landscape--lost amidst the sky, + Has found the Ideal which the poet sings-- + Has pierced the pall around the senses thrown, + And is himself a poet--though unknown. + + [N] Midsummer's Night Dream. + + [O] According to a belief in the East, which is associated with one + of the loveliest and most familiar of Oriental superstitions + the bird of Paradise is never seen to rest upon the earth--and + its nest is never to be found. + + [P] It is supposed by many of the commentators on Dante, that in + the form of his lost Beatrice, who guides him in his Vision of + Heaven, the poet allegorizes Religious Faith. + + [Q] The gloomy Typhon of Egypt assumes many of the mystic attributes + of the Principle of Life which, in the Grecian Apotheosis of the + Indian Bacchus, is represented in so genial a character of + exuberant joy and everlasting youth. + + [R] "What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was."--POPE. + + + + +EPIGRAPH. + +"COGITO--ERGO SUM." + + + Self of myself, unto the future age + Pass, murmuring low whate'er thine own has taught, + "I think, and therefore am,"--exclaim'd the Sage: + As now the Man, so henceforth be the page; + A life, because a thought. + + Through various seas, exploring shores unknown, + A soul went forth, and here bequeaths its chart-- + Here Doubt retains the question, Grief the groan, + And here may Faith still shine, as when she shone + And saved a sinking heart. + + From the lost nectar-streams of golden youth, + From rivers loud with Babel's madding throng, + From wells whence Lore invokes reluctant Truth, + And that blest pool the wings of angels smooth, + Life fills mine urns of song. + + Calmly to time I leave these images + Of things experienced, suffer'd, felt, and seen; + Fruits shed or tempest-torn from changeful trees, + Shells murmuring back the tides in distant seas-- + Signs where a Soul has been. + + As for the form Thought takes--the rudest hill + Echoes denied to gardens back may give; + Life speaks in all the forms which Thought can fill; + If thought once born can perish not--here still + I think, and therefore live! + + * * * * * + + + + +FICTION. + + +STANDARD EDITION OF THE NOVELS AND ROMANCES OF SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, +BART., M.P. + +Uniformly printed in crown 8vo, corrected and revised throughout, with +new Prefaces. + +20 vols. in 10, price L3 3s. cloth extra; or any volumes separately, in +cloth binding, as under:-- + + _s._ _d._ + RIENZI: THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 3 6 + PAUL CLIFFORD 3 6 + PELHAM: OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 3 6 + EUGENE ARAM. A TALE 3 6 + LAST OF THE BARONS 5 0 + LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 3 6 + GODOLPHIN 3 0 + PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 2 6 + NIGHT AND MORNING 4 0 + ERNEST MALTRAVERS 3 6 + ALICE; OR, THE MYSTERIES 3 6 + THE DISOWNED 3 6 + DEVEREUX 3 6 + ZANONI 3 6 + LEILA; OR, THE SIEGE OF GRANADA 2 0 + HAROLD 4 0 + LUCRETIA 4 0 + THE CAXTONS 4 0 + MY NOVEL (2 vols.) 8 0 + + Or the Set complete in 20 vols. L3 11 6 + " " half-calf extra 5 5 0 + " " half-morocco 5 11 6 + + "No collection of prose fictions, by any single author, contains + the same variety of experience--the same amplitude of knowledge + and thought--the same combination of opposite extremes, + harmonized by an equal mastership of art; here, lively and + sparkling fancies; there, vigorous passion or practical wisdom. + These works abound in illustrations that teach benevolence to + the rich, and courage to the poor; they glow with the love of + freedom; they speak a sympathy with all high aspirations, + and all manly struggle; and where, in their more tragic + portraitures, they depict the dread images of guilt and woe, + they so clear our judgment by profound analysis, while they move + our hearts by terror or compassion, that we learn to detect and + stifle in ourselves the evil thought which we see gradually + unfolding itself into the guilty deed."--_Extract from Bulwer + Lytton and his Works._ + +The above are printed on superior paper, bound in cloth. Each volume is +embellished with an Illustration; and this Standard Edition is admirably +suited for private, select, and public Libraries. + +The odd Numbers and Parts to complete volumes may be obtained; and the +complete series is now in course of issue in Three-halfpenny Weekly +Numbers, or in Monthly Parts, Sevenpence each. + + +THE LIBRARY EDITION OF THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI'S NOVELS. + +Uniformly printed in crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. each, cloth extra. + + THE YOUNG DUKE. + TANCRED. + VENETIA. + CONTARINI FLEMING. + HENRIETTA TEMPLE. + CONIGSBY. + SYBIL. + ALROY. + IXION. + VIVIAN GREY. + + + +_Standard and Popular Works._ + + +A CHEAP RE-ISSUE OF THE STANDARD EDITION OF BULWER LYTTON'S (SIR E.) +NOVELS AND TALES. + +Uniformly printed in crown 8vo, and bound, with printed cloth covers +and Illustrations. + +LIST OF THE SERIES:-- + + Price 2s. 6d. each. + RIENZI. + PAUL CLIFFORD. + PELHAM. + EUGENE ARAM. + ZANONI. + ERNEST MALTRAVERS. + ALICE. + DISOWNED. + DEVEREUX. + LUCRETIA. + LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. + + Price 3s. each. + NIGHT AND MORNING. + CAXTONS. + HAROLD + MY NOVEL (2 vols.) + + Price 1s. 6d. each. + PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. + LEILA. + + Price 3s. 6d. boards. + THE LAST OF THE BARONS. + + Price 2s. boards. + GODOLPHIN. + + "England's greatest novelist."--_Blackwood's Magazine._ + + +THE RAILWAY EDITION OF THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI'S NOVELS. + + In fcap 8vo, price 1s. 6d. each, boards. + THE YOUNG DUKE. + TANCRED. + VENETIA. + CONTARINI FLEMING. + CONIGSBY. + SYBIL. + ALROY. + IXION. + + In fcap 8vo, price 2s. each, boards. + HENRIETTA TEMPLE. + VIVIAN GREY. + + "We commend Messrs. Routledge's cheap edition of the right hon. + gentleman's productions to every one of the 'New Generation' who + wishes to make himself master of many suppressed passages in + history, the every-day doings of the faerie realms of politics + and fashion, and the profound views of a clear-sighted statesman + on the tendencies and aspects of an age in which he has played, + and is still playing, so conspicuous a part."--_Morning Herald._ + + "Mr. Disraeli's novels sparkle like a fairy tale--the dialogues + are wonderfully easy, and characterized by 'a turn of phrase + that is peculiar to men of fashion, now that the wits' are + defunct. His tales, too, abound in knowledge of the world, + introduced in a natural and unobtrusive manner."--_Literary + Gazette._ + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES + + +1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. + +2. Footnotes have been moved to the end of the poem or section in which +they are referred. The endnotes for King Arthur have been moved to the +end of individual books. + +3. Certain words use "oe" ligature in the original. + +4. The original text includes Greek characters. For this text version +these letters have been replaced with transliterations. + +5. Other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies +in spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been +retained. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Sir Edward +Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P., by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR *** + +***** This file should be named 34298.txt or 34298.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/2/9/34298/ + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |