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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35227-8.txt b/35227-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dc88d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/35227-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11017 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Selection from the Poems of William Morris, +by William Morris, Edited by Francis Hueffer + + +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: A Selection from the Poems of William Morris + + +Author: William Morris + +Editor: Francis Hueffer + +Release Date: February 9, 2011 [eBook #35227] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF +WILLIAM MORRIS*** + + +E-text prepared by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) from page +images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/americana) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 35227-h.htm or 35227-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35227/35227-h/35227-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35227/35227-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/selectionfrompoe00morrrich + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +[Illustration: (hand-written letter) + +Franz Hueffer who came into the Rossetti circle in the manner indicated +in the following letter (of which the greater part is in the writing of +the late Lucy Rossetti - daughter of Ford Madox Brown) was a +broad-headed, plodding, able German who wrote and spoke English +perfectly enough before his naturalization. He was somewhat heavy in his +enthusiasms; and Gabriel Rossetti laughed at him a good deal. On one +occasion D.G.R. let off the following "nursery rhyme":-- + + There's a fluffy-haired German called Huffer + A loud and pragmatical duffer: + To stand on a tower + And shout "Schopenhauer" + Is reckoned his mission by Huffer. + +There was no malice in these rhymes of Rossetti's; but even his dear +friend Morris ("Topsy" as his intimates called him on account of his +shock of black hair) was not exempt from personal sallies of the +kind,--as this, when M. got alarmed about his increasing bulk:-- + + There was a young person called Topsy + Who fancied he suffered from dropsy; + He shook like a jelly, + Till the Doctor cried "Belly!"-- + Which angered; but comforted Topsy. + +Poor dear Morris! he had cause enough for alarm. Diabetes was only one +among the agencies by which his stalwart frame was disintegrated at the +age of 62. + +H.B.F. + +7 November 1897.] + + + +[Illustration: (hand-written letter) May 27th/89 + +5 ENDSLEIGH GARDENS. + +N.W. + +Dear Forman, + +Please excuse a very laconic presentment of the facts. Francis Hueffer, +Musical Critic of the "Times", author of the libretto of "Columba" of a +volume on the "Troubadours" of "Half a century of Music in England" etc +etc, died last Jan 7 aged 43 leaving a widow & three children, & little +indeed.] + + + * * * * * + + + EACH VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY. + + + COLLECTION + OF + BRITISH AUTHORS + + TAUCHNITZ EDITION. + + VOL. 2378. + POEMS BY WILLIAM MORRIS + IN ONE VOLUME. + + + LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ + + PARIS: C. REINWALD, 15, RUE DES SAINTS PÈRES. + + PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI, AND AT NICE, 15, QUAI + MASSENA. + + + _This Collection is published with copyright for Continental + circulation, but all purchasers are earnestly requested not to introduce + the volumes into England or into any British Colony._ + + * * * * * + + + +COLLECTION OF BRITISH AUTHORS + +TAUCHNITZ EDITION. + +VOL. 2378. + +POEMS BY WILLIAM MORRIS. + +IN ONE VOLUME. + + + +A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF WILLIAM MORRIS. + +Edited with a Memoir by Francis Hueffer. + +Copyright Edition. + + + + + + + +Leipzig +Bernhard Tauchnitz +1886. +The Right of Translation is reserved. + + + + +MEMOIR + +OF + +WILLIAM MORRIS. + + +William Morris, poet, decorative designer and socialist, was born in +1834 at Clay Street, Walthamstow, now almost a suburb of London, at that +time a country village in Essex. He went to school at Marlborough +College and thence to Exeter College, Oxford, where he took his degree +in 1857. During his stay in the University the subsequent mode of his +life was prepared and foreshadowed in two important directions. Like +most poets Morris was not what is called very assiduous "at his book"; +the routine of college training was no more an attraction to him than +the ordinary amusements and dissipations of undergraduate existence. But +he was studious all the same, reading the classics in his own somewhat +spasmodic way and exploring with even greater zeal the mysteries of +mediæval lore. His fellow-worker in these studies and his most intimate +friend was and is at the present day Mr. Burne Jones, the famous +painter, at that time a student of divinity. Artistic and literary +pursuits thus went hand in hand, and received additional zest when the +two young men became acquainted with Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Holman Hunt +and other painters of the Pre-Raphaelite school who came to Oxford to +execute the frescoes still dimly visible on the ceiling of the Union +Debating Hall. Of the aims and achievements of the Pre-Raphaelite +Brotherhood, and of the revival of mediæval feeling in art and +literature originally advocated by its members ample account has been +given in the memoir of Rossetti prefixed to his poems in the Tauchnitz +edition. Its influence on Morris's early work, both in matter and form, +will strike every observant reader of the opening ballads of the present +collection. Later on the poet worked out for himself a distinct and +individual phase of the mediæval movement, as will be mentioned by and +by. At one time little was wanting to make Morris follow his friend +Burne Jones's example and leave the pen for the brush. There is indeed +still extant from his hand an unfinished picture evincing a remarkable +sense of colour. He also for a short time became a pupil of the late Mr. +G. E. Street, the architect, to whose genius London owes its finest +modern Gothic building--the Law Courts in the Strand. On second +thoughts, however, Morris came to the conclusion that poetry was his +true field of action. His first literary venture was a monthly +periodical started under his auspices in 1856 and called _The Oxford and +Cambridge Magazine_. It contained, amongst other contributions from +Morris's pen, a prose tale of a highly romantic character, and was, as +regards artistic tendencies, essentially a sequel of _The Germ_, the +organ of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, begun and continued for three +numbers only, six years before. Several of the contributors to the +earlier venture, including Rossetti, also supported its offshoot. +Neither, however, gained popular favour, and after a year's struggling +existence _The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine_ also came to an untimely +end. At present both are eagerly sought for by collectors and fetch high +prices at antiquarian sales. So changeable is the fate of books. + +In 1859 Morris married, after having the year before brought out his +first volume of verse entitled _The Defence of Guenevere and Other +Poems_. The book fell dead from the press, and it was not till it was +republished 25 years later that the world recognised in it some of the +freshest and most individual efforts of its author, whose literary +position was by that time established beyond cavil. That position the +poet owed in the first instance to two works published in rapid +succession, _The Life and Death of Jason_, and _The Earthly Paradise_, +the latter a collection of tales in verse filling four stout volumes. +His remaining original works are _Love is enough_, a "morality" in the +mediæval sense of the word, and _The Story of Sigurd the Volsung_, his +longest and, in the opinion of some, his most perfect epic. In addition +to these should be mentioned the translations from the old Norse +undertaken in conjunction with Mr. Magnusson the well-known Icelandic +scholar, and comprising _The Story of Grettir the Strong_ (1869), _The +Volsunga Saga, with certain songs from the Elder Edda_ (1870), and +_Three Northern Love Stories_ (1875); and finally a metrical rendering +of _The Æneids of Virgil_. + +For a critical discussion or a detailed analysis of Morris's work this +is not the place. It must be sufficient to indicate briefly the ideas +which underlie that work and give it its literary _cachet_. Two main +currents, derivable perhaps from a common source but running in +different directions can be easily discerned. The subjects of his tales +are almost without exception derived either from Greek myth or from +mediæval folklore. After all that has been said and written of the gulf +that divides the classic from the romantic feeling--_"Barbaren und +Hellenen_", as Heine puts it, such a conjunction might appear +incongruous. But the connecting link has here been found in the poet's +mind. He looks upon his classical subject-matter through a mediæval +atmosphere, in other words he writes about Venus and Cupid and Psyche +and Medea as a poet of Chaucer's age might have done, barring of course +the differences of language, although in this respect also it may be +noted that the archaisms of expression affected by the modern poet +appear indifferently in the Greek and the mediæval tales. The phenomenon +is by no means unique in literature. Let the reader compare Chapman's +Homer with Pope's, or let him open Morris's _Jason_ where the bells of +Colchis "melodiously begin to ring", and the meaning of the +afore-mentioned "mediæval atmosphere" will at once be as palpable to him +as it was to Keats when, reading Chapman's rude verse, after Pope's +polished stanzas, he felt + + like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken. + +It was the romantic chord of Keats's nature, that chord which vibrates +in _La belle Dame sans Merci_, which was harmoniously struck and made +the great master of form overlook the formal imperfection of the +earlier poet. To the same element such stories as _Jason_, or _The Love +of Alcestis_ and the _Bellerophon_ in _The Earthly Paradise_ owe their +charm. + +Morris's position towards mediæval subjects did not at first essentially +differ from that of other poets of similar tendency. In his first volume +English and French knights and damsels figure prominently, and the +beautiful and frail wife of King Arthur is the heroine of the chief poem +and has given her name to the book. But in the interval which elapsed +between that volume and the _Earthly Paradise_ a considerable change had +come over the poet's dream. By the aid of Mr. Magnusson he had become +acquainted with the treasure of northern folklore hidden in the +Icelandic sagas, the two Eddas, the story of the Volsungs (of which a +masterly translation is due to the two friends), the Laxdæla saga and +other tales of more or less remote antiquity. + +In the _Earthly Paradise_ the double current of the poet's fancy above +alluded to is most strikingly apparent. The very framework in which the +various tales are set seems to have been designed with that view. Guided +probably by a vague tradition of a pre-Columbian discovery of America by +the Vikings, the prologue relates how during a terrible pestilence +certain mariners leave their northern home in search of the land where +old age and death are not and where life is rounded by unbroken +pleasure. Sailing west they come to a fair country. They gaze on +southern sunshine and virgin forest and fertile champaign, but death +meets them at every step, and happiness is farthest from their grasp +when the people worship them as gods and sacrifice at their shrine. +Escaping from this golden thraldom they regain their ship, and after +many dangers and privations are driven by the wind to an island +inhabited by descendants of the ancient Greeks, who have preserved their +old worship and their old freedom. Here the weary wanderers of the main +are hospitably received, and here they resolve to dwell in peace, +forgetful of their vain search for the earthly paradise. At the +beginning and the middle of every month the elders of the people and +their guests meet together to while away the time with song and friendly +converse. The islanders relate the traditions of their Grecian home, the +mariners relate the sagas of the North, and Laurence, a Swabian priest +who had joined the Norsemen in their quest, contributes the legends of +Tannhäuser and of the ring given to Venus by the Roman youth. Here then +there is full scope for the quaint beauty of romantic classicism and for +the weird glamour of northern myth. Without encroaching upon the field +of criticism proper the writer may state that, in his opinion, amongst +the classic tales none is more graceful and finished than "The Golden +Apples", and amongst the northern none more grandly developed and more +epical in the strict sense of the word than _The Lovers of Gudrun_ based +upon the Icelandic Laxdæla saga. The latter, unfortunately, cannot find +a place in this volume for reasons of space. + +Every student of old northern literature is aware that amongst its +remains none are more interesting as literary monuments, none more +characteristic of the people from which they sprang than the two Eddas +and the Volsunga Saga. Next to the Siege of Troy and the Arthurian +legends perhaps no story or agglomeration of stories has left so many +and so important traces in international fiction as the tale of Sigurd +or Siegfried and his race, the heroic god-born Volsungs. Considering +indeed the political insignificance and remoteness in which that story +took its earliest surviving form this enormous success--if the modern +term may be applied--seems at first singularly out of proportion. But it +must be remembered that Iceland was little more than the storehouse of +these old traditions which were the common property of the +Teuto-Scandinavian race long before the Norsemen set foot on the +northern isle. Of the two modern versions of the tale which are most +thoroughly inspired by the ancient myth one, that of Wagner in his +tetralogy _Der Ring des Nibelungen_, is dramatic in form, the other, +Morris's _The Story of Sigurd the Volsung_, bears all the +characteristics of the epic. To this difference of artistic aim, the +difference of shape which the tale takes in the hands of the two poets +may be traced. In one point however they agree. Both Wagner and Morris +go back to the old Icelandic sources in preference to the mediæval +German version of the tale embodied in the _Nibelungenlied_. From this +the German poet borrows little more than the localization of his drama +on the banks of the river Rhine, the English poet scarcely anything but +his metre--the _Langzeile_ or long-line with six hightoned, and any +number of unaccentuated syllables. + +The ordinary modern reader taking up the Volsunga Saga or either of the +Eddas without preparation would probably see in them little more than a +confused accumulation of impossible adventures and deeds of prowess with +an admixture of incest, fratricide and other horrors. But on looking +closer one discovers a certain plan in this entanglement, a plan much +obscured by the unbridled fancy of the old narrators, and hardly +realised by themselves, but which, if properly sifted, amounts to what +we should call a moral or idea. To "point this moral," to consistently +develop this idea, is the task of the modern poet courageous enough to +grapple with such a subject. Two ways are open to him. Either he may +wholly abandon the sequence of the old tale, and group its _disjecta +membra_ round a leading idea as a centre, or else he may adhere to the +order and essence of the legend as originally told, only emphasising +such points as are essential to the significance of the story, and +omitting or throwing into comparative shade those incidents which by +their nature betray themselves to be arbitrary additions of later date. +Wagner has chosen the former way, Morris the latter. This fact, and the +divergent requirements of the drama and the epic, sufficiently account +for their difference of treatment. The leading idea in both cases +remains the same; it is the fatal curse which attaches to the gold or, +which is the same in a moral sense, to the desire for gold--_auri sacra +fames_. + +At first sight the tale of Sigurd, Fafnir's bane, seems to have little +connection with this idea. It is briefly this. Sigurd, the son of +Sigmund the Volsung, is brought up at the court of King Elf, the second +husband of his mother, after Sigmund has been slain in battle. With a +sword, fashioned from the shards of his father's weapon, he slays +Fafnir, a huge worm or dragon, and possesses himself of the treasure +watched by the monster, including a ring and the "helm of aweing," the +latter in the _Nibelungenlied_, converted into the "Tarnkappe", a magic +cap which makes the bearer invisible and endows him with supernatural +strength. Tasting of the blood of the dragon, he understands the +language of birds, and an eagle tells him of a beautiful maiden lying +asleep on a rock called Hindfell, surrounded by a wall of wavering fire. +Through it Sigurd rides and awakes Brynhild the sword maiden, or +Valkyrie, from her magic slumber. Love naturally follows. The pair live +together on Hindfell for a season and Brynhild teaches the youth the +runes of her wisdom, a conception of woman's refining and civilising +mission frequently met with in old Germanic tales. When Sigurd leaves +her to seek new adventures they plight the troth of eternal love, and + + Then he set the ring on her finger, and once if ne'er again + They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain. + +From Brynhild's rock Sigurd journeys to a realm "south of the Rhine" +where dwell the kingly brothers, Gunnar, Hogni, and Guttorm, the +Niblungs, together with their sister Gudrun, "the fairest of maidens", +and their mother Grimhild, "a wise wife" and a fierce-hearted woman, as +the Volsunga Saga alternately describes her. It is through a +love-philter brewed by her that Sigurd forgets the vows exchanged with +Brynhild, and becomes enamoured of Gudrun, whom he soon after weds. So +powerful is the charm that the very name of his former love has been +wiped from Sigurd's memory, and he willingly undertakes the task to woo +and win Brynhild for his brother Gunnar. For that purpose he, by means +of his magic cap, assumes Gunnar's semblance, and after having once +more crossed the wall of wavering flame compels Brynhild to become his +bride. But, faithful to his promise, he places a drawn sword between +himself and the maid "as they lie on one bed together." On parting from +her he receives back from Brynhild his own ring given to her at Hindfell +in the days of their bliss. Sigurd then returns to Gunnar and resumes +his own form, and all return home, the King leading his unwilling bride +in triumph. + +The subsequent events are the outgrowth of the tragic guilt thus +incurred. Sigurd reveals the secret of Brynhild's wooing to his wife, +and allows her to take possession of the fatal ring, which she during a +quarrel shows to Gunnar's wife. Brynhild thus informed of the fraud +practised on her, thinks of vengeance, and incites her husband and his +brothers to kill Sigurd. The deed is done while Sigurd lies asleep in +his chamber with Gudrun, or, according to the more poetic version of the +German epic, while he bends over a brook in the forest to quench his +thirst after a day's hunting. But as soon as her beloved foe is killed +the old passion never quenched rises up again in Brynhild's heart. To be +united with her lover in death she pierces her breast with a sword, and +one pyre consumes both. + +With this climax Wagner very properly concludes his drama. But the epic +poet likes to follow the course of events to their ultimate +consequences, and Morris, in accordance with the Volsunga Saga, proceeds +to relate how, after many years of mournful widowhood, Gudrun is married +to Atli, a mighty king, the brother of Brynhild. Eager to become +possessed of Sigurd's treasure he invites the Niblungs, its actual +owners, to his country, and there the kingly brothers and all their +followers are killed by base treachery and after the most heroic +resistance. They refuse sternly to ransom their lives by a discovery of +the hoard which previous to their departure they have hidden at the +bottom of a lake, and which thus is irrecoverably lost to mankind. +Gudrun has incited her husband to the deed and has looked on calmly +while her kinsmen were slain one after the other. But when all are dead +and the murder of Sigurd has been revenged, the feeling of blood +relationship so powerful among Northern nations is reawakened in her. +While Atli and his earls are asleep she sets fire to the kingly hall, +and her wretched husband falls by her own hand. It is characteristic of +the Icelandic epic that after all these fates and horrors Gudrun lives +for a number of years and is yet again married to a third husband. But +to this length even Morris refuses to accompany the tale. In accordance +with the Volsunga Saga his Gudrun throws herself into the sea; but the +waves do not carry her "to the burg of king Imakr, a mighty king and +lord of many folk." + +All this is very grand and weird, the reader will say, but where is the +moral, the ideal essence of which these events are but the earthly +reflex? To this essence we gradually ascend by inquiring into the +mythological sources of the tale, by asking who is Sigurd, whence does +he come, on what mission is he sent and by whom? also what is the +significance of the treasure watched by a dragon and coveted by all +mankind? This treasure we then shall find and the curse attaching to it +ever since it was robbed from Andvari, the water-elf, is the keynote of +the whole story. The curse proves fatal to all its successive owners +from Andvari himself and Fafnir, who, for its sake, kills his father, +down to Sigurd and Brynhild and the Niblung brothers. Nay, Odin himself, +the supreme God, becomes subject to the curse of the gold through having +once coveted it, and we dimly discern that the ultimate doom of the +Aesir, the Ragnarök, or dusk of the Gods, of which the Voluspa speaks, +is intimately connected with the same baneful influence. It further +becomes evident that Sigurd the Volsung, the descendant of Odin, is +destined to wrest the treasure and the power derived from it from the +Niblungs, the dark or cloudy people who threaten the bright godworld of +Valhall with destruction. And this leads us back to a still earlier +stage of the myth in which Sigurd himself becomes the symbol of the +celestial luminary conquering night and misty darkness, an idea +repeatedly hinted at by Morris and splendidly illustrated by Wagner, +when Siegfried appears on the stage illumined by the first rays of the +rising sun. In the work of the German poet all this is brought out with +a distinctness of which only dramatic genius of the highest order is +capable. With an astounding grasp of detail and with a continuity of +thought rarely equalled, Wagner has remoulded the confused and complex +argument of the old tale, omitting what seemed unnecessary, and placing +in juxtaposition incidents organically connected but separated by the +obtuseness of later sagamen. + +Morris, as has been said before, proceeds on a different principle. His +first object is to tell a tale, and to tell it as nearly as possible in +the spirit and according to the letter of the old Sagas. In this he has +succeeded in a manner at once indicative of his high poetic gifts and of +a deep sympathy with the spirit of the Northern Myth, which breathes in +every line and in every turn of his phraseology. To compare the peculiar +tinge of his language with the ordinary archaisms and euphonisms of +literary poets would be mistaking a field flower for its counterpart in +a milliner's shop window. It is true that he also hints at the larger +philosophic and moral issues of the tale. But when he refers to the end +of the gods brought about by their own guilt or to the redeeming mission +of Sigurd, it is done in the mysterious, not to say half conscious +manner of the saga itself, and the effect is such as from his own point +of view he intended it and could not but intend it to be. + +Between the publication of _The Defence of Guenevere_ and that of Jason +ten years elapsed. During most of this time the poet was employed in +artistic pursuits. In 1861 he started in conjunction with a number of +friends the business of decorator and artistic designer which still +bears his name. Growing from very modest beginnings this enterprise was +destined to work an entire change in the external aspect of English +homes. It soon extended its activity to every branch of art-workmanship. +D. G. Rossetti, Madox Brown, and Burne Jones drew cartoons for the +stained glass windows to be seen in many of our churches and colleges. +Morris himself designed wall-papers and the patterns of carpets. The +latter are woven on hand-looms in his factory at Merton Abbey, which +stands on the banks of the river Wandle surrounded by orchards, and +looks as like a medieval workshop as the modern dresses of the workgirls +will allow. Another member of the firm, Philip Webb, was the first +modern architect to build houses of red brick in the style vaguely and +not quite correctly described as "Queen Anne." At present these houses +count by thousands in London and a whole village of them has been built +at Turnham Green. The members of the firm did not confine their +attention to any particular style or age or country. Wherever beautiful +things could be found they collected them and made them popular. Old +china English, and foreign, Japanese fans and screens, Venetian glass +and German pottery were equally welcome to them and through them to the +public generally. It may be said that the "aesthetic" fashion as it came +to be called will like other fashions die out, and that people in the +course of time will grow tired of "living up to" their furniture and +dresses. At the same time the idea thus insisted upon that beauty is an +essential and necessary ingredient of practical modern English life is +not likely to be without beneficial and permanent effect. + +It was as artistic worker and employer of skilled labour that Morris +imbibed that profound disgust with our social condition which induced +him to adopt the principles of extreme socialism. For a long time his +views had tended in that direction, and at the end of 1884 he joined the +Socialist League, a body professing the doctrines of international +revolutionary socialism. He is the editor of its official organ, the +_Commonweal_, which contains many contributions from his pen both in +prose and verse. That the poet has not been entirely sunk in the +politician, that longing for beauty is at least the partial cause of +this desire for change at any price, is however proved by such a +sentiment as, "Beauty, which is what is meant by _art_, using the word +in its widest sense, is, I contend, no mere accident of human life which +people can take or have as they choose, but a positive necessity of +life, if we are to live as nature meant us to, that is unless we are +content to be less than men," or by such a vision of a future earthly +paradise as is expressed in the following lines: + + Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his + hand, + Nor yet come home in the even, too faint and weary to stand, + + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + + For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, + Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed. + + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + + Then all _mine_ and _thine_ shall be _ours_, and no more shall any man + crave + For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave. + +One may admire the pathetic beauty of such lines, without sharing the +poet's hope, that their import will ever be realised, in a world peopled +by men and not by angels. History teaches and personal experience +confirms that art enjoyment and art creation of the highest type must be +confined to the few, and it is to be feared that social democracy, +whatever it may do for the physical welfare of the many, will care +little about beauty, either in nature or in art. The _Demos_ will never +admire Rossetti's pictures or Keats's poetry, and the first thing the +much-vaunted peasant proprietors, or peasant communes would do would be +to cut down our ancient trees, level every hedgerow and turn parks and +commons into potato plots or it may be turnip fields. One may feel +certain of all this and yet admire the author of _The Earthly +Paradise_, "the idle singer of an empty day" when he preaches universal +brotherhood in the crossways of Hammersmith, and wrestles with +policemen, or wrangles with obtuse magistrates about the freedom of +speech. Conviction thus upheld at the cost of worldly advantage and +personal convenience and taste must command respect even from those who +cannot share it. + + Francis Hueffer. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + Page + + From "THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS." + + The Defence of Guenevere 23 + A Good Knight in Prison 36 + Shameful Death 41 + The Eve of Crecy 43 + The Haystack in the Floods 45 + Riding together 51 + Summer Dawn 54 + + + From "THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON." (Book XIV.) + + The Sirens.--The Garden of the Hesperides.--The + Heroes do Sacrifice at Malea 55 + + + From "THE EARTHLY PARADISE." + + An Apology 82 + From Prologue--The Wanderers 84 + Ogier the Dane 95 + The golden Apples 147 + L'Envoi 168 + + + From "LOVE IS ENOUGH." + + Interludes 173 + + + From "THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG." (Book II.) + + Regin 178 + + + + + FROM + + "THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS." + + THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE. + + + But, knowing now that they would have her speak, + She threw her wet hair backward from her brow, + Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek, + + As though she had had there a shameful blow, + And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame, + All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so, + + She must a little touch it; like one lame + She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head + Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame + + The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said: + "O knights and lords, it seems but little skill + To talk of well-known things past now and dead. + + "God wot I ought to say, I have done ill, + And pray you all forgiveness heartily! + Because you must be right such great lords--still + + "Listen, suppose your time were come to die, + And you were quite alone and very weak; + Yea, laid a dying while very mightily + + "The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak + Of river through your broad lands running well: + Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak: + + "'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell, + Now choose one cloth for ever, which they be, + I will not tell you, you must somehow tell + + "'Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!' + Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes, + At foot of your familiar bed to see + + "A great God's angel standing, with such dyes, + Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands, + Held out two ways, light from the inner skies + + "Showing him well, and making his commands + Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too, + Holding within his hands the cloths on wands; + + "And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue, + Wavy and long, and one cut short and red; + No man could tell the better of the two. + + "'After a shivering half-hour you said, + 'God help! heaven's colour, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.' + Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed, + + "And cry to all good men that loved you well, + 'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;' + Launcelot went away, then I could tell, + + "Like wisest man how all things would be, moan, + And roll and hurt myself, and long to die, + And yet fear much to die for what was sown. + + "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, + Whatever may have happened through these years, + God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie." + + Her voice was low at first, being full of tears, + But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill, + Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears, + + A ringing in their startled brains, until + She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk, + And her great eyes began again to fill, + + Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk, + But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair! + Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk, + + She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair, + Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame, + With passionate twisting of her body there: + + "It chanced upon a day Launcelot came + To dwell at Arthur's Court; at Christmas-time + This happened; when the heralds sung his name, + + "'Son of King Ban of Benwick,' seemed to chime + Along with all the bells that rang that day, + O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme. + + "Christmas and whitened winter passed away, + And over me the April sunshine came, + Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea + + "And in the Summer I grew white with flame, + And bowed my head down--Autumn, and the sick + Sure knowledge things would never be the same, + + "However often Spring might be most thick + Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew + Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick, + + "To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through + My eager body; while I laughed out loud, + And let my lips curl up at false or true, + + "Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud. + Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought: + While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd, + + "Belonging to the time ere I was bought + By Arthur's great name and his little love, + Must I give up for ever then, I thought, + + "That which I deemed would ever round me move + Glorifying all things; for a little word, + Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove + + "Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord + Will that all folks should be quite happy and good? + I love God now a little, if this cord + + "Were broken, once for all what striving could + Make me love anything in earth or heaven. + So day by day it grew, as if one should + + "Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even, + Down to a cool sea on a summer day; + Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven + + "Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way, + Until one surely reached the sea at last, + And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay + + "Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past + Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips, + Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast, + + "In the lone sea, far off from any ships! + Do I not know now of a day in Spring? + No minute of that wild day ever slips + + "From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing, + And wheresoever I may be, straightway + Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting: + + "I was half mad with beauty on that day, + And went without my ladies all alone, + In a quiet garden walled round every way; + + "I was right joyful of that wall of stone, + That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky, + And trebled all the beauty: to the bone, + + "Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy + With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad; + Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily, + + "A little thing just then had made me mad; + I dared not think, as I was wont to do, + Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had + + "Held out my long hand up against the blue, + And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers, + Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through, + + "There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers, + Round by the edges; what should I have done, + If this had joined with yellow spotted singers, + + "And startling green drawn upward by the sun? + But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair, + And trancedly stood watching the west wind run + + "With faintest half-heard breathing sound--why there + I lose my head e'en now in doing this; + But shortly listen--In that garden fair + + "Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss + Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day, + I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss, + + "When both our mouths went wandering in one way, + And aching sorely, met among the leaves; + Our hands being left behind strained far away. + + "Never within a yard of my bright sleeves + Had Launcelot come before--and now, so nigh! + After that day why is it Guenevere grieves? + + "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, + Whatever happened on through all those years, + God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie. + + "Being such a lady could I weep these tears + If this were true? A great queen such as I + Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears; + + "And afterwards she liveth hatefully, + Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps,-- + Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly. + + "Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps + All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth? + Remember in what grave your mother sleeps, + + "Buried in some place far down in the south, + Men are forgetting as I speak to you; + By her head sever'd in that awful drouth + + "Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow, + I pray your pity! let me not scream out + For ever after, when the shrill winds blow + + "Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout + For ever after in the winter night + When you ride out alone! in battle-rout + + "Let not my rusting tears make your sword light! + Ah! God of mercy how he turns away! + So, ever must I dress me to the fight, + + "So--let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say, + See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know + Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day, + + "One bitter day in _la Fausse Garde_, for so + All good knights held it after, saw-- + Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though + + "You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw, + This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed-- + Whose blood then pray you? is there any law + + "To make a queen say why some spots of red + Lie on her coverlet? or will you say, + 'Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed, + + "'Where did you bleed?' and must I stammer out--'Nay', + I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend + My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay + + "'A knife-point last night:' so must I defend + The honour of the lady Guenevere? + Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end + + "This very day, and you were judges here + Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce + When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear + + "Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance, + His side sink in? as my knight cried and said, + 'Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance! + + "'Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head, + By God I am so glad to fight with you, + Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead + + "'For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do, + For all my wounds are moving in my breast, + And I am getting mad with waiting so.' + + "He struck his hands together o'er the beast, + Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet, + And groan'd at being slain so young--'at least.' + + "My knight said, 'Rise you, sir, who are so fleet + At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight, + My left side all uncover'd!' then I weet, + + "Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight + Upon his knave's face; not until just then + Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight + + "Along the lists look to my stake and pen + With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh + From agony beneath my waist-chain, when + + "The fight began, and to me they drew nigh; + Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right, + And traversed warily, and ever high + + "And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight + Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand, + Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight. + + "Except a spout of blood on the hot land; + For it was hottest summer; and I know + I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand, + + "And burn, against the heat, would quiver so, + Yards above my head; thus these matters went: + Which things were only warnings of the woe + + "That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent, + For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord; + Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent + + "With all this wickedness; say no rash word + Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes, + Wept all away the grey, may bring some sword + + "To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise, + Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand; + And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise, + + "Yea also at my full heart's strong command, + See through my long throat how the words go up + In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand + + "The shadow lies like wine within a cup + Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now + This little wind is rising, look you up, + + "And wonder how the light is falling so + Within my moving tresses: will you dare + When you have looked a little on my brow, + + "To say this thing is vile? or will you care + For any plausible lies of cunning woof, + When you can see my face with no lie there + + "For ever? am I not a gracious proof-- + 'But in your chamber Launcelot was found'-- + Is there a good knight then would stand aloof, + + "When a queen says with gentle queenly sound: + 'O true as steel come now and talk with me, + I love to see your step upon the ground + + "'Unwavering, also well I love to see + That gracious smile light up your face, and hear + Your wonderful words, that all mean verily + + "'The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear + To me in everything, come here to-night, + Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear; + + "'If you come not, I fear this time I might + Get thinking over much of times gone by, + When I was young, and green hope was in sight: + + "'For no man cares now to know why I sigh; + And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs, + Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie + + "'So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs + To see you, Launcelot; that we may be + Like children once again, free from all wrongs + + "'Just for one night.' Did he not come to me? + What thing could keep true Launcelot away + If I said 'Come?' there was one less than three + + "In my quiet room that night, and we were gay; + Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick, + Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea + + "I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak, + For he looked helpless too, for a little while; + Then I remember how I tried to shriek, + + "And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile + The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head + And made me dizzier; till within a while + + "My maids were all about me, and my head + On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away + From its white chattering, until Launcelot said-- + + "By God! I will not tell you more to-day, + Judge any way you will--what matters it? + You know quite well the story of that fray, + + "How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit + That caught up Gauwaine--all, all, verily, + But just that which would save me; these things flit. + + "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, + Whatever may have happen'd these long years, + God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie! + + "All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears." + She would not speak another word, but stood + Turn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears + + His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood + Of his foe's lances. She lean'd eagerly, + And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could + + At last hear something really; joyfully + Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed + Of the roan charger drew all men to see, + The knight who came was Launcelot at good need. + + + + + A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON. + + + SIR GUY, _being in the court of a Pagan castle_. + + + This castle where I dwell, it stands + A long way off from Christian lands, + A long way off my lady's hands, + A long way off the aspen trees, + And murmur of the lime-tree bees. + + But down the Valley of the Rose + My lady often hawking goes, + Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind, + Leaning towards the western wind, + Because it bringeth to her mind + Sad whisperings of happy times, + The face of him who sings these rhymes. + + King Guilbert rides beside her there, + Bends low and calls her very fair, + And strives, by pulling down his hair, + To hide from my dear lady's ken + The grisly gash I gave him, when + I cut him down at Camelot; + However he strives, he hides it not, + That tourney will not be forgot, + Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot, + Whatever he says she answers not. + Now tell me, you that are in love, + From the king's son to the wood-dove, + Which is the better, he or I? + + For this king means that I should die + In this lone Pagan castle, where + The flowers droop in the bad air + On the September evening. + + Look, now I take mine ease and sing, + Counting as but a little thing + The foolish spite of a bad king. + + For these vile things that hem me in, + These Pagan beasts who live in sin, + The sickly flowers pale and wan, + The grim blue-bearded castellan, + The stanchions half worn-out with rust, + Whereto their banner vile they trust-- + Why, all these things I hold them just + Like dragons in a missal book, + Wherein, whenever we may look, + We see no horror, yea, delight + We have, the colours are so bright; + Likewise we note the specks of white, + And the great plates of burnish'd gold. + + Just so this Pagan castle old, + And everything I can see there, + Sick-pining in the marshland air, + I note; I will go over now, + Like one who paints with knitted brow, + The flowers and all things one by one, + From the snail on the wall to the setting sun. + + Four great walls, and a little one + That leads down to the barbican, + Which walls with many spears they man, + When news comes to the castellan + Of Launcelot being in the land. + + And as I sit here, close at hand + Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand, + The castellan with a long wand + Cuts down their leaves as he goes by, + Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye, + And fingers twisted in his beard-- + Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard? + I have a hope makes me afeard: + It cannot be, but if some dream + Just for a minute made me deem + I saw among the flowers there + My lady's face with long red hair, + Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come, + As I was wont to see her some + Fading September afternoon, + And kiss me, saying nothing, soon + To leave me by myself again; + Could I get this by longing: vain! + + The castellan is gone: I see + On one broad yellow flower a bee + Drunk with much honey-- + Christ! again, + Some distant knight's voice brings me pain, + I thought I had forgot to feel, + I never heard the blissful steel + These ten years past; year after year, + Through all my hopeless sojourn here, + No Christian pennon has been near; + Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on + Over the marches, battle won, + Knights' shouts, and axes hammering, + Yea, quicker now the dint and ring + Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan, + When they come back count man for man, + Say whom you miss. + + The PAGANS, _from the battlements_. + + Mahmoud to aid! + Why flee ye so like men dismay'd? + + The PAGANS, _from without_. + + Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot, + Who follows quick upon us, hot + And shouting with his men-at-arms. + + SIR GUY. + + Also the Pagans raise alarms, + And ring the bells for fear; at last + My prison walls will be well past. + + SIR LAUNCELOT, _from outside_. + + Ho! in the name of the Trinity, + Let down the drawbridge quick to me, + And open doors, that I may see + Guy the good knight. + + The PAGANS, _from the battlements_. + + Nay, Launcelot, + With mere big words ye win us not. + + SIR LAUNCELOT. + + Bid Miles bring up la perriere, + And archers clear the vile walls there, + Bring back the notches to the ear, + Shoot well together! God to aid! + These miscreants shall be well paid. + + Hurrah! all goes together; Miles + Is good to win my lady's smiles + For his good shooting--Launcelot! + On knights a-pace! this game is hot! + + SIR GUY _sayeth afterwards_. + + I said, I go to meet her now, + And saying so, I felt a blow + From some clench'd hand across my brow, + And fell down on the sunflowers + Just as a hammering smote my ears, + After which this I felt in sooth; + My bare hands throttling without ruth + The hairy-throated castellan; + Then a grim fight with those that ran + To slay me, while I shouted, "God + For the Lady Mary!" deep I trod + That evening in my own red blood; + Nevertheless so stiff I stood, + That when the knights burst the old wood + Of the castle-doors, I was not dead. + + I kiss the Lady Mary's head, + Her lips, and her hair golden red, + Because to-day we have been wed. + + + + + SHAMEFUL DEATH. + + + There were four of us about that bed; + The mass-priest knelt at the side, + I and his mother stood at the head, + Over his feet lay the bride; + We were quite sure that he was dead, + Though his eyes were open wide. + + He did not die in the night, + He did not die in the day, + But in the morning twilight + His spirit pass'd away, + When neither sun nor moon was bright, + And the trees were merely grey. + + He was not slain with the sword, + Knight's axe, or the knightly spear, + Yet spoke he never a word + After he came in here; + I cut away the cord + From the neck of my brother dear. + + He did not strike one blow, + For the recreants came behind, + In a place where the hornbeams grow, + A path right hard to find, + For the hornbeam boughs swing so, + That the twilight makes it blind. + + They lighted a great torch then, + When his arms were pinion'd fast, + Sir John the knight of the Fen, + Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, + With knights threescore and ten, + Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. + + I am threescore and ten, + And my hair is all turn'd grey, + But I met Sir John of the Fen + Long ago on a summer day, + And am glad to think of the moment when + I took his life away. + + I am threescore and ten, + And my strength is mostly pass'd, + But long ago I and my men, + When the sky was overcast, + And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen, + Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast. + + And now, knights all of you, + I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, + A good knight and a true, + And for Alice, his wife, pray too. + + + + + THE EVE OF CRECY. + + + Gold on her head, and gold on her feet, + And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet, + And a golden girdle round my sweet;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Margaret's maids are fair to see, + Freshly dress'd and pleasantly; + Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + If I were rich I would kiss her feet, + I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet, + And the golden girdle round my sweet-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand; + When the arriere-ban goes through the land, + Six basnets under my pennon stand;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + And many an one grins under his hood: + "Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good, + Has neither food nor firewood;"-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + If I were rich I would kiss her feet, + And the golden girdle of my sweet, + And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Yet even now it is good to think, + While my few poor varlets grumble and drink + In my desolate hall where the fires sink;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Of Margaret sitting glorious there, + In glory of gold and glory of hair, + And glory of glorious face most fair;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Likewise to-night I make good cheer, + Because this battle draweth near: + For what have I to lose or fear?-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + For, look you, my horse is good to prance + A right fair measure in this war-dance, + Before the eyes of Philip of France;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + And sometime it may hap, perdie, + While my new towers stand up three and three, + And my hall gets painted fair to see-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._-- + + That folks may say: "Times change, by the rood, + For Lambert, banneret of the wood, + Has heaps of food and firewood;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;_-- + + "And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood + Of a damsel of right noble blood:" + St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + + + + THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS. + + + Had she come all the way for this, + To part at last without a kiss? + Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain + That her own eyes might see him slain + Beside the haystack in the floods? + + Along the dripping leafless woods, + The stirrup touching either shoe, + She rode astride as troopers do; + With kirtle kilted to her knee, + To which the mud splash'd wretchedly; + And the wet dripp'd from every tree + Upon her head and heavy hair, + And on her eyelids broad and fair; + The tears and rain ran down her face. + + By fits and starts they rode apace, + And very often was his place + Far off from her; he had to ride + Ahead, to see what might betide + When the road cross'd; and sometimes, when + There rose a murmuring from his men, + Had to turn back with promises; + Ah me! she had but little ease; + And often for pure doubt and dread + She sobb'd, made giddy in the head + + By the swift riding; while, for cold, + Her slender fingers scarce could hold + The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too, + She felt the foot within her shoe + Against the stirrup: all for this, + To part at last without a kiss + Beside the haystack in the floods. + + For when they near'd that old soak'd hay, + They saw across the only way + That Judas, Godmar, and the three + Red running lions dismally + Grinn'd from his pennon, under which + In one straight line along the ditch, + They counted thirty heads. + + So then, + While Robert turn'd round to his men, + She saw at once the wretched end, + And, stooping down, tried hard to rend + Her coif the wrong way from her head, + And hid her eyes; while Robert said: + "Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one, + At Poictiers where we made them run + So fast--why, sweet my love, good cheer, + The Gascon frontier is so near, + Nought after this." + + But, "O," she said, + "My God! my God! I have to tread + The long way back without you; then + The court at Paris; those six men; + The gratings of the Chatelet; + The swift Seine on some rainy day + Like this, and people standing by, + And laughing, while my weak hands try + To recollect how strong men swim. + All this, or else a life with him, + For which I should be damned at last, + Would God that this next hour were past!" + + He answer'd not, but cried his cry, + "St. George for Marny!" cheerily; + And laid his hand upon her rein. + Alas! no man of all his train + Gave back that cheery cry again; + And, while for rage his thumb beat fast + Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast + About his neck a kerchief long, + And bound him. + + Then they went along + To Godmar; who said: "Now, Jehane, + Your lover's life is on the wane + So fast, that, if this very hour + You yield not as my paramour, + He will not see the rain leave off-- + Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff, + Sir Robert, or I slay you now." + + She laid her hand upon her brow, + Then gazed upon the palm, as though + She thought her forehead bled, and--"No," + She said, and turn'd her head away, + As there were nothing else to say, + And everything were settled: red + Grew Godmar's face from chin to head: + "Jehane, on yonder hill there stands + My castle, guarding well my lands: + What hinders me from taking you, + And doing that I list to do + To your fair wilful body, while + Your knight lies dead?" + + A wicked smile + Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin, + A long way out she thrust her chin: + "You know that I should strangle you + While you were sleeping; or bite through + Your throat, by God's help--ah!" she said, + "Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid! + For in such wise they hem me in, + I cannot choose but sin and sin, + Whatever happens: yet I think + They could not make me eat or drink, + And so should I just reach my rest." + + "Nay, if you do not my behest, + O Jehane! though I love you well," + Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell + All that I know." "Foul lies," she said. + "Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head, + At Paris folks would deem them true! + Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you, + 'Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown! + Give us Jehane to burn or drown!'-- + Eh--gag me, Robert!--sweet my friend, + This were indeed a piteous end + For those long fingers, and long feet, + And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet; + An end that few men would forget + That saw it--So, an hour yet: + Consider, Jehane, which to take + Of life or death!" + + So, scarce awake + Dismounting, did she leave that place, + And totter some yards: with her face + Turn'd upward to the sky she lay, + Her head on a wet heap of hay, + And fell asleep: and while she slept, + And did not dream, the minutes crept + Round to the twelve again; but she, + Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly, + And strangely childlike came, and said: + "I will not." Straightway Godmar's head, + As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd + Most sharply round, and his face burn'd. + + For Robert--both his eyes were dry, + He could not weep but gloomily + He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too, + His lips were firm; he tried once more + To touch her lips; she reach'd out, sore + And vain desire so tortured them, + The poor grey lips, and now the hem + Of his sleeve brush'd them. + + With a start + Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart; + From Robert's throat he loosed the bands + Of silk and mail; with empty hands + Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw, + The long bright blade without a flaw + Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand + In Robert's hair; she saw him bend + Back Robert's head; she saw him send + The thin steel down; the blow told well, + Right backward the knight Robert fell, + And moan'd as dogs do, being half dead, + Unwitting, as I deem: so then + Godmar turn'd grinning to his men, + Who ran, some five or six, and beat + His head to pieces at their feet. + + Then Godmar turn'd again and said: + "So, Jehane, the first fitte is read! + Take note, my lady, that your way + Lies backward to the Chatelet!" + She shook her head and gazed awhile + At her cold hands with a rueful smile, + As though this thing had made her mad. + This was the parting that they had + Beside the haystack in the floods. + + + + + RIDING TOGETHER. + + + For many, many days together + The wind blew steady from the East; + For many days hot grew the weather, + About the time of our Lady's Feast. + + For many days we rode together, + Yet met we neither friend nor foe; + Hotter and clearer grew the weather, + Steadily did the East wind blow. + + We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, + Clear-cut, with shadows very black, + As freely we rode on together + With helms unlaced and bridles slack. + + And often as we rode together, + We, looking down the green-bank'd stream, + Saw flowers in the sunny weather, + And saw the bubble-making bream. + + And in the night lay down together, + And hung above our heads the rood, + Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather, + The while the moon did watch the wood. + + Our spears stood bright and thick together, + Straight out the banners stream'd behind, + As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather, + With faces turn'd towards the wind. + + Down sank our threescore spears together, + As thick we saw the Pagans ride; + His eager face in the clear fresh weather, + Shone out that last time by my side. + + Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together, + It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears, + Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather, + The elm-tree flowers fell like tears. + + There, as we roll'd and writhed together, + I threw my arms above my head, + For close by my side, in the lovely weather, + I saw him reel and fall back dead. + + I and the slayer met together, + He waited the death-stroke there in his place, + With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, + Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face. + + Madly I fought as we fought together; + In vain: the little Christian band + The pagans drowned, as in stormy weather, + The river drowns low-lying land. + + They bound my blood-stain'd hands together, + They bound his corpse to nod by my side: + Then on we rode, in the bright-March weather, + With clash of cymbals did we ride. + + We ride no more, no more together; + My prison-bars are thick and strong, + I take no heed of any weather, + The sweet Saints grant I live not long. + + + + + SUMMER DAWN. + + + Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips, + Think but one thought of me up in the stars. + The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, + Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars, + That are patiently waiting there for the dawn: + Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold + Waits to float through them along with the sun. + Far out in the meadows, above the young corn, + The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold + The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun; + Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn, + Round the lone house in the midst of the corn. + Speak but one word to me over the corn, + Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn. + + + + + FROM + "THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON." + + BOOK XIV. + + The Sirens--The Garden of the Hesperides--The Heroes do Sacrifice at + Malea. + + + Across the open sea they drew their wake + For three long days, and when the fourth 'gan break + Their eyes beheld the fair Trinacrian shore, + And there-along they coasted two days more. + Then first Medea warned them to take heed, + Lest they should end all memory of their deed + Where dwell the Sirens on the yellow sand, + And folk should think some tangled poisonous land + Had buried them, or some tumultuous sea + O'er their white bones was tossing angrily; + Or that some muddy river, far from Greece, + Drove seaward o'er the ringlets of the Fleece. + But when the Minyæ hearkened to this word, + With many a thought their wearied hearts were stirred, + And longing for the near-gained Grecian land, + Where in a little while their feet should stand; + Yet none the less like to a happy dream, + Now, when they neared it, did their own home seem, + And like a dream the glory of their quest, + And therewithal some thought of present rest + Stole over them, and they were fain to sigh, + Hearkening the sighing restless wind go by. + But hard on even of the second day, + As o'er the gentle waves they took their way, + The orange-scented land-breeze seemed to bear + Some other sounds unto the listening ear + Than all day long they had been hearkening, + The land-born signs of many a well-known thing. + Thereat Medea trembled, for she knew + That nigh the dreadful sands at last they drew, + For certainly the Sirens' song she heard, + Though yet her ear could shape it to no word, + And by their faces could the queen behold + How sweet it was, although no tale it told, + To those worn toilers o'er the bitter sea. + Now, as they sped along, they presently, + Rounding a headland, reached a little bay + Walled from the sea by splintered cliffs and grey, + Capped by the thymy hills' green wind-beat head, + Where 'mid the whin the burrowing rabbits fed. + And 'neath the cliff they saw a belt of sand, + 'Twixt Nereus' pasture and the high scarped land, + Whereon, yet far off, could their eyes behold + White bodies moving, crowned and girt with gold, + Wherefrom it seemed that lovely music welled. + So when all this the grey-eyed queen beheld, + She said: "O Jason, I have made thee wise + In this and other things; turn then thine eyes + Seaward, and note the ripple of the sea, + Where there is hope as well as fear for thee. + Nor look upon the death that lurketh there + 'Neath the grey cliff, though sweet it seems and fair; + For thou art young upon this day to die. + Take then the helm, and gazing steadily + Upon the road to Greece, make strong thine hand, + And steer us toward the lion-haunted land, + And thou, O Thracian! if thou e'er hast moved + Men's hearts with stories of the Gods who loved, + And men who suffered, move them on this day, + Taking the deadly love of death away, + That even now is stealing over them, + While still they gaze upon the ocean's hem, + Where their undoing is if they but knew." + + But while she spake, still nigher Argo drew + Unto the yellow edges of the shore, + And little help she had of ashen oar, + For as her shielded side rolled through the sea, + Silent with glittering eyes the Minyæ + Gazed o'er the surge, for they were nigh enow + To see the gusty wind of evening blow + Long locks of hair across those bodies white, + With golden spray hiding some dear delight; + Yea, nigh enow to see their red lips smile, + Wherefrom all song had ceased now for a while, + As though they deemed the prey was in the net, + And they no more had need a bait to set, + But their own bodies, fair beyond man's thought, + Under the grey cliff, hidden not of aught + But of such mist of tears as in the eyes + Of those seafaring men might chance to rise. + A moment Jason gazed, then through the waist + Ran swiftly, and with trembling hands made haste + To trim the sail, then to the tiller ran, + And thrust aside the skilled Milesian man, + Who with half-open mouth, and dreamy eyes, + Stood steering Argo to that land of lies; + But as he staggered forward, Jason's hand + Hard on the tiller steered away from land, + And as her head a little now fell off + Unto the wide sea, did he shout this scoff + To Thracian Orpheus: "Minstrel, shall we die, + Because thou hast forgotten utterly + What things she taught thee whom men call divine? + Or will thy measures but lead folk to wine, + And scented beds, and not to noble deeds? + Or will they fail as fail the shepherd's reeds + Before the trumpet, when these sea-witches + Pipe shrilly to the washing of the seas? + I am a man, and these but beasts, but thou + Giving these souls, that all were men ere now, + Shalt be a very God and not a man!" + So spake he; but his fingers Orpheus ran + Over the strings, and sighing turned away + From that fair ending of the sunny bay; + But as his well-skilled hands were preluding + What his heart swelled with, they began to sing + With pleading voices from the yellow sands, + Clustered together, with appealing hands + Reached out to Argo as the great sail drew, + While o'er their white limbs sharp the spray-shower flew, + Since they spared not to set white feet among + The cold waves heedless of their honied song. + Sweetly they sang, and still the answer came + Piercing and clear from him, as bursts the flame + From out the furnace in the moonless night; + Yet, as their words are no more known aright + Through lapse of many ages, and no man + Can any more across the waters wan + Behold those singing women of the sea, + Once more I pray you all to pardon me, + If with my feeble voice and harsh I sing + From what dim memories yet may chance to cling + About men's hearts, of lovely things once sung + Beside the sea, while yet the world was young. + + THE SIRENS. + + O happy seafarers are ye, + And surely all your ills are past, + And toil upon the land and sea, + Since ye are brought to us at last. + + To you the fashion of the world, + Wide lands laid waste, fair cities burned, + And plagues, and kings from kingdoms hurled, + Are nought, since hither ye have turned. + + For as upon this beach we stand, + And o'er our heads the sea-fowl flit, + Our eyes behold a glorious land, + And soon shall ye be kings of it. + + ORPHEUS. + + A little more, a little more, + O carriers of the Golden Fleece, + A little labour with the oar, + Before we reach the land of Greece. + + E'en now perchance faint rumours reach + Men's ears of this our victory, + And draw them down unto the beach + To gaze across the empty sea. + + But since the longed-for day is nigh, + And scarce a God could stay us now, + Why do ye hang your heads and sigh, + Hindering for nought our eager prow? + + THE SIRENS. + + Ah, had ye chanced to reach the home + On which your fond desires were set, + Into what troubles had ye come? + Short love and joy and long regret. + + But now, but now, when ye have lain + Asleep with us a little while + Beneath the washing of the main, + How calm shall be your waking smile! + + For ye shall smile to think of life + That knows no troublous change or fear, + No unavailing bitter strife, + That ere its time brings trouble near. + + ORPHEUS. + + Is there some murmur in your ears, + That all that we have done is nought, + And nothing ends our cares and fears, + Till the last fear on us is brought? + + THE SIRENS. + + Alas! and will ye stop your ears, + In vain desire to do aught, + And wish to live 'mid cares and fears, + Until the last fear makes you nought? + + ORPHEUS. + + Is not the May-time now on earth, + When close against the city wall + The folk are singing in their mirth, + While on their heads the May-flowers fall? + + THE SIRENS. + + Yes, May is come, and its sweet breath + Shall well-nigh make you weep to-day, + And pensive with swift-coming death, + Shall ye be satiate of the May. + + ORPHEUS. + + Shall not July bring fresh delight, + As underneath green trees ye sit, + And o'er some damsel's body white + The noontide shadows change and flit? + + THE SIRENS. + + No new delight July shall bring + But ancient fear and fresh desire, + And, spite of every lovely thing, + Of July surely shall ye tire. + + ORPHEUS. + + And now, when August comes on thee, + And 'mid the golden sea of corn + The merry reapers thou mayst see, + Wilt thou still think the earth forlorn? + + THE SIRENS. + + Set flowers upon thy short-lived head, + And in thine heart forgetfulness + Of man's hard toil, and scanty bread, + And weary of those days no less. + + ORPHEUS. + + Or wilt thou climb the sunny hill, + In the October afternoon, + To watch the purple earth's blood fill + The grey vat to the maiden's tune? + + THE SIRENS. + + When thou beginnest to grow old, + Bring back remembrance of thy bliss + With that the shining cup doth hold, + And weary helplessly of this. + + ORPHEUS. + + Or pleasureless shall we pass by + The long cold night and leaden day, + That song, and tale, and minstrelsy + Shall make as merry as the May? + + THE SIRENS. + + List then, to-night, to some old tale + Until the tears o'erflow thine eyes; + But what shall all these things avail, + When sad to-morrow comes and dies? + + ORPHEUS. + + And when the world is born again, + And with some fair love, side by side, + Thou wanderest 'twixt the sun and rain, + In that fresh love-begetting tide; + + Then, when the world is born again, + And the sweet year before thee lies, + Shall thy heart think of coming pain, + Or vex itself with memories? + + THE SIRENS. + + Ah! then the world is born again + With burning love unsatisfied, + And new desires fond and vain, + And weary days from tide to tide. + + Ah! when the world is born again, + A little day is soon gone by, + When thou, unmoved by sun or rain, + Within a cold straight house shalt lie. + + Therewith they ceased awhile, as languidly + The head of Argo fell off toward the sea, + And through the water she began to go, + For from the land a fitful wind did blow, + That, dallying with the many-coloured sail, + Would sometimes swell it out and sometimes fail, + As nigh the east side of the bay they drew; + Then o'er the waves again the music flew. + + THE SIRENS. + + Think not of pleasure, short and vain. + Wherewith, 'mid days of toil and pain, + With sick and sinking hearts ye strive + To cheat yourselves that ye may live + With cold death ever close at hand; + Think rather of a peaceful land, + The changeless land where ye may be + Roofed over by the changeful sea. + + ORPHEUS. + + And is the fair town nothing then, + The coming of the wandering men + With that long talked of thing and strange, + And news of how the kingdoms change; + The pointed hands, and wondering + At doers of a desperate thing? + Push on, for surely this shall be + Across a narrow strip of sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Alas! poor souls and timorous, + Will ye draw nigh to gaze at us + And see if we are fair indeed, + For such as we shall be your meed, + There, where our hearts would have you go. + And where can the earth-dwellers show + In any land such loveliness + As that wherewith your eyes we bless, + O wanderers of the Minyæ, + Worn toilers over land and sea? + + ORPHEUS. + + Fair as the lightning thwart the sky, + As sun-dyed snow upon the high + Untrodden heaps of threatening stone + The eagle looks upon alone, + O fair as the doomed victim's wreath, + O fair as deadly sleep and death, + What will ye with them, earthly men, + To mate your three-score years and ten? + Toil rather, suffer and be free, + Betwixt the green earth and the sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + If ye be bold with us to go, + Things such as happy dreams may show + Shall your once heavy eyes behold + About our palaces of gold; + Where waters 'neath the waters run, + And from o'erhead a harmless sun + Gleams through the woods of chrysolite. + There gardens fairer to the sight + Than those of the Phæacian king + Shall ye behold; and, wondering, + Gaze on the sea-born fruit and flowers, + And thornless and unchanging bowers, + Whereof the May-time knoweth nought. + So to the pillared house being brought, + Poor souls, ye shall not be alone, + For o'er the floors of pale blue stone + All day such feet as ours shall pass, + And, 'twixt the glimmering walls of glass, + Such bodies garlanded with gold, + So faint, so fair, shall ye behold, + And clean forget the treachery + Of changing earth and tumbling sea. + + ORPHEUS. + + O the sweet valley of deep grass, + Where-through the summer stream doth pass, + In chain of shallow, and still pool, + From misty morn to evening cool; + Where the black ivy creeps and twines + O'er the dark-armed, red-trunkèd pines, + Whence clattering the pigeon flits, + Or, brooding o'er her thin eggs, sits, + And every hollow of the hills + With echoing song the mavis fills. + There by the stream, all unafraid, + Shall stand the happy shepherd maid, + Alone in first of sunlit hours; + Behind her, on the dewy flowers, + Her homespun woollen raiment lies, + And her white limbs and sweet grey eyes + Shine from the calm green pool and deep, + While round about the swallows sweep, + Not silent; and would God that we, + Like them, were landed from the sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Shall we not rise with you at night, + Up through the shimmering green twilight, + That maketh there our changeless day, + Then going through the moonlight grey, + Shall we not sit upon these sands, + To think upon the troublous lands + Long left behind, where once ye were, + When every day brought change and fear? + There, with white arms about you twined, + And shuddering somewhat at the wind + That ye rejoiced erewhile to meet, + Be happy, while old stories sweet, + Half understood, float round your ears, + And fill your eyes with happy tears. + Ah! while we sing unto you there, + As now we sing, with yellow hair + Blown round about these pearly limbs, + While underneath the grey sky swims + The light shell-sailor of the waves, + And to our song, from sea-filled caves + Booms out an echoing harmony, + Shall ye not love the peaceful sea? + + ORPHEUS. + + Nigh the vine-covered hillocks green, + In days agone, have I not seen + The brown-clad maidens amorous, + Below the long rose-trellised house, + Dance to the querulous pipe and shrill, + When the grey shadow of the hill + Was lengthening at the end of day? + Not shadowy nor pale were they, + But limbed like those who 'twixt the trees, + Follow the swift of Goddesses. + Sunburnt they are somewhat, indeed, + To where the rough brown woollen weed + Is drawn across their bosoms sweet, + Or cast from off their dancing feet; + But yet the stars, the moonlight grey, + The water wan, the dawn of day, + Can see their bodies fair and white + As Hers, who once, for man's delight, + Before the world grew hard and old, + Came o'er the bitter sea and cold; + And surely those that met me there, + Her handmaidens and subjects were; + And shame-faced, half-repressed desire + Had lit their glorious eyes with fire, + That maddens eager hearts of men. + O would that I were with them when + The new-risen moon is gathering light, + And yellow from the homestead white + The windows gleam; but verily + This waits us o'er a little sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Come to the land where none grows old, + And none is rash or over-bold, + Nor any noise there is nor war, + Nor rumour from wild lands afar, + Nor plagues, nor birth and death of kings; + No vain desire of unknown things + Shall vex you there, no hope or fear + Of that which never draweth near; + But in that lovely land and still + Ye may remember what ye will, + And what ye will, forget for aye. + So while the kingdoms pass away, + Ye sea-beat hardened toilers erst, + Unresting, for vain fame athirst, + Shall be at peace for evermore, + With hearts fulfilled of Godlike lore, + And calm, unwavering Godlike love, + No lapse of time can turn or move. + There, ages after your fair Fleece + Is clean forgotten, yea, and Greece + Is no more counted glorious, + Alone with us, alone with us, + Alone with us, dwell happily, + Beneath our trembling roof of sea. + + ORPHEUS. + + Ah! do ye weary of the strife + And long to change this eager life + For shadowy and dull hopelessness, + Thinking indeed to gain no less + Than far from this grey light to lie, + And there to die and not to die, + To be as if ye ne'er had been, + Yet keep your memory fresh and green, + To have no thought of good or ill, + Yet feed your fill or pleasure still? + O idle dream! Ah, verily + If it shall happen unto me + That I have thought of anything, + When o'er my bones the sea-fowl sing, + And I lie dead, how shall I pine + For those fresh joys that once were mine, + On this green fount of joy and mirth, + The ever young and glorious earth; + Then, helpless, shall I call to mind + Thoughts of the sweet flower-scented wind, + The dew, the gentle rain at night, + The wonder-working snow and white. + The song of birds, the water's fall, + The sun that maketh bliss of all; + Yea, this our toil and victory, + The tyrannous and conquered sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Ah, will ye go, and whither then + Will ye go from us, soon to die, + To fill your three-score years and ten, + With many an unnamed misery? + + And this the wretchedest of all, + That when upon your lonely eyes + The last faint heaviness shall fall + Ye shall bethink you of our cries. + + Come back, nor grown old, seek in vain + To hear us sing across the sea. + Come back, come back, come back again, + Come back, O fearful Minyæ! + + ORPHEUS. + + Ah, once again, ah, once again, + The black prow plunges through the sea, + Nor yet shall all your toil be vain, + Nor yet forgot, O Minyæ. + + In such wise sang the Thracian, in such wise + Out gushed the Sirens' deadly melodies; + But long before the mingled song was done, + Back to the oars the Minyæ, one by one, + Slunk silently; though many an one sighed sore, + As his strong fingers met the wood once more, + And from his breast the toilsome breathing came. + But as they laboured, some for very shame + Hung down their heads, and yet amongst them some + Gazed at the place whence that sweet song had come; + But round the oars and Argo's shielded side + The sea grew white, and she began to glide + Swift through the waters of that deadly bay; + But when a long wake now behind her lay, + And still the whistle of the wind increased, + Past shroud and mast, and all the song had ceased, + Butes rose up, the fair Athenian man, + And with wild eyes betwixt the rowers ran + Unto the poop and leapt into the sea; + Then all men rested on their oars, but he + Rose to the top, and towards the shore swam fast; + While all eyes watched him, who had well-nigh past + The place where sand and water 'gan to meet + In wreaths and ripples round the ivory feet, + When sun-burnt swimmer, snow-white glancing limb, + And yellow sand unto their eyes grew dim, + Nor did they see their fellow any more. + But when they once again beheld the shore + The wind sung o'er the empty beach and bare, + And by the cliff uprose into the air + A delicate and glittering little cloud, + That seemed some many-coloured sun to shroud; + But as the rugged cliff it drew above + The wondering Minyæ beheld it move + Westward, toward Lilybæum and the sun. + Then once more was their seaward course begun, + And soon those deadly sands were far astern, + Nor ever after could the heroes learn + If Butes lived or died; but old tales tell + That while the tumbling waves he breasted well, + Venus beheld him, as unseen she drew + From sunny Cyprus to the headland blue + Of Lilybæum, where her temple is; + She, with a mind his sun-burnt brows to kiss, + E'en as his feet were dropping nigh the beach, + And ere his hand the deadly hands could reach, + Stooped, as the merlin stoops upon the dove, + And snatched him thence to be awhile her love, + Betwixt the golden pillars of her shrine, + That those who pass the Ægades see shine + From high-raised Lilybæum o'er the sea. + + But far away the sea-beat Minyæ + Cast forth the foam, as through the growing night + They laboured ever, having small delight + In life all empty of that promised bliss, + In love that scarce can give a dying kiss, + In pleasure ending sweet songs with a wail, + In fame that little can dead men avail, + In vain toil struggling with the fateful stream, + In hope, the promise of a morning dream. + Yet as night died, and the cold sea and grey + Seemed running with them toward the dawn of day, + Needs must they once again forget their death, + Needs must they, being alive and drawing breath, + As men who of no other life can know + In their own minds again immortal grow. + But toward the south a little now they bent, + And for a while o'er landless sea they went, + But on the third day made another land + At dawn of day, and thitherward did stand; + And since the wind blew lightly from the shore, + Somewhat abeam, they feared not with the oar + To push across the shallowing sea and green, + That washed a land the fairest they had seen, + Whose shell-strewn beach at highest of the tide + 'Twixt sea and flowery shore was nowise wide, + And drawn a little backward from the sea + There stood a marble wall wrought cunningly, + Rosy and white, set thick with images, + And over-topped with heavy-fruited trees, + Which by the shore ran, as the bay did bend, + And to their eyes had neither gap nor end; + Nor any gate: and looking over this, + They saw a place not made for earthly bliss, + Or eyes of dying men, for growing there + The yellow apple and the painted pear, + And well-filled golden cups of oranges + Hung amid groves of pointed cypress trees; + On grassy slopes the twining vine-boughs grew, + And hoary olives 'twixt far mountains blue, + And many-coloured flowers, like as a cloud + The rugged southern cliffs did softly shroud; + And many a green-necked bird sung to his mate + Within the slim-leaved, thorny pomegranate, + That flung its unstrung rubies on the grass, + And slowly o'er the place the wind did pass + Heavy with many odours that it bore + From thymy hills down to the sea-beat shore, + Because no flower there is, that all the year, + From spring to autumn, beareth otherwhere, + But there it flourished; nor the fruit alone + From 'twixt the green leaves and the boughs outshone, + For there each tree was ever flowering. + Nor was there lacking many a living thing + Changed of its nature; for the roebuck there + Walked fearless with the tiger; and the bear + Rolled sleepily upon the fruit-strawn grass, + Letting the conies o'er his rough hide pass, + With blinking eyes, that meant no treachery. + Careless the partridge passed the red fox by; + Untouched the serpent left the thrushes brown, + And as a picture was the lion's frown. + But in the midst there was a grassy space, + Raised somewhat over all the flowery place, + On marble terrace-walls wrought like a dream; + And round about it ran a clear blue stream, + Bridged o'er with marble steps, and midmost there + Grew a green tree, whose smooth grey boughs did bear + Such fruit as never man elsewhere had seen, + For 'twixt the sunlight and the shadow green + Shone out fair apples of red gleaming gold. + Moreover round the tree, in many a fold, + Lay coiled a dragon, glittering little less + Than that which his eternal watchfulness + Was set to guard; nor yet was he alone, + For from the daisied grass about him shone + Gold raiment wrapping round two damsels fair, + And one upon the steps combed out her hair, + And with shut eyes sung low as in a dream; + And one stood naked in the cold blue stream, + While on the bank her golden raiment lay; + But on that noontide of the quivering day, + She only, hearing the seafarers' shout, + Her lovely golden head had turned about, + And seen their white sail flapping o'er the wall, + And as she turned had let her tresses fall, + Which the thin water rippling round her knee + Bore outward from her toward the restless sea. + Not long she stood, but looking seaward yet, + From out the water made good haste to get, + And catching up her raiment hastily, + Ran up the marble stair, and 'gan to cry: + "Wake, O my sisters, wake, for now are come + The thieves of Æa to our peaceful home." + Then at her voice they gat them to their feet, + And when her raiment all her body sweet + Once more had hidden, joining hand to hand, + About the sacred apples did they stand, + While coiled the dragon closer to the tree, + And raised his head above them threateningly. + + Meanwhile, from Argo many a sea-beat face + Gazed longingly upon that lovely place, + And some their eager hands already laid + Upon the gangway. Then Medea said:-- + "Get back unto the oars, O Minyæ, + Nor loiter here, for what have such as we + To do herein, where, 'mid undying trees, + Undying watch the wise Hesperides, + And where the while they watch, scarce can a God + Set foot upon the fruit-besprinkled sod + That no snow ever covers? therefore haste, + Nor yet in wondering your fair lives waste; + For these are as the Gods, nor think of us, + Nor to their eyes can aught be glorious + That son of man can do; would God that I + Could see far off the misty headland lie, + Where we the guilt of blood shall wash away, + For I grow weary of the dashing spray, + And ceaseless roll of interwoven seas, + And fain were sitting 'neath the whispering trees + In homely places, where the children play, + Who change like me, grow old, and die some day." + She ceased, and little soothly did they grieve, + For all its loveliness, that land to leave, + For now some God had chilled their hardihead, + And in their hearts had set a sacred dread, + They knew not why; but on their oars they hung, + A little longer as the sisters sung. + + "O ye, who to this place have strayed, + That never for man's eyes was made, + Depart in haste, as ye have come, + And bear back to your sea-beat home + This memory of the age of gold, + And for your eyes, grown over-bold, + Your hearts shall pay in sorrowing, + For want of many a half-seen thing. + + "Lo, such as is this garden green, + In days past, all the world has been, + And what we know all people knew, + Save this, that unto worse all grew. + "But since the golden age is gone, + This little place is left alone, + Unchanged, unchanging, watched of us, + The daughters of wise Hesperus. + "Surely the heavenly Messenger + Full oft is fain to enter here, + And yet without must he abide; + Nor longeth less the dark king's bride + To set red lips unto that fruit + That erst made nought her mother's suit. + Here would Diana rest awhile, + Forgetful of her woodland guile, + Among these beasts that fear her nought. + Nor is it less in Pallas' thought, + Beneath our trees to ponder o'er + The wide, unfathomed sea of lore; + And oft-kissed Citheræa, no less + Weary of love, full fain would press + These flowers with soft unsandalled feet. + + "But unto us our rest is sweet, + Neither shall any man or God + Or lovely Goddess touch the sod + Where-under old times buried lie, + Before the world knew misery. + Nor will we have a slave or king, + Nor yet will we learn anything + But that we know, that makes us glad; + While oft the very Gods are sad + With knowing what the Fates shall do. + "Neither from us shall wisdom go + To fill the hungering hearts of men, + Lest to them threescore years and ten + Come but to seem a little day, + Once given, and taken soon away. + Nay, rather let them find their life + Bitter and sweet, fulfilled of strife, + Restless with hope, vain with regret, + Trembling with fear, most strangely set + 'Twixt memory and forgetfulness; + So more shall joy be, troubles less, + And surely when all this is past, + They shall not want their rest at last. + + "Let earth and heaven go on their way, + While still we watch from day to day, + In this green place left all alone, + A remnant of the days long gone." + + There in the wind they hung, as word by word + The clear-voiced singers silently they heard; + But when the air was barren of their song, + Anigh the shore they durst not linger long, + So northward turned forewearied Argo's head, + And dipping oars, from that fair country sped, + Fulfilled of new desires and pensive thought, + Which that day's life unto their hearts had brought. + Then hard they toiled upon the bitter sea, + And in two days they did not fail to be + In sight of land, a headland high and blue + Which straight Milesian Erginus knew + To be the fateful place which now they sought, + Stormy Malea, so thitherward they brought + The groaning ship, and, casting anchor, lay + Beneath that headland's lee, within a bay, + Wherefrom the more part landed, and their feet + Once more the happy soil of Greece did meet. + Therewith they failèd not to bring ashore + Rich robes of price and of fair arms good store, + And gold and silver, that they there might buy + What yet they lacked for their solemnity; + Then, while upon the highest point of land + Some built an altar, Jason, with a band + Of all the chiefest of the Minyæ, + Turned inland from the murmur of the sea. + Not far they went ere by a little stream + Down in a valley they could see the gleam + Of brazen pillars and fair-gilded vanes, + And, dropping down by dank dark-wooded lanes + From off the hill-side, reached a house at last + Where in and out men-slaves and women passed, + And guests were streaming fast into the hall, + Where now the oaken boards were laid for all. + With these the Minyæ went, and soon they were + Within a pillared hall both great and fair, + Where folk already sat beside the board, + And on the dais was an ancient lord. + But when these saw the fearless Minyæ + Glittering in arms, they sprang up hastily, + And each man turned about unto the wall + To seize his spear or staff: then through the hall + Jason cried out: "Laconians, fear ye not, + Nor leave the flesh-meat while it reeketh hot + For dread of us, for we are men as ye, + And I am Jason of the Minyæ, + And come from Æa to the land of Greece, + And in my ship bear back the Golden Fleece, + And a fair Colchian queen to fill my bed. + And now we pray to share your wine and bread, + And other things we need, and at our hands + That ye will take fair things of many lands." + "Sirs," said the ancient lord, "be welcome here, + Come up and sit by me, and make such cheer + As here ye can: glad am I that to me + The first of Grecian men from off the sea + Ye now are come." + Therewith the great hall rang + With joyful shouts, and as, with clash and clang + Of well-wrought arms, up to the dais they went, + All eyes upon the Minyæ were bent, + Nor could they have enough of wondering + At this or that sea-tossed victorious king. + So with the strangers there they held high feast, + And afterwards the slaves drove many a beast + Down to the shore, and carried back again + Great store of precious things in pack and wain; + Wrought gold and silver, gems, full many a bale + Of scarlet cloth, and fine silk, fit to veil + The perfect limbs of dreaded Goddesses; + Spices fresh-gathered from the outland trees, + And arms well-wrought, and precious scarce-known wine, + And carven images well-nigh divine. + So when all folk with these were satisfied, + Back went the Minyæ to the water-side, + And with them that old lord, fain to behold + Victorious Argo and the Fleece of Gold. + And so aboard amid the oars he lay + Throughout the night, and at the dawn of day + Did all men land, nor spared that day to wear + The best of all they had of gold-wrought gear, + And every one, being crowned with olive grey, + Up to the headland did they take their way, + Where now already stood the crownèd priests + About the altars by the gilt-horned beasts. + There, as the fair sun rose, did Jason break + Over the altar the thin barley-cake, + And cast the salt abroad, and there were slain + The milk-white bulls, and there red wine did rain + On to the fire from out the ancient jar, + And high rose up the red flame, seen afar + From many another headland of that shore: + But over all its crackling and its roar + Uprose from time to time a joyous song, + That on the summer morning lay for long, + The mighty voices of the Minyæ + Exulting o'er the tossing conquered sea, + That far below thrust on by tide and wind + The crumbling bases of the headland mined. + + + + + FROM + + "THE EARTHLY PARADISE." + + AN APOLOGY. + + + Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, + I cannot ease the burden of your fears, + Or make quick-coming death a little thing, + Or bring again the pleasure of past years, + Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, + Or hope again for aught that I can say, + The idle singer of an empty day. + + But rather, when aweary of your mirth, + From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, + And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, + Grudge every minute as it passes by, + Made the more mindful that the sweet days die-- + --Remember me a little then I pray, + The idle singer of an empty day. + + The heavy trouble, the bewildering care + That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, + These idle verses have no power to bear; + So let me sing of names remembered, + Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, + Or long time take their memory quite away + From us poor singers of an empty day. + + Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, + Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? + Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme + Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, + Telling a tale not too importunate + To those who in the sleepy region stay, + Lulled by the singer of an empty day. + + Folk say, a wizard to a northern king + At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, + That through one window men beheld the spring, + And through another saw the summer glow, + And through a third the fruited vines a-row, + While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, + Piped the drear wind of that December day. + + So with this Earthly Paradise it is, + If ye will read aright, and pardon me, + Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss + Midmost the beating of the steely sea, + Where tossed about all hearts of men must be: + Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, + Not the poor singer of an empty day. + + + + + FROM + + PROLOGUE--THE WANDERERS. + + ARGUMENT. + +Certain gentlemen and mariners of Norway, having considered all that +they had heard of the Earthly Paradise, set sail to find it, and after +many troubles and the lapse of many years came old men to some Western +land, of which they had never before heard: there they died, when they +had dwelt there certain years, much honoured of the strange people. + + + Forget six counties overhung with smoke, + Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, + Forget the spreading of the hideous town; + Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, + And dream of London, small, and white, and clean, + The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green; + Think, that below bridge the green lapping waves + Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves, + Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up hill, + And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to fill, + And treasured scanty spice from some far sea, + Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery, + And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne; + While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen + Moves over bills of lading--mid such times + Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes. + + A nameless city in a distant sea, + White as the changing walls of faërie, + Thronged with much people clad in ancient guise + I now am fain to set before your eyes; + There, leave the clear green water and the quays, + And pass betwixt its marble palaces, + Until ye come unto the chiefest square; + A bubbling conduit is set midmost there, + And round about it now the maidens throng, + With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song, + Making but light of labour new begun + While in their vessels gleams the morning sun. + On one side of the square a temple stands, + Wherein the gods worshipped in ancient lands + Still have their altars, a great market-place + Upon two other sides fills all the space, + And thence the busy hum of men comes forth; + But on the cold side looking toward the north + A pillared council-house may you behold, + Within whose porch are images of gold, + Gods of the nations who dwelt anciently + About the borders of the Grecian sea. + + Pass now between them, push the brazen door, + And standing on the polished marble floor + Leave all the noises of the square behind; + Most calm that reverent chamber shall ye find, + Silent at first, but for the noise you made + When on the brazen door your hand you laid + To shut it after you--but now behold + The city rulers on their thrones of gold, + Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands + Long carven silver-banded ebony wands; + Then from the daïs drop your eyes and see + Soldiers and peasants standing reverently + Before those elders, round a little band + Who bear such arms as guard the English land, + But battered, rent, and rusted sore, and they, + The men themselves, are shrivelled, bent, and grey; + And as they lean with pain upon their spears + Their brows seem furrowed deep with more than years; + For sorrow dulls their heavy sunken eyes, + Bent are they less with time than miseries. + + Pondering on them the city grey-beards gaze + Through kindly eyes, midst thoughts of other days, + And pity for poor souls, and vague regret + For all the things that might have happened yet, + Until, their wonder gathering to a head, + The wisest man, who long that land has led, + Breaks the deep silence, unto whom again + A wanderer answers. Slowly as in pain, + And with a hollow voice as from a tomb + At first he tells the story of his doom, + But as it grows and once more hopes and fears, + Both measureless, are ringing round his ears, + His eyes grow bright, his seeming days decrease, + For grief once told brings somewhat back of peace. + + THE ELDER OF THE CITY. + + From what unheard-of world, in what strange keel, + Have ye come hither to our commonweal? + No barbarous race, as these our peasants say, + But learned in memories of a long-past day, + Speaking, some few at least, the ancient tongue + That through the lapse of ages still has clung + To us, the seed of the Ionian race. + Speak out and fear not; if ye need a place + Wherein to pass the end of life away, + That shall ye gain from us from this same day, + Unless the enemies of God ye are; + We fear not you and yours to bear us war, + And scarce can think that ye will try again + Across the perils of the shifting plain + To seek your own land whereso that may be: + For folk of ours bearing the memory + Of our old land, in days past oft have striven + To reach it, unto none of whom was given + To come again and tell us of the tale, + Therefore our ships are now content to sail, + About these happy islands that we know. + + + THE WANDERER. + + Masters, I have to tell a tale of woe, + A tale of folly and of wasted life, + Hope against hope, the bitter dregs of strife, + Ending, where all things end, in death at last: + So if I tell the story of the past, + Let it be worth some little rest, I pray, + A little slumber ere the end of day. + + No wonder if the Grecian tongue I know, + Since at Byzantium many a year ago + My father bore the twibil valiantly; + There did he marry, and get me, and die, + And I went back to Norway to my kin, + Long ere this beard ye see did first begin + To shade my mouth, but nathless not before + Among the Greeks I gathered some small lore, + And standing midst the Væringers, still heard + From this or that man many a wondrous word; + For ye shall know that though we worshipped God, + And heard mass duly, still of Swithiod + The Greater, Odin and his house of gold, + The noble stories ceased not to be told; + These moved me more than words of mine can say + E'en while at Micklegarth my folks did stay; + But when I reached one dying autumn-tide + My uncle's dwelling near the forest side, + And saw the land so scanty and so bare, + And all the hard things men contend with there, + A little and unworthy land it seemed, + And yet the more of Asagard I dreamed, + And worthier seemed the ancient faith of praise. + + But now, but now--when one of all those days + Like Lazarus' finger on my heart should be + Breaking the fiery fixed eternity, + But for one moment--could I see once more + The grey-roofed sea-port sloping towards the shore, + Or note the brown boats standing in from sea, + Or the great dromond swinging from the quay, + Or in the beech-woods watch the screaming jay + Shoot up betwixt the tall trunks, smooth and grey-- + Yea, could I see the days before distress + When very longing was but happiness. + + Within our house there was a Breton squire + Well learned, who fail'd not to fan the fire + That evermore unholpen burned in me + Strange lands and things beyond belief to see; + Much lore of many lands this Breton knew; + And for one tale I told, he told me two. + He, counting Asagard a new-told thing, + Yet spoke of gardens ever blossoming + Across the western sea where none grew old, + E'en as the books at Micklegarth had told, + And said moreover that an English knight + Had had the Earthly Paradise in sight, + And heard the songs of those that dwelt therein. + But entered not, being hindered by his sin. + Shortly, so much of this and that he said + That in my heart the sharp barb entered, + And like real life would empty stories seem, + And life from day to day an empty dream. + + Another man there was, a Swabian priest, + Who knew the maladies of man and beast, + And what things helped them; he the stone still sought + Whereby base metal into gold is brought, + And strove to gain the precious draught, whereby + Men live midst mortal men yet never die; + Tales of the Kaiser Redbeard could he tell + Who neither went to Heaven nor yet to Hell, + When from that fight upon the Asian plain + He vanished, but still lives to come again + Men know not how or when; but I listening + Unto this tale thought it a certain thing + That in some hidden vale of Swithiod + Across the golden pavement still he trod. + + But while our longing for such things so grew, + And ever more and more we deemed them true, + Upon the land a pestilence there fell + Unheard of yet in any chronicle, + And, as the people died full fast of it, + With these two men it chanced me once to sit, + This learned squire whose name was Nicholas, + And Swabian Laurence, as our manner was; + For could we help it scarcely did we part + From dawn to dusk: so heavy, sad at heart, + We from the castle-yard beheld the bay + Upon that ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, + Little we said amidst that dreary mood, + And certes nought that we could say was good. + + It was a bright September afternoon, + The parched-up beech-trees would be yellowing soon + The yellow flowers grown deeper with the sun + Were letting fall their petals one by one; + No wind there was, a haze was gathering o'er + The furthest bound of the faint yellow shore; + And in the oily waters of the bay + Scarce moving aught some fisher-cobles lay, + And all seemed peace; and had been peace indeed + But that we young men of our life had need, + And to our listening ears a sound was borne + That made the sunlight wretched and forlorn-- + --The heavy tolling of the minster bell-- + And nigher yet a tinkling sound did tell + That through the streets they bore our Saviour Christ + By dying lips in anguish to be kissed. + + At last spoke Nicholas, "How long shall we + Abide here, looking forth into the sea + Expecting when our turn shall come to die? + Fair fellows, will ye come with me and try + Now at our worst that long-desired quest, + Now--when our worst is death, and life our best." + "Nay, but thou know'st," I said, "that I but wait + The coming of some man, the turn of fate, + To make this voyage--but I die meanwhile, + For I am poor, though my blood be not vile, + Nor yet for all his lore doth Laurence hold + Within his crucibles aught like to gold; + And what hast thou, whose father driven forth + By Charles of Blois, found shelter in the North? + But little riches as I needs must deem." + "Well," said he, "things are better than they seem, + For 'neath my bed an iron chest I have + That holdeth things I have made shift to save + E'en for this end; moreover, hark to this, + In the next firth a fair long ship there is + Well victualled, ready even now for sea, + And I may say it 'longeth unto me; + Since Marcus Erling, late its owner, lies + Dead at the end of many miseries, + And little Kirstin, as thou well mayst know, + Would be content throughout the world to go + If I but took her hand, and now still more + Hath heart to leave this poor death-stricken shore. + Therefore my gold shall buy us Bordeaux swords + And Bordeaux wine as we go oceanwards. + "What say ye, will ye go with me to-night, + Setting your faces to undreamed delight, + Turning your backs unto this troublous hell, + Or is the time too short to say farewell?" + + "Not so," I said, "rather would I depart + Now while thou speakest, never has my heart + Been set on anything within this land." + Then said the Swabian, "Let us now take hand + And swear to follow evermore this quest + Till death or life have set our hearts at rest." + + So with joined hands we swore, and Nicholas said, + "To-night, fair friends, be ye apparelled + To leave this land, bring all the arms ye can + And such men as ye trust, my own good man + Guards the small postern looking towards St. Bride, + And good it were ye should not be espied, + Since mayhap freely ye should not go hence, + Thou Rolf in special, for this pestilence + Makes all men hard and cruel, nor are they + Willing that folk should 'scape if they must stay: + Be wise; I bid you for a while farewell, + Leave ye this stronghold when St. Peter's bell + Strikes midnight, all will surely then be still, + And I will bide you at King Tryggve's hill + Outside the city gates." + Each went his way + Therewith, and I the remnant of that day + Gained for the quest three men that I deemed true, + And did such other things as I must do, + And still was ever listening for the chime + Half maddened by the lazy lapse of time, + Yea, scarce I thought indeed that I should live + Till the great tower the joyful sound should give + That set us free: and so the hours went past, + Till startled by the echoing clang at last + That told of midnight, armed from head to heel + Down to the open postern did I steal, + Bearing small wealth--this sword that yet hangs here + Worn thin and narrow with so many a year, + My father's axe that from Byzantium, + With some few gems my pouch yet held, had come, + Nought else that shone with silver or with gold. + But by the postern gate could I behold + Laurence the priest all armed as if for war, + From off the town-wall, having some small store + Of arms and furs and raiment: then once more + I turned, and saw the autumn moonlight fall + Upon the new-built bastions of the wall, + Strange with black shadow and grey flood of light, + And further off I saw the lead shine bright + On tower and turret-roof against the sky, + And looking down I saw the old town lie + Black in the shade of the o'er-hanging hill, + Stricken with death, and dreary, but all still + Until it reached the water of the bay, + That in the dead night smote against the quay + Not all unheard, though there was little wind. + But as I turned to leave the place behind, + The wind's light sound, the slowly falling swell, + Were hushed at once by that shrill-tinkling bell, + That in that stillness jarring on mine ears, + With sudden jangle checked the rising tears, + And now the freshness of the open sea + Seemed ease and joy and very life to me. + So greeting my new mates with little sound, + We made good haste to reach King Tryggve's mound, + And there the Breton Nicholas beheld, + Who by the hand fair Kirstin Erling held, + And round about them twenty men there stood, + Of whom the more part on the holy rood + Were sworn till death to follow up the quest, + And Kirstin was the mistress of the rest. + Again betwixt us was there little speech, + But swiftly did we set on toward the beach, + And coming there our keel, the Fighting Man, + We boarded, and the long oars out we ran, + And swept from out the firth, and sped so well + That scarcely could we hear St. Peter's bell + Toll one, although the light wind blew from land; + Then hoisting sail southward we 'gan to stand, + And much I joyed beneath the moon to see + The lessening land that might have been to me + A kindly giver of wife, child, and friend, + And happy life, or at the worser end + A quiet grave till doomsday rend the earth. + + Night passed, day dawned, and we grew full of mirth + As with the ever-rising morning wind + Still further lay our threatened death behind, + Or so we thought: some eighty men we were, + Of whom but fifty knew the shipman's gear, + The rest were uplanders; midst such of these + As knew not of our quest, with promises + Went Nicholas dealing florins round about, + With still a fresh tale for each new man's doubt, + Till all were fairly won or seemed to be + To that strange desperate voyage o'er the sea. + + + + + OGIER THE DANE. + + ARGUMENT. + +When Ogier was born, six fay ladies came to the cradle where he lay, and +gave him various gifts, as to be brave and happy and the like; but the +sixth gave him to be her love when he should have lived long in the +world: so Ogier grew up and became the greatest of knights, and at last, +after many years, fell into the hands of that fay, and with her, as the +story tells, he lives now, though he returned once to the world, as is +shown in the process of this tale. + + + Within some Danish city by the sea, + Whose name, changed now, is all unknown to me, + Great mourning was there one fair summer eve, + Because the angels, bidden to receive + The fair Queen's lovely soul in Paradise, + Had done their bidding, and in royal guise + Her helpless body, once the prize of love, + Unable now for fear or hope to move, + Lay underneath the golden canopy; + And bowed down by unkingly misery + The King sat by it, and not far away, + Within the chamber a fair man-child lay, + His mother's bane, the king that was to be, + Not witting yet of any royalty, + Harmless and loved, although so new to life. + + Calm the June evening was, no sign of strife + The clear sky showed, no storm grew round the sun, + Unhappy that his day of bliss was done; + Dumb was the sea, and if the beech-wood stirred, + 'Twas with the nestling of the grey-winged bird + Midst its thick leaves; and though the nightingale + Her ancient, hapless sorrow must bewail, + No more of woe there seemed in her song + Than such as doth to lovers' words belong, + Because their love is still unsatisfied. + But to the King, on that sweet eventide, + No earth there seemed, no heaven when earth was gone; + No help, no God! but lonely pain alone; + And he, midst unreal shadows, seemed to sit + Himself the very heart and soul of it. + But round the cradle of the new-born child + The nurses now the weary time beguiled + With stories of the just departed Queen; + And how, amid the heathen folk first seen, + She had been won to love and godliness; + And as they spoke, e'en midst his dull distress, + An eager whisper now and then would smite + Upon the King's ear, of some past delight, + Some once familiar name, and he would raise + His weary head, and on the speaker gaze + Like one about to speak, but soon again + Would drop his head and be alone with pain, + Nor think of these; who, silent in their turn, + Would sit and watch the waxen tapers burn + Amidst the dusk of the quick-gathering night, + Until beneath the high stars' glimmering light, + The fresh earth lay in colourless repose. + So passed the night, and now and then one rose + From out her place to do what might avail + To still the new-born infant's fretful wail; + Or through the softly-opened door there came + Some nurse new waked, who, whispering low the name + Of her whose turn was come, would take her place; + Then toward the King would turn about her face + And to her fellows whisper of the day, + And tell again of her just past away. + + So passed the night, the moon arose and grew, + From off the sea a little west-wind blew, + Rustling the garden-leaves like sudden rain; + And ere the moon had 'gun to fall again + The wind grew cold, a change was in the sky, + And in deep silence did the dawn draw nigh; + Then from her place a nurse arose to light + Fresh hallowed lights, for, dying with the night, + The tapers round about the dead Queen were; + But the King raised his head and 'gan to stare + Upon her, as her sweeping gown did glide + About the floor, that in the stillness cried + Beneath her careful feet; and now as she + Had lit the second candle carefully, + And on its silver spike another one + Was setting, through her body did there run + A sudden tremor, and the hand was stayed + That on the dainty painted wax was laid; + Her eyelids fell down and she seemed to sleep, + And o'er the staring King began to creep + Sweet slumber too; the bitter lines of woe + That drew his weary face did softer grow, + His eyelids dropped, his arms fell to his side; + And moveless in their places did abide + The nursing women, held by some strong spell, + E'en as they were, and utter silence fell + Upon the mournful, glimmering chamber fair. + But now light footsteps coming up the stair, + Smote on the deadly stillness, and the sound + Of silken dresses trailing o'er the ground; + And heavenly odours through the chamber passed, + Unlike the scents that rose and lily cast + Upon the freshness of the dying night; + Then nigher drew the sound of footsteps light + Until the door swung open noiselessly-- + A mass of sunlit flowers there seemed to be + Within the doorway, and but pale and wan + The flame showed now that serveth mortal man, + As one by one six seeming ladies passed + Into the room, and o'er its sorrow cast + That thoughtless sense of joy bewildering, + That kisses youthful hearts amidst of spring; + Crowned were they, in such glorious raiment clad, + As yet no merchant of the world has had + Within his coffers; yet those crowns seemed fair + Only because they kissed their odorous hair, + And all that flowery raiment was but blessed + By those fair bodies that its splendour pressed. + Now to the cradle from that glorious band, + A woman passed, and laid a tender hand + Upon the babe, and gently drew aside + The swathings soft that did his body hide; + And, seeing him so fair and great, she smiled, + And stooped, and kissed him, saying, "O noble child, + Have thou a gift from Gloriande this day; + For to the time when life shall pass away + From this dear heart, no fear of death or shame, + No weariness of good shall foul thy name." + So saying, to her sisters she returned; + And one came forth, upon whose brow there burned + A crown of rubies, and whose heaving breast + With happy rings a golden hauberk pressed; + She took the babe, and somewhat frowning said, + "This gift I give, that till thy limbs are laid + At rest for ever, to thine honoured life + There never shall be lacking war and strife, + That thou a long-enduring name mayst win, + And by thy deeds, good pardon for thy sin." + With that another, who, unseen, meanwhile + Had drawn anigh, said with a joyous smile, + "And this forgotten gift to thee I give, + That while amidst the turmoil thou dost live, + Still shalt thou win the game, and unto thee + Defeat and shame but idle words shall be." + Then back they turned, and therewithal, the fourth + Said, "Take this gift for what it may be worth + For that is mine to give; lo, thou shalt be + Gentle of speech, and in all courtesy + The first of men: a little gift this is, + After these promises of fame and bliss." + Then toward the babe the fifth fair woman went; + Grey-eyed she was, and simple, with eyes bent + Down on the floor, parted her red lips were, + And o'er her sweet face marvellously fair + Oft would the colour spread full suddenly; + Clad in a dainty gown and thin was she, + For some green summer of the fay-land dight, + Tripping she went, and laid her fingers light + Upon the child, and said, "O little one, + As long as thou shalt look upon the sun + Shall women long for thee; take heed to this + And give them what thou canst of love and bliss." + Then, blushing for her words, therefrom she past, + And by the cradle stood the sixth and last, + The fairest of them all; awhile she gazed + Down on the child, and then her hand she raised, + And made the one side of her bosom bare; + "Ogier," she said, "if this be foul or fair + Thou know'st not now, but when thine earthly life + Is drunk out to the dregs, and war and strife + Have yielded thee whatever joy they may, + Thine head upon this bosom shalt thou lay; + And then, despite of knowledge or of God, + Will we be glad upon the flowery sod + Within the happy country where I dwell: + Ogier, my love that is to be, farewell!" + + She turned, and even as they came they passed + From out the place, and reached the gate at last + That oped before their feet, and speedily + They gained the edges of the murmuring sea, + And as they stood in silence, gazing there + Out to the west, they vanished into air, + I know not how, nor whereto they returned. + + But mixed with twilight in the chamber burned + The flickering candles, and those dreary folk, + Unlike to sleepers, from their trance awoke, + But nought of what had happed meanwhile they knew. + Through the half-opened casements now there blew + A sweet fresh air, that of the flowers and sea + Mingled together, smelt deliciously, + And from the unseen sun the spreading light + Began to make the fair June blossoms bright, + And midst their weary woe uprose the sun, + And thus has Ogier's noble life begun. + + * * * * * + + Hope is our life, when first our life grows clear; + Hope and delight, scarce crossed by lines of fear, + Yet the day comes when fain we would not hope, + But forasmuch as we with life must cope, + Struggling with this and that, and who knows why? + Hope will not give us up to certainty, + But still must bide with us: and with this man, + Whose life amid such promises began + Great things she wrought; but now the time has come + When he no more on earth may have his home. + Great things he suffered, great delights he had, + Unto great kings he gave good deeds for bad; + He ruled o'er kingdoms where his name no more + Is had in memory, and on many a shore + He left his sweat and blood to win a name + Passing the bounds of earthly creatures' fame. + A love he won and lost, a well-loved son + Whose little day of promise soon was done: + A tender wife he had, that he must leave + Before his heart her love could well receive; + Those promised gifts, that on his careless head + In those first hours of his fair life were shed + He took unwitting, and unwitting spent, + Nor gave himself to grief and discontent + Because he saw the end a-drawing nigh. + Where is he now? in what land must he die, + To leave an empty name to us on earth? + A tale half true, to cast across our mirth + Some pensive thoughts of life that might have been; + Where is he now, that all this life has seen? + + Behold, another eve I bid you see + Than that calm eve of his nativity; + The sun is setting in the west, the sky + Is clear and hard, and no clouds come anigh + The golden orb, but further off they lie, + Steel-grey and black with edges red as blood, + And underneath them is the weltering flood + Of some huge sea, whose tumbling hills, as they + Turn restless sides about, are black or grey, + Or green, or glittering with the golden flame; + The wind has fallen now, but still the same + The mighty army moves, as if to drown + This lone, bare rock, whose shear scarped sides of brown + Cast off the weight of waves in clouds of spray. + Alas! what ships upon an evil day + Bent over to the wind in this ill sea? + What navy, whose rent bones lie wretchedly + Beneath these cliffs? a mighty one it was, + A fearful storm to bring such things to pass. + + This is the loadstone rock; no armament + Of warring nations, in their madness bent + Their course this way; no merchant wittingly + Has steered his keel unto this luckless sea; + Upon no shipman's card its name is writ, + Though worn-out mariners will speak of it + Within the ingle on the winter's night, + When all within is warm and safe and bright, + And the wind howls without: but 'gainst their will + Are some folk driven here, and then all skill + Against this evil rock is vain and nought, + And unto death the shipmen soon are brought; + For then the keel, as by a giant's hand, + Is drawn unto that mockery of a land, + And presently unto its sides doth cleave; + When if they 'scape swift death, yet none may leave + The narrow limits of that barren isle, + And thus are slain by famine in a while + Mocked, as they say, by night with images + Of noble castles among groves of trees, + By day with sounds of merry minstrelsy. + + The sun sinks now below this hopeless sea, + The clouds are gone, and all the sky is bright; + The moon is rising o'er the growing night, + And by its light may ye behold the bones + Of generations of these luckless ones + Scattered about the rock; but nigh the sea + Sits one alive, who uncomplainingly + Awaits his death. White-haired is he and old, + Arrayed in royal raiment, bright with gold, + But tarnished with the waves and rough salt air; + Huge is he, of a noble face and fair, + As for an ancient man, though toil and eld + Furrow the cheeks that ladies once beheld + With melting hearts--Nay, listen, for he speaks! + "God, thou hast made me strong! nigh seven weeks + Have passed since from the wreck we haled our store, + And five long days well told, have now passed o'er + Since my last fellow died, with my last bread + Between his teeth, and yet I am not dead. + Yea, but for this I had been strong enow + In some last bloody field my sword to show. + What matter? soon will all be past and done, + Where'er I died I must have died alone: + Yet, Caraheu, a good death had it been + Dying, thy face above me to have seen, + And heard my banner flapping in the wind, + Then, though my memory had not left thy mind, + Yet hope and fear would not have vexed thee more + When thou hadst known that everything was o'er; + But now thou waitest, still expecting me, + Whose sail shall never speck thy bright blue sea. + "And thou, Clarice, the merchants thou mayst call, + To tell thee tales within thy pictured hall, + But never shall they tell true tales of me: + Whatever sails the Kentish hills may see + Swept by the flood-tide toward thy well-walled town, + No more on my sails shall they look adown. + "Get thee another leader, Charlemaine, + For thou shalt look to see my shield in vain, + When in the fair fields of the Frankish land, + Thick as the corn they tread, the heathen stand. + "What matter? ye shall learn to live your lives; + Husbands and children, other friends and wives, + Shall wipe the tablets of your memory clean, + And all shall be as I had never been. + + "And now, O God, am I alone with Thee; + A little thing indeed it seems to be + To give this life up, since it needs must go + Some time or other; now at last I know + How foolishly men play upon the earth, + When unto them a year of life seems worth + Honour and friends, and these vague hopes and sweet + That like real things my dying heart do greet, + Unreal while living on the earth I trod, + And but myself I knew no other god. + Behold, I thank Thee that Thou sweet'nest thus + This end, that I had thought most piteous, + If of another I had heard it told." + + What man is this, who weak and worn and old, + Gives up his life within that dreadful isle, + And on the fearful coming death can smile? + Alas! this man, so battered and outworn, + Is none but he, who, on that summer morn, + Received such promises of glorious life: + Ogier the Dane this is, to whom all strife + Was but as wine to stir awhile the blood, + To whom all life, however hard, was good: + This is the man, unmatched of heart and limb, + Ogier the Dane, whose sight has waxed not dim + For all the years that he on earth has dwelt; + Ogier the Dane, that never fear has felt, + Since he knew good from ill; Ogier the Dane, + The heathen's dread, the evil-doer's bane. + + * * * * * + + Bright had the moon grown as his words were done, + And no more was there memory of the sun + Within the west, and he grew drowsy now, + And somewhat smoother was his wrinkled brow + As thought died out beneath the hand of sleep, + And o'er his soul forgetfulness did creep, + Hiding the image of swift-coming death; + Until as peacefully he drew his breath + As on that day, past for a hundred years, + When, midst the nurse's quickly-falling tears, + He fell asleep to his first lullaby. + The night changed as he slept, white clouds and high + Began about the lonely moon to close; + And from the dark west a new wind arose, + And with the sound of heavy-falling waves + Mingled its pipe about the loadstone caves; + But when the twinkling stars were hid away, + And a faint light and broad, like dawn of day, + The moon upon that dreary country shed, + Ogier awoke, and lifting up his head + And smiling, muttered, "Nay, no more again; + Rather some pleasure new, some other pain, + Unthought of both, some other form of strife;" + For he had waked from dreams of his old life, + And through St. Omer's archer-guarded gate + Once more had seemed to pass, and saw the state + Of that triumphant king; and still, though all + Seemed changed, and folk by other names did call + Faces he knew of old, yet none the less + He seemed the same, and, midst that mightiness, + Felt his own power, and grew the more athirst + For coming glory, as of old, when first + He stood before the face of Charlemaine, + A helpless hostage with all life to gain. + But now, awake, his worn face once more sank + Between his hands, and, murmuring not, he drank + The draught of death that must that thirst allay. + + But while he sat and waited for the day + A sudden light across the bare rock streamed, + Which at the first he noted not, but deemed + The moon her fleecy veil had broken through; + But ruddier indeed this new light grew + Than were the moon's grey beams, and, therewithal, + Soft far-off music on his ears did fall; + Yet moved he not, but murmured, "This is death, + An easy thing like this to yield my breath, + Awake, yet dreaming, with no sounds of fear, + No dreadful sights to tell me it is near; + Yea, God, I thank Thee!" but with that last word + It seemed to him that he his own name heard + Whispered, as though the wind had borne it past; + With that he gat unto his feet at last, + But still awhile he stood, with sunken head, + And in a low and trembling voice he said, + "Lord, I am ready, whither shall I go? + I pray Thee unto me some token show." + And, as he said this, round about he turned, + And in the east beheld a light that burned + As bright as day; then, though his flesh might fear + The coming change that he believed so near, + Yet did his soul rejoice, for now he thought + Unto the very heaven to be brought: + And though he felt alive, deemed it might be + That he in sleep had died full easily. + Then toward that light did he begin to go, + And still those strains he heard, far off and low, + That grew no louder; still that bright light streamed + Over the rocks, yet nothing brighter seemed, + But like the light of some unseen bright flame + Shone round about, until at last he came + Unto the dreary islet's other shore, + And then the minstrelsy he heard no more, + And softer seemed the strange light unto him; + But yet or ever it had grown quite dim, + Beneath its waning light could he behold + A mighty palace set about with gold, + Above green meads and groves of summer trees + Far-off across the welter of the seas; + But, as he gazed, it faded from his sight, + And the grey hidden moon's diffused soft light, + Which soothly was but darkness to him now, + His sea-girt island prison did but show. + But o'er the sea he still gazed wistfully, + And said, "Alas! and when will this go by + And leave my soul in peace? must I still dream + Of life that once so dear a thing did seem, + That, when I wake, death may the bitterer be? + Here will I sit until he come to me, + And hide mine eyes and think upon my sin, + That so a little calm I yet may win + Before I stand within the awful place." + Then down he sat and covered up his face, + Yet therewithal his trouble could not hide, + Nor waiting thus for death could he abide, + For, though he knew it not, the yearning pain + Of hope of life had touched his soul again-- + If he could live awhile, if he could live! + The mighty being, who once was wont to give + The gift of life to many a trembling man; + Who did his own will since his life began; + Who feared not aught, but strong and great and free + Still cast aside the thought of what might be; + Must all this then be lost, and with no will, + Powerless and blind, must he some fate fulfil, + Nor know what he is doing any more? + + Soon he arose and paced along the shore, + And gazed out seaward for the blessed light; + But nought he saw except the old sad sight, + The ceaseless tumbling of the billows grey, + The white upspringing of the spurts of spray + Amidst that mass of timbers, the rent bones + Of the sea-houses of the hapless ones + Once cast like him upon this deadly isle. + He stopped his pacing in a little while, + And clenched his mighty hands, and set his teeth, + And gazing at the ruin underneath, + He swung from off the bare cliff's jagged brow, + And on some slippery ledge he wavered now, + Without a hand-hold, and now stoutly clung + With hands alone, and o'er the welter hung, + Not caring aught if thus his life should end; + But safely midst all this did he descend + The dreadful cliff, and since no beach was there, + But from the depths the rock rose stark and bare, + Nor crumbled aught beneath the hammering sea, + Upon the wrecks he stood unsteadily. + + But now, amid the clamour of the waves, + And washing to-and-fro of beams and staves, + Dizzy with hunger, dreamy with distress, + And all those days of fear and loneliness, + The ocean's tumult seemed the battle's roar, + His heart grew hot, as when in days of yore + He heard the cymbals clash amid the crowd + Of dusky faces; now he shouted loud, + And from crushed beam to beam began to leap, + And yet his footing somehow did he keep + Amidst their tossing, and indeed the sea + Was somewhat sunk upon the island's lee. + So quickly on from wreck to wreck he passed, + And reached the outer line of wrecks at last, + And there a moment stood unsteadily, + Amid the drift of spray that hurried by, + And drew Courtain his sword from out its sheath, + And poised himself to meet the coming death, + Still looking out to sea; but as he gazed, + And once or twice his doubtful feet he raised + To take the final plunge, that heavenly strain + Over the washing waves he heard again, + And from the dimness something bright he saw + Across the waste of waters towards him draw; + And hidden now, now raised aloft, at last + Unto his very feet a boat was cast, + Gilded inside and out, and well arrayed + With cushions soft; far fitter to have weighed + From some sweet garden on the shallow Seine, + Or in a reach of green Thames to have lain, + Than struggle with that huge confusèd sea; + But Ogier gazed upon it doubtfully + One moment, and then, sheathing Courtain, said, + "What tales are these about the newly dead + The heathen told? what matter, let all pass; + This moment as one dead indeed I was, + And this must be what I have got to do, + I yet perchance may light on something new + Before I die; though yet perchance this keel + Unto the wondrous mass of charmed steel + Is drawn as others." With that word he leapt + Into the boat, and o'er the cushions crept + From stem to stern, but found no rudder there, + Nor any oars, nor were the cushions fair + Made wet by any dashing of the sea. + Now while he pondered how these things could be, + The boat began to move therefrom at last, + But over him a drowsiness was cast, + And as o'er tumbling hills the skiff did pass, + He clean forgot his death and where he was. + + At last he woke up to a sunny day, + And, looking round, saw that his shallop lay + Moored at the edge of some fair tideless sea + Unto an overhanging thick-leaved tree, + Where in the green waves did the low bank dip + Its fresh and green grass-covered daisied lip; + But Ogier looking thence no more could see + That sad abode of death and misery, + Nor aught but wide and empty ocean, grey + With gathering haze, for now it neared midday; + Then from the golden cushions did he rise, + And wondering still if this were Paradise + He stepped ashore, but drew Courtain his sword + And muttered therewithal a holy word. + Fair was the place, as though amidst of May, + Nor did the brown birds fear the sunny day, + For with their quivering song the air was sweet; + Thick grew the field-flowers underneath his feet, + And on his head the blossoms down did rain, + Yet mid these fair things slowly and with pain + He 'gan to go, yea, even when his foot + First touched the flowery sod, to his heart's root + A coldness seemed to strike, and now each limb + Was growing stiff, his eyes waxed bleared and dim, + And all his stored-up memory 'gan to fail, + Nor yet would his once mighty heart avail + For lamentations o'er his changed lot; + Yet urged by some desire, he knew not what, + Along a little path 'twixt hedges sweet, + Drawn sword in hand, he dragged his faltering feet, + For what then seemed to him a weary way, + Whereon his steps he needs must often stay + And lean upon the mighty well-worn sword + That in those hands, grown old, for king or lord + Had small respect in glorious days long past. + + But still he crept along, and at the last + Came to a gilded wicket, and through this + Entered a garden fit for utmost bliss, + If that might last which needs must soon go by: + There 'gainst a tree he leaned, and with a sigh + He said, "O God, a sinner I have been, + And good it is that I these things have seen + Before I meet what Thou hast set apart + To cleanse the earthly folly from my heart; + But who within this garden now can dwell + Wherein guilt first upon the world befell?" + A little further yet he staggered on, + Till to a fountain-side at last he won, + O'er which two white-thorns their sweet blossoms shed, + There he sank down, and laid his weary head + Beside the mossy roots, and in a while + He slept, and dreamed himself within the isle; + That splashing fount the weary sea did seem, + And in his dream the fair place but a dream; + But when again to feebleness he woke + Upon his ears that heavenly music broke, + Not faint or far as in the isle it was, + But e'en as though the minstrels now did pass + Anigh his resting-place; then fallen in doubt, + E'en as he might, he rose and gazed about, + Leaning against the hawthorn stem with pain; + And yet his straining gaze was but in vain, + Death stole so fast upon him, and no more + Could he behold the blossoms as before, + No more the trees seemed rooted to the ground, + A heavy mist seemed gathering all around, + And in its heart some bright thing seemed to be, + And round his head there breathed deliciously + Sweet odours, and that music never ceased. + But as the weight of Death's strong hand increased + Again he sank adown, and Courtain's noise + Within the scabbard seemed a farewell voice + Sent from the world he loved so well of old, + And all his life was as a story told, + And as he thought thereof he 'gan to smile + E'en as a child asleep, but in a while + It was as though he slept, and sleeping dreamed, + For in his half-closed eyes a glory gleamed, + As though from some sweet face and golden hair, + And on his breast were laid soft hands and fair, + And a sweet voice was ringing in his ears, + Broken as if with flow of joyous tears; + "Ogier, sweet friend, hast thou not tarried long? + Alas! thine hundred years of strife and wrong!" + Then he found voice to say, "Alas! dear Lord, + Too long, too long; and yet one little word + Right many a year agone had brought me here." + Then to his face that face was drawn anear, + He felt his head raised up and gently laid + On some kind knee, again the sweet voice said, + "Nay, Ogier, nay, not yet, not yet, dear friend! + Who knoweth when our linked life shall end, + Since thou art come unto mine arms at last, + And all the turmoil of the world is past? + Why do I linger ere I see thy face + As I desired it in that mourning place + So many years ago--so many years, + Thou knewest not thy love and all her fears?" + "Alas!" he said, "what mockery is this + That thou wilt speak to me of earthly bliss? + No longer can I think upon the earth, + Have I not done with all its grief and mirth? + Yes, I was Ogier once, but if my love + Should come once more my dying heart to move, + Then must she come from 'neath the milk-white walls + Whereon to-day the hawthorn blossom falls + Outside St. Omer's--art thou she? her name + I could remember once mid death and fame + Is clean forgotten now; but yesterday, + Meseems, our son, upon her bosom lay: + Baldwin the fair--what hast thou done with him + Since Charlot slew him? Ah, mine eyes wax dim; + Woman, forbear! wilt thou not let me die? + Did I forget thee in the days gone by? + Then let me die, that we may meet again!" + + He tried to move from her, but all in vain, + For life had well-nigh left him, but withal + He felt a kiss upon his forehead fall, + And could not speak; he felt slim fingers fair + Move to his mighty sword-worn hand, and there + Set on some ring, and still he could not speak, + And once more sleep weighed down his eyelids weak. + + * * * * * + + But, ah! what land was this he woke unto? + What joy was this that filled his heart anew? + Had he then gained the very Paradise? + Trembling, he durst not at the first arise, + Although no more he felt the pain of eld, + Nor durst he raise his eyes that now beheld + Beside him the white flowers and blades of grass; + He durst not speak, lest he some monster was. + But while he lay and hoped, that gentle voice + Once more he heard; "Yea, thou mayst well rejoice! + Thou livest still, my sweet, thou livest still, + Apart from every earthly fear and ill; + Wilt thou not love me, who have wrought thee this, + That I like thee may live in double bliss?" + Then Ogier rose up, nowise like to one + Whose span of earthly life is nigh outrun, + But as he might have risen in old days + To see the spears cleave the fresh morning haze; + But, looking round, he saw no change there was + In the fair place wherethrough he first did pass, + Though all, grown clear and joyous to his eyes, + Now looked no worse than very Paradise; + Behind him were the thorns, the fountain fair + Still sent its glittering stream forth into air, + And by its basin a fair woman stood, + And as their eyes met his renewèd blood + Rushed to his face; with unused thoughts and sweet + And hurrying hopes, his heart began to beat. + The fairest of all creatures did she seem; + So fresh and delicate you well might deem + That scarce for eighteen summers had she blessed + The happy, longing world; yet, for the rest, + Within her glorious eyes such wisdom dwelt + A child before her had the wise man felt, + And with the pleasure of a thousand years + Her lips were fashioned to move joy or tears + Among the longing folk where she might dwell, + To give at last the kiss unspeakable. + In such wise was she clad as folk may be, + Who, for no shame of their humanity, + For no sad changes of the imperfect year, + Rather for added beauty, raiment wear; + For, as the heat-foretelling grey-blue haze + Veils the green flowery morn of late May-days, + Her raiment veiled her; where the bands did meet + That bound the sandals to her dainty feet, + Gems gleamed; a fresh rose-wreath embraced her head, + And on her breast there lay a ruby red. + So with a supplicating look she turned + To meet the flame that in his own eyes burned, + And held out both her white arms lovingly, + As though to greet him as he drew anigh. + Stammering he said, "Who art thou? how am I + So cured of all my evils suddenly, + That certainly I felt no mightier, when, + Amid the backward rush of beaten men, + About me drooped the axe-torn Oriflamme? + Alas! I fear that in some dream I am." + "Ogier," she said, "draw near, perchance it is + That such a name God gives unto our bliss; + I know not, but if thou art such an one + As I must deem, all days beneath the sun + That thou hast had, shall be but dreams indeed + To those that I have given thee at thy need. + For many years ago beside the sea + When thou wert born, I plighted troth with thee: + Come near then, and make mirrors of mine eyes, + That thou mayest see what these my mysteries + Have wrought in thee; surely but thirty years, + Passed amidst joy, thy new born body bears, + Nor while thou art with me, and on this shore + Art still full-fed of love, shalt thou seem more. + Nay, love, come nigher, and let me take thine hand, + The hope and fear of many a warring land, + And I will show thee wherein lies the spell, + Whereby this happy change upon thee fell." + + Like a shy youth before some royal love, + Close up to that fair woman did he move, + And their hands met; yet to his changed voice + He dared not trust; nay, scarcely could rejoice + E'en when her balmy breath he 'gan to feel, + And felt strange sweetness o'er his spirit steal + As her light raiment, driven by the wind, + Swept round him, and, bewildered and half-blind, + His lips the treasure of her lips did press, + And round him clung her perfect loveliness. + For one sweet moment thus they stood, and then + She drew herself from out his arms again, + And panting, lovelier for her love, did stand + Apart awhile, then took her lover's hand, + And, in a trembling voice, made haste to say,-- + "O Ogier, when thou earnest here to-day, + I feared indeed, that in my sport with fate, + I might have seen thee e'en one day too late, + Before this ring thy finger should embrace; + Behold it, love, and thy keen eyes may trace + Faint figures wrought upon the ruddy gold; + My father dying gave it me, nor told + The manner of its making, but I know + That it can make thee e'en as thou art now + Despite the laws of God--shrink not from me + Because I give an impious gift to thee-- + Has not God made me also, who do this? + But I, who longed to share with thee my bliss, + Am of the fays, and live their changeless life, + And, like the gods of old, I see the strife + That moves the world, unmoved if so I will; + For we the fruit, that teaches good and ill, + Have never touched like you of Adam's race; + And while thou dwellest with me in this place + Thus shalt thou be--ah, and thou deem'st, indeed, + That thou shalt gain thereby no happy meed + Reft of the world's joys? nor canst understand + How thou art come into a happy land?-- + Love, in thy world the priests of heaven still sing, + And tell thee of it many a joyous thing; + But think'st thou, bearing the world's joy and pain, + Thou couldst live there? nay, nay, but born again + Thus wouldst be happy with the angels' bliss; + And so with us no otherwise it is, + Nor hast thou cast thine old life quite away + Even as yet, though that shall be to-day. + "But for the love and country thou hast won, + Know thou, that thou art come to Avallon, + That is both thine and mine; and as for me, + Morgan le Fay men call me commonly + Within the world, but fairer names than this + I have for thee and me, 'twixt kiss and kiss." + + Ah, what was this? and was it all in vain, + That she had brought him here this life to gain? + For, ere her speech was done, like one turned blind + He watched the kisses of the wandering wind + Within her raiment, or as some one sees + The very best of well-wrought images + When he is blind with grief, did he behold + The wandering tresses of her locks of gold + Upon her shoulders; and no more he pressed + The hand that in his own hand lay at rest: + His eyes, grown dull with changing memories, + Could make no answer to her glorious eyes: + Cold waxed his heart, and weary and distraught, + With many a cast-by, hateful, dreary thought, + Unfinished in the old days; and withal + He needs must think of what might chance to fall + In this life new-begun; and good and bad + Tormented him, because as yet he had + A worldly heart within his frame made new, + And to the deeds that he was wont to do + Did his desires still turn. But she a while + Stood gazing at him with a doubtful smile, + And let his hand fall down; but suddenly + Sounded sweet music from some close nearby, + And then she spoke again: "Come, love, with me, + That thou thy new life and delights mayst see." + And gently with that word she led him thence, + And though upon him now there fell a sense + Of dreamy and unreal bewilderment, + As hand in hand through that green place they went, + Yet therewithal a strain of tender love + A little yet his restless heart did move. + + * * * * * + + So through the whispering trees they came at last + To where a wondrous house a shadow cast + Across the flowers, and o'er the daisied grass + Before it, crowds of lovely folk did pass, + Playing about in carelessness and mirth, + Unshadowed by the doubtful deeds of earth; + And from the midst a band of fair girls came, + With flowers and music, greeting him by name, + And praising him; but ever like a dream + He could not break, did all to Ogier seem, + And he his old world did the more desire, + For in his heart still burned unquenched the fire, + That through the world of old so bright did burn: + Yet was he fain that kindness to return, + And from the depth of his full heart he sighed. + Then toward the house the lovely Queen did guide + His listless steps, and seemed to take no thought + Of knitted brow or wandering eyes distraught, + But still with kind love lighting up her face + She led him through the door of that fair place, + While round about them did the damsels press; + And he was moved by all that loveliness + As one might be, who, lying half asleep + In the May morning, notes the light wind sweep + Over the tulip-beds: no more to him + Were gleaming eyes, red lips, and bodies slim, + Amidst that dream, although the first surprise + Of hurried love wherewith the Queen's sweet eyes + Had smitten him, still in his heart did stir. + + And so at last he came, led on by her + Into a hall wherein a fair throne was, + And hand in hand thereto the twain did pass; + And there she bade him sit, and when alone + He took his place upon the double throne, + She cast herself before him on her knees, + Embracing his, and greatly did increase + The shame and love that vexed his troubled heart: + But now a line of girls the crowd did part, + Lovelier than all, and Ogier could behold + One in their midst who bore a crown of gold + Within her slender hands and delicate; + She, drawing nigh, beside the throne did wait + Until the Queen arose and took the crown, + Who then to Ogier's lips did stoop adown + And kissed him, and said, "Ogier, what were worth + Thy miserable days of strife on earth, + That on their ashes still thine eyes are turned?" + Then, as she spoke these words, his changed heart burned + With sudden memories, and thereto had he + Made answer, but she raised up suddenly + The crown she held and set it on his head, + "Ogier," she cried, "those troublous days are dead; + Thou wert dead with them also, but for me; + Turn unto her who wrought these things for thee!" + Then, as he felt her touch, a mighty wave + Of love swept o'er his soul, as though the grave + Did really hold his body; from his seat + He rose to cast himself before her feet; + But she clung round him, and in close embrace + The twain were locked amidst that thronging place. + + Thenceforth new life indeed has Ogier won, + And in the happy land of Avallon + Quick glide the years o'er his unchanging head; + There saw he many men the world thought dead, + Living like him in sweet forgetfulness + Of all the troubles that did once oppress + Their vainly-struggling lives--ah, how can I + Tell of their joy as though I had been nigh? + Suffice it that no fear of death they knew, + That there no talk there was of false or true, + Of right or wrong, for traitors came not there; + That everything was bright and soft and fair, + And yet they wearied not for any change, + Nor unto them did constancy seem strange. + Love knew they, but its pain they never had, + But with each other's joy were they made glad; + Nor were their lives wasted by hidden fire, + Nor knew they of the unfulfilled desire + That turns to ashes all the joys of earth, + Nor knew they yearning love amidst the dearth + Of kind and loving hearts to spend it on, + Nor dreamed or discontent when all was won; + Nor need they struggle after wealth and fame; + Still was the calm flow of their lives the same, + And yet, I say, they wearied not of it-- + So did the promised days by Ogier flit. + + Think that a hundred years have now passed by, + Since ye beheld Ogier lie down to die + Beside the fountain; think that now ye are + In France, made dangerous with wasting war; + In Paris, where about each guarded gate, + Gathered in knots, the anxious people wait, + And press around each new-come man to learn + If Harfleur now the pagan wasters burn, + Or if the Rouen folk can keep their chain, + Or Pont de l'Arche unburnt still guards the Seine? + Or if 'tis true that Andelys succour wants? + That Vernon's folk are fleeing east to Mantes? + When will they come? or rather is it true + That a great band the Constable o'erthrew + Upon the marshes of the lower Seine, + And that their long ships, turning back again, + Caught by the high-raised waters of the bore + Were driven here and there and cast ashore? + Such questions did they ask, and, as fresh men + Came hurrying in, they asked them o'er again, + And from scared folk, or fools, or ignorant, + Still got new lies, or tidings very scant. + + But now amidst these men at last came one, + A little ere the setting of the sun, + With two stout men behind him, armed right well, + Who ever as they rode on, sooth to tell, + With doubtful eyes upon their master stared, + Or looked about like troubled men and scared. + And he they served was noteworthy indeed; + Of ancient fashion were his arms and weed, + Rich past the wont of men in those sad times; + His face was bronzed, as though by burning climes, + But lovely as the image of a god + Carved in the days before on earth Christ trod; + But solemn were his eyes, and grey as glass, + And like to ruddy gold his fine hair was: + A mighty man he was, and taller far + Than those who on that day must bear the war + The pagans waged: he by the warders stayed + Scarce looked on them, but straight their words obeyed + And showed his pass; then, asked about his name + And from what city of the world he came, + Said, that men called him now the Ancient Knight, + That he was come midst the king's men to fight + From St. Omer's; and as he spoke, he gazed + Down on the thronging street as one amazed, + And answered no more to the questioning + Of frightened folk of this or that sad thing; + But, ere he passed on, turned about at last + And on the wondering guard a strange look cast, + And said, "St. Mary! do such men as ye + Fight with the wasters from across the sea? + Then, certes, are ye lost, however good + Your hearts may be; not such were those who stood + Beside the Hammer-bearer years agone." + So said he, and as his fair armour shone + With beauty of a time long passed away, + So with the music of another day + His deep voice thrilled the awe-struck, listening folk. + + Yet from the crowd a mocking voice outbroke, + That cried, "Be merry, masters, fear ye nought, + Surely good succour to our side is brought; + For here is Charlemaine come off his tomb + To save his faithful city from its doom." + "Yea," said another, "this is certain news, + Surely ye know how all the carvers use + To carve the dead man's image at the best, + That guards the place where he may lie at rest; + Wherefore this living image looks indeed, + Spite of his ancient tongue and marvellous weed, + To have but thirty summers." + At the name + Of Charlemaine, he turned to whence there came + The mocking voice, and somewhat knit his brow, + And seemed as he would speak, but scarce knew how; + So with a half-sigh soon sank back again + Into his dream, and shook his well-wrought rein, + And silently went on upon his way. + + And this was Ogier: on what evil day + Has he then stumbled, that he needs must come, + Midst war and ravage, to the ancient home + Of his desires? did he grow weary then, + And wish to strive once more with foolish men + For worthless things? or is fair Avallon + Sunk in the sea, and all that glory gone? + Nay, thus it happed--One day she came to him + And said, "Ogier, thy name is waxen dim + Upon the world that thou rememberest not; + The heathen men are thick on many a spot + Thine eyes have seen, and which I love therefore; + And God will give His wonted help no more. + Wilt thou, then, help? canst thou have any mind + To give thy banner once more to the wind? + Since greater glory thou shalt win for this + Than erst thou gatheredst ere thou cam'st to bliss: + For men are dwindled both in heart and frame, + Nor holds the fair land any such a name + As thine, when thou wert living midst thy peers: + The world is worser for these hundred years." + From his calm eyes there gleamed a little fire, + And in his voice was something of desire, + To see the land where he was used to be, + As now he answered: "Nay, choose thou for me, + Thou art the wisest; it is more than well + Within this peaceful place with thee to dwell: + Nor ill perchance in that old land to die, + If, dying, I keep not the memory + Of this fair life of ours." "Nay, nay," said she, + "As to thy dying, that shall never be, + Whiles that thou keep'st my ring--and now, behold, + I take from thee thy charmed crown of gold, + And thou wilt be the Ogier that thou wast + Ere on the loadstone rock thy ship was cast: + Yet thou shalt have thy youthful body still, + And I will guard thy life from every ill." + + So was it done, and Ogier, armed right well, + Sleeping, was borne away by some strong spell, + And set upon the Flemish coast; and thence + Turned to St. Omer's, with a doubtful sense + Of being in some wild dream, the while he knew + That great delight forgotten was his due, + That all which there might hap was of small worth. + So on he went, and sometimes unto mirth + Did his attire move the country-folk, + But oftener when strange speeches from him broke + Concerning men and things for long years dead, + He filled the listeners with great awe and dread; + For in such wild times as these people were + Are men soon moved to wonder and to fear. + + Now through the streets of Paris did he ride, + And at a certain hostel did abide + Throughout that night, and ere he went next day + He saw a book that on a table lay, + And opening it 'gan read in lazy mood: + But long before it in that place he stood, + Noting nought else; for it did chronicle + The deeds of men of old he knew right well, + When they were living in the flesh with him: + Yea, his own deeds he saw, grown strange and dim + Already, and true stories mixed with lies, + Until, with many thronging memories + Of those old days, his heart was so oppressed, + He 'gan to wish that he might lie at rest, + Forgetting all things: for indeed by this + Little remembrance had he of the bliss + That wrapped his soul in peaceful Avallon. + + But his changed life he needs must carry on; + For ye shall know the Queen was gathering men + To send unto the good King, who as then + In Rouen lay, beset by many a band + Of those who carried terror through the land, + And still by messengers for help he prayed: + Therefore a mighty muster was being made, + Of weak and strong, and brave and timorous, + Before the Queen anigh her royal house. + So thither on this morn did Ogier turn, + Some certain news about the war to learn; + And when he came at last into the square, + And saw the ancient palace great and fair + Rise up before him as in other days, + And in the merry morn the bright sun's rays + Glittering on gathering helms and moving spears, + He 'gan to feel as in the long-past years, + And his heart stirred within him. Now the Queen + Came from within, right royally beseen, + And took her seat beneath a canopy, + With lords and captains of the war anigh; + And as she came a mighty shout arose, + And round about began the knights to close, + Their oath of fealty there to swear anew, + And learn what service they had got to do. + But so it was, that some their shouts must stay + To gaze at Ogier as he took his way + Through the thronged place; and quickly too he gat + Unto the place whereas the Lady sat, + For men gave place unto him, fearing him: + For not alone was he most huge of limb, + And dangerous, but something in his face, + As his calm eyes looked o'er the crowded place, + Struck men with awe; and in the ancient days, + When men might hope alive on gods to gaze, + They would have thought, "The gods yet love our town + And from the heavens have sent a great one down." + Withal unto the throne he came so near, + That he the Queen's sweet measured voice could hear; + And swiftly now within him wrought the change + That first he felt amid those faces strange; + And his heart burned to taste the hurrying life + With such desires, such changing sweetness rife. + And yet, indeed, how should he live alone, + Who in the old past days such friends had known? + Then he began to think of Caraheu, + Of Bellicent the fair, and once more knew + The bitter pain of rent and ended love. + But while with hope and vain regret he strove, + He found none 'twixt him and the Queen's high seat, + And, stepping forth, he knelt before her feet + And took her hand to swear, as was the way + Of doing fealty in that ancient day, + And raised his eyes to hers; as fair was she + As any woman of the world might be + Full-limbed and tall, dark haired, from her deep eyes, + The snare of fools, the ruin of the wise, + Love looked unchecked; and now her dainty hand, + The well-knit holder of the golden wand, + Trembled in his, she cast her eyes adown, + And her sweet brow was knitted to a frown, + As he, the taker of such oaths of yore, + Now unto her all due obedience swore, + Yet gave himself no name; and now the Queen, + Awed by his voice as other folk had been, + Yet felt a trembling hope within her rise + Too sweet to think of, and with love's surprise + Her cheek grew pale; she said, "Thy style and name + Thou tellest not, nor what land of thy fame + Is glad; for, certes, some land must be glad, + That in its bounds her house thy mother had." + "Lady," he said, "from what far land I come + I well might tell thee, but another home + Have I long dwelt in, and its name have I + Forgotten now, forgotten utterly + Who were my fellows, and what deeds they did; + Therefore, indeed, shall my first name be hid + And my first country; call me on this day + The Ancient Knight, and let me go my way." + He rose withal, for she her fingers fair + Had drawn aback, and on him 'gan to stare + As one afeard; for something terrible + Was in his speech, and that she knew right well, + Who 'gan to love him, and to fear that she, + Shut out by some strange deadly mystery, + Should never gain from him an equal love; + Yet, as from her high seat he 'gan to move, + She said, "O Ancient Knight, come presently, + When we have done this muster, unto me, + And thou shalt have thy charge and due command + For freeing from our foes this wretched land!" + Then Ogier made his reverence and went, + And somewhat could perceive of her intent; + For in his heart life grew, and love with life + Grew, and therewith, 'twixt love and fame, was strife. + But, as he slowly gat him from the square, + Gazing at all the people gathered there, + A squire of the Queen's behind him came, + And breathless, called him by his new-coined name, + And bade him turn because the Queen now bade, + Since by the muster long she might be stayed, + That to the palace he should bring him straight, + Midst sport and play her coming back to wait; + Then Ogier turned, nought loath, and with him went, + And to a postern-gate his steps he bent, + That Ogier knew right well in days of old; + Worn was it now, and the bright hues and gold + Upon the shields above, with lapse of days, + Were faded much: but now did Ogier gaze + Upon the garden where he walked of yore, + Holding the hands that he should see no more; + For all was changed except the palace fair, + That Charlemaine's own eyes had seen built there + Ere Ogier knew him; there the squire did lead + The Ancient Knight, who still took little heed + Of all the things that by the way he said, + For all his thoughts were on the days long dead. + There in the painted hall he sat again, + And 'neath the pictured eyes of Charlemaine + He ate and drank, and felt it like a dream; + And midst his growing longings yet might deem + That he from sleep should wake up presently + In some fair city on the Syrian sea, + Or on the brown rocks of the loadstone isle. + But fain to be alone, within a while + He gat him to the garden, and there passed + By wondering squires and damsels, till at last, + Far from the merry folk who needs must play, + If on the world were coming its last day, + He sat him down, and through his mind there ran + Faint thoughts of that day, when, outworn and wan, + He lay down by the fountain-side to die. + But when he strove to gain clear memory + Of what had happed since on the isle he lay + Waiting for death, a hopeless castaway, + Thought failing him, would rather bring again + His life among the peers of Charlemaine, + And vex his soul with hapless memories; + Until at last, worn out by thought of these, + And hopeless striving to find what was true, + And pondering on the deeds he had to do + Ere he returned, whereto he could not tell, + Sweet sleep upon his wearied spirit fell. + And on the afternoon of that fair day, + Forgetting all, beneath the trees he lay. + + Meanwhile the Queen, affairs of state being done, + Went through the gardens with one dame alone + Seeking for Ogier, whom at last she found + Laid sleeping on the daisy-sprinkled ground, + Dreaming, I know not what, of other days. + Then on him for a while the Queen did gaze, + Drawing sweet poison from the lovely sight, + Then to her fellow turned, "The ancient Knight-- + What means he by this word of his?" she said; + "He were well mated with some lovely maid + Just pondering on the late-heard name of love." + "Softly, my lady, he begins to move," + Her fellow said, a woman old and grey; + "Look now, his arms are of another day; + None know him or his deeds; thy squire just said + He asked about the state of men long dead; + I fear what he may be; look, seest thou not + That ring that on one finger he has got, + Where figures strange upon the gold are wrought: + God grant that he from hell has not been brought + For our confusion, in this doleful war, + Who surely in enough of trouble are + Without such help;" then the Queen turned aside + Awhile, her drawn and troubled face to hide, + For lurking dread this speech within her stirred; + But yet she said, "Thou sayest a foolish word, + This man is come against our enemies + To fight for us." Then down upon her knees + Fell the old woman by the sleeping knight, + And from his hand she drew with fingers light + The wondrous ring, and scarce again could rise + Ere 'neath the trembling Queen's bewildered eyes + The change began; his golden hair turned white, + His smooth cheek wrinkled, and his breathing light + Was turned to troublous struggling for his breath, + And on his shrunk lips lay the hand of death; + And, scarce less pale than he, the trembling Queen + Stood thinking on the beauty she had seen + And longed for but a little while ago, + Yet with her terror still her love did grow, + And she began to weep as though she saw + Her beauty e'en to such an ending draw. + And 'neath her tears waking he oped his eyes, + And strove to speak, but nought but gasping sighs + His lips could utter; then he tried to reach + His hand to them, as though he would beseech + The gift of what was his: but all the while + The crone gazed on them with an evil smile, + Then holding toward the Queen that wondrous ring, + She said, "Why weep'st thou? having this fair thing, + Thou, losing nought the beauty that thou hast, + May'st watch the vainly struggling world go past, + Thyself unchanged." The Queen put forth her hand + And took the ring, and there awhile did stand + And strove to think of it, but still in her + Such all-absorbing longings love did stir, + So young she was, of death she could not think, + Or what a cup eld gives to man to drink; + Yet on her finger had she set the ring + When now the life that hitherto did cling + To Ogier's heart seemed fading quite away, + And scarcely breathing with shut eyes he lay. + Then, kneeling down, she murmured piteously, + "Ah, wilt thou love me if I give it thee, + And thou grow'st young again? what should I do + If with the eyes thou thus shalt gain anew + Thou shouldst look scorn on me?" But with that word + The hedge behind her, by the west wind stirred, + Cast fear into her heart of some one nigh, + And therewith on his finger hastily + She set the ring, then rose and stood apart + A little way, and in her doubtful heart + With love and fear was mixed desire of life. + But standing so, a look with great scorn rife + The elder woman, turning, cast on her, + Pointing to Ogier, who began to stir; + She looked, and all she erst saw now did seem + To have been nothing but a hideous dream, + As fair and young he rose from off the ground + And cast a dazed and puzzled look around, + Like one just waked from sleep in some strange place; + But soon his grave eyes rested on her face, + And turned yet graver seeing her so pale, + And that her eyes were pregnant with some tale + Of love and fear; she 'neath his eyes the while + Forced her pale lips to semblance of a smile, + And said, "O Ancient Knight, thou sleepest then? + While through this poor land range the heathen men, + Unmet of any but my King and Lord: + Nay, let us see the deeds of thine old sword." + "Queen," said he, "bid me then unto this work, + And certes I behind no wall would lurk, + Nor send for succour, while a scanty folk + Still followed after me to break the yoke: + I pray thee grace for sleeping, and were fain + That I might rather never sleep again + Than have such wretched dreams as I e'en now + Have waked from." + Lovelier she seemed to grow + Unto him as he spoke; fresh colour came + Into her face, as though for some sweet shame, + While she with tearful eyes beheld him so, + That somewhat even must his burnt cheek glow, + His heart beat faster. But again she said, + "Nay, will dreams burden such a mighty head? + Then may I too have pardon for a dream: + Last night in sleep I saw thee, who didst seem + To be the King of France; and thou and I + Were sitting at some great festivity + Within the many-peopled gold-hung place." + The blush of shame was gone as on his face + She gazed, and saw him read her meaning clear + And knew that no cold words she had to fear, + But rather that for softer speech he yearned. + Therefore, with love alone her smooth cheek burned; + Her parted lips were hungry for his kiss, + She trembled at the near approaching bliss; + Nathless, she checked her love a little while, + Because she felt the old dame's curious smile + Upon her, and she said, "O Ancient Knight, + If I then read my last night's dream aright, + Thou art come here our very help to be, + Perchance to give my husband back to me; + Come then, if thou this land art fain to save, + And show the wisdom thou must surely have + Unto my council; I will give thee then + What charge I may among my valiant men; + And certes thou wilt do so well herein, + That, ere long, something greater shalt thou win: + Come, then, deliverer of my throne and land, + And let me touch for once thy mighty hand + With these weak fingers." + As she spoke, she met + His eager hand, and all things did forget + But for one moment, for too wise were they + To cast the coming years of joy away; + Then with her other hand her gown she raised + And led him thence, and o'er her shoulder gazed + At her old follower with a doubtful smile, + As though to say, "Be wise, I know thy guile!" + But slowly she behind the lovers walked, + Muttering, "So be it! thou shalt not be balked + Of thy desire; be merry! I am wise, + Nor will I rob thee of thy Paradise + For any other than myself; and thou + May'st even happen to have had enow + Of this new love, before I get the ring, + And I may work for thee no evil thing." + + Now ye shall know that the old chronicle, + Wherein I read all this, doth duly tell + Of all the gallant deeds that Ogier did, + There may ye read them; nor let me be chid + If I therefore say little of these things, + Because the thought of Avallon still clings + Unto my heart, and scarcely can I bear + To think of that long, dragging useless year, + Through which, with dulled and glimmering memory, + Ogier was grown content to live and die + Like other men; but this I have to say, + That in the council chamber on that day + The Old Knight showed his wisdom well enow, + While fainter still with love the Queen did grow + Hearing his words, beholding his grey eyes + Flashing with fire of warlike memories; + Yea, at the last he seemed so wise indeed + That she could give him now the charge, to lead + One wing of the great army that set out + From Paris' gates, midst many a wavering shout + Midst trembling prayers, and unchecked wails and tears, + And slender hopes and unresisted fears. + + Now ere he went, upon his bed he lay, + Newly awakened at the dawn of day, + Gathering perplexed thoughts of many a thing, + When, midst the carol that the birds did sing + Unto the coming of the hopeful sun, + He heard a sudden lovesome song begun + 'Twixt two young voices in the garden green, + That seemed indeed the farewell of the Queen. + + + SONG. + + HÆC. + + + _In the white-flowered hawthorn brake, + Love, be merry for my sake; + Twine the blossoms in my hair, + Kiss me where I am most fair-- + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death?_ + + ILLE. + + _Nay, the garlanded gold hair + Hides thee where thou art most fair;_ + _Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow-- + Ah, sweet love, I have thee now! + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death?_ + + HÆC. + + _Shall we weep for a dead day, + Or set Sorrow in our way? + Hidden by my golden hair, + Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear? + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death?_ + + ILLE. + + _Weep, O Love, the days that flit, + Now, while I can feel thy breath; + Then may I remember it + Sad and old, and near my death. + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death_? + + + Soothed by the pleasure that the music brought + And sweet desire, and vague and dreamy thought + Of happiness it seemed to promise him, + He lay and listened till his eyes grew dim, + And o'er him 'gan forgetfulness to creep + Till in the growing light he lay asleep, + Nor woke until the clanging trumpet-blast + Had summoned him all thought away to cast: + Yet one more joy of love indeed he had + Ere with the battle's noise he was made glad; + For, as on that May morning forth they rode + And passed before the Queen's most fair abode, + There at a window was she waiting them + In fair attire with gold in every hem, + And as the ancient Knight beneath her passed + A wreath of flowering white-thorn down she cast, + And looked farewell to him, and forth he set + Thinking of all the pleasure he should get + From love and war, forgetting Avallon + And all that lovely life so lightly won; + Yea, now indeed the earthly life o'erpast + Ere on the loadstone rock his ship was cast + Was waxing dim, nor yet at all he learned + To 'scape the fire that erst his heart had burned. + And he forgat his deeds, forgat his fame, + Forgat the letters of his ancient name + As one waked fully shall forget a dream, + That once to him a wondrous tale did seem. + + Now I, though writing here no chronicle + E'en as I said, must nathless shortly tell + That, ere the army Rouen's gates could gain + By a broad arrow had the King been slain, + And helpless now the wretched country lay + Beneath the yoke, until the glorious day + When Ogier fell at last upon the foe, + And scattered them as helplessly as though + They had been beaten men without a name: + So when to Paris town once more he came + Few folk the memory of the King did keep + Within their hearts, and if the folk did weep + At his returning, 'twas for joy indeed + That such a man had risen at their need + To work for them so great deliverance, + And loud they called on him for King of France. + + But if the Queen's heart were the more a-flame + For all that she had heard of his great fame, + I know not; rather with some hidden dread + Of coming fate, she heard her lord was dead, + And her false dream seemed coming true at last, + For the clear sky of love seemed overcast + With clouds of God's great judgments, and the fear + Of hate and final parting drawing near. + So now when he before her throne did stand + Amidst the throng as saviour of the land, + And she her eyes to his kind eyes did raise, + And there before all her own love must praise; + Then did she fall a-weeping, and folk said, + "See, how she sorrows for the newly dead! + Amidst our joy she needs must think of him; + Let be, full surely shall her grief wax dim + And she shall wed again." + So passed the year, + While Ogier set himself the land to clear + Of broken remnants of the heathen men, + And at the last, when May-time came again, + Must he be crowned King of the twice-saved land, + And at the altar take the fair Queen's hand + And wed her for his own. And now by this + Had he forgotten clean the woe and bliss + Of his old life, and still was he made glad + As other men; and hopes and fears he had + As others, and bethought him not at all + Of what strange days upon him yet should fall + When he should live and these again be dead. + + Now drew the time round when he should be wed, + And in his palace on his bed he lay + Upon the dawning of the very day: + 'Twixt sleep and waking was he, and could hear + E'en at that hour, through the bright morn and clear, + The hammering of the folk who toiled to make + Some well-wrought stages for the pageant's sake, + Though hardly yet the sparrows had begun + To twitter o'er the coming of the sun, + Nor through the palace did a creature move. + There in the sweet entanglement of love + Midst languid thoughts of greater bliss he lay, + Remembering no more of that other day + Than the hot noon remembereth of the night, + Than summer thinketh of the winter white. + In that sweet hour he heard a voice that cried, + "Ogier, Ogier!" then, opening his eyes wide, + And rising on his elbow, gazed around, + And strange to him and empty was the sound + Of his own name; "Whom callest thou?" he said. + "For I, the man who lies upon this bed, + Am Charles of France, and shall be King to-day, + But in a year that now is past away + The Ancient Knight they called me: who is this, + Thou callest Ogier, then, what deeds are his? + And who art thou?" But at that word a sigh, + As of one grieved, came from some place anigh + His bed-side, and a soft voice spake again, + "This Ogier once was great amongst great men; + To Italy a helpless hostage led; + He saved the King when the false Lombard fled, + Bore forth the Oriflamme and gained the day; + Charlot he brought back, whom men led away, + And fought a day-long fight with Caraheu. + The ravager of Rome his right hand slew; + Nor did he fear the might of Charlemaine, + Who for a dreary year beset in vain + His lonely castle; yet at last caught then, + And shut in hold, needs must he come again + To give an unhoped great deliverance + Unto the burdened helpless land of France: + Denmark he gained thereafter, and he wore + The crown of England drawn from trouble sore; + At Tyre then he reigned, and Babylon + With mighty deeds he from the foemen won; + And when scarce aught could give him greater fame, + He left the world still thinking on his name. + "These things did Ogier, and these things didst thou, + Nor will I call thee by a new name now + Since I have spoken words of love to thee-- + Ogier, Ogier, dost thou remember me, + E'en if thou hast no thought of that past time + Before thou earnest to our happy clime?" + + As this was said, his mazed eyes saw indeed + A lovely woman clad in dainty weed + Beside his bed, and many a thought was stirred + Within his heart by that last plaintive word, + Though nought he said, but waited what should come. + "Love," said she, "I am here to bring thee home; + Well hast thou done all that thou cam'st to do, + And if thou bidest here, for something new + Will folk begin to cry, and all thy fame + Shall then avail thee but for greater blame; + Thy love shall cease to love thee, and the earth + Thou lovest now shall be of little worth + While still thou keepest life, abhorring it. + Behold, in men's lives that so quickly flit + Thus is it, how then shall it be with thee, + Who some faint image of eternity + Hast gained through me?--alas, thou heedest not! + On all these changing things thine heart is hot-- + Take then this gift that I have brought from far, + And then may'st thou remember what we are; + The lover and the loved from long ago." + He trembled, and more memory seemed to grow + Within his heart as he beheld her stand, + Holding a glittering crown in her right hand: + "Ogier," she said, "arise and do on thee + The emblems of thy worldly sovereignity, + For we must pass o'er many a sea this morn." + He rose, and in the glittering tunic worn + By Charlemaine he clad himself, and took + The ivory hand, that Charlemaine once shook + Over the people's head in days of old; + Then on his feet he set the shoes of gold, + And o'er his shoulders threw the mantle fair, + And set the gold crown on his golden hair: + Then on the royal chair he sat him down, + As though he deemed the elders of the town + Should come to audience; and in all he seemed + To do these things e'en as a man who dreamed. + + And now adown the Seine the golden sun + Shone out, as toward him drew that lovely one + And took from off his head the royal crown, + And, smiling, on the pillow laid it down + And said, "Lie there, O crown of Charlemaine, + Worn by a mighty man, and worn in vain, + Because he died, and all the things he did + Were changed before his face by earth was hid; + A better crown I have for my love's head, + Whereby he yet shall live, when all are dead + His hand has helped." Then on his head she set + The wondrous crown, and said, "Forget, forget! + Forget these weary things, for thou hast much + Of happiness to think of." + At that touch + He rose, a happy light gleamed in his eyes; + And smitten by the rush of memories, + He stammered out, "O love! how came we here? + What do we in this land of Death and Fear? + Have I not been from thee a weary while? + Let us return--I dreamed about the isle; + I dreamed of other years of strife and pain, + Of new years full of struggles long and vain." + She took him by the hand and said, "Come, love, + I am not changed;" and therewith did they move + Unto the door, and through the sleeping place + Swiftly they went, and still was Ogier's face + Turned on her beauty, and no thought was his + Except the dear returning of his bliss. + But at the threshold of the palace-gate + That opened to them, she awhile did wait, + And turned her eyes unto the rippling Seine + And said, "O love, behold it once again!" + He turned, and gazed upon the city grey + Smit by the gold of that sweet morn of May; + He heard faint noises as of wakening folk + As on their heads his day of glory broke; + He heard the changing rush of the swift stream + Against the bridge-piers. All was grown a dream. + His work was over, his reward was come, + Why should he loiter longer from his home? + + A little while she watched him silently, + Then beckoned him to follow with a sigh, + And, raising up the raiment from her feet, + Across the threshold stepped into the street; + One moment on the twain the low sun shone, + And then the place was void, and they were gone + How I know not; but this I know indeed, + That in whatso great trouble or sore need + The land of France since that fair day has been, + No more the sword of Ogier has she seen. + + * * * * * + + Such was the tale he told of Avallon, + E'en such an one as in days past had won + His youthful heart to think upon the quest; + But to those old hearts nigh in reach of rest, + Not much to be desired now it seemed-- + Perchance the heart that of such things had dreamed + Had found no words in this death-laden tongue + We speak on earth, wherewith they might be sung; + Perchance the changing years that changed his heart + E'en in the words of that old tale had part, + Changing its sweet to bitter, to despair + The foolish hope that once had glittered there-- + Or think, that in some bay of that far home + They then had sat, and watched the green waves come + Up to their feet with many promises; + Or the light wind midst blossom-laden trees, + In the sweet Spring had weighted many a word + Of no worth now, and many a hope had stirred + Long dead for ever. + Howsoe'er that be + Among strange folk they now sat quietly, + As though that tale with them had nought to do, + As though its hopes and fears were something new. + But though, indeed, the outworn, dwindled band + Had no tears left for that once longed-for land, + The very wind must moan for their decay, + And from the sky, grown dull, and low, and grey, + Cold tears must fall upon the lonely field, + That such fair golden hopes erewhile did yield; + And on the blackening woods, wherein the doves + Sat silent now, forgetful of their loves. + Yet, since a little life at least was left, + They were not yet of every joy bereft, + For long ago was past the agony, + Midst which they found that they indeed must die; + And now well-nigh as much their pain was past + As though death's veil already had been cast + Over their heads--so, midst some little mirth, + They watched the dark night hide the gloomy earth. + + + + + THE GOLDEN APPLES. + +This tale tells of the voyage of a ship of Tyre, that, against the will +of the shipmen, bore Hercules to an unknown land of the West, that he +might accomplish a task laid on him by the Fates. + + + As many as the leaves fall from the tree, + From the world's life the years are fallen away + Since King Eurystheus sat in majesty + In fair Mycenæ; midmost of whose day + It once befell that in a quiet bay + A ship of Tyre was swinging nigh the shore, + Her folk for sailing handling rope and oar. + + Fresh was the summer morn, a soft wind stole + Down from the sheep-browsed slopes the cliffs that crowned, + And ruffled lightly the long gleaming roll + Of the peaceful sea, and bore along the sound + Of shepherd-folk and sheep and questing hound, + For in the first dip of the hillside there + Lay bosomed 'mid its trees a homestead fair. + + Amid regrets for last night, when the moon, + Risen on the soft dusk, shone on maidens' feet + Brushing the gold-heart lilies to the tune + Of pipes complaining, o'er the grass down-beat + That mixed with dewy flowers its odour sweet, + The shipmen laboured, till the sail unfurled + Swung round the prow to meet another world. + + But ere the anchor had come home, a shout + Rang from the strand, as though the ship were hailed. + Whereat the master bade them stay, in doubt + That they without some needful thing had sailed; + When, lo! from where the cliff's steep grey sides failed + Into a ragged stony slip, came twain + Who seemed in haste the ready keel to gain. + + Soon they drew nigh, and he who first came down + Unto the surf was a man huge of limb, + Grey-eyed, with crisp-curled hair 'twixt black and brown, + Who had a lion's skin cast over him, + So wrought with gold that the fell showed but dim + Betwixt the threads, and in his hand he bore + A mighty club with bands of steel done o'er. + + Panting there followed him a grey old man, + Bearing a long staff, clad in gown of blue, + Feeble of aspect, hollow-cheeked and wan, + Who when unto his fellow's side he drew, + Said faintly: "Now, do that which thou shouldst do; + This is the ship." Then in the other's eye + A smile gleamed, and he spake out merrily: + + "Masters, folk tell me that ye make for Tyre, + And after that still nearer to the sun; + And since Fate bids me look to die by fire, + Fain am I, ere my worldly day be done, + To know what from earth's hottest can be won; + And this old man, my kinsman, would with me. + How say ye, will ye bear us o'er the sea?" + + "What is thy name?" the master said: "And know + That we are merchants, and for nought give nought; + What wilt thou pay?--thou seem'st full rich, I trow." + The old man muttered, stooped adown and caught + At something in the sand: "E'en so I thought," + The younger said, "when I set out from home-- + As to my name, perchance in days to come + + "Thou shalt know that--but have heed, take this toy, + And call me the Strong Man." And as he spake + The master's deep-brown eyes 'gan gleam with joy, + For from his arm a huge ring did he take, + And cast it on the deck, where it did break + A water-jar, and in the wet shards lay + Golden, and gleaming like the end of day. + + But the old man held out a withered hand, + Wherein there shone two pearls most great and fair, + And said, "If any nigher I might stand, + Then might'st thou see the things I give thee here-- + And for a name--a many names I bear, + But call me Shepherd of the Shore this tide, + And for more knowledge with a good will bide." + + From one to the other turned the master's eyes; + The Strong Man laughed as at some hidden jest, + And wild doubts in the shipman's heart did rise; + But thinking on the thing, he deemed it best + To bid them come aboard, and take such rest + As they might have of the untrusty sea, + 'Mid men who trusty fellows still should be. + + Then no more words the Strong Man made, but straight + Caught up the elder in his arms, and so, + Making no whit of all that added weight, + Strode to the ship, right through the breakers low, + And catching at the rope that they did throw + Out toward his hand, swung up into the ship; + Then did the master let the hawser slip. + + The shapely prow cleft the wet mead and green, + And wondering drew the shipmen round to gaze + Upon those limbs, the mightiest ever seen; + And many deemed it no light thing to face + The splendour of his eyen, though they did blaze + With no wrath now, no hate for them to dread, + As seaward 'twixt the summer isles they sped. + + Freshened the wind, but ever fair it blew + Unto the south-east; but as failed the land, + Unto the plunging prow the Strong Man drew, + And silent, gazing with wide eyes did stand, + As though his heart found rest; but 'mid the band + Of shipmen in the stern the old man sat, + Telling them tales that no man there forgat. + + As one who had beheld, he told them there + Of the sweet singer, whom, for his song's sake, + The dolphins back from choking death did bear; + How in the mid sea did the vine outbreak + O'er that ill bark when Bacchus 'gan to wake; + How anigh Cyprus, ruddy with the rose + The cold sea grew as any June-loved close; + + While on the flowery shore all things alive + Grew faint with sense of birth of some delight, + And the nymphs waited trembling there, to give + Glad welcome to the glory of that sight: + He paused then, ere he told how, wild and white, + Rose ocean, breaking o'er a race accurst, + A world once good, now come unto its worst. + + And then he smiled, and said, "And yet ye won, + Ye men, and tremble not on days like these, + Nor think with what a mind Prometheus' son + Beheld the last of the torn reeling trees + From high Parnassus: slipping through the seas + Ye never think, ye men-folk, how ye seem + From down below through the green waters' gleam." + + Dusk was it now when these last words he said, + And little of his visage might they see, + But o'er their hearts stole vague and troublous dread, + They knew not why; yet ever quietly + They sailed that night; nor might a morning be + Fairer than was the next morn; and they went + Along their due course after their intent. + + The fourth day, about sunrise, from the mast + The watch cried out he saw Phoenician land; + Whereat the Strong Man on the elder cast + A look askance, and he straight took his stand + Anigh the prow, and gazed beneath his hand + Upon the low sun and the scarce-seen shore, + Till cloud-flecks rose, and gathered and drew o'er. + + The morn grown cold; then small rain 'gan to fall, + And all the wind dropped dead, and hearts of men + Sank, and their bark seemed helpless now and small; + Then suddenly the wind 'gan moan again; + Sails flapped, and ropes beat wild about; and then + Down came the great east wind; and the ship ran + Straining, heeled o'er, through seas all changed and wan. + + Westward, scarce knowing night from day, they drave + Through sea and sky grown one; the Strong Man wrought + With mighty hands, and seemed a god to save; + But on the prow, heeding all weather nought, + The elder stood, nor any prop he sought, + But swayed to the ship's wallowing, as on wings + He there were set above the wrack of things. + + And westward still they drave; and if they saw + Land upon either side, as on they sped, + 'Twas but as faces in a dream may draw + Anigh, and fade, and leave nought in their stead; + And in the shipmen's hearts grew heavy dread + To sick despair; they deemed they should drive on + Till the world's edge and empty space were won. + + But 'neath the Strong Man's eyes e'en as they might + They toiled on still; and he sang to the wind, + And spread his arms to meet the waters white, + As o'er the deck they tumbled, making blind + The brine-drenched shipmen; nor with eye unkind + He gazed up at the lightning; nor would frown + When o'er the wet waste Jove's bolt rattled down. + + And they, who at the last had come to think + Their guests were very gods, with all their fear + Feared nought belike that their good ship would sink + Amid the storm; but rather looked to hear + The last moan of the wind that them should bear + Into the windless stream of ocean grey, + Where they should float till dead was every day. + + Yet their fear mocked them; for the storm 'gan die + About the tenth day, though unto the west + They drave on still; soon fair and quietly + The morn would break: and though amid their rest + Nought but long evil wandering seemed the best + That they might hope for; still, despite their dread, + Sweet was the quiet sea and goodlihead + + Of the bright sun at last come back again; + And as the days passed, less and less fear grew, + If without cause, till faded all their pain; + And they 'gan turn unto their guests anew, + Yet durst ask nought of what that evil drew + Upon their heads; or of returning speak. + Happy they felt, but listless, spent, and weak. + + And now as at the first the elder was, + And sat and told them tales of yore agone; + But ever the Strong Man up and down would pass + About the deck, or on the prow alone + Would stand and stare out westward; and still on + Through a fair summer sea they went, nor thought + Of what would come when these days turned to nought. + + And now when twenty days were well passed o'er + They made a new land; cloudy mountains high + Rose from the sea at first; then a green shore + Spread fair below them: as they drew anigh + No sloping, stony strand could they espy, + And no surf breaking; the green sea and wide + Wherethrough they slipped was driven by no tide. + + Dark fell ere they might set their eager feet + Upon the shore; but night-long their ship lay + As in a deep stream, by the blossoms sweet + That flecked the grass whence flowers ne'er passed away. + But when the cloud-barred east brought back the day, + And turned the western mountain-tops to gold, + Fresh fear the shipmen in their bark did hold. + + For as a dream seemed all; too fair for those + Who needs must die; moreover they could see, + A furlong off, 'twixt apple-tree and rose, + A brazen wall that gleamed out wondrously + In the young sun, and seemed right long to be; + And memory of all marvels lay upon + Their shrinking hearts now this sweet place was won. + + But when unto the nameless guests they turned, + Who stood together nigh the plank shot out + Shoreward, within the Strong Man's eyes there burned + A wild light, as the other one in doubt + He eyed a moment; then with a great shout + Leaped into the blossomed grass; the echoes rolled + Back from the hills, harsh still and over-bold. + + Slowly the old man followed him, and still + The crew held back: they knew now they were brought + Over the sea the purpose to fulfil + Of these strange men; and in their hearts they thought, + "Perchance we yet shall live, if, meddling nought + With dreams, we bide here till these twain come back; + But prying eyes the fire-blast seldom lack." + + Yet 'mongst them were two fellows bold and young, + Who, looking each upon the other's face, + Their hearts to meet the unknown danger strung, + And went ashore, and at a gentle pace + Followed the strangers, who unto the place + Where the wall gleamed had turned; peace and desire + Mingled together in their hearts, as nigher + + They drew unto that wall, and dulled their fear: + Fair wrought it was, as though with bricks of brass; + And images upon its face there were, + Stories of things a long while come to pass: + Nor that alone--as looking in a glass + Its maker knew the tales of what should be, + And wrought them there for bird and beast to see. + + So on they went; the many birds sang sweet + Through all that blossomed thicket from above, + And unknown flowers bent down before their feet; + The very air, cleft by the grey-winged dove, + Throbbed with sweet scent, and smote their souls with love. + Slowly they went till those twain stayed before + A strangely-wrought and iron-covered door. + + They stayed, too, till o'er noise of wind, and bird, + And falling flower, there rang a mighty shout + As the Strong Man his steel-bound club upreared, + And drave it 'gainst the hammered iron stout, + Where 'neath his blows flew bolt and rivet out, + Till shattered on the ground the great door lay, + And into the guarded place bright poured the day. + + The Strong Man entered, but his fellow stayed, + Leaning against a tree-trunk as they deemed. + They faltered now, and yet all things being weighed + Went on again; and thought they must have dreamed + Of the old man, for now the sunlight streamed + Full on the tree he had been leaning on, + And him they saw not go, yet was he gone: + + Only a slim green lizard flitted there + Amidst the dry leaves; him they noted nought, + But trembling, through the doorway 'gan to peer, + And still of strange and dreadful saw not aught, + Only a garden fair beyond all thought. + And there, 'twixt sun and shade, the Strong Man went + On some long-sought-for end belike intent. + + They 'gan to follow down a narrow way + Of green-sward that the lilies trembled o'er, + And whereon thick the scattered rose-leaves lay; + But a great wonder weighed upon them sore, + And well they thought they should return no more, + Yet scarce a pain that seemed; they looked to meet + Before they died things strange and fair and sweet. + + So still to right and left the Strong Man thrust + The blossomed boughs, and passed on steadily, + As though his hardy heart he well did trust, + Till in a while he gave a joyous cry, + And hastened on, as though the end drew nigh; + And women's voices then they deemed they heard, + Mixed with a noise that made desire afeard. + + Yet through sweet scents and sounds on did they bear + Their panting hearts, till the path ended now + In a wide space of green, a streamlet clear + From out a marble basin there did flow, + And close by that a slim-trunked tree did grow, + And on a bough low o'er the water cold + There hung three apples of red-gleaming gold. + + About the tree, new risen e'en now to meet + The shining presence of that mighty one, + Three damsels stood, naked from head to feet + Save for the glory of their hair, where sun + And shadow flickered, while the wind did run + Through the grey leaves o'erhead, and shook the grass + Where nigh their feet the wandering bee did pass. + + But 'midst their delicate limbs and all around + The tree-roots, gleaming blue black could they see + The spires of a great serpent, that, enwound + About the smooth bole, looked forth threateningly, + With glittering eyes and raised crest, o'er the three + Fair heads fresh crowned, and hissed above the speech + Wherewith they murmured softly each to each. + + Now the Strong Man amid the green space stayed, + And leaning on his club, with eager eyes + But brow yet smooth, in voice yet friendly said: + "O daughters of old Hesperus the Wise, + Well have ye held your guard here; but time tries + The very will of gods, and to my hand + Must give this day the gold fruit of your land." + + Then spake the first maid--sweet as the west wind + Amidst of summer noon her sweet voice was: + "Ah, me! what knows this place of changing mind + Of men or gods; here shall long ages pass, + And clean forget thy feet upon the grass, + Thy hapless bones amid the fruitful mould; + Look at thy death envenomed swift and cold!" + + Hiding new flowers, the dull coils, as she spake, + Moved near her limbs: but then the second one, + In such a voice as when the morn doth wake + To song of birds, said, "When the world foredone + Has moaned its last, still shall we dwell alone + Beneath this bough, and have no tales to tell + Of things deemed great that on the earth befell." + + Then spake the third, in voice as of the flute + That wakes the maiden to her wedding morn: + "If any god should gain our golden fruit, + Its curse would make his deathless life forlorn. + Lament thou, then, that ever thou wert born; + Yet all things, changed by joy or loss or pain, + To what they were shall change and change again." + + "So be it," he said, "the Fates that drive me on + Shall slay me or shall save; blessing or curse + That followeth after when the thing is won + Shall make my work no better now nor worse; + And if it be that the world's heart must nurse + Hatred against me, how then shall I choose + To leave or take?--let your dread servant loose!" + + E'en therewith, like a pillar of black smoke, + Swift, shifting ever, drave the worm at him; + In deadly silence now that nothing broke, + Its folds were writhing round him trunk and limb, + Until his glittering gear was nought but dim + E'en in that sunshine, while his head and side + And breast the fork-tongued, pointed muzzle tried. + + Closer the coils drew, quicker all about + The forked tongue darted, and yet stiff he stood, + E'en as an oak that sees the straw flare out + And lick its ancient bole for little good: + Until the godlike fury of his mood + Burst from his heart in one great shattering cry, + And rattling down the loosened coils did lie; + + And from the torn throat and crushed dreadful head + Forth flowed a stream of blood along the grass; + Bright in the sun he stood above the dead, + Panting with fury; yet as ever was + The wont of him, soon did his anger pass, + And with a happy smile at last he turned + To where the apples o'er the water burned. + + Silent and moveless ever stood the three; + No change came o'er their faces, as his hand + Was stretched aloft unto the sacred tree; + Nor shrank they aught aback, though he did stand + So close that tresses of their bright hair, fanned + By the sweet garden breeze, lay light on him, + And his gold fell brushed by them breast and limb. + + He drew adown the wind-stirred bough, and took + The apples thence; then let it spring away, + And from his brow the dark hair backward shook, + And said: "O sweet, O fair, and shall this day + A curse upon my life henceforward lay-- + This day alone? Methinks of coming life + Somewhat I know, with all its loss and strife. + + "But this I know, at least: the world shall wend + Upon its way, and, gathering joy and grief + And deeds done, bear them with it to the end; + So shall it, though I lie as last year's leaf + Lies 'neath a summer tree, at least receive + My life gone by, and store it, with the gain + That men alive call striving, wrong, and pain. + + "So for my part I rather bless than curse, + And bless this fateful land; good be with it; + Nor for this deadly thing's death is it worse, + Nor for the lack of gold; still shall ye sit + Watching the swallow o'er the daisies flit; + Still shall your wandering limbs ere day is done + Make dawn desired by the sinking sun. + + "And now, behold! in memory of all this + Take ye this girdle that shall waste and fade + As fadeth not your fairness and your bliss, + That when hereafter 'mid the blossoms laid + Ye talk of days and men now nothing made, + Ye may remember how the Theban man, + The son of Jove, came o'er the waters wan." + + Their faces changed not aught for all they heard; + As though all things now fully told out were, + They gazed upon him without any word: + Ah! craving kindness, hope, or loving care, + Their fairness scarcely could have made more fair, + As with the apples folded in his fell + He went, to do more deeds for folk to tell. + + Now as the girdle on the ground was cast + Those fellows turned and hurried toward the door, + And as across its broken leaves they passed + The old man saw they not, e'en as before; + But an unearthed blind mole bewildered sore + Was wandering there in fruitless, aimless wise, + That got small heed from their full-sated eyes. + + Swift gat they to their anxious folk; nor had + More time than just to say, "Be of good cheer, + For in our own land may we yet be glad," + When they beheld the guests a-drawing near; + And much bewildered the two fellows were + To see the old man, and must even deem + That they should see things stranger than a dream. + + But when they were aboard the elder cried, + "Up sails, my masters, fair now is the wind; + Nor good it is too long here to abide, + Lest what ye may not loose your souls should bind." + And as he spake, the tall trees left behind + Stirred with the rising land-wind, and the crew, + Joyous thereat, the hawsers shipward drew. + + Swift sped the ship, and glad at heart were all, + And the Strong Man was merry with the rest, + And from the elder's lips no word did fall + That did not seem to promise all the best; + Yet with a certain awe were men oppressed, + And felt as if their inmost hearts were bare, + And each man's secret babbled through the air. + + Still oft the old man sat with them and told + Tales of past time, as on the outward way; + And now would they the face of him behold + And deem it changed; the years that on him lay + Seemed to grow nought, and no more wan and grey + He looked, but ever glorious, wise and strong, + As though no lapse of time for him were long. + + At last, when six days through the kindly sea + Their keel had slipped, he said: "Come hearken now, + For so it is that things fare wondrously + E'en in these days; and I a tale can show + That, told by you unto your sons shall grow + A marvel of the days that are to come: + Take heed and tell it when ye reach your home. + + "Yet living in the world a man there is + Men call the Theban King Amphitryon's son, + Although perchance a greater sire was his; + But certainly his lips have hung upon + Alcmena's breasts: great deeds this man hath won + Already, for his name is Hercules, + And e'en ye Asian folk have heard of these. + + "Now ere the moon, this eve in his last wane, + Was born, this Hercules, the fated thrall + Of King Eurystheus, was straight bid to gain + Gifts from a land whereon no foot doth fall + Of mortal man, beyond the misty wall + Of unknown waters; pensively he went + Along the sea on his hard life intent. + + "And at the dawn he came into a bay + Where the sea, ebbed far down, left wastes of sand, + Walled from the green earth by great cliffs and grey; + Then he looked up, and wondering there did stand, + For strange things lay in slumber on the strand; + Strange counterparts of what the firm earth hath + Lay scattered all about his weary path: + + "Sea-lions and sea-horses and sea-kine, + Sea-boars, sea-men strange-skinned, of wondrous hair; + And in their midst a man who seemed divine + For changeless eld, and round him women fair, + Clad in the sea-webs glassy green and clear + With gems on head and girdle, limb and breast, + Such as earth knoweth not among her best. + + "A moment at the fair and wondrous sight + He stared, then, since the heart in him was good, + He went about with careful steps and light + Till o'er the sleeping sea-god now he stood; + And if the white-foot maids had stirred his blood + As he passed by, now other thoughts had place + Within his heart when he beheld that face. + + "For Nereus now he knew, who knows all things; + And to himself he said, 'If I prevail, + Better than by some god-wrought eagle-wings + Shall I be holpen;' then he cried out: 'Hail, + O Nereus! lord of shifting hill and dale! + Arise and wrestle; I am Hercules! + Not soon now shalt thou meet the ridgy seas.' + + "And mightily he cast himself on him; + And Nereus cried out shrilly; and straightway + That sleeping crowd, fair maid with half-hid limb, + Strange man and green-haired beast, made no delay, + But glided down into the billows grey, + And, by the lovely sea embraced, were gone, + While they two wrestled on the sea strand lone. + + "Soon found the sea-god that his bodily might + Was nought in dealing with Jove's dear one there; + And soon he 'gan to use his magic sleight: + Into a lithe leopard, and a hugging bear + He turned him; then the smallest fowl of air + The straining arms of Hercules must hold, + And then a mud-born wriggling eel and cold. + + "Then as the firm hands mastered this, forth brake + A sudden rush of waters all around, + Blinding and choking: then a thin green snake + With golden eyes; then o'er the shell-strewn ground + Forth stole a fly the least that may be found; + Then earth and heaven seemed wrapped in one huge flame, + But from the midst thereof a voice there came: + + "'Kinsman and stout-heart, thou hast won the day, + Nor to my grief: what wouldst thou have of me?' + And therewith to an old man small and grey + Faded the roaring flame, who wearily + Sat down upon the sand and said, 'Let be! + I know thy tale; worthy of help thou art; + Come now, a short way hence will there depart + + "'A ship of Tyre for the warm southern seas, + Come we a-board; according to my will + Her way shall be.' Then up rose Hercules, + Merry of face, though hot and panting still; + But the fair summer day his heart did fill + With all delight; and so forth went the twain, + And found those men desirous of all gain. + + "Ah, for these gainful men--somewhat indeed + Their sails are rent, their bark beat; kin and friend + Are wearying for them; yet a friend in need + They yet shall gain, if at their journey's end, + Upon the last ness where the wild goats wend + To lick the salt-washed stones, a house they raise + Bedight with gold in kindly Nereus' praise." + + Breathless they waited for these latest words, + That like the soft wind of the gathering night + Were grown to be: about the mast flew birds + Making their moan, hovering long-winged and white; + And now before their straining anxious sight + The old man faded out into the air, + And from his place flew forth a sea-mew fair. + + Then to the Mighty Man, Alcmena's son, + With yearning hearts they turned till he should speak, + And he spake softly: "Nought ill have ye done + In helping me to find what I did seek: + The world made better by me knows if weak + My hand and heart are: but now, light the fire + Upon the prow and worship the grey sire." + + So did they; and such gifts as there they had + Gave unto Nereus; yea, and sooth to say, + Amid the tumult of their hearts made glad, + Had honoured Hercules in e'en such way; + But he laughed out amid them, and said, "Nay, + Not yet the end is come; nor have I yet + Bowed down before vain longing and regret. + + "It may be--who shall tell, when I go back + There whence I came, and looking down behold + The place that my once eager heart shall lack, + And all my dead desires a-lying cold, + But I may have the might then to enfold + The hopes of brave men in my heart?--but long + Life lies before first with its change and wrong." + + So fair along the watery ways they sped + In happy wise, nor failed of their return; + Nor failed in ancient Tyre the ways to tread, + Teaching their tale to whomsoever would learn, + Nor failed at last the flesh of beasts to burn + In Nereus' house, turned toward the bright day's end + On the last ness, round which the wild goats wend. + + + + + L'ENVOI. + + + Here are we for the last time face to face, + Thou and I, Book, before I bid thee speed + Upon thy perilous journey to that place + For which I have done on thee pilgrim's weed, + Striving to get thee all things for thy need-- + --I love thee, whatso time or men may say + Of the poor singer of an empty day. + + Good reason why I love thee, e'en if thou + Be mocked or clean forgot as time wears on; + For ever as thy fashioning did grow, + Kind word and praise because of thee I won + From those without whom were my world all gone, + My hope fallen dead, my singing cast away, + And I set soothly in an empty day. + + I love thee; yet this last time must it be, + That thou must hold thy peace and I must speak, + Lest if thou babble I begin to see + Thy gear too thin, thy limbs and heart too weak, + To find the land thou goest forth to seek-- + --Though what harm if thou die upon the way, + Thou idle singer of an empty day? + + But though this land desired thou never reach, + Yet folk who know it mayst thou meet or death; + Therefore a word unto thee would I teach + To answer these, who, noting thy weak breath, + Thy wandering eyes, thy heart of little faith, + May make thy fond desire a sport and play, + Mocking the singer of an empty day. + + That land's name, say'st thou? and the road thereto? + Nay, Book, thou mockest, saying thou know'st it not; + Surely no book of verse I ever knew + But ever was the heart within him hot + To gain the Land of Matters Unforgot-- + --There, now we both laugh--as the whole world may, + At us poor singers of an empty day. + + Nay, let it pass, and hearken! Hast thou heard + That therein I believe I have a friend, + Of whom for love I may not be afeard? + It is to him indeed I bid thee wend; + Yea, he perchance may meet thee ere thou end, + Dying so far off from the hedge of bay, + Thou idle singer of an empty day! + + Well, think of him, I bid thee, on the road, + And if it hap that midst of thy defeat, + Fainting beneath thy follies' heavy load, + My Master, Geoffrey Chaucer, thou do meet, + Then shalt thou win a space of rest full sweet; + Then be thou bold, and speak the words I say, + The idle singer of an empty day! + + "O Master, O thou great of heart and tongue, + Thou well mayst ask me why I wander here, + In raiment rent of stories oft besung! + But of thy gentleness draw thou anear, + And then the heart of one who held thee dear + Mayst thou behold! So near as that I lay + Unto the singer of an empty day. + + "For this he ever said, who sent me forth + To seek a place amid thy company; + That howsoever little was my worth, + Yet was he worth e'en just so much as I; + He said that rhyme hath little skill to lie: + Nor feigned to cast his worser part away + In idle singing for an empty day. + + "I have beheld him tremble oft enough + At things he could not choose but trust to me, + Although he knew the world was wise and rough: + And never did he fail to let me see + His love,--his folly and faithlessness, may be; + And still in turn I gave him voice to pray + Such prayers as cling about an empty day. + + "Thou, keen-eyed, reading me, mayst read him through, + For surely little is there left behind; + No power great deeds unnameable to do; + No knowledge for which words he may not find, + No love of things as vague as autumn wind-- + --Earth of the earth lies hidden by my clay, + The idle singer of an empty day! + + "Children we twain are, saith he, late made wise + In love, but in all else most childish still, + And seeking still the pleasure of our eyes, + And what our ears with sweetest sounds may fill; + Not fearing Love, lest these things he should kill; + Howe'er his pain by pleasure doth he lay, + Making a strange tale of an empty day. + + "Death have we hated, knowing not what it meant; + Life have we loved, through green leaf and through sere, + Though still the less we knew of its intent: + The Earth and Heaven through countless year on year, + Slow changing, were to us but curtains fair, + Hung round about a little room, where play + Weeping and laughter of man's empty day. + + "O Master, if thine heart could love us yet, + Spite of things left undone, and wrongly done, + Some place in loving hearts then should we get, + For thou, sweet-souled, didst never stand alone, + But knew'st the joy and woe of many an one-- + --By lovers dead, who live through thee we pray, + Help thou us singers of an empty day!" + + Fearest thou, Book, what answer thou mayst gain + Lest he should scorn thee, and thereof thou die? + Nay, it shall not be.--Thou mayst toil in vain, + And never draw the House of Fame anigh; + Yet he and his shall know whereof we cry, + Shall call it not ill done to strive to lay + The ghosts that crowd about life's empty day. + + Then let the others go! and if indeed + In some old garden thou and I have wrought, + And made fresh flowers spring up from hoarded seed, + And fragrance of old days and deeds have brought + Back to folk weary; all was not for nought. + --No little part it was for me to play-- + The idle singer of an empty day. + + + + + FROM "LOVE IS ENOUGH." + + INTERLUDES. + + + 1. + + Love is enough; though the World be a-waning + And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining, + Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover + The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder, + Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder, + And this day draw a veil over all deeds, passed over, + Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter; + The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter + These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover. + + + 2. + + Love is enough: it grew up without heeding + In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure, + And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure + Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding, + As the morning and evening passed over its treasure. + + And what do ye say then?--that Spring long departed + Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers; + --That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers; + We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted + Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours. + + Nay, Spring was o'er happy and knew not the reason, + And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended + In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended; + But this is the harvest and the garnering season, + And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended. + + It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding, + Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure, + Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure; + There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding, + But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure. + + + 3. + + Love is enough: draw near and behold me + Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter, + And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after + For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me + And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter. + --Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not! + + Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken, + And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying. + Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying? + Or is it your faces his brightness that darken? + Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing? + --Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not! + + Ye know not how void is your hope and your living: + Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me! + Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me, + There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving + Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me. + --Pass by me and hearken, and waken me not! + + Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me? + Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter, + And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after! + Nay this I sell not,--though ye bought me and sold me,-- + For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter. + --Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not! + + + 4. + + Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving, + Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it, + And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving; + These know the Cup with the roses around it; + These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it: + Cry out, the World heedeth not, "Love, lead us home!" + + He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward; + Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble + Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward: + Lo! his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble! + Lo! his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! + Cry out, for he heedeth, "O Love, lead us home!" + + O hearken the words of his voice of compassion: + "Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken + Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion! + As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken, + But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken, + As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home. + + "Come--pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending! + Come--fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting! + Come--change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! + Come--no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting, + But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting! + Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!" + + Is he gone? was he with us?--ho ye who seek saving, + Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it? + Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving; + Here is the Cup with the roses around it; + The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it: + Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home. + + + + + FROM + + "THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG." + + BOOK II. + + R E G I N. + + +Now this is the first book of the life and death of Sigurd the Volsung, +and therein is told of the birth of him, and of his dealings with Regin +the master of masters, and of his deeds in the waste places of the +earth. + + _Of the birth of Sigurd the son of Sigmund._ + + Peace lay on the land of the Helper and the house of Elf his son; + There merry men went bedward when their tide of toil was done, + And glad was the dawn's awakening, and the noontide fair and glad: + There no great store had the franklin, and enough the hireling had; + And a child might go unguarded the length and breadth of the land + With a purse of gold at his girdle and gold rings on his hand. + 'Twas a country of cunning craftsmen, and many a thing they wrought, + That the lands of storm desired, and the homes of warfare sought. + But men deemed it o'er-well warded by more than its stems of fight, + And told how its earth-born watchers yet lived of plenteous might. + So hidden was that country, and few men sailed its sea, + And none came o'er its mountains of men-folk's company. + But fair-fruited, many-peopled, it lies a goodly strip, + 'Twixt the mountains cloudy-headed and the sea-flood's surging lip, + And a perilous flood is its ocean, and its mountains, who shall tell + What things in their dales deserted and their wind-swept heaths may dwell. + Now a man of the Kings, called Gripir, in this land of peace abode: + The son of the Helper's father, though never lay his load + In the womb of the mother of Kings that the Helper's brethren bore; + But of Giant kin was his mother, of the folk that are seen no more; + Though whiles as ye ride some fell-road across the heath there comes + The voice of their lone lamenting o'er their changed and conquered homes. + A long way off from the sea-strand and beneath the mountains' feet + Is the high-built hall of Gripir, where the waste and the tillage meet; + A noble and plentiful house, that a little men-folk fear, + But beloved of the crag-dwelling eagles and the kin of the woodland deer. + A man of few words was Gripir, but he knew of all deeds that had been, + And times there came upon him, when the deeds to be were seen: + No sword had he held in his hand since his father fell to field, + And against the life of the slayer he bore undinted shield: + Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor desired he aught at all, + But he noted the deeds that had been, and looked for what should befall. + + Again, in the house of the Helper there dwelt a certain man + Beardless and low of stature, of visage pinched and wan: + So exceeding old was Regin, that no son of man could tell + In what year of the days passed over he came to that land to dwell; + But the youth of King Elf had he fostered, and the Helper's youth thereto, + Yes and his father's father's: the lore of all men he knew, + And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the sword: + So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men trowed his every word; + His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler of delight + With the latter days of sorrow; all tales he told aright; + The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was he; + And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the stilling of the sea; + Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that race was made, + And that man-folk's generation, all their life-days had he weighed. + + In this land abideth Hiordis amid all people's praise + Till cometh the time appointed: in the fulness of the days + Through the dark and the dusk she travailed, till at last in the dawning + hour + Have the deeds of the Volsungs blossomed, and born their latest flower; + In the bed there lieth a man child, and his eyes look straight on the sun, + And lo, the hope of the people, and the days of a king are begun. + + Men say of the serving-women, when they cried on the joy of the morn, + When they handled the linen raiment, and washed the king new-born, + When they bore him back unto Hiordis, and the weary and happy breast, + And bade her be glad to behold it, how the best was sprung from the best, + Yet they shrank in their rejoicing before the eyes of the child, + So bright and dreadful were they; yea though the spring morn smiled, + And a thousand birds were singing round the fair familiar home, + And still as on other mornings they saw folk go and come, + Yet the hour seemed awful to them, and the hearts within them burned + As though of fateful matters their souls were newly learned. + + But Hiordis looked on the Volsung, on her grief and her fond desire, + And the hope of her heart was quickened, and her joy was a living fire; + And she said: "Now one of the earthly on the eyes of my child hath gazed + Nor shrunk before their glory, nor stayed her love amazed: + I behold thee as Sigmund beholdeth,--and I was the home of thine heart-- + Woe's me for the day when thou wert not, and the hour when we shall part!" + + Then she held him a little season on her weary and happy breast + And she told him of Sigmund and Volsung and the best sprung forth from + the best: + She spake to the new-born baby as one who might understand, + And told him of Sigmund's battle, and the dead by the sea-flood's strand, + And of all the wars passed over, and the light with darkness blent. + + So she spake, and the sun rose higher, and her speech at last was spent, + And she gave him back to the women to bear forth to the people's kings, + That they too may rejoice in her glory and her day of happy things. + + But there sat the Helper of Men with King Elf and Earls in the hall, + And they spake of the deeds that had been, and told of the times to + befall, + And they hearkened and heard sweet voices and the sound of harps draw + nigh, + Till their hearts were exceeding merry and they knew not wherefore or + why: + Then, lo, in the hall white raiment, as thither the damsels came, + And amid the hands of the foremost was the woven gold aflame. + + "O daughters of earls," said the Helper, "what tidings then do ye bear? + Is it grief in the merry morning, or joy or wonder or fear?" + + Quoth the first: "It is grief for the foemen that the Masters of God-home + would grieve." + + Said the next: "'Tis a wonder of wonders, that the hearkening world shall + believe." + + "A fear of all fears," said the third, "for the sword is uplifted on men." + + "A joy of all joys," said the fourth, "once come, it comes not again!" + + "Lo, son," said the ancient Helper, "glad sit the earls and the lords! + Lookst thou not for a token of tidings to follow such-like words?" + + Saith King Elf: "Great words of women! or great hath our dwelling become." + + Said the women: "Words shall be greater, when all folk shall praise our + home." + + "What then hath betid," said King Elf, "do the high Gods stand in our + gate?" + + "Nay," said they, "else were we silent, and they should be telling of + fate." + + "Is the bidding come," said the Helper, "that we wend the Gods to see?" + + "Many summers and winters," they said, "ye shall live on the earth, it + may be." + + Said a young man: "Will ye be telling that all we shall die no more?" + + "Nay," they answered, "nay, who knoweth but the change may be hard at + the door?" + + "Come ships from the sea," said an elder, "with all gifts of the + Eastland gold?" + + "Was there less than enough," said the women, "when last our treasure + was told?" + + "Speak then," said the ancient Helper, "let the worst and the best be + said." + + Quoth they: "'Tis the Queen of the Isle-folk, she is weary-sick on her + bed." + + Said King Elf: "Yet ye come rejoicing; what more lieth under the tongue?" + + They said: "The earth is weary; but the tender blade hath sprung, + That shall wax till beneath its branches fair bloom the meadows green; + For the Gods and they that were mighty were glad erewhile with the Queen." + + Said King Elf: "How say ye, women? Of a King new-born do ye tell + By a God of the Heavens begotten in our fathers' house to dwell?" + + "By a God of the Earth," they answered; "but greater yet is the son, + Though long were the days of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he hath + done." + + Then she with the golden burden to the kingly high-seat stepped + And away from the new-born baby the purple cloths she swept, + And cried: "O King of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss, + As our hearts to-day are happy! Queen Hiordis sends thee this, + And she saith that the world shall call it by the name that thou shalt + name; + Now the gift to thee is given, and to thee is brought the fame." + + * * * * * + + Then e'en as a man astonied King Elf the Volsung took, + While his feast-hall's ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk + shook; + For the eyes of the child gleamed on him till he was as one who sees + The very Gods arising mid their carven images: + To his ears there came a murmur of far seas beneath the wind + And the tramp of fierce-eyed warriors through the outland forest blind; + The sound of hosts of battle, cries round the hoisted shield, + Low talk of the gathered wise-ones in the Goth-folk's holy field: + So the thought in a little moment through King Elf the Mighty ran + Of the years and their building and burden, and toil of the sons of man, + The joy of folk and their sorrow, and the hope of deeds to do: + With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through, + As he hung o'er the new-born Volsung: but at last he raised his head, + And looked forth kind o'er his people, and spake aloud and said: + + "O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days, + Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men's silent praise, + Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun! + And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?" + + But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried: "Hail Dawn of the Day! + How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay! + How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep! + How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep! + O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn! + How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy left + return! + O thy deeds that men shall sing of! O thy deeds that the Gods shall see! + O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!" + + Men heard the name and they knew it, and they caught it up in the air, + And it went abroad by the windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair, + It went through street and market; o'er meadow and acre it went, + And over the wind-stirred forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent, + And over the sea-flood's welter, till the folk of the fishers heard, + And the hearts of the isle-abiders on the sun-scorched rocks were stirred. + + But the Queen in her golden chamber, the name she hearkened and knew; + And she heard the flock of the women, as back to the chamber they drew, + And the name of Sigurd entered, and the body of Sigurd was come, + And it was as if Sigmund were living and she still in her lovely home; + Of all folk of the world was she well, and a soul fulfilled of rest + As alone in the chamber she wakened and Sigurd cherished her breast. + + But men feast in the merry noontide, and glad is the April green + That a Volsung looks on the sunlight and the night and the darkness have + been. + Earls think of marvellous stories, and along the golden strings + Flit words of banded brethren and names of war-fain Kings: + All the days of the deeds of Sigmund who was born so long ago; + All deeds of the glorious Signy, and her tarrying-tide of woe; + Men tell of the years of Volsung, and how long agone it was + That he changed his life in battle, and brought the tale to pass: + Then goeth the word of the Giants, and the world seems waxen old + For the dimness of King Rerir and the tale of his warfare told: + Yet unhushed are the singers' voices, nor yet the harp-strings cease + While yet is left a rumour of the mirk-wood's broken peace, + And of Sigi the very ancient, and the unnamed Sons of God, + Of the days when the Lords of Heaven full oft the world-ways trod. + + So stilleth the wind in the even and the sun sinks down in the sea, + And men abide the morrow and the Victory yet to be. + + + _Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell._ + + Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness, + And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless. + But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wed + To King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped. + Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase, + And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace. + + Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of wit + And full of understanding, and oft hath the joy to sit + Amid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech; + And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each. + But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well, + And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell. + + "I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men, + And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again; + And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood, + Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good." + + Then spake the Helper of men-folk: "Yea, do herein thy will: + For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill: + But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold; + For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold, + Though three men's lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn; + And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn." + + Then Regin laughed, and answered: "I doled out cunning to thee; + But nought with him will I measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be, + Nor grim, nor evil-natured: for whate'er my will might frame, + Gone forth is the word of the Norns, that abideth ever the same. + And now, despite my cunning, how deem ye I shall die?" + + And they said he would live as he listed, and at last in peace should lie + When he listed to live no longer; so mighty and wise he was. + But again he laughed and answered: "One day it shall come to pass, + That a beardless youth shall slay me: I know the fateful doom; + But nought may I withstand it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom." + + So is Sigurd now with Regin, and he learns him many things; + Yea, all save the craft of battle, that men learned the sons of kings: + The smithying sword and war-coat; the carving runes aright; + The tongues of many countries, and soft speech for men's delight; + The dealing with the harp-strings, and the winding ways of song. + So wise of heart waxed Sigurd, and of body wondrous strong: + And he chased the deer of the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew, + And many a bull of the mountains: and the desert dales he knew, + And the heaths that the wind sweeps over; and seaward would he fare, + Far out from the outer skerries, and alone the sea-wights dare. + + On a day he sat with Regin amidst the unfashioned gold, + And the silver grey from the furnace; and Regin spake and told + Sweet tales of the days that have been, and the Kings of the bold and + wise; + Till the lad's heart swelled with longing and lit his sunbright eyes. + + Then Regin looked upon him: "Thou too shalt one day ride + As the Volsung Kings went faring through the noble world and wide. + For this land is nought and narrow, and Kings of the carles are these, + And their earls are acre-biders, and their hearts are dull with peace." + + But Sigurd knit his brows, and in wrathful wise he said: + "Ill words of those thou speakest that my youth have cherished, + And the friends that have made me merry, and the land that is fair and + good." + + Then Regin laughed and answered: "Nay, well I see by thy mood + That wide wilt thou ride in the world like thy kin of the earlier days: + And wilt thou be wroth with thy master that he longs for thy winning the + praise? + And now if the sooth thou sayest, that these King-folk cherish thee well, + Then let them give thee a gift whereof the world shall tell: + Yea hearken to this my counsel, and crave for a battle-steed." + + Yet wroth was the lad and answered: "I have many a horse to my need, + And all that the heart desireth, and what wouldst thou wish me more?" + + Then Regin answered and said: "Thy kin of the Kings of yore + Were the noblest men of men-folk; and their hearts would never rest + Whatso of good they had gotten, if their hands held not the best. + Now do thou after my counsel, and crave of thy fosterers here + That thou choose of the horses of Gripir whichso thine heart holds dear." + + He spake and his harp was with him, and he smote the strings full sweet, + And sang of the host of the Valkyrs, how they ride the battle to meet, + And the dew from the dear manes drippeth as they ride in the first of + the sun, + And the tree-boughs open to meet it when the wind of the dawning is done: + And the deep dales drink its sweetness and spring into blossoming grass, + And the earth groweth fruitful of men, and bringeth their glory to pass. + + Then the wrath ran off from Sigurd, and he left the smithying stead + While the song yet rang in the doorway: and that eve to the Kings he said: + "Will ye do so much for mine asking as to give me a horse to my will? + For belike the days shall come, that shall all my heart fulfill, + And teach me the deeds of a king." + Then answered King Elf and spake: + "The stalls of the Kings are before thee to set aside or to take, + And nought we begrudge thee the best." + Yet answered Sigurd again; + For his heart of the mountains aloft and the windy drift was fain: + "Fair seats for the knees of Kings! but now do I ask for a gift + Such as all the world shall be praising, the best of the strong and + the swift. + Ye shall give me a token for Gripir, and bid him to let me choose + From out of the noble stud-beasts that run in his meadow loose. + But if overmuch I have asked you, forget this prayer of mine, + And deem the word unspoken, and get ye to the wine." + + Then smiled King Elf, and answered: "A long way wilt thou ride, + To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide, + Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shalt thou win + The praise of many a people: so have thy way herein. + Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may hold + The sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold." + + Then sweetly Sigurd thanked them; and through the night he lay + Mid dreams of many a matter till the dawn was on the way; + Then he shook the sleep from off him, and that dwelling of Kings he left + And wended his ways unto Gripir. On a crag from the mountain reft + Was the house of the old King builded; and a mighty house it was, + Though few were the sons of men that over its threshold would pass: + But the wild ernes cried about it, and the vultures toward it flew, + And the winds from the heart of the mountains searched every chamber + through, + And about were meads wide-spreading; and many a beast thereon, + Yea some that are men-folk's terror, their sport and pasture won. + So into the hall went Sigurd; and amidst was Gripir set + In a chair of the sea-beast's tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh met + The floor that was green as the ocean, and his gown was of mountain-gold + And the kingly staff in his hand was knobbed with the crystal cold. + + Now the first of the twain spake Gripir: "Hail King with the eyen bright! + Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light. + And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind, + That thou wouldst be coming to-day a horse in my meadow to find: + And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall + be. + Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea, + And be glad as thine heart will have thee and the fate that leadeth thee + on, + And I bid thee again come hither when the sword of worth is won, + And thy loins are girt for thy going on the road that before thee lies; + For a glimmering over its darkness is come before mine eyes." + + Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ran + And unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man, + One-eyed and seeming-ancient, there met him by the way: + And he spake: "Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I say + A word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains well + And all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell." + + "Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir's horse-herd + then? + Nay sure, for thy face is shining like battle-eager men + My master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown + And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known." + + "Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind," then spake that elder of days, + "And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise. + There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out, + Thou shalt follow an elder's counsel, who hath brought strange things + about, + Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin." + + So Sigurd said, "I am ready; and what is the deed to win?" + + He said: "We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side, + That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide." + + Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses on + Till they came to a rushing river a water wide and wan; + And the white mews hovered o'er it; but none might hear their cry + For the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by. + So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem, + And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o'ermastered them: + And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank, + Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank; + But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of grey + Toss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away: + Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream again + And with the waves' white horses mingled his cloudy mane. + + Then spake the elder of days: "Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear; + Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear, + And this horse is a gift of my giving:--heed nought where thou mayst ride: + For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide, + And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give; + Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live." + + Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now + To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow, + As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night; + And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright. + + So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand, + And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland, + And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good. + And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir's blood, + The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue, + And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund's son he knew, + So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling's song arose + As he brushed through the noon-tide blossoms of Gripir's mighty close, + Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave, + Who swam through the sweeping river, and back through the toppling wave. + + + _Regin telleth Sigurd of his kindred, and of the Gold that was + accursed from ancient days._ + + Now yet the days pass over, and more than words may tell + Grows Sigurd strong and lovely, and all children love him well. + But oft he looks on the mountains and many a time is fain + To know of what lies beyond them, and learn of the wide world's gain. + And he saith: "I dwell in a land that is ruled by none of my blood; + And my mother's sons are waxing, and fair kings shall they be and good; + And their servant or their betrayer--not one of these will I be. + Yet needs must I wait for a little till Odin calls for me." + + Now again it happed on a day that he sat in Regin's hall + And hearkened many tidings of what had chanced to fall, + And of kings that sought their kingdoms o'er many a waste and wild, + And at last saith the crafty master: + "Thou art King Sigmund's child: + Wilt thou wait till these kings of the carles shall die in a little land, + Or wilt thou serve their sons and carry the cup to their hand; + Or abide in vain for the day that never shall come about, + When their banners shall dance in the wind and shake to the war-gods' + shout?" + + Then Sigurd answered and said: "Nought such do I look to be. + But thou, a deedless man, too much thou eggest me: + And these folk are good and trusty, and the land is lovely and sweet, + And in rest and in peace it lieth as the floor of Odin's feet: + Yet I know that the world is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought; + And for e'en such work was I fashioned, lest the song-craft come to + nought, + When the harps of God-home tinkle, and the Gods are at stretch to + hearken; + Lest the hosts of the Gods be scanty when their day hath begun to darken, + When the bonds of the Wolf wax thin, and Loki fretteth his chain. + And sure for the house of my fathers full oft my heart is fain, + And meseemeth I hear them talking of the day when I shall come, + And of all the burden of deeds, that my hand shall bear them home. + And so when the deed is ready, nowise the man shall lack: + But the wary foot is the surest, and the hasty oft turns back." + + Then answered Regin the guileful: "The deed is ready to hand, + Yet holding my peace is the best, for well thou lovest the land; + And thou lovest thy life moreover, and the peace of thy youthful days, + And why should the full-fed feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise? + Yet they say that Sigmund begat thee and he looked to fashion a man. + Fear nought; he lieth quiet in his mound by the sea-waves wan." + + So shone the eyes of Sigurd, that the shield against him hung + Cast back their light as the sunbeams; but his voice to the roof-tree + rung: + "Tell me, thou Master of Masters, what deed is the deed I shall do? + Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund lest the day of his birth thou rue." + + Then answered the Master of Sleight: "The deed is the righting of wrong, + And the quelling a bale and a sorrow that the world hath endured o'erlong, + And the winning a treasure untold, that shall make thee more than the + kings; + Thereof is the Helm of Aweing, the wonder of earthly things, + And thereof is its very fellow, the War-coat all of gold, + That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told." + + Then answered Sigurd the Volsung: "How long hereof hast thou known? + And what unto thee is this treasure, that thou seemest to give as thine + own?" + + "Alas!" quoth the smithying master, "it is mine, yet none of mine + Since my heart herein avails not, and my hand is frail and fine-- + It is long since I first came hither to seek a man for my need; + For I saw by a glimmering light that hence would spring the deed, + And many a deed of the world: but the generations passed, + And the first of the days was as near to the end that I sought as the + last; + Till I looked on thine eyes in the cradle: and now I deem through thee, + That the end of my days of waiting, and the end of my woes shall be." + + Then Sigurd awhile was silent; but at last he answered and said: + "Thou shalt have thy will and the treasure, and shalt take the curse on + thine head + If a curse the gold enwrappeth: but the deed will I surely do, + For to-day the dreams of my childhood have bloomed in my heart anew: + And I long to look on the world and the glory of the earth + And to deal in the dealings of men, and garner the harvest of worth. + But tell me, thou Master of Masters, where lieth this measureless wealth; + Is it guarded by swords of the earl-folk, or kept by cunning and stealth? + Is it over the main sea's darkness, or beyond the mountain wall? + Or e'en in these peaceful acres anigh to the hands of all?" + + Then Regin answered sweetly: "Hereof must a tale be told: + Bide sitting, thou son of Sigmund, on the heap of unwrought gold, + And hearken of wondrous matters, and of things unheard, unsaid, + And deeds of my beholding ere the first of Kings was made. + + "And first ye shall know of a sooth, that I never was born of the race + Which the masters of God-home have made to cover the fair earth's face; + But I come of the Dwarfs departed; and fair was the earth whileome + Ere the short-lived thralls of the Gods amidst its dales were come:-- + And how were we worse than the Gods, though maybe we lived not as long? + Yet no weight of memory maimed us; nor aught we knew of wrong. + What felt our souls of shaming, what knew our hearts of love? + We did and undid at pleasure, and repented nought thereof. + --Yea we were exceeding mighty--bear with me yet, my son; + For whiles can I scarcely think it that our days are wholly done. + And trust not thy life in my hands in the day when most I seem + Like the Dwarfs that are long departed, and most of my kindred I dream. + + "So as we dwelt came tidings that the Gods amongst us were, + And the people come from Asgard: then rose up hope and fear, + And strange shapes of things went flitting betwixt the night and the eve, + And our sons waxed wild and wrathful, and our daughters learned to grieve. + Then we fell to the working of metal, and the deeps of the earth would + know, + And we dealt with venom and leechcraft, and we fashioned spear and bow, + And we set the ribs to the oak-keel, and looked on the landless sea; + And the world began to be such-like as the Gods would have it to be. + In the womb of the woeful Earth had they quickened the grief and the gold. + + "It was Reidmar the Ancient begat me; and now was he waxen old, + And a covetous man and a king; and he bade, and I built him a hall, + And a golden glorious house; and thereto his sons did he call, + And he bade them be evil and wise, that his will through them might be + wrought. + Then he gave unto Fafnir my brother the soul that feareth nought, + And the brow of the hardened iron, and the hand that may never fail, + And the greedy heart of a king, and the ear that hears no wail. + + "But next unto Otter my brother he gave the snare and the net + And the longing to wend through the wild-wood, and wade the highways wet: + And the foot that never resteth, while aught be left alive + That hath cunning to match man's cunning or might with his might to + strive. + + "And to me, the least and the youngest, what gift for the slaying of ease? + Save the grief that remembers the past, and the fear that the future sees; + And the hammer and fashioning-iron, and the living coal of fire; + And the craft that createth a semblance, and fails of the heart's desire; + And the toil that each dawning quickens and the task that is never done, + And the heart that longeth ever, nor will look to the deed that is won. + + "Thus gave my father the gifts that might never be taken again; + Far worse were we now than the Gods, and but little better than men. + But yet of our ancient might one thing had we left us still: + We had craft to change our semblance, and could shift us at our will + Into bodies of the beast-kind, or fowl, or fishes cold; + For belike no fixed semblance we had in the days of old, + Till the Gods were waxen busy, and all things their form must take + That knew of good and evil, and longed to gather and make. + + * * * * * + + "So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother fared + As the scourge and compeller of all things, and left no wrong undared; + But for me, I toiled and I toiled; and fair grew my father's house; + But writhen and foul were the hands that had made it glorious; + And the love of women left me, and the fame of sword and shield: + And the sun and the winds of heaven, and the fowl and the grass of the + field + Were grown as the tools of my smithy; and all the world I knew, + And the glories that lie beyond it, and whitherward all things drew; + And myself a little fragment amidst it all I saw, + Grim, cold-heart, and unmighty as the tempest-driven straw. + --Let be.--For Otter my brother saw seldom field or fold, + And he oftenest used that custom, whereof e'en now I told, + And would shift his shape with the wood-beasts and the things of land + and sea; + And he knew what joy their hearts had, and what they longed to be, + And their dim-eyed understanding, and his wood-craft waxed so great, + That he seemed the king of the creatures and their very mortal fate. + + "Now as the years won over three folk of the heavenly halls + Grew aweary of sleepless sloth, and the day that nought befalls; + And they fain would look on the earth, and their latest handiwork, + And turn the fine gold over, lest a flaw therein should lurk. + And the three were the heart-wise Odin, the Father of the Slain, + And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain, + And Hænir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man, + And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;-- + --The God that was aforetime, and hereafter yet shall be + When the new light yet undreamed of shall shine o'er earth and sea. + + "Thus about the world they wended and deemed it fair and good, + And they loved their life-days dearly: so came they to the wood, + And the lea without a shepherd and the dwellings of the deer, + And unto a mighty water that ran from a fathomless mere. + Now that flood my brother Otter had haunted many a day + For its plenteous fruit of fishes; and there on the bank he lay + As the Gods came wandering thither; and he slept, and in his dreams + He saw the downlong river, and its fishy-peopled streams, + And the swift smooth heads of its forces, and its swirling wells and deep, + Where hang the poisèd fishes, and their watch in the rock-halls keep. + And so, as he thought of it all, and its deeds and its wanderings, + Whereby it ran to the sea down the road of scaly things, + His body was changed with his thought, as yet was the wont of our kind, + And he grew but an Otter indeed; and his eyes were sleeping and blind + The while he devoured the prey, a golden red-flecked trout. + Then passed by Odin and Hænir, nor cumbered their souls with doubt; + But Loki lingered a little, and guile in his heart arose, + And he saw through the shape of the Otter, and beheld a chief of his foes, + A king of the free and the careless: so he called up his baleful might, + And gathered his godhead together, and tore a shard outright + From the rock-wall of the river, and across its green wells cast; + And roaring over the waters that bolt of evil passed, + And smote my brother Otter that his heart's life fled away, + And bore his man's shape with it, and beast-like there he lay, + Stark dead on the sun-lit blossoms: but the Evil God rejoiced, + And because of the sound of his singing the wild grew many-voiced. + + "Then the three Gods waded the river, and no word Hænir spake, + For his thoughts were set on God-home, and the day that is ever awake. + But Odin laughed in his wrath, and murmured: 'Ah, how long, + Till the iron shall ring on the anvil for the shackles of thy wrong!' + + "Then Loki takes up the quarry, and is e'en as a man again; + And the three wend on through the wild-wood till they come to a grassy + plain + Beneath the untrodden mountains; and lo! a noble house, + And a hall with great craft fashioned, and made full glorious; + But night on the earth was falling; so scantly might they see + The wealth of its smooth-wrought stonework and its world of imagery: + Then Loki bade turn thither since day was at an end, + And into that noble dwelling the lords of God-home wend; + And the porch was fair and mighty, and so smooth-wrought was its gold, + That the mirrored stars of heaven therein might ye behold: + But the hall, what words shall tell it, how fair it rose aloft, + And the marvels of its windows, and its golden hangings soft, + And the forest of its pillars! and each like the wave's heart shone + And the mirrored boughs of the garden were dancing fair thereon. + --Long years agone was it builded, and where are its wonders now? + + "Now the men of God-home marvelled, and gazed through the golden glow, + And a man like a covetous king amidst of the hall they saw; + And his chair was the tooth of the whale, wrought smooth with never a + flaw; + And his gown was the sea-born purple, and he bore a crown on his head, + But never a sword was before him: kind-seeming words he said, + And bade rest to the weary feet that had worn the wild so long. + So they sat, and were men by seeming; and there rose up music and song, + And they ate and drank and were merry: but amidst the glee of the cup + They felt themselves tangled and caught, as when the net cometh up + Before the folk of the 'firth, and the main sea lieth far off; + And the laughter of lips they hearkened, and that hall-abider's scoff, + As his face and his mocking eyes anigh to their faces drew, + And their godhead was caught in the net, and no shift of creation they + knew + To escape from their man-like bodies; so great that day was the Earth. + + "Then spake the hall-abider: 'Where then is thy guileful mirth, + And thy hall-glee gone, O Loki? Come, Hænir, fashion now + My heart for love and for hope, that the fear in my body may grow, + That I may grieve and be sorry, that the ruth may arise in me, + As thou dealtst with the first of men-folk, when a master-smith thou + wouldst be. + And thou, Allfather Odin, hast thou come on a bastard brood? + Or hadst thou belike a brother, thy twin for evil and good, + That waked amidst thy slumber, and slumbered midst thy work? + Nay, Wise-one, art thou silent as a child amidst the mirk? + Ah, I know ye are called the Gods, and are mighty men at home, + But now with a guilt on your heads to no feeble folk are ye come, + To a folk that need you nothing: time was when we knew you not: + Yet e'en then fresh was the winter, and the summer sun was hot, + And the wood-meats stayed our hunger, and the water quenched our thirst, + Ere the good and the evil wedded and begat the best and the worst. + And how if to-day I undo it, that work of your fashioning, + If the web of the world run backward, and the high heavens lack a King? + --Woe's me! for your ancient mastery shall help you at your need: + If ye fill up the gulf of my longing and my empty heart of greed, + And slake the flame ye have quickened, then may ye go your ways + And get ye back to your kingship and the driving on of the days + To the day of the gathered war-hosts, and the tide of your Fateful Gloom. + Now nought may ye gainsay it that my mouth must speak the doom, + For ye wot well I am Reidmar, and that there ye lie red-hand + From the slaughtering of my offspring, and the spoiling of my land; + For his death of my wold hath bereft me and every highway wet. + --Nay, Loki, naught avails it, well-fashioned is the net. + Come forth, my son, my war-god, and show the Gods their work, + And thou who mightst learn e'en Loki, if need were to lie or lurk!' + + "And there was I, I Regin, the smithier of the snare, + And high up Fafnir towered with the brow that knew no fear, + With the wrathful and pitiless heart that was born of my father's will, + And the greed that the Gods had fashioned the fate of the earth to + fulfill. + + "Then spake the Father of Men: 'We have wrought thee wrong indeed, + And, wouldst thou amend it with wrong, thine errand must we speed; + For I know of thine heart's desire, and the gold thou shalt nowise lack, + --Nor all the works of the gold. But best were thy word drawn back, + If indeed the doom of the Norns be not utterly now gone forth.' + + "Then Reidmar laughed and answered: 'So much is thy word of worth! + And they call thee Odin for this, and stretch forth hands in vain, + And pray for the gifts of a God who giveth and taketh again! + It was better in times past over, when we prayed for nought at all, + When no love taught us beseeching, and we had no troth to recall. + Ye have changed the world, and it bindeth with the right and the wrong + ye have made, + Nor may ye be Gods henceforward save the rightful ransom be paid. + But perchance ye are weary of kingship, and will deal no more with the + earth? + Then curse the world, and depart, and sit in your changeless mirth; + And there shall be no more kings, and battle and murder shall fail, + And the world shall laugh and long not, nor weep, nor fashion the tale.' + + "So spake Reidmar the Wise; but the wrath burned through his word, + And wasted his heart of wisdom; and there was Fafnir the Lord, + And there was Regin the Wright, and they raged at their father's back: + And all these cried out together with the voice of the sea-storm's wrack; + 'O hearken, Gods of the Goths! ye shall die, and we shall be Gods, + And rule your men belovèd with bitter-heavy rods, + And make them beasts beneath us, save to-day ye do our will, + And pay us the ransom of blood, and our hearts with the gold fulfill.' + + "But Odin spake in answer, and his voice was awful and cold: + 'Give righteous doom, O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!' + + "Then Reidmar laughed in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled, + And nought but his greed abided; and he spake from his throne and said: + + "'Now hearken the doom I shall speak! Ye stranger-folk shall be free + When ye give me the Flame of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea, + That Andvari hideth rejoicing in the wan realm pale as the grave; + And the Master of Sleight shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave, + And the heart that begrudgeth for ever shall gather and give and rue. + --Lo! this is the doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.' + + "Then Odin spake: 'It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse; + And the Greedy shall cherish the evil--and the seed of the Great they + shall nurse.' + + "No word spake Reidmar the great, for the eyes of his heart were turned + To the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned. + But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his ways abroad; + And the heart of Odin he knoweth, and where he shall seek the Hoard. + + "There is a desert of dread in the uttermost part of the world, + Where over a wall of mountains is a mighty water hurled, + Whose hidden head none knoweth, nor where it meeteth the sea; + And that force is the Force of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he. + In the cloud and the desert he dwelleth amid that land alone; + And his work is the storing of treasure within his house of stone. + Time was when he knew of wisdom, and had many a tale to tell + Of the days before the Dwarf-age, and of what in that world befell: + And he knew of the stars and the sun, and the worlds that come and go + On the nether rim of heaven, and whence the wind doth blow, + And how the sea hangs balanced betwixt the curving lands, + And how all drew together for the first Gods' fashioning hands. + But now is all gone from him, save the craft of gathering gold, + And he heedeth nought of the summer, nor knoweth the winter cold, + Nor looks to the sun nor the snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea, + Nor hath heard of the making of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be: + But ever he gripeth and gathereth, and he toileth hour by hour + Nor knoweth the noon from the midnight as he looks on his stony bower, + And saith: 'It is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get; + For the world is but newly fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.' + + "There Loki fareth, and seeth in a land of nothing good, + Far off o'er the empty desert, the reek of the falling flood + Go up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feet + As he weaveth the unseen meshes and the snare of strong deceit; + So he cometh his ways to the water, where the glittering foam-bow glows, + And the huge flood leaps the rock-wall and a green arch over it throws. + There under the roof of water he treads the quivering floor, + And the hush of the desert is felt amid the water's roar, + And the bleak sun lighteth the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless + plain, + And the showers that nourish nothing, and the summer come in vain. + + "There did the great Guile-master his toils and his tangles set, + And as wide as was the water, so wide was woven the net; + And as dim as the Elf's remembrance did the meshes of it show; + And he had no thought of sorrow, nor spared to come and go + On his errands of griping and getting till he felt himself tangled and + caught: + Then back to his blinded soul was his ancient wisdom brought, + And he saw his fall and his ruin, as a man by the lightning's flame + Sees the garth all flooded by foemen; and again he remembered his name; + And e'en as a book well written the tale of the Gods he knew, + And the tale of the making of men, and much of the deeds they should do. + + "But Loki took his man-shape, and laughed aloud and cried: + 'What fish of the ends of the earth is so strong and so feeble-eyed, + That he draweth the pouch of my net on his road to the dwelling of Hell? + What Elf that hath heard the gold growing, but hath heard not the light + winds tell + That the Gods with the world have been dealing and have fashioned men + for the earth? + Where is he that hath ridden the cloud-horse and measured the ocean's + girth, + But seen nought of the building of God-home nor the forging of the sword: + Where then is the maker of nothing, the earless and eyeless lord? + In the pouch of my net he lieth, with his head on the threshold of Hell!' + + "Then the Elf lamented, and said: 'Thou knowst of my name full well: + Andvari begotten of Oinn, whom the Dwarf-kind called the Wise, + By the worst of the Gods is taken, the forge and the father of lies.' + + "Said Loki: 'How of the Elf-kind, do they love their latter life, + When their weal is all departed, and they lie alow in the strife?' + + "Then Andvari groaned and answered: 'I know what thou wouldst have, + The wealth mine own hands gathered, the gold that no man gave.' + + "'Come forth,' said Loki, 'and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth-- + Or die in the toils if thou listest, if thy life be nothing worth.' + + "Full sore the Elf lamented, but he came before the God + And the twain went into the rock-house and on fine gold they trod, + And the walls shone bright, and brighter than the sun of the upper air. + How great was that treasure of treasures: and the Helm of Dread was there; + The world but in dreams had seen it; and there was the hauberk of gold; + None other is in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told. + + "Then Loki bade the Elf-king bring all to the upper day, + And he dight himself with his Godhead to bear the treasure away: + So there in the dim grey desert, before the God of Guile, + Great heaps of the hid-world's treasure the weary Elf must pile, + And Loki looked on laughing: but, when it all was done, + And the Elf was hurrying homeward, his finger gleamed in the sun: + Then Loki cried: 'Thou art guileful: thou hast not learned the tale + Of the wisdom that Gods have gotten and their might of all avail. + Hither to me! that I learn thee of a many things to come; + Or despite of all wilt thou journey to the dead man's deedless home. + Come hither again to thy master, and give the ring to me; + For meseems it is Loki's portion, and the Bale of Men shall it be.' + + "Then the Elf drew off the gold-ring and stood with empty hand + E'en where the flood fell over 'twixt the water and the land, + And he gazed on the great Guile-master, and huge and grim he grew; + And his anguish swelled within him, and the word of the Norns he knew; + How that gold was the seed of gold to the wise and the shapers of things, + The hoarders of hidden treasure, and the unseen glory of rings; + But the seed of woe to the world and the foolish wasters of men, + And grief to the generations that die and spring again: + Then he cried: + 'There farest thou, Loki, and might I load thee worse + Than with what thine ill heart beareth, then shouldst thou bear my curse: + But for men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold, + Amid my woe abideth another woe untold. + Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay; + And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall loathe + the day. + Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how the lonely lands + Are waving with the harvest that fell from my gathering hands!' + + "But Loki laughed in silence, and swift in Godhead went, + To the golden hall of Reidmar and the house of our content. + But when that world of treasure was laid within our hall + 'Twas as if the sun were minded to live 'twixt wall and wall, + And all we stood by and panted. Then Odin spake and said: + + "'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarf-kind, lo, the ransom duly paid! + Will ye have this sun of the ocean, and reap the fruitful field, + And garner up the harvest that earth therefrom shall yield?' + + "So he spake; but a little season nought answered Reidmar the wise + But turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyes + Endlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase about + A ray of the sun of the morning that a naked sword throws out; + And lo! from Loki's right-hand came the flash of the fruitful ring, + And at last spake Reidmar scowling: + 'Ye wait for my yea-saying + That your feet may go free on the earth, and the fear of my toils may + be done; + That then ye may say in your laughter: The fools of the time agone! + The purblind eyes of the Dwarf-kind! they have gotten the garnered sheaf + And have let their Masters depart with the Seed of Gold and of Grief: + O Loki, friend of Allfather, cast down Andvari's Ring, + Or the world shall yet turn backward and the high heavens lack a king.' + + "Then Loki drew off the Elf-ring and cast it down on the heap, + And forth as the gold met gold did the light of its glory leap: + But he spake: 'It rejoiceth my heart that no whit of all ye shall lack, + Lest the curse of the Elf-king cleave not, and ye 'scape the utter wrack.' + + "Then laughed and answered Reidmar: 'I shall have it while I live, + And that shall be long, meseemeth: for who is there may strive + With my sword, the war-wise Fafnir, and my shield that is Regin the Smith? + But if indeed I should die, then let men-folk deal therewith, + And ride to the golden glitter through evil deeds and good. + I will have my heart's desire, and do as the high Gods would.' + + "Then I loosed the Gods from their shackles, and great they grew on + the floor + And into the night they gat them; but Odin turned by the door, + And we looked not, little we heeded, for we grudged his mastery; + Then he spake, and his voice was waxen as the voice of the winter sea: + + "'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarfs, why then will ye covet and rue? + I have seen your fathers' fathers and the dust wherefrom they grew; + But who hath heard of my father or the land where first I sprung? + Who knoweth my day of repentance, or the year when I was young? + Who hath learned the names of the Wise-one or measured out his will? + Who hath gone before to teach him, and the doom of days fulfill? + Lo, I look on the Curse of the Gold, and wrong amended by wrong, + And love by love confounded, and the strong abased by the strong; + And I order it all and amend it, and the deeds that are done I see, + And none other beholdeth or knoweth; and who shall be wise unto me? + For myself to myself I offered, that all wisdom I might know, + And fruitful I waxed of works, and good and fair did they grow; + And I knew, and I wrought and fore-ordered; and evil sat by my side, + And myself by myself hath been doomed, and I look for the fateful tide; + And I deal with the generations, and the men mine hand hath made, + And myself by myself shall be grieved, lest the world and its fashioning + fade.' + + "They went and the Gold abided: but the words Allfather spake, + I call them back full often for that golden even's sake, + Yet little that hour I heard them, save as wind across the lea; + For the gold shone up on Reidmar and on Fafnir's face and on me. + And sore I loved that treasure: so I wrapped my heart in guile, + And sleeked my tongue with sweetness, and set my face in a smile, + And I bade my father keep it, the more part of the gold, + Yet give good store to Fafnir for his goodly help and bold, + And deal me a little handful for my smithying-help that day. + But no little I desired, though for little I might pray; + And prayed I for much or for little, he answered me no more + Than the shepherd answers the wood-wolf who howls at the yule-tide door: + But good he ever deemed it to sit on his ivory throne, + And stare on the red rings' glory, and deem he was ever alone: + And never a word spake Fafnir, but his eyes waxed red and grim + As he looked upon our father, and noted the ways of him. + + "The night waned into the morning, and still above the Hoard + Sat Reidmar clad in purple; but Fafnir took his sword, + And I took my smithying-hammer, and apart in the world we went; + But I came aback in the even, and my heart was heavy and spent; + And I longed, but fear was upon me and I durst not go to the Gold; + So I lay in the house of my toil mid the things I had fashioned of old; + And methought as I lay in my bed 'twixt waking and slumber of night + That I heard the tinkling metal and beheld the hall alight, + But I slept and dreamed of the Gods, and the things that never have slept, + Till I woke to a cry and a clashing and forth from the bed I leapt, + And there by the heaped-up Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood, + And there at his feet lay Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood; + And e'en as I looked on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death, + And forth on the torch-litten hall he shed his latest breath. + + "But I looked on Fafnir and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread, + And his sword was bare in his hand, and the sword and the hand were red + With the blood of our father Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold, + With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat of whose fellow hath nought been told, + And it seemed as I looked upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes: + And then in the mid-hall's silence did his dreadful voice arise: + + "'I have slain my father Reidmar, that I alone might keep + The Gold of the darksome places, the Candle of the Deep. + I am such as the Gods have made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the earth, + Or mingle their ancient wisdom with its short-lived latest birth. + I shall dwell alone henceforward, and the Gold and its waxing curse, + I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse. + And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life, + And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife, + And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built. + O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt? + Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwell + And do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.' + + "More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dread + And no more durst I behold him, but with heart a-cold I fled; + I fled from the glorious house my hands had made so fair, + As poor as the new-born baby with nought of raiment or gear: + I fled from the heaps of gold, and my goods were the eager will, + And the heart that remembereth all, and the hand that may never be still. + + "Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago + As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow, + And a famous man I became: but that generation died, + And they said that Frey had taught them, and a God my name did hide. + Then I taught them the craft of metals, and the sailing of the sea, + And the taming of the horse-kind, and the yoke-beasts' husbandry, + And the building up of houses; and that race of men went by, + And they said that Thor had taught them; and a smithying-carle was I. + Then I gave their maidens the needle and I bade them hold the rock, + And the shuttle-race gaped for them as they sat at the weaving-stock. + But by then these were waxen crones to sit dim-eyed by the door, + It was Freyia had come among them to teach the weaving-lore. + + "Then I taught them the tales of old, and fair songs fashioned and true, + And their speech grew into music of measured time and due, + And they smote the harp to my bidding, and the land grew soft and sweet: + But ere the grass of their grave-mounds rose up above my feet, + It was Bragi had made them sweet-mouthed, and I was the wandering scald; + Yet green did my cunning flourish by whatso name I was called, + And I grew the master of masters--Think thou how strange it is + That the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this! + + "Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother's part, + And Fafnir's mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heart + When the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden gifts + From out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts. + And once--didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago-- + I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow. + There methought the fells grown greater, but waste did the meadows lie + And the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky. + But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there, + Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear. + Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold, + And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled: + Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our + race, + And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place, + A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold; + For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold. + + "So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame again + Mid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain, + The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv'rance from the yoke: + And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk. + + "Long years, and long years after the tale of men-folk told + How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold, + And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face: + Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place + My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign + That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood + of the Worm was mine. + + "This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells, + Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells; + But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn. + Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born, + And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein, + And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win; + And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its + rest, + That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best. + + "Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw, + And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw, + And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heart + That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart, + Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days, + Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise. + + "And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart + And the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart. + And then when my hand is upon it, my hand shall be as the spring + To thaw his winter away and the fruitful tide to bring. + It shall grow, it shall grow into summer, and I shall be he that wrought, + And my deeds shall be remembered, and my name that once was nought; + Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor, and Freyia, and Bragi in one: + Yea the God of all that is,--and no deed in the wide world done, + But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed + from the yoke + Shall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk; + And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land, + And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand." + + Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazed + That the flames leapt up in the stithy and about the Master blazed, + And his hand in the harp-strings wandered and the sweetness from them + poured. + Then unto his feet leapt Sigurd and drew his stripling's sword, + And he cried: "Awake, O Master, for, lo, the day goes by, + And this too is an ancient story, that the sons of men-folk die, + And all save fame departeth. Awake! for the day grows late, + And deeds by the door are passing, nor the Norns will have them wait." + + Then Regin groaned and wakened, sad-eyed and heavy-browed, + And weary and worn was he waxen, as a man by a burden bowed: + And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that + is old + To avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of Gold + And be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a + wrong + And heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?" + + Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear, + And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear: + But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said: + "Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on + thine head." + + + _Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd._ + + Now again came Sigurd to Regin, and said: "Thou hast taught me a task + Whereof none knoweth the ending: and a gift at thine hands I ask." + + Then answered Regin the Master: "The world must be wide indeed + If my hand may not reach across it for aught thine heart may need." + + "Yea wide is the world," said Sigurd, "and soon spoken is thy word; + But this gift thou shalt nought gainsay me: for I bid thee forge me a + sword." + + Then spake the Master of Masters, and his voice was sweet and soft, + "Look forth abroad, O Sigurd, and note in the heavens aloft + How the dim white moon of the daylight hangs round as the Goth-God's + shield: + Now for thee first rang mine anvil when she walked the heavenly field + A slim and lovely lady, and the old moon lay on her arm: + Lo, here is a sword I have wrought thee with many a spell and charm + And all the craft of the Dwarf-kind; be glad thereof and sure; + Mid many a storm of battle full well shall it endure." + + Then Sigurd looked on the slayer, and never a word would speak: + Gemmed were the hilts and golden, and the blade was blue and bleak, + And runes of the Dwarf-kind's cunning each side the trench were scored: + But soft and sweet spake Regin: "How likest thou the sword?" + + Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "The work is proved by the deed; + See now if this be a traitor to fail me in my need." + + Then Regin trembled and shrank, so bright his eyes outshone + As he turned about to the anvil, and smote the sword thereon; + But the shards fell shivering earthward, and Sigurd's heart grew wroth + As the steel-flakes tinkled about him: "Lo, there the right-hand's troth! + Lo, there the golden glitter, and the word that soon is spilt." + And down amongst the ashes he cast the glittering hilt, + And turned his back on Regin and strode out through the door + And for many a day of spring-tide came back again no more. + But at last he came to the stithy and again took up the word: + "What hast thou done, O Master, in the forging of the sword?" + + Then sweetly Regin answered: "Hard task-master art thou, + But lo, a blade of battle that shall surely please thee now! + Two moons are clean departed since thou lookedst toward the sky + And sawest the dim white circle amid the cloud-flecks lie; + And night and day have I laboured; and the cunning of old days + Hath surely left my right-hand if this sword thou shalt not praise." + + And indeed the hilts gleamed glorious with many a dear-bought stone, + And down the fallow edges the light of battle shone; + Yet Sigurd's eyes shone brighter, nor yet might Regin face + Those eyes of the heart of the Volsungs; but trembled in his place + As Sigurd cried: "O Regin, thy kin of the days of old + Were an evil and treacherous folk, and they lied and murdered for gold; + And now if thou wouldst bewray me, of the ancient curse beware, + And set thy face as the flint the bale and the shame to bear: + For he that would win to the heavens, and be as the Gods on high + Must tremble nought at the road, and the place where men-folk die." + + White leaps the blade in his hand and gleams in the gear of the wall, + And he smites, and the oft-smitten edges on the beaten anvil fall: + But the life of the sword departed, and dull and broken it lay + On the ashes and flaked-off iron, and no word did Sigurd say, + But strode off through the door of the stithy and went to the Hall of + Kings, + And was merry and blithe that even mid all imaginings. + + But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake: + "The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sake + In the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell, + Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them + trusty and well? + Where hast thou laid them, my mother?" + Then she looked upon him and said: + "Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head? + And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?" + + "Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wall + Betwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through. + And why wilt thou fear mine eyen? as the sword lies baleful and blue + E'en 'twixt the lips of lovers, when they swear their troth thereon, + So keen are the eyes ye have fashioned, ye folk of the days agone; + For therein is the light of battle, though whiles it lieth asleep. + Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep." + + She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praise + When thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days." + + So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain, + Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain: + They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold, + And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled, + And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword; + No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's hoard + Were as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hall + It shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall. + + But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings, + Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things, + And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to me + The message of my fathers, and the word of things to be: + Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now: + These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow. + They shall shine through the rain of Odin, as the sun come back to the + world, + When the heaviest bolt of the thunder amidst the storm is hurled: + They shall shake the thrones of Kings, and shear the walls of war, + And undo the knot of treason when the world is darkening o'er. + They have shone in the dusk and the night-tide, they shall shine in the + dawn and the day; + They have gathered the storm together, they shall chase the clouds away; + They have sheared red gold asunder, they shall gleam o'er the garnered + gold; + They have ended many a story, they shall fashion a tale to be told: + They have lived in the wrack of the people; they shall live in the glory + of folk: + They have stricken the Gods in battle, for the Gods shall they strike + the stroke." + + Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword, + And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word: + So great and fair was he waxen, so glorious was his face, + So young, as the deathless Gods are, that long in the golden place + She stood when he was departed: as some for-travailed one + Comes over the dark fell-ridges on the birth-tide of the sun, + And his gathering sleep falls from him mid the glory and the blaze; + And he sees the world grow merry and looks on the lightened ways, + While the ruddy streaks are melting in the day-flood broad and white; + Then the morn-dusk he forgetteth, and the moon-lit waste of night, + And the hall whence he departed with its yellow candles' flare: + So stood the Isle-king's daughter in that treasure-chamber fair. + + * * * * * + + But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came, + Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame, + And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet, + No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet, + Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old; + Then he spake: + "Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold, + The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin, + The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the Gods would win?" + + * * * * * + + Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt do + Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true: + And what if thou begrudgest, and my battle-blade be dull, + Yet the hand of the Norns is lifted and the cup is over-full. + Repentst thou ne'er so sorely that thy kin must lie alow, + How much soe'er thou longest the world to overthrow, + And, doubting the gold and the wisdom, wouldst even now appease + Blind hate and eyeless murder, and win the world with these; + O'er-late is the time for repenting the word thy lips have said: + Thou shalt have the Gold and the wisdom and take its curse on thine head. + I say that thy lips have spoken, and no more with thee it lies + To do the deed or leave it: since thou hast shown mine eyes + The world that was aforetime, I see the world to be; + And woe to the tangling thicket, or the wall that hindereth me! + And short is the space I will tarry; for how if the Worm should die + Ere the first of my strokes be stricken? Wilt thou get to thy mastery + And knit these shards together that once in the Branstock stood? + But if not and a smith's hands fail me, a king's hand yet shall be good; + And the Norns have doomed thy brother. And yet I deem this sword + Is the slayer of the Serpent, and the scatterer of the Hoard." + + Great waxed the gloom of Regin, and he said: "Thou sayest sooth + For none may turn him backward: the sword of a very youth + Shall one day end my cunning, as the Gods my joyance slew, + When nought thereof they were deeming, and another thing would do. + But this sword shall slay the Serpent; and do another deed, + And many an one thereafter till it fail thee in thy need. + But as fair and great as thou standest, yet get thee from mine house, + For in me too might ariseth, and the place is perilous + With the craft that was aforetime, and shall never be again, + When the hands that have taught thee cunning have failed from the world + of men. + Thou art wroth; but thy wrath must slumber till fate its blossom bear; + Not thus were the eyes of Odin when I held him in the snare. + Depart! lest the end overtake us ere thy work and mine be done, + But come again in the night-tide and the slumber of the sun, + When the sharded moon of April hangs round in the undark May." + + Hither and thither a while did the heart of Sigurd sway + For he feared no craft of the Dwarf-kind, nor heeded the ways of Fate, + But his hand wrought e'en as his heart would: and now was he weary with + hate + Of the hatred and scorn of the Gods, and the greed of gold and of gain, + And the weaponless hands of the stripling of the wrath and the rending + were fain, + But there stood Regin the Master, and his eyes were on Sigurd's eyes, + Though nought belike they beheld him, and his brow was sad and wise; + And the greed died out of his visage and he stood like an image of old. + + So the Norns drew Sigurd away, and the tide was an even of gold, + And sweet in the April even were the fowl-kind singing their best; + And the light of life smote Sigurd, and the joy that knows no rest, + And the fond unnamed desire, and the hope of hidden things; + And he wended fair and lovely to the house of the feasting Kings. + + But now when the moon was at full and the undark May begun, + Went Sigurd unto Regin mid the slumber of the sun, + And amidst the fire-hall's pavement the King of the Dwarf-kind stood + Like an image of deeds departed and days that once were good; + And he seemed but faint and weary, and his eyes were dim and dazed + As they met the glory of Sigurd where the fitful candles blazed. + Then he spake: + "Hail, Son of the Volsungs, the corner-stone is laid, + I have toiled and thou hast desired, and, lo, the fateful blade!" + + Then Sigurd saw it lying on the ashes slaked and pale + Like the sun and the lightning mingled mid the even's cloudy bale; + For ruddy and great were the hilts, and the edges fine and wan, + And all adown to the blood-point a very flame there ran + That swallowed the runes of wisdom wherewith its sides were scored. + No sound did Sigurd utter as he stooped adown for his sword, + But it seemed as his lips were moving with speech of strong desire. + White leapt the blade o'er his head, and he stood in the ring of its fire + As hither and thither it played, till it fell on the anvil's strength, + And he cried aloud in his glory, and held out the sword full length, + As one who would show it the world; for the edges were dulled no whit, + And the anvil was cleft to the pavement with the dreadful dint of it. + + But Regin cried to his harp-strings: "Before the days of men + I smithied the Wrath of Sigurd, and now is it smithied again: + And my hand alone hath done it, and my heart alone hath dared + To bid that man to the mountain, and behold his glory bared. + Ah, if the son of Sigmund might wot of the thing I would, + Then how were the ages bettered, and the world all waxen good! + Then how were the past forgotten and the weary days of yore, + And the hope of man that dieth and the waste that never bore! + How should this one live through the winter and know of all increase! + How should that one spring to the sunlight and bear the blossom of peace! + No more should the long-lived wisdom o'er the waste of the wilderness + stray; + Nor the clear-eyed hero hasten to the deedless ending of day. + And what if the hearts of the Volsungs for this deed of deeds were born, + How then were their life-days evil and the end of their lives forlorn?" + + There stood Sigurd the Volsung, and heard how the harp-strings rang, + But of other things they told him than the hope that the Master sang; + And his world lay far away from the Dwarf-king's eyeless realm + And the road that leadeth nowhere, and the ship without a helm: + But he spake: "How oft shall I say it, that I shall work thy will? + If my father hath made me mighty, thine heart shall I fulfill + With the wisdom and gold thou wouldest, before I wend on my ways; + For now hast thou failed me nought, and the sword is the wonder of days." + + No word for a while spake Regin; but he hung his head adown + As a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice once more was grown + As the voice of the smithying-master as he spake: "This Wrath of thine + Hath cleft the hard and the heavy; it shall shear the soft and the fine: + Come forth to the night and prove it." + So they twain went forth abroad, + And the moon lay white on the river and lit the sleepless ford, + And down to its pools they wended, and the stream was swift and full; + Then Regin cast against it a lock of fine-spun wool, + And it whirled about on the eddy till it met the edges bared, + And as clean as the careless water the laboured fleece was sheared. + + Then Regin spake: "It is good, what the smithying-carle hath wrought: + Now the work of the King beginneth, and the end that my soul hath sought. + Thou shalt toil and I shall desire, and the deed shall be surely done: + For thy Wrath is alive and awake and the story of bale is begun." + + Therewith was the Wrath of Sigurd laid soft in a golden sheath + And the peace-strings knit around it; for that blade was fain of death; + And 'tis ill to show such edges to the broad blue light of day, + Or to let the hall-glare light them, if ye list not play the play. + + + _Of Gripir's Foretelling._ + + Now Sigurd backeth Greyfell on the first of the morrow morn, + And he rideth fair and softly through the acres of the corn; + The Wrath to his side is girded, but hid are the edges blue, + As he wendeth his ways to the mountains, and rideth the horse-mead + through. + His wide grey eyes are happy, and his voice is sweet and soft, + As amid the mead-lark's singing he casteth song aloft: + Lo, lo, the horse and the rider! So once maybe it was, + When over the Earth unpeopled the youngest God would pass; + But never again meseemeth shall such a sight betide, + Till over a world unwrongful new-born shall Baldur ride. + + So he comes to that ness of the mountains, and Gripir's garden steep, + That bravely Greyfell breasteth, and adown by the door doth he leap + And his war-gear rattleth upon him; there is none to ask or forbid + As he wendeth the house clear-lighted, where no mote of the dust is hid, + Though the sunlight hath not entered: the walls are clear and bright, + For they cast back each to other the golden Sigurd's light; + Through the echoing ways of the house bright-eyed he wendeth along, + And the mountain-wind is with him, and the hovering eagles' song; + But no sound of the children of men may the ears of the Volsung hear, + And no sign of their ways in the world, or their will, or their hope + or their fear. + + So he comes to the hall of Gripir, and gleaming-green is it built + As the house of under-ocean where the wealth of the greedy is spilt; + Gleaming and green as the sea, and rich as its rock-strewn floor, + And fresh as the autumn morning when the burning of summer is o'er. + There he looks and beholdeth the high-seat, and he sees it strangely + wrought, + Of the tooth of the sea-beast fashioned ere the Dwarf-kind came to + nought; + And he looks, and thereon is Gripir, the King exceeding old, + With the sword of his fathers girded, and his raiment wrought of gold; + With the ivory rod in his right-hand, with his left on the crystal laid, + That is round as the world of men-folk, and after its image made, + And clear is it wrought to the eyen that may read therein of Fate + Though little indeed be its sea, and its earth not wondrous great. + + There Sigurd stands in the hall, on the sheathed Wrath doth he lean, + All his golden light is mirrored in the gleaming floor and green; + But the smile in his face upriseth as he looks on the ancient King, + And their glad eyes meet and their laughter, and sweet is the welcoming: + And Gripir saith: "Hail Sigurd! for my bidding hast thou done, + And here in the mountain-dwelling are two Kings of men alone." + + But Sigurd spake: "Hail father! I am girt with the fateful sword + And my face is set to the highway, and I come for thy latest word." + + Said Gripir: "What wouldst thou hearken ere we sit and drink the wine?" + + "Thy word and the Norns'," said Sigurd, "but never a word of mine." + + "What sights wouldst thou see," said Gripir, "ere mine hand shall take + thine hand?" + + "As the Gods would I see," said Sigurd, "though Death light up the land." + + "What hope wouldst thou hope, O Sigurd, ere we kiss, we twain, and + depart?" + + "Thy hope and the Gods'," said Sigurd, "though the grief lie hard on + my heart." + + Nought answered the ancient wise-one, and not a whit had he stirred + Since the clash of Sigurd's raiment in his mountain-hall he heard; + But the ball that imaged the earth was set in his hand grown old; + And belike it was to his vision, as the wide-world's ocean rolled, + And the forests waved with the wind, and the corn was gay with the lark, + And the gold in its nether places grew up in the dusk and the dark, + And its children built and departed, and its King-folk conquered and went, + As over the crystal image his all-wise face was bent: + For all his desire was dead, and he lived as a God shall live, + Who the prayers of the world hath forgotten, and to whom no hand may give. + + But there stood the mighty Volsung, and leaned on the hidden Wrath; + As the earliest sun's uprising o'er the sea-plain draws a path + Whereby men sail to the Eastward and the dawn of another day, + So the image of King Sigurd on the gleaming pavement lay. + + Then great in the hall fair-pillared the voice of Gripir arose, + And it ran through the glimmering house-ways, and forth to the sunny + close; + There mid the birds' rejoicing went the voice of an o'er-wise King + Like a wind of midmost winter come back to talk with spring. + + But the voice cried: "Sigurd, Sigurd! O great, O early born! + O hope of the Kings first fashioned! O blossom of the morn! + Short day and long remembrance, fair summer of the North! + One day shall the worn world wonder how first thou wentest forth! + + "Arise, O Sigurd, Sigurd! in the night arise and go, + Thou shalt smite when the day-dawn glimmers through the folds of + God-home's foe: + + "There the child in the noon-tide smiteth; the young King rendeth apart, + The old guile by the guile encompassed, the heart made wise by the heart. + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd; bind up to cast abroad! + That the earth may laugh before thee rejoiced by the Waters' Hoard. + + "Ride on, O Sigurd, Sigurd! for God's word goes forth on the wind, + And he speaketh not twice over; nor shall they loose that bind: + But the Day and the Day shall loosen, and the Day shall awake and arise, + And the Day shall rejoice with the Dawning, and the wise heart learn of + the wise. + + "O fair, O fearless, O mighty, how green are the garths of Kings, + How soft are the ways before thee to the heart of their war-farings! + + "How green are the garths of King-folk, how fair is the lily and rose + In the house of the Cloudy People, 'neath the towers of kings and foes! + + "Smite now, smite now in the noontide! ride on through the hosts of men! + Lest the dear remembrance perish, and today come not again. + + "Is it day?--But the house is darkling--But the hand would gather and + hold, + And the lips have kissed the cloud-wreath, and a cloud the arms enfold. + + "In the dusk hath the Sower arisen; in the dark hath he cast the seed, + And the ear is the sorrow of Odin and the wrong, and the nameless need! + + "Ah the hand hath gathered and garnered, and empty is the hand, + Though the day be full and fruitful mid the drift of the Cloudy Land! + + "Look, look on the drift of the clouds, how the day and the even doth + grow + As the long-forgotten dawning that was a while ago! + + "Dawn, dawn, O mighty of men! and why wilt thou never awake, + When the holy field of the Goth-folk cries out for thy love and thy sake? + + "Dawn, now; but the house is silent, and dark is the purple blood + On the breast of the Queen fair-fashioned; and it riseth up as a flood + Round the posts of the door belovèd; and a deed there lieth therein: + The last of the deeds of Sigurd; the worst of the Cloudy Kin-- + The slayer slain by the slain within the door and without. + --O dawn as the eve of the birth-day! O dark world cumbered with doubt! + + "Shall it never be day any more, nor the sun's uprising and growth? + Shall the kings of earth lie sleeping and the war-dukes wander in sloth + Through the last of the winter twilight? is the word of the wise-ones said + Till the five-fold winter be ended and the trumpet waken the dead? + + "Short day and long remembrance! great glory for the earth! + O deeds of the Day triumphant! O word of Sigurd's worth! + It is done, and who shall undo it of all who were ever alive? + May the Gods or the high Gods' masters 'gainst the tale of the righteous + strive, + And the deeds to follow after, and all their deeds increase, + Till the uttermost field is foughten, and Baldur riseth in peace! + + "Cry out, O waste, before him! O rocks of the wilderness, cry! + For to-morn shalt thou see the glory, and the man not made to die! + Cry out, O upper heavens! O clouds beneath the lift + For the golden King shall be riding high-headed midst the drift: + The mountain waits and the fire; there waiteth the heart of the wise + Till the earthly toil is accomplished, and again shall the fire arise; + And none shall be nigh in the ending and none by his heart shall be laid, + Save the world that he cherished and quickened, and the Day that he + wakened and made." + + So died the voice of Gripir from amidst the sunny close, + And the sound of hastening eagles from the mountain's feet arose, + But the hall was silent a little, for still stood Sigmund's son, + And he heard the words and remembered, and knew them one by one. + Then he turned on the ancient Gripir with eyes that knew no guile + And smiled on the wise of King-folk as the first of men might smile + On the God that hath fashioned him happy; and he spake: + "Hast thou spoken and known + How there standeth a child before thee and a stripling scarcely grown? + Or hast thou told of the Volsungs, and the gathered heart of these, + And their still unquenched desire for garnering fame's increase? + E'en so do I hearken thy words: for I wot how they deem it long + Till a man from their seed be arisen to deal with the cumber and wrong. + Bid me therefore to sit by thy side, for behold I wend on my way, + And the gates swing to behind me, and each day of mine is a day + With deeds in the eve and the morning, nor deeds shall the noontide lack; + To the right and the left none calleth, and no voice crieth aback." + + "Come, kin of the Gods," said Gripir, "come up and sit by my side + That we twain may be glad as the fearless, and they that have nothing + to hide: + I have wrought out my will and abide it, and I sit ungrieved and alone, + I look upon men and I help not; to me are the deeds long done + As those of to-day and to-morrow: for these and for those am I glad; + But the Gods and men are the framers, and the days of my life I have had." + + Then Sigurd came unto Gripir, and he kissed the wise-one's face, + And they sat in the high-seat together, the child and the elder of days; + And they drank of the wine of King-folk, and were joyful each of each, + And spake for a while of matters that are meet for King-folk's speech; + The deeds of men that have been and Kin of the Kings of the earth; + And Gripir told of the outlands, and the mid-world's billowy girth, + And tales of the upper heaven were mingled with his talk, + And the halls where the Sea-Queen's kindred o'er the gem-strewn pavement + walk, + And the innermost parts of the earth, where they lie, the green and the + blue, + And the red and the glittering gem-stones that of old the Dwarf-kind knew. + + Long Sigurd sat and marvelled at the mouth that might not lie, + And the eyes no God had blinded, and the lone heart raised on high, + Then he rose from the gleaming high-seat, and the rings of battle rang + And the sheathèd Wrath was hearkening and a song of war it sang, + But Sigurd spake unto Gripir: + "Long and lovely are thy days, + And thy years fulfilled of wisdom, and thy feet on the unhid ways, + And the guileless heart of the great that knoweth not anger nor pain: + So once hath a man been fashioned and shall not be again. + But for me hath been foaled the war-horse, the grey steed swift as the + cloud, + And for me were the edges smithied, and the Wrath cries out aloud; + And a voice hath called from the darkness, and I ride to the Glittering + Heath; + To smite on the door of Destruction, and waken the warder of Death." + + So they kissed, the wise and the wise, and the child from the elder + turned; + And again in the glimmering house-ways the golden Sigurd burned; + He stood outside in the sunlight, and tarried never a deal, + But leapt on the cloudy Greyfell with the clank of gold and steel, + And he rode through the sinking day to the walls of the kingly stead, + And came to Regin's dwelling when the wind was fallen dead, + And the great sun just departing: then blood-red grew the west, + And the fowl flew home from the sea-mead, and all things sank to rest. + + + _Sigurd rideth to the Glittering Heath._ + + Again on the morrow morning doth Sigurd the Volsung ride, + And Regin, the Master of Masters, is faring by his side, + And they leave the dwelling of kings and ride the summer land, + Until at the eve of the day the hills are on either hand: + Then they wend up higher and higher, and over the heaths they fare + Till the moon shines broad on the midnight, and they sleep 'neath the + heavens bare; + And they waken and look behind them, and lo, the dawning of day + And the little land of the Helper and its valley far away; + But the mountains rise before them, a wall exceeding great. + + Then spake the Master of Masters: "We have come to the garth and the gate: + There is youth and rest behind thee and many a thing to do, + There is many a fond desire, and each day born anew; + And the land of the Volsungs to conquer, and many a people's praise: + And for me there is rest it maybe, and the peaceful end of days. + We have come to the garth and the gate; to the hall-door now shall we win, + Shall we go to look on the high-seat and see what sitteth therein?" + + "Yea and what else?" said Sigurd, "was thy tale but mockeries + And have I been drifted hither on a wind of empty lies?" + + "It was sooth, it was sooth," said Regin, "and more might I have told + Had I heart and space to remember the deeds of the days of old." + + And he hung down his head as he spake it, and was silent a little space; + And when it was lifted again there was fear in the Dwarf-king's face. + And he said: "Thou knowest my thought, and wise-hearted art thou grown: + It were well if thine eyes were blinder, and we each were faring alone, + And I with my eld and my wisdom, and thou with thy youth and thy might; + Yet whiles I dream I have wrought thee, a beam of the morning bright, + A fatherless motherless glory, to work out my desire; + Then high my hope ariseth, and my heart is all afire + For the world I behold from afar, and the day that yet shall be; + Then I wake and all things I remember and a youth of the Kings I see-- + --The child of the Wood-abider, the seed of a conquered King, + The sword that the Gods have fashioned, the fate that men shall sing:-- + Ah might the world run backward to the days of the Dwarfs of old, + When I hewed out the pillars of crystal, and smoothed the walls of gold!" + + Nought answered the Son of Sigmund; nay he heard him nought at all, + Save as though the wind were speaking in the bights of the mountain-hall: + But he leapt aback of Greyfell, and the glorious sun rose up, + And the heavens glowed above him like the bowl of Baldur's cup, + And a golden man was he waxen; as the heart of the sun he seemed, + While over the feet of the mountains like blood the new light streamed; + Then Sigurd cried to Greyfell and swift for the pass he rode + And Regin followed after as a man bowed down by a load. + + Day-long they fared through the mountains, and that highway's fashioner + Forsooth was a fearful craftsman, and his hands the waters were, + And the heaped-up ice was his mattock, and the fire-blast was his man, + And never a whit he heeded though his walls were waste and wan, + And the guest-halls of that wayside great heaps of the ashes spent. + But, each as a man alone, through the sun-bright day they went, + And they rode till the moon rose upward, and the stars were small and + fair, + Then they slept on the long-slaked ashes beneath the heavens bare; + And the cold dawn came and they wakened, and the King of the Dwarf-kind + seemed + As a thing of that wan land fashioned; but Sigurd glowed and gleamed + Amid the shadowless twilight by Greyfell's cloudy flank, + As a little space they abided while the latest star-world shrank; + On the backward road looked Regin and heard how Sigurd drew + The girths of Greyfell's saddle, and the voice of his sword he knew + And he feared to look on the Volsung, as thus he fell to speak: + + "I have seen the Dwarf-folk mighty, I have seen the God-folk weak; + And now, though our might be minished, yet have we gifts to give. + When men desire and conquer, most sweet is their life to live; + When men are young and lovely there is many a thing to do, + And sweet is their fond desire and the dawn that springs anew." + + "This gift," said the Son of Sigmund, "the Norns shall give me yet, + And no blossom slain by the sunshine while the leaves with dew are wet." + + Then Regin turned and beheld him: "Thou shalt deem it hard and strange, + When the hand hath encompassed it all, and yet thy life must change. + Ah, long were the lives of men-folk, if betwixt the Gods and them + Were mighty warders watching mid the earth's and the heaven's hem! + Is there any man so mighty he would cast this gift away,-- + The heart's desire accomplished, and life so long a day, + That the dawn should be forgotten ere the even was begun?" + + Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "Fare forth, O glorious sun; + Bright end from bright beginning, and the mid-way good to tell, + And death, and deeds accomplished, and all remembered well! + Shall the day go past and leave us, and we be left with night, + To tread the endless circle, and strive in vain to smite? + But thou--wilt thou still look backward? thou sayst I know thy thought: + Thou hast whetted the sword for the slaying, it shall turn aside for + nought. + Fear not! with the Gold and the wisdom thou shalt deem thee God alone, + And mayst do and undo at pleasure, nor be bound by right nor wrong: + And then, if no God I be waxen, I shall be the weak with the strong." + + And his war-gear clanged and tinkled as he leapt to the saddle-stead: + And the sun rose up at their backs and the grey world changed to red. + And away to the west went Sigurd by the glory wreathed about, + But little and black was Regin as a fire that dieth out. + Day-long they rode the mountains by the crags exceeding old, + And the ash that the first of the Dwarf-kind found dull and quenched + and cold. + Then the moon in the mid-sky swam, and the stars were fair and pale, + And beneath the naked heaven they slept in an ash-grey dale; + And again at the dawn-dusk's ending they stood upon their feet, + And Sigurd donned his war-gear nor his eyes would Regin meet. + + A clear streak widened in heaven low down above the earth; + And above it lay the cloud-flecks, and the sun, anigh its birth, + Unseen, their hosts was staining with the very hue of blood, + And ruddy by Greyfell's shoulder the Son of Sigmund stood. + + Then spake the Master of Masters: "What is thine hope this morn + That thou dightest thee, O Sigurd, to ride this world forlorn?" + + "What needeth hope," said Sigurd, "when the heart of the Volsungs turns + To the light of the Glittering Heath, and the house where the Waster + burns? + I shall slay the Foe of the Gods, as thou badst me a while agone, + And then with the Gold and its wisdom shalt thou be left alone." + + "O Child," said the King of the Dwarf-kind, "when the day at last + comes round + For the dread and the Dusk of the Gods, and the kin of the Wolf is + unbound, + When thy sword shall hew the fire, and the wildfire beateth thy shield, + Shalt thou praise the wages of hope and the Gods that pitched the field?" + + "O Foe of the Gods," said Sigurd, "wouldst thou hide the evil thing, + And the curse that is greater than thou, lest death end thy labouring, + Lest the night should come upon thee amidst thy toil for nought? + It is me, it is me that thou fearest, if indeed I know thy thought; + Yea me, who would utterly light the face of all good and ill, + If not with the fruitful beams that the summer shall fulfill, + Then at least with the world a-blazing, and the glare of the grinded + sword." + + And he sprang aloft to the saddle as he spake the latest word, + And the Wrath sang loud in the sheath as it ne'er had sung before, + And the cloudy flecks were scattered like flames on the heaven's floor, + And all was kindled at once, and that trench of the mountains grey + Was filled with the living light as the low sun lit the way: + But Regin turned from the glory with blinded eyes and dazed, + And lo, on the cloudy war-steed how another light there blazed, + And a great voice came from amidst it: + "O Regin, in good sooth, + I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy fear and thy ruth: + Thou hast told thy tale and thy longing, and thereto I hearkened well:-- + Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee down to hell, + The deed shall be done to-morrow: thou shalt have that measureless Gold, + And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy realm of old, + That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the very heart of hate: + With the blood and the might of thy brother thine hunger shalt thou sate; + And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take heed for what followeth + then! + Let each do after his kind! I shall do the deeds of men; + I shall harvest the field of their sowing, in the bed of their strewing + shall sleep; + To them shall I give my life-days, to the Gods my glory to keep. + But thou with the wealth and the wisdom that the best of the Gods might + praise, + If thou shalt indeed excel them and become the hope of the days, + Then me in turn hast thou conquered, and I shall be in turn + Thy fashioned brand of the battle through good and evil to burn, + Or the flame that sleeps in thy stithy for the gathered winds to blow, + When thou listest to do and undo and thine uttermost cunning to show. + But indeed I wot full surely that thou shalt follow thy kind; + And for all that cometh after, the Norns shall loose and bind." + + Then his bridle-reins rang sweetly, and the warding-walls of death, + And Regin drew up to him, and the Wrath sang loud in the sheath, + And forth from that trench in the mountains by the westward way they ride; + And little and black goes Regin by the golden Volsung's side; + But no more his head is drooping, for he seeth the Elf-king's Gold; + The garnered might and the wisdom e'en now his eyes behold. + + So up and up they journeyed, and ever as they went + About the cold-slaked forges, o'er many a cloud-swept bent, + Betwixt the walls of blackness, by shores of the fishless meres, + And the fathomless desert waters, did Regin cast his fears, + And wrap him in desire; and all alone he seemed + As a God to his heirship wending, and forgotten and undreamed + Was all the tale of Sigurd, and the folk he had toiled among, + And the Volsungs, Odin's children, and the men-folk fair and young. + + * * * * * + + So on they ride to the westward, and huge were the mountains grown + And the floor of heaven was mingled with that tossing world of stone: + And they rode till the noon was forgotten and the sun was waxen low, + And they tarried not, though he perished, and the world grew dark below. + Then they rode a mighty desert, a glimmering place and wide, + And into a narrow pass high-walled on either side + By the blackness of the mountains, and barred aback and in face + By the empty night of the shadow; a windless silent place: + But the white moon shone o'erhead mid the small sharp stars and pale, + And each as a man alone they rode on the highway of bale. + + * * * * * + + So ever they wended upward, and the midnight hour was o'er, + And the stars grew pale and paler, and failed from the heaven's floor, + And the moon was a long while dead, but there was the promise of day, + No change came over the darkness, no streak of the dawning grey; + No sound of the wind's uprising adown the night there ran: + It was blind as the Gaping Gulf ere the first of the worlds began. + + Then athwart and athwart rode Sigurd and sought the walls of the pass, + But found no wall before him; and the road rang hard as brass + Beneath the hoofs of Greyfell, as up and up he trod: + --Was it the daylight of Hell, or the night of the doorways of God? + + But lo, at the last a glimmer, and a light from the west there came, + And another and another, like points of far-off flame; + And they grew and brightened and gathered; and whiles together they ran + Like the moonwake over the waters; and whiles they were scant and wan, + Some greater and some lesser, like the boats of fishers laid + About the sea of midnight; and a dusky dawn they made, + A faint and glimmering twilight: So Sigurd strains his eyes, + And he sees how a land deserted all round about him lies + More changeless than mid-ocean, as fruitless as its floor: + Then the heart leaps up within him, for he knows that his journey is o'er, + And there he draweth bridle on the first of the Glittering Heath: + And the Wrath is waxen merry and sings in the golden sheath + As he leaps adown from Greyfell, and stands upon his feet, + And wends his ways through the twilight the Foe of the Gods to meet. + + + _Sigurd slayeth Fafnir the Serpent_. + + Nought Sigurd seeth of Regin, and nought he heeds of him, + As in watchful might and glory he strides the desert dim, + And behind him paceth Greyfell; but he deems the time o'erlong + Till he meet the great gold-warden, the over-lord of wrong. + + So he wendeth midst the silence through the measureless desert place, + And beholds the countless glitter with wise and steadfast face, + Till him-seems in a little season that the flames grow somewhat wan, + And a grey thing glimmers before him, and becomes a mighty man, + One-eyed and ancient-seeming, in cloud-grey raiment clad; + A friendly man and glorious, and of visage smiling-glad: + Then content in Sigurd groweth because of his majesty, + And he heareth him speak in the desert as the wind of the winter sea: + + "Hail Sigurd! Give me thy greeting ere thy ways alone thou wend!" + + Said Sigurd: "Hail! I greet thee, my friend and my fathers' friend." + + "Now whither away," said the elder, "with the Steed and the ancient + Sword?" + + "To the greedy house," said Sigurd, "and the King of the Heavy Hoard." + + "Wilt thou smite, O Sigurd, Sigurd?" said the ancient mighty-one. + + "Yea, yea, I shall smite," said the Volsung, "save the Gods have slain + the sun." + + "What wise wilt thou smite," said the elder, "lest the dark devour thy + day?" + + "Thou hast praised the sword," said the child, "and the sword shall find + a way." + + "Be learned of me," said the Wise-one, "for I was the first of thy folk." + + Said the child: "I shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike the + stroke." + + Spake the Wise-one: "Thus shalt thou do when thou wendest hence alone: + Thou shalt find a path in the desert, and a road in the world of stone; + It is smooth and deep and hollow, but the rain hath riven it not, + And the wild wind hath not worn it, for it is but Fafnir's slot, + Whereby he wends to the water and the fathomless pool of old, + When his heart in the dawn is weary, and he loathes the Ancient Gold: + There think of the great and the fathers, and bare the whetted Wrath, + And dig a pit in the highway, and a grave in the Serpent's path: + Lie thou therein, O Sigurd, and thine hope from the glooming hide, + And be as the dead for a season, and the living light abide! + And so shall thine heart avail thee, and thy mighty fateful hand, + And the Light that lay in the Branstock, the well belovèd brand." + + Said the child: "I shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike the + stroke; + For I love thee, friend of my fathers, Wise Heart of the holy folk." + + So spake the Son of Sigmund, and beheld no man anear, + And again was the night the midnight, and the twinkling flames shone clear + In the hush of the Glittering Heath; and alone went Sigmund's son + Till he came to the road of Fafnir, and the highway worn by one, + By the drift of the rain unfurrowed, by the windy years unrent, + And forth from the dark it came, and into the dark it went. + + Great then was the heart of Sigurd, for there in the midmost he stayed, + And thought of the ancient fathers, and bared the bright blue blade, + That shone as a fleck of the day-light, and the night was all around. + Fair then was the Son of Sigmund as he toiled and laboured the ground; + Great, mighty he was in his working, and the Glittering Heath he clave, + And the sword shone blue before him as he dug the pit and the grave: + There he hid his hope from the night-tide and lay like one of the dead, + And wise and wary he bided; and the heavens hung over his head. + + Now the night wanes over Sigurd, and the ruddy rings he sees, + And his war-gear's fair adornment, and the God-folk's images; + But a voice in the desert ariseth, a sound in the waste has birth, + A changing tinkle and clatter, as of gold dragged over the earth: + O'er Sigurd widens the day-light, and the sound is drawing close, + And speedier than the trample of speedy feet it goes; + But ever deemeth Sigurd that the sun brings back the day, + For the grave grows lighter and lighter and heaven o'erhead is grey. + + But now, how the rattling waxeth till he may not heed nor hark! + And the day and the heavens are hidden, and o'er Sigurd rolls the dark, + As the flood of a pitchy river, and heavy-thick is the air + With the venom of hate long hoarded, and lies once fashioned fair: + Then a wan face comes from the darkness, and is wrought in manlike wise, + And the lips are writhed with laughter and bleared are the blinded eyes; + And it wandereth hither and thither, and searcheth through the grave + And departeth, leaving nothing, save the dark, rolled wave on wave + O'er the golden head of Sigurd and the edges of the sword, + And the world weighs heavy on Sigurd, and the weary curse of the Hoard: + Him-seemed the grave grew straiter, and his hope of life grew chill, + And his heart by the Worm was enfolded, and the bonds of the Ancient Ill. + + Then was Sigurd stirred by his glory, and he strove with the swaddling + of Death; + He turned in the pit on the highway, and the grave of the Glittering + Heath; + He laughed and smote with the laughter and thrust up over his head, + And smote the venom asunder, and clave the heart of Dread; + Then he leapt from the pit and the grave, and the rushing river of blood, + And fulfilled with the joy of the War-God on the face of earth he stood + With red sword high uplifted, with wrathful glittering eyes; + And he laughed at the heavens above him for he saw the sun arise, + And Sigurd gleamed on the desert, and shone in the new-born light, + And the wind in his raiment wavered, and all the world was bright. + + But there was the ancient Fafnir, and the Face of Terror lay + On the huddled folds of the Serpent, that were black and ashen-grey + In the desert lit by the sun; and those twain looked each on each, + And forth from the Face of Terror went a sound of dreadful speech: + + "Child, child, who art thou that hast smitten? bright child, of whence + is thy birth?" + + "I am called the Wild-thing Glorious, and alone I wend on the earth." + + "Fierce child, and who was thy father?--Thou hast cleft the heart of the + Foe!" + + "Am I like to the sons of men-folk, that my father I should know?" + + "Wert thou born of a nameless wonder? shall the lies to my death-day + cling?" + + "How lieth Sigurd the Volsung, and the Son of Sigmund the King?" + + "O bitter father of Sigurd!--thou hast cleft mine heart atwain!" + + "I arose, and I wondered and wended, and I smote, and I smote not in + vain." + + "What master hath taught thee of murder?--Thou hast wasted Fafnir's day." + + "I, Sigurd, knew and desired, and the bright sword learned the way." + + "Thee, thee shall the rattling Gold and the red rings bring to the bane." + + "Yet mine hand shall cast them abroad, and the earth shall gather again." + + "I see thee great in thine anger, and the Norns thou heedest not." + + "O Fafnir, speak of the Norns and the wisdom unforgot!" + + "Let the death-doomed flee from the ocean, him the wind and the weather + shall drown." + + "O Fafnir, tell of the Norns ere thy life thou layest adown!" + + "O manifold is their kindred, and who shall tell them all? + There are they that rule o'er men-folk and the stars that rise and fall: + --I knew of the folk of the Dwarfs, and I knew their Norns of old; + And I fought, and I fell in the morning, and I die afar from the gold: + --I have seen the Gods of heaven, and their Norns withal I know: + They love and withhold their helping, they hate and refrain the blow; + They curse and they may not sunder, they bless and they shall not blend; + They have fashioned the good and the evil; they abide the change and the + end." + + "O Fafnir, what of the Isle, and what hast thou known of its name, + Where the Gods shall mingle edges with Surt and the Sons of Flame?" + + "O child, O Strong Compeller? Unshapen is its hight; + There the fallow blades shall be shaken and the Dark and the Day shall + smite, + When the Bridge of the Gods is broken, and their white steeds swim the + sea, + And the uttermost field is stricken, last strife of thee and me." + + "What then shall endure, O Fafnir, the tale of the battle to tell?" + + "I am blind, O Strong Compeller, in the bonds of Death and Hell. + But thee shall the rattling Gold and the red rings bring unto bane." + + "Yet the rings mine hand shall scatter, and the earth shall gather again." + + "Woe, woe! in the days passed over I bore the Helm of Dread, + I reared the Face of Terror, and the hoarded hate of the Dead: + I overcame and was mighty; I was wise and cherished my heart + In the waste where no man wandered, and the high house builded apart: + Till I met thine hand, O Sigurd, and thy might ordained from of old; + And I fought and fell in the morning, and I die far off from the Gold." + + Then Sigurd leaned on his sword, and a dreadful voice went by + Like the wail of a God departing and the War-God's misery; + And strong words of ancient wisdom went by on the desert wind, + The words that mar and fashion, the words that loose and bind; + And sounds of a strange lamenting, and such strange things bewailed, + That words to tell their meaning the tongue of man hath failed. + + Then all sank into silence, and the Son of Sigmund stood + On the torn and furrowed desert by the pool of Fafnir's blood, + And the Serpent lay before him, dead, chilly, dull, and grey; + And over the Glittering Heath fair shone the sun and the day, + And a light wind followed the sun and breathed o'er the fateful place, + As fresh as it furrows the sea-plain or bows the acres' face. + + + _Sigurd slayeth Regin the Master of Masters on the Glittering Heath_. + + There standeth Sigurd the Volsung, and leaneth on his sword, + And beside him now is Greyfell and looks on his golden lord, + And the world is awake and living; and whither now shall they wend, + Who have come to the Glittering Heath, and wrought that deed to its end? + For hither comes Regin the Master from the skirts of the field of death, + And he shadeth his eyes from the sunlight as afoot he goeth and saith: + "Ah, let me live for a while! for a while and all shall be well, + When passed is the house of murder and I creep from the prison of hell." + + Afoot he went o'er the desert, and he came unto Sigurd and stared + At the golden gear of the man, and the Wrath yet bloody and bared, + And the light locks raised by the wind, and the eyes beginning to smile, + And the lovely lips of the Volsung, and the brow that knew no guile; + And he murmured under his breath while his eyes grew white with wrath: + + "O who art thou, and wherefore, and why art thou in the path?" + Then he turned to the ash-grey Serpent, and grovelled low on the ground, + And he drank of that pool of the blood where the stones of the wild were + drowned, + And long he lapped as a dog; but when he arose again, + Lo, a flock of the mountain-eagles that drew to the feastful plain; + And he turned and looked on Sigurd, as bright in the sun he stood, + A stripling fair and slender, and wiped the Wrath of the blood. + + But Regin cried: "O Dwarf-kind, O many-shifting folk, + O shapes of might and wonder, am I too freed from the yoke, + That binds my soul to my body a withered thing forlorn, + While the short-lived fools of man-folk so fair and oft are born? + Now swift in the air shall I be, and young in the concourse of kings, + If my heart shall come to desire the gain of earthly things." + + And he looked and saw how Sigurd was sheathing the Flame of War, + And the eagles screamed in the wind, but their voice came faint from afar: + Then he scowled, and crouched and darkened, and came to Sigurd and spake: + "O child, thou hast slain my brother, and the Wrath is alive and awake." + + "Thou sayest sooth," said Sigurd, "thy deed and mine is done: + But now our ways shall sunder, for here, meseemeth, the sun + Hath but little of deeds to do, and no love to win aback." + + Then Regin crouched before him, and he spake: "Fare on to the wrack! + Fare on to the murder of men, and the deeds of thy kindred of old! + And surely of thee as of them shall the tale be speedily told. + Thou hast slain thy Master's brother, and what wouldst thou say thereto, + Were the judges met for the judging and the doom-ring hallowed due?" + + Then Sigurd spake as aforetime: "Thy deed and mine it was, + And now our ways shall sunder, and into the world will I pass." + + But Regin darkened before him, and exceeding grim was he grown, + And he spake: "Thou hast slain my brother, and wherewith wilt thou atone?" + + "Stand up, O Master," said Sigurd, "O Singer of ancient days, + And take the wealth I have won thee, ere we wend on the sundering ways. + I have toiled and thou hast desired, and the Treasure is surely anear, + And thou hast wisdom to find it, and I have slain thy fear." + + But Regin crouched and darkened: "Thou hast slain my brother," he said. + + "Take thou the Gold," quoth Sigurd, "for the ransom of my head!" + + Then Regin crouched and darkened, and over the earth he hung; + And he said: "Thou hast slain my brother, and the Gods are yet but young." + + Bright Sigurd towered above him, and the Wrath cried out in the sheath, + And Regin writhed against it as the adder turns on death; + And he spake: "Thou hast slain my brother, and to-day shalt thou be my + thrall: + Yea a King shall be my cook-boy and this heath my cooking-hall." + + Then he crept to the ash-grey coils where the life of his brother had + lain, + And he drew a glaive from his side and smote the smitten and slain, + And tore the heart from Fafnir, while the eagles cried o'erhead, + And sharp and shrill was their voice o'er the entrails of the dead. + + Then Regin spake to Sigurd: "Of this slaying wilt thou be free? + Then gather thou fire together and roast the heart for me, + That I may eat it and live, and be thy master and more; + For therein was might and wisdom, and the grudged and hoarded lore:-- + --Or else, depart on thy ways afraid from the Glittering Heath." + + Then he fell abackward and slept, nor set his sword in the sheath, + But his hand was red on the hilts and blue were the edges bared, + Ash-grey was his visage waxen, and with open eyes he stared + On the height of heaven above him, and a fearful thing he seemed, + As his soul went wide in the world, and of rule and kingship he dreamed. + + But Sigurd took the Heart, and wood on the waste he found, + The wood that grew and died, as it crept on the niggard ground, + And grew and died again, and lay like whitened bones; + And the ernes cried over his head, as he builded his hearth of stones, + And kindled the fire for cooking, and sat and sang o'er the roast + The song of his fathers of old, and the Wolflings' gathering host: + So there on the Glittering Heath rose up the little flame, + And the dry sticks crackled amidst it, and alow the eagles came, + And seven they were by tale, and they pitched all round about + The cooking-fire of Sigurd, and sent their song-speech out: + But nought he knoweth its wisdom, or the word that they would speak: + And hot grew the Heart of Fafnir and sang amid the reek. + + Then Sigurd looketh on Regin, and he deemeth it overlong + That he dighteth the dear-bought morsel, and the might for the Master + of wrong, + So he reacheth his hand to the roast to see if the cooking be o'er; + But the blood and the fat seethed from it and scalded his finger sore, + And he set his hand to his mouth to quench the fleshly smart, + And he tasted the flesh of the Serpent and the blood of Fafnir's Heart: + Then there came a change upon him, for the speech of fowl he knew, + And wise in the ways of the beast-kind as the Dwarfs of old he grew; + And he knitted his brows and hearkened, and wrath in his heart arose; + For he felt beset of evil in a world of many foes. + But the hilt of the Wrath he handled, and Regin's heart he saw, + And how that the Foe of the Gods the net of death would draw; + And his bright eyes flashed and sparkled, and his mouth grew set and + stern + As he hearkened the voice of the eagles, and their song began to learn. + + For the first cried out in the desert: "O mighty Sigmund's son, + How long wilt thou sit and tarry now the dear-bought roast is done?" + + And the second: "Volsung, arise! for the horns blow up to the hall, + And dight are the purple hangings, and the King to the feasting should + fall." + + And the third: "How great is the feast if the eater eat aright + The Heart of the wisdom of old and the after-world's delight!" + + And the fourth: "Yea what of Regin? shall he scatter wrack o'er the world? + Shall the father be slain by the son, and the brother 'gainst brother be + hurled?" + + And the fifth: "He hath taught a stripling the gifts of a God to give: + He hath reared up a King for the slaying, that he alone might live." + + And the sixth: "He shall waken mighty as a God that scorneth a truth; + He hath drunk of the blood of the Serpent, and drowned all hope and ruth." + + And the seventh: "Arise, O Sigurd, lest the hour be overlate! + For the sun in the mid-noon shineth, and swift is the hand of Fate: + Arise! lest the world run backward and the blind heart have its will, + And once again be tangled the sundered good and ill; + Lest love and hatred perish, lest the world forget its tale, + And the Gods sit deedless, dreaming, in the high-walled heavenly vale." + + Then swift ariseth Sigurd, and the Wrath in his hand is bare, + And he looketh, and Regin sleepeth, and his eyes wide-open glare; + But his lips smile false in his dreaming, and his hand is on the sword; + For he dreams himself the Master and the new world's fashioning-lord. + And his dream hath forgotten Sigurd, and the King's life lies in the pit; + He is nought; Death gnaweth upon him, while the Dwarfs in mastery sit. + + But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd the heart of the guileful behold, + And great is Allfather Odin, and upriseth the Curse of the Gold, + And the Branstock bloometh to heaven from the ancient wondrous root; + The summer hath shone on its blossoms, and Sigurd's Wrath is the fruit: + Dread then he cried in the desert: "Guile-master, lo thy deed! + Hast thou nurst my life for destruction, and my death to serve thy need? + Hast thou kept me here for the net and the death that tame things die? + Hast thou feared me overmuch, thou Foe of the Gods on high? + Lest the sword thine hand was wielding should turn about and cleave + The tangled web of nothing thou hadst wearied thyself to weave. + Lo here the sword and the stroke! judge the Norns betwixt us twain! + But for me, I will live and die not, nor shall all my hope be vain." + Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and white, + And 'twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light; + And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan. + But Sigurd cried in the desert: "So far have I wended on! + Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill; + And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will. + Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and worse, + With the blind heart king o'er the people, and binding curse with curse." + + + _How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari._ + + Now Sigurd eats of the heart that once in the Dwarf-king lay, + The hoard of the wisdom begrudged, the might of the earlier day. + Then wise of heart was he waxen, but longing in him grew + To sow the seed he had gotten, and till the field he knew. + So he leapeth aback of Greyfell, and rideth the desert bare, + And the hollow slot of Fafnir, that led to the Serpent's lair. + Then long he rode adown it, and the ernes flew overhead, + And tidings great and glorious of that Treasure of old they said. + So far o'er the waste he wended, and when the night was come + He saw the earth-old dwelling, the dread Gold-wallower's home: + On the skirts of the Heath it was builded by a tumbled stony bent; + High went that house to the heavens, down 'neath the earth it went, + Of unwrought iron fashioned for the heart of a greedy king: + 'Twas a mountain, blind without, and within was its plenishing + But the Hoard of Andvari the ancient, and the sleeping Curse unseen, + The Gold of the Gods that spared not and the greedy that have been. + Through the door strode Sigurd the Volsung, and the grey moon and the + sword + Fell in on the tawny gold-heaps of the ancient hapless Hoard: + Gold gear of hosts unburied, and the coin of cities dead, + Great spoil of the ages of battle, lay there on the Serpent's bed: + Huge blocks from mid-earth quarried, where none but the Dwarfs have mined, + Wide sands of the golden rivers no foot of man may find + Lay 'neath the spoils of the mighty and the ruddy rings of yore: + But amidst was the Helm of Aweing that the Fear of earth-folk bore, + And there gleamed a wonder beside it, the Hauberk all of gold, + Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: + There Sigurd seeth moreover Andvari's Ring of Gain, + The hope of Loki's finger, the Ransom's utmost grain; + For it shone on the midmost gold-heap like the first star set in the sky + In the yellow space of even when moon-rise draweth anigh. + Then laughed the Son of Sigmund, and stooped to the golden land, + And gathered that first of the harvest and set it on his hand; + And he did on the Helm of Aweing, and the Hauberk all of gold, + Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: + Then he praised the day of the Volsungs amid the yellow light, + And he set his hand to the labour and put forth his kingly might; + He dragged forth gold to the moon, on the desert's face he laid + The innermost earth's adornment, and rings for the nameless made; + He toiled and loaded Greyfell, and the cloudy war-steed shone + And the gear of Sigurd rattled in the flood of moonlight wan; + There he toiled and loaded Greyfell, and the Volsung's armour rang + Mid the yellow bed of the Serpent: but without the eagles sang: + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! let the gold shine free and clear! + For what hath the Son of the Volsungs the ancient Curse to fear?" + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for thy tale is well begun, + And the world shall be good and gladdened by the Gold lit up by the sun." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd, and gladden all thine heart! + For the world shall make thee merry ere thou and she depart." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the ways go green below, + Go green to the dwelling of Kings, and the halls that the Queen-folk + know." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for what is there bides by the way, + Save the joy of folk to awaken, and the dawn of the merry day?" + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the strife awaits thine hand, + And a plenteous war-field's reaping, and the praise of many a land." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! But how shall store-house hold + That glory of thy winning and the tidings to be told?" + + Now the moon was dead, and the star-worlds were great on the heavenly + plain, + When the steed was fully laden; then Sigurd taketh the rein + And turns to the ruined rock-wall that the lair was built beneath, + For there he deemed was the gate and the door of the Glittering Heath, + But not a whit moved Greyfell for aught that the King might do; + Then Sigurd pondered a while, till the heart of the beast he knew, + And clad in all his war-gear he leaped to the saddle-stead, + And with pride and mirth neighed Greyfell and tossed aloft his head, + And sprang unspurred o'er the waste, and light and swift he went, + And breasted the broken rampart, the stony tumbled bent; + And over the brow he clomb, and there beyond was the world, + A place of many mountains and great crags together hurled. + So down to the west he wendeth, and goeth swift and light, + And the stars are beginning to wane, and the day is mingled with night; + For full fain was the sun to arise and look on the Gold set free, + And the Dwarf-wrought rings of the Treasure and the gifts from the floor + of the sea. + + + _How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell._ + + By long roads rideth Sigurd amidst that world of stone, + And somewhat south he turneth; for he would not be alone, + But longs for the dwellings of man-folk, and the kingly people's speech, + And the days of the glee and the joyance, where men laugh each to each. + But still the desert endureth, and afar must Greyfell fare + From the wrack of the Glittering Heath, and Fafnir's golden lair. + Long Sigurd rideth the waste, when, lo, on a morning of day + From out of the tangled crag-walls, amidst the cloud-land grey + Comes up a mighty mountain, and it is as though there burns + A torch amidst of its cloud-wreath; so thither Sigurd turns, + For he deems indeed from its topmost to look on the best of the earth; + And Greyfell neigheth beneath him, and his heart is full of mirth. + + So he rideth higher and higher, and the light grows great and strange, + And forth from the clouds it flickers, till at noon they gather and + change, + And settle thick on the mountain, and hide its head from sight; + But the winds in a while are awakened, and day bettereth ere the night, + And, lifted a measureless mass o'er the desert crag-walls high, + Cloudless the mountain riseth against the sunset sky, + The sea of the sun grown golden, as it ebbs from the day's desire; + And the light that afar was a torch is grown a river of fire, + And the mountain is black above it, and below is it dark and dun; + And there is the head of Hindfell as an island in the sun. + + Night falls, but yet rides Sigurd, and hath no thought of rest, + For he longs to climb that rock-world and behold the earth at its best; + But now mid the maze of the foot-hills he seeth the light no more, + And the stars are lovely and gleaming on the lightless heavenly floor. + So up and up he wendeth till the night is wearing thin; + And he rideth a rift of the mountain, and all is dark therein, + Till the stars are dimmed by dawning and the wakening world is cold; + Then afar in the upper rock-wall a breach doth he behold, + And a flood of light poured inward the doubtful dawning blinds: + So swift he rideth thither and the mouth of the breach he finds, + And sitteth awhile on Greyfell on the marvellous thing to gaze: + For lo, the side of Hindfell enwrapped by the fervent blaze, + And nought 'twixt earth and heaven save a world of flickering flame, + And a hurrying shifting tangle, where the dark rents went and came. + + Great groweth the heart of Sigurd with uttermost desire, + And he crieth kind to Greyfell, and they hasten up, and nigher, + Till he draweth rein in the dawning on the face of Hindfell's steep: + But who shall heed the dawning where the tongues of that wildfire leap? + For they weave a wavering wall, that driveth over the heaven + The wind that is born within it; nor ever aside is it driven + By the mightiest wind of the waste, and the rain-flood amidst it is + nought; + And no wayfarer's door and no window the hand of its builder hath wrought. + But thereon is the Volsung smiling as its breath uplifteth his hair, + And his eyes shine bright with its image, and his mail gleams white and + fair, + And his war-helm pictures the heavens and the waning stars behind: + But his neck is Greyfell stretching to snuff at the flame-wall blind, + And his cloudy flank upheaveth, and tinkleth the knitted mail, + And the gold of the uttermost waters is waxen wan and pale. + + Now Sigurd turns in his saddle, and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts, + And draws a girth the tighter; then the gathered reins he lifts, + And crieth aloud to Greyfell, and rides at the wildfire's heart; + But the white wall wavers before him and the flame-flood rusheth apart, + And high o'er his head it riseth, and wide and wild is its roar + As it beareth the mighty tidings to the very heavenly floor: + But he rideth through its roaring as the warrior rides the rye, + When it bows with the wind of the summer and the hid spears draw anigh; + The white flame licks his raiment and sweeps through Greyfell's mane, + And bathes both hands of Sigurd and the hilts of Fafnir's bane, + And winds about his war-helm and mingles with his hair, + But nought his raiment dusketh or dims his glittering gear; + Then it fails and fades and darkens till all seems left behind, + And dawn and the blaze is swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind. + + * * * * * + + But forth a little further and a little further on + And all is calm about him, and he sees the scorched earth wan + Beneath a glimmering twilight, and he turns his conquering eyes, + And a ring of pale slaked ashes on the side of Hindfell lies; + And the world of the waste is beyond it; and all is hushed and grey, + And the new-risen moon is a-paleing, and the stars grow faint with day. + Then Sigurd looked before him and a Shield-burg there he saw, + A wall of the tiles of Odin wrought clear without a flaw, + The gold by the silver gleaming, and the ruddy by the white; + And the blazonings of their glory were done upon them bright, + As of dear things wrought for the war-lords new come to Odin's hall. + Piled high aloft to the heavens uprose that battle-wall, + And far o'er the topmost shield-rim for a banner of fame there hung + A glorious golden buckler; and against the staff it rung + As the earliest wind of dawning uprose on Hindfell's face + And the light from the yellowing east beamed soft on the shielded place. + + But the Wrath cried out in answer as Sigurd leapt adown + To the wasted soil of the desert by that rampart of renown; + He looked but little beneath it, and the dwelling of God it seemed, + As against its gleaming silence the eager Sigurd gleamed: + He draweth not sword from scabbard, as the wall he wendeth around, + And it is but the wind and Sigurd that wakeneth any sound: + But, lo, to the gate he cometh, and the doors are open wide, + And no warder the way withstandeth, and no earls by the threshold abide; + So he stands awhile and marvels; then the baleful light of the Wrath + Gleams bare in his ready hand as he wendeth the inward path: + For he doubteth some guile of the Gods, or perchance some Dwarf-king's + snare, + Or a mock of the Giant people that shall fade in the morning air: + But he getteth him in and gazeth; and a wall doth he behold, + And the ruddy set by the white, and the silver by the gold; + But within the garth that it girdeth no work of man is set, + But the utmost head of Hindfell ariseth higher yet; + And below in the very midmost is a Giant-fashioned mound, + Piled high as the rims of the Shield-burg above the level ground; + And there, on that mound of the Giants, o'er the wilderness forlorn, + A pale grey image lieth, and gleameth in the morn. + + So there was Sigurd alone; and he went from the shielded door, + And aloft in the desert of wonder the Light of the Branstock he bore; + And he set his face to the earth-mound, and beheld the image wan, + And the dawn was growing about it; and, lo, the shape of a man + Set forth to the eyeless desert on the tower-top of the world, + High over the cloud-wrought castle whence the windy bolts are hurled. + + * * * * * + + Now he comes to the mound and climbs it, and will see if the man be dead; + Some King of the days forgotten laid there with crownèd head, + Or the frame of a God, it may be, that in heaven hath changed his life, + Or some glorious heart belovèd, God-rapt from the earthly strife: + Now over the body he standeth, and seeth it shapen fair, + And clad from head to foot-sole in pale grey-glittering gear, + In a hauberk wrought as straitly as though to the flesh it were grown: + But a great helm hideth the head and is girt with a glittering crown. + + So thereby he stoopeth and kneeleth, for he deems it were good indeed + If the breath of life abide there and the speech to help at need; + And as sweet as the summer wind from a garden under the sun + Cometh forth on the topmost Hindfell the breath of that sleeping-one. + Then he saith he will look on the face, if it bear him love or hate, + Or the bonds for his life's constraining, or the sundering doom of fate. + So he draweth the helm from the head, and, lo, the brow snow-white, + And the smooth unfurrowed cheeks, and the wise lips breathing light; + And the face of a woman it is, and the fairest that ever was born, + Shown forth to the empty heavens and the desert world forlorn: + But he looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move, + And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love. + And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her passing sore; + And he saith: "Awake! I am Sigurd;" but she moveth never the more. + + Then he looked on his bare bright blade, and he said: "Thou--what wilt + thou do? + For indeed as I came by the war-garth thy voice of desire I knew." + Bright burnt the pale blue edges for the sunrise drew anear, + And the rims of the Shield-burg glittered, and the east was exceeding + clear: + So the eager edges he setteth to the Dwarf-wrought battle-coat + Where the hammered ring-knit collar constraineth the woman's throat; + But the sharp Wrath biteth and rendeth, and before it fail the rings, + And, lo, the gleam of the linen, and the light of golden things: + Then he driveth the blue steel onward, and through the skirt, and out, + Till nought but the rippling linen is wrapping her about; + Then he deems her breath comes quicker and her breast begins to heave, + So he turns about the War-Flame and rends down either sleeve, + Till her arms lie white in her raiment, and a river of sun-bright hair + Flows free o'er bosom and shoulder and floods the desert bare. + + Then a flush cometh over her visage and a sigh upheaveth her breast, + And her eyelids quiver and open, and she wakeneth into rest; + Wide-eyed on the dawning she gazeth, too glad to change or smile, + And but little moveth her body, nor speaketh she yet for a while; + And yet kneels Sigurd moveless her wakening speech to heed, + While soft the waves of the daylight o'er the starless heavens speed, + And the gleaming rims of the Shield-burg yet bright and brighter grow, + And the thin moon hangeth her horns dead-white in the golden glow. + Then she turned and gazed on Sigurd, and her eyes met the Volsung's eyes. + And mighty and measureless now did the tide of his love arise, + For their longing had met and mingled, and he knew of her heart that she + loved, + As she spake unto nothing but him and her lips with the speech-flood + moved: + + "O, what is the thing so mighty that my weary sleep hath torn, + And rent the fallow bondage, and the wan woe over-worn?" + + He said: "The hand of Sigurd and the Sword of Sigmund's son, + And the heart that the Volsungs fashioned this deed for thee have done." + + But she said: "Where then is Odin that laid me here alow? + Long lasteth the grief of the world, and man-folk's tangled woe!" + + "He dwelleth above," said Sigurd, "but I on the earth abide, + And I came from the Glittering Heath the waves of thy fire to ride." + + But therewith the sun rose upward and lightened all the earth, + And the light flashed up to the heavens from the rims of the glorious + girth; + But they twain arose together, and with both her palms outspread, + And bathed in the light returning, she cried aloud and said: + + "All hail O Day and thy Sons, and thy kin of the coloured things! + Hail, following Night, and thy Daughter that leadeth thy wavering wings! + Look down with unangry eyes on us to-day alive, + And give us the hearts victorious, and the gain for which we strive! + All hail, ye Lords of God-home, and ye Queens of the House of Gold! + Hail thou dear Earth that bearest, and thou Wealth of field and fold! + Give us, your noble children, the glory of wisdom and speech, + And the hearts and the hands of healing, and the mouths and hands that + teach!" + + Then they turned and were knit together; and oft and o'er again + They craved, and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain. + + Then Sigurd looketh upon her, and the words from his heart arise: + "Thou art the fairest of earth, and the wisest of the wise; + O who art thou that lovest? I am Sigurd, e'en as I told; + I have slain the Foe of the Gods, and gotten the Ancient Gold; + And great were the gain of thy love, and the gift of mine earthly days, + If we twain should never sunder as we wend on the changing ways. + O who art thou that lovest, thou fairest of all things born? + And what meaneth thy sleep and thy slumber in the wilderness forlorn?" + + She said: "I am she that loveth: I was born of the earthly folk, + But of old Allfather took me from the Kings and their wedding yoke: + And he called me the Victory-Wafter, and I went and came as he would, + And I chose the slain for his war-host, and the days were glorious and + good, + Till the thoughts of my heart overcame me, and the pride of my wisdom + and speech, + And I scorned the earth-folk's Framer and the Lord of the world I must + teach: + For the death-doomed I caught from the sword, and the fated life I slew, + And I deemed that my deeds were goodly, and that long I should do and + undo. + But Allfather came against me and the God in his wrath arose; + And he cried: 'Thou hast thought in thy folly that the Gods have friends + and foes, + That they wake, and the world wends onward, that they sleep, and the + world slips back, + That they laugh, and the world's weal waxeth, that they frown and + fashion the wrack: + Thou hast cast up the curse against me; it shall fall aback on thine + head; + Go back to the sons of repentance, with the children of sorrow wed! + For the Gods are great unholpen, and their grief is seldom seen, + And the wrong that they will and must be is soon as it hath not been.' + + "Yet I thought: 'Shall I wed in the world, shall I gather grief on the + earth? + Then the fearless heart shall I wed, and bring the best to birth, + And fashion such tales for the telling, that Earth shall be holpen at + least, + If the Gods think scorn of its fairness, as they sit at the changeless + feast.' + + "Then somewhat smiled Allfather; and he spake: 'So let it be! + The doom thereof abideth; the doom of me and thee. + Yet long shall the time pass over ere thy waking-day be born: + Fare forth, and forget and be weary 'neath the Sting of the Sleepful + Thorn!' + + "So I came to the head of Hindfell and the ruddy shields and white, + And the wall of the wildfire wavering around the isle of night; + And there the Sleep-thorn pierced me, and the slumber on me fell, + And the night of nameless sorrows that hath no tale to tell. + Now I am she that loveth; and the day is nigh at hand + When I, who have ridden the sea-realm and the regions of the land, + And dwelt in the measureless mountains and the forge of stormy days, + Shall dwell in the house of my fathers and the land of the people's + praise; + And there shall hand meet hand, and heart by heart shall beat, + And the lying-down shall be joyous, and the morn's uprising sweet. + Lo now, I look on thine heart and behold of thine inmost will, + That thou of the days wouldst hearken that our portion shall fulfill; + But O, be wise of man-folk, and the hope of thine heart refrain! + As oft in the battle's beginning ye vex the steed with the rein, + Lest at last in its latter ending, when the sword hath hushed the horn, + His limbs should be weary and fail, and his might be over-worn. + O be wise, lest thy love constrain me, and my vision wax o'er-clear, + And thou ask of the thing that thou shouldst not, and the thing that + thou wouldst not hear. + + "Know thou, most mighty of men, that the Norns shall order all, + And yet without thine helping shall no whit of their will befall; + Be wise! 'tis a marvel of words, and a mock for the fool and the blind; + But I saw it writ in the heavens, and its fashioning there did I find: + And the night of the Norns and their slumber, and the tide when the world + runs back, + And the way of the sun is tangled, it is wrought of the dastard's lack. + But the day when the fair earth blossoms, and the sun is bright above, + Of the daring deeds is it fashioned and the eager hearts of love. + + "Be wise, and cherish thine hope in the freshness of the days, + And scatter its seed from thine hand in the field of the people's praise; + Then fair shall it fall in the furrow, and some the earth shall speed, + And the sons of men shall marvel at the blossom of the deed: + But some the earth shall speed not; nay rather, the wind of the heaven + Shall waft it away from thy longing--and a gift to the Gods hast thou + given, + And a tree for the roof and the wall in the house of the hope that + shall be, + Though it seemeth our very sorrow, and the grief of thee and me. + + "Strive not with the fools of man-folk: for belike thou shalt overcome; + And what then is the gain of thine hunting when thou bearest the quarry + home? + Or else shall the fool overcome thee, and what deed thereof shall grow? + Nay, strive with the wise man rather, and increase thy woe and his woe; + Yet thereof a gain hast thou gotten; and the half of thine heart hast + thou won + If thou mayst prevail against him, and his deeds are the deeds thou hast + done: + Yea, and if thou fall before him, in him shalt thou live again, + And thy deeds in his hand shall blossom, and his heart of thine heart + shall be fain. + + "When thou hearest the fool rejoicing, and he saith, 'It is over and past, + And the wrong was better than right, and hate turns into love at the last, + And we strove for nothing at all, and the Gods are fallen asleep; + For so good is the world a growing that the evil good shall reap:' + Then loosen thy sword in the scabbard and settle the helm on thine head, + For men betrayed are mighty, and great are the wrongfully dead. + + "Wilt thou do the deed and repent it? thou hadst better never been born: + Wilt thou do the deed and exalt it? then thy fame shall be outworn: + Thou shalt do the deed and abide it, and sit on thy throne on high, + And look on to-day and to-morrow as those that never die. + + "Love thou the Gods--and withstand them, lest thy fame should fail in + the end, + And thou be but their thrall and their bondsman, who wert born for their + very friend: + For few things from the Gods are hidden, and the hearts of men they know, + And how that none rejoiceth to quail and crouch alow. + + "I have spoken the words, belovèd, to thy matchless glory and worth; + But thy heart to my heart hath been speaking, though my tongue hath set + it forth: + For I am she that loveth, and I know what thou wouldst teach + From the heart of thine unlearned wisdom, and I needs must speak thy + speech." + + Then words were weary and silent, but oft and o'er again + They craved and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain. + + Then spake the Son of Sigmund: "Fairest, and most of worth, + Hast thou seen the ways of man-folk and the regions of the earth? + Then speak yet more of wisdom; for most meet meseems it is + That my soul to thy soul be shapen, and that I should know thy bliss." + + So she took his right hand meekly, nor any word would say, + Not e'en of love or praising, his longing to delay; + And they sat on the side of Hindfell, and their fain eyes looked and + loved, + As she told of the hidden matters whereby the world is moved: + And she told of the framing of all things, and the houses of the heaven; + And she told of the star-worlds' courses, and how the winds be driven; + And she told of the Norns and their names, and the fate that abideth + the earth; + And she told of the ways of King-folk in their anger and their mirth; + And she spake of the love of women, and told of the flame that burns, + And the fall of mighty houses, and the friend that falters and turns, + And the lurking blinded vengeance, and the wrong that amendeth wrong, + And the hand that repenteth its stroke, and the grief that endureth for + long; + And how man shall bear and forbear, and be master of all that is; + And how man shall measure it all, the wrath, and the grief, and the bliss. + + "I saw the body of Wisdom, and of shifting guise was she wrought, + And I stretched out my hands to hold her, and a mote of the dust they + caught; + And I prayed her to come for my teaching, and she came in the midnight + dream-- + And I woke and might not remember, nor betwixt her tangle deem: + She spake, and how might I hearken; I heard, and how might I know; + I knew, and how might I fashion, or her hidden glory show? + All things I have told thee of Wisdom are but fleeting images + Of her hosts that abide in the Heavens, and her light that Allfather sees: + Yet wise is the sower that sows, and wise is the reaper that reaps, + And wise is the smith in his smiting, and wise is the warder that keeps: + And wise shalt thou be to deliver, and I shall be wise to desire; + --And lo, the tale that is told, and the sword and the wakening fire! + Lo now, I am she that loveth, and hark how Greyfell neighs, + And Fafnir's Bed is gleaming, and green go the downward ways. + The road to the children of men and the deeds that thou shalt do + In the joy of thy life-days' morning, when thine hope is fashioned anew. + Come now, O Bane of the Serpent, for now is the high-noon come, + And the sun hangeth over Hindfell and looks on the earth-folk's home; + But the soul is so great within thee, and so glorious are thine eyes, + And me so love constraineth, and mine heart that was called the wise, + That we twain may see men's dwellings and the house where we shall dwell, + And the place of our life's beginning, where the tale shall be to tell." + + So they climb the burg of Hindfell, and hand in hand they fare, + Till all about and above them is nought but the sunlit air, + And there close they cling together rejoicing in their mirth; + For far away beneath them lie the kingdoms of the earth, + And the garths of men-folk's dwellings and the streams that water them, + And the rich and plenteous acres, and the silver ocean's hem, + And the woodland wastes and the mountains, and all that holdeth all; + The house and the ship and the island, the loom and the mine and the + stall, + The beds of bane and healing, the crafts that slay and save, + The temple of God and the Doom-ring, the cradle and the grave. + + Then spake the Victory-Wafter: "O King of the Earthly Age, + As a God thou beholdest the treasure and the joy of thine heritage, + And where on the wings of his hope is the spirit of Sigurd borne? + Yet I bid thee hover awhile as a lark alow on the corn; + Yet I bid thee look on the land 'twixt the wood and the silver sea + In the bight of the swirling river, and the house that cherished me! + There dwelleth mine earthly sister and the king that she hath wed; + There morn by morn aforetime I woke on the golden bed; + There eve by eve I tarried mid the speech and the lays of kings; + There noon by noon I wandered and plucked the blossoming things; + The little land of Lymdale by the swirling river's side, + Where Brynhild once was I called in the days ere my father died; + The little land of Lymdale 'twixt the woodland and the sea, + Where on thee mine eyes shall brighten and thine eyes shall beam on me." + + "I shall seek thee there," said Sigurd, "when the day-spring is begun, + Ere we wend the world together in the season of the sun." + + "I shall bide thee there," said Brynhild, "till the fullness of the days, + And the time for the glory appointed, and the springing-tide of praise." + + From his hand then draweth Sigurd Andvari's ancient Gold; + There is nought but the sky above them as the ring together they hold, + The shapen ancient token, that hath no change nor end, + No change, and no beginning, no flaw for God to mend: + Then Sigurd cries: "O Brynhild, now hearken while I swear, + That the sun shall die in the heavens and the day no more be fair, + If I seek not love in Lymdale and the house that fostered thee, + And the land where thou awakedst 'twixt the woodland and the sea!" + + And she cried: "O Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I swear + That the day shall die for ever and the sun to blackness wear, + Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie 'twixt wood and sea + In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered me!" + + Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again, + They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain. + + So the day grew old about them and the joy of their desire, + And eve and the sunset came, and faint grew the sunset fire, + And the shadowless death of the day was sweet in the golden tide; + But the stars shone forth on the world, and the twilight changed and + died; + And sure if the first of man-folk had been born to that starry night, + And had heard no tale of the sunrise, he had never longed for the light: + But Earth longed amidst her slumber, as 'neath the night she lay, + And fresh and all abundant abode the deeds of Day. + + + THE END. + + + + + PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER. + + + + + _Sold by all the principal booksellers on the Continent_. + +[Illustration] + + January 1886. + + TAUCHNITZ EDITION. + + Each volume 1 Mark 60 Pf. or 2 Francs. + +_This Collection of British Authors, Tautchnitz Edition, will contain +the new works of the most admired English and American Writers, +immediately on their appearance, with copyright for continental +circulation._ + + + + + Contents: + + Collection of British Authors, vol. 1-2377 _Page_ 2-13. + + Collection of German Authors, vol. 1-47 " 14. + + Series for the Young, vol. 1-30 " 15. + + Manuals of Conversation " 15. + + Dictionaries " 16. + + + Latest Volumes: + + The Heir Presumptive. By _Florence Marryat_, 2 vols. + + Othmar. By _Ouida_, 3 vols. + + The Luck of the Darrells. By _James Payn_, 2 vols. + + A Girton Girl. By Mrs. _Annie Edwardes_, 2 vols. + + Murder or Manslaughter? By _Helen Mathers_, 1 v. + + Andromeda. By _George Fleming_, 2 vols. + + Maruja. By _Bret Harte_, 1 vol. + + A Second Life. By Mrs. _Alexander_, 3 vols. + + Colonel Enderby's Wife. By _Lucas Malet_, 2 vols. + + A Family Affair. By _Hugh Conway_, 2 vols. + + + + + Collection of British Authors. + + + Rev. W. Adams: + Sacred Allegories 1 v. + + Miss Aguilar: + Home Influence 2 v. + The Mother's Recompense 2 v. + + Hamilton Aïdé: + Rita 1 v. + Carr of Carrlyon 2 v. + The Marstons 2 v. + In that State of Life 1 v. + Morals and Mysteries 1 v. + Penruddocke 2 v. + "A nine Days' Wonder" 1 v. + Poet and Peer 2 v. + Introduced to Society 1 v. + + W. Harrison Ainsworth: + Windsor Castle 1 v. + Saint James's 1 v. + Jack Sheppard (w. portrait) 1 v. + The Lancashire Witches 2 v. + The Star-Chamber 2 v. + The Flitch of Bacon 1 v. + The Spendthrift 1 v. + Mervyn Clitheroe 2 v. + Ovingdean Grange 1 v. + The Constable of the Tower 1 v. + The Lord Mayor of London 2 v. + Cardinal Pole 2 v. + John Law 2 v. + The Spanish Match 2 v. + The Constable de Bourbon 2 v. + Old Court 2 v. + Myddleton Pomfret 2 v. + The South-Sea Bubble 2 v. + Hilary St. Ives 2 v. + Talbot Harland 1 v. + Tower Hill 1 v. + Boscobel; or, the Royal Oak 2 v. + The Good Old Times 2 v. + Merry England 2 v. + The Goldsmith's Wife 2 v. + Preston Fight 2 v. + Chetwynd Calverley 2 v. + The Leaguer of Lathom 2 v. + The Fall of Somerset 2 v. + Beatrice Tyldesley 2 v. + Beau Nash 2 v. + Stanley Brereton 2 v. + + L. M. Alcott: + Little Women 2 v. + Little Men 1 v. + An Old-Fashioned Girl 1 v. + + Mrs. Alexander: + A Second Life 3 v. + + Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse (with Portrait) 2 v. + + "All for Greed," Author of-- + All for Greed 1 v. + Love the Avenger 2 v. + + Thomas Bailey Aldrich: + Marjorie Daw and other Tales 1 v. + The Stillwater Tragedy 1 v. + + L. Alldridge: + By Love and Law 2 v. + The World she Awoke in 2 v. + + F. Anstey: + The Giant's Robe 2 v. + + Miss Austen: + Sense and Sensibility 1 v. + Mansfield Park 1 v. + Pride and Prejudice 1 v. + Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion 1 v. + Emma 1 v. + + Lady Barker: + Station Life in New Zealand 1 v. + Station Amusements in New Zealand 1 v. + A Year's Housekeeping in South Africa 1 v. + Letters to Guy & A Distant Shore--Rodrigues 1 v. + + Rev. R. H. Baynes: + Lyra Anglicana, Hymns & Sacred Songs 1 v. + + Lord Beaconsfield: + _vide_ Disraeli. + + Averil Beaumont: + Thornicroft's Model 2 v. + + Currer Bell (Charlotte Brontë): + Jane Eyre 2 v. + Shirley 2 v. + Villette 2 v. + The Professor 1 v. + + Ellis & Acton Bell: + Wuthering Heights, and Agnes Grey 2 v. + + Frank Lee Benedict: + St. Simon's Niece 2 v. + + Walter Besant: + The Revolt of Man 1 v. + The Golden Butterfly by Besant and Rice 2 v. + Ready-Money Mortiboy by Besant and Rice 2 v. + Dorothy Forster 2 v. + + W. Black: + A Daughter of Heth 2 v. + In Silk Attire 2 v. + The strange Adventures of a Phaeton 2 v. + A Princess of Thule 2 v. + Kilmeny 1 v. + The Maid of Killeena 1 v. + Three Feathers 2 v. + Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart 1 v. + Madcap Violet 2 v. + Green Pastures and Piccadilly 2 v. + Macleod of Dare 2 v. + White Wings 2 v. + Sunrise 2 v. + The Beautiful Wretch 1 v. + Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., etc. 1 v. + Shandon Bells (w. portrait) 2 v. + Judith Shakespeare 2 v. + The Wise Women of Inverness 1 v. + + R. D. Blackmore: + Alice Lorraine 2 v. + Mary Anerley 3 v. + Christowell 2 v. + Tommy Upmore 2 v. + + "Blackwood." + Tales from-- 1 v. + _Second Series_ 1 v. + + Isa Blagden: + The Woman I loved, and the Woman who loved me; A Tuscan Wedding 1 v. + + Lady Blessington: + Meredith 1 v. + Strathern 2 v. + Memoirs of a Femme de Chambre 1 v. + Marmaduke Herbert 2 v. + Country Quarters (w. portrait) 2 v. + + Baroness Bloomfield: + Reminiscences of Court and Diplomatic Life (w. Portrait of Her Majesty + the Queen) 2 v. + + Miss Braddon: + Lady Audley's Secret 2 v. + Aurora Floyd 2 v. + Eleanor's Victory 2 v. + John Marchmont's Legacy 2 v. + Henry Dunbar 2 v. + The Doctor's Wife 2 v. + Only a Clod 2 v. + Sir Jasper's Tenant 2 v. + The Lady's Mile 2 v. + Rupert Godwin 2 v. + Dead-Sea Fruit 2 v. + Run to Earth 2 v. + Fenton's Quest 2 v. + The Lovels of Arden 2 v. + Strangers and Pilgrims 2 v. + Lucius Davoren 3 v. + Taken at the Flood 3 v. + Lost for Love 2 v. + A Strange World 2 v. + Hostages to Fortune 2 v. + Dead Men's Shoes 2 v. + Joshua Haggard's Daughter 2 v. + Weavers and Weft 1 v. + In Great Waters 1 v. + An Open Verdict 3 v. + Vixen 3 v. + The Cloven Foot 3 v. + The Story of Barbara 2 v. + Just as I am 2 v. + Asphodel 3 v. + Mount Royal 2 v. + The Golden Calf 2 v. + Flower and Weed 1 v. + Phantom Fortune 3 v. + Under the Red Flag 1 v. + Ishmael 3 v. + Wyllard's Weird 3 v. + + Lady Brassey: + A Voyage in the "Sunbeam" 2 v. + Sunshine and Storm in the East 2 v. + In the Trades, the Tropics, and the Roaring Forties 2 v. + + The Bread-Winners 1 v. + + Shirley Brooks: + The Silver Cord 3 v. + Sooner or Later 3 v. + + Miss Rhoda Broughton: + Cometh up as a Flower 1 v. + Not wisely, but too well 2 v. + Red as a Rose is She 2 v. + Tales for Christmas Eve 1 v. + Nancy 2 v. Joan 2 v. + Second Thoughts 2 v. + Belinda 2 v. + + John Brown: + Rab and his Friends, and other Tales 1 v. + + Eliz. Barrett Browning: + A Selection from her Poetry (w. portrait) 1 v. + Aurora Leigh 1 v. + + Robert Browning: + Poetical Works (with portrait) 4 v. + + Bulwer (Lord Lytton): + Pelham (with portrait) 1 v. + Eugene Aram 1 v. + Paul Clifford 1 v. + Zanoni 1 v. + The Last Days of Pompeii 1 v. + The Disowned 1 v. + Ernest Maltravers 1 v. + Alice 1 v. + Eva, and the Pilgrims of the Rhine 1 v. + Devereux 1 v. + Godolphin, and Falkland 1 v. + Rienzi 1 v. + Night and Morning 1 v. + The Last of the Barons 2 v. + Athens 2 v. + The Poems and Ballads of Schiller 1 v. + Lucretia 2 v. + Harold 2 v. + King Arthur 2 v. + The new Timon; St Stephen's 1 v. + The Caxtons 2 v. + My Novel 4 v. + What will he do with it? 4 v. + The Dramatic Works 2 v. + A Strange Story 2 v. + Caxtoniana 2 v. + The Lost Tales of Miletus 1 v. + Miscellaneous Prose Works 4 v. + The Odes and Epodes of Horace 2 v. + Kenelm Chillingly 4 v. + The Coming Race 1 v. + The Parisians 4 v. + Pausanias 1 v. + + Henry Lytton Bulwer (Lord Dalling): + Historical Characters 2 v. + The Life of Henry John Temple, + Viscount Palmerston 3 v. + + John Bunyan: + The Pilgrim's Progress 1 v. + + Buried Alone 1 v. + + F. H. Burnett: + Through one Administration 2 v. + + Miss Burney: Evelina 1 v. + + Robert Burns: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 1 v. + + Richard F. Burton: + Mecca and Medina 3 v. + + Mrs. B. H. Buxton: + "Jennie of 'the Prince's'" 2 v. + Won! 2 v. + Great Grenfell Gardens 2 v. + Nell--on and off the Stage 2 v. + From the Wings 2 v. + + Lord Byron: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 5 v. + + Cameron: + Across Africa 2 v. + + Thomas Carlyle: + The French Revolution 3 v. + Frederick the Great 13 v. + Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches 4 v. + The Life of Friedrich Schiller 1 v. + + Alaric Carr: + Treherne's Temptation 2 v. + + Maria Louisa Charlesworth: + Oliver of the Mill 1 v. + + "Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family," Author of-- + Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family 2 v. + The Draytons and the Davenants 2 v. + On Both Sides of the Sea 2 v. + Winifred Bertram 1 v. + Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevylyan 1 v. + The Victory of the Vanquished 1 v. + The Cottage by the Cathedral 1 v. + Against the Stream 2 v. + The Bertram Family 2 v. + Conquering and to Conquer 1 v. + Lapsed, but not Lost 1 v. + + Frances Power Cobbe: + Re-Echoes 1 v. + + Coleridge: + The Poems 1 v. + + C. R. Coleridge: + An English Squire 2 v. + + Chas. A. Collins: + A Cruise upon Wheels 2 v. + + Mortimer Collins: + Sweet and Twenty 2 v. + A Fight with Fortune 2 v. + + Wilkie Collins: + After Dark 1 v. + Hide and Seek 2 v. + A Plot in Private Life 1 v. + The Woman in White 2 v. + Basil 1 v. + No Name 3 v. + The Dead Secret 2 v. + Antonina 2 v. + Armadale 3 v. + The Moonstone 2 v. + Man and Wife 3 v. + Poor Miss Finch 2 v. + Miss or Mrs.? 1 v. + The New Magdalen 2 v. + The Frozen Deep 1 v. + The Law and the Lady 2 v. + The Two Destinies 1 v. + My Lady's Money & Percy and the Prophet 1 v. + The Haunted Hotel 1 v. + Fallen Leaves 2 v. + Jezebel's Daughter 2 v. + The Black Robe 2 v. + Heart and Science 2 v. + "I say no" 2 v. + + "Cometh up as a Flower," Author of-- + _vide_ Broughton. + + Hugh Conway: + Called Back 1 v. + Bound Together 2 v. + Dark Days 1 v. + A Family Affair 2 v. + + Fenimore Cooper: + The Spy (w. portrait) 1 v. + The two Admirals 1 v. + The Jack O'Lantern 1 v. + + George L. Craik: + Manual of English Literature & Language 2 v. + + Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock): + John Halifax, Gentleman 2 v. + The Head of the Family 2 v. + A Life for a Life 2 v. + A Woman's Thoughts about Women 1 v. + Agatha's Husband 1 v. + Romantic Tales 1 v. + Domestic Stories 1 v. + Mistress and Maid 1 v. + The Ogilvies 1 v. + Lord Erlistoun 1 v. + Christian's Mistake 1 v. + Bread upon the Waters 1 v. + A Noble Life 1 v. + Olive 2 v. + Two Marriages 1 v. + Studies from Life 1 v. + Poems 1 v. + The Woman's Kingdom 2 v. + The Unkind Word 2 v. + A Brave Lady 2 v. + Hannah 2 v. + Fair France 1 v. + My Mother and I 1 v. + The Little Lame Prince 1 v. + Sermons out of Church 1 v. + The Laurel Bush 1 v. + A Legacy 2 v. + Young Mrs. Jardine 2 v. + His Little Mother 1 v. + Plain Speaking 1 v. + Miss Tommy 1 v. + + Miss Georgiana Craik: + Lost and Won 1 v. + Faith Unwin's Ordeal 1 v. + Leslie Tyrrell 1 v. + Winifred's Wooing, and other Tales 1 v. + Mildred 1 v. + Esther Hill's Secret 2 v. + Hero Trevelyan 1 v. + Without Kith or Kin 2 v. + Only a Butterfly 1 v. + Sylvia's Choice; + Theresa 2 v. + Anne Warwick 1 v. + Two Tales of Married Life 2 v. (Vol. I. Hard to Bear, Vol. II. _vide_ + M. C. Stirling.) + Dorcas 2 v. + Two Women 2 v. + + Mrs. A. Craven: + Eliane. Translated by Lady Fullerton 2 v. + + F. Marion Crawford: + Mr. Isaacs 1 v. + Doctor Claudius 1 v. + To Leeward 1 v. + A Roman Singer 1 v. + An American Politician 1 v. + Zoroaster 1 v. + + J. W. Cross: + _vide_ George Eliot's Life. + + Miss Cummins: + The Lamplighter 1 v. + Mabel Vaughan 1 v. + El Fureidîs 1 v. + Haunted Hearts 1 v. + + "Daily News," + War Correspondence 1877 by A. Forbes, etc. 3 v. + + De-Foe: + Robinson Crusoe 1 v. + + Democracy. + An American Novel 1 v. + + Charles Dickens: + The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (w. portrait) 2 v. + American Notes 1 v. + Oliver Twist 1 v. + The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby 2 v. + Sketches 1 v. + The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit 2 v. + A Christmas Carol; the Chimes; the Cricket on the Hearth 1 v. + Master Humphrey's Clock (Old Curiosity Shop, Barnaby Rudge, and other + Tales) 3 v. + Pictures from Italy 1 v. + The Battle of Life; + the Haunted Man 1 v. + Dombey and Son 3 v. + David Copperfield 3 v. + Bleak House 4 v. + A Child's History of England (2 v. 8° M. 2,70.) + Hard Times 1 v. + Little Dorrit 4 v. + A Tale of two Cities 2 v. + Hunted Down; + The Uncommercial Traveller 1 v. + Great Expectations 2 v. + Christmas Stories 1 v. + Our Mutual Friend 4 v. + Somebody's Luggage; + Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings; Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy 1 v. + Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions; Mugby Junction 1 v. + No Thoroughfare 1 v. + The Mystery of Edwin Drood 2 v. + The Mudfog Papers 1 v. + _Vide_ Household Words, Novels and Tales, and John Forster. + + Charles Dickens: + The Letters of Charles Dickens edited by his Sister-in-law and his + eldest Daughter 4 v. + + B. Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield): + Coningsby 1 v. + Sybil 1 v. + Contarini Fleming (w. portrait) 1 v. + Alroy 1 v. Tancred 2 v. + Venetia 2 v. + Vivian Grey 2 v. + Henrietta Temple 1 v. + Lothair 2 v. + Endymion 2 v. + + W. Hepworth Dixon: + Personal History of Lord Bacon 1 v. + The Holy Land 2 v. + New America 2 v. + Spiritual Wives 2 v. + Her Majesty's Tower 4 v. + Free Russia 2 v. + History of two Queens 6 v. + White Conquest 2 v. + Diana, Lady Lyle 2 v. + + The Earl and the Doctor: + South Sea Bubbles 1 v. + + Mrs. Edwardes: + Archie Lovell 2 v. + Steven Lawrence, Yeoman 2 v. + Ought we to Visit her? 2 v. + A Vagabond Heroine 1 v. + Leah: A Woman of Fashion 2 v. + A Blue-Stocking 1 v. + Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 1 v. + Vivian the Beauty 1 v. + A Ballroom Repentance 2 v. + A Girton Girl 2 v. + + Miss Amelia B. Edwards: + Barbara's History 2 v. + Miss Carew 2 v. + Hand and Glove 1 v. + Half a Million of Money 2 v. + Debenham's Vow 2 v. + In the Days of my Youth 2 v. + Untrodden Peaks and unfrequented Valleys 1 v. + Monsieur Maurice 1 v. + Black Forest 1 v. + A Poetry-Book of Elder Poets 1 v. + A Thousand Miles up the Nile 2 v. + A Poetry-Book of Modern Poets 1 v. + Lord Brackenbury 2 v. + + Miss M. Betham-Edwards: + The Sylvestres 1 v. + Felicia 2 v. + Brother Gabriel 2 v. + Forestalled 1 v. + Exchange no Robbery 1 v. + Disarmed 1 v. + Doctor Jacob 1 v. + Pearla 1 v. + + Barbara Elbon: + Bethesda 2 v. + + George Eliot: + Scenes of Clerical Life 2 v. + Adam Bede 2 v. + The Mill on the Floss 2 v. + Silas Marner 1 v. + Romola 2 v. + Felix Holt 2 v. + Daniel Deronda 4 v. + The Lifted Veil and Brother Jacob 1 v. + Impressions of Theophrastus Such 1 v. + Essays 1 v. + + George Eliot's Life as related in her Letters and Journals. Arranged + and ed. by her Husband J. W. Cross 4 v. + + Mrs. Elliot: + Diary of an Idle Woman in Italy 2 v. + Old Court Life in France 2 v. + The Italians 2 v. + The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily 1 v. + Pictures of Old Rome 1 v. + Diary of an Idle Woman in Spain 2 v. + The Red Cardinal 1 v. + + Essays and Reviews 1 v. + + Estelle Russell 2 v. + + Expiated 2 v. + + G. M. Fenn: + The Parson o' Dumford 2 v. + The Clerk of Portwick 2 v. + + Fielding: + The History of Tom Jones 2 v. + + Five Centuries of the English Language and Literature 1 v. + + George Fleming: + Kismet 1 v. + Andromeda 2 v. + + A. Forbes: + My Experiences of the War between France and Germany 2 v. + Soldiering and Scribbling 1 v. + See also "Daily News," War Correspondence. + + Mrs. Forrester: + Viva 2 v. + Rhona 2 v. + Roy and Viola 2 v. + My Lord and My Lady 2 v. + I have Lived and Loved 2 v. + June 2 v. + Omnia Vanitas 1 v. + Although he was a Lord, etc. 1 v. + Corisande, etc. 1 v. + + John Forster: + Life of Charles Dickens 6 v. + Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith 2 v. + + Jessie Fothergill: + The First Violin 2 v. + Probation 2 v. + Made or Marred and "One of Three" 1 v. + Kith and Kin 2 v. + Peril 2 v. + + "Found Dead," Author of-- + _vide_ James Payn. + + Caroline Fox: + Memories of Old Friends from her Journals, edited by Horace N. Pym 2 v. + + Frank Fairlegh 2 v. + + E. A. Freeman: + The Growth of the English Constitution 1 v. + Select Historical Essays 1 v. + + Lady G. Fullerton: + Ellen Middleton 1 v. + Grantley Manor 2 v. + Lady-Bird 2 v. + Too Strange not to be True 2 v. + Constance Sherwood 2 v. + A stormy Life 2 v. + Mrs. Gerald's Niece 2 v. + The Notary's Daughter 1 v. + The Lilies of the Valley 1 v. + The Countess de Bonneval 1 v. + Rose Leblanc 1 v. + Seven Stories 1 v. + The Life of Luisa de Carvajal 1 v. + A Will and a Way 2 v. + Eliane 2 v. (_vide_ Craven). + Laurentia 1 v. + + Mrs. Gaskell: + Mary Barton 1 v. + Ruth 2 v. + North and South 1 v. + Lizzie Leigh 1 v. + The Life of Charlotte Brontë 2 v. + Lois the Witch 1 v. + Sylvia's Lovers 2 v. + A Dark Night's Work 1 v. + Wives and Daughters 3 v. + Cranford 1 v. + Cousin Phillis, and other Tales 1 v. + + Geraldine Hawthorne _vide_ "Miss Molly." + + Agnes Giberne: + The Curate's Home 1 v. + + Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone: + Rome and the newest Fashions in Religion 1 v. + Bulgarian Horrors: Russia in Turkistan 1 v. + The Hellenic Factor in the Eastern Problem 1 v. + + Goldsmith: + Select Works: The Vicar of Wakefield; Poems; Dramas (w. portrait) 1 v. + + Major-Gen. C. G. Gordon's Journals, at Kartoum. Introduction and Notes + by A. E. Hake (with eighteen Illustrations) 2 v. + + Mrs. Gore: + Castles in the Air 1 v. + The Dean's Daughter 2 v. + Progress and Prejudice 2 v. + Mammon 2 v. + A Life's Lessons 2 v. + The two Aristocracies 2 v. + Heckington 2 v. + + Miss Grant: + Victor Lescar 2 v. + The Sun-Maid 2 v. + My Heart's in the Highlands 2 v. + Artiste 2 v. + Prince Hugo 2 v. + Cara Roma 2 v. + + W. A. Baillie Grohman: + Tyrol and the Tyrolese 1 v. + + "Guy Livingstone," Author of-- + Guy Livingstone 1 v. + Sword and Gown 1 v. + Barren Honour 1 v. + Border and Bastille 1 v. + Maurice Dering 1 v. + Sans Merci 2 v. + Breaking a Butterfly 2 v. + Anteros 2 v. + Hagarene 2 v. + + J. Habberton: + Helen's Babies & Other People's Children 1 v. + The Bowsham Puzzle 1 v. + One Tramp; Mrs. Mayburn's Twins 1 v. + + Hake: + _v_. Gordon's Journals. + + Mrs. S. C. Hall: + Can Wrong be Right? 1 v. + Marian 2 v. + + Thomas Hardy: + The Hand of Ethelberta 2 v. + Far from the Madding Crowd 2 v. + The Return of the Native 2 v. + The Trumpet-Major 2 v. + A Laodicean 2 v. + Two on a Tower 2 v. + A Pair of Blue Eyes 2 v. + + Agnes Harrison: + Martin's Vineyard 1 v. + + Bret Harte: + Prose and Poetry (Tales of the Argonauts; Spanish and American + Legends; Condensed Novels; Civic and Character Sketches; Poems) 2 v. + Idyls of the Foothills 1 v. + Gabriel Conroy 2 v. + Two Men of Sandy Bar 1 v. + Thankful Blossom 1 v. + The Story of a Mine 1 v. + Drift from Two Shores 1 v. + An Heiress of Red Dog 1 v. + The Twins of Table Mountain, etc. 1 v. + Jeff Briggs's Love Story, etc. 1 v. + Flip, etc. 1 v. + On the Frontier 1 v. + By Shore and Sedge 1 v. + Maruja 1 v. + + Sir H. Havelock, by the Rev. W. Brock, 1 v. + + N. Hawthorne: + The Scarlet Letter 1 v. + Transformation 2 v. + Passages from the English Note-Books 2 v. + + "Heir of Redclyffe," Author of-- + _vide_ Yonge. + + Sir Arthur Helps: + Friends in Council 2 v. + Ivan de Biron 2 v. + + Mrs. Hemans: + The Select Poetical Works 1 v. + + Mrs. Cashel Hoey: + A Golden Sorrow 2 v. + Out of Court 2 v. + + Oliver Wendell Holmes: + The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table 1 v. + The Professor at the Breakfast-Table 1 v. + The Poet at the Breakfast-Table 1 v. + + Household Words conducted by Ch. Dickens. 1851-56. 36 v. + Novels and Tales reprinted from Household Words by Ch. Dickens. + 1856-59. 11 v. + + Miss Howard: + One Summer 1 v. + Aunt Serena 1 v. + Guenn 2 v. + + W. D. Howells: + A Foregone Conclusion 1 v. + The Lady of the Aroostook 1 v. + A Modern Instance 2 v. + The Undiscovered Country 1 v. + Venetian Life (w. portr.) 1 v. + Italian Journeys 1 v. + A Chance Acquaintance 1 v. + Their Wedding Journey 1 v. + A Fearful Responsibility, etc. 1 v. + A Woman's Reason 2 v. + Dr. Breen's Practice 1 v. + + Thos. Hughes: + Tom Brown's School Days 1 v. + + Jean Ingelow: + Off the Skelligs 3 v. + Poems 2 v. + Fated to be Free 2 v. + Sarah de Berenger 2 v. + Don John 2 v. + + J. H. Ingram: + _vide_ E. A. Poe. + + Washington Irving: + Sketch Book (w. portrait) 1 v. + Life of Mahomet 1 v. + Successors of Mahomet 1 v. + Oliver Goldsmith 1 v. + Chronicles of Wolfert's Roost 1 v. + Life of George Washington 5 v. + + Helen Jackson: + Ramona 2 v. + + G. P. R. James: + Morley Ernstein (w. portrait) 1 v. + Forest Days 1 v. + The False Heir 1 v. + Arabella Stuart 1 v. + Rose d'Albret 1 v. + Arrah Neil 1 v. + Agincourt 1 v. + The Smuggler 1 v. + The Step-Mother 2 v. + Beauchamp 1 v. + Heidelberg 1 v. + The Gipsy 1 v. + The Castle of Ehrenstein 1 v. + Darnley 1 v. + Russell 2 v. + The Convict 2 v. + Sir Theodore Broughton 2 v. + + Henry James: + The American 2 v. + The Europeans 1 v. + Daisy Miller 1 v. + Roderick Hudson 2 v. + The Madonna of the Future, etc. 1 v. + Eugene Pickering, etc. 1 v. + Confidence 1 v. + Washington Square 2 v. + The Portrait of a Lady 3 v. + Foreign Parts 1 v. + French Poets and Novelists 1 v. + The Siege of London, etc. 1 v. + Portraits of Places 1 v. + A Little Tour in France 1 v. + + J. Cordy Jeaffreson: + A Book about Doctors 2 v. + A Woman in Spite of herself 2 v. + The Real Lord Byron 3 v. + + Mrs. Jenkin: + "Who Breaks--Pays" 1 v. + Skirmishing 1 v. + Once and Again 2 v. + Two French Marriages 2 v. + Within an Ace 1 v. + Jupiter's Daughters 1 v. + + Edward Jenkins: + Ginx's Baby; Lord Bantam 2 v. + + "Jennie of 'the Prince's,'" Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Buxton. + + Douglas Jerrold: + The History of St. Giles and St. James 2 v. + Men of Character 2 v. + + "John Halifax," Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Craik. + + "Johnny Ludlow," Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Wood. + + Johnson: + The Lives of the English Poets 2 v. + + Emily Jolly: + Colonel Dacre 2 v. + + "Joshua Davidson," Author of-- + _vide_ E. Lynn Linton. + + Miss Kavanagh: + Nathalie 2 v. + Daisy Burns 2 v. + Grace Lee 2 v. + Rachel Gray 1 v. + Adèle 3 v. + A Summer and Winter in the Two Sicilies 2 v. + Seven Years 2 v. + French Women of Letters 1 v. + English Women of Letters 1 v. + Queen Mab 2 v. + Beatrice 2 v. + Sybil's Second Love 2 v. + Dora 2 v. + Silvia 2 v. + Bessie 2 v. + John Dorrien 3 v. + Two Lilies 2 v. + Forget-me-nots 2 v. + + Annie Keary: + Oldbury 2 v. + Castle Daly 2 v. + + Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling: + Three Sisters 1 v. + + Kempis: + _vide_ Thomas a Kempis. + + R. B. Kimball: + Saint Leger 1 v. + Romance of Student Life abroad 1 v. + Undercurrents 1 v. + Was he Successful? 1 v. + To-Day in New-York 1 v. + + A. W. Kinglake: + Eothen 1 v. + Invasion of the Crimea v. 1-10. + + Charles Kingsley: + Yeast 1 v. + Westward ho! 2 v. + Two Years ago 2 v. + Hypatia 2 v. + Alton Locke 1 v. + Hereward the Wake 2 v. + At Last 2 v. + + Charles Kingsley: + His Letters and Memories of his Life edited by his Wife 2 v. + + Henry Kingsley: + Ravenshoe 2 v. + Austin Elliot 1 v. + The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn 2 v. + The Hillyars and the Burtons 2 v. + Leighton Court 1 v. + Valentin 1 v. + Oakshott Castle 1 v. + Reginald Hetherege 2 v. + The Grange Garden 2 v. + + May Laffan: + Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor, etc. 1 v. + + Charles Lamb: + The Essays of Elia and Eliana 1 v. + + Mary Langdon: + Ida May 1 v. + + "Last of the Cavaliers," Author of-- + Last of the Cavaliers 2 v. + The Gain of a Loss 2 v. + + Leaves from the Journal of our Life in the Highlands from 1848 to 1861, + 1 v. + More Leaves from the Journal of a Life in the Highlands from 1862 to + 1882, 1 v. + + Holme Lee: + _vide_ Miss Parr. + + S. Le Fanu: + Uncle Silas 2 v. + Guy Deverell 2 v. + + Mark Lemon: + Wait for the End 2 v. + Loved at Last 2 v. + Falkner Lyle 2 v. + Leyton Hall 2 v. + Golden Fetters 2 v. + + Charles Lever: + The O'Donoghue 1 v. + The Knight of Gwynne 3 v. + Arthur O'Leary 2 v. + The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer 2 v. + Charles O'Malley 3 v. + Tom Burke of "Ours" 3 v. + Jack Hinton 2 v. + The Daltons 4 v. + The Dodd Family abroad 3 v. + The Martins of Cro' Martin 3 v. + The Fortunes of Glencore 2 v. + Roland Cashel 3 v. + Davenport Dunn 3 v. + Con Cregan 2 v. + One of Them 2 v. + Maurice Tiernay 2 v. + Sir Jasper Carew 2 v. + Barrington 2 v. + A Day's Ride: a Life's Romance 2 v. + Luttrell of Arran 2 v. + Tony Butler 2 v. + Sir Brook Fossbrooke 2 v. + The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly 2 v. + A Rent in a Cloud 1 v. + That Boy of Norcott's 1 v. + St. Patrick's Eve; Paul Gosslett's Confessions 1 v. + Lord Kilgobbin 2 v. + + G. H. Lewes: + Ranthorpe 1 v. + Physiology of Common Life 2 v. + On Actors and the Art of Acting 1 v. + + E. Lynn Linton: + Joshua Davidson 1 v. + Patricia Kemball 2 v. + The Atonement of Leam Dundas 2 v. + The World well Lost 2 v. + Under which Lord? 2 v. + With a Silken Thread etc. 1 v. + Todhunters' at Loanin' Head etc. 1 v. + "My Love!" 2 v. + The Girl of the Period, etc. 1 v. + Ione 2 v. + + Laurence W. M. Lockhart: + Mine is Thine 2 v. + + Longfellow: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 3 v. + The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri 3 v. + The New-England Tragedies 1 v. + The Divine Tragedy 1 v. + Three Books of Song 1 v. + The Masque of Pandora 1 v. + + M. Lonsdale: + Sister Dora 1 v. + + A Lost Battle 2 v. + + Lutfullah: + Autobiography of Lutfullah, by Eastwick 1 v. + + Lord Lytton: + _vide_ Bulwer. + + Robert Lord Lytton (Owen Meredith): + Poems 2 v. + Fables in Song 2 v. + + Lord Macaulay: + History of England (w. portrait) 10 v. + Critical and Historical Essays 5 v. + Lays of Ancient Rome 1 v. + Speeches 2 v. + Biographical Essays 1 v. + William Pitt, Atterbury 1 v. + (See also Trevelyan). + + Justin McCarthy: + Waterdale Neighbours 2 v. + Lady Disdain 2 v. + Miss Misanthrope 2 v. + A History of our own Times 5 v. + Donna Quixote 2 v. + A short History of our own Times 2 v. + A History of the Four Georges vol. 1. + + George MacDonald: + Alec Forbes of Howglen 2 v. + Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood 2 v. + David Elginbrod 2 v. + The Vicar's Daughter 2 v. + Malcolm 2 v. + St. George and St. Michael 2 v. + The Marquis of Lossie 2 v. + Sir Gibbie 2 v. + Mary Marston 2 v. + The Gifts of the Child Christ, etc. 1 v. + The Princess and Curdie 1 v. + + Mrs. Mackarness: + Sunbeam Stories 1 v. + A Peerless Wife 2 v. + A Mingled Yarn 2 v. + + Charles McKnight: + Old Fort Duquesne 2 v. + + Norman Macleod: + The old Lieutenant and his Son 1 v. + + Mrs. Macquoid: + Patty 2 v. + Miriam's Marriage 2 v. + Pictures across the Channel 2 v. + Too Soon 1 v. + My Story 2 v. + Diane 2 v. + Beside the River 2 v. + A Faithful Lover 2 v. + + "Mademoiselle Mori," Author of-- + Mademoiselle Mori 2 v. + Denise 1 v. + Madame Fontenoy 1 v. + On the Edge of the Storm 1 v. + The Atelier du Lys 2 v. + In the Olden Time 2 v. + + Lord Mahon: + _vide_ Stanhope. + + E. S. Maine: + Scarscliff Rocks 2 v. + + Lucas Malet: + Colonel Enderby's Wife 2 v. + + Lord Malmesbury: + Memoirs of an Ex-Minister 3 v. + + R. Blachford Mansfield: + The Log of the Water Lily 1 v. + + Mark Twain: + The Adventures of Tom Sawyer 1 v. + The Innocents Abroad; or, the New Pilgrims' Progress 2 v. + A Tramp Abroad 2 v. + "Roughing it" 1 v. + The Innocents at Home 1 v. + The Prince and the Pauper 2 v. + The Stolen White Elephant, etc. 1 v. + Life on the Mississippi 2 v. + Sketches 1 v. + Huckleberry Finn 2 v. + + Marmorne 1 v. + + Capt. Marryat: + Jacob Faithful (w. portrait) 1 v. + Percival Keene 1 v. + Peter Simple 1 v. + Japhet 1 v. + Monsieur Violet 1 v. + The Settlers 1 v. + The Mission 1 v. + The Privateer's-Man 1 v. + The Children of the New-Forest 1 v. + Valerie 1 v. + Mr. Midshipman Easy 1 v. + The King's Own 1 v. + + Florence Marryat: + Love's Conflict 2 v. + For Ever and Ever 2 v. + The Confessions of Gerald Estcourt 2 v. + Nelly Brooke 2 v. + Véronique 2 v. + Petronel 2 v. + Her Lord and Master 2 v. + The Prey of the Gods 1 v. + Life of Captain Marryat 1 v. + Mad Dumaresq 2 v. + No Intentions 2 v. + Fighting the Air 2 v. + A Star and a Heart 1 v. + The Poison of Asps 1 v. + A Lucky Disappointment 1 v. + My own Child 2 v. + Her Father's Name 2 v. + A Harvest of Wild Oats 2 v. + A Little Stepson 1 v. + Written in Fire 2 v. + Her World against a Lie 2 v. + A Broken Blossom 2 v. + The Root of all Evil 2 v. + The Fair-haired Alda 2 v. + With Cupid's Eyes 2 v. + My Sister the Actress 2 v. + Phyllida 2 v. + How They Loved Him 2 v. + Facing the Footlights (w. portrait) 2 v. + A Moment of Madness 1 v. + The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, etc. 1 v. + Peeress and Player 2 v. + Under the Lilies and Roses 2 v. + The Heart of Jane Warner 2 v. + The Heir Presumptive 2 v. + + Mrs. Marsh: + Ravenscliffe 2 v. + Emilia Wyndham 2 v. + Castle Avon 2 v. Aubrey 2 v. + The Heiress of Haughton 2 v. + Evelyn Marston 2 v. + The Rose of Ashurst 2 v. + + Emma Marshall: + Mrs. Mainwaring's Journal 1 v. + Benvenuta 1 v. + Lady Alice 1 v. + Dayspring 1 v. + Life's Aftermath 1 v. + In the East Country 1 v. + + H. Mathers: + "Cherry Ripe!" 2 v. + "Land o' the Leal" 1 v. + My Lady Green Sleeves 2 v. + As he comes up the Stair, etc. 1 v. + Sam's Sweetheart 2 v. + Eyre's Acquittal 2 v. + Found Out 1 v. + Murder or Manslaughter? 1 v. + + "Mehalah," Author of-- + Mehalah 1 v. + John Herring 2 v. + + Whyte Melville: + Kate Coventry 1 v. + Holmby House 2 v. + Digby Grand 1 v. + Good for Nothing 2 v. + The Queen's Maries 2 v. + The Gladiators 2 v. + The Brookes of Bridlemere 2 v. + Cerise 2 v. + The Interpreter 2 v. + The White Rose 2 v. + M. or N. 1 v. + Contraband; or A Losing Hazard 1 v. + Sarchedon 2 v. + Uncle John 2 v. + Katerfelto 1 v. + Sister Louise 1 v. + Rosine 1 v. + Roy's Wife 2 v. + Black but Comely 2 v. + Riding Recollections 1 v. + + George Meredith: + The Ordeal of Feverel 2 v. + Beauchamp's Career 2 v. + The Tragic Comedians 1 v. + + Owen Meredith: + _vide_ Robert Lord Lytton. + + Milton: + Poetical Works 1 v. + + "Miss Molly," Author of-- + Geraldine Hawthorne 1 v. + + "Molly Bawn," Author of-- + Molly Bawn 2 v. + Mrs. Geoffrey 2 v. + Faith and Unfaith 2 v. + Portia 2 v. + Loÿs, Lord Berresford, etc. 1 v. + Her First Appearance, etc. 1 v. + Phyllis 2 v. + Rossmoyne 2 v. + Doris 2 v. + A Maiden all Forlorn, etc. 1 v. + A Passive Crime 1 v. + + Miss Florence Montgomery: + Misunderstood 1 v. + Thrown Together 2 v. + Thwarted 1 v. + Wild Mike 1 v. + Seaforth 2 v. + The Blue Veil 1 v. + + Moore: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 5 v. + + Lady Morgan's Memoirs 3 v. + + Henry Morley: + Of English Literature in the Reign of Victoria. With Facsimiles of + the Signatures of Authors in the Tauchnitz Edition [v. 2000]. + + E. C. Grenville: Murray: + The Member for Paris 2 v. + Young Brown 2 v. + The Boudoir Cabal 3 v. + French Pictures in English Chalk (1st Series) 2 v. + The Russians of To-day 1 v. + French Pictures in English Chalk (2nd Series) 2 v. + Strange Tales 1 v. + That Artful Vicar 2 v. + Six Months in the Ranks 1 v. + People I have met 1 v. + + "My little Lady," Author of-- + _vide_ E. Frances Poynter. + + New Testament [v. 1000]. + + Mrs. Newby: + Common Sense 2 v. + + Dr. J. H. Newman: + Callista 1 v. + + "Nina Balatka," Author of-- + _vide_ Anthony Trollope. + + "No Church," Author of-- + No Church 2 v. + Owen:--a Waif 2 v. + + Lady Augusta Noel: + From Generation to Generation 1 v. + + Hon. Mrs. Norton: + Stuart of Dunleath 2 v. + Lost and Saved 2 v. + Old Sir Douglas 2 v. + + Novels and Tales + _vide_ Household Words. + + Not Easily Jealous 2 v. + + L. Oliphant: + Altiora Peto 2 v. + + Mrs. Oliphant: + Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland of Sunnyside 1 v. + The Last of the Mortimers 2 v. + Agnes 2 v. + Madonna Mary 2 v. + The Minister's Wife 2 v. + The Rector, and the Doctor's Family 1 v. + Salem Chapel 2 v. + The Perpetual Curate 2 v. + Miss Marjoribanks 2 v. + Ombra 2 v. + Memoir of Count de Montalembert 2 v. + May 2 v. + Innocent 2 v. + For Love and Life 2 v. + A Rose in June 1 v. + The Story of Valentine and his Brother 2 v. + Whiteladies 2 v. + The Curate in Charge 1 v. + Phoebe, Junior 2 v. + Mrs. Arthur 2 v. + Carità 2 v. + Young Musgrave 2 v. + The Primrose Path 2 v. + Within the Precincts 3 v. + The greatest Heiress in England 2 v. + He that will not when he may 2 v. + Harry Joscelyn 2 v. + In Trust 2 v. + It was a Lover and his Lass 3 v. + The Ladies Lindores 3 v. + Hester 3 v. + The Wizard's Son 3 v. + + Ossian: + Poems 1 v. + + Ouida: + Idalia 2 v. + Tricotrin 2 v. + Puck 2 v. + Chandos 2 v. + Strathmore 2 v. + Under two Flags 2 v. + Folle-Farine 2 v. + A Leaf in the Storm; A Dog of Flanders and other Stories 1 v. + Cecil Castlemaine's Gage 1 v. + Madame la Marquise 1 v. + Pascarèl 2 v. + Held in Bondage 2 v. + Two little Wooden Shoes 1 v. + Signa (w. portrait) 3 v. + In a Winter City 1 v. + Ariadnê 2 v. + Friendship 2 v. + Moths 3 v. + Pipistrello 1 v. + A Village Commune 2 v. + In Maremma 3 v. + Bimbi 1 v. + Wanda 3 v. + Frescoes, etc. 1 v. + Princess Napraxine 3 v. + A Rainy June (60 Pf.). Othmar 3 v. + + Miss Parr (Holme Lee): + Basil Godfrey's Caprice 2 v. + For Richer, for Poorer 2 v. + The Beautiful Miss Barrington 2 v. + Her Title of Honour 1 v. + Echoes of a Famous Year 1 v. + Katherine's Trial 1 v. + Bessie Fairfax 2 v. + Ben Milner's Wooing 1 v. + Straightforward 2 v. + Mrs. Denys of Cote 2 v. + A Poor Squire 1 v. + + Mrs. Parr: + Dorothy Fox 1 v. + The Prescotts of Pamphillon 2 v. + Gosau Smithy 1 v. + Robin 2 v. + + "Paul Ferroll," Author of-- + Paul Ferroll 1 v. + Year after Year 1 v. + Why Paul Ferroll killed his Wife 1 v. + + James Payn: + Found Dead 1 v. + Gwendoline's Harvest 1 v. + Like Father, like Son 2 v. + Not Wooed, but Won 2 v. + Cecil's Tryst 1 v. + A Woman's Vengeance 2 v. + Murphy's Master 1 v. + In the Heart of a Hill 1 v. + At Her Mercy 2 v. + The Best of Husbands 2 v. + Walter's Word 2 v. + Halves 2 v. + Fallen Fortunes 2 v. + What He cost Her 2 v. + By Proxy 2 v. + Less Black than we're Painted 2 v. + Under one Roof 2 v. + High Spirits 1 v. + High Spirits (Second Series) 1 v. + A Confidential Agent 2 v. + From Exile 2 v. + A Grape from a Thorn 2 v. + Some Private Views 1 v. + For Cash Only 2 v. + Kit: A Memory 2 v. + The Canon's Ward 2 v. + Some Literary Recollections 1 v. + The Talk of the Town 1 v. + The Luck of the Darrells 2 v. + + Miss Fr. M. Peard: + One Year 2 v. + The Rose-Garden 1 v. + Unawares 1 v. + Thorpe Regis 1 v. + A Winter Story 1 v. + A Madrigal 1 v. + Cartouche 1 v. + Mother Molly 1 v. + Schloss and Town 2 v. + Contradictions 2 v. + Near Neighbours 1 v. + + Bishop Percy: + Reliques of Ancient English Poetry 3 v. + + E. A. Poe: + Poems and Essays. Edited with a new Memoir by John H. Ingram 1 v. + Tales. Edited by John H. Ingram 1 v. + + Pope: + Select Poetical Works (w. portrait) 1 v. + + E. Frances Poynter: + My little Lady 2 v. + Ersilia 2 v. + Among the Hills 1 v. + Madame de Presnel 1 v. + + Mrs. Campbell Praed: + Zéro 1 v. + Affinities 1 v. + + Mrs. E. Prentiss: + Stepping Heavenward 1 v. + + The Prince Consort's Speeches and Addresses 1 v. + + Horace N. Pym: + _vide_ C. Fox. + + W. F. Rae: + Westward by Rail 1 v. + + Charles Reade: + "It is never too late to mend" 2 v. + "Love me little love me long" 1 v. + The Cloister and the Hearth 2 v. + Hard Cash 3 v. + Put Yourself in his Place 2 v. + A Terrible Temptation 2 v. + Peg Woffington 1 v. + Christie Johnstone 1 v. + A Simpleton 2 v. + The Wandering Heir 1 v. + A Woman-Hater 2 v. + Readiana 1 v. + Singleheart and Doubleface 1 v. + + "Recommended to Mercy," Author of-- + Recommended to Mercy 2 v. + Zoe's 'Brand' 2 v. + + James Rice: + _vide_ W. Besant. + + Alfred Bate Richards: + So very Human 3 v. + + Richardson: + Clarissa Harlowe 4 v. + + Mrs. Riddell (F. G. Trafford): + George Geith of Fen Court 2 v. + Maxwell Drewitt 2 v. + The Race for Wealth 2 v. + Far above Rubies 2 v. + The Earl's Promise 2 v. + Mortomley's Estate 2 v. + + Rev. W. Robertson: + Sermons 4 v. + + Charles H. Ross: + The Pretty Widow 1 v. + A London Romance 2 v. + + Dante Gabriel Rossetti: + Poems 1 v. + Ballads and Sonnets 1 v. + + J. Ruffini: + Lavinia 2 v. + Doctor Antonio 1 v. + Lorenzo Benoni 1 v. + Vincenzo 2 v. + A Quiet Nook 1 v. + The Paragreens on a Visit to Paris 1 v. + Carlino and other Stories 1 v. + + W. Clark Russell: + A Sailor's Sweetheart 2 v. + The "Lady Maud" 2 v. + A Sea Queen 2 v. + + G. A. Sala: + The Seven Sons of Mammon 2 v. + + John Saunders: + Israel Mort, Overman 2 v. + The Shipowner's Daughter 2 v. + A Noble Wife 2 v. + + Katherine Saunders: + Joan Merryweather and other Tales 1 v. + Gideon's Rock 1 v. + The High Mills 2 v. + Sebastian 1 v. + + Sir Walter Scott: + Waverley (w. portrait) 1 v. + The Antiquary 1 v. + Ivanhoe 1 v. + Kenilworth 1 v. + Quentin Durward 1 v. + Old Mortality 1 v. + Guy Mannering 1 v. + Rob Roy 1 v. + The Pirate 1 v. + The Fortunes of Nigel 1 v. + The Black Dwarf; + A Legend of Montrose 1 v. + The Bride of Lammermoor 1 v. + The Heart of Mid-Lothian 2 v. + The Monastery 1 v. + The Abbot 1 v. + Peveril of the Peak 2 v. + The Poetical Works 2 v. + Woodstock 1 v. + The Fair Maid of Perth 1 v. + Anne of Geierstein 1 v. + + Professor Seeley: + Life and Times of Stein 4 v. + The Expansion of England 1 v. + + Miss Sewell: + Amy Herbert 2 v. + Ursula 2 v. + A Glimpse of the World 2 v. + The Journal of a Home Life 2 v. + After Life 2 v. + The Experience of Life; or, Aunt Sarah 2 v. + + Shakespeare: + Plays and Poems (with portrait) (_Second Edition_) compl. 7 v. + _Shakespeare's_ Plays may also be had in 37 numbers, at M. 0,30. + each number. + Doubtful Plays 1 v. + + Shelley: + A Selection from his Poems 1 v. + + Nathan Sheppard: + Shut up in Paris (_Second Edition, enlarged_) 1 v. + + Sheridan: + Dramatic Works 1 v. + + J. Henry Shorthouse: + John Inglesant 2 v. + + Smollett: + The Adventures of Roderick Random 1 v. + The Expedition of Humphry Clinker 1 v. + The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle 2 v. + + Society in London. By a Foreign Resident 1 v. + + Earl Stanhope (Lord Mahon): + History of England 7 v. + The Reign of Queen Anne 2 v. + + Sterne: + The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy 1 v. + A Sentimental Journey (w. portrait) 1 v. + + Robert Louis Stevenson: + Treasure Island 1 v. + + "Still Waters," Author of-- + Still Waters 1 v. + Dorothy 1 v. + De Cressy 1 v. + Uncle Ralph 1 v. + Maiden Sisters 1 v. + Martha Brown 1 v. + Vanessa 1 v. + + M. C. Stirling: + Two Tales of Married Life 2 v. + Vol. II, A True Man, + Vol. I. _vide_ G. M. Craik. + + "The Story of Elizabeth," Author of-- + _v_. Miss Thackeray. + + Mrs. H. Beecher Stowe: + Uncle Tom's Cabin (w. portrait) 2 v. + A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin 2 v. + Dred 2 v. + The Minister's Wooing 1 v. + Oldtown Folks 2 v. + + "Sunbeam Stories," Author of-- + _vide_ Mackarness. + + Swift: + Gulliver's Travels 1 v. + + J. A. Symonds: + Sketches in Italy 1 v. + New Italian Sketches 1 v. + + Baroness Tautphoeus: + Cyrilla 2 v. + The Initials 2 v. + Quits 2 v. + At Odds 2 v. + + Colonel Meadows Taylor: + Tara: a Mahratta Tale 3 v. + + Templeton: + Diary & Notes 1 v. + + Lord Tennyson: + Poetical Works 7 v. + Queen Mary 1 v. + Harold 1 v. + Ballads and other Poems 1 v. + Becket; The Cup; The Falcon 1 v. + + W. M. Thackeray: + Vanity Fair 3 v. + The History of Pendennis 3 v. + Miscellanies 8 v. + The History of Henry Esmond 2 v. + The English Humourists 1 v. + The Newcomes 4 v. + The Virginians 4 v. + The Four Georges; + Lovel the Widower 1 v. + The Adventures of Philip 2 v. + Denis Duval 1 v. + Roundabout Papers 2 v. + Catherine 1 v. + The Irish Sketch Book 2 v. + The Paris Sketch Book (w. portrait) 2 v. + + Miss Thackeray: + The Story of Elizabeth 1 v. + The Village on the Cliff 1 v. + Old Kensington 2 v. + Bluebeard's Keys 1 v. + Five Old Friends 1 v. + Miss Angel 1 v. + Out of the World 1 v. + Fulham Lawn 1 v. + From an Island 1 v. + Da Capo 1 v. + Madame de Sévigné 1 v. + A Book of Sibyls 1 v. + + Thomas a Kempis: + The Imitation of Christ 1 v. + + A. Thomas: + Denis Donne 2 v. + On Guard 2 v. + Walter Goring 2 v. + Played out 2 v. + Called to Account 2 v. + Only Herself 2 v. + A narrow Escape 2 v. + + Thomson: + Poetical Works (with portrait) 1 v. + + F. G. Trafford: + _vide_ Mrs. Riddell. + + G. O. Trevelyan: + The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay (w. portrait) 4 v. + Selections from the Writings of Lord Macaulay 2 v. + + Trois-Etoiles: + _vide_ Murray. + + Anthony Trollope: + Doctor Thorne 2 v. + The Bertrams 2 v. + The Warden 1 v. + Barchester Towers 2 v. + Castle Richmond 2 v. + The West Indies 1 v. + Framley Parsonage 2 v. + North America 3 v. + Orley Farm 3 v. + Rachel Ray 2 v. + The Small House at Allington 3 v. + Can you forgive her? 3 v. + The Belton Estate 2 v. + Nina Balatka 1 v. + The Last Chronicle of Barset 3 v. + The Claverings 2 v. + Phineas Finn 3 v. + He knew he was Right 3 v. + The Vicar of Bullhampton 2 v. + Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite 1 v. + Ralph the Heir 2 v. + The Golden Lion of Granpere 1 v. + Australia and New Zealand 3 v. + Lady Anna 2 v. + Harry Heathcote of Gangoil 1 v. + The Way we live now 4 v. + The Prime Minister 4 v. + The American Senator 3 v. + South Africa 2 v. + Is he Popenjoy? 3 v. + An Eye for an Eye 1 v. + John Caldigate 3 v. + Cousin Henry 1 v. + The Duke's Children 3 v. + Dr. Wortle's School 1 v. + Ayala's Angel 3 v. + The Fixed Period 1 v. + Marion Fay 2 v. + Kept in the Dark 1 v. + Frau Frohmann, etc. 1 v. + Alice Dugdale, etc. 1 v. + La Mère Bauche, etc. 1 v. + The Mistletoe Bough, etc. 1 v. + An Autobiography 1 v. + An Old Man's Love 1 v. + + T. Adolphus Trollope: + The Garstangs of Garstang Grange 2 v. + A Siren 2 v. + + The Two Cosmos 1 v. + + "Vèra," Author of-- + Vèra 1 v. + The Hôtel du Petit St. Jean 1 v. + Blue Roses 2 v. + Within Sound of the Sea 2 v. + The Maritime Alps and their Seaboard 2 v. + + Victoria R. I.: + _vide_ Leaves. + + Virginia 1 v. + + L. B. Walford: + Mr. Smith 2 v. + Pauline 2 v. + Cousins 2 v. + Troublesome Daughters 2 v. + + Mackenzie Wallace: + Russia 3 v. + + Eliot Warburton: + The Crescent and the Cross 2 v. + Darien 2 v. + + S. Warren: + Passages from the Diary of a late Physician 2 v. + Ten Thousand a-Year 3 v. + Now and Then 1 v. + The Lily and the Bee 1 v. + + "Waterdale Neighbours," Author of-- + _vide_ Justin McCarthy. + + Miss Wetherell: + The wide, wide World 1 v. + Queechy 2 v. + The Hills of the Shatemuc 2 v. + Say and Seal 2 v. + The Old Helmet 2 v. + + A Whim and its Consequences 1 v. + + W. White: Holidays in Tyrol 1 v. + + "Who Breaks--Pays," Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Jenkin. + + J. S. Winter: + Regimental Legends 1 v. + + Mrs. Henry Wood: + East Lynne 3 v. + The Channings 2 v. + Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles 2 v. + Verner's Pride 3 v. + The Shadow of Ashlydyat 3 v. + Trevlyn Hold 2 v. + Lord Oakburn's Daughters 2 v. + Oswald Cray 2 v. + Mildred Arkell 2 v. + St. Martin's Eve 2 v. + Elster's Folly 2 v. + Lady Adelaide's Oath 2 v. + Orville College 1 v. + A Life's Secret 1 v. + The Red Court Farm 2 v. + Anne Hereford 2 v. + Roland Yorke 2 v. + George Canterbury's Will 2 v. + Bessy Rane 2 v. + Dene Hollow 2 v. + The Foggy Night at Offord, etc. 1 v. + Within the Maze 2 v. + The Master of Greylands 2 v. + Johnny Ludlow (_First Series_) 2 v. + Told in the Twilight 2 v. + Adam Grainger 1 v. + Edina 2 v. + Pomeroy Abbey 2 v. + Lost in the Post, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + A Tale of Sin, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + Anne, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + Court Netherleigh 2 v. + The Mystery of Jessy Page, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + Helen Whitney's Wedding, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + The Story of Dorothy Grape, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + + Wordsworth: + Select Poetical Works 2 v. + + Lascelles Wraxall: + Wild Oats 1 v. + + Edm. Yates: + Land at Last 2 v. + Broken to Harness 2 v. + The Forlorn Hope 2 v. + Black Sheep 2 v. + The Rock Ahead 2 v. + Wrecked in Port 2 v. + Dr. Wainwright's Patient 2 v. + Nobody's Fortune 2 v. + Castaway 2 v. + A Waiting Race 2 v. + The Yellow Flag 2 v. + The Impending Sword 2 v. + Two, by Tricks 1 v. + A Silent Witness 2 v. + Recollections and Experiences 2 v. + + Miss Yonge: + The Heir of Redclyffe 2 v. + Heartsease 2 v. + The Daisy Chain 2 v. + Dynevor Terrace 2 v. + Hopes and Fears 2 v. + The Young Step-Mother 2 v. + The Trial 2 v. + The Clever Woman of the Family 2 v. + The Dove in the Eagle's Nest 2 v. + The Danvers Papers; + the Prince and the Page 1 v. + The Chaplet of Pearls 2 v. + The two Guardians 1 v. + The Caged Lion 2 v. + The Pillars of the House 5 v. + Lady Hester 1 v. + My Young Alcides 2 v. + The Three Brides 2 v. + Womankind 2 v. + Magnum Bonum 2 v. + Love and Life 1 v. + Unknown to History 2 v. + Stray Pearls (w. portrait) 2 v. + The Armourer's Prentices 2 v. + The two Sides of the Shield 2 v. + + _The price of each volume is 1 Mark 60 Pfennige._ + + + + + Collection of German Authors. + + + B. Auerbach: + On the Heights. Transl. by F. E. Bunnett. Second Authorized Edition, + thoroughly revised, 3 v. + Brigitta. From the German by C. Bell, 1 v. + Spinoza. From the German by Nicholson, 2 v. + + G. Ebers: + An Egyptian Princess. Translated by E. Grove, 2 v. + Uarda. From the German by Bell, 2 v. + Homo Sum. From the German by Bell, 2 v. + The Sisters. From the German by Bell, 2 v. + + Fouqué: + Undine, Sintram, etc. Translated by F. E. Bunnett, 1 v. + + Ferdinand Freiligrath: + Poems. From the German. Edited by his Daughter. Second Copyright + Edition, enlarged, 1 v. + + W. Görlach: + Prince Bismarck (with Portrait). From the German + by Miss M. E. von Glehn, 1 v. + + Goethe: + Faust. From the German by John Anster, LL.D. 1 v. + Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. From the German by Eleanor + Grove, 2 v. + + K. Gutzkow: + Through Night to Light. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v. + + F. W. Hackländer: + Behind the Counter [Handel u. Wandel]. From the German by Howitt, 1 v. + + W. Hauff: + Three Tales. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v. + + P. Heyse: + L'Arrabiata and other Tales. From the German by M. Wilson, 1 v. + The Dead Lake and other Tales. From the German by Mary Wilson, 1 v. + Barbarossa and other Tales. From the German by L. C. S., 1 v. + + Wilhelmine von Hillern: + The Vulture Maiden [die Geier-Wally]. From the German by C. Bell + and E. F. Poynter, 1 v. + The Hour will come. From the German by Clara Bell, 2 v. + + S. Kohn: + Gabriel. A Story of the Jews in Prague. From the German + by A. Milman, M.A., 1 v. + + G. E. Lessing: + Nathan the Wise and Emilia Galotti. The former transl. by W. Taylor, + the latter by Chas. Lee Lewes, 1 v. + + Fanny Lewald: + Stella. From the German by Beatrice Marshall, 2 v. + + E. Marlitt: + The Princess of the Moor [das Haideprinzesschen], 2 v. + + Maria Nathusius: + Joachim von Kamern and Diary of a poor young Lady. From the German + by Miss Thompson, 1 v. + + Fritz Reuter: + In the Year '13: Transl. from the Platt-Deutsch by Chas. + Lee Lewes, 1 v. + An old Story of my Farming Days [Ut mine Stromtid]. From + the German + by M. W. Macdowall, 3 v. + + Jean Paul Friedr. Richter: + Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces: or the Married Life, Death, + and Wedding of the Advocate of the Poor, Firmian Stanislaus + Siebenkäs. + Translated from the German by E. H. Noel, 2 v. + + J. V. Scheffel: + Ekkehard. A Tale of the tenth Century. Translated from the German + by Sofie Delffs, 2 v. + + G. Taylor: + Klytia. From the German by Sutton Fraser Corkran, 2 v. + + H. Zschokke: + The Princess of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and other Tales. From + the German + by M. A. Faber, 1 v. + + _The price of each volume is 1 Mark 60 Pfennige._ + + + + + Series for the Young.--_Each volume 1 Mark 60 Pf_. + + + Lady Barker: + Stories About. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Louisa Charlesworth: + Ministering Children. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock): + Our Year. Illustrated by C. Dobell, 1 v. + Three Tales for Boys. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Three Tales for Girls. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + Miss G. M. Craik: + Cousin Trix. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + Maria Edgeworth: + Moral Tales. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Popular Tales. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 2 v. + + Bridget & Julia Kavanagh: + The Pearl Fountain. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + Charles and Mary Lamb: + Tales from Shakspeare. With the Portrait of Shakspeare, 1 v. + + Emma Marshall: + Rex and Regina; or, The Song of the River. With six Illustrations, + 1 vol. + + Captain Marryat: + Masterman Ready; or, the Wreck of the Pacific. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Florence Montgomery: + The Town-Crier; to which is added: + The Children with the Indian-Rubber Ball, 1 v. + + Ruth and her Friends. + A Story for Girls. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Mrs. Henry Wood: + William Allair; or, Running away to Sea. Frontispiece from a Drawing + by F. Gilbert, 1 v. + + Miss Yonge: + Kenneth; or, the Rear-Guard of the Grand Army. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + The Little Duke. Ben Sylvester's Word. With a Frontispiece + by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + The Stokesley Secret. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Countess Kate. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + A Book of Golden Deeds. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 2 v. + Friarswood Post-Office. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + Henrietta's Wish; or, Domineering. A Tale. With a Frontispiece + by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Kings of England: A History for the Young. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + The Lances of Lynwood; the Pigeon Pie. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + P's and Q's. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + Aunt Charlotte's Stories of English History. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + Bye-Words. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Lads and Lasses of Langley; Sowing and Sewing. With a Frontispiece + by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + + + + Tauchnitz Manuals of Conversation. + + _Each bound M 2,25._ + + + Neues Handbuch der _Englischen_ Conversationssprache von _A. Schlessing_. + + A new Manual of the _German_ Language of Conversation by _A. Schlessing_. + + Neues Handbuch der _Französischen_ Conversationssprache von _L. Rollin_. + + Nouveau Manuel de la Conversation _Allemande_ par MM. _L. Rollin_ et + _Wolfgang Weber_. + + + + + Tauchnitz Dictionaries. + + +A complete Dictionary of the English and German languages +for general use. By _W. James_. Thirtieth Stereotype Edition. +crown 8vo sewed Mark 4,50. + +A complete Dictionary of the English and French languages +for general use. By _W. James_ and _A. Molé_. Thirteenth +Stereotype Edition. crown 8vo sewed Mark 6,00. + +A complete Dictionary of the English and Italian languages +for general use. By _W. James_ and _Gius. Grassi_. 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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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: A Selection from the Poems of William Morris</p> +<p>Author: William Morris</p> +<p>Editor: Francis Hueffer</p> +<p>Release Date: February 9, 2011 [eBook #35227]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF WILLIAM MORRIS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdpcanada.net">http://www.pgdpcanada.net</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> + (<a href="http://www.archive.org/details/americana">http://www.archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/selectionfrompoe00morrrich"> + http://www.archive.org/details/selectionfrompoe00morrrich</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/p002.jpg" width="385" height="471" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<br /><br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 299px;"> +<img src="images/p007.jpg" width="299" height="400" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 299px"> +<img src="images/p008.jpg" width="299" height="400" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Franz Hueffer who came into the Rossetti circle in the manner indicated +in the following letter (of which the greater part is in the writing of +the late Lucy Rossetti - daughter of Ford Madox Brown) was a +broad-headed, plodding, able German who wrote and spoke English +perfectly enough before his naturalization. He was somewhat heavy in his +enthusiasms; and Gabriel Rossetti laughed at him a good deal. On one +occasion D.G.R. let off the following "nursery rhyme":—</p> + +<p> +There's a fluffy-haired German called Huffer<br /> +A loud and pragmatical duffer:<br /> +To stand on a tower<br /> +And shout "Schopenhauer"<br /> +Is reckoned his mission by Huffer.<br /> +</p> + +<p>There was no malice in these rhymes of Rossetti's; but even his dear +friend Morris ("Topsy" as his intimates called him on account of his +shock of black hair) was not exempt from personal sallies of the +kind,—as this, when M. got alarmed about his increasing bulk:—</p> + +<p> +There was a young person called Topsy<br /> +Who fancied he suffered from dropsy;<br /> +He shook like a jelly,<br /> +Till the Doctor cried "Belly!"—<br /> +Which angered; but comforted Topsy.<br /> +</p> + +<p>Poor dear Morris! he had cause enough for alarm. Diabetes was only one +among the agencies by which his stalwart frame was disintegrated at the +age of 62.</p> + +<p class="center">H.B.F.</p> + +<p>7 November 1897.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 299px;"> +<img src="images/p009.jpg" width="299" height="462" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<br /> + + +<p>May 27th/89</p> + +<p class="right">5 ENDSLEIGH GARDENS.</p> + +<p class="right">N.W.</p> + +<p>Dear Forman,</p> + +<p>Please excuse a very laconic presentment of the facts. Francis Hueffer, +Musical Critic of the "Times", author of the libretto of "Columba" of a +volume on the "Troubadours" of "Half a century of Music in England" etc +etc, died last Jan 7 aged 43 leaving a widow & three children, & little +indeed.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h5>EACH VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY.</h5> +<br /> +<br /> +<h2>COLLECTION</h2> +<h4>OF</h4> +<h1>BRITISH AUTHORS</h1> +<br /> +<h3>TAUCHNITZ EDITION.</h3> +<br /> +<h3>VOL. 2378.<br /> +POEMS BY WILLIAM MORRIS<br /> +IN ONE VOLUME.</h3> +<br /> +<br /> +<h4>LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ</h4> +<h5>PARIS: C. REINWALD, 15, RUE DES SAINTS PÈRES.</h5> +<h5>PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI, AND AT NICE, 15, QUAI +MASSENA.</h5> +<br /> +<h4><i>This Collection is published with copyright for Continental +circulation, but all purchasers are earnestly requested not to introduce +the volumes into England or into any British Colony.</i></h4> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>COLLECTION</h2> +<h4>OF</h4> +<h1>BRITISH AUTHORS</h1> +<h3>TAUCHNITZ EDITION.</h3> +<br /> +<h3>VOL. 2378.<br /> +<br /> +POEMS BY WILLIAM MORRIS.<br /> +<br /> +IN ONE VOLUME.</h3> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h3>A SELECTION</h3> +<h5>FROM</h5> +<h2>THE POEMS</h2> +<h5>OF</h5> +<h1>WILLIAM MORRIS.</h1> +<br /> +<h5>EDITED</h5> +<h3>WITH A MEMOIR</h3> +<h4>BY FRANCIS HUEFFER.</h4> +<br /> +<h4><i>COPYRIGHT EDITION.</i></h4> +<br /> +<br /> +<h3>LEIPZIG<br /> +BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ<br /> +1886.</h3> +<h4><i>The Right of Translation is reserved.</i></h4> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>MEMOIR</h2> +<h3>OF</h3> +<h2>WILLIAM MORRIS.</h2> + + +<p>William Morris, poet, decorative designer and socialist, was born in +1834 at Clay Street, Walthamstow, now almost a suburb of London, at that +time a country village in Essex. He went to school at Marlborough +College and thence to Exeter College, Oxford, where he took his degree +in 1857. During his stay in the University the subsequent mode of his +life was prepared and foreshadowed in two important directions. Like +most poets Morris was not what is called very assiduous "at his book"; +the routine of college training was no more an attraction to him than +the ordinary amusements and dissipations of undergraduate existence. But +he was studious all the same, reading the classics in his own somewhat +spasmodic way and exploring with even greater zeal the mysteries of +mediæval lore. His fellow-worker in these studies and his most intimate +friend was and is at the present day Mr. Burne Jones, the famous +painter, at that time a student of divinity. Artistic and literary +pursuits thus went hand in hand, and received additional zest when the +two young men became acquainted with Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Holman Hunt +and other painters of the Pre-Raphaelite school who came to Oxford to +execute the frescoes still dimly visible on the ceiling of the Union +Debating Hall. Of the aims and achievements of the Pre-Raphaelite +Brotherhood, and of the revival of mediæval feeling in art and +literature originally advocated by its members ample account has been +given in the memoir of Rossetti prefixed to his poems in the Tauchnitz +edition. Its influence on Morris's early work, both in matter and form, +will strike every observant reader of the opening ballads of the present +collection. Later on the poet worked out for himself a distinct and +individual phase of the mediæval movement, as will be mentioned by and +by. At one time little was wanting to make Morris follow his friend +Burne Jones's example and leave the pen for the brush. There is indeed +still extant from his hand an unfinished picture evincing a remarkable +sense of colour. He also for a short time became a pupil of the late Mr. +G. E. Street, the architect, to whose genius London owes its finest +modern Gothic building—the Law Courts in the Strand. On second +thoughts, however, Morris came to the conclusion that poetry was his +true field of action. His first literary venture was a monthly +periodical started under his auspices in 1856 and called <i>The Oxford and +Cambridge Magazine</i>. It contained, amongst other contributions from +Morris's pen, a prose tale of a highly romantic character, and was, as +regards artistic tendencies, essentially a sequel of <i>The Germ</i>, the +organ of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, begun and continued for three +numbers only, six years before. Several of the contributors to the +earlier venture, including Rossetti, also supported its offshoot. +Neither, however, gained popular favour, and after a year's struggling +existence <i>The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine</i> also came to an untimely +end. At present both are eagerly sought for by collectors and fetch high +prices at antiquarian sales. So changeable is the fate of books.</p> + +<p>In 1859 Morris married, after having the year before brought out his +first volume of verse entitled <i>The Defence of Guenevere and Other +Poems</i>. The book fell dead from the press, and it was not till it was +republished 25 years later that the world recognised in it some of the +freshest and most individual efforts of its author, whose literary +position was by that time established beyond cavil. That position the +poet owed in the first instance to two works published in rapid +succession, <i>The Life and Death of Jason</i>, and <i>The Earthly Paradise</i>, +the latter a collection of tales in verse filling four stout volumes. +His remaining original works are <i>Love is enough</i>, a "morality" in the +mediæval sense of the word, and <i>The Story of Sigurd the Volsung</i>, his +longest and, in the opinion of some, his most perfect epic. In addition +to these should be mentioned the translations from the old Norse +undertaken in conjunction with Mr. Magnusson the well-known Icelandic +scholar, and comprising <i>The Story of Grettir the Strong</i> (1869), <i>The +Volsunga Saga, with certain songs from the Elder Edda</i> (1870), and +<i>Three Northern Love Stories</i> (1875); and finally a metrical rendering +of <i>The Æneids of Virgil</i>.</p> + +<p>For a critical discussion or a detailed analysis of Morris's work this +is not the place. It must be sufficient to indicate briefly the ideas +which underlie that work and give it its literary <i>cachet</i>. Two main +currents, derivable perhaps from a common source but running in +different directions can be easily discerned. The subjects of his tales +are almost without exception derived either from Greek myth or from +mediæval folklore. After all that has been said and written of the gulf +that divides the classic from the romantic feeling—<i>"Barbaren und +Hellenen</i>", as Heine puts it, such a conjunction might appear +incongruous. But the connecting link has here been found in the poet's +mind. He looks upon his classical subject-matter through a mediæval +atmosphere, in other words he writes about Venus and Cupid and Psyche +and Medea as a poet of Chaucer's age might have done, barring of course +the differences of language, although in this respect also it may be +noted that the archaisms of expression affected by the modern poet +appear indifferently in the Greek and the mediæval tales. The phenomenon +is by no means unique in literature. Let the reader compare Chapman's +Homer with Pope's, or let him open Morris's <i>Jason</i> where the bells of +Colchis "melodiously begin to ring", and the meaning of the +afore-mentioned "mediæval atmosphere" will at once be as palpable to him +as it was to Keats when, reading Chapman's rude verse, after Pope's +polished stanzas, he felt</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">like some watcher of the skies</span> +<span class="i0">When a new planet swims into his ken.</span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was the romantic chord of Keats's nature, that chord which vibrates +in <i>La belle Dame sans Merci</i>, which was harmoniously struck and made +the great master of form overlook the formal imperfection of the +earlier poet. To the same element such stories as <i>Jason</i>, or <i>The Love +of Alcestis</i> and the <i>Bellerophon</i> in <i>The Earthly Paradise</i> owe their +charm.</p> + +<p>Morris's position towards mediæval subjects did not at first essentially +differ from that of other poets of similar tendency. In his first volume +English and French knights and damsels figure prominently, and the +beautiful and frail wife of King Arthur is the heroine of the chief poem +and has given her name to the book. But in the interval which elapsed +between that volume and the <i>Earthly Paradise</i> a considerable change had +come over the poet's dream. By the aid of Mr. Magnusson he had become +acquainted with the treasure of northern folklore hidden in the +Icelandic sagas, the two Eddas, the story of the Volsungs (of which a +masterly translation is due to the two friends), the Laxdæla saga and +other tales of more or less remote antiquity.</p> + +<p>In the <i>Earthly Paradise</i> the double current of the poet's fancy above +alluded to is most strikingly apparent. The very framework in which the +various tales are set seems to have been designed with that view. Guided +probably by a vague tradition of a pre-Columbian discovery of America by +the Vikings, the prologue relates how during a terrible pestilence +certain mariners leave their northern home in search of the land where +old age and death are not and where life is rounded by unbroken +pleasure. Sailing west they come to a fair country. They gaze on +southern sunshine and virgin forest and fertile champaign, but death +meets them at every step, and happiness is farthest from their grasp +when the people worship them as gods and sacrifice at their shrine. +Escaping from this golden thraldom they regain their ship, and after +many dangers and privations are driven by the wind to an island +inhabited by descendants of the ancient Greeks, who have preserved their +old worship and their old freedom. Here the weary wanderers of the main +are hospitably received, and here they resolve to dwell in peace, +forgetful of their vain search for the earthly paradise. At the +beginning and the middle of every month the elders of the people and +their guests meet together to while away the time with song and friendly +converse. The islanders relate the traditions of their Grecian home, the +mariners relate the sagas of the North, and Laurence, a Swabian priest +who had joined the Norsemen in their quest, contributes the legends of +Tannhäuser and of the ring given to Venus by the Roman youth. Here then +there is full scope for the quaint beauty of romantic classicism and for +the weird glamour of northern myth. Without encroaching upon the field +of criticism proper the writer may state that, in his opinion, amongst +the classic tales none is more graceful and finished than "The Golden +Apples", and amongst the northern none more grandly developed and more +epical in the strict sense of the word than <i>The Lovers of Gudrun</i> based +upon the Icelandic Laxdæla saga. The latter, unfortunately, cannot find +a place in this volume for reasons of space.</p> + +<p>Every student of old northern literature is aware that amongst its +remains none are more interesting as literary monuments, none more +characteristic of the people from which they sprang than the two Eddas +and the Volsunga Saga. Next to the Siege of Troy and the Arthurian +legends perhaps no story or agglomeration of stories has left so many +and so important traces in international fiction as the tale of Sigurd +or Siegfried and his race, the heroic god-born Volsungs. Considering +indeed the political insignificance and remoteness in which that story +took its earliest surviving form this enormous success—if the modern +term may be applied—seems at first singularly out of proportion. But it +must be remembered that Iceland was little more than the storehouse of +these old traditions which were the common property of the +Teuto-Scandinavian race long before the Norsemen set foot on the +northern isle. Of the two modern versions of the tale which are most +thoroughly inspired by the ancient myth one, that of Wagner in his +tetralogy <i>Der Ring des Nibelungen</i>, is dramatic in form, the other, +Morris's <i>The Story of Sigurd the Volsung</i>, bears all the +characteristics of the epic. To this difference of artistic aim, the +difference of shape which the tale takes in the hands of the two poets +may be traced. In one point however they agree. Both Wagner and Morris +go back to the old Icelandic sources in preference to the mediæval +German version of the tale embodied in the <i>Nibelungenlied</i>. From this +the German poet borrows little more than the localization of his drama +on the banks of the river Rhine, the English poet scarcely anything but +his metre—the <i>Langzeile</i> or long-line with six hightoned, and any +number of unaccentuated syllables.</p> + +<p>The ordinary modern reader taking up the Volsunga Saga or either of the +Eddas without preparation would probably see in them little more than a +confused accumulation of impossible adventures and deeds of prowess with +an admixture of incest, fratricide and other horrors. But on looking +closer one discovers a certain plan in this entanglement, a plan much +obscured by the unbridled fancy of the old narrators, and hardly +realised by themselves, but which, if properly sifted, amounts to what +we should call a moral or idea. To "point this moral," to consistently +develop this idea, is the task of the modern poet courageous enough to +grapple with such a subject. Two ways are open to him. Either he may +wholly abandon the sequence of the old tale, and group its <i>disjecta +membra</i> round a leading idea as a centre, or else he may adhere to the +order and essence of the legend as originally told, only emphasising +such points as are essential to the significance of the story, and +omitting or throwing into comparative shade those incidents which by +their nature betray themselves to be arbitrary additions of later date. +Wagner has chosen the former way, Morris the latter. This fact, and the +divergent requirements of the drama and the epic, sufficiently account +for their difference of treatment. The leading idea in both cases +remains the same; it is the fatal curse which attaches to the gold or, +which is the same in a moral sense, to the desire for gold—<i>auri sacra +fames</i>.</p> + +<p>At first sight the tale of Sigurd, Fafnir's bane, seems to have little +connection with this idea. It is briefly this. Sigurd, the son of +Sigmund the Volsung, is brought up at the court of King Elf, the second +husband of his mother, after Sigmund has been slain in battle. With a +sword, fashioned from the shards of his father's weapon, he slays +Fafnir, a huge worm or dragon, and possesses himself of the treasure +watched by the monster, including a ring and the "helm of aweing," the +latter in the <i>Nibelungenlied</i>, converted into the "Tarnkappe", a magic +cap which makes the bearer invisible and endows him with supernatural +strength. Tasting of the blood of the dragon, he understands the +language of birds, and an eagle tells him of a beautiful maiden lying +asleep on a rock called Hindfell, surrounded by a wall of wavering fire. +Through it Sigurd rides and awakes Brynhild the sword maiden, or +Valkyrie, from her magic slumber. Love naturally follows. The pair live +together on Hindfell for a season and Brynhild teaches the youth the +runes of her wisdom, a conception of woman's refining and civilising +mission frequently met with in old Germanic tales. When Sigurd leaves +her to seek new adventures they plight the troth of eternal love, and</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he set the ring on her finger, and once if ne'er again</span> +<span class="i0">They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.</span> +</div></div> + +<p>From Brynhild's rock Sigurd journeys to a realm "south of the Rhine" +where dwell the kingly brothers, Gunnar, Hogni, and Guttorm, the +Niblungs, together with their sister Gudrun, "the fairest of maidens", +and their mother Grimhild, "a wise wife" and a fierce-hearted woman, as +the Volsunga Saga alternately describes her. It is through a +love-philter brewed by her that Sigurd forgets the vows exchanged with +Brynhild, and becomes enamoured of Gudrun, whom he soon after weds. So +powerful is the charm that the very name of his former love has been +wiped from Sigurd's memory, and he willingly undertakes the task to woo +and win Brynhild for his brother Gunnar. For that purpose he, by means +of his magic cap, assumes Gunnar's semblance, and after having once +more crossed the wall of wavering flame compels Brynhild to become his +bride. But, faithful to his promise, he places a drawn sword between +himself and the maid "as they lie on one bed together." On parting from +her he receives back from Brynhild his own ring given to her at Hindfell +in the days of their bliss. Sigurd then returns to Gunnar and resumes +his own form, and all return home, the King leading his unwilling bride +in triumph.</p> + +<p>The subsequent events are the outgrowth of the tragic guilt thus +incurred. Sigurd reveals the secret of Brynhild's wooing to his wife, +and allows her to take possession of the fatal ring, which she during a +quarrel shows to Gunnar's wife. Brynhild thus informed of the fraud +practised on her, thinks of vengeance, and incites her husband and his +brothers to kill Sigurd. The deed is done while Sigurd lies asleep in +his chamber with Gudrun, or, according to the more poetic version of the +German epic, while he bends over a brook in the forest to quench his +thirst after a day's hunting. But as soon as her beloved foe is killed +the old passion never quenched rises up again in Brynhild's heart. To be +united with her lover in death she pierces her breast with a sword, and +one pyre consumes both.</p> + +<p>With this climax Wagner very properly concludes his drama. But the epic +poet likes to follow the course of events to their ultimate +consequences, and Morris, in accordance with the Volsunga Saga, proceeds +to relate how, after many years of mournful widowhood, Gudrun is married +to Atli, a mighty king, the brother of Brynhild. Eager to become +possessed of Sigurd's treasure he invites the Niblungs, its actual +owners, to his country, and there the kingly brothers and all their +followers are killed by base treachery and after the most heroic +resistance. They refuse sternly to ransom their lives by a discovery of +the hoard which previous to their departure they have hidden at the +bottom of a lake, and which thus is irrecoverably lost to mankind. +Gudrun has incited her husband to the deed and has looked on calmly +while her kinsmen were slain one after the other. But when all are dead +and the murder of Sigurd has been revenged, the feeling of blood +relationship so powerful among Northern nations is reawakened in her. +While Atli and his earls are asleep she sets fire to the kingly hall, +and her wretched husband falls by her own hand. It is characteristic of +the Icelandic epic that after all these fates and horrors Gudrun lives +for a number of years and is yet again married to a third husband. But +to this length even Morris refuses to accompany the tale. In accordance +with the Volsunga Saga his Gudrun throws herself into the sea; but the +waves do not carry her "to the burg of king Imakr, a mighty king and +lord of many folk."</p> + +<p>All this is very grand and weird, the reader will say, but where is the +moral, the ideal essence of which these events are but the earthly +reflex? To this essence we gradually ascend by inquiring into the +mythological sources of the tale, by asking who is Sigurd, whence does +he come, on what mission is he sent and by whom? also what is the +significance of the treasure watched by a dragon and coveted by all +mankind? This treasure we then shall find and the curse attaching to it +ever since it was robbed from Andvari, the water-elf, is the keynote of +the whole story. The curse proves fatal to all its successive owners +from Andvari himself and Fafnir, who, for its sake, kills his father, +down to Sigurd and Brynhild and the Niblung brothers. Nay, Odin himself, +the supreme God, becomes subject to the curse of the gold through having +once coveted it, and we dimly discern that the ultimate doom of the +Aesir, the Ragnarök, or dusk of the Gods, of which the Voluspa speaks, +is intimately connected with the same baneful influence. It further +becomes evident that Sigurd the Volsung, the descendant of Odin, is +destined to wrest the treasure and the power derived from it from the +Niblungs, the dark or cloudy people who threaten the bright godworld of +Valhall with destruction. And this leads us back to a still earlier +stage of the myth in which Sigurd himself becomes the symbol of the +celestial luminary conquering night and misty darkness, an idea +repeatedly hinted at by Morris and splendidly illustrated by Wagner, +when Siegfried appears on the stage illumined by the first rays of the +rising sun. In the work of the German poet all this is brought out with +a distinctness of which only dramatic genius of the highest order is +capable. With an astounding grasp of detail and with a continuity of +thought rarely equalled, Wagner has remoulded the confused and complex +argument of the old tale, omitting what seemed unnecessary, and placing +in juxtaposition incidents organically connected but separated by the +obtuseness of later sagamen.</p> + +<p>Morris, as has been said before, proceeds on a different principle. His +first object is to tell a tale, and to tell it as nearly as possible in +the spirit and according to the letter of the old Sagas. In this he has +succeeded in a manner at once indicative of his high poetic gifts and of +a deep sympathy with the spirit of the Northern Myth, which breathes in +every line and in every turn of his phraseology. To compare the peculiar +tinge of his language with the ordinary archaisms and euphonisms of +literary poets would be mistaking a field flower for its counterpart in +a milliner's shop window. It is true that he also hints at the larger +philosophic and moral issues of the tale. But when he refers to the end +of the gods brought about by their own guilt or to the redeeming mission +of Sigurd, it is done in the mysterious, not to say half conscious +manner of the saga itself, and the effect is such as from his own point +of view he intended it and could not but intend it to be.</p> + +<p>Between the publication of <i>The Defence of Guenevere</i> and that of Jason +ten years elapsed. During most of this time the poet was employed in +artistic pursuits. In 1861 he started in conjunction with a number of +friends the business of decorator and artistic designer which still +bears his name. Growing from very modest beginnings this enterprise was +destined to work an entire change in the external aspect of English +homes. It soon extended its activity to every branch of art-workmanship. +D. G. Rossetti, Madox Brown, and Burne Jones drew cartoons for the +stained glass windows to be seen in many of our churches and colleges. +Morris himself designed wall-papers and the patterns of carpets. The +latter are woven on hand-looms in his factory at Merton Abbey, which +stands on the banks of the river Wandle surrounded by orchards, and +looks as like a medieval workshop as the modern dresses of the workgirls +will allow. Another member of the firm, Philip Webb, was the first +modern architect to build houses of red brick in the style vaguely and +not quite correctly described as "Queen Anne." At present these houses +count by thousands in London and a whole village of them has been built +at Turnham Green. The members of the firm did not confine their +attention to any particular style or age or country. Wherever beautiful +things could be found they collected them and made them popular. Old +china English, and foreign, Japanese fans and screens, Venetian glass +and German pottery were equally welcome to them and through them to the +public generally. It may be said that the "aesthetic" fashion as it came +to be called will like other fashions die out, and that people in the +course of time will grow tired of "living up to" their furniture and +dresses. At the same time the idea thus insisted upon that beauty is an +essential and necessary ingredient of practical modern English life is +not likely to be without beneficial and permanent effect.</p> + +<p>It was as artistic worker and employer of skilled labour that Morris +imbibed that profound disgust with our social condition which induced +him to adopt the principles of extreme socialism. For a long time his +views had tended in that direction, and at the end of 1884 he joined the +Socialist League, a body professing the doctrines of international +revolutionary socialism. He is the editor of its official organ, the +<i>Commonweal</i>, which contains many contributions from his pen both in +prose and verse. That the poet has not been entirely sunk in the +politician, that longing for beauty is at least the partial cause of +this desire for change at any price, is however proved by such a +sentiment as, "Beauty, which is what is meant by <i>art</i>, using the word +in its widest sense, is, I contend, no mere accident of human life which +people can take or have as they choose, but a positive necessity of +life, if we are to live as nature meant us to, that is unless we are +content to be less than men," or by such a vision of a future earthly +paradise as is expressed in the following lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his hand,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet come home in the even, too faint and weary to stand,</span> +<span class="i0">. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</span> +<span class="i0">For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed.</span> +<span class="i0">. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</span> +<span class="i0">Then all <i>mine</i> and <i>thine</i> shall be <i>ours</i>, and no more shall any man crave</span> +<span class="i0">For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave.</span> +</div></div> + +<p>One may admire the pathetic beauty of such lines, without sharing the +poet's hope, that their import will ever be realised, in a world peopled +by men and not by angels. History teaches and personal experience +confirms that art enjoyment and art creation of the highest type must be +confined to the few, and it is to be feared that social democracy, +whatever it may do for the physical welfare of the many, will care +little about beauty, either in nature or in art. The <i>Demos</i> will never +admire Rossetti's pictures or Keats's poetry, and the first thing the +much-vaunted peasant proprietors, or peasant communes would do would be +to cut down our ancient trees, level every hedgerow and turn parks and +commons into potato plots or it may be turnip fields. One may feel +certain of all this and yet admire the author of <i>The Earthly +Paradise</i>, "the idle singer of an empty day" when he preaches universal +brotherhood in the crossways of Hammersmith, and wrestles with +policemen, or wrangles with obtuse magistrates about the freedom of +speech. Conviction thus upheld at the cost of worldly advantage and +personal convenience and taste must command respect even from those who +cannot share it.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 70%;"><span class="smcap">Francis Hueffer.</span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<table summary="Contents1" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr">Page</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> "THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS."</p> +<table summary="Contents2" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_DEFENCE_OF_GUENEVERE">The Defence of Guenevere</a></td> +<td class="tdr">23</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#A_GOOD_KNIGHT_IN_PRISON">A Good Knight in Prison</a></td> +<td class="tdr">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#SHAMEFUL_DEATH">Shameful Death</a></td> +<td class="tdr">41</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_EVE_OF_CRECY">The Eve of Crecy</a></td> +<td class="tdr">43</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_HAYSTACK_IN_THE_FLOODS">The Haystack in the Floods</a></td> +<td class="tdr">45</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#RIDING_TOGETHER">Riding together</a></td> +<td class="tdr">51</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#SUMMER_DAWN">Summer Dawn</a></td> +<td class="tdr">54</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> "THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON." (Book <span class="smcap">XIV</span>.)</p> +<br /> +<table summary="Contents3" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_SIRENS">The Sirens.—The Garden of the Hesperides.—The Heroes do Sacrifice at Malea</a></td> +<td class="tdr">55</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> "THE EARTHLY PARADISE."</p> +<br /> +<table summary="Contents4" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#AN_APOLOGY">An Apology</a></td> +<td class="tdr">82</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#PROLOGUE">From Prologue—The Wanderers</a></td> +<td class="tdr">84</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#OGIER_THE_DANE">Ogier the Dane</a></td> +<td class="tdr">95</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_GOLDEN_APPLES">The golden Apples</a></td> +<td class="tdr">147</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#LENVOI">L'Envoi</a></td> +<td class="tdr">168</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">From</span> "LOVE IS ENOUGH."<br /> +<br /> +<table summary="Contents5" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#INTERLUDES">Interludes</a></td> +<td class="tdr">173</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">From</span> "THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG." (Book II.)<br /> +<br /> +<table summary="Contents5" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#REGIN">Regin</a></td> +<td class="tdr">178</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<br /><br /> +<h3>FROM</h3> + +<h2>"THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS."</h2> + +<h2><a name="THE_DEFENCE_OF_GUENEVERE" id="THE_DEFENCE_OF_GUENEVERE"></a>THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> But, knowing now that they would have her speak,</span> +<span class="i0"> She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,</span> +<span class="i0"> Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,</span> + +<span class="i0"> As though she had had there a shameful blow,</span> +<span class="i0"> And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame,</span> +<span class="i0"> All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,</span> + +<span class="i0"> She must a little touch it; like one lame</span> +<span class="i0"> She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head</span> +<span class="i0"> Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame</span> + +<span class="i0"> The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said:</span> +<span class="i0">"O knights and lords, it seems but little skill</span> +<span class="i0"> To talk of well-known things past now and dead.</span> + +<span class="i0">"God wot I ought to say, I have done ill,</span> +<span class="i0"> And pray you all forgiveness heartily!</span> +<span class="i0"> Because you must be right such great lords—still</span> + +<span class="i0">"Listen, suppose your time were come to die,</span> +<span class="i0"> And you were quite alone and very weak;</span> +<span class="i0"> Yea, laid a dying while very mightily</span> + +<span class="i0">"The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak</span> +<span class="i0"> Of river through your broad lands running well:</span> +<span class="i0"> Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:</span> + +<span class="i0">"'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell,</span> +<span class="i0"> Now choose one cloth for ever, which they be,</span> +<span class="i0"> I will not tell you, you must somehow tell</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!'</span> +<span class="i0"> Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes,</span> +<span class="i0"> At foot of your familiar bed to see</span> + +<span class="i0">"A great God's angel standing, with such dyes,</span> +<span class="i0"> Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands,</span> +<span class="i0"> Held out two ways, light from the inner skies</span> + +<span class="i0">"Showing him well, and making his commands</span> +<span class="i0"> Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too,</span> +<span class="i0"> Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;</span> + +<span class="i0">"And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue,</span> +<span class="i0"> Wavy and long, and one cut short and red;</span> +<span class="i0"> No man could tell the better of the two.</span> + +<span class="i0">"'After a shivering half-hour you said,</span> +<span class="i0"> 'God help! heaven's colour, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.'</span> +<span class="i0"> Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed,</span> + +<span class="i0">"And cry to all good men that loved you well,</span> +<span class="i0"> 'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;'</span> +<span class="i0"> Launcelot went away, then I could tell,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Like wisest man how all things would be, moan,</span> +<span class="i0"> And roll and hurt myself, and long to die,</span> +<span class="i0"> And yet fear much to die for what was sown.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,</span> +<span class="i0"> Whatever may have happened through these years,</span> +<span class="i0"> God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie."</span> + +<span class="i0"> Her voice was low at first, being full of tears,</span> +<span class="i0"> But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill,</span> +<span class="i0"> Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears,</span> + +<span class="i0"> A ringing in their startled brains, until</span> +<span class="i0"> She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk,</span> +<span class="i0"> And her great eyes began again to fill,</span> + +<span class="i0"> Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk,</span> +<span class="i0"> But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair!</span> +<span class="i0"> Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,</span> + +<span class="i0"> She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair,</span> +<span class="i0"> Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame,</span> +<span class="i0"> With passionate twisting of her body there:</span> + +<span class="i0">"It chanced upon a day Launcelot came</span> +<span class="i0"> To dwell at Arthur's Court; at Christmas-time</span> +<span class="i0"> This happened; when the heralds sung his name,</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Son of King Ban of Benwick,' seemed to chime</span> +<span class="i0"> Along with all the bells that rang that day,</span> +<span class="i0"> O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Christmas and whitened winter passed away,</span> +<span class="i0"> And over me the April sunshine came,</span> +<span class="i0"> Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea</span> + +<span class="i0">"And in the Summer I grew white with flame,</span> +<span class="i0"> And bowed my head down—Autumn, and the sick</span> +<span class="i0"> Sure knowledge things would never be the same,</span> + +<span class="i0">"However often Spring might be most thick</span> +<span class="i0"> Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew</span> +<span class="i0"> Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,</span> + +<span class="i0">"To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through</span> +<span class="i0"> My eager body; while I laughed out loud,</span> +<span class="i0"> And let my lips curl up at false or true,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.</span> +<span class="i0"> Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought:</span> +<span class="i0"> While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Belonging to the time ere I was bought</span> +<span class="i0"> By Arthur's great name and his little love,</span> +<span class="i0"> Must I give up for ever then, I thought,</span> + +<span class="i0">"That which I deemed would ever round me move</span> +<span class="i0"> Glorifying all things; for a little word,</span> +<span class="i0"> Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove</span> + +<span class="i0">"Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord</span> +<span class="i0"> Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?</span> +<span class="i0"> I love God now a little, if this cord</span> + +<span class="i0">"Were broken, once for all what striving could</span> +<span class="i0"> Make me love anything in earth or heaven.</span> +<span class="i0"> So day by day it grew, as if one should</span> + +<span class="i0">"Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,</span> +<span class="i0"> Down to a cool sea on a summer day;</span> +<span class="i0"> Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven</span> + +<span class="i0">"Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,</span> +<span class="i0"> Until one surely reached the sea at last,</span> +<span class="i0"> And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay</span> + +<span class="i0">"Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past</span> +<span class="i0"> Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,</span> +<span class="i0"> Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast,</span> + +<span class="i0">"In the lone sea, far off from any ships!</span> +<span class="i0"> Do I not know now of a day in Spring?</span> +<span class="i0"> No minute of that wild day ever slips</span> + +<span class="i0">"From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,</span> +<span class="i0"> And wheresoever I may be, straightway</span> +<span class="i0"> Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:</span> + +<span class="i0">"I was half mad with beauty on that day,</span> +<span class="i0"> And went without my ladies all alone,</span> +<span class="i0"> In a quiet garden walled round every way;</span> + +<span class="i0">"I was right joyful of that wall of stone,</span> +<span class="i0"> That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,</span> +<span class="i0"> And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy</span> +<span class="i0"> With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;</span> +<span class="i0"> Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,</span> + +<span class="i0">"A little thing just then had made me mad;</span> +<span class="i0"> I dared not think, as I was wont to do,</span> +<span class="i0"> Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had</span> + +<span class="i0">"Held out my long hand up against the blue,</span> +<span class="i0"> And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,</span> +<span class="i0"> Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,</span> + +<span class="i0">"There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,</span> +<span class="i0"> Round by the edges; what should I have done,</span> +<span class="i0"> If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,</span> + +<span class="i0">"And startling green drawn upward by the sun?</span> +<span class="i0"> But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,</span> +<span class="i0"> And trancedly stood watching the west wind run</span> + +<span class="i0">"With faintest half-heard breathing sound—why there</span> +<span class="i0"> I lose my head e'en now in doing this;</span> +<span class="i0"> But shortly listen—In that garden fair</span> + +<span class="i0">"Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss</span> +<span class="i0"> Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,</span> +<span class="i0"> I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss,</span> + +<span class="i0">"When both our mouths went wandering in one way,</span> +<span class="i0"> And aching sorely, met among the leaves;</span> +<span class="i0"> Our hands being left behind strained far away.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Never within a yard of my bright sleeves</span> +<span class="i0"> Had Launcelot come before—and now, so nigh!</span> +<span class="i0"> After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,</span> +<span class="i0"> Whatever happened on through all those years,</span> +<span class="i0"> God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Being such a lady could I weep these tears</span> +<span class="i0"> If this were true? A great queen such as I</span> +<span class="i0"> Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears;</span> + +<span class="i0">"And afterwards she liveth hatefully,</span> +<span class="i0"> Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps,—</span> +<span class="i0"> Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps</span> +<span class="i0"> All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth?</span> +<span class="i0"> Remember in what grave your mother sleeps,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Buried in some place far down in the south,</span> +<span class="i0"> Men are forgetting as I speak to you;</span> +<span class="i0"> By her head sever'd in that awful drouth</span> + +<span class="i0">"Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow,</span> +<span class="i0"> I pray your pity! let me not scream out</span> +<span class="i0"> For ever after, when the shrill winds blow</span> + +<span class="i0">"Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout</span> +<span class="i0"> For ever after in the winter night</span> +<span class="i0"> When you ride out alone! in battle-rout</span> + +<span class="i0">"Let not my rusting tears make your sword light!</span> +<span class="i0"> Ah! God of mercy how he turns away!</span> +<span class="i0"> So, ever must I dress me to the fight,</span> + +<span class="i0">"So—let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say,</span> +<span class="i0"> See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know</span> +<span class="i0"> Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,</span> + +<span class="i0">"One bitter day in <i>la Fausse Garde</i>, for so</span> +<span class="i0"> All good knights held it after, saw—</span> +<span class="i0"> Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though</span> + +<span class="i0">"You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw,</span> +<span class="i0"> This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed—</span> +<span class="i0"> Whose blood then pray you? is there any law</span> + +<span class="i0">"To make a queen say why some spots of red</span> +<span class="i0"> Lie on her coverlet? or will you say,</span> +<span class="i0"> 'Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed,</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Where did you bleed?' and must I stammer out—'Nay',</span> +<span class="i0"> I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend</span> +<span class="i0"> My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay</span> + +<span class="i0">"'A knife-point last night:' so must I defend</span> +<span class="i0"> The honour of the lady Guenevere?</span> +<span class="i0"> Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end</span> + +<span class="i0">"This very day, and you were judges here</span> +<span class="i0"> Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce</span> +<span class="i0"> When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear</span> + +<span class="i0">"Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance,</span> +<span class="i0"> His side sink in? as my knight cried and said,</span> +<span class="i0"> 'Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance!</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,</span> +<span class="i0"> By God I am so glad to fight with you,</span> +<span class="i0"> Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead</span> + +<span class="i0">"'For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do,</span> +<span class="i0"> For all my wounds are moving in my breast,</span> +<span class="i0"> And I am getting mad with waiting so.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"He struck his hands together o'er the beast,</span> +<span class="i0"> Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet,</span> +<span class="i0"> And groan'd at being slain so young—'at least.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"My knight said, 'Rise you, sir, who are so fleet</span> +<span class="i0"> At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight,</span> +<span class="i0"> My left side all uncover'd!' then I weet,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight</span> +<span class="i0"> Upon his knave's face; not until just then</span> +<span class="i0"> Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight</span> + +<span class="i0">"Along the lists look to my stake and pen</span> +<span class="i0"> With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh</span> +<span class="i0"> From agony beneath my waist-chain, when</span> + +<span class="i0">"The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;</span> +<span class="i0"> Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,</span> +<span class="i0"> And traversed warily, and ever high</span> + +<span class="i0">"And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight</span> +<span class="i0"> Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand,</span> +<span class="i0"> Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Except a spout of blood on the hot land;</span> +<span class="i0"> For it was hottest summer; and I know</span> +<span class="i0"> I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand,</span> + +<span class="i0">"And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,</span> +<span class="i0"> Yards above my head; thus these matters went:</span> +<span class="i0"> Which things were only warnings of the woe</span> + +<span class="i0">"That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,</span> +<span class="i0"> For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;</span> +<span class="i0"> Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent</span> + +<span class="i0">"With all this wickedness; say no rash word</span> +<span class="i0"> Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes,</span> +<span class="i0"> Wept all away the grey, may bring some sword</span> + +<span class="i0">"To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise,</span> +<span class="i0"> Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand;</span> +<span class="i0"> And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yea also at my full heart's strong command,</span> +<span class="i0"> See through my long throat how the words go up</span> +<span class="i0"> In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand</span> + +<span class="i0">"The shadow lies like wine within a cup</span> +<span class="i0"> Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now</span> +<span class="i0"> This little wind is rising, look you up,</span> + +<span class="i0">"And wonder how the light is falling so</span> +<span class="i0"> Within my moving tresses: will you dare</span> +<span class="i0"> When you have looked a little on my brow,</span> + +<span class="i0">"To say this thing is vile? or will you care</span> +<span class="i0"> For any plausible lies of cunning woof,</span> +<span class="i0"> When you can see my face with no lie there</span> + +<span class="i0">"For ever? am I not a gracious proof—</span> +<span class="i0"> 'But in your chamber Launcelot was found'—</span> +<span class="i0"> Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,</span> + +<span class="i0">"When a queen says with gentle queenly sound:</span> +<span class="i0"> 'O true as steel come now and talk with me,</span> +<span class="i0"> I love to see your step upon the ground</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Unwavering, also well I love to see</span> +<span class="i0"> That gracious smile light up your face, and hear</span> +<span class="i0"> Your wonderful words, that all mean verily</span> + +<span class="i0">"'The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear</span> +<span class="i0"> To me in everything, come here to-night,</span> +<span class="i0"> Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;</span> + +<span class="i0">"'If you come not, I fear this time I might</span> +<span class="i0"> Get thinking over much of times gone by,</span> +<span class="i0"> When I was young, and green hope was in sight:</span> + +<span class="i0">"'For no man cares now to know why I sigh;</span> +<span class="i0"> And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,</span> +<span class="i0"> Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie</span> + +<span class="i0">"'So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs</span> +<span class="i0"> To see you, Launcelot; that we may be</span> +<span class="i0"> Like children once again, free from all wrongs</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Just for one night.' Did he not come to me?</span> +<span class="i0"> What thing could keep true Launcelot away</span> +<span class="i0"> If I said 'Come?' there was one less than three</span> + +<span class="i0">"In my quiet room that night, and we were gay;</span> +<span class="i0"> Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick,</span> +<span class="i0"> Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea</span> + +<span class="i0">"I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak,</span> +<span class="i0"> For he looked helpless too, for a little while;</span> +<span class="i0"> Then I remember how I tried to shriek,</span> + +<span class="i0">"And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile</span> +<span class="i0"> The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head</span> +<span class="i0"> And made me dizzier; till within a while</span> + +<span class="i0">"My maids were all about me, and my head</span> +<span class="i0"> On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away</span> +<span class="i0"> From its white chattering, until Launcelot said—</span> + +<span class="i0">"By God! I will not tell you more to-day,</span> +<span class="i0"> Judge any way you will—what matters it?</span> +<span class="i0"> You know quite well the story of that fray,</span> + +<span class="i0">"How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit</span> +<span class="i0"> That caught up Gauwaine—all, all, verily,</span> +<span class="i0"> But just that which would save me; these things flit.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,</span> +<span class="i0"> Whatever may have happen'd these long years,</span> +<span class="i0"> God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie!</span> + +<span class="i0">"All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears."</span> +<span class="i0"> She would not speak another word, but stood</span> +<span class="i0"> Turn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears</span> + +<span class="i0"> His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood</span> +<span class="i0"> Of his foe's lances. She lean'd eagerly,</span> +<span class="i0"> And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could</span> + +<span class="i0"> At last hear something really; joyfully</span> +<span class="i0"> Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed</span> +<span class="i0"> Of the roan charger drew all men to see,</span> +<span class="i0"> The knight who came was Launcelot at good need.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="A_GOOD_KNIGHT_IN_PRISON" id="A_GOOD_KNIGHT_IN_PRISON"></a>A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON.</h2> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sir Guy</span>, <i>being in the court of a Pagan castle</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This castle where I dwell, it stands</span> +<span class="i0">A long way off from Christian lands,</span> +<span class="i0">A long way off my lady's hands,</span> +<span class="i0">A long way off the aspen trees,</span> +<span class="i0">And murmur of the lime-tree bees.</span> + +<span class="i0">But down the Valley of the Rose</span> +<span class="i0">My lady often hawking goes,</span> +<span class="i0">Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind,</span> +<span class="i0">Leaning towards the western wind,</span> +<span class="i0">Because it bringeth to her mind</span> +<span class="i0">Sad whisperings of happy times,</span> +<span class="i0">The face of him who sings these rhymes.</span> + +<span class="i2">King Guilbert rides beside her there,</span> +<span class="i0">Bends low and calls her very fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And strives, by pulling down his hair,</span> +<span class="i0">To hide from my dear lady's ken</span> +<span class="i0">The grisly gash I gave him, when</span> +<span class="i0">I cut him down at Camelot;</span> +<span class="i0">However he strives, he hides it not,</span> +<span class="i0">That tourney will not be forgot,</span> +<span class="i0">Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot,</span> +<span class="i0">Whatever he says she answers not.</span> +<span class="i0">Now tell me, you that are in love,</span> +<span class="i0">From the king's son to the wood-dove,</span> +<span class="i0">Which is the better, he or I?</span> + +<span class="i0">For this king means that I should die</span> +<span class="i0">In this lone Pagan castle, where</span> +<span class="i0">The flowers droop in the bad air</span> +<span class="i0">On the September evening.</span> + +<span class="i2">Look, now I take mine ease and sing,</span> +<span class="i0">Counting as but a little thing</span> +<span class="i0">The foolish spite of a bad king.</span> + +<span class="i2">For these vile things that hem me in,</span> +<span class="i0">These Pagan beasts who live in sin,</span> +<span class="i0">The sickly flowers pale and wan,</span> +<span class="i0">The grim blue-bearded castellan,</span> +<span class="i0">The stanchions half worn-out with rust,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereto their banner vile they trust—</span> +<span class="i0">Why, all these things I hold them just</span> +<span class="i0">Like dragons in a missal book,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherein, whenever we may look,</span> +<span class="i0">We see no horror, yea, delight</span> +<span class="i0">We have, the colours are so bright;</span> +<span class="i0">Likewise we note the specks of white,</span> +<span class="i0">And the great plates of burnish'd gold.</span> + +<span class="i2">Just so this Pagan castle old,</span> +<span class="i0">And everything I can see there,</span> +<span class="i0">Sick-pining in the marshland air,</span> +<span class="i0">I note; I will go over now,</span> +<span class="i0">Like one who paints with knitted brow,</span> +<span class="i0">The flowers and all things one by one,</span> +<span class="i0">From the snail on the wall to the setting sun.</span> + +<span class="i2">Four great walls, and a little one</span> +<span class="i0">That leads down to the barbican,</span> +<span class="i0">Which walls with many spears they man,</span> +<span class="i0">When news comes to the castellan</span> +<span class="i0">Of Launcelot being in the land.</span> + +<span class="i2">And as I sit here, close at hand</span> +<span class="i0">Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand,</span> +<span class="i0">The castellan with a long wand</span> +<span class="i0">Cuts down their leaves as he goes by,</span> +<span class="i0">Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye,</span> +<span class="i0">And fingers twisted in his beard—</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard?</span> +<span class="i0">I have a hope makes me afeard:</span> +<span class="i0">It cannot be, but if some dream</span> +<span class="i0">Just for a minute made me deem</span> +<span class="i0">I saw among the flowers there</span> +<span class="i0">My lady's face with long red hair,</span> +<span class="i0">Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come,</span> +<span class="i0">As I was wont to see her some</span> +<span class="i0">Fading September afternoon,</span> +<span class="i0">And kiss me, saying nothing, soon</span> +<span class="i0">To leave me by myself again;</span> +<span class="i2">Could I get this by longing: vain!</span> + +<span class="i2">The castellan is gone: I see</span> +<span class="i0">On one broad yellow flower a bee</span> +<span class="i0">Drunk with much honey—</span> +<span class="i8">Christ! again,</span> +<span class="i0">Some distant knight's voice brings me pain,</span> +<span class="i0">I thought I had forgot to feel,</span> +<span class="i0">I never heard the blissful steel</span> +<span class="i0">These ten years past; year after year,</span> +<span class="i0">Through all my hopeless sojourn here,</span> +<span class="i0">No Christian pennon has been near;</span> +<span class="i0">Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on</span> +<span class="i0">Over the marches, battle won,</span> +<span class="i0">Knights' shouts, and axes hammering,</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, quicker now the dint and ring</span> +<span class="i0">Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan,</span> +<span class="i0">When they come back count man for man,</span> +<span class="i0">Say whom you miss.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4>The <span class="smcap">Pagans</span>, <i>from the battlements</i>.</h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Mahmoud to aid!</span> +<span class="i0">Why flee ye so like men dismay'd?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4>The <span class="smcap">Pagans</span>, <i>from without</i>.</h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot,</span> +<span class="i0">Who follows quick upon us, hot</span> +<span class="i0">And shouting with his men-at-arms.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sir Guy.</span></h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Also the Pagans raise alarms,</span> +<span class="i0">And ring the bells for fear; at last</span> +<span class="i0">My prison walls will be well past.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sir Launcelot</span>, <i>from outside</i>.</h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ho! in the name of the Trinity,</span> +<span class="i0">Let down the drawbridge quick to me,</span> +<span class="i0">And open doors, that I may see</span> +<span class="i0">Guy the good knight.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Pagans</span>, <i>from the battlements</i>.</h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Nay, Launcelot,</span> +<span class="i0">With mere big words ye win us not.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sir Launcelot.</span></h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bid Miles bring up la perriere,</span> +<span class="i0">And archers clear the vile walls there,</span> +<span class="i0">Bring back the notches to the ear,</span> +<span class="i0">Shoot well together! God to aid!</span> +<span class="i0">These miscreants shall be well paid.</span> + +<span class="i0">Hurrah! all goes together; Miles</span> +<span class="i0">Is good to win my lady's smiles</span> +<span class="i0">For his good shooting—Launcelot!</span> +<span class="i0">On knights a-pace! this game is hot!</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sir Guy</span> <i>sayeth afterwards</i>.</h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I said, I go to meet her now,</span> +<span class="i0">And saying so, I felt a blow</span> +<span class="i0">From some clench'd hand across my brow,</span> +<span class="i0">And fell down on the sunflowers</span> +<span class="i0">Just as a hammering smote my ears,</span> +<span class="i0">After which this I felt in sooth;</span> +<span class="i0">My bare hands throttling without ruth</span> +<span class="i0">The hairy-throated castellan;</span> +<span class="i0">Then a grim fight with those that ran</span> +<span class="i0">To slay me, while I shouted, "God</span> +<span class="i0">For the Lady Mary!" deep I trod</span> +<span class="i0">That evening in my own red blood;</span> +<span class="i0">Nevertheless so stiff I stood,</span> +<span class="i0">That when the knights burst the old wood</span> +<span class="i0">Of the castle-doors, I was not dead.</span> + +<span class="i2">I kiss the Lady Mary's head,</span> +<span class="i0">Her lips, and her hair golden red,</span> +<span class="i0">Because to-day we have been wed.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="SHAMEFUL_DEATH" id="SHAMEFUL_DEATH"></a>SHAMEFUL DEATH.</h2> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There were four of us about that bed;</span> +<span class="i2">The mass-priest knelt at the side,</span> +<span class="i0">I and his mother stood at the head,</span> +<span class="i2">Over his feet lay the bride;</span> +<span class="i0">We were quite sure that he was dead,</span> +<span class="i2">Though his eyes were open wide.</span> + +<span class="i0">He did not die in the night,</span> +<span class="i2">He did not die in the day,</span> +<span class="i0">But in the morning twilight</span> +<span class="i2">His spirit pass'd away,</span> +<span class="i0">When neither sun nor moon was bright,</span> +<span class="i2">And the trees were merely grey.</span> + +<span class="i0">He was not slain with the sword,</span> +<span class="i2">Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet spoke he never a word</span> +<span class="i2">After he came in here;</span> +<span class="i0">I cut away the cord</span> +<span class="i2">From the neck of my brother dear.</span> + +<span class="i0">He did not strike one blow,</span> +<span class="i2">For the recreants came behind,</span> +<span class="i0">In a place where the hornbeams grow,</span> +<span class="i2">A path right hard to find,</span> +<span class="i0">For the hornbeam boughs swing so,</span> +<span class="i2">That the twilight makes it blind.</span> + +<span class="i0">They lighted a great torch then,</span> +<span class="i2">When his arms were pinion'd fast,</span> +<span class="i0">Sir John the knight of the Fen,</span> +<span class="i2">Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,</span> +<span class="i0">With knights threescore and ten,</span> +<span class="i2">Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.</span> + +<span class="i0">I am threescore and ten,</span> +<span class="i2">And my hair is all turn'd grey,</span> +<span class="i0">But I met Sir John of the Fen</span> +<span class="i2">Long ago on a summer day,</span> +<span class="i0">And am glad to think of the moment when</span> +<span class="i2">I took his life away.</span> + +<span class="i0">I am threescore and ten,</span> +<span class="i2">And my strength is mostly pass'd,</span> +<span class="i0">But long ago I and my men,</span> +<span class="i2">When the sky was overcast,</span> +<span class="i0">And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,</span> +<span class="i2">Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.</span> + +<span class="i0">And now, knights all of you,</span> +<span class="i2">I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,</span> +<span class="i0">A good knight and a true,</span> +<span class="i2">And for Alice, his wife, pray too.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="THE_EVE_OF_CRECY" id="THE_EVE_OF_CRECY"></a>THE EVE OF CRECY.</h2> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gold on her head, and gold on her feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,</span> +<span class="i0">And a golden girdle round my sweet;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">Margaret's maids are fair to see,</span> +<span class="i0">Freshly dress'd and pleasantly;</span> +<span class="i0">Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">If I were rich I would kiss her feet,</span> +<span class="i0">I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet,</span> +<span class="i0">And the golden girdle round my sweet—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand;</span> +<span class="i0">When the arriere-ban goes through the land,</span> +<span class="i0">Six basnets under my pennon stand;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">And many an one grins under his hood:</span> +<span class="i0">"Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good,</span> +<span class="i0">Has neither food nor firewood;"—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">If I were rich I would kiss her feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And the golden girdle of my sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet even now it is good to think,</span> +<span class="i0">While my few poor varlets grumble and drink</span> +<span class="i0">In my desolate hall where the fires sink;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">Of Margaret sitting glorious there,</span> +<span class="i0">In glory of gold and glory of hair,</span> +<span class="i0">And glory of glorious face most fair;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">Likewise to-night I make good cheer,</span> +<span class="i0">Because this battle draweth near:</span> +<span class="i0">For what have I to lose or fear?—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">For, look you, my horse is good to prance</span> +<span class="i0">A right fair measure in this war-dance,</span> +<span class="i0">Before the eyes of Philip of France;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> + +<span class="i0">And sometime it may hap, perdie,</span> +<span class="i0">While my new towers stand up three and three,</span> +<span class="i0">And my hall gets painted fair to see—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i>—</span> + +<span class="i0">That folks may say: "Times change, by the rood,</span> +<span class="i0">For Lambert, banneret of the wood,</span> +<span class="i0">Has heaps of food and firewood;—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;</i>—</span> + +<span class="i0">"And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood</span> +<span class="i0">Of a damsel of right noble blood:"</span> +<span class="i0">St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!—</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i></span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="THE_HAYSTACK_IN_THE_FLOODS" id="THE_HAYSTACK_IN_THE_FLOODS"></a>THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS.</h2> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had she come all the way for this,</span> +<span class="i0">To part at last without a kiss?</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain</span> +<span class="i0">That her own eyes might see him slain</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the haystack in the floods?</span> + +<span class="i0">Along the dripping leafless woods,</span> +<span class="i0">The stirrup touching either shoe,</span> +<span class="i0">She rode astride as troopers do;</span> +<span class="i0">With kirtle kilted to her knee,</span> +<span class="i0">To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;</span> +<span class="i0">And the wet dripp'd from every tree</span> +<span class="i0">Upon her head and heavy hair,</span> +<span class="i0">And on her eyelids broad and fair;</span> +<span class="i0">The tears and rain ran down her face.</span> + +<span class="i0">By fits and starts they rode apace,</span> +<span class="i0">And very often was his place</span> +<span class="i0">Far off from her; he had to ride</span> +<span class="i0">Ahead, to see what might betide</span> +<span class="i0">When the road cross'd; and sometimes, when</span> +<span class="i0">There rose a murmuring from his men,</span> +<span class="i0">Had to turn back with promises;</span> +<span class="i0">Ah me! she had but little ease;</span> +<span class="i0">And often for pure doubt and dread</span> +<span class="i0">She sobb'd, made giddy in the head</span> + +<span class="i0">By the swift riding; while, for cold,</span> +<span class="i0">Her slender fingers scarce could hold</span> +<span class="i0">The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,</span> +<span class="i0">She felt the foot within her shoe</span> +<span class="i0">Against the stirrup: all for this,</span> +<span class="i0">To part at last without a kiss</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the haystack in the floods.</span> + +<span class="i0">For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,</span> +<span class="i0">They saw across the only way</span> +<span class="i0">That Judas, Godmar, and the three</span> +<span class="i0">Red running lions dismally</span> +<span class="i0">Grinn'd from his pennon, under which</span> +<span class="i0">In one straight line along the ditch,</span> +<span class="i0">They counted thirty heads.</span> + +<span class="i8">So then,</span> +<span class="i0">While Robert turn'd round to his men,</span> +<span class="i0">She saw at once the wretched end,</span> +<span class="i0">And, stooping down, tried hard to rend</span> +<span class="i0">Her coif the wrong way from her head,</span> +<span class="i0">And hid her eyes; while Robert said:</span> +<span class="i0">"Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one,</span> +<span class="i0">At Poictiers where we made them run</span> +<span class="i0">So fast—why, sweet my love, good cheer,</span> +<span class="i0">The Gascon frontier is so near,</span> +<span class="i0">Nought after this."</span> + +<span class="i8">But, "O," she said,</span> +<span class="i0">"My God! my God! I have to tread</span> +<span class="i0">The long way back without you; then</span> +<span class="i0">The court at Paris; those six men;</span> +<span class="i0">The gratings of the Chatelet;</span> +<span class="i0">The swift Seine on some rainy day</span> +<span class="i0">Like this, and people standing by,</span> +<span class="i0">And laughing, while my weak hands try</span> +<span class="i0">To recollect how strong men swim.</span> +<span class="i0">All this, or else a life with him,</span> +<span class="i0">For which I should be damned at last,</span> +<span class="i0">Would God that this next hour were past!"</span> + +<span class="i0">He answer'd not, but cried his cry,</span> +<span class="i0">"St. George for Marny!" cheerily;</span> +<span class="i0">And laid his hand upon her rein.</span> +<span class="i0">Alas! no man of all his train</span> +<span class="i0">Gave back that cheery cry again;</span> +<span class="i0">And, while for rage his thumb beat fast</span> +<span class="i0">Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast</span> +<span class="i0">About his neck a kerchief long,</span> +<span class="i0">And bound him.</span> + +<span class="i8">Then they went along</span> +<span class="i0">To Godmar; who said: "Now, Jehane,</span> +<span class="i0">Your lover's life is on the wane</span> +<span class="i0">So fast, that, if this very hour</span> +<span class="i0">You yield not as my paramour,</span> +<span class="i0">He will not see the rain leave off—</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff,</span> +<span class="i0">Sir Robert, or I slay you now."</span> + +<span class="i0">She laid her hand upon her brow,</span> +<span class="i0">Then gazed upon the palm, as though</span> +<span class="i0">She thought her forehead bled, and—"No,"</span> +<span class="i0">She said, and turn'd her head away,</span> +<span class="i0">As there were nothing else to say,</span> +<span class="i0">And everything were settled: red</span> +<span class="i0">Grew Godmar's face from chin to head:</span> +<span class="i0">"Jehane, on yonder hill there stands</span> +<span class="i0">My castle, guarding well my lands:</span> +<span class="i0">What hinders me from taking you,</span> +<span class="i0">And doing that I list to do</span> +<span class="i0">To your fair wilful body, while</span> +<span class="i0">Your knight lies dead?"</span> + +<span class="i8">A wicked smile</span> +<span class="i0">Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin,</span> +<span class="i0">A long way out she thrust her chin:</span> +<span class="i0">"You know that I should strangle you</span> +<span class="i0">While you were sleeping; or bite through</span> +<span class="i0">Your throat, by God's help—ah!" she said,</span> +<span class="i0">"Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!</span> +<span class="i0">For in such wise they hem me in,</span> +<span class="i0">I cannot choose but sin and sin,</span> +<span class="i0">Whatever happens: yet I think</span> +<span class="i0">They could not make me eat or drink,</span> +<span class="i0">And so should I just reach my rest."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nay, if you do not my behest,</span> +<span class="i0">O Jehane! though I love you well,"</span> +<span class="i0">Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell</span> +<span class="i0">All that I know." "Foul lies," she said.</span> +<span class="i0">"Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head,</span> +<span class="i0">At Paris folks would deem them true!</span> +<span class="i0">Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you,</span> +<span class="i0">'Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown!</span> +<span class="i0">Give us Jehane to burn or drown!'—</span> +<span class="i0">Eh—gag me, Robert!—sweet my friend,</span> +<span class="i0">This were indeed a piteous end</span> +<span class="i0">For those long fingers, and long feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;</span> +<span class="i0">An end that few men would forget</span> +<span class="i0">That saw it—So, an hour yet:</span> +<span class="i0">Consider, Jehane, which to take</span> +<span class="i0">Of life or death!"</span> + +<span class="i8">So, scarce awake</span> +<span class="i0">Dismounting, did she leave that place,</span> +<span class="i0">And totter some yards: with her face</span> +<span class="i0">Turn'd upward to the sky she lay,</span> +<span class="i0">Her head on a wet heap of hay,</span> +<span class="i0">And fell asleep: and while she slept,</span> +<span class="i0">And did not dream, the minutes crept</span> +<span class="i0">Round to the twelve again; but she,</span> +<span class="i0">Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly,</span> +<span class="i0">And strangely childlike came, and said:</span> +<span class="i0">"I will not." Straightway Godmar's head,</span> +<span class="i0">As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd</span> +<span class="i0">Most sharply round, and his face burn'd.</span> + +<span class="i0">For Robert—both his eyes were dry,</span> +<span class="i0">He could not weep but gloomily</span> +<span class="i0">He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too,</span> +<span class="i0">His lips were firm; he tried once more</span> +<span class="i0">To touch her lips; she reach'd out, sore</span> +<span class="i0">And vain desire so tortured them,</span> +<span class="i0">The poor grey lips, and now the hem</span> +<span class="i0">Of his sleeve brush'd them.</span> + +<span class="i8">With a start</span> +<span class="i0">Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart;</span> +<span class="i0">From Robert's throat he loosed the bands</span> +<span class="i0">Of silk and mail; with empty hands</span> +<span class="i0">Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw,</span> +<span class="i0">The long bright blade without a flaw</span> +<span class="i0">Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand</span> +<span class="i0">In Robert's hair; she saw him bend</span> +<span class="i0">Back Robert's head; she saw him send</span> +<span class="i0">The thin steel down; the blow told well,</span> +<span class="i0">Right backward the knight Robert fell,</span> +<span class="i0">And moan'd as dogs do, being half dead,</span> +<span class="i0">Unwitting, as I deem: so then</span> +<span class="i0">Godmar turn'd grinning to his men,</span> +<span class="i0">Who ran, some five or six, and beat</span> +<span class="i0">His head to pieces at their feet.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Godmar turn'd again and said:</span> +<span class="i0">"So, Jehane, the first fitte is read!</span> +<span class="i0">Take note, my lady, that your way</span> +<span class="i0">Lies backward to the Chatelet!"</span> +<span class="i0">She shook her head and gazed awhile</span> +<span class="i0">At her cold hands with a rueful smile,</span> +<span class="i0">As though this thing had made her mad.</span> +<span class="i0">This was the parting that they had</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the haystack in the floods.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="RIDING_TOGETHER" id="RIDING_TOGETHER"></a>RIDING TOGETHER.</h2> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For many, many days together</span> +<span class="i2">The wind blew steady from the East;</span> +<span class="i0">For many days hot grew the weather,</span> +<span class="i2">About the time of our Lady's Feast.</span> + +<span class="i0">For many days we rode together,</span> +<span class="i2">Yet met we neither friend nor foe;</span> +<span class="i0">Hotter and clearer grew the weather,</span> +<span class="i2">Steadily did the East wind blow.</span> + +<span class="i0">We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,</span> +<span class="i2">Clear-cut, with shadows very black,</span> +<span class="i0">As freely we rode on together</span> +<span class="i2">With helms unlaced and bridles slack.</span> + +<span class="i0">And often as we rode together,</span> +<span class="i2">We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,</span> +<span class="i0">Saw flowers in the sunny weather,</span> +<span class="i2">And saw the bubble-making bream.</span> + +<span class="i0">And in the night lay down together,</span> +<span class="i2">And hung above our heads the rood,</span> +<span class="i0">Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,</span> +<span class="i2">The while the moon did watch the wood.</span> + +<span class="i0">Our spears stood bright and thick together,</span> +<span class="i2">Straight out the banners stream'd behind,</span> +<span class="i0">As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,</span> +<span class="i2">With faces turn'd towards the wind.</span> + +<span class="i0">Down sank our threescore spears together,</span> +<span class="i2">As thick we saw the Pagans ride;</span> +<span class="i0">His eager face in the clear fresh weather,</span> +<span class="i2">Shone out that last time by my side.</span> + +<span class="i0">Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,</span> +<span class="i2">It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,</span> +<span class="i0">Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,</span> +<span class="i2">The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.</span> + +<span class="i0">There, as we roll'd and writhed together,</span> +<span class="i2">I threw my arms above my head,</span> +<span class="i0">For close by my side, in the lovely weather,</span> +<span class="i2">I saw him reel and fall back dead.</span> + +<span class="i0">I and the slayer met together,</span> +<span class="i2">He waited the death-stroke there in his place,</span> +<span class="i0">With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,</span> +<span class="i2">Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.</span> + +<span class="i0">Madly I fought as we fought together;</span> +<span class="i2">In vain: the little Christian band</span> +<span class="i0">The pagans drowned, as in stormy weather,</span> +<span class="i2">The river drowns low-lying land.</span> + +<span class="i0">They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,</span> +<span class="i2">They bound his corpse to nod by my side:</span> +<span class="i0">Then on we rode, in the bright-March weather,</span> +<span class="i2">With clash of cymbals did we ride.</span> + +<span class="i0">We ride no more, no more together;</span> +<span class="i2">My prison-bars are thick and strong,</span> +<span class="i0">I take no heed of any weather,</span> +<span class="i2">The sweet Saints grant I live not long.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="SUMMER_DAWN" id="SUMMER_DAWN"></a>SUMMER DAWN.</h2> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips,</span> +<span class="i2">Think but one thought of me up in the stars.</span> +<span class="i0">The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,</span> +<span class="i2">Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,</span> +<span class="i0">That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:</span> +<span class="i2">Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold</span> +<span class="i0">Waits to float through them along with the sun.</span> +<span class="i0">Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,</span> +<span class="i2">The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold</span> +<span class="i0">The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;</span> +<span class="i0">Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn,</span> +<span class="i0">Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.</span> +<span class="i2">Speak but one word to me over the corn,</span> +<span class="i2">Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h3>FROM</h3> +<h2>"THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON."</h2> +<br /> +<h3>BOOK XIV.</h3> + +<h4><a name="THE_SIRENS" id="THE_SIRENS"></a>The Sirens—The Garden of the Hesperides +—The Heroes do Sacrifice at Malea.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across the open sea they drew their wake</span> +<span class="i0">For three long days, and when the fourth 'gan break</span> +<span class="i0">Their eyes beheld the fair Trinacrian shore,</span> +<span class="i0">And there-along they coasted two days more.</span> +<span class="i0">Then first Medea warned them to take heed,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest they should end all memory of their deed</span> +<span class="i0">Where dwell the Sirens on the yellow sand,</span> +<span class="i0">And folk should think some tangled poisonous land</span> +<span class="i0">Had buried them, or some tumultuous sea</span> +<span class="i0">O'er their white bones was tossing angrily;</span> +<span class="i0">Or that some muddy river, far from Greece,</span> +<span class="i0">Drove seaward o'er the ringlets of the Fleece.</span> +<span class="i2">But when the Minyæ hearkened to this word,</span> +<span class="i0">With many a thought their wearied hearts were stirred,</span> +<span class="i0">And longing for the near-gained Grecian land,</span> +<span class="i0">Where in a little while their feet should stand;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet none the less like to a happy dream,</span> +<span class="i0">Now, when they neared it, did their own home seem,</span> +<span class="i0">And like a dream the glory of their quest,</span> +<span class="i0">And therewithal some thought of present rest</span> +<span class="i0">Stole over them, and they were fain to sigh,</span> +<span class="i0">Hearkening the sighing restless wind go by.</span> +<span class="i2">But hard on even of the second day,</span> +<span class="i0">As o'er the gentle waves they took their way,</span> +<span class="i0">The orange-scented land-breeze seemed to bear</span> +<span class="i0">Some other sounds unto the listening ear</span> +<span class="i0">Than all day long they had been hearkening,</span> +<span class="i0">The land-born signs of many a well-known thing.</span> +<span class="i0">Thereat Medea trembled, for she knew</span> +<span class="i0">That nigh the dreadful sands at last they drew,</span> +<span class="i0">For certainly the Sirens' song she heard,</span> +<span class="i0">Though yet her ear could shape it to no word,</span> +<span class="i0">And by their faces could the queen behold</span> +<span class="i0">How sweet it was, although no tale it told,</span> +<span class="i0">To those worn toilers o'er the bitter sea.</span> +<span class="i2">Now, as they sped along, they presently,</span> +<span class="i0">Rounding a headland, reached a little bay</span> +<span class="i0">Walled from the sea by splintered cliffs and grey,</span> +<span class="i0">Capped by the thymy hills' green wind-beat head,</span> +<span class="i0">Where 'mid the whin the burrowing rabbits fed.</span> +<span class="i0">And 'neath the cliff they saw a belt of sand,</span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt Nereus' pasture and the high scarped land,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereon, yet far off, could their eyes behold</span> +<span class="i0">White bodies moving, crowned and girt with gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherefrom it seemed that lovely music welled.</span> +<span class="i2">So when all this the grey-eyed queen beheld,</span> +<span class="i0">She said: "O Jason, I have made thee wise</span> +<span class="i0">In this and other things; turn then thine eyes</span> +<span class="i0">Seaward, and note the ripple of the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Where there is hope as well as fear for thee.</span> +<span class="i0">Nor look upon the death that lurketh there</span> +<span class="i0">'Neath the grey cliff, though sweet it seems and fair;</span> +<span class="i0">For thou art young upon this day to die.</span> +<span class="i0">Take then the helm, and gazing steadily</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the road to Greece, make strong thine hand,</span> +<span class="i0">And steer us toward the lion-haunted land,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou, O Thracian! if thou e'er hast moved</span> +<span class="i0">Men's hearts with stories of the Gods who loved,</span> +<span class="i0">And men who suffered, move them on this day,</span> +<span class="i0">Taking the deadly love of death away,</span> +<span class="i0">That even now is stealing over them,</span> +<span class="i0">While still they gaze upon the ocean's hem,</span> +<span class="i0">Where their undoing is if they but knew."</span> + +<span class="i2">But while she spake, still nigher Argo drew</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the yellow edges of the shore,</span> +<span class="i0">And little help she had of ashen oar,</span> +<span class="i0">For as her shielded side rolled through the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Silent with glittering eyes the Minyæ</span> +<span class="i0">Gazed o'er the surge, for they were nigh enow</span> +<span class="i0">To see the gusty wind of evening blow</span> +<span class="i0">Long locks of hair across those bodies white,</span> +<span class="i0">With golden spray hiding some dear delight;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, nigh enow to see their red lips smile,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherefrom all song had ceased now for a while,</span> +<span class="i0">As though they deemed the prey was in the net,</span> +<span class="i0">And they no more had need a bait to set,</span> +<span class="i0">But their own bodies, fair beyond man's thought,</span> +<span class="i0">Under the grey cliff, hidden not of aught</span> +<span class="i0">But of such mist of tears as in the eyes</span> +<span class="i0">Of those seafaring men might chance to rise.</span> +<span class="i2">A moment Jason gazed, then through the waist</span> +<span class="i0">Ran swiftly, and with trembling hands made haste</span> +<span class="i0">To trim the sail, then to the tiller ran,</span> +<span class="i0">And thrust aside the skilled Milesian man,</span> +<span class="i0">Who with half-open mouth, and dreamy eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">Stood steering Argo to that land of lies;</span> +<span class="i0">But as he staggered forward, Jason's hand</span> +<span class="i0">Hard on the tiller steered away from land,</span> +<span class="i0">And as her head a little now fell off</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the wide sea, did he shout this scoff</span> +<span class="i0">To Thracian Orpheus: "Minstrel, shall we die,</span> +<span class="i0">Because thou hast forgotten utterly</span> +<span class="i0">What things she taught thee whom men call divine?</span> +<span class="i0">Or will thy measures but lead folk to wine,</span> +<span class="i0">And scented beds, and not to noble deeds?</span> +<span class="i0">Or will they fail as fail the shepherd's reeds</span> +<span class="i0">Before the trumpet, when these sea-witches</span> +<span class="i0">Pipe shrilly to the washing of the seas?</span> +<span class="i0">I am a man, and these but beasts, but thou</span> +<span class="i0">Giving these souls, that all were men ere now,</span> +<span class="i0">Shalt be a very God and not a man!"</span> +<span class="i2">So spake he; but his fingers Orpheus ran</span> +<span class="i0">Over the strings, and sighing turned away</span> +<span class="i0">From that fair ending of the sunny bay;</span> +<span class="i0">But as his well-skilled hands were preluding</span> +<span class="i0">What his heart swelled with, they began to sing</span> +<span class="i0">With pleading voices from the yellow sands,</span> +<span class="i0">Clustered together, with appealing hands</span> +<span class="i0">Reached out to Argo as the great sail drew,</span> +<span class="i0">While o'er their white limbs sharp the spray-shower flew,</span> +<span class="i0">Since they spared not to set white feet among</span> +<span class="i0">The cold waves heedless of their honied song.</span> +<span class="i2">Sweetly they sang, and still the answer came</span> +<span class="i0">Piercing and clear from him, as bursts the flame</span> +<span class="i0">From out the furnace in the moonless night;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet, as their words are no more known aright</span> +<span class="i0">Through lapse of many ages, and no man</span> +<span class="i0">Can any more across the waters wan</span> +<span class="i0">Behold those singing women of the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Once more I pray you all to pardon me,</span> +<span class="i0">If with my feeble voice and harsh I sing</span> +<span class="i0">From what dim memories yet may chance to cling</span> +<span class="i0">About men's hearts, of lovely things once sung</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the sea, while yet the world was young.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O happy seafarers are ye,</span> +<span class="i2">And surely all your ills are past,</span> +<span class="i0">And toil upon the land and sea,</span> +<span class="i2">Since ye are brought to us at last.</span> + +<span class="i0">To you the fashion of the world,</span> +<span class="i2">Wide lands laid waste, fair cities burned,</span> +<span class="i0">And plagues, and kings from kingdoms hurled,</span> +<span class="i2">Are nought, since hither ye have turned.</span> + +<span class="i0">For as upon this beach we stand,</span> +<span class="i2">And o'er our heads the sea-fowl flit,</span> +<span class="i0">Our eyes behold a glorious land,</span> +<span class="i2">And soon shall ye be kings of it.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A little more, a little more,</span> +<span class="i2">O carriers of the Golden Fleece,</span> +<span class="i0">A little labour with the oar,</span> +<span class="i2">Before we reach the land of Greece.</span> + +<span class="i0">E'en now perchance faint rumours reach</span> +<span class="i2">Men's ears of this our victory,</span> +<span class="i0">And draw them down unto the beach</span> +<span class="i2">To gaze across the empty sea.</span> + +<span class="i0">But since the longed-for day is nigh,</span> +<span class="i2">And scarce a God could stay us now,</span> +<span class="i0">Why do ye hang your heads and sigh,</span> +<span class="i2">Hindering for nought our eager prow?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, had ye chanced to reach the home</span> +<span class="i2">On which your fond desires were set,</span> +<span class="i0">Into what troubles had ye come?</span> +<span class="i2">Short love and joy and long regret.</span> + +<span class="i0">But now, but now, when ye have lain</span> +<span class="i2">Asleep with us a little while</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the washing of the main,</span> +<span class="i2">How calm shall be your waking smile!</span> + +<span class="i0">For ye shall smile to think of life</span> +<span class="i2">That knows no troublous change or fear,</span> +<span class="i0">No unavailing bitter strife,</span> +<span class="i2">That ere its time brings trouble near.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is there some murmur in your ears,</span> +<span class="i2">That all that we have done is nought,</span> +<span class="i0">And nothing ends our cares and fears,</span> +<span class="i2">Till the last fear on us is brought?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! and will ye stop your ears,</span> +<span class="i2">In vain desire to do aught,</span> +<span class="i0">And wish to live 'mid cares and fears,</span> +<span class="i2">Until the last fear makes you nought?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is not the May-time now on earth,</span> +<span class="i2">When close against the city wall</span> +<span class="i0">The folk are singing in their mirth,</span> +<span class="i2">While on their heads the May-flowers fall?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, May is come, and its sweet breath</span> +<span class="i2">Shall well-nigh make you weep to-day,</span> +<span class="i0">And pensive with swift-coming death,</span> +<span class="i2">Shall ye be satiate of the May.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shall not July bring fresh delight,</span> +<span class="i2">As underneath green trees ye sit,</span> +<span class="i0">And o'er some damsel's body white</span> +<span class="i2">The noontide shadows change and flit?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No new delight July shall bring</span> +<span class="i2">But ancient fear and fresh desire,</span> +<span class="i0">And, spite of every lovely thing,</span> +<span class="i2">Of July surely shall ye tire.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, when August comes on thee,</span> +<span class="i2">And 'mid the golden sea of corn</span> +<span class="i0">The merry reapers thou mayst see,</span> +<span class="i2">Wilt thou still think the earth forlorn?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Set flowers upon thy short-lived head,</span> +<span class="i2">And in thine heart forgetfulness</span> +<span class="i0">Of man's hard toil, and scanty bread,</span> +<span class="i2">And weary of those days no less.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or wilt thou climb the sunny hill,</span> +<span class="i2">In the October afternoon,</span> +<span class="i0">To watch the purple earth's blood fill</span> +<span class="i2">The grey vat to the maiden's tune?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When thou beginnest to grow old,</span> +<span class="i2">Bring back remembrance of thy bliss</span> +<span class="i0">With that the shining cup doth hold,</span> +<span class="i2">And weary helplessly of this.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or pleasureless shall we pass by</span> +<span class="i2">The long cold night and leaden day,</span> +<span class="i0">That song, and tale, and minstrelsy</span> +<span class="i2">Shall make as merry as the May?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">List then, to-night, to some old tale</span> +<span class="i2">Until the tears o'erflow thine eyes;</span> +<span class="i0">But what shall all these things avail,</span> +<span class="i2">When sad to-morrow comes and dies?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when the world is born again,</span> +<span class="i2">And with some fair love, side by side,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou wanderest 'twixt the sun and rain,</span> +<span class="i2">In that fresh love-begetting tide;</span> + +<span class="i0">Then, when the world is born again,</span> +<span class="i2">And the sweet year before thee lies,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall thy heart think of coming pain,</span> +<span class="i2">Or vex itself with memories?</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! then the world is born again</span> +<span class="i2">With burning love unsatisfied,</span> +<span class="i0">And new desires fond and vain,</span> +<span class="i2">And weary days from tide to tide.</span> + +<span class="i0">Ah! when the world is born again,</span> +<span class="i2">A little day is soon gone by,</span> +<span class="i0">When thou, unmoved by sun or rain,</span> +<span class="i2">Within a cold straight house shalt lie.</span> + +<span class="i2">Therewith they ceased awhile, as languidly</span> +<span class="i0">The head of Argo fell off toward the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And through the water she began to go,</span> +<span class="i0">For from the land a fitful wind did blow,</span> +<span class="i0">That, dallying with the many-coloured sail,</span> +<span class="i0">Would sometimes swell it out and sometimes fail,</span> +<span class="i0">As nigh the east side of the bay they drew;</span> +<span class="i0">Then o'er the waves again the music flew.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Think not of pleasure, short and vain.</span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith, 'mid days of toil and pain,</span> +<span class="i0">With sick and sinking hearts ye strive</span> +<span class="i0">To cheat yourselves that ye may live</span> +<span class="i0">With cold death ever close at hand;</span> +<span class="i0">Think rather of a peaceful land,</span> +<span class="i0">The changeless land where ye may be</span> +<span class="i0">Roofed over by the changeful sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And is the fair town nothing then,</span> +<span class="i0">The coming of the wandering men</span> +<span class="i0">With that long talked of thing and strange,</span> +<span class="i0">And news of how the kingdoms change;</span> +<span class="i0">The pointed hands, and wondering</span> +<span class="i0">At doers of a desperate thing?</span> +<span class="i0">Push on, for surely this shall be</span> +<span class="i0">Across a narrow strip of sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Alas! poor souls and timorous,</span> +<span class="i0">Will ye draw nigh to gaze at us</span> +<span class="i0">And see if we are fair indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">For such as we shall be your meed,</span> +<span class="i0">There, where our hearts would have you go.</span> +<span class="i0">And where can the earth-dwellers show</span> +<span class="i0">In any land such loveliness</span> +<span class="i0">As that wherewith your eyes we bless,</span> +<span class="i0">O wanderers of the Minyæ,</span> +<span class="i0">Worn toilers over land and sea?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Fair as the lightning thwart the sky,</span> +<span class="i0">As sun-dyed snow upon the high</span> +<span class="i0">Untrodden heaps of threatening stone</span> +<span class="i0">The eagle looks upon alone,</span> +<span class="i0">O fair as the doomed victim's wreath,</span> +<span class="i0">O fair as deadly sleep and death,</span> +<span class="i0">What will ye with them, earthly men,</span> +<span class="i0">To mate your three-score years and ten?</span> +<span class="i0">Toil rather, suffer and be free,</span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the green earth and the sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If ye be bold with us to go,</span> +<span class="i0">Things such as happy dreams may show</span> +<span class="i0">Shall your once heavy eyes behold</span> +<span class="i0">About our palaces of gold;</span> +<span class="i0">Where waters 'neath the waters run,</span> +<span class="i0">And from o'erhead a harmless sun</span> +<span class="i0">Gleams through the woods of chrysolite.</span> +<span class="i0">There gardens fairer to the sight</span> +<span class="i0">Than those of the Phæacian king</span> +<span class="i0">Shall ye behold; and, wondering,</span> +<span class="i0">Gaze on the sea-born fruit and flowers,</span> +<span class="i0">And thornless and unchanging bowers,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereof the May-time knoweth nought.</span> +<span class="i2">So to the pillared house being brought,</span> +<span class="i0">Poor souls, ye shall not be alone,</span> +<span class="i0">For o'er the floors of pale blue stone</span> +<span class="i0">All day such feet as ours shall pass,</span> +<span class="i0">And, 'twixt the glimmering walls of glass,</span> +<span class="i0">Such bodies garlanded with gold,</span> +<span class="i0">So faint, so fair, shall ye behold,</span> +<span class="i0">And clean forget the treachery</span> +<span class="i0">Of changing earth and tumbling sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">O the sweet valley of deep grass,</span> +<span class="i0">Where-through the summer stream doth pass,</span> +<span class="i0">In chain of shallow, and still pool,</span> +<span class="i0">From misty morn to evening cool;</span> +<span class="i0">Where the black ivy creeps and twines</span> +<span class="i0">O'er the dark-armed, red-trunkèd pines,</span> +<span class="i0">Whence clattering the pigeon flits,</span> +<span class="i0">Or, brooding o'er her thin eggs, sits,</span> +<span class="i0">And every hollow of the hills</span> +<span class="i0">With echoing song the mavis fills.</span> +<span class="i0">There by the stream, all unafraid,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall stand the happy shepherd maid,</span> +<span class="i0">Alone in first of sunlit hours;</span> +<span class="i0">Behind her, on the dewy flowers,</span> +<span class="i0">Her homespun woollen raiment lies,</span> +<span class="i0">And her white limbs and sweet grey eyes</span> +<span class="i0">Shine from the calm green pool and deep,</span> +<span class="i0">While round about the swallows sweep,</span> +<span class="i0">Not silent; and would God that we,</span> +<span class="i0">Like them, were landed from the sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Shall we not rise with you at night,</span> +<span class="i0">Up through the shimmering green twilight,</span> +<span class="i0">That maketh there our changeless day,</span> +<span class="i0">Then going through the moonlight grey,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall we not sit upon these sands,</span> +<span class="i0">To think upon the troublous lands</span> +<span class="i0">Long left behind, where once ye were,</span> +<span class="i0">When every day brought change and fear?</span> +<span class="i0">There, with white arms about you twined,</span> +<span class="i0">And shuddering somewhat at the wind</span> +<span class="i0">That ye rejoiced erewhile to meet,</span> +<span class="i0">Be happy, while old stories sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">Half understood, float round your ears,</span> +<span class="i0">And fill your eyes with happy tears.</span> +<span class="i2">Ah! while we sing unto you there,</span> +<span class="i0">As now we sing, with yellow hair</span> +<span class="i0">Blown round about these pearly limbs,</span> +<span class="i0">While underneath the grey sky swims</span> +<span class="i0">The light shell-sailor of the waves,</span> +<span class="i0">And to our song, from sea-filled caves</span> +<span class="i0">Booms out an echoing harmony,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall ye not love the peaceful sea?</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Nigh the vine-covered hillocks green,</span> +<span class="i0">In days agone, have I not seen</span> +<span class="i0">The brown-clad maidens amorous,</span> +<span class="i0">Below the long rose-trellised house,</span> +<span class="i0">Dance to the querulous pipe and shrill,</span> +<span class="i0">When the grey shadow of the hill</span> +<span class="i0">Was lengthening at the end of day?</span> +<span class="i0">Not shadowy nor pale were they,</span> +<span class="i0">But limbed like those who 'twixt the trees,</span> +<span class="i0">Follow the swift of Goddesses.</span> +<span class="i0">Sunburnt they are somewhat, indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">To where the rough brown woollen weed</span> +<span class="i0">Is drawn across their bosoms sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">Or cast from off their dancing feet;</span> +<span class="i0">But yet the stars, the moonlight grey,</span> +<span class="i0">The water wan, the dawn of day,</span> +<span class="i0">Can see their bodies fair and white</span> +<span class="i0">As Hers, who once, for man's delight,</span> +<span class="i0">Before the world grew hard and old,</span> +<span class="i0">Came o'er the bitter sea and cold;</span> +<span class="i0">And surely those that met me there,</span> +<span class="i0">Her handmaidens and subjects were;</span> +<span class="i0">And shame-faced, half-repressed desire</span> +<span class="i0">Had lit their glorious eyes with fire,</span> +<span class="i0">That maddens eager hearts of men.</span> +<span class="i0">O would that I were with them when</span> +<span class="i0">The new-risen moon is gathering light,</span> +<span class="i0">And yellow from the homestead white</span> +<span class="i0">The windows gleam; but verily</span> +<span class="i0">This waits us o'er a little sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Come to the land where none grows old,</span> +<span class="i0">And none is rash or over-bold,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor any noise there is nor war,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor rumour from wild lands afar,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor plagues, nor birth and death of kings;</span> +<span class="i0">No vain desire of unknown things</span> +<span class="i0">Shall vex you there, no hope or fear</span> +<span class="i0">Of that which never draweth near;</span> +<span class="i0">But in that lovely land and still</span> +<span class="i0">Ye may remember what ye will,</span> +<span class="i0">And what ye will, forget for aye.</span> +<span class="i2">So while the kingdoms pass away,</span> +<span class="i0">Ye sea-beat hardened toilers erst,</span> +<span class="i0">Unresting, for vain fame athirst,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall be at peace for evermore,</span> +<span class="i0">With hearts fulfilled of Godlike lore,</span> +<span class="i0">And calm, unwavering Godlike love,</span> +<span class="i0">No lapse of time can turn or move.</span> +<span class="i0">There, ages after your fair Fleece</span> +<span class="i0">Is clean forgotten, yea, and Greece</span> +<span class="i0">Is no more counted glorious,</span> +<span class="i0">Alone with us, alone with us,</span> +<span class="i0">Alone with us, dwell happily,</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath our trembling roof of sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah! do ye weary of the strife</span> +<span class="i0">And long to change this eager life</span> +<span class="i0">For shadowy and dull hopelessness,</span> +<span class="i0">Thinking indeed to gain no less</span> +<span class="i0">Than far from this grey light to lie,</span> +<span class="i0">And there to die and not to die,</span> +<span class="i0">To be as if ye ne'er had been,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet keep your memory fresh and green,</span> +<span class="i0">To have no thought of good or ill,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet feed your fill or pleasure still?</span> +<span class="i0">O idle dream! Ah, verily</span> +<span class="i0">If it shall happen unto me</span> +<span class="i0">That I have thought of anything,</span> +<span class="i0">When o'er my bones the sea-fowl sing,</span> +<span class="i0">And I lie dead, how shall I pine</span> +<span class="i0">For those fresh joys that once were mine,</span> +<span class="i0">On this green fount of joy and mirth,</span> +<span class="i0">The ever young and glorious earth;</span> +<span class="i0">Then, helpless, shall I call to mind</span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts of the sweet flower-scented wind,</span> +<span class="i0">The dew, the gentle rain at night,</span> +<span class="i0">The wonder-working snow and white.</span> +<span class="i0">The song of birds, the water's fall,</span> +<span class="i0">The sun that maketh bliss of all;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, this our toil and victory,</span> +<span class="i0">The tyrannous and conquered sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Sirens.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, will ye go, and whither then</span> +<span class="i2">Will ye go from us, soon to die,</span> +<span class="i0">To fill your three-score years and ten,</span> +<span class="i2">With many an unnamed misery?</span> + +<span class="i0">And this the wretchedest of all,</span> +<span class="i2">That when upon your lonely eyes</span> +<span class="i0">The last faint heaviness shall fall</span> +<span class="i2">Ye shall bethink you of our cries.</span> + +<span class="i0">Come back, nor grown old, seek in vain</span> +<span class="i2">To hear us sing across the sea.</span> +<span class="i0">Come back, come back, come back again,</span> +<span class="i2">Come back, O fearful Minyæ!</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Orpheus.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, once again, ah, once again,</span> +<span class="i2">The black prow plunges through the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet shall all your toil be vain,</span> +<span class="i2">Nor yet forgot, O Minyæ.</span> + +<span class="i2">In such wise sang the Thracian, in such wise</span> +<span class="i0">Out gushed the Sirens' deadly melodies;</span> +<span class="i0">But long before the mingled song was done,</span> +<span class="i0">Back to the oars the Minyæ, one by one,</span> +<span class="i0">Slunk silently; though many an one sighed sore,</span> +<span class="i0">As his strong fingers met the wood once more,</span> +<span class="i0">And from his breast the toilsome breathing came.</span> +<span class="i2">But as they laboured, some for very shame</span> +<span class="i0">Hung down their heads, and yet amongst them some</span> +<span class="i0">Gazed at the place whence that sweet song had come;</span> +<span class="i0">But round the oars and Argo's shielded side</span> +<span class="i0">The sea grew white, and she began to glide</span> +<span class="i0">Swift through the waters of that deadly bay;</span> +<span class="i0">But when a long wake now behind her lay,</span> +<span class="i0">And still the whistle of the wind increased,</span> +<span class="i0">Past shroud and mast, and all the song had ceased,</span> +<span class="i0">Butes rose up, the fair Athenian man,</span> +<span class="i0">And with wild eyes betwixt the rowers ran</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the poop and leapt into the sea;</span> +<span class="i0">Then all men rested on their oars, but he</span> +<span class="i0">Rose to the top, and towards the shore swam fast;</span> +<span class="i0">While all eyes watched him, who had well-nigh past</span> +<span class="i0">The place where sand and water 'gan to meet</span> +<span class="i0">In wreaths and ripples round the ivory feet,</span> +<span class="i0">When sun-burnt swimmer, snow-white glancing limb,</span> +<span class="i0">And yellow sand unto their eyes grew dim,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor did they see their fellow any more.</span> +<span class="i2">But when they once again beheld the shore</span> +<span class="i0">The wind sung o'er the empty beach and bare,</span> +<span class="i0">And by the cliff uprose into the air</span> +<span class="i0">A delicate and glittering little cloud,</span> +<span class="i0">That seemed some many-coloured sun to shroud;</span> +<span class="i0">But as the rugged cliff it drew above</span> +<span class="i0">The wondering Minyæ beheld it move</span> +<span class="i0">Westward, toward Lilybæum and the sun.</span> +<span class="i2">Then once more was their seaward course begun,</span> +<span class="i0">And soon those deadly sands were far astern,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever after could the heroes learn</span> +<span class="i0">If Butes lived or died; but old tales tell</span> +<span class="i0">That while the tumbling waves he breasted well,</span> +<span class="i0">Venus beheld him, as unseen she drew</span> +<span class="i0">From sunny Cyprus to the headland blue</span> +<span class="i0">Of Lilybæum, where her temple is;</span> +<span class="i0">She, with a mind his sun-burnt brows to kiss,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as his feet were dropping nigh the beach,</span> +<span class="i0">And ere his hand the deadly hands could reach,</span> +<span class="i0">Stooped, as the merlin stoops upon the dove,</span> +<span class="i0">And snatched him thence to be awhile her love,</span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the golden pillars of her shrine,</span> +<span class="i0">That those who pass the Ægades see shine</span> +<span class="i0">From high-raised Lilybæum o'er the sea.</span> + +<span class="i2">But far away the sea-beat Minyæ</span> +<span class="i0">Cast forth the foam, as through the growing night</span> +<span class="i0">They laboured ever, having small delight</span> +<span class="i0">In life all empty of that promised bliss,</span> +<span class="i0">In love that scarce can give a dying kiss,</span> +<span class="i0">In pleasure ending sweet songs with a wail,</span> +<span class="i0">In fame that little can dead men avail,</span> +<span class="i0">In vain toil struggling with the fateful stream,</span> +<span class="i0">In hope, the promise of a morning dream.</span> +<span class="i2">Yet as night died, and the cold sea and grey</span> +<span class="i0">Seemed running with them toward the dawn of day,</span> +<span class="i0">Needs must they once again forget their death,</span> +<span class="i0">Needs must they, being alive and drawing breath,</span> +<span class="i0">As men who of no other life can know</span> +<span class="i0">In their own minds again immortal grow.</span> +<span class="i2">But toward the south a little now they bent,</span> +<span class="i0">And for a while o'er landless sea they went,</span> +<span class="i0">But on the third day made another land</span> +<span class="i0">At dawn of day, and thitherward did stand;</span> +<span class="i0">And since the wind blew lightly from the shore,</span> +<span class="i0">Somewhat abeam, they feared not with the oar</span> +<span class="i0">To push across the shallowing sea and green,</span> +<span class="i0">That washed a land the fairest they had seen,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose shell-strewn beach at highest of the tide</span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt sea and flowery shore was nowise wide,</span> +<span class="i0">And drawn a little backward from the sea</span> +<span class="i0">There stood a marble wall wrought cunningly,</span> +<span class="i0">Rosy and white, set thick with images,</span> +<span class="i0">And over-topped with heavy-fruited trees,</span> +<span class="i0">Which by the shore ran, as the bay did bend,</span> +<span class="i0">And to their eyes had neither gap nor end;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor any gate: and looking over this,</span> +<span class="i0">They saw a place not made for earthly bliss,</span> +<span class="i0">Or eyes of dying men, for growing there</span> +<span class="i0">The yellow apple and the painted pear,</span> +<span class="i0">And well-filled golden cups of oranges</span> +<span class="i0">Hung amid groves of pointed cypress trees;</span> +<span class="i0">On grassy slopes the twining vine-boughs grew,</span> +<span class="i0">And hoary olives 'twixt far mountains blue,</span> +<span class="i0">And many-coloured flowers, like as a cloud</span> +<span class="i0">The rugged southern cliffs did softly shroud;</span> +<span class="i0">And many a green-necked bird sung to his mate</span> +<span class="i0">Within the slim-leaved, thorny pomegranate,</span> +<span class="i0">That flung its unstrung rubies on the grass,</span> +<span class="i0">And slowly o'er the place the wind did pass</span> +<span class="i0">Heavy with many odours that it bore</span> +<span class="i0">From thymy hills down to the sea-beat shore,</span> +<span class="i0">Because no flower there is, that all the year,</span> +<span class="i0">From spring to autumn, beareth otherwhere,</span> +<span class="i0">But there it flourished; nor the fruit alone</span> +<span class="i0">From 'twixt the green leaves and the boughs outshone,</span> +<span class="i0">For there each tree was ever flowering.</span> +<span class="i2">Nor was there lacking many a living thing</span> +<span class="i0">Changed of its nature; for the roebuck there</span> +<span class="i0">Walked fearless with the tiger; and the bear</span> +<span class="i0">Rolled sleepily upon the fruit-strawn grass,</span> +<span class="i0">Letting the conies o'er his rough hide pass,</span> +<span class="i0">With blinking eyes, that meant no treachery.</span> +<span class="i0">Careless the partridge passed the red fox by;</span> +<span class="i0">Untouched the serpent left the thrushes brown,</span> +<span class="i0">And as a picture was the lion's frown.</span> +<span class="i2">But in the midst there was a grassy space,</span> +<span class="i0">Raised somewhat over all the flowery place,</span> +<span class="i0">On marble terrace-walls wrought like a dream;</span> +<span class="i0">And round about it ran a clear blue stream,</span> +<span class="i0">Bridged o'er with marble steps, and midmost there</span> +<span class="i0">Grew a green tree, whose smooth grey boughs did bear</span> +<span class="i0">Such fruit as never man elsewhere had seen,</span> +<span class="i0">For 'twixt the sunlight and the shadow green</span> +<span class="i0">Shone out fair apples of red gleaming gold.</span> +<span class="i0">Moreover round the tree, in many a fold,</span> +<span class="i0">Lay coiled a dragon, glittering little less</span> +<span class="i0">Than that which his eternal watchfulness</span> +<span class="i0">Was set to guard; nor yet was he alone,</span> +<span class="i0">For from the daisied grass about him shone</span> +<span class="i0">Gold raiment wrapping round two damsels fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And one upon the steps combed out her hair,</span> +<span class="i0">And with shut eyes sung low as in a dream;</span> +<span class="i0">And one stood naked in the cold blue stream,</span> +<span class="i0">While on the bank her golden raiment lay;</span> +<span class="i0">But on that noontide of the quivering day,</span> +<span class="i0">She only, hearing the seafarers' shout,</span> +<span class="i0">Her lovely golden head had turned about,</span> +<span class="i0">And seen their white sail flapping o'er the wall,</span> +<span class="i0">And as she turned had let her tresses fall,</span> +<span class="i0">Which the thin water rippling round her knee</span> +<span class="i0">Bore outward from her toward the restless sea.</span> +<span class="i2">Not long she stood, but looking seaward yet,</span> +<span class="i0">From out the water made good haste to get,</span> +<span class="i0">And catching up her raiment hastily,</span> +<span class="i0">Ran up the marble stair, and 'gan to cry:</span> +<span class="i0">"Wake, O my sisters, wake, for now are come</span> +<span class="i0">The thieves of Æa to our peaceful home."</span> +<span class="i2">Then at her voice they gat them to their feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And when her raiment all her body sweet</span> +<span class="i0">Once more had hidden, joining hand to hand,</span> +<span class="i0">About the sacred apples did they stand,</span> +<span class="i0">While coiled the dragon closer to the tree,</span> +<span class="i0">And raised his head above them threateningly.</span> + +<span class="i2">Meanwhile, from Argo many a sea-beat face</span> +<span class="i0">Gazed longingly upon that lovely place,</span> +<span class="i0">And some their eager hands already laid</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the gangway. Then Medea said:—</span> +<span class="i0">"Get back unto the oars, O Minyæ,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor loiter here, for what have such as we</span> +<span class="i0">To do herein, where, 'mid undying trees,</span> +<span class="i0">Undying watch the wise Hesperides,</span> +<span class="i0">And where the while they watch, scarce can a God</span> +<span class="i0">Set foot upon the fruit-besprinkled sod</span> +<span class="i0">That no snow ever covers? therefore haste,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet in wondering your fair lives waste;</span> +<span class="i0">For these are as the Gods, nor think of us,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor to their eyes can aught be glorious</span> +<span class="i0">That son of man can do; would God that I</span> +<span class="i0">Could see far off the misty headland lie,</span> +<span class="i0">Where we the guilt of blood shall wash away,</span> +<span class="i0">For I grow weary of the dashing spray,</span> +<span class="i0">And ceaseless roll of interwoven seas,</span> +<span class="i0">And fain were sitting 'neath the whispering trees</span> +<span class="i0">In homely places, where the children play,</span> +<span class="i0">Who change like me, grow old, and die some day."</span> +<span class="i2">She ceased, and little soothly did they grieve,</span> +<span class="i0">For all its loveliness, that land to leave,</span> +<span class="i0">For now some God had chilled their hardihead,</span> +<span class="i0">And in their hearts had set a sacred dread,</span> +<span class="i0">They knew not why; but on their oars they hung,</span> +<span class="i0">A little longer as the sisters sung.</span> + + +<span class="i2">"O ye, who to this place have strayed,</span> +<span class="i0">That never for man's eyes was made,</span> +<span class="i0">Depart in haste, as ye have come,</span> +<span class="i0">And bear back to your sea-beat home</span> +<span class="i0">This memory of the age of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And for your eyes, grown over-bold,</span> +<span class="i0">Your hearts shall pay in sorrowing,</span> +<span class="i0">For want of many a half-seen thing.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Lo, such as is this garden green,</span> +<span class="i0">In days past, all the world has been,</span> +<span class="i0">And what we know all people knew,</span> +<span class="i0">Save this, that unto worse all grew.</span> +<span class="i2">"But since the golden age is gone,</span> +<span class="i0">This little place is left alone,</span> +<span class="i0">Unchanged, unchanging, watched of us,</span> +<span class="i0">The daughters of wise Hesperus.</span> +<span class="i2">"Surely the heavenly Messenger</span> +<span class="i0">Full oft is fain to enter here,</span> +<span class="i0">And yet without must he abide;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor longeth less the dark king's bride</span> +<span class="i0">To set red lips unto that fruit</span> +<span class="i0">That erst made nought her mother's suit.</span> +<span class="i0">Here would Diana rest awhile,</span> +<span class="i0">Forgetful of her woodland guile,</span> +<span class="i0">Among these beasts that fear her nought.</span> +<span class="i0">Nor is it less in Pallas' thought,</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath our trees to ponder o'er</span> +<span class="i0">The wide, unfathomed sea of lore;</span> +<span class="i0">And oft-kissed Citheræa, no less</span> +<span class="i0">Weary of love, full fain would press</span> +<span class="i0">These flowers with soft unsandalled feet.</span> + +<span class="i2">"But unto us our rest is sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">Neither shall any man or God</span> +<span class="i0">Or lovely Goddess touch the sod</span> +<span class="i0">Where-under old times buried lie,</span> +<span class="i0">Before the world knew misery.</span> +<span class="i0">Nor will we have a slave or king,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet will we learn anything</span> +<span class="i0">But that we know, that makes us glad;</span> +<span class="i0">While oft the very Gods are sad</span> +<span class="i0">With knowing what the Fates shall do.</span> +<span class="i2">"Neither from us shall wisdom go</span> +<span class="i0">To fill the hungering hearts of men,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest to them threescore years and ten</span> +<span class="i0">Come but to seem a little day,</span> +<span class="i0">Once given, and taken soon away.</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, rather let them find their life</span> +<span class="i0">Bitter and sweet, fulfilled of strife,</span> +<span class="i0">Restless with hope, vain with regret,</span> +<span class="i0">Trembling with fear, most strangely set</span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt memory and forgetfulness;</span> +<span class="i0">So more shall joy be, troubles less,</span> +<span class="i0">And surely when all this is past,</span> +<span class="i0">They shall not want their rest at last.</span> +<span class="i2">"Let earth and heaven go on their way,</span> +<span class="i0">While still we watch from day to day,</span> +<span class="i0">In this green place left all alone,</span> +<span class="i0">A remnant of the days long gone."</span> + +<span class="i2">There in the wind they hung, as word by word</span> +<span class="i0">The clear-voiced singers silently they heard;</span> +<span class="i0">But when the air was barren of their song,</span> +<span class="i0">Anigh the shore they durst not linger long,</span> +<span class="i0">So northward turned forewearied Argo's head,</span> +<span class="i0">And dipping oars, from that fair country sped,</span> +<span class="i0">Fulfilled of new desires and pensive thought,</span> +<span class="i0">Which that day's life unto their hearts had brought.</span> +<span class="i2">Then hard they toiled upon the bitter sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And in two days they did not fail to be</span> +<span class="i0">In sight of land, a headland high and blue</span> +<span class="i0">Which straight Milesian Erginus knew</span> +<span class="i0">To be the fateful place which now they sought,</span> +<span class="i0">Stormy Malea, so thitherward they brought</span> +<span class="i0">The groaning ship, and, casting anchor, lay</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath that headland's lee, within a bay,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherefrom the more part landed, and their feet</span> +<span class="i0">Once more the happy soil of Greece did meet.</span> +<span class="i2">Therewith they failèd not to bring ashore</span> +<span class="i0">Rich robes of price and of fair arms good store,</span> +<span class="i0">And gold and silver, that they there might buy</span> +<span class="i0">What yet they lacked for their solemnity;</span> +<span class="i0">Then, while upon the highest point of land</span> +<span class="i0">Some built an altar, Jason, with a band</span> +<span class="i0">Of all the chiefest of the Minyæ,</span> +<span class="i0">Turned inland from the murmur of the sea.</span> +<span class="i2">Not far they went ere by a little stream</span> +<span class="i0">Down in a valley they could see the gleam</span> +<span class="i0">Of brazen pillars and fair-gilded vanes,</span> +<span class="i0">And, dropping down by dank dark-wooded lanes</span> +<span class="i0">From off the hill-side, reached a house at last</span> +<span class="i0">Where in and out men-slaves and women passed,</span> +<span class="i0">And guests were streaming fast into the hall,</span> +<span class="i0">Where now the oaken boards were laid for all.</span> +<span class="i0">With these the Minyæ went, and soon they were</span> +<span class="i0">Within a pillared hall both great and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">Where folk already sat beside the board,</span> +<span class="i0">And on the dais was an ancient lord.</span> +<span class="i2">But when these saw the fearless Minyæ</span> +<span class="i0">Glittering in arms, they sprang up hastily,</span> +<span class="i0">And each man turned about unto the wall</span> +<span class="i0">To seize his spear or staff: then through the hall</span> +<span class="i0">Jason cried out: "Laconians, fear ye not,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor leave the flesh-meat while it reeketh hot</span> +<span class="i0">For dread of us, for we are men as ye,</span> +<span class="i0">And I am Jason of the Minyæ,</span> +<span class="i0">And come from Æa to the land of Greece,</span> +<span class="i0">And in my ship bear back the Golden Fleece,</span> +<span class="i0">And a fair Colchian queen to fill my bed.</span> +<span class="i0">And now we pray to share your wine and bread,</span> +<span class="i0">And other things we need, and at our hands</span> +<span class="i0">That ye will take fair things of many lands."</span> +<span class="i2">"Sirs," said the ancient lord, "be welcome here,</span> +<span class="i0">Come up and sit by me, and make such cheer</span> +<span class="i0">As here ye can: glad am I that to me</span> +<span class="i0">The first of Grecian men from off the sea</span> +<span class="i0">Ye now are come."</span> +<span class="i8">Therewith the great hall rang</span> +<span class="i0">With joyful shouts, and as, with clash and clang</span> +<span class="i0">Of well-wrought arms, up to the dais they went,</span> +<span class="i0">All eyes upon the Minyæ were bent,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor could they have enough of wondering</span> +<span class="i0">At this or that sea-tossed victorious king.</span> +<span class="i2">So with the strangers there they held high feast,</span> +<span class="i0">And afterwards the slaves drove many a beast</span> +<span class="i0">Down to the shore, and carried back again</span> +<span class="i0">Great store of precious things in pack and wain;</span> +<span class="i0">Wrought gold and silver, gems, full many a bale</span> +<span class="i0">Of scarlet cloth, and fine silk, fit to veil</span> +<span class="i0">The perfect limbs of dreaded Goddesses;</span> +<span class="i0">Spices fresh-gathered from the outland trees,</span> +<span class="i0">And arms well-wrought, and precious scarce-known wine,</span> +<span class="i0">And carven images well-nigh divine.</span> +<span class="i2">So when all folk with these were satisfied,</span> +<span class="i0">Back went the Minyæ to the water-side,</span> +<span class="i0">And with them that old lord, fain to behold</span> +<span class="i0">Victorious Argo and the Fleece of Gold.</span> +<span class="i0">And so aboard amid the oars he lay</span> +<span class="i0">Throughout the night, and at the dawn of day</span> +<span class="i0">Did all men land, nor spared that day to wear</span> +<span class="i0">The best of all they had of gold-wrought gear,</span> +<span class="i0">And every one, being crowned with olive grey,</span> +<span class="i0">Up to the headland did they take their way,</span> +<span class="i0">Where now already stood the crownèd priests</span> +<span class="i0">About the altars by the gilt-horned beasts.</span> +<span class="i0">There, as the fair sun rose, did Jason break</span> +<span class="i0">Over the altar the thin barley-cake,</span> +<span class="i0">And cast the salt abroad, and there were slain</span> +<span class="i0">The milk-white bulls, and there red wine did rain</span> +<span class="i0">On to the fire from out the ancient jar,</span> +<span class="i0">And high rose up the red flame, seen afar</span> +<span class="i0">From many another headland of that shore:</span> +<span class="i0">But over all its crackling and its roar</span> +<span class="i0">Uprose from time to time a joyous song,</span> +<span class="i0">That on the summer morning lay for long,</span> +<span class="i0">The mighty voices of the Minyæ</span> +<span class="i0">Exulting o'er the tossing conquered sea,</span> +<span class="i0">That far below thrust on by tide and wind</span> +<span class="i0">The crumbling bases of the headland mined.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h3>FROM</h3> + +<h2>"THE EARTHLY PARADISE."</h2> + +<h3><a name="AN_APOLOGY" id="AN_APOLOGY"></a>AN APOLOGY.</h3> + + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing,</span> +<span class="i0">I cannot ease the burden of your fears,</span> +<span class="i0">Or make quick-coming death a little thing,</span> +<span class="i0">Or bring again the pleasure of past years,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears,</span> +<span class="i0">Or hope again for aught that I can say,</span> +<span class="i0">The idle singer of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">But rather, when aweary of your mirth,</span> +<span class="i0">From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh,</span> +<span class="i0">And, feeling kindly unto all the earth,</span> +<span class="i0">Grudge every minute as it passes by,</span> +<span class="i0">Made the more mindful that the sweet days die—</span> +<span class="i0">—Remember me a little then I pray,</span> +<span class="i0">The idle singer of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">The heavy trouble, the bewildering care</span> +<span class="i0">That weighs us down who live and earn our bread,</span> +<span class="i0">These idle verses have no power to bear;</span> +<span class="i0">So let me sing of names remembered,</span> +<span class="i0">Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead,</span> +<span class="i0">Or long time take their memory quite away</span> +<span class="i0">From us poor singers of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time,</span> +<span class="i0">Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?</span> +<span class="i0">Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme</span> +<span class="i0">Beats with light wing against the ivory gate,</span> +<span class="i0">Telling a tale not too importunate</span> +<span class="i0">To those who in the sleepy region stay,</span> +<span class="i0">Lulled by the singer of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">Folk say, a wizard to a northern king</span> +<span class="i0">At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show,</span> +<span class="i0">That through one window men beheld the spring,</span> +<span class="i0">And through another saw the summer glow,</span> +<span class="i0">And through a third the fruited vines a-row,</span> +<span class="i0">While still, unheard, but in its wonted way,</span> +<span class="i0">Piped the drear wind of that December day.</span> + +<span class="i2">So with this Earthly Paradise it is,</span> +<span class="i0">If ye will read aright, and pardon me,</span> +<span class="i0">Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss</span> +<span class="i0">Midmost the beating of the steely sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Where tossed about all hearts of men must be:</span> +<span class="i0">Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay,</span> +<span class="i0">Not the poor singer of an empty day.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h3>FROM</h3> + +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>PROLOGUE—THE WANDERERS.</h2> + +<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> + +<p>Certain gentlemen and mariners of Norway, having considered all that +they had heard of the Earthly Paradise, set sail to find it, and after +many troubles and the lapse of many years came old men to some Western +land, of which they had never before heard: there they died, when they +had dwelt there certain years, much honoured of the strange people.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forget six counties overhung with smoke,</span> +<span class="i0">Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke,</span> +<span class="i0">Forget the spreading of the hideous town;</span> +<span class="i0">Think rather of the pack-horse on the down,</span> +<span class="i0">And dream of London, small, and white, and clean,</span> +<span class="i0">The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green;</span> +<span class="i0">Think, that below bridge the green lapping waves</span> +<span class="i0">Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves,</span> +<span class="i0">Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up hill,</span> +<span class="i0">And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to fill,</span> +<span class="i0">And treasured scanty spice from some far sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery,</span> +<span class="i0">And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne;</span> +<span class="i0">While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen</span> +<span class="i0">Moves over bills of lading—mid such times</span> +<span class="i0">Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes.</span> + +<span class="i2">A nameless city in a distant sea,</span> +<span class="i0">White as the changing walls of faërie,</span> +<span class="i0">Thronged with much people clad in ancient guise</span> +<span class="i0">I now am fain to set before your eyes;</span> +<span class="i0">There, leave the clear green water and the quays,</span> +<span class="i0">And pass betwixt its marble palaces,</span> +<span class="i0">Until ye come unto the chiefest square;</span> +<span class="i0">A bubbling conduit is set midmost there,</span> +<span class="i0">And round about it now the maidens throng,</span> +<span class="i0">With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song,</span> +<span class="i0">Making but light of labour new begun</span> +<span class="i0">While in their vessels gleams the morning sun.</span> +<span class="i2">On one side of the square a temple stands,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherein the gods worshipped in ancient lands</span> +<span class="i0">Still have their altars, a great market-place</span> +<span class="i0">Upon two other sides fills all the space,</span> +<span class="i0">And thence the busy hum of men comes forth;</span> +<span class="i0">But on the cold side looking toward the north</span> +<span class="i0">A pillared council-house may you behold,</span> +<span class="i0">Within whose porch are images of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Gods of the nations who dwelt anciently</span> +<span class="i0">About the borders of the Grecian sea.</span> + +<span class="i2">Pass now between them, push the brazen door,</span> +<span class="i0">And standing on the polished marble floor</span> +<span class="i0">Leave all the noises of the square behind;</span> +<span class="i0">Most calm that reverent chamber shall ye find,</span> +<span class="i0">Silent at first, but for the noise you made</span> +<span class="i0">When on the brazen door your hand you laid</span> +<span class="i0">To shut it after you—but now behold</span> +<span class="i0">The city rulers on their thrones of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands</span> +<span class="i0">Long carven silver-banded ebony wands;</span> +<span class="i0">Then from the daïs drop your eyes and see</span> +<span class="i0">Soldiers and peasants standing reverently</span> +<span class="i0">Before those elders, round a little band</span> +<span class="i0">Who bear such arms as guard the English land,</span> +<span class="i0">But battered, rent, and rusted sore, and they,</span> +<span class="i0">The men themselves, are shrivelled, bent, and grey;</span> +<span class="i0">And as they lean with pain upon their spears</span> +<span class="i0">Their brows seem furrowed deep with more than years;</span> +<span class="i0">For sorrow dulls their heavy sunken eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">Bent are they less with time than miseries.</span> + +<span class="i2">Pondering on them the city grey-beards gaze</span> +<span class="i0">Through kindly eyes, midst thoughts of other days,</span> +<span class="i0">And pity for poor souls, and vague regret</span> +<span class="i0">For all the things that might have happened yet,</span> +<span class="i0">Until, their wonder gathering to a head,</span> +<span class="i0">The wisest man, who long that land has led,</span> +<span class="i0">Breaks the deep silence, unto whom again</span> +<span class="i0">A wanderer answers. Slowly as in pain,</span> +<span class="i0">And with a hollow voice as from a tomb</span> +<span class="i0">At first he tells the story of his doom,</span> +<span class="i0">But as it grows and once more hopes and fears,</span> +<span class="i0">Both measureless, are ringing round his ears,</span> +<span class="i0">His eyes grow bright, his seeming days decrease,</span> +<span class="i0">For grief once told brings somewhat back of peace.</span> +</div></div> + +<br /> +<h4><span class="smcap">The Elder of the City.</span></h4> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">From what unheard-of world, in what strange keel,</span> +<span class="i0">Have ye come hither to our commonweal?</span> +<span class="i0">No barbarous race, as these our peasants say,</span> +<span class="i0">But learned in memories of a long-past day,</span> +<span class="i0">Speaking, some few at least, the ancient tongue</span> +<span class="i0">That through the lapse of ages still has clung</span> +<span class="i0">To us, the seed of the Ionian race.</span> +<span class="i2">Speak out and fear not; if ye need a place</span> +<span class="i0">Wherein to pass the end of life away,</span> +<span class="i0">That shall ye gain from us from this same day,</span> +<span class="i0">Unless the enemies of God ye are;</span> +<span class="i0">We fear not you and yours to bear us war,</span> +<span class="i0">And scarce can think that ye will try again</span> +<span class="i0">Across the perils of the shifting plain</span> +<span class="i0">To seek your own land whereso that may be:</span> +<span class="i0">For folk of ours bearing the memory</span> +<span class="i0">Of our old land, in days past oft have striven</span> +<span class="i0">To reach it, unto none of whom was given</span> +<span class="i0">To come again and tell us of the tale,</span> +<span class="i0">Therefore our ships are now content to sail,</span> +<span class="i0">About these happy islands that we know.</span> +</div></div> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Wanderer.</span></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Masters, I have to tell a tale of woe,</span> +<span class="i0">A tale of folly and of wasted life,</span> +<span class="i0">Hope against hope, the bitter dregs of strife,</span> +<span class="i0">Ending, where all things end, in death at last:</span> +<span class="i0">So if I tell the story of the past,</span> +<span class="i0">Let it be worth some little rest, I pray,</span> +<span class="i0">A little slumber ere the end of day.</span> + +<span class="i2">No wonder if the Grecian tongue I know,</span> +<span class="i0">Since at Byzantium many a year ago</span> +<span class="i0">My father bore the twibil valiantly;</span> +<span class="i0">There did he marry, and get me, and die,</span> +<span class="i0">And I went back to Norway to my kin,</span> +<span class="i0">Long ere this beard ye see did first begin</span> +<span class="i0">To shade my mouth, but nathless not before</span> +<span class="i0">Among the Greeks I gathered some small lore,</span> +<span class="i0">And standing midst the Væringers, still heard</span> +<span class="i0">From this or that man many a wondrous word;</span> +<span class="i0">For ye shall know that though we worshipped God,</span> +<span class="i0">And heard mass duly, still of Swithiod</span> +<span class="i0">The Greater, Odin and his house of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">The noble stories ceased not to be told;</span> +<span class="i0">These moved me more than words of mine can say</span> +<span class="i0">E'en while at Micklegarth my folks did stay;</span> +<span class="i0">But when I reached one dying autumn-tide</span> +<span class="i0">My uncle's dwelling near the forest side,</span> +<span class="i0">And saw the land so scanty and so bare,</span> +<span class="i0">And all the hard things men contend with there,</span> +<span class="i0">A little and unworthy land it seemed,</span> +<span class="i0">And yet the more of Asagard I dreamed,</span> +<span class="i0">And worthier seemed the ancient faith of praise.</span> + +<span class="i2">But now, but now—when one of all those days</span> +<span class="i0">Like Lazarus' finger on my heart should be</span> +<span class="i0">Breaking the fiery fixed eternity,</span> +<span class="i0">But for one moment—could I see once more</span> +<span class="i0">The grey-roofed sea-port sloping towards the shore,</span> +<span class="i0">Or note the brown boats standing in from sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Or the great dromond swinging from the quay,</span> +<span class="i0">Or in the beech-woods watch the screaming jay</span> +<span class="i0">Shoot up betwixt the tall trunks, smooth and grey—</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, could I see the days before distress</span> +<span class="i0">When very longing was but happiness.</span> + +<span class="i2">Within our house there was a Breton squire</span> +<span class="i0">Well learned, who fail'd not to fan the fire</span> +<span class="i0">That evermore unholpen burned in me</span> +<span class="i0">Strange lands and things beyond belief to see;</span> +<span class="i0">Much lore of many lands this Breton knew;</span> +<span class="i0">And for one tale I told, he told me two.</span> +<span class="i0">He, counting Asagard a new-told thing,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet spoke of gardens ever blossoming</span> +<span class="i0">Across the western sea where none grew old,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as the books at Micklegarth had told,</span> +<span class="i0">And said moreover that an English knight</span> +<span class="i0">Had had the Earthly Paradise in sight,</span> +<span class="i0">And heard the songs of those that dwelt therein.</span> +<span class="i0">But entered not, being hindered by his sin.</span> +<span class="i0">Shortly, so much of this and that he said</span> +<span class="i0">That in my heart the sharp barb entered,</span> +<span class="i0">And like real life would empty stories seem,</span> +<span class="i0">And life from day to day an empty dream.</span> + +<span class="i2">Another man there was, a Swabian priest,</span> +<span class="i0">Who knew the maladies of man and beast,</span> +<span class="i0">And what things helped them; he the stone still sought</span> +<span class="i0">Whereby base metal into gold is brought,</span> +<span class="i0">And strove to gain the precious draught, whereby</span> +<span class="i0">Men live midst mortal men yet never die;</span> +<span class="i0">Tales of the Kaiser Redbeard could he tell</span> +<span class="i0">Who neither went to Heaven nor yet to Hell,</span> +<span class="i0">When from that fight upon the Asian plain</span> +<span class="i0">He vanished, but still lives to come again</span> +<span class="i0">Men know not how or when; but I listening</span> +<span class="i0">Unto this tale thought it a certain thing</span> +<span class="i0">That in some hidden vale of Swithiod</span> +<span class="i0">Across the golden pavement still he trod.</span> + +<span class="i2">But while our longing for such things so grew,</span> +<span class="i0">And ever more and more we deemed them true,</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the land a pestilence there fell</span> +<span class="i0">Unheard of yet in any chronicle,</span> +<span class="i0">And, as the people died full fast of it,</span> +<span class="i0">With these two men it chanced me once to sit,</span> +<span class="i0">This learned squire whose name was Nicholas,</span> +<span class="i0">And Swabian Laurence, as our manner was;</span> +<span class="i0">For could we help it scarcely did we part</span> +<span class="i0">From dawn to dusk: so heavy, sad at heart,</span> +<span class="i0">We from the castle-yard beheld the bay</span> +<span class="i0">Upon that ne'er-to-be-forgotten day,</span> +<span class="i0">Little we said amidst that dreary mood,</span> +<span class="i0">And certes nought that we could say was good.</span> + +<span class="i2">It was a bright September afternoon,</span> +<span class="i0">The parched-up beech-trees would be yellowing soon</span> +<span class="i0">The yellow flowers grown deeper with the sun</span> +<span class="i0">Were letting fall their petals one by one;</span> +<span class="i0">No wind there was, a haze was gathering o'er</span> +<span class="i0">The furthest bound of the faint yellow shore;</span> +<span class="i0">And in the oily waters of the bay</span> +<span class="i0">Scarce moving aught some fisher-cobles lay,</span> +<span class="i0">And all seemed peace; and had been peace indeed</span> +<span class="i0">But that we young men of our life had need,</span> +<span class="i0">And to our listening ears a sound was borne</span> +<span class="i0">That made the sunlight wretched and forlorn—</span> +<span class="i0">—The heavy tolling of the minster bell—</span> +<span class="i0">And nigher yet a tinkling sound did tell</span> +<span class="i0">That through the streets they bore our Saviour Christ</span> +<span class="i0">By dying lips in anguish to be kissed.</span> + +<span class="i2">At last spoke Nicholas, "How long shall we</span> +<span class="i0">Abide here, looking forth into the sea</span> +<span class="i0">Expecting when our turn shall come to die?</span> +<span class="i0">Fair fellows, will ye come with me and try</span> +<span class="i0">Now at our worst that long-desired quest,</span> +<span class="i0">Now—when our worst is death, and life our best."</span> +<span class="i2">"Nay, but thou know'st," I said, "that I but wait</span> +<span class="i0">The coming of some man, the turn of fate,</span> +<span class="i0">To make this voyage—but I die meanwhile,</span> +<span class="i0">For I am poor, though my blood be not vile,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet for all his lore doth Laurence hold</span> +<span class="i0">Within his crucibles aught like to gold;</span> +<span class="i0">And what hast thou, whose father driven forth</span> +<span class="i0">By Charles of Blois, found shelter in the North?</span> +<span class="i0">But little riches as I needs must deem."</span> +<span class="i2">"Well," said he, "things are better than they seem,</span> +<span class="i0">For 'neath my bed an iron chest I have</span> +<span class="i0">That holdeth things I have made shift to save</span> +<span class="i0">E'en for this end; moreover, hark to this,</span> +<span class="i0">In the next firth a fair long ship there is</span> +<span class="i0">Well victualled, ready even now for sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And I may say it 'longeth unto me;</span> +<span class="i0">Since Marcus Erling, late its owner, lies</span> +<span class="i0">Dead at the end of many miseries,</span> +<span class="i0">And little Kirstin, as thou well mayst know,</span> +<span class="i0">Would be content throughout the world to go</span> +<span class="i0">If I but took her hand, and now still more</span> +<span class="i0">Hath heart to leave this poor death-stricken shore.</span> +<span class="i0">Therefore my gold shall buy us Bordeaux swords</span> +<span class="i0">And Bordeaux wine as we go oceanwards.</span> +<span class="i2">"What say ye, will ye go with me to-night,</span> +<span class="i0">Setting your faces to undreamed delight,</span> +<span class="i0">Turning your backs unto this troublous hell,</span> +<span class="i0">Or is the time too short to say farewell?"</span> + +<span class="i2">"Not so," I said, "rather would I depart</span> +<span class="i0">Now while thou speakest, never has my heart</span> +<span class="i0">Been set on anything within this land."</span> +<span class="i2">Then said the Swabian, "Let us now take hand</span> +<span class="i0">And swear to follow evermore this quest</span> +<span class="i0">Till death or life have set our hearts at rest."</span> + +<span class="i2">So with joined hands we swore, and Nicholas said,</span> +<span class="i0">"To-night, fair friends, be ye apparelled</span> +<span class="i0">To leave this land, bring all the arms ye can</span> +<span class="i0">And such men as ye trust, my own good man</span> +<span class="i0">Guards the small postern looking towards St. Bride,</span> +<span class="i0">And good it were ye should not be espied,</span> +<span class="i0">Since mayhap freely ye should not go hence,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou Rolf in special, for this pestilence</span> +<span class="i0">Makes all men hard and cruel, nor are they</span> +<span class="i0">Willing that folk should 'scape if they must stay:</span> +<span class="i0">Be wise; I bid you for a while farewell,</span> +<span class="i0">Leave ye this stronghold when St. Peter's bell</span> +<span class="i0">Strikes midnight, all will surely then be still,</span> +<span class="i0">And I will bide you at King Tryggve's hill</span> +<span class="i0">Outside the city gates."</span> +<span class="i8">Each went his way</span> +<span class="i0">Therewith, and I the remnant of that day</span> +<span class="i0">Gained for the quest three men that I deemed true,</span> +<span class="i0">And did such other things as I must do,</span> +<span class="i0">And still was ever listening for the chime</span> +<span class="i0">Half maddened by the lazy lapse of time,</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, scarce I thought indeed that I should live</span> +<span class="i0">Till the great tower the joyful sound should give</span> +<span class="i0">That set us free: and so the hours went past,</span> +<span class="i0">Till startled by the echoing clang at last</span> +<span class="i0">That told of midnight, armed from head to heel</span> +<span class="i0">Down to the open postern did I steal,</span> +<span class="i0">Bearing small wealth—this sword that yet hangs here</span> +<span class="i0">Worn thin and narrow with so many a year,</span> +<span class="i0">My father's axe that from Byzantium,</span> +<span class="i0">With some few gems my pouch yet held, had come,</span> +<span class="i0">Nought else that shone with silver or with gold.</span> +<span class="i2">But by the postern gate could I behold</span> +<span class="i0">Laurence the priest all armed as if for war,</span> +<span class="i0">From off the town-wall, having some small store</span> +<span class="i0">Of arms and furs and raiment: then once more</span> +<span class="i0">I turned, and saw the autumn moonlight fall</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the new-built bastions of the wall,</span> +<span class="i0">Strange with black shadow and grey flood of light,</span> +<span class="i0">And further off I saw the lead shine bright</span> +<span class="i0">On tower and turret-roof against the sky,</span> +<span class="i0">And looking down I saw the old town lie</span> +<span class="i0">Black in the shade of the o'er-hanging hill,</span> +<span class="i0">Stricken with death, and dreary, but all still</span> +<span class="i0">Until it reached the water of the bay,</span> +<span class="i0">That in the dead night smote against the quay</span> +<span class="i0">Not all unheard, though there was little wind.</span> +<span class="i0">But as I turned to leave the place behind,</span> +<span class="i0">The wind's light sound, the slowly falling swell,</span> +<span class="i0">Were hushed at once by that shrill-tinkling bell,</span> +<span class="i0">That in that stillness jarring on mine ears,</span> +<span class="i0">With sudden jangle checked the rising tears,</span> +<span class="i0">And now the freshness of the open sea</span> +<span class="i0">Seemed ease and joy and very life to me.</span> +<span class="i2">So greeting my new mates with little sound,</span> +<span class="i0">We made good haste to reach King Tryggve's mound,</span> +<span class="i0">And there the Breton Nicholas beheld,</span> +<span class="i0">Who by the hand fair Kirstin Erling held,</span> +<span class="i0">And round about them twenty men there stood,</span> +<span class="i0">Of whom the more part on the holy rood</span> +<span class="i0">Were sworn till death to follow up the quest,</span> +<span class="i0">And Kirstin was the mistress of the rest.</span> +<span class="i2">Again betwixt us was there little speech,</span> +<span class="i0">But swiftly did we set on toward the beach,</span> +<span class="i0">And coming there our keel, the Fighting Man,</span> +<span class="i0">We boarded, and the long oars out we ran,</span> +<span class="i0">And swept from out the firth, and sped so well</span> +<span class="i0">That scarcely could we hear St. Peter's bell</span> +<span class="i0">Toll one, although the light wind blew from land;</span> +<span class="i0">Then hoisting sail southward we 'gan to stand,</span> +<span class="i0">And much I joyed beneath the moon to see</span> +<span class="i0">The lessening land that might have been to me</span> +<span class="i0">A kindly giver of wife, child, and friend,</span> +<span class="i0">And happy life, or at the worser end</span> +<span class="i0">A quiet grave till doomsday rend the earth.</span> + +<span class="i0">Night passed, day dawned, and we grew full of mirth</span> +<span class="i0">As with the ever-rising morning wind</span> +<span class="i0">Still further lay our threatened death behind,</span> +<span class="i0">Or so we thought: some eighty men we were,</span> +<span class="i0">Of whom but fifty knew the shipman's gear,</span> +<span class="i0">The rest were uplanders; midst such of these</span> +<span class="i0">As knew not of our quest, with promises</span> +<span class="i0">Went Nicholas dealing florins round about,</span> +<span class="i0">With still a fresh tale for each new man's doubt,</span> +<span class="i0">Till all were fairly won or seemed to be</span> +<span class="i0">To that strange desperate voyage o'er the sea.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="OGIER_THE_DANE" id="OGIER_THE_DANE"></a>OGIER THE DANE.</h2> + +<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> + +<p>When Ogier was born, six fay ladies came to the cradle where he lay, and +gave him various gifts, as to be brave and happy and the like; but the +sixth gave him to be her love when he should have lived long in the +world: so Ogier grew up and became the greatest of knights, and at last, +after many years, fell into the hands of that fay, and with her, as the +story tells, he lives now, though he returned once to the world, as is +shown in the process of this tale.</p> + + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within some Danish city by the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose name, changed now, is all unknown to me,</span> +<span class="i0">Great mourning was there one fair summer eve,</span> +<span class="i0">Because the angels, bidden to receive</span> +<span class="i0">The fair Queen's lovely soul in Paradise,</span> +<span class="i0">Had done their bidding, and in royal guise</span> +<span class="i0">Her helpless body, once the prize of love,</span> +<span class="i0">Unable now for fear or hope to move,</span> +<span class="i0">Lay underneath the golden canopy;</span> +<span class="i0">And bowed down by unkingly misery</span> +<span class="i0">The King sat by it, and not far away,</span> +<span class="i0">Within the chamber a fair man-child lay,</span> +<span class="i0">His mother's bane, the king that was to be,</span> +<span class="i0">Not witting yet of any royalty,</span> +<span class="i0">Harmless and loved, although so new to life.</span> + +<span class="i2">Calm the June evening was, no sign of strife</span> +<span class="i0">The clear sky showed, no storm grew round the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">Unhappy that his day of bliss was done;</span> +<span class="i0">Dumb was the sea, and if the beech-wood stirred,</span> +<span class="i0">'Twas with the nestling of the grey-winged bird</span> +<span class="i0">Midst its thick leaves; and though the nightingale</span> +<span class="i0">Her ancient, hapless sorrow must bewail,</span> +<span class="i0">No more of woe there seemed in her song</span> +<span class="i0">Than such as doth to lovers' words belong,</span> +<span class="i0">Because their love is still unsatisfied.</span> +<span class="i2">But to the King, on that sweet eventide,</span> +<span class="i0">No earth there seemed, no heaven when earth was gone;</span> +<span class="i0">No help, no God! but lonely pain alone;</span> +<span class="i0">And he, midst unreal shadows, seemed to sit</span> +<span class="i0">Himself the very heart and soul of it.</span> +<span class="i0">But round the cradle of the new-born child</span> +<span class="i0">The nurses now the weary time beguiled</span> +<span class="i0">With stories of the just departed Queen;</span> +<span class="i0">And how, amid the heathen folk first seen,</span> +<span class="i0">She had been won to love and godliness;</span> +<span class="i0">And as they spoke, e'en midst his dull distress,</span> +<span class="i0">An eager whisper now and then would smite</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the King's ear, of some past delight,</span> +<span class="i0">Some once familiar name, and he would raise</span> +<span class="i0">His weary head, and on the speaker gaze</span> +<span class="i0">Like one about to speak, but soon again</span> +<span class="i0">Would drop his head and be alone with pain,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor think of these; who, silent in their turn,</span> +<span class="i0">Would sit and watch the waxen tapers burn</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst the dusk of the quick-gathering night,</span> +<span class="i0">Until beneath the high stars' glimmering light,</span> +<span class="i0">The fresh earth lay in colourless repose.</span> +<span class="i2">So passed the night, and now and then one rose</span> +<span class="i0">From out her place to do what might avail</span> +<span class="i0">To still the new-born infant's fretful wail;</span> +<span class="i0">Or through the softly-opened door there came</span> +<span class="i0">Some nurse new waked, who, whispering low the name</span> +<span class="i0">Of her whose turn was come, would take her place;</span> +<span class="i0">Then toward the King would turn about her face</span> +<span class="i0">And to her fellows whisper of the day,</span> +<span class="i0">And tell again of her just past away.</span> + +<span class="i2">So passed the night, the moon arose and grew,</span> +<span class="i0">From off the sea a little west-wind blew,</span> +<span class="i0">Rustling the garden-leaves like sudden rain;</span> +<span class="i0">And ere the moon had 'gun to fall again</span> +<span class="i0">The wind grew cold, a change was in the sky,</span> +<span class="i0">And in deep silence did the dawn draw nigh;</span> +<span class="i0">Then from her place a nurse arose to light</span> +<span class="i0">Fresh hallowed lights, for, dying with the night,</span> +<span class="i0">The tapers round about the dead Queen were;</span> +<span class="i0">But the King raised his head and 'gan to stare</span> +<span class="i0">Upon her, as her sweeping gown did glide</span> +<span class="i0">About the floor, that in the stillness cried</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath her careful feet; and now as she</span> +<span class="i0">Had lit the second candle carefully,</span> +<span class="i0">And on its silver spike another one</span> +<span class="i0">Was setting, through her body did there run</span> +<span class="i0">A sudden tremor, and the hand was stayed</span> +<span class="i0">That on the dainty painted wax was laid;</span> +<span class="i0">Her eyelids fell down and she seemed to sleep,</span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the staring King began to creep</span> +<span class="i0">Sweet slumber too; the bitter lines of woe</span> +<span class="i0">That drew his weary face did softer grow,</span> +<span class="i0">His eyelids dropped, his arms fell to his side;</span> +<span class="i0">And moveless in their places did abide</span> +<span class="i0">The nursing women, held by some strong spell,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as they were, and utter silence fell</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the mournful, glimmering chamber fair.</span> +<span class="i2">But now light footsteps coming up the stair,</span> +<span class="i0">Smote on the deadly stillness, and the sound</span> +<span class="i0">Of silken dresses trailing o'er the ground;</span> +<span class="i0">And heavenly odours through the chamber passed,</span> +<span class="i0">Unlike the scents that rose and lily cast</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the freshness of the dying night;</span> +<span class="i0">Then nigher drew the sound of footsteps light</span> +<span class="i0">Until the door swung open noiselessly—</span> +<span class="i0">A mass of sunlit flowers there seemed to be</span> +<span class="i0">Within the doorway, and but pale and wan</span> +<span class="i0">The flame showed now that serveth mortal man,</span> +<span class="i0">As one by one six seeming ladies passed</span> +<span class="i0">Into the room, and o'er its sorrow cast</span> +<span class="i0">That thoughtless sense of joy bewildering,</span> +<span class="i0">That kisses youthful hearts amidst of spring;</span> +<span class="i0">Crowned were they, in such glorious raiment clad,</span> +<span class="i0">As yet no merchant of the world has had</span> +<span class="i0">Within his coffers; yet those crowns seemed fair</span> +<span class="i0">Only because they kissed their odorous hair,</span> +<span class="i0">And all that flowery raiment was but blessed</span> +<span class="i0">By those fair bodies that its splendour pressed.</span> +<span class="i2">Now to the cradle from that glorious band,</span> +<span class="i0">A woman passed, and laid a tender hand</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the babe, and gently drew aside</span> +<span class="i0">The swathings soft that did his body hide;</span> +<span class="i0">And, seeing him so fair and great, she smiled,</span> +<span class="i0">And stooped, and kissed him, saying, "O noble child,</span> +<span class="i0">Have thou a gift from Gloriande this day;</span> +<span class="i0">For to the time when life shall pass away</span> +<span class="i0">From this dear heart, no fear of death or shame,</span> +<span class="i0">No weariness of good shall foul thy name."</span> +<span class="i2">So saying, to her sisters she returned;</span> +<span class="i0">And one came forth, upon whose brow there burned</span> +<span class="i0">A crown of rubies, and whose heaving breast</span> +<span class="i0">With happy rings a golden hauberk pressed;</span> +<span class="i0">She took the babe, and somewhat frowning said,</span> +<span class="i0">"This gift I give, that till thy limbs are laid</span> +<span class="i0">At rest for ever, to thine honoured life</span> +<span class="i0">There never shall be lacking war and strife,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou a long-enduring name mayst win,</span> +<span class="i0">And by thy deeds, good pardon for thy sin."</span> +<span class="i2">With that another, who, unseen, meanwhile</span> +<span class="i0">Had drawn anigh, said with a joyous smile,</span> +<span class="i0">"And this forgotten gift to thee I give,</span> +<span class="i0">That while amidst the turmoil thou dost live,</span> +<span class="i0">Still shalt thou win the game, and unto thee</span> +<span class="i0">Defeat and shame but idle words shall be."</span> +<span class="i2">Then back they turned, and therewithal, the fourth</span> +<span class="i0">Said, "Take this gift for what it may be worth</span> +<span class="i0">For that is mine to give; lo, thou shalt be</span> +<span class="i0">Gentle of speech, and in all courtesy</span> +<span class="i0">The first of men: a little gift this is,</span> +<span class="i0">After these promises of fame and bliss."</span> +<span class="i2">Then toward the babe the fifth fair woman went;</span> +<span class="i0">Grey-eyed she was, and simple, with eyes bent</span> +<span class="i0">Down on the floor, parted her red lips were,</span> +<span class="i0">And o'er her sweet face marvellously fair</span> +<span class="i0">Oft would the colour spread full suddenly;</span> +<span class="i0">Clad in a dainty gown and thin was she,</span> +<span class="i0">For some green summer of the fay-land dight,</span> +<span class="i0">Tripping she went, and laid her fingers light</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the child, and said, "O little one,</span> +<span class="i0">As long as thou shalt look upon the sun</span> +<span class="i0">Shall women long for thee; take heed to this</span> +<span class="i0">And give them what thou canst of love and bliss."</span> +<span class="i2">Then, blushing for her words, therefrom she past,</span> +<span class="i0">And by the cradle stood the sixth and last,</span> +<span class="i0">The fairest of them all; awhile she gazed</span> +<span class="i0">Down on the child, and then her hand she raised,</span> +<span class="i0">And made the one side of her bosom bare;</span> +<span class="i0">"Ogier," she said, "if this be foul or fair</span> +<span class="i0">Thou know'st not now, but when thine earthly life</span> +<span class="i0">Is drunk out to the dregs, and war and strife</span> +<span class="i0">Have yielded thee whatever joy they may,</span> +<span class="i0">Thine head upon this bosom shalt thou lay;</span> +<span class="i0">And then, despite of knowledge or of God,</span> +<span class="i0">Will we be glad upon the flowery sod</span> +<span class="i0">Within the happy country where I dwell:</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier, my love that is to be, farewell!"</span> + +<span class="i2">She turned, and even as they came they passed</span> +<span class="i0">From out the place, and reached the gate at last</span> +<span class="i0">That oped before their feet, and speedily</span> +<span class="i0">They gained the edges of the murmuring sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And as they stood in silence, gazing there</span> +<span class="i0">Out to the west, they vanished into air,</span> +<span class="i0">I know not how, nor whereto they returned.</span> + +<span class="i2">But mixed with twilight in the chamber burned</span> +<span class="i0">The flickering candles, and those dreary folk,</span> +<span class="i0">Unlike to sleepers, from their trance awoke,</span> +<span class="i0">But nought of what had happed meanwhile they knew.</span> +<span class="i0">Through the half-opened casements now there blew</span> +<span class="i0">A sweet fresh air, that of the flowers and sea</span> +<span class="i0">Mingled together, smelt deliciously,</span> +<span class="i0">And from the unseen sun the spreading light</span> +<span class="i0">Began to make the fair June blossoms bright,</span> +<span class="i0">And midst their weary woe uprose the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">And thus has Ogier's noble life begun.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hope is our life, when first our life grows clear;</span> +<span class="i0">Hope and delight, scarce crossed by lines of fear,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet the day comes when fain we would not hope,</span> +<span class="i0">But forasmuch as we with life must cope,</span> +<span class="i0">Struggling with this and that, and who knows why?</span> +<span class="i0">Hope will not give us up to certainty,</span> +<span class="i0">But still must bide with us: and with this man,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose life amid such promises began</span> +<span class="i0">Great things she wrought; but now the time has come</span> +<span class="i0">When he no more on earth may have his home.</span> +<span class="i2">Great things he suffered, great delights he had,</span> +<span class="i0">Unto great kings he gave good deeds for bad;</span> +<span class="i0">He ruled o'er kingdoms where his name no more</span> +<span class="i0">Is had in memory, and on many a shore</span> +<span class="i0">He left his sweat and blood to win a name</span> +<span class="i0">Passing the bounds of earthly creatures' fame.</span> +<span class="i0">A love he won and lost, a well-loved son</span> +<span class="i0">Whose little day of promise soon was done:</span> +<span class="i0">A tender wife he had, that he must leave</span> +<span class="i0">Before his heart her love could well receive;</span> +<span class="i0">Those promised gifts, that on his careless head</span> +<span class="i0">In those first hours of his fair life were shed</span> +<span class="i0">He took unwitting, and unwitting spent,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor gave himself to grief and discontent</span> +<span class="i0">Because he saw the end a-drawing nigh.</span> +<span class="i2">Where is he now? in what land must he die,</span> +<span class="i0">To leave an empty name to us on earth?</span> +<span class="i0">A tale half true, to cast across our mirth</span> +<span class="i0">Some pensive thoughts of life that might have been;</span> +<span class="i0">Where is he now, that all this life has seen?</span> + +<span class="i2">Behold, another eve I bid you see</span> +<span class="i0">Than that calm eve of his nativity;</span> +<span class="i0">The sun is setting in the west, the sky</span> +<span class="i0">Is clear and hard, and no clouds come anigh</span> +<span class="i0">The golden orb, but further off they lie,</span> +<span class="i0">Steel-grey and black with edges red as blood,</span> +<span class="i0">And underneath them is the weltering flood</span> +<span class="i0">Of some huge sea, whose tumbling hills, as they</span> +<span class="i0">Turn restless sides about, are black or grey,</span> +<span class="i0">Or green, or glittering with the golden flame;</span> +<span class="i0">The wind has fallen now, but still the same</span> +<span class="i0">The mighty army moves, as if to drown</span> +<span class="i0">This lone, bare rock, whose shear scarped sides of brown</span> +<span class="i0">Cast off the weight of waves in clouds of spray.</span> +<span class="i2">Alas! what ships upon an evil day</span> +<span class="i0">Bent over to the wind in this ill sea?</span> +<span class="i0">What navy, whose rent bones lie wretchedly</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath these cliffs? a mighty one it was,</span> +<span class="i0">A fearful storm to bring such things to pass.</span> + +<span class="i2">This is the loadstone rock; no armament</span> +<span class="i0">Of warring nations, in their madness bent</span> +<span class="i0">Their course this way; no merchant wittingly</span> +<span class="i0">Has steered his keel unto this luckless sea;</span> +<span class="i0">Upon no shipman's card its name is writ,</span> +<span class="i0">Though worn-out mariners will speak of it</span> +<span class="i0">Within the ingle on the winter's night,</span> +<span class="i0">When all within is warm and safe and bright,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wind howls without: but 'gainst their will</span> +<span class="i0">Are some folk driven here, and then all skill</span> +<span class="i0">Against this evil rock is vain and nought,</span> +<span class="i0">And unto death the shipmen soon are brought;</span> +<span class="i0">For then the keel, as by a giant's hand,</span> +<span class="i0">Is drawn unto that mockery of a land,</span> +<span class="i0">And presently unto its sides doth cleave;</span> +<span class="i0">When if they 'scape swift death, yet none may leave</span> +<span class="i0">The narrow limits of that barren isle,</span> +<span class="i0">And thus are slain by famine in a while</span> +<span class="i0">Mocked, as they say, by night with images</span> +<span class="i0">Of noble castles among groves of trees,</span> +<span class="i0">By day with sounds of merry minstrelsy.</span> + +<span class="i2">The sun sinks now below this hopeless sea,</span> +<span class="i0">The clouds are gone, and all the sky is bright;</span> +<span class="i0">The moon is rising o'er the growing night,</span> +<span class="i0">And by its light may ye behold the bones</span> +<span class="i0">Of generations of these luckless ones</span> +<span class="i0">Scattered about the rock; but nigh the sea</span> +<span class="i0">Sits one alive, who uncomplainingly</span> +<span class="i0">Awaits his death. White-haired is he and old,</span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed in royal raiment, bright with gold,</span> +<span class="i0">But tarnished with the waves and rough salt air;</span> +<span class="i0">Huge is he, of a noble face and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">As for an ancient man, though toil and eld</span> +<span class="i0">Furrow the cheeks that ladies once beheld</span> +<span class="i0">With melting hearts—Nay, listen, for he speaks!</span> +<span class="i2">"God, thou hast made me strong! nigh seven weeks</span> +<span class="i0">Have passed since from the wreck we haled our store,</span> +<span class="i0">And five long days well told, have now passed o'er</span> +<span class="i0">Since my last fellow died, with my last bread</span> +<span class="i0">Between his teeth, and yet I am not dead.</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, but for this I had been strong enow</span> +<span class="i0">In some last bloody field my sword to show.</span> +<span class="i0">What matter? soon will all be past and done,</span> +<span class="i0">Where'er I died I must have died alone:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet, Caraheu, a good death had it been</span> +<span class="i0">Dying, thy face above me to have seen,</span> +<span class="i0">And heard my banner flapping in the wind,</span> +<span class="i0">Then, though my memory had not left thy mind,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet hope and fear would not have vexed thee more</span> +<span class="i0">When thou hadst known that everything was o'er;</span> +<span class="i0">But now thou waitest, still expecting me,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose sail shall never speck thy bright blue sea.</span> +<span class="i2">"And thou, Clarice, the merchants thou mayst call,</span> +<span class="i0">To tell thee tales within thy pictured hall,</span> +<span class="i0">But never shall they tell true tales of me:</span> +<span class="i0">Whatever sails the Kentish hills may see</span> +<span class="i0">Swept by the flood-tide toward thy well-walled town,</span> +<span class="i0">No more on my sails shall they look adown.</span> +<span class="i2">"Get thee another leader, Charlemaine,</span> +<span class="i0">For thou shalt look to see my shield in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">When in the fair fields of the Frankish land,</span> +<span class="i0">Thick as the corn they tread, the heathen stand.</span> +<span class="i2">"What matter? ye shall learn to live your lives;</span> +<span class="i0">Husbands and children, other friends and wives,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall wipe the tablets of your memory clean,</span> +<span class="i0">And all shall be as I had never been.</span> + +<span class="i2">"And now, O God, am I alone with Thee;</span> +<span class="i0">A little thing indeed it seems to be</span> +<span class="i0">To give this life up, since it needs must go</span> +<span class="i0">Some time or other; now at last I know</span> +<span class="i0">How foolishly men play upon the earth,</span> +<span class="i0">When unto them a year of life seems worth</span> +<span class="i0">Honour and friends, and these vague hopes and sweet</span> +<span class="i0">That like real things my dying heart do greet,</span> +<span class="i0">Unreal while living on the earth I trod,</span> +<span class="i0">And but myself I knew no other god.</span> +<span class="i0">Behold, I thank Thee that Thou sweet'nest thus</span> +<span class="i0">This end, that I had thought most piteous,</span> +<span class="i0">If of another I had heard it told."</span> + +<span class="i2">What man is this, who weak and worn and old,</span> +<span class="i0">Gives up his life within that dreadful isle,</span> +<span class="i0">And on the fearful coming death can smile?</span> +<span class="i0">Alas! this man, so battered and outworn,</span> +<span class="i0">Is none but he, who, on that summer morn,</span> +<span class="i0">Received such promises of glorious life:</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier the Dane this is, to whom all strife</span> +<span class="i0">Was but as wine to stir awhile the blood,</span> +<span class="i0">To whom all life, however hard, was good:</span> +<span class="i0">This is the man, unmatched of heart and limb,</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier the Dane, whose sight has waxed not dim</span> +<span class="i0">For all the years that he on earth has dwelt;</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier the Dane, that never fear has felt,</span> +<span class="i0">Since he knew good from ill; Ogier the Dane,</span> +<span class="i0">The heathen's dread, the evil-doer's bane.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Bright</span> had the moon grown as his words were done,</span> +<span class="i0">And no more was there memory of the sun</span> +<span class="i0">Within the west, and he grew drowsy now,</span> +<span class="i0">And somewhat smoother was his wrinkled brow</span> +<span class="i0">As thought died out beneath the hand of sleep,</span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his soul forgetfulness did creep,</span> +<span class="i0">Hiding the image of swift-coming death;</span> +<span class="i0">Until as peacefully he drew his breath</span> +<span class="i0">As on that day, past for a hundred years,</span> +<span class="i0">When, midst the nurse's quickly-falling tears,</span> +<span class="i0">He fell asleep to his first lullaby.</span> +<span class="i2">The night changed as he slept, white clouds and high</span> +<span class="i0">Began about the lonely moon to close;</span> +<span class="i0">And from the dark west a new wind arose,</span> +<span class="i0">And with the sound of heavy-falling waves</span> +<span class="i0">Mingled its pipe about the loadstone caves;</span> +<span class="i0">But when the twinkling stars were hid away,</span> +<span class="i0">And a faint light and broad, like dawn of day,</span> +<span class="i0">The moon upon that dreary country shed,</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier awoke, and lifting up his head</span> +<span class="i0">And smiling, muttered, "Nay, no more again;</span> +<span class="i0">Rather some pleasure new, some other pain,</span> +<span class="i0">Unthought of both, some other form of strife;"</span> +<span class="i0">For he had waked from dreams of his old life,</span> +<span class="i0">And through St. Omer's archer-guarded gate</span> +<span class="i0">Once more had seemed to pass, and saw the state</span> +<span class="i0">Of that triumphant king; and still, though all</span> +<span class="i0">Seemed changed, and folk by other names did call</span> +<span class="i0">Faces he knew of old, yet none the less</span> +<span class="i0">He seemed the same, and, midst that mightiness,</span> +<span class="i0">Felt his own power, and grew the more athirst</span> +<span class="i0">For coming glory, as of old, when first</span> +<span class="i0">He stood before the face of Charlemaine,</span> +<span class="i0">A helpless hostage with all life to gain.</span> +<span class="i2">But now, awake, his worn face once more sank</span> +<span class="i0">Between his hands, and, murmuring not, he drank</span> +<span class="i0">The draught of death that must that thirst allay.</span> + +<span class="i2">But while he sat and waited for the day</span> +<span class="i0">A sudden light across the bare rock streamed,</span> +<span class="i0">Which at the first he noted not, but deemed</span> +<span class="i0">The moon her fleecy veil had broken through;</span> +<span class="i0">But ruddier indeed this new light grew</span> +<span class="i0">Than were the moon's grey beams, and, therewithal,</span> +<span class="i0">Soft far-off music on his ears did fall;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet moved he not, but murmured, "This is death,</span> +<span class="i0">An easy thing like this to yield my breath,</span> +<span class="i0">Awake, yet dreaming, with no sounds of fear,</span> +<span class="i0">No dreadful sights to tell me it is near;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, God, I thank Thee!" but with that last word</span> +<span class="i0">It seemed to him that he his own name heard</span> +<span class="i0">Whispered, as though the wind had borne it past;</span> +<span class="i0">With that he gat unto his feet at last,</span> +<span class="i0">But still awhile he stood, with sunken head,</span> +<span class="i0">And in a low and trembling voice he said,</span> +<span class="i0">"Lord, I am ready, whither shall I go?</span> +<span class="i0">I pray Thee unto me some token show."</span> +<span class="i0">And, as he said this, round about he turned,</span> +<span class="i0">And in the east beheld a light that burned</span> +<span class="i0">As bright as day; then, though his flesh might fear</span> +<span class="i0">The coming change that he believed so near,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet did his soul rejoice, for now he thought</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the very heaven to be brought:</span> +<span class="i0">And though he felt alive, deemed it might be</span> +<span class="i0">That he in sleep had died full easily.</span> +<span class="i2">Then toward that light did he begin to go,</span> +<span class="i0">And still those strains he heard, far off and low,</span> +<span class="i0">That grew no louder; still that bright light streamed</span> +<span class="i0">Over the rocks, yet nothing brighter seemed,</span> +<span class="i0">But like the light of some unseen bright flame</span> +<span class="i0">Shone round about, until at last he came</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the dreary islet's other shore,</span> +<span class="i0">And then the minstrelsy he heard no more,</span> +<span class="i0">And softer seemed the strange light unto him;</span> +<span class="i0">But yet or ever it had grown quite dim,</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath its waning light could he behold</span> +<span class="i0">A mighty palace set about with gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Above green meads and groves of summer trees</span> +<span class="i0">Far-off across the welter of the seas;</span> +<span class="i0">But, as he gazed, it faded from his sight,</span> +<span class="i0">And the grey hidden moon's diffused soft light,</span> +<span class="i0">Which soothly was but darkness to him now,</span> +<span class="i0">His sea-girt island prison did but show.</span> +<span class="i2">But o'er the sea he still gazed wistfully,</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "Alas! and when will this go by</span> +<span class="i0">And leave my soul in peace? must I still dream</span> +<span class="i0">Of life that once so dear a thing did seem,</span> +<span class="i0">That, when I wake, death may the bitterer be?</span> +<span class="i0">Here will I sit until he come to me,</span> +<span class="i0">And hide mine eyes and think upon my sin,</span> +<span class="i0">That so a little calm I yet may win</span> +<span class="i0">Before I stand within the awful place."</span> +<span class="i2">Then down he sat and covered up his face,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet therewithal his trouble could not hide,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor waiting thus for death could he abide,</span> +<span class="i0">For, though he knew it not, the yearning pain</span> +<span class="i0">Of hope of life had touched his soul again—</span> +<span class="i0">If he could live awhile, if he could live!</span> +<span class="i0">The mighty being, who once was wont to give</span> +<span class="i0">The gift of life to many a trembling man;</span> +<span class="i0">Who did his own will since his life began;</span> +<span class="i0">Who feared not aught, but strong and great and free</span> +<span class="i0">Still cast aside the thought of what might be;</span> +<span class="i0">Must all this then be lost, and with no will,</span> +<span class="i0">Powerless and blind, must he some fate fulfil,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor know what he is doing any more?</span> + +<span class="i2">Soon he arose and paced along the shore,</span> +<span class="i0">And gazed out seaward for the blessed light;</span> +<span class="i0">But nought he saw except the old sad sight,</span> +<span class="i0">The ceaseless tumbling of the billows grey,</span> +<span class="i0">The white upspringing of the spurts of spray</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst that mass of timbers, the rent bones</span> +<span class="i0">Of the sea-houses of the hapless ones</span> +<span class="i0">Once cast like him upon this deadly isle.</span> +<span class="i2">He stopped his pacing in a little while,</span> +<span class="i0">And clenched his mighty hands, and set his teeth,</span> +<span class="i0">And gazing at the ruin underneath,</span> +<span class="i0">He swung from off the bare cliff's jagged brow,</span> +<span class="i0">And on some slippery ledge he wavered now,</span> +<span class="i0">Without a hand-hold, and now stoutly clung</span> +<span class="i0">With hands alone, and o'er the welter hung,</span> +<span class="i0">Not caring aught if thus his life should end;</span> +<span class="i0">But safely midst all this did he descend</span> +<span class="i0">The dreadful cliff, and since no beach was there,</span> +<span class="i0">But from the depths the rock rose stark and bare,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor crumbled aught beneath the hammering sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the wrecks he stood unsteadily.</span> + +<span class="i2">But now, amid the clamour of the waves,</span> +<span class="i0">And washing to-and-fro of beams and staves,</span> +<span class="i0">Dizzy with hunger, dreamy with distress,</span> +<span class="i0">And all those days of fear and loneliness,</span> +<span class="i0">The ocean's tumult seemed the battle's roar,</span> +<span class="i0">His heart grew hot, as when in days of yore</span> +<span class="i0">He heard the cymbals clash amid the crowd</span> +<span class="i0">Of dusky faces; now he shouted loud,</span> +<span class="i0">And from crushed beam to beam began to leap,</span> +<span class="i0">And yet his footing somehow did he keep</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst their tossing, and indeed the sea</span> +<span class="i0">Was somewhat sunk upon the island's lee.</span> +<span class="i0">So quickly on from wreck to wreck he passed,</span> +<span class="i0">And reached the outer line of wrecks at last,</span> +<span class="i0">And there a moment stood unsteadily,</span> +<span class="i0">Amid the drift of spray that hurried by,</span> +<span class="i0">And drew Courtain his sword from out its sheath,</span> +<span class="i0">And poised himself to meet the coming death,</span> +<span class="i0">Still looking out to sea; but as he gazed,</span> +<span class="i0">And once or twice his doubtful feet he raised</span> +<span class="i0">To take the final plunge, that heavenly strain</span> +<span class="i0">Over the washing waves he heard again,</span> +<span class="i0">And from the dimness something bright he saw</span> +<span class="i0">Across the waste of waters towards him draw;</span> +<span class="i0">And hidden now, now raised aloft, at last</span> +<span class="i0">Unto his very feet a boat was cast,</span> +<span class="i0">Gilded inside and out, and well arrayed</span> +<span class="i0">With cushions soft; far fitter to have weighed</span> +<span class="i0">From some sweet garden on the shallow Seine,</span> +<span class="i0">Or in a reach of green Thames to have lain,</span> +<span class="i0">Than struggle with that huge confusèd sea;</span> +<span class="i0">But Ogier gazed upon it doubtfully</span> +<span class="i0">One moment, and then, sheathing Courtain, said,</span> +<span class="i0">"What tales are these about the newly dead</span> +<span class="i0">The heathen told? what matter, let all pass;</span> +<span class="i0">This moment as one dead indeed I was,</span> +<span class="i0">And this must be what I have got to do,</span> +<span class="i0">I yet perchance may light on something new</span> +<span class="i0">Before I die; though yet perchance this keel</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the wondrous mass of charmed steel</span> +<span class="i0">Is drawn as others." With that word he leapt</span> +<span class="i0">Into the boat, and o'er the cushions crept</span> +<span class="i0">From stem to stern, but found no rudder there,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor any oars, nor were the cushions fair</span> +<span class="i0">Made wet by any dashing of the sea.</span> +<span class="i2">Now while he pondered how these things could be,</span> +<span class="i0">The boat began to move therefrom at last,</span> +<span class="i0">But over him a drowsiness was cast,</span> +<span class="i0">And as o'er tumbling hills the skiff did pass,</span> +<span class="i0">He clean forgot his death and where he was.</span> + +<span class="i2">At last he woke up to a sunny day,</span> +<span class="i0">And, looking round, saw that his shallop lay</span> +<span class="i0">Moored at the edge of some fair tideless sea</span> +<span class="i0">Unto an overhanging thick-leaved tree,</span> +<span class="i0">Where in the green waves did the low bank dip</span> +<span class="i0">Its fresh and green grass-covered daisied lip;</span> +<span class="i0">But Ogier looking thence no more could see</span> +<span class="i0">That sad abode of death and misery,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor aught but wide and empty ocean, grey</span> +<span class="i0">With gathering haze, for now it neared midday;</span> +<span class="i0">Then from the golden cushions did he rise,</span> +<span class="i0">And wondering still if this were Paradise</span> +<span class="i0">He stepped ashore, but drew Courtain his sword</span> +<span class="i0">And muttered therewithal a holy word.</span> +<span class="i2">Fair was the place, as though amidst of May,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor did the brown birds fear the sunny day,</span> +<span class="i0">For with their quivering song the air was sweet;</span> +<span class="i0">Thick grew the field-flowers underneath his feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And on his head the blossoms down did rain,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet mid these fair things slowly and with pain</span> +<span class="i0">He 'gan to go, yea, even when his foot</span> +<span class="i0">First touched the flowery sod, to his heart's root</span> +<span class="i0">A coldness seemed to strike, and now each limb</span> +<span class="i0">Was growing stiff, his eyes waxed bleared and dim,</span> +<span class="i0">And all his stored-up memory 'gan to fail,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet would his once mighty heart avail</span> +<span class="i0">For lamentations o'er his changed lot;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet urged by some desire, he knew not what,</span> +<span class="i0">Along a little path 'twixt hedges sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">Drawn sword in hand, he dragged his faltering feet,</span> +<span class="i0">For what then seemed to him a weary way,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereon his steps he needs must often stay</span> +<span class="i0">And lean upon the mighty well-worn sword</span> +<span class="i0">That in those hands, grown old, for king or lord</span> +<span class="i0">Had small respect in glorious days long past.</span> + +<span class="i2">But still he crept along, and at the last</span> +<span class="i0">Came to a gilded wicket, and through this</span> +<span class="i0">Entered a garden fit for utmost bliss,</span> +<span class="i0">If that might last which needs must soon go by:</span> +<span class="i0">There 'gainst a tree he leaned, and with a sigh</span> +<span class="i0">He said, "O God, a sinner I have been,</span> +<span class="i0">And good it is that I these things have seen</span> +<span class="i0">Before I meet what Thou hast set apart</span> +<span class="i0">To cleanse the earthly folly from my heart;</span> +<span class="i0">But who within this garden now can dwell</span> +<span class="i0">Wherein guilt first upon the world befell?"</span> +<span class="i2">A little further yet he staggered on,</span> +<span class="i0">Till to a fountain-side at last he won,</span> +<span class="i0">O'er which two white-thorns their sweet blossoms shed,</span> +<span class="i0">There he sank down, and laid his weary head</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the mossy roots, and in a while</span> +<span class="i0">He slept, and dreamed himself within the isle;</span> +<span class="i0">That splashing fount the weary sea did seem,</span> +<span class="i0">And in his dream the fair place but a dream;</span> +<span class="i0">But when again to feebleness he woke</span> +<span class="i0">Upon his ears that heavenly music broke,</span> +<span class="i0">Not faint or far as in the isle it was,</span> +<span class="i0">But e'en as though the minstrels now did pass</span> +<span class="i0">Anigh his resting-place; then fallen in doubt,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as he might, he rose and gazed about,</span> +<span class="i0">Leaning against the hawthorn stem with pain;</span> +<span class="i0">And yet his straining gaze was but in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">Death stole so fast upon him, and no more</span> +<span class="i0">Could he behold the blossoms as before,</span> +<span class="i0">No more the trees seemed rooted to the ground,</span> +<span class="i0">A heavy mist seemed gathering all around,</span> +<span class="i0">And in its heart some bright thing seemed to be,</span> +<span class="i0">And round his head there breathed deliciously</span> +<span class="i0">Sweet odours, and that music never ceased.</span> +<span class="i0">But as the weight of Death's strong hand increased</span> +<span class="i0">Again he sank adown, and Courtain's noise</span> +<span class="i0">Within the scabbard seemed a farewell voice</span> +<span class="i0">Sent from the world he loved so well of old,</span> +<span class="i0">And all his life was as a story told,</span> +<span class="i0">And as he thought thereof he 'gan to smile</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as a child asleep, but in a while</span> +<span class="i0">It was as though he slept, and sleeping dreamed,</span> +<span class="i0">For in his half-closed eyes a glory gleamed,</span> +<span class="i0">As though from some sweet face and golden hair,</span> +<span class="i0">And on his breast were laid soft hands and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And a sweet voice was ringing in his ears,</span> +<span class="i0">Broken as if with flow of joyous tears;</span> +<span class="i2">"Ogier, sweet friend, hast thou not tarried long?</span> +<span class="i0">Alas! thine hundred years of strife and wrong!"</span> +<span class="i0">Then he found voice to say, "Alas! dear Lord,</span> +<span class="i0">Too long, too long; and yet one little word</span> +<span class="i0">Right many a year agone had brought me here."</span> +<span class="i0">Then to his face that face was drawn anear,</span> +<span class="i0">He felt his head raised up and gently laid</span> +<span class="i0">On some kind knee, again the sweet voice said,</span> +<span class="i0">"Nay, Ogier, nay, not yet, not yet, dear friend!</span> +<span class="i0">Who knoweth when our linked life shall end,</span> +<span class="i0">Since thou art come unto mine arms at last,</span> +<span class="i0">And all the turmoil of the world is past?</span> +<span class="i0">Why do I linger ere I see thy face</span> +<span class="i0">As I desired it in that mourning place</span> +<span class="i0">So many years ago—so many years,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou knewest not thy love and all her fears?"</span> +<span class="i2">"Alas!" he said, "what mockery is this</span> +<span class="i0">That thou wilt speak to me of earthly bliss?</span> +<span class="i0">No longer can I think upon the earth,</span> +<span class="i0">Have I not done with all its grief and mirth?</span> +<span class="i0">Yes, I was Ogier once, but if my love</span> +<span class="i0">Should come once more my dying heart to move,</span> +<span class="i0">Then must she come from 'neath the milk-white walls</span> +<span class="i0">Whereon to-day the hawthorn blossom falls</span> +<span class="i0">Outside St. Omer's—art thou she? her name</span> +<span class="i0">I could remember once mid death and fame</span> +<span class="i0">Is clean forgotten now; but yesterday,</span> +<span class="i0">Meseems, our son, upon her bosom lay:</span> +<span class="i0">Baldwin the fair—what hast thou done with him</span> +<span class="i0">Since Charlot slew him? Ah, mine eyes wax dim;</span> +<span class="i0">Woman, forbear! wilt thou not let me die?</span> +<span class="i0">Did I forget thee in the days gone by?</span> +<span class="i0">Then let me die, that we may meet again!"</span> + +<span class="i2">He tried to move from her, but all in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">For life had well-nigh left him, but withal</span> +<span class="i0">He felt a kiss upon his forehead fall,</span> +<span class="i0">And could not speak; he felt slim fingers fair</span> +<span class="i0">Move to his mighty sword-worn hand, and there</span> +<span class="i0">Set on some ring, and still he could not speak,</span> +<span class="i0">And once more sleep weighed down his eyelids weak.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, ah! what land was this he woke unto?</span> +<span class="i0">What joy was this that filled his heart anew?</span> +<span class="i0">Had he then gained the very Paradise?</span> +<span class="i0">Trembling, he durst not at the first arise,</span> +<span class="i0">Although no more he felt the pain of eld,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor durst he raise his eyes that now beheld</span> +<span class="i0">Beside him the white flowers and blades of grass;</span> +<span class="i0">He durst not speak, lest he some monster was.</span> +<span class="i2">But while he lay and hoped, that gentle voice</span> +<span class="i0">Once more he heard; "Yea, thou mayst well rejoice!</span> +<span class="i0">Thou livest still, my sweet, thou livest still,</span> +<span class="i0">Apart from every earthly fear and ill;</span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou not love me, who have wrought thee this,</span> +<span class="i0">That I like thee may live in double bliss?"</span> +<span class="i2">Then Ogier rose up, nowise like to one</span> +<span class="i0">Whose span of earthly life is nigh outrun,</span> +<span class="i0">But as he might have risen in old days</span> +<span class="i0">To see the spears cleave the fresh morning haze;</span> +<span class="i0">But, looking round, he saw no change there was</span> +<span class="i0">In the fair place wherethrough he first did pass,</span> +<span class="i0">Though all, grown clear and joyous to his eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">Now looked no worse than very Paradise;</span> +<span class="i0">Behind him were the thorns, the fountain fair</span> +<span class="i0">Still sent its glittering stream forth into air,</span> +<span class="i0">And by its basin a fair woman stood,</span> +<span class="i0">And as their eyes met his renewèd blood</span> +<span class="i0">Rushed to his face; with unused thoughts and sweet</span> +<span class="i0">And hurrying hopes, his heart began to beat.</span> +<span class="i2">The fairest of all creatures did she seem;</span> +<span class="i0">So fresh and delicate you well might deem</span> +<span class="i0">That scarce for eighteen summers had she blessed</span> +<span class="i0">The happy, longing world; yet, for the rest,</span> +<span class="i0">Within her glorious eyes such wisdom dwelt</span> +<span class="i0">A child before her had the wise man felt,</span> +<span class="i0">And with the pleasure of a thousand years</span> +<span class="i0">Her lips were fashioned to move joy or tears</span> +<span class="i0">Among the longing folk where she might dwell,</span> +<span class="i0">To give at last the kiss unspeakable.</span> +<span class="i2">In such wise was she clad as folk may be,</span> +<span class="i0">Who, for no shame of their humanity,</span> +<span class="i0">For no sad changes of the imperfect year,</span> +<span class="i0">Rather for added beauty, raiment wear;</span> +<span class="i0">For, as the heat-foretelling grey-blue haze</span> +<span class="i0">Veils the green flowery morn of late May-days,</span> +<span class="i0">Her raiment veiled her; where the bands did meet</span> +<span class="i0">That bound the sandals to her dainty feet,</span> +<span class="i0">Gems gleamed; a fresh rose-wreath embraced her head,</span> +<span class="i0">And on her breast there lay a ruby red.</span> +<span class="i2">So with a supplicating look she turned</span> +<span class="i0">To meet the flame that in his own eyes burned,</span> +<span class="i0">And held out both her white arms lovingly,</span> +<span class="i0">As though to greet him as he drew anigh.</span> +<span class="i0">Stammering he said, "Who art thou? how am I</span> +<span class="i0">So cured of all my evils suddenly,</span> +<span class="i0">That certainly I felt no mightier, when,</span> +<span class="i0">Amid the backward rush of beaten men,</span> +<span class="i0">About me drooped the axe-torn Oriflamme?</span> +<span class="i0">Alas! I fear that in some dream I am."</span> +<span class="i2">"Ogier," she said, "draw near, perchance it is</span> +<span class="i0">That such a name God gives unto our bliss;</span> +<span class="i0">I know not, but if thou art such an one</span> +<span class="i0">As I must deem, all days beneath the sun</span> +<span class="i0">That thou hast had, shall be but dreams indeed</span> +<span class="i0">To those that I have given thee at thy need.</span> +<span class="i0">For many years ago beside the sea</span> +<span class="i0">When thou wert born, I plighted troth with thee:</span> +<span class="i0">Come near then, and make mirrors of mine eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou mayest see what these my mysteries</span> +<span class="i0">Have wrought in thee; surely but thirty years,</span> +<span class="i0">Passed amidst joy, thy new born body bears,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor while thou art with me, and on this shore</span> +<span class="i0">Art still full-fed of love, shalt thou seem more.</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, love, come nigher, and let me take thine hand,</span> +<span class="i0">The hope and fear of many a warring land,</span> +<span class="i0">And I will show thee wherein lies the spell,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereby this happy change upon thee fell."</span> + +<span class="i2">Like a shy youth before some royal love,</span> +<span class="i0">Close up to that fair woman did he move,</span> +<span class="i0">And their hands met; yet to his changed voice</span> +<span class="i0">He dared not trust; nay, scarcely could rejoice</span> +<span class="i0">E'en when her balmy breath he 'gan to feel,</span> +<span class="i0">And felt strange sweetness o'er his spirit steal</span> +<span class="i0">As her light raiment, driven by the wind,</span> +<span class="i0">Swept round him, and, bewildered and half-blind,</span> +<span class="i0">His lips the treasure of her lips did press,</span> +<span class="i0">And round him clung her perfect loveliness.</span> +<span class="i2">For one sweet moment thus they stood, and then</span> +<span class="i0">She drew herself from out his arms again,</span> +<span class="i0">And panting, lovelier for her love, did stand</span> +<span class="i0">Apart awhile, then took her lover's hand,</span> +<span class="i0">And, in a trembling voice, made haste to say,—</span> +<span class="i2">"O Ogier, when thou earnest here to-day,</span> +<span class="i0">I feared indeed, that in my sport with fate,</span> +<span class="i0">I might have seen thee e'en one day too late,</span> +<span class="i0">Before this ring thy finger should embrace;</span> +<span class="i0">Behold it, love, and thy keen eyes may trace</span> +<span class="i0">Faint figures wrought upon the ruddy gold;</span> +<span class="i0">My father dying gave it me, nor told</span> +<span class="i0">The manner of its making, but I know</span> +<span class="i0">That it can make thee e'en as thou art now</span> +<span class="i0">Despite the laws of God—shrink not from me</span> +<span class="i0">Because I give an impious gift to thee—</span> +<span class="i0">Has not God made me also, who do this?</span> +<span class="i0">But I, who longed to share with thee my bliss,</span> +<span class="i0">Am of the fays, and live their changeless life,</span> +<span class="i0">And, like the gods of old, I see the strife</span> +<span class="i0">That moves the world, unmoved if so I will;</span> +<span class="i0">For we the fruit, that teaches good and ill,</span> +<span class="i0">Have never touched like you of Adam's race;</span> +<span class="i0">And while thou dwellest with me in this place</span> +<span class="i0">Thus shalt thou be—ah, and thou deem'st, indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou shalt gain thereby no happy meed</span> +<span class="i0">Reft of the world's joys? nor canst understand</span> +<span class="i0">How thou art come into a happy land?—</span> +<span class="i0">Love, in thy world the priests of heaven still sing,</span> +<span class="i0">And tell thee of it many a joyous thing;</span> +<span class="i0">But think'st thou, bearing the world's joy and pain,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou couldst live there? nay, nay, but born again</span> +<span class="i0">Thus wouldst be happy with the angels' bliss;</span> +<span class="i0">And so with us no otherwise it is,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor hast thou cast thine old life quite away</span> +<span class="i0">Even as yet, though that shall be to-day.</span> +<span class="i2">"But for the love and country thou hast won,</span> +<span class="i0">Know thou, that thou art come to Avallon,</span> +<span class="i0">That is both thine and mine; and as for me,</span> +<span class="i0">Morgan le Fay men call me commonly</span> +<span class="i0">Within the world, but fairer names than this</span> +<span class="i0">I have for thee and me, 'twixt kiss and kiss."</span> + +<span class="i2">Ah, what was this? and was it all in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">That she had brought him here this life to gain?</span> +<span class="i0">For, ere her speech was done, like one turned blind</span> +<span class="i0">He watched the kisses of the wandering wind</span> +<span class="i0">Within her raiment, or as some one sees</span> +<span class="i0">The very best of well-wrought images</span> +<span class="i0">When he is blind with grief, did he behold</span> +<span class="i0">The wandering tresses of her locks of gold</span> +<span class="i0">Upon her shoulders; and no more he pressed</span> +<span class="i0">The hand that in his own hand lay at rest:</span> +<span class="i0">His eyes, grown dull with changing memories,</span> +<span class="i0">Could make no answer to her glorious eyes:</span> +<span class="i0">Cold waxed his heart, and weary and distraught,</span> +<span class="i0">With many a cast-by, hateful, dreary thought,</span> +<span class="i0">Unfinished in the old days; and withal</span> +<span class="i0">He needs must think of what might chance to fall</span> +<span class="i0">In this life new-begun; and good and bad</span> +<span class="i0">Tormented him, because as yet he had</span> +<span class="i0">A worldly heart within his frame made new,</span> +<span class="i0">And to the deeds that he was wont to do</span> +<span class="i0">Did his desires still turn. But she a while</span> +<span class="i0">Stood gazing at him with a doubtful smile,</span> +<span class="i0">And let his hand fall down; but suddenly</span> +<span class="i0">Sounded sweet music from some close nearby,</span> +<span class="i0">And then she spoke again: "Come, love, with me,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou thy new life and delights mayst see."</span> +<span class="i0">And gently with that word she led him thence,</span> +<span class="i0">And though upon him now there fell a sense</span> +<span class="i0">Of dreamy and unreal bewilderment,</span> +<span class="i0">As hand in hand through that green place they went,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet therewithal a strain of tender love</span> +<span class="i0">A little yet his restless heart did move.</span> + +<span class="i2">So through the whispering trees they came at last</span> +<span class="i0">To where a wondrous house a shadow cast</span> +<span class="i0">Across the flowers, and o'er the daisied grass</span> +<span class="i0">Before it, crowds of lovely folk did pass,</span> +<span class="i0">Playing about in carelessness and mirth,</span> +<span class="i0">Unshadowed by the doubtful deeds of earth;</span> +<span class="i0">And from the midst a band of fair girls came,</span> +<span class="i0">With flowers and music, greeting him by name,</span> +<span class="i0">And praising him; but ever like a dream</span> +<span class="i0">He could not break, did all to Ogier seem,</span> +<span class="i0">And he his old world did the more desire,</span> +<span class="i0">For in his heart still burned unquenched the fire,</span> +<span class="i0">That through the world of old so bright did burn:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet was he fain that kindness to return,</span> +<span class="i0">And from the depth of his full heart he sighed.</span> +<span class="i2">Then toward the house the lovely Queen did guide</span> +<span class="i0">His listless steps, and seemed to take no thought</span> +<span class="i0">Of knitted brow or wandering eyes distraught,</span> +<span class="i0">But still with kind love lighting up her face</span> +<span class="i0">She led him through the door of that fair place,</span> +<span class="i0">While round about them did the damsels press;</span> +<span class="i0">And he was moved by all that loveliness</span> +<span class="i0">As one might be, who, lying half asleep</span> +<span class="i0">In the May morning, notes the light wind sweep</span> +<span class="i0">Over the tulip-beds: no more to him</span> +<span class="i0">Were gleaming eyes, red lips, and bodies slim,</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst that dream, although the first surprise</span> +<span class="i0">Of hurried love wherewith the Queen's sweet eyes</span> +<span class="i0">Had smitten him, still in his heart did stir.</span> + +<span class="i2">And so at last he came, led on by her</span> +<span class="i0">Into a hall wherein a fair throne was,</span> +<span class="i0">And hand in hand thereto the twain did pass;</span> +<span class="i0">And there she bade him sit, and when alone</span> +<span class="i0">He took his place upon the double throne,</span> +<span class="i0">She cast herself before him on her knees,</span> +<span class="i0">Embracing his, and greatly did increase</span> +<span class="i0">The shame and love that vexed his troubled heart:</span> +<span class="i0">But now a line of girls the crowd did part,</span> +<span class="i0">Lovelier than all, and Ogier could behold</span> +<span class="i0">One in their midst who bore a crown of gold</span> +<span class="i0">Within her slender hands and delicate;</span> +<span class="i0">She, drawing nigh, beside the throne did wait</span> +<span class="i0">Until the Queen arose and took the crown,</span> +<span class="i0">Who then to Ogier's lips did stoop adown</span> +<span class="i0">And kissed him, and said, "Ogier, what were worth</span> +<span class="i0">Thy miserable days of strife on earth,</span> +<span class="i0">That on their ashes still thine eyes are turned?"</span> +<span class="i2">Then, as she spoke these words, his changed heart burned</span> +<span class="i0">With sudden memories, and thereto had he</span> +<span class="i0">Made answer, but she raised up suddenly</span> +<span class="i0">The crown she held and set it on his head,</span> +<span class="i0">"Ogier," she cried, "those troublous days are dead;</span> +<span class="i0">Thou wert dead with them also, but for me;</span> +<span class="i0">Turn unto her who wrought these things for thee!"</span> +<span class="i2">Then, as he felt her touch, a mighty wave</span> +<span class="i0">Of love swept o'er his soul, as though the grave</span> +<span class="i0">Did really hold his body; from his seat</span> +<span class="i0">He rose to cast himself before her feet;</span> +<span class="i0">But she clung round him, and in close embrace</span> +<span class="i0">The twain were locked amidst that thronging place.</span> + +<span class="i2">Thenceforth new life indeed has Ogier won,</span> +<span class="i0">And in the happy land of Avallon</span> +<span class="i0">Quick glide the years o'er his unchanging head;</span> +<span class="i0">There saw he many men the world thought dead,</span> +<span class="i0">Living like him in sweet forgetfulness</span> +<span class="i0">Of all the troubles that did once oppress</span> +<span class="i0">Their vainly-struggling lives—ah, how can I</span> +<span class="i0">Tell of their joy as though I had been nigh?</span> +<span class="i0">Suffice it that no fear of death they knew,</span> +<span class="i0">That there no talk there was of false or true,</span> +<span class="i0">Of right or wrong, for traitors came not there;</span> +<span class="i0">That everything was bright and soft and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And yet they wearied not for any change,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor unto them did constancy seem strange.</span> +<span class="i0">Love knew they, but its pain they never had,</span> +<span class="i0">But with each other's joy were they made glad;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor were their lives wasted by hidden fire,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor knew they of the unfulfilled desire</span> +<span class="i0">That turns to ashes all the joys of earth,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor knew they yearning love amidst the dearth</span> +<span class="i0">Of kind and loving hearts to spend it on,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor dreamed or discontent when all was won;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor need they struggle after wealth and fame;</span> +<span class="i0">Still was the calm flow of their lives the same,</span> +<span class="i0">And yet, I say, they wearied not of it—</span> +<span class="i0">So did the promised days by Ogier flit.</span> + +<span class="i2"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Think</span> that a hundred years have now passed by,</span> +<span class="i0">Since ye beheld Ogier lie down to die</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the fountain; think that now ye are</span> +<span class="i0">In France, made dangerous with wasting war;</span> +<span class="i0">In Paris, where about each guarded gate,</span> +<span class="i0">Gathered in knots, the anxious people wait,</span> +<span class="i0">And press around each new-come man to learn</span> +<span class="i0">If Harfleur now the pagan wasters burn,</span> +<span class="i0">Or if the Rouen folk can keep their chain,</span> +<span class="i0">Or Pont de l'Arche unburnt still guards the Seine?</span> +<span class="i0">Or if 'tis true that Andelys succour wants?</span> +<span class="i0">That Vernon's folk are fleeing east to Mantes?</span> +<span class="i0">When will they come? or rather is it true</span> +<span class="i0">That a great band the Constable o'erthrew</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the marshes of the lower Seine,</span> +<span class="i0">And that their long ships, turning back again,</span> +<span class="i0">Caught by the high-raised waters of the bore</span> +<span class="i0">Were driven here and there and cast ashore?</span> +<span class="i2">Such questions did they ask, and, as fresh men</span> +<span class="i0">Came hurrying in, they asked them o'er again,</span> +<span class="i0">And from scared folk, or fools, or ignorant,</span> +<span class="i0">Still got new lies, or tidings very scant.</span> + +<span class="i2">But now amidst these men at last came one,</span> +<span class="i0">A little ere the setting of the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">With two stout men behind him, armed right well,</span> +<span class="i0">Who ever as they rode on, sooth to tell,</span> +<span class="i0">With doubtful eyes upon their master stared,</span> +<span class="i0">Or looked about like troubled men and scared.</span> +<span class="i0">And he they served was noteworthy indeed;</span> +<span class="i0">Of ancient fashion were his arms and weed,</span> +<span class="i0">Rich past the wont of men in those sad times;</span> +<span class="i0">His face was bronzed, as though by burning climes,</span> +<span class="i0">But lovely as the image of a god</span> +<span class="i0">Carved in the days before on earth Christ trod;</span> +<span class="i0">But solemn were his eyes, and grey as glass,</span> +<span class="i0">And like to ruddy gold his fine hair was:</span> +<span class="i0">A mighty man he was, and taller far</span> +<span class="i0">Than those who on that day must bear the war</span> +<span class="i0">The pagans waged: he by the warders stayed</span> +<span class="i0">Scarce looked on them, but straight their words obeyed</span> +<span class="i0">And showed his pass; then, asked about his name</span> +<span class="i0">And from what city of the world he came,</span> +<span class="i0">Said, that men called him now the Ancient Knight,</span> +<span class="i0">That he was come midst the king's men to fight</span> +<span class="i0">From St. Omer's; and as he spoke, he gazed</span> +<span class="i0">Down on the thronging street as one amazed,</span> +<span class="i0">And answered no more to the questioning</span> +<span class="i0">Of frightened folk of this or that sad thing;</span> +<span class="i0">But, ere he passed on, turned about at last</span> +<span class="i0">And on the wondering guard a strange look cast,</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "St. Mary! do such men as ye</span> +<span class="i0">Fight with the wasters from across the sea?</span> +<span class="i0">Then, certes, are ye lost, however good</span> +<span class="i0">Your hearts may be; not such were those who stood</span> +<span class="i0">Beside the Hammer-bearer years agone."</span> +<span class="i2">So said he, and as his fair armour shone</span> +<span class="i0">With beauty of a time long passed away,</span> +<span class="i0">So with the music of another day</span> +<span class="i0">His deep voice thrilled the awe-struck, listening folk.</span> + +<span class="i2">Yet from the crowd a mocking voice outbroke,</span> +<span class="i0">That cried, "Be merry, masters, fear ye nought,</span> +<span class="i0">Surely good succour to our side is brought;</span> +<span class="i0">For here is Charlemaine come off his tomb</span> +<span class="i0">To save his faithful city from its doom."</span> +<span class="i2">"Yea," said another, "this is certain news,</span> +<span class="i0">Surely ye know how all the carvers use</span> +<span class="i0">To carve the dead man's image at the best,</span> +<span class="i0">That guards the place where he may lie at rest;</span> +<span class="i0">Wherefore this living image looks indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">Spite of his ancient tongue and marvellous weed,</span> +<span class="i0">To have but thirty summers."</span> +<span class="i8">At the name</span> +<span class="i0">Of Charlemaine, he turned to whence there came</span> +<span class="i0">The mocking voice, and somewhat knit his brow,</span> +<span class="i0">And seemed as he would speak, but scarce knew how;</span> +<span class="i0">So with a half-sigh soon sank back again</span> +<span class="i0">Into his dream, and shook his well-wrought rein,</span> +<span class="i0">And silently went on upon his way.</span> + +<span class="i2">And this was Ogier: on what evil day</span> +<span class="i0">Has he then stumbled, that he needs must come,</span> +<span class="i0">Midst war and ravage, to the ancient home</span> +<span class="i0">Of his desires? did he grow weary then,</span> +<span class="i0">And wish to strive once more with foolish men</span> +<span class="i0">For worthless things? or is fair Avallon</span> +<span class="i0">Sunk in the sea, and all that glory gone?</span> +<span class="i2">Nay, thus it happed—One day she came to him</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "Ogier, thy name is waxen dim</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the world that thou rememberest not;</span> +<span class="i0">The heathen men are thick on many a spot</span> +<span class="i0">Thine eyes have seen, and which I love therefore;</span> +<span class="i0">And God will give His wonted help no more.</span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou, then, help? canst thou have any mind</span> +<span class="i0">To give thy banner once more to the wind?</span> +<span class="i0">Since greater glory thou shalt win for this</span> +<span class="i0">Than erst thou gatheredst ere thou cam'st to bliss:</span> +<span class="i0">For men are dwindled both in heart and frame,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor holds the fair land any such a name</span> +<span class="i0">As thine, when thou wert living midst thy peers:</span> +<span class="i0">The world is worser for these hundred years."</span> +<span class="i2">From his calm eyes there gleamed a little fire,</span> +<span class="i0">And in his voice was something of desire,</span> +<span class="i0">To see the land where he was used to be,</span> +<span class="i0">As now he answered: "Nay, choose thou for me,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou art the wisest; it is more than well</span> +<span class="i0">Within this peaceful place with thee to dwell:</span> +<span class="i0">Nor ill perchance in that old land to die,</span> +<span class="i0">If, dying, I keep not the memory</span> +<span class="i0">Of this fair life of ours." "Nay, nay," said she,</span> +<span class="i0">"As to thy dying, that shall never be,</span> +<span class="i0">Whiles that thou keep'st my ring—and now, behold,</span> +<span class="i0">I take from thee thy charmed crown of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou wilt be the Ogier that thou wast</span> +<span class="i0">Ere on the loadstone rock thy ship was cast:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet thou shalt have thy youthful body still,</span> +<span class="i0">And I will guard thy life from every ill."</span> + +<span class="i2">So was it done, and Ogier, armed right well,</span> +<span class="i0">Sleeping, was borne away by some strong spell,</span> +<span class="i0">And set upon the Flemish coast; and thence</span> +<span class="i0">Turned to St. Omer's, with a doubtful sense</span> +<span class="i0">Of being in some wild dream, the while he knew</span> +<span class="i0">That great delight forgotten was his due,</span> +<span class="i0">That all which there might hap was of small worth.</span> +<span class="i2">So on he went, and sometimes unto mirth</span> +<span class="i0">Did his attire move the country-folk,</span> +<span class="i0">But oftener when strange speeches from him broke</span> +<span class="i0">Concerning men and things for long years dead,</span> +<span class="i0">He filled the listeners with great awe and dread;</span> +<span class="i0">For in such wild times as these people were</span> +<span class="i0">Are men soon moved to wonder and to fear.</span> + +<span class="i2">Now through the streets of Paris did he ride,</span> +<span class="i0">And at a certain hostel did abide</span> +<span class="i0">Throughout that night, and ere he went next day</span> +<span class="i0">He saw a book that on a table lay,</span> +<span class="i0">And opening it 'gan read in lazy mood:</span> +<span class="i0">But long before it in that place he stood,</span> +<span class="i0">Noting nought else; for it did chronicle</span> +<span class="i0">The deeds of men of old he knew right well,</span> +<span class="i0">When they were living in the flesh with him:</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, his own deeds he saw, grown strange and dim</span> +<span class="i0">Already, and true stories mixed with lies,</span> +<span class="i0">Until, with many thronging memories</span> +<span class="i0">Of those old days, his heart was so oppressed,</span> +<span class="i0">He 'gan to wish that he might lie at rest,</span> +<span class="i0">Forgetting all things: for indeed by this</span> +<span class="i0">Little remembrance had he of the bliss</span> +<span class="i0">That wrapped his soul in peaceful Avallon.</span> + +<span class="i2">But his changed life he needs must carry on;</span> +<span class="i0">For ye shall know the Queen was gathering men</span> +<span class="i0">To send unto the good King, who as then</span> +<span class="i0">In Rouen lay, beset by many a band</span> +<span class="i0">Of those who carried terror through the land,</span> +<span class="i0">And still by messengers for help he prayed:</span> +<span class="i0">Therefore a mighty muster was being made,</span> +<span class="i0">Of weak and strong, and brave and timorous,</span> +<span class="i0">Before the Queen anigh her royal house.</span> +<span class="i0">So thither on this morn did Ogier turn,</span> +<span class="i0">Some certain news about the war to learn;</span> +<span class="i0">And when he came at last into the square,</span> +<span class="i0">And saw the ancient palace great and fair</span> +<span class="i0">Rise up before him as in other days,</span> +<span class="i0">And in the merry morn the bright sun's rays</span> +<span class="i0">Glittering on gathering helms and moving spears,</span> +<span class="i0">He 'gan to feel as in the long-past years,</span> +<span class="i0">And his heart stirred within him. Now the Queen</span> +<span class="i0">Came from within, right royally beseen,</span> +<span class="i0">And took her seat beneath a canopy,</span> +<span class="i0">With lords and captains of the war anigh;</span> +<span class="i0">And as she came a mighty shout arose,</span> +<span class="i0">And round about began the knights to close,</span> +<span class="i0">Their oath of fealty there to swear anew,</span> +<span class="i0">And learn what service they had got to do.</span> +<span class="i0">But so it was, that some their shouts must stay</span> +<span class="i0">To gaze at Ogier as he took his way</span> +<span class="i0">Through the thronged place; and quickly too he gat</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the place whereas the Lady sat,</span> +<span class="i0">For men gave place unto him, fearing him:</span> +<span class="i0">For not alone was he most huge of limb,</span> +<span class="i0">And dangerous, but something in his face,</span> +<span class="i0">As his calm eyes looked o'er the crowded place,</span> +<span class="i0">Struck men with awe; and in the ancient days,</span> +<span class="i0">When men might hope alive on gods to gaze,</span> +<span class="i0">They would have thought, "The gods yet love our town</span> +<span class="i0">And from the heavens have sent a great one down."</span> +<span class="i2">Withal unto the throne he came so near,</span> +<span class="i0">That he the Queen's sweet measured voice could hear;</span> +<span class="i0">And swiftly now within him wrought the change</span> +<span class="i0">That first he felt amid those faces strange;</span> +<span class="i0">And his heart burned to taste the hurrying life</span> +<span class="i0">With such desires, such changing sweetness rife.</span> +<span class="i0">And yet, indeed, how should he live alone,</span> +<span class="i0">Who in the old past days such friends had known?</span> +<span class="i0">Then he began to think of Caraheu,</span> +<span class="i0">Of Bellicent the fair, and once more knew</span> +<span class="i0">The bitter pain of rent and ended love.</span> +<span class="i0">But while with hope and vain regret he strove,</span> +<span class="i0">He found none 'twixt him and the Queen's high seat,</span> +<span class="i0">And, stepping forth, he knelt before her feet</span> +<span class="i0">And took her hand to swear, as was the way</span> +<span class="i0">Of doing fealty in that ancient day,</span> +<span class="i0">And raised his eyes to hers; as fair was she</span> +<span class="i0">As any woman of the world might be</span> +<span class="i0">Full-limbed and tall, dark haired, from her deep eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">The snare of fools, the ruin of the wise,</span> +<span class="i0">Love looked unchecked; and now her dainty hand,</span> +<span class="i0">The well-knit holder of the golden wand,</span> +<span class="i0">Trembled in his, she cast her eyes adown,</span> +<span class="i0">And her sweet brow was knitted to a frown,</span> +<span class="i0">As he, the taker of such oaths of yore,</span> +<span class="i0">Now unto her all due obedience swore,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet gave himself no name; and now the Queen,</span> +<span class="i0">Awed by his voice as other folk had been,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet felt a trembling hope within her rise</span> +<span class="i0">Too sweet to think of, and with love's surprise</span> +<span class="i0">Her cheek grew pale; she said, "Thy style and name</span> +<span class="i0">Thou tellest not, nor what land of thy fame</span> +<span class="i0">Is glad; for, certes, some land must be glad,</span> +<span class="i0">That in its bounds her house thy mother had."</span> +<span class="i2">"Lady," he said, "from what far land I come</span> +<span class="i0">I well might tell thee, but another home</span> +<span class="i0">Have I long dwelt in, and its name have I</span> +<span class="i0">Forgotten now, forgotten utterly</span> +<span class="i0">Who were my fellows, and what deeds they did;</span> +<span class="i0">Therefore, indeed, shall my first name be hid</span> +<span class="i0">And my first country; call me on this day</span> +<span class="i0">The Ancient Knight, and let me go my way."</span> +<span class="i0">He rose withal, for she her fingers fair</span> +<span class="i0">Had drawn aback, and on him 'gan to stare</span> +<span class="i0">As one afeard; for something terrible</span> +<span class="i0">Was in his speech, and that she knew right well,</span> +<span class="i0">Who 'gan to love him, and to fear that she,</span> +<span class="i0">Shut out by some strange deadly mystery,</span> +<span class="i0">Should never gain from him an equal love;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet, as from her high seat he 'gan to move,</span> +<span class="i0">She said, "O Ancient Knight, come presently,</span> +<span class="i0">When we have done this muster, unto me,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou shalt have thy charge and due command</span> +<span class="i0">For freeing from our foes this wretched land!"</span> +<span class="i2">Then Ogier made his reverence and went,</span> +<span class="i0">And somewhat could perceive of her intent;</span> +<span class="i0">For in his heart life grew, and love with life</span> +<span class="i0">Grew, and therewith, 'twixt love and fame, was strife.</span> +<span class="i2">But, as he slowly gat him from the square,</span> +<span class="i0">Gazing at all the people gathered there,</span> +<span class="i0">A squire of the Queen's behind him came,</span> +<span class="i0">And breathless, called him by his new-coined name,</span> +<span class="i0">And bade him turn because the Queen now bade,</span> +<span class="i0">Since by the muster long she might be stayed,</span> +<span class="i0">That to the palace he should bring him straight,</span> +<span class="i0">Midst sport and play her coming back to wait;</span> +<span class="i0">Then Ogier turned, nought loath, and with him went,</span> +<span class="i0">And to a postern-gate his steps he bent,</span> +<span class="i0">That Ogier knew right well in days of old;</span> +<span class="i0">Worn was it now, and the bright hues and gold</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the shields above, with lapse of days,</span> +<span class="i0">Were faded much: but now did Ogier gaze</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the garden where he walked of yore,</span> +<span class="i0">Holding the hands that he should see no more;</span> +<span class="i0">For all was changed except the palace fair,</span> +<span class="i0">That Charlemaine's own eyes had seen built there</span> +<span class="i0">Ere Ogier knew him; there the squire did lead</span> +<span class="i0">The Ancient Knight, who still took little heed</span> +<span class="i0">Of all the things that by the way he said,</span> +<span class="i0">For all his thoughts were on the days long dead.</span> +<span class="i2">There in the painted hall he sat again,</span> +<span class="i0">And 'neath the pictured eyes of Charlemaine</span> +<span class="i0">He ate and drank, and felt it like a dream;</span> +<span class="i0">And midst his growing longings yet might deem</span> +<span class="i0">That he from sleep should wake up presently</span> +<span class="i0">In some fair city on the Syrian sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Or on the brown rocks of the loadstone isle.</span> +<span class="i0">But fain to be alone, within a while</span> +<span class="i0">He gat him to the garden, and there passed</span> +<span class="i0">By wondering squires and damsels, till at last,</span> +<span class="i0">Far from the merry folk who needs must play,</span> +<span class="i0">If on the world were coming its last day,</span> +<span class="i0">He sat him down, and through his mind there ran</span> +<span class="i0">Faint thoughts of that day, when, outworn and wan,</span> +<span class="i0">He lay down by the fountain-side to die.</span> +<span class="i0">But when he strove to gain clear memory</span> +<span class="i0">Of what had happed since on the isle he lay</span> +<span class="i0">Waiting for death, a hopeless castaway,</span> +<span class="i0">Thought failing him, would rather bring again</span> +<span class="i0">His life among the peers of Charlemaine,</span> +<span class="i0">And vex his soul with hapless memories;</span> +<span class="i0">Until at last, worn out by thought of these,</span> +<span class="i0">And hopeless striving to find what was true,</span> +<span class="i0">And pondering on the deeds he had to do</span> +<span class="i0">Ere he returned, whereto he could not tell,</span> +<span class="i0">Sweet sleep upon his wearied spirit fell.</span> +<span class="i0">And on the afternoon of that fair day,</span> +<span class="i0">Forgetting all, beneath the trees he lay.</span> + +<span class="i2">Meanwhile the Queen, affairs of state being done,</span> +<span class="i0">Went through the gardens with one dame alone</span> +<span class="i0">Seeking for Ogier, whom at last she found</span> +<span class="i0">Laid sleeping on the daisy-sprinkled ground,</span> +<span class="i0">Dreaming, I know not what, of other days.</span> +<span class="i0">Then on him for a while the Queen did gaze,</span> +<span class="i0">Drawing sweet poison from the lovely sight,</span> +<span class="i0">Then to her fellow turned, "The ancient Knight—</span> +<span class="i0">What means he by this word of his?" she said;</span> +<span class="i0">"He were well mated with some lovely maid</span> +<span class="i0">Just pondering on the late-heard name of love."</span> +<span class="i2">"Softly, my lady, he begins to move,"</span> +<span class="i0">Her fellow said, a woman old and grey;</span> +<span class="i0">"Look now, his arms are of another day;</span> +<span class="i0">None know him or his deeds; thy squire just said</span> +<span class="i0">He asked about the state of men long dead;</span> +<span class="i0">I fear what he may be; look, seest thou not</span> +<span class="i0">That ring that on one finger he has got,</span> +<span class="i0">Where figures strange upon the gold are wrought:</span> +<span class="i0">God grant that he from hell has not been brought</span> +<span class="i0">For our confusion, in this doleful war,</span> +<span class="i0">Who surely in enough of trouble are</span> +<span class="i0">Without such help;" then the Queen turned aside</span> +<span class="i0">Awhile, her drawn and troubled face to hide,</span> +<span class="i0">For lurking dread this speech within her stirred;</span> +<span class="i0">But yet she said, "Thou sayest a foolish word,</span> +<span class="i0">This man is come against our enemies</span> +<span class="i0">To fight for us." Then down upon her knees</span> +<span class="i0">Fell the old woman by the sleeping knight,</span> +<span class="i0">And from his hand she drew with fingers light</span> +<span class="i0">The wondrous ring, and scarce again could rise</span> +<span class="i0">Ere 'neath the trembling Queen's bewildered eyes</span> +<span class="i0">The change began; his golden hair turned white,</span> +<span class="i0">His smooth cheek wrinkled, and his breathing light</span> +<span class="i0">Was turned to troublous struggling for his breath,</span> +<span class="i0">And on his shrunk lips lay the hand of death;</span> +<span class="i0">And, scarce less pale than he, the trembling Queen</span> +<span class="i0">Stood thinking on the beauty she had seen</span> +<span class="i0">And longed for but a little while ago,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet with her terror still her love did grow,</span> +<span class="i0">And she began to weep as though she saw</span> +<span class="i0">Her beauty e'en to such an ending draw.</span> +<span class="i0">And 'neath her tears waking he oped his eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">And strove to speak, but nought but gasping sighs</span> +<span class="i0">His lips could utter; then he tried to reach</span> +<span class="i0">His hand to them, as though he would beseech</span> +<span class="i0">The gift of what was his: but all the while</span> +<span class="i0">The crone gazed on them with an evil smile,</span> +<span class="i0">Then holding toward the Queen that wondrous ring,</span> +<span class="i0">She said, "Why weep'st thou? having this fair thing,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou, losing nought the beauty that thou hast,</span> +<span class="i0">May'st watch the vainly struggling world go past,</span> +<span class="i0">Thyself unchanged." The Queen put forth her hand</span> +<span class="i0">And took the ring, and there awhile did stand</span> +<span class="i0">And strove to think of it, but still in her</span> +<span class="i0">Such all-absorbing longings love did stir,</span> +<span class="i0">So young she was, of death she could not think,</span> +<span class="i0">Or what a cup eld gives to man to drink;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet on her finger had she set the ring</span> +<span class="i0">When now the life that hitherto did cling</span> +<span class="i0">To Ogier's heart seemed fading quite away,</span> +<span class="i0">And scarcely breathing with shut eyes he lay.</span> +<span class="i0">Then, kneeling down, she murmured piteously,</span> +<span class="i0">"Ah, wilt thou love me if I give it thee,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou grow'st young again? what should I do</span> +<span class="i0">If with the eyes thou thus shalt gain anew</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shouldst look scorn on me?" But with that word</span> +<span class="i0">The hedge behind her, by the west wind stirred,</span> +<span class="i0">Cast fear into her heart of some one nigh,</span> +<span class="i0">And therewith on his finger hastily</span> +<span class="i0">She set the ring, then rose and stood apart</span> +<span class="i0">A little way, and in her doubtful heart</span> +<span class="i0">With love and fear was mixed desire of life.</span> +<span class="i2">But standing so, a look with great scorn rife</span> +<span class="i0">The elder woman, turning, cast on her,</span> +<span class="i0">Pointing to Ogier, who began to stir;</span> +<span class="i0">She looked, and all she erst saw now did seem</span> +<span class="i0">To have been nothing but a hideous dream,</span> +<span class="i0">As fair and young he rose from off the ground</span> +<span class="i0">And cast a dazed and puzzled look around,</span> +<span class="i0">Like one just waked from sleep in some strange place;</span> +<span class="i0">But soon his grave eyes rested on her face,</span> +<span class="i0">And turned yet graver seeing her so pale,</span> +<span class="i0">And that her eyes were pregnant with some tale</span> +<span class="i0">Of love and fear; she 'neath his eyes the while</span> +<span class="i0">Forced her pale lips to semblance of a smile,</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "O Ancient Knight, thou sleepest then?</span> +<span class="i0">While through this poor land range the heathen men,</span> +<span class="i0">Unmet of any but my King and Lord:</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, let us see the deeds of thine old sword."</span> +<span class="i2">"Queen," said he, "bid me then unto this work,</span> +<span class="i0">And certes I behind no wall would lurk,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor send for succour, while a scanty folk</span> +<span class="i0">Still followed after me to break the yoke:</span> +<span class="i0">I pray thee grace for sleeping, and were fain</span> +<span class="i0">That I might rather never sleep again</span> +<span class="i0">Than have such wretched dreams as I e'en now</span> +<span class="i0">Have waked from."</span> +<span class="i8">Lovelier she seemed to grow</span> +<span class="i0">Unto him as he spoke; fresh colour came</span> +<span class="i0">Into her face, as though for some sweet shame,</span> +<span class="i0">While she with tearful eyes beheld him so,</span> +<span class="i0">That somewhat even must his burnt cheek glow,</span> +<span class="i0">His heart beat faster. But again she said,</span> +<span class="i0">"Nay, will dreams burden such a mighty head?</span> +<span class="i0">Then may I too have pardon for a dream:</span> +<span class="i0">Last night in sleep I saw thee, who didst seem</span> +<span class="i0">To be the King of France; and thou and I</span> +<span class="i0">Were sitting at some great festivity</span> +<span class="i0">Within the many-peopled gold-hung place."</span> +<span class="i2">The blush of shame was gone as on his face</span> +<span class="i0">She gazed, and saw him read her meaning clear</span> +<span class="i0">And knew that no cold words she had to fear,</span> +<span class="i0">But rather that for softer speech he yearned.</span> +<span class="i0">Therefore, with love alone her smooth cheek burned;</span> +<span class="i0">Her parted lips were hungry for his kiss,</span> +<span class="i0">She trembled at the near approaching bliss;</span> +<span class="i2">Nathless, she checked her love a little while,</span> +<span class="i0">Because she felt the old dame's curious smile</span> +<span class="i0">Upon her, and she said, "O Ancient Knight,</span> +<span class="i0">If I then read my last night's dream aright,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou art come here our very help to be,</span> +<span class="i0">Perchance to give my husband back to me;</span> +<span class="i0">Come then, if thou this land art fain to save,</span> +<span class="i0">And show the wisdom thou must surely have</span> +<span class="i0">Unto my council; I will give thee then</span> +<span class="i0">What charge I may among my valiant men;</span> +<span class="i0">And certes thou wilt do so well herein,</span> +<span class="i0">That, ere long, something greater shalt thou win:</span> +<span class="i0">Come, then, deliverer of my throne and land,</span> +<span class="i0">And let me touch for once thy mighty hand</span> +<span class="i0">With these weak fingers."</span> +<span class="i8">As she spoke, she met</span> +<span class="i0">His eager hand, and all things did forget</span> +<span class="i0">But for one moment, for too wise were they</span> +<span class="i0">To cast the coming years of joy away;</span> +<span class="i0">Then with her other hand her gown she raised</span> +<span class="i0">And led him thence, and o'er her shoulder gazed</span> +<span class="i0">At her old follower with a doubtful smile,</span> +<span class="i0">As though to say, "Be wise, I know thy guile!"</span> +<span class="i2">But slowly she behind the lovers walked,</span> +<span class="i0">Muttering, "So be it! thou shalt not be balked</span> +<span class="i0">Of thy desire; be merry! I am wise,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor will I rob thee of thy Paradise</span> +<span class="i0">For any other than myself; and thou</span> +<span class="i0">May'st even happen to have had enow</span> +<span class="i0">Of this new love, before I get the ring,</span> +<span class="i0">And I may work for thee no evil thing."</span> + +<span class="i2">Now ye shall know that the old chronicle,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherein I read all this, doth duly tell</span> +<span class="i0">Of all the gallant deeds that Ogier did,</span> +<span class="i0">There may ye read them; nor let me be chid</span> +<span class="i0">If I therefore say little of these things,</span> +<span class="i0">Because the thought of Avallon still clings</span> +<span class="i0">Unto my heart, and scarcely can I bear</span> +<span class="i0">To think of that long, dragging useless year,</span> +<span class="i0">Through which, with dulled and glimmering memory,</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier was grown content to live and die</span> +<span class="i0">Like other men; but this I have to say,</span> +<span class="i0">That in the council chamber on that day</span> +<span class="i0">The Old Knight showed his wisdom well enow,</span> +<span class="i0">While fainter still with love the Queen did grow</span> +<span class="i0">Hearing his words, beholding his grey eyes</span> +<span class="i0">Flashing with fire of warlike memories;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, at the last he seemed so wise indeed</span> +<span class="i0">That she could give him now the charge, to lead</span> +<span class="i0">One wing of the great army that set out</span> +<span class="i0">From Paris' gates, midst many a wavering shout</span> +<span class="i0">Midst trembling prayers, and unchecked wails and tears,</span> +<span class="i0">And slender hopes and unresisted fears.</span> + +<span class="i2">Now ere he went, upon his bed he lay,</span> +<span class="i0">Newly awakened at the dawn of day,</span> +<span class="i0">Gathering perplexed thoughts of many a thing,</span> +<span class="i0">When, midst the carol that the birds did sing</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the coming of the hopeful sun,</span> +<span class="i0">He heard a sudden lovesome song begun</span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt two young voices in the garden green,</span> +<span class="i0">That seemed indeed the farewell of the Queen.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /> +<h2><span class="smcap">Song</span>.</h2> + +<h3>HÆC.</h3> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>In the white-flowered hawthorn brake</i>,</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Love, be merry for my sake</i>;</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Twine the blossoms in my hair</i>,</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kiss me where I am most fair</i>—</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kiss me, love! for who knoweth</i></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What thing cometh after death</i>?</span> +</div></div> + +<h3>ILLE.</h3> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Nay, the garlanded gold hair</i></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hides thee where thou art most fair</i>;</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow</i>—</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ah, sweet love, I have thee now</i>!</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kiss me, love! for who knoweth</i></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What thing cometh after death</i>?</span> +</div></div> + +<h3>HÆC.</h3> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Shall we weep for a dead day</i>,</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Or set Sorrow in our way</i>?</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hidden by my golden hair</i>,</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear</i>?</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kiss me, love! for who knoweth</i></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What thing cometh after death</i>?</span> +</div></div> + +<h3>ILLE.</h3> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Weep, O Love, the days that flit</i>,</span> +<span class="i2"><i>Now, while I can feel thy breath</i>;</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then may I remember it</i></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Sad and old, and near my death</i>.</span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kiss me, love! for who knoweth</i></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What thing cometh after death</i>?</span> + +<span class="i0">Soothed by the pleasure that the music brought</span> +<span class="i0">And sweet desire, and vague and dreamy thought</span> +<span class="i0">Of happiness it seemed to promise him,</span> +<span class="i0">He lay and listened till his eyes grew dim,</span> +<span class="i0">And o'er him 'gan forgetfulness to creep</span> +<span class="i0">Till in the growing light he lay asleep,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor woke until the clanging trumpet-blast</span> +<span class="i0">Had summoned him all thought away to cast:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet one more joy of love indeed he had</span> +<span class="i0">Ere with the battle's noise he was made glad;</span> +<span class="i0">For, as on that May morning forth they rode</span> +<span class="i0">And passed before the Queen's most fair abode,</span> +<span class="i0">There at a window was she waiting them</span> +<span class="i0">In fair attire with gold in every hem,</span> +<span class="i0">And as the ancient Knight beneath her passed</span> +<span class="i0">A wreath of flowering white-thorn down she cast,</span> +<span class="i0">And looked farewell to him, and forth he set</span> +<span class="i0">Thinking of all the pleasure he should get</span> +<span class="i0">From love and war, forgetting Avallon</span> +<span class="i0">And all that lovely life so lightly won;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, now indeed the earthly life o'erpast</span> +<span class="i0">Ere on the loadstone rock his ship was cast</span> +<span class="i0">Was waxing dim, nor yet at all he learned</span> +<span class="i0">To 'scape the fire that erst his heart had burned.</span> +<span class="i0">And he forgat his deeds, forgat his fame,</span> +<span class="i0">Forgat the letters of his ancient name</span> +<span class="i0">As one waked fully shall forget a dream,</span> +<span class="i0">That once to him a wondrous tale did seem.</span> + +<span class="i2">Now I, though writing here no chronicle</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as I said, must nathless shortly tell</span> +<span class="i0">That, ere the army Rouen's gates could gain</span> +<span class="i0">By a broad arrow had the King been slain,</span> +<span class="i0">And helpless now the wretched country lay</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the yoke, until the glorious day</span> +<span class="i0">When Ogier fell at last upon the foe,</span> +<span class="i0">And scattered them as helplessly as though</span> +<span class="i0">They had been beaten men without a name:</span> +<span class="i0">So when to Paris town once more he came</span> +<span class="i0">Few folk the memory of the King did keep</span> +<span class="i0">Within their hearts, and if the folk did weep</span> +<span class="i0">At his returning, 'twas for joy indeed</span> +<span class="i0">That such a man had risen at their need</span> +<span class="i0">To work for them so great deliverance,</span> +<span class="i0">And loud they called on him for King of France.</span> + +<span class="i2">But if the Queen's heart were the more a-flame</span> +<span class="i0">For all that she had heard of his great fame,</span> +<span class="i0">I know not; rather with some hidden dread</span> +<span class="i0">Of coming fate, she heard her lord was dead,</span> +<span class="i0">And her false dream seemed coming true at last,</span> +<span class="i0">For the clear sky of love seemed overcast</span> +<span class="i0">With clouds of God's great judgments, and the fear</span> +<span class="i0">Of hate and final parting drawing near.</span> +<span class="i2">So now when he before her throne did stand</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst the throng as saviour of the land,</span> +<span class="i0">And she her eyes to his kind eyes did raise,</span> +<span class="i0">And there before all her own love must praise;</span> +<span class="i0">Then did she fall a-weeping, and folk said,</span> +<span class="i0">"See, how she sorrows for the newly dead!</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst our joy she needs must think of him;</span> +<span class="i0">Let be, full surely shall her grief wax dim</span> +<span class="i0">And she shall wed again."</span> +<span class="i8">So passed the year,</span> +<span class="i0">While Ogier set himself the land to clear</span> +<span class="i0">Of broken remnants of the heathen men,</span> +<span class="i0">And at the last, when May-time came again,</span> +<span class="i0">Must he be crowned King of the twice-saved land,</span> +<span class="i0">And at the altar take the fair Queen's hand</span> +<span class="i0">And wed her for his own. And now by this</span> +<span class="i0">Had he forgotten clean the woe and bliss</span> +<span class="i0">Of his old life, and still was he made glad</span> +<span class="i0">As other men; and hopes and fears he had</span> +<span class="i0">As others, and bethought him not at all</span> +<span class="i0">Of what strange days upon him yet should fall</span> +<span class="i0">When he should live and these again be dead.</span> + +<span class="i2">Now drew the time round when he should be wed,</span> +<span class="i0">And in his palace on his bed he lay</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the dawning of the very day:</span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt sleep and waking was he, and could hear</span> +<span class="i0">E'en at that hour, through the bright morn and clear,</span> +<span class="i0">The hammering of the folk who toiled to make</span> +<span class="i0">Some well-wrought stages for the pageant's sake,</span> +<span class="i0">Though hardly yet the sparrows had begun</span> +<span class="i0">To twitter o'er the coming of the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor through the palace did a creature move.</span> +<span class="i2">There in the sweet entanglement of love</span> +<span class="i0">Midst languid thoughts of greater bliss he lay,</span> +<span class="i0">Remembering no more of that other day</span> +<span class="i0">Than the hot noon remembereth of the night,</span> +<span class="i0">Than summer thinketh of the winter white.</span> +<span class="i2">In that sweet hour he heard a voice that cried,</span> +<span class="i0">"Ogier, Ogier!" then, opening his eyes wide,</span> +<span class="i0">And rising on his elbow, gazed around,</span> +<span class="i0">And strange to him and empty was the sound</span> +<span class="i0">Of his own name; "Whom callest thou?" he said.</span> +<span class="i0">"For I, the man who lies upon this bed,</span> +<span class="i0">Am Charles of France, and shall be King to-day,</span> +<span class="i0">But in a year that now is past away</span> +<span class="i0">The Ancient Knight they called me: who is this,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou callest Ogier, then, what deeds are his?</span> +<span class="i0">And who art thou?" But at that word a sigh,</span> +<span class="i0">As of one grieved, came from some place anigh</span> +<span class="i0">His bed-side, and a soft voice spake again,</span> +<span class="i0">"This Ogier once was great amongst great men;</span> +<span class="i0">To Italy a helpless hostage led;</span> +<span class="i0">He saved the King when the false Lombard fled,</span> +<span class="i0">Bore forth the Oriflamme and gained the day;</span> +<span class="i0">Charlot he brought back, whom men led away,</span> +<span class="i0">And fought a day-long fight with Caraheu.</span> +<span class="i0">The ravager of Rome his right hand slew;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor did he fear the might of Charlemaine,</span> +<span class="i0">Who for a dreary year beset in vain</span> +<span class="i0">His lonely castle; yet at last caught then,</span> +<span class="i0">And shut in hold, needs must he come again</span> +<span class="i0">To give an unhoped great deliverance</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the burdened helpless land of France:</span> +<span class="i0">Denmark he gained thereafter, and he wore</span> +<span class="i0">The crown of England drawn from trouble sore;</span> +<span class="i0">At Tyre then he reigned, and Babylon</span> +<span class="i0">With mighty deeds he from the foemen won;</span> +<span class="i0">And when scarce aught could give him greater fame,</span> +<span class="i0">He left the world still thinking on his name.</span> +<span class="i2">"These things did Ogier, and these things didst thou,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor will I call thee by a new name now</span> +<span class="i0">Since I have spoken words of love to thee—</span> +<span class="i0">Ogier, Ogier, dost thou remember me,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en if thou hast no thought of that past time</span> +<span class="i0">Before thou earnest to our happy clime?"</span> + +<span class="i2">As this was said, his mazed eyes saw indeed</span> +<span class="i0">A lovely woman clad in dainty weed</span> +<span class="i0">Beside his bed, and many a thought was stirred</span> +<span class="i0">Within his heart by that last plaintive word,</span> +<span class="i0">Though nought he said, but waited what should come.</span> +<span class="i0">"Love," said she, "I am here to bring thee home;</span> +<span class="i0">Well hast thou done all that thou cam'st to do,</span> +<span class="i0">And if thou bidest here, for something new</span> +<span class="i0">Will folk begin to cry, and all thy fame</span> +<span class="i0">Shall then avail thee but for greater blame;</span> +<span class="i0">Thy love shall cease to love thee, and the earth</span> +<span class="i0">Thou lovest now shall be of little worth</span> +<span class="i0">While still thou keepest life, abhorring it.</span> +<span class="i0">Behold, in men's lives that so quickly flit</span> +<span class="i0">Thus is it, how then shall it be with thee,</span> +<span class="i0">Who some faint image of eternity</span> +<span class="i0">Hast gained through me?—alas, thou heedest not!</span> +<span class="i0">On all these changing things thine heart is hot—</span> +<span class="i0">Take then this gift that I have brought from far,</span> +<span class="i0">And then may'st thou remember what we are;</span> +<span class="i0">The lover and the loved from long ago."</span> +<span class="i2">He trembled, and more memory seemed to grow</span> +<span class="i0">Within his heart as he beheld her stand,</span> +<span class="i0">Holding a glittering crown in her right hand:</span> +<span class="i0">"Ogier," she said, "arise and do on thee</span> +<span class="i0">The emblems of thy worldly sovereignity,</span> +<span class="i0">For we must pass o'er many a sea this morn."</span> +<span class="i2">He rose, and in the glittering tunic worn</span> +<span class="i0">By Charlemaine he clad himself, and took</span> +<span class="i0">The ivory hand, that Charlemaine once shook</span> +<span class="i0">Over the people's head in days of old;</span> +<span class="i0">Then on his feet he set the shoes of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his shoulders threw the mantle fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And set the gold crown on his golden hair:</span> +<span class="i0">Then on the royal chair he sat him down,</span> +<span class="i0">As though he deemed the elders of the town</span> +<span class="i0">Should come to audience; and in all he seemed</span> +<span class="i0">To do these things e'en as a man who dreamed.</span> + +<span class="i2">And now adown the Seine the golden sun</span> +<span class="i0">Shone out, as toward him drew that lovely one</span> +<span class="i0">And took from off his head the royal crown,</span> +<span class="i0">And, smiling, on the pillow laid it down</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "Lie there, O crown of Charlemaine,</span> +<span class="i0">Worn by a mighty man, and worn in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">Because he died, and all the things he did</span> +<span class="i0">Were changed before his face by earth was hid;</span> +<span class="i0">A better crown I have for my love's head,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereby he yet shall live, when all are dead</span> +<span class="i0">His hand has helped." Then on his head she set</span> +<span class="i0">The wondrous crown, and said, "Forget, forget!</span> +<span class="i0">Forget these weary things, for thou hast much</span> +<span class="i0">Of happiness to think of."</span> +<span class="i8">At that touch</span> +<span class="i0">He rose, a happy light gleamed in his eyes;</span> +<span class="i0">And smitten by the rush of memories,</span> +<span class="i0">He stammered out, "O love! how came we here?</span> +<span class="i0">What do we in this land of Death and Fear?</span> +<span class="i0">Have I not been from thee a weary while?</span> +<span class="i0">Let us return—I dreamed about the isle;</span> +<span class="i0">I dreamed of other years of strife and pain,</span> +<span class="i0">Of new years full of struggles long and vain."</span> +<span class="i2">She took him by the hand and said, "Come, love,</span> +<span class="i0">I am not changed;" and therewith did they move</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the door, and through the sleeping place</span> +<span class="i0">Swiftly they went, and still was Ogier's face</span> +<span class="i0">Turned on her beauty, and no thought was his</span> +<span class="i0">Except the dear returning of his bliss.</span> +<span class="i2">But at the threshold of the palace-gate</span> +<span class="i0">That opened to them, she awhile did wait,</span> +<span class="i0">And turned her eyes unto the rippling Seine</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "O love, behold it once again!"</span> +<span class="i0">He turned, and gazed upon the city grey</span> +<span class="i0">Smit by the gold of that sweet morn of May;</span> +<span class="i0">He heard faint noises as of wakening folk</span> +<span class="i0">As on their heads his day of glory broke;</span> +<span class="i0">He heard the changing rush of the swift stream</span> +<span class="i0">Against the bridge-piers. All was grown a dream.</span> +<span class="i0">His work was over, his reward was come,</span> +<span class="i0">Why should he loiter longer from his home?</span> + +<span class="i2">A little while she watched him silently,</span> +<span class="i0">Then beckoned him to follow with a sigh,</span> +<span class="i0">And, raising up the raiment from her feet,</span> +<span class="i0">Across the threshold stepped into the street;</span> +<span class="i0">One moment on the twain the low sun shone,</span> +<span class="i0">And then the place was void, and they were gone</span> +<span class="i0">How I know not; but this I know indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">That in whatso great trouble or sore need</span> +<span class="i0">The land of France since that fair day has been,</span> +<span class="i0">No more the sword of Ogier has she seen.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Such</span> was the tale he told of Avallon,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en such an one as in days past had won</span> +<span class="i0">His youthful heart to think upon the quest;</span> +<span class="i0">But to those old hearts nigh in reach of rest,</span> +<span class="i0">Not much to be desired now it seemed—</span> +<span class="i0">Perchance the heart that of such things had dreamed</span> +<span class="i0">Had found no words in this death-laden tongue</span> +<span class="i0">We speak on earth, wherewith they might be sung;</span> +<span class="i0">Perchance the changing years that changed his heart</span> +<span class="i0">E'en in the words of that old tale had part,</span> +<span class="i0">Changing its sweet to bitter, to despair</span> +<span class="i0">The foolish hope that once had glittered there—</span> +<span class="i0">Or think, that in some bay of that far home</span> +<span class="i0">They then had sat, and watched the green waves come</span> +<span class="i0">Up to their feet with many promises;</span> +<span class="i0">Or the light wind midst blossom-laden trees,</span> +<span class="i0">In the sweet Spring had weighted many a word</span> +<span class="i0">Of no worth now, and many a hope had stirred</span> +<span class="i0">Long dead for ever.</span> +<span class="i8">Howsoe'er that be</span> +<span class="i0">Among strange folk they now sat quietly,</span> +<span class="i0">As though that tale with them had nought to do,</span> +<span class="i0">As though its hopes and fears were something new.</span> +<span class="i0">But though, indeed, the outworn, dwindled band</span> +<span class="i0">Had no tears left for that once longed-for land,</span> +<span class="i0">The very wind must moan for their decay,</span> +<span class="i0">And from the sky, grown dull, and low, and grey,</span> +<span class="i0">Cold tears must fall upon the lonely field,</span> +<span class="i0">That such fair golden hopes erewhile did yield;</span> +<span class="i0">And on the blackening woods, wherein the doves</span> +<span class="i0">Sat silent now, forgetful of their loves.</span> +<span class="i0">Yet, since a little life at least was left,</span> +<span class="i0">They were not yet of every joy bereft,</span> +<span class="i0">For long ago was past the agony,</span> +<span class="i0">Midst which they found that they indeed must die;</span> +<span class="i0">And now well-nigh as much their pain was past</span> +<span class="i0">As though death's veil already had been cast</span> +<span class="i0">Over their heads—so, midst some little mirth,</span> +<span class="i0">They watched the dark night hide the gloomy earth.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="THE_GOLDEN_APPLES" id="THE_GOLDEN_APPLES"></a>THE GOLDEN APPLES.</h2> + +<p>This tale tells of the voyage of a ship of Tyre, that, against the will +of the shipmen, bore Hercules to an unknown land of the West, that he +might accomplish a task laid on him by the Fates.</p> + + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As many as the leaves fall from the tree,</span> +<span class="i0">From the world's life the years are fallen away</span> +<span class="i0">Since King Eurystheus sat in majesty</span> +<span class="i0">In fair Mycenæ; midmost of whose day</span> +<span class="i0">It once befell that in a quiet bay</span> +<span class="i0">A ship of Tyre was swinging nigh the shore,</span> +<span class="i0">Her folk for sailing handling rope and oar.</span> + +<span class="i2">Fresh was the summer morn, a soft wind stole</span> +<span class="i0">Down from the sheep-browsed slopes the cliffs that crowned,</span> +<span class="i0">And ruffled lightly the long gleaming roll</span> +<span class="i0">Of the peaceful sea, and bore along the sound</span> +<span class="i0">Of shepherd-folk and sheep and questing hound,</span> +<span class="i0">For in the first dip of the hillside there</span> +<span class="i0">Lay bosomed 'mid its trees a homestead fair.</span> + +<span class="i2">Amid regrets for last night, when the moon,</span> +<span class="i0">Risen on the soft dusk, shone on maidens' feet</span> +<span class="i0">Brushing the gold-heart lilies to the tune</span> +<span class="i0">Of pipes complaining, o'er the grass down-beat</span> +<span class="i0">That mixed with dewy flowers its odour sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">The shipmen laboured, till the sail unfurled</span> +<span class="i0">Swung round the prow to meet another world.</span> + +<span class="i2">But ere the anchor had come home, a shout</span> +<span class="i0">Rang from the strand, as though the ship were hailed.</span> +<span class="i0">Whereat the master bade them stay, in doubt</span> +<span class="i0">That they without some needful thing had sailed;</span> +<span class="i0">When, lo! from where the cliff's steep grey sides failed</span> +<span class="i0">Into a ragged stony slip, came twain</span> +<span class="i0">Who seemed in haste the ready keel to gain.</span> + +<span class="i2">Soon they drew nigh, and he who first came down</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the surf was a man huge of limb,</span> +<span class="i0">Grey-eyed, with crisp-curled hair 'twixt black and brown,</span> +<span class="i0">Who had a lion's skin cast over him,</span> +<span class="i0">So wrought with gold that the fell showed but dim</span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the threads, and in his hand he bore</span> +<span class="i0">A mighty club with bands of steel done o'er.</span> + +<span class="i2">Panting there followed him a grey old man,</span> +<span class="i0">Bearing a long staff, clad in gown of blue,</span> +<span class="i0">Feeble of aspect, hollow-cheeked and wan,</span> +<span class="i0">Who when unto his fellow's side he drew,</span> +<span class="i0">Said faintly: "Now, do that which thou shouldst do;</span> +<span class="i0">This is the ship." Then in the other's eye</span> +<span class="i0">A smile gleamed, and he spake out merrily:</span> + +<span class="i2">"Masters, folk tell me that ye make for Tyre,</span> +<span class="i0">And after that still nearer to the sun;</span> +<span class="i0">And since Fate bids me look to die by fire,</span> +<span class="i0">Fain am I, ere my worldly day be done,</span> +<span class="i0">To know what from earth's hottest can be won;</span> +<span class="i0">And this old man, my kinsman, would with me.</span> +<span class="i0">How say ye, will ye bear us o'er the sea?"</span> + +<span class="i2">"What is thy name?" the master said: "And know</span> +<span class="i0">That we are merchants, and for nought give nought;</span> +<span class="i0">What wilt thou pay?—thou seem'st full rich, I trow."</span> +<span class="i0">The old man muttered, stooped adown and caught</span> +<span class="i0">At something in the sand: "E'en so I thought,"</span> +<span class="i0">The younger said, "when I set out from home—</span> +<span class="i0">As to my name, perchance in days to come</span> + +<span class="i2">"Thou shalt know that—but have heed, take this toy,</span> +<span class="i0">And call me the Strong Man." And as he spake</span> +<span class="i0">The master's deep-brown eyes 'gan gleam with joy,</span> +<span class="i0">For from his arm a huge ring did he take,</span> +<span class="i0">And cast it on the deck, where it did break</span> +<span class="i0">A water-jar, and in the wet shards lay</span> +<span class="i0">Golden, and gleaming like the end of day.</span> + +<span class="i2">But the old man held out a withered hand,</span> +<span class="i0">Wherein there shone two pearls most great and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And said, "If any nigher I might stand,</span> +<span class="i0">Then might'st thou see the things I give thee here—</span> +<span class="i0">And for a name—a many names I bear,</span> +<span class="i0">But call me Shepherd of the Shore this tide,</span> +<span class="i0">And for more knowledge with a good will bide."</span> + +<span class="i2">From one to the other turned the master's eyes;</span> +<span class="i0">The Strong Man laughed as at some hidden jest,</span> +<span class="i0">And wild doubts in the shipman's heart did rise;</span> +<span class="i0">But thinking on the thing, he deemed it best</span> +<span class="i0">To bid them come aboard, and take such rest</span> +<span class="i0">As they might have of the untrusty sea,</span> +<span class="i0">'Mid men who trusty fellows still should be.</span> + +<span class="i2">Then no more words the Strong Man made, but straight</span> +<span class="i0">Caught up the elder in his arms, and so,</span> +<span class="i0">Making no whit of all that added weight,</span> +<span class="i0">Strode to the ship, right through the breakers low,</span> +<span class="i0">And catching at the rope that they did throw</span> +<span class="i0">Out toward his hand, swung up into the ship;</span> +<span class="i0">Then did the master let the hawser slip.</span> + +<span class="i2">The shapely prow cleft the wet mead and green,</span> +<span class="i0">And wondering drew the shipmen round to gaze</span> +<span class="i0">Upon those limbs, the mightiest ever seen;</span> +<span class="i0">And many deemed it no light thing to face</span> +<span class="i0">The splendour of his eyen, though they did blaze</span> +<span class="i0">With no wrath now, no hate for them to dread,</span> +<span class="i0">As seaward 'twixt the summer isles they sped.</span> + +<span class="i2">Freshened the wind, but ever fair it blew</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the south-east; but as failed the land,</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the plunging prow the Strong Man drew,</span> +<span class="i0">And silent, gazing with wide eyes did stand,</span> +<span class="i0">As though his heart found rest; but 'mid the band</span> +<span class="i0">Of shipmen in the stern the old man sat,</span> +<span class="i0">Telling them tales that no man there forgat.</span> + +<span class="i2">As one who had beheld, he told them there</span> +<span class="i0">Of the sweet singer, whom, for his song's sake,</span> +<span class="i0">The dolphins back from choking death did bear;</span> +<span class="i0">How in the mid sea did the vine outbreak</span> +<span class="i0">O'er that ill bark when Bacchus 'gan to wake;</span> +<span class="i0">How anigh Cyprus, ruddy with the rose</span> +<span class="i0">The cold sea grew as any June-loved close;</span> + +<span class="i2">While on the flowery shore all things alive</span> +<span class="i0">Grew faint with sense of birth of some delight,</span> +<span class="i0">And the nymphs waited trembling there, to give</span> +<span class="i0">Glad welcome to the glory of that sight:</span> +<span class="i0">He paused then, ere he told how, wild and white,</span> +<span class="i0">Rose ocean, breaking o'er a race accurst,</span> +<span class="i0">A world once good, now come unto its worst.</span> + +<span class="i2">And then he smiled, and said, "And yet ye won,</span> +<span class="i0">Ye men, and tremble not on days like these,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor think with what a mind Prometheus' son</span> +<span class="i0">Beheld the last of the torn reeling trees</span> +<span class="i0">From high Parnassus: slipping through the seas</span> +<span class="i0">Ye never think, ye men-folk, how ye seem</span> +<span class="i0">From down below through the green waters' gleam."</span> + +<span class="i2">Dusk was it now when these last words he said,</span> +<span class="i0">And little of his visage might they see,</span> +<span class="i0">But o'er their hearts stole vague and troublous dread,</span> +<span class="i0">They knew not why; yet ever quietly</span> +<span class="i0">They sailed that night; nor might a morning be</span> +<span class="i0">Fairer than was the next morn; and they went</span> +<span class="i0">Along their due course after their intent.</span> + +<span class="i2">The fourth day, about sunrise, from the mast</span> +<span class="i0">The watch cried out he saw Phoenician land;</span> +<span class="i0">Whereat the Strong Man on the elder cast</span> +<span class="i0">A look askance, and he straight took his stand</span> +<span class="i0">Anigh the prow, and gazed beneath his hand</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the low sun and the scarce-seen shore,</span> +<span class="i0">Till cloud-flecks rose, and gathered and drew o'er.</span> + +<span class="i2">The morn grown cold; then small rain 'gan to fall,</span> +<span class="i0">And all the wind dropped dead, and hearts of men</span> +<span class="i0">Sank, and their bark seemed helpless now and small;</span> +<span class="i0">Then suddenly the wind 'gan moan again;</span> +<span class="i0">Sails flapped, and ropes beat wild about; and then</span> +<span class="i0">Down came the great east wind; and the ship ran</span> +<span class="i0">Straining, heeled o'er, through seas all changed and wan.</span> + +<span class="i2">Westward, scarce knowing night from day, they drave</span> +<span class="i0">Through sea and sky grown one; the Strong Man wrought</span> +<span class="i0">With mighty hands, and seemed a god to save;</span> +<span class="i0">But on the prow, heeding all weather nought,</span> +<span class="i0">The elder stood, nor any prop he sought,</span> +<span class="i0">But swayed to the ship's wallowing, as on wings</span> +<span class="i0">He there were set above the wrack of things.</span> + +<span class="i2">And westward still they drave; and if they saw</span> +<span class="i0">Land upon either side, as on they sped,</span> +<span class="i0">'Twas but as faces in a dream may draw</span> +<span class="i0">Anigh, and fade, and leave nought in their stead;</span> +<span class="i0">And in the shipmen's hearts grew heavy dread</span> +<span class="i0">To sick despair; they deemed they should drive on</span> +<span class="i0">Till the world's edge and empty space were won.</span> + +<span class="i2">But 'neath the Strong Man's eyes e'en as they might</span> +<span class="i0">They toiled on still; and he sang to the wind,</span> +<span class="i0">And spread his arms to meet the waters white,</span> +<span class="i0">As o'er the deck they tumbled, making blind</span> +<span class="i0">The brine-drenched shipmen; nor with eye unkind</span> +<span class="i0">He gazed up at the lightning; nor would frown</span> +<span class="i0">When o'er the wet waste Jove's bolt rattled down.</span> + +<span class="i2">And they, who at the last had come to think</span> +<span class="i0">Their guests were very gods, with all their fear</span> +<span class="i0">Feared nought belike that their good ship would sink</span> +<span class="i0">Amid the storm; but rather looked to hear</span> +<span class="i0">The last moan of the wind that them should bear</span> +<span class="i0">Into the windless stream of ocean grey,</span> +<span class="i0">Where they should float till dead was every day.</span> + +<span class="i2">Yet their fear mocked them; for the storm 'gan die</span> +<span class="i0">About the tenth day, though unto the west</span> +<span class="i0">They drave on still; soon fair and quietly</span> +<span class="i0">The morn would break: and though amid their rest</span> +<span class="i0">Nought but long evil wandering seemed the best</span> +<span class="i0">That they might hope for; still, despite their dread,</span> +<span class="i0">Sweet was the quiet sea and goodlihead</span> + +<span class="i2">Of the bright sun at last come back again;</span> +<span class="i0">And as the days passed, less and less fear grew,</span> +<span class="i0">If without cause, till faded all their pain;</span> +<span class="i0">And they 'gan turn unto their guests anew,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet durst ask nought of what that evil drew</span> +<span class="i0">Upon their heads; or of returning speak.</span> +<span class="i0">Happy they felt, but listless, spent, and weak.</span> + +<span class="i2">And now as at the first the elder was,</span> +<span class="i0">And sat and told them tales of yore agone;</span> +<span class="i0">But ever the Strong Man up and down would pass</span> +<span class="i0">About the deck, or on the prow alone</span> +<span class="i0">Would stand and stare out westward; and still on</span> +<span class="i0">Through a fair summer sea they went, nor thought</span> +<span class="i0">Of what would come when these days turned to nought.</span> + +<span class="i2">And now when twenty days were well passed o'er</span> +<span class="i0">They made a new land; cloudy mountains high</span> +<span class="i0">Rose from the sea at first; then a green shore</span> +<span class="i0">Spread fair below them: as they drew anigh</span> +<span class="i0">No sloping, stony strand could they espy,</span> +<span class="i0">And no surf breaking; the green sea and wide</span> +<span class="i0">Wherethrough they slipped was driven by no tide.</span> + +<span class="i2">Dark fell ere they might set their eager feet</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the shore; but night-long their ship lay</span> +<span class="i0">As in a deep stream, by the blossoms sweet</span> +<span class="i0">That flecked the grass whence flowers ne'er passed away.</span> +<span class="i0">But when the cloud-barred east brought back the day,</span> +<span class="i0">And turned the western mountain-tops to gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Fresh fear the shipmen in their bark did hold.</span> + +<span class="i2">For as a dream seemed all; too fair for those</span> +<span class="i0">Who needs must die; moreover they could see,</span> +<span class="i0">A furlong off, 'twixt apple-tree and rose,</span> +<span class="i0">A brazen wall that gleamed out wondrously</span> +<span class="i0">In the young sun, and seemed right long to be;</span> +<span class="i0">And memory of all marvels lay upon</span> +<span class="i0">Their shrinking hearts now this sweet place was won.</span> + +<span class="i2">But when unto the nameless guests they turned,</span> +<span class="i0">Who stood together nigh the plank shot out</span> +<span class="i0">Shoreward, within the Strong Man's eyes there burned</span> +<span class="i0">A wild light, as the other one in doubt</span> +<span class="i0">He eyed a moment; then with a great shout</span> +<span class="i0">Leaped into the blossomed grass; the echoes rolled</span> +<span class="i0">Back from the hills, harsh still and over-bold.</span> + +<span class="i2">Slowly the old man followed him, and still</span> +<span class="i0">The crew held back: they knew now they were brought</span> +<span class="i0">Over the sea the purpose to fulfil</span> +<span class="i0">Of these strange men; and in their hearts they thought,</span> +<span class="i0">"Perchance we yet shall live, if, meddling nought</span> +<span class="i0">With dreams, we bide here till these twain come back;</span> +<span class="i0">But prying eyes the fire-blast seldom lack."</span> + +<span class="i2">Yet 'mongst them were two fellows bold and young,</span> +<span class="i0">Who, looking each upon the other's face,</span> +<span class="i0">Their hearts to meet the unknown danger strung,</span> +<span class="i0">And went ashore, and at a gentle pace</span> +<span class="i0">Followed the strangers, who unto the place</span> +<span class="i0">Where the wall gleamed had turned; peace and desire</span> +<span class="i0">Mingled together in their hearts, as nigher</span> + +<span class="i2">They drew unto that wall, and dulled their fear:</span> +<span class="i0">Fair wrought it was, as though with bricks of brass;</span> +<span class="i0">And images upon its face there were,</span> +<span class="i0">Stories of things a long while come to pass:</span> +<span class="i0">Nor that alone—as looking in a glass</span> +<span class="i0">Its maker knew the tales of what should be,</span> +<span class="i0">And wrought them there for bird and beast to see.</span> + +<span class="i2">So on they went; the many birds sang sweet</span> +<span class="i0">Through all that blossomed thicket from above,</span> +<span class="i0">And unknown flowers bent down before their feet;</span> +<span class="i0">The very air, cleft by the grey-winged dove,</span> +<span class="i0">Throbbed with sweet scent, and smote their souls with love.</span> +<span class="i0">Slowly they went till those twain stayed before</span> +<span class="i0">A strangely-wrought and iron-covered door.</span> + +<span class="i2">They stayed, too, till o'er noise of wind, and bird,</span> +<span class="i0">And falling flower, there rang a mighty shout</span> +<span class="i0">As the Strong Man his steel-bound club upreared,</span> +<span class="i0">And drave it 'gainst the hammered iron stout,</span> +<span class="i0">Where 'neath his blows flew bolt and rivet out,</span> +<span class="i0">Till shattered on the ground the great door lay,</span> +<span class="i0">And into the guarded place bright poured the day.</span> + +<span class="i2">The Strong Man entered, but his fellow stayed,</span> +<span class="i0">Leaning against a tree-trunk as they deemed.</span> +<span class="i0">They faltered now, and yet all things being weighed</span> +<span class="i0">Went on again; and thought they must have dreamed</span> +<span class="i0">Of the old man, for now the sunlight streamed</span> +<span class="i0">Full on the tree he had been leaning on,</span> +<span class="i0">And him they saw not go, yet was he gone:</span> + +<span class="i2">Only a slim green lizard flitted there</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst the dry leaves; him they noted nought,</span> +<span class="i0">But trembling, through the doorway 'gan to peer,</span> +<span class="i0">And still of strange and dreadful saw not aught,</span> +<span class="i0">Only a garden fair beyond all thought.</span> +<span class="i0">And there, 'twixt sun and shade, the Strong Man went</span> +<span class="i0">On some long-sought-for end belike intent.</span> + +<span class="i2">They 'gan to follow down a narrow way</span> +<span class="i0">Of green-sward that the lilies trembled o'er,</span> +<span class="i0">And whereon thick the scattered rose-leaves lay;</span> +<span class="i0">But a great wonder weighed upon them sore,</span> +<span class="i0">And well they thought they should return no more,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet scarce a pain that seemed; they looked to meet</span> +<span class="i0">Before they died things strange and fair and sweet.</span> + +<span class="i2">So still to right and left the Strong Man thrust</span> +<span class="i0">The blossomed boughs, and passed on steadily,</span> +<span class="i0">As though his hardy heart he well did trust,</span> +<span class="i0">Till in a while he gave a joyous cry,</span> +<span class="i0">And hastened on, as though the end drew nigh;</span> +<span class="i0">And women's voices then they deemed they heard,</span> +<span class="i0">Mixed with a noise that made desire afeard.</span> + +<span class="i2">Yet through sweet scents and sounds on did they bear</span> +<span class="i0">Their panting hearts, till the path ended now</span> +<span class="i0">In a wide space of green, a streamlet clear</span> +<span class="i0">From out a marble basin there did flow,</span> +<span class="i0">And close by that a slim-trunked tree did grow,</span> +<span class="i0">And on a bough low o'er the water cold</span> +<span class="i0">There hung three apples of red-gleaming gold.</span> + +<span class="i2">About the tree, new risen e'en now to meet</span> +<span class="i0">The shining presence of that mighty one,</span> +<span class="i0">Three damsels stood, naked from head to feet</span> +<span class="i0">Save for the glory of their hair, where sun</span> +<span class="i0">And shadow flickered, while the wind did run</span> +<span class="i0">Through the grey leaves o'erhead, and shook the grass</span> +<span class="i0">Where nigh their feet the wandering bee did pass.</span> + +<span class="i2">But 'midst their delicate limbs and all around</span> +<span class="i0">The tree-roots, gleaming blue black could they see</span> +<span class="i0">The spires of a great serpent, that, enwound</span> +<span class="i0">About the smooth bole, looked forth threateningly,</span> +<span class="i0">With glittering eyes and raised crest, o'er the three</span> +<span class="i0">Fair heads fresh crowned, and hissed above the speech</span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith they murmured softly each to each.</span> + +<span class="i2">Now the Strong Man amid the green space stayed,</span> +<span class="i0">And leaning on his club, with eager eyes</span> +<span class="i0">But brow yet smooth, in voice yet friendly said:</span> +<span class="i0">"O daughters of old Hesperus the Wise,</span> +<span class="i0">Well have ye held your guard here; but time tries</span> +<span class="i0">The very will of gods, and to my hand</span> +<span class="i0">Must give this day the gold fruit of your land."</span> + +<span class="i2">Then spake the first maid—sweet as the west wind</span> +<span class="i0">Amidst of summer noon her sweet voice was:</span> +<span class="i0">"Ah, me! what knows this place of changing mind</span> +<span class="i0">Of men or gods; here shall long ages pass,</span> +<span class="i0">And clean forget thy feet upon the grass,</span> +<span class="i0">Thy hapless bones amid the fruitful mould;</span> +<span class="i0">Look at thy death envenomed swift and cold!"</span> + +<span class="i2">Hiding new flowers, the dull coils, as she spake,</span> +<span class="i0">Moved near her limbs: but then the second one,</span> +<span class="i0">In such a voice as when the morn doth wake</span> +<span class="i0">To song of birds, said, "When the world foredone</span> +<span class="i0">Has moaned its last, still shall we dwell alone</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath this bough, and have no tales to tell</span> +<span class="i0">Of things deemed great that on the earth befell."</span> + +<span class="i2">Then spake the third, in voice as of the flute</span> +<span class="i0">That wakes the maiden to her wedding morn:</span> +<span class="i0">"If any god should gain our golden fruit,</span> +<span class="i0">Its curse would make his deathless life forlorn.</span> +<span class="i0">Lament thou, then, that ever thou wert born;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet all things, changed by joy or loss or pain,</span> +<span class="i0">To what they were shall change and change again."</span> + +<span class="i2">"So be it," he said, "the Fates that drive me on</span> +<span class="i0">Shall slay me or shall save; blessing or curse</span> +<span class="i0">That followeth after when the thing is won</span> +<span class="i0">Shall make my work no better now nor worse;</span> +<span class="i0">And if it be that the world's heart must nurse</span> +<span class="i0">Hatred against me, how then shall I choose</span> +<span class="i0">To leave or take?—let your dread servant loose!"</span> + +<span class="i2">E'en therewith, like a pillar of black smoke,</span> +<span class="i0">Swift, shifting ever, drave the worm at him;</span> +<span class="i0">In deadly silence now that nothing broke,</span> +<span class="i0">Its folds were writhing round him trunk and limb,</span> +<span class="i0">Until his glittering gear was nought but dim</span> +<span class="i0">E'en in that sunshine, while his head and side</span> +<span class="i0">And breast the fork-tongued, pointed muzzle tried.</span> + +<span class="i2">Closer the coils drew, quicker all about</span> +<span class="i0">The forked tongue darted, and yet stiff he stood,</span> +<span class="i0">E'en as an oak that sees the straw flare out</span> +<span class="i0">And lick its ancient bole for little good:</span> +<span class="i0">Until the godlike fury of his mood</span> +<span class="i0">Burst from his heart in one great shattering cry,</span> +<span class="i0">And rattling down the loosened coils did lie;</span> + +<span class="i2">And from the torn throat and crushed dreadful head</span> +<span class="i0">Forth flowed a stream of blood along the grass;</span> +<span class="i0">Bright in the sun he stood above the dead,</span> +<span class="i0">Panting with fury; yet as ever was</span> +<span class="i0">The wont of him, soon did his anger pass,</span> +<span class="i0">And with a happy smile at last he turned</span> +<span class="i0">To where the apples o'er the water burned.</span> + +<span class="i2">Silent and moveless ever stood the three;</span> +<span class="i0">No change came o'er their faces, as his hand</span> +<span class="i0">Was stretched aloft unto the sacred tree;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor shrank they aught aback, though he did stand</span> +<span class="i0">So close that tresses of their bright hair, fanned</span> +<span class="i0">By the sweet garden breeze, lay light on him,</span> +<span class="i0">And his gold fell brushed by them breast and limb.</span> + +<span class="i2">He drew adown the wind-stirred bough, and took</span> +<span class="i0">The apples thence; then let it spring away,</span> +<span class="i0">And from his brow the dark hair backward shook,</span> +<span class="i0">And said: "O sweet, O fair, and shall this day</span> +<span class="i0">A curse upon my life henceforward lay—</span> +<span class="i0">This day alone? Methinks of coming life</span> +<span class="i0">Somewhat I know, with all its loss and strife.</span> + +<span class="i2">"But this I know, at least: the world shall wend</span> +<span class="i0">Upon its way, and, gathering joy and grief</span> +<span class="i0">And deeds done, bear them with it to the end;</span> +<span class="i0">So shall it, though I lie as last year's leaf</span> +<span class="i0">Lies 'neath a summer tree, at least receive</span> +<span class="i0">My life gone by, and store it, with the gain</span> +<span class="i0">That men alive call striving, wrong, and pain.</span> + +<span class="i2">"So for my part I rather bless than curse,</span> +<span class="i0">And bless this fateful land; good be with it;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor for this deadly thing's death is it worse,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor for the lack of gold; still shall ye sit</span> +<span class="i0">Watching the swallow o'er the daisies flit;</span> +<span class="i0">Still shall your wandering limbs ere day is done</span> +<span class="i0">Make dawn desired by the sinking sun.</span> + +<span class="i2">"And now, behold! in memory of all this</span> +<span class="i0">Take ye this girdle that shall waste and fade</span> +<span class="i0">As fadeth not your fairness and your bliss,</span> +<span class="i0">That when hereafter 'mid the blossoms laid</span> +<span class="i0">Ye talk of days and men now nothing made,</span> +<span class="i0">Ye may remember how the Theban man,</span> +<span class="i0">The son of Jove, came o'er the waters wan."</span> + +<span class="i2">Their faces changed not aught for all they heard;</span> +<span class="i0">As though all things now fully told out were,</span> +<span class="i0">They gazed upon him without any word:</span> +<span class="i0">Ah! craving kindness, hope, or loving care,</span> +<span class="i0">Their fairness scarcely could have made more fair,</span> +<span class="i0">As with the apples folded in his fell</span> +<span class="i0">He went, to do more deeds for folk to tell.</span> + +<span class="i2">Now as the girdle on the ground was cast</span> +<span class="i0">Those fellows turned and hurried toward the door,</span> +<span class="i0">And as across its broken leaves they passed</span> +<span class="i0">The old man saw they not, e'en as before;</span> +<span class="i0">But an unearthed blind mole bewildered sore</span> +<span class="i0">Was wandering there in fruitless, aimless wise,</span> +<span class="i0">That got small heed from their full-sated eyes.</span> + +<span class="i2">Swift gat they to their anxious folk; nor had</span> +<span class="i0">More time than just to say, "Be of good cheer,</span> +<span class="i0">For in our own land may we yet be glad,"</span> +<span class="i0">When they beheld the guests a-drawing near;</span> +<span class="i0">And much bewildered the two fellows were</span> +<span class="i0">To see the old man, and must even deem</span> +<span class="i0">That they should see things stranger than a dream.</span> + +<span class="i2">But when they were aboard the elder cried,</span> +<span class="i0">"Up sails, my masters, fair now is the wind;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor good it is too long here to abide,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest what ye may not loose your souls should bind."</span> +<span class="i0">And as he spake, the tall trees left behind</span> +<span class="i0">Stirred with the rising land-wind, and the crew,</span> +<span class="i0">Joyous thereat, the hawsers shipward drew.</span> + +<span class="i2">Swift sped the ship, and glad at heart were all,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Strong Man was merry with the rest,</span> +<span class="i0">And from the elder's lips no word did fall</span> +<span class="i0">That did not seem to promise all the best;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet with a certain awe were men oppressed,</span> +<span class="i0">And felt as if their inmost hearts were bare,</span> +<span class="i0">And each man's secret babbled through the air.</span> + +<span class="i2">Still oft the old man sat with them and told</span> +<span class="i0">Tales of past time, as on the outward way;</span> +<span class="i0">And now would they the face of him behold</span> +<span class="i0">And deem it changed; the years that on him lay</span> +<span class="i0">Seemed to grow nought, and no more wan and grey</span> +<span class="i0">He looked, but ever glorious, wise and strong,</span> +<span class="i0">As though no lapse of time for him were long.</span> + +<span class="i2">At last, when six days through the kindly sea</span> +<span class="i0">Their keel had slipped, he said: "Come hearken now,</span> +<span class="i0">For so it is that things fare wondrously</span> +<span class="i0">E'en in these days; and I a tale can show</span> +<span class="i0">That, told by you unto your sons shall grow</span> +<span class="i0">A marvel of the days that are to come:</span> +<span class="i0">Take heed and tell it when ye reach your home.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Yet living in the world a man there is</span> +<span class="i0">Men call the Theban King Amphitryon's son,</span> +<span class="i0">Although perchance a greater sire was his;</span> +<span class="i0">But certainly his lips have hung upon</span> +<span class="i0">Alcmena's breasts: great deeds this man hath won</span> +<span class="i0">Already, for his name is Hercules,</span> +<span class="i0">And e'en ye Asian folk have heard of these.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Now ere the moon, this eve in his last wane,</span> +<span class="i0">Was born, this Hercules, the fated thrall</span> +<span class="i0">Of King Eurystheus, was straight bid to gain</span> +<span class="i0">Gifts from a land whereon no foot doth fall</span> +<span class="i0">Of mortal man, beyond the misty wall</span> +<span class="i0">Of unknown waters; pensively he went</span> +<span class="i0">Along the sea on his hard life intent.</span> + +<span class="i2">"And at the dawn he came into a bay</span> +<span class="i0">Where the sea, ebbed far down, left wastes of sand,</span> +<span class="i0">Walled from the green earth by great cliffs and grey;</span> +<span class="i0">Then he looked up, and wondering there did stand,</span> +<span class="i0">For strange things lay in slumber on the strand;</span> +<span class="i0">Strange counterparts of what the firm earth hath</span> +<span class="i0">Lay scattered all about his weary path:</span> + +<span class="i2">"Sea-lions and sea-horses and sea-kine,</span> +<span class="i0">Sea-boars, sea-men strange-skinned, of wondrous hair;</span> +<span class="i0">And in their midst a man who seemed divine</span> +<span class="i0">For changeless eld, and round him women fair,</span> +<span class="i0">Clad in the sea-webs glassy green and clear</span> +<span class="i0">With gems on head and girdle, limb and breast,</span> +<span class="i0">Such as earth knoweth not among her best.</span> + +<span class="i2">"A moment at the fair and wondrous sight</span> +<span class="i0">He stared, then, since the heart in him was good,</span> +<span class="i0">He went about with careful steps and light</span> +<span class="i0">Till o'er the sleeping sea-god now he stood;</span> +<span class="i0">And if the white-foot maids had stirred his blood</span> +<span class="i0">As he passed by, now other thoughts had place</span> +<span class="i0">Within his heart when he beheld that face.</span> + +<span class="i2">"For Nereus now he knew, who knows all things;</span> +<span class="i0">And to himself he said, 'If I prevail,</span> +<span class="i0">Better than by some god-wrought eagle-wings</span> +<span class="i0">Shall I be holpen;' then he cried out: 'Hail,</span> +<span class="i0">O Nereus! lord of shifting hill and dale!</span> +<span class="i0">Arise and wrestle; I am Hercules!</span> +<span class="i0">Not soon now shalt thou meet the ridgy seas.'</span> + +<span class="i2">"And mightily he cast himself on him;</span> +<span class="i0">And Nereus cried out shrilly; and straightway</span> +<span class="i0">That sleeping crowd, fair maid with half-hid limb,</span> +<span class="i0">Strange man and green-haired beast, made no delay,</span> +<span class="i0">But glided down into the billows grey,</span> +<span class="i0">And, by the lovely sea embraced, were gone,</span> +<span class="i0">While they two wrestled on the sea strand lone.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Soon found the sea-god that his bodily might</span> +<span class="i0">Was nought in dealing with Jove's dear one there;</span> +<span class="i0">And soon he 'gan to use his magic sleight:</span> +<span class="i0">Into a lithe leopard, and a hugging bear</span> +<span class="i0">He turned him; then the smallest fowl of air</span> +<span class="i0">The straining arms of Hercules must hold,</span> +<span class="i0">And then a mud-born wriggling eel and cold.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Then as the firm hands mastered this, forth brake</span> +<span class="i0">A sudden rush of waters all around,</span> +<span class="i0">Blinding and choking: then a thin green snake</span> +<span class="i0">With golden eyes; then o'er the shell-strewn ground</span> +<span class="i0">Forth stole a fly the least that may be found;</span> +<span class="i0">Then earth and heaven seemed wrapped in one huge flame,</span> +<span class="i0">But from the midst thereof a voice there came:</span> + +<span class="i2">"'Kinsman and stout-heart, thou hast won the day,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor to my grief: what wouldst thou have of me?'</span> +<span class="i0">And therewith to an old man small and grey</span> +<span class="i0">Faded the roaring flame, who wearily</span> +<span class="i0">Sat down upon the sand and said, 'Let be!</span> +<span class="i0">I know thy tale; worthy of help thou art;</span> +<span class="i0">Come now, a short way hence will there depart</span> + +<span class="i2">"'A ship of Tyre for the warm southern seas,</span> +<span class="i0">Come we a-board; according to my will</span> +<span class="i0">Her way shall be.' Then up rose Hercules,</span> +<span class="i0">Merry of face, though hot and panting still;</span> +<span class="i0">But the fair summer day his heart did fill</span> +<span class="i0">With all delight; and so forth went the twain,</span> +<span class="i0">And found those men desirous of all gain.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Ah, for these gainful men—somewhat indeed</span> +<span class="i0">Their sails are rent, their bark beat; kin and friend</span> +<span class="i0">Are wearying for them; yet a friend in need</span> +<span class="i0">They yet shall gain, if at their journey's end,</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the last ness where the wild goats wend</span> +<span class="i0">To lick the salt-washed stones, a house they raise</span> +<span class="i0">Bedight with gold in kindly Nereus' praise."</span> + +<span class="i2">Breathless they waited for these latest words,</span> +<span class="i0">That like the soft wind of the gathering night</span> +<span class="i0">Were grown to be: about the mast flew birds</span> +<span class="i0">Making their moan, hovering long-winged and white;</span> +<span class="i0">And now before their straining anxious sight</span> +<span class="i0">The old man faded out into the air,</span> +<span class="i0">And from his place flew forth a sea-mew fair.</span> + +<span class="i2">Then to the Mighty Man, Alcmena's son,</span> +<span class="i0">With yearning hearts they turned till he should speak,</span> +<span class="i0">And he spake softly: "Nought ill have ye done</span> +<span class="i0">In helping me to find what I did seek:</span> +<span class="i0">The world made better by me knows if weak</span> +<span class="i0">My hand and heart are: but now, light the fire</span> +<span class="i0">Upon the prow and worship the grey sire."</span> + +<span class="i2">So did they; and such gifts as there they had</span> +<span class="i0">Gave unto Nereus; yea, and sooth to say,</span> +<span class="i0">Amid the tumult of their hearts made glad,</span> +<span class="i0">Had honoured Hercules in e'en such way;</span> +<span class="i0">But he laughed out amid them, and said, "Nay,</span> +<span class="i0">Not yet the end is come; nor have I yet</span> +<span class="i0">Bowed down before vain longing and regret.</span> + +<span class="i2">"It may be—who shall tell, when I go back</span> +<span class="i0">There whence I came, and looking down behold</span> +<span class="i0">The place that my once eager heart shall lack,</span> +<span class="i0">And all my dead desires a-lying cold,</span> +<span class="i0">But I may have the might then to enfold</span> +<span class="i0">The hopes of brave men in my heart?—but long</span> +<span class="i0">Life lies before first with its change and wrong."</span> + +<span class="i2">So fair along the watery ways they sped</span> +<span class="i0">In happy wise, nor failed of their return;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor failed in ancient Tyre the ways to tread,</span> +<span class="i0">Teaching their tale to whomsoever would learn,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor failed at last the flesh of beasts to burn</span> +<span class="i0">In Nereus' house, turned toward the bright day's end</span> +<span class="i0">On the last ness, round which the wild goats wend.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2><a name="LENVOI" id="LENVOI"></a>L'ENVOI.</h2> + + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Here are we for the last time face to face,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou and I, Book, before I bid thee speed</span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy perilous journey to that place</span> +<span class="i0">For which I have done on thee pilgrim's weed,</span> +<span class="i0">Striving to get thee all things for thy need—</span> +<span class="i0">—I love thee, whatso time or men may say</span> +<span class="i0">Of the poor singer of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">Good reason why I love thee, e'en if thou</span> +<span class="i0">Be mocked or clean forgot as time wears on;</span> +<span class="i0">For ever as thy fashioning did grow,</span> +<span class="i0">Kind word and praise because of thee I won</span> +<span class="i0">From those without whom were my world all gone,</span> +<span class="i0">My hope fallen dead, my singing cast away,</span> +<span class="i0">And I set soothly in an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">I love thee; yet this last time must it be,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou must hold thy peace and I must speak,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest if thou babble I begin to see</span> +<span class="i0">Thy gear too thin, thy limbs and heart too weak,</span> +<span class="i0">To find the land thou goest forth to seek—</span> +<span class="i0">—Though what harm if thou die upon the way,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou idle singer of an empty day?</span> + +<span class="i2">But though this land desired thou never reach,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet folk who know it mayst thou meet or death;</span> +<span class="i0">Therefore a word unto thee would I teach</span> +<span class="i0">To answer these, who, noting thy weak breath,</span> +<span class="i0">Thy wandering eyes, thy heart of little faith,</span> +<span class="i0">May make thy fond desire a sport and play,</span> +<span class="i0">Mocking the singer of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">That land's name, say'st thou? and the road thereto?</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, Book, thou mockest, saying thou know'st it not;</span> +<span class="i0">Surely no book of verse I ever knew</span> +<span class="i0">But ever was the heart within him hot</span> +<span class="i0">To gain the Land of Matters Unforgot—</span> +<span class="i0">—There, now we both laugh—as the whole world may,</span> +<span class="i0">At us poor singers of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">Nay, let it pass, and hearken! Hast thou heard</span> +<span class="i0">That therein I believe I have a friend,</span> +<span class="i0">Of whom for love I may not be afeard?</span> +<span class="i0">It is to him indeed I bid thee wend;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, he perchance may meet thee ere thou end,</span> +<span class="i0">Dying so far off from the hedge of bay,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou idle singer of an empty day!</span> + +<span class="i2">Well, think of him, I bid thee, on the road,</span> +<span class="i0">And if it hap that midst of thy defeat,</span> +<span class="i0">Fainting beneath thy follies' heavy load,</span> +<span class="i0">My Master, <span class="smcap">Geoffrey Chaucer</span>, thou do meet,</span> +<span class="i0">Then shalt thou win a space of rest full sweet;</span> +<span class="i0">Then be thou bold, and speak the words I say,</span> +<span class="i0">The idle singer of an empty day!</span> + +<span class="i2">"O Master, O thou great of heart and tongue,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou well mayst ask me why I wander here,</span> +<span class="i0">In raiment rent of stories oft besung!</span> +<span class="i0">But of thy gentleness draw thou anear,</span> +<span class="i0">And then the heart of one who held thee dear</span> +<span class="i0">Mayst thou behold! So near as that I lay</span> +<span class="i0">Unto the singer of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">"For this he ever said, who sent me forth</span> +<span class="i0">To seek a place amid thy company;</span> +<span class="i0">That howsoever little was my worth,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet was he worth e'en just so much as I;</span> +<span class="i0">He said that rhyme hath little skill to lie:</span> +<span class="i0">Nor feigned to cast his worser part away</span> +<span class="i0">In idle singing for an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">"I have beheld him tremble oft enough</span> +<span class="i0">At things he could not choose but trust to me,</span> +<span class="i0">Although he knew the world was wise and rough:</span> +<span class="i0">And never did he fail to let me see</span> +<span class="i0">His love,—his folly and faithlessness, may be;</span> +<span class="i0">And still in turn I gave him voice to pray</span> +<span class="i0">Such prayers as cling about an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Thou, keen-eyed, reading me, mayst read him through,</span> +<span class="i0">For surely little is there left behind;</span> +<span class="i0">No power great deeds unnameable to do;</span> +<span class="i0">No knowledge for which words he may not find,</span> +<span class="i0">No love of things as vague as autumn wind—</span> +<span class="i0">—Earth of the earth lies hidden by my clay,</span> +<span class="i0">The idle singer of an empty day!</span> + +<span class="i2">"Children we twain are, saith he, late made wise</span> +<span class="i0">In love, but in all else most childish still,</span> +<span class="i0">And seeking still the pleasure of our eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">And what our ears with sweetest sounds may fill;</span> +<span class="i0">Not fearing Love, lest these things he should kill;</span> +<span class="i0">Howe'er his pain by pleasure doth he lay,</span> +<span class="i0">Making a strange tale of an empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">"Death have we hated, knowing not what it meant;</span> +<span class="i0">Life have we loved, through green leaf and through sere,</span> +<span class="i0">Though still the less we knew of its intent:</span> +<span class="i0">The Earth and Heaven through countless year on year,</span> +<span class="i0">Slow changing, were to us but curtains fair,</span> +<span class="i0">Hung round about a little room, where play</span> +<span class="i0">Weeping and laughter of man's empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">"O Master, if thine heart could love us yet,</span> +<span class="i0">Spite of things left undone, and wrongly done,</span> +<span class="i0">Some place in loving hearts then should we get,</span> +<span class="i0">For thou, sweet-souled, didst never stand alone,</span> +<span class="i0">But knew'st the joy and woe of many an one—</span> +<span class="i0">—By lovers dead, who live through thee we pray,</span> +<span class="i0">Help thou us singers of an empty day!"</span> + +<span class="i2">Fearest thou, Book, what answer thou mayst gain</span> +<span class="i0">Lest he should scorn thee, and thereof thou die?</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, it shall not be.—Thou mayst toil in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">And never draw the House of Fame anigh;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet he and his shall know whereof we cry,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall call it not ill done to strive to lay</span> +<span class="i0">The ghosts that crowd about life's empty day.</span> + +<span class="i2">Then let the others go! and if indeed</span> +<span class="i0">In some old garden thou and I have wrought,</span> +<span class="i0">And made fresh flowers spring up from hoarded seed,</span> +<span class="i0">And fragrance of old days and deeds have brought</span> +<span class="i0">Back to folk weary; all was not for nought.</span> +<span class="i0">—No little part it was for me to play—</span> +<span class="i0">The idle singer of an empty day.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>FROM "LOVE IS ENOUGH."</h2> + +<h3><a name="INTERLUDES" id="INTERLUDES"></a>INTERLUDES.</h3> + + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Love is enough</span>; though the World be a-waning</span> +<span class="i0">And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,</span> +<span class="i2">Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover</span> +<span class="i0">The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,</span> +<span class="i0">Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,</span> +<span class="i2">And this day draw a veil over all deeds, passed over,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;</span> +<span class="i0">The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter</span> +<span class="i2">These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.</span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Love is enough</span>: it grew up without heeding</span> +<span class="i2">In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure,</span> +<span class="i2">And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure</span> +<span class="i0">Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding,</span> +<span class="i2">As the morning and evening passed over its treasure.</span> + +<span class="i0">And what do ye say then?—that Spring long departed</span> +<span class="i2">Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers;</span> +<span class="i2">—That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers;</span> +<span class="i0">We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted</span> +<span class="i2">Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours.</span> + +<span class="i0">Nay, Spring was o'er happy and knew not the reason,</span> +<span class="i2">And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended</span> +<span class="i2">In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended;</span> +<span class="i0">But this is the harvest and the garnering season,</span> +<span class="i2">And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.</span> + +<span class="i0">It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding,</span> +<span class="i2">Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure,</span> +<span class="i2">Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure;</span> +<span class="i0">There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding,</span> +<span class="i2">But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure.</span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Love is enough</span>: draw near and behold me</span> +<span class="i2">Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter,</span> +<span class="i2">And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after</span> +<span class="i0">For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me</span> +<span class="i2">And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter.</span> +<span class="i4">—Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!</span> + +<span class="i0">Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken,</span> +<span class="i2">And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying.</span> +<span class="i2">Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying?</span> +<span class="i0">Or is it your faces his brightness that darken?</span> +<span class="i2">Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing?</span> +<span class="i4">—Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not!</span> + +<span class="i0">Ye know not how void is your hope and your living:</span> +<span class="i2">Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me!</span> +<span class="i2">Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me,</span> +<span class="i0">There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving</span> +<span class="i2">Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me.</span> +<span class="i4">—Pass by me and hearken, and waken me not!</span> + +<span class="i0">Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me?</span> +<span class="i2">Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter,</span> +<span class="i2">And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after!</span> +<span class="i0">Nay this I sell not,—though ye bought me and sold me,—</span> +<span class="i2">For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter.</span> +<span class="i4">—Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not!</span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Love is enough</span>: ho ye who seek saving,</span> +<span class="i2">Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,</span> +<span class="i0">And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;</span> +<span class="i2">These know the Cup with the roses around it;</span> +<span class="i2">These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it:</span> +<span class="i0">Cry out, the World heedeth not, "Love, lead us home!"</span> + +<span class="i0">He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward;</span> +<span class="i2">Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble</span> +<span class="i0">Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward:</span> +<span class="i2">Lo! his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble!</span> +<span class="i2">Lo! his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble!</span> +<span class="i0">Cry out, for he heedeth, "O Love, lead us home!"</span> + +<span class="i0">O hearken the words of his voice of compassion:</span> +<span class="i2">"Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken</span> +<span class="i0">Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion!</span> +<span class="i2">As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken,</span> +<span class="i2">But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken,</span> +<span class="i0">As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Come—pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending!</span> +<span class="i2">Come—fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting!</span> +<span class="i0">Come—change ye shall have, for far are ye wending!</span> +<span class="i2">Come—no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting,</span> +<span class="i2">But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting!</span> +<span class="i0">Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Is he gone? was he with us?—ho ye who seek saving,</span> +<span class="i2">Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it?</span> +<span class="i0">Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving;</span> +<span class="i2">Here is the Cup with the roses around it;</span> +<span class="i2">The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it:</span> +<span class="i0">Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home.</span> +</div></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h3>FROM</h3> + +<h2>"THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG."</h2> + +<h3>BOOK II.</h3> + +<h2><a name="REGIN" id="REGIN"></a>R E G I N.</h2> + + +<p>Now this is the first book of the life and death of Sigurd the Volsung, +and therein is told of the birth of him, and of his dealings with Regin +the master of masters, and of his deeds in the waste places of the +earth.</p> + +<h3><i>Of the birth of Sigurd the son of Sigmund.</i></h3> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Peace</span> lay on the land of the Helper and the house of Elf his son;</span> +<span class="i0">There merry men went bedward when their tide of toil was done,</span> +<span class="i0">And glad was the dawn's awakening, and the noontide fair and glad:</span> +<span class="i0">There no great store had the franklin, and enough the hireling had;</span> +<span class="i0">And a child might go unguarded the length and breadth of the land</span> +<span class="i0">With a purse of gold at his girdle and gold rings on his hand.</span> +<span class="i0">'Twas a country of cunning craftsmen, and many a thing they wrought,</span> +<span class="i0">That the lands of storm desired, and the homes of warfare sought.</span> +<span class="i0">But men deemed it o'er-well warded by more than its stems of fight,</span> +<span class="i0">And told how its earth-born watchers yet lived of plenteous might.</span> +<span class="i0">So hidden was that country, and few men sailed its sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And none came o'er its mountains of men-folk's company.</span> +<span class="i0">But fair-fruited, many-peopled, it lies a goodly strip,</span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt the mountains cloudy-headed and the sea-flood's surging lip,</span> +<span class="i0">And a perilous flood is its ocean, and its mountains, who shall tell</span> +<span class="i0">What things in their dales deserted and their wind-swept heaths may dwell.</span> +<span class="i0">Now a man of the Kings, called Gripir, in this land of peace abode:</span> +<span class="i0">The son of the Helper's father, though never lay his load</span> +<span class="i0">In the womb of the mother of Kings that the Helper's brethren bore;</span> +<span class="i0">But of Giant kin was his mother, of the folk that are seen no more;</span> +<span class="i0">Though whiles as ye ride some fell-road across the heath there comes</span> +<span class="i0">The voice of their lone lamenting o'er their changed and conquered homes.</span> +<span class="i0">A long way off from the sea-strand and beneath the mountains' feet</span> +<span class="i0">Is the high-built hall of Gripir, where the waste and the tillage meet;</span> +<span class="i0">A noble and plentiful house, that a little men-folk fear,</span> +<span class="i0">But beloved of the crag-dwelling eagles and the kin of the woodland deer.</span> +<span class="i0">A man of few words was Gripir, but he knew of all deeds that had been,</span> +<span class="i0">And times there came upon him, when the deeds to be were seen:</span> +<span class="i0">No sword had he held in his hand since his father fell to field,</span> +<span class="i0">And against the life of the slayer he bore undinted shield:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor desired he aught at all,</span> +<span class="i0">But he noted the deeds that had been, and looked for what should befall.</span> + +<span class="i0">Again, in the house of the Helper there dwelt a certain man</span> +<span class="i0">Beardless and low of stature, of visage pinched and wan:</span> +<span class="i0">So exceeding old was Regin, that no son of man could tell</span> +<span class="i0">In what year of the days passed over he came to that land to dwell;</span> +<span class="i0">But the youth of King Elf had he fostered, and the Helper's youth thereto,</span> +<span class="i0">Yes and his father's father's: the lore of all men he knew,</span> +<span class="i0">And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the sword:</span> +<span class="i0">So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men trowed his every word;</span> +<span class="i0">His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler of delight</span> +<span class="i0">With the latter days of sorrow; all tales he told aright;</span> +<span class="i0">The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was he;</span> +<span class="i0">And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the stilling of the sea;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that race was made,</span> +<span class="i0">And that man-folk's generation, all their life-days had he weighed.</span> + +<span class="i0">In this land abideth Hiordis amid all people's praise</span> +<span class="i0">Till cometh the time appointed: in the fulness of the days</span> +<span class="i0">Through the dark and the dusk she travailed, till at last in the dawning hour</span> +<span class="i0">Have the deeds of the Volsungs blossomed, and born their latest flower;</span> +<span class="i0">In the bed there lieth a man child, and his eyes look straight on the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">And lo, the hope of the people, and the days of a king are begun.</span> + +<span class="i0">Men say of the serving-women, when they cried on the joy of the morn,</span> +<span class="i0">When they handled the linen raiment, and washed the king new-born,</span> +<span class="i0">When they bore him back unto Hiordis, and the weary and happy breast,</span> +<span class="i0">And bade her be glad to behold it, how the best was sprung from the best,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet they shrank in their rejoicing before the eyes of the child,</span> +<span class="i0">So bright and dreadful were they; yea though the spring morn smiled,</span> +<span class="i0">And a thousand birds were singing round the fair familiar home,</span> +<span class="i0">And still as on other mornings they saw folk go and come,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet the hour seemed awful to them, and the hearts within them burned</span> +<span class="i0">As though of fateful matters their souls were newly learned.</span> + +<span class="i0">But Hiordis looked on the Volsung, on her grief and her fond desire,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hope of her heart was quickened, and her joy was a living fire;</span> +<span class="i0">And she said: "Now one of the earthly on the eyes of my child hath gazed</span> +<span class="i0">Nor shrunk before their glory, nor stayed her love amazed:</span> +<span class="i0">I behold thee as Sigmund beholdeth,—and I was the home of thine heart—</span> +<span class="i0">Woe's me for the day when thou wert not, and the hour when we shall part!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then she held him a little season on her weary and happy breast</span> +<span class="i0">And she told him of Sigmund and Volsung and the best sprung forth from the best:</span> +<span class="i0">She spake to the new-born baby as one who might understand,</span> +<span class="i0">And told him of Sigmund's battle, and the dead by the sea-flood's strand,</span> +<span class="i0">And of all the wars passed over, and the light with darkness blent.</span> + +<span class="i0">So she spake, and the sun rose higher, and her speech at last was spent,</span> +<span class="i0">And she gave him back to the women to bear forth to the people's kings,</span> +<span class="i0">That they too may rejoice in her glory and her day of happy things.</span> + +<span class="i0">But there sat the Helper of Men with King Elf and Earls in the hall,</span> +<span class="i0">And they spake of the deeds that had been, and told of the times to befall,</span> +<span class="i0">And they hearkened and heard sweet voices and the sound of harps draw nigh,</span> +<span class="i0">Till their hearts were exceeding merry and they knew not wherefore or why:</span> +<span class="i0">Then, lo, in the hall white raiment, as thither the damsels came,</span> +<span class="i0">And amid the hands of the foremost was the woven gold aflame.</span> + +<span class="i0">"O daughters of earls," said the Helper, "what tidings then do ye bear?</span> +<span class="i0">Is it grief in the merry morning, or joy or wonder or fear?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Quoth the first: "It is grief for the foemen that the Masters of God-home would grieve."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said the next: "'Tis a wonder of wonders, that the hearkening world shall believe."</span> + +<span class="i0">"A fear of all fears," said the third, "for the sword is uplifted on men."</span> + +<span class="i0">"A joy of all joys," said the fourth, "once come, it comes not again!"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Lo, son," said the ancient Helper, "glad sit the earls and the lords!</span> +<span class="i0">Lookst thou not for a token of tidings to follow such-like words?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Saith King Elf: "Great words of women! or great hath our dwelling become."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said the women: "Words shall be greater, when all folk shall praise our home."</span> + +<span class="i0">"What then hath betid," said King Elf, "do the high Gods stand in our gate?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nay," said they, "else were we silent, and they should be telling of fate."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Is the bidding come," said the Helper, "that we wend the Gods to see?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Many summers and winters," they said, "ye shall live on the earth, it may be."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said a young man: "Will ye be telling that all we shall die no more?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nay," they answered, "nay, who knoweth but the change may be hard at the door?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Come ships from the sea," said an elder, "with all gifts of the Eastland gold?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Was there less than enough," said the women, "when last our treasure was told?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Speak then," said the ancient Helper, "let the worst and the best be said."</span> + +<span class="i0">Quoth they: "'Tis the Queen of the Isle-folk, she is weary-sick on her bed."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said King Elf: "Yet ye come rejoicing; what more lieth under the tongue?"</span> + +<span class="i0">They said: "The earth is weary; but the tender blade hath sprung,</span> +<span class="i0">That shall wax till beneath its branches fair bloom the meadows green;</span> +<span class="i0">For the Gods and they that were mighty were glad erewhile with the Queen."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said King Elf: "How say ye, women? Of a King new-born do ye tell</span> +<span class="i0">By a God of the Heavens begotten in our fathers' house to dwell?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"By a God of the Earth," they answered; "but greater yet is the son,</span> +<span class="i0">Though long were the days of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he hath done."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then she with the golden burden to the kingly high-seat stepped</span> +<span class="i0">And away from the new-born baby the purple cloths she swept,</span> +<span class="i0">And cried: "O King of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss,</span> +<span class="i0">As our hearts to-day are happy! Queen Hiordis sends thee this,</span> +<span class="i0">And she saith that the world shall call it by the name that thou shalt name;</span> +<span class="i0">Now the gift to thee is given, and to thee is brought the fame."</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then e'en as a man astonied King Elf the Volsung took,</span> +<span class="i0">While his feast-hall's ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk shook;</span> +<span class="i0">For the eyes of the child gleamed on him till he was as one who sees</span> +<span class="i0">The very Gods arising mid their carven images:</span> +<span class="i0">To his ears there came a murmur of far seas beneath the wind</span> +<span class="i0">And the tramp of fierce-eyed warriors through the outland forest blind;</span> +<span class="i0">The sound of hosts of battle, cries round the hoisted shield,</span> +<span class="i0">Low talk of the gathered wise-ones in the Goth-folk's holy field:</span> +<span class="i0">So the thought in a little moment through King Elf the Mighty ran</span> +<span class="i0">Of the years and their building and burden, and toil of the sons of man,</span> +<span class="i0">The joy of folk and their sorrow, and the hope of deeds to do:</span> +<span class="i0">With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through,</span> +<span class="i0">As he hung o'er the new-born Volsung: but at last he raised his head,</span> +<span class="i0">And looked forth kind o'er his people, and spake aloud and said:</span> + +<span class="i0">"O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days,</span> +<span class="i0">Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men's silent praise,</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun!</span> +<span class="i0">And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?"</span> + +<span class="i0">But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried: "Hail Dawn of the Day!</span> +<span class="i0">How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay!</span> +<span class="i0">How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep!</span> +<span class="i0">How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep!</span> +<span class="i0">O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn!</span> +<span class="i0">How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy left return!</span> +<span class="i0">O thy deeds that men shall sing of! O thy deeds that the Gods shall see!</span> +<span class="i0">O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Men heard the name and they knew it, and they caught it up in the air,</span> +<span class="i0">And it went abroad by the windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair,</span> +<span class="i0">It went through street and market; o'er meadow and acre it went,</span> +<span class="i0">And over the wind-stirred forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent,</span> +<span class="i0">And over the sea-flood's welter, till the folk of the fishers heard,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hearts of the isle-abiders on the sun-scorched rocks were stirred.</span> + +<span class="i0">But the Queen in her golden chamber, the name she hearkened and knew;</span> +<span class="i0">And she heard the flock of the women, as back to the chamber they drew,</span> +<span class="i0">And the name of Sigurd entered, and the body of Sigurd was come,</span> +<span class="i0">And it was as if Sigmund were living and she still in her lovely home;</span> +<span class="i0">Of all folk of the world was she well, and a soul fulfilled of rest</span> +<span class="i0">As alone in the chamber she wakened and Sigurd cherished her breast.</span> + +<span class="i0">But men feast in the merry noontide, and glad is the April green</span> +<span class="i0">That a Volsung looks on the sunlight and the night and the darkness have been.</span> +<span class="i0">Earls think of marvellous stories, and along the golden strings</span> +<span class="i0">Flit words of banded brethren and names of war-fain Kings:</span> +<span class="i0">All the days of the deeds of Sigmund who was born so long ago;</span> +<span class="i0">All deeds of the glorious Signy, and her tarrying-tide of woe;</span> +<span class="i0">Men tell of the years of Volsung, and how long agone it was</span> +<span class="i0">That he changed his life in battle, and brought the tale to pass:</span> +<span class="i0">Then goeth the word of the Giants, and the world seems waxen old</span> +<span class="i0">For the dimness of King Rerir and the tale of his warfare told:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet unhushed are the singers' voices, nor yet the harp-strings cease</span> +<span class="i0">While yet is left a rumour of the mirk-wood's broken peace,</span> +<span class="i0">And of Sigi the very ancient, and the unnamed Sons of God,</span> +<span class="i0">Of the days when the Lords of Heaven full oft the world-ways trod.</span> + +<span class="i0">So stilleth the wind in the even and the sun sinks down in the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And men abide the morrow and the Victory yet to be.</span> +</div></div> + + +<h4><i>Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness,</span> +<span class="i0">And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless.</span> +<span class="i0">But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wed</span> +<span class="i0">To King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped.</span> +<span class="i0">Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase,</span> +<span class="i0">And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace.</span> + +<span class="i0">Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of wit</span> +<span class="i0">And full of understanding, and oft hath the joy to sit</span> +<span class="i0">Amid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech;</span> +<span class="i0">And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each.</span> +<span class="i0">But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well,</span> +<span class="i0">And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell.</span> + +<span class="i0">"I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men,</span> +<span class="i0">And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again;</span> +<span class="i0">And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood,</span> +<span class="i0">Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the Helper of men-folk: "Yea, do herein thy will:</span> +<span class="i0">For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill:</span> +<span class="i0">But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold;</span> +<span class="i0">For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold,</span> +<span class="i0">Though three men's lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn;</span> +<span class="i0">And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin laughed, and answered: "I doled out cunning to thee;</span> +<span class="i0">But nought with him will I measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor grim, nor evil-natured: for whate'er my will might frame,</span> +<span class="i0">Gone forth is the word of the Norns, that abideth ever the same.</span> +<span class="i0">And now, despite my cunning, how deem ye I shall die?"</span> + +<span class="i0">And they said he would live as he listed, and at last in peace should lie</span> +<span class="i0">When he listed to live no longer; so mighty and wise he was.</span> +<span class="i0">But again he laughed and answered: "One day it shall come to pass,</span> +<span class="i0">That a beardless youth shall slay me: I know the fateful doom;</span> +<span class="i0">But nought may I withstand it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom."</span> + +<span class="i0">So is Sigurd now with Regin, and he learns him many things;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, all save the craft of battle, that men learned the sons of kings:</span> +<span class="i0">The smithying sword and war-coat; the carving runes aright;</span> +<span class="i0">The tongues of many countries, and soft speech for men's delight;</span> +<span class="i0">The dealing with the harp-strings, and the winding ways of song.</span> +<span class="i0">So wise of heart waxed Sigurd, and of body wondrous strong:</span> +<span class="i0">And he chased the deer of the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew,</span> +<span class="i0">And many a bull of the mountains: and the desert dales he knew,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heaths that the wind sweeps over; and seaward would he fare,</span> +<span class="i0">Far out from the outer skerries, and alone the sea-wights dare.</span> + +<span class="i0">On a day he sat with Regin amidst the unfashioned gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And the silver grey from the furnace; and Regin spake and told</span> +<span class="i0">Sweet tales of the days that have been, and the Kings of the bold and wise;</span> +<span class="i0">Till the lad's heart swelled with longing and lit his sunbright eyes.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin looked upon him: "Thou too shalt one day ride</span> +<span class="i0">As the Volsung Kings went faring through the noble world and wide.</span> +<span class="i0">For this land is nought and narrow, and Kings of the carles are these,</span> +<span class="i0">And their earls are acre-biders, and their hearts are dull with peace."</span> + +<span class="i0">But Sigurd knit his brows, and in wrathful wise he said:</span> +<span class="i0">"Ill words of those thou speakest that my youth have cherished,</span> +<span class="i0">And the friends that have made me merry, and the land that is fair and good."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin laughed and answered: "Nay, well I see by thy mood</span> +<span class="i0">That wide wilt thou ride in the world like thy kin of the earlier days:</span> +<span class="i0">And wilt thou be wroth with thy master that he longs for thy winning the praise?</span> +<span class="i0">And now if the sooth thou sayest, that these King-folk cherish thee well,</span> +<span class="i0">Then let them give thee a gift whereof the world shall tell:</span> +<span class="i0">Yea hearken to this my counsel, and crave for a battle-steed."</span> + +<span class="i0">Yet wroth was the lad and answered: "I have many a horse to my need,</span> +<span class="i0">And all that the heart desireth, and what wouldst thou wish me more?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin answered and said: "Thy kin of the Kings of yore</span> +<span class="i0">Were the noblest men of men-folk; and their hearts would never rest</span> +<span class="i0">Whatso of good they had gotten, if their hands held not the best.</span> +<span class="i0">Now do thou after my counsel, and crave of thy fosterers here</span> +<span class="i0">That thou choose of the horses of Gripir whichso thine heart holds dear."</span> + +<span class="i0">He spake and his harp was with him, and he smote the strings full sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">And sang of the host of the Valkyrs, how they ride the battle to meet,</span> +<span class="i0">And the dew from the dear manes drippeth as they ride in the first of the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">And the tree-boughs open to meet it when the wind of the dawning is done:</span> +<span class="i0">And the deep dales drink its sweetness and spring into blossoming grass,</span> +<span class="i0">And the earth groweth fruitful of men, and bringeth their glory to pass.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then the wrath ran off from Sigurd, and he left the smithying stead</span> +<span class="i0">While the song yet rang in the doorway: and that eve to the Kings he said:</span> +<span class="i0">"Will ye do so much for mine asking as to give me a horse to my will?</span> +<span class="i0">For belike the days shall come, that shall all my heart fulfill,</span> +<span class="i0">And teach me the deeds of a king."</span> +<span class="i8">Then answered King Elf and spake:</span> +<span class="i0">"The stalls of the Kings are before thee to set aside or to take,</span> +<span class="i0">And nought we begrudge thee the best."</span> +<span class="i8">Yet answered Sigurd again;</span> +<span class="i0">For his heart of the mountains aloft and the windy drift was fain:</span> +<span class="i0">"Fair seats for the knees of Kings! but now do I ask for a gift</span> +<span class="i0">Such as all the world shall be praising, the best of the strong and the swift.</span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall give me a token for Gripir, and bid him to let me choose</span> +<span class="i0">From out of the noble stud-beasts that run in his meadow loose.</span> +<span class="i0">But if overmuch I have asked you, forget this prayer of mine,</span> +<span class="i0">And deem the word unspoken, and get ye to the wine."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then smiled King Elf, and answered: "A long way wilt thou ride,</span> +<span class="i0">To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide,</span> +<span class="i0">Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shalt thou win</span> +<span class="i0">The praise of many a people: so have thy way herein.</span> +<span class="i0">Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may hold</span> +<span class="i0">The sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then sweetly Sigurd thanked them; and through the night he lay</span> +<span class="i0">Mid dreams of many a matter till the dawn was on the way;</span> +<span class="i0">Then he shook the sleep from off him, and that dwelling of Kings he left</span> +<span class="i0">And wended his ways unto Gripir. On a crag from the mountain reft</span> +<span class="i0">Was the house of the old King builded; and a mighty house it was,</span> +<span class="i0">Though few were the sons of men that over its threshold would pass:</span> +<span class="i0">But the wild ernes cried about it, and the vultures toward it flew,</span> +<span class="i0">And the winds from the heart of the mountains searched every chamber through,</span> +<span class="i0">And about were meads wide-spreading; and many a beast thereon,</span> +<span class="i0">Yea some that are men-folk's terror, their sport and pasture won.</span> +<span class="i0">So into the hall went Sigurd; and amidst was Gripir set</span> +<span class="i0">In a chair of the sea-beast's tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh met</span> +<span class="i0">The floor that was green as the ocean, and his gown was of mountain-gold</span> +<span class="i0">And the kingly staff in his hand was knobbed with the crystal cold.</span> + +<span class="i0">Now the first of the twain spake Gripir: "Hail King with the eyen bright!</span> +<span class="i0">Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light.</span> +<span class="i0">And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou wouldst be coming to-day a horse in my meadow to find:</span> +<span class="i0">And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall be.</span> +<span class="i0">Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea,</span> +<span class="i0">And be glad as thine heart will have thee and the fate that leadeth thee on,</span> +<span class="i0">And I bid thee again come hither when the sword of worth is won,</span> +<span class="i0">And thy loins are girt for thy going on the road that before thee lies;</span> +<span class="i0">For a glimmering over its darkness is come before mine eyes."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ran</span> +<span class="i0">And unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man,</span> +<span class="i0">One-eyed and seeming-ancient, there met him by the way:</span> +<span class="i0">And he spake: "Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I say</span> +<span class="i0">A word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains well</span> +<span class="i0">And all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir's horse-herd then?</span> +<span class="i0">Nay sure, for thy face is shining like battle-eager men</span> +<span class="i0">My master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown</span> +<span class="i0">And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind," then spake that elder of days,</span> +<span class="i0">"And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise.</span> +<span class="i0">There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt follow an elder's counsel, who hath brought strange things about,</span> +<span class="i0">Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin."</span> + +<span class="i0">So Sigurd said, "I am ready; and what is the deed to win?"</span> + +<span class="i0">He said: "We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side,</span> +<span class="i0">That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses on</span> +<span class="i0">Till they came to a rushing river a water wide and wan;</span> +<span class="i0">And the white mews hovered o'er it; but none might hear their cry</span> +<span class="i0">For the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by.</span> +<span class="i0">So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem,</span> +<span class="i0">And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o'ermastered them:</span> +<span class="i0">And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank,</span> +<span class="i0">Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank;</span> +<span class="i0">But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of grey</span> +<span class="i0">Toss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away:</span> +<span class="i0">Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream again</span> +<span class="i0">And with the waves' white horses mingled his cloudy mane.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the elder of days: "Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear;</span> +<span class="i0">Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear,</span> +<span class="i0">And this horse is a gift of my giving:—heed nought where thou mayst ride:</span> +<span class="i0">For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide,</span> +<span class="i0">And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now</span> +<span class="i0">To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow,</span> +<span class="i0">As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night;</span> +<span class="i0">And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright.</span> + +<span class="i0">So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand,</span> +<span class="i0">And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland,</span> +<span class="i0">And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good.</span> +<span class="i0">And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir's blood,</span> +<span class="i0">The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue,</span> +<span class="i0">And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund's son he knew,</span> +<span class="i0">So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling's song arose</span> +<span class="i0">As he brushed through the noon-tide blossoms of Gripir's mighty close,</span> +<span class="i0">Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave,</span> +<span class="i0">Who swam through the sweeping river, and back through the toppling wave.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>Regin telleth Sigurd of his kindred, and of the Gold that was accursed from ancient days.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now yet the days pass over, and more than words may tell</span> +<span class="i0">Grows Sigurd strong and lovely, and all children love him well.</span> +<span class="i0">But oft he looks on the mountains and many a time is fain</span> +<span class="i0">To know of what lies beyond them, and learn of the wide world's gain.</span> +<span class="i0">And he saith: "I dwell in a land that is ruled by none of my blood;</span> +<span class="i0">And my mother's sons are waxing, and fair kings shall they be and good;</span> +<span class="i0">And their servant or their betrayer—not one of these will I be.</span> +<span class="i0">Yet needs must I wait for a little till Odin calls for me."</span> + +<span class="i0">Now again it happed on a day that he sat in Regin's hall</span> +<span class="i0">And hearkened many tidings of what had chanced to fall,</span> +<span class="i0">And of kings that sought their kingdoms o'er many a waste and wild,</span> +<span class="i0">And at last saith the crafty master:</span> +<span class="i8">"Thou art King Sigmund's child:</span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou wait till these kings of the carles shall die in a little land,</span> +<span class="i0">Or wilt thou serve their sons and carry the cup to their hand;</span> +<span class="i0">Or abide in vain for the day that never shall come about,</span> +<span class="i0">When their banners shall dance in the wind and shake to the war-gods' shout?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd answered and said: "Nought such do I look to be.</span> +<span class="i0">But thou, a deedless man, too much thou eggest me:</span> +<span class="i0">And these folk are good and trusty, and the land is lovely and sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">And in rest and in peace it lieth as the floor of Odin's feet:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet I know that the world is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought;</span> +<span class="i0">And for e'en such work was I fashioned, lest the song-craft come to nought,</span> +<span class="i0">When the harps of God-home tinkle, and the Gods are at stretch to hearken;</span> +<span class="i0">Lest the hosts of the Gods be scanty when their day hath begun to darken,</span> +<span class="i0">When the bonds of the Wolf wax thin, and Loki fretteth his chain.</span> +<span class="i0">And sure for the house of my fathers full oft my heart is fain,</span> +<span class="i0">And meseemeth I hear them talking of the day when I shall come,</span> +<span class="i0">And of all the burden of deeds, that my hand shall bear them home.</span> +<span class="i0">And so when the deed is ready, nowise the man shall lack:</span> +<span class="i0">But the wary foot is the surest, and the hasty oft turns back."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then answered Regin the guileful: "The deed is ready to hand,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet holding my peace is the best, for well thou lovest the land;</span> +<span class="i0">And thou lovest thy life moreover, and the peace of thy youthful days,</span> +<span class="i0">And why should the full-fed feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise?</span> +<span class="i0">Yet they say that Sigmund begat thee and he looked to fashion a man.</span> +<span class="i0">Fear nought; he lieth quiet in his mound by the sea-waves wan."</span> + +<span class="i0">So shone the eyes of Sigurd, that the shield against him hung</span> +<span class="i0">Cast back their light as the sunbeams; but his voice to the roof-tree rung:</span> +<span class="i0">"Tell me, thou Master of Masters, what deed is the deed I shall do?</span> +<span class="i0">Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund lest the day of his birth thou rue."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then answered the Master of Sleight: "The deed is the righting of wrong,</span> +<span class="i0">And the quelling a bale and a sorrow that the world hath endured o'erlong,</span> +<span class="i0">And the winning a treasure untold, that shall make thee more than the kings;</span> +<span class="i0">Thereof is the Helm of Aweing, the wonder of earthly things,</span> +<span class="i0">And thereof is its very fellow, the War-coat all of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then answered Sigurd the Volsung: "How long hereof hast thou known?</span> +<span class="i0">And what unto thee is this treasure, that thou seemest to give as thine own?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Alas!" quoth the smithying master, "it is mine, yet none of mine</span> +<span class="i0">Since my heart herein avails not, and my hand is frail and fine—</span> +<span class="i0">It is long since I first came hither to seek a man for my need;</span> +<span class="i0">For I saw by a glimmering light that hence would spring the deed,</span> +<span class="i0">And many a deed of the world: but the generations passed,</span> +<span class="i0">And the first of the days was as near to the end that I sought as the last;</span> +<span class="i0">Till I looked on thine eyes in the cradle: and now I deem through thee,</span> +<span class="i0">That the end of my days of waiting, and the end of my woes shall be."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd awhile was silent; but at last he answered and said:</span> +<span class="i0">"Thou shalt have thy will and the treasure, and shalt take the curse on thine head</span> +<span class="i0">If a curse the gold enwrappeth: but the deed will I surely do,</span> +<span class="i0">For to-day the dreams of my childhood have bloomed in my heart anew:</span> +<span class="i0">And I long to look on the world and the glory of the earth</span> +<span class="i0">And to deal in the dealings of men, and garner the harvest of worth.</span> +<span class="i0">But tell me, thou Master of Masters, where lieth this measureless wealth;</span> +<span class="i0">Is it guarded by swords of the earl-folk, or kept by cunning and stealth?</span> +<span class="i0">Is it over the main sea's darkness, or beyond the mountain wall?</span> +<span class="i0">Or e'en in these peaceful acres anigh to the hands of all?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin answered sweetly: "Hereof must a tale be told:</span> +<span class="i0">Bide sitting, thou son of Sigmund, on the heap of unwrought gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And hearken of wondrous matters, and of things unheard, unsaid,</span> +<span class="i0">And deeds of my beholding ere the first of Kings was made.</span> + +<span class="i0">"And first ye shall know of a sooth, that I never was born of the race</span> +<span class="i0">Which the masters of God-home have made to cover the fair earth's face;</span> +<span class="i0">But I come of the Dwarfs departed; and fair was the earth whileome</span> +<span class="i0">Ere the short-lived thralls of the Gods amidst its dales were come:—</span> +<span class="i0">And how were we worse than the Gods, though maybe we lived not as long?</span> +<span class="i0">Yet no weight of memory maimed us; nor aught we knew of wrong.</span> +<span class="i0">What felt our souls of shaming, what knew our hearts of love?</span> +<span class="i0">We did and undid at pleasure, and repented nought thereof.</span> +<span class="i0">—Yea we were exceeding mighty—bear with me yet, my son;</span> +<span class="i0">For whiles can I scarcely think it that our days are wholly done.</span> +<span class="i0">And trust not thy life in my hands in the day when most I seem</span> +<span class="i0">Like the Dwarfs that are long departed, and most of my kindred I dream.</span> + +<span class="i0">"So as we dwelt came tidings that the Gods amongst us were,</span> +<span class="i0">And the people come from Asgard: then rose up hope and fear,</span> +<span class="i0">And strange shapes of things went flitting betwixt the night and the eve,</span> +<span class="i0">And our sons waxed wild and wrathful, and our daughters learned to grieve.</span> +<span class="i0">Then we fell to the working of metal, and the deeps of the earth would know,</span> +<span class="i0">And we dealt with venom and leechcraft, and we fashioned spear and bow,</span> +<span class="i0">And we set the ribs to the oak-keel, and looked on the landless sea;</span> +<span class="i0">And the world began to be such-like as the Gods would have it to be.</span> +<span class="i0">In the womb of the woeful Earth had they quickened the grief and the gold.</span> + +<span class="i0">"It was Reidmar the Ancient begat me; and now was he waxen old,</span> +<span class="i0">And a covetous man and a king; and he bade, and I built him a hall,</span> +<span class="i0">And a golden glorious house; and thereto his sons did he call,</span> +<span class="i0">And he bade them be evil and wise, that his will through them might be wrought.</span> +<span class="i0">Then he gave unto Fafnir my brother the soul that feareth nought,</span> +<span class="i0">And the brow of the hardened iron, and the hand that may never fail,</span> +<span class="i0">And the greedy heart of a king, and the ear that hears no wail.</span> + +<span class="i0">"But next unto Otter my brother he gave the snare and the net</span> +<span class="i0">And the longing to wend through the wild-wood, and wade the highways wet:</span> +<span class="i0">And the foot that never resteth, while aught be left alive</span> +<span class="i0">That hath cunning to match man's cunning or might with his might to strive.</span> + +<span class="i0">"And to me, the least and the youngest, what gift for the slaying of ease?</span> +<span class="i0">Save the grief that remembers the past, and the fear that the future sees;</span> +<span class="i0">And the hammer and fashioning-iron, and the living coal of fire;</span> +<span class="i0">And the craft that createth a semblance, and fails of the heart's desire;</span> +<span class="i0">And the toil that each dawning quickens and the task that is never done,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heart that longeth ever, nor will look to the deed that is won.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thus gave my father the gifts that might never be taken again;</span> +<span class="i0">Far worse were we now than the Gods, and but little better than men.</span> +<span class="i0">But yet of our ancient might one thing had we left us still:</span> +<span class="i0">We had craft to change our semblance, and could shift us at our will</span> +<span class="i0">Into bodies of the beast-kind, or fowl, or fishes cold;</span> +<span class="i0">For belike no fixed semblance we had in the days of old,</span> +<span class="i0">Till the Gods were waxen busy, and all things their form must take</span> +<span class="i0">That knew of good and evil, and longed to gather and make.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother fared</span> +<span class="i0">As the scourge and compeller of all things, and left no wrong undared;</span> +<span class="i0">But for me, I toiled and I toiled; and fair grew my father's house;</span> +<span class="i0">But writhen and foul were the hands that had made it glorious;</span> +<span class="i0">And the love of women left me, and the fame of sword and shield:</span> +<span class="i0">And the sun and the winds of heaven, and the fowl and the grass of the field</span> +<span class="i0">Were grown as the tools of my smithy; and all the world I knew,</span> +<span class="i0">And the glories that lie beyond it, and whitherward all things drew;</span> +<span class="i0">And myself a little fragment amidst it all I saw,</span> +<span class="i0">Grim, cold-heart, and unmighty as the tempest-driven straw.</span> +<span class="i0">—Let be.—For Otter my brother saw seldom field or fold,</span> +<span class="i0">And he oftenest used that custom, whereof e'en now I told,</span> +<span class="i0">And would shift his shape with the wood-beasts and the things of land and sea;</span> +<span class="i0">And he knew what joy their hearts had, and what they longed to be,</span> +<span class="i0">And their dim-eyed understanding, and his wood-craft waxed so great,</span> +<span class="i0">That he seemed the king of the creatures and their very mortal fate.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Now as the years won over three folk of the heavenly halls</span> +<span class="i0">Grew aweary of sleepless sloth, and the day that nought befalls;</span> +<span class="i0">And they fain would look on the earth, and their latest handiwork,</span> +<span class="i0">And turn the fine gold over, lest a flaw therein should lurk.</span> +<span class="i0">And the three were the heart-wise Odin, the Father of the Slain,</span> +<span class="i0">And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain,</span> +<span class="i0">And Hænir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man,</span> +<span class="i0">And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;—</span> +<span class="i0">—The God that was aforetime, and hereafter yet shall be</span> +<span class="i0">When the new light yet undreamed of shall shine o'er earth and sea.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thus about the world they wended and deemed it fair and good,</span> +<span class="i0">And they loved their life-days dearly: so came they to the wood,</span> +<span class="i0">And the lea without a shepherd and the dwellings of the deer,</span> +<span class="i0">And unto a mighty water that ran from a fathomless mere.</span> +<span class="i0">Now that flood my brother Otter had haunted many a day</span> +<span class="i0">For its plenteous fruit of fishes; and there on the bank he lay</span> +<span class="i0">As the Gods came wandering thither; and he slept, and in his dreams</span> +<span class="i0">He saw the downlong river, and its fishy-peopled streams,</span> +<span class="i0">And the swift smooth heads of its forces, and its swirling wells and deep,</span> +<span class="i0">Where hang the poisèd fishes, and their watch in the rock-halls keep.</span> +<span class="i0">And so, as he thought of it all, and its deeds and its wanderings,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereby it ran to the sea down the road of scaly things,</span> +<span class="i0">His body was changed with his thought, as yet was the wont of our kind,</span> +<span class="i0">And he grew but an Otter indeed; and his eyes were sleeping and blind</span> +<span class="i0">The while he devoured the prey, a golden red-flecked trout.</span> +<span class="i0">Then passed by Odin and Hænir, nor cumbered their souls with doubt;</span> +<span class="i0">But Loki lingered a little, and guile in his heart arose,</span> +<span class="i0">And he saw through the shape of the Otter, and beheld a chief of his foes,</span> +<span class="i0">A king of the free and the careless: so he called up his baleful might,</span> +<span class="i0">And gathered his godhead together, and tore a shard outright</span> +<span class="i0">From the rock-wall of the river, and across its green wells cast;</span> +<span class="i0">And roaring over the waters that bolt of evil passed,</span> +<span class="i0">And smote my brother Otter that his heart's life fled away,</span> +<span class="i0">And bore his man's shape with it, and beast-like there he lay,</span> +<span class="i0">Stark dead on the sun-lit blossoms: but the Evil God rejoiced,</span> +<span class="i0">And because of the sound of his singing the wild grew many-voiced.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then the three Gods waded the river, and no word Hænir spake,</span> +<span class="i0">For his thoughts were set on God-home, and the day that is ever awake.</span> +<span class="i0">But Odin laughed in his wrath, and murmured: 'Ah, how long,</span> +<span class="i0">Till the iron shall ring on the anvil for the shackles of thy wrong!'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Loki takes up the quarry, and is e'en as a man again;</span> +<span class="i0">And the three wend on through the wild-wood till they come to a grassy plain</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the untrodden mountains; and lo! a noble house,</span> +<span class="i0">And a hall with great craft fashioned, and made full glorious;</span> +<span class="i0">But night on the earth was falling; so scantly might they see</span> +<span class="i0">The wealth of its smooth-wrought stonework and its world of imagery:</span> +<span class="i0">Then Loki bade turn thither since day was at an end,</span> +<span class="i0">And into that noble dwelling the lords of God-home wend;</span> +<span class="i0">And the porch was fair and mighty, and so smooth-wrought was its gold,</span> +<span class="i0">That the mirrored stars of heaven therein might ye behold:</span> +<span class="i0">But the hall, what words shall tell it, how fair it rose aloft,</span> +<span class="i0">And the marvels of its windows, and its golden hangings soft,</span> +<span class="i0">And the forest of its pillars! and each like the wave's heart shone</span> +<span class="i0">And the mirrored boughs of the garden were dancing fair thereon.</span> +<span class="i0">—Long years agone was it builded, and where are its wonders now?</span> + +<span class="i0">"Now the men of God-home marvelled, and gazed through the golden glow,</span> +<span class="i0">And a man like a covetous king amidst of the hall they saw;</span> +<span class="i0">And his chair was the tooth of the whale, wrought smooth with never a flaw;</span> +<span class="i0">And his gown was the sea-born purple, and he bore a crown on his head,</span> +<span class="i0">But never a sword was before him: kind-seeming words he said,</span> +<span class="i0">And bade rest to the weary feet that had worn the wild so long.</span> +<span class="i0">So they sat, and were men by seeming; and there rose up music and song,</span> +<span class="i0">And they ate and drank and were merry: but amidst the glee of the cup</span> +<span class="i0">They felt themselves tangled and caught, as when the net cometh up</span> +<span class="i0">Before the folk of the 'firth, and the main sea lieth far off;</span> +<span class="i0">And the laughter of lips they hearkened, and that hall-abider's scoff,</span> +<span class="i0">As his face and his mocking eyes anigh to their faces drew,</span> +<span class="i0">And their godhead was caught in the net, and no shift of creation they knew</span> +<span class="i0">To escape from their man-like bodies; so great that day was the Earth.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then spake the hall-abider: 'Where then is thy guileful mirth,</span> +<span class="i0">And thy hall-glee gone, O Loki? Come, Hænir, fashion now</span> +<span class="i0">My heart for love and for hope, that the fear in my body may grow,</span> +<span class="i0">That I may grieve and be sorry, that the ruth may arise in me,</span> +<span class="i0">As thou dealtst with the first of men-folk, when a master-smith thou wouldst be.</span> +<span class="i0">And thou, Allfather Odin, hast thou come on a bastard brood?</span> +<span class="i0">Or hadst thou belike a brother, thy twin for evil and good,</span> +<span class="i0">That waked amidst thy slumber, and slumbered midst thy work?</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, Wise-one, art thou silent as a child amidst the mirk?</span> +<span class="i0">Ah, I know ye are called the Gods, and are mighty men at home,</span> +<span class="i0">But now with a guilt on your heads to no feeble folk are ye come,</span> +<span class="i0">To a folk that need you nothing: time was when we knew you not:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet e'en then fresh was the winter, and the summer sun was hot,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wood-meats stayed our hunger, and the water quenched our thirst,</span> +<span class="i0">Ere the good and the evil wedded and begat the best and the worst.</span> +<span class="i0">And how if to-day I undo it, that work of your fashioning,</span> +<span class="i0">If the web of the world run backward, and the high heavens lack a King?</span> +<span class="i0">—Woe's me! for your ancient mastery shall help you at your need:</span> +<span class="i0">If ye fill up the gulf of my longing and my empty heart of greed,</span> +<span class="i0">And slake the flame ye have quickened, then may ye go your ways</span> +<span class="i0">And get ye back to your kingship and the driving on of the days</span> +<span class="i0">To the day of the gathered war-hosts, and the tide of your Fateful Gloom.</span> +<span class="i0">Now nought may ye gainsay it that my mouth must speak the doom,</span> +<span class="i0">For ye wot well I am Reidmar, and that there ye lie red-hand</span> +<span class="i0">From the slaughtering of my offspring, and the spoiling of my land;</span> +<span class="i0">For his death of my wold hath bereft me and every highway wet.</span> +<span class="i0">—Nay, Loki, naught avails it, well-fashioned is the net.</span> +<span class="i0">Come forth, my son, my war-god, and show the Gods their work,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou who mightst learn e'en Loki, if need were to lie or lurk!'</span> + +<span class="i0">"And there was I, I Regin, the smithier of the snare,</span> +<span class="i0">And high up Fafnir towered with the brow that knew no fear,</span> +<span class="i0">With the wrathful and pitiless heart that was born of my father's will,</span> +<span class="i0">And the greed that the Gods had fashioned the fate of the earth to fulfill.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then spake the Father of Men: 'We have wrought thee wrong indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">And, wouldst thou amend it with wrong, thine errand must we speed;</span> +<span class="i0">For I know of thine heart's desire, and the gold thou shalt nowise lack,</span> +<span class="i0">—Nor all the works of the gold. But best were thy word drawn back,</span> +<span class="i0">If indeed the doom of the Norns be not utterly now gone forth.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Reidmar laughed and answered: 'So much is thy word of worth!</span> +<span class="i0">And they call thee Odin for this, and stretch forth hands in vain,</span> +<span class="i0">And pray for the gifts of a God who giveth and taketh again!</span> +<span class="i0">It was better in times past over, when we prayed for nought at all,</span> +<span class="i0">When no love taught us beseeching, and we had no troth to recall.</span> +<span class="i0">Ye have changed the world, and it bindeth with the right and the wrong ye have made,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor may ye be Gods henceforward save the rightful ransom be paid.</span> +<span class="i0">But perchance ye are weary of kingship, and will deal no more with the earth?</span> +<span class="i0">Then curse the world, and depart, and sit in your changeless mirth;</span> +<span class="i0">And there shall be no more kings, and battle and murder shall fail,</span> +<span class="i0">And the world shall laugh and long not, nor weep, nor fashion the tale.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"So spake Reidmar the Wise; but the wrath burned through his word,</span> +<span class="i0">And wasted his heart of wisdom; and there was Fafnir the Lord,</span> +<span class="i0">And there was Regin the Wright, and they raged at their father's back:</span> +<span class="i0">And all these cried out together with the voice of the sea-storm's wrack;</span> +<span class="i0">'O hearken, Gods of the Goths! ye shall die, and we shall be Gods,</span> +<span class="i0">And rule your men belovèd with bitter-heavy rods,</span> +<span class="i0">And make them beasts beneath us, save to-day ye do our will,</span> +<span class="i0">And pay us the ransom of blood, and our hearts with the gold fulfill.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"But Odin spake in answer, and his voice was awful and cold:</span> +<span class="i0">'Give righteous doom, O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Reidmar laughed in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled,</span> +<span class="i0">And nought but his greed abided; and he spake from his throne and said:</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Now hearken the doom I shall speak! Ye stranger-folk shall be free</span> +<span class="i0">When ye give me the Flame of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea,</span> +<span class="i0">That Andvari hideth rejoicing in the wan realm pale as the grave;</span> +<span class="i0">And the Master of Sleight shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heart that begrudgeth for ever shall gather and give and rue.</span> +<span class="i0">—Lo! this is the doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Odin spake: 'It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse;</span> +<span class="i0">And the Greedy shall cherish the evil—and the seed of the Great they shall nurse.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"No word spake Reidmar the great, for the eyes of his heart were turned</span> +<span class="i0">To the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned.</span> +<span class="i0">But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his ways abroad;</span> +<span class="i0">And the heart of Odin he knoweth, and where he shall seek the Hoard.</span> + +<span class="i0">"There is a desert of dread in the uttermost part of the world,</span> +<span class="i0">Where over a wall of mountains is a mighty water hurled,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose hidden head none knoweth, nor where it meeteth the sea;</span> +<span class="i0">And that force is the Force of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he.</span> +<span class="i0">In the cloud and the desert he dwelleth amid that land alone;</span> +<span class="i0">And his work is the storing of treasure within his house of stone.</span> +<span class="i0">Time was when he knew of wisdom, and had many a tale to tell</span> +<span class="i0">Of the days before the Dwarf-age, and of what in that world befell:</span> +<span class="i0">And he knew of the stars and the sun, and the worlds that come and go</span> +<span class="i0">On the nether rim of heaven, and whence the wind doth blow,</span> +<span class="i0">And how the sea hangs balanced betwixt the curving lands,</span> +<span class="i0">And how all drew together for the first Gods' fashioning hands.</span> +<span class="i0">But now is all gone from him, save the craft of gathering gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And he heedeth nought of the summer, nor knoweth the winter cold,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor looks to the sun nor the snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor hath heard of the making of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be:</span> +<span class="i0">But ever he gripeth and gathereth, and he toileth hour by hour</span> +<span class="i0">Nor knoweth the noon from the midnight as he looks on his stony bower,</span> +<span class="i0">And saith: 'It is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get;</span> +<span class="i0">For the world is but newly fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"There Loki fareth, and seeth in a land of nothing good,</span> +<span class="i0">Far off o'er the empty desert, the reek of the falling flood</span> +<span class="i0">Go up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feet</span> +<span class="i0">As he weaveth the unseen meshes and the snare of strong deceit;</span> +<span class="i0">So he cometh his ways to the water, where the glittering foam-bow glows,</span> +<span class="i0">And the huge flood leaps the rock-wall and a green arch over it throws.</span> +<span class="i0">There under the roof of water he treads the quivering floor,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hush of the desert is felt amid the water's roar,</span> +<span class="i0">And the bleak sun lighteth the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless plain,</span> +<span class="i0">And the showers that nourish nothing, and the summer come in vain.</span> + +<span class="i0">"There did the great Guile-master his toils and his tangles set,</span> +<span class="i0">And as wide as was the water, so wide was woven the net;</span> +<span class="i0">And as dim as the Elf's remembrance did the meshes of it show;</span> +<span class="i0">And he had no thought of sorrow, nor spared to come and go</span> +<span class="i0">On his errands of griping and getting till he felt himself tangled and caught:</span> +<span class="i0">Then back to his blinded soul was his ancient wisdom brought,</span> +<span class="i0">And he saw his fall and his ruin, as a man by the lightning's flame</span> +<span class="i0">Sees the garth all flooded by foemen; and again he remembered his name;</span> +<span class="i0">And e'en as a book well written the tale of the Gods he knew,</span> +<span class="i0">And the tale of the making of men, and much of the deeds they should do.</span> + +<span class="i0">"But Loki took his man-shape, and laughed aloud and cried:</span> +<span class="i0">'What fish of the ends of the earth is so strong and so feeble-eyed,</span> +<span class="i0">That he draweth the pouch of my net on his road to the dwelling of Hell?</span> +<span class="i0">What Elf that hath heard the gold growing, but hath heard not the light winds tell</span> +<span class="i0">That the Gods with the world have been dealing and have fashioned men for the earth?</span> +<span class="i0">Where is he that hath ridden the cloud-horse and measured the ocean's girth,</span> +<span class="i0">But seen nought of the building of God-home nor the forging of the sword:</span> +<span class="i0">Where then is the maker of nothing, the earless and eyeless lord?</span> +<span class="i0">In the pouch of my net he lieth, with his head on the threshold of Hell!'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then the Elf lamented, and said: 'Thou knowst of my name full well:</span> +<span class="i0">Andvari begotten of Oinn, whom the Dwarf-kind called the Wise,</span> +<span class="i0">By the worst of the Gods is taken, the forge and the father of lies.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Said Loki: 'How of the Elf-kind, do they love their latter life,</span> +<span class="i0">When their weal is all departed, and they lie alow in the strife?'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Andvari groaned and answered: 'I know what thou wouldst have,</span> +<span class="i0">The wealth mine own hands gathered, the gold that no man gave.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"'Come forth,' said Loki, 'and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth—</span> +<span class="i0">Or die in the toils if thou listest, if thy life be nothing worth.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Full sore the Elf lamented, but he came before the God</span> +<span class="i0">And the twain went into the rock-house and on fine gold they trod,</span> +<span class="i0">And the walls shone bright, and brighter than the sun of the upper air.</span> +<span class="i0">How great was that treasure of treasures: and the Helm of Dread was there;</span> +<span class="i0">The world but in dreams had seen it; and there was the hauberk of gold;</span> +<span class="i0">None other is in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Loki bade the Elf-king bring all to the upper day,</span> +<span class="i0">And he dight himself with his Godhead to bear the treasure away:</span> +<span class="i0">So there in the dim grey desert, before the God of Guile,</span> +<span class="i0">Great heaps of the hid-world's treasure the weary Elf must pile,</span> +<span class="i0">And Loki looked on laughing: but, when it all was done,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Elf was hurrying homeward, his finger gleamed in the sun:</span> +<span class="i0">Then Loki cried: 'Thou art guileful: thou hast not learned the tale</span> +<span class="i0">Of the wisdom that Gods have gotten and their might of all avail.</span> +<span class="i0">Hither to me! that I learn thee of a many things to come;</span> +<span class="i0">Or despite of all wilt thou journey to the dead man's deedless home.</span> +<span class="i0">Come hither again to thy master, and give the ring to me;</span> +<span class="i0">For meseems it is Loki's portion, and the Bale of Men shall it be.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then the Elf drew off the gold-ring and stood with empty hand</span> +<span class="i0">E'en where the flood fell over 'twixt the water and the land,</span> +<span class="i0">And he gazed on the great Guile-master, and huge and grim he grew;</span> +<span class="i0">And his anguish swelled within him, and the word of the Norns he knew;</span> +<span class="i0">How that gold was the seed of gold to the wise and the shapers of things,</span> +<span class="i0">The hoarders of hidden treasure, and the unseen glory of rings;</span> +<span class="i0">But the seed of woe to the world and the foolish wasters of men,</span> +<span class="i0">And grief to the generations that die and spring again:</span> +<span class="i0">Then he cried:</span> +<span class="i8">'There farest thou, Loki, and might I load thee worse</span> +<span class="i0">Than with what thine ill heart beareth, then shouldst thou bear my curse:</span> +<span class="i0">But for men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Amid my woe abideth another woe untold.</span> +<span class="i0">Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay;</span> +<span class="i0">And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall loathe the day.</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how the lonely lands</span> +<span class="i0">Are waving with the harvest that fell from my gathering hands!'</span> + +<span class="i0">"But Loki laughed in silence, and swift in Godhead went,</span> +<span class="i0">To the golden hall of Reidmar and the house of our content.</span> +<span class="i0">But when that world of treasure was laid within our hall</span> +<span class="i0">'Twas as if the sun were minded to live 'twixt wall and wall,</span> +<span class="i0">And all we stood by and panted. Then Odin spake and said:</span> + +<span class="i0">"'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarf-kind, lo, the ransom duly paid!</span> +<span class="i0">Will ye have this sun of the ocean, and reap the fruitful field,</span> +<span class="i0">And garner up the harvest that earth therefrom shall yield?'</span> + +<span class="i0">"So he spake; but a little season nought answered Reidmar the wise</span> +<span class="i0">But turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyes</span> +<span class="i0">Endlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase about</span> +<span class="i0">A ray of the sun of the morning that a naked sword throws out;</span> +<span class="i0">And lo! from Loki's right-hand came the flash of the fruitful ring,</span> +<span class="i0">And at last spake Reidmar scowling:</span> +<span class="i8">'Ye wait for my yea-saying</span> +<span class="i0">That your feet may go free on the earth, and the fear of my toils may be done;</span> +<span class="i0">That then ye may say in your laughter: The fools of the time agone!</span> +<span class="i0">The purblind eyes of the Dwarf-kind! they have gotten the garnered sheaf</span> +<span class="i0">And have let their Masters depart with the Seed of Gold and of Grief:</span> +<span class="i0">O Loki, friend of Allfather, cast down Andvari's Ring,</span> +<span class="i0">Or the world shall yet turn backward and the high heavens lack a king.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then Loki drew off the Elf-ring and cast it down on the heap,</span> +<span class="i0">And forth as the gold met gold did the light of its glory leap:</span> +<span class="i0">But he spake: 'It rejoiceth my heart that no whit of all ye shall lack,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest the curse of the Elf-king cleave not, and ye 'scape the utter wrack.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then laughed and answered Reidmar: 'I shall have it while I live,</span> +<span class="i0">And that shall be long, meseemeth: for who is there may strive</span> +<span class="i0">With my sword, the war-wise Fafnir, and my shield that is Regin the Smith?</span> +<span class="i0">But if indeed I should die, then let men-folk deal therewith,</span> +<span class="i0">And ride to the golden glitter through evil deeds and good.</span> +<span class="i0">I will have my heart's desire, and do as the high Gods would.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then I loosed the Gods from their shackles, and great they grew on the floor</span> +<span class="i0">And into the night they gat them; but Odin turned by the door,</span> +<span class="i0">And we looked not, little we heeded, for we grudged his mastery;</span> +<span class="i0">Then he spake, and his voice was waxen as the voice of the winter sea:</span> + +<span class="i0">"'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarfs, why then will ye covet and rue?</span> +<span class="i0">I have seen your fathers' fathers and the dust wherefrom they grew;</span> +<span class="i0">But who hath heard of my father or the land where first I sprung?</span> +<span class="i0">Who knoweth my day of repentance, or the year when I was young?</span> +<span class="i0">Who hath learned the names of the Wise-one or measured out his will?</span> +<span class="i0">Who hath gone before to teach him, and the doom of days fulfill?</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, I look on the Curse of the Gold, and wrong amended by wrong,</span> +<span class="i0">And love by love confounded, and the strong abased by the strong;</span> +<span class="i0">And I order it all and amend it, and the deeds that are done I see,</span> +<span class="i0">And none other beholdeth or knoweth; and who shall be wise unto me?</span> +<span class="i0">For myself to myself I offered, that all wisdom I might know,</span> +<span class="i0">And fruitful I waxed of works, and good and fair did they grow;</span> +<span class="i0">And I knew, and I wrought and fore-ordered; and evil sat by my side,</span> +<span class="i0">And myself by myself hath been doomed, and I look for the fateful tide;</span> +<span class="i0">And I deal with the generations, and the men mine hand hath made,</span> +<span class="i0">And myself by myself shall be grieved, lest the world and its fashioning fade.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"They went and the Gold abided: but the words Allfather spake,</span> +<span class="i0">I call them back full often for that golden even's sake,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet little that hour I heard them, save as wind across the lea;</span> +<span class="i0">For the gold shone up on Reidmar and on Fafnir's face and on me.</span> +<span class="i0">And sore I loved that treasure: so I wrapped my heart in guile,</span> +<span class="i0">And sleeked my tongue with sweetness, and set my face in a smile,</span> +<span class="i0">And I bade my father keep it, the more part of the gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet give good store to Fafnir for his goodly help and bold,</span> +<span class="i0">And deal me a little handful for my smithying-help that day.</span> +<span class="i0">But no little I desired, though for little I might pray;</span> +<span class="i0">And prayed I for much or for little, he answered me no more</span> +<span class="i0">Than the shepherd answers the wood-wolf who howls at the yule-tide door:</span> +<span class="i0">But good he ever deemed it to sit on his ivory throne,</span> +<span class="i0">And stare on the red rings' glory, and deem he was ever alone:</span> +<span class="i0">And never a word spake Fafnir, but his eyes waxed red and grim</span> +<span class="i0">As he looked upon our father, and noted the ways of him.</span> + +<span class="i0">"The night waned into the morning, and still above the Hoard</span> +<span class="i0">Sat Reidmar clad in purple; but Fafnir took his sword,</span> +<span class="i0">And I took my smithying-hammer, and apart in the world we went;</span> +<span class="i0">But I came aback in the even, and my heart was heavy and spent;</span> +<span class="i0">And I longed, but fear was upon me and I durst not go to the Gold;</span> +<span class="i0">So I lay in the house of my toil mid the things I had fashioned of old;</span> +<span class="i0">And methought as I lay in my bed 'twixt waking and slumber of night</span> +<span class="i0">That I heard the tinkling metal and beheld the hall alight,</span> +<span class="i0">But I slept and dreamed of the Gods, and the things that never have slept,</span> +<span class="i0">Till I woke to a cry and a clashing and forth from the bed I leapt,</span> +<span class="i0">And there by the heaped-up Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood,</span> +<span class="i0">And there at his feet lay Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood;</span> +<span class="i0">And e'en as I looked on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death,</span> +<span class="i0">And forth on the torch-litten hall he shed his latest breath.</span> + +<span class="i0">"But I looked on Fafnir and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread,</span> +<span class="i0">And his sword was bare in his hand, and the sword and the hand were red</span> +<span class="i0">With the blood of our father Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold,</span> +<span class="i0">With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat of whose fellow hath nought been told,</span> +<span class="i0">And it seemed as I looked upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes:</span> +<span class="i0">And then in the mid-hall's silence did his dreadful voice arise:</span> + +<span class="i0">"'I have slain my father Reidmar, that I alone might keep</span> +<span class="i0">The Gold of the darksome places, the Candle of the Deep.</span> +<span class="i0">I am such as the Gods have made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the earth,</span> +<span class="i0">Or mingle their ancient wisdom with its short-lived latest birth.</span> +<span class="i0">I shall dwell alone henceforward, and the Gold and its waxing curse,</span> +<span class="i0">I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse.</span> +<span class="i0">And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife,</span> +<span class="i0">And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built.</span> +<span class="i0">O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt?</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwell</span> +<span class="i0">And do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dread</span> +<span class="i0">And no more durst I behold him, but with heart a-cold I fled;</span> +<span class="i0">I fled from the glorious house my hands had made so fair,</span> +<span class="i0">As poor as the new-born baby with nought of raiment or gear:</span> +<span class="i0">I fled from the heaps of gold, and my goods were the eager will,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heart that remembereth all, and the hand that may never be still.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago</span> +<span class="i0">As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow,</span> +<span class="i0">And a famous man I became: but that generation died,</span> +<span class="i0">And they said that Frey had taught them, and a God my name did hide.</span> +<span class="i0">Then I taught them the craft of metals, and the sailing of the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And the taming of the horse-kind, and the yoke-beasts' husbandry,</span> +<span class="i0">And the building up of houses; and that race of men went by,</span> +<span class="i0">And they said that Thor had taught them; and a smithying-carle was I.</span> +<span class="i0">Then I gave their maidens the needle and I bade them hold the rock,</span> +<span class="i0">And the shuttle-race gaped for them as they sat at the weaving-stock.</span> +<span class="i0">But by then these were waxen crones to sit dim-eyed by the door,</span> +<span class="i0">It was Freyia had come among them to teach the weaving-lore.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then I taught them the tales of old, and fair songs fashioned and true,</span> +<span class="i0">And their speech grew into music of measured time and due,</span> +<span class="i0">And they smote the harp to my bidding, and the land grew soft and sweet:</span> +<span class="i0">But ere the grass of their grave-mounds rose up above my feet,</span> +<span class="i0">It was Bragi had made them sweet-mouthed, and I was the wandering scald;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet green did my cunning flourish by whatso name I was called,</span> +<span class="i0">And I grew the master of masters—Think thou how strange it is</span> +<span class="i0">That the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother's part,</span> +<span class="i0">And Fafnir's mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heart</span> +<span class="i0">When the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden gifts</span> +<span class="i0">From out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts.</span> +<span class="i0">And once—didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago—</span> +<span class="i0">I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow.</span> +<span class="i0">There methought the fells grown greater, but waste did the meadows lie</span> +<span class="i0">And the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky.</span> +<span class="i0">But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear.</span> +<span class="i0">Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled:</span> +<span class="i0">Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race,</span> +<span class="i0">And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,</span> +<span class="i0">A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold;</span> +<span class="i0">For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold.</span> + +<span class="i0">"So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame again</span> +<span class="i0">Mid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain,</span> +<span class="i0">The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv'rance from the yoke:</span> +<span class="i0">And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Long years, and long years after the tale of men-folk told</span> +<span class="i0">How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face:</span> +<span class="i0">Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place</span> +<span class="i0">My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign</span> +<span class="i0">That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood</span> +<span class="i0">of the Worm was mine.</span> + +<span class="i0">"This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells,</span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells;</span> +<span class="i0">But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn.</span> +<span class="i0">Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born,</span> +<span class="i0">And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein,</span> +<span class="i0">And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win;</span> +<span class="i0">And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its rest,</span> +<span class="i0">That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw,</span> +<span class="i0">And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heart</span> +<span class="i0">That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days,</span> +<span class="i0">Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise.</span> + +<span class="i0">"And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart</span> +<span class="i0">And the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart.</span> +<span class="i0">And then when my hand is upon it, my hand shall be as the spring</span> +<span class="i0">To thaw his winter away and the fruitful tide to bring.</span> +<span class="i0">It shall grow, it shall grow into summer, and I shall be he that wrought,</span> +<span class="i0">And my deeds shall be remembered, and my name that once was nought;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor, and Freyia, and Bragi in one:</span> +<span class="i0">Yea the God of all that is,—and no deed in the wide world done,</span> +<span class="i0">But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed from the yoke</span> +<span class="i0">Shall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk;</span> +<span class="i0">And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land,</span> +<span class="i0">And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazed</span> +<span class="i0">That the flames leapt up in the stithy and about the Master blazed,</span> +<span class="i0">And his hand in the harp-strings wandered and the sweetness from them poured.</span> +<span class="i0">Then unto his feet leapt Sigurd and drew his stripling's sword,</span> +<span class="i0">And he cried: "Awake, O Master, for, lo, the day goes by,</span> +<span class="i0">And this too is an ancient story, that the sons of men-folk die,</span> +<span class="i0">And all save fame departeth. Awake! for the day grows late,</span> +<span class="i0">And deeds by the door are passing, nor the Norns will have them wait."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin groaned and wakened, sad-eyed and heavy-browed,</span> +<span class="i0">And weary and worn was he waxen, as a man by a burden bowed:</span> +<span class="i0">And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that is old</span> +<span class="i0">To avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of Gold</span> +<span class="i0">And be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrong</span> +<span class="i0">And heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear,</span> +<span class="i0">And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear:</span> +<span class="i0">But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said:</span> +<span class="i0">"Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on thine head."</span> +</div></div> + + +<h4><i>Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now again came Sigurd to Regin, and said: "Thou hast taught me a task</span> +<span class="i0">Whereof none knoweth the ending: and a gift at thine hands I ask."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then answered Regin the Master: "The world must be wide indeed</span> +<span class="i0">If my hand may not reach across it for aught thine heart may need."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yea wide is the world," said Sigurd, "and soon spoken is thy word;</span> +<span class="i0">But this gift thou shalt nought gainsay me: for I bid thee forge me a sword."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the Master of Masters, and his voice was sweet and soft,</span> +<span class="i0">"Look forth abroad, O Sigurd, and note in the heavens aloft</span> +<span class="i0">How the dim white moon of the daylight hangs round as the Goth-God's shield:</span> +<span class="i0">Now for thee first rang mine anvil when she walked the heavenly field</span> +<span class="i0">A slim and lovely lady, and the old moon lay on her arm:</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, here is a sword I have wrought thee with many a spell and charm</span> +<span class="i0">And all the craft of the Dwarf-kind; be glad thereof and sure;</span> +<span class="i0">Mid many a storm of battle full well shall it endure."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd looked on the slayer, and never a word would speak:</span> +<span class="i0">Gemmed were the hilts and golden, and the blade was blue and bleak,</span> +<span class="i0">And runes of the Dwarf-kind's cunning each side the trench were scored:</span> +<span class="i0">But soft and sweet spake Regin: "How likest thou the sword?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "The work is proved by the deed;</span> +<span class="i0">See now if this be a traitor to fail me in my need."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin trembled and shrank, so bright his eyes outshone</span> +<span class="i0">As he turned about to the anvil, and smote the sword thereon;</span> +<span class="i0">But the shards fell shivering earthward, and Sigurd's heart grew wroth</span> +<span class="i0">As the steel-flakes tinkled about him: "Lo, there the right-hand's troth!</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, there the golden glitter, and the word that soon is spilt."</span> +<span class="i0">And down amongst the ashes he cast the glittering hilt,</span> +<span class="i0">And turned his back on Regin and strode out through the door</span> +<span class="i0">And for many a day of spring-tide came back again no more.</span> +<span class="i0">But at last he came to the stithy and again took up the word:</span> +<span class="i0">"What hast thou done, O Master, in the forging of the sword?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then sweetly Regin answered: "Hard task-master art thou,</span> +<span class="i0">But lo, a blade of battle that shall surely please thee now!</span> +<span class="i0">Two moons are clean departed since thou lookedst toward the sky</span> +<span class="i0">And sawest the dim white circle amid the cloud-flecks lie;</span> +<span class="i0">And night and day have I laboured; and the cunning of old days</span> +<span class="i0">Hath surely left my right-hand if this sword thou shalt not praise."</span> + +<span class="i0">And indeed the hilts gleamed glorious with many a dear-bought stone,</span> +<span class="i0">And down the fallow edges the light of battle shone;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet Sigurd's eyes shone brighter, nor yet might Regin face</span> +<span class="i0">Those eyes of the heart of the Volsungs; but trembled in his place</span> +<span class="i0">As Sigurd cried: "O Regin, thy kin of the days of old</span> +<span class="i0">Were an evil and treacherous folk, and they lied and murdered for gold;</span> +<span class="i0">And now if thou wouldst bewray me, of the ancient curse beware,</span> +<span class="i0">And set thy face as the flint the bale and the shame to bear:</span> +<span class="i0">For he that would win to the heavens, and be as the Gods on high</span> +<span class="i0">Must tremble nought at the road, and the place where men-folk die."</span> + +<span class="i0">White leaps the blade in his hand and gleams in the gear of the wall,</span> +<span class="i0">And he smites, and the oft-smitten edges on the beaten anvil fall:</span> +<span class="i0">But the life of the sword departed, and dull and broken it lay</span> +<span class="i0">On the ashes and flaked-off iron, and no word did Sigurd say,</span> +<span class="i0">But strode off through the door of the stithy and went to the Hall of Kings,</span> +<span class="i0">And was merry and blithe that even mid all imaginings.</span> + +<span class="i0">But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake:</span> +<span class="i0">"The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sake</span> +<span class="i0">In the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell,</span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them trusty and well?</span> +<span class="i0">Where hast thou laid them, my mother?"</span> +<span class="i8">Then she looked upon him and said:</span> +<span class="i0">"Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head?</span> +<span class="i0">And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wall</span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through.</span> +<span class="i0">And why wilt thou fear mine eyen? as the sword lies baleful and blue</span> +<span class="i0">E'en 'twixt the lips of lovers, when they swear their troth thereon,</span> +<span class="i0">So keen are the eyes ye have fashioned, ye folk of the days agone;</span> +<span class="i0">For therein is the light of battle, though whiles it lieth asleep.</span> +<span class="i0">Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep."</span> + +<span class="i0">She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praise</span> +<span class="i0">When thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days."</span> + +<span class="i0">So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain,</span> +<span class="i0">Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain:</span> +<span class="i0">They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled,</span> +<span class="i0">And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword;</span> +<span class="i0">No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's hoard</span> +<span class="i0">Were as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hall</span> +<span class="i0">It shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall.</span> + +<span class="i0">But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings,</span> +<span class="i0">Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things,</span> +<span class="i0">And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to me</span> +<span class="i0">The message of my fathers, and the word of things to be:</span> +<span class="i0">Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now:</span> +<span class="i0">These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow.</span> +<span class="i0">They shall shine through the rain of Odin, as the sun come back to the world,</span> +<span class="i0">When the heaviest bolt of the thunder amidst the storm is hurled:</span> +<span class="i0">They shall shake the thrones of Kings, and shear the walls of war,</span> +<span class="i0">And undo the knot of treason when the world is darkening o'er.</span> +<span class="i0">They have shone in the dusk and the night-tide, they shall shine in the dawn and the day;</span> +<span class="i0">They have gathered the storm together, they shall chase the clouds away;</span> +<span class="i0">They have sheared red gold asunder, they shall gleam o'er the garnered gold;</span> +<span class="i0">They have ended many a story, they shall fashion a tale to be told:</span> +<span class="i0">They have lived in the wrack of the people; they shall live in the glory of folk:</span> +<span class="i0">They have stricken the Gods in battle, for the Gods shall they strike the stroke."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword,</span> +<span class="i0">And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word:</span> +<span class="i0">So great and fair was he waxen, so glorious was his face,</span> +<span class="i0">So young, as the deathless Gods are, that long in the golden place</span> +<span class="i0">She stood when he was departed: as some for-travailed one</span> +<span class="i0">Comes over the dark fell-ridges on the birth-tide of the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">And his gathering sleep falls from him mid the glory and the blaze;</span> +<span class="i0">And he sees the world grow merry and looks on the lightened ways,</span> +<span class="i0">While the ruddy streaks are melting in the day-flood broad and white;</span> +<span class="i0">Then the morn-dusk he forgetteth, and the moon-lit waste of night,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hall whence he departed with its yellow candles' flare:</span> +<span class="i0">So stood the Isle-king's daughter in that treasure-chamber fair.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came,</span> +<span class="i0">Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame,</span> +<span class="i0">And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet,</span> +<span class="i0">No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet,</span> +<span class="i0">Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old;</span> +<span class="i0">Then he spake:</span> +<span class="i8">"Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold,</span> +<span class="i0">The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin,</span> +<span class="i0">The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the Gods would win?"</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt do</span> +<span class="i0">Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true:</span> +<span class="i0">And what if thou begrudgest, and my battle-blade be dull,</span> +<span class="i0">Yet the hand of the Norns is lifted and the cup is over-full.</span> +<span class="i0">Repentst thou ne'er so sorely that thy kin must lie alow,</span> +<span class="i0">How much soe'er thou longest the world to overthrow,</span> +<span class="i0">And, doubting the gold and the wisdom, wouldst even now appease</span> +<span class="i0">Blind hate and eyeless murder, and win the world with these;</span> +<span class="i0">O'er-late is the time for repenting the word thy lips have said:</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt have the Gold and the wisdom and take its curse on thine head.</span> +<span class="i0">I say that thy lips have spoken, and no more with thee it lies</span> +<span class="i0">To do the deed or leave it: since thou hast shown mine eyes</span> +<span class="i0">The world that was aforetime, I see the world to be;</span> +<span class="i0">And woe to the tangling thicket, or the wall that hindereth me!</span> +<span class="i0">And short is the space I will tarry; for how if the Worm should die</span> +<span class="i0">Ere the first of my strokes be stricken? Wilt thou get to thy mastery</span> +<span class="i0">And knit these shards together that once in the Branstock stood?</span> +<span class="i0">But if not and a smith's hands fail me, a king's hand yet shall be good;</span> +<span class="i0">And the Norns have doomed thy brother. And yet I deem this sword</span> +<span class="i0">Is the slayer of the Serpent, and the scatterer of the Hoard."</span> + +<span class="i0">Great waxed the gloom of Regin, and he said: "Thou sayest sooth</span> +<span class="i0">For none may turn him backward: the sword of a very youth</span> +<span class="i0">Shall one day end my cunning, as the Gods my joyance slew,</span> +<span class="i0">When nought thereof they were deeming, and another thing would do.</span> +<span class="i0">But this sword shall slay the Serpent; and do another deed,</span> +<span class="i0">And many an one thereafter till it fail thee in thy need.</span> +<span class="i0">But as fair and great as thou standest, yet get thee from mine house,</span> +<span class="i0">For in me too might ariseth, and the place is perilous</span> +<span class="i0">With the craft that was aforetime, and shall never be again,</span> +<span class="i0">When the hands that have taught thee cunning have failed from the world of men.</span> +<span class="i0">Thou art wroth; but thy wrath must slumber till fate its blossom bear;</span> +<span class="i0">Not thus were the eyes of Odin when I held him in the snare.</span> +<span class="i0">Depart! lest the end overtake us ere thy work and mine be done,</span> +<span class="i0">But come again in the night-tide and the slumber of the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">When the sharded moon of April hangs round in the undark May."</span> + +<span class="i0">Hither and thither a while did the heart of Sigurd sway</span> +<span class="i0">For he feared no craft of the Dwarf-kind, nor heeded the ways of Fate,</span> +<span class="i0">But his hand wrought e'en as his heart would: and now was he weary with hate</span> +<span class="i0">Of the hatred and scorn of the Gods, and the greed of gold and of gain,</span> +<span class="i0">And the weaponless hands of the stripling of the wrath and the rending were fain,</span> +<span class="i0">But there stood Regin the Master, and his eyes were on Sigurd's eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">Though nought belike they beheld him, and his brow was sad and wise;</span> +<span class="i0">And the greed died out of his visage and he stood like an image of old.</span> + +<span class="i0">So the Norns drew Sigurd away, and the tide was an even of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And sweet in the April even were the fowl-kind singing their best;</span> +<span class="i0">And the light of life smote Sigurd, and the joy that knows no rest,</span> +<span class="i0">And the fond unnamed desire, and the hope of hidden things;</span> +<span class="i0">And he wended fair and lovely to the house of the feasting Kings.</span> + +<span class="i0">But now when the moon was at full and the undark May begun,</span> +<span class="i0">Went Sigurd unto Regin mid the slumber of the sun,</span> +<span class="i0">And amidst the fire-hall's pavement the King of the Dwarf-kind stood</span> +<span class="i0">Like an image of deeds departed and days that once were good;</span> +<span class="i0">And he seemed but faint and weary, and his eyes were dim and dazed</span> +<span class="i0">As they met the glory of Sigurd where the fitful candles blazed.</span> +<span class="i0">Then he spake:</span> +<span class="i2">"Hail, Son of the Volsungs, the corner-stone is laid,</span> +<span class="i0">I have toiled and thou hast desired, and, lo, the fateful blade!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd saw it lying on the ashes slaked and pale</span> +<span class="i0">Like the sun and the lightning mingled mid the even's cloudy bale;</span> +<span class="i0">For ruddy and great were the hilts, and the edges fine and wan,</span> +<span class="i0">And all adown to the blood-point a very flame there ran</span> +<span class="i0">That swallowed the runes of wisdom wherewith its sides were scored.</span> +<span class="i0">No sound did Sigurd utter as he stooped adown for his sword,</span> +<span class="i0">But it seemed as his lips were moving with speech of strong desire.</span> +<span class="i0">White leapt the blade o'er his head, and he stood in the ring of its fire</span> +<span class="i0">As hither and thither it played, till it fell on the anvil's strength,</span> +<span class="i0">And he cried aloud in his glory, and held out the sword full length,</span> +<span class="i0">As one who would show it the world; for the edges were dulled no whit,</span> +<span class="i0">And the anvil was cleft to the pavement with the dreadful dint of it.</span> + +<span class="i0">But Regin cried to his harp-strings: "Before the days of men</span> +<span class="i0">I smithied the Wrath of Sigurd, and now is it smithied again:</span> +<span class="i0">And my hand alone hath done it, and my heart alone hath dared</span> +<span class="i0">To bid that man to the mountain, and behold his glory bared.</span> +<span class="i0">Ah, if the son of Sigmund might wot of the thing I would,</span> +<span class="i0">Then how were the ages bettered, and the world all waxen good!</span> +<span class="i0">Then how were the past forgotten and the weary days of yore,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hope of man that dieth and the waste that never bore!</span> +<span class="i0">How should this one live through the winter and know of all increase!</span> +<span class="i0">How should that one spring to the sunlight and bear the blossom of peace!</span> +<span class="i0">No more should the long-lived wisdom o'er the waste of the wilderness stray;</span> +<span class="i0">Nor the clear-eyed hero hasten to the deedless ending of day.</span> +<span class="i0">And what if the hearts of the Volsungs for this deed of deeds were born,</span> +<span class="i0">How then were their life-days evil and the end of their lives forlorn?"</span> + +<span class="i0">There stood Sigurd the Volsung, and heard how the harp-strings rang,</span> +<span class="i0">But of other things they told him than the hope that the Master sang;</span> +<span class="i0">And his world lay far away from the Dwarf-king's eyeless realm</span> +<span class="i0">And the road that leadeth nowhere, and the ship without a helm:</span> +<span class="i0">But he spake: "How oft shall I say it, that I shall work thy will?</span> +<span class="i0">If my father hath made me mighty, thine heart shall I fulfill</span> +<span class="i0">With the wisdom and gold thou wouldest, before I wend on my ways;</span> +<span class="i0">For now hast thou failed me nought, and the sword is the wonder of days."</span> + +<span class="i0">No word for a while spake Regin; but he hung his head adown</span> +<span class="i0">As a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice once more was grown</span> +<span class="i0">As the voice of the smithying-master as he spake: "This Wrath of thine</span> +<span class="i0">Hath cleft the hard and the heavy; it shall shear the soft and the fine:</span> +<span class="i0">Come forth to the night and prove it."</span> +<span class="i8">So they twain went forth abroad,</span> +<span class="i0">And the moon lay white on the river and lit the sleepless ford,</span> +<span class="i0">And down to its pools they wended, and the stream was swift and full;</span> +<span class="i0">Then Regin cast against it a lock of fine-spun wool,</span> +<span class="i0">And it whirled about on the eddy till it met the edges bared,</span> +<span class="i0">And as clean as the careless water the laboured fleece was sheared.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin spake: "It is good, what the smithying-carle hath wrought:</span> +<span class="i0">Now the work of the King beginneth, and the end that my soul hath sought.</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt toil and I shall desire, and the deed shall be surely done:</span> +<span class="i0">For thy Wrath is alive and awake and the story of bale is begun."</span> + +<span class="i0">Therewith was the Wrath of Sigurd laid soft in a golden sheath</span> +<span class="i0">And the peace-strings knit around it; for that blade was fain of death;</span> +<span class="i0">And 'tis ill to show such edges to the broad blue light of day,</span> +<span class="i0">Or to let the hall-glare light them, if ye list not play the play.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>Of Gripir's Foretelling.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now Sigurd backeth Greyfell on the first of the morrow morn,</span> +<span class="i0">And he rideth fair and softly through the acres of the corn;</span> +<span class="i0">The Wrath to his side is girded, but hid are the edges blue,</span> +<span class="i0">As he wendeth his ways to the mountains, and rideth the horse-mead through.</span> +<span class="i0">His wide grey eyes are happy, and his voice is sweet and soft,</span> +<span class="i0">As amid the mead-lark's singing he casteth song aloft:</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, lo, the horse and the rider! So once maybe it was,</span> +<span class="i0">When over the Earth unpeopled the youngest God would pass;</span> +<span class="i0">But never again meseemeth shall such a sight betide,</span> +<span class="i0">Till over a world unwrongful new-born shall Baldur ride.</span> + +<span class="i0">So he comes to that ness of the mountains, and Gripir's garden steep,</span> +<span class="i0">That bravely Greyfell breasteth, and adown by the door doth he leap</span> +<span class="i0">And his war-gear rattleth upon him; there is none to ask or forbid</span> +<span class="i0">As he wendeth the house clear-lighted, where no mote of the dust is hid,</span> +<span class="i0">Though the sunlight hath not entered: the walls are clear and bright,</span> +<span class="i0">For they cast back each to other the golden Sigurd's light;</span> +<span class="i0">Through the echoing ways of the house bright-eyed he wendeth along,</span> +<span class="i0">And the mountain-wind is with him, and the hovering eagles' song;</span> +<span class="i0">But no sound of the children of men may the ears of the Volsung hear,</span> +<span class="i0">And no sign of their ways in the world, or their will, or their hope or their fear.</span> + +<span class="i0">So he comes to the hall of Gripir, and gleaming-green is it built</span> +<span class="i0">As the house of under-ocean where the wealth of the greedy is spilt;</span> +<span class="i0">Gleaming and green as the sea, and rich as its rock-strewn floor,</span> +<span class="i0">And fresh as the autumn morning when the burning of summer is o'er.</span> +<span class="i0">There he looks and beholdeth the high-seat, and he sees it strangely wrought,</span> +<span class="i0">Of the tooth of the sea-beast fashioned ere the Dwarf-kind came to nought;</span> +<span class="i0">And he looks, and thereon is Gripir, the King exceeding old,</span> +<span class="i0">With the sword of his fathers girded, and his raiment wrought of gold;</span> +<span class="i0">With the ivory rod in his right-hand, with his left on the crystal laid,</span> +<span class="i0">That is round as the world of men-folk, and after its image made,</span> +<span class="i0">And clear is it wrought to the eyen that may read therein of Fate</span> +<span class="i0">Though little indeed be its sea, and its earth not wondrous great.</span> + +<span class="i0">There Sigurd stands in the hall, on the sheathed Wrath doth he lean,</span> +<span class="i0">All his golden light is mirrored in the gleaming floor and green;</span> +<span class="i0">But the smile in his face upriseth as he looks on the ancient King,</span> +<span class="i0">And their glad eyes meet and their laughter, and sweet is the welcoming:</span> +<span class="i0">And Gripir saith: "Hail Sigurd! for my bidding hast thou done,</span> +<span class="i0">And here in the mountain-dwelling are two Kings of men alone."</span> + +<span class="i0">But Sigurd spake: "Hail father! I am girt with the fateful sword</span> +<span class="i0">And my face is set to the highway, and I come for thy latest word."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said Gripir: "What wouldst thou hearken ere we sit and drink the wine?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thy word and the Norns'," said Sigurd, "but never a word of mine."</span> + +<span class="i0">"What sights wouldst thou see," said Gripir, "ere mine hand shall take thine hand?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"As the Gods would I see," said Sigurd, "though Death light up the land."</span> + +<span class="i0">"What hope wouldst thou hope, O Sigurd, ere we kiss, we twain, and depart?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thy hope and the Gods'," said Sigurd, "though the grief lie hard on my heart."</span> + +<span class="i0">Nought answered the ancient wise-one, and not a whit had he stirred</span> +<span class="i0">Since the clash of Sigurd's raiment in his mountain-hall he heard;</span> +<span class="i0">But the ball that imaged the earth was set in his hand grown old;</span> +<span class="i0">And belike it was to his vision, as the wide-world's ocean rolled,</span> +<span class="i0">And the forests waved with the wind, and the corn was gay with the lark,</span> +<span class="i0">And the gold in its nether places grew up in the dusk and the dark,</span> +<span class="i0">And its children built and departed, and its King-folk conquered and went,</span> +<span class="i0">As over the crystal image his all-wise face was bent:</span> +<span class="i0">For all his desire was dead, and he lived as a God shall live,</span> +<span class="i0">Who the prayers of the world hath forgotten, and to whom no hand may give.</span> + +<span class="i0">But there stood the mighty Volsung, and leaned on the hidden Wrath;</span> +<span class="i0">As the earliest sun's uprising o'er the sea-plain draws a path</span> +<span class="i0">Whereby men sail to the Eastward and the dawn of another day,</span> +<span class="i0">So the image of King Sigurd on the gleaming pavement lay.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then great in the hall fair-pillared the voice of Gripir arose,</span> +<span class="i0">And it ran through the glimmering house-ways, and forth to the sunny close;</span> +<span class="i0">There mid the birds' rejoicing went the voice of an o'er-wise King</span> +<span class="i0">Like a wind of midmost winter come back to talk with spring.</span> + +<span class="i0">But the voice cried: "Sigurd, Sigurd! O great, O early born!</span> +<span class="i0">O hope of the Kings first fashioned! O blossom of the morn!</span> +<span class="i0">Short day and long remembrance, fair summer of the North!</span> +<span class="i0">One day shall the worn world wonder how first thou wentest forth!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Arise, O Sigurd, Sigurd! in the night arise and go,</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt smite when the day-dawn glimmers through the folds of God-home's foe:</span> + +<span class="i0">"There the child in the noon-tide smiteth; the young King rendeth apart,</span> +<span class="i0">The old guile by the guile encompassed, the heart made wise by the heart.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd; bind up to cast abroad!</span> +<span class="i0">That the earth may laugh before thee rejoiced by the Waters' Hoard.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Ride on, O Sigurd, Sigurd! for God's word goes forth on the wind,</span> +<span class="i0">And he speaketh not twice over; nor shall they loose that bind:</span> +<span class="i0">But the Day and the Day shall loosen, and the Day shall awake and arise,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Day shall rejoice with the Dawning, and the wise heart learn of the wise.</span> + +<span class="i0">"O fair, O fearless, O mighty, how green are the garths of Kings,</span> +<span class="i0">How soft are the ways before thee to the heart of their war-farings!</span> + +<span class="i0">"How green are the garths of King-folk, how fair is the lily and rose</span> +<span class="i0">In the house of the Cloudy People, 'neath the towers of kings and foes!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Smite now, smite now in the noontide! ride on through the hosts of men!</span> +<span class="i0">Lest the dear remembrance perish, and today come not again.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Is it day?—But the house is darkling—But the hand would gather and hold,</span> +<span class="i0">And the lips have kissed the cloud-wreath, and a cloud the arms enfold.</span> + +<span class="i0">"In the dusk hath the Sower arisen; in the dark hath he cast the seed,</span> +<span class="i0">And the ear is the sorrow of Odin and the wrong, and the nameless need!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Ah the hand hath gathered and garnered, and empty is the hand,</span> +<span class="i0">Though the day be full and fruitful mid the drift of the Cloudy Land!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Look, look on the drift of the clouds, how the day and the even doth grow</span> +<span class="i0">As the long-forgotten dawning that was a while ago!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Dawn, dawn, O mighty of men! and why wilt thou never awake,</span> +<span class="i0">When the holy field of the Goth-folk cries out for thy love and thy sake?</span> + +<span class="i0">"Dawn, now; but the house is silent, and dark is the purple blood</span> +<span class="i0">On the breast of the Queen fair-fashioned; and it riseth up as a flood</span> +<span class="i0">Round the posts of the door belovèd; and a deed there lieth therein:</span> +<span class="i0">The last of the deeds of Sigurd; the worst of the Cloudy Kin—</span> +<span class="i0">The slayer slain by the slain within the door and without.</span> +<span class="i0">—O dawn as the eve of the birth-day! O dark world cumbered with doubt!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Shall it never be day any more, nor the sun's uprising and growth?</span> +<span class="i0">Shall the kings of earth lie sleeping and the war-dukes wander in sloth</span> +<span class="i0">Through the last of the winter twilight? is the word of the wise-ones said</span> +<span class="i0">Till the five-fold winter be ended and the trumpet waken the dead?</span> + +<span class="i0">"Short day and long remembrance! great glory for the earth!</span> +<span class="i0">O deeds of the Day triumphant! O word of Sigurd's worth!</span> +<span class="i0">It is done, and who shall undo it of all who were ever alive?</span> +<span class="i0">May the Gods or the high Gods' masters 'gainst the tale of the righteous strive,</span> +<span class="i0">And the deeds to follow after, and all their deeds increase,</span> +<span class="i0">Till the uttermost field is foughten, and Baldur riseth in peace!</span> + +<span class="i0">"Cry out, O waste, before him! O rocks of the wilderness, cry!</span> +<span class="i0">For to-morn shalt thou see the glory, and the man not made to die!</span> +<span class="i0">Cry out, O upper heavens! O clouds beneath the lift</span> +<span class="i0">For the golden King shall be riding high-headed midst the drift:</span> +<span class="i0">The mountain waits and the fire; there waiteth the heart of the wise</span> +<span class="i0">Till the earthly toil is accomplished, and again shall the fire arise;</span> +<span class="i0">And none shall be nigh in the ending and none by his heart shall be laid,</span> +<span class="i0">Save the world that he cherished and quickened, and the Day that he wakened and made."</span> + +<span class="i0">So died the voice of Gripir from amidst the sunny close,</span> +<span class="i0">And the sound of hastening eagles from the mountain's feet arose,</span> +<span class="i0">But the hall was silent a little, for still stood Sigmund's son,</span> +<span class="i0">And he heard the words and remembered, and knew them one by one.</span> +<span class="i0">Then he turned on the ancient Gripir with eyes that knew no guile</span> +<span class="i0">And smiled on the wise of King-folk as the first of men might smile</span> +<span class="i0">On the God that hath fashioned him happy; and he spake:</span> +<span class="i8">"Hast thou spoken and known</span> +<span class="i0">How there standeth a child before thee and a stripling scarcely grown?</span> +<span class="i0">Or hast thou told of the Volsungs, and the gathered heart of these,</span> +<span class="i0">And their still unquenched desire for garnering fame's increase?</span> +<span class="i0">E'en so do I hearken thy words: for I wot how they deem it long</span> +<span class="i0">Till a man from their seed be arisen to deal with the cumber and wrong.</span> +<span class="i0">Bid me therefore to sit by thy side, for behold I wend on my way,</span> +<span class="i0">And the gates swing to behind me, and each day of mine is a day</span> +<span class="i0">With deeds in the eve and the morning, nor deeds shall the noontide lack;</span> +<span class="i0">To the right and the left none calleth, and no voice crieth aback."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Come, kin of the Gods," said Gripir, "come up and sit by my side</span> +<span class="i0">That we twain may be glad as the fearless, and they that have nothing to hide:</span> +<span class="i0">I have wrought out my will and abide it, and I sit ungrieved and alone,</span> +<span class="i0">I look upon men and I help not; to me are the deeds long done</span> +<span class="i0">As those of to-day and to-morrow: for these and for those am I glad;</span> +<span class="i0">But the Gods and men are the framers, and the days of my life I have had."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd came unto Gripir, and he kissed the wise-one's face,</span> +<span class="i0">And they sat in the high-seat together, the child and the elder of days;</span> +<span class="i0">And they drank of the wine of King-folk, and were joyful each of each,</span> +<span class="i0">And spake for a while of matters that are meet for King-folk's speech;</span> +<span class="i0">The deeds of men that have been and Kin of the Kings of the earth;</span> +<span class="i0">And Gripir told of the outlands, and the mid-world's billowy girth,</span> +<span class="i0">And tales of the upper heaven were mingled with his talk,</span> +<span class="i0">And the halls where the Sea-Queen's kindred o'er the gem-strewn pavement walk,</span> +<span class="i0">And the innermost parts of the earth, where they lie, the green and the blue,</span> +<span class="i0">And the red and the glittering gem-stones that of old the Dwarf-kind knew.</span> + +<span class="i0">Long Sigurd sat and marvelled at the mouth that might not lie,</span> +<span class="i0">And the eyes no God had blinded, and the lone heart raised on high,</span> +<span class="i0">Then he rose from the gleaming high-seat, and the rings of battle rang</span> +<span class="i0">And the sheathèd Wrath was hearkening and a song of war it sang,</span> +<span class="i0">But Sigurd spake unto Gripir:</span> +<span class="i8">"Long and lovely are thy days,</span> +<span class="i0">And thy years fulfilled of wisdom, and thy feet on the unhid ways,</span> +<span class="i0">And the guileless heart of the great that knoweth not anger nor pain:</span> +<span class="i0">So once hath a man been fashioned and shall not be again.</span> +<span class="i0">But for me hath been foaled the war-horse, the grey steed swift as the cloud,</span> +<span class="i0">And for me were the edges smithied, and the Wrath cries out aloud;</span> +<span class="i0">And a voice hath called from the darkness, and I ride to the Glittering Heath;</span> +<span class="i0">To smite on the door of Destruction, and waken the warder of Death."</span> + +<span class="i0">So they kissed, the wise and the wise, and the child from the elder turned;</span> +<span class="i0">And again in the glimmering house-ways the golden Sigurd burned;</span> +<span class="i0">He stood outside in the sunlight, and tarried never a deal,</span> +<span class="i0">But leapt on the cloudy Greyfell with the clank of gold and steel,</span> +<span class="i0">And he rode through the sinking day to the walls of the kingly stead,</span> +<span class="i0">And came to Regin's dwelling when the wind was fallen dead,</span> +<span class="i0">And the great sun just departing: then blood-red grew the west,</span> +<span class="i0">And the fowl flew home from the sea-mead, and all things sank to rest.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>Sigurd rideth to the Glittering Heath.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again on the morrow morning doth Sigurd the Volsung ride,</span> +<span class="i0">And Regin, the Master of Masters, is faring by his side,</span> +<span class="i0">And they leave the dwelling of kings and ride the summer land,</span> +<span class="i0">Until at the eve of the day the hills are on either hand:</span> +<span class="i0">Then they wend up higher and higher, and over the heaths they fare</span> +<span class="i0">Till the moon shines broad on the midnight, and they sleep 'neath the heavens bare;</span> +<span class="i0">And they waken and look behind them, and lo, the dawning of day</span> +<span class="i0">And the little land of the Helper and its valley far away;</span> +<span class="i0">But the mountains rise before them, a wall exceeding great.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the Master of Masters: "We have come to the garth and the gate:</span> +<span class="i0">There is youth and rest behind thee and many a thing to do,</span> +<span class="i0">There is many a fond desire, and each day born anew;</span> +<span class="i0">And the land of the Volsungs to conquer, and many a people's praise:</span> +<span class="i0">And for me there is rest it maybe, and the peaceful end of days.</span> +<span class="i0">We have come to the garth and the gate; to the hall-door now shall we win,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall we go to look on the high-seat and see what sitteth therein?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yea and what else?" said Sigurd, "was thy tale but mockeries</span> +<span class="i0">And have I been drifted hither on a wind of empty lies?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"It was sooth, it was sooth," said Regin, "and more might I have told</span> +<span class="i0">Had I heart and space to remember the deeds of the days of old."</span> + +<span class="i0">And he hung down his head as he spake it, and was silent a little space;</span> +<span class="i0">And when it was lifted again there was fear in the Dwarf-king's face.</span> +<span class="i0">And he said: "Thou knowest my thought, and wise-hearted art thou grown:</span> +<span class="i0">It were well if thine eyes were blinder, and we each were faring alone,</span> +<span class="i0">And I with my eld and my wisdom, and thou with thy youth and thy might;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet whiles I dream I have wrought thee, a beam of the morning bright,</span> +<span class="i0">A fatherless motherless glory, to work out my desire;</span> +<span class="i0">Then high my hope ariseth, and my heart is all afire</span> +<span class="i0">For the world I behold from afar, and the day that yet shall be;</span> +<span class="i0">Then I wake and all things I remember and a youth of the Kings I see—</span> +<span class="i0">—The child of the Wood-abider, the seed of a conquered King,</span> +<span class="i0">The sword that the Gods have fashioned, the fate that men shall sing:—</span> +<span class="i0">Ah might the world run backward to the days of the Dwarfs of old,</span> +<span class="i0">When I hewed out the pillars of crystal, and smoothed the walls of gold!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Nought answered the Son of Sigmund; nay he heard him nought at all,</span> +<span class="i0">Save as though the wind were speaking in the bights of the mountain-hall:</span> +<span class="i0">But he leapt aback of Greyfell, and the glorious sun rose up,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heavens glowed above him like the bowl of Baldur's cup,</span> +<span class="i0">And a golden man was he waxen; as the heart of the sun he seemed,</span> +<span class="i0">While over the feet of the mountains like blood the new light streamed;</span> +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd cried to Greyfell and swift for the pass he rode</span> +<span class="i0">And Regin followed after as a man bowed down by a load.</span> + +<span class="i0">Day-long they fared through the mountains, and that highway's fashioner</span> +<span class="i0">Forsooth was a fearful craftsman, and his hands the waters were,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heaped-up ice was his mattock, and the fire-blast was his man,</span> +<span class="i0">And never a whit he heeded though his walls were waste and wan,</span> +<span class="i0">And the guest-halls of that wayside great heaps of the ashes spent.</span> +<span class="i0">But, each as a man alone, through the sun-bright day they went,</span> +<span class="i0">And they rode till the moon rose upward, and the stars were small and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">Then they slept on the long-slaked ashes beneath the heavens bare;</span> +<span class="i0">And the cold dawn came and they wakened, and the King of the Dwarf-kind seemed</span> +<span class="i0">As a thing of that wan land fashioned; but Sigurd glowed and gleamed</span> +<span class="i0">Amid the shadowless twilight by Greyfell's cloudy flank,</span> +<span class="i0">As a little space they abided while the latest star-world shrank;</span> +<span class="i0">On the backward road looked Regin and heard how Sigurd drew</span> +<span class="i0">The girths of Greyfell's saddle, and the voice of his sword he knew</span> +<span class="i0">And he feared to look on the Volsung, as thus he fell to speak:</span> + +<span class="i0">"I have seen the Dwarf-folk mighty, I have seen the God-folk weak;</span> +<span class="i0">And now, though our might be minished, yet have we gifts to give.</span> +<span class="i0">When men desire and conquer, most sweet is their life to live;</span> +<span class="i0">When men are young and lovely there is many a thing to do,</span> +<span class="i0">And sweet is their fond desire and the dawn that springs anew."</span> + +<span class="i0">"This gift," said the Son of Sigmund, "the Norns shall give me yet,</span> +<span class="i0">And no blossom slain by the sunshine while the leaves with dew are wet."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin turned and beheld him: "Thou shalt deem it hard and strange,</span> +<span class="i0">When the hand hath encompassed it all, and yet thy life must change.</span> +<span class="i0">Ah, long were the lives of men-folk, if betwixt the Gods and them</span> +<span class="i0">Were mighty warders watching mid the earth's and the heaven's hem!</span> +<span class="i0">Is there any man so mighty he would cast this gift away,—</span> +<span class="i0">The heart's desire accomplished, and life so long a day,</span> +<span class="i0">That the dawn should be forgotten ere the even was begun?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "Fare forth, O glorious sun;</span> +<span class="i0">Bright end from bright beginning, and the mid-way good to tell,</span> +<span class="i0">And death, and deeds accomplished, and all remembered well!</span> +<span class="i0">Shall the day go past and leave us, and we be left with night,</span> +<span class="i0">To tread the endless circle, and strive in vain to smite?</span> +<span class="i0">But thou—wilt thou still look backward? thou sayst I know thy thought:</span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast whetted the sword for the slaying, it shall turn aside for nought.</span> +<span class="i0">Fear not! with the Gold and the wisdom thou shalt deem thee God alone,</span> +<span class="i0">And mayst do and undo at pleasure, nor be bound by right nor wrong:</span> +<span class="i0">And then, if no God I be waxen, I shall be the weak with the strong."</span> + +<span class="i0">And his war-gear clanged and tinkled as he leapt to the saddle-stead:</span> +<span class="i0">And the sun rose up at their backs and the grey world changed to red.</span> +<span class="i0">And away to the west went Sigurd by the glory wreathed about,</span> +<span class="i0">But little and black was Regin as a fire that dieth out.</span> +<span class="i0">Day-long they rode the mountains by the crags exceeding old,</span> +<span class="i0">And the ash that the first of the Dwarf-kind found dull and quenched and cold.</span> +<span class="i0">Then the moon in the mid-sky swam, and the stars were fair and pale,</span> +<span class="i0">And beneath the naked heaven they slept in an ash-grey dale;</span> +<span class="i0">And again at the dawn-dusk's ending they stood upon their feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And Sigurd donned his war-gear nor his eyes would Regin meet.</span> + +<span class="i0">A clear streak widened in heaven low down above the earth;</span> +<span class="i0">And above it lay the cloud-flecks, and the sun, anigh its birth,</span> +<span class="i0">Unseen, their hosts was staining with the very hue of blood,</span> +<span class="i0">And ruddy by Greyfell's shoulder the Son of Sigmund stood.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the Master of Masters: "What is thine hope this morn</span> +<span class="i0">That thou dightest thee, O Sigurd, to ride this world forlorn?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"What needeth hope," said Sigurd, "when the heart of the Volsungs turns</span> +<span class="i0">To the light of the Glittering Heath, and the house where the Waster burns?</span> +<span class="i0">I shall slay the Foe of the Gods, as thou badst me a while agone,</span> +<span class="i0">And then with the Gold and its wisdom shalt thou be left alone."</span> + +<span class="i0">"O Child," said the King of the Dwarf-kind, "when the day at last comes round</span> +<span class="i0">For the dread and the Dusk of the Gods, and the kin of the Wolf is unbound,</span> +<span class="i0">When thy sword shall hew the fire, and the wildfire beateth thy shield,</span> +<span class="i0">Shalt thou praise the wages of hope and the Gods that pitched the field?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"O Foe of the Gods," said Sigurd, "wouldst thou hide the evil thing,</span> +<span class="i0">And the curse that is greater than thou, lest death end thy labouring,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest the night should come upon thee amidst thy toil for nought?</span> +<span class="i0">It is me, it is me that thou fearest, if indeed I know thy thought;</span> +<span class="i0">Yea me, who would utterly light the face of all good and ill,</span> +<span class="i0">If not with the fruitful beams that the summer shall fulfill,</span> +<span class="i0">Then at least with the world a-blazing, and the glare of the grinded sword."</span> + +<span class="i0">And he sprang aloft to the saddle as he spake the latest word,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Wrath sang loud in the sheath as it ne'er had sung before,</span> +<span class="i0">And the cloudy flecks were scattered like flames on the heaven's floor,</span> +<span class="i0">And all was kindled at once, and that trench of the mountains grey</span> +<span class="i0">Was filled with the living light as the low sun lit the way:</span> +<span class="i0">But Regin turned from the glory with blinded eyes and dazed,</span> +<span class="i0">And lo, on the cloudy war-steed how another light there blazed,</span> +<span class="i0">And a great voice came from amidst it:</span> +<span class="i8">"O Regin, in good sooth,</span> +<span class="i0">I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy fear and thy ruth:</span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast told thy tale and thy longing, and thereto I hearkened well:—</span> +<span class="i0">Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee down to hell,</span> +<span class="i0">The deed shall be done to-morrow: thou shalt have that measureless Gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy realm of old,</span> +<span class="i0">That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the very heart of hate:</span> +<span class="i0">With the blood and the might of thy brother thine hunger shalt thou sate;</span> +<span class="i0">And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take heed for what followeth then!</span> +<span class="i0">Let each do after his kind! I shall do the deeds of men;</span> +<span class="i0">I shall harvest the field of their sowing, in the bed of their strewing shall sleep;</span> +<span class="i0">To them shall I give my life-days, to the Gods my glory to keep.</span> +<span class="i0">But thou with the wealth and the wisdom that the best of the Gods might praise,</span> +<span class="i0">If thou shalt indeed excel them and become the hope of the days,</span> +<span class="i0">Then me in turn hast thou conquered, and I shall be in turn</span> +<span class="i0">Thy fashioned brand of the battle through good and evil to burn,</span> +<span class="i0">Or the flame that sleeps in thy stithy for the gathered winds to blow,</span> +<span class="i0">When thou listest to do and undo and thine uttermost cunning to show.</span> +<span class="i0">But indeed I wot full surely that thou shalt follow thy kind;</span> +<span class="i0">And for all that cometh after, the Norns shall loose and bind."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then his bridle-reins rang sweetly, and the warding-walls of death,</span> +<span class="i0">And Regin drew up to him, and the Wrath sang loud in the sheath,</span> +<span class="i0">And forth from that trench in the mountains by the westward way they ride;</span> +<span class="i0">And little and black goes Regin by the golden Volsung's side;</span> +<span class="i0">But no more his head is drooping, for he seeth the Elf-king's Gold;</span> +<span class="i0">The garnered might and the wisdom e'en now his eyes behold.</span> + +<span class="i0">So up and up they journeyed, and ever as they went</span> +<span class="i0">About the cold-slaked forges, o'er many a cloud-swept bent,</span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the walls of blackness, by shores of the fishless meres,</span> +<span class="i0">And the fathomless desert waters, did Regin cast his fears,</span> +<span class="i0">And wrap him in desire; and all alone he seemed</span> +<span class="i0">As a God to his heirship wending, and forgotten and undreamed</span> +<span class="i0">Was all the tale of Sigurd, and the folk he had toiled among,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Volsungs, Odin's children, and the men-folk fair and young.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So on they ride to the westward, and huge were the mountains grown</span> +<span class="i0">And the floor of heaven was mingled with that tossing world of stone:</span> +<span class="i0">And they rode till the noon was forgotten and the sun was waxen low,</span> +<span class="i0">And they tarried not, though he perished, and the world grew dark below.</span> +<span class="i0">Then they rode a mighty desert, a glimmering place and wide,</span> +<span class="i0">And into a narrow pass high-walled on either side</span> +<span class="i0">By the blackness of the mountains, and barred aback and in face</span> +<span class="i0">By the empty night of the shadow; a windless silent place:</span> +<span class="i0">But the white moon shone o'erhead mid the small sharp stars and pale,</span> +<span class="i0">And each as a man alone they rode on the highway of bale.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So ever they wended upward, and the midnight hour was o'er,</span> +<span class="i0">And the stars grew pale and paler, and failed from the heaven's floor,</span> +<span class="i0">And the moon was a long while dead, but there was the promise of day,</span> +<span class="i0">No change came over the darkness, no streak of the dawning grey;</span> +<span class="i0">No sound of the wind's uprising adown the night there ran:</span> +<span class="i0">It was blind as the Gaping Gulf ere the first of the worlds began.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then athwart and athwart rode Sigurd and sought the walls of the pass,</span> +<span class="i0">But found no wall before him; and the road rang hard as brass</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the hoofs of Greyfell, as up and up he trod:</span> +<span class="i0">—Was it the daylight of Hell, or the night of the doorways of God?</span> + +<span class="i0">But lo, at the last a glimmer, and a light from the west there came,</span> +<span class="i0">And another and another, like points of far-off flame;</span> +<span class="i0">And they grew and brightened and gathered; and whiles together they ran</span> +<span class="i0">Like the moonwake over the waters; and whiles they were scant and wan,</span> +<span class="i0">Some greater and some lesser, like the boats of fishers laid</span> +<span class="i0">About the sea of midnight; and a dusky dawn they made,</span> +<span class="i0">A faint and glimmering twilight: So Sigurd strains his eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">And he sees how a land deserted all round about him lies</span> +<span class="i0">More changeless than mid-ocean, as fruitless as its floor:</span> +<span class="i0">Then the heart leaps up within him, for he knows that his journey is o'er,</span> +<span class="i0">And there he draweth bridle on the first of the Glittering Heath:</span> +<span class="i0">And the Wrath is waxen merry and sings in the golden sheath</span> +<span class="i0">As he leaps adown from Greyfell, and stands upon his feet,</span> +<span class="i0">And wends his ways through the twilight the Foe of the Gods to meet.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>Sigurd slayeth Fafnir the Serpent</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nought Sigurd seeth of Regin, and nought he heeds of him,</span> +<span class="i0">As in watchful might and glory he strides the desert dim,</span> +<span class="i0">And behind him paceth Greyfell; but he deems the time o'erlong</span> +<span class="i0">Till he meet the great gold-warden, the over-lord of wrong.</span> + +<span class="i0">So he wendeth midst the silence through the measureless desert place,</span> +<span class="i0">And beholds the countless glitter with wise and steadfast face,</span> +<span class="i0">Till him-seems in a little season that the flames grow somewhat wan,</span> +<span class="i0">And a grey thing glimmers before him, and becomes a mighty man,</span> +<span class="i0">One-eyed and ancient-seeming, in cloud-grey raiment clad;</span> +<span class="i0">A friendly man and glorious, and of visage smiling-glad:</span> +<span class="i0">Then content in Sigurd groweth because of his majesty,</span> +<span class="i0">And he heareth him speak in the desert as the wind of the winter sea:</span> + +<span class="i0">"Hail Sigurd! Give me thy greeting ere thy ways alone thou wend!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Said Sigurd: "Hail! I greet thee, my friend and my fathers' friend."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Now whither away," said the elder, "with the Steed and the ancient Sword?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"To the greedy house," said Sigurd, "and the King of the Heavy Hoard."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Wilt thou smite, O Sigurd, Sigurd?" said the ancient mighty-one.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yea, yea, I shall smite," said the Volsung, "save the Gods have slain the sun."</span> + +<span class="i0">"What wise wilt thou smite," said the elder, "lest the dark devour thy day?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thou hast praised the sword," said the child, "and the sword shall find a way."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Be learned of me," said the Wise-one, "for I was the first of thy folk."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said the child: "I shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike the stroke."</span> + +<span class="i0">Spake the Wise-one: "Thus shalt thou do when thou wendest hence alone:</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt find a path in the desert, and a road in the world of stone;</span> +<span class="i0">It is smooth and deep and hollow, but the rain hath riven it not,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wild wind hath not worn it, for it is but Fafnir's slot,</span> +<span class="i0">Whereby he wends to the water and the fathomless pool of old,</span> +<span class="i0">When his heart in the dawn is weary, and he loathes the Ancient Gold:</span> +<span class="i0">There think of the great and the fathers, and bare the whetted Wrath,</span> +<span class="i0">And dig a pit in the highway, and a grave in the Serpent's path:</span> +<span class="i0">Lie thou therein, O Sigurd, and thine hope from the glooming hide,</span> +<span class="i0">And be as the dead for a season, and the living light abide!</span> +<span class="i0">And so shall thine heart avail thee, and thy mighty fateful hand,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Light that lay in the Branstock, the well belovèd brand."</span> + +<span class="i0">Said the child: "I shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike the stroke;</span> +<span class="i0">For I love thee, friend of my fathers, Wise Heart of the holy folk."</span> + +<span class="i0">So spake the Son of Sigmund, and beheld no man anear,</span> +<span class="i0">And again was the night the midnight, and the twinkling flames shone clear</span> +<span class="i0">In the hush of the Glittering Heath; and alone went Sigmund's son</span> +<span class="i0">Till he came to the road of Fafnir, and the highway worn by one,</span> +<span class="i0">By the drift of the rain unfurrowed, by the windy years unrent,</span> +<span class="i0">And forth from the dark it came, and into the dark it went.</span> + +<span class="i0">Great then was the heart of Sigurd, for there in the midmost he stayed,</span> +<span class="i0">And thought of the ancient fathers, and bared the bright blue blade,</span> +<span class="i0">That shone as a fleck of the day-light, and the night was all around.</span> +<span class="i0">Fair then was the Son of Sigmund as he toiled and laboured the ground;</span> +<span class="i0">Great, mighty he was in his working, and the Glittering Heath he clave,</span> +<span class="i0">And the sword shone blue before him as he dug the pit and the grave:</span> +<span class="i0">There he hid his hope from the night-tide and lay like one of the dead,</span> +<span class="i0">And wise and wary he bided; and the heavens hung over his head.</span> + +<span class="i0">Now the night wanes over Sigurd, and the ruddy rings he sees,</span> +<span class="i0">And his war-gear's fair adornment, and the God-folk's images;</span> +<span class="i0">But a voice in the desert ariseth, a sound in the waste has birth,</span> +<span class="i0">A changing tinkle and clatter, as of gold dragged over the earth:</span> +<span class="i0">O'er Sigurd widens the day-light, and the sound is drawing close,</span> +<span class="i0">And speedier than the trample of speedy feet it goes;</span> +<span class="i0">But ever deemeth Sigurd that the sun brings back the day,</span> +<span class="i0">For the grave grows lighter and lighter and heaven o'erhead is grey.</span> + +<span class="i0">But now, how the rattling waxeth till he may not heed nor hark!</span> +<span class="i0">And the day and the heavens are hidden, and o'er Sigurd rolls the dark,</span> +<span class="i0">As the flood of a pitchy river, and heavy-thick is the air</span> +<span class="i0">With the venom of hate long hoarded, and lies once fashioned fair:</span> +<span class="i0">Then a wan face comes from the darkness, and is wrought in manlike wise,</span> +<span class="i0">And the lips are writhed with laughter and bleared are the blinded eyes;</span> +<span class="i0">And it wandereth hither and thither, and searcheth through the grave</span> +<span class="i0">And departeth, leaving nothing, save the dark, rolled wave on wave</span> +<span class="i0">O'er the golden head of Sigurd and the edges of the sword,</span> +<span class="i0">And the world weighs heavy on Sigurd, and the weary curse of the Hoard:</span> +<span class="i0">Him-seemed the grave grew straiter, and his hope of life grew chill,</span> +<span class="i0">And his heart by the Worm was enfolded, and the bonds of the Ancient Ill.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then was Sigurd stirred by his glory, and he strove with the swaddling of Death;</span> +<span class="i0">He turned in the pit on the highway, and the grave of the Glittering Heath;</span> +<span class="i0">He laughed and smote with the laughter and thrust up over his head,</span> +<span class="i0">And smote the venom asunder, and clave the heart of Dread;</span> +<span class="i0">Then he leapt from the pit and the grave, and the rushing river of blood,</span> +<span class="i0">And fulfilled with the joy of the War-God on the face of earth he stood</span> +<span class="i0">With red sword high uplifted, with wrathful glittering eyes;</span> +<span class="i0">And he laughed at the heavens above him for he saw the sun arise,</span> +<span class="i0">And Sigurd gleamed on the desert, and shone in the new-born light,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wind in his raiment wavered, and all the world was bright.</span> + +<span class="i0">But there was the ancient Fafnir, and the Face of Terror lay</span> +<span class="i0">On the huddled folds of the Serpent, that were black and ashen-grey</span> +<span class="i0">In the desert lit by the sun; and those twain looked each on each,</span> +<span class="i0">And forth from the Face of Terror went a sound of dreadful speech:</span> + +<span class="i0">"Child, child, who art thou that hast smitten? bright child, of whence is thy birth?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"I am called the Wild-thing Glorious, and alone I wend on the earth."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Fierce child, and who was thy father?—Thou hast cleft the heart of the Foe!"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Am I like to the sons of men-folk, that my father I should know?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Wert thou born of a nameless wonder? shall the lies to my death-day cling?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"How lieth Sigurd the Volsung, and the Son of Sigmund the King?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"O bitter father of Sigurd!—thou hast cleft mine heart atwain!"</span> + +<span class="i0">"I arose, and I wondered and wended, and I smote, and I smote not in vain."</span> + +<span class="i0">"What master hath taught thee of murder?—Thou hast wasted Fafnir's day."</span> + +<span class="i0">"I, Sigurd, knew and desired, and the bright sword learned the way."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thee, thee shall the rattling Gold and the red rings bring to the bane."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yet mine hand shall cast them abroad, and the earth shall gather again."</span> + +<span class="i0">"I see thee great in thine anger, and the Norns thou heedest not."</span> + +<span class="i0">"O Fafnir, speak of the Norns and the wisdom unforgot!"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Let the death-doomed flee from the ocean, him the wind and the weather shall drown."</span> + +<span class="i0">"O Fafnir, tell of the Norns ere thy life thou layest adown!"</span> + +<span class="i0">"O manifold is their kindred, and who shall tell them all?</span> +<span class="i0">There are they that rule o'er men-folk and the stars that rise and fall:</span> +<span class="i0">—I knew of the folk of the Dwarfs, and I knew their Norns of old;</span> +<span class="i0">And I fought, and I fell in the morning, and I die afar from the gold:</span> +<span class="i0">—I have seen the Gods of heaven, and their Norns withal I know:</span> +<span class="i0">They love and withhold their helping, they hate and refrain the blow;</span> +<span class="i0">They curse and they may not sunder, they bless and they shall not blend;</span> +<span class="i0">They have fashioned the good and the evil; they abide the change and the end."</span> + +<span class="i0">"O Fafnir, what of the Isle, and what hast thou known of its name,</span> +<span class="i0">Where the Gods shall mingle edges with Surt and the Sons of Flame?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"O child, O Strong Compeller? Unshapen is its hight;</span> +<span class="i0">There the fallow blades shall be shaken and the Dark and the Day shall smite,</span> +<span class="i0">When the Bridge of the Gods is broken, and their white steeds swim the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">And the uttermost field is stricken, last strife of thee and me."</span> + +<span class="i0">"What then shall endure, O Fafnir, the tale of the battle to tell?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"I am blind, O Strong Compeller, in the bonds of Death and Hell.</span> +<span class="i0">But thee shall the rattling Gold and the red rings bring unto bane."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yet the rings mine hand shall scatter, and the earth shall gather again."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Woe, woe! in the days passed over I bore the Helm of Dread,</span> +<span class="i0">I reared the Face of Terror, and the hoarded hate of the Dead:</span> +<span class="i0">I overcame and was mighty; I was wise and cherished my heart</span> +<span class="i0">In the waste where no man wandered, and the high house builded apart:</span> +<span class="i0">Till I met thine hand, O Sigurd, and thy might ordained from of old;</span> +<span class="i0">And I fought and fell in the morning, and I die far off from the Gold."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd leaned on his sword, and a dreadful voice went by</span> +<span class="i0">Like the wail of a God departing and the War-God's misery;</span> +<span class="i0">And strong words of ancient wisdom went by on the desert wind,</span> +<span class="i0">The words that mar and fashion, the words that loose and bind;</span> +<span class="i0">And sounds of a strange lamenting, and such strange things bewailed,</span> +<span class="i0">That words to tell their meaning the tongue of man hath failed.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then all sank into silence, and the Son of Sigmund stood</span> +<span class="i0">On the torn and furrowed desert by the pool of Fafnir's blood,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Serpent lay before him, dead, chilly, dull, and grey;</span> +<span class="i0">And over the Glittering Heath fair shone the sun and the day,</span> +<span class="i0">And a light wind followed the sun and breathed o'er the fateful place,</span> +<span class="i0">As fresh as it furrows the sea-plain or bows the acres' face.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>Sigurd slayeth Regin the Master of Masters on the Glittering Heath</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There standeth Sigurd the Volsung, and leaneth on his sword,</span> +<span class="i0">And beside him now is Greyfell and looks on his golden lord,</span> +<span class="i0">And the world is awake and living; and whither now shall they wend,</span> +<span class="i0">Who have come to the Glittering Heath, and wrought that deed to its end?</span> +<span class="i0">For hither comes Regin the Master from the skirts of the field of death,</span> +<span class="i0">And he shadeth his eyes from the sunlight as afoot he goeth and saith:</span> +<span class="i0">"Ah, let me live for a while! for a while and all shall be well,</span> +<span class="i0">When passed is the house of murder and I creep from the prison of hell."</span> + +<span class="i0">Afoot he went o'er the desert, and he came unto Sigurd and stared</span> +<span class="i0">At the golden gear of the man, and the Wrath yet bloody and bared,</span> +<span class="i0">And the light locks raised by the wind, and the eyes beginning to smile,</span> +<span class="i0">And the lovely lips of the Volsung, and the brow that knew no guile;</span> +<span class="i0">And he murmured under his breath while his eyes grew white with wrath:</span> + +<span class="i0">"O who art thou, and wherefore, and why art thou in the path?"</span> +<span class="i0">Then he turned to the ash-grey Serpent, and grovelled low on the ground,</span> +<span class="i0">And he drank of that pool of the blood where the stones of the wild were drowned,</span> +<span class="i0">And long he lapped as a dog; but when he arose again,</span> +<span class="i0">Lo, a flock of the mountain-eagles that drew to the feastful plain;</span> +<span class="i0">And he turned and looked on Sigurd, as bright in the sun he stood,</span> +<span class="i0">A stripling fair and slender, and wiped the Wrath of the blood.</span> + +<span class="i0">But Regin cried: "O Dwarf-kind, O many-shifting folk,</span> +<span class="i0">O shapes of might and wonder, am I too freed from the yoke,</span> +<span class="i0">That binds my soul to my body a withered thing forlorn,</span> +<span class="i0">While the short-lived fools of man-folk so fair and oft are born?</span> +<span class="i0">Now swift in the air shall I be, and young in the concourse of kings,</span> +<span class="i0">If my heart shall come to desire the gain of earthly things."</span> + +<span class="i0">And he looked and saw how Sigurd was sheathing the Flame of War,</span> +<span class="i0">And the eagles screamed in the wind, but their voice came faint from afar:</span> +<span class="i0">Then he scowled, and crouched and darkened, and came to Sigurd and spake:</span> +<span class="i0">"O child, thou hast slain my brother, and the Wrath is alive and awake."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Thou sayest sooth," said Sigurd, "thy deed and mine is done:</span> +<span class="i0">But now our ways shall sunder, for here, meseemeth, the sun</span> +<span class="i0">Hath but little of deeds to do, and no love to win aback."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin crouched before him, and he spake: "Fare on to the wrack!</span> +<span class="i0">Fare on to the murder of men, and the deeds of thy kindred of old!</span> +<span class="i0">And surely of thee as of them shall the tale be speedily told.</span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast slain thy Master's brother, and what wouldst thou say thereto,</span> +<span class="i0">Were the judges met for the judging and the doom-ring hallowed due?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd spake as aforetime: "Thy deed and mine it was,</span> +<span class="i0">And now our ways shall sunder, and into the world will I pass."</span> + +<span class="i0">But Regin darkened before him, and exceeding grim was he grown,</span> +<span class="i0">And he spake: "Thou hast slain my brother, and wherewith wilt thou atone?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Stand up, O Master," said Sigurd, "O Singer of ancient days,</span> +<span class="i0">And take the wealth I have won thee, ere we wend on the sundering ways.</span> +<span class="i0">I have toiled and thou hast desired, and the Treasure is surely anear,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou hast wisdom to find it, and I have slain thy fear."</span> + +<span class="i0">But Regin crouched and darkened: "Thou hast slain my brother," he said.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Take thou the Gold," quoth Sigurd, "for the ransom of my head!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin crouched and darkened, and over the earth he hung;</span> +<span class="i0">And he said: "Thou hast slain my brother, and the Gods are yet but young."</span> + +<span class="i0">Bright Sigurd towered above him, and the Wrath cried out in the sheath,</span> +<span class="i0">And Regin writhed against it as the adder turns on death;</span> +<span class="i0">And he spake: "Thou hast slain my brother, and to-day shalt thou be my thrall:</span> +<span class="i0">Yea a King shall be my cook-boy and this heath my cooking-hall."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then he crept to the ash-grey coils where the life of his brother had lain,</span> +<span class="i0">And he drew a glaive from his side and smote the smitten and slain,</span> +<span class="i0">And tore the heart from Fafnir, while the eagles cried o'erhead,</span> +<span class="i0">And sharp and shrill was their voice o'er the entrails of the dead.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Regin spake to Sigurd: "Of this slaying wilt thou be free?</span> +<span class="i0">Then gather thou fire together and roast the heart for me,</span> +<span class="i0">That I may eat it and live, and be thy master and more;</span> +<span class="i0">For therein was might and wisdom, and the grudged and hoarded lore:—</span> +<span class="i0">—Or else, depart on thy ways afraid from the Glittering Heath."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then he fell abackward and slept, nor set his sword in the sheath,</span> +<span class="i0">But his hand was red on the hilts and blue were the edges bared,</span> +<span class="i0">Ash-grey was his visage waxen, and with open eyes he stared</span> +<span class="i0">On the height of heaven above him, and a fearful thing he seemed,</span> +<span class="i0">As his soul went wide in the world, and of rule and kingship he dreamed.</span> + +<span class="i0">But Sigurd took the Heart, and wood on the waste he found,</span> +<span class="i0">The wood that grew and died, as it crept on the niggard ground,</span> +<span class="i0">And grew and died again, and lay like whitened bones;</span> +<span class="i0">And the ernes cried over his head, as he builded his hearth of stones,</span> +<span class="i0">And kindled the fire for cooking, and sat and sang o'er the roast</span> +<span class="i0">The song of his fathers of old, and the Wolflings' gathering host:</span> +<span class="i0">So there on the Glittering Heath rose up the little flame,</span> +<span class="i0">And the dry sticks crackled amidst it, and alow the eagles came,</span> +<span class="i0">And seven they were by tale, and they pitched all round about</span> +<span class="i0">The cooking-fire of Sigurd, and sent their song-speech out:</span> +<span class="i0">But nought he knoweth its wisdom, or the word that they would speak:</span> +<span class="i0">And hot grew the Heart of Fafnir and sang amid the reek.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd looketh on Regin, and he deemeth it overlong</span> +<span class="i0">That he dighteth the dear-bought morsel, and the might for the Master of wrong,</span> +<span class="i0">So he reacheth his hand to the roast to see if the cooking be o'er;</span> +<span class="i0">But the blood and the fat seethed from it and scalded his finger sore,</span> +<span class="i0">And he set his hand to his mouth to quench the fleshly smart,</span> +<span class="i0">And he tasted the flesh of the Serpent and the blood of Fafnir's Heart:</span> +<span class="i0">Then there came a change upon him, for the speech of fowl he knew,</span> +<span class="i0">And wise in the ways of the beast-kind as the Dwarfs of old he grew;</span> +<span class="i0">And he knitted his brows and hearkened, and wrath in his heart arose;</span> +<span class="i0">For he felt beset of evil in a world of many foes.</span> +<span class="i0">But the hilt of the Wrath he handled, and Regin's heart he saw,</span> +<span class="i0">And how that the Foe of the Gods the net of death would draw;</span> +<span class="i0">And his bright eyes flashed and sparkled, and his mouth grew set and stern</span> +<span class="i0">As he hearkened the voice of the eagles, and their song began to learn.</span> + +<span class="i0">For the first cried out in the desert: "O mighty Sigmund's son,</span> +<span class="i0">How long wilt thou sit and tarry now the dear-bought roast is done?"</span> + +<span class="i0">And the second: "Volsung, arise! for the horns blow up to the hall,</span> +<span class="i0">And dight are the purple hangings, and the King to the feasting should fall."</span> + +<span class="i0">And the third: "How great is the feast if the eater eat aright</span> +<span class="i0">The Heart of the wisdom of old and the after-world's delight!"</span> + +<span class="i0">And the fourth: "Yea what of Regin? shall he scatter wrack o'er the world?</span> +<span class="i0">Shall the father be slain by the son, and the brother 'gainst brother be hurled?"</span> + +<span class="i0">And the fifth: "He hath taught a stripling the gifts of a God to give:</span> +<span class="i0">He hath reared up a King for the slaying, that he alone might live."</span> + +<span class="i0">And the sixth: "He shall waken mighty as a God that scorneth a truth;</span> +<span class="i0">He hath drunk of the blood of the Serpent, and drowned all hope and ruth."</span> + +<span class="i0">And the seventh: "Arise, O Sigurd, lest the hour be overlate!</span> +<span class="i0">For the sun in the mid-noon shineth, and swift is the hand of Fate:</span> +<span class="i0">Arise! lest the world run backward and the blind heart have its will,</span> +<span class="i0">And once again be tangled the sundered good and ill;</span> +<span class="i0">Lest love and hatred perish, lest the world forget its tale,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Gods sit deedless, dreaming, in the high-walled heavenly vale."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then swift ariseth Sigurd, and the Wrath in his hand is bare,</span> +<span class="i0">And he looketh, and Regin sleepeth, and his eyes wide-open glare;</span> +<span class="i0">But his lips smile false in his dreaming, and his hand is on the sword;</span> +<span class="i0">For he dreams himself the Master and the new world's fashioning-lord.</span> +<span class="i0">And his dream hath forgotten Sigurd, and the King's life lies in the pit;</span> +<span class="i0">He is nought; Death gnaweth upon him, while the Dwarfs in mastery sit.</span> + +<span class="i0">But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd the heart of the guileful behold,</span> +<span class="i0">And great is Allfather Odin, and upriseth the Curse of the Gold,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Branstock bloometh to heaven from the ancient wondrous root;</span> +<span class="i0">The summer hath shone on its blossoms, and Sigurd's Wrath is the fruit:</span> +<span class="i0">Dread then he cried in the desert: "Guile-master, lo thy deed!</span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou nurst my life for destruction, and my death to serve thy need?</span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou kept me here for the net and the death that tame things die?</span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou feared me overmuch, thou Foe of the Gods on high?</span> +<span class="i0">Lest the sword thine hand was wielding should turn about and cleave</span> +<span class="i0">The tangled web of nothing thou hadst wearied thyself to weave.</span> +<span class="i0">Lo here the sword and the stroke! judge the Norns betwixt us twain!</span> +<span class="i0">But for me, I will live and die not, nor shall all my hope be vain."</span> +<span class="i0">Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and white,</span> +<span class="i0">And 'twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light;</span> +<span class="i0">And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan.</span> +<span class="i0">But Sigurd cried in the desert: "So far have I wended on!</span> +<span class="i0">Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill;</span> +<span class="i0">And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will.</span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and worse,</span> +<span class="i0">With the blind heart king o'er the people, and binding curse with curse."</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now Sigurd eats of the heart that once in the Dwarf-king lay,</span> +<span class="i0">The hoard of the wisdom begrudged, the might of the earlier day.</span> +<span class="i0">Then wise of heart was he waxen, but longing in him grew</span> +<span class="i0">To sow the seed he had gotten, and till the field he knew.</span> +<span class="i0">So he leapeth aback of Greyfell, and rideth the desert bare,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hollow slot of Fafnir, that led to the Serpent's lair.</span> +<span class="i0">Then long he rode adown it, and the ernes flew overhead,</span> +<span class="i0">And tidings great and glorious of that Treasure of old they said.</span> +<span class="i0">So far o'er the waste he wended, and when the night was come</span> +<span class="i0">He saw the earth-old dwelling, the dread Gold-wallower's home:</span> +<span class="i0">On the skirts of the Heath it was builded by a tumbled stony bent;</span> +<span class="i0">High went that house to the heavens, down 'neath the earth it went,</span> +<span class="i0">Of unwrought iron fashioned for the heart of a greedy king:</span> +<span class="i0">'Twas a mountain, blind without, and within was its plenishing</span> +<span class="i0">But the Hoard of Andvari the ancient, and the sleeping Curse unseen,</span> +<span class="i0">The Gold of the Gods that spared not and the greedy that have been.</span> +<span class="i0">Through the door strode Sigurd the Volsung, and the grey moon and the sword</span> +<span class="i0">Fell in on the tawny gold-heaps of the ancient hapless Hoard:</span> +<span class="i0">Gold gear of hosts unburied, and the coin of cities dead,</span> +<span class="i0">Great spoil of the ages of battle, lay there on the Serpent's bed:</span> +<span class="i0">Huge blocks from mid-earth quarried, where none but the Dwarfs have mined,</span> +<span class="i0">Wide sands of the golden rivers no foot of man may find</span> +<span class="i0">Lay 'neath the spoils of the mighty and the ruddy rings of yore:</span> +<span class="i0">But amidst was the Helm of Aweing that the Fear of earth-folk bore,</span> +<span class="i0">And there gleamed a wonder beside it, the Hauberk all of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told:</span> +<span class="i0">There Sigurd seeth moreover Andvari's Ring of Gain,</span> +<span class="i0">The hope of Loki's finger, the Ransom's utmost grain;</span> +<span class="i0">For it shone on the midmost gold-heap like the first star set in the sky</span> +<span class="i0">In the yellow space of even when moon-rise draweth anigh.</span> +<span class="i0">Then laughed the Son of Sigmund, and stooped to the golden land,</span> +<span class="i0">And gathered that first of the harvest and set it on his hand;</span> +<span class="i0">And he did on the Helm of Aweing, and the Hauberk all of gold,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told:</span> +<span class="i0">Then he praised the day of the Volsungs amid the yellow light,</span> +<span class="i0">And he set his hand to the labour and put forth his kingly might;</span> +<span class="i0">He dragged forth gold to the moon, on the desert's face he laid</span> +<span class="i0">The innermost earth's adornment, and rings for the nameless made;</span> +<span class="i0">He toiled and loaded Greyfell, and the cloudy war-steed shone</span> +<span class="i0">And the gear of Sigurd rattled in the flood of moonlight wan;</span> +<span class="i0">There he toiled and loaded Greyfell, and the Volsung's armour rang</span> +<span class="i0">Mid the yellow bed of the Serpent: but without the eagles sang:</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! let the gold shine free and clear!</span> +<span class="i0">For what hath the Son of the Volsungs the ancient Curse to fear?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for thy tale is well begun,</span> +<span class="i0">And the world shall be good and gladdened by the Gold lit up by the sun."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd, and gladden all thine heart!</span> +<span class="i0">For the world shall make thee merry ere thou and she depart."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the ways go green below,</span> +<span class="i0">Go green to the dwelling of Kings, and the halls that the Queen-folk know."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for what is there bides by the way,</span> +<span class="i0">Save the joy of folk to awaken, and the dawn of the merry day?"</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the strife awaits thine hand,</span> +<span class="i0">And a plenteous war-field's reaping, and the praise of many a land."</span> + +<span class="i0">"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! But how shall store-house hold</span> +<span class="i0">That glory of thy winning and the tidings to be told?"</span> + +<span class="i0">Now the moon was dead, and the star-worlds were great on the heavenly plain,</span> +<span class="i0">When the steed was fully laden; then Sigurd taketh the rein</span> +<span class="i0">And turns to the ruined rock-wall that the lair was built beneath,</span> +<span class="i0">For there he deemed was the gate and the door of the Glittering Heath,</span> +<span class="i0">But not a whit moved Greyfell for aught that the King might do;</span> +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd pondered a while, till the heart of the beast he knew,</span> +<span class="i0">And clad in all his war-gear he leaped to the saddle-stead,</span> +<span class="i0">And with pride and mirth neighed Greyfell and tossed aloft his head,</span> +<span class="i0">And sprang unspurred o'er the waste, and light and swift he went,</span> +<span class="i0">And breasted the broken rampart, the stony tumbled bent;</span> +<span class="i0">And over the brow he clomb, and there beyond was the world,</span> +<span class="i0">A place of many mountains and great crags together hurled.</span> +<span class="i0">So down to the west he wendeth, and goeth swift and light,</span> +<span class="i0">And the stars are beginning to wane, and the day is mingled with night;</span> +<span class="i0">For full fain was the sun to arise and look on the Gold set free,</span> +<span class="i0">And the Dwarf-wrought rings of the Treasure and the gifts from the floor of the sea.</span> +</div></div> + +<h4><i>How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By long roads rideth Sigurd amidst that world of stone,</span> +<span class="i0">And somewhat south he turneth; for he would not be alone,</span> +<span class="i0">But longs for the dwellings of man-folk, and the kingly people's speech,</span> +<span class="i0">And the days of the glee and the joyance, where men laugh each to each.</span> +<span class="i0">But still the desert endureth, and afar must Greyfell fare</span> +<span class="i0">From the wrack of the Glittering Heath, and Fafnir's golden lair.</span> +<span class="i0">Long Sigurd rideth the waste, when, lo, on a morning of day</span> +<span class="i0">From out of the tangled crag-walls, amidst the cloud-land grey</span> +<span class="i0">Comes up a mighty mountain, and it is as though there burns</span> +<span class="i0">A torch amidst of its cloud-wreath; so thither Sigurd turns,</span> +<span class="i0">For he deems indeed from its topmost to look on the best of the earth;</span> +<span class="i0">And Greyfell neigheth beneath him, and his heart is full of mirth.</span> + +<span class="i0">So he rideth higher and higher, and the light grows great and strange,</span> +<span class="i0">And forth from the clouds it flickers, till at noon they gather and change,</span> +<span class="i0">And settle thick on the mountain, and hide its head from sight;</span> +<span class="i0">But the winds in a while are awakened, and day bettereth ere the night,</span> +<span class="i0">And, lifted a measureless mass o'er the desert crag-walls high,</span> +<span class="i0">Cloudless the mountain riseth against the sunset sky,</span> +<span class="i0">The sea of the sun grown golden, as it ebbs from the day's desire;</span> +<span class="i0">And the light that afar was a torch is grown a river of fire,</span> +<span class="i0">And the mountain is black above it, and below is it dark and dun;</span> +<span class="i0">And there is the head of Hindfell as an island in the sun.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Night falls, but yet rides Sigurd, and hath no thought of rest,</span> +<span class="i0">For he longs to climb that rock-world and behold the earth at its best;</span> +<span class="i0">But now mid the maze of the foot-hills he seeth the light no more,</span> +<span class="i0">And the stars are lovely and gleaming on the lightless heavenly floor.</span> +<span class="i0">So up and up he wendeth till the night is wearing thin;</span> +<span class="i0">And he rideth a rift of the mountain, and all is dark therein,</span> +<span class="i0">Till the stars are dimmed by dawning and the wakening world is cold;</span> +<span class="i0">Then afar in the upper rock-wall a breach doth he behold,</span> +<span class="i0">And a flood of light poured inward the doubtful dawning blinds:</span> +<span class="i0">So swift he rideth thither and the mouth of the breach he finds,</span> +<span class="i0">And sitteth awhile on Greyfell on the marvellous thing to gaze:</span> +<span class="i0">For lo, the side of Hindfell enwrapped by the fervent blaze,</span> +<span class="i0">And nought 'twixt earth and heaven save a world of flickering flame,</span> +<span class="i0">And a hurrying shifting tangle, where the dark rents went and came.</span> + +<span class="i0">Great groweth the heart of Sigurd with uttermost desire,</span> +<span class="i0">And he crieth kind to Greyfell, and they hasten up, and nigher,</span> +<span class="i0">Till he draweth rein in the dawning on the face of Hindfell's steep:</span> +<span class="i0">But who shall heed the dawning where the tongues of that wildfire leap?</span> +<span class="i0">For they weave a wavering wall, that driveth over the heaven</span> +<span class="i0">The wind that is born within it; nor ever aside is it driven</span> +<span class="i0">By the mightiest wind of the waste, and the rain-flood amidst it is nought;</span> +<span class="i0">And no wayfarer's door and no window the hand of its builder hath wrought.</span> +<span class="i0">But thereon is the Volsung smiling as its breath uplifteth his hair,</span> +<span class="i0">And his eyes shine bright with its image, and his mail gleams white and fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And his war-helm pictures the heavens and the waning stars behind:</span> +<span class="i0">But his neck is Greyfell stretching to snuff at the flame-wall blind,</span> +<span class="i0">And his cloudy flank upheaveth, and tinkleth the knitted mail,</span> +<span class="i0">And the gold of the uttermost waters is waxen wan and pale.</span> + +<span class="i0">Now Sigurd turns in his saddle, and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts,</span> +<span class="i0">And draws a girth the tighter; then the gathered reins he lifts,</span> +<span class="i0">And crieth aloud to Greyfell, and rides at the wildfire's heart;</span> +<span class="i0">But the white wall wavers before him and the flame-flood rusheth apart,</span> +<span class="i0">And high o'er his head it riseth, and wide and wild is its roar</span> +<span class="i0">As it beareth the mighty tidings to the very heavenly floor:</span> +<span class="i0">But he rideth through its roaring as the warrior rides the rye,</span> +<span class="i0">When it bows with the wind of the summer and the hid spears draw anigh;</span> +<span class="i0">The white flame licks his raiment and sweeps through Greyfell's mane,</span> +<span class="i0">And bathes both hands of Sigurd and the hilts of Fafnir's bane,</span> +<span class="i0">And winds about his war-helm and mingles with his hair,</span> +<span class="i0">But nought his raiment dusketh or dims his glittering gear;</span> +<span class="i0">Then it fails and fades and darkens till all seems left behind,</span> +<span class="i0">And dawn and the blaze is swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But forth a little further and a little further on</span> +<span class="i0">And all is calm about him, and he sees the scorched earth wan</span> +<span class="i0">Beneath a glimmering twilight, and he turns his conquering eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">And a ring of pale slaked ashes on the side of Hindfell lies;</span> +<span class="i0">And the world of the waste is beyond it; and all is hushed and grey,</span> +<span class="i0">And the new-risen moon is a-paleing, and the stars grow faint with day.</span> +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd looked before him and a Shield-burg there he saw,</span> +<span class="i0">A wall of the tiles of Odin wrought clear without a flaw,</span> +<span class="i0">The gold by the silver gleaming, and the ruddy by the white;</span> +<span class="i0">And the blazonings of their glory were done upon them bright,</span> +<span class="i0">As of dear things wrought for the war-lords new come to Odin's hall.</span> +<span class="i0">Piled high aloft to the heavens uprose that battle-wall,</span> +<span class="i0">And far o'er the topmost shield-rim for a banner of fame there hung</span> +<span class="i0">A glorious golden buckler; and against the staff it rung</span> +<span class="i0">As the earliest wind of dawning uprose on Hindfell's face</span> +<span class="i0">And the light from the yellowing east beamed soft on the shielded place.</span> + +<span class="i0">But the Wrath cried out in answer as Sigurd leapt adown</span> +<span class="i0">To the wasted soil of the desert by that rampart of renown;</span> +<span class="i0">He looked but little beneath it, and the dwelling of God it seemed,</span> +<span class="i0">As against its gleaming silence the eager Sigurd gleamed:</span> +<span class="i0">He draweth not sword from scabbard, as the wall he wendeth around,</span> +<span class="i0">And it is but the wind and Sigurd that wakeneth any sound:</span> +<span class="i0">But, lo, to the gate he cometh, and the doors are open wide,</span> +<span class="i0">And no warder the way withstandeth, and no earls by the threshold abide;</span> +<span class="i0">So he stands awhile and marvels; then the baleful light of the Wrath</span> +<span class="i0">Gleams bare in his ready hand as he wendeth the inward path:</span> +<span class="i0">For he doubteth some guile of the Gods, or perchance some Dwarf-king's snare,</span> +<span class="i0">Or a mock of the Giant people that shall fade in the morning air:</span> +<span class="i0">But he getteth him in and gazeth; and a wall doth he behold,</span> +<span class="i0">And the ruddy set by the white, and the silver by the gold;</span> +<span class="i0">But within the garth that it girdeth no work of man is set,</span> +<span class="i0">But the utmost head of Hindfell ariseth higher yet;</span> +<span class="i0">And below in the very midmost is a Giant-fashioned mound,</span> +<span class="i0">Piled high as the rims of the Shield-burg above the level ground;</span> +<span class="i0">And there, on that mound of the Giants, o'er the wilderness forlorn,</span> +<span class="i0">A pale grey image lieth, and gleameth in the morn.</span> + +<span class="i0">So there was Sigurd alone; and he went from the shielded door,</span> +<span class="i0">And aloft in the desert of wonder the Light of the Branstock he bore;</span> +<span class="i0">And he set his face to the earth-mound, and beheld the image wan,</span> +<span class="i0">And the dawn was growing about it; and, lo, the shape of a man</span> +<span class="i0">Set forth to the eyeless desert on the tower-top of the world,</span> +<span class="i0">High over the cloud-wrought castle whence the windy bolts are hurled.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now he comes to the mound and climbs it, and will see if the man be dead;</span> +<span class="i0">Some King of the days forgotten laid there with crownèd head,</span> +<span class="i0">Or the frame of a God, it may be, that in heaven hath changed his life,</span> +<span class="i0">Or some glorious heart belovèd, God-rapt from the earthly strife:</span> +<span class="i0">Now over the body he standeth, and seeth it shapen fair,</span> +<span class="i0">And clad from head to foot-sole in pale grey-glittering gear,</span> +<span class="i0">In a hauberk wrought as straitly as though to the flesh it were grown:</span> +<span class="i0">But a great helm hideth the head and is girt with a glittering crown.</span> + +<span class="i0">So thereby he stoopeth and kneeleth, for he deems it were good indeed</span> +<span class="i0">If the breath of life abide there and the speech to help at need;</span> +<span class="i0">And as sweet as the summer wind from a garden under the sun</span> +<span class="i0">Cometh forth on the topmost Hindfell the breath of that sleeping-one.</span> +<span class="i0">Then he saith he will look on the face, if it bear him love or hate,</span> +<span class="i0">Or the bonds for his life's constraining, or the sundering doom of fate.</span> +<span class="i0">So he draweth the helm from the head, and, lo, the brow snow-white,</span> +<span class="i0">And the smooth unfurrowed cheeks, and the wise lips breathing light;</span> +<span class="i0">And the face of a woman it is, and the fairest that ever was born,</span> +<span class="i0">Shown forth to the empty heavens and the desert world forlorn:</span> +<span class="i0">But he looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move,</span> +<span class="i0">And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love.</span> +<span class="i0">And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her passing sore;</span> +<span class="i0">And he saith: "Awake! I am Sigurd;" but she moveth never the more.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then he looked on his bare bright blade, and he said: "Thou—what wilt thou do?</span> +<span class="i0">For indeed as I came by the war-garth thy voice of desire I knew."</span> +<span class="i0">Bright burnt the pale blue edges for the sunrise drew anear,</span> +<span class="i0">And the rims of the Shield-burg glittered, and the east was exceeding clear:</span> +<span class="i0">So the eager edges he setteth to the Dwarf-wrought battle-coat</span> +<span class="i0">Where the hammered ring-knit collar constraineth the woman's throat;</span> +<span class="i0">But the sharp Wrath biteth and rendeth, and before it fail the rings,</span> +<span class="i0">And, lo, the gleam of the linen, and the light of golden things:</span> +<span class="i0">Then he driveth the blue steel onward, and through the skirt, and out,</span> +<span class="i0">Till nought but the rippling linen is wrapping her about;</span> +<span class="i0">Then he deems her breath comes quicker and her breast begins to heave,</span> +<span class="i0">So he turns about the War-Flame and rends down either sleeve,</span> +<span class="i0">Till her arms lie white in her raiment, and a river of sun-bright hair</span> +<span class="i0">Flows free o'er bosom and shoulder and floods the desert bare.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then a flush cometh over her visage and a sigh upheaveth her breast,</span> +<span class="i0">And her eyelids quiver and open, and she wakeneth into rest;</span> +<span class="i0">Wide-eyed on the dawning she gazeth, too glad to change or smile,</span> +<span class="i0">And but little moveth her body, nor speaketh she yet for a while;</span> +<span class="i0">And yet kneels Sigurd moveless her wakening speech to heed,</span> +<span class="i0">While soft the waves of the daylight o'er the starless heavens speed,</span> +<span class="i0">And the gleaming rims of the Shield-burg yet bright and brighter grow,</span> +<span class="i0">And the thin moon hangeth her horns dead-white in the golden glow.</span> +<span class="i0">Then she turned and gazed on Sigurd, and her eyes met the Volsung's eyes.</span> +<span class="i0">And mighty and measureless now did the tide of his love arise,</span> +<span class="i0">For their longing had met and mingled, and he knew of her heart that she loved,</span> +<span class="i0">As she spake unto nothing but him and her lips with the speech-flood moved:</span> + +<span class="i0">"O, what is the thing so mighty that my weary sleep hath torn,</span> +<span class="i0">And rent the fallow bondage, and the wan woe over-worn?"</span> + +<span class="i0">He said: "The hand of Sigurd and the Sword of Sigmund's son,</span> +<span class="i0">And the heart that the Volsungs fashioned this deed for thee have done."</span> + +<span class="i0">But she said: "Where then is Odin that laid me here alow?</span> +<span class="i0">Long lasteth the grief of the world, and man-folk's tangled woe!"</span> + +<span class="i0">"He dwelleth above," said Sigurd, "but I on the earth abide,</span> +<span class="i0">And I came from the Glittering Heath the waves of thy fire to ride."</span> + +<span class="i0">But therewith the sun rose upward and lightened all the earth,</span> +<span class="i0">And the light flashed up to the heavens from the rims of the glorious girth;</span> +<span class="i0">But they twain arose together, and with both her palms outspread,</span> +<span class="i0">And bathed in the light returning, she cried aloud and said:</span> + +<span class="i0">"All hail O Day and thy Sons, and thy kin of the coloured things!</span> +<span class="i0">Hail, following Night, and thy Daughter that leadeth thy wavering wings!</span> +<span class="i0">Look down with unangry eyes on us to-day alive,</span> +<span class="i0">And give us the hearts victorious, and the gain for which we strive!</span> +<span class="i0">All hail, ye Lords of God-home, and ye Queens of the House of Gold!</span> +<span class="i0">Hail thou dear Earth that bearest, and thou Wealth of field and fold!</span> +<span class="i0">Give us, your noble children, the glory of wisdom and speech,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hearts and the hands of healing, and the mouths and hands that teach!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then they turned and were knit together; and oft and o'er again</span> +<span class="i0">They craved, and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd looketh upon her, and the words from his heart arise:</span> +<span class="i0">"Thou art the fairest of earth, and the wisest of the wise;</span> +<span class="i0">O who art thou that lovest? I am Sigurd, e'en as I told;</span> +<span class="i0">I have slain the Foe of the Gods, and gotten the Ancient Gold;</span> +<span class="i0">And great were the gain of thy love, and the gift of mine earthly days,</span> +<span class="i0">If we twain should never sunder as we wend on the changing ways.</span> +<span class="i0">O who art thou that lovest, thou fairest of all things born?</span> +<span class="i0">And what meaneth thy sleep and thy slumber in the wilderness forlorn?"</span> + +<span class="i0">She said: "I am she that loveth: I was born of the earthly folk,</span> +<span class="i0">But of old Allfather took me from the Kings and their wedding yoke:</span> +<span class="i0">And he called me the Victory-Wafter, and I went and came as he would,</span> +<span class="i0">And I chose the slain for his war-host, and the days were glorious and good,</span> +<span class="i0">Till the thoughts of my heart overcame me, and the pride of my wisdom and speech,</span> +<span class="i0">And I scorned the earth-folk's Framer and the Lord of the world I must teach:</span> +<span class="i0">For the death-doomed I caught from the sword, and the fated life I slew,</span> +<span class="i0">And I deemed that my deeds were goodly, and that long I should do and undo.</span> +<span class="i0">But Allfather came against me and the God in his wrath arose;</span> +<span class="i0">And he cried: 'Thou hast thought in thy folly that the Gods have friends and foes,</span> +<span class="i0">That they wake, and the world wends onward, that they sleep, and the world slips back,</span> +<span class="i0">That they laugh, and the world's weal waxeth, that they frown and fashion the wrack:</span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast cast up the curse against me; it shall fall aback on thine head;</span> +<span class="i0">Go back to the sons of repentance, with the children of sorrow wed!</span> +<span class="i0">For the Gods are great unholpen, and their grief is seldom seen,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wrong that they will and must be is soon as it hath not been.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Yet I thought: 'Shall I wed in the world, shall I gather grief on the earth?</span> +<span class="i0">Then the fearless heart shall I wed, and bring the best to birth,</span> +<span class="i0">And fashion such tales for the telling, that Earth shall be holpen at least,</span> +<span class="i0">If the Gods think scorn of its fairness, as they sit at the changeless feast.'</span> + +<span class="i0">"Then somewhat smiled Allfather; and he spake: 'So let it be!</span> +<span class="i0">The doom thereof abideth; the doom of me and thee.</span> +<span class="i0">Yet long shall the time pass over ere thy waking-day be born:</span> +<span class="i0">Fare forth, and forget and be weary 'neath the Sting of the Sleepful Thorn!'</span> + +<span class="i0">"So I came to the head of Hindfell and the ruddy shields and white,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wall of the wildfire wavering around the isle of night;</span> +<span class="i0">And there the Sleep-thorn pierced me, and the slumber on me fell,</span> +<span class="i0">And the night of nameless sorrows that hath no tale to tell.</span> +<span class="i0">Now I am she that loveth; and the day is nigh at hand</span> +<span class="i0">When I, who have ridden the sea-realm and the regions of the land,</span> +<span class="i0">And dwelt in the measureless mountains and the forge of stormy days,</span> +<span class="i0">Shall dwell in the house of my fathers and the land of the people's praise;</span> +<span class="i0">And there shall hand meet hand, and heart by heart shall beat,</span> +<span class="i0">And the lying-down shall be joyous, and the morn's uprising sweet.</span> +<span class="i0">Lo now, I look on thine heart and behold of thine inmost will,</span> +<span class="i0">That thou of the days wouldst hearken that our portion shall fulfill;</span> +<span class="i0">But O, be wise of man-folk, and the hope of thine heart refrain!</span> +<span class="i0">As oft in the battle's beginning ye vex the steed with the rein,</span> +<span class="i0">Lest at last in its latter ending, when the sword hath hushed the horn,</span> +<span class="i0">His limbs should be weary and fail, and his might be over-worn.</span> +<span class="i0">O be wise, lest thy love constrain me, and my vision wax o'er-clear,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou ask of the thing that thou shouldst not, and the thing that thou wouldst not hear.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Know thou, most mighty of men, that the Norns shall order all,</span> +<span class="i0">And yet without thine helping shall no whit of their will befall;</span> +<span class="i0">Be wise! 'tis a marvel of words, and a mock for the fool and the blind;</span> +<span class="i0">But I saw it writ in the heavens, and its fashioning there did I find:</span> +<span class="i0">And the night of the Norns and their slumber, and the tide when the world runs back,</span> +<span class="i0">And the way of the sun is tangled, it is wrought of the dastard's lack.</span> +<span class="i0">But the day when the fair earth blossoms, and the sun is bright above,</span> +<span class="i0">Of the daring deeds is it fashioned and the eager hearts of love.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Be wise, and cherish thine hope in the freshness of the days,</span> +<span class="i0">And scatter its seed from thine hand in the field of the people's praise;</span> +<span class="i0">Then fair shall it fall in the furrow, and some the earth shall speed,</span> +<span class="i0">And the sons of men shall marvel at the blossom of the deed:</span> +<span class="i0">But some the earth shall speed not; nay rather, the wind of the heaven</span> +<span class="i0">Shall waft it away from thy longing—and a gift to the Gods hast thou given,</span> +<span class="i0">And a tree for the roof and the wall in the house of the hope that shall be,</span> +<span class="i0">Though it seemeth our very sorrow, and the grief of thee and me.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Strive not with the fools of man-folk: for belike thou shalt overcome;</span> +<span class="i0">And what then is the gain of thine hunting when thou bearest the quarry home?</span> +<span class="i0">Or else shall the fool overcome thee, and what deed thereof shall grow?</span> +<span class="i0">Nay, strive with the wise man rather, and increase thy woe and his woe;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet thereof a gain hast thou gotten; and the half of thine heart hast thou won</span> +<span class="i0">If thou mayst prevail against him, and his deeds are the deeds thou hast done:</span> +<span class="i0">Yea, and if thou fall before him, in him shalt thou live again,</span> +<span class="i0">And thy deeds in his hand shall blossom, and his heart of thine heart shall be fain.</span> + +<span class="i0">"When thou hearest the fool rejoicing, and he saith, 'It is over and past,</span> +<span class="i0">And the wrong was better than right, and hate turns into love at the last,</span> +<span class="i0">And we strove for nothing at all, and the Gods are fallen asleep;</span> +<span class="i0">For so good is the world a growing that the evil good shall reap:'</span> +<span class="i0">Then loosen thy sword in the scabbard and settle the helm on thine head,</span> +<span class="i0">For men betrayed are mighty, and great are the wrongfully dead.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Wilt thou do the deed and repent it? thou hadst better never been born:</span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou do the deed and exalt it? then thy fame shall be outworn:</span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt do the deed and abide it, and sit on thy throne on high,</span> +<span class="i0">And look on to-day and to-morrow as those that never die.</span> + +<span class="i0">"Love thou the Gods—and withstand them, lest thy fame should fail in the end,</span> +<span class="i0">And thou be but their thrall and their bondsman, who wert born for their very friend:</span> +<span class="i0">For few things from the Gods are hidden, and the hearts of men they know,</span> +<span class="i0">And how that none rejoiceth to quail and crouch alow.</span> + +<span class="i0">"I have spoken the words, belovèd, to thy matchless glory and worth;</span> +<span class="i0">But thy heart to my heart hath been speaking, though my tongue hath set it forth:</span> +<span class="i0">For I am she that loveth, and I know what thou wouldst teach</span> +<span class="i0">From the heart of thine unlearned wisdom, and I needs must speak thy speech."</span> + +<span class="i0">Then words were weary and silent, but oft and o'er again</span> +<span class="i0">They craved and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the Son of Sigmund: "Fairest, and most of worth,</span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou seen the ways of man-folk and the regions of the earth?</span> +<span class="i0">Then speak yet more of wisdom; for most meet meseems it is</span> +<span class="i0">That my soul to thy soul be shapen, and that I should know thy bliss."</span> + +<span class="i0">So she took his right hand meekly, nor any word would say,</span> +<span class="i0">Not e'en of love or praising, his longing to delay;</span> +<span class="i0">And they sat on the side of Hindfell, and their fain eyes looked and loved,</span> +<span class="i0">As she told of the hidden matters whereby the world is moved:</span> +<span class="i0">And she told of the framing of all things, and the houses of the heaven;</span> +<span class="i0">And she told of the star-worlds' courses, and how the winds be driven;</span> +<span class="i0">And she told of the Norns and their names, and the fate that abideth the earth;</span> +<span class="i0">And she told of the ways of King-folk in their anger and their mirth;</span> +<span class="i0">And she spake of the love of women, and told of the flame that burns,</span> +<span class="i0">And the fall of mighty houses, and the friend that falters and turns,</span> +<span class="i0">And the lurking blinded vengeance, and the wrong that amendeth wrong,</span> +<span class="i0">And the hand that repenteth its stroke, and the grief that endureth for long;</span> +<span class="i0">And how man shall bear and forbear, and be master of all that is;</span> +<span class="i0">And how man shall measure it all, the wrath, and the grief, and the bliss.</span> + +<span class="i0">"I saw the body of Wisdom, and of shifting guise was she wrought,</span> +<span class="i0">And I stretched out my hands to hold her, and a mote of the dust they caught;</span> +<span class="i0">And I prayed her to come for my teaching, and she came in the midnight dream—</span> +<span class="i0">And I woke and might not remember, nor betwixt her tangle deem:</span> +<span class="i0">She spake, and how might I hearken; I heard, and how might I know;</span> +<span class="i0">I knew, and how might I fashion, or her hidden glory show?</span> +<span class="i0">All things I have told thee of Wisdom are but fleeting images</span> +<span class="i0">Of her hosts that abide in the Heavens, and her light that Allfather sees:</span> +<span class="i0">Yet wise is the sower that sows, and wise is the reaper that reaps,</span> +<span class="i0">And wise is the smith in his smiting, and wise is the warder that keeps:</span> +<span class="i0">And wise shalt thou be to deliver, and I shall be wise to desire;</span> +<span class="i0">—And lo, the tale that is told, and the sword and the wakening fire!</span> +<span class="i0">Lo now, I am she that loveth, and hark how Greyfell neighs,</span> +<span class="i0">And Fafnir's Bed is gleaming, and green go the downward ways.</span> +<span class="i0">The road to the children of men and the deeds that thou shalt do</span> +<span class="i0">In the joy of thy life-days' morning, when thine hope is fashioned anew.</span> +<span class="i0">Come now, O Bane of the Serpent, for now is the high-noon come,</span> +<span class="i0">And the sun hangeth over Hindfell and looks on the earth-folk's home;</span> +<span class="i0">But the soul is so great within thee, and so glorious are thine eyes,</span> +<span class="i0">And me so love constraineth, and mine heart that was called the wise,</span> +<span class="i0">That we twain may see men's dwellings and the house where we shall dwell,</span> +<span class="i0">And the place of our life's beginning, where the tale shall be to tell."</span> + +<span class="i0">So they climb the burg of Hindfell, and hand in hand they fare,</span> +<span class="i0">Till all about and above them is nought but the sunlit air,</span> +<span class="i0">And there close they cling together rejoicing in their mirth;</span> +<span class="i0">For far away beneath them lie the kingdoms of the earth,</span> +<span class="i0">And the garths of men-folk's dwellings and the streams that water them,</span> +<span class="i0">And the rich and plenteous acres, and the silver ocean's hem,</span> +<span class="i0">And the woodland wastes and the mountains, and all that holdeth all;</span> +<span class="i0">The house and the ship and the island, the loom and the mine and the stall,</span> +<span class="i0">The beds of bane and healing, the crafts that slay and save,</span> +<span class="i0">The temple of God and the Doom-ring, the cradle and the grave.</span> + +<span class="i0">Then spake the Victory-Wafter: "O King of the Earthly Age,</span> +<span class="i0">As a God thou beholdest the treasure and the joy of thine heritage,</span> +<span class="i0">And where on the wings of his hope is the spirit of Sigurd borne?</span> +<span class="i0">Yet I bid thee hover awhile as a lark alow on the corn;</span> +<span class="i0">Yet I bid thee look on the land 'twixt the wood and the silver sea</span> +<span class="i0">In the bight of the swirling river, and the house that cherished me!</span> +<span class="i0">There dwelleth mine earthly sister and the king that she hath wed;</span> +<span class="i0">There morn by morn aforetime I woke on the golden bed;</span> +<span class="i0">There eve by eve I tarried mid the speech and the lays of kings;</span> +<span class="i0">There noon by noon I wandered and plucked the blossoming things;</span> +<span class="i0">The little land of Lymdale by the swirling river's side,</span> +<span class="i0">Where Brynhild once was I called in the days ere my father died;</span> +<span class="i0">The little land of Lymdale 'twixt the woodland and the sea,</span> +<span class="i0">Where on thee mine eyes shall brighten and thine eyes shall beam on me."</span> + +<span class="i0">"I shall seek thee there," said Sigurd, "when the day-spring is begun,</span> +<span class="i0">Ere we wend the world together in the season of the sun."</span> + +<span class="i0">"I shall bide thee there," said Brynhild, "till the fullness of the days,</span> +<span class="i0">And the time for the glory appointed, and the springing-tide of praise."</span> + +<span class="i0">From his hand then draweth Sigurd Andvari's ancient Gold;</span> +<span class="i0">There is nought but the sky above them as the ring together they hold,</span> +<span class="i0">The shapen ancient token, that hath no change nor end,</span> +<span class="i0">No change, and no beginning, no flaw for God to mend:</span> +<span class="i0">Then Sigurd cries: "O Brynhild, now hearken while I swear,</span> +<span class="i0">That the sun shall die in the heavens and the day no more be fair,</span> +<span class="i0">If I seek not love in Lymdale and the house that fostered thee,</span> +<span class="i0">And the land where thou awakedst 'twixt the woodland and the sea!"</span> + +<span class="i0">And she cried: "O Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I swear</span> +<span class="i0">That the day shall die for ever and the sun to blackness wear,</span> +<span class="i0">Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie 'twixt wood and sea</span> +<span class="i0">In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered me!"</span> + +<span class="i0">Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again,</span> +<span class="i0">They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.</span> + +<span class="i0">So the day grew old about them and the joy of their desire,</span> +<span class="i0">And eve and the sunset came, and faint grew the sunset fire,</span> +<span class="i0">And the shadowless death of the day was sweet in the golden tide;</span> +<span class="i0">But the stars shone forth on the world, and the twilight changed and died;</span> +<span class="i0">And sure if the first of man-folk had been born to that starry night,</span> +<span class="i0">And had heard no tale of the sunrise, he had never longed for the light:</span> +<span class="i0">But Earth longed amidst her slumber, as 'neath the night she lay,</span> +<span class="i0">And fresh and all abundant abode the deeds of Day.</span> +</div></div> +<br /> +<h4>THE END.</h4> + + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.</h3> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h4><i>Sold by all the principal booksellers on the Continent</i>.</h4> + +<h2>January 1886.</h2> + +<h1>TAUCHNITZ EDITION.</h1> + +<h3>Each volume 1 Mark 60 Pf. or 2 Francs.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><i>This Collection of British Authors, Tautchnitz Edition, will contain +the new works of the most admired English and American Writers, +immediately on their appearance, with copyright for continental +circulation.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<h2>Contents:</h2> + +<table summary="ContentsEnd" width="40%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Collection of British Authors, vol. 1-2377</td> +<td class="tdr"><i>Page</i> 2-13.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Collection of German Authors, vol. 1-47</td> +<td class="tdr">" 14.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Series for the Young, vol. 1-30</td> +<td class="tdr">" 15.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Manuals of Conversation</td> +<td class="tdr">" 15.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dictionaries</td> +<td class="tdr">" 16.</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<h2>Latest Volumes:</h2> + +<p> +The Heir Presumptive. By <i>Florence Marryat</i>, 2 vols.<br /> +<br /> +Othmar. By <i>Ouida</i>, 3 vols.<br /> +<br /> +The Luck of the Darrells. By <i>James Payn</i>, 2 vols.<br /> +<br /> +A Girton Girl. By Mrs. <i>Annie Edwardes</i>, 2 vols.<br /> +<br /> +Murder or Manslaughter? By <i>Helen Mathers</i>, 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Andromeda. By <i>George Fleming</i>, 2 vols.<br /> +<br /> +Maruja. By <i>Bret Harte</i>, 1 vol.<br /> +<br /> +A Second Life. By Mrs. <i>Alexander</i>, 3 vols.<br /> +<br /> +Colonel Enderby's Wife. By <i>Lucas Malet</i>, 2 vols.<br /> +<br /> +A Family Affair. By <i>Hugh Conway</i>, 2 vols.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Collection of British Authors.</h2> + + +<p> +Rev. W. Adams:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sacred Allegories 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Aguilar:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home Influence 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mother's Recompense 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hamilton Aïdé:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rita 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carr of Carrlyon 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Marstons 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that State of Life 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Morals and Mysteries 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Penruddocke 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A nine Days' Wonder" 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poet and Peer 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Introduced to Society 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. Harrison Ainsworth:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Windsor Castle 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saint James's 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jack Sheppard (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lancashire Witches 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Star-Chamber 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Flitch of Bacon 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Spendthrift 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mervyn Clitheroe 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ovingdean Grange 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Constable of the Tower 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lord Mayor of London 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cardinal Pole 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Law 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Spanish Match 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Constable de Bourbon 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Court 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Myddleton Pomfret 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The South-Sea Bubble 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hilary St. Ives 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Talbot Harland 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tower Hill 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boscobel; or, the Royal Oak 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Good Old Times 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Merry England 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Goldsmith's Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Preston Fight 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chetwynd Calverley 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Leaguer of Lathom 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fall of Somerset 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beatrice Tyldesley 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beau Nash 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stanley Brereton 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +L. M. Alcott:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Women 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Men 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Old-Fashioned Girl 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Alexander:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Second Life 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse (with Portrait) 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +"All for Greed," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All for Greed 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love the Avenger 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thomas Bailey Aldrich:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marjorie Daw and other Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Stillwater Tragedy 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +L. Alldridge:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Love and Law 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The World she Awoke in 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +F. Anstey:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Giant's Robe 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Austen:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sense and Sensibility 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mansfield Park 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pride and Prejudice 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Emma 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady Barker:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Station Life in New Zealand 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Station Amusements in New Zealand 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Year's Housekeeping in South Africa 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Letters to Guy & A Distant Shore—Rodrigues 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Rev. R. H. Baynes:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lyra Anglicana, Hymns & Sacred Songs 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Beaconsfield:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Disraeli.</span><br /> +<br /> +Averil Beaumont:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thornicroft's Model 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Currer Bell (Charlotte Brontë):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jane Eyre 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shirley 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Villette 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Professor 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ellis & Acton Bell:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wuthering Heights, and Agnes Grey 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Frank Lee Benedict:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">St. Simon's Niece 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Walter Besant:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Revolt of Man 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Golden Butterfly by Besant and Rice 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ready-Money Mortiboy by Besant and Rice 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dorothy Forster 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. Black:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Daughter of Heth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Silk Attire 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The strange Adventures of a Phaeton 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Princess of Thule 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kilmeny 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Maid of Killeena 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three Feathers 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madcap Violet 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Green Pastures and Piccadilly 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Macleod of Dare 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White Wings 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunrise 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Beautiful Wretch 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shandon Bells (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Judith Shakespeare 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Wise Women of Inverness 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +R. D. Blackmore:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alice Lorraine 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mary Anerley 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christowell 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tommy Upmore 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Blackwood."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales from— 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Second Series</i> 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Isa Blagden:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Woman I loved, and the Woman who loved me; A Tuscan Wedding 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady Blessington:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Meredith 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strathern 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memoirs of a Femme de Chambre 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marmaduke Herbert 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Country Quarters (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Baroness Bloomfield:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reminiscences of Court and Diplomatic Life (w. Portrait of Her Majesty the Queen) 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Braddon:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Audley's Secret 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aurora Floyd 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eleanor's Victory 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Marchmont's Legacy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry Dunbar 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Doctor's Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only a Clod 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir Jasper's Tenant 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lady's Mile 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rupert Godwin 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dead-Sea Fruit 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Run to Earth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fenton's Quest 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lovels of Arden 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strangers and Pilgrims 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lucius Davoren 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Taken at the Flood 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost for Love 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Strange World 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hostages to Fortune 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dead Men's Shoes 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joshua Haggard's Daughter 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weavers and Weft 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Great Waters 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Open Verdict 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vixen 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cloven Foot 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of Barbara 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as I am 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asphodel 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mount Royal 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Golden Calf 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flower and Weed 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Phantom Fortune 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the Red Flag 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ishmael 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wyllard's Weird 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady Brassey:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Voyage in the "Sunbeam" 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunshine and Storm in the East 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Trades, the Tropics, and the Roaring Forties 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Bread-Winners 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Shirley Brooks:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Silver Cord 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sooner or Later 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Rhoda Broughton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cometh up as a Flower 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not wisely, but too well 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red as a Rose is She 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales for Christmas Eve 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nancy 2 v. Joan 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Second Thoughts 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belinda 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Brown:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rab and his Friends, and other Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Eliz. Barrett Browning:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Selection from her Poetry (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aurora Leigh 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Robert Browning:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works (with portrait) 4 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bulwer (Lord Lytton):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pelham (with portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eugene Aram 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paul Clifford 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zanoni 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Last Days of Pompeii 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Disowned 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ernest Maltravers 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alice 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eva, and the Pilgrims of the Rhine 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devereux 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Godolphin, and Falkland 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rienzi 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Night and Morning 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Last of the Barons 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Athens 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poems and Ballads of Schiller 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lucretia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harold 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">King Arthur 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The new Timon; St Stephen's 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Caxtons 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Novel 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What will he do with it? 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dramatic Works 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Strange Story 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Caxtoniana 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lost Tales of Miletus 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miscellaneous Prose Works 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Odes and Epodes of Horace 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kenelm Chillingly 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Coming Race 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Parisians 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pausanias 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Henry Lytton Bulwer (Lord Dalling):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Historical Characters 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life of Henry John Temple, Viscount Palmerston 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Bunyan:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Pilgrim's Progress 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Buried Alone 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +F. H. Burnett:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through one Administration 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Burney: Evelina 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Robert Burns:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Richard F. Burton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mecca and Medina 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. B. H. Buxton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Jennie of 'the Prince's'" 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Won! 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Grenfell Gardens 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nell—on and off the Stage 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the Wings 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Byron:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works (w. portrait) 5 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Cameron:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across Africa 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thomas Carlyle:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The French Revolution 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frederick the Great 13 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life of Friedrich Schiller 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Alaric Carr:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Treherne's Temptation 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Maria Louisa Charlesworth:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oliver of the Mill 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Draytons and the Davenants 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Both Sides of the Sea 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winifred Bertram 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevylyan 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Victory of the Vanquished 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cottage by the Cathedral 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against the Stream 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bertram Family 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conquering and to Conquer 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lapsed, but not Lost 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Frances Power Cobbe:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Re-Echoes 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Coleridge:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poems 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +C. R. Coleridge:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An English Squire 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Chas. A. Collins:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Cruise upon Wheels 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mortimer Collins:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet and Twenty 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Fight with Fortune 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wilkie Collins:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">After Dark 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hide and Seek 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Plot in Private Life 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Woman in White 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Basil 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No Name 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dead Secret 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Antonina 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Armadale 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Moonstone 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man and Wife 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Miss Finch 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss or Mrs.? 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The New Magdalen 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Frozen Deep 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Law and the Lady 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Two Destinies 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Lady's Money & Percy and the Prophet 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Haunted Hotel 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fallen Leaves 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jezebel's Daughter 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Black Robe 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heart and Science 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I say no" 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Cometh up as a Flower," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Broughton.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hugh Conway:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Called Back 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bound Together 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dark Days 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Family Affair 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fenimore Cooper:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Spy (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The two Admirals 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Jack O'Lantern 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +George L. Craik:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Manual of English Literature & Language 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Halifax, Gentleman 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Head of the Family 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Life for a Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Woman's Thoughts about Women 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Agatha's Husband 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romantic Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Domestic Stories 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mistress and Maid 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ogilvies 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Erlistoun 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christian's Mistake 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bread upon the Waters 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Noble Life 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Olive 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Marriages 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Studies from Life 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Woman's Kingdom 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Unkind Word 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Brave Lady 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hannah 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair France 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Mother and I 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Little Lame Prince 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sermons out of Church 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Laurel Bush 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Legacy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young Mrs. Jardine 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Little Mother 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plain Speaking 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Tommy 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Georgiana Craik:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost and Won 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faith Unwin's Ordeal 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leslie Tyrrell 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winifred's Wooing, and other Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mildred 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Esther Hill's Secret 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hero Trevelyan 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without Kith or Kin 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only a Butterfly 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sylvia's Choice; Theresa 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anne Warwick 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Tales of Married Life 2 v. (Vol. I. Hard to Bear, Vol. II. <i>vide</i> M. C. Stirling.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dorcas 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Women 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. A. Craven:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eliane. Translated by Lady Fullerton 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +F. Marion Crawford:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Isaacs 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doctor Claudius 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Leeward 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Roman Singer 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An American Politician 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zoroaster 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. W. Cross:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> George Eliot's Life.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Cummins:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lamplighter 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mabel Vaughan 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">El Fureidîs 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haunted Hearts 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Daily News,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">War Correspondence 1877 by A. Forbes, etc. 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +De-Foe:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robinson Crusoe 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Democracy.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An American Novel 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Dickens:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">American Notes 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oliver Twist 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sketches 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Christmas Carol; the Chimes; the Cricket on the Hearth 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Master Humphrey's Clock (Old Curiosity Shop, Barnaby Rudge, and other Tales) 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pictures from Italy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Battle of Life; the Haunted Man 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dombey and Son 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">David Copperfield 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bleak House 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Child's History of England (2 v. 8° M. 2,70.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hard Times 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Dorrit 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Tale of two Cities 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunted Down; The Uncommercial Traveller 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Expectations 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christmas Stories 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Mutual Friend 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Somebody's Luggage; Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings; Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions; Mugby Junction 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No Thoroughfare 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mystery of Edwin Drood 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mudfog Papers 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Vide</i> Household Words, Novels and Tales, and John Forster.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Dickens:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Letters of Charles Dickens edited by his Sister-in-law and his eldest Daughter 4 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +B. Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coningsby 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sybil 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contarini Fleming (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alroy 1 v. Tancred 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Venetia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vivian Grey 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henrietta Temple 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lothair 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Endymion 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. Hepworth Dixon:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Personal History of Lord Bacon 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Holy Land 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">New America 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spiritual Wives 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Majesty's Tower 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Free Russia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of two Queens 6 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White Conquest 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diana, Lady Lyle 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Earl and the Doctor:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">South Sea Bubbles 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Edwardes:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Archie Lovell 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steven Lawrence, Yeoman 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ought we to Visit her? 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Vagabond Heroine 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leah: A Woman of Fashion 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Blue-Stocking 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vivian the Beauty 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Ballroom Repentance 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Girton Girl 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Amelia B. Edwards:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barbara's History 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Carew 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hand and Glove 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half a Million of Money 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Debenham's Vow 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Days of my Youth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Untrodden Peaks and unfrequented Valleys 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monsieur Maurice 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Forest 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Poetry-Book of Elder Poets 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Thousand Miles up the Nile 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Poetry-Book of Modern Poets 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Brackenbury 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss M. Betham-Edwards:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Sylvestres 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Felicia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brother Gabriel 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forestalled 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Exchange no Robbery 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disarmed 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doctor Jacob 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pearla 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Barbara Elbon:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bethesda 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +George Eliot:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scenes of Clerical Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adam Bede 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mill on the Floss 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silas Marner 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romola 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Felix Holt 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daniel Deronda 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lifted Veil and Brother Jacob 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impressions of Theophrastus Such 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Essays 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +George Eliot's Life as related in her Letters and Journals. Arranged and ed. by her Husband J. W. Cross 4 v.<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Elliot:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diary of an Idle Woman in Italy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Court Life in France 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Italians 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pictures of Old Rome 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diary of an Idle Woman in Spain 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Red Cardinal 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Essays and Reviews 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Estelle Russell 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +Expiated 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +G. M. Fenn:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Parson o' Dumford 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Clerk of Portwick 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fielding:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The History of Tom Jones 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Five Centuries of the English Language and Literature 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +George Fleming:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kismet 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Andromeda 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +A. Forbes:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Experiences of the War between France and Germany 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soldiering and Scribbling 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See also "Daily News," War Correspondence.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Forrester:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Viva 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rhona 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roy and Viola 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Lord and My Lady 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have Lived and Loved 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">June 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Omnia Vanitas 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although he was a Lord, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corisande, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Forster:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of Charles Dickens 6 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Jessie Fothergill:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The First Violin 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Probation 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made or Marred and "One of Three" 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kith and Kin 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peril 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Found Dead," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> James Payn.</span><br /> +<br /> +Caroline Fox:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memories of Old Friends from her Journals, edited by Horace N. Pym 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Frank Fairlegh 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +E. A. Freeman:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Growth of the English Constitution 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Select Historical Essays 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady G. Fullerton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ellen Middleton 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grantley Manor 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady-Bird 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too Strange not to be True 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Constance Sherwood 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A stormy Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Gerald's Niece 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Notary's Daughter 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lilies of the Valley 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Countess de Bonneval 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rose Leblanc 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seven Stories 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life of Luisa de Carvajal 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Will and a Way 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eliane 2 v. (<i>vide</i> Craven).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laurentia 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Gaskell:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mary Barton 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ruth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">North and South 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lizzie Leigh 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life of Charlotte Brontë 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lois the Witch 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sylvia's Lovers 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Dark Night's Work 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wives and Daughters 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cranford 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cousin Phillis, and other Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Geraldine Hawthorne <i>vide</i> "Miss Molly."<br /> +<br /> +Agnes Giberne:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Curate's Home 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rome and the newest Fashions in Religion 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bulgarian Horrors: Russia in Turkistan 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hellenic Factor in the Eastern Problem 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Goldsmith:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Select Works: The Vicar of Wakefield; Poems; Dramas (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Major-Gen. C. G. Gordon's Journals, at Kartoum. Introduction and Notes by A. E. Hake (with eighteen Illustrations) 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Gore:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castles in the Air 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dean's Daughter 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Progress and Prejudice 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mammon 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Life's Lessons 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The two Aristocracies 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heckington 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Grant:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Victor Lescar 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Sun-Maid 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Heart's in the Highlands 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Artiste 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prince Hugo 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cara Roma 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. A. Baillie Grohman:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tyrol and the Tyrolese 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Guy Livingstone," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy Livingstone 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sword and Gown 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barren Honour 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Border and Bastille 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maurice Dering 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sans Merci 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breaking a Butterfly 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anteros 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hagarene 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. Habberton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Helen's Babies & Other People's Children 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bowsham Puzzle 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Tramp; Mrs. Mayburn's Twins 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hake: <i>v</i>. Gordon's Journals.<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. S. C. Hall:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can Wrong be Right? 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marian 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thomas Hardy:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hand of Ethelberta 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from the Madding Crowd 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Return of the Native 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Trumpet-Major 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Laodicean 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two on a Tower 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Pair of Blue Eyes 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Agnes Harrison:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Martin's Vineyard 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bret Harte:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prose and Poetry (Tales of the Argonauts; Spanish and American Legends; Condensed Novels; Civic and Character Sketches; Poems) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Idyls of the Foothills 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gabriel Conroy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Men of Sandy Bar 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thankful Blossom 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of a Mine 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drift from Two Shores 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Heiress of Red Dog 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Twins of Table Mountain, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jeff Briggs's Love Story, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flip, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Frontier 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Shore and Sedge 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maruja 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sir H. Havelock, by the Rev. W. Brock, 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +N. Hawthorne:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Scarlet Letter 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Transformation 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passages from the English Note-Books 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Heir of Redclyffe," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Yonge.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sir Arthur Helps:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Friends in Council 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ivan de Biron 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Hemans:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Select Poetical Works 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Cashel Hoey:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Golden Sorrow 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of Court 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oliver Wendell Holmes:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Professor at the Breakfast-Table 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poet at the Breakfast-Table 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Household Words conducted by Ch. Dickens. 1851-56. 36 v.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Novels and Tales reprinted from Household Words by Ch. Dickens. 1856-59. 11 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Howard:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Summer 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aunt Serena 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guenn 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. D. Howells:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Foregone Conclusion 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lady of the Aroostook 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Modern Instance 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Undiscovered Country 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Venetian Life (w. portr.) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Italian Journeys 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Chance Acquaintance 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their Wedding Journey 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Fearful Responsibility, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Woman's Reason 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dr. Breen's Practice 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thos. Hughes:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tom Brown's School Days 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Jean Ingelow:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off the Skelligs 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fated to be Free 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sarah de Berenger 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don John 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. H. Ingram:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> E. A. Poe.</span><br /> +<br /> +Washington Irving:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sketch Book (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of Mahomet 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Successors of Mahomet 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oliver Goldsmith 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chronicles of Wolfert's Roost 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of George Washington 5 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Helen Jackson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ramona 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. P. R. James:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Morley Ernstein (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forest Days 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The False Heir 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arabella Stuart 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rose d'Albret 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arrah Neil 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Agincourt 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Smuggler 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Step-Mother 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauchamp 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heidelberg 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Gipsy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Castle of Ehrenstein 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darnley 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Russell 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Convict 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir Theodore Broughton 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Henry James:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The American 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Europeans 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daisy Miller 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roderick Hudson 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Madonna of the Future, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eugene Pickering, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Confidence 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Washington Square 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Portrait of a Lady 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foreign Parts 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">French Poets and Novelists 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Siege of London, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Portraits of Places 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Little Tour in France 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. Cordy Jeaffreson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Book about Doctors 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Woman in Spite of herself 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Real Lord Byron 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Jenkin:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who Breaks—Pays" 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Skirmishing 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once and Again 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two French Marriages 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within an Ace 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jupiter's Daughters 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Edward Jenkins:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ginx's Baby; Lord Bantam 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Jennie of 'the Prince's,'" Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Mrs. Buxton.</span><br /> +<br /> +Douglas Jerrold:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The History of St. Giles and St. James 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Men of Character 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"John Halifax," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Mrs. Craik.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Johnny Ludlow," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Mrs. Wood.</span><br /> +<br /> +Johnson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lives of the English Poets 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Emily Jolly:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Colonel Dacre 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Joshua Davidson," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> E. Lynn Linton.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Kavanagh:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nathalie 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daisy Burns 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grace Lee 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rachel Gray 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adèle 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Summer and Winter in the Two Sicilies 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seven Years 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">French Women of Letters 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">English Women of Letters 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen Mab 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beatrice 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sybil's Second Love 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dora 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silvia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bessie 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Dorrien 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Lilies 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forget-me-nots 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Annie Keary:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oldbury 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castle Daly 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three Sisters 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Kempis:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Thomas a Kempis.</span><br /> +<br /> +R. B. Kimball:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saint Leger 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romance of Student Life abroad 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Undercurrents 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was he Successful? 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-Day in New-York 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +A. W. Kinglake:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eothen 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Invasion of the Crimea v. 1-10.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Kingsley:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yeast 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Westward ho! 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Years ago 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hypatia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alton Locke 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hereward the Wake 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Last 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Kingsley:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Letters and Memories of his Life edited by his Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Henry Kingsley:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ravenshoe 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Austin Elliot 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hillyars and the Burtons 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leighton Court 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Valentin 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oakshott Castle 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reginald Hetherege 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Grange Garden 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +May Laffan:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Lamb:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Essays of Elia and Eliana 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mary Langdon:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ida May 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Last of the Cavaliers," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last of the Cavaliers 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Gain of a Loss 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Leaves from the Journal of our Life in the Highlands from 1848 to 1861, 1 v.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More Leaves from the Journal of a Life in the Highlands from 1862 to 1882, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Holme Lee:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Miss Parr.</span><br /> +<br /> +S. Le Fanu:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uncle Silas 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy Deverell 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mark Lemon:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wait for the End 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loved at Last 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falkner Lyle 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leyton Hall 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden Fetters 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Lever:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The O'Donoghue 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Knight of Gwynne 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arthur O'Leary 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charles O'Malley 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tom Burke of "Ours" 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jack Hinton 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Daltons 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dodd Family abroad 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Martins of Cro' Martin 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fortunes of Glencore 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roland Cashel 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Davenport Dunn 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Con Cregan 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One of Them 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maurice Tiernay 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir Jasper Carew 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barrington 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Day's Ride: a Life's Romance 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Luttrell of Arran 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tony Butler 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir Brook Fossbrooke 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Rent in a Cloud 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Boy of Norcott's 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">St. Patrick's Eve; Paul Gosslett's Confessions 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Kilgobbin 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. H. Lewes:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ranthorpe 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Physiology of Common Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Actors and the Art of Acting 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +E. Lynn Linton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joshua Davidson 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Patricia Kemball 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Atonement of Leam Dundas 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The World well Lost 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under which Lord? 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a Silken Thread etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Todhunters' at Loanin' Head etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My Love!" 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Girl of the Period, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ione 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Laurence W. M. Lockhart:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine is Thine 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Longfellow:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works (w. portrait) 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The New-England Tragedies 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Divine Tragedy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three Books of Song 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Masque of Pandora 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +M. Lonsdale:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sister Dora 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +A Lost Battle 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +Lutfullah:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Autobiography of Lutfullah, by Eastwick 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Lytton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Bulwer.</span><br /> +<br /> +Robert Lord Lytton (Owen Meredith):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fables in Song 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Macaulay:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of England (w. portrait) 10 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Critical and Historical Essays 5 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lays of Ancient Rome 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Biographical Essays 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Pitt, Atterbury 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(See also Trevelyan).</span><br /> +<br /> +Justin M<sup>c</sup>Carthy:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waterdale Neighbours 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Disdain 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Misanthrope 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A History of our own Times 5 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Donna Quixote 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A short History of our own Times 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A History of the Four Georges vol. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +George MacDonald:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alec Forbes of Howglen 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">David Elginbrod 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Vicar's Daughter 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Malcolm 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">St. George and St. Michael 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Marquis of Lossie 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir Gibbie 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mary Marston 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Gifts of the Child Christ, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Princess and Curdie 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Mackarness:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunbeam Stories 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Peerless Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Mingled Yarn 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles McKnight:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Fort Duquesne 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Norman Macleod:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old Lieutenant and his Son 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Macquoid:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Patty 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miriam's Marriage 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pictures across the Channel 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too Soon 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Story 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diane 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the River 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Faithful Lover 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mademoiselle Mori," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mademoiselle Mori 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Denise 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame Fontenoy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Edge of the Storm 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Atelier du Lys 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Olden Time 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Mahon:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Stanhope.</span><br /> +<br /> +E. S. Maine:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarscliff Rocks 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lucas Malet:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Colonel Enderby's Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Malmesbury:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memoirs of an Ex-Minister 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +R. Blachford Mansfield:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Log of the Water Lily 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mark Twain:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Adventures of Tom Sawyer 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Innocents Abroad; or, the New Pilgrims' Progress 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Tramp Abroad 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Roughing it" 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Innocents at Home 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Prince and the Pauper 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Stolen White Elephant, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life on the Mississippi 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sketches 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huckleberry Finn 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Marmorne 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Capt. Marryat:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jacob Faithful (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Percival Keene 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peter Simple 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Japhet 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monsieur Violet 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Settlers 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mission 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Privateer's-Man 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Children of the New-Forest 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Valerie 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Midshipman Easy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The King's Own 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Florence Marryat:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love's Conflict 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Ever and Ever 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Confessions of Gerald Estcourt 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nelly Brooke 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Véronique 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Petronel 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Lord and Master 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Prey of the Gods 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of Captain Marryat 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mad Dumaresq 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No Intentions 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fighting the Air 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Star and a Heart 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poison of Asps 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Lucky Disappointment 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My own Child 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Father's Name 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Harvest of Wild Oats 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Little Stepson 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Written in Fire 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her World against a Lie 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Broken Blossom 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Root of all Evil 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fair-haired Alda 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Cupid's Eyes 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Sister the Actress 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Phyllida 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How They Loved Him 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Facing the Footlights (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Moment of Madness 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peeress and Player 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the Lilies and Roses 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Heart of Jane Warner 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Heir Presumptive 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Marsh:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ravenscliffe 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Emilia Wyndham 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castle Avon 2 v. Aubrey 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Heiress of Haughton 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Evelyn Marston 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rose of Ashurst 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Emma Marshall:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Mainwaring's Journal 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Benvenuta 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Alice 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dayspring 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life's Aftermath 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the East Country 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +H. Mathers:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Cherry Ripe!" 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Land o' the Leal" 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Lady Green Sleeves 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he comes up the Stair, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sam's Sweetheart 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eyre's Acquittal 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Found Out 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Murder or Manslaughter? 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mehalah," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mehalah 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Herring 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Whyte Melville:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kate Coventry 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holmby House 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Digby Grand 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good for Nothing 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Queen's Maries 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Gladiators 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Brookes of Bridlemere 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cerise 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Interpreter 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The White Rose 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">M. or N. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contraband; or A Losing Hazard 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sarchedon 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uncle John 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Katerfelto 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sister Louise 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosine 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roy's Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black but Comely 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding Recollections 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +George Meredith:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ordeal of Feverel 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauchamp's Career 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Tragic Comedians 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Owen Meredith:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Robert Lord Lytton.</span><br /> +<br /> +Milton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Miss Molly," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Geraldine Hawthorne 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Molly Bawn," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Molly Bawn 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Geoffrey 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faith and Unfaith 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Portia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loÿs, Lord Berresford, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her First Appearance, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Phyllis 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rossmoyne 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doris 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Maiden all Forlorn, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Passive Crime 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Florence Montgomery:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Misunderstood 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrown Together 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thwarted 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild Mike 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seaforth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Blue Veil 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Moore:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works (w. portrait) 5 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady Morgan's Memoirs 3 v.<br /> +<br /> +Henry Morley:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of English Literature in the Reign of Victoria. With Facsimiles of the Signatures of Authors in the Tauchnitz Edition [v. 2000].</span><br /> +<br /> +E. C. Grenville: Murray:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Member for Paris 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young Brown 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Boudoir Cabal 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">French Pictures in English Chalk (1st Series) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Russians of To-day 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">French Pictures in English Chalk (2nd Series) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strange Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Artful Vicar 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six Months in the Ranks 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">People I have met 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"My little Lady," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> E. Frances Poynter.</span><br /> +<br /> +New Testament [v. 1000].<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Newby:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Common Sense 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dr. J. H. Newman:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Callista 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Nina Balatka," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Anthony Trollope.</span><br /> +<br /> +"No Church," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No Church 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Owen:—a Waif 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady Augusta Noel:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Generation to Generation 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hon. Mrs. Norton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stuart of Dunleath 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost and Saved 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Sir Douglas 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Novels and Tales<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Household Words.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not Easily Jealous 2 v.<br /> +<br /> +L. Oliphant:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Altiora Peto 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Oliphant:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland of Sunnyside 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Last of the Mortimers 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Agnes 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madonna Mary 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Minister's Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rector, and the Doctor's Family 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salem Chapel 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Perpetual Curate 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Marjoribanks 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ombra 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memoir of Count de Montalembert 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Innocent 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Love and Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Rose in June 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of Valentine and his Brother 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whiteladies 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Curate in Charge 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Phoebe, Junior 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Arthur 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carità 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young Musgrave 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Primrose Path 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the Precincts 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The greatest Heiress in England 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He that will not when he may 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harry Joscelyn 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Trust 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was a Lover and his Lass 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ladies Lindores 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hester 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Wizard's Son 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ossian:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ouida:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Idalia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tricotrin 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puck 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chandos 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strathmore 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under two Flags 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Folle-Farine 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Leaf in the Storm; A Dog of Flanders and other Stories 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cecil Castlemaine's Gage 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame la Marquise 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pascarèl 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held in Bondage 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two little Wooden Shoes 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Signa (w. portrait) 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a Winter City 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ariadnê 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Friendship 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moths 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pipistrello 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Village Commune 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Maremma 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bimbi 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wanda 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frescoes, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Princess Napraxine 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Rainy June (60 Pf.). Othmar 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Parr (Holme Lee):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Basil Godfrey's Caprice 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Richer, for Poorer 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Beautiful Miss Barrington 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Title of Honour 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Echoes of a Famous Year 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Katherine's Trial 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bessie Fairfax 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ben Milner's Wooing 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straightforward 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Denys of Cote 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Poor Squire 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Parr:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dorothy Fox 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Prescotts of Pamphillon 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gosau Smithy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robin 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Paul Ferroll," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paul Ferroll 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Year after Year 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why Paul Ferroll killed his Wife 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +James Payn:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Found Dead 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gwendoline's Harvest 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Father, like Son 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not Wooed, but Won 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cecil's Tryst 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Woman's Vengeance 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Murphy's Master 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Heart of a Hill 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Her Mercy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Best of Husbands 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walter's Word 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Halves 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fallen Fortunes 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What He cost Her 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Proxy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Less Black than we're Painted 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under one Roof 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High Spirits 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High Spirits (Second Series) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Confidential Agent 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Exile 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Grape from a Thorn 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some Private Views 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Cash Only 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kit: A Memory 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Canon's Ward 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some Literary Recollections 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Talk of the Town 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Luck of the Darrells 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Fr. M. Peard:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Year 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rose-Garden 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unawares 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thorpe Regis 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Winter Story 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Madrigal 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cartouche 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother Molly 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Schloss and Town 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contradictions 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Near Neighbours 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bishop Percy:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reliques of Ancient English Poetry 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +E. A. Poe:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems and Essays. Edited with a new Memoir by John H. Ingram 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales. Edited by John H. Ingram 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Pope:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Select Poetical Works (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +E. Frances Poynter:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little Lady 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ersilia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the Hills 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame de Presnel 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Campbell Praed:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zéro 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Affinities 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. E. Prentiss:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stepping Heavenward 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Prince Consort's Speeches and Addresses 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Horace N. Pym:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> C. Fox.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. F. Rae:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Westward by Rail 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles Reade:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It is never too late to mend" 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Love me little love me long" 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cloister and the Hearth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hard Cash 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put Yourself in his Place 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Terrible Temptation 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peg Woffington 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christie Johnstone 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Simpleton 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Wandering Heir 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Woman-Hater 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Readiana 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Singleheart and Doubleface 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Recommended to Mercy," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Recommended to Mercy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zoe's 'Brand' 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +James Rice:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> W. Besant.</span><br /> +<br /> +Alfred Bate Richards:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So very Human 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Richardson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clarissa Harlowe 4 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Riddell (F. G. Trafford):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Geith of Fen Court 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maxwell Drewitt 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Race for Wealth 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far above Rubies 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Earl's Promise 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mortomley's Estate 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Rev. W. Robertson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sermons 4 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles H. Ross:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Pretty Widow 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A London Romance 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dante Gabriel Rossetti:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ballads and Sonnets 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. Ruffini:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lavinia 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doctor Antonio 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lorenzo Benoni 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vincenzo 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Quiet Nook 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Paragreens on a Visit to Paris 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carlino and other Stories 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. Clark Russell:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Sailor's Sweetheart 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The "Lady Maud" 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Sea Queen 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. A. Sala:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Seven Sons of Mammon 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Saunders:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Israel Mort, Overman 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Shipowner's Daughter 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Noble Wife 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Katherine Saunders:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joan Merryweather and other Tales 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gideon's Rock 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The High Mills 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sebastian 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sir Walter Scott:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waverley (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Antiquary 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ivanhoe 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kenilworth 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quentin Durward 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Mortality 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy Mannering 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rob Roy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Pirate 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fortunes of Nigel 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Black Dwarf;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Legend of Montrose 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bride of Lammermoor 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Heart of Mid-Lothian 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Monastery 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Abbot 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peveril of the Peak 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poetical Works 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woodstock 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fair Maid of Perth 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anne of Geierstein 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Professor Seeley:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and Times of Stein 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Expansion of England 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Sewell:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amy Herbert 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ursula 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Glimpse of the World 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Journal of a Home Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">After Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Experience of Life; or, Aunt Sarah 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Shakespeare:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plays and Poems (with portrait) (<i>Second Edition</i>) compl. 7 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Shakespeare's</i> Plays may also be had in 37 numbers, at M. 0,30. each number.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doubtful Plays 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Shelley:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Selection from his Poems 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nathan Sheppard:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shut up in Paris (<i>Second Edition, enlarged</i>) 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sheridan:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dramatic Works 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. Henry Shorthouse:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Inglesant 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Smollett:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Adventures of Roderick Random 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Expedition of Humphry Clinker 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Society in London. By a Foreign Resident 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +Earl Stanhope (Lord Mahon):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of England 7 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Reign of Queen Anne 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sterne:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Sentimental Journey (w. portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Robert Louis Stevenson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Treasure Island 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Still Waters," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still Waters 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dorothy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De Cressy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uncle Ralph 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maiden Sisters 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Martha Brown 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanessa 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +M. C. Stirling:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Tales of Married Life 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vol. II, A True Man,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vol. I. <i>vide</i> G. M. Craik.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The Story of Elizabeth," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>v</i>. Miss Thackeray.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. H. Beecher Stowe:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uncle Tom's Cabin (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dred 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Minister's Wooing 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oldtown Folks 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Sunbeam Stories," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Mackarness.</span><br /> +<br /> +Swift:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gulliver's Travels 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. A. Symonds:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sketches in Italy 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">New Italian Sketches 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Baroness Tautphoeus:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cyrilla 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Initials 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quits 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Odds 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Colonel Meadows Taylor:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tara: a Mahratta Tale 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Templeton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diary & Notes 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Tennyson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works 7 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen Mary 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harold 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ballads and other Poems 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Becket; The Cup; The Falcon 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. M. Thackeray:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanity Fair 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The History of Pendennis 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miscellanies 8 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The History of Henry Esmond 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The English Humourists 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Newcomes 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Virginians 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Four Georges;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lovel the Widower 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Adventures of Philip 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Denis Duval 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roundabout Papers 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Catherine 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Irish Sketch Book 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Paris Sketch Book (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Thackeray:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of Elizabeth 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Village on the Cliff 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Kensington 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bluebeard's Keys 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Five Old Friends 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Angel 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of the World 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fulham Lawn 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From an Island 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Da Capo 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame de Sévigné 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Book of Sibyls 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thomas a Kempis:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Imitation of Christ 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +A. Thomas:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Denis Donne 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Guard 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walter Goring 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Played out 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Called to Account 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only Herself 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A narrow Escape 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thomson:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poetical Works (with portrait) 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +F. G. Trafford:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Mrs. Riddell.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. O. Trevelyan:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay (w. portrait) 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Selections from the Writings of Lord Macaulay 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Trois-Etoiles:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Murray.</span><br /> +<br /> +Anthony Trollope:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doctor Thorne 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bertrams 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Warden 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barchester Towers 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castle Richmond 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The West Indies 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Framley Parsonage 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">North America 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Orley Farm 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rachel Ray 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Small House at Allington 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can you forgive her? 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Belton Estate 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nina Balatka 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Last Chronicle of Barset 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Claverings 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Phineas Finn 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knew he was Right 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Vicar of Bullhampton 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ralph the Heir 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Golden Lion of Granpere 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Australia and New Zealand 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Anna 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harry Heathcote of Gangoil 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Way we live now 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Prime Minister 4 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The American Senator 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">South Africa 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is he Popenjoy? 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Eye for an Eye 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Caldigate 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cousin Henry 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Duke's Children 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dr. Wortle's School 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ayala's Angel 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fixed Period 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marion Fay 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kept in the Dark 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frau Frohmann, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alice Dugdale, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">La Mère Bauche, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mistletoe Bough, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Autobiography 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Old Man's Love 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +T. Adolphus Trollope:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Garstangs of Garstang Grange 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Siren 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Two Cosmos 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +"Vèra," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vèra 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hôtel du Petit St. Jean 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue Roses 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within Sound of the Sea 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Maritime Alps and their Seaboard 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Victoria R. I.:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Leaves.</span><br /> +<br /> +Virginia 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +L. B. Walford:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Smith 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pauline 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cousins 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Troublesome Daughters 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mackenzie Wallace:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Russia 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Eliot Warburton:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Crescent and the Cross 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darien 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +S. Warren:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passages from the Diary of a late Physician 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ten Thousand a-Year 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now and Then 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lily and the Bee 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Waterdale Neighbours," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Justin M<sup>c</sup>Carthy.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Wetherell:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wide, wide World 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queechy 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hills of the Shatemuc 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say and Seal 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Old Helmet 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +A Whim and its Consequences 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +W. White: Holidays in Tyrol 1 v.<br /> +<br /> +"Who Breaks—Pays," Author of—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>vide</i> Mrs. Jenkin.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. S. Winter:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Regimental Legends 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Henry Wood:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">East Lynne 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Channings 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Verner's Pride 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Shadow of Ashlydyat 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trevlyn Hold 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Oakburn's Daughters 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oswald Cray 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mildred Arkell 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">St. Martin's Eve 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Elster's Folly 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Adelaide's Oath 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Orville College 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Life's Secret 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Red Court Farm 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anne Hereford 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roland Yorke 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Canterbury's Will 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bessy Rane 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dene Hollow 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Foggy Night at Offord, etc. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the Maze 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Master of Greylands 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Johnny Ludlow (<i>First Series</i>) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Told in the Twilight 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adam Grainger 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Edina 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pomeroy Abbey 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost in the Post, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Tale of Sin, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anne, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Court Netherleigh 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mystery of Jessy Page, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Helen Whitney's Wedding, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of Dorothy Grape, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wordsworth:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Select Poetical Works 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lascelles Wraxall:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild Oats 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Edm. Yates:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Land at Last 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broken to Harness 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Forlorn Hope 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Sheep 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rock Ahead 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrecked in Port 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dr. Wainwright's Patient 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nobody's Fortune 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castaway 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Waiting Race 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Yellow Flag 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Impending Sword 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two, by Tricks 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Silent Witness 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Recollections and Experiences 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Yonge:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Heir of Redclyffe 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heartsease 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Daisy Chain 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dynevor Terrace 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hopes and Fears 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Young Step-Mother 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Trial 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Clever Woman of the Family 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dove in the Eagle's Nest 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Danvers Papers; the Prince and the Page 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Chaplet of Pearls 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The two Guardians 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Caged Lion 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Pillars of the House 5 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Hester 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Young Alcides 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Three Brides 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Womankind 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Magnum Bonum 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love and Life 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unknown to History 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stray Pearls (w. portrait) 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Armourer's Prentices 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The two Sides of the Shield 2 v.</span><br /> +</p> + +<h4><i>The price of each volume is 1 Mark 60 Pfennige.</i></h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Collection of German Authors.</h2> + + +<p> +B. Auerbach:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Heights. Transl. by F. E. Bunnett. Second Authorized Edition, thoroughly revised, 3 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brigitta. From the German by C. Bell, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spinoza. From the German by Nicholson, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. Ebers:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Egyptian Princess. Translated by E. Grove, 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uarda. From the German by Bell, 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Homo Sum. From the German by Bell, 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Sisters. From the German by Bell, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fouqué:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Undine, Sintram, etc. Translated by F. E. Bunnett, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ferdinand Freiligrath:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poems. From the German. Edited by his Daughter. Second Copyright Edition, enlarged, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. Görlach:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prince Bismarck (with Portrait). From the German by Miss M. E. von Glehn, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Goethe:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faust. From the German by John Anster, LL.D. 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. From the German by Eleanor Grove, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +K. Gutzkow:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through Night to Light. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +F. W. Hackländer:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind the Counter [Handel u. Wandel]. From the German by Howitt, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +W. Hauff:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three Tales. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +P. Heyse:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">L'Arrabiata and other Tales. From the German by M. Wilson, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dead Lake and other Tales. From the German by Mary Wilson, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barbarossa and other Tales. From the German by L. C. S., 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wilhelmine von Hillern:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Vulture Maiden [die Geier-Wally]. From the German by C. Bell and E. F. Poynter, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hour will come. From the German by Clara Bell, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +S. Kohn:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gabriel. A Story of the Jews in Prague. From the German by A. Milman, M.A., 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. E. Lessing:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nathan the Wise and Emilia Galotti. The former transl. by W. Taylor, the latter by Chas. Lee Lewes, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fanny Lewald:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stella. From the German by Beatrice Marshall, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +E. Marlitt:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Princess of the Moor [das Haideprinzesschen], 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Maria Nathusius:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joachim von Kamern and Diary of a poor young Lady. From the German by Miss Thompson, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fritz Reuter:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Year '13: Transl. from the Platt-Deutsch by Chas. Lee Lewes, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An old Story of my Farming Days [Ut mine Stromtid]. From the German by M. W. Macdowall, 3 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Jean Paul Friedr. Richter:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces: or the Married Life, Death, and Wedding of the Advocate of the Poor, Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkäs. Translated from the German by E. H. Noel, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +J. V. Scheffel:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ekkehard. A Tale of the tenth Century. Translated from the German by Sofie Delffs, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +G. Taylor:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Klytia. From the German by Sutton Fraser Corkran, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +H. Zschokke:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Princess of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and other Tales. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v.</span><br /> +</p> + +<h4><i>The price of each volume is 1 Mark 60 Pfennige.</i></h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Series for the Young.—<i>Each volume 1 Mark 60 Pf</i>.</h2> + + +<p> +Lady Barker:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stories About. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Louisa Charlesworth:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ministering Children. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Year. Illustrated by C. Dobell, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three Tales for Boys. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three Tales for Girls. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss G. M. Craik:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cousin Trix. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Maria Edgeworth:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moral Tales. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Popular Tales. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 2 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bridget & Julia Kavanagh:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Pearl Fountain. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charles and Mary Lamb:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales from Shakspeare. With the Portrait of Shakspeare, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Emma Marshall:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rex and Regina; or, The Song of the River. With six Illustrations, 1 vol.</span><br /> +<br /> +Captain Marryat:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Masterman Ready; or, the Wreck of the Pacific. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Florence Montgomery:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Town-Crier; to which is added: The Children with the Indian-Rubber Ball, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ruth and her Friends.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Story for Girls. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Henry Wood:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Allair; or, Running away to Sea. Frontispiece from a Drawing by F. Gilbert, 1 v.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Yonge:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kenneth; or, the Rear-Guard of the Grand Army. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Little Duke. Ben Sylvester's Word. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Stokesley Secret. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Countess Kate. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Book of Golden Deeds. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 2 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Friarswood Post-Office. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henrietta's Wish; or, Domineering. A Tale. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kings of England: A History for the Young. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lances of Lynwood; the Pigeon Pie. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">P's and Q's. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aunt Charlotte's Stories of English History. With Frontispiece, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bye-Words. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lads and Lasses of Langley; Sowing and Sewing. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v.</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Tauchnitz Manuals of Conversation.</h2> + +<h4><i>Each bound M 2,25.</i></h4> + + +<p> +Neues Handbuch der <i>Englischen</i> Conversationssprache von <i>A. Schlessing</i>.<br /> +<br /> +A new Manual of the <i>German</i> Language of Conversation by <i>A. Schlessing</i>.<br /> +<br /> +Neues Handbuch der <i>Französischen</i> Conversationssprache von <i>L. Rollin</i>.<br /> +<br /> +Nouveau Manuel de la Conversation <i>Allemande</i> par MM. <i>L. Rollin</i> et <i>Wolfgang Weber</i>.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Tauchnitz Dictionaries.</h2> + + +<p>A complete Dictionary of the English and German languages +for general use. By <i>W. James</i>. Thirtieth Stereotype Edition. +crown 8vo sewed Mark 4,50.</p> + +<p>A complete Dictionary of the English and French languages +for general use. By <i>W. James</i> and <i>A. Molé</i>. Thirteenth +Stereotype Edition. crown 8vo sewed Mark 6,00.</p> + +<p>A complete Dictionary of the English and Italian languages +for general use. By <i>W. James</i> and <i>Gius. Grassi</i>. Ninth +Stereotype Edition. crown 8vo sewed Mark 5,00.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the English and German +languages. By <i>J. E. Wessely</i>. Twelfth Stereotype Edition. +16mo sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the English and French +languages. By <i>J. E. Wessely</i>. Twelfth Stereotype Edition. +16mo sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the English and Italian +languages. By <i>J. E. Wessely</i>. Tenth Stereotype Edition. +16mo sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the English and Spanish +languages. By <i>J. E. Wessely</i> and <i>A. Gironés</i>. Ninth Stereotype +Edition. 16mo sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the French and German +languages. By <i>J. E. Wessely</i>. Third Stereotype Edition. +16mo sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the Italian and German +languages. By <i>G. Locella</i>. Third Stereotype Edition. 16mo +sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Dictionary of the Latin and English languages. +Fifth Stereot. Ed. 16mo sewed Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>A New Pocket Dictionary of the French and Spanish +languages. By <i>L. Tolhausen</i>. Stereotype Edition. 16mo sewed +Mark 1,50. bound Mark 2,25.</p> + +<p>Technological Dictionary in the French, English and +German languages by <i>A.</i> and <i>L. Tolhausen</i>. Complete in three +Parts, crown 8vo sewed Mark 26,50. Each Part separately: +<i>French</i>, <i>German</i>, <i>English</i> [Third Edition, with a grand Supplement] +Mark 9,50. (Grand Supplement separate Mark 1,50.) +<i>English</i>, <i>German</i>, <i>French</i> [Third Edition, with a grand Supplement] +Mark 9,00. (Grand Supplement separate Mark 1,00.) +<i>German</i>, <i>English</i>, <i>French</i> [Second Edition] Mark 8,00.</p> + +<p>A Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon to the Old Testament. +By Dr. <i>Julius Fürst</i>. Fifth Edition. Translated from the +German by <i>Samuel Davidson</i>. Royal 8vo sewed Mark 19,00.</p> + +<p>No orders of private purchasers are executed by the publisher.</p> + + +<h4>BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ, LEIPZIG.</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>January 1886.</h2> + +<h1>Tauchnitz Edition.</h1> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>Forthcoming Volumes:</h3> + + +<p>A new Novel. By Rhoda Broughton, Author of "Cometh +up as a Flower."</p> + +<p>Don Gesualdo. A new Story. By Ouida.</p> + +<p>Green Pleasure and Grey Grief. A new Novel. By the +Author of "Molly Bawn."</p> + +<p>Rainbow Gold. A new Novel. By D. Christie Murray.</p> + +<p>White Heather. A new Novel. By William Black.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dymond. A new Novel. By Miss Thackeray.</p> + +<p>A Perilous Life. A new Novel. By Charles Reade.</p> + +<p>A new Novel. By Mrs. Oliphant.</p> + +<p>The Biography of Lord Lytton. By his Son, the Earl of +Lytton.</p> + +<p>Allerton Towers. A new Novel. By Miss Annie Thomas.</p> + +<p>Miss Vandeleur. A new Novel. By John Saunders.</p> + +<p>Fortune's Fool. A new Novel. By Julian Hawthorne.</p> + +<p>Saint Mungo's City. A new Novel. By Sarah Tytler.</p> + +<p>Nuttie's Father. A new Novel. By Miss Yonge, Author of +"The Heir of Redclyffe."</p> + +<p>No. XIII; or, The Story of the Lost Vestal. A new Novel. +By Emma Marshall.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A complete Catalogue of the Tauchnitz Edition is attached to this work.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<h4>Bernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig;</h4> + +<h5>And sold by all booksellers.</h5> + +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p> </p> + +<p><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> +<br /> +Hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in +the original.<br /> +<br /> +Three pages of handwriting at front were not easily read and +there might be errors in transcription.<br /> +<br /> +Page 72, "Lilybæaum" changed to "Lilybæum"<br /> +<br /> +Page 149, "Golden, und gleaming" changed to "Golden, and gleaming"<br /> +<br /> +Page 279, "turned aud beheld" changed to "turned and beheld"</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF WILLIAM MORRIS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 35227-h.txt or 35227-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/2/2/35227">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/2/35227</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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. 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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: A Selection from the Poems of William Morris + + +Author: William Morris + +Editor: Francis Hueffer + +Release Date: February 9, 2011 [eBook #35227] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF +WILLIAM MORRIS*** + + +E-text prepared by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) from page +images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/americana) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 35227-h.htm or 35227-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35227/35227-h/35227-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35227/35227-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/selectionfrompoe00morrrich + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +[Illustration: (hand-written letter) + +Franz Hueffer who came into the Rossetti circle in the manner indicated +in the following letter (of which the greater part is in the writing of +the late Lucy Rossetti - daughter of Ford Madox Brown) was a +broad-headed, plodding, able German who wrote and spoke English +perfectly enough before his naturalization. He was somewhat heavy in his +enthusiasms; and Gabriel Rossetti laughed at him a good deal. On one +occasion D.G.R. let off the following "nursery rhyme":-- + + There's a fluffy-haired German called Huffer + A loud and pragmatical duffer: + To stand on a tower + And shout "Schopenhauer" + Is reckoned his mission by Huffer. + +There was no malice in these rhymes of Rossetti's; but even his dear +friend Morris ("Topsy" as his intimates called him on account of his +shock of black hair) was not exempt from personal sallies of the +kind,--as this, when M. got alarmed about his increasing bulk:-- + + There was a young person called Topsy + Who fancied he suffered from dropsy; + He shook like a jelly, + Till the Doctor cried "Belly!"-- + Which angered; but comforted Topsy. + +Poor dear Morris! he had cause enough for alarm. Diabetes was only one +among the agencies by which his stalwart frame was disintegrated at the +age of 62. + +H.B.F. + +7 November 1897.] + + + +[Illustration: (hand-written letter) May 27th/89 + +5 ENDSLEIGH GARDENS. + +N.W. + +Dear Forman, + +Please excuse a very laconic presentment of the facts. Francis Hueffer, +Musical Critic of the "Times", author of the libretto of "Columba" of a +volume on the "Troubadours" of "Half a century of Music in England" etc +etc, died last Jan 7 aged 43 leaving a widow & three children, & little +indeed.] + + + * * * * * + + + EACH VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY. + + + COLLECTION + OF + BRITISH AUTHORS + + TAUCHNITZ EDITION. + + VOL. 2378. + POEMS BY WILLIAM MORRIS + IN ONE VOLUME. + + + LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ + + PARIS: C. REINWALD, 15, RUE DES SAINTS PERES. + + PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI, AND AT NICE, 15, QUAI + MASSENA. + + + _This Collection is published with copyright for Continental + circulation, but all purchasers are earnestly requested not to introduce + the volumes into England or into any British Colony._ + + * * * * * + + + +COLLECTION OF BRITISH AUTHORS + +TAUCHNITZ EDITION. + +VOL. 2378. + +POEMS BY WILLIAM MORRIS. + +IN ONE VOLUME. + + + +A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF WILLIAM MORRIS. + +Edited with a Memoir by Francis Hueffer. + +Copyright Edition. + + + + + + + +Leipzig +Bernhard Tauchnitz +1886. +The Right of Translation is reserved. + + + + +MEMOIR + +OF + +WILLIAM MORRIS. + + +William Morris, poet, decorative designer and socialist, was born in +1834 at Clay Street, Walthamstow, now almost a suburb of London, at that +time a country village in Essex. He went to school at Marlborough +College and thence to Exeter College, Oxford, where he took his degree +in 1857. During his stay in the University the subsequent mode of his +life was prepared and foreshadowed in two important directions. Like +most poets Morris was not what is called very assiduous "at his book"; +the routine of college training was no more an attraction to him than +the ordinary amusements and dissipations of undergraduate existence. But +he was studious all the same, reading the classics in his own somewhat +spasmodic way and exploring with even greater zeal the mysteries of +mediaeval lore. His fellow-worker in these studies and his most intimate +friend was and is at the present day Mr. Burne Jones, the famous +painter, at that time a student of divinity. Artistic and literary +pursuits thus went hand in hand, and received additional zest when the +two young men became acquainted with Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Holman Hunt +and other painters of the Pre-Raphaelite school who came to Oxford to +execute the frescoes still dimly visible on the ceiling of the Union +Debating Hall. Of the aims and achievements of the Pre-Raphaelite +Brotherhood, and of the revival of mediaeval feeling in art and +literature originally advocated by its members ample account has been +given in the memoir of Rossetti prefixed to his poems in the Tauchnitz +edition. Its influence on Morris's early work, both in matter and form, +will strike every observant reader of the opening ballads of the present +collection. Later on the poet worked out for himself a distinct and +individual phase of the mediaeval movement, as will be mentioned by and +by. At one time little was wanting to make Morris follow his friend +Burne Jones's example and leave the pen for the brush. There is indeed +still extant from his hand an unfinished picture evincing a remarkable +sense of colour. He also for a short time became a pupil of the late Mr. +G. E. Street, the architect, to whose genius London owes its finest +modern Gothic building--the Law Courts in the Strand. On second +thoughts, however, Morris came to the conclusion that poetry was his +true field of action. His first literary venture was a monthly +periodical started under his auspices in 1856 and called _The Oxford and +Cambridge Magazine_. It contained, amongst other contributions from +Morris's pen, a prose tale of a highly romantic character, and was, as +regards artistic tendencies, essentially a sequel of _The Germ_, the +organ of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, begun and continued for three +numbers only, six years before. Several of the contributors to the +earlier venture, including Rossetti, also supported its offshoot. +Neither, however, gained popular favour, and after a year's struggling +existence _The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine_ also came to an untimely +end. At present both are eagerly sought for by collectors and fetch high +prices at antiquarian sales. So changeable is the fate of books. + +In 1859 Morris married, after having the year before brought out his +first volume of verse entitled _The Defence of Guenevere and Other +Poems_. The book fell dead from the press, and it was not till it was +republished 25 years later that the world recognised in it some of the +freshest and most individual efforts of its author, whose literary +position was by that time established beyond cavil. That position the +poet owed in the first instance to two works published in rapid +succession, _The Life and Death of Jason_, and _The Earthly Paradise_, +the latter a collection of tales in verse filling four stout volumes. +His remaining original works are _Love is enough_, a "morality" in the +mediaeval sense of the word, and _The Story of Sigurd the Volsung_, his +longest and, in the opinion of some, his most perfect epic. In addition +to these should be mentioned the translations from the old Norse +undertaken in conjunction with Mr. Magnusson the well-known Icelandic +scholar, and comprising _The Story of Grettir the Strong_ (1869), _The +Volsunga Saga, with certain songs from the Elder Edda_ (1870), and +_Three Northern Love Stories_ (1875); and finally a metrical rendering +of _The Aeneids of Virgil_. + +For a critical discussion or a detailed analysis of Morris's work this +is not the place. It must be sufficient to indicate briefly the ideas +which underlie that work and give it its literary _cachet_. Two main +currents, derivable perhaps from a common source but running in +different directions can be easily discerned. The subjects of his tales +are almost without exception derived either from Greek myth or from +mediaeval folklore. After all that has been said and written of the gulf +that divides the classic from the romantic feeling--_"Barbaren und +Hellenen_", as Heine puts it, such a conjunction might appear +incongruous. But the connecting link has here been found in the poet's +mind. He looks upon his classical subject-matter through a mediaeval +atmosphere, in other words he writes about Venus and Cupid and Psyche +and Medea as a poet of Chaucer's age might have done, barring of course +the differences of language, although in this respect also it may be +noted that the archaisms of expression affected by the modern poet +appear indifferently in the Greek and the mediaeval tales. The phenomenon +is by no means unique in literature. Let the reader compare Chapman's +Homer with Pope's, or let him open Morris's _Jason_ where the bells of +Colchis "melodiously begin to ring", and the meaning of the +afore-mentioned "mediaeval atmosphere" will at once be as palpable to him +as it was to Keats when, reading Chapman's rude verse, after Pope's +polished stanzas, he felt + + like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken. + +It was the romantic chord of Keats's nature, that chord which vibrates +in _La belle Dame sans Merci_, which was harmoniously struck and made +the great master of form overlook the formal imperfection of the +earlier poet. To the same element such stories as _Jason_, or _The Love +of Alcestis_ and the _Bellerophon_ in _The Earthly Paradise_ owe their +charm. + +Morris's position towards mediaeval subjects did not at first essentially +differ from that of other poets of similar tendency. In his first volume +English and French knights and damsels figure prominently, and the +beautiful and frail wife of King Arthur is the heroine of the chief poem +and has given her name to the book. But in the interval which elapsed +between that volume and the _Earthly Paradise_ a considerable change had +come over the poet's dream. By the aid of Mr. Magnusson he had become +acquainted with the treasure of northern folklore hidden in the +Icelandic sagas, the two Eddas, the story of the Volsungs (of which a +masterly translation is due to the two friends), the Laxdaela saga and +other tales of more or less remote antiquity. + +In the _Earthly Paradise_ the double current of the poet's fancy above +alluded to is most strikingly apparent. The very framework in which the +various tales are set seems to have been designed with that view. Guided +probably by a vague tradition of a pre-Columbian discovery of America by +the Vikings, the prologue relates how during a terrible pestilence +certain mariners leave their northern home in search of the land where +old age and death are not and where life is rounded by unbroken +pleasure. Sailing west they come to a fair country. They gaze on +southern sunshine and virgin forest and fertile champaign, but death +meets them at every step, and happiness is farthest from their grasp +when the people worship them as gods and sacrifice at their shrine. +Escaping from this golden thraldom they regain their ship, and after +many dangers and privations are driven by the wind to an island +inhabited by descendants of the ancient Greeks, who have preserved their +old worship and their old freedom. Here the weary wanderers of the main +are hospitably received, and here they resolve to dwell in peace, +forgetful of their vain search for the earthly paradise. At the +beginning and the middle of every month the elders of the people and +their guests meet together to while away the time with song and friendly +converse. The islanders relate the traditions of their Grecian home, the +mariners relate the sagas of the North, and Laurence, a Swabian priest +who had joined the Norsemen in their quest, contributes the legends of +Tannhaeuser and of the ring given to Venus by the Roman youth. Here then +there is full scope for the quaint beauty of romantic classicism and for +the weird glamour of northern myth. Without encroaching upon the field +of criticism proper the writer may state that, in his opinion, amongst +the classic tales none is more graceful and finished than "The Golden +Apples", and amongst the northern none more grandly developed and more +epical in the strict sense of the word than _The Lovers of Gudrun_ based +upon the Icelandic Laxdaela saga. The latter, unfortunately, cannot find +a place in this volume for reasons of space. + +Every student of old northern literature is aware that amongst its +remains none are more interesting as literary monuments, none more +characteristic of the people from which they sprang than the two Eddas +and the Volsunga Saga. Next to the Siege of Troy and the Arthurian +legends perhaps no story or agglomeration of stories has left so many +and so important traces in international fiction as the tale of Sigurd +or Siegfried and his race, the heroic god-born Volsungs. Considering +indeed the political insignificance and remoteness in which that story +took its earliest surviving form this enormous success--if the modern +term may be applied--seems at first singularly out of proportion. But it +must be remembered that Iceland was little more than the storehouse of +these old traditions which were the common property of the +Teuto-Scandinavian race long before the Norsemen set foot on the +northern isle. Of the two modern versions of the tale which are most +thoroughly inspired by the ancient myth one, that of Wagner in his +tetralogy _Der Ring des Nibelungen_, is dramatic in form, the other, +Morris's _The Story of Sigurd the Volsung_, bears all the +characteristics of the epic. To this difference of artistic aim, the +difference of shape which the tale takes in the hands of the two poets +may be traced. In one point however they agree. Both Wagner and Morris +go back to the old Icelandic sources in preference to the mediaeval +German version of the tale embodied in the _Nibelungenlied_. From this +the German poet borrows little more than the localization of his drama +on the banks of the river Rhine, the English poet scarcely anything but +his metre--the _Langzeile_ or long-line with six hightoned, and any +number of unaccentuated syllables. + +The ordinary modern reader taking up the Volsunga Saga or either of the +Eddas without preparation would probably see in them little more than a +confused accumulation of impossible adventures and deeds of prowess with +an admixture of incest, fratricide and other horrors. But on looking +closer one discovers a certain plan in this entanglement, a plan much +obscured by the unbridled fancy of the old narrators, and hardly +realised by themselves, but which, if properly sifted, amounts to what +we should call a moral or idea. To "point this moral," to consistently +develop this idea, is the task of the modern poet courageous enough to +grapple with such a subject. Two ways are open to him. Either he may +wholly abandon the sequence of the old tale, and group its _disjecta +membra_ round a leading idea as a centre, or else he may adhere to the +order and essence of the legend as originally told, only emphasising +such points as are essential to the significance of the story, and +omitting or throwing into comparative shade those incidents which by +their nature betray themselves to be arbitrary additions of later date. +Wagner has chosen the former way, Morris the latter. This fact, and the +divergent requirements of the drama and the epic, sufficiently account +for their difference of treatment. The leading idea in both cases +remains the same; it is the fatal curse which attaches to the gold or, +which is the same in a moral sense, to the desire for gold--_auri sacra +fames_. + +At first sight the tale of Sigurd, Fafnir's bane, seems to have little +connection with this idea. It is briefly this. Sigurd, the son of +Sigmund the Volsung, is brought up at the court of King Elf, the second +husband of his mother, after Sigmund has been slain in battle. With a +sword, fashioned from the shards of his father's weapon, he slays +Fafnir, a huge worm or dragon, and possesses himself of the treasure +watched by the monster, including a ring and the "helm of aweing," the +latter in the _Nibelungenlied_, converted into the "Tarnkappe", a magic +cap which makes the bearer invisible and endows him with supernatural +strength. Tasting of the blood of the dragon, he understands the +language of birds, and an eagle tells him of a beautiful maiden lying +asleep on a rock called Hindfell, surrounded by a wall of wavering fire. +Through it Sigurd rides and awakes Brynhild the sword maiden, or +Valkyrie, from her magic slumber. Love naturally follows. The pair live +together on Hindfell for a season and Brynhild teaches the youth the +runes of her wisdom, a conception of woman's refining and civilising +mission frequently met with in old Germanic tales. When Sigurd leaves +her to seek new adventures they plight the troth of eternal love, and + + Then he set the ring on her finger, and once if ne'er again + They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain. + +From Brynhild's rock Sigurd journeys to a realm "south of the Rhine" +where dwell the kingly brothers, Gunnar, Hogni, and Guttorm, the +Niblungs, together with their sister Gudrun, "the fairest of maidens", +and their mother Grimhild, "a wise wife" and a fierce-hearted woman, as +the Volsunga Saga alternately describes her. It is through a +love-philter brewed by her that Sigurd forgets the vows exchanged with +Brynhild, and becomes enamoured of Gudrun, whom he soon after weds. So +powerful is the charm that the very name of his former love has been +wiped from Sigurd's memory, and he willingly undertakes the task to woo +and win Brynhild for his brother Gunnar. For that purpose he, by means +of his magic cap, assumes Gunnar's semblance, and after having once +more crossed the wall of wavering flame compels Brynhild to become his +bride. But, faithful to his promise, he places a drawn sword between +himself and the maid "as they lie on one bed together." On parting from +her he receives back from Brynhild his own ring given to her at Hindfell +in the days of their bliss. Sigurd then returns to Gunnar and resumes +his own form, and all return home, the King leading his unwilling bride +in triumph. + +The subsequent events are the outgrowth of the tragic guilt thus +incurred. Sigurd reveals the secret of Brynhild's wooing to his wife, +and allows her to take possession of the fatal ring, which she during a +quarrel shows to Gunnar's wife. Brynhild thus informed of the fraud +practised on her, thinks of vengeance, and incites her husband and his +brothers to kill Sigurd. The deed is done while Sigurd lies asleep in +his chamber with Gudrun, or, according to the more poetic version of the +German epic, while he bends over a brook in the forest to quench his +thirst after a day's hunting. But as soon as her beloved foe is killed +the old passion never quenched rises up again in Brynhild's heart. To be +united with her lover in death she pierces her breast with a sword, and +one pyre consumes both. + +With this climax Wagner very properly concludes his drama. But the epic +poet likes to follow the course of events to their ultimate +consequences, and Morris, in accordance with the Volsunga Saga, proceeds +to relate how, after many years of mournful widowhood, Gudrun is married +to Atli, a mighty king, the brother of Brynhild. Eager to become +possessed of Sigurd's treasure he invites the Niblungs, its actual +owners, to his country, and there the kingly brothers and all their +followers are killed by base treachery and after the most heroic +resistance. They refuse sternly to ransom their lives by a discovery of +the hoard which previous to their departure they have hidden at the +bottom of a lake, and which thus is irrecoverably lost to mankind. +Gudrun has incited her husband to the deed and has looked on calmly +while her kinsmen were slain one after the other. But when all are dead +and the murder of Sigurd has been revenged, the feeling of blood +relationship so powerful among Northern nations is reawakened in her. +While Atli and his earls are asleep she sets fire to the kingly hall, +and her wretched husband falls by her own hand. It is characteristic of +the Icelandic epic that after all these fates and horrors Gudrun lives +for a number of years and is yet again married to a third husband. But +to this length even Morris refuses to accompany the tale. In accordance +with the Volsunga Saga his Gudrun throws herself into the sea; but the +waves do not carry her "to the burg of king Imakr, a mighty king and +lord of many folk." + +All this is very grand and weird, the reader will say, but where is the +moral, the ideal essence of which these events are but the earthly +reflex? To this essence we gradually ascend by inquiring into the +mythological sources of the tale, by asking who is Sigurd, whence does +he come, on what mission is he sent and by whom? also what is the +significance of the treasure watched by a dragon and coveted by all +mankind? This treasure we then shall find and the curse attaching to it +ever since it was robbed from Andvari, the water-elf, is the keynote of +the whole story. The curse proves fatal to all its successive owners +from Andvari himself and Fafnir, who, for its sake, kills his father, +down to Sigurd and Brynhild and the Niblung brothers. Nay, Odin himself, +the supreme God, becomes subject to the curse of the gold through having +once coveted it, and we dimly discern that the ultimate doom of the +Aesir, the Ragnaroek, or dusk of the Gods, of which the Voluspa speaks, +is intimately connected with the same baneful influence. It further +becomes evident that Sigurd the Volsung, the descendant of Odin, is +destined to wrest the treasure and the power derived from it from the +Niblungs, the dark or cloudy people who threaten the bright godworld of +Valhall with destruction. And this leads us back to a still earlier +stage of the myth in which Sigurd himself becomes the symbol of the +celestial luminary conquering night and misty darkness, an idea +repeatedly hinted at by Morris and splendidly illustrated by Wagner, +when Siegfried appears on the stage illumined by the first rays of the +rising sun. In the work of the German poet all this is brought out with +a distinctness of which only dramatic genius of the highest order is +capable. With an astounding grasp of detail and with a continuity of +thought rarely equalled, Wagner has remoulded the confused and complex +argument of the old tale, omitting what seemed unnecessary, and placing +in juxtaposition incidents organically connected but separated by the +obtuseness of later sagamen. + +Morris, as has been said before, proceeds on a different principle. His +first object is to tell a tale, and to tell it as nearly as possible in +the spirit and according to the letter of the old Sagas. In this he has +succeeded in a manner at once indicative of his high poetic gifts and of +a deep sympathy with the spirit of the Northern Myth, which breathes in +every line and in every turn of his phraseology. To compare the peculiar +tinge of his language with the ordinary archaisms and euphonisms of +literary poets would be mistaking a field flower for its counterpart in +a milliner's shop window. It is true that he also hints at the larger +philosophic and moral issues of the tale. But when he refers to the end +of the gods brought about by their own guilt or to the redeeming mission +of Sigurd, it is done in the mysterious, not to say half conscious +manner of the saga itself, and the effect is such as from his own point +of view he intended it and could not but intend it to be. + +Between the publication of _The Defence of Guenevere_ and that of Jason +ten years elapsed. During most of this time the poet was employed in +artistic pursuits. In 1861 he started in conjunction with a number of +friends the business of decorator and artistic designer which still +bears his name. Growing from very modest beginnings this enterprise was +destined to work an entire change in the external aspect of English +homes. It soon extended its activity to every branch of art-workmanship. +D. G. Rossetti, Madox Brown, and Burne Jones drew cartoons for the +stained glass windows to be seen in many of our churches and colleges. +Morris himself designed wall-papers and the patterns of carpets. The +latter are woven on hand-looms in his factory at Merton Abbey, which +stands on the banks of the river Wandle surrounded by orchards, and +looks as like a medieval workshop as the modern dresses of the workgirls +will allow. Another member of the firm, Philip Webb, was the first +modern architect to build houses of red brick in the style vaguely and +not quite correctly described as "Queen Anne." At present these houses +count by thousands in London and a whole village of them has been built +at Turnham Green. The members of the firm did not confine their +attention to any particular style or age or country. Wherever beautiful +things could be found they collected them and made them popular. Old +china English, and foreign, Japanese fans and screens, Venetian glass +and German pottery were equally welcome to them and through them to the +public generally. It may be said that the "aesthetic" fashion as it came +to be called will like other fashions die out, and that people in the +course of time will grow tired of "living up to" their furniture and +dresses. At the same time the idea thus insisted upon that beauty is an +essential and necessary ingredient of practical modern English life is +not likely to be without beneficial and permanent effect. + +It was as artistic worker and employer of skilled labour that Morris +imbibed that profound disgust with our social condition which induced +him to adopt the principles of extreme socialism. For a long time his +views had tended in that direction, and at the end of 1884 he joined the +Socialist League, a body professing the doctrines of international +revolutionary socialism. He is the editor of its official organ, the +_Commonweal_, which contains many contributions from his pen both in +prose and verse. That the poet has not been entirely sunk in the +politician, that longing for beauty is at least the partial cause of +this desire for change at any price, is however proved by such a +sentiment as, "Beauty, which is what is meant by _art_, using the word +in its widest sense, is, I contend, no mere accident of human life which +people can take or have as they choose, but a positive necessity of +life, if we are to live as nature meant us to, that is unless we are +content to be less than men," or by such a vision of a future earthly +paradise as is expressed in the following lines: + + Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his + hand, + Nor yet come home in the even, too faint and weary to stand, + + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + + For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, + Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed. + + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + + Then all _mine_ and _thine_ shall be _ours_, and no more shall any man + crave + For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave. + +One may admire the pathetic beauty of such lines, without sharing the +poet's hope, that their import will ever be realised, in a world peopled +by men and not by angels. History teaches and personal experience +confirms that art enjoyment and art creation of the highest type must be +confined to the few, and it is to be feared that social democracy, +whatever it may do for the physical welfare of the many, will care +little about beauty, either in nature or in art. The _Demos_ will never +admire Rossetti's pictures or Keats's poetry, and the first thing the +much-vaunted peasant proprietors, or peasant communes would do would be +to cut down our ancient trees, level every hedgerow and turn parks and +commons into potato plots or it may be turnip fields. One may feel +certain of all this and yet admire the author of _The Earthly +Paradise_, "the idle singer of an empty day" when he preaches universal +brotherhood in the crossways of Hammersmith, and wrestles with +policemen, or wrangles with obtuse magistrates about the freedom of +speech. Conviction thus upheld at the cost of worldly advantage and +personal convenience and taste must command respect even from those who +cannot share it. + + Francis Hueffer. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + Page + + From "THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS." + + The Defence of Guenevere 23 + A Good Knight in Prison 36 + Shameful Death 41 + The Eve of Crecy 43 + The Haystack in the Floods 45 + Riding together 51 + Summer Dawn 54 + + + From "THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON." (Book XIV.) + + The Sirens.--The Garden of the Hesperides.--The + Heroes do Sacrifice at Malea 55 + + + From "THE EARTHLY PARADISE." + + An Apology 82 + From Prologue--The Wanderers 84 + Ogier the Dane 95 + The golden Apples 147 + L'Envoi 168 + + + From "LOVE IS ENOUGH." + + Interludes 173 + + + From "THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG." (Book II.) + + Regin 178 + + + + + FROM + + "THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS." + + THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE. + + + But, knowing now that they would have her speak, + She threw her wet hair backward from her brow, + Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek, + + As though she had had there a shameful blow, + And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame, + All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so, + + She must a little touch it; like one lame + She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head + Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame + + The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said: + "O knights and lords, it seems but little skill + To talk of well-known things past now and dead. + + "God wot I ought to say, I have done ill, + And pray you all forgiveness heartily! + Because you must be right such great lords--still + + "Listen, suppose your time were come to die, + And you were quite alone and very weak; + Yea, laid a dying while very mightily + + "The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak + Of river through your broad lands running well: + Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak: + + "'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell, + Now choose one cloth for ever, which they be, + I will not tell you, you must somehow tell + + "'Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!' + Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes, + At foot of your familiar bed to see + + "A great God's angel standing, with such dyes, + Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands, + Held out two ways, light from the inner skies + + "Showing him well, and making his commands + Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too, + Holding within his hands the cloths on wands; + + "And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue, + Wavy and long, and one cut short and red; + No man could tell the better of the two. + + "'After a shivering half-hour you said, + 'God help! heaven's colour, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.' + Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed, + + "And cry to all good men that loved you well, + 'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;' + Launcelot went away, then I could tell, + + "Like wisest man how all things would be, moan, + And roll and hurt myself, and long to die, + And yet fear much to die for what was sown. + + "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, + Whatever may have happened through these years, + God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie." + + Her voice was low at first, being full of tears, + But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill, + Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears, + + A ringing in their startled brains, until + She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk, + And her great eyes began again to fill, + + Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk, + But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair! + Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk, + + She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair, + Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame, + With passionate twisting of her body there: + + "It chanced upon a day Launcelot came + To dwell at Arthur's Court; at Christmas-time + This happened; when the heralds sung his name, + + "'Son of King Ban of Benwick,' seemed to chime + Along with all the bells that rang that day, + O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme. + + "Christmas and whitened winter passed away, + And over me the April sunshine came, + Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea + + "And in the Summer I grew white with flame, + And bowed my head down--Autumn, and the sick + Sure knowledge things would never be the same, + + "However often Spring might be most thick + Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew + Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick, + + "To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through + My eager body; while I laughed out loud, + And let my lips curl up at false or true, + + "Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud. + Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought: + While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd, + + "Belonging to the time ere I was bought + By Arthur's great name and his little love, + Must I give up for ever then, I thought, + + "That which I deemed would ever round me move + Glorifying all things; for a little word, + Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove + + "Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord + Will that all folks should be quite happy and good? + I love God now a little, if this cord + + "Were broken, once for all what striving could + Make me love anything in earth or heaven. + So day by day it grew, as if one should + + "Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even, + Down to a cool sea on a summer day; + Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven + + "Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way, + Until one surely reached the sea at last, + And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay + + "Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past + Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips, + Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast, + + "In the lone sea, far off from any ships! + Do I not know now of a day in Spring? + No minute of that wild day ever slips + + "From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing, + And wheresoever I may be, straightway + Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting: + + "I was half mad with beauty on that day, + And went without my ladies all alone, + In a quiet garden walled round every way; + + "I was right joyful of that wall of stone, + That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky, + And trebled all the beauty: to the bone, + + "Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy + With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad; + Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily, + + "A little thing just then had made me mad; + I dared not think, as I was wont to do, + Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had + + "Held out my long hand up against the blue, + And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers, + Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through, + + "There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers, + Round by the edges; what should I have done, + If this had joined with yellow spotted singers, + + "And startling green drawn upward by the sun? + But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair, + And trancedly stood watching the west wind run + + "With faintest half-heard breathing sound--why there + I lose my head e'en now in doing this; + But shortly listen--In that garden fair + + "Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss + Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day, + I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss, + + "When both our mouths went wandering in one way, + And aching sorely, met among the leaves; + Our hands being left behind strained far away. + + "Never within a yard of my bright sleeves + Had Launcelot come before--and now, so nigh! + After that day why is it Guenevere grieves? + + "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, + Whatever happened on through all those years, + God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie. + + "Being such a lady could I weep these tears + If this were true? A great queen such as I + Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears; + + "And afterwards she liveth hatefully, + Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps,-- + Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly. + + "Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps + All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth? + Remember in what grave your mother sleeps, + + "Buried in some place far down in the south, + Men are forgetting as I speak to you; + By her head sever'd in that awful drouth + + "Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow, + I pray your pity! let me not scream out + For ever after, when the shrill winds blow + + "Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout + For ever after in the winter night + When you ride out alone! in battle-rout + + "Let not my rusting tears make your sword light! + Ah! God of mercy how he turns away! + So, ever must I dress me to the fight, + + "So--let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say, + See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know + Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day, + + "One bitter day in _la Fausse Garde_, for so + All good knights held it after, saw-- + Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though + + "You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw, + This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed-- + Whose blood then pray you? is there any law + + "To make a queen say why some spots of red + Lie on her coverlet? or will you say, + 'Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed, + + "'Where did you bleed?' and must I stammer out--'Nay', + I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend + My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay + + "'A knife-point last night:' so must I defend + The honour of the lady Guenevere? + Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end + + "This very day, and you were judges here + Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce + When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear + + "Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance, + His side sink in? as my knight cried and said, + 'Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance! + + "'Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head, + By God I am so glad to fight with you, + Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead + + "'For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do, + For all my wounds are moving in my breast, + And I am getting mad with waiting so.' + + "He struck his hands together o'er the beast, + Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet, + And groan'd at being slain so young--'at least.' + + "My knight said, 'Rise you, sir, who are so fleet + At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight, + My left side all uncover'd!' then I weet, + + "Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight + Upon his knave's face; not until just then + Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight + + "Along the lists look to my stake and pen + With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh + From agony beneath my waist-chain, when + + "The fight began, and to me they drew nigh; + Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right, + And traversed warily, and ever high + + "And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight + Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand, + Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight. + + "Except a spout of blood on the hot land; + For it was hottest summer; and I know + I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand, + + "And burn, against the heat, would quiver so, + Yards above my head; thus these matters went: + Which things were only warnings of the woe + + "That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent, + For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord; + Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent + + "With all this wickedness; say no rash word + Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes, + Wept all away the grey, may bring some sword + + "To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise, + Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand; + And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise, + + "Yea also at my full heart's strong command, + See through my long throat how the words go up + In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand + + "The shadow lies like wine within a cup + Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now + This little wind is rising, look you up, + + "And wonder how the light is falling so + Within my moving tresses: will you dare + When you have looked a little on my brow, + + "To say this thing is vile? or will you care + For any plausible lies of cunning woof, + When you can see my face with no lie there + + "For ever? am I not a gracious proof-- + 'But in your chamber Launcelot was found'-- + Is there a good knight then would stand aloof, + + "When a queen says with gentle queenly sound: + 'O true as steel come now and talk with me, + I love to see your step upon the ground + + "'Unwavering, also well I love to see + That gracious smile light up your face, and hear + Your wonderful words, that all mean verily + + "'The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear + To me in everything, come here to-night, + Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear; + + "'If you come not, I fear this time I might + Get thinking over much of times gone by, + When I was young, and green hope was in sight: + + "'For no man cares now to know why I sigh; + And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs, + Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie + + "'So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs + To see you, Launcelot; that we may be + Like children once again, free from all wrongs + + "'Just for one night.' Did he not come to me? + What thing could keep true Launcelot away + If I said 'Come?' there was one less than three + + "In my quiet room that night, and we were gay; + Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick, + Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea + + "I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak, + For he looked helpless too, for a little while; + Then I remember how I tried to shriek, + + "And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile + The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head + And made me dizzier; till within a while + + "My maids were all about me, and my head + On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away + From its white chattering, until Launcelot said-- + + "By God! I will not tell you more to-day, + Judge any way you will--what matters it? + You know quite well the story of that fray, + + "How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit + That caught up Gauwaine--all, all, verily, + But just that which would save me; these things flit. + + "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, + Whatever may have happen'd these long years, + God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie! + + "All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears." + She would not speak another word, but stood + Turn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears + + His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood + Of his foe's lances. She lean'd eagerly, + And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could + + At last hear something really; joyfully + Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed + Of the roan charger drew all men to see, + The knight who came was Launcelot at good need. + + + + + A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON. + + + SIR GUY, _being in the court of a Pagan castle_. + + + This castle where I dwell, it stands + A long way off from Christian lands, + A long way off my lady's hands, + A long way off the aspen trees, + And murmur of the lime-tree bees. + + But down the Valley of the Rose + My lady often hawking goes, + Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind, + Leaning towards the western wind, + Because it bringeth to her mind + Sad whisperings of happy times, + The face of him who sings these rhymes. + + King Guilbert rides beside her there, + Bends low and calls her very fair, + And strives, by pulling down his hair, + To hide from my dear lady's ken + The grisly gash I gave him, when + I cut him down at Camelot; + However he strives, he hides it not, + That tourney will not be forgot, + Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot, + Whatever he says she answers not. + Now tell me, you that are in love, + From the king's son to the wood-dove, + Which is the better, he or I? + + For this king means that I should die + In this lone Pagan castle, where + The flowers droop in the bad air + On the September evening. + + Look, now I take mine ease and sing, + Counting as but a little thing + The foolish spite of a bad king. + + For these vile things that hem me in, + These Pagan beasts who live in sin, + The sickly flowers pale and wan, + The grim blue-bearded castellan, + The stanchions half worn-out with rust, + Whereto their banner vile they trust-- + Why, all these things I hold them just + Like dragons in a missal book, + Wherein, whenever we may look, + We see no horror, yea, delight + We have, the colours are so bright; + Likewise we note the specks of white, + And the great plates of burnish'd gold. + + Just so this Pagan castle old, + And everything I can see there, + Sick-pining in the marshland air, + I note; I will go over now, + Like one who paints with knitted brow, + The flowers and all things one by one, + From the snail on the wall to the setting sun. + + Four great walls, and a little one + That leads down to the barbican, + Which walls with many spears they man, + When news comes to the castellan + Of Launcelot being in the land. + + And as I sit here, close at hand + Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand, + The castellan with a long wand + Cuts down their leaves as he goes by, + Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye, + And fingers twisted in his beard-- + Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard? + I have a hope makes me afeard: + It cannot be, but if some dream + Just for a minute made me deem + I saw among the flowers there + My lady's face with long red hair, + Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come, + As I was wont to see her some + Fading September afternoon, + And kiss me, saying nothing, soon + To leave me by myself again; + Could I get this by longing: vain! + + The castellan is gone: I see + On one broad yellow flower a bee + Drunk with much honey-- + Christ! again, + Some distant knight's voice brings me pain, + I thought I had forgot to feel, + I never heard the blissful steel + These ten years past; year after year, + Through all my hopeless sojourn here, + No Christian pennon has been near; + Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on + Over the marches, battle won, + Knights' shouts, and axes hammering, + Yea, quicker now the dint and ring + Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan, + When they come back count man for man, + Say whom you miss. + + The PAGANS, _from the battlements_. + + Mahmoud to aid! + Why flee ye so like men dismay'd? + + The PAGANS, _from without_. + + Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot, + Who follows quick upon us, hot + And shouting with his men-at-arms. + + SIR GUY. + + Also the Pagans raise alarms, + And ring the bells for fear; at last + My prison walls will be well past. + + SIR LAUNCELOT, _from outside_. + + Ho! in the name of the Trinity, + Let down the drawbridge quick to me, + And open doors, that I may see + Guy the good knight. + + The PAGANS, _from the battlements_. + + Nay, Launcelot, + With mere big words ye win us not. + + SIR LAUNCELOT. + + Bid Miles bring up la perriere, + And archers clear the vile walls there, + Bring back the notches to the ear, + Shoot well together! God to aid! + These miscreants shall be well paid. + + Hurrah! all goes together; Miles + Is good to win my lady's smiles + For his good shooting--Launcelot! + On knights a-pace! this game is hot! + + SIR GUY _sayeth afterwards_. + + I said, I go to meet her now, + And saying so, I felt a blow + From some clench'd hand across my brow, + And fell down on the sunflowers + Just as a hammering smote my ears, + After which this I felt in sooth; + My bare hands throttling without ruth + The hairy-throated castellan; + Then a grim fight with those that ran + To slay me, while I shouted, "God + For the Lady Mary!" deep I trod + That evening in my own red blood; + Nevertheless so stiff I stood, + That when the knights burst the old wood + Of the castle-doors, I was not dead. + + I kiss the Lady Mary's head, + Her lips, and her hair golden red, + Because to-day we have been wed. + + + + + SHAMEFUL DEATH. + + + There were four of us about that bed; + The mass-priest knelt at the side, + I and his mother stood at the head, + Over his feet lay the bride; + We were quite sure that he was dead, + Though his eyes were open wide. + + He did not die in the night, + He did not die in the day, + But in the morning twilight + His spirit pass'd away, + When neither sun nor moon was bright, + And the trees were merely grey. + + He was not slain with the sword, + Knight's axe, or the knightly spear, + Yet spoke he never a word + After he came in here; + I cut away the cord + From the neck of my brother dear. + + He did not strike one blow, + For the recreants came behind, + In a place where the hornbeams grow, + A path right hard to find, + For the hornbeam boughs swing so, + That the twilight makes it blind. + + They lighted a great torch then, + When his arms were pinion'd fast, + Sir John the knight of the Fen, + Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, + With knights threescore and ten, + Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. + + I am threescore and ten, + And my hair is all turn'd grey, + But I met Sir John of the Fen + Long ago on a summer day, + And am glad to think of the moment when + I took his life away. + + I am threescore and ten, + And my strength is mostly pass'd, + But long ago I and my men, + When the sky was overcast, + And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen, + Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast. + + And now, knights all of you, + I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, + A good knight and a true, + And for Alice, his wife, pray too. + + + + + THE EVE OF CRECY. + + + Gold on her head, and gold on her feet, + And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet, + And a golden girdle round my sweet;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Margaret's maids are fair to see, + Freshly dress'd and pleasantly; + Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + If I were rich I would kiss her feet, + I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet, + And the golden girdle round my sweet-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand; + When the arriere-ban goes through the land, + Six basnets under my pennon stand;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + And many an one grins under his hood: + "Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good, + Has neither food nor firewood;"-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + If I were rich I would kiss her feet, + And the golden girdle of my sweet, + And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Yet even now it is good to think, + While my few poor varlets grumble and drink + In my desolate hall where the fires sink;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Of Margaret sitting glorious there, + In glory of gold and glory of hair, + And glory of glorious face most fair;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + Likewise to-night I make good cheer, + Because this battle draweth near: + For what have I to lose or fear?-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + For, look you, my horse is good to prance + A right fair measure in this war-dance, + Before the eyes of Philip of France;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + And sometime it may hap, perdie, + While my new towers stand up three and three, + And my hall gets painted fair to see-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._-- + + That folks may say: "Times change, by the rood, + For Lambert, banneret of the wood, + Has heaps of food and firewood;-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;_-- + + "And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood + Of a damsel of right noble blood:" + St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!-- + _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ + + + + + THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS. + + + Had she come all the way for this, + To part at last without a kiss? + Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain + That her own eyes might see him slain + Beside the haystack in the floods? + + Along the dripping leafless woods, + The stirrup touching either shoe, + She rode astride as troopers do; + With kirtle kilted to her knee, + To which the mud splash'd wretchedly; + And the wet dripp'd from every tree + Upon her head and heavy hair, + And on her eyelids broad and fair; + The tears and rain ran down her face. + + By fits and starts they rode apace, + And very often was his place + Far off from her; he had to ride + Ahead, to see what might betide + When the road cross'd; and sometimes, when + There rose a murmuring from his men, + Had to turn back with promises; + Ah me! she had but little ease; + And often for pure doubt and dread + She sobb'd, made giddy in the head + + By the swift riding; while, for cold, + Her slender fingers scarce could hold + The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too, + She felt the foot within her shoe + Against the stirrup: all for this, + To part at last without a kiss + Beside the haystack in the floods. + + For when they near'd that old soak'd hay, + They saw across the only way + That Judas, Godmar, and the three + Red running lions dismally + Grinn'd from his pennon, under which + In one straight line along the ditch, + They counted thirty heads. + + So then, + While Robert turn'd round to his men, + She saw at once the wretched end, + And, stooping down, tried hard to rend + Her coif the wrong way from her head, + And hid her eyes; while Robert said: + "Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one, + At Poictiers where we made them run + So fast--why, sweet my love, good cheer, + The Gascon frontier is so near, + Nought after this." + + But, "O," she said, + "My God! my God! I have to tread + The long way back without you; then + The court at Paris; those six men; + The gratings of the Chatelet; + The swift Seine on some rainy day + Like this, and people standing by, + And laughing, while my weak hands try + To recollect how strong men swim. + All this, or else a life with him, + For which I should be damned at last, + Would God that this next hour were past!" + + He answer'd not, but cried his cry, + "St. George for Marny!" cheerily; + And laid his hand upon her rein. + Alas! no man of all his train + Gave back that cheery cry again; + And, while for rage his thumb beat fast + Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast + About his neck a kerchief long, + And bound him. + + Then they went along + To Godmar; who said: "Now, Jehane, + Your lover's life is on the wane + So fast, that, if this very hour + You yield not as my paramour, + He will not see the rain leave off-- + Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff, + Sir Robert, or I slay you now." + + She laid her hand upon her brow, + Then gazed upon the palm, as though + She thought her forehead bled, and--"No," + She said, and turn'd her head away, + As there were nothing else to say, + And everything were settled: red + Grew Godmar's face from chin to head: + "Jehane, on yonder hill there stands + My castle, guarding well my lands: + What hinders me from taking you, + And doing that I list to do + To your fair wilful body, while + Your knight lies dead?" + + A wicked smile + Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin, + A long way out she thrust her chin: + "You know that I should strangle you + While you were sleeping; or bite through + Your throat, by God's help--ah!" she said, + "Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid! + For in such wise they hem me in, + I cannot choose but sin and sin, + Whatever happens: yet I think + They could not make me eat or drink, + And so should I just reach my rest." + + "Nay, if you do not my behest, + O Jehane! though I love you well," + Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell + All that I know." "Foul lies," she said. + "Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head, + At Paris folks would deem them true! + Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you, + 'Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown! + Give us Jehane to burn or drown!'-- + Eh--gag me, Robert!--sweet my friend, + This were indeed a piteous end + For those long fingers, and long feet, + And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet; + An end that few men would forget + That saw it--So, an hour yet: + Consider, Jehane, which to take + Of life or death!" + + So, scarce awake + Dismounting, did she leave that place, + And totter some yards: with her face + Turn'd upward to the sky she lay, + Her head on a wet heap of hay, + And fell asleep: and while she slept, + And did not dream, the minutes crept + Round to the twelve again; but she, + Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly, + And strangely childlike came, and said: + "I will not." Straightway Godmar's head, + As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd + Most sharply round, and his face burn'd. + + For Robert--both his eyes were dry, + He could not weep but gloomily + He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too, + His lips were firm; he tried once more + To touch her lips; she reach'd out, sore + And vain desire so tortured them, + The poor grey lips, and now the hem + Of his sleeve brush'd them. + + With a start + Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart; + From Robert's throat he loosed the bands + Of silk and mail; with empty hands + Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw, + The long bright blade without a flaw + Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand + In Robert's hair; she saw him bend + Back Robert's head; she saw him send + The thin steel down; the blow told well, + Right backward the knight Robert fell, + And moan'd as dogs do, being half dead, + Unwitting, as I deem: so then + Godmar turn'd grinning to his men, + Who ran, some five or six, and beat + His head to pieces at their feet. + + Then Godmar turn'd again and said: + "So, Jehane, the first fitte is read! + Take note, my lady, that your way + Lies backward to the Chatelet!" + She shook her head and gazed awhile + At her cold hands with a rueful smile, + As though this thing had made her mad. + This was the parting that they had + Beside the haystack in the floods. + + + + + RIDING TOGETHER. + + + For many, many days together + The wind blew steady from the East; + For many days hot grew the weather, + About the time of our Lady's Feast. + + For many days we rode together, + Yet met we neither friend nor foe; + Hotter and clearer grew the weather, + Steadily did the East wind blow. + + We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, + Clear-cut, with shadows very black, + As freely we rode on together + With helms unlaced and bridles slack. + + And often as we rode together, + We, looking down the green-bank'd stream, + Saw flowers in the sunny weather, + And saw the bubble-making bream. + + And in the night lay down together, + And hung above our heads the rood, + Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather, + The while the moon did watch the wood. + + Our spears stood bright and thick together, + Straight out the banners stream'd behind, + As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather, + With faces turn'd towards the wind. + + Down sank our threescore spears together, + As thick we saw the Pagans ride; + His eager face in the clear fresh weather, + Shone out that last time by my side. + + Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together, + It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears, + Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather, + The elm-tree flowers fell like tears. + + There, as we roll'd and writhed together, + I threw my arms above my head, + For close by my side, in the lovely weather, + I saw him reel and fall back dead. + + I and the slayer met together, + He waited the death-stroke there in his place, + With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, + Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face. + + Madly I fought as we fought together; + In vain: the little Christian band + The pagans drowned, as in stormy weather, + The river drowns low-lying land. + + They bound my blood-stain'd hands together, + They bound his corpse to nod by my side: + Then on we rode, in the bright-March weather, + With clash of cymbals did we ride. + + We ride no more, no more together; + My prison-bars are thick and strong, + I take no heed of any weather, + The sweet Saints grant I live not long. + + + + + SUMMER DAWN. + + + Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips, + Think but one thought of me up in the stars. + The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, + Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars, + That are patiently waiting there for the dawn: + Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold + Waits to float through them along with the sun. + Far out in the meadows, above the young corn, + The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold + The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun; + Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn, + Round the lone house in the midst of the corn. + Speak but one word to me over the corn, + Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn. + + + + + FROM + "THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON." + + BOOK XIV. + + The Sirens--The Garden of the Hesperides--The Heroes do Sacrifice at + Malea. + + + Across the open sea they drew their wake + For three long days, and when the fourth 'gan break + Their eyes beheld the fair Trinacrian shore, + And there-along they coasted two days more. + Then first Medea warned them to take heed, + Lest they should end all memory of their deed + Where dwell the Sirens on the yellow sand, + And folk should think some tangled poisonous land + Had buried them, or some tumultuous sea + O'er their white bones was tossing angrily; + Or that some muddy river, far from Greece, + Drove seaward o'er the ringlets of the Fleece. + But when the Minyae hearkened to this word, + With many a thought their wearied hearts were stirred, + And longing for the near-gained Grecian land, + Where in a little while their feet should stand; + Yet none the less like to a happy dream, + Now, when they neared it, did their own home seem, + And like a dream the glory of their quest, + And therewithal some thought of present rest + Stole over them, and they were fain to sigh, + Hearkening the sighing restless wind go by. + But hard on even of the second day, + As o'er the gentle waves they took their way, + The orange-scented land-breeze seemed to bear + Some other sounds unto the listening ear + Than all day long they had been hearkening, + The land-born signs of many a well-known thing. + Thereat Medea trembled, for she knew + That nigh the dreadful sands at last they drew, + For certainly the Sirens' song she heard, + Though yet her ear could shape it to no word, + And by their faces could the queen behold + How sweet it was, although no tale it told, + To those worn toilers o'er the bitter sea. + Now, as they sped along, they presently, + Rounding a headland, reached a little bay + Walled from the sea by splintered cliffs and grey, + Capped by the thymy hills' green wind-beat head, + Where 'mid the whin the burrowing rabbits fed. + And 'neath the cliff they saw a belt of sand, + 'Twixt Nereus' pasture and the high scarped land, + Whereon, yet far off, could their eyes behold + White bodies moving, crowned and girt with gold, + Wherefrom it seemed that lovely music welled. + So when all this the grey-eyed queen beheld, + She said: "O Jason, I have made thee wise + In this and other things; turn then thine eyes + Seaward, and note the ripple of the sea, + Where there is hope as well as fear for thee. + Nor look upon the death that lurketh there + 'Neath the grey cliff, though sweet it seems and fair; + For thou art young upon this day to die. + Take then the helm, and gazing steadily + Upon the road to Greece, make strong thine hand, + And steer us toward the lion-haunted land, + And thou, O Thracian! if thou e'er hast moved + Men's hearts with stories of the Gods who loved, + And men who suffered, move them on this day, + Taking the deadly love of death away, + That even now is stealing over them, + While still they gaze upon the ocean's hem, + Where their undoing is if they but knew." + + But while she spake, still nigher Argo drew + Unto the yellow edges of the shore, + And little help she had of ashen oar, + For as her shielded side rolled through the sea, + Silent with glittering eyes the Minyae + Gazed o'er the surge, for they were nigh enow + To see the gusty wind of evening blow + Long locks of hair across those bodies white, + With golden spray hiding some dear delight; + Yea, nigh enow to see their red lips smile, + Wherefrom all song had ceased now for a while, + As though they deemed the prey was in the net, + And they no more had need a bait to set, + But their own bodies, fair beyond man's thought, + Under the grey cliff, hidden not of aught + But of such mist of tears as in the eyes + Of those seafaring men might chance to rise. + A moment Jason gazed, then through the waist + Ran swiftly, and with trembling hands made haste + To trim the sail, then to the tiller ran, + And thrust aside the skilled Milesian man, + Who with half-open mouth, and dreamy eyes, + Stood steering Argo to that land of lies; + But as he staggered forward, Jason's hand + Hard on the tiller steered away from land, + And as her head a little now fell off + Unto the wide sea, did he shout this scoff + To Thracian Orpheus: "Minstrel, shall we die, + Because thou hast forgotten utterly + What things she taught thee whom men call divine? + Or will thy measures but lead folk to wine, + And scented beds, and not to noble deeds? + Or will they fail as fail the shepherd's reeds + Before the trumpet, when these sea-witches + Pipe shrilly to the washing of the seas? + I am a man, and these but beasts, but thou + Giving these souls, that all were men ere now, + Shalt be a very God and not a man!" + So spake he; but his fingers Orpheus ran + Over the strings, and sighing turned away + From that fair ending of the sunny bay; + But as his well-skilled hands were preluding + What his heart swelled with, they began to sing + With pleading voices from the yellow sands, + Clustered together, with appealing hands + Reached out to Argo as the great sail drew, + While o'er their white limbs sharp the spray-shower flew, + Since they spared not to set white feet among + The cold waves heedless of their honied song. + Sweetly they sang, and still the answer came + Piercing and clear from him, as bursts the flame + From out the furnace in the moonless night; + Yet, as their words are no more known aright + Through lapse of many ages, and no man + Can any more across the waters wan + Behold those singing women of the sea, + Once more I pray you all to pardon me, + If with my feeble voice and harsh I sing + From what dim memories yet may chance to cling + About men's hearts, of lovely things once sung + Beside the sea, while yet the world was young. + + THE SIRENS. + + O happy seafarers are ye, + And surely all your ills are past, + And toil upon the land and sea, + Since ye are brought to us at last. + + To you the fashion of the world, + Wide lands laid waste, fair cities burned, + And plagues, and kings from kingdoms hurled, + Are nought, since hither ye have turned. + + For as upon this beach we stand, + And o'er our heads the sea-fowl flit, + Our eyes behold a glorious land, + And soon shall ye be kings of it. + + ORPHEUS. + + A little more, a little more, + O carriers of the Golden Fleece, + A little labour with the oar, + Before we reach the land of Greece. + + E'en now perchance faint rumours reach + Men's ears of this our victory, + And draw them down unto the beach + To gaze across the empty sea. + + But since the longed-for day is nigh, + And scarce a God could stay us now, + Why do ye hang your heads and sigh, + Hindering for nought our eager prow? + + THE SIRENS. + + Ah, had ye chanced to reach the home + On which your fond desires were set, + Into what troubles had ye come? + Short love and joy and long regret. + + But now, but now, when ye have lain + Asleep with us a little while + Beneath the washing of the main, + How calm shall be your waking smile! + + For ye shall smile to think of life + That knows no troublous change or fear, + No unavailing bitter strife, + That ere its time brings trouble near. + + ORPHEUS. + + Is there some murmur in your ears, + That all that we have done is nought, + And nothing ends our cares and fears, + Till the last fear on us is brought? + + THE SIRENS. + + Alas! and will ye stop your ears, + In vain desire to do aught, + And wish to live 'mid cares and fears, + Until the last fear makes you nought? + + ORPHEUS. + + Is not the May-time now on earth, + When close against the city wall + The folk are singing in their mirth, + While on their heads the May-flowers fall? + + THE SIRENS. + + Yes, May is come, and its sweet breath + Shall well-nigh make you weep to-day, + And pensive with swift-coming death, + Shall ye be satiate of the May. + + ORPHEUS. + + Shall not July bring fresh delight, + As underneath green trees ye sit, + And o'er some damsel's body white + The noontide shadows change and flit? + + THE SIRENS. + + No new delight July shall bring + But ancient fear and fresh desire, + And, spite of every lovely thing, + Of July surely shall ye tire. + + ORPHEUS. + + And now, when August comes on thee, + And 'mid the golden sea of corn + The merry reapers thou mayst see, + Wilt thou still think the earth forlorn? + + THE SIRENS. + + Set flowers upon thy short-lived head, + And in thine heart forgetfulness + Of man's hard toil, and scanty bread, + And weary of those days no less. + + ORPHEUS. + + Or wilt thou climb the sunny hill, + In the October afternoon, + To watch the purple earth's blood fill + The grey vat to the maiden's tune? + + THE SIRENS. + + When thou beginnest to grow old, + Bring back remembrance of thy bliss + With that the shining cup doth hold, + And weary helplessly of this. + + ORPHEUS. + + Or pleasureless shall we pass by + The long cold night and leaden day, + That song, and tale, and minstrelsy + Shall make as merry as the May? + + THE SIRENS. + + List then, to-night, to some old tale + Until the tears o'erflow thine eyes; + But what shall all these things avail, + When sad to-morrow comes and dies? + + ORPHEUS. + + And when the world is born again, + And with some fair love, side by side, + Thou wanderest 'twixt the sun and rain, + In that fresh love-begetting tide; + + Then, when the world is born again, + And the sweet year before thee lies, + Shall thy heart think of coming pain, + Or vex itself with memories? + + THE SIRENS. + + Ah! then the world is born again + With burning love unsatisfied, + And new desires fond and vain, + And weary days from tide to tide. + + Ah! when the world is born again, + A little day is soon gone by, + When thou, unmoved by sun or rain, + Within a cold straight house shalt lie. + + Therewith they ceased awhile, as languidly + The head of Argo fell off toward the sea, + And through the water she began to go, + For from the land a fitful wind did blow, + That, dallying with the many-coloured sail, + Would sometimes swell it out and sometimes fail, + As nigh the east side of the bay they drew; + Then o'er the waves again the music flew. + + THE SIRENS. + + Think not of pleasure, short and vain. + Wherewith, 'mid days of toil and pain, + With sick and sinking hearts ye strive + To cheat yourselves that ye may live + With cold death ever close at hand; + Think rather of a peaceful land, + The changeless land where ye may be + Roofed over by the changeful sea. + + ORPHEUS. + + And is the fair town nothing then, + The coming of the wandering men + With that long talked of thing and strange, + And news of how the kingdoms change; + The pointed hands, and wondering + At doers of a desperate thing? + Push on, for surely this shall be + Across a narrow strip of sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Alas! poor souls and timorous, + Will ye draw nigh to gaze at us + And see if we are fair indeed, + For such as we shall be your meed, + There, where our hearts would have you go. + And where can the earth-dwellers show + In any land such loveliness + As that wherewith your eyes we bless, + O wanderers of the Minyae, + Worn toilers over land and sea? + + ORPHEUS. + + Fair as the lightning thwart the sky, + As sun-dyed snow upon the high + Untrodden heaps of threatening stone + The eagle looks upon alone, + O fair as the doomed victim's wreath, + O fair as deadly sleep and death, + What will ye with them, earthly men, + To mate your three-score years and ten? + Toil rather, suffer and be free, + Betwixt the green earth and the sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + If ye be bold with us to go, + Things such as happy dreams may show + Shall your once heavy eyes behold + About our palaces of gold; + Where waters 'neath the waters run, + And from o'erhead a harmless sun + Gleams through the woods of chrysolite. + There gardens fairer to the sight + Than those of the Phaeacian king + Shall ye behold; and, wondering, + Gaze on the sea-born fruit and flowers, + And thornless and unchanging bowers, + Whereof the May-time knoweth nought. + So to the pillared house being brought, + Poor souls, ye shall not be alone, + For o'er the floors of pale blue stone + All day such feet as ours shall pass, + And, 'twixt the glimmering walls of glass, + Such bodies garlanded with gold, + So faint, so fair, shall ye behold, + And clean forget the treachery + Of changing earth and tumbling sea. + + ORPHEUS. + + O the sweet valley of deep grass, + Where-through the summer stream doth pass, + In chain of shallow, and still pool, + From misty morn to evening cool; + Where the black ivy creeps and twines + O'er the dark-armed, red-trunked pines, + Whence clattering the pigeon flits, + Or, brooding o'er her thin eggs, sits, + And every hollow of the hills + With echoing song the mavis fills. + There by the stream, all unafraid, + Shall stand the happy shepherd maid, + Alone in first of sunlit hours; + Behind her, on the dewy flowers, + Her homespun woollen raiment lies, + And her white limbs and sweet grey eyes + Shine from the calm green pool and deep, + While round about the swallows sweep, + Not silent; and would God that we, + Like them, were landed from the sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Shall we not rise with you at night, + Up through the shimmering green twilight, + That maketh there our changeless day, + Then going through the moonlight grey, + Shall we not sit upon these sands, + To think upon the troublous lands + Long left behind, where once ye were, + When every day brought change and fear? + There, with white arms about you twined, + And shuddering somewhat at the wind + That ye rejoiced erewhile to meet, + Be happy, while old stories sweet, + Half understood, float round your ears, + And fill your eyes with happy tears. + Ah! while we sing unto you there, + As now we sing, with yellow hair + Blown round about these pearly limbs, + While underneath the grey sky swims + The light shell-sailor of the waves, + And to our song, from sea-filled caves + Booms out an echoing harmony, + Shall ye not love the peaceful sea? + + ORPHEUS. + + Nigh the vine-covered hillocks green, + In days agone, have I not seen + The brown-clad maidens amorous, + Below the long rose-trellised house, + Dance to the querulous pipe and shrill, + When the grey shadow of the hill + Was lengthening at the end of day? + Not shadowy nor pale were they, + But limbed like those who 'twixt the trees, + Follow the swift of Goddesses. + Sunburnt they are somewhat, indeed, + To where the rough brown woollen weed + Is drawn across their bosoms sweet, + Or cast from off their dancing feet; + But yet the stars, the moonlight grey, + The water wan, the dawn of day, + Can see their bodies fair and white + As Hers, who once, for man's delight, + Before the world grew hard and old, + Came o'er the bitter sea and cold; + And surely those that met me there, + Her handmaidens and subjects were; + And shame-faced, half-repressed desire + Had lit their glorious eyes with fire, + That maddens eager hearts of men. + O would that I were with them when + The new-risen moon is gathering light, + And yellow from the homestead white + The windows gleam; but verily + This waits us o'er a little sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Come to the land where none grows old, + And none is rash or over-bold, + Nor any noise there is nor war, + Nor rumour from wild lands afar, + Nor plagues, nor birth and death of kings; + No vain desire of unknown things + Shall vex you there, no hope or fear + Of that which never draweth near; + But in that lovely land and still + Ye may remember what ye will, + And what ye will, forget for aye. + So while the kingdoms pass away, + Ye sea-beat hardened toilers erst, + Unresting, for vain fame athirst, + Shall be at peace for evermore, + With hearts fulfilled of Godlike lore, + And calm, unwavering Godlike love, + No lapse of time can turn or move. + There, ages after your fair Fleece + Is clean forgotten, yea, and Greece + Is no more counted glorious, + Alone with us, alone with us, + Alone with us, dwell happily, + Beneath our trembling roof of sea. + + ORPHEUS. + + Ah! do ye weary of the strife + And long to change this eager life + For shadowy and dull hopelessness, + Thinking indeed to gain no less + Than far from this grey light to lie, + And there to die and not to die, + To be as if ye ne'er had been, + Yet keep your memory fresh and green, + To have no thought of good or ill, + Yet feed your fill or pleasure still? + O idle dream! Ah, verily + If it shall happen unto me + That I have thought of anything, + When o'er my bones the sea-fowl sing, + And I lie dead, how shall I pine + For those fresh joys that once were mine, + On this green fount of joy and mirth, + The ever young and glorious earth; + Then, helpless, shall I call to mind + Thoughts of the sweet flower-scented wind, + The dew, the gentle rain at night, + The wonder-working snow and white. + The song of birds, the water's fall, + The sun that maketh bliss of all; + Yea, this our toil and victory, + The tyrannous and conquered sea. + + THE SIRENS. + + Ah, will ye go, and whither then + Will ye go from us, soon to die, + To fill your three-score years and ten, + With many an unnamed misery? + + And this the wretchedest of all, + That when upon your lonely eyes + The last faint heaviness shall fall + Ye shall bethink you of our cries. + + Come back, nor grown old, seek in vain + To hear us sing across the sea. + Come back, come back, come back again, + Come back, O fearful Minyae! + + ORPHEUS. + + Ah, once again, ah, once again, + The black prow plunges through the sea, + Nor yet shall all your toil be vain, + Nor yet forgot, O Minyae. + + In such wise sang the Thracian, in such wise + Out gushed the Sirens' deadly melodies; + But long before the mingled song was done, + Back to the oars the Minyae, one by one, + Slunk silently; though many an one sighed sore, + As his strong fingers met the wood once more, + And from his breast the toilsome breathing came. + But as they laboured, some for very shame + Hung down their heads, and yet amongst them some + Gazed at the place whence that sweet song had come; + But round the oars and Argo's shielded side + The sea grew white, and she began to glide + Swift through the waters of that deadly bay; + But when a long wake now behind her lay, + And still the whistle of the wind increased, + Past shroud and mast, and all the song had ceased, + Butes rose up, the fair Athenian man, + And with wild eyes betwixt the rowers ran + Unto the poop and leapt into the sea; + Then all men rested on their oars, but he + Rose to the top, and towards the shore swam fast; + While all eyes watched him, who had well-nigh past + The place where sand and water 'gan to meet + In wreaths and ripples round the ivory feet, + When sun-burnt swimmer, snow-white glancing limb, + And yellow sand unto their eyes grew dim, + Nor did they see their fellow any more. + But when they once again beheld the shore + The wind sung o'er the empty beach and bare, + And by the cliff uprose into the air + A delicate and glittering little cloud, + That seemed some many-coloured sun to shroud; + But as the rugged cliff it drew above + The wondering Minyae beheld it move + Westward, toward Lilybaeum and the sun. + Then once more was their seaward course begun, + And soon those deadly sands were far astern, + Nor ever after could the heroes learn + If Butes lived or died; but old tales tell + That while the tumbling waves he breasted well, + Venus beheld him, as unseen she drew + From sunny Cyprus to the headland blue + Of Lilybaeum, where her temple is; + She, with a mind his sun-burnt brows to kiss, + E'en as his feet were dropping nigh the beach, + And ere his hand the deadly hands could reach, + Stooped, as the merlin stoops upon the dove, + And snatched him thence to be awhile her love, + Betwixt the golden pillars of her shrine, + That those who pass the Aegades see shine + From high-raised Lilybaeum o'er the sea. + + But far away the sea-beat Minyae + Cast forth the foam, as through the growing night + They laboured ever, having small delight + In life all empty of that promised bliss, + In love that scarce can give a dying kiss, + In pleasure ending sweet songs with a wail, + In fame that little can dead men avail, + In vain toil struggling with the fateful stream, + In hope, the promise of a morning dream. + Yet as night died, and the cold sea and grey + Seemed running with them toward the dawn of day, + Needs must they once again forget their death, + Needs must they, being alive and drawing breath, + As men who of no other life can know + In their own minds again immortal grow. + But toward the south a little now they bent, + And for a while o'er landless sea they went, + But on the third day made another land + At dawn of day, and thitherward did stand; + And since the wind blew lightly from the shore, + Somewhat abeam, they feared not with the oar + To push across the shallowing sea and green, + That washed a land the fairest they had seen, + Whose shell-strewn beach at highest of the tide + 'Twixt sea and flowery shore was nowise wide, + And drawn a little backward from the sea + There stood a marble wall wrought cunningly, + Rosy and white, set thick with images, + And over-topped with heavy-fruited trees, + Which by the shore ran, as the bay did bend, + And to their eyes had neither gap nor end; + Nor any gate: and looking over this, + They saw a place not made for earthly bliss, + Or eyes of dying men, for growing there + The yellow apple and the painted pear, + And well-filled golden cups of oranges + Hung amid groves of pointed cypress trees; + On grassy slopes the twining vine-boughs grew, + And hoary olives 'twixt far mountains blue, + And many-coloured flowers, like as a cloud + The rugged southern cliffs did softly shroud; + And many a green-necked bird sung to his mate + Within the slim-leaved, thorny pomegranate, + That flung its unstrung rubies on the grass, + And slowly o'er the place the wind did pass + Heavy with many odours that it bore + From thymy hills down to the sea-beat shore, + Because no flower there is, that all the year, + From spring to autumn, beareth otherwhere, + But there it flourished; nor the fruit alone + From 'twixt the green leaves and the boughs outshone, + For there each tree was ever flowering. + Nor was there lacking many a living thing + Changed of its nature; for the roebuck there + Walked fearless with the tiger; and the bear + Rolled sleepily upon the fruit-strawn grass, + Letting the conies o'er his rough hide pass, + With blinking eyes, that meant no treachery. + Careless the partridge passed the red fox by; + Untouched the serpent left the thrushes brown, + And as a picture was the lion's frown. + But in the midst there was a grassy space, + Raised somewhat over all the flowery place, + On marble terrace-walls wrought like a dream; + And round about it ran a clear blue stream, + Bridged o'er with marble steps, and midmost there + Grew a green tree, whose smooth grey boughs did bear + Such fruit as never man elsewhere had seen, + For 'twixt the sunlight and the shadow green + Shone out fair apples of red gleaming gold. + Moreover round the tree, in many a fold, + Lay coiled a dragon, glittering little less + Than that which his eternal watchfulness + Was set to guard; nor yet was he alone, + For from the daisied grass about him shone + Gold raiment wrapping round two damsels fair, + And one upon the steps combed out her hair, + And with shut eyes sung low as in a dream; + And one stood naked in the cold blue stream, + While on the bank her golden raiment lay; + But on that noontide of the quivering day, + She only, hearing the seafarers' shout, + Her lovely golden head had turned about, + And seen their white sail flapping o'er the wall, + And as she turned had let her tresses fall, + Which the thin water rippling round her knee + Bore outward from her toward the restless sea. + Not long she stood, but looking seaward yet, + From out the water made good haste to get, + And catching up her raiment hastily, + Ran up the marble stair, and 'gan to cry: + "Wake, O my sisters, wake, for now are come + The thieves of Aea to our peaceful home." + Then at her voice they gat them to their feet, + And when her raiment all her body sweet + Once more had hidden, joining hand to hand, + About the sacred apples did they stand, + While coiled the dragon closer to the tree, + And raised his head above them threateningly. + + Meanwhile, from Argo many a sea-beat face + Gazed longingly upon that lovely place, + And some their eager hands already laid + Upon the gangway. Then Medea said:-- + "Get back unto the oars, O Minyae, + Nor loiter here, for what have such as we + To do herein, where, 'mid undying trees, + Undying watch the wise Hesperides, + And where the while they watch, scarce can a God + Set foot upon the fruit-besprinkled sod + That no snow ever covers? therefore haste, + Nor yet in wondering your fair lives waste; + For these are as the Gods, nor think of us, + Nor to their eyes can aught be glorious + That son of man can do; would God that I + Could see far off the misty headland lie, + Where we the guilt of blood shall wash away, + For I grow weary of the dashing spray, + And ceaseless roll of interwoven seas, + And fain were sitting 'neath the whispering trees + In homely places, where the children play, + Who change like me, grow old, and die some day." + She ceased, and little soothly did they grieve, + For all its loveliness, that land to leave, + For now some God had chilled their hardihead, + And in their hearts had set a sacred dread, + They knew not why; but on their oars they hung, + A little longer as the sisters sung. + + "O ye, who to this place have strayed, + That never for man's eyes was made, + Depart in haste, as ye have come, + And bear back to your sea-beat home + This memory of the age of gold, + And for your eyes, grown over-bold, + Your hearts shall pay in sorrowing, + For want of many a half-seen thing. + + "Lo, such as is this garden green, + In days past, all the world has been, + And what we know all people knew, + Save this, that unto worse all grew. + "But since the golden age is gone, + This little place is left alone, + Unchanged, unchanging, watched of us, + The daughters of wise Hesperus. + "Surely the heavenly Messenger + Full oft is fain to enter here, + And yet without must he abide; + Nor longeth less the dark king's bride + To set red lips unto that fruit + That erst made nought her mother's suit. + Here would Diana rest awhile, + Forgetful of her woodland guile, + Among these beasts that fear her nought. + Nor is it less in Pallas' thought, + Beneath our trees to ponder o'er + The wide, unfathomed sea of lore; + And oft-kissed Citheraea, no less + Weary of love, full fain would press + These flowers with soft unsandalled feet. + + "But unto us our rest is sweet, + Neither shall any man or God + Or lovely Goddess touch the sod + Where-under old times buried lie, + Before the world knew misery. + Nor will we have a slave or king, + Nor yet will we learn anything + But that we know, that makes us glad; + While oft the very Gods are sad + With knowing what the Fates shall do. + "Neither from us shall wisdom go + To fill the hungering hearts of men, + Lest to them threescore years and ten + Come but to seem a little day, + Once given, and taken soon away. + Nay, rather let them find their life + Bitter and sweet, fulfilled of strife, + Restless with hope, vain with regret, + Trembling with fear, most strangely set + 'Twixt memory and forgetfulness; + So more shall joy be, troubles less, + And surely when all this is past, + They shall not want their rest at last. + + "Let earth and heaven go on their way, + While still we watch from day to day, + In this green place left all alone, + A remnant of the days long gone." + + There in the wind they hung, as word by word + The clear-voiced singers silently they heard; + But when the air was barren of their song, + Anigh the shore they durst not linger long, + So northward turned forewearied Argo's head, + And dipping oars, from that fair country sped, + Fulfilled of new desires and pensive thought, + Which that day's life unto their hearts had brought. + Then hard they toiled upon the bitter sea, + And in two days they did not fail to be + In sight of land, a headland high and blue + Which straight Milesian Erginus knew + To be the fateful place which now they sought, + Stormy Malea, so thitherward they brought + The groaning ship, and, casting anchor, lay + Beneath that headland's lee, within a bay, + Wherefrom the more part landed, and their feet + Once more the happy soil of Greece did meet. + Therewith they failed not to bring ashore + Rich robes of price and of fair arms good store, + And gold and silver, that they there might buy + What yet they lacked for their solemnity; + Then, while upon the highest point of land + Some built an altar, Jason, with a band + Of all the chiefest of the Minyae, + Turned inland from the murmur of the sea. + Not far they went ere by a little stream + Down in a valley they could see the gleam + Of brazen pillars and fair-gilded vanes, + And, dropping down by dank dark-wooded lanes + From off the hill-side, reached a house at last + Where in and out men-slaves and women passed, + And guests were streaming fast into the hall, + Where now the oaken boards were laid for all. + With these the Minyae went, and soon they were + Within a pillared hall both great and fair, + Where folk already sat beside the board, + And on the dais was an ancient lord. + But when these saw the fearless Minyae + Glittering in arms, they sprang up hastily, + And each man turned about unto the wall + To seize his spear or staff: then through the hall + Jason cried out: "Laconians, fear ye not, + Nor leave the flesh-meat while it reeketh hot + For dread of us, for we are men as ye, + And I am Jason of the Minyae, + And come from Aea to the land of Greece, + And in my ship bear back the Golden Fleece, + And a fair Colchian queen to fill my bed. + And now we pray to share your wine and bread, + And other things we need, and at our hands + That ye will take fair things of many lands." + "Sirs," said the ancient lord, "be welcome here, + Come up and sit by me, and make such cheer + As here ye can: glad am I that to me + The first of Grecian men from off the sea + Ye now are come." + Therewith the great hall rang + With joyful shouts, and as, with clash and clang + Of well-wrought arms, up to the dais they went, + All eyes upon the Minyae were bent, + Nor could they have enough of wondering + At this or that sea-tossed victorious king. + So with the strangers there they held high feast, + And afterwards the slaves drove many a beast + Down to the shore, and carried back again + Great store of precious things in pack and wain; + Wrought gold and silver, gems, full many a bale + Of scarlet cloth, and fine silk, fit to veil + The perfect limbs of dreaded Goddesses; + Spices fresh-gathered from the outland trees, + And arms well-wrought, and precious scarce-known wine, + And carven images well-nigh divine. + So when all folk with these were satisfied, + Back went the Minyae to the water-side, + And with them that old lord, fain to behold + Victorious Argo and the Fleece of Gold. + And so aboard amid the oars he lay + Throughout the night, and at the dawn of day + Did all men land, nor spared that day to wear + The best of all they had of gold-wrought gear, + And every one, being crowned with olive grey, + Up to the headland did they take their way, + Where now already stood the crowned priests + About the altars by the gilt-horned beasts. + There, as the fair sun rose, did Jason break + Over the altar the thin barley-cake, + And cast the salt abroad, and there were slain + The milk-white bulls, and there red wine did rain + On to the fire from out the ancient jar, + And high rose up the red flame, seen afar + From many another headland of that shore: + But over all its crackling and its roar + Uprose from time to time a joyous song, + That on the summer morning lay for long, + The mighty voices of the Minyae + Exulting o'er the tossing conquered sea, + That far below thrust on by tide and wind + The crumbling bases of the headland mined. + + + + + FROM + + "THE EARTHLY PARADISE." + + AN APOLOGY. + + + Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, + I cannot ease the burden of your fears, + Or make quick-coming death a little thing, + Or bring again the pleasure of past years, + Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, + Or hope again for aught that I can say, + The idle singer of an empty day. + + But rather, when aweary of your mirth, + From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, + And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, + Grudge every minute as it passes by, + Made the more mindful that the sweet days die-- + --Remember me a little then I pray, + The idle singer of an empty day. + + The heavy trouble, the bewildering care + That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, + These idle verses have no power to bear; + So let me sing of names remembered, + Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, + Or long time take their memory quite away + From us poor singers of an empty day. + + Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, + Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? + Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme + Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, + Telling a tale not too importunate + To those who in the sleepy region stay, + Lulled by the singer of an empty day. + + Folk say, a wizard to a northern king + At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, + That through one window men beheld the spring, + And through another saw the summer glow, + And through a third the fruited vines a-row, + While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, + Piped the drear wind of that December day. + + So with this Earthly Paradise it is, + If ye will read aright, and pardon me, + Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss + Midmost the beating of the steely sea, + Where tossed about all hearts of men must be: + Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, + Not the poor singer of an empty day. + + + + + FROM + + PROLOGUE--THE WANDERERS. + + ARGUMENT. + +Certain gentlemen and mariners of Norway, having considered all that +they had heard of the Earthly Paradise, set sail to find it, and after +many troubles and the lapse of many years came old men to some Western +land, of which they had never before heard: there they died, when they +had dwelt there certain years, much honoured of the strange people. + + + Forget six counties overhung with smoke, + Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, + Forget the spreading of the hideous town; + Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, + And dream of London, small, and white, and clean, + The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green; + Think, that below bridge the green lapping waves + Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves, + Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up hill, + And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to fill, + And treasured scanty spice from some far sea, + Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery, + And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne; + While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen + Moves over bills of lading--mid such times + Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes. + + A nameless city in a distant sea, + White as the changing walls of faerie, + Thronged with much people clad in ancient guise + I now am fain to set before your eyes; + There, leave the clear green water and the quays, + And pass betwixt its marble palaces, + Until ye come unto the chiefest square; + A bubbling conduit is set midmost there, + And round about it now the maidens throng, + With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song, + Making but light of labour new begun + While in their vessels gleams the morning sun. + On one side of the square a temple stands, + Wherein the gods worshipped in ancient lands + Still have their altars, a great market-place + Upon two other sides fills all the space, + And thence the busy hum of men comes forth; + But on the cold side looking toward the north + A pillared council-house may you behold, + Within whose porch are images of gold, + Gods of the nations who dwelt anciently + About the borders of the Grecian sea. + + Pass now between them, push the brazen door, + And standing on the polished marble floor + Leave all the noises of the square behind; + Most calm that reverent chamber shall ye find, + Silent at first, but for the noise you made + When on the brazen door your hand you laid + To shut it after you--but now behold + The city rulers on their thrones of gold, + Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands + Long carven silver-banded ebony wands; + Then from the dais drop your eyes and see + Soldiers and peasants standing reverently + Before those elders, round a little band + Who bear such arms as guard the English land, + But battered, rent, and rusted sore, and they, + The men themselves, are shrivelled, bent, and grey; + And as they lean with pain upon their spears + Their brows seem furrowed deep with more than years; + For sorrow dulls their heavy sunken eyes, + Bent are they less with time than miseries. + + Pondering on them the city grey-beards gaze + Through kindly eyes, midst thoughts of other days, + And pity for poor souls, and vague regret + For all the things that might have happened yet, + Until, their wonder gathering to a head, + The wisest man, who long that land has led, + Breaks the deep silence, unto whom again + A wanderer answers. Slowly as in pain, + And with a hollow voice as from a tomb + At first he tells the story of his doom, + But as it grows and once more hopes and fears, + Both measureless, are ringing round his ears, + His eyes grow bright, his seeming days decrease, + For grief once told brings somewhat back of peace. + + THE ELDER OF THE CITY. + + From what unheard-of world, in what strange keel, + Have ye come hither to our commonweal? + No barbarous race, as these our peasants say, + But learned in memories of a long-past day, + Speaking, some few at least, the ancient tongue + That through the lapse of ages still has clung + To us, the seed of the Ionian race. + Speak out and fear not; if ye need a place + Wherein to pass the end of life away, + That shall ye gain from us from this same day, + Unless the enemies of God ye are; + We fear not you and yours to bear us war, + And scarce can think that ye will try again + Across the perils of the shifting plain + To seek your own land whereso that may be: + For folk of ours bearing the memory + Of our old land, in days past oft have striven + To reach it, unto none of whom was given + To come again and tell us of the tale, + Therefore our ships are now content to sail, + About these happy islands that we know. + + + THE WANDERER. + + Masters, I have to tell a tale of woe, + A tale of folly and of wasted life, + Hope against hope, the bitter dregs of strife, + Ending, where all things end, in death at last: + So if I tell the story of the past, + Let it be worth some little rest, I pray, + A little slumber ere the end of day. + + No wonder if the Grecian tongue I know, + Since at Byzantium many a year ago + My father bore the twibil valiantly; + There did he marry, and get me, and die, + And I went back to Norway to my kin, + Long ere this beard ye see did first begin + To shade my mouth, but nathless not before + Among the Greeks I gathered some small lore, + And standing midst the Vaeringers, still heard + From this or that man many a wondrous word; + For ye shall know that though we worshipped God, + And heard mass duly, still of Swithiod + The Greater, Odin and his house of gold, + The noble stories ceased not to be told; + These moved me more than words of mine can say + E'en while at Micklegarth my folks did stay; + But when I reached one dying autumn-tide + My uncle's dwelling near the forest side, + And saw the land so scanty and so bare, + And all the hard things men contend with there, + A little and unworthy land it seemed, + And yet the more of Asagard I dreamed, + And worthier seemed the ancient faith of praise. + + But now, but now--when one of all those days + Like Lazarus' finger on my heart should be + Breaking the fiery fixed eternity, + But for one moment--could I see once more + The grey-roofed sea-port sloping towards the shore, + Or note the brown boats standing in from sea, + Or the great dromond swinging from the quay, + Or in the beech-woods watch the screaming jay + Shoot up betwixt the tall trunks, smooth and grey-- + Yea, could I see the days before distress + When very longing was but happiness. + + Within our house there was a Breton squire + Well learned, who fail'd not to fan the fire + That evermore unholpen burned in me + Strange lands and things beyond belief to see; + Much lore of many lands this Breton knew; + And for one tale I told, he told me two. + He, counting Asagard a new-told thing, + Yet spoke of gardens ever blossoming + Across the western sea where none grew old, + E'en as the books at Micklegarth had told, + And said moreover that an English knight + Had had the Earthly Paradise in sight, + And heard the songs of those that dwelt therein. + But entered not, being hindered by his sin. + Shortly, so much of this and that he said + That in my heart the sharp barb entered, + And like real life would empty stories seem, + And life from day to day an empty dream. + + Another man there was, a Swabian priest, + Who knew the maladies of man and beast, + And what things helped them; he the stone still sought + Whereby base metal into gold is brought, + And strove to gain the precious draught, whereby + Men live midst mortal men yet never die; + Tales of the Kaiser Redbeard could he tell + Who neither went to Heaven nor yet to Hell, + When from that fight upon the Asian plain + He vanished, but still lives to come again + Men know not how or when; but I listening + Unto this tale thought it a certain thing + That in some hidden vale of Swithiod + Across the golden pavement still he trod. + + But while our longing for such things so grew, + And ever more and more we deemed them true, + Upon the land a pestilence there fell + Unheard of yet in any chronicle, + And, as the people died full fast of it, + With these two men it chanced me once to sit, + This learned squire whose name was Nicholas, + And Swabian Laurence, as our manner was; + For could we help it scarcely did we part + From dawn to dusk: so heavy, sad at heart, + We from the castle-yard beheld the bay + Upon that ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, + Little we said amidst that dreary mood, + And certes nought that we could say was good. + + It was a bright September afternoon, + The parched-up beech-trees would be yellowing soon + The yellow flowers grown deeper with the sun + Were letting fall their petals one by one; + No wind there was, a haze was gathering o'er + The furthest bound of the faint yellow shore; + And in the oily waters of the bay + Scarce moving aught some fisher-cobles lay, + And all seemed peace; and had been peace indeed + But that we young men of our life had need, + And to our listening ears a sound was borne + That made the sunlight wretched and forlorn-- + --The heavy tolling of the minster bell-- + And nigher yet a tinkling sound did tell + That through the streets they bore our Saviour Christ + By dying lips in anguish to be kissed. + + At last spoke Nicholas, "How long shall we + Abide here, looking forth into the sea + Expecting when our turn shall come to die? + Fair fellows, will ye come with me and try + Now at our worst that long-desired quest, + Now--when our worst is death, and life our best." + "Nay, but thou know'st," I said, "that I but wait + The coming of some man, the turn of fate, + To make this voyage--but I die meanwhile, + For I am poor, though my blood be not vile, + Nor yet for all his lore doth Laurence hold + Within his crucibles aught like to gold; + And what hast thou, whose father driven forth + By Charles of Blois, found shelter in the North? + But little riches as I needs must deem." + "Well," said he, "things are better than they seem, + For 'neath my bed an iron chest I have + That holdeth things I have made shift to save + E'en for this end; moreover, hark to this, + In the next firth a fair long ship there is + Well victualled, ready even now for sea, + And I may say it 'longeth unto me; + Since Marcus Erling, late its owner, lies + Dead at the end of many miseries, + And little Kirstin, as thou well mayst know, + Would be content throughout the world to go + If I but took her hand, and now still more + Hath heart to leave this poor death-stricken shore. + Therefore my gold shall buy us Bordeaux swords + And Bordeaux wine as we go oceanwards. + "What say ye, will ye go with me to-night, + Setting your faces to undreamed delight, + Turning your backs unto this troublous hell, + Or is the time too short to say farewell?" + + "Not so," I said, "rather would I depart + Now while thou speakest, never has my heart + Been set on anything within this land." + Then said the Swabian, "Let us now take hand + And swear to follow evermore this quest + Till death or life have set our hearts at rest." + + So with joined hands we swore, and Nicholas said, + "To-night, fair friends, be ye apparelled + To leave this land, bring all the arms ye can + And such men as ye trust, my own good man + Guards the small postern looking towards St. Bride, + And good it were ye should not be espied, + Since mayhap freely ye should not go hence, + Thou Rolf in special, for this pestilence + Makes all men hard and cruel, nor are they + Willing that folk should 'scape if they must stay: + Be wise; I bid you for a while farewell, + Leave ye this stronghold when St. Peter's bell + Strikes midnight, all will surely then be still, + And I will bide you at King Tryggve's hill + Outside the city gates." + Each went his way + Therewith, and I the remnant of that day + Gained for the quest three men that I deemed true, + And did such other things as I must do, + And still was ever listening for the chime + Half maddened by the lazy lapse of time, + Yea, scarce I thought indeed that I should live + Till the great tower the joyful sound should give + That set us free: and so the hours went past, + Till startled by the echoing clang at last + That told of midnight, armed from head to heel + Down to the open postern did I steal, + Bearing small wealth--this sword that yet hangs here + Worn thin and narrow with so many a year, + My father's axe that from Byzantium, + With some few gems my pouch yet held, had come, + Nought else that shone with silver or with gold. + But by the postern gate could I behold + Laurence the priest all armed as if for war, + From off the town-wall, having some small store + Of arms and furs and raiment: then once more + I turned, and saw the autumn moonlight fall + Upon the new-built bastions of the wall, + Strange with black shadow and grey flood of light, + And further off I saw the lead shine bright + On tower and turret-roof against the sky, + And looking down I saw the old town lie + Black in the shade of the o'er-hanging hill, + Stricken with death, and dreary, but all still + Until it reached the water of the bay, + That in the dead night smote against the quay + Not all unheard, though there was little wind. + But as I turned to leave the place behind, + The wind's light sound, the slowly falling swell, + Were hushed at once by that shrill-tinkling bell, + That in that stillness jarring on mine ears, + With sudden jangle checked the rising tears, + And now the freshness of the open sea + Seemed ease and joy and very life to me. + So greeting my new mates with little sound, + We made good haste to reach King Tryggve's mound, + And there the Breton Nicholas beheld, + Who by the hand fair Kirstin Erling held, + And round about them twenty men there stood, + Of whom the more part on the holy rood + Were sworn till death to follow up the quest, + And Kirstin was the mistress of the rest. + Again betwixt us was there little speech, + But swiftly did we set on toward the beach, + And coming there our keel, the Fighting Man, + We boarded, and the long oars out we ran, + And swept from out the firth, and sped so well + That scarcely could we hear St. Peter's bell + Toll one, although the light wind blew from land; + Then hoisting sail southward we 'gan to stand, + And much I joyed beneath the moon to see + The lessening land that might have been to me + A kindly giver of wife, child, and friend, + And happy life, or at the worser end + A quiet grave till doomsday rend the earth. + + Night passed, day dawned, and we grew full of mirth + As with the ever-rising morning wind + Still further lay our threatened death behind, + Or so we thought: some eighty men we were, + Of whom but fifty knew the shipman's gear, + The rest were uplanders; midst such of these + As knew not of our quest, with promises + Went Nicholas dealing florins round about, + With still a fresh tale for each new man's doubt, + Till all were fairly won or seemed to be + To that strange desperate voyage o'er the sea. + + + + + OGIER THE DANE. + + ARGUMENT. + +When Ogier was born, six fay ladies came to the cradle where he lay, and +gave him various gifts, as to be brave and happy and the like; but the +sixth gave him to be her love when he should have lived long in the +world: so Ogier grew up and became the greatest of knights, and at last, +after many years, fell into the hands of that fay, and with her, as the +story tells, he lives now, though he returned once to the world, as is +shown in the process of this tale. + + + Within some Danish city by the sea, + Whose name, changed now, is all unknown to me, + Great mourning was there one fair summer eve, + Because the angels, bidden to receive + The fair Queen's lovely soul in Paradise, + Had done their bidding, and in royal guise + Her helpless body, once the prize of love, + Unable now for fear or hope to move, + Lay underneath the golden canopy; + And bowed down by unkingly misery + The King sat by it, and not far away, + Within the chamber a fair man-child lay, + His mother's bane, the king that was to be, + Not witting yet of any royalty, + Harmless and loved, although so new to life. + + Calm the June evening was, no sign of strife + The clear sky showed, no storm grew round the sun, + Unhappy that his day of bliss was done; + Dumb was the sea, and if the beech-wood stirred, + 'Twas with the nestling of the grey-winged bird + Midst its thick leaves; and though the nightingale + Her ancient, hapless sorrow must bewail, + No more of woe there seemed in her song + Than such as doth to lovers' words belong, + Because their love is still unsatisfied. + But to the King, on that sweet eventide, + No earth there seemed, no heaven when earth was gone; + No help, no God! but lonely pain alone; + And he, midst unreal shadows, seemed to sit + Himself the very heart and soul of it. + But round the cradle of the new-born child + The nurses now the weary time beguiled + With stories of the just departed Queen; + And how, amid the heathen folk first seen, + She had been won to love and godliness; + And as they spoke, e'en midst his dull distress, + An eager whisper now and then would smite + Upon the King's ear, of some past delight, + Some once familiar name, and he would raise + His weary head, and on the speaker gaze + Like one about to speak, but soon again + Would drop his head and be alone with pain, + Nor think of these; who, silent in their turn, + Would sit and watch the waxen tapers burn + Amidst the dusk of the quick-gathering night, + Until beneath the high stars' glimmering light, + The fresh earth lay in colourless repose. + So passed the night, and now and then one rose + From out her place to do what might avail + To still the new-born infant's fretful wail; + Or through the softly-opened door there came + Some nurse new waked, who, whispering low the name + Of her whose turn was come, would take her place; + Then toward the King would turn about her face + And to her fellows whisper of the day, + And tell again of her just past away. + + So passed the night, the moon arose and grew, + From off the sea a little west-wind blew, + Rustling the garden-leaves like sudden rain; + And ere the moon had 'gun to fall again + The wind grew cold, a change was in the sky, + And in deep silence did the dawn draw nigh; + Then from her place a nurse arose to light + Fresh hallowed lights, for, dying with the night, + The tapers round about the dead Queen were; + But the King raised his head and 'gan to stare + Upon her, as her sweeping gown did glide + About the floor, that in the stillness cried + Beneath her careful feet; and now as she + Had lit the second candle carefully, + And on its silver spike another one + Was setting, through her body did there run + A sudden tremor, and the hand was stayed + That on the dainty painted wax was laid; + Her eyelids fell down and she seemed to sleep, + And o'er the staring King began to creep + Sweet slumber too; the bitter lines of woe + That drew his weary face did softer grow, + His eyelids dropped, his arms fell to his side; + And moveless in their places did abide + The nursing women, held by some strong spell, + E'en as they were, and utter silence fell + Upon the mournful, glimmering chamber fair. + But now light footsteps coming up the stair, + Smote on the deadly stillness, and the sound + Of silken dresses trailing o'er the ground; + And heavenly odours through the chamber passed, + Unlike the scents that rose and lily cast + Upon the freshness of the dying night; + Then nigher drew the sound of footsteps light + Until the door swung open noiselessly-- + A mass of sunlit flowers there seemed to be + Within the doorway, and but pale and wan + The flame showed now that serveth mortal man, + As one by one six seeming ladies passed + Into the room, and o'er its sorrow cast + That thoughtless sense of joy bewildering, + That kisses youthful hearts amidst of spring; + Crowned were they, in such glorious raiment clad, + As yet no merchant of the world has had + Within his coffers; yet those crowns seemed fair + Only because they kissed their odorous hair, + And all that flowery raiment was but blessed + By those fair bodies that its splendour pressed. + Now to the cradle from that glorious band, + A woman passed, and laid a tender hand + Upon the babe, and gently drew aside + The swathings soft that did his body hide; + And, seeing him so fair and great, she smiled, + And stooped, and kissed him, saying, "O noble child, + Have thou a gift from Gloriande this day; + For to the time when life shall pass away + From this dear heart, no fear of death or shame, + No weariness of good shall foul thy name." + So saying, to her sisters she returned; + And one came forth, upon whose brow there burned + A crown of rubies, and whose heaving breast + With happy rings a golden hauberk pressed; + She took the babe, and somewhat frowning said, + "This gift I give, that till thy limbs are laid + At rest for ever, to thine honoured life + There never shall be lacking war and strife, + That thou a long-enduring name mayst win, + And by thy deeds, good pardon for thy sin." + With that another, who, unseen, meanwhile + Had drawn anigh, said with a joyous smile, + "And this forgotten gift to thee I give, + That while amidst the turmoil thou dost live, + Still shalt thou win the game, and unto thee + Defeat and shame but idle words shall be." + Then back they turned, and therewithal, the fourth + Said, "Take this gift for what it may be worth + For that is mine to give; lo, thou shalt be + Gentle of speech, and in all courtesy + The first of men: a little gift this is, + After these promises of fame and bliss." + Then toward the babe the fifth fair woman went; + Grey-eyed she was, and simple, with eyes bent + Down on the floor, parted her red lips were, + And o'er her sweet face marvellously fair + Oft would the colour spread full suddenly; + Clad in a dainty gown and thin was she, + For some green summer of the fay-land dight, + Tripping she went, and laid her fingers light + Upon the child, and said, "O little one, + As long as thou shalt look upon the sun + Shall women long for thee; take heed to this + And give them what thou canst of love and bliss." + Then, blushing for her words, therefrom she past, + And by the cradle stood the sixth and last, + The fairest of them all; awhile she gazed + Down on the child, and then her hand she raised, + And made the one side of her bosom bare; + "Ogier," she said, "if this be foul or fair + Thou know'st not now, but when thine earthly life + Is drunk out to the dregs, and war and strife + Have yielded thee whatever joy they may, + Thine head upon this bosom shalt thou lay; + And then, despite of knowledge or of God, + Will we be glad upon the flowery sod + Within the happy country where I dwell: + Ogier, my love that is to be, farewell!" + + She turned, and even as they came they passed + From out the place, and reached the gate at last + That oped before their feet, and speedily + They gained the edges of the murmuring sea, + And as they stood in silence, gazing there + Out to the west, they vanished into air, + I know not how, nor whereto they returned. + + But mixed with twilight in the chamber burned + The flickering candles, and those dreary folk, + Unlike to sleepers, from their trance awoke, + But nought of what had happed meanwhile they knew. + Through the half-opened casements now there blew + A sweet fresh air, that of the flowers and sea + Mingled together, smelt deliciously, + And from the unseen sun the spreading light + Began to make the fair June blossoms bright, + And midst their weary woe uprose the sun, + And thus has Ogier's noble life begun. + + * * * * * + + Hope is our life, when first our life grows clear; + Hope and delight, scarce crossed by lines of fear, + Yet the day comes when fain we would not hope, + But forasmuch as we with life must cope, + Struggling with this and that, and who knows why? + Hope will not give us up to certainty, + But still must bide with us: and with this man, + Whose life amid such promises began + Great things she wrought; but now the time has come + When he no more on earth may have his home. + Great things he suffered, great delights he had, + Unto great kings he gave good deeds for bad; + He ruled o'er kingdoms where his name no more + Is had in memory, and on many a shore + He left his sweat and blood to win a name + Passing the bounds of earthly creatures' fame. + A love he won and lost, a well-loved son + Whose little day of promise soon was done: + A tender wife he had, that he must leave + Before his heart her love could well receive; + Those promised gifts, that on his careless head + In those first hours of his fair life were shed + He took unwitting, and unwitting spent, + Nor gave himself to grief and discontent + Because he saw the end a-drawing nigh. + Where is he now? in what land must he die, + To leave an empty name to us on earth? + A tale half true, to cast across our mirth + Some pensive thoughts of life that might have been; + Where is he now, that all this life has seen? + + Behold, another eve I bid you see + Than that calm eve of his nativity; + The sun is setting in the west, the sky + Is clear and hard, and no clouds come anigh + The golden orb, but further off they lie, + Steel-grey and black with edges red as blood, + And underneath them is the weltering flood + Of some huge sea, whose tumbling hills, as they + Turn restless sides about, are black or grey, + Or green, or glittering with the golden flame; + The wind has fallen now, but still the same + The mighty army moves, as if to drown + This lone, bare rock, whose shear scarped sides of brown + Cast off the weight of waves in clouds of spray. + Alas! what ships upon an evil day + Bent over to the wind in this ill sea? + What navy, whose rent bones lie wretchedly + Beneath these cliffs? a mighty one it was, + A fearful storm to bring such things to pass. + + This is the loadstone rock; no armament + Of warring nations, in their madness bent + Their course this way; no merchant wittingly + Has steered his keel unto this luckless sea; + Upon no shipman's card its name is writ, + Though worn-out mariners will speak of it + Within the ingle on the winter's night, + When all within is warm and safe and bright, + And the wind howls without: but 'gainst their will + Are some folk driven here, and then all skill + Against this evil rock is vain and nought, + And unto death the shipmen soon are brought; + For then the keel, as by a giant's hand, + Is drawn unto that mockery of a land, + And presently unto its sides doth cleave; + When if they 'scape swift death, yet none may leave + The narrow limits of that barren isle, + And thus are slain by famine in a while + Mocked, as they say, by night with images + Of noble castles among groves of trees, + By day with sounds of merry minstrelsy. + + The sun sinks now below this hopeless sea, + The clouds are gone, and all the sky is bright; + The moon is rising o'er the growing night, + And by its light may ye behold the bones + Of generations of these luckless ones + Scattered about the rock; but nigh the sea + Sits one alive, who uncomplainingly + Awaits his death. White-haired is he and old, + Arrayed in royal raiment, bright with gold, + But tarnished with the waves and rough salt air; + Huge is he, of a noble face and fair, + As for an ancient man, though toil and eld + Furrow the cheeks that ladies once beheld + With melting hearts--Nay, listen, for he speaks! + "God, thou hast made me strong! nigh seven weeks + Have passed since from the wreck we haled our store, + And five long days well told, have now passed o'er + Since my last fellow died, with my last bread + Between his teeth, and yet I am not dead. + Yea, but for this I had been strong enow + In some last bloody field my sword to show. + What matter? soon will all be past and done, + Where'er I died I must have died alone: + Yet, Caraheu, a good death had it been + Dying, thy face above me to have seen, + And heard my banner flapping in the wind, + Then, though my memory had not left thy mind, + Yet hope and fear would not have vexed thee more + When thou hadst known that everything was o'er; + But now thou waitest, still expecting me, + Whose sail shall never speck thy bright blue sea. + "And thou, Clarice, the merchants thou mayst call, + To tell thee tales within thy pictured hall, + But never shall they tell true tales of me: + Whatever sails the Kentish hills may see + Swept by the flood-tide toward thy well-walled town, + No more on my sails shall they look adown. + "Get thee another leader, Charlemaine, + For thou shalt look to see my shield in vain, + When in the fair fields of the Frankish land, + Thick as the corn they tread, the heathen stand. + "What matter? ye shall learn to live your lives; + Husbands and children, other friends and wives, + Shall wipe the tablets of your memory clean, + And all shall be as I had never been. + + "And now, O God, am I alone with Thee; + A little thing indeed it seems to be + To give this life up, since it needs must go + Some time or other; now at last I know + How foolishly men play upon the earth, + When unto them a year of life seems worth + Honour and friends, and these vague hopes and sweet + That like real things my dying heart do greet, + Unreal while living on the earth I trod, + And but myself I knew no other god. + Behold, I thank Thee that Thou sweet'nest thus + This end, that I had thought most piteous, + If of another I had heard it told." + + What man is this, who weak and worn and old, + Gives up his life within that dreadful isle, + And on the fearful coming death can smile? + Alas! this man, so battered and outworn, + Is none but he, who, on that summer morn, + Received such promises of glorious life: + Ogier the Dane this is, to whom all strife + Was but as wine to stir awhile the blood, + To whom all life, however hard, was good: + This is the man, unmatched of heart and limb, + Ogier the Dane, whose sight has waxed not dim + For all the years that he on earth has dwelt; + Ogier the Dane, that never fear has felt, + Since he knew good from ill; Ogier the Dane, + The heathen's dread, the evil-doer's bane. + + * * * * * + + Bright had the moon grown as his words were done, + And no more was there memory of the sun + Within the west, and he grew drowsy now, + And somewhat smoother was his wrinkled brow + As thought died out beneath the hand of sleep, + And o'er his soul forgetfulness did creep, + Hiding the image of swift-coming death; + Until as peacefully he drew his breath + As on that day, past for a hundred years, + When, midst the nurse's quickly-falling tears, + He fell asleep to his first lullaby. + The night changed as he slept, white clouds and high + Began about the lonely moon to close; + And from the dark west a new wind arose, + And with the sound of heavy-falling waves + Mingled its pipe about the loadstone caves; + But when the twinkling stars were hid away, + And a faint light and broad, like dawn of day, + The moon upon that dreary country shed, + Ogier awoke, and lifting up his head + And smiling, muttered, "Nay, no more again; + Rather some pleasure new, some other pain, + Unthought of both, some other form of strife;" + For he had waked from dreams of his old life, + And through St. Omer's archer-guarded gate + Once more had seemed to pass, and saw the state + Of that triumphant king; and still, though all + Seemed changed, and folk by other names did call + Faces he knew of old, yet none the less + He seemed the same, and, midst that mightiness, + Felt his own power, and grew the more athirst + For coming glory, as of old, when first + He stood before the face of Charlemaine, + A helpless hostage with all life to gain. + But now, awake, his worn face once more sank + Between his hands, and, murmuring not, he drank + The draught of death that must that thirst allay. + + But while he sat and waited for the day + A sudden light across the bare rock streamed, + Which at the first he noted not, but deemed + The moon her fleecy veil had broken through; + But ruddier indeed this new light grew + Than were the moon's grey beams, and, therewithal, + Soft far-off music on his ears did fall; + Yet moved he not, but murmured, "This is death, + An easy thing like this to yield my breath, + Awake, yet dreaming, with no sounds of fear, + No dreadful sights to tell me it is near; + Yea, God, I thank Thee!" but with that last word + It seemed to him that he his own name heard + Whispered, as though the wind had borne it past; + With that he gat unto his feet at last, + But still awhile he stood, with sunken head, + And in a low and trembling voice he said, + "Lord, I am ready, whither shall I go? + I pray Thee unto me some token show." + And, as he said this, round about he turned, + And in the east beheld a light that burned + As bright as day; then, though his flesh might fear + The coming change that he believed so near, + Yet did his soul rejoice, for now he thought + Unto the very heaven to be brought: + And though he felt alive, deemed it might be + That he in sleep had died full easily. + Then toward that light did he begin to go, + And still those strains he heard, far off and low, + That grew no louder; still that bright light streamed + Over the rocks, yet nothing brighter seemed, + But like the light of some unseen bright flame + Shone round about, until at last he came + Unto the dreary islet's other shore, + And then the minstrelsy he heard no more, + And softer seemed the strange light unto him; + But yet or ever it had grown quite dim, + Beneath its waning light could he behold + A mighty palace set about with gold, + Above green meads and groves of summer trees + Far-off across the welter of the seas; + But, as he gazed, it faded from his sight, + And the grey hidden moon's diffused soft light, + Which soothly was but darkness to him now, + His sea-girt island prison did but show. + But o'er the sea he still gazed wistfully, + And said, "Alas! and when will this go by + And leave my soul in peace? must I still dream + Of life that once so dear a thing did seem, + That, when I wake, death may the bitterer be? + Here will I sit until he come to me, + And hide mine eyes and think upon my sin, + That so a little calm I yet may win + Before I stand within the awful place." + Then down he sat and covered up his face, + Yet therewithal his trouble could not hide, + Nor waiting thus for death could he abide, + For, though he knew it not, the yearning pain + Of hope of life had touched his soul again-- + If he could live awhile, if he could live! + The mighty being, who once was wont to give + The gift of life to many a trembling man; + Who did his own will since his life began; + Who feared not aught, but strong and great and free + Still cast aside the thought of what might be; + Must all this then be lost, and with no will, + Powerless and blind, must he some fate fulfil, + Nor know what he is doing any more? + + Soon he arose and paced along the shore, + And gazed out seaward for the blessed light; + But nought he saw except the old sad sight, + The ceaseless tumbling of the billows grey, + The white upspringing of the spurts of spray + Amidst that mass of timbers, the rent bones + Of the sea-houses of the hapless ones + Once cast like him upon this deadly isle. + He stopped his pacing in a little while, + And clenched his mighty hands, and set his teeth, + And gazing at the ruin underneath, + He swung from off the bare cliff's jagged brow, + And on some slippery ledge he wavered now, + Without a hand-hold, and now stoutly clung + With hands alone, and o'er the welter hung, + Not caring aught if thus his life should end; + But safely midst all this did he descend + The dreadful cliff, and since no beach was there, + But from the depths the rock rose stark and bare, + Nor crumbled aught beneath the hammering sea, + Upon the wrecks he stood unsteadily. + + But now, amid the clamour of the waves, + And washing to-and-fro of beams and staves, + Dizzy with hunger, dreamy with distress, + And all those days of fear and loneliness, + The ocean's tumult seemed the battle's roar, + His heart grew hot, as when in days of yore + He heard the cymbals clash amid the crowd + Of dusky faces; now he shouted loud, + And from crushed beam to beam began to leap, + And yet his footing somehow did he keep + Amidst their tossing, and indeed the sea + Was somewhat sunk upon the island's lee. + So quickly on from wreck to wreck he passed, + And reached the outer line of wrecks at last, + And there a moment stood unsteadily, + Amid the drift of spray that hurried by, + And drew Courtain his sword from out its sheath, + And poised himself to meet the coming death, + Still looking out to sea; but as he gazed, + And once or twice his doubtful feet he raised + To take the final plunge, that heavenly strain + Over the washing waves he heard again, + And from the dimness something bright he saw + Across the waste of waters towards him draw; + And hidden now, now raised aloft, at last + Unto his very feet a boat was cast, + Gilded inside and out, and well arrayed + With cushions soft; far fitter to have weighed + From some sweet garden on the shallow Seine, + Or in a reach of green Thames to have lain, + Than struggle with that huge confused sea; + But Ogier gazed upon it doubtfully + One moment, and then, sheathing Courtain, said, + "What tales are these about the newly dead + The heathen told? what matter, let all pass; + This moment as one dead indeed I was, + And this must be what I have got to do, + I yet perchance may light on something new + Before I die; though yet perchance this keel + Unto the wondrous mass of charmed steel + Is drawn as others." With that word he leapt + Into the boat, and o'er the cushions crept + From stem to stern, but found no rudder there, + Nor any oars, nor were the cushions fair + Made wet by any dashing of the sea. + Now while he pondered how these things could be, + The boat began to move therefrom at last, + But over him a drowsiness was cast, + And as o'er tumbling hills the skiff did pass, + He clean forgot his death and where he was. + + At last he woke up to a sunny day, + And, looking round, saw that his shallop lay + Moored at the edge of some fair tideless sea + Unto an overhanging thick-leaved tree, + Where in the green waves did the low bank dip + Its fresh and green grass-covered daisied lip; + But Ogier looking thence no more could see + That sad abode of death and misery, + Nor aught but wide and empty ocean, grey + With gathering haze, for now it neared midday; + Then from the golden cushions did he rise, + And wondering still if this were Paradise + He stepped ashore, but drew Courtain his sword + And muttered therewithal a holy word. + Fair was the place, as though amidst of May, + Nor did the brown birds fear the sunny day, + For with their quivering song the air was sweet; + Thick grew the field-flowers underneath his feet, + And on his head the blossoms down did rain, + Yet mid these fair things slowly and with pain + He 'gan to go, yea, even when his foot + First touched the flowery sod, to his heart's root + A coldness seemed to strike, and now each limb + Was growing stiff, his eyes waxed bleared and dim, + And all his stored-up memory 'gan to fail, + Nor yet would his once mighty heart avail + For lamentations o'er his changed lot; + Yet urged by some desire, he knew not what, + Along a little path 'twixt hedges sweet, + Drawn sword in hand, he dragged his faltering feet, + For what then seemed to him a weary way, + Whereon his steps he needs must often stay + And lean upon the mighty well-worn sword + That in those hands, grown old, for king or lord + Had small respect in glorious days long past. + + But still he crept along, and at the last + Came to a gilded wicket, and through this + Entered a garden fit for utmost bliss, + If that might last which needs must soon go by: + There 'gainst a tree he leaned, and with a sigh + He said, "O God, a sinner I have been, + And good it is that I these things have seen + Before I meet what Thou hast set apart + To cleanse the earthly folly from my heart; + But who within this garden now can dwell + Wherein guilt first upon the world befell?" + A little further yet he staggered on, + Till to a fountain-side at last he won, + O'er which two white-thorns their sweet blossoms shed, + There he sank down, and laid his weary head + Beside the mossy roots, and in a while + He slept, and dreamed himself within the isle; + That splashing fount the weary sea did seem, + And in his dream the fair place but a dream; + But when again to feebleness he woke + Upon his ears that heavenly music broke, + Not faint or far as in the isle it was, + But e'en as though the minstrels now did pass + Anigh his resting-place; then fallen in doubt, + E'en as he might, he rose and gazed about, + Leaning against the hawthorn stem with pain; + And yet his straining gaze was but in vain, + Death stole so fast upon him, and no more + Could he behold the blossoms as before, + No more the trees seemed rooted to the ground, + A heavy mist seemed gathering all around, + And in its heart some bright thing seemed to be, + And round his head there breathed deliciously + Sweet odours, and that music never ceased. + But as the weight of Death's strong hand increased + Again he sank adown, and Courtain's noise + Within the scabbard seemed a farewell voice + Sent from the world he loved so well of old, + And all his life was as a story told, + And as he thought thereof he 'gan to smile + E'en as a child asleep, but in a while + It was as though he slept, and sleeping dreamed, + For in his half-closed eyes a glory gleamed, + As though from some sweet face and golden hair, + And on his breast were laid soft hands and fair, + And a sweet voice was ringing in his ears, + Broken as if with flow of joyous tears; + "Ogier, sweet friend, hast thou not tarried long? + Alas! thine hundred years of strife and wrong!" + Then he found voice to say, "Alas! dear Lord, + Too long, too long; and yet one little word + Right many a year agone had brought me here." + Then to his face that face was drawn anear, + He felt his head raised up and gently laid + On some kind knee, again the sweet voice said, + "Nay, Ogier, nay, not yet, not yet, dear friend! + Who knoweth when our linked life shall end, + Since thou art come unto mine arms at last, + And all the turmoil of the world is past? + Why do I linger ere I see thy face + As I desired it in that mourning place + So many years ago--so many years, + Thou knewest not thy love and all her fears?" + "Alas!" he said, "what mockery is this + That thou wilt speak to me of earthly bliss? + No longer can I think upon the earth, + Have I not done with all its grief and mirth? + Yes, I was Ogier once, but if my love + Should come once more my dying heart to move, + Then must she come from 'neath the milk-white walls + Whereon to-day the hawthorn blossom falls + Outside St. Omer's--art thou she? her name + I could remember once mid death and fame + Is clean forgotten now; but yesterday, + Meseems, our son, upon her bosom lay: + Baldwin the fair--what hast thou done with him + Since Charlot slew him? Ah, mine eyes wax dim; + Woman, forbear! wilt thou not let me die? + Did I forget thee in the days gone by? + Then let me die, that we may meet again!" + + He tried to move from her, but all in vain, + For life had well-nigh left him, but withal + He felt a kiss upon his forehead fall, + And could not speak; he felt slim fingers fair + Move to his mighty sword-worn hand, and there + Set on some ring, and still he could not speak, + And once more sleep weighed down his eyelids weak. + + * * * * * + + But, ah! what land was this he woke unto? + What joy was this that filled his heart anew? + Had he then gained the very Paradise? + Trembling, he durst not at the first arise, + Although no more he felt the pain of eld, + Nor durst he raise his eyes that now beheld + Beside him the white flowers and blades of grass; + He durst not speak, lest he some monster was. + But while he lay and hoped, that gentle voice + Once more he heard; "Yea, thou mayst well rejoice! + Thou livest still, my sweet, thou livest still, + Apart from every earthly fear and ill; + Wilt thou not love me, who have wrought thee this, + That I like thee may live in double bliss?" + Then Ogier rose up, nowise like to one + Whose span of earthly life is nigh outrun, + But as he might have risen in old days + To see the spears cleave the fresh morning haze; + But, looking round, he saw no change there was + In the fair place wherethrough he first did pass, + Though all, grown clear and joyous to his eyes, + Now looked no worse than very Paradise; + Behind him were the thorns, the fountain fair + Still sent its glittering stream forth into air, + And by its basin a fair woman stood, + And as their eyes met his renewed blood + Rushed to his face; with unused thoughts and sweet + And hurrying hopes, his heart began to beat. + The fairest of all creatures did she seem; + So fresh and delicate you well might deem + That scarce for eighteen summers had she blessed + The happy, longing world; yet, for the rest, + Within her glorious eyes such wisdom dwelt + A child before her had the wise man felt, + And with the pleasure of a thousand years + Her lips were fashioned to move joy or tears + Among the longing folk where she might dwell, + To give at last the kiss unspeakable. + In such wise was she clad as folk may be, + Who, for no shame of their humanity, + For no sad changes of the imperfect year, + Rather for added beauty, raiment wear; + For, as the heat-foretelling grey-blue haze + Veils the green flowery morn of late May-days, + Her raiment veiled her; where the bands did meet + That bound the sandals to her dainty feet, + Gems gleamed; a fresh rose-wreath embraced her head, + And on her breast there lay a ruby red. + So with a supplicating look she turned + To meet the flame that in his own eyes burned, + And held out both her white arms lovingly, + As though to greet him as he drew anigh. + Stammering he said, "Who art thou? how am I + So cured of all my evils suddenly, + That certainly I felt no mightier, when, + Amid the backward rush of beaten men, + About me drooped the axe-torn Oriflamme? + Alas! I fear that in some dream I am." + "Ogier," she said, "draw near, perchance it is + That such a name God gives unto our bliss; + I know not, but if thou art such an one + As I must deem, all days beneath the sun + That thou hast had, shall be but dreams indeed + To those that I have given thee at thy need. + For many years ago beside the sea + When thou wert born, I plighted troth with thee: + Come near then, and make mirrors of mine eyes, + That thou mayest see what these my mysteries + Have wrought in thee; surely but thirty years, + Passed amidst joy, thy new born body bears, + Nor while thou art with me, and on this shore + Art still full-fed of love, shalt thou seem more. + Nay, love, come nigher, and let me take thine hand, + The hope and fear of many a warring land, + And I will show thee wherein lies the spell, + Whereby this happy change upon thee fell." + + Like a shy youth before some royal love, + Close up to that fair woman did he move, + And their hands met; yet to his changed voice + He dared not trust; nay, scarcely could rejoice + E'en when her balmy breath he 'gan to feel, + And felt strange sweetness o'er his spirit steal + As her light raiment, driven by the wind, + Swept round him, and, bewildered and half-blind, + His lips the treasure of her lips did press, + And round him clung her perfect loveliness. + For one sweet moment thus they stood, and then + She drew herself from out his arms again, + And panting, lovelier for her love, did stand + Apart awhile, then took her lover's hand, + And, in a trembling voice, made haste to say,-- + "O Ogier, when thou earnest here to-day, + I feared indeed, that in my sport with fate, + I might have seen thee e'en one day too late, + Before this ring thy finger should embrace; + Behold it, love, and thy keen eyes may trace + Faint figures wrought upon the ruddy gold; + My father dying gave it me, nor told + The manner of its making, but I know + That it can make thee e'en as thou art now + Despite the laws of God--shrink not from me + Because I give an impious gift to thee-- + Has not God made me also, who do this? + But I, who longed to share with thee my bliss, + Am of the fays, and live their changeless life, + And, like the gods of old, I see the strife + That moves the world, unmoved if so I will; + For we the fruit, that teaches good and ill, + Have never touched like you of Adam's race; + And while thou dwellest with me in this place + Thus shalt thou be--ah, and thou deem'st, indeed, + That thou shalt gain thereby no happy meed + Reft of the world's joys? nor canst understand + How thou art come into a happy land?-- + Love, in thy world the priests of heaven still sing, + And tell thee of it many a joyous thing; + But think'st thou, bearing the world's joy and pain, + Thou couldst live there? nay, nay, but born again + Thus wouldst be happy with the angels' bliss; + And so with us no otherwise it is, + Nor hast thou cast thine old life quite away + Even as yet, though that shall be to-day. + "But for the love and country thou hast won, + Know thou, that thou art come to Avallon, + That is both thine and mine; and as for me, + Morgan le Fay men call me commonly + Within the world, but fairer names than this + I have for thee and me, 'twixt kiss and kiss." + + Ah, what was this? and was it all in vain, + That she had brought him here this life to gain? + For, ere her speech was done, like one turned blind + He watched the kisses of the wandering wind + Within her raiment, or as some one sees + The very best of well-wrought images + When he is blind with grief, did he behold + The wandering tresses of her locks of gold + Upon her shoulders; and no more he pressed + The hand that in his own hand lay at rest: + His eyes, grown dull with changing memories, + Could make no answer to her glorious eyes: + Cold waxed his heart, and weary and distraught, + With many a cast-by, hateful, dreary thought, + Unfinished in the old days; and withal + He needs must think of what might chance to fall + In this life new-begun; and good and bad + Tormented him, because as yet he had + A worldly heart within his frame made new, + And to the deeds that he was wont to do + Did his desires still turn. But she a while + Stood gazing at him with a doubtful smile, + And let his hand fall down; but suddenly + Sounded sweet music from some close nearby, + And then she spoke again: "Come, love, with me, + That thou thy new life and delights mayst see." + And gently with that word she led him thence, + And though upon him now there fell a sense + Of dreamy and unreal bewilderment, + As hand in hand through that green place they went, + Yet therewithal a strain of tender love + A little yet his restless heart did move. + + * * * * * + + So through the whispering trees they came at last + To where a wondrous house a shadow cast + Across the flowers, and o'er the daisied grass + Before it, crowds of lovely folk did pass, + Playing about in carelessness and mirth, + Unshadowed by the doubtful deeds of earth; + And from the midst a band of fair girls came, + With flowers and music, greeting him by name, + And praising him; but ever like a dream + He could not break, did all to Ogier seem, + And he his old world did the more desire, + For in his heart still burned unquenched the fire, + That through the world of old so bright did burn: + Yet was he fain that kindness to return, + And from the depth of his full heart he sighed. + Then toward the house the lovely Queen did guide + His listless steps, and seemed to take no thought + Of knitted brow or wandering eyes distraught, + But still with kind love lighting up her face + She led him through the door of that fair place, + While round about them did the damsels press; + And he was moved by all that loveliness + As one might be, who, lying half asleep + In the May morning, notes the light wind sweep + Over the tulip-beds: no more to him + Were gleaming eyes, red lips, and bodies slim, + Amidst that dream, although the first surprise + Of hurried love wherewith the Queen's sweet eyes + Had smitten him, still in his heart did stir. + + And so at last he came, led on by her + Into a hall wherein a fair throne was, + And hand in hand thereto the twain did pass; + And there she bade him sit, and when alone + He took his place upon the double throne, + She cast herself before him on her knees, + Embracing his, and greatly did increase + The shame and love that vexed his troubled heart: + But now a line of girls the crowd did part, + Lovelier than all, and Ogier could behold + One in their midst who bore a crown of gold + Within her slender hands and delicate; + She, drawing nigh, beside the throne did wait + Until the Queen arose and took the crown, + Who then to Ogier's lips did stoop adown + And kissed him, and said, "Ogier, what were worth + Thy miserable days of strife on earth, + That on their ashes still thine eyes are turned?" + Then, as she spoke these words, his changed heart burned + With sudden memories, and thereto had he + Made answer, but she raised up suddenly + The crown she held and set it on his head, + "Ogier," she cried, "those troublous days are dead; + Thou wert dead with them also, but for me; + Turn unto her who wrought these things for thee!" + Then, as he felt her touch, a mighty wave + Of love swept o'er his soul, as though the grave + Did really hold his body; from his seat + He rose to cast himself before her feet; + But she clung round him, and in close embrace + The twain were locked amidst that thronging place. + + Thenceforth new life indeed has Ogier won, + And in the happy land of Avallon + Quick glide the years o'er his unchanging head; + There saw he many men the world thought dead, + Living like him in sweet forgetfulness + Of all the troubles that did once oppress + Their vainly-struggling lives--ah, how can I + Tell of their joy as though I had been nigh? + Suffice it that no fear of death they knew, + That there no talk there was of false or true, + Of right or wrong, for traitors came not there; + That everything was bright and soft and fair, + And yet they wearied not for any change, + Nor unto them did constancy seem strange. + Love knew they, but its pain they never had, + But with each other's joy were they made glad; + Nor were their lives wasted by hidden fire, + Nor knew they of the unfulfilled desire + That turns to ashes all the joys of earth, + Nor knew they yearning love amidst the dearth + Of kind and loving hearts to spend it on, + Nor dreamed or discontent when all was won; + Nor need they struggle after wealth and fame; + Still was the calm flow of their lives the same, + And yet, I say, they wearied not of it-- + So did the promised days by Ogier flit. + + Think that a hundred years have now passed by, + Since ye beheld Ogier lie down to die + Beside the fountain; think that now ye are + In France, made dangerous with wasting war; + In Paris, where about each guarded gate, + Gathered in knots, the anxious people wait, + And press around each new-come man to learn + If Harfleur now the pagan wasters burn, + Or if the Rouen folk can keep their chain, + Or Pont de l'Arche unburnt still guards the Seine? + Or if 'tis true that Andelys succour wants? + That Vernon's folk are fleeing east to Mantes? + When will they come? or rather is it true + That a great band the Constable o'erthrew + Upon the marshes of the lower Seine, + And that their long ships, turning back again, + Caught by the high-raised waters of the bore + Were driven here and there and cast ashore? + Such questions did they ask, and, as fresh men + Came hurrying in, they asked them o'er again, + And from scared folk, or fools, or ignorant, + Still got new lies, or tidings very scant. + + But now amidst these men at last came one, + A little ere the setting of the sun, + With two stout men behind him, armed right well, + Who ever as they rode on, sooth to tell, + With doubtful eyes upon their master stared, + Or looked about like troubled men and scared. + And he they served was noteworthy indeed; + Of ancient fashion were his arms and weed, + Rich past the wont of men in those sad times; + His face was bronzed, as though by burning climes, + But lovely as the image of a god + Carved in the days before on earth Christ trod; + But solemn were his eyes, and grey as glass, + And like to ruddy gold his fine hair was: + A mighty man he was, and taller far + Than those who on that day must bear the war + The pagans waged: he by the warders stayed + Scarce looked on them, but straight their words obeyed + And showed his pass; then, asked about his name + And from what city of the world he came, + Said, that men called him now the Ancient Knight, + That he was come midst the king's men to fight + From St. Omer's; and as he spoke, he gazed + Down on the thronging street as one amazed, + And answered no more to the questioning + Of frightened folk of this or that sad thing; + But, ere he passed on, turned about at last + And on the wondering guard a strange look cast, + And said, "St. Mary! do such men as ye + Fight with the wasters from across the sea? + Then, certes, are ye lost, however good + Your hearts may be; not such were those who stood + Beside the Hammer-bearer years agone." + So said he, and as his fair armour shone + With beauty of a time long passed away, + So with the music of another day + His deep voice thrilled the awe-struck, listening folk. + + Yet from the crowd a mocking voice outbroke, + That cried, "Be merry, masters, fear ye nought, + Surely good succour to our side is brought; + For here is Charlemaine come off his tomb + To save his faithful city from its doom." + "Yea," said another, "this is certain news, + Surely ye know how all the carvers use + To carve the dead man's image at the best, + That guards the place where he may lie at rest; + Wherefore this living image looks indeed, + Spite of his ancient tongue and marvellous weed, + To have but thirty summers." + At the name + Of Charlemaine, he turned to whence there came + The mocking voice, and somewhat knit his brow, + And seemed as he would speak, but scarce knew how; + So with a half-sigh soon sank back again + Into his dream, and shook his well-wrought rein, + And silently went on upon his way. + + And this was Ogier: on what evil day + Has he then stumbled, that he needs must come, + Midst war and ravage, to the ancient home + Of his desires? did he grow weary then, + And wish to strive once more with foolish men + For worthless things? or is fair Avallon + Sunk in the sea, and all that glory gone? + Nay, thus it happed--One day she came to him + And said, "Ogier, thy name is waxen dim + Upon the world that thou rememberest not; + The heathen men are thick on many a spot + Thine eyes have seen, and which I love therefore; + And God will give His wonted help no more. + Wilt thou, then, help? canst thou have any mind + To give thy banner once more to the wind? + Since greater glory thou shalt win for this + Than erst thou gatheredst ere thou cam'st to bliss: + For men are dwindled both in heart and frame, + Nor holds the fair land any such a name + As thine, when thou wert living midst thy peers: + The world is worser for these hundred years." + From his calm eyes there gleamed a little fire, + And in his voice was something of desire, + To see the land where he was used to be, + As now he answered: "Nay, choose thou for me, + Thou art the wisest; it is more than well + Within this peaceful place with thee to dwell: + Nor ill perchance in that old land to die, + If, dying, I keep not the memory + Of this fair life of ours." "Nay, nay," said she, + "As to thy dying, that shall never be, + Whiles that thou keep'st my ring--and now, behold, + I take from thee thy charmed crown of gold, + And thou wilt be the Ogier that thou wast + Ere on the loadstone rock thy ship was cast: + Yet thou shalt have thy youthful body still, + And I will guard thy life from every ill." + + So was it done, and Ogier, armed right well, + Sleeping, was borne away by some strong spell, + And set upon the Flemish coast; and thence + Turned to St. Omer's, with a doubtful sense + Of being in some wild dream, the while he knew + That great delight forgotten was his due, + That all which there might hap was of small worth. + So on he went, and sometimes unto mirth + Did his attire move the country-folk, + But oftener when strange speeches from him broke + Concerning men and things for long years dead, + He filled the listeners with great awe and dread; + For in such wild times as these people were + Are men soon moved to wonder and to fear. + + Now through the streets of Paris did he ride, + And at a certain hostel did abide + Throughout that night, and ere he went next day + He saw a book that on a table lay, + And opening it 'gan read in lazy mood: + But long before it in that place he stood, + Noting nought else; for it did chronicle + The deeds of men of old he knew right well, + When they were living in the flesh with him: + Yea, his own deeds he saw, grown strange and dim + Already, and true stories mixed with lies, + Until, with many thronging memories + Of those old days, his heart was so oppressed, + He 'gan to wish that he might lie at rest, + Forgetting all things: for indeed by this + Little remembrance had he of the bliss + That wrapped his soul in peaceful Avallon. + + But his changed life he needs must carry on; + For ye shall know the Queen was gathering men + To send unto the good King, who as then + In Rouen lay, beset by many a band + Of those who carried terror through the land, + And still by messengers for help he prayed: + Therefore a mighty muster was being made, + Of weak and strong, and brave and timorous, + Before the Queen anigh her royal house. + So thither on this morn did Ogier turn, + Some certain news about the war to learn; + And when he came at last into the square, + And saw the ancient palace great and fair + Rise up before him as in other days, + And in the merry morn the bright sun's rays + Glittering on gathering helms and moving spears, + He 'gan to feel as in the long-past years, + And his heart stirred within him. Now the Queen + Came from within, right royally beseen, + And took her seat beneath a canopy, + With lords and captains of the war anigh; + And as she came a mighty shout arose, + And round about began the knights to close, + Their oath of fealty there to swear anew, + And learn what service they had got to do. + But so it was, that some their shouts must stay + To gaze at Ogier as he took his way + Through the thronged place; and quickly too he gat + Unto the place whereas the Lady sat, + For men gave place unto him, fearing him: + For not alone was he most huge of limb, + And dangerous, but something in his face, + As his calm eyes looked o'er the crowded place, + Struck men with awe; and in the ancient days, + When men might hope alive on gods to gaze, + They would have thought, "The gods yet love our town + And from the heavens have sent a great one down." + Withal unto the throne he came so near, + That he the Queen's sweet measured voice could hear; + And swiftly now within him wrought the change + That first he felt amid those faces strange; + And his heart burned to taste the hurrying life + With such desires, such changing sweetness rife. + And yet, indeed, how should he live alone, + Who in the old past days such friends had known? + Then he began to think of Caraheu, + Of Bellicent the fair, and once more knew + The bitter pain of rent and ended love. + But while with hope and vain regret he strove, + He found none 'twixt him and the Queen's high seat, + And, stepping forth, he knelt before her feet + And took her hand to swear, as was the way + Of doing fealty in that ancient day, + And raised his eyes to hers; as fair was she + As any woman of the world might be + Full-limbed and tall, dark haired, from her deep eyes, + The snare of fools, the ruin of the wise, + Love looked unchecked; and now her dainty hand, + The well-knit holder of the golden wand, + Trembled in his, she cast her eyes adown, + And her sweet brow was knitted to a frown, + As he, the taker of such oaths of yore, + Now unto her all due obedience swore, + Yet gave himself no name; and now the Queen, + Awed by his voice as other folk had been, + Yet felt a trembling hope within her rise + Too sweet to think of, and with love's surprise + Her cheek grew pale; she said, "Thy style and name + Thou tellest not, nor what land of thy fame + Is glad; for, certes, some land must be glad, + That in its bounds her house thy mother had." + "Lady," he said, "from what far land I come + I well might tell thee, but another home + Have I long dwelt in, and its name have I + Forgotten now, forgotten utterly + Who were my fellows, and what deeds they did; + Therefore, indeed, shall my first name be hid + And my first country; call me on this day + The Ancient Knight, and let me go my way." + He rose withal, for she her fingers fair + Had drawn aback, and on him 'gan to stare + As one afeard; for something terrible + Was in his speech, and that she knew right well, + Who 'gan to love him, and to fear that she, + Shut out by some strange deadly mystery, + Should never gain from him an equal love; + Yet, as from her high seat he 'gan to move, + She said, "O Ancient Knight, come presently, + When we have done this muster, unto me, + And thou shalt have thy charge and due command + For freeing from our foes this wretched land!" + Then Ogier made his reverence and went, + And somewhat could perceive of her intent; + For in his heart life grew, and love with life + Grew, and therewith, 'twixt love and fame, was strife. + But, as he slowly gat him from the square, + Gazing at all the people gathered there, + A squire of the Queen's behind him came, + And breathless, called him by his new-coined name, + And bade him turn because the Queen now bade, + Since by the muster long she might be stayed, + That to the palace he should bring him straight, + Midst sport and play her coming back to wait; + Then Ogier turned, nought loath, and with him went, + And to a postern-gate his steps he bent, + That Ogier knew right well in days of old; + Worn was it now, and the bright hues and gold + Upon the shields above, with lapse of days, + Were faded much: but now did Ogier gaze + Upon the garden where he walked of yore, + Holding the hands that he should see no more; + For all was changed except the palace fair, + That Charlemaine's own eyes had seen built there + Ere Ogier knew him; there the squire did lead + The Ancient Knight, who still took little heed + Of all the things that by the way he said, + For all his thoughts were on the days long dead. + There in the painted hall he sat again, + And 'neath the pictured eyes of Charlemaine + He ate and drank, and felt it like a dream; + And midst his growing longings yet might deem + That he from sleep should wake up presently + In some fair city on the Syrian sea, + Or on the brown rocks of the loadstone isle. + But fain to be alone, within a while + He gat him to the garden, and there passed + By wondering squires and damsels, till at last, + Far from the merry folk who needs must play, + If on the world were coming its last day, + He sat him down, and through his mind there ran + Faint thoughts of that day, when, outworn and wan, + He lay down by the fountain-side to die. + But when he strove to gain clear memory + Of what had happed since on the isle he lay + Waiting for death, a hopeless castaway, + Thought failing him, would rather bring again + His life among the peers of Charlemaine, + And vex his soul with hapless memories; + Until at last, worn out by thought of these, + And hopeless striving to find what was true, + And pondering on the deeds he had to do + Ere he returned, whereto he could not tell, + Sweet sleep upon his wearied spirit fell. + And on the afternoon of that fair day, + Forgetting all, beneath the trees he lay. + + Meanwhile the Queen, affairs of state being done, + Went through the gardens with one dame alone + Seeking for Ogier, whom at last she found + Laid sleeping on the daisy-sprinkled ground, + Dreaming, I know not what, of other days. + Then on him for a while the Queen did gaze, + Drawing sweet poison from the lovely sight, + Then to her fellow turned, "The ancient Knight-- + What means he by this word of his?" she said; + "He were well mated with some lovely maid + Just pondering on the late-heard name of love." + "Softly, my lady, he begins to move," + Her fellow said, a woman old and grey; + "Look now, his arms are of another day; + None know him or his deeds; thy squire just said + He asked about the state of men long dead; + I fear what he may be; look, seest thou not + That ring that on one finger he has got, + Where figures strange upon the gold are wrought: + God grant that he from hell has not been brought + For our confusion, in this doleful war, + Who surely in enough of trouble are + Without such help;" then the Queen turned aside + Awhile, her drawn and troubled face to hide, + For lurking dread this speech within her stirred; + But yet she said, "Thou sayest a foolish word, + This man is come against our enemies + To fight for us." Then down upon her knees + Fell the old woman by the sleeping knight, + And from his hand she drew with fingers light + The wondrous ring, and scarce again could rise + Ere 'neath the trembling Queen's bewildered eyes + The change began; his golden hair turned white, + His smooth cheek wrinkled, and his breathing light + Was turned to troublous struggling for his breath, + And on his shrunk lips lay the hand of death; + And, scarce less pale than he, the trembling Queen + Stood thinking on the beauty she had seen + And longed for but a little while ago, + Yet with her terror still her love did grow, + And she began to weep as though she saw + Her beauty e'en to such an ending draw. + And 'neath her tears waking he oped his eyes, + And strove to speak, but nought but gasping sighs + His lips could utter; then he tried to reach + His hand to them, as though he would beseech + The gift of what was his: but all the while + The crone gazed on them with an evil smile, + Then holding toward the Queen that wondrous ring, + She said, "Why weep'st thou? having this fair thing, + Thou, losing nought the beauty that thou hast, + May'st watch the vainly struggling world go past, + Thyself unchanged." The Queen put forth her hand + And took the ring, and there awhile did stand + And strove to think of it, but still in her + Such all-absorbing longings love did stir, + So young she was, of death she could not think, + Or what a cup eld gives to man to drink; + Yet on her finger had she set the ring + When now the life that hitherto did cling + To Ogier's heart seemed fading quite away, + And scarcely breathing with shut eyes he lay. + Then, kneeling down, she murmured piteously, + "Ah, wilt thou love me if I give it thee, + And thou grow'st young again? what should I do + If with the eyes thou thus shalt gain anew + Thou shouldst look scorn on me?" But with that word + The hedge behind her, by the west wind stirred, + Cast fear into her heart of some one nigh, + And therewith on his finger hastily + She set the ring, then rose and stood apart + A little way, and in her doubtful heart + With love and fear was mixed desire of life. + But standing so, a look with great scorn rife + The elder woman, turning, cast on her, + Pointing to Ogier, who began to stir; + She looked, and all she erst saw now did seem + To have been nothing but a hideous dream, + As fair and young he rose from off the ground + And cast a dazed and puzzled look around, + Like one just waked from sleep in some strange place; + But soon his grave eyes rested on her face, + And turned yet graver seeing her so pale, + And that her eyes were pregnant with some tale + Of love and fear; she 'neath his eyes the while + Forced her pale lips to semblance of a smile, + And said, "O Ancient Knight, thou sleepest then? + While through this poor land range the heathen men, + Unmet of any but my King and Lord: + Nay, let us see the deeds of thine old sword." + "Queen," said he, "bid me then unto this work, + And certes I behind no wall would lurk, + Nor send for succour, while a scanty folk + Still followed after me to break the yoke: + I pray thee grace for sleeping, and were fain + That I might rather never sleep again + Than have such wretched dreams as I e'en now + Have waked from." + Lovelier she seemed to grow + Unto him as he spoke; fresh colour came + Into her face, as though for some sweet shame, + While she with tearful eyes beheld him so, + That somewhat even must his burnt cheek glow, + His heart beat faster. But again she said, + "Nay, will dreams burden such a mighty head? + Then may I too have pardon for a dream: + Last night in sleep I saw thee, who didst seem + To be the King of France; and thou and I + Were sitting at some great festivity + Within the many-peopled gold-hung place." + The blush of shame was gone as on his face + She gazed, and saw him read her meaning clear + And knew that no cold words she had to fear, + But rather that for softer speech he yearned. + Therefore, with love alone her smooth cheek burned; + Her parted lips were hungry for his kiss, + She trembled at the near approaching bliss; + Nathless, she checked her love a little while, + Because she felt the old dame's curious smile + Upon her, and she said, "O Ancient Knight, + If I then read my last night's dream aright, + Thou art come here our very help to be, + Perchance to give my husband back to me; + Come then, if thou this land art fain to save, + And show the wisdom thou must surely have + Unto my council; I will give thee then + What charge I may among my valiant men; + And certes thou wilt do so well herein, + That, ere long, something greater shalt thou win: + Come, then, deliverer of my throne and land, + And let me touch for once thy mighty hand + With these weak fingers." + As she spoke, she met + His eager hand, and all things did forget + But for one moment, for too wise were they + To cast the coming years of joy away; + Then with her other hand her gown she raised + And led him thence, and o'er her shoulder gazed + At her old follower with a doubtful smile, + As though to say, "Be wise, I know thy guile!" + But slowly she behind the lovers walked, + Muttering, "So be it! thou shalt not be balked + Of thy desire; be merry! I am wise, + Nor will I rob thee of thy Paradise + For any other than myself; and thou + May'st even happen to have had enow + Of this new love, before I get the ring, + And I may work for thee no evil thing." + + Now ye shall know that the old chronicle, + Wherein I read all this, doth duly tell + Of all the gallant deeds that Ogier did, + There may ye read them; nor let me be chid + If I therefore say little of these things, + Because the thought of Avallon still clings + Unto my heart, and scarcely can I bear + To think of that long, dragging useless year, + Through which, with dulled and glimmering memory, + Ogier was grown content to live and die + Like other men; but this I have to say, + That in the council chamber on that day + The Old Knight showed his wisdom well enow, + While fainter still with love the Queen did grow + Hearing his words, beholding his grey eyes + Flashing with fire of warlike memories; + Yea, at the last he seemed so wise indeed + That she could give him now the charge, to lead + One wing of the great army that set out + From Paris' gates, midst many a wavering shout + Midst trembling prayers, and unchecked wails and tears, + And slender hopes and unresisted fears. + + Now ere he went, upon his bed he lay, + Newly awakened at the dawn of day, + Gathering perplexed thoughts of many a thing, + When, midst the carol that the birds did sing + Unto the coming of the hopeful sun, + He heard a sudden lovesome song begun + 'Twixt two young voices in the garden green, + That seemed indeed the farewell of the Queen. + + + SONG. + + HAEC. + + + _In the white-flowered hawthorn brake, + Love, be merry for my sake; + Twine the blossoms in my hair, + Kiss me where I am most fair-- + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death?_ + + ILLE. + + _Nay, the garlanded gold hair + Hides thee where thou art most fair;_ + _Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow-- + Ah, sweet love, I have thee now! + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death?_ + + HAEC. + + _Shall we weep for a dead day, + Or set Sorrow in our way? + Hidden by my golden hair, + Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear? + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death?_ + + ILLE. + + _Weep, O Love, the days that flit, + Now, while I can feel thy breath; + Then may I remember it + Sad and old, and near my death. + Kiss me, love! for who knoweth + What thing cometh after death_? + + + Soothed by the pleasure that the music brought + And sweet desire, and vague and dreamy thought + Of happiness it seemed to promise him, + He lay and listened till his eyes grew dim, + And o'er him 'gan forgetfulness to creep + Till in the growing light he lay asleep, + Nor woke until the clanging trumpet-blast + Had summoned him all thought away to cast: + Yet one more joy of love indeed he had + Ere with the battle's noise he was made glad; + For, as on that May morning forth they rode + And passed before the Queen's most fair abode, + There at a window was she waiting them + In fair attire with gold in every hem, + And as the ancient Knight beneath her passed + A wreath of flowering white-thorn down she cast, + And looked farewell to him, and forth he set + Thinking of all the pleasure he should get + From love and war, forgetting Avallon + And all that lovely life so lightly won; + Yea, now indeed the earthly life o'erpast + Ere on the loadstone rock his ship was cast + Was waxing dim, nor yet at all he learned + To 'scape the fire that erst his heart had burned. + And he forgat his deeds, forgat his fame, + Forgat the letters of his ancient name + As one waked fully shall forget a dream, + That once to him a wondrous tale did seem. + + Now I, though writing here no chronicle + E'en as I said, must nathless shortly tell + That, ere the army Rouen's gates could gain + By a broad arrow had the King been slain, + And helpless now the wretched country lay + Beneath the yoke, until the glorious day + When Ogier fell at last upon the foe, + And scattered them as helplessly as though + They had been beaten men without a name: + So when to Paris town once more he came + Few folk the memory of the King did keep + Within their hearts, and if the folk did weep + At his returning, 'twas for joy indeed + That such a man had risen at their need + To work for them so great deliverance, + And loud they called on him for King of France. + + But if the Queen's heart were the more a-flame + For all that she had heard of his great fame, + I know not; rather with some hidden dread + Of coming fate, she heard her lord was dead, + And her false dream seemed coming true at last, + For the clear sky of love seemed overcast + With clouds of God's great judgments, and the fear + Of hate and final parting drawing near. + So now when he before her throne did stand + Amidst the throng as saviour of the land, + And she her eyes to his kind eyes did raise, + And there before all her own love must praise; + Then did she fall a-weeping, and folk said, + "See, how she sorrows for the newly dead! + Amidst our joy she needs must think of him; + Let be, full surely shall her grief wax dim + And she shall wed again." + So passed the year, + While Ogier set himself the land to clear + Of broken remnants of the heathen men, + And at the last, when May-time came again, + Must he be crowned King of the twice-saved land, + And at the altar take the fair Queen's hand + And wed her for his own. And now by this + Had he forgotten clean the woe and bliss + Of his old life, and still was he made glad + As other men; and hopes and fears he had + As others, and bethought him not at all + Of what strange days upon him yet should fall + When he should live and these again be dead. + + Now drew the time round when he should be wed, + And in his palace on his bed he lay + Upon the dawning of the very day: + 'Twixt sleep and waking was he, and could hear + E'en at that hour, through the bright morn and clear, + The hammering of the folk who toiled to make + Some well-wrought stages for the pageant's sake, + Though hardly yet the sparrows had begun + To twitter o'er the coming of the sun, + Nor through the palace did a creature move. + There in the sweet entanglement of love + Midst languid thoughts of greater bliss he lay, + Remembering no more of that other day + Than the hot noon remembereth of the night, + Than summer thinketh of the winter white. + In that sweet hour he heard a voice that cried, + "Ogier, Ogier!" then, opening his eyes wide, + And rising on his elbow, gazed around, + And strange to him and empty was the sound + Of his own name; "Whom callest thou?" he said. + "For I, the man who lies upon this bed, + Am Charles of France, and shall be King to-day, + But in a year that now is past away + The Ancient Knight they called me: who is this, + Thou callest Ogier, then, what deeds are his? + And who art thou?" But at that word a sigh, + As of one grieved, came from some place anigh + His bed-side, and a soft voice spake again, + "This Ogier once was great amongst great men; + To Italy a helpless hostage led; + He saved the King when the false Lombard fled, + Bore forth the Oriflamme and gained the day; + Charlot he brought back, whom men led away, + And fought a day-long fight with Caraheu. + The ravager of Rome his right hand slew; + Nor did he fear the might of Charlemaine, + Who for a dreary year beset in vain + His lonely castle; yet at last caught then, + And shut in hold, needs must he come again + To give an unhoped great deliverance + Unto the burdened helpless land of France: + Denmark he gained thereafter, and he wore + The crown of England drawn from trouble sore; + At Tyre then he reigned, and Babylon + With mighty deeds he from the foemen won; + And when scarce aught could give him greater fame, + He left the world still thinking on his name. + "These things did Ogier, and these things didst thou, + Nor will I call thee by a new name now + Since I have spoken words of love to thee-- + Ogier, Ogier, dost thou remember me, + E'en if thou hast no thought of that past time + Before thou earnest to our happy clime?" + + As this was said, his mazed eyes saw indeed + A lovely woman clad in dainty weed + Beside his bed, and many a thought was stirred + Within his heart by that last plaintive word, + Though nought he said, but waited what should come. + "Love," said she, "I am here to bring thee home; + Well hast thou done all that thou cam'st to do, + And if thou bidest here, for something new + Will folk begin to cry, and all thy fame + Shall then avail thee but for greater blame; + Thy love shall cease to love thee, and the earth + Thou lovest now shall be of little worth + While still thou keepest life, abhorring it. + Behold, in men's lives that so quickly flit + Thus is it, how then shall it be with thee, + Who some faint image of eternity + Hast gained through me?--alas, thou heedest not! + On all these changing things thine heart is hot-- + Take then this gift that I have brought from far, + And then may'st thou remember what we are; + The lover and the loved from long ago." + He trembled, and more memory seemed to grow + Within his heart as he beheld her stand, + Holding a glittering crown in her right hand: + "Ogier," she said, "arise and do on thee + The emblems of thy worldly sovereignity, + For we must pass o'er many a sea this morn." + He rose, and in the glittering tunic worn + By Charlemaine he clad himself, and took + The ivory hand, that Charlemaine once shook + Over the people's head in days of old; + Then on his feet he set the shoes of gold, + And o'er his shoulders threw the mantle fair, + And set the gold crown on his golden hair: + Then on the royal chair he sat him down, + As though he deemed the elders of the town + Should come to audience; and in all he seemed + To do these things e'en as a man who dreamed. + + And now adown the Seine the golden sun + Shone out, as toward him drew that lovely one + And took from off his head the royal crown, + And, smiling, on the pillow laid it down + And said, "Lie there, O crown of Charlemaine, + Worn by a mighty man, and worn in vain, + Because he died, and all the things he did + Were changed before his face by earth was hid; + A better crown I have for my love's head, + Whereby he yet shall live, when all are dead + His hand has helped." Then on his head she set + The wondrous crown, and said, "Forget, forget! + Forget these weary things, for thou hast much + Of happiness to think of." + At that touch + He rose, a happy light gleamed in his eyes; + And smitten by the rush of memories, + He stammered out, "O love! how came we here? + What do we in this land of Death and Fear? + Have I not been from thee a weary while? + Let us return--I dreamed about the isle; + I dreamed of other years of strife and pain, + Of new years full of struggles long and vain." + She took him by the hand and said, "Come, love, + I am not changed;" and therewith did they move + Unto the door, and through the sleeping place + Swiftly they went, and still was Ogier's face + Turned on her beauty, and no thought was his + Except the dear returning of his bliss. + But at the threshold of the palace-gate + That opened to them, she awhile did wait, + And turned her eyes unto the rippling Seine + And said, "O love, behold it once again!" + He turned, and gazed upon the city grey + Smit by the gold of that sweet morn of May; + He heard faint noises as of wakening folk + As on their heads his day of glory broke; + He heard the changing rush of the swift stream + Against the bridge-piers. All was grown a dream. + His work was over, his reward was come, + Why should he loiter longer from his home? + + A little while she watched him silently, + Then beckoned him to follow with a sigh, + And, raising up the raiment from her feet, + Across the threshold stepped into the street; + One moment on the twain the low sun shone, + And then the place was void, and they were gone + How I know not; but this I know indeed, + That in whatso great trouble or sore need + The land of France since that fair day has been, + No more the sword of Ogier has she seen. + + * * * * * + + Such was the tale he told of Avallon, + E'en such an one as in days past had won + His youthful heart to think upon the quest; + But to those old hearts nigh in reach of rest, + Not much to be desired now it seemed-- + Perchance the heart that of such things had dreamed + Had found no words in this death-laden tongue + We speak on earth, wherewith they might be sung; + Perchance the changing years that changed his heart + E'en in the words of that old tale had part, + Changing its sweet to bitter, to despair + The foolish hope that once had glittered there-- + Or think, that in some bay of that far home + They then had sat, and watched the green waves come + Up to their feet with many promises; + Or the light wind midst blossom-laden trees, + In the sweet Spring had weighted many a word + Of no worth now, and many a hope had stirred + Long dead for ever. + Howsoe'er that be + Among strange folk they now sat quietly, + As though that tale with them had nought to do, + As though its hopes and fears were something new. + But though, indeed, the outworn, dwindled band + Had no tears left for that once longed-for land, + The very wind must moan for their decay, + And from the sky, grown dull, and low, and grey, + Cold tears must fall upon the lonely field, + That such fair golden hopes erewhile did yield; + And on the blackening woods, wherein the doves + Sat silent now, forgetful of their loves. + Yet, since a little life at least was left, + They were not yet of every joy bereft, + For long ago was past the agony, + Midst which they found that they indeed must die; + And now well-nigh as much their pain was past + As though death's veil already had been cast + Over their heads--so, midst some little mirth, + They watched the dark night hide the gloomy earth. + + + + + THE GOLDEN APPLES. + +This tale tells of the voyage of a ship of Tyre, that, against the will +of the shipmen, bore Hercules to an unknown land of the West, that he +might accomplish a task laid on him by the Fates. + + + As many as the leaves fall from the tree, + From the world's life the years are fallen away + Since King Eurystheus sat in majesty + In fair Mycenae; midmost of whose day + It once befell that in a quiet bay + A ship of Tyre was swinging nigh the shore, + Her folk for sailing handling rope and oar. + + Fresh was the summer morn, a soft wind stole + Down from the sheep-browsed slopes the cliffs that crowned, + And ruffled lightly the long gleaming roll + Of the peaceful sea, and bore along the sound + Of shepherd-folk and sheep and questing hound, + For in the first dip of the hillside there + Lay bosomed 'mid its trees a homestead fair. + + Amid regrets for last night, when the moon, + Risen on the soft dusk, shone on maidens' feet + Brushing the gold-heart lilies to the tune + Of pipes complaining, o'er the grass down-beat + That mixed with dewy flowers its odour sweet, + The shipmen laboured, till the sail unfurled + Swung round the prow to meet another world. + + But ere the anchor had come home, a shout + Rang from the strand, as though the ship were hailed. + Whereat the master bade them stay, in doubt + That they without some needful thing had sailed; + When, lo! from where the cliff's steep grey sides failed + Into a ragged stony slip, came twain + Who seemed in haste the ready keel to gain. + + Soon they drew nigh, and he who first came down + Unto the surf was a man huge of limb, + Grey-eyed, with crisp-curled hair 'twixt black and brown, + Who had a lion's skin cast over him, + So wrought with gold that the fell showed but dim + Betwixt the threads, and in his hand he bore + A mighty club with bands of steel done o'er. + + Panting there followed him a grey old man, + Bearing a long staff, clad in gown of blue, + Feeble of aspect, hollow-cheeked and wan, + Who when unto his fellow's side he drew, + Said faintly: "Now, do that which thou shouldst do; + This is the ship." Then in the other's eye + A smile gleamed, and he spake out merrily: + + "Masters, folk tell me that ye make for Tyre, + And after that still nearer to the sun; + And since Fate bids me look to die by fire, + Fain am I, ere my worldly day be done, + To know what from earth's hottest can be won; + And this old man, my kinsman, would with me. + How say ye, will ye bear us o'er the sea?" + + "What is thy name?" the master said: "And know + That we are merchants, and for nought give nought; + What wilt thou pay?--thou seem'st full rich, I trow." + The old man muttered, stooped adown and caught + At something in the sand: "E'en so I thought," + The younger said, "when I set out from home-- + As to my name, perchance in days to come + + "Thou shalt know that--but have heed, take this toy, + And call me the Strong Man." And as he spake + The master's deep-brown eyes 'gan gleam with joy, + For from his arm a huge ring did he take, + And cast it on the deck, where it did break + A water-jar, and in the wet shards lay + Golden, and gleaming like the end of day. + + But the old man held out a withered hand, + Wherein there shone two pearls most great and fair, + And said, "If any nigher I might stand, + Then might'st thou see the things I give thee here-- + And for a name--a many names I bear, + But call me Shepherd of the Shore this tide, + And for more knowledge with a good will bide." + + From one to the other turned the master's eyes; + The Strong Man laughed as at some hidden jest, + And wild doubts in the shipman's heart did rise; + But thinking on the thing, he deemed it best + To bid them come aboard, and take such rest + As they might have of the untrusty sea, + 'Mid men who trusty fellows still should be. + + Then no more words the Strong Man made, but straight + Caught up the elder in his arms, and so, + Making no whit of all that added weight, + Strode to the ship, right through the breakers low, + And catching at the rope that they did throw + Out toward his hand, swung up into the ship; + Then did the master let the hawser slip. + + The shapely prow cleft the wet mead and green, + And wondering drew the shipmen round to gaze + Upon those limbs, the mightiest ever seen; + And many deemed it no light thing to face + The splendour of his eyen, though they did blaze + With no wrath now, no hate for them to dread, + As seaward 'twixt the summer isles they sped. + + Freshened the wind, but ever fair it blew + Unto the south-east; but as failed the land, + Unto the plunging prow the Strong Man drew, + And silent, gazing with wide eyes did stand, + As though his heart found rest; but 'mid the band + Of shipmen in the stern the old man sat, + Telling them tales that no man there forgat. + + As one who had beheld, he told them there + Of the sweet singer, whom, for his song's sake, + The dolphins back from choking death did bear; + How in the mid sea did the vine outbreak + O'er that ill bark when Bacchus 'gan to wake; + How anigh Cyprus, ruddy with the rose + The cold sea grew as any June-loved close; + + While on the flowery shore all things alive + Grew faint with sense of birth of some delight, + And the nymphs waited trembling there, to give + Glad welcome to the glory of that sight: + He paused then, ere he told how, wild and white, + Rose ocean, breaking o'er a race accurst, + A world once good, now come unto its worst. + + And then he smiled, and said, "And yet ye won, + Ye men, and tremble not on days like these, + Nor think with what a mind Prometheus' son + Beheld the last of the torn reeling trees + From high Parnassus: slipping through the seas + Ye never think, ye men-folk, how ye seem + From down below through the green waters' gleam." + + Dusk was it now when these last words he said, + And little of his visage might they see, + But o'er their hearts stole vague and troublous dread, + They knew not why; yet ever quietly + They sailed that night; nor might a morning be + Fairer than was the next morn; and they went + Along their due course after their intent. + + The fourth day, about sunrise, from the mast + The watch cried out he saw Phoenician land; + Whereat the Strong Man on the elder cast + A look askance, and he straight took his stand + Anigh the prow, and gazed beneath his hand + Upon the low sun and the scarce-seen shore, + Till cloud-flecks rose, and gathered and drew o'er. + + The morn grown cold; then small rain 'gan to fall, + And all the wind dropped dead, and hearts of men + Sank, and their bark seemed helpless now and small; + Then suddenly the wind 'gan moan again; + Sails flapped, and ropes beat wild about; and then + Down came the great east wind; and the ship ran + Straining, heeled o'er, through seas all changed and wan. + + Westward, scarce knowing night from day, they drave + Through sea and sky grown one; the Strong Man wrought + With mighty hands, and seemed a god to save; + But on the prow, heeding all weather nought, + The elder stood, nor any prop he sought, + But swayed to the ship's wallowing, as on wings + He there were set above the wrack of things. + + And westward still they drave; and if they saw + Land upon either side, as on they sped, + 'Twas but as faces in a dream may draw + Anigh, and fade, and leave nought in their stead; + And in the shipmen's hearts grew heavy dread + To sick despair; they deemed they should drive on + Till the world's edge and empty space were won. + + But 'neath the Strong Man's eyes e'en as they might + They toiled on still; and he sang to the wind, + And spread his arms to meet the waters white, + As o'er the deck they tumbled, making blind + The brine-drenched shipmen; nor with eye unkind + He gazed up at the lightning; nor would frown + When o'er the wet waste Jove's bolt rattled down. + + And they, who at the last had come to think + Their guests were very gods, with all their fear + Feared nought belike that their good ship would sink + Amid the storm; but rather looked to hear + The last moan of the wind that them should bear + Into the windless stream of ocean grey, + Where they should float till dead was every day. + + Yet their fear mocked them; for the storm 'gan die + About the tenth day, though unto the west + They drave on still; soon fair and quietly + The morn would break: and though amid their rest + Nought but long evil wandering seemed the best + That they might hope for; still, despite their dread, + Sweet was the quiet sea and goodlihead + + Of the bright sun at last come back again; + And as the days passed, less and less fear grew, + If without cause, till faded all their pain; + And they 'gan turn unto their guests anew, + Yet durst ask nought of what that evil drew + Upon their heads; or of returning speak. + Happy they felt, but listless, spent, and weak. + + And now as at the first the elder was, + And sat and told them tales of yore agone; + But ever the Strong Man up and down would pass + About the deck, or on the prow alone + Would stand and stare out westward; and still on + Through a fair summer sea they went, nor thought + Of what would come when these days turned to nought. + + And now when twenty days were well passed o'er + They made a new land; cloudy mountains high + Rose from the sea at first; then a green shore + Spread fair below them: as they drew anigh + No sloping, stony strand could they espy, + And no surf breaking; the green sea and wide + Wherethrough they slipped was driven by no tide. + + Dark fell ere they might set their eager feet + Upon the shore; but night-long their ship lay + As in a deep stream, by the blossoms sweet + That flecked the grass whence flowers ne'er passed away. + But when the cloud-barred east brought back the day, + And turned the western mountain-tops to gold, + Fresh fear the shipmen in their bark did hold. + + For as a dream seemed all; too fair for those + Who needs must die; moreover they could see, + A furlong off, 'twixt apple-tree and rose, + A brazen wall that gleamed out wondrously + In the young sun, and seemed right long to be; + And memory of all marvels lay upon + Their shrinking hearts now this sweet place was won. + + But when unto the nameless guests they turned, + Who stood together nigh the plank shot out + Shoreward, within the Strong Man's eyes there burned + A wild light, as the other one in doubt + He eyed a moment; then with a great shout + Leaped into the blossomed grass; the echoes rolled + Back from the hills, harsh still and over-bold. + + Slowly the old man followed him, and still + The crew held back: they knew now they were brought + Over the sea the purpose to fulfil + Of these strange men; and in their hearts they thought, + "Perchance we yet shall live, if, meddling nought + With dreams, we bide here till these twain come back; + But prying eyes the fire-blast seldom lack." + + Yet 'mongst them were two fellows bold and young, + Who, looking each upon the other's face, + Their hearts to meet the unknown danger strung, + And went ashore, and at a gentle pace + Followed the strangers, who unto the place + Where the wall gleamed had turned; peace and desire + Mingled together in their hearts, as nigher + + They drew unto that wall, and dulled their fear: + Fair wrought it was, as though with bricks of brass; + And images upon its face there were, + Stories of things a long while come to pass: + Nor that alone--as looking in a glass + Its maker knew the tales of what should be, + And wrought them there for bird and beast to see. + + So on they went; the many birds sang sweet + Through all that blossomed thicket from above, + And unknown flowers bent down before their feet; + The very air, cleft by the grey-winged dove, + Throbbed with sweet scent, and smote their souls with love. + Slowly they went till those twain stayed before + A strangely-wrought and iron-covered door. + + They stayed, too, till o'er noise of wind, and bird, + And falling flower, there rang a mighty shout + As the Strong Man his steel-bound club upreared, + And drave it 'gainst the hammered iron stout, + Where 'neath his blows flew bolt and rivet out, + Till shattered on the ground the great door lay, + And into the guarded place bright poured the day. + + The Strong Man entered, but his fellow stayed, + Leaning against a tree-trunk as they deemed. + They faltered now, and yet all things being weighed + Went on again; and thought they must have dreamed + Of the old man, for now the sunlight streamed + Full on the tree he had been leaning on, + And him they saw not go, yet was he gone: + + Only a slim green lizard flitted there + Amidst the dry leaves; him they noted nought, + But trembling, through the doorway 'gan to peer, + And still of strange and dreadful saw not aught, + Only a garden fair beyond all thought. + And there, 'twixt sun and shade, the Strong Man went + On some long-sought-for end belike intent. + + They 'gan to follow down a narrow way + Of green-sward that the lilies trembled o'er, + And whereon thick the scattered rose-leaves lay; + But a great wonder weighed upon them sore, + And well they thought they should return no more, + Yet scarce a pain that seemed; they looked to meet + Before they died things strange and fair and sweet. + + So still to right and left the Strong Man thrust + The blossomed boughs, and passed on steadily, + As though his hardy heart he well did trust, + Till in a while he gave a joyous cry, + And hastened on, as though the end drew nigh; + And women's voices then they deemed they heard, + Mixed with a noise that made desire afeard. + + Yet through sweet scents and sounds on did they bear + Their panting hearts, till the path ended now + In a wide space of green, a streamlet clear + From out a marble basin there did flow, + And close by that a slim-trunked tree did grow, + And on a bough low o'er the water cold + There hung three apples of red-gleaming gold. + + About the tree, new risen e'en now to meet + The shining presence of that mighty one, + Three damsels stood, naked from head to feet + Save for the glory of their hair, where sun + And shadow flickered, while the wind did run + Through the grey leaves o'erhead, and shook the grass + Where nigh their feet the wandering bee did pass. + + But 'midst their delicate limbs and all around + The tree-roots, gleaming blue black could they see + The spires of a great serpent, that, enwound + About the smooth bole, looked forth threateningly, + With glittering eyes and raised crest, o'er the three + Fair heads fresh crowned, and hissed above the speech + Wherewith they murmured softly each to each. + + Now the Strong Man amid the green space stayed, + And leaning on his club, with eager eyes + But brow yet smooth, in voice yet friendly said: + "O daughters of old Hesperus the Wise, + Well have ye held your guard here; but time tries + The very will of gods, and to my hand + Must give this day the gold fruit of your land." + + Then spake the first maid--sweet as the west wind + Amidst of summer noon her sweet voice was: + "Ah, me! what knows this place of changing mind + Of men or gods; here shall long ages pass, + And clean forget thy feet upon the grass, + Thy hapless bones amid the fruitful mould; + Look at thy death envenomed swift and cold!" + + Hiding new flowers, the dull coils, as she spake, + Moved near her limbs: but then the second one, + In such a voice as when the morn doth wake + To song of birds, said, "When the world foredone + Has moaned its last, still shall we dwell alone + Beneath this bough, and have no tales to tell + Of things deemed great that on the earth befell." + + Then spake the third, in voice as of the flute + That wakes the maiden to her wedding morn: + "If any god should gain our golden fruit, + Its curse would make his deathless life forlorn. + Lament thou, then, that ever thou wert born; + Yet all things, changed by joy or loss or pain, + To what they were shall change and change again." + + "So be it," he said, "the Fates that drive me on + Shall slay me or shall save; blessing or curse + That followeth after when the thing is won + Shall make my work no better now nor worse; + And if it be that the world's heart must nurse + Hatred against me, how then shall I choose + To leave or take?--let your dread servant loose!" + + E'en therewith, like a pillar of black smoke, + Swift, shifting ever, drave the worm at him; + In deadly silence now that nothing broke, + Its folds were writhing round him trunk and limb, + Until his glittering gear was nought but dim + E'en in that sunshine, while his head and side + And breast the fork-tongued, pointed muzzle tried. + + Closer the coils drew, quicker all about + The forked tongue darted, and yet stiff he stood, + E'en as an oak that sees the straw flare out + And lick its ancient bole for little good: + Until the godlike fury of his mood + Burst from his heart in one great shattering cry, + And rattling down the loosened coils did lie; + + And from the torn throat and crushed dreadful head + Forth flowed a stream of blood along the grass; + Bright in the sun he stood above the dead, + Panting with fury; yet as ever was + The wont of him, soon did his anger pass, + And with a happy smile at last he turned + To where the apples o'er the water burned. + + Silent and moveless ever stood the three; + No change came o'er their faces, as his hand + Was stretched aloft unto the sacred tree; + Nor shrank they aught aback, though he did stand + So close that tresses of their bright hair, fanned + By the sweet garden breeze, lay light on him, + And his gold fell brushed by them breast and limb. + + He drew adown the wind-stirred bough, and took + The apples thence; then let it spring away, + And from his brow the dark hair backward shook, + And said: "O sweet, O fair, and shall this day + A curse upon my life henceforward lay-- + This day alone? Methinks of coming life + Somewhat I know, with all its loss and strife. + + "But this I know, at least: the world shall wend + Upon its way, and, gathering joy and grief + And deeds done, bear them with it to the end; + So shall it, though I lie as last year's leaf + Lies 'neath a summer tree, at least receive + My life gone by, and store it, with the gain + That men alive call striving, wrong, and pain. + + "So for my part I rather bless than curse, + And bless this fateful land; good be with it; + Nor for this deadly thing's death is it worse, + Nor for the lack of gold; still shall ye sit + Watching the swallow o'er the daisies flit; + Still shall your wandering limbs ere day is done + Make dawn desired by the sinking sun. + + "And now, behold! in memory of all this + Take ye this girdle that shall waste and fade + As fadeth not your fairness and your bliss, + That when hereafter 'mid the blossoms laid + Ye talk of days and men now nothing made, + Ye may remember how the Theban man, + The son of Jove, came o'er the waters wan." + + Their faces changed not aught for all they heard; + As though all things now fully told out were, + They gazed upon him without any word: + Ah! craving kindness, hope, or loving care, + Their fairness scarcely could have made more fair, + As with the apples folded in his fell + He went, to do more deeds for folk to tell. + + Now as the girdle on the ground was cast + Those fellows turned and hurried toward the door, + And as across its broken leaves they passed + The old man saw they not, e'en as before; + But an unearthed blind mole bewildered sore + Was wandering there in fruitless, aimless wise, + That got small heed from their full-sated eyes. + + Swift gat they to their anxious folk; nor had + More time than just to say, "Be of good cheer, + For in our own land may we yet be glad," + When they beheld the guests a-drawing near; + And much bewildered the two fellows were + To see the old man, and must even deem + That they should see things stranger than a dream. + + But when they were aboard the elder cried, + "Up sails, my masters, fair now is the wind; + Nor good it is too long here to abide, + Lest what ye may not loose your souls should bind." + And as he spake, the tall trees left behind + Stirred with the rising land-wind, and the crew, + Joyous thereat, the hawsers shipward drew. + + Swift sped the ship, and glad at heart were all, + And the Strong Man was merry with the rest, + And from the elder's lips no word did fall + That did not seem to promise all the best; + Yet with a certain awe were men oppressed, + And felt as if their inmost hearts were bare, + And each man's secret babbled through the air. + + Still oft the old man sat with them and told + Tales of past time, as on the outward way; + And now would they the face of him behold + And deem it changed; the years that on him lay + Seemed to grow nought, and no more wan and grey + He looked, but ever glorious, wise and strong, + As though no lapse of time for him were long. + + At last, when six days through the kindly sea + Their keel had slipped, he said: "Come hearken now, + For so it is that things fare wondrously + E'en in these days; and I a tale can show + That, told by you unto your sons shall grow + A marvel of the days that are to come: + Take heed and tell it when ye reach your home. + + "Yet living in the world a man there is + Men call the Theban King Amphitryon's son, + Although perchance a greater sire was his; + But certainly his lips have hung upon + Alcmena's breasts: great deeds this man hath won + Already, for his name is Hercules, + And e'en ye Asian folk have heard of these. + + "Now ere the moon, this eve in his last wane, + Was born, this Hercules, the fated thrall + Of King Eurystheus, was straight bid to gain + Gifts from a land whereon no foot doth fall + Of mortal man, beyond the misty wall + Of unknown waters; pensively he went + Along the sea on his hard life intent. + + "And at the dawn he came into a bay + Where the sea, ebbed far down, left wastes of sand, + Walled from the green earth by great cliffs and grey; + Then he looked up, and wondering there did stand, + For strange things lay in slumber on the strand; + Strange counterparts of what the firm earth hath + Lay scattered all about his weary path: + + "Sea-lions and sea-horses and sea-kine, + Sea-boars, sea-men strange-skinned, of wondrous hair; + And in their midst a man who seemed divine + For changeless eld, and round him women fair, + Clad in the sea-webs glassy green and clear + With gems on head and girdle, limb and breast, + Such as earth knoweth not among her best. + + "A moment at the fair and wondrous sight + He stared, then, since the heart in him was good, + He went about with careful steps and light + Till o'er the sleeping sea-god now he stood; + And if the white-foot maids had stirred his blood + As he passed by, now other thoughts had place + Within his heart when he beheld that face. + + "For Nereus now he knew, who knows all things; + And to himself he said, 'If I prevail, + Better than by some god-wrought eagle-wings + Shall I be holpen;' then he cried out: 'Hail, + O Nereus! lord of shifting hill and dale! + Arise and wrestle; I am Hercules! + Not soon now shalt thou meet the ridgy seas.' + + "And mightily he cast himself on him; + And Nereus cried out shrilly; and straightway + That sleeping crowd, fair maid with half-hid limb, + Strange man and green-haired beast, made no delay, + But glided down into the billows grey, + And, by the lovely sea embraced, were gone, + While they two wrestled on the sea strand lone. + + "Soon found the sea-god that his bodily might + Was nought in dealing with Jove's dear one there; + And soon he 'gan to use his magic sleight: + Into a lithe leopard, and a hugging bear + He turned him; then the smallest fowl of air + The straining arms of Hercules must hold, + And then a mud-born wriggling eel and cold. + + "Then as the firm hands mastered this, forth brake + A sudden rush of waters all around, + Blinding and choking: then a thin green snake + With golden eyes; then o'er the shell-strewn ground + Forth stole a fly the least that may be found; + Then earth and heaven seemed wrapped in one huge flame, + But from the midst thereof a voice there came: + + "'Kinsman and stout-heart, thou hast won the day, + Nor to my grief: what wouldst thou have of me?' + And therewith to an old man small and grey + Faded the roaring flame, who wearily + Sat down upon the sand and said, 'Let be! + I know thy tale; worthy of help thou art; + Come now, a short way hence will there depart + + "'A ship of Tyre for the warm southern seas, + Come we a-board; according to my will + Her way shall be.' Then up rose Hercules, + Merry of face, though hot and panting still; + But the fair summer day his heart did fill + With all delight; and so forth went the twain, + And found those men desirous of all gain. + + "Ah, for these gainful men--somewhat indeed + Their sails are rent, their bark beat; kin and friend + Are wearying for them; yet a friend in need + They yet shall gain, if at their journey's end, + Upon the last ness where the wild goats wend + To lick the salt-washed stones, a house they raise + Bedight with gold in kindly Nereus' praise." + + Breathless they waited for these latest words, + That like the soft wind of the gathering night + Were grown to be: about the mast flew birds + Making their moan, hovering long-winged and white; + And now before their straining anxious sight + The old man faded out into the air, + And from his place flew forth a sea-mew fair. + + Then to the Mighty Man, Alcmena's son, + With yearning hearts they turned till he should speak, + And he spake softly: "Nought ill have ye done + In helping me to find what I did seek: + The world made better by me knows if weak + My hand and heart are: but now, light the fire + Upon the prow and worship the grey sire." + + So did they; and such gifts as there they had + Gave unto Nereus; yea, and sooth to say, + Amid the tumult of their hearts made glad, + Had honoured Hercules in e'en such way; + But he laughed out amid them, and said, "Nay, + Not yet the end is come; nor have I yet + Bowed down before vain longing and regret. + + "It may be--who shall tell, when I go back + There whence I came, and looking down behold + The place that my once eager heart shall lack, + And all my dead desires a-lying cold, + But I may have the might then to enfold + The hopes of brave men in my heart?--but long + Life lies before first with its change and wrong." + + So fair along the watery ways they sped + In happy wise, nor failed of their return; + Nor failed in ancient Tyre the ways to tread, + Teaching their tale to whomsoever would learn, + Nor failed at last the flesh of beasts to burn + In Nereus' house, turned toward the bright day's end + On the last ness, round which the wild goats wend. + + + + + L'ENVOI. + + + Here are we for the last time face to face, + Thou and I, Book, before I bid thee speed + Upon thy perilous journey to that place + For which I have done on thee pilgrim's weed, + Striving to get thee all things for thy need-- + --I love thee, whatso time or men may say + Of the poor singer of an empty day. + + Good reason why I love thee, e'en if thou + Be mocked or clean forgot as time wears on; + For ever as thy fashioning did grow, + Kind word and praise because of thee I won + From those without whom were my world all gone, + My hope fallen dead, my singing cast away, + And I set soothly in an empty day. + + I love thee; yet this last time must it be, + That thou must hold thy peace and I must speak, + Lest if thou babble I begin to see + Thy gear too thin, thy limbs and heart too weak, + To find the land thou goest forth to seek-- + --Though what harm if thou die upon the way, + Thou idle singer of an empty day? + + But though this land desired thou never reach, + Yet folk who know it mayst thou meet or death; + Therefore a word unto thee would I teach + To answer these, who, noting thy weak breath, + Thy wandering eyes, thy heart of little faith, + May make thy fond desire a sport and play, + Mocking the singer of an empty day. + + That land's name, say'st thou? and the road thereto? + Nay, Book, thou mockest, saying thou know'st it not; + Surely no book of verse I ever knew + But ever was the heart within him hot + To gain the Land of Matters Unforgot-- + --There, now we both laugh--as the whole world may, + At us poor singers of an empty day. + + Nay, let it pass, and hearken! Hast thou heard + That therein I believe I have a friend, + Of whom for love I may not be afeard? + It is to him indeed I bid thee wend; + Yea, he perchance may meet thee ere thou end, + Dying so far off from the hedge of bay, + Thou idle singer of an empty day! + + Well, think of him, I bid thee, on the road, + And if it hap that midst of thy defeat, + Fainting beneath thy follies' heavy load, + My Master, Geoffrey Chaucer, thou do meet, + Then shalt thou win a space of rest full sweet; + Then be thou bold, and speak the words I say, + The idle singer of an empty day! + + "O Master, O thou great of heart and tongue, + Thou well mayst ask me why I wander here, + In raiment rent of stories oft besung! + But of thy gentleness draw thou anear, + And then the heart of one who held thee dear + Mayst thou behold! So near as that I lay + Unto the singer of an empty day. + + "For this he ever said, who sent me forth + To seek a place amid thy company; + That howsoever little was my worth, + Yet was he worth e'en just so much as I; + He said that rhyme hath little skill to lie: + Nor feigned to cast his worser part away + In idle singing for an empty day. + + "I have beheld him tremble oft enough + At things he could not choose but trust to me, + Although he knew the world was wise and rough: + And never did he fail to let me see + His love,--his folly and faithlessness, may be; + And still in turn I gave him voice to pray + Such prayers as cling about an empty day. + + "Thou, keen-eyed, reading me, mayst read him through, + For surely little is there left behind; + No power great deeds unnameable to do; + No knowledge for which words he may not find, + No love of things as vague as autumn wind-- + --Earth of the earth lies hidden by my clay, + The idle singer of an empty day! + + "Children we twain are, saith he, late made wise + In love, but in all else most childish still, + And seeking still the pleasure of our eyes, + And what our ears with sweetest sounds may fill; + Not fearing Love, lest these things he should kill; + Howe'er his pain by pleasure doth he lay, + Making a strange tale of an empty day. + + "Death have we hated, knowing not what it meant; + Life have we loved, through green leaf and through sere, + Though still the less we knew of its intent: + The Earth and Heaven through countless year on year, + Slow changing, were to us but curtains fair, + Hung round about a little room, where play + Weeping and laughter of man's empty day. + + "O Master, if thine heart could love us yet, + Spite of things left undone, and wrongly done, + Some place in loving hearts then should we get, + For thou, sweet-souled, didst never stand alone, + But knew'st the joy and woe of many an one-- + --By lovers dead, who live through thee we pray, + Help thou us singers of an empty day!" + + Fearest thou, Book, what answer thou mayst gain + Lest he should scorn thee, and thereof thou die? + Nay, it shall not be.--Thou mayst toil in vain, + And never draw the House of Fame anigh; + Yet he and his shall know whereof we cry, + Shall call it not ill done to strive to lay + The ghosts that crowd about life's empty day. + + Then let the others go! and if indeed + In some old garden thou and I have wrought, + And made fresh flowers spring up from hoarded seed, + And fragrance of old days and deeds have brought + Back to folk weary; all was not for nought. + --No little part it was for me to play-- + The idle singer of an empty day. + + + + + FROM "LOVE IS ENOUGH." + + INTERLUDES. + + + 1. + + Love is enough; though the World be a-waning + And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining, + Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover + The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder, + Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder, + And this day draw a veil over all deeds, passed over, + Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter; + The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter + These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover. + + + 2. + + Love is enough: it grew up without heeding + In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure, + And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure + Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding, + As the morning and evening passed over its treasure. + + And what do ye say then?--that Spring long departed + Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers; + --That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers; + We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted + Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours. + + Nay, Spring was o'er happy and knew not the reason, + And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended + In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended; + But this is the harvest and the garnering season, + And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended. + + It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding, + Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure, + Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure; + There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding, + But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure. + + + 3. + + Love is enough: draw near and behold me + Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter, + And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after + For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me + And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter. + --Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not! + + Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken, + And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying. + Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying? + Or is it your faces his brightness that darken? + Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing? + --Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not! + + Ye know not how void is your hope and your living: + Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me! + Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me, + There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving + Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me. + --Pass by me and hearken, and waken me not! + + Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me? + Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter, + And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after! + Nay this I sell not,--though ye bought me and sold me,-- + For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter. + --Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not! + + + 4. + + Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving, + Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it, + And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving; + These know the Cup with the roses around it; + These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it: + Cry out, the World heedeth not, "Love, lead us home!" + + He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward; + Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble + Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward: + Lo! his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble! + Lo! his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! + Cry out, for he heedeth, "O Love, lead us home!" + + O hearken the words of his voice of compassion: + "Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken + Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion! + As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken, + But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken, + As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home. + + "Come--pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending! + Come--fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting! + Come--change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! + Come--no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting, + But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting! + Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!" + + Is he gone? was he with us?--ho ye who seek saving, + Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it? + Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving; + Here is the Cup with the roses around it; + The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it: + Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home. + + + + + FROM + + "THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG." + + BOOK II. + + R E G I N. + + +Now this is the first book of the life and death of Sigurd the Volsung, +and therein is told of the birth of him, and of his dealings with Regin +the master of masters, and of his deeds in the waste places of the +earth. + + _Of the birth of Sigurd the son of Sigmund._ + + Peace lay on the land of the Helper and the house of Elf his son; + There merry men went bedward when their tide of toil was done, + And glad was the dawn's awakening, and the noontide fair and glad: + There no great store had the franklin, and enough the hireling had; + And a child might go unguarded the length and breadth of the land + With a purse of gold at his girdle and gold rings on his hand. + 'Twas a country of cunning craftsmen, and many a thing they wrought, + That the lands of storm desired, and the homes of warfare sought. + But men deemed it o'er-well warded by more than its stems of fight, + And told how its earth-born watchers yet lived of plenteous might. + So hidden was that country, and few men sailed its sea, + And none came o'er its mountains of men-folk's company. + But fair-fruited, many-peopled, it lies a goodly strip, + 'Twixt the mountains cloudy-headed and the sea-flood's surging lip, + And a perilous flood is its ocean, and its mountains, who shall tell + What things in their dales deserted and their wind-swept heaths may dwell. + Now a man of the Kings, called Gripir, in this land of peace abode: + The son of the Helper's father, though never lay his load + In the womb of the mother of Kings that the Helper's brethren bore; + But of Giant kin was his mother, of the folk that are seen no more; + Though whiles as ye ride some fell-road across the heath there comes + The voice of their lone lamenting o'er their changed and conquered homes. + A long way off from the sea-strand and beneath the mountains' feet + Is the high-built hall of Gripir, where the waste and the tillage meet; + A noble and plentiful house, that a little men-folk fear, + But beloved of the crag-dwelling eagles and the kin of the woodland deer. + A man of few words was Gripir, but he knew of all deeds that had been, + And times there came upon him, when the deeds to be were seen: + No sword had he held in his hand since his father fell to field, + And against the life of the slayer he bore undinted shield: + Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor desired he aught at all, + But he noted the deeds that had been, and looked for what should befall. + + Again, in the house of the Helper there dwelt a certain man + Beardless and low of stature, of visage pinched and wan: + So exceeding old was Regin, that no son of man could tell + In what year of the days passed over he came to that land to dwell; + But the youth of King Elf had he fostered, and the Helper's youth thereto, + Yes and his father's father's: the lore of all men he knew, + And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the sword: + So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men trowed his every word; + His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler of delight + With the latter days of sorrow; all tales he told aright; + The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was he; + And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the stilling of the sea; + Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that race was made, + And that man-folk's generation, all their life-days had he weighed. + + In this land abideth Hiordis amid all people's praise + Till cometh the time appointed: in the fulness of the days + Through the dark and the dusk she travailed, till at last in the dawning + hour + Have the deeds of the Volsungs blossomed, and born their latest flower; + In the bed there lieth a man child, and his eyes look straight on the sun, + And lo, the hope of the people, and the days of a king are begun. + + Men say of the serving-women, when they cried on the joy of the morn, + When they handled the linen raiment, and washed the king new-born, + When they bore him back unto Hiordis, and the weary and happy breast, + And bade her be glad to behold it, how the best was sprung from the best, + Yet they shrank in their rejoicing before the eyes of the child, + So bright and dreadful were they; yea though the spring morn smiled, + And a thousand birds were singing round the fair familiar home, + And still as on other mornings they saw folk go and come, + Yet the hour seemed awful to them, and the hearts within them burned + As though of fateful matters their souls were newly learned. + + But Hiordis looked on the Volsung, on her grief and her fond desire, + And the hope of her heart was quickened, and her joy was a living fire; + And she said: "Now one of the earthly on the eyes of my child hath gazed + Nor shrunk before their glory, nor stayed her love amazed: + I behold thee as Sigmund beholdeth,--and I was the home of thine heart-- + Woe's me for the day when thou wert not, and the hour when we shall part!" + + Then she held him a little season on her weary and happy breast + And she told him of Sigmund and Volsung and the best sprung forth from + the best: + She spake to the new-born baby as one who might understand, + And told him of Sigmund's battle, and the dead by the sea-flood's strand, + And of all the wars passed over, and the light with darkness blent. + + So she spake, and the sun rose higher, and her speech at last was spent, + And she gave him back to the women to bear forth to the people's kings, + That they too may rejoice in her glory and her day of happy things. + + But there sat the Helper of Men with King Elf and Earls in the hall, + And they spake of the deeds that had been, and told of the times to + befall, + And they hearkened and heard sweet voices and the sound of harps draw + nigh, + Till their hearts were exceeding merry and they knew not wherefore or + why: + Then, lo, in the hall white raiment, as thither the damsels came, + And amid the hands of the foremost was the woven gold aflame. + + "O daughters of earls," said the Helper, "what tidings then do ye bear? + Is it grief in the merry morning, or joy or wonder or fear?" + + Quoth the first: "It is grief for the foemen that the Masters of God-home + would grieve." + + Said the next: "'Tis a wonder of wonders, that the hearkening world shall + believe." + + "A fear of all fears," said the third, "for the sword is uplifted on men." + + "A joy of all joys," said the fourth, "once come, it comes not again!" + + "Lo, son," said the ancient Helper, "glad sit the earls and the lords! + Lookst thou not for a token of tidings to follow such-like words?" + + Saith King Elf: "Great words of women! or great hath our dwelling become." + + Said the women: "Words shall be greater, when all folk shall praise our + home." + + "What then hath betid," said King Elf, "do the high Gods stand in our + gate?" + + "Nay," said they, "else were we silent, and they should be telling of + fate." + + "Is the bidding come," said the Helper, "that we wend the Gods to see?" + + "Many summers and winters," they said, "ye shall live on the earth, it + may be." + + Said a young man: "Will ye be telling that all we shall die no more?" + + "Nay," they answered, "nay, who knoweth but the change may be hard at + the door?" + + "Come ships from the sea," said an elder, "with all gifts of the + Eastland gold?" + + "Was there less than enough," said the women, "when last our treasure + was told?" + + "Speak then," said the ancient Helper, "let the worst and the best be + said." + + Quoth they: "'Tis the Queen of the Isle-folk, she is weary-sick on her + bed." + + Said King Elf: "Yet ye come rejoicing; what more lieth under the tongue?" + + They said: "The earth is weary; but the tender blade hath sprung, + That shall wax till beneath its branches fair bloom the meadows green; + For the Gods and they that were mighty were glad erewhile with the Queen." + + Said King Elf: "How say ye, women? Of a King new-born do ye tell + By a God of the Heavens begotten in our fathers' house to dwell?" + + "By a God of the Earth," they answered; "but greater yet is the son, + Though long were the days of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he hath + done." + + Then she with the golden burden to the kingly high-seat stepped + And away from the new-born baby the purple cloths she swept, + And cried: "O King of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss, + As our hearts to-day are happy! Queen Hiordis sends thee this, + And she saith that the world shall call it by the name that thou shalt + name; + Now the gift to thee is given, and to thee is brought the fame." + + * * * * * + + Then e'en as a man astonied King Elf the Volsung took, + While his feast-hall's ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk + shook; + For the eyes of the child gleamed on him till he was as one who sees + The very Gods arising mid their carven images: + To his ears there came a murmur of far seas beneath the wind + And the tramp of fierce-eyed warriors through the outland forest blind; + The sound of hosts of battle, cries round the hoisted shield, + Low talk of the gathered wise-ones in the Goth-folk's holy field: + So the thought in a little moment through King Elf the Mighty ran + Of the years and their building and burden, and toil of the sons of man, + The joy of folk and their sorrow, and the hope of deeds to do: + With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through, + As he hung o'er the new-born Volsung: but at last he raised his head, + And looked forth kind o'er his people, and spake aloud and said: + + "O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days, + Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men's silent praise, + Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun! + And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?" + + But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried: "Hail Dawn of the Day! + How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay! + How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep! + How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep! + O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn! + How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy left + return! + O thy deeds that men shall sing of! O thy deeds that the Gods shall see! + O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!" + + Men heard the name and they knew it, and they caught it up in the air, + And it went abroad by the windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair, + It went through street and market; o'er meadow and acre it went, + And over the wind-stirred forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent, + And over the sea-flood's welter, till the folk of the fishers heard, + And the hearts of the isle-abiders on the sun-scorched rocks were stirred. + + But the Queen in her golden chamber, the name she hearkened and knew; + And she heard the flock of the women, as back to the chamber they drew, + And the name of Sigurd entered, and the body of Sigurd was come, + And it was as if Sigmund were living and she still in her lovely home; + Of all folk of the world was she well, and a soul fulfilled of rest + As alone in the chamber she wakened and Sigurd cherished her breast. + + But men feast in the merry noontide, and glad is the April green + That a Volsung looks on the sunlight and the night and the darkness have + been. + Earls think of marvellous stories, and along the golden strings + Flit words of banded brethren and names of war-fain Kings: + All the days of the deeds of Sigmund who was born so long ago; + All deeds of the glorious Signy, and her tarrying-tide of woe; + Men tell of the years of Volsung, and how long agone it was + That he changed his life in battle, and brought the tale to pass: + Then goeth the word of the Giants, and the world seems waxen old + For the dimness of King Rerir and the tale of his warfare told: + Yet unhushed are the singers' voices, nor yet the harp-strings cease + While yet is left a rumour of the mirk-wood's broken peace, + And of Sigi the very ancient, and the unnamed Sons of God, + Of the days when the Lords of Heaven full oft the world-ways trod. + + So stilleth the wind in the even and the sun sinks down in the sea, + And men abide the morrow and the Victory yet to be. + + + _Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell._ + + Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness, + And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless. + But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wed + To King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped. + Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase, + And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace. + + Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of wit + And full of understanding, and oft hath the joy to sit + Amid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech; + And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each. + But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well, + And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell. + + "I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men, + And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again; + And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood, + Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good." + + Then spake the Helper of men-folk: "Yea, do herein thy will: + For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill: + But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold; + For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold, + Though three men's lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn; + And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn." + + Then Regin laughed, and answered: "I doled out cunning to thee; + But nought with him will I measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be, + Nor grim, nor evil-natured: for whate'er my will might frame, + Gone forth is the word of the Norns, that abideth ever the same. + And now, despite my cunning, how deem ye I shall die?" + + And they said he would live as he listed, and at last in peace should lie + When he listed to live no longer; so mighty and wise he was. + But again he laughed and answered: "One day it shall come to pass, + That a beardless youth shall slay me: I know the fateful doom; + But nought may I withstand it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom." + + So is Sigurd now with Regin, and he learns him many things; + Yea, all save the craft of battle, that men learned the sons of kings: + The smithying sword and war-coat; the carving runes aright; + The tongues of many countries, and soft speech for men's delight; + The dealing with the harp-strings, and the winding ways of song. + So wise of heart waxed Sigurd, and of body wondrous strong: + And he chased the deer of the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew, + And many a bull of the mountains: and the desert dales he knew, + And the heaths that the wind sweeps over; and seaward would he fare, + Far out from the outer skerries, and alone the sea-wights dare. + + On a day he sat with Regin amidst the unfashioned gold, + And the silver grey from the furnace; and Regin spake and told + Sweet tales of the days that have been, and the Kings of the bold and + wise; + Till the lad's heart swelled with longing and lit his sunbright eyes. + + Then Regin looked upon him: "Thou too shalt one day ride + As the Volsung Kings went faring through the noble world and wide. + For this land is nought and narrow, and Kings of the carles are these, + And their earls are acre-biders, and their hearts are dull with peace." + + But Sigurd knit his brows, and in wrathful wise he said: + "Ill words of those thou speakest that my youth have cherished, + And the friends that have made me merry, and the land that is fair and + good." + + Then Regin laughed and answered: "Nay, well I see by thy mood + That wide wilt thou ride in the world like thy kin of the earlier days: + And wilt thou be wroth with thy master that he longs for thy winning the + praise? + And now if the sooth thou sayest, that these King-folk cherish thee well, + Then let them give thee a gift whereof the world shall tell: + Yea hearken to this my counsel, and crave for a battle-steed." + + Yet wroth was the lad and answered: "I have many a horse to my need, + And all that the heart desireth, and what wouldst thou wish me more?" + + Then Regin answered and said: "Thy kin of the Kings of yore + Were the noblest men of men-folk; and their hearts would never rest + Whatso of good they had gotten, if their hands held not the best. + Now do thou after my counsel, and crave of thy fosterers here + That thou choose of the horses of Gripir whichso thine heart holds dear." + + He spake and his harp was with him, and he smote the strings full sweet, + And sang of the host of the Valkyrs, how they ride the battle to meet, + And the dew from the dear manes drippeth as they ride in the first of + the sun, + And the tree-boughs open to meet it when the wind of the dawning is done: + And the deep dales drink its sweetness and spring into blossoming grass, + And the earth groweth fruitful of men, and bringeth their glory to pass. + + Then the wrath ran off from Sigurd, and he left the smithying stead + While the song yet rang in the doorway: and that eve to the Kings he said: + "Will ye do so much for mine asking as to give me a horse to my will? + For belike the days shall come, that shall all my heart fulfill, + And teach me the deeds of a king." + Then answered King Elf and spake: + "The stalls of the Kings are before thee to set aside or to take, + And nought we begrudge thee the best." + Yet answered Sigurd again; + For his heart of the mountains aloft and the windy drift was fain: + "Fair seats for the knees of Kings! but now do I ask for a gift + Such as all the world shall be praising, the best of the strong and + the swift. + Ye shall give me a token for Gripir, and bid him to let me choose + From out of the noble stud-beasts that run in his meadow loose. + But if overmuch I have asked you, forget this prayer of mine, + And deem the word unspoken, and get ye to the wine." + + Then smiled King Elf, and answered: "A long way wilt thou ride, + To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide, + Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shalt thou win + The praise of many a people: so have thy way herein. + Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may hold + The sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold." + + Then sweetly Sigurd thanked them; and through the night he lay + Mid dreams of many a matter till the dawn was on the way; + Then he shook the sleep from off him, and that dwelling of Kings he left + And wended his ways unto Gripir. On a crag from the mountain reft + Was the house of the old King builded; and a mighty house it was, + Though few were the sons of men that over its threshold would pass: + But the wild ernes cried about it, and the vultures toward it flew, + And the winds from the heart of the mountains searched every chamber + through, + And about were meads wide-spreading; and many a beast thereon, + Yea some that are men-folk's terror, their sport and pasture won. + So into the hall went Sigurd; and amidst was Gripir set + In a chair of the sea-beast's tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh met + The floor that was green as the ocean, and his gown was of mountain-gold + And the kingly staff in his hand was knobbed with the crystal cold. + + Now the first of the twain spake Gripir: "Hail King with the eyen bright! + Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light. + And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind, + That thou wouldst be coming to-day a horse in my meadow to find: + And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall + be. + Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea, + And be glad as thine heart will have thee and the fate that leadeth thee + on, + And I bid thee again come hither when the sword of worth is won, + And thy loins are girt for thy going on the road that before thee lies; + For a glimmering over its darkness is come before mine eyes." + + Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ran + And unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man, + One-eyed and seeming-ancient, there met him by the way: + And he spake: "Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I say + A word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains well + And all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell." + + "Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir's horse-herd + then? + Nay sure, for thy face is shining like battle-eager men + My master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown + And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known." + + "Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind," then spake that elder of days, + "And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise. + There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out, + Thou shalt follow an elder's counsel, who hath brought strange things + about, + Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin." + + So Sigurd said, "I am ready; and what is the deed to win?" + + He said: "We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side, + That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide." + + Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses on + Till they came to a rushing river a water wide and wan; + And the white mews hovered o'er it; but none might hear their cry + For the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by. + So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem, + And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o'ermastered them: + And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank, + Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank; + But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of grey + Toss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away: + Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream again + And with the waves' white horses mingled his cloudy mane. + + Then spake the elder of days: "Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear; + Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear, + And this horse is a gift of my giving:--heed nought where thou mayst ride: + For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide, + And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give; + Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live." + + Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now + To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow, + As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night; + And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright. + + So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand, + And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland, + And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good. + And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir's blood, + The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue, + And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund's son he knew, + So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling's song arose + As he brushed through the noon-tide blossoms of Gripir's mighty close, + Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave, + Who swam through the sweeping river, and back through the toppling wave. + + + _Regin telleth Sigurd of his kindred, and of the Gold that was + accursed from ancient days._ + + Now yet the days pass over, and more than words may tell + Grows Sigurd strong and lovely, and all children love him well. + But oft he looks on the mountains and many a time is fain + To know of what lies beyond them, and learn of the wide world's gain. + And he saith: "I dwell in a land that is ruled by none of my blood; + And my mother's sons are waxing, and fair kings shall they be and good; + And their servant or their betrayer--not one of these will I be. + Yet needs must I wait for a little till Odin calls for me." + + Now again it happed on a day that he sat in Regin's hall + And hearkened many tidings of what had chanced to fall, + And of kings that sought their kingdoms o'er many a waste and wild, + And at last saith the crafty master: + "Thou art King Sigmund's child: + Wilt thou wait till these kings of the carles shall die in a little land, + Or wilt thou serve their sons and carry the cup to their hand; + Or abide in vain for the day that never shall come about, + When their banners shall dance in the wind and shake to the war-gods' + shout?" + + Then Sigurd answered and said: "Nought such do I look to be. + But thou, a deedless man, too much thou eggest me: + And these folk are good and trusty, and the land is lovely and sweet, + And in rest and in peace it lieth as the floor of Odin's feet: + Yet I know that the world is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought; + And for e'en such work was I fashioned, lest the song-craft come to + nought, + When the harps of God-home tinkle, and the Gods are at stretch to + hearken; + Lest the hosts of the Gods be scanty when their day hath begun to darken, + When the bonds of the Wolf wax thin, and Loki fretteth his chain. + And sure for the house of my fathers full oft my heart is fain, + And meseemeth I hear them talking of the day when I shall come, + And of all the burden of deeds, that my hand shall bear them home. + And so when the deed is ready, nowise the man shall lack: + But the wary foot is the surest, and the hasty oft turns back." + + Then answered Regin the guileful: "The deed is ready to hand, + Yet holding my peace is the best, for well thou lovest the land; + And thou lovest thy life moreover, and the peace of thy youthful days, + And why should the full-fed feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise? + Yet they say that Sigmund begat thee and he looked to fashion a man. + Fear nought; he lieth quiet in his mound by the sea-waves wan." + + So shone the eyes of Sigurd, that the shield against him hung + Cast back their light as the sunbeams; but his voice to the roof-tree + rung: + "Tell me, thou Master of Masters, what deed is the deed I shall do? + Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund lest the day of his birth thou rue." + + Then answered the Master of Sleight: "The deed is the righting of wrong, + And the quelling a bale and a sorrow that the world hath endured o'erlong, + And the winning a treasure untold, that shall make thee more than the + kings; + Thereof is the Helm of Aweing, the wonder of earthly things, + And thereof is its very fellow, the War-coat all of gold, + That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told." + + Then answered Sigurd the Volsung: "How long hereof hast thou known? + And what unto thee is this treasure, that thou seemest to give as thine + own?" + + "Alas!" quoth the smithying master, "it is mine, yet none of mine + Since my heart herein avails not, and my hand is frail and fine-- + It is long since I first came hither to seek a man for my need; + For I saw by a glimmering light that hence would spring the deed, + And many a deed of the world: but the generations passed, + And the first of the days was as near to the end that I sought as the + last; + Till I looked on thine eyes in the cradle: and now I deem through thee, + That the end of my days of waiting, and the end of my woes shall be." + + Then Sigurd awhile was silent; but at last he answered and said: + "Thou shalt have thy will and the treasure, and shalt take the curse on + thine head + If a curse the gold enwrappeth: but the deed will I surely do, + For to-day the dreams of my childhood have bloomed in my heart anew: + And I long to look on the world and the glory of the earth + And to deal in the dealings of men, and garner the harvest of worth. + But tell me, thou Master of Masters, where lieth this measureless wealth; + Is it guarded by swords of the earl-folk, or kept by cunning and stealth? + Is it over the main sea's darkness, or beyond the mountain wall? + Or e'en in these peaceful acres anigh to the hands of all?" + + Then Regin answered sweetly: "Hereof must a tale be told: + Bide sitting, thou son of Sigmund, on the heap of unwrought gold, + And hearken of wondrous matters, and of things unheard, unsaid, + And deeds of my beholding ere the first of Kings was made. + + "And first ye shall know of a sooth, that I never was born of the race + Which the masters of God-home have made to cover the fair earth's face; + But I come of the Dwarfs departed; and fair was the earth whileome + Ere the short-lived thralls of the Gods amidst its dales were come:-- + And how were we worse than the Gods, though maybe we lived not as long? + Yet no weight of memory maimed us; nor aught we knew of wrong. + What felt our souls of shaming, what knew our hearts of love? + We did and undid at pleasure, and repented nought thereof. + --Yea we were exceeding mighty--bear with me yet, my son; + For whiles can I scarcely think it that our days are wholly done. + And trust not thy life in my hands in the day when most I seem + Like the Dwarfs that are long departed, and most of my kindred I dream. + + "So as we dwelt came tidings that the Gods amongst us were, + And the people come from Asgard: then rose up hope and fear, + And strange shapes of things went flitting betwixt the night and the eve, + And our sons waxed wild and wrathful, and our daughters learned to grieve. + Then we fell to the working of metal, and the deeps of the earth would + know, + And we dealt with venom and leechcraft, and we fashioned spear and bow, + And we set the ribs to the oak-keel, and looked on the landless sea; + And the world began to be such-like as the Gods would have it to be. + In the womb of the woeful Earth had they quickened the grief and the gold. + + "It was Reidmar the Ancient begat me; and now was he waxen old, + And a covetous man and a king; and he bade, and I built him a hall, + And a golden glorious house; and thereto his sons did he call, + And he bade them be evil and wise, that his will through them might be + wrought. + Then he gave unto Fafnir my brother the soul that feareth nought, + And the brow of the hardened iron, and the hand that may never fail, + And the greedy heart of a king, and the ear that hears no wail. + + "But next unto Otter my brother he gave the snare and the net + And the longing to wend through the wild-wood, and wade the highways wet: + And the foot that never resteth, while aught be left alive + That hath cunning to match man's cunning or might with his might to + strive. + + "And to me, the least and the youngest, what gift for the slaying of ease? + Save the grief that remembers the past, and the fear that the future sees; + And the hammer and fashioning-iron, and the living coal of fire; + And the craft that createth a semblance, and fails of the heart's desire; + And the toil that each dawning quickens and the task that is never done, + And the heart that longeth ever, nor will look to the deed that is won. + + "Thus gave my father the gifts that might never be taken again; + Far worse were we now than the Gods, and but little better than men. + But yet of our ancient might one thing had we left us still: + We had craft to change our semblance, and could shift us at our will + Into bodies of the beast-kind, or fowl, or fishes cold; + For belike no fixed semblance we had in the days of old, + Till the Gods were waxen busy, and all things their form must take + That knew of good and evil, and longed to gather and make. + + * * * * * + + "So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother fared + As the scourge and compeller of all things, and left no wrong undared; + But for me, I toiled and I toiled; and fair grew my father's house; + But writhen and foul were the hands that had made it glorious; + And the love of women left me, and the fame of sword and shield: + And the sun and the winds of heaven, and the fowl and the grass of the + field + Were grown as the tools of my smithy; and all the world I knew, + And the glories that lie beyond it, and whitherward all things drew; + And myself a little fragment amidst it all I saw, + Grim, cold-heart, and unmighty as the tempest-driven straw. + --Let be.--For Otter my brother saw seldom field or fold, + And he oftenest used that custom, whereof e'en now I told, + And would shift his shape with the wood-beasts and the things of land + and sea; + And he knew what joy their hearts had, and what they longed to be, + And their dim-eyed understanding, and his wood-craft waxed so great, + That he seemed the king of the creatures and their very mortal fate. + + "Now as the years won over three folk of the heavenly halls + Grew aweary of sleepless sloth, and the day that nought befalls; + And they fain would look on the earth, and their latest handiwork, + And turn the fine gold over, lest a flaw therein should lurk. + And the three were the heart-wise Odin, the Father of the Slain, + And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain, + And Haenir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man, + And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;-- + --The God that was aforetime, and hereafter yet shall be + When the new light yet undreamed of shall shine o'er earth and sea. + + "Thus about the world they wended and deemed it fair and good, + And they loved their life-days dearly: so came they to the wood, + And the lea without a shepherd and the dwellings of the deer, + And unto a mighty water that ran from a fathomless mere. + Now that flood my brother Otter had haunted many a day + For its plenteous fruit of fishes; and there on the bank he lay + As the Gods came wandering thither; and he slept, and in his dreams + He saw the downlong river, and its fishy-peopled streams, + And the swift smooth heads of its forces, and its swirling wells and deep, + Where hang the poised fishes, and their watch in the rock-halls keep. + And so, as he thought of it all, and its deeds and its wanderings, + Whereby it ran to the sea down the road of scaly things, + His body was changed with his thought, as yet was the wont of our kind, + And he grew but an Otter indeed; and his eyes were sleeping and blind + The while he devoured the prey, a golden red-flecked trout. + Then passed by Odin and Haenir, nor cumbered their souls with doubt; + But Loki lingered a little, and guile in his heart arose, + And he saw through the shape of the Otter, and beheld a chief of his foes, + A king of the free and the careless: so he called up his baleful might, + And gathered his godhead together, and tore a shard outright + From the rock-wall of the river, and across its green wells cast; + And roaring over the waters that bolt of evil passed, + And smote my brother Otter that his heart's life fled away, + And bore his man's shape with it, and beast-like there he lay, + Stark dead on the sun-lit blossoms: but the Evil God rejoiced, + And because of the sound of his singing the wild grew many-voiced. + + "Then the three Gods waded the river, and no word Haenir spake, + For his thoughts were set on God-home, and the day that is ever awake. + But Odin laughed in his wrath, and murmured: 'Ah, how long, + Till the iron shall ring on the anvil for the shackles of thy wrong!' + + "Then Loki takes up the quarry, and is e'en as a man again; + And the three wend on through the wild-wood till they come to a grassy + plain + Beneath the untrodden mountains; and lo! a noble house, + And a hall with great craft fashioned, and made full glorious; + But night on the earth was falling; so scantly might they see + The wealth of its smooth-wrought stonework and its world of imagery: + Then Loki bade turn thither since day was at an end, + And into that noble dwelling the lords of God-home wend; + And the porch was fair and mighty, and so smooth-wrought was its gold, + That the mirrored stars of heaven therein might ye behold: + But the hall, what words shall tell it, how fair it rose aloft, + And the marvels of its windows, and its golden hangings soft, + And the forest of its pillars! and each like the wave's heart shone + And the mirrored boughs of the garden were dancing fair thereon. + --Long years agone was it builded, and where are its wonders now? + + "Now the men of God-home marvelled, and gazed through the golden glow, + And a man like a covetous king amidst of the hall they saw; + And his chair was the tooth of the whale, wrought smooth with never a + flaw; + And his gown was the sea-born purple, and he bore a crown on his head, + But never a sword was before him: kind-seeming words he said, + And bade rest to the weary feet that had worn the wild so long. + So they sat, and were men by seeming; and there rose up music and song, + And they ate and drank and were merry: but amidst the glee of the cup + They felt themselves tangled and caught, as when the net cometh up + Before the folk of the 'firth, and the main sea lieth far off; + And the laughter of lips they hearkened, and that hall-abider's scoff, + As his face and his mocking eyes anigh to their faces drew, + And their godhead was caught in the net, and no shift of creation they + knew + To escape from their man-like bodies; so great that day was the Earth. + + "Then spake the hall-abider: 'Where then is thy guileful mirth, + And thy hall-glee gone, O Loki? Come, Haenir, fashion now + My heart for love and for hope, that the fear in my body may grow, + That I may grieve and be sorry, that the ruth may arise in me, + As thou dealtst with the first of men-folk, when a master-smith thou + wouldst be. + And thou, Allfather Odin, hast thou come on a bastard brood? + Or hadst thou belike a brother, thy twin for evil and good, + That waked amidst thy slumber, and slumbered midst thy work? + Nay, Wise-one, art thou silent as a child amidst the mirk? + Ah, I know ye are called the Gods, and are mighty men at home, + But now with a guilt on your heads to no feeble folk are ye come, + To a folk that need you nothing: time was when we knew you not: + Yet e'en then fresh was the winter, and the summer sun was hot, + And the wood-meats stayed our hunger, and the water quenched our thirst, + Ere the good and the evil wedded and begat the best and the worst. + And how if to-day I undo it, that work of your fashioning, + If the web of the world run backward, and the high heavens lack a King? + --Woe's me! for your ancient mastery shall help you at your need: + If ye fill up the gulf of my longing and my empty heart of greed, + And slake the flame ye have quickened, then may ye go your ways + And get ye back to your kingship and the driving on of the days + To the day of the gathered war-hosts, and the tide of your Fateful Gloom. + Now nought may ye gainsay it that my mouth must speak the doom, + For ye wot well I am Reidmar, and that there ye lie red-hand + From the slaughtering of my offspring, and the spoiling of my land; + For his death of my wold hath bereft me and every highway wet. + --Nay, Loki, naught avails it, well-fashioned is the net. + Come forth, my son, my war-god, and show the Gods their work, + And thou who mightst learn e'en Loki, if need were to lie or lurk!' + + "And there was I, I Regin, the smithier of the snare, + And high up Fafnir towered with the brow that knew no fear, + With the wrathful and pitiless heart that was born of my father's will, + And the greed that the Gods had fashioned the fate of the earth to + fulfill. + + "Then spake the Father of Men: 'We have wrought thee wrong indeed, + And, wouldst thou amend it with wrong, thine errand must we speed; + For I know of thine heart's desire, and the gold thou shalt nowise lack, + --Nor all the works of the gold. But best were thy word drawn back, + If indeed the doom of the Norns be not utterly now gone forth.' + + "Then Reidmar laughed and answered: 'So much is thy word of worth! + And they call thee Odin for this, and stretch forth hands in vain, + And pray for the gifts of a God who giveth and taketh again! + It was better in times past over, when we prayed for nought at all, + When no love taught us beseeching, and we had no troth to recall. + Ye have changed the world, and it bindeth with the right and the wrong + ye have made, + Nor may ye be Gods henceforward save the rightful ransom be paid. + But perchance ye are weary of kingship, and will deal no more with the + earth? + Then curse the world, and depart, and sit in your changeless mirth; + And there shall be no more kings, and battle and murder shall fail, + And the world shall laugh and long not, nor weep, nor fashion the tale.' + + "So spake Reidmar the Wise; but the wrath burned through his word, + And wasted his heart of wisdom; and there was Fafnir the Lord, + And there was Regin the Wright, and they raged at their father's back: + And all these cried out together with the voice of the sea-storm's wrack; + 'O hearken, Gods of the Goths! ye shall die, and we shall be Gods, + And rule your men beloved with bitter-heavy rods, + And make them beasts beneath us, save to-day ye do our will, + And pay us the ransom of blood, and our hearts with the gold fulfill.' + + "But Odin spake in answer, and his voice was awful and cold: + 'Give righteous doom, O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!' + + "Then Reidmar laughed in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled, + And nought but his greed abided; and he spake from his throne and said: + + "'Now hearken the doom I shall speak! Ye stranger-folk shall be free + When ye give me the Flame of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea, + That Andvari hideth rejoicing in the wan realm pale as the grave; + And the Master of Sleight shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave, + And the heart that begrudgeth for ever shall gather and give and rue. + --Lo! this is the doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.' + + "Then Odin spake: 'It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse; + And the Greedy shall cherish the evil--and the seed of the Great they + shall nurse.' + + "No word spake Reidmar the great, for the eyes of his heart were turned + To the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned. + But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his ways abroad; + And the heart of Odin he knoweth, and where he shall seek the Hoard. + + "There is a desert of dread in the uttermost part of the world, + Where over a wall of mountains is a mighty water hurled, + Whose hidden head none knoweth, nor where it meeteth the sea; + And that force is the Force of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he. + In the cloud and the desert he dwelleth amid that land alone; + And his work is the storing of treasure within his house of stone. + Time was when he knew of wisdom, and had many a tale to tell + Of the days before the Dwarf-age, and of what in that world befell: + And he knew of the stars and the sun, and the worlds that come and go + On the nether rim of heaven, and whence the wind doth blow, + And how the sea hangs balanced betwixt the curving lands, + And how all drew together for the first Gods' fashioning hands. + But now is all gone from him, save the craft of gathering gold, + And he heedeth nought of the summer, nor knoweth the winter cold, + Nor looks to the sun nor the snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea, + Nor hath heard of the making of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be: + But ever he gripeth and gathereth, and he toileth hour by hour + Nor knoweth the noon from the midnight as he looks on his stony bower, + And saith: 'It is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get; + For the world is but newly fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.' + + "There Loki fareth, and seeth in a land of nothing good, + Far off o'er the empty desert, the reek of the falling flood + Go up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feet + As he weaveth the unseen meshes and the snare of strong deceit; + So he cometh his ways to the water, where the glittering foam-bow glows, + And the huge flood leaps the rock-wall and a green arch over it throws. + There under the roof of water he treads the quivering floor, + And the hush of the desert is felt amid the water's roar, + And the bleak sun lighteth the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless + plain, + And the showers that nourish nothing, and the summer come in vain. + + "There did the great Guile-master his toils and his tangles set, + And as wide as was the water, so wide was woven the net; + And as dim as the Elf's remembrance did the meshes of it show; + And he had no thought of sorrow, nor spared to come and go + On his errands of griping and getting till he felt himself tangled and + caught: + Then back to his blinded soul was his ancient wisdom brought, + And he saw his fall and his ruin, as a man by the lightning's flame + Sees the garth all flooded by foemen; and again he remembered his name; + And e'en as a book well written the tale of the Gods he knew, + And the tale of the making of men, and much of the deeds they should do. + + "But Loki took his man-shape, and laughed aloud and cried: + 'What fish of the ends of the earth is so strong and so feeble-eyed, + That he draweth the pouch of my net on his road to the dwelling of Hell? + What Elf that hath heard the gold growing, but hath heard not the light + winds tell + That the Gods with the world have been dealing and have fashioned men + for the earth? + Where is he that hath ridden the cloud-horse and measured the ocean's + girth, + But seen nought of the building of God-home nor the forging of the sword: + Where then is the maker of nothing, the earless and eyeless lord? + In the pouch of my net he lieth, with his head on the threshold of Hell!' + + "Then the Elf lamented, and said: 'Thou knowst of my name full well: + Andvari begotten of Oinn, whom the Dwarf-kind called the Wise, + By the worst of the Gods is taken, the forge and the father of lies.' + + "Said Loki: 'How of the Elf-kind, do they love their latter life, + When their weal is all departed, and they lie alow in the strife?' + + "Then Andvari groaned and answered: 'I know what thou wouldst have, + The wealth mine own hands gathered, the gold that no man gave.' + + "'Come forth,' said Loki, 'and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth-- + Or die in the toils if thou listest, if thy life be nothing worth.' + + "Full sore the Elf lamented, but he came before the God + And the twain went into the rock-house and on fine gold they trod, + And the walls shone bright, and brighter than the sun of the upper air. + How great was that treasure of treasures: and the Helm of Dread was there; + The world but in dreams had seen it; and there was the hauberk of gold; + None other is in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told. + + "Then Loki bade the Elf-king bring all to the upper day, + And he dight himself with his Godhead to bear the treasure away: + So there in the dim grey desert, before the God of Guile, + Great heaps of the hid-world's treasure the weary Elf must pile, + And Loki looked on laughing: but, when it all was done, + And the Elf was hurrying homeward, his finger gleamed in the sun: + Then Loki cried: 'Thou art guileful: thou hast not learned the tale + Of the wisdom that Gods have gotten and their might of all avail. + Hither to me! that I learn thee of a many things to come; + Or despite of all wilt thou journey to the dead man's deedless home. + Come hither again to thy master, and give the ring to me; + For meseems it is Loki's portion, and the Bale of Men shall it be.' + + "Then the Elf drew off the gold-ring and stood with empty hand + E'en where the flood fell over 'twixt the water and the land, + And he gazed on the great Guile-master, and huge and grim he grew; + And his anguish swelled within him, and the word of the Norns he knew; + How that gold was the seed of gold to the wise and the shapers of things, + The hoarders of hidden treasure, and the unseen glory of rings; + But the seed of woe to the world and the foolish wasters of men, + And grief to the generations that die and spring again: + Then he cried: + 'There farest thou, Loki, and might I load thee worse + Than with what thine ill heart beareth, then shouldst thou bear my curse: + But for men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold, + Amid my woe abideth another woe untold. + Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay; + And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall loathe + the day. + Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how the lonely lands + Are waving with the harvest that fell from my gathering hands!' + + "But Loki laughed in silence, and swift in Godhead went, + To the golden hall of Reidmar and the house of our content. + But when that world of treasure was laid within our hall + 'Twas as if the sun were minded to live 'twixt wall and wall, + And all we stood by and panted. Then Odin spake and said: + + "'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarf-kind, lo, the ransom duly paid! + Will ye have this sun of the ocean, and reap the fruitful field, + And garner up the harvest that earth therefrom shall yield?' + + "So he spake; but a little season nought answered Reidmar the wise + But turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyes + Endlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase about + A ray of the sun of the morning that a naked sword throws out; + And lo! from Loki's right-hand came the flash of the fruitful ring, + And at last spake Reidmar scowling: + 'Ye wait for my yea-saying + That your feet may go free on the earth, and the fear of my toils may + be done; + That then ye may say in your laughter: The fools of the time agone! + The purblind eyes of the Dwarf-kind! they have gotten the garnered sheaf + And have let their Masters depart with the Seed of Gold and of Grief: + O Loki, friend of Allfather, cast down Andvari's Ring, + Or the world shall yet turn backward and the high heavens lack a king.' + + "Then Loki drew off the Elf-ring and cast it down on the heap, + And forth as the gold met gold did the light of its glory leap: + But he spake: 'It rejoiceth my heart that no whit of all ye shall lack, + Lest the curse of the Elf-king cleave not, and ye 'scape the utter wrack.' + + "Then laughed and answered Reidmar: 'I shall have it while I live, + And that shall be long, meseemeth: for who is there may strive + With my sword, the war-wise Fafnir, and my shield that is Regin the Smith? + But if indeed I should die, then let men-folk deal therewith, + And ride to the golden glitter through evil deeds and good. + I will have my heart's desire, and do as the high Gods would.' + + "Then I loosed the Gods from their shackles, and great they grew on + the floor + And into the night they gat them; but Odin turned by the door, + And we looked not, little we heeded, for we grudged his mastery; + Then he spake, and his voice was waxen as the voice of the winter sea: + + "'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarfs, why then will ye covet and rue? + I have seen your fathers' fathers and the dust wherefrom they grew; + But who hath heard of my father or the land where first I sprung? + Who knoweth my day of repentance, or the year when I was young? + Who hath learned the names of the Wise-one or measured out his will? + Who hath gone before to teach him, and the doom of days fulfill? + Lo, I look on the Curse of the Gold, and wrong amended by wrong, + And love by love confounded, and the strong abased by the strong; + And I order it all and amend it, and the deeds that are done I see, + And none other beholdeth or knoweth; and who shall be wise unto me? + For myself to myself I offered, that all wisdom I might know, + And fruitful I waxed of works, and good and fair did they grow; + And I knew, and I wrought and fore-ordered; and evil sat by my side, + And myself by myself hath been doomed, and I look for the fateful tide; + And I deal with the generations, and the men mine hand hath made, + And myself by myself shall be grieved, lest the world and its fashioning + fade.' + + "They went and the Gold abided: but the words Allfather spake, + I call them back full often for that golden even's sake, + Yet little that hour I heard them, save as wind across the lea; + For the gold shone up on Reidmar and on Fafnir's face and on me. + And sore I loved that treasure: so I wrapped my heart in guile, + And sleeked my tongue with sweetness, and set my face in a smile, + And I bade my father keep it, the more part of the gold, + Yet give good store to Fafnir for his goodly help and bold, + And deal me a little handful for my smithying-help that day. + But no little I desired, though for little I might pray; + And prayed I for much or for little, he answered me no more + Than the shepherd answers the wood-wolf who howls at the yule-tide door: + But good he ever deemed it to sit on his ivory throne, + And stare on the red rings' glory, and deem he was ever alone: + And never a word spake Fafnir, but his eyes waxed red and grim + As he looked upon our father, and noted the ways of him. + + "The night waned into the morning, and still above the Hoard + Sat Reidmar clad in purple; but Fafnir took his sword, + And I took my smithying-hammer, and apart in the world we went; + But I came aback in the even, and my heart was heavy and spent; + And I longed, but fear was upon me and I durst not go to the Gold; + So I lay in the house of my toil mid the things I had fashioned of old; + And methought as I lay in my bed 'twixt waking and slumber of night + That I heard the tinkling metal and beheld the hall alight, + But I slept and dreamed of the Gods, and the things that never have slept, + Till I woke to a cry and a clashing and forth from the bed I leapt, + And there by the heaped-up Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood, + And there at his feet lay Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood; + And e'en as I looked on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death, + And forth on the torch-litten hall he shed his latest breath. + + "But I looked on Fafnir and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread, + And his sword was bare in his hand, and the sword and the hand were red + With the blood of our father Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold, + With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat of whose fellow hath nought been told, + And it seemed as I looked upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes: + And then in the mid-hall's silence did his dreadful voice arise: + + "'I have slain my father Reidmar, that I alone might keep + The Gold of the darksome places, the Candle of the Deep. + I am such as the Gods have made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the earth, + Or mingle their ancient wisdom with its short-lived latest birth. + I shall dwell alone henceforward, and the Gold and its waxing curse, + I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse. + And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life, + And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife, + And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built. + O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt? + Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwell + And do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.' + + "More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dread + And no more durst I behold him, but with heart a-cold I fled; + I fled from the glorious house my hands had made so fair, + As poor as the new-born baby with nought of raiment or gear: + I fled from the heaps of gold, and my goods were the eager will, + And the heart that remembereth all, and the hand that may never be still. + + "Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago + As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow, + And a famous man I became: but that generation died, + And they said that Frey had taught them, and a God my name did hide. + Then I taught them the craft of metals, and the sailing of the sea, + And the taming of the horse-kind, and the yoke-beasts' husbandry, + And the building up of houses; and that race of men went by, + And they said that Thor had taught them; and a smithying-carle was I. + Then I gave their maidens the needle and I bade them hold the rock, + And the shuttle-race gaped for them as they sat at the weaving-stock. + But by then these were waxen crones to sit dim-eyed by the door, + It was Freyia had come among them to teach the weaving-lore. + + "Then I taught them the tales of old, and fair songs fashioned and true, + And their speech grew into music of measured time and due, + And they smote the harp to my bidding, and the land grew soft and sweet: + But ere the grass of their grave-mounds rose up above my feet, + It was Bragi had made them sweet-mouthed, and I was the wandering scald; + Yet green did my cunning flourish by whatso name I was called, + And I grew the master of masters--Think thou how strange it is + That the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this! + + "Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother's part, + And Fafnir's mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heart + When the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden gifts + From out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts. + And once--didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago-- + I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow. + There methought the fells grown greater, but waste did the meadows lie + And the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky. + But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there, + Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear. + Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold, + And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled: + Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our + race, + And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place, + A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold; + For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold. + + "So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame again + Mid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain, + The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv'rance from the yoke: + And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk. + + "Long years, and long years after the tale of men-folk told + How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold, + And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face: + Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place + My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign + That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood + of the Worm was mine. + + "This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells, + Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells; + But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn. + Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born, + And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein, + And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win; + And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its + rest, + That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best. + + "Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw, + And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw, + And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heart + That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart, + Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days, + Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise. + + "And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart + And the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart. + And then when my hand is upon it, my hand shall be as the spring + To thaw his winter away and the fruitful tide to bring. + It shall grow, it shall grow into summer, and I shall be he that wrought, + And my deeds shall be remembered, and my name that once was nought; + Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor, and Freyia, and Bragi in one: + Yea the God of all that is,--and no deed in the wide world done, + But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed + from the yoke + Shall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk; + And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land, + And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand." + + Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazed + That the flames leapt up in the stithy and about the Master blazed, + And his hand in the harp-strings wandered and the sweetness from them + poured. + Then unto his feet leapt Sigurd and drew his stripling's sword, + And he cried: "Awake, O Master, for, lo, the day goes by, + And this too is an ancient story, that the sons of men-folk die, + And all save fame departeth. Awake! for the day grows late, + And deeds by the door are passing, nor the Norns will have them wait." + + Then Regin groaned and wakened, sad-eyed and heavy-browed, + And weary and worn was he waxen, as a man by a burden bowed: + And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that + is old + To avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of Gold + And be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a + wrong + And heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?" + + Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear, + And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear: + But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said: + "Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on + thine head." + + + _Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd._ + + Now again came Sigurd to Regin, and said: "Thou hast taught me a task + Whereof none knoweth the ending: and a gift at thine hands I ask." + + Then answered Regin the Master: "The world must be wide indeed + If my hand may not reach across it for aught thine heart may need." + + "Yea wide is the world," said Sigurd, "and soon spoken is thy word; + But this gift thou shalt nought gainsay me: for I bid thee forge me a + sword." + + Then spake the Master of Masters, and his voice was sweet and soft, + "Look forth abroad, O Sigurd, and note in the heavens aloft + How the dim white moon of the daylight hangs round as the Goth-God's + shield: + Now for thee first rang mine anvil when she walked the heavenly field + A slim and lovely lady, and the old moon lay on her arm: + Lo, here is a sword I have wrought thee with many a spell and charm + And all the craft of the Dwarf-kind; be glad thereof and sure; + Mid many a storm of battle full well shall it endure." + + Then Sigurd looked on the slayer, and never a word would speak: + Gemmed were the hilts and golden, and the blade was blue and bleak, + And runes of the Dwarf-kind's cunning each side the trench were scored: + But soft and sweet spake Regin: "How likest thou the sword?" + + Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "The work is proved by the deed; + See now if this be a traitor to fail me in my need." + + Then Regin trembled and shrank, so bright his eyes outshone + As he turned about to the anvil, and smote the sword thereon; + But the shards fell shivering earthward, and Sigurd's heart grew wroth + As the steel-flakes tinkled about him: "Lo, there the right-hand's troth! + Lo, there the golden glitter, and the word that soon is spilt." + And down amongst the ashes he cast the glittering hilt, + And turned his back on Regin and strode out through the door + And for many a day of spring-tide came back again no more. + But at last he came to the stithy and again took up the word: + "What hast thou done, O Master, in the forging of the sword?" + + Then sweetly Regin answered: "Hard task-master art thou, + But lo, a blade of battle that shall surely please thee now! + Two moons are clean departed since thou lookedst toward the sky + And sawest the dim white circle amid the cloud-flecks lie; + And night and day have I laboured; and the cunning of old days + Hath surely left my right-hand if this sword thou shalt not praise." + + And indeed the hilts gleamed glorious with many a dear-bought stone, + And down the fallow edges the light of battle shone; + Yet Sigurd's eyes shone brighter, nor yet might Regin face + Those eyes of the heart of the Volsungs; but trembled in his place + As Sigurd cried: "O Regin, thy kin of the days of old + Were an evil and treacherous folk, and they lied and murdered for gold; + And now if thou wouldst bewray me, of the ancient curse beware, + And set thy face as the flint the bale and the shame to bear: + For he that would win to the heavens, and be as the Gods on high + Must tremble nought at the road, and the place where men-folk die." + + White leaps the blade in his hand and gleams in the gear of the wall, + And he smites, and the oft-smitten edges on the beaten anvil fall: + But the life of the sword departed, and dull and broken it lay + On the ashes and flaked-off iron, and no word did Sigurd say, + But strode off through the door of the stithy and went to the Hall of + Kings, + And was merry and blithe that even mid all imaginings. + + But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake: + "The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sake + In the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell, + Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them + trusty and well? + Where hast thou laid them, my mother?" + Then she looked upon him and said: + "Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head? + And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?" + + "Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wall + Betwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through. + And why wilt thou fear mine eyen? as the sword lies baleful and blue + E'en 'twixt the lips of lovers, when they swear their troth thereon, + So keen are the eyes ye have fashioned, ye folk of the days agone; + For therein is the light of battle, though whiles it lieth asleep. + Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep." + + She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praise + When thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days." + + So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain, + Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain: + They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold, + And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled, + And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword; + No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's hoard + Were as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hall + It shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall. + + But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings, + Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things, + And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to me + The message of my fathers, and the word of things to be: + Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now: + These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow. + They shall shine through the rain of Odin, as the sun come back to the + world, + When the heaviest bolt of the thunder amidst the storm is hurled: + They shall shake the thrones of Kings, and shear the walls of war, + And undo the knot of treason when the world is darkening o'er. + They have shone in the dusk and the night-tide, they shall shine in the + dawn and the day; + They have gathered the storm together, they shall chase the clouds away; + They have sheared red gold asunder, they shall gleam o'er the garnered + gold; + They have ended many a story, they shall fashion a tale to be told: + They have lived in the wrack of the people; they shall live in the glory + of folk: + They have stricken the Gods in battle, for the Gods shall they strike + the stroke." + + Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword, + And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word: + So great and fair was he waxen, so glorious was his face, + So young, as the deathless Gods are, that long in the golden place + She stood when he was departed: as some for-travailed one + Comes over the dark fell-ridges on the birth-tide of the sun, + And his gathering sleep falls from him mid the glory and the blaze; + And he sees the world grow merry and looks on the lightened ways, + While the ruddy streaks are melting in the day-flood broad and white; + Then the morn-dusk he forgetteth, and the moon-lit waste of night, + And the hall whence he departed with its yellow candles' flare: + So stood the Isle-king's daughter in that treasure-chamber fair. + + * * * * * + + But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came, + Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame, + And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet, + No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet, + Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old; + Then he spake: + "Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold, + The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin, + The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the Gods would win?" + + * * * * * + + Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt do + Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true: + And what if thou begrudgest, and my battle-blade be dull, + Yet the hand of the Norns is lifted and the cup is over-full. + Repentst thou ne'er so sorely that thy kin must lie alow, + How much soe'er thou longest the world to overthrow, + And, doubting the gold and the wisdom, wouldst even now appease + Blind hate and eyeless murder, and win the world with these; + O'er-late is the time for repenting the word thy lips have said: + Thou shalt have the Gold and the wisdom and take its curse on thine head. + I say that thy lips have spoken, and no more with thee it lies + To do the deed or leave it: since thou hast shown mine eyes + The world that was aforetime, I see the world to be; + And woe to the tangling thicket, or the wall that hindereth me! + And short is the space I will tarry; for how if the Worm should die + Ere the first of my strokes be stricken? Wilt thou get to thy mastery + And knit these shards together that once in the Branstock stood? + But if not and a smith's hands fail me, a king's hand yet shall be good; + And the Norns have doomed thy brother. And yet I deem this sword + Is the slayer of the Serpent, and the scatterer of the Hoard." + + Great waxed the gloom of Regin, and he said: "Thou sayest sooth + For none may turn him backward: the sword of a very youth + Shall one day end my cunning, as the Gods my joyance slew, + When nought thereof they were deeming, and another thing would do. + But this sword shall slay the Serpent; and do another deed, + And many an one thereafter till it fail thee in thy need. + But as fair and great as thou standest, yet get thee from mine house, + For in me too might ariseth, and the place is perilous + With the craft that was aforetime, and shall never be again, + When the hands that have taught thee cunning have failed from the world + of men. + Thou art wroth; but thy wrath must slumber till fate its blossom bear; + Not thus were the eyes of Odin when I held him in the snare. + Depart! lest the end overtake us ere thy work and mine be done, + But come again in the night-tide and the slumber of the sun, + When the sharded moon of April hangs round in the undark May." + + Hither and thither a while did the heart of Sigurd sway + For he feared no craft of the Dwarf-kind, nor heeded the ways of Fate, + But his hand wrought e'en as his heart would: and now was he weary with + hate + Of the hatred and scorn of the Gods, and the greed of gold and of gain, + And the weaponless hands of the stripling of the wrath and the rending + were fain, + But there stood Regin the Master, and his eyes were on Sigurd's eyes, + Though nought belike they beheld him, and his brow was sad and wise; + And the greed died out of his visage and he stood like an image of old. + + So the Norns drew Sigurd away, and the tide was an even of gold, + And sweet in the April even were the fowl-kind singing their best; + And the light of life smote Sigurd, and the joy that knows no rest, + And the fond unnamed desire, and the hope of hidden things; + And he wended fair and lovely to the house of the feasting Kings. + + But now when the moon was at full and the undark May begun, + Went Sigurd unto Regin mid the slumber of the sun, + And amidst the fire-hall's pavement the King of the Dwarf-kind stood + Like an image of deeds departed and days that once were good; + And he seemed but faint and weary, and his eyes were dim and dazed + As they met the glory of Sigurd where the fitful candles blazed. + Then he spake: + "Hail, Son of the Volsungs, the corner-stone is laid, + I have toiled and thou hast desired, and, lo, the fateful blade!" + + Then Sigurd saw it lying on the ashes slaked and pale + Like the sun and the lightning mingled mid the even's cloudy bale; + For ruddy and great were the hilts, and the edges fine and wan, + And all adown to the blood-point a very flame there ran + That swallowed the runes of wisdom wherewith its sides were scored. + No sound did Sigurd utter as he stooped adown for his sword, + But it seemed as his lips were moving with speech of strong desire. + White leapt the blade o'er his head, and he stood in the ring of its fire + As hither and thither it played, till it fell on the anvil's strength, + And he cried aloud in his glory, and held out the sword full length, + As one who would show it the world; for the edges were dulled no whit, + And the anvil was cleft to the pavement with the dreadful dint of it. + + But Regin cried to his harp-strings: "Before the days of men + I smithied the Wrath of Sigurd, and now is it smithied again: + And my hand alone hath done it, and my heart alone hath dared + To bid that man to the mountain, and behold his glory bared. + Ah, if the son of Sigmund might wot of the thing I would, + Then how were the ages bettered, and the world all waxen good! + Then how were the past forgotten and the weary days of yore, + And the hope of man that dieth and the waste that never bore! + How should this one live through the winter and know of all increase! + How should that one spring to the sunlight and bear the blossom of peace! + No more should the long-lived wisdom o'er the waste of the wilderness + stray; + Nor the clear-eyed hero hasten to the deedless ending of day. + And what if the hearts of the Volsungs for this deed of deeds were born, + How then were their life-days evil and the end of their lives forlorn?" + + There stood Sigurd the Volsung, and heard how the harp-strings rang, + But of other things they told him than the hope that the Master sang; + And his world lay far away from the Dwarf-king's eyeless realm + And the road that leadeth nowhere, and the ship without a helm: + But he spake: "How oft shall I say it, that I shall work thy will? + If my father hath made me mighty, thine heart shall I fulfill + With the wisdom and gold thou wouldest, before I wend on my ways; + For now hast thou failed me nought, and the sword is the wonder of days." + + No word for a while spake Regin; but he hung his head adown + As a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice once more was grown + As the voice of the smithying-master as he spake: "This Wrath of thine + Hath cleft the hard and the heavy; it shall shear the soft and the fine: + Come forth to the night and prove it." + So they twain went forth abroad, + And the moon lay white on the river and lit the sleepless ford, + And down to its pools they wended, and the stream was swift and full; + Then Regin cast against it a lock of fine-spun wool, + And it whirled about on the eddy till it met the edges bared, + And as clean as the careless water the laboured fleece was sheared. + + Then Regin spake: "It is good, what the smithying-carle hath wrought: + Now the work of the King beginneth, and the end that my soul hath sought. + Thou shalt toil and I shall desire, and the deed shall be surely done: + For thy Wrath is alive and awake and the story of bale is begun." + + Therewith was the Wrath of Sigurd laid soft in a golden sheath + And the peace-strings knit around it; for that blade was fain of death; + And 'tis ill to show such edges to the broad blue light of day, + Or to let the hall-glare light them, if ye list not play the play. + + + _Of Gripir's Foretelling._ + + Now Sigurd backeth Greyfell on the first of the morrow morn, + And he rideth fair and softly through the acres of the corn; + The Wrath to his side is girded, but hid are the edges blue, + As he wendeth his ways to the mountains, and rideth the horse-mead + through. + His wide grey eyes are happy, and his voice is sweet and soft, + As amid the mead-lark's singing he casteth song aloft: + Lo, lo, the horse and the rider! So once maybe it was, + When over the Earth unpeopled the youngest God would pass; + But never again meseemeth shall such a sight betide, + Till over a world unwrongful new-born shall Baldur ride. + + So he comes to that ness of the mountains, and Gripir's garden steep, + That bravely Greyfell breasteth, and adown by the door doth he leap + And his war-gear rattleth upon him; there is none to ask or forbid + As he wendeth the house clear-lighted, where no mote of the dust is hid, + Though the sunlight hath not entered: the walls are clear and bright, + For they cast back each to other the golden Sigurd's light; + Through the echoing ways of the house bright-eyed he wendeth along, + And the mountain-wind is with him, and the hovering eagles' song; + But no sound of the children of men may the ears of the Volsung hear, + And no sign of their ways in the world, or their will, or their hope + or their fear. + + So he comes to the hall of Gripir, and gleaming-green is it built + As the house of under-ocean where the wealth of the greedy is spilt; + Gleaming and green as the sea, and rich as its rock-strewn floor, + And fresh as the autumn morning when the burning of summer is o'er. + There he looks and beholdeth the high-seat, and he sees it strangely + wrought, + Of the tooth of the sea-beast fashioned ere the Dwarf-kind came to + nought; + And he looks, and thereon is Gripir, the King exceeding old, + With the sword of his fathers girded, and his raiment wrought of gold; + With the ivory rod in his right-hand, with his left on the crystal laid, + That is round as the world of men-folk, and after its image made, + And clear is it wrought to the eyen that may read therein of Fate + Though little indeed be its sea, and its earth not wondrous great. + + There Sigurd stands in the hall, on the sheathed Wrath doth he lean, + All his golden light is mirrored in the gleaming floor and green; + But the smile in his face upriseth as he looks on the ancient King, + And their glad eyes meet and their laughter, and sweet is the welcoming: + And Gripir saith: "Hail Sigurd! for my bidding hast thou done, + And here in the mountain-dwelling are two Kings of men alone." + + But Sigurd spake: "Hail father! I am girt with the fateful sword + And my face is set to the highway, and I come for thy latest word." + + Said Gripir: "What wouldst thou hearken ere we sit and drink the wine?" + + "Thy word and the Norns'," said Sigurd, "but never a word of mine." + + "What sights wouldst thou see," said Gripir, "ere mine hand shall take + thine hand?" + + "As the Gods would I see," said Sigurd, "though Death light up the land." + + "What hope wouldst thou hope, O Sigurd, ere we kiss, we twain, and + depart?" + + "Thy hope and the Gods'," said Sigurd, "though the grief lie hard on + my heart." + + Nought answered the ancient wise-one, and not a whit had he stirred + Since the clash of Sigurd's raiment in his mountain-hall he heard; + But the ball that imaged the earth was set in his hand grown old; + And belike it was to his vision, as the wide-world's ocean rolled, + And the forests waved with the wind, and the corn was gay with the lark, + And the gold in its nether places grew up in the dusk and the dark, + And its children built and departed, and its King-folk conquered and went, + As over the crystal image his all-wise face was bent: + For all his desire was dead, and he lived as a God shall live, + Who the prayers of the world hath forgotten, and to whom no hand may give. + + But there stood the mighty Volsung, and leaned on the hidden Wrath; + As the earliest sun's uprising o'er the sea-plain draws a path + Whereby men sail to the Eastward and the dawn of another day, + So the image of King Sigurd on the gleaming pavement lay. + + Then great in the hall fair-pillared the voice of Gripir arose, + And it ran through the glimmering house-ways, and forth to the sunny + close; + There mid the birds' rejoicing went the voice of an o'er-wise King + Like a wind of midmost winter come back to talk with spring. + + But the voice cried: "Sigurd, Sigurd! O great, O early born! + O hope of the Kings first fashioned! O blossom of the morn! + Short day and long remembrance, fair summer of the North! + One day shall the worn world wonder how first thou wentest forth! + + "Arise, O Sigurd, Sigurd! in the night arise and go, + Thou shalt smite when the day-dawn glimmers through the folds of + God-home's foe: + + "There the child in the noon-tide smiteth; the young King rendeth apart, + The old guile by the guile encompassed, the heart made wise by the heart. + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd; bind up to cast abroad! + That the earth may laugh before thee rejoiced by the Waters' Hoard. + + "Ride on, O Sigurd, Sigurd! for God's word goes forth on the wind, + And he speaketh not twice over; nor shall they loose that bind: + But the Day and the Day shall loosen, and the Day shall awake and arise, + And the Day shall rejoice with the Dawning, and the wise heart learn of + the wise. + + "O fair, O fearless, O mighty, how green are the garths of Kings, + How soft are the ways before thee to the heart of their war-farings! + + "How green are the garths of King-folk, how fair is the lily and rose + In the house of the Cloudy People, 'neath the towers of kings and foes! + + "Smite now, smite now in the noontide! ride on through the hosts of men! + Lest the dear remembrance perish, and today come not again. + + "Is it day?--But the house is darkling--But the hand would gather and + hold, + And the lips have kissed the cloud-wreath, and a cloud the arms enfold. + + "In the dusk hath the Sower arisen; in the dark hath he cast the seed, + And the ear is the sorrow of Odin and the wrong, and the nameless need! + + "Ah the hand hath gathered and garnered, and empty is the hand, + Though the day be full and fruitful mid the drift of the Cloudy Land! + + "Look, look on the drift of the clouds, how the day and the even doth + grow + As the long-forgotten dawning that was a while ago! + + "Dawn, dawn, O mighty of men! and why wilt thou never awake, + When the holy field of the Goth-folk cries out for thy love and thy sake? + + "Dawn, now; but the house is silent, and dark is the purple blood + On the breast of the Queen fair-fashioned; and it riseth up as a flood + Round the posts of the door beloved; and a deed there lieth therein: + The last of the deeds of Sigurd; the worst of the Cloudy Kin-- + The slayer slain by the slain within the door and without. + --O dawn as the eve of the birth-day! O dark world cumbered with doubt! + + "Shall it never be day any more, nor the sun's uprising and growth? + Shall the kings of earth lie sleeping and the war-dukes wander in sloth + Through the last of the winter twilight? is the word of the wise-ones said + Till the five-fold winter be ended and the trumpet waken the dead? + + "Short day and long remembrance! great glory for the earth! + O deeds of the Day triumphant! O word of Sigurd's worth! + It is done, and who shall undo it of all who were ever alive? + May the Gods or the high Gods' masters 'gainst the tale of the righteous + strive, + And the deeds to follow after, and all their deeds increase, + Till the uttermost field is foughten, and Baldur riseth in peace! + + "Cry out, O waste, before him! O rocks of the wilderness, cry! + For to-morn shalt thou see the glory, and the man not made to die! + Cry out, O upper heavens! O clouds beneath the lift + For the golden King shall be riding high-headed midst the drift: + The mountain waits and the fire; there waiteth the heart of the wise + Till the earthly toil is accomplished, and again shall the fire arise; + And none shall be nigh in the ending and none by his heart shall be laid, + Save the world that he cherished and quickened, and the Day that he + wakened and made." + + So died the voice of Gripir from amidst the sunny close, + And the sound of hastening eagles from the mountain's feet arose, + But the hall was silent a little, for still stood Sigmund's son, + And he heard the words and remembered, and knew them one by one. + Then he turned on the ancient Gripir with eyes that knew no guile + And smiled on the wise of King-folk as the first of men might smile + On the God that hath fashioned him happy; and he spake: + "Hast thou spoken and known + How there standeth a child before thee and a stripling scarcely grown? + Or hast thou told of the Volsungs, and the gathered heart of these, + And their still unquenched desire for garnering fame's increase? + E'en so do I hearken thy words: for I wot how they deem it long + Till a man from their seed be arisen to deal with the cumber and wrong. + Bid me therefore to sit by thy side, for behold I wend on my way, + And the gates swing to behind me, and each day of mine is a day + With deeds in the eve and the morning, nor deeds shall the noontide lack; + To the right and the left none calleth, and no voice crieth aback." + + "Come, kin of the Gods," said Gripir, "come up and sit by my side + That we twain may be glad as the fearless, and they that have nothing + to hide: + I have wrought out my will and abide it, and I sit ungrieved and alone, + I look upon men and I help not; to me are the deeds long done + As those of to-day and to-morrow: for these and for those am I glad; + But the Gods and men are the framers, and the days of my life I have had." + + Then Sigurd came unto Gripir, and he kissed the wise-one's face, + And they sat in the high-seat together, the child and the elder of days; + And they drank of the wine of King-folk, and were joyful each of each, + And spake for a while of matters that are meet for King-folk's speech; + The deeds of men that have been and Kin of the Kings of the earth; + And Gripir told of the outlands, and the mid-world's billowy girth, + And tales of the upper heaven were mingled with his talk, + And the halls where the Sea-Queen's kindred o'er the gem-strewn pavement + walk, + And the innermost parts of the earth, where they lie, the green and the + blue, + And the red and the glittering gem-stones that of old the Dwarf-kind knew. + + Long Sigurd sat and marvelled at the mouth that might not lie, + And the eyes no God had blinded, and the lone heart raised on high, + Then he rose from the gleaming high-seat, and the rings of battle rang + And the sheathed Wrath was hearkening and a song of war it sang, + But Sigurd spake unto Gripir: + "Long and lovely are thy days, + And thy years fulfilled of wisdom, and thy feet on the unhid ways, + And the guileless heart of the great that knoweth not anger nor pain: + So once hath a man been fashioned and shall not be again. + But for me hath been foaled the war-horse, the grey steed swift as the + cloud, + And for me were the edges smithied, and the Wrath cries out aloud; + And a voice hath called from the darkness, and I ride to the Glittering + Heath; + To smite on the door of Destruction, and waken the warder of Death." + + So they kissed, the wise and the wise, and the child from the elder + turned; + And again in the glimmering house-ways the golden Sigurd burned; + He stood outside in the sunlight, and tarried never a deal, + But leapt on the cloudy Greyfell with the clank of gold and steel, + And he rode through the sinking day to the walls of the kingly stead, + And came to Regin's dwelling when the wind was fallen dead, + And the great sun just departing: then blood-red grew the west, + And the fowl flew home from the sea-mead, and all things sank to rest. + + + _Sigurd rideth to the Glittering Heath._ + + Again on the morrow morning doth Sigurd the Volsung ride, + And Regin, the Master of Masters, is faring by his side, + And they leave the dwelling of kings and ride the summer land, + Until at the eve of the day the hills are on either hand: + Then they wend up higher and higher, and over the heaths they fare + Till the moon shines broad on the midnight, and they sleep 'neath the + heavens bare; + And they waken and look behind them, and lo, the dawning of day + And the little land of the Helper and its valley far away; + But the mountains rise before them, a wall exceeding great. + + Then spake the Master of Masters: "We have come to the garth and the gate: + There is youth and rest behind thee and many a thing to do, + There is many a fond desire, and each day born anew; + And the land of the Volsungs to conquer, and many a people's praise: + And for me there is rest it maybe, and the peaceful end of days. + We have come to the garth and the gate; to the hall-door now shall we win, + Shall we go to look on the high-seat and see what sitteth therein?" + + "Yea and what else?" said Sigurd, "was thy tale but mockeries + And have I been drifted hither on a wind of empty lies?" + + "It was sooth, it was sooth," said Regin, "and more might I have told + Had I heart and space to remember the deeds of the days of old." + + And he hung down his head as he spake it, and was silent a little space; + And when it was lifted again there was fear in the Dwarf-king's face. + And he said: "Thou knowest my thought, and wise-hearted art thou grown: + It were well if thine eyes were blinder, and we each were faring alone, + And I with my eld and my wisdom, and thou with thy youth and thy might; + Yet whiles I dream I have wrought thee, a beam of the morning bright, + A fatherless motherless glory, to work out my desire; + Then high my hope ariseth, and my heart is all afire + For the world I behold from afar, and the day that yet shall be; + Then I wake and all things I remember and a youth of the Kings I see-- + --The child of the Wood-abider, the seed of a conquered King, + The sword that the Gods have fashioned, the fate that men shall sing:-- + Ah might the world run backward to the days of the Dwarfs of old, + When I hewed out the pillars of crystal, and smoothed the walls of gold!" + + Nought answered the Son of Sigmund; nay he heard him nought at all, + Save as though the wind were speaking in the bights of the mountain-hall: + But he leapt aback of Greyfell, and the glorious sun rose up, + And the heavens glowed above him like the bowl of Baldur's cup, + And a golden man was he waxen; as the heart of the sun he seemed, + While over the feet of the mountains like blood the new light streamed; + Then Sigurd cried to Greyfell and swift for the pass he rode + And Regin followed after as a man bowed down by a load. + + Day-long they fared through the mountains, and that highway's fashioner + Forsooth was a fearful craftsman, and his hands the waters were, + And the heaped-up ice was his mattock, and the fire-blast was his man, + And never a whit he heeded though his walls were waste and wan, + And the guest-halls of that wayside great heaps of the ashes spent. + But, each as a man alone, through the sun-bright day they went, + And they rode till the moon rose upward, and the stars were small and + fair, + Then they slept on the long-slaked ashes beneath the heavens bare; + And the cold dawn came and they wakened, and the King of the Dwarf-kind + seemed + As a thing of that wan land fashioned; but Sigurd glowed and gleamed + Amid the shadowless twilight by Greyfell's cloudy flank, + As a little space they abided while the latest star-world shrank; + On the backward road looked Regin and heard how Sigurd drew + The girths of Greyfell's saddle, and the voice of his sword he knew + And he feared to look on the Volsung, as thus he fell to speak: + + "I have seen the Dwarf-folk mighty, I have seen the God-folk weak; + And now, though our might be minished, yet have we gifts to give. + When men desire and conquer, most sweet is their life to live; + When men are young and lovely there is many a thing to do, + And sweet is their fond desire and the dawn that springs anew." + + "This gift," said the Son of Sigmund, "the Norns shall give me yet, + And no blossom slain by the sunshine while the leaves with dew are wet." + + Then Regin turned and beheld him: "Thou shalt deem it hard and strange, + When the hand hath encompassed it all, and yet thy life must change. + Ah, long were the lives of men-folk, if betwixt the Gods and them + Were mighty warders watching mid the earth's and the heaven's hem! + Is there any man so mighty he would cast this gift away,-- + The heart's desire accomplished, and life so long a day, + That the dawn should be forgotten ere the even was begun?" + + Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "Fare forth, O glorious sun; + Bright end from bright beginning, and the mid-way good to tell, + And death, and deeds accomplished, and all remembered well! + Shall the day go past and leave us, and we be left with night, + To tread the endless circle, and strive in vain to smite? + But thou--wilt thou still look backward? thou sayst I know thy thought: + Thou hast whetted the sword for the slaying, it shall turn aside for + nought. + Fear not! with the Gold and the wisdom thou shalt deem thee God alone, + And mayst do and undo at pleasure, nor be bound by right nor wrong: + And then, if no God I be waxen, I shall be the weak with the strong." + + And his war-gear clanged and tinkled as he leapt to the saddle-stead: + And the sun rose up at their backs and the grey world changed to red. + And away to the west went Sigurd by the glory wreathed about, + But little and black was Regin as a fire that dieth out. + Day-long they rode the mountains by the crags exceeding old, + And the ash that the first of the Dwarf-kind found dull and quenched + and cold. + Then the moon in the mid-sky swam, and the stars were fair and pale, + And beneath the naked heaven they slept in an ash-grey dale; + And again at the dawn-dusk's ending they stood upon their feet, + And Sigurd donned his war-gear nor his eyes would Regin meet. + + A clear streak widened in heaven low down above the earth; + And above it lay the cloud-flecks, and the sun, anigh its birth, + Unseen, their hosts was staining with the very hue of blood, + And ruddy by Greyfell's shoulder the Son of Sigmund stood. + + Then spake the Master of Masters: "What is thine hope this morn + That thou dightest thee, O Sigurd, to ride this world forlorn?" + + "What needeth hope," said Sigurd, "when the heart of the Volsungs turns + To the light of the Glittering Heath, and the house where the Waster + burns? + I shall slay the Foe of the Gods, as thou badst me a while agone, + And then with the Gold and its wisdom shalt thou be left alone." + + "O Child," said the King of the Dwarf-kind, "when the day at last + comes round + For the dread and the Dusk of the Gods, and the kin of the Wolf is + unbound, + When thy sword shall hew the fire, and the wildfire beateth thy shield, + Shalt thou praise the wages of hope and the Gods that pitched the field?" + + "O Foe of the Gods," said Sigurd, "wouldst thou hide the evil thing, + And the curse that is greater than thou, lest death end thy labouring, + Lest the night should come upon thee amidst thy toil for nought? + It is me, it is me that thou fearest, if indeed I know thy thought; + Yea me, who would utterly light the face of all good and ill, + If not with the fruitful beams that the summer shall fulfill, + Then at least with the world a-blazing, and the glare of the grinded + sword." + + And he sprang aloft to the saddle as he spake the latest word, + And the Wrath sang loud in the sheath as it ne'er had sung before, + And the cloudy flecks were scattered like flames on the heaven's floor, + And all was kindled at once, and that trench of the mountains grey + Was filled with the living light as the low sun lit the way: + But Regin turned from the glory with blinded eyes and dazed, + And lo, on the cloudy war-steed how another light there blazed, + And a great voice came from amidst it: + "O Regin, in good sooth, + I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy fear and thy ruth: + Thou hast told thy tale and thy longing, and thereto I hearkened well:-- + Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee down to hell, + The deed shall be done to-morrow: thou shalt have that measureless Gold, + And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy realm of old, + That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the very heart of hate: + With the blood and the might of thy brother thine hunger shalt thou sate; + And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take heed for what followeth + then! + Let each do after his kind! I shall do the deeds of men; + I shall harvest the field of their sowing, in the bed of their strewing + shall sleep; + To them shall I give my life-days, to the Gods my glory to keep. + But thou with the wealth and the wisdom that the best of the Gods might + praise, + If thou shalt indeed excel them and become the hope of the days, + Then me in turn hast thou conquered, and I shall be in turn + Thy fashioned brand of the battle through good and evil to burn, + Or the flame that sleeps in thy stithy for the gathered winds to blow, + When thou listest to do and undo and thine uttermost cunning to show. + But indeed I wot full surely that thou shalt follow thy kind; + And for all that cometh after, the Norns shall loose and bind." + + Then his bridle-reins rang sweetly, and the warding-walls of death, + And Regin drew up to him, and the Wrath sang loud in the sheath, + And forth from that trench in the mountains by the westward way they ride; + And little and black goes Regin by the golden Volsung's side; + But no more his head is drooping, for he seeth the Elf-king's Gold; + The garnered might and the wisdom e'en now his eyes behold. + + So up and up they journeyed, and ever as they went + About the cold-slaked forges, o'er many a cloud-swept bent, + Betwixt the walls of blackness, by shores of the fishless meres, + And the fathomless desert waters, did Regin cast his fears, + And wrap him in desire; and all alone he seemed + As a God to his heirship wending, and forgotten and undreamed + Was all the tale of Sigurd, and the folk he had toiled among, + And the Volsungs, Odin's children, and the men-folk fair and young. + + * * * * * + + So on they ride to the westward, and huge were the mountains grown + And the floor of heaven was mingled with that tossing world of stone: + And they rode till the noon was forgotten and the sun was waxen low, + And they tarried not, though he perished, and the world grew dark below. + Then they rode a mighty desert, a glimmering place and wide, + And into a narrow pass high-walled on either side + By the blackness of the mountains, and barred aback and in face + By the empty night of the shadow; a windless silent place: + But the white moon shone o'erhead mid the small sharp stars and pale, + And each as a man alone they rode on the highway of bale. + + * * * * * + + So ever they wended upward, and the midnight hour was o'er, + And the stars grew pale and paler, and failed from the heaven's floor, + And the moon was a long while dead, but there was the promise of day, + No change came over the darkness, no streak of the dawning grey; + No sound of the wind's uprising adown the night there ran: + It was blind as the Gaping Gulf ere the first of the worlds began. + + Then athwart and athwart rode Sigurd and sought the walls of the pass, + But found no wall before him; and the road rang hard as brass + Beneath the hoofs of Greyfell, as up and up he trod: + --Was it the daylight of Hell, or the night of the doorways of God? + + But lo, at the last a glimmer, and a light from the west there came, + And another and another, like points of far-off flame; + And they grew and brightened and gathered; and whiles together they ran + Like the moonwake over the waters; and whiles they were scant and wan, + Some greater and some lesser, like the boats of fishers laid + About the sea of midnight; and a dusky dawn they made, + A faint and glimmering twilight: So Sigurd strains his eyes, + And he sees how a land deserted all round about him lies + More changeless than mid-ocean, as fruitless as its floor: + Then the heart leaps up within him, for he knows that his journey is o'er, + And there he draweth bridle on the first of the Glittering Heath: + And the Wrath is waxen merry and sings in the golden sheath + As he leaps adown from Greyfell, and stands upon his feet, + And wends his ways through the twilight the Foe of the Gods to meet. + + + _Sigurd slayeth Fafnir the Serpent_. + + Nought Sigurd seeth of Regin, and nought he heeds of him, + As in watchful might and glory he strides the desert dim, + And behind him paceth Greyfell; but he deems the time o'erlong + Till he meet the great gold-warden, the over-lord of wrong. + + So he wendeth midst the silence through the measureless desert place, + And beholds the countless glitter with wise and steadfast face, + Till him-seems in a little season that the flames grow somewhat wan, + And a grey thing glimmers before him, and becomes a mighty man, + One-eyed and ancient-seeming, in cloud-grey raiment clad; + A friendly man and glorious, and of visage smiling-glad: + Then content in Sigurd groweth because of his majesty, + And he heareth him speak in the desert as the wind of the winter sea: + + "Hail Sigurd! Give me thy greeting ere thy ways alone thou wend!" + + Said Sigurd: "Hail! I greet thee, my friend and my fathers' friend." + + "Now whither away," said the elder, "with the Steed and the ancient + Sword?" + + "To the greedy house," said Sigurd, "and the King of the Heavy Hoard." + + "Wilt thou smite, O Sigurd, Sigurd?" said the ancient mighty-one. + + "Yea, yea, I shall smite," said the Volsung, "save the Gods have slain + the sun." + + "What wise wilt thou smite," said the elder, "lest the dark devour thy + day?" + + "Thou hast praised the sword," said the child, "and the sword shall find + a way." + + "Be learned of me," said the Wise-one, "for I was the first of thy folk." + + Said the child: "I shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike the + stroke." + + Spake the Wise-one: "Thus shalt thou do when thou wendest hence alone: + Thou shalt find a path in the desert, and a road in the world of stone; + It is smooth and deep and hollow, but the rain hath riven it not, + And the wild wind hath not worn it, for it is but Fafnir's slot, + Whereby he wends to the water and the fathomless pool of old, + When his heart in the dawn is weary, and he loathes the Ancient Gold: + There think of the great and the fathers, and bare the whetted Wrath, + And dig a pit in the highway, and a grave in the Serpent's path: + Lie thou therein, O Sigurd, and thine hope from the glooming hide, + And be as the dead for a season, and the living light abide! + And so shall thine heart avail thee, and thy mighty fateful hand, + And the Light that lay in the Branstock, the well beloved brand." + + Said the child: "I shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike the + stroke; + For I love thee, friend of my fathers, Wise Heart of the holy folk." + + So spake the Son of Sigmund, and beheld no man anear, + And again was the night the midnight, and the twinkling flames shone clear + In the hush of the Glittering Heath; and alone went Sigmund's son + Till he came to the road of Fafnir, and the highway worn by one, + By the drift of the rain unfurrowed, by the windy years unrent, + And forth from the dark it came, and into the dark it went. + + Great then was the heart of Sigurd, for there in the midmost he stayed, + And thought of the ancient fathers, and bared the bright blue blade, + That shone as a fleck of the day-light, and the night was all around. + Fair then was the Son of Sigmund as he toiled and laboured the ground; + Great, mighty he was in his working, and the Glittering Heath he clave, + And the sword shone blue before him as he dug the pit and the grave: + There he hid his hope from the night-tide and lay like one of the dead, + And wise and wary he bided; and the heavens hung over his head. + + Now the night wanes over Sigurd, and the ruddy rings he sees, + And his war-gear's fair adornment, and the God-folk's images; + But a voice in the desert ariseth, a sound in the waste has birth, + A changing tinkle and clatter, as of gold dragged over the earth: + O'er Sigurd widens the day-light, and the sound is drawing close, + And speedier than the trample of speedy feet it goes; + But ever deemeth Sigurd that the sun brings back the day, + For the grave grows lighter and lighter and heaven o'erhead is grey. + + But now, how the rattling waxeth till he may not heed nor hark! + And the day and the heavens are hidden, and o'er Sigurd rolls the dark, + As the flood of a pitchy river, and heavy-thick is the air + With the venom of hate long hoarded, and lies once fashioned fair: + Then a wan face comes from the darkness, and is wrought in manlike wise, + And the lips are writhed with laughter and bleared are the blinded eyes; + And it wandereth hither and thither, and searcheth through the grave + And departeth, leaving nothing, save the dark, rolled wave on wave + O'er the golden head of Sigurd and the edges of the sword, + And the world weighs heavy on Sigurd, and the weary curse of the Hoard: + Him-seemed the grave grew straiter, and his hope of life grew chill, + And his heart by the Worm was enfolded, and the bonds of the Ancient Ill. + + Then was Sigurd stirred by his glory, and he strove with the swaddling + of Death; + He turned in the pit on the highway, and the grave of the Glittering + Heath; + He laughed and smote with the laughter and thrust up over his head, + And smote the venom asunder, and clave the heart of Dread; + Then he leapt from the pit and the grave, and the rushing river of blood, + And fulfilled with the joy of the War-God on the face of earth he stood + With red sword high uplifted, with wrathful glittering eyes; + And he laughed at the heavens above him for he saw the sun arise, + And Sigurd gleamed on the desert, and shone in the new-born light, + And the wind in his raiment wavered, and all the world was bright. + + But there was the ancient Fafnir, and the Face of Terror lay + On the huddled folds of the Serpent, that were black and ashen-grey + In the desert lit by the sun; and those twain looked each on each, + And forth from the Face of Terror went a sound of dreadful speech: + + "Child, child, who art thou that hast smitten? bright child, of whence + is thy birth?" + + "I am called the Wild-thing Glorious, and alone I wend on the earth." + + "Fierce child, and who was thy father?--Thou hast cleft the heart of the + Foe!" + + "Am I like to the sons of men-folk, that my father I should know?" + + "Wert thou born of a nameless wonder? shall the lies to my death-day + cling?" + + "How lieth Sigurd the Volsung, and the Son of Sigmund the King?" + + "O bitter father of Sigurd!--thou hast cleft mine heart atwain!" + + "I arose, and I wondered and wended, and I smote, and I smote not in + vain." + + "What master hath taught thee of murder?--Thou hast wasted Fafnir's day." + + "I, Sigurd, knew and desired, and the bright sword learned the way." + + "Thee, thee shall the rattling Gold and the red rings bring to the bane." + + "Yet mine hand shall cast them abroad, and the earth shall gather again." + + "I see thee great in thine anger, and the Norns thou heedest not." + + "O Fafnir, speak of the Norns and the wisdom unforgot!" + + "Let the death-doomed flee from the ocean, him the wind and the weather + shall drown." + + "O Fafnir, tell of the Norns ere thy life thou layest adown!" + + "O manifold is their kindred, and who shall tell them all? + There are they that rule o'er men-folk and the stars that rise and fall: + --I knew of the folk of the Dwarfs, and I knew their Norns of old; + And I fought, and I fell in the morning, and I die afar from the gold: + --I have seen the Gods of heaven, and their Norns withal I know: + They love and withhold their helping, they hate and refrain the blow; + They curse and they may not sunder, they bless and they shall not blend; + They have fashioned the good and the evil; they abide the change and the + end." + + "O Fafnir, what of the Isle, and what hast thou known of its name, + Where the Gods shall mingle edges with Surt and the Sons of Flame?" + + "O child, O Strong Compeller? Unshapen is its hight; + There the fallow blades shall be shaken and the Dark and the Day shall + smite, + When the Bridge of the Gods is broken, and their white steeds swim the + sea, + And the uttermost field is stricken, last strife of thee and me." + + "What then shall endure, O Fafnir, the tale of the battle to tell?" + + "I am blind, O Strong Compeller, in the bonds of Death and Hell. + But thee shall the rattling Gold and the red rings bring unto bane." + + "Yet the rings mine hand shall scatter, and the earth shall gather again." + + "Woe, woe! in the days passed over I bore the Helm of Dread, + I reared the Face of Terror, and the hoarded hate of the Dead: + I overcame and was mighty; I was wise and cherished my heart + In the waste where no man wandered, and the high house builded apart: + Till I met thine hand, O Sigurd, and thy might ordained from of old; + And I fought and fell in the morning, and I die far off from the Gold." + + Then Sigurd leaned on his sword, and a dreadful voice went by + Like the wail of a God departing and the War-God's misery; + And strong words of ancient wisdom went by on the desert wind, + The words that mar and fashion, the words that loose and bind; + And sounds of a strange lamenting, and such strange things bewailed, + That words to tell their meaning the tongue of man hath failed. + + Then all sank into silence, and the Son of Sigmund stood + On the torn and furrowed desert by the pool of Fafnir's blood, + And the Serpent lay before him, dead, chilly, dull, and grey; + And over the Glittering Heath fair shone the sun and the day, + And a light wind followed the sun and breathed o'er the fateful place, + As fresh as it furrows the sea-plain or bows the acres' face. + + + _Sigurd slayeth Regin the Master of Masters on the Glittering Heath_. + + There standeth Sigurd the Volsung, and leaneth on his sword, + And beside him now is Greyfell and looks on his golden lord, + And the world is awake and living; and whither now shall they wend, + Who have come to the Glittering Heath, and wrought that deed to its end? + For hither comes Regin the Master from the skirts of the field of death, + And he shadeth his eyes from the sunlight as afoot he goeth and saith: + "Ah, let me live for a while! for a while and all shall be well, + When passed is the house of murder and I creep from the prison of hell." + + Afoot he went o'er the desert, and he came unto Sigurd and stared + At the golden gear of the man, and the Wrath yet bloody and bared, + And the light locks raised by the wind, and the eyes beginning to smile, + And the lovely lips of the Volsung, and the brow that knew no guile; + And he murmured under his breath while his eyes grew white with wrath: + + "O who art thou, and wherefore, and why art thou in the path?" + Then he turned to the ash-grey Serpent, and grovelled low on the ground, + And he drank of that pool of the blood where the stones of the wild were + drowned, + And long he lapped as a dog; but when he arose again, + Lo, a flock of the mountain-eagles that drew to the feastful plain; + And he turned and looked on Sigurd, as bright in the sun he stood, + A stripling fair and slender, and wiped the Wrath of the blood. + + But Regin cried: "O Dwarf-kind, O many-shifting folk, + O shapes of might and wonder, am I too freed from the yoke, + That binds my soul to my body a withered thing forlorn, + While the short-lived fools of man-folk so fair and oft are born? + Now swift in the air shall I be, and young in the concourse of kings, + If my heart shall come to desire the gain of earthly things." + + And he looked and saw how Sigurd was sheathing the Flame of War, + And the eagles screamed in the wind, but their voice came faint from afar: + Then he scowled, and crouched and darkened, and came to Sigurd and spake: + "O child, thou hast slain my brother, and the Wrath is alive and awake." + + "Thou sayest sooth," said Sigurd, "thy deed and mine is done: + But now our ways shall sunder, for here, meseemeth, the sun + Hath but little of deeds to do, and no love to win aback." + + Then Regin crouched before him, and he spake: "Fare on to the wrack! + Fare on to the murder of men, and the deeds of thy kindred of old! + And surely of thee as of them shall the tale be speedily told. + Thou hast slain thy Master's brother, and what wouldst thou say thereto, + Were the judges met for the judging and the doom-ring hallowed due?" + + Then Sigurd spake as aforetime: "Thy deed and mine it was, + And now our ways shall sunder, and into the world will I pass." + + But Regin darkened before him, and exceeding grim was he grown, + And he spake: "Thou hast slain my brother, and wherewith wilt thou atone?" + + "Stand up, O Master," said Sigurd, "O Singer of ancient days, + And take the wealth I have won thee, ere we wend on the sundering ways. + I have toiled and thou hast desired, and the Treasure is surely anear, + And thou hast wisdom to find it, and I have slain thy fear." + + But Regin crouched and darkened: "Thou hast slain my brother," he said. + + "Take thou the Gold," quoth Sigurd, "for the ransom of my head!" + + Then Regin crouched and darkened, and over the earth he hung; + And he said: "Thou hast slain my brother, and the Gods are yet but young." + + Bright Sigurd towered above him, and the Wrath cried out in the sheath, + And Regin writhed against it as the adder turns on death; + And he spake: "Thou hast slain my brother, and to-day shalt thou be my + thrall: + Yea a King shall be my cook-boy and this heath my cooking-hall." + + Then he crept to the ash-grey coils where the life of his brother had + lain, + And he drew a glaive from his side and smote the smitten and slain, + And tore the heart from Fafnir, while the eagles cried o'erhead, + And sharp and shrill was their voice o'er the entrails of the dead. + + Then Regin spake to Sigurd: "Of this slaying wilt thou be free? + Then gather thou fire together and roast the heart for me, + That I may eat it and live, and be thy master and more; + For therein was might and wisdom, and the grudged and hoarded lore:-- + --Or else, depart on thy ways afraid from the Glittering Heath." + + Then he fell abackward and slept, nor set his sword in the sheath, + But his hand was red on the hilts and blue were the edges bared, + Ash-grey was his visage waxen, and with open eyes he stared + On the height of heaven above him, and a fearful thing he seemed, + As his soul went wide in the world, and of rule and kingship he dreamed. + + But Sigurd took the Heart, and wood on the waste he found, + The wood that grew and died, as it crept on the niggard ground, + And grew and died again, and lay like whitened bones; + And the ernes cried over his head, as he builded his hearth of stones, + And kindled the fire for cooking, and sat and sang o'er the roast + The song of his fathers of old, and the Wolflings' gathering host: + So there on the Glittering Heath rose up the little flame, + And the dry sticks crackled amidst it, and alow the eagles came, + And seven they were by tale, and they pitched all round about + The cooking-fire of Sigurd, and sent their song-speech out: + But nought he knoweth its wisdom, or the word that they would speak: + And hot grew the Heart of Fafnir and sang amid the reek. + + Then Sigurd looketh on Regin, and he deemeth it overlong + That he dighteth the dear-bought morsel, and the might for the Master + of wrong, + So he reacheth his hand to the roast to see if the cooking be o'er; + But the blood and the fat seethed from it and scalded his finger sore, + And he set his hand to his mouth to quench the fleshly smart, + And he tasted the flesh of the Serpent and the blood of Fafnir's Heart: + Then there came a change upon him, for the speech of fowl he knew, + And wise in the ways of the beast-kind as the Dwarfs of old he grew; + And he knitted his brows and hearkened, and wrath in his heart arose; + For he felt beset of evil in a world of many foes. + But the hilt of the Wrath he handled, and Regin's heart he saw, + And how that the Foe of the Gods the net of death would draw; + And his bright eyes flashed and sparkled, and his mouth grew set and + stern + As he hearkened the voice of the eagles, and their song began to learn. + + For the first cried out in the desert: "O mighty Sigmund's son, + How long wilt thou sit and tarry now the dear-bought roast is done?" + + And the second: "Volsung, arise! for the horns blow up to the hall, + And dight are the purple hangings, and the King to the feasting should + fall." + + And the third: "How great is the feast if the eater eat aright + The Heart of the wisdom of old and the after-world's delight!" + + And the fourth: "Yea what of Regin? shall he scatter wrack o'er the world? + Shall the father be slain by the son, and the brother 'gainst brother be + hurled?" + + And the fifth: "He hath taught a stripling the gifts of a God to give: + He hath reared up a King for the slaying, that he alone might live." + + And the sixth: "He shall waken mighty as a God that scorneth a truth; + He hath drunk of the blood of the Serpent, and drowned all hope and ruth." + + And the seventh: "Arise, O Sigurd, lest the hour be overlate! + For the sun in the mid-noon shineth, and swift is the hand of Fate: + Arise! lest the world run backward and the blind heart have its will, + And once again be tangled the sundered good and ill; + Lest love and hatred perish, lest the world forget its tale, + And the Gods sit deedless, dreaming, in the high-walled heavenly vale." + + Then swift ariseth Sigurd, and the Wrath in his hand is bare, + And he looketh, and Regin sleepeth, and his eyes wide-open glare; + But his lips smile false in his dreaming, and his hand is on the sword; + For he dreams himself the Master and the new world's fashioning-lord. + And his dream hath forgotten Sigurd, and the King's life lies in the pit; + He is nought; Death gnaweth upon him, while the Dwarfs in mastery sit. + + But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd the heart of the guileful behold, + And great is Allfather Odin, and upriseth the Curse of the Gold, + And the Branstock bloometh to heaven from the ancient wondrous root; + The summer hath shone on its blossoms, and Sigurd's Wrath is the fruit: + Dread then he cried in the desert: "Guile-master, lo thy deed! + Hast thou nurst my life for destruction, and my death to serve thy need? + Hast thou kept me here for the net and the death that tame things die? + Hast thou feared me overmuch, thou Foe of the Gods on high? + Lest the sword thine hand was wielding should turn about and cleave + The tangled web of nothing thou hadst wearied thyself to weave. + Lo here the sword and the stroke! judge the Norns betwixt us twain! + But for me, I will live and die not, nor shall all my hope be vain." + Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and white, + And 'twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light; + And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan. + But Sigurd cried in the desert: "So far have I wended on! + Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill; + And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will. + Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and worse, + With the blind heart king o'er the people, and binding curse with curse." + + + _How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari._ + + Now Sigurd eats of the heart that once in the Dwarf-king lay, + The hoard of the wisdom begrudged, the might of the earlier day. + Then wise of heart was he waxen, but longing in him grew + To sow the seed he had gotten, and till the field he knew. + So he leapeth aback of Greyfell, and rideth the desert bare, + And the hollow slot of Fafnir, that led to the Serpent's lair. + Then long he rode adown it, and the ernes flew overhead, + And tidings great and glorious of that Treasure of old they said. + So far o'er the waste he wended, and when the night was come + He saw the earth-old dwelling, the dread Gold-wallower's home: + On the skirts of the Heath it was builded by a tumbled stony bent; + High went that house to the heavens, down 'neath the earth it went, + Of unwrought iron fashioned for the heart of a greedy king: + 'Twas a mountain, blind without, and within was its plenishing + But the Hoard of Andvari the ancient, and the sleeping Curse unseen, + The Gold of the Gods that spared not and the greedy that have been. + Through the door strode Sigurd the Volsung, and the grey moon and the + sword + Fell in on the tawny gold-heaps of the ancient hapless Hoard: + Gold gear of hosts unburied, and the coin of cities dead, + Great spoil of the ages of battle, lay there on the Serpent's bed: + Huge blocks from mid-earth quarried, where none but the Dwarfs have mined, + Wide sands of the golden rivers no foot of man may find + Lay 'neath the spoils of the mighty and the ruddy rings of yore: + But amidst was the Helm of Aweing that the Fear of earth-folk bore, + And there gleamed a wonder beside it, the Hauberk all of gold, + Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: + There Sigurd seeth moreover Andvari's Ring of Gain, + The hope of Loki's finger, the Ransom's utmost grain; + For it shone on the midmost gold-heap like the first star set in the sky + In the yellow space of even when moon-rise draweth anigh. + Then laughed the Son of Sigmund, and stooped to the golden land, + And gathered that first of the harvest and set it on his hand; + And he did on the Helm of Aweing, and the Hauberk all of gold, + Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: + Then he praised the day of the Volsungs amid the yellow light, + And he set his hand to the labour and put forth his kingly might; + He dragged forth gold to the moon, on the desert's face he laid + The innermost earth's adornment, and rings for the nameless made; + He toiled and loaded Greyfell, and the cloudy war-steed shone + And the gear of Sigurd rattled in the flood of moonlight wan; + There he toiled and loaded Greyfell, and the Volsung's armour rang + Mid the yellow bed of the Serpent: but without the eagles sang: + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! let the gold shine free and clear! + For what hath the Son of the Volsungs the ancient Curse to fear?" + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for thy tale is well begun, + And the world shall be good and gladdened by the Gold lit up by the sun." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd, and gladden all thine heart! + For the world shall make thee merry ere thou and she depart." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the ways go green below, + Go green to the dwelling of Kings, and the halls that the Queen-folk + know." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for what is there bides by the way, + Save the joy of folk to awaken, and the dawn of the merry day?" + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the strife awaits thine hand, + And a plenteous war-field's reaping, and the praise of many a land." + + "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! But how shall store-house hold + That glory of thy winning and the tidings to be told?" + + Now the moon was dead, and the star-worlds were great on the heavenly + plain, + When the steed was fully laden; then Sigurd taketh the rein + And turns to the ruined rock-wall that the lair was built beneath, + For there he deemed was the gate and the door of the Glittering Heath, + But not a whit moved Greyfell for aught that the King might do; + Then Sigurd pondered a while, till the heart of the beast he knew, + And clad in all his war-gear he leaped to the saddle-stead, + And with pride and mirth neighed Greyfell and tossed aloft his head, + And sprang unspurred o'er the waste, and light and swift he went, + And breasted the broken rampart, the stony tumbled bent; + And over the brow he clomb, and there beyond was the world, + A place of many mountains and great crags together hurled. + So down to the west he wendeth, and goeth swift and light, + And the stars are beginning to wane, and the day is mingled with night; + For full fain was the sun to arise and look on the Gold set free, + And the Dwarf-wrought rings of the Treasure and the gifts from the floor + of the sea. + + + _How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell._ + + By long roads rideth Sigurd amidst that world of stone, + And somewhat south he turneth; for he would not be alone, + But longs for the dwellings of man-folk, and the kingly people's speech, + And the days of the glee and the joyance, where men laugh each to each. + But still the desert endureth, and afar must Greyfell fare + From the wrack of the Glittering Heath, and Fafnir's golden lair. + Long Sigurd rideth the waste, when, lo, on a morning of day + From out of the tangled crag-walls, amidst the cloud-land grey + Comes up a mighty mountain, and it is as though there burns + A torch amidst of its cloud-wreath; so thither Sigurd turns, + For he deems indeed from its topmost to look on the best of the earth; + And Greyfell neigheth beneath him, and his heart is full of mirth. + + So he rideth higher and higher, and the light grows great and strange, + And forth from the clouds it flickers, till at noon they gather and + change, + And settle thick on the mountain, and hide its head from sight; + But the winds in a while are awakened, and day bettereth ere the night, + And, lifted a measureless mass o'er the desert crag-walls high, + Cloudless the mountain riseth against the sunset sky, + The sea of the sun grown golden, as it ebbs from the day's desire; + And the light that afar was a torch is grown a river of fire, + And the mountain is black above it, and below is it dark and dun; + And there is the head of Hindfell as an island in the sun. + + Night falls, but yet rides Sigurd, and hath no thought of rest, + For he longs to climb that rock-world and behold the earth at its best; + But now mid the maze of the foot-hills he seeth the light no more, + And the stars are lovely and gleaming on the lightless heavenly floor. + So up and up he wendeth till the night is wearing thin; + And he rideth a rift of the mountain, and all is dark therein, + Till the stars are dimmed by dawning and the wakening world is cold; + Then afar in the upper rock-wall a breach doth he behold, + And a flood of light poured inward the doubtful dawning blinds: + So swift he rideth thither and the mouth of the breach he finds, + And sitteth awhile on Greyfell on the marvellous thing to gaze: + For lo, the side of Hindfell enwrapped by the fervent blaze, + And nought 'twixt earth and heaven save a world of flickering flame, + And a hurrying shifting tangle, where the dark rents went and came. + + Great groweth the heart of Sigurd with uttermost desire, + And he crieth kind to Greyfell, and they hasten up, and nigher, + Till he draweth rein in the dawning on the face of Hindfell's steep: + But who shall heed the dawning where the tongues of that wildfire leap? + For they weave a wavering wall, that driveth over the heaven + The wind that is born within it; nor ever aside is it driven + By the mightiest wind of the waste, and the rain-flood amidst it is + nought; + And no wayfarer's door and no window the hand of its builder hath wrought. + But thereon is the Volsung smiling as its breath uplifteth his hair, + And his eyes shine bright with its image, and his mail gleams white and + fair, + And his war-helm pictures the heavens and the waning stars behind: + But his neck is Greyfell stretching to snuff at the flame-wall blind, + And his cloudy flank upheaveth, and tinkleth the knitted mail, + And the gold of the uttermost waters is waxen wan and pale. + + Now Sigurd turns in his saddle, and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts, + And draws a girth the tighter; then the gathered reins he lifts, + And crieth aloud to Greyfell, and rides at the wildfire's heart; + But the white wall wavers before him and the flame-flood rusheth apart, + And high o'er his head it riseth, and wide and wild is its roar + As it beareth the mighty tidings to the very heavenly floor: + But he rideth through its roaring as the warrior rides the rye, + When it bows with the wind of the summer and the hid spears draw anigh; + The white flame licks his raiment and sweeps through Greyfell's mane, + And bathes both hands of Sigurd and the hilts of Fafnir's bane, + And winds about his war-helm and mingles with his hair, + But nought his raiment dusketh or dims his glittering gear; + Then it fails and fades and darkens till all seems left behind, + And dawn and the blaze is swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind. + + * * * * * + + But forth a little further and a little further on + And all is calm about him, and he sees the scorched earth wan + Beneath a glimmering twilight, and he turns his conquering eyes, + And a ring of pale slaked ashes on the side of Hindfell lies; + And the world of the waste is beyond it; and all is hushed and grey, + And the new-risen moon is a-paleing, and the stars grow faint with day. + Then Sigurd looked before him and a Shield-burg there he saw, + A wall of the tiles of Odin wrought clear without a flaw, + The gold by the silver gleaming, and the ruddy by the white; + And the blazonings of their glory were done upon them bright, + As of dear things wrought for the war-lords new come to Odin's hall. + Piled high aloft to the heavens uprose that battle-wall, + And far o'er the topmost shield-rim for a banner of fame there hung + A glorious golden buckler; and against the staff it rung + As the earliest wind of dawning uprose on Hindfell's face + And the light from the yellowing east beamed soft on the shielded place. + + But the Wrath cried out in answer as Sigurd leapt adown + To the wasted soil of the desert by that rampart of renown; + He looked but little beneath it, and the dwelling of God it seemed, + As against its gleaming silence the eager Sigurd gleamed: + He draweth not sword from scabbard, as the wall he wendeth around, + And it is but the wind and Sigurd that wakeneth any sound: + But, lo, to the gate he cometh, and the doors are open wide, + And no warder the way withstandeth, and no earls by the threshold abide; + So he stands awhile and marvels; then the baleful light of the Wrath + Gleams bare in his ready hand as he wendeth the inward path: + For he doubteth some guile of the Gods, or perchance some Dwarf-king's + snare, + Or a mock of the Giant people that shall fade in the morning air: + But he getteth him in and gazeth; and a wall doth he behold, + And the ruddy set by the white, and the silver by the gold; + But within the garth that it girdeth no work of man is set, + But the utmost head of Hindfell ariseth higher yet; + And below in the very midmost is a Giant-fashioned mound, + Piled high as the rims of the Shield-burg above the level ground; + And there, on that mound of the Giants, o'er the wilderness forlorn, + A pale grey image lieth, and gleameth in the morn. + + So there was Sigurd alone; and he went from the shielded door, + And aloft in the desert of wonder the Light of the Branstock he bore; + And he set his face to the earth-mound, and beheld the image wan, + And the dawn was growing about it; and, lo, the shape of a man + Set forth to the eyeless desert on the tower-top of the world, + High over the cloud-wrought castle whence the windy bolts are hurled. + + * * * * * + + Now he comes to the mound and climbs it, and will see if the man be dead; + Some King of the days forgotten laid there with crowned head, + Or the frame of a God, it may be, that in heaven hath changed his life, + Or some glorious heart beloved, God-rapt from the earthly strife: + Now over the body he standeth, and seeth it shapen fair, + And clad from head to foot-sole in pale grey-glittering gear, + In a hauberk wrought as straitly as though to the flesh it were grown: + But a great helm hideth the head and is girt with a glittering crown. + + So thereby he stoopeth and kneeleth, for he deems it were good indeed + If the breath of life abide there and the speech to help at need; + And as sweet as the summer wind from a garden under the sun + Cometh forth on the topmost Hindfell the breath of that sleeping-one. + Then he saith he will look on the face, if it bear him love or hate, + Or the bonds for his life's constraining, or the sundering doom of fate. + So he draweth the helm from the head, and, lo, the brow snow-white, + And the smooth unfurrowed cheeks, and the wise lips breathing light; + And the face of a woman it is, and the fairest that ever was born, + Shown forth to the empty heavens and the desert world forlorn: + But he looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move, + And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love. + And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her passing sore; + And he saith: "Awake! I am Sigurd;" but she moveth never the more. + + Then he looked on his bare bright blade, and he said: "Thou--what wilt + thou do? + For indeed as I came by the war-garth thy voice of desire I knew." + Bright burnt the pale blue edges for the sunrise drew anear, + And the rims of the Shield-burg glittered, and the east was exceeding + clear: + So the eager edges he setteth to the Dwarf-wrought battle-coat + Where the hammered ring-knit collar constraineth the woman's throat; + But the sharp Wrath biteth and rendeth, and before it fail the rings, + And, lo, the gleam of the linen, and the light of golden things: + Then he driveth the blue steel onward, and through the skirt, and out, + Till nought but the rippling linen is wrapping her about; + Then he deems her breath comes quicker and her breast begins to heave, + So he turns about the War-Flame and rends down either sleeve, + Till her arms lie white in her raiment, and a river of sun-bright hair + Flows free o'er bosom and shoulder and floods the desert bare. + + Then a flush cometh over her visage and a sigh upheaveth her breast, + And her eyelids quiver and open, and she wakeneth into rest; + Wide-eyed on the dawning she gazeth, too glad to change or smile, + And but little moveth her body, nor speaketh she yet for a while; + And yet kneels Sigurd moveless her wakening speech to heed, + While soft the waves of the daylight o'er the starless heavens speed, + And the gleaming rims of the Shield-burg yet bright and brighter grow, + And the thin moon hangeth her horns dead-white in the golden glow. + Then she turned and gazed on Sigurd, and her eyes met the Volsung's eyes. + And mighty and measureless now did the tide of his love arise, + For their longing had met and mingled, and he knew of her heart that she + loved, + As she spake unto nothing but him and her lips with the speech-flood + moved: + + "O, what is the thing so mighty that my weary sleep hath torn, + And rent the fallow bondage, and the wan woe over-worn?" + + He said: "The hand of Sigurd and the Sword of Sigmund's son, + And the heart that the Volsungs fashioned this deed for thee have done." + + But she said: "Where then is Odin that laid me here alow? + Long lasteth the grief of the world, and man-folk's tangled woe!" + + "He dwelleth above," said Sigurd, "but I on the earth abide, + And I came from the Glittering Heath the waves of thy fire to ride." + + But therewith the sun rose upward and lightened all the earth, + And the light flashed up to the heavens from the rims of the glorious + girth; + But they twain arose together, and with both her palms outspread, + And bathed in the light returning, she cried aloud and said: + + "All hail O Day and thy Sons, and thy kin of the coloured things! + Hail, following Night, and thy Daughter that leadeth thy wavering wings! + Look down with unangry eyes on us to-day alive, + And give us the hearts victorious, and the gain for which we strive! + All hail, ye Lords of God-home, and ye Queens of the House of Gold! + Hail thou dear Earth that bearest, and thou Wealth of field and fold! + Give us, your noble children, the glory of wisdom and speech, + And the hearts and the hands of healing, and the mouths and hands that + teach!" + + Then they turned and were knit together; and oft and o'er again + They craved, and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain. + + Then Sigurd looketh upon her, and the words from his heart arise: + "Thou art the fairest of earth, and the wisest of the wise; + O who art thou that lovest? I am Sigurd, e'en as I told; + I have slain the Foe of the Gods, and gotten the Ancient Gold; + And great were the gain of thy love, and the gift of mine earthly days, + If we twain should never sunder as we wend on the changing ways. + O who art thou that lovest, thou fairest of all things born? + And what meaneth thy sleep and thy slumber in the wilderness forlorn?" + + She said: "I am she that loveth: I was born of the earthly folk, + But of old Allfather took me from the Kings and their wedding yoke: + And he called me the Victory-Wafter, and I went and came as he would, + And I chose the slain for his war-host, and the days were glorious and + good, + Till the thoughts of my heart overcame me, and the pride of my wisdom + and speech, + And I scorned the earth-folk's Framer and the Lord of the world I must + teach: + For the death-doomed I caught from the sword, and the fated life I slew, + And I deemed that my deeds were goodly, and that long I should do and + undo. + But Allfather came against me and the God in his wrath arose; + And he cried: 'Thou hast thought in thy folly that the Gods have friends + and foes, + That they wake, and the world wends onward, that they sleep, and the + world slips back, + That they laugh, and the world's weal waxeth, that they frown and + fashion the wrack: + Thou hast cast up the curse against me; it shall fall aback on thine + head; + Go back to the sons of repentance, with the children of sorrow wed! + For the Gods are great unholpen, and their grief is seldom seen, + And the wrong that they will and must be is soon as it hath not been.' + + "Yet I thought: 'Shall I wed in the world, shall I gather grief on the + earth? + Then the fearless heart shall I wed, and bring the best to birth, + And fashion such tales for the telling, that Earth shall be holpen at + least, + If the Gods think scorn of its fairness, as they sit at the changeless + feast.' + + "Then somewhat smiled Allfather; and he spake: 'So let it be! + The doom thereof abideth; the doom of me and thee. + Yet long shall the time pass over ere thy waking-day be born: + Fare forth, and forget and be weary 'neath the Sting of the Sleepful + Thorn!' + + "So I came to the head of Hindfell and the ruddy shields and white, + And the wall of the wildfire wavering around the isle of night; + And there the Sleep-thorn pierced me, and the slumber on me fell, + And the night of nameless sorrows that hath no tale to tell. + Now I am she that loveth; and the day is nigh at hand + When I, who have ridden the sea-realm and the regions of the land, + And dwelt in the measureless mountains and the forge of stormy days, + Shall dwell in the house of my fathers and the land of the people's + praise; + And there shall hand meet hand, and heart by heart shall beat, + And the lying-down shall be joyous, and the morn's uprising sweet. + Lo now, I look on thine heart and behold of thine inmost will, + That thou of the days wouldst hearken that our portion shall fulfill; + But O, be wise of man-folk, and the hope of thine heart refrain! + As oft in the battle's beginning ye vex the steed with the rein, + Lest at last in its latter ending, when the sword hath hushed the horn, + His limbs should be weary and fail, and his might be over-worn. + O be wise, lest thy love constrain me, and my vision wax o'er-clear, + And thou ask of the thing that thou shouldst not, and the thing that + thou wouldst not hear. + + "Know thou, most mighty of men, that the Norns shall order all, + And yet without thine helping shall no whit of their will befall; + Be wise! 'tis a marvel of words, and a mock for the fool and the blind; + But I saw it writ in the heavens, and its fashioning there did I find: + And the night of the Norns and their slumber, and the tide when the world + runs back, + And the way of the sun is tangled, it is wrought of the dastard's lack. + But the day when the fair earth blossoms, and the sun is bright above, + Of the daring deeds is it fashioned and the eager hearts of love. + + "Be wise, and cherish thine hope in the freshness of the days, + And scatter its seed from thine hand in the field of the people's praise; + Then fair shall it fall in the furrow, and some the earth shall speed, + And the sons of men shall marvel at the blossom of the deed: + But some the earth shall speed not; nay rather, the wind of the heaven + Shall waft it away from thy longing--and a gift to the Gods hast thou + given, + And a tree for the roof and the wall in the house of the hope that + shall be, + Though it seemeth our very sorrow, and the grief of thee and me. + + "Strive not with the fools of man-folk: for belike thou shalt overcome; + And what then is the gain of thine hunting when thou bearest the quarry + home? + Or else shall the fool overcome thee, and what deed thereof shall grow? + Nay, strive with the wise man rather, and increase thy woe and his woe; + Yet thereof a gain hast thou gotten; and the half of thine heart hast + thou won + If thou mayst prevail against him, and his deeds are the deeds thou hast + done: + Yea, and if thou fall before him, in him shalt thou live again, + And thy deeds in his hand shall blossom, and his heart of thine heart + shall be fain. + + "When thou hearest the fool rejoicing, and he saith, 'It is over and past, + And the wrong was better than right, and hate turns into love at the last, + And we strove for nothing at all, and the Gods are fallen asleep; + For so good is the world a growing that the evil good shall reap:' + Then loosen thy sword in the scabbard and settle the helm on thine head, + For men betrayed are mighty, and great are the wrongfully dead. + + "Wilt thou do the deed and repent it? thou hadst better never been born: + Wilt thou do the deed and exalt it? then thy fame shall be outworn: + Thou shalt do the deed and abide it, and sit on thy throne on high, + And look on to-day and to-morrow as those that never die. + + "Love thou the Gods--and withstand them, lest thy fame should fail in + the end, + And thou be but their thrall and their bondsman, who wert born for their + very friend: + For few things from the Gods are hidden, and the hearts of men they know, + And how that none rejoiceth to quail and crouch alow. + + "I have spoken the words, beloved, to thy matchless glory and worth; + But thy heart to my heart hath been speaking, though my tongue hath set + it forth: + For I am she that loveth, and I know what thou wouldst teach + From the heart of thine unlearned wisdom, and I needs must speak thy + speech." + + Then words were weary and silent, but oft and o'er again + They craved and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain. + + Then spake the Son of Sigmund: "Fairest, and most of worth, + Hast thou seen the ways of man-folk and the regions of the earth? + Then speak yet more of wisdom; for most meet meseems it is + That my soul to thy soul be shapen, and that I should know thy bliss." + + So she took his right hand meekly, nor any word would say, + Not e'en of love or praising, his longing to delay; + And they sat on the side of Hindfell, and their fain eyes looked and + loved, + As she told of the hidden matters whereby the world is moved: + And she told of the framing of all things, and the houses of the heaven; + And she told of the star-worlds' courses, and how the winds be driven; + And she told of the Norns and their names, and the fate that abideth + the earth; + And she told of the ways of King-folk in their anger and their mirth; + And she spake of the love of women, and told of the flame that burns, + And the fall of mighty houses, and the friend that falters and turns, + And the lurking blinded vengeance, and the wrong that amendeth wrong, + And the hand that repenteth its stroke, and the grief that endureth for + long; + And how man shall bear and forbear, and be master of all that is; + And how man shall measure it all, the wrath, and the grief, and the bliss. + + "I saw the body of Wisdom, and of shifting guise was she wrought, + And I stretched out my hands to hold her, and a mote of the dust they + caught; + And I prayed her to come for my teaching, and she came in the midnight + dream-- + And I woke and might not remember, nor betwixt her tangle deem: + She spake, and how might I hearken; I heard, and how might I know; + I knew, and how might I fashion, or her hidden glory show? + All things I have told thee of Wisdom are but fleeting images + Of her hosts that abide in the Heavens, and her light that Allfather sees: + Yet wise is the sower that sows, and wise is the reaper that reaps, + And wise is the smith in his smiting, and wise is the warder that keeps: + And wise shalt thou be to deliver, and I shall be wise to desire; + --And lo, the tale that is told, and the sword and the wakening fire! + Lo now, I am she that loveth, and hark how Greyfell neighs, + And Fafnir's Bed is gleaming, and green go the downward ways. + The road to the children of men and the deeds that thou shalt do + In the joy of thy life-days' morning, when thine hope is fashioned anew. + Come now, O Bane of the Serpent, for now is the high-noon come, + And the sun hangeth over Hindfell and looks on the earth-folk's home; + But the soul is so great within thee, and so glorious are thine eyes, + And me so love constraineth, and mine heart that was called the wise, + That we twain may see men's dwellings and the house where we shall dwell, + And the place of our life's beginning, where the tale shall be to tell." + + So they climb the burg of Hindfell, and hand in hand they fare, + Till all about and above them is nought but the sunlit air, + And there close they cling together rejoicing in their mirth; + For far away beneath them lie the kingdoms of the earth, + And the garths of men-folk's dwellings and the streams that water them, + And the rich and plenteous acres, and the silver ocean's hem, + And the woodland wastes and the mountains, and all that holdeth all; + The house and the ship and the island, the loom and the mine and the + stall, + The beds of bane and healing, the crafts that slay and save, + The temple of God and the Doom-ring, the cradle and the grave. + + Then spake the Victory-Wafter: "O King of the Earthly Age, + As a God thou beholdest the treasure and the joy of thine heritage, + And where on the wings of his hope is the spirit of Sigurd borne? + Yet I bid thee hover awhile as a lark alow on the corn; + Yet I bid thee look on the land 'twixt the wood and the silver sea + In the bight of the swirling river, and the house that cherished me! + There dwelleth mine earthly sister and the king that she hath wed; + There morn by morn aforetime I woke on the golden bed; + There eve by eve I tarried mid the speech and the lays of kings; + There noon by noon I wandered and plucked the blossoming things; + The little land of Lymdale by the swirling river's side, + Where Brynhild once was I called in the days ere my father died; + The little land of Lymdale 'twixt the woodland and the sea, + Where on thee mine eyes shall brighten and thine eyes shall beam on me." + + "I shall seek thee there," said Sigurd, "when the day-spring is begun, + Ere we wend the world together in the season of the sun." + + "I shall bide thee there," said Brynhild, "till the fullness of the days, + And the time for the glory appointed, and the springing-tide of praise." + + From his hand then draweth Sigurd Andvari's ancient Gold; + There is nought but the sky above them as the ring together they hold, + The shapen ancient token, that hath no change nor end, + No change, and no beginning, no flaw for God to mend: + Then Sigurd cries: "O Brynhild, now hearken while I swear, + That the sun shall die in the heavens and the day no more be fair, + If I seek not love in Lymdale and the house that fostered thee, + And the land where thou awakedst 'twixt the woodland and the sea!" + + And she cried: "O Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I swear + That the day shall die for ever and the sun to blackness wear, + Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie 'twixt wood and sea + In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered me!" + + Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again, + They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain. + + So the day grew old about them and the joy of their desire, + And eve and the sunset came, and faint grew the sunset fire, + And the shadowless death of the day was sweet in the golden tide; + But the stars shone forth on the world, and the twilight changed and + died; + And sure if the first of man-folk had been born to that starry night, + And had heard no tale of the sunrise, he had never longed for the light: + But Earth longed amidst her slumber, as 'neath the night she lay, + And fresh and all abundant abode the deeds of Day. + + + THE END. + + + + + PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER. + + + + + _Sold by all the principal booksellers on the Continent_. + +[Illustration] + + January 1886. + + TAUCHNITZ EDITION. + + Each volume 1 Mark 60 Pf. or 2 Francs. + +_This Collection of British Authors, Tautchnitz Edition, will contain +the new works of the most admired English and American Writers, +immediately on their appearance, with copyright for continental +circulation._ + + + + + Contents: + + Collection of British Authors, vol. 1-2377 _Page_ 2-13. + + Collection of German Authors, vol. 1-47 " 14. + + Series for the Young, vol. 1-30 " 15. + + Manuals of Conversation " 15. + + Dictionaries " 16. + + + Latest Volumes: + + The Heir Presumptive. By _Florence Marryat_, 2 vols. + + Othmar. By _Ouida_, 3 vols. + + The Luck of the Darrells. By _James Payn_, 2 vols. + + A Girton Girl. By Mrs. _Annie Edwardes_, 2 vols. + + Murder or Manslaughter? By _Helen Mathers_, 1 v. + + Andromeda. By _George Fleming_, 2 vols. + + Maruja. By _Bret Harte_, 1 vol. + + A Second Life. By Mrs. _Alexander_, 3 vols. + + Colonel Enderby's Wife. By _Lucas Malet_, 2 vols. + + A Family Affair. By _Hugh Conway_, 2 vols. + + + + + Collection of British Authors. + + + Rev. W. Adams: + Sacred Allegories 1 v. + + Miss Aguilar: + Home Influence 2 v. + The Mother's Recompense 2 v. + + Hamilton Aide: + Rita 1 v. + Carr of Carrlyon 2 v. + The Marstons 2 v. + In that State of Life 1 v. + Morals and Mysteries 1 v. + Penruddocke 2 v. + "A nine Days' Wonder" 1 v. + Poet and Peer 2 v. + Introduced to Society 1 v. + + W. Harrison Ainsworth: + Windsor Castle 1 v. + Saint James's 1 v. + Jack Sheppard (w. portrait) 1 v. + The Lancashire Witches 2 v. + The Star-Chamber 2 v. + The Flitch of Bacon 1 v. + The Spendthrift 1 v. + Mervyn Clitheroe 2 v. + Ovingdean Grange 1 v. + The Constable of the Tower 1 v. + The Lord Mayor of London 2 v. + Cardinal Pole 2 v. + John Law 2 v. + The Spanish Match 2 v. + The Constable de Bourbon 2 v. + Old Court 2 v. + Myddleton Pomfret 2 v. + The South-Sea Bubble 2 v. + Hilary St. Ives 2 v. + Talbot Harland 1 v. + Tower Hill 1 v. + Boscobel; or, the Royal Oak 2 v. + The Good Old Times 2 v. + Merry England 2 v. + The Goldsmith's Wife 2 v. + Preston Fight 2 v. + Chetwynd Calverley 2 v. + The Leaguer of Lathom 2 v. + The Fall of Somerset 2 v. + Beatrice Tyldesley 2 v. + Beau Nash 2 v. + Stanley Brereton 2 v. + + L. M. Alcott: + Little Women 2 v. + Little Men 1 v. + An Old-Fashioned Girl 1 v. + + Mrs. Alexander: + A Second Life 3 v. + + Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse (with Portrait) 2 v. + + "All for Greed," Author of-- + All for Greed 1 v. + Love the Avenger 2 v. + + Thomas Bailey Aldrich: + Marjorie Daw and other Tales 1 v. + The Stillwater Tragedy 1 v. + + L. Alldridge: + By Love and Law 2 v. + The World she Awoke in 2 v. + + F. Anstey: + The Giant's Robe 2 v. + + Miss Austen: + Sense and Sensibility 1 v. + Mansfield Park 1 v. + Pride and Prejudice 1 v. + Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion 1 v. + Emma 1 v. + + Lady Barker: + Station Life in New Zealand 1 v. + Station Amusements in New Zealand 1 v. + A Year's Housekeeping in South Africa 1 v. + Letters to Guy & A Distant Shore--Rodrigues 1 v. + + Rev. R. H. Baynes: + Lyra Anglicana, Hymns & Sacred Songs 1 v. + + Lord Beaconsfield: + _vide_ Disraeli. + + Averil Beaumont: + Thornicroft's Model 2 v. + + Currer Bell (Charlotte Bronte): + Jane Eyre 2 v. + Shirley 2 v. + Villette 2 v. + The Professor 1 v. + + Ellis & Acton Bell: + Wuthering Heights, and Agnes Grey 2 v. + + Frank Lee Benedict: + St. Simon's Niece 2 v. + + Walter Besant: + The Revolt of Man 1 v. + The Golden Butterfly by Besant and Rice 2 v. + Ready-Money Mortiboy by Besant and Rice 2 v. + Dorothy Forster 2 v. + + W. Black: + A Daughter of Heth 2 v. + In Silk Attire 2 v. + The strange Adventures of a Phaeton 2 v. + A Princess of Thule 2 v. + Kilmeny 1 v. + The Maid of Killeena 1 v. + Three Feathers 2 v. + Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart 1 v. + Madcap Violet 2 v. + Green Pastures and Piccadilly 2 v. + Macleod of Dare 2 v. + White Wings 2 v. + Sunrise 2 v. + The Beautiful Wretch 1 v. + Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., etc. 1 v. + Shandon Bells (w. portrait) 2 v. + Judith Shakespeare 2 v. + The Wise Women of Inverness 1 v. + + R. D. Blackmore: + Alice Lorraine 2 v. + Mary Anerley 3 v. + Christowell 2 v. + Tommy Upmore 2 v. + + "Blackwood." + Tales from-- 1 v. + _Second Series_ 1 v. + + Isa Blagden: + The Woman I loved, and the Woman who loved me; A Tuscan Wedding 1 v. + + Lady Blessington: + Meredith 1 v. + Strathern 2 v. + Memoirs of a Femme de Chambre 1 v. + Marmaduke Herbert 2 v. + Country Quarters (w. portrait) 2 v. + + Baroness Bloomfield: + Reminiscences of Court and Diplomatic Life (w. Portrait of Her Majesty + the Queen) 2 v. + + Miss Braddon: + Lady Audley's Secret 2 v. + Aurora Floyd 2 v. + Eleanor's Victory 2 v. + John Marchmont's Legacy 2 v. + Henry Dunbar 2 v. + The Doctor's Wife 2 v. + Only a Clod 2 v. + Sir Jasper's Tenant 2 v. + The Lady's Mile 2 v. + Rupert Godwin 2 v. + Dead-Sea Fruit 2 v. + Run to Earth 2 v. + Fenton's Quest 2 v. + The Lovels of Arden 2 v. + Strangers and Pilgrims 2 v. + Lucius Davoren 3 v. + Taken at the Flood 3 v. + Lost for Love 2 v. + A Strange World 2 v. + Hostages to Fortune 2 v. + Dead Men's Shoes 2 v. + Joshua Haggard's Daughter 2 v. + Weavers and Weft 1 v. + In Great Waters 1 v. + An Open Verdict 3 v. + Vixen 3 v. + The Cloven Foot 3 v. + The Story of Barbara 2 v. + Just as I am 2 v. + Asphodel 3 v. + Mount Royal 2 v. + The Golden Calf 2 v. + Flower and Weed 1 v. + Phantom Fortune 3 v. + Under the Red Flag 1 v. + Ishmael 3 v. + Wyllard's Weird 3 v. + + Lady Brassey: + A Voyage in the "Sunbeam" 2 v. + Sunshine and Storm in the East 2 v. + In the Trades, the Tropics, and the Roaring Forties 2 v. + + The Bread-Winners 1 v. + + Shirley Brooks: + The Silver Cord 3 v. + Sooner or Later 3 v. + + Miss Rhoda Broughton: + Cometh up as a Flower 1 v. + Not wisely, but too well 2 v. + Red as a Rose is She 2 v. + Tales for Christmas Eve 1 v. + Nancy 2 v. Joan 2 v. + Second Thoughts 2 v. + Belinda 2 v. + + John Brown: + Rab and his Friends, and other Tales 1 v. + + Eliz. Barrett Browning: + A Selection from her Poetry (w. portrait) 1 v. + Aurora Leigh 1 v. + + Robert Browning: + Poetical Works (with portrait) 4 v. + + Bulwer (Lord Lytton): + Pelham (with portrait) 1 v. + Eugene Aram 1 v. + Paul Clifford 1 v. + Zanoni 1 v. + The Last Days of Pompeii 1 v. + The Disowned 1 v. + Ernest Maltravers 1 v. + Alice 1 v. + Eva, and the Pilgrims of the Rhine 1 v. + Devereux 1 v. + Godolphin, and Falkland 1 v. + Rienzi 1 v. + Night and Morning 1 v. + The Last of the Barons 2 v. + Athens 2 v. + The Poems and Ballads of Schiller 1 v. + Lucretia 2 v. + Harold 2 v. + King Arthur 2 v. + The new Timon; St Stephen's 1 v. + The Caxtons 2 v. + My Novel 4 v. + What will he do with it? 4 v. + The Dramatic Works 2 v. + A Strange Story 2 v. + Caxtoniana 2 v. + The Lost Tales of Miletus 1 v. + Miscellaneous Prose Works 4 v. + The Odes and Epodes of Horace 2 v. + Kenelm Chillingly 4 v. + The Coming Race 1 v. + The Parisians 4 v. + Pausanias 1 v. + + Henry Lytton Bulwer (Lord Dalling): + Historical Characters 2 v. + The Life of Henry John Temple, + Viscount Palmerston 3 v. + + John Bunyan: + The Pilgrim's Progress 1 v. + + Buried Alone 1 v. + + F. H. Burnett: + Through one Administration 2 v. + + Miss Burney: Evelina 1 v. + + Robert Burns: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 1 v. + + Richard F. Burton: + Mecca and Medina 3 v. + + Mrs. B. H. Buxton: + "Jennie of 'the Prince's'" 2 v. + Won! 2 v. + Great Grenfell Gardens 2 v. + Nell--on and off the Stage 2 v. + From the Wings 2 v. + + Lord Byron: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 5 v. + + Cameron: + Across Africa 2 v. + + Thomas Carlyle: + The French Revolution 3 v. + Frederick the Great 13 v. + Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches 4 v. + The Life of Friedrich Schiller 1 v. + + Alaric Carr: + Treherne's Temptation 2 v. + + Maria Louisa Charlesworth: + Oliver of the Mill 1 v. + + "Chronicles of the Schoenberg-Cotta Family," Author of-- + Chronicles of the Schoenberg-Cotta Family 2 v. + The Draytons and the Davenants 2 v. + On Both Sides of the Sea 2 v. + Winifred Bertram 1 v. + Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevylyan 1 v. + The Victory of the Vanquished 1 v. + The Cottage by the Cathedral 1 v. + Against the Stream 2 v. + The Bertram Family 2 v. + Conquering and to Conquer 1 v. + Lapsed, but not Lost 1 v. + + Frances Power Cobbe: + Re-Echoes 1 v. + + Coleridge: + The Poems 1 v. + + C. R. Coleridge: + An English Squire 2 v. + + Chas. A. Collins: + A Cruise upon Wheels 2 v. + + Mortimer Collins: + Sweet and Twenty 2 v. + A Fight with Fortune 2 v. + + Wilkie Collins: + After Dark 1 v. + Hide and Seek 2 v. + A Plot in Private Life 1 v. + The Woman in White 2 v. + Basil 1 v. + No Name 3 v. + The Dead Secret 2 v. + Antonina 2 v. + Armadale 3 v. + The Moonstone 2 v. + Man and Wife 3 v. + Poor Miss Finch 2 v. + Miss or Mrs.? 1 v. + The New Magdalen 2 v. + The Frozen Deep 1 v. + The Law and the Lady 2 v. + The Two Destinies 1 v. + My Lady's Money & Percy and the Prophet 1 v. + The Haunted Hotel 1 v. + Fallen Leaves 2 v. + Jezebel's Daughter 2 v. + The Black Robe 2 v. + Heart and Science 2 v. + "I say no" 2 v. + + "Cometh up as a Flower," Author of-- + _vide_ Broughton. + + Hugh Conway: + Called Back 1 v. + Bound Together 2 v. + Dark Days 1 v. + A Family Affair 2 v. + + Fenimore Cooper: + The Spy (w. portrait) 1 v. + The two Admirals 1 v. + The Jack O'Lantern 1 v. + + George L. Craik: + Manual of English Literature & Language 2 v. + + Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock): + John Halifax, Gentleman 2 v. + The Head of the Family 2 v. + A Life for a Life 2 v. + A Woman's Thoughts about Women 1 v. + Agatha's Husband 1 v. + Romantic Tales 1 v. + Domestic Stories 1 v. + Mistress and Maid 1 v. + The Ogilvies 1 v. + Lord Erlistoun 1 v. + Christian's Mistake 1 v. + Bread upon the Waters 1 v. + A Noble Life 1 v. + Olive 2 v. + Two Marriages 1 v. + Studies from Life 1 v. + Poems 1 v. + The Woman's Kingdom 2 v. + The Unkind Word 2 v. + A Brave Lady 2 v. + Hannah 2 v. + Fair France 1 v. + My Mother and I 1 v. + The Little Lame Prince 1 v. + Sermons out of Church 1 v. + The Laurel Bush 1 v. + A Legacy 2 v. + Young Mrs. Jardine 2 v. + His Little Mother 1 v. + Plain Speaking 1 v. + Miss Tommy 1 v. + + Miss Georgiana Craik: + Lost and Won 1 v. + Faith Unwin's Ordeal 1 v. + Leslie Tyrrell 1 v. + Winifred's Wooing, and other Tales 1 v. + Mildred 1 v. + Esther Hill's Secret 2 v. + Hero Trevelyan 1 v. + Without Kith or Kin 2 v. + Only a Butterfly 1 v. + Sylvia's Choice; + Theresa 2 v. + Anne Warwick 1 v. + Two Tales of Married Life 2 v. (Vol. I. Hard to Bear, Vol. II. _vide_ + M. C. Stirling.) + Dorcas 2 v. + Two Women 2 v. + + Mrs. A. Craven: + Eliane. Translated by Lady Fullerton 2 v. + + F. Marion Crawford: + Mr. Isaacs 1 v. + Doctor Claudius 1 v. + To Leeward 1 v. + A Roman Singer 1 v. + An American Politician 1 v. + Zoroaster 1 v. + + J. W. Cross: + _vide_ George Eliot's Life. + + Miss Cummins: + The Lamplighter 1 v. + Mabel Vaughan 1 v. + El Fureidis 1 v. + Haunted Hearts 1 v. + + "Daily News," + War Correspondence 1877 by A. Forbes, etc. 3 v. + + De-Foe: + Robinson Crusoe 1 v. + + Democracy. + An American Novel 1 v. + + Charles Dickens: + The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (w. portrait) 2 v. + American Notes 1 v. + Oliver Twist 1 v. + The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby 2 v. + Sketches 1 v. + The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit 2 v. + A Christmas Carol; the Chimes; the Cricket on the Hearth 1 v. + Master Humphrey's Clock (Old Curiosity Shop, Barnaby Rudge, and other + Tales) 3 v. + Pictures from Italy 1 v. + The Battle of Life; + the Haunted Man 1 v. + Dombey and Son 3 v. + David Copperfield 3 v. + Bleak House 4 v. + A Child's History of England (2 v. 8vo M. 2,70.) + Hard Times 1 v. + Little Dorrit 4 v. + A Tale of two Cities 2 v. + Hunted Down; + The Uncommercial Traveller 1 v. + Great Expectations 2 v. + Christmas Stories 1 v. + Our Mutual Friend 4 v. + Somebody's Luggage; + Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings; Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy 1 v. + Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions; Mugby Junction 1 v. + No Thoroughfare 1 v. + The Mystery of Edwin Drood 2 v. + The Mudfog Papers 1 v. + _Vide_ Household Words, Novels and Tales, and John Forster. + + Charles Dickens: + The Letters of Charles Dickens edited by his Sister-in-law and his + eldest Daughter 4 v. + + B. Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield): + Coningsby 1 v. + Sybil 1 v. + Contarini Fleming (w. portrait) 1 v. + Alroy 1 v. Tancred 2 v. + Venetia 2 v. + Vivian Grey 2 v. + Henrietta Temple 1 v. + Lothair 2 v. + Endymion 2 v. + + W. Hepworth Dixon: + Personal History of Lord Bacon 1 v. + The Holy Land 2 v. + New America 2 v. + Spiritual Wives 2 v. + Her Majesty's Tower 4 v. + Free Russia 2 v. + History of two Queens 6 v. + White Conquest 2 v. + Diana, Lady Lyle 2 v. + + The Earl and the Doctor: + South Sea Bubbles 1 v. + + Mrs. Edwardes: + Archie Lovell 2 v. + Steven Lawrence, Yeoman 2 v. + Ought we to Visit her? 2 v. + A Vagabond Heroine 1 v. + Leah: A Woman of Fashion 2 v. + A Blue-Stocking 1 v. + Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 1 v. + Vivian the Beauty 1 v. + A Ballroom Repentance 2 v. + A Girton Girl 2 v. + + Miss Amelia B. Edwards: + Barbara's History 2 v. + Miss Carew 2 v. + Hand and Glove 1 v. + Half a Million of Money 2 v. + Debenham's Vow 2 v. + In the Days of my Youth 2 v. + Untrodden Peaks and unfrequented Valleys 1 v. + Monsieur Maurice 1 v. + Black Forest 1 v. + A Poetry-Book of Elder Poets 1 v. + A Thousand Miles up the Nile 2 v. + A Poetry-Book of Modern Poets 1 v. + Lord Brackenbury 2 v. + + Miss M. Betham-Edwards: + The Sylvestres 1 v. + Felicia 2 v. + Brother Gabriel 2 v. + Forestalled 1 v. + Exchange no Robbery 1 v. + Disarmed 1 v. + Doctor Jacob 1 v. + Pearla 1 v. + + Barbara Elbon: + Bethesda 2 v. + + George Eliot: + Scenes of Clerical Life 2 v. + Adam Bede 2 v. + The Mill on the Floss 2 v. + Silas Marner 1 v. + Romola 2 v. + Felix Holt 2 v. + Daniel Deronda 4 v. + The Lifted Veil and Brother Jacob 1 v. + Impressions of Theophrastus Such 1 v. + Essays 1 v. + + George Eliot's Life as related in her Letters and Journals. Arranged + and ed. by her Husband J. W. Cross 4 v. + + Mrs. Elliot: + Diary of an Idle Woman in Italy 2 v. + Old Court Life in France 2 v. + The Italians 2 v. + The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily 1 v. + Pictures of Old Rome 1 v. + Diary of an Idle Woman in Spain 2 v. + The Red Cardinal 1 v. + + Essays and Reviews 1 v. + + Estelle Russell 2 v. + + Expiated 2 v. + + G. M. Fenn: + The Parson o' Dumford 2 v. + The Clerk of Portwick 2 v. + + Fielding: + The History of Tom Jones 2 v. + + Five Centuries of the English Language and Literature 1 v. + + George Fleming: + Kismet 1 v. + Andromeda 2 v. + + A. Forbes: + My Experiences of the War between France and Germany 2 v. + Soldiering and Scribbling 1 v. + See also "Daily News," War Correspondence. + + Mrs. Forrester: + Viva 2 v. + Rhona 2 v. + Roy and Viola 2 v. + My Lord and My Lady 2 v. + I have Lived and Loved 2 v. + June 2 v. + Omnia Vanitas 1 v. + Although he was a Lord, etc. 1 v. + Corisande, etc. 1 v. + + John Forster: + Life of Charles Dickens 6 v. + Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith 2 v. + + Jessie Fothergill: + The First Violin 2 v. + Probation 2 v. + Made or Marred and "One of Three" 1 v. + Kith and Kin 2 v. + Peril 2 v. + + "Found Dead," Author of-- + _vide_ James Payn. + + Caroline Fox: + Memories of Old Friends from her Journals, edited by Horace N. Pym 2 v. + + Frank Fairlegh 2 v. + + E. A. Freeman: + The Growth of the English Constitution 1 v. + Select Historical Essays 1 v. + + Lady G. Fullerton: + Ellen Middleton 1 v. + Grantley Manor 2 v. + Lady-Bird 2 v. + Too Strange not to be True 2 v. + Constance Sherwood 2 v. + A stormy Life 2 v. + Mrs. Gerald's Niece 2 v. + The Notary's Daughter 1 v. + The Lilies of the Valley 1 v. + The Countess de Bonneval 1 v. + Rose Leblanc 1 v. + Seven Stories 1 v. + The Life of Luisa de Carvajal 1 v. + A Will and a Way 2 v. + Eliane 2 v. (_vide_ Craven). + Laurentia 1 v. + + Mrs. Gaskell: + Mary Barton 1 v. + Ruth 2 v. + North and South 1 v. + Lizzie Leigh 1 v. + The Life of Charlotte Bronte 2 v. + Lois the Witch 1 v. + Sylvia's Lovers 2 v. + A Dark Night's Work 1 v. + Wives and Daughters 3 v. + Cranford 1 v. + Cousin Phillis, and other Tales 1 v. + + Geraldine Hawthorne _vide_ "Miss Molly." + + Agnes Giberne: + The Curate's Home 1 v. + + Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone: + Rome and the newest Fashions in Religion 1 v. + Bulgarian Horrors: Russia in Turkistan 1 v. + The Hellenic Factor in the Eastern Problem 1 v. + + Goldsmith: + Select Works: The Vicar of Wakefield; Poems; Dramas (w. portrait) 1 v. + + Major-Gen. C. G. Gordon's Journals, at Kartoum. Introduction and Notes + by A. E. Hake (with eighteen Illustrations) 2 v. + + Mrs. Gore: + Castles in the Air 1 v. + The Dean's Daughter 2 v. + Progress and Prejudice 2 v. + Mammon 2 v. + A Life's Lessons 2 v. + The two Aristocracies 2 v. + Heckington 2 v. + + Miss Grant: + Victor Lescar 2 v. + The Sun-Maid 2 v. + My Heart's in the Highlands 2 v. + Artiste 2 v. + Prince Hugo 2 v. + Cara Roma 2 v. + + W. A. Baillie Grohman: + Tyrol and the Tyrolese 1 v. + + "Guy Livingstone," Author of-- + Guy Livingstone 1 v. + Sword and Gown 1 v. + Barren Honour 1 v. + Border and Bastille 1 v. + Maurice Dering 1 v. + Sans Merci 2 v. + Breaking a Butterfly 2 v. + Anteros 2 v. + Hagarene 2 v. + + J. Habberton: + Helen's Babies & Other People's Children 1 v. + The Bowsham Puzzle 1 v. + One Tramp; Mrs. Mayburn's Twins 1 v. + + Hake: + _v_. Gordon's Journals. + + Mrs. S. C. Hall: + Can Wrong be Right? 1 v. + Marian 2 v. + + Thomas Hardy: + The Hand of Ethelberta 2 v. + Far from the Madding Crowd 2 v. + The Return of the Native 2 v. + The Trumpet-Major 2 v. + A Laodicean 2 v. + Two on a Tower 2 v. + A Pair of Blue Eyes 2 v. + + Agnes Harrison: + Martin's Vineyard 1 v. + + Bret Harte: + Prose and Poetry (Tales of the Argonauts; Spanish and American + Legends; Condensed Novels; Civic and Character Sketches; Poems) 2 v. + Idyls of the Foothills 1 v. + Gabriel Conroy 2 v. + Two Men of Sandy Bar 1 v. + Thankful Blossom 1 v. + The Story of a Mine 1 v. + Drift from Two Shores 1 v. + An Heiress of Red Dog 1 v. + The Twins of Table Mountain, etc. 1 v. + Jeff Briggs's Love Story, etc. 1 v. + Flip, etc. 1 v. + On the Frontier 1 v. + By Shore and Sedge 1 v. + Maruja 1 v. + + Sir H. Havelock, by the Rev. W. Brock, 1 v. + + N. Hawthorne: + The Scarlet Letter 1 v. + Transformation 2 v. + Passages from the English Note-Books 2 v. + + "Heir of Redclyffe," Author of-- + _vide_ Yonge. + + Sir Arthur Helps: + Friends in Council 2 v. + Ivan de Biron 2 v. + + Mrs. Hemans: + The Select Poetical Works 1 v. + + Mrs. Cashel Hoey: + A Golden Sorrow 2 v. + Out of Court 2 v. + + Oliver Wendell Holmes: + The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table 1 v. + The Professor at the Breakfast-Table 1 v. + The Poet at the Breakfast-Table 1 v. + + Household Words conducted by Ch. Dickens. 1851-56. 36 v. + Novels and Tales reprinted from Household Words by Ch. Dickens. + 1856-59. 11 v. + + Miss Howard: + One Summer 1 v. + Aunt Serena 1 v. + Guenn 2 v. + + W. D. Howells: + A Foregone Conclusion 1 v. + The Lady of the Aroostook 1 v. + A Modern Instance 2 v. + The Undiscovered Country 1 v. + Venetian Life (w. portr.) 1 v. + Italian Journeys 1 v. + A Chance Acquaintance 1 v. + Their Wedding Journey 1 v. + A Fearful Responsibility, etc. 1 v. + A Woman's Reason 2 v. + Dr. Breen's Practice 1 v. + + Thos. Hughes: + Tom Brown's School Days 1 v. + + Jean Ingelow: + Off the Skelligs 3 v. + Poems 2 v. + Fated to be Free 2 v. + Sarah de Berenger 2 v. + Don John 2 v. + + J. H. Ingram: + _vide_ E. A. Poe. + + Washington Irving: + Sketch Book (w. portrait) 1 v. + Life of Mahomet 1 v. + Successors of Mahomet 1 v. + Oliver Goldsmith 1 v. + Chronicles of Wolfert's Roost 1 v. + Life of George Washington 5 v. + + Helen Jackson: + Ramona 2 v. + + G. P. R. James: + Morley Ernstein (w. portrait) 1 v. + Forest Days 1 v. + The False Heir 1 v. + Arabella Stuart 1 v. + Rose d'Albret 1 v. + Arrah Neil 1 v. + Agincourt 1 v. + The Smuggler 1 v. + The Step-Mother 2 v. + Beauchamp 1 v. + Heidelberg 1 v. + The Gipsy 1 v. + The Castle of Ehrenstein 1 v. + Darnley 1 v. + Russell 2 v. + The Convict 2 v. + Sir Theodore Broughton 2 v. + + Henry James: + The American 2 v. + The Europeans 1 v. + Daisy Miller 1 v. + Roderick Hudson 2 v. + The Madonna of the Future, etc. 1 v. + Eugene Pickering, etc. 1 v. + Confidence 1 v. + Washington Square 2 v. + The Portrait of a Lady 3 v. + Foreign Parts 1 v. + French Poets and Novelists 1 v. + The Siege of London, etc. 1 v. + Portraits of Places 1 v. + A Little Tour in France 1 v. + + J. Cordy Jeaffreson: + A Book about Doctors 2 v. + A Woman in Spite of herself 2 v. + The Real Lord Byron 3 v. + + Mrs. Jenkin: + "Who Breaks--Pays" 1 v. + Skirmishing 1 v. + Once and Again 2 v. + Two French Marriages 2 v. + Within an Ace 1 v. + Jupiter's Daughters 1 v. + + Edward Jenkins: + Ginx's Baby; Lord Bantam 2 v. + + "Jennie of 'the Prince's,'" Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Buxton. + + Douglas Jerrold: + The History of St. Giles and St. James 2 v. + Men of Character 2 v. + + "John Halifax," Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Craik. + + "Johnny Ludlow," Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Wood. + + Johnson: + The Lives of the English Poets 2 v. + + Emily Jolly: + Colonel Dacre 2 v. + + "Joshua Davidson," Author of-- + _vide_ E. Lynn Linton. + + Miss Kavanagh: + Nathalie 2 v. + Daisy Burns 2 v. + Grace Lee 2 v. + Rachel Gray 1 v. + Adele 3 v. + A Summer and Winter in the Two Sicilies 2 v. + Seven Years 2 v. + French Women of Letters 1 v. + English Women of Letters 1 v. + Queen Mab 2 v. + Beatrice 2 v. + Sybil's Second Love 2 v. + Dora 2 v. + Silvia 2 v. + Bessie 2 v. + John Dorrien 3 v. + Two Lilies 2 v. + Forget-me-nots 2 v. + + Annie Keary: + Oldbury 2 v. + Castle Daly 2 v. + + Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling: + Three Sisters 1 v. + + Kempis: + _vide_ Thomas a Kempis. + + R. B. Kimball: + Saint Leger 1 v. + Romance of Student Life abroad 1 v. + Undercurrents 1 v. + Was he Successful? 1 v. + To-Day in New-York 1 v. + + A. W. Kinglake: + Eothen 1 v. + Invasion of the Crimea v. 1-10. + + Charles Kingsley: + Yeast 1 v. + Westward ho! 2 v. + Two Years ago 2 v. + Hypatia 2 v. + Alton Locke 1 v. + Hereward the Wake 2 v. + At Last 2 v. + + Charles Kingsley: + His Letters and Memories of his Life edited by his Wife 2 v. + + Henry Kingsley: + Ravenshoe 2 v. + Austin Elliot 1 v. + The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn 2 v. + The Hillyars and the Burtons 2 v. + Leighton Court 1 v. + Valentin 1 v. + Oakshott Castle 1 v. + Reginald Hetherege 2 v. + The Grange Garden 2 v. + + May Laffan: + Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor, etc. 1 v. + + Charles Lamb: + The Essays of Elia and Eliana 1 v. + + Mary Langdon: + Ida May 1 v. + + "Last of the Cavaliers," Author of-- + Last of the Cavaliers 2 v. + The Gain of a Loss 2 v. + + Leaves from the Journal of our Life in the Highlands from 1848 to 1861, + 1 v. + More Leaves from the Journal of a Life in the Highlands from 1862 to + 1882, 1 v. + + Holme Lee: + _vide_ Miss Parr. + + S. Le Fanu: + Uncle Silas 2 v. + Guy Deverell 2 v. + + Mark Lemon: + Wait for the End 2 v. + Loved at Last 2 v. + Falkner Lyle 2 v. + Leyton Hall 2 v. + Golden Fetters 2 v. + + Charles Lever: + The O'Donoghue 1 v. + The Knight of Gwynne 3 v. + Arthur O'Leary 2 v. + The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer 2 v. + Charles O'Malley 3 v. + Tom Burke of "Ours" 3 v. + Jack Hinton 2 v. + The Daltons 4 v. + The Dodd Family abroad 3 v. + The Martins of Cro' Martin 3 v. + The Fortunes of Glencore 2 v. + Roland Cashel 3 v. + Davenport Dunn 3 v. + Con Cregan 2 v. + One of Them 2 v. + Maurice Tiernay 2 v. + Sir Jasper Carew 2 v. + Barrington 2 v. + A Day's Ride: a Life's Romance 2 v. + Luttrell of Arran 2 v. + Tony Butler 2 v. + Sir Brook Fossbrooke 2 v. + The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly 2 v. + A Rent in a Cloud 1 v. + That Boy of Norcott's 1 v. + St. Patrick's Eve; Paul Gosslett's Confessions 1 v. + Lord Kilgobbin 2 v. + + G. H. Lewes: + Ranthorpe 1 v. + Physiology of Common Life 2 v. + On Actors and the Art of Acting 1 v. + + E. Lynn Linton: + Joshua Davidson 1 v. + Patricia Kemball 2 v. + The Atonement of Leam Dundas 2 v. + The World well Lost 2 v. + Under which Lord? 2 v. + With a Silken Thread etc. 1 v. + Todhunters' at Loanin' Head etc. 1 v. + "My Love!" 2 v. + The Girl of the Period, etc. 1 v. + Ione 2 v. + + Laurence W. M. Lockhart: + Mine is Thine 2 v. + + Longfellow: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 3 v. + The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri 3 v. + The New-England Tragedies 1 v. + The Divine Tragedy 1 v. + Three Books of Song 1 v. + The Masque of Pandora 1 v. + + M. Lonsdale: + Sister Dora 1 v. + + A Lost Battle 2 v. + + Lutfullah: + Autobiography of Lutfullah, by Eastwick 1 v. + + Lord Lytton: + _vide_ Bulwer. + + Robert Lord Lytton (Owen Meredith): + Poems 2 v. + Fables in Song 2 v. + + Lord Macaulay: + History of England (w. portrait) 10 v. + Critical and Historical Essays 5 v. + Lays of Ancient Rome 1 v. + Speeches 2 v. + Biographical Essays 1 v. + William Pitt, Atterbury 1 v. + (See also Trevelyan). + + Justin McCarthy: + Waterdale Neighbours 2 v. + Lady Disdain 2 v. + Miss Misanthrope 2 v. + A History of our own Times 5 v. + Donna Quixote 2 v. + A short History of our own Times 2 v. + A History of the Four Georges vol. 1. + + George MacDonald: + Alec Forbes of Howglen 2 v. + Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood 2 v. + David Elginbrod 2 v. + The Vicar's Daughter 2 v. + Malcolm 2 v. + St. George and St. Michael 2 v. + The Marquis of Lossie 2 v. + Sir Gibbie 2 v. + Mary Marston 2 v. + The Gifts of the Child Christ, etc. 1 v. + The Princess and Curdie 1 v. + + Mrs. Mackarness: + Sunbeam Stories 1 v. + A Peerless Wife 2 v. + A Mingled Yarn 2 v. + + Charles McKnight: + Old Fort Duquesne 2 v. + + Norman Macleod: + The old Lieutenant and his Son 1 v. + + Mrs. Macquoid: + Patty 2 v. + Miriam's Marriage 2 v. + Pictures across the Channel 2 v. + Too Soon 1 v. + My Story 2 v. + Diane 2 v. + Beside the River 2 v. + A Faithful Lover 2 v. + + "Mademoiselle Mori," Author of-- + Mademoiselle Mori 2 v. + Denise 1 v. + Madame Fontenoy 1 v. + On the Edge of the Storm 1 v. + The Atelier du Lys 2 v. + In the Olden Time 2 v. + + Lord Mahon: + _vide_ Stanhope. + + E. S. Maine: + Scarscliff Rocks 2 v. + + Lucas Malet: + Colonel Enderby's Wife 2 v. + + Lord Malmesbury: + Memoirs of an Ex-Minister 3 v. + + R. Blachford Mansfield: + The Log of the Water Lily 1 v. + + Mark Twain: + The Adventures of Tom Sawyer 1 v. + The Innocents Abroad; or, the New Pilgrims' Progress 2 v. + A Tramp Abroad 2 v. + "Roughing it" 1 v. + The Innocents at Home 1 v. + The Prince and the Pauper 2 v. + The Stolen White Elephant, etc. 1 v. + Life on the Mississippi 2 v. + Sketches 1 v. + Huckleberry Finn 2 v. + + Marmorne 1 v. + + Capt. Marryat: + Jacob Faithful (w. portrait) 1 v. + Percival Keene 1 v. + Peter Simple 1 v. + Japhet 1 v. + Monsieur Violet 1 v. + The Settlers 1 v. + The Mission 1 v. + The Privateer's-Man 1 v. + The Children of the New-Forest 1 v. + Valerie 1 v. + Mr. Midshipman Easy 1 v. + The King's Own 1 v. + + Florence Marryat: + Love's Conflict 2 v. + For Ever and Ever 2 v. + The Confessions of Gerald Estcourt 2 v. + Nelly Brooke 2 v. + Veronique 2 v. + Petronel 2 v. + Her Lord and Master 2 v. + The Prey of the Gods 1 v. + Life of Captain Marryat 1 v. + Mad Dumaresq 2 v. + No Intentions 2 v. + Fighting the Air 2 v. + A Star and a Heart 1 v. + The Poison of Asps 1 v. + A Lucky Disappointment 1 v. + My own Child 2 v. + Her Father's Name 2 v. + A Harvest of Wild Oats 2 v. + A Little Stepson 1 v. + Written in Fire 2 v. + Her World against a Lie 2 v. + A Broken Blossom 2 v. + The Root of all Evil 2 v. + The Fair-haired Alda 2 v. + With Cupid's Eyes 2 v. + My Sister the Actress 2 v. + Phyllida 2 v. + How They Loved Him 2 v. + Facing the Footlights (w. portrait) 2 v. + A Moment of Madness 1 v. + The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, etc. 1 v. + Peeress and Player 2 v. + Under the Lilies and Roses 2 v. + The Heart of Jane Warner 2 v. + The Heir Presumptive 2 v. + + Mrs. Marsh: + Ravenscliffe 2 v. + Emilia Wyndham 2 v. + Castle Avon 2 v. Aubrey 2 v. + The Heiress of Haughton 2 v. + Evelyn Marston 2 v. + The Rose of Ashurst 2 v. + + Emma Marshall: + Mrs. Mainwaring's Journal 1 v. + Benvenuta 1 v. + Lady Alice 1 v. + Dayspring 1 v. + Life's Aftermath 1 v. + In the East Country 1 v. + + H. Mathers: + "Cherry Ripe!" 2 v. + "Land o' the Leal" 1 v. + My Lady Green Sleeves 2 v. + As he comes up the Stair, etc. 1 v. + Sam's Sweetheart 2 v. + Eyre's Acquittal 2 v. + Found Out 1 v. + Murder or Manslaughter? 1 v. + + "Mehalah," Author of-- + Mehalah 1 v. + John Herring 2 v. + + Whyte Melville: + Kate Coventry 1 v. + Holmby House 2 v. + Digby Grand 1 v. + Good for Nothing 2 v. + The Queen's Maries 2 v. + The Gladiators 2 v. + The Brookes of Bridlemere 2 v. + Cerise 2 v. + The Interpreter 2 v. + The White Rose 2 v. + M. or N. 1 v. + Contraband; or A Losing Hazard 1 v. + Sarchedon 2 v. + Uncle John 2 v. + Katerfelto 1 v. + Sister Louise 1 v. + Rosine 1 v. + Roy's Wife 2 v. + Black but Comely 2 v. + Riding Recollections 1 v. + + George Meredith: + The Ordeal of Feverel 2 v. + Beauchamp's Career 2 v. + The Tragic Comedians 1 v. + + Owen Meredith: + _vide_ Robert Lord Lytton. + + Milton: + Poetical Works 1 v. + + "Miss Molly," Author of-- + Geraldine Hawthorne 1 v. + + "Molly Bawn," Author of-- + Molly Bawn 2 v. + Mrs. Geoffrey 2 v. + Faith and Unfaith 2 v. + Portia 2 v. + Loys, Lord Berresford, etc. 1 v. + Her First Appearance, etc. 1 v. + Phyllis 2 v. + Rossmoyne 2 v. + Doris 2 v. + A Maiden all Forlorn, etc. 1 v. + A Passive Crime 1 v. + + Miss Florence Montgomery: + Misunderstood 1 v. + Thrown Together 2 v. + Thwarted 1 v. + Wild Mike 1 v. + Seaforth 2 v. + The Blue Veil 1 v. + + Moore: + Poetical Works (w. portrait) 5 v. + + Lady Morgan's Memoirs 3 v. + + Henry Morley: + Of English Literature in the Reign of Victoria. With Facsimiles of + the Signatures of Authors in the Tauchnitz Edition [v. 2000]. + + E. C. Grenville: Murray: + The Member for Paris 2 v. + Young Brown 2 v. + The Boudoir Cabal 3 v. + French Pictures in English Chalk (1st Series) 2 v. + The Russians of To-day 1 v. + French Pictures in English Chalk (2nd Series) 2 v. + Strange Tales 1 v. + That Artful Vicar 2 v. + Six Months in the Ranks 1 v. + People I have met 1 v. + + "My little Lady," Author of-- + _vide_ E. Frances Poynter. + + New Testament [v. 1000]. + + Mrs. Newby: + Common Sense 2 v. + + Dr. J. H. Newman: + Callista 1 v. + + "Nina Balatka," Author of-- + _vide_ Anthony Trollope. + + "No Church," Author of-- + No Church 2 v. + Owen:--a Waif 2 v. + + Lady Augusta Noel: + From Generation to Generation 1 v. + + Hon. Mrs. Norton: + Stuart of Dunleath 2 v. + Lost and Saved 2 v. + Old Sir Douglas 2 v. + + Novels and Tales + _vide_ Household Words. + + Not Easily Jealous 2 v. + + L. Oliphant: + Altiora Peto 2 v. + + Mrs. Oliphant: + Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland of Sunnyside 1 v. + The Last of the Mortimers 2 v. + Agnes 2 v. + Madonna Mary 2 v. + The Minister's Wife 2 v. + The Rector, and the Doctor's Family 1 v. + Salem Chapel 2 v. + The Perpetual Curate 2 v. + Miss Marjoribanks 2 v. + Ombra 2 v. + Memoir of Count de Montalembert 2 v. + May 2 v. + Innocent 2 v. + For Love and Life 2 v. + A Rose in June 1 v. + The Story of Valentine and his Brother 2 v. + Whiteladies 2 v. + The Curate in Charge 1 v. + Phoebe, Junior 2 v. + Mrs. Arthur 2 v. + Carita 2 v. + Young Musgrave 2 v. + The Primrose Path 2 v. + Within the Precincts 3 v. + The greatest Heiress in England 2 v. + He that will not when he may 2 v. + Harry Joscelyn 2 v. + In Trust 2 v. + It was a Lover and his Lass 3 v. + The Ladies Lindores 3 v. + Hester 3 v. + The Wizard's Son 3 v. + + Ossian: + Poems 1 v. + + Ouida: + Idalia 2 v. + Tricotrin 2 v. + Puck 2 v. + Chandos 2 v. + Strathmore 2 v. + Under two Flags 2 v. + Folle-Farine 2 v. + A Leaf in the Storm; A Dog of Flanders and other Stories 1 v. + Cecil Castlemaine's Gage 1 v. + Madame la Marquise 1 v. + Pascarel 2 v. + Held in Bondage 2 v. + Two little Wooden Shoes 1 v. + Signa (w. portrait) 3 v. + In a Winter City 1 v. + Ariadne 2 v. + Friendship 2 v. + Moths 3 v. + Pipistrello 1 v. + A Village Commune 2 v. + In Maremma 3 v. + Bimbi 1 v. + Wanda 3 v. + Frescoes, etc. 1 v. + Princess Napraxine 3 v. + A Rainy June (60 Pf.). Othmar 3 v. + + Miss Parr (Holme Lee): + Basil Godfrey's Caprice 2 v. + For Richer, for Poorer 2 v. + The Beautiful Miss Barrington 2 v. + Her Title of Honour 1 v. + Echoes of a Famous Year 1 v. + Katherine's Trial 1 v. + Bessie Fairfax 2 v. + Ben Milner's Wooing 1 v. + Straightforward 2 v. + Mrs. Denys of Cote 2 v. + A Poor Squire 1 v. + + Mrs. Parr: + Dorothy Fox 1 v. + The Prescotts of Pamphillon 2 v. + Gosau Smithy 1 v. + Robin 2 v. + + "Paul Ferroll," Author of-- + Paul Ferroll 1 v. + Year after Year 1 v. + Why Paul Ferroll killed his Wife 1 v. + + James Payn: + Found Dead 1 v. + Gwendoline's Harvest 1 v. + Like Father, like Son 2 v. + Not Wooed, but Won 2 v. + Cecil's Tryst 1 v. + A Woman's Vengeance 2 v. + Murphy's Master 1 v. + In the Heart of a Hill 1 v. + At Her Mercy 2 v. + The Best of Husbands 2 v. + Walter's Word 2 v. + Halves 2 v. + Fallen Fortunes 2 v. + What He cost Her 2 v. + By Proxy 2 v. + Less Black than we're Painted 2 v. + Under one Roof 2 v. + High Spirits 1 v. + High Spirits (Second Series) 1 v. + A Confidential Agent 2 v. + From Exile 2 v. + A Grape from a Thorn 2 v. + Some Private Views 1 v. + For Cash Only 2 v. + Kit: A Memory 2 v. + The Canon's Ward 2 v. + Some Literary Recollections 1 v. + The Talk of the Town 1 v. + The Luck of the Darrells 2 v. + + Miss Fr. M. Peard: + One Year 2 v. + The Rose-Garden 1 v. + Unawares 1 v. + Thorpe Regis 1 v. + A Winter Story 1 v. + A Madrigal 1 v. + Cartouche 1 v. + Mother Molly 1 v. + Schloss and Town 2 v. + Contradictions 2 v. + Near Neighbours 1 v. + + Bishop Percy: + Reliques of Ancient English Poetry 3 v. + + E. A. Poe: + Poems and Essays. Edited with a new Memoir by John H. Ingram 1 v. + Tales. Edited by John H. Ingram 1 v. + + Pope: + Select Poetical Works (w. portrait) 1 v. + + E. Frances Poynter: + My little Lady 2 v. + Ersilia 2 v. + Among the Hills 1 v. + Madame de Presnel 1 v. + + Mrs. Campbell Praed: + Zero 1 v. + Affinities 1 v. + + Mrs. E. Prentiss: + Stepping Heavenward 1 v. + + The Prince Consort's Speeches and Addresses 1 v. + + Horace N. Pym: + _vide_ C. Fox. + + W. F. Rae: + Westward by Rail 1 v. + + Charles Reade: + "It is never too late to mend" 2 v. + "Love me little love me long" 1 v. + The Cloister and the Hearth 2 v. + Hard Cash 3 v. + Put Yourself in his Place 2 v. + A Terrible Temptation 2 v. + Peg Woffington 1 v. + Christie Johnstone 1 v. + A Simpleton 2 v. + The Wandering Heir 1 v. + A Woman-Hater 2 v. + Readiana 1 v. + Singleheart and Doubleface 1 v. + + "Recommended to Mercy," Author of-- + Recommended to Mercy 2 v. + Zoe's 'Brand' 2 v. + + James Rice: + _vide_ W. Besant. + + Alfred Bate Richards: + So very Human 3 v. + + Richardson: + Clarissa Harlowe 4 v. + + Mrs. Riddell (F. G. Trafford): + George Geith of Fen Court 2 v. + Maxwell Drewitt 2 v. + The Race for Wealth 2 v. + Far above Rubies 2 v. + The Earl's Promise 2 v. + Mortomley's Estate 2 v. + + Rev. W. Robertson: + Sermons 4 v. + + Charles H. Ross: + The Pretty Widow 1 v. + A London Romance 2 v. + + Dante Gabriel Rossetti: + Poems 1 v. + Ballads and Sonnets 1 v. + + J. Ruffini: + Lavinia 2 v. + Doctor Antonio 1 v. + Lorenzo Benoni 1 v. + Vincenzo 2 v. + A Quiet Nook 1 v. + The Paragreens on a Visit to Paris 1 v. + Carlino and other Stories 1 v. + + W. Clark Russell: + A Sailor's Sweetheart 2 v. + The "Lady Maud" 2 v. + A Sea Queen 2 v. + + G. A. Sala: + The Seven Sons of Mammon 2 v. + + John Saunders: + Israel Mort, Overman 2 v. + The Shipowner's Daughter 2 v. + A Noble Wife 2 v. + + Katherine Saunders: + Joan Merryweather and other Tales 1 v. + Gideon's Rock 1 v. + The High Mills 2 v. + Sebastian 1 v. + + Sir Walter Scott: + Waverley (w. portrait) 1 v. + The Antiquary 1 v. + Ivanhoe 1 v. + Kenilworth 1 v. + Quentin Durward 1 v. + Old Mortality 1 v. + Guy Mannering 1 v. + Rob Roy 1 v. + The Pirate 1 v. + The Fortunes of Nigel 1 v. + The Black Dwarf; + A Legend of Montrose 1 v. + The Bride of Lammermoor 1 v. + The Heart of Mid-Lothian 2 v. + The Monastery 1 v. + The Abbot 1 v. + Peveril of the Peak 2 v. + The Poetical Works 2 v. + Woodstock 1 v. + The Fair Maid of Perth 1 v. + Anne of Geierstein 1 v. + + Professor Seeley: + Life and Times of Stein 4 v. + The Expansion of England 1 v. + + Miss Sewell: + Amy Herbert 2 v. + Ursula 2 v. + A Glimpse of the World 2 v. + The Journal of a Home Life 2 v. + After Life 2 v. + The Experience of Life; or, Aunt Sarah 2 v. + + Shakespeare: + Plays and Poems (with portrait) (_Second Edition_) compl. 7 v. + _Shakespeare's_ Plays may also be had in 37 numbers, at M. 0,30. + each number. + Doubtful Plays 1 v. + + Shelley: + A Selection from his Poems 1 v. + + Nathan Sheppard: + Shut up in Paris (_Second Edition, enlarged_) 1 v. + + Sheridan: + Dramatic Works 1 v. + + J. Henry Shorthouse: + John Inglesant 2 v. + + Smollett: + The Adventures of Roderick Random 1 v. + The Expedition of Humphry Clinker 1 v. + The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle 2 v. + + Society in London. By a Foreign Resident 1 v. + + Earl Stanhope (Lord Mahon): + History of England 7 v. + The Reign of Queen Anne 2 v. + + Sterne: + The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy 1 v. + A Sentimental Journey (w. portrait) 1 v. + + Robert Louis Stevenson: + Treasure Island 1 v. + + "Still Waters," Author of-- + Still Waters 1 v. + Dorothy 1 v. + De Cressy 1 v. + Uncle Ralph 1 v. + Maiden Sisters 1 v. + Martha Brown 1 v. + Vanessa 1 v. + + M. C. Stirling: + Two Tales of Married Life 2 v. + Vol. II, A True Man, + Vol. I. _vide_ G. M. Craik. + + "The Story of Elizabeth," Author of-- + _v_. Miss Thackeray. + + Mrs. H. Beecher Stowe: + Uncle Tom's Cabin (w. portrait) 2 v. + A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin 2 v. + Dred 2 v. + The Minister's Wooing 1 v. + Oldtown Folks 2 v. + + "Sunbeam Stories," Author of-- + _vide_ Mackarness. + + Swift: + Gulliver's Travels 1 v. + + J. A. Symonds: + Sketches in Italy 1 v. + New Italian Sketches 1 v. + + Baroness Tautphoeus: + Cyrilla 2 v. + The Initials 2 v. + Quits 2 v. + At Odds 2 v. + + Colonel Meadows Taylor: + Tara: a Mahratta Tale 3 v. + + Templeton: + Diary & Notes 1 v. + + Lord Tennyson: + Poetical Works 7 v. + Queen Mary 1 v. + Harold 1 v. + Ballads and other Poems 1 v. + Becket; The Cup; The Falcon 1 v. + + W. M. Thackeray: + Vanity Fair 3 v. + The History of Pendennis 3 v. + Miscellanies 8 v. + The History of Henry Esmond 2 v. + The English Humourists 1 v. + The Newcomes 4 v. + The Virginians 4 v. + The Four Georges; + Lovel the Widower 1 v. + The Adventures of Philip 2 v. + Denis Duval 1 v. + Roundabout Papers 2 v. + Catherine 1 v. + The Irish Sketch Book 2 v. + The Paris Sketch Book (w. portrait) 2 v. + + Miss Thackeray: + The Story of Elizabeth 1 v. + The Village on the Cliff 1 v. + Old Kensington 2 v. + Bluebeard's Keys 1 v. + Five Old Friends 1 v. + Miss Angel 1 v. + Out of the World 1 v. + Fulham Lawn 1 v. + From an Island 1 v. + Da Capo 1 v. + Madame de Sevigne 1 v. + A Book of Sibyls 1 v. + + Thomas a Kempis: + The Imitation of Christ 1 v. + + A. Thomas: + Denis Donne 2 v. + On Guard 2 v. + Walter Goring 2 v. + Played out 2 v. + Called to Account 2 v. + Only Herself 2 v. + A narrow Escape 2 v. + + Thomson: + Poetical Works (with portrait) 1 v. + + F. G. Trafford: + _vide_ Mrs. Riddell. + + G. O. Trevelyan: + The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay (w. portrait) 4 v. + Selections from the Writings of Lord Macaulay 2 v. + + Trois-Etoiles: + _vide_ Murray. + + Anthony Trollope: + Doctor Thorne 2 v. + The Bertrams 2 v. + The Warden 1 v. + Barchester Towers 2 v. + Castle Richmond 2 v. + The West Indies 1 v. + Framley Parsonage 2 v. + North America 3 v. + Orley Farm 3 v. + Rachel Ray 2 v. + The Small House at Allington 3 v. + Can you forgive her? 3 v. + The Belton Estate 2 v. + Nina Balatka 1 v. + The Last Chronicle of Barset 3 v. + The Claverings 2 v. + Phineas Finn 3 v. + He knew he was Right 3 v. + The Vicar of Bullhampton 2 v. + Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite 1 v. + Ralph the Heir 2 v. + The Golden Lion of Granpere 1 v. + Australia and New Zealand 3 v. + Lady Anna 2 v. + Harry Heathcote of Gangoil 1 v. + The Way we live now 4 v. + The Prime Minister 4 v. + The American Senator 3 v. + South Africa 2 v. + Is he Popenjoy? 3 v. + An Eye for an Eye 1 v. + John Caldigate 3 v. + Cousin Henry 1 v. + The Duke's Children 3 v. + Dr. Wortle's School 1 v. + Ayala's Angel 3 v. + The Fixed Period 1 v. + Marion Fay 2 v. + Kept in the Dark 1 v. + Frau Frohmann, etc. 1 v. + Alice Dugdale, etc. 1 v. + La Mere Bauche, etc. 1 v. + The Mistletoe Bough, etc. 1 v. + An Autobiography 1 v. + An Old Man's Love 1 v. + + T. Adolphus Trollope: + The Garstangs of Garstang Grange 2 v. + A Siren 2 v. + + The Two Cosmos 1 v. + + "Vera," Author of-- + Vera 1 v. + The Hotel du Petit St. Jean 1 v. + Blue Roses 2 v. + Within Sound of the Sea 2 v. + The Maritime Alps and their Seaboard 2 v. + + Victoria R. I.: + _vide_ Leaves. + + Virginia 1 v. + + L. B. Walford: + Mr. Smith 2 v. + Pauline 2 v. + Cousins 2 v. + Troublesome Daughters 2 v. + + Mackenzie Wallace: + Russia 3 v. + + Eliot Warburton: + The Crescent and the Cross 2 v. + Darien 2 v. + + S. Warren: + Passages from the Diary of a late Physician 2 v. + Ten Thousand a-Year 3 v. + Now and Then 1 v. + The Lily and the Bee 1 v. + + "Waterdale Neighbours," Author of-- + _vide_ Justin McCarthy. + + Miss Wetherell: + The wide, wide World 1 v. + Queechy 2 v. + The Hills of the Shatemuc 2 v. + Say and Seal 2 v. + The Old Helmet 2 v. + + A Whim and its Consequences 1 v. + + W. White: Holidays in Tyrol 1 v. + + "Who Breaks--Pays," Author of-- + _vide_ Mrs. Jenkin. + + J. S. Winter: + Regimental Legends 1 v. + + Mrs. Henry Wood: + East Lynne 3 v. + The Channings 2 v. + Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles 2 v. + Verner's Pride 3 v. + The Shadow of Ashlydyat 3 v. + Trevlyn Hold 2 v. + Lord Oakburn's Daughters 2 v. + Oswald Cray 2 v. + Mildred Arkell 2 v. + St. Martin's Eve 2 v. + Elster's Folly 2 v. + Lady Adelaide's Oath 2 v. + Orville College 1 v. + A Life's Secret 1 v. + The Red Court Farm 2 v. + Anne Hereford 2 v. + Roland Yorke 2 v. + George Canterbury's Will 2 v. + Bessy Rane 2 v. + Dene Hollow 2 v. + The Foggy Night at Offord, etc. 1 v. + Within the Maze 2 v. + The Master of Greylands 2 v. + Johnny Ludlow (_First Series_) 2 v. + Told in the Twilight 2 v. + Adam Grainger 1 v. + Edina 2 v. + Pomeroy Abbey 2 v. + Lost in the Post, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + A Tale of Sin, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + Anne, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + Court Netherleigh 2 v. + The Mystery of Jessy Page, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + Helen Whitney's Wedding, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + The Story of Dorothy Grape, etc. By Johnny Ludlow 1 v. + + Wordsworth: + Select Poetical Works 2 v. + + Lascelles Wraxall: + Wild Oats 1 v. + + Edm. Yates: + Land at Last 2 v. + Broken to Harness 2 v. + The Forlorn Hope 2 v. + Black Sheep 2 v. + The Rock Ahead 2 v. + Wrecked in Port 2 v. + Dr. Wainwright's Patient 2 v. + Nobody's Fortune 2 v. + Castaway 2 v. + A Waiting Race 2 v. + The Yellow Flag 2 v. + The Impending Sword 2 v. + Two, by Tricks 1 v. + A Silent Witness 2 v. + Recollections and Experiences 2 v. + + Miss Yonge: + The Heir of Redclyffe 2 v. + Heartsease 2 v. + The Daisy Chain 2 v. + Dynevor Terrace 2 v. + Hopes and Fears 2 v. + The Young Step-Mother 2 v. + The Trial 2 v. + The Clever Woman of the Family 2 v. + The Dove in the Eagle's Nest 2 v. + The Danvers Papers; + the Prince and the Page 1 v. + The Chaplet of Pearls 2 v. + The two Guardians 1 v. + The Caged Lion 2 v. + The Pillars of the House 5 v. + Lady Hester 1 v. + My Young Alcides 2 v. + The Three Brides 2 v. + Womankind 2 v. + Magnum Bonum 2 v. + Love and Life 1 v. + Unknown to History 2 v. + Stray Pearls (w. portrait) 2 v. + The Armourer's Prentices 2 v. + The two Sides of the Shield 2 v. + + _The price of each volume is 1 Mark 60 Pfennige._ + + + + + Collection of German Authors. + + + B. Auerbach: + On the Heights. Transl. by F. E. Bunnett. Second Authorized Edition, + thoroughly revised, 3 v. + Brigitta. From the German by C. Bell, 1 v. + Spinoza. From the German by Nicholson, 2 v. + + G. Ebers: + An Egyptian Princess. Translated by E. Grove, 2 v. + Uarda. From the German by Bell, 2 v. + Homo Sum. From the German by Bell, 2 v. + The Sisters. From the German by Bell, 2 v. + + Fouque: + Undine, Sintram, etc. Translated by F. E. Bunnett, 1 v. + + Ferdinand Freiligrath: + Poems. From the German. Edited by his Daughter. Second Copyright + Edition, enlarged, 1 v. + + W. Goerlach: + Prince Bismarck (with Portrait). From the German + by Miss M. E. von Glehn, 1 v. + + Goethe: + Faust. From the German by John Anster, LL.D. 1 v. + Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. From the German by Eleanor + Grove, 2 v. + + K. Gutzkow: + Through Night to Light. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v. + + F. W. Hacklaender: + Behind the Counter [Handel u. Wandel]. From the German by Howitt, 1 v. + + W. Hauff: + Three Tales. From the German by M. A. Faber, 1 v. + + P. Heyse: + L'Arrabiata and other Tales. From the German by M. Wilson, 1 v. + The Dead Lake and other Tales. From the German by Mary Wilson, 1 v. + Barbarossa and other Tales. From the German by L. C. S., 1 v. + + Wilhelmine von Hillern: + The Vulture Maiden [die Geier-Wally]. From the German by C. Bell + and E. F. Poynter, 1 v. + The Hour will come. From the German by Clara Bell, 2 v. + + S. Kohn: + Gabriel. A Story of the Jews in Prague. From the German + by A. Milman, M.A., 1 v. + + G. E. Lessing: + Nathan the Wise and Emilia Galotti. The former transl. by W. Taylor, + the latter by Chas. Lee Lewes, 1 v. + + Fanny Lewald: + Stella. From the German by Beatrice Marshall, 2 v. + + E. Marlitt: + The Princess of the Moor [das Haideprinzesschen], 2 v. + + Maria Nathusius: + Joachim von Kamern and Diary of a poor young Lady. From the German + by Miss Thompson, 1 v. + + Fritz Reuter: + In the Year '13: Transl. from the Platt-Deutsch by Chas. + Lee Lewes, 1 v. + An old Story of my Farming Days [Ut mine Stromtid]. From + the German + by M. W. Macdowall, 3 v. + + Jean Paul Friedr. Richter: + Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces: or the Married Life, Death, + and Wedding of the Advocate of the Poor, Firmian Stanislaus + Siebenkaes. + Translated from the German by E. H. Noel, 2 v. + + J. V. Scheffel: + Ekkehard. A Tale of the tenth Century. Translated from the German + by Sofie Delffs, 2 v. + + G. Taylor: + Klytia. From the German by Sutton Fraser Corkran, 2 v. + + H. Zschokke: + The Princess of Brunswick-Wolfenbuettel and other Tales. From + the German + by M. A. Faber, 1 v. + + _The price of each volume is 1 Mark 60 Pfennige._ + + + + + Series for the Young.--_Each volume 1 Mark 60 Pf_. + + + Lady Barker: + Stories About. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Louisa Charlesworth: + Ministering Children. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock): + Our Year. Illustrated by C. Dobell, 1 v. + Three Tales for Boys. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Three Tales for Girls. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + Miss G. M. Craik: + Cousin Trix. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + Maria Edgeworth: + Moral Tales. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Popular Tales. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 2 v. + + Bridget & Julia Kavanagh: + The Pearl Fountain. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + Charles and Mary Lamb: + Tales from Shakspeare. With the Portrait of Shakspeare, 1 v. + + Emma Marshall: + Rex and Regina; or, The Song of the River. With six Illustrations, + 1 vol. + + Captain Marryat: + Masterman Ready; or, the Wreck of the Pacific. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Florence Montgomery: + The Town-Crier; to which is added: + The Children with the Indian-Rubber Ball, 1 v. + + Ruth and her Friends. + A Story for Girls. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + + Mrs. Henry Wood: + William Allair; or, Running away to Sea. Frontispiece from a Drawing + by F. Gilbert, 1 v. + + Miss Yonge: + Kenneth; or, the Rear-Guard of the Grand Army. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + The Little Duke. Ben Sylvester's Word. With a Frontispiece + by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + The Stokesley Secret. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Countess Kate. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + A Book of Golden Deeds. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 2 v. + Friarswood Post-Office. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + Henrietta's Wish; or, Domineering. A Tale. With a Frontispiece + by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Kings of England: A History for the Young. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + The Lances of Lynwood; the Pigeon Pie. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + P's and Q's. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + Aunt Charlotte's Stories of English History. With Frontispiece, 1 v. + Bye-Words. With a Frontispiece by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + Lads and Lasses of Langley; Sowing and Sewing. With a Frontispiece + by B. Plockhorst, 1 v. + + + + + Tauchnitz Manuals of Conversation. + + _Each bound M 2,25._ + + + Neues Handbuch der _Englischen_ Conversationssprache von _A. Schlessing_. + + A new Manual of the _German_ Language of Conversation by _A. Schlessing_. + + Neues Handbuch der _Franzoesischen_ Conversationssprache von _L. Rollin_. + + Nouveau Manuel de la Conversation _Allemande_ par MM. _L. Rollin_ et + _Wolfgang Weber_. + + + + + Tauchnitz Dictionaries. + + +A complete Dictionary of the English and German languages +for general use. By _W. James_. Thirtieth Stereotype Edition. +crown 8vo sewed Mark 4,50. + +A complete Dictionary of the English and French languages +for general use. By _W. James_ and _A. Mole_. Thirteenth +Stereotype Edition. crown 8vo sewed Mark 6,00. + +A complete Dictionary of the English and Italian languages +for general use. By _W. James_ and _Gius. Grassi_. 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