diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 23:13:38 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 23:13:38 -0800 |
| commit | 90f8a106a65addd367990544f505e6038f811387 (patch) | |
| tree | e7cc1cedde5e0dec3a5e4ba41a20a10ea53962cb /old/65592-0.txt | |
| parent | f0fdf0b8667259d5a809403ce28b1a9f95edce36 (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/65592-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65592-0.txt | 3807 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 3807 deletions
diff --git a/old/65592-0.txt b/old/65592-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fb39f75..0000000 --- a/old/65592-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3807 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Flower of Old Japan, by Alfred Noyes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Flower of Old Japan - and Other Poems - -Author: Alfred Noyes - -Release Date: June 11, 2021 [eBook #65592] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN *** - - - - - THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN - - [Illustration] - - - - - THE FLOWER OF OLD - JAPAN - - AND OTHER POEMS - - BY - ALFRED NOYES - - New York - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. - 1907 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1907, - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1907. - - - Norwood Press - J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. - Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. - - - - - ‘O ciel! toute la Chine est par terre en morceaux! - Ce vase pâle et doux comme un reflet des eaux, - Couvert d’oiseaux, de fleurs, de fruits, et des mensonges - De ce vague idéal qui sort du bleu des songes, - Ce vase unique, étrange, impossible, engourdi, - Gardant sur lui le clair de lune en plein midi, - Qui paraissait vivant, où luisait une flamme, - Qui semblait presque un monstre et semblait presque une âme.’ - --VICTOR HUGO (_Le Pot Cassé_). - - - - - To - CAROL - A Little Maiden - of Miyako - - - - - PREFACE - - -It is a perilous adventure--the writing of a preface, however brief, to -one’s own poems. For one may be tempted to re-state matters that could -find their full elucidation only in the verses themselves. Tennyson once -remarked that poetry is like shot silk, glancing with many colours; and -any attempt to define its meanings is as great a mistake as the attempt -of nineteenth-century materialism to enclose the infinite universe in -its logical nut-shells. Through poetry alone, whether of deeds or words, -thought or colour, passion or marble, is it possible to approach the -Infinite, or as Blake did:-- - - ‘To see a world in a grain of sand, - A heaven in a wild flower; - Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, - And Eternity in an hour.’ - -But this revelation is the sole end and object of all true art; and I -hope it may not be thought presumptuous to say here simply -that--whether the attempt be a success or a failure--it was especially -my own aim in the two following poems. If the feet of childhood are set -dancing in them, it was because as children we are best able to enter -into that Kingdom of Dreams which is also the only true, the only real, -Kingdom. The first tale, for instance, must not be taken to have any -real relation to Japan. It belongs--as the _Spectator_ put it--to the -kind of dreamland which an imaginative child might construct out of the -oddities of a willow-pattern plate, and it differs chiefly from -Wonderlands of the Lewis Carrol type in a certain seriousness behind its -fantasy. It is astonishing to me that these things require comment; but -undoubtedly they do. For, on the one hand, the first tale has been -praised enthusiastically as a vivid picture of Japan, and the author has -not only had to correspond with Tokyo on the subject, but was also -invited to meetings of the Japan Society in London! On the other hand, -because the child-voices are allowed to declare that Tusitala lies -asleep in that distant country of dreams, a prosaic English critic once -wrote a lengthy review in an important paper to point out my gross -ignorance of the fact that Stevenson was really buried in Samoa! The -tales are ‘such stuff as dreams are made on’; but--as a kinder critic -has remarked--‘we ourselves are made of that stuff.’ It is perhaps -because these poems are almost light enough for a nonsense-book that I -feel there is something in them more elemental, more essential, more -worthy of serious consideration, than the most ponderous philosophical -poem I could write. They are based on the fundamental and very simple -mystery of the universe--that anything, even a grain of sand, should -exist at all. If we could understand that, we could understand -everything! Set clear of all irrelevancies, that is the simple problem -that has been puzzling all the ages; and it is well sometimes to forget -our accumulated ‘knowledge’ and return to it in all its childish -_naïveté_. It is well to face that inconceivable miracle, that -fundamental impossibility which happens to have been possible, that -contradiction in terms, that fundamental paradox, for which we have at -best only a cruciform symbol, with its arms pointing in opposite -directions and postulating, at once, an infinite God. - -The inscription on the “Wisdom Looking-Glass”; the discovery by the -children that the self-limitation of their little wishes was necessary -not only to their own happiness, but to the harmony of the whole world; -the development of the same idea in the passages leading up to the -song--_What does it take to make a rose?_--where a _divine_ act of -loving self-limitation, an eternal self-sacrifice, an everlasting -passion of the Godhead, such as perhaps was shadowed forth on Calvary, -is found to be at the heart of the Universe, and to be--as it were--the -highest aspect of the Paradox aforesaid, the living secret and price of -our very existence; these things are only one twisted strand of the -‘shot silk’ out of which the two tales are woven. It is no new wisdom to -regard these things through the eyes of little children; and I -know--however insignificant they may be to others--these two tales -contain as deep and true things as I, personally, have the power to -express. I hope, therefore, that I may be pardoned, in these hurried -days, for pointing out that the two poems are not to be taken merely as -fairy-tales, but as an attempt to follow the careless and happy feet of -childhood back into the kingdom of those dreams which, as we said above, -are the sole reality worth living and dying for; those beautiful dreams, -or those fantastic jests--if any care to call them so--for which mankind -has endured so many triumphant martyrdoms that even amidst the rush and -roar of modern materialism they cannot be quite forgotten. - - ALFRED NOYES. - - - - -PERSONS OF THE TALE - - -OURSELVES. -THE TALL THIN MAN. -THE DWARF BEHIND THE TWISTED PEAR-TREE. -CREEPING SIN. -THE MAD MOONSHEE. -THE NAMELESS ONE. - -Pirates, Mandarins, Bonzes, Priests, Jugglers, Merchants, Ghastroi, -Weirdrians, etc. - - - - - PRELUDE - - - You that have known the wonder zone - Of islands far away; - You that have heard the dinky bird - And roamed in rich Cathay; - You that have sailed o’er unknown seas - To woods of Amfalula trees - Where craggy dragons play: - Oh, girl or woman, boy or man, - You’ve plucked the Flower of Old Japan! - - Do you remember the blue stream; - The bridge of pale bamboo; - The path that seemed a twisted dream - Where everything came true; - The purple cherry-trees; the house - With jutting eaves below the boughs; - The mandarins in blue, - With tiny, tapping, tilted toes, - And curious curved mustachios? - - _The road to Old Japan!_ you cry, - _And is it far or near?_ - Some never find it till they die; - Some find it everywhere; - The road where restful Time forgets - His weary thoughts and wild regrets - And calls the golden year - Back in a fairy dream to smile - On young and old a little while. - - Some seek it with a blazing sword, - And some with old blue plates; - Some with a miser’s golden hoard; - Some with a book of dates; - Some with a box of paints; a few - Whose loads of truth would ne’er pass through - The first, white, fairy gates; - And, oh, how shocked they are to find - That truths are false when left behind! - - Do you remember all the tales - That Tusitala told, - When first we plunged thro’ purple vales - In quest of buried gold? - Do you remember how he said - That if we fell and hurt our head - Our hearts must still be bold, - And we must never mind the pain - But rise up and go on again? - - Do you remember? yes; I know - You must remember still: - He left us, not so long ago, - Carolling with a will, - Because he knew that he should lie - Under the comfortable sky - Upon a lonely hill, - In Old Japan, when day was done; - “Dear Robert Louis Stevenson.” - - And there he knew that he should find - The hills that haunt us now; - The whaups that cried upon the wind - His heart remembered how; - And friends he loved and left, to roam - Far from the pleasant hearth of home, - Should touch his dreaming brow; - Where fishes fly and birds have fins, - And children teach the mandarins. - - Ah, let us follow, follow far - Beyond the purple seas; - Beyond the rosy foaming bar, - The coral reef, the trees, - The land of parrots, and the wild - That rolls before the fearless child - Its ancient mysteries: - Onward and onward, if we can, - To Old Japan--to Old Japan. - - - - - PART I - - EMBARKATION - - - When the firelight, red and clear, - Flutters in the black wet pane, - It is very good to hear - Howling winds and trotting rain: - It is very good indeed, - When the nights are dark and cold, - Near the friendly hearth to read - Tales of ghosts and buried gold. - - So with cosy toes and hands - We were dreaming, just like you; - Till we thought of palmy lands - Coloured like a cockatoo; - All in drowsy nursery nooks - Near the clutching fire we sat, - Searching quaint old story-books - Piled upon the furry mat. - - Something haunted us that night - Like a half-remembered name; - Worn old pages in that light - Seemed the same, yet not the same: - Curling in the pleasant heat - Smoothly as a shell-shaped fan, - O! they breathed and smelt so sweet - When we turned to Old Japan! - - Suddenly we thought we heard - Someone tapping on the wall, - Tapping, tapping like a bird, - Till a panel seemed to fall - Quietly; and a tall thin man - Stepped into the glimmering room, - And he held a little fan, - And he waved it in the gloom. - - Curious reds, and golds, and greens - Danced before our startled eyes, - Birds from painted Indian screens, - Beads, and shells, and dragon-flies; - Wings, and flowers, and scent, and flame, - Fans and fish and heliotrope; - Till the magic air became - Like a dream kaleidoscope. - - Then he told us of a land - Far across a fairy sea; - And he waved his thin white hand - Like a flower, melodiously; - While a red and blue macaw - Perched upon his pointed head, - And as in a dream, we saw - All the curious things he said. - - Tucked in tiny palanquins, - Magically swinging there, - Flowery-kirtled mandarins - Floated through the scented air; - Wandering dogs and prowling cats - Grinned at fish in painted lakes; - Cross-legged conjurers on mats - Fluted low to listening snakes. - - Fat black bonzes on the shore - Watched where singing, faint and far, - Boys in long blue garments bore - Roses in a golden jar. - While at carven dragon ships - Floating o’er that silent sea, - Squat-limbed gods with dreadful lips - Leered and smiled mysteriously. - - Like an idol, shrined alone, - Watched by secret oval eyes, - Where the ruby wishing-stone - Smouldering in the darkness lies, - Anyone that wanted things - Touched the jewel and they came: - We were wealthier than kings - If we could but do the same. - - Yes; we knew a hundred ways - We might use it if we could; - To be happy all our days - As an Indian in a wood; - No more daily lesson task, - No more sorrow, no more care; - So we thought that we would ask - If he’d kindly lead us there. - - Ah! but then he waved his fan, - And he vanished through the wall; - Yet as in a dream, we ran - Tumbling after, one and all; - Never pausing once to think, - Panting after him we sped; - For we saw his robe of pink - Floating backward as he fled. - - Down a secret passage deep, - Under roofs of spidery stairs, - Where the bat-winged nightmares creep, - And a sheeted phantom glares - Rushed we; ah! how strange it was - Where no human watcher stood; - Till we reached a gate of glass - Opening on a flowery wood. - - Where the rose-pink robe had flown, - Borne by swifter feet than ours, - On to Wonder-Wander town, - Through the wood of monstrous flowers; - Mailed in monstrous gold and blue - Dragon-flies like peacocks fled; - Butterflies like carpets, too, - Softly fluttered overhead. - - Down the valley, tip-a-toe, - Where the broad-limbed giants lie - Snoring, as when long ago - Jack on a bean-stalk scaled the sky; - Slowly, softly towards the town - Stole we past old dreams again, - Castles long since battered down, - Dungeons of forgotten pain. - - Noonday brooded on the wood, - Evening caught us ere we crept - Where a twisted pear-tree stood, - And a dwarf behind it slept; - Round his scraggy throat he wore, - Knotted tight, a scarlet scarf; - Timidly we watched him snore, - For he seemed a surly dwarf. - - Yet, he looked so very small, - He could hardly hurt us much; - We were nearly twice as tall, - So we woke him with a touch - Gently, and in tones polite, - Asked him to direct our path; - O! his wrinkled eyes grew bright - Green with ugly gnomish wrath. - - He seemed to choke, - And gruffly spoke, - “You’re lost: deny it, if you can! - You want to know - The way to go? - There’s no such place as Old Japan. - - “You want to seek-- - No, no, don’t speak! - You mean you want to steal a fan. - You want to see - The fields of tea? - They don’t grow tea in Old Japan. - - “In China, well - Perhaps you’d smell - The cherry bloom: that’s if you ran - A million miles - And jumped the stiles, - And never dreamed of Old Japan. - - “What, palanquins, - And mandarins? - And, what d’you say, a blue divan? - And what? Hee! hee! - You’ll never see - A pig-tailed head in Old Japan. - - “You’d take away - The ruby, hey? - I never heard of such a plan! - Upon my word - It’s quite absurd - There’s not a gem in Old Japan! - - “Oh, dear me, no! - You’d better go - Straight home again, my little man: - Ah, well, you’ll see - But don’t blame me; - I don’t believe in Old Japan.” - - Then, before we could obey, - O’er our startled heads he cast, - Spider-like, a webby grey - Net that held us prisoned fast; - How we screamed, he only grinned, - It was such a lonely place; - And he said we should be pinned - In his human beetle-case. - - Out he dragged a monstrous box - From a cave behind the tree! - It had four-and-twenty locks, - But he could not find the key, - And his face grew very pale - When a sudden voice began - Drawing nearer through the vale, - Singing songs of Old Japan. - - - - - SONG - - - _Satin sails in a crimson dawn_ - _Over the silky silver sea;_ - _Purple veils of the dark withdrawn;_ - _Heavens of pearl and porphyry;_ - _Purple and white in the morning light_ - _Over the water the town we knew,_ - _In tiny state, like a willow-plate,_ - _Shone, and behind it the hills were blue._ - - _There, we remembered, the shadows pass_ - _All day long like dreams in the night;_ - _There, in the meadows of dim blue grass,_ - _Crimson daisies are ringed with white;_ - _There the roses flutter their petals,_ - _Over the meadows they take their flight,_ - _There the moth that sleepily settles_ - _Turns to a flower in the warm soft light._ - - _There when the sunset colours the streets_ - _Everyone buys at wonderful stalls_ - _Toys and chocolates, guns and sweets,_ - _Ivory pistols, and Persian shawls:_ - _Everyone’s pockets are crammed with gold;_ - _Nobody’s heart is worn with care,_ - _Nobody ever grows tired and old,_ - _And nobody calls you “Baby” there._ - - _There with a hat like a round white dish_ - _Upside down on each pig-tailed head,_ - _Jugglers offer you snakes and fish,_ - _Dreams and dragons and gingerbread;_ - _Beautiful books with marvellous pictures,_ - _Painted pirates and streaming gore,_ - _And everyone reads, without any strictures,_ - _Tales he remembers for evermore._ - - _There when the dim blue daylight lingers_ - _Listening, and the West grows holy,_ - _Singers crouch with their long white fingers_ - _Floating over the zithern slowly:_ - _Paper lamps with a peachy bloom_ - _Burn above on the dim blue bough,_ - _While the zitherns gild the gloom_ - _With curious music! I hear it now!_ - - _Now_: and at that mighty word - Holding out his magic fan, - Through the waving flowers appeared, - Suddenly, the tall thin man: - And we saw the crumpled dwarf - Trying to hide behind the tree, - But his knotted scarlet scarf - Made him very plain to see. - - Like a soft and smoky cloud - Passed the webby net away; - While its owner squealing loud - Down behind the pear-tree lay; - For the tall thin man came near, - And his words were dark and gruff, - And he swung the dwarf in the air - By his long and scraggy scruff. - - There he kickled whimpering. - But our rescuer touched the box, - Open with a sudden spring - Clashed the four-and-twenty locks; - Then he crammed the dwarf inside, - And the locks all clattered tight: - Four-and-twenty times he tried - Whether they were fastened right. - - Ah, he led us on our road, - Showed us Wonder-Wander town; - Then he fled: behind him flowed - Once again the rose-pink gown: - Down the long deserted street, - All the windows winked like eyes, - And our little trotting feet - Echoed to the starry skies. - - Low and long for evermore - Where the Wonder-Wander sea - Whispers to the wistful shore - Purple songs of mystery, - Down the shadowy quay we came-- - Though it hides behind the hill - You will find it just the same - And the seamen singing still. - - There we chose a ship of pearl, - And her milky silken sail - Seemed by magic to unfurl, - Puffed before a fairy gale; - Shimmering o’er the purple deep, - Out across the silvery bar, - Softly as the wings of sleep - Sailed we towards the morning star. - - Over us the skies were dark, - Yet we never needed light; - Softly shone our tiny bark - Gliding through the solemn night; - Softly bright our moony gleam, - Glimmered o’er the glistening waves, - Like a cold sea-maiden’s dream - Globed in twilit ocean caves. - - So all night our shallop passed - Many a haunt of old desire, - Blurs of savage blossom massed - Red above a pirate-fire; - Huts that gloomed and glanced among - Fruitage dipping in the blue; - Songs the sirens never sung, - Shores Ulysses never knew. - - All our fairy rigging shone - Richly as a rainbow seen - Where the moonlight floats upon - Gossamers of gold and green: - All the tiny spars were bright; - Beaten gold the bowsprit was; - But our pilot was the night, - And our chart a looking-glass. - - - - - PART II - - THE ARRIVAL - - - With rosy finger-tips the Dawn - Drew back the silver veils, - Till lilac shimmered into lawn - Above the satin sails; - And o’er the waters, white and wan, - In tiny patterned state, - We saw the streets of Old Japan - Shine, like a willow plate. - - O, many a milk-white pigeon roams - The purple cherry crops, - The mottled miles of pearly domes, - And blue pagoda tops, - The river with its golden canes - And dark piratic dhows, - To where beyond the twisting vanes - The burning mountain glows. - - A snow-peak in the silver skies - Beyond that magic world, - We saw the great volcano rise - With incense o’er it curled, - Whose tiny thread of rose and blue - Has risen since time began, - Before the first enchanter knew - The peak of Old Japan. - - Nobody watched us quietly steer - The pinnace to the painted pier, - Except one pig-tailed mandarin, - Who sat upon a chest of tea - Pretending not to hear or see!... - His hands were very long and thin, - His face was very broad and white; - And O, it was a fearful sight - To see him sit alone and grin! - - His grin was very sleek and sly: - Timidly we passed him by! - He did not seem at all to care: - So, thinking we were safely past, - We ventured to look back at last. - O, dreadful blank!--_He was not there!_ - He must have hid behind his chest: - We did not stay to see the rest. - - But, as in reckless haste we ran, - We came upon the tall thin man, - Who called to us and waved his fan, - And offered us his palanquin: - He said we must not go alone - To seek the ruby wishing-stone, - Because the white-faced mandarin - Would dog our steps for many a mile, - And sit upon each purple stile - Before we came to it, and smile - And smile; his name was Creeping Sin. - - He played with children’s beating hearts, - And stuck them full of poisoned darts - And long green thorns that stabbed and stung: - He’d watch until we tried to speak, - Then thrust inside his pasty cheek - His long, white, slimy tongue: - And smile at everything we said; - And sometimes pat us on the head, - And say that we were very young: - He was a cousin of the man - Who said that there was no Japan. - - And night and day this Creeping Sin - Would follow the path of the palanquin; - Yet if we still were fain to touch - The ruby, we must have no fear, - Whatever we might see or hear, - And the tall thin man would take us there; - He did not fear that Sly One much, - Except perhaps on a moonless night, - Nor even then if the stars were bright. - - So, in the yellow palankeen - We swung along in state between - Twinkling domes of gold and green - Through the rich bazaar, - Where the cross-legged merchants sat, - Old and almond-eyed and fat, - Each upon a gorgeous mat, - Each in a cymar; - Each in crimson samite breeches, - Watching his barbaric riches. - - Cherry blossom breathing sweet - Whispered o’er the dim blue street - Where with fierce uncertain feet - Tawny pirates walk: - All in belts and baggy blouses, - Out of dreadful opium houses, - Out of dens where Death carouses, - Horribly they stalk; - Girt with ataghan and dagger, - Right across the road they swagger. - - And where the cherry orchards blow, - We saw the maids of Miyako, - Swaying softly to and fro - Through the dimness of the dance: - Like sweet thoughts that shine through dreams - They glided, wreathing rosy gleams, - With stately sounds of silken streams, - And many a slim kohl-lidded glance; - Then fluttered with tiny rose-bud feet - To a soft _frou-frou_ and a rhythmic beat - As the music shimmered, pursuit, retreat, - “Hands across, retire, advance!” - And again it changed and the glimmering throng - Faded into a distant song. - - - - - SONG - - - _The maidens of Miyako_ - _Dance in the sunset hours,_ - _Deep in the sunset glow,_ - _Under the cherry flowers._ - - _With dreamy hands of pearl_ - _Floating like butterflies,_ - _Dimly the dancers whirl_ - _As the rose light dies;_ - - _And their floating gowns, their hair_ - _Upbound with curious pins,_ - _Fade thro’ the darkening air_ - _With the dancing mandarins._ - - And then, as we went, the tall thin man - Explained the manners of Old Japan; - If you pitied a thing, you pretended to sneer; - Yet if you were glad you ran to buy - A captive pigeon and let it fly; - And, if you were sad, you took a spear - To wound yourself, for fear your pain - Should quietly grow less again. - - And, again he said, if we wished to find - The mystic City that enshrined - The stone so few on earth had found, - We must be very brave; it lay - A hundred haunted leagues away, - Past many a griffon-guarded ground, - In depths of dark and curious art, - Where passion-flowers enfold apart - The Temple of the Flaming Heart, - The City of the Secret Wound. - - About the fragrant fall of day - We saw beside the twisted way - A blue-domed tea-house, bossed with gold; - Hungry and thirsty we entered in: - How should we know what Creeping Sin - Had breathed in that Emperor’s ear who sold - His own dumb soul for an evil jewel - To the earth-gods, blind and ugly and cruel?... - We drank sweet tea as his tale was told, - In a garden of blue chrysanthemums, - While a drowsy swarming of gongs and drums - Out of the sunset dreamily rolled. - - But, as the murmur nearer drew, - A fat black bonze, in a robe of blue, - Suddenly at the gate appeared; - And close behind, with that evil grin, - _Was it Creeping Sin, was it Creeping Sin?_ - The bonze looked quietly down and sneered. - Our guide! Was he sleeping? We could not wake him, - However we tried to pinch and shake him! - - Nearer, nearer the tumult came, - Till, as a glare of sound and flame, - Blind from a terrible furnace door - Blares, or the mouth of a dragon, blazed - The seething gateway: deaf and dazed - With the clanging and the wild uproar - We stood; while a thousand oval eyes - Gapped our fear with a sick surmise. - - Then, as the dead sea parted asunder, - The clamour clove with a sound of thunder - In two great billows; and all was quiet. - Gaunt and black was the palankeen - That came in dreadful state between - The frozen waves of the wild-eyed riot - Curling back from the breathless track - Of the Nameless One who is never seen: - The close drawn curtains were thick and black; - But wizen and white was the tall thin man - As he rose in his sleep: - His eyes were closed, his lips were wan, - He crouched like a leopard that dares not leap. - - The bearers halted: the tall thin man, - Fearfully dreaming, waved his fan, - With wizard fingers, to and fro; - While, with a whimper of evil glee, - The Nameless Emperor’s mad Moonshee - Stepped in front of us: dark and slow - Were the words of the doom that he dared not name; - But, over the ground, as he spoke, there came - Tiny circles of soft blue flame; - Like ghosts of flowers they began to glow, - And flow like a moonlit brook between - Our feet and the terrible palankeen. - - But the Moonshee wrinkled his long thin eyes, - And sneered, “Have you stolen the strength of the skies? - Then pour before us a stream of pearl! - Give us the pearl and the gold we know, - And our hearts will be softened and let you go; - But these are toys for a foolish girl-- - These vanishing blossoms--what are they worth? - They are not so heavy as dust and earth: - Pour before us a stream of pearl!” - - Then, with a wild strange laugh, our guide - Stretched his arms to the West and cried - Once, and a song came over the sea; - And all the blossoms of moon-soft fire - Woke and breathed as a wind-swept lyre, - And the garden surged into harmony; - Till it seemed that the soul of the whole world sung, - And every petal became a tongue - To tell the thoughts of Eternity. - - But the Moonshee lifted his painted brows - And stared at the gold on the blue tea-house: - “Can you clothe your body with dreams?” he sneered; - “If you taught us the truths that we always know - Our heart might be softened and let you go: - Can you tell us the length of a monkey’s beard, - Or the weight of the gems on the Emperor’s fan, - Or the number of parrots in Old Japan?” - And again, with a wild strange laugh, our guide - Looked at him; and he shrunk aside, - Shrivelling like a flame-touched leaf; - For the red-cross blossoms of soft blue fire - Were growing and fluttering higher and higher, - Shaking their petals out, sheaf by sheaf, - Till with disks like shields and stems like towers - Burned the host of the passion-flowers -... Had the Moonshee flown like a midnight thief? -... Yet a thing like a monkey, shrivelled and black, - Chattered and danced as they forced him back. - - As the coward chatters for empty pride, - In the face of a foe that he cannot but fear, - It chattered and leapt from side to side, - And its voice rang strangely upon the ear. - As the cry of a wizard that dares not own - Another’s brighter and mightier throne; - As the wrath of a fool that rails aloud - On the fire that burnt him; the brazen bray - Clamoured and sang o’er the gaping crowd, - And flapped like a gabbling goose away. - - - - - THE CRY OF THE MAD MOONSHEE - - _If the blossoms were beans, - I should know what it means-- - This blaze, which I certainly cannot endure; - It is evil, too, - For its colour is blue, - And the sense of the matter is quite obscure. - Celestial truth - Is the food of youth; - But the music was dark as a moonless night._ - _The facts in the song - Were all of them wrong, - And there was not a single sum done right; - Tho’ a metaphysician amongst the crowd, - In a voice that was notably deep and loud, - Repeated, as fast as he was able, - The whole of the multiplication table._ - - So the cry flapped off as a wild goose flies, - And the stars came out in the trembling skies, - And ever the mystic glory grew - In the garden of blue chrysanthemums, - Till there came a rumble of distant drums; - And the multitude suddenly turned and flew. -... A dead ape lay where their feet had been ... - And we called for the yellow palankeen, - And the flowers divided and let us through. - The black-barred moon was large and low - When we came to the Forest of Ancient Woe; - And over our heads the stars were bright. - But through the forest the path we travelled - Its phosphorescent aisle unravelled - In one thin ribbon of dwindling light: - And twice and thrice on the fainting track - We paused to listen. The moon grew black, - But the coolies’ faces glimmered white, - As the wild woods echoed in dreadful chorus - A laugh that came horribly hopping o’er us - Like monstrous frogs thro’ the murky night. - - Then the tall thin man as we swung along - Sang us an old enchanted song - That lightened our hearts of their fearful load. - But, e’en as the moonlit air grew sweet, - We heard the pad of stealthy feet - Dogging us down the thin white road; - And the song grew weary again and harsh, - And the black trees dripped like the fringe of a marsh, - And a laugh crept out like a shadowy toad; - And we knew it was neither ghoul nor djinn: - _It was Creeping Sin! It was Creeping Sin!_ - - But we came to a bend, and the white moon glowed - Like a gate at the end of the narrowing road - Far away; and on either hand, - As guards of a path to the heart’s desire, - The strange tall blossoms of soft blue fire - Stretched away thro’ that unknown land, - League on league with their dwindling lane - Down to the large low moon; and again - There shimmered around us that mystical strain, - In a tongue that it seemed we could understand. - - - - - SONG - - - _Hold by right and rule by fear_ - _Till the slowly broadening sphere_ - _Melting through the skies above_ - _Merge into the sphere of love._ - - _Hold by might until you find_ - _Might is powerless o’er the mind:_ - _Hold by Truth until you see,_ - _Though they bow before the wind,_ - _Its towers can mock at liberty._ - - _Time, the seneschal, is blind;_ - _Time is blind: and what are we?_ - _Captives of Infinity,_ - _Claiming through Truth’s prison bars_ - _Kinship with the wandering stars._ - O, who could tell the wild weird sights - We saw in all the days and nights - We travelled through those forests old. - We saw the griffons on white cliffs, - Among fantastic hieroglyphs, - Guarding enormous heaps of gold: - We saw the Ghastroi--curious men - Who dwell, like tigers, in a den, - And howl whene’er the moon is cold; - They stripe themselves with red and black - And ride upon the yellow Yak. - - Their dens are always ankle-deep - With twisted knives, and in their sleep - They often cut themselves; they say - That if you wish to live in peace - The surest way is not to cease - Collecting knives; and never a day - Can pass, unless they buy a few; - And as their enemies buy them too - They all avert the impending fray, - And starve their children and their wives - To buy the necessary knives. - - * * * * * - - The forest leapt with shadowy shapes - As we came to the great black Tower of Apes: - But we gave them purple figs and grapes - In alabaster amphoras: - We gave them curious kinds of fruit - With betel nuts and orris-root, - And then they let us pass: - And when we reached the Tower of Snakes - We gave them soft white honey-cakes, - And warm sweet milk in bowls of brass: - And on the hundredth eve we found - The City of the Secret Wound. - - We saw the mystic blossoms blow - Round the City, far below; - Faintly in the sunset glow - We saw the soft blue glory flow - O’er many a golden garden gate: - And o’er the tiny dark green seas - Of tamarisks and tulip-trees, - Domes like golden oranges - Dream aloft elate. - - And clearer, clearer as we went, - We heard from tower and battlement - A whisper, like a warning, sent - From watchers out of sight; - And clearer, brighter, as we drew - Close to the walls, we saw the blue - Flashing of plumes where peacocks flew - Thro’ zones of pearly light. - - On either side, a fat black bonze - Guarded the gates of red-wrought bronze, - Blazoned with blue sea-dragons - And mouths of yawning flame; - Down the road of dusty red, - Though their brown feet ached and bled, - Our coolies went with joyful tread: - Like living fans the gates outspread - And opened as we came. - - - - - PART III - - THE MYSTIC RUBY - - - The white moon dawned; the sunset died; - And stars were trembling when we spied - The rose-red temple of our dreams: - Its lamp-lit gardens glimmered cool - With many an onyx-paven pool, - Amid soft sounds of flowing streams; - Where star-shine shimmered through the white - Tall fountain-shafts of crystal light - In ever changing rainbow-gleams. - - Priests in flowing yellow robes - Glided under rosy globes; - Through the green pomegranate boughs - Moonbeams poured their coloured rain; - Roofs of sea-green porcelain - Jutted o’er the rose-red house; - Bells were hung beneath its eaves; - Every wind that stirred the leaves - Tinkled as tired water does. - - The temple had a low broad base - Of black bright marble; all its face - Was marble bright in rosy bloom; - And where two sea-green pillars rose - Deep in the flower-soft eave-shadows - We saw, thro’ richly sparkling gloom, - Wrought in marvellous years of old - With bulls and peacocks bossed in gold, - The doors of powdered lacquer loom. - - Quietly then the tall thin man, - Holding his turquoise-tinted fan, - Alighted from the palanquin; - We followed: never painter dreamed - Of how that dark rich temple gleamed - With gules of jewelled gloom within; - And as we wondered near the door - A priest came o’er the polished floor - In sandals of soft serpent-skin; - His mitre shimmered bright and blue - With pigeon’s breast-plumes. When he knew - Our quest he stroked his broad white chin, - And looked at us with slanting eyes - And smiled; then through his deep disguise - _We knew him! It was Creeping Sin!_ - - But cunningly he bowed his head - Down on his gilded breast and said - _Come_: and he led us through the dusk - Of passages whose painted walls - Gleamed with dark old festivals; - Till where the gloom grew sweet with musk - And incense, through a door of amber - We came into a high-arched chamber. - - There on a throne of jasper sat - A monstrous idol, black and fat; - Thick rose-oil dropped upon its head: - Drop by drop, heavy and sweet, - Trickled down to its ebon feet - Whereon the blood of goats was shed, - And smeared around its perfumed knees - In savage midnight mysteries. - - It wore about its bulging waist - A belt of dark green bronze enchased - With big, soft, cloudy pearls; its wrists - Were clasped about with moony gems - Gathered from dead kings’ diadems; - Its throat was ringed with amethysts, - And in its awful hand it held - A softly smouldering emerald. - - Silkily murmured Creeping Sin, - “This is the stone you wished to win!” - “White Snake,” replied the tall thin man, - “Show us the Ruby Stone, or I - Will slay thee with my hands.” The sly - Long eyelids of the priest began - To slant aside; and then once more - He led us through the fragrant door. - - And now along the passage walls - Were painted hideous animals, - With hooded eyes and cloven stings: - In the incense that like shadowy hair - Streamed over them they seemed to stir - Their craggy claws and crooked wings. - At last we saw strange moon-wreaths curl - Around a deep, soft porch of pearl. - - O, what enchanter wove in dreams - That chapel wild with shadowy gleams - And prismy colours of the moon? - Shrined like a rainbow in a mist - Of flowers, the fretted amethyst - Arches rose to a mystic tune; - And never mortal art inlaid - Those cloudy floors of sea-soft jade. - - There, in the midst, an idol rose - White as the silent starlit snows - On lonely Himalayan heights: - Over its head the spikenard spilled - Down to its feet, with myrrh distilled - In distant, odorous Indian nights: - It held before its ivory face - A flaming yellow chrysoprase. - - O, silkily murmured Creeping Sin, - “This is the stone you wished to win.” - But in his ear the tall thin man - _Whispered with slow, strange lips_--we knew - Not what, but Creeping Sin went blue - With fear; again his eyes began - To slant aside; then through the porch - He passed, and lit a tall, brown torch. - - Down a corridor dark as death, - With beating hearts and bated breath - We hurried; far away we heard - A dreadful hissing, fierce as fire - When rain begins to quench a pyre; - And where the smoky torch-light flared - Strange vermin beat their bat-like wings, - And the wet walls dropped with slimy things. - - And darker, darker, wound the way, - Beyond all gleams of night and day, - And still that hideous hissing grew - Louder and louder on our ears, - And tortured us with eyeless fears; - Then suddenly the gloom turned blue, - And, in the wall, a rough rock cave - Gaped, like a phosphorescent grave. - - And from the purple mist within - There came a wild tumultuous din - Of snakes that reared their heads and - hissed - As if a witch’s cauldron boiled; - All round the door great serpents coiled, - With eyes of glowing amethyst, - Whose fierce blue flames began to slide - Like shooting stars from side to side. - - Ah! with a sickly gasping grin - And quivering eyelids, Creeping Sin - Stole to the cave; but, suddenly, - As through its glimmering mouth he passed, - The serpents flashed and gripped him fast: - He wriggled and gave one awful cry, - Then all at once the cave was cleared; - The snakes with their victim had disappeared. - - And fearlessly the tall thin man - Opened his turquoise-tinted fan - And entered; and the mists grew bright, - And we saw that the cave was a diamond hall - Lit with lamps for a festival. - A myriad globes of coloured light - Went gliding deep in its massy sides, - Like the shimmering moons in the glassy tides - Where a sea-king’s palace enchants the night. - - Gliding and flowing, a glory and wonder, - Through each other, and over, and under, - The lucent orbs of green and gold, - Bright with sorrow or soft with sleep, - In music through the glimmering deep, - Over their secret axles rolled, - And circled by the murmuring spheres - We saw in a frame of frozen tears - A mirror that made the blood run cold. - - For, when we came to it, we found - It imaged everything around - Except the face that gazed in it; - And where the mirrored face should be - A heart-shaped Ruby fierily - Smouldered; and round the frame was writ, - _Mystery: Time and Tide shall pass, - I am the Wisdom Looking-Glass._ - _This is the Ruby none can touch: - Many have loved it overmuch; - Its fathomless fires flutter and sigh, - Being as images of the flame - That shall make earth and heaven the same - When the fire of the end reddens the sky, - And the world consumes like a burning pall, - Till where there is nothing, there is all._ - - So we looked up at the tall thin man - And we saw that his face grew sad and wan: - Tears were glistening in his eyes: - At last, with a breaking sob, he bent - His head upon his breast and went - Swiftly away! With dreadful cries - We rushed to the softly glimmering door - And stared at the hideous corridor - But his robe was gone as a dream that flies: - Back to the glass in terror we came, - And stared at the writing round the frame. - - We could not understand one word: - And suddenly we thought we heard - The hissing of the snakes again: - How could we front them all alone? - O, madly we clutched at the mirrored stone - And wished we were back on the flowery plain: - And swifter than thought and swift as fear - The whole world flashed, and behold we were there. - - Yes; there was the port of Old Japan, - With its twisted patterns, white and wan, - Shining like a mottled fan - Spread by the blue sea, faint and far; - And far away we heard once more - A sound of singing on the shore, - Where boys in blue kimonos bore - Roses in a golden jar: - And we heard, where the cherry orchards blow, - The serpent-charmers fluting low, - And the song of the maidens of Miyako. - - And at our feet unbroken lay - The glass that had whirled us thither away: - And in the grass, among the flowers - We sat and wished all sorts of things: - O, we were wealthier than kings! - We ruled the world for several hours! - And then, it seemed, we knew not why, - All the daisies began to die. - - We wished them alive again; but soon - The trees all fled up towards the moon - Like peacocks through the sunlit air: - And the butterflies flapped into silver fish; - And each wish spoiled another wish; - Till we threw the glass down in despair; - For, getting whatever you want to get, - Is like drinking tea from a fishing net. - - At last we thought we’d wish once more - That all should be as it was before; - And then we’d shatter the glass, if we could; - But just as the world grew right again, - We heard a wanderer out on the plain - Singing what none of us understood; - Yet we thought that the world grew thrice more sweet - And the meadows were blossoming under his feet. - - And we felt a grand and beautiful fear, - For we knew that a marvellous thought drew near; - So we kept the glass for a little while: - And the skies grew deeper and twice as bright, - And the seas grew soft as a flower of light, - And the meadows rippled from stile to stile; - And memories danced in a musical throng - Thro’ the blossom that scented the wonderful song. - - - - - SONG - - - _We sailed across the silver seas - And saw the sea-blue bowers, - We saw the purple cherry trees, - And all the foreign flowers, - We travelled in a palanquin - Beyond the caravan, - And yet our hearts had never seen - The Flower of Old Japan._ - - _The Flower above all other flowers, - The Flower that never dies;_ - _Before whose throne the scented hours - Offer their sacrifice; - The Flower that here on earth below - Reveals the heavenly plan; - But only little children know - The Flower of Old Japan._ - - There, in the dim blue flowery plain - We wished with the magic glass again - To go to the Flower of the song’s desire: - And o’er us the whole of the soft blue sky - Flashed like fire as the world went by, - And far beneath us the sea like fire - Flashed in one swift blue brilliant stream, - And the journey was done, like a change in a dream. - - - - - PART IV - - THE END OF THE QUEST - - - Like the dawn upon a dream - Slowly through the scented gloom - Crept once more the ruddy gleam - O’er the friendly nursery room. - There, before our waking eyes, - Large and ghostly, white and dim, - Dreamed the Flower that never dies, - Opening wide its rosy rim. - - Spreading like a ghostly fan, - Petals white as porcelain, - There the Flower of Old Japan - Told us we were home again; - For a soft and curious light - Suddenly was o’er it shed, - And we saw it was a white - English daisy, ringed with red. - - Slowly, as a wavering mist - Waned the wonder out of sight, - To a sigh of amethyst, - To a wraith of scented light. - Flower and magic glass had gone; - Near the clutching fire we sat - Dreaming, dreaming, all alone, - Each upon a furry mat. - - While the firelight, red and clear, - Fluttered in the black wet pane, - It was very good to hear - Howling winds and trotting rain. - For we found at last we knew - More than all our fancy planned, - All the fairy tales were true, - And home the heart of fairyland. - - - - - EPILOGUE - - - Carol, every violet has - Heaven for a looking-glass! - - Every little valley lies - Under many-clouded skies; - Every little cottage stands - Girt about with boundless lands; - Every little glimmering pond - Claims the mighty shores beyond; - Shores no seaman ever hailed, - Seas no ship has ever sailed. - - All the shores when day is done - Fade into the setting sun, - So the story tries to teach - More than can be told in speech. - - Beauty is a fading flower, - Truth is but a wizard’s tower, - Where a solemn death-bell tolls, - And a forest round it rolls. - - We have come by curious ways - To the Light that holds the days; - We have sought in haunts of fear - For that all-enfolding sphere: - And lo! it was not far, but near. - - We have found, O foolish-fond, - The shore that has no shore beyond. - - Deep in every heart it lies - With its untranscended skies; - For what heaven should bend above - Hearts that own the heaven of love? - - Carol, Carol, we have come - Back to heaven, back to home. - - - - - FOREST OF WILD THYME - - To - HELEN, ROSIE - and - BEATRIX - - - - - APOLOGIA - - - Critics, you have been so kind, - I would not have you think me blind - To all the wisdom that you preach; - Yet before I strictlier run - In straiter lines of chiselled speech, - Give me one more hour, just one - Hour to hunt the fairy gleam - That flutters through this childish dream. - - It mocks me as it flies, I know: - All too soon the gleam will go; - Yet I love it and shall love - My dream that brooks no narrower bars - Than bind the darkening heavens above, - My Jack o’Lanthorn of the stars: - Then, I’ll follow it no more, - I’ll light the lamp: I’ll close the door. - - - - - PRELUDE - - - Hush! if you remember how we sailed to old Japan, - Peterkin was with us then, our little brother Peterkin! - Now we’ve lost him, so they say: I think the tall thin man - Must have come and touched him with his curious twinkling fan - And taken him away again, our merry little Peterkin; - He’ll be frightened all alone; we’ll find him if we can; - Come and look for Peterkin, poor little Peterkin. - - No one would believe us if we told them what we know, - Or they wouldn’t grieve for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin; - If they’d only watched us roaming through the streets of Miyako, - And travelling in a palanquin where parents never go, - And seen the golden gardens where we wandered once with Peterkin, - And smelt the purple orchards where the cherry-blossoms blow, - They wouldn’t mourn for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin. - - Put away your muskets, lay aside the drum, - Hang it by the wooden sword we made for little Peterkin! - - He was once our trumpeter, now his bugle’s dumb, - Pile your arms beneath it, for the owlet light is come, - We’ll wander through the roses where we marched of old with Peterkin, - We’ll search the summer sunset where the Hybla beehives hum, - And--if we meet a fairy there--we’ll ask for news of Peterkin. - - He was once our cabin-boy and cooked the sweets for tea; - And O, we’ve sailed around the world with laughing little Peterkin; - From nursery floor to pantry door we’ve roamed the mighty sea, - And come to port below the stairs in distant Caribee, - But wheresoe’er we sailed we took our little lubber Peterkin, - Because his wide grey eyes believed much more than ours could see, - And so we liked our Peterkin, our trusty little Peterkin. - - Peterkin, Peterkin, I think if you came back - The captain of our host to-day should be the bugler Peterkin, - And he should lead our smugglers up that steep and narrow track, - A band of noble brigands, bearing each a mighty pack - Crammed with lace and jewels to the secret cave of Peterkin, - And he should wear the biggest boots and make his pistol crack,-- - The Spanish cloak, the velvet mask, we’d give them all to Peterkin. - Come, my brother pirates, I am tired of play; - Come and look for Peterkin, little brother Peterkin, - Our merry little comrade that the fairies took away, - For people think we’ve lost him, and when we come to say - Our good-night prayers to mother, if we pray for little Peterkin - Her eyes are very sorrowful, she turns her head away. - Come and look for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin. - - God bless little Peterkin, wherever he may be! - Come and look for Peterkin, lonely little Peterkin: - I wonder if they’ve taken him again across the sea - From the town of Wonder-Wander and the Amfalula tree - To the land of many marvels where we roamed of old with Peterkin, - The land of blue pagodas and the flowery fields of tea! - Come and look for Peterkin, poor little Peterkin. - - - - - PART I - - THE SPLENDID SECRET - - - Now father stood engaged in talk - With mother on that narrow walk - Between the laurels (where we play - At Red-skins lurking for their prey) - And the grey old wall of roses - Where the Persian kitten dozes - And the sunlight sleeps upon - Crannies of the crumbling stone - --So hot it is you scarce can bear - Your naked hand upon it there, - Though there luxuriating in heat - With a slow and gorgeous beat - White-winged currant-moths display - Their spots of black and gold all day.-- - Well, since we greatly wished to know - Whether we too might some day go - Where little Peterkin had gone - Without one word and all alone, - We crept up through the laurels there - Hoping that we might overhear - The splendid secret, darkly great, - Of Peterkin’s mysterious fate; - And on what high adventure bound - He left our pleasant garden-ground, - Whether for old Japan once more - He voyaged from the dim blue shore, - Or whether he set out to run - By candle-light to Babylon. - - We just missed something father said - About a young prince that was dead, - A little warrior that had fought - And failed: how hopes were brought to nought - He said, and mortals made to bow - Before the Juggernaut of Death, - And all the world was darker now, - For Time’s grey lips and icy breath - Had blown out all the enchanted lights - That burned in Love’s Arabian nights; - And now he could not understand - Mother’s mystic fairy-land, - “Land of the dead, poor fairy-tale,” - He murmured, and her face grew pale, - And then with great soft shining eyes - She leant to him--she looked so wise-- - And, with her cheek against his cheek, - We heard her, ah so softly, speak. - - “Husband, there was a happy day, - Long ago, in love’s young May, - When with a wild-flower in your hand - You echoed that dead poet’s cry-- - ‘_Little flower, but if I could understand!_’ - And you saw it had roots in the depths of the sky, - And there in that smallest bud lay furled - The secret and meaning of all the world.” - - He shook his head and then he tried - To kiss her, but she only cried - And turned her face away and said, - “You come between me and my dead! - His soul is near me, night and day, - But you would drive it far away; - And you shall never kiss me now - Until you lift that brave old brow - Of faith I know so well; or else - Refute the tale the skylark tells, - Tarnish the glory of that May, - Explain the Smallest Flower away.” - And still he said, “Poor fairy-tales, - How terribly their starlight pales - Before the solemn sun of truth - That rises o’er the grave of youth!” - - “Is heaven a fairy-tale?” she said,-- - And once again he shook his head; - And yet we ne’er could understand - Why heaven should _not_ be fairy-land, - A part of heaven at least, and why - The thought of it made mother cry, - And why they went away so sad, - And father still quite unforgiven, - For what could children be but glad - To find a fairy-land in heaven? - - And as we talked it o’er we found - Our brains were really spinning round; - But Dick, our eldest, late returned - From school, by all the lore he’d learned - Declared that we should seek the lost - Smallest Flower at any cost. - For, since within its leaves lay furled - The secret of the whole wide world, - He thought that we might learn therein - The whereabouts of Peterkin; - And, if we found the Flower, we knew - Father would be forgiven, too; - And mother’s kiss atone for all - The quarrel by the rose-hung wall; - We knew not how, we knew not why, - But Dick it was who bade us try, - Dick made it all seem plain and clear, - And Dick it is who helps us here - To tell this tale of fairy-land - In words we scarce can understand. - For ere another golden hour - Had passed, our anxious parents found - We’d left the scented garden-ground - To seek--the Smallest Flower. - - - - - PART II - - THE FIRST DISCOVERY - - - Oh, grown-ups cannot understand - And grown-ups never will, - How short’s the way to fairy-land - Across the purple hill: - They smile: their smile is very bland, - Their eyes are wise and chill; - And yet--at just a child’s command-- - The world’s an Eden still. - - Under the cloudy lilac-tree, - Out at the garden-gate, - We stole, a little band of three, - To tempt our fairy fate. - There was no human eye to see, - No voice to bid us wait; - The gardener had gone home to tea, - The hour was very late. - - I wonder if you’ve ever dreamed, - In summer’s noonday sleep, - Of what the thyme and heather seemed - To ladybirds that creep - Like little crimson shimmering gems - Between the tiny twisted stems - Of fairy forests deep; - And what it looks like as they pass - Through jungles of the golden grass. - - If you could suddenly become - As small a thing as they, - A midget-child, a new Tom Thumb, - A little gauze-winged fay, - Oh then, as through the mighty shades - Of wild thyme woods and violet glades - You groped your forest-way, - How fraught each fragrant bough would be - With dark o’erhanging mystery. - How high the forest aisles would loom, - What wondrous wings would beat - Through gloamings loaded with perfume - In many a rich retreat, - While trees like purple censers bowed - And swung beneath a swooning cloud - Mysteriously sweet, - Where flowers that haunt no mortal clime - Burden the Forest of Wild Thyme. - - We’d watched the bats and beetles flit - Through sunset-coloured air - The night that we discovered it - And all the heavens were bare: - We’d seen the colours melt and pass - Like silent ghosts across the grass - To sleep--our hearts knew where; - And so we rose, and hand in hand - We sought the gates of fairy-land. - - For Peterkin, oh Peterkin, - The cry was in our ears, - A fairy clamour, clear and thin - From lands beyond the years; - A wistful note, a dying fall - As of the fairy bugle-call - Some dreamful changeling hears, - And pines within his mortal home - Once more through fairy-land to roam. - We left behind the pleasant row - Of cottage window-panes, - The village inn’s red-curtained glow, - The lovers in the lanes; - And stout of heart and strong of will - We climbed the purple perfumed hill, - And hummed the sweet refrains - Of fairy tunes the tall thin man - Taught us of old in Old Japan. - - So by the tall wide-barred church-gate - Through which we all could pass - We came to where that curious plate, - That foolish plate of brass, - Said Peterkin was fast asleep - Beneath a cold and ugly heap - Of earth and stones and grass. - It was a splendid place for play, - That churchyard, on a summer’s day; - - A splendid place for hide-and-seek - Between the grey old stones; - Where even grown-ups used to speak - In awestruck whispering tones; - And here and there the grass ran wild - In jungles for the creeping child, - And there were elfin zones - Of twisted flowers and words in rhyme - And great sweet cushions of wild thyme. - - So in a wild thyme snuggery there - We stayed awhile to rest; - A bell was calling folk to prayer: - One star was in the West: - The cottage lights grew far away, - The whole sky seemed to waver and sway - Above our fragrant nest; - And from a distant dreamland moon - Once more we heard that fairy tune: - - Why, mother once had sung it us - When, ere we went to bed, - She told the tale of Pyramus, - How Thisbe found him dead - And mourned his eyes as green as leeks, - His cherry nose, his cowslip cheeks. - - That tune would oft around us float - Since on a golden noon - We saw the play that Shakespeare wrote - Of Lion, Wall, and Moon; - Ah, hark--the ancient fairy theme-- - _Following darkness like a dream!_ - - The very song Will Shakespeare sang, - The music that through Sherwood rang - And Arden and that forest glade - Where Hermie and Lysander strayed, - And Puck cried out with impish glee, - _Lord, what fools these mortals be_! - Though the masquerade was mute - Of Quince and Snout and Snug and Flute, - And Bottom with his donkey’s head - Decked with roses, white and red, - Though the fairies had forsaken - Sherwood now and faintly shaken - The forest-scents from off their feet, - Yet from some divine retreat - Came the music, sweet and clear, - To hang upon the raptured ear - With the free unfettered sway - Of blossoms in the moon of May. - Hark! the luscious fluttering - Of flower-soft words that kiss and cling, - And part again with sweet farewells, - And rhyme and chime like fairy-bells. - - “_I know a bank where the wild thyme blows - Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, - Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, - With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine._” - - Out of the undiscovered land - So sweetly rang the song, - We dreamed we wandered, hand in hand, - The fragrant aisles along, - Where long ago had gone to dwell - In some enchanted distant dell - The outlawed fairy throng - When out of Sherwood’s wildest glen - They sank, forsaking mortal men. - - And as we dreamed, the shadowy ground - Seemed gradually to swell; - And a strange forest rose around, - But how--we could not tell-- - Purple against a rose-red sky - The big boughs brooded silently: - Far off we heard a bell; - And, suddenly, a great red light - Smouldered before our startled sight. - - Then came a cry, a fiercer flash, - And down between the trees - We saw great crimson figures crash, - Wild-eyed monstrosities; - Great dragon-shapes that breathed a flame - From roaring nostrils as they came: - We sank upon our knees; - And looming o’er us, ten yards high, - Like battleships they thundered by. - - And then, as down that mighty dell - We followed, faint with fear, - We understood the tolling bell - That called the monsters there; - For right in front we saw a house - Woven of wild mysterious boughs - Bursting out everywhere - In crimson flames, and with a shout - The monsters rushed to put it out. - - And, in a flash, the truth was ours; - And there we knew--we knew-- - The meaning of those trees like flowers, - Those boughs of rose and blue, - And from the world we’d left above - A voice came crooning like a dove - To prove the dream was true: - And this--we knew it by the rhyme - Must be--the Forest of Wild Thyme. - - For out of the mystical rose-red dome - Of heaven the voice came murmuring down: - _Oh, Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home; - Your house is on fire and your children are gone._ - - We knew, we knew it by the rhyme, - Though _we_ seemed, after all, - No tinier, yet the sweet wild thyme - Towered like a forest tall - All round us; oh, we knew not how, - And yet--we knew those monsters now: - Our dream’s divine recall - Had dwarfed us, as with magic words; - The dragons were but ladybirds! - - And all around us as we gazed, - Half glad, half frightened, all amazed, - The scented clouds of purple smoke - In lurid gleams of crimson broke; - And o’er our heads the huge black trees - Obscured the sky’s red mysteries; - While here and there gigantic wings - Beat o’er us, and great scaly things - Fold over monstrous leathern fold - Out of the smouldering copses rolled; - And eyes like blood-red pits of flame - From many a forest-cavern came - To glare across the blazing glade, - Till, with the sudden thought dismayed, - We wondered if we e’er should find - The mortal home we left behind: - Fear clutched us in a grisly grasp, - We gave one wild and white-lipped gasp, - Then turned and ran, with streaming hair, - Away, away, and anywhere! - - And hurry-skurry, heart and heel and hand, we tore along, - And still our flying feet kept time and pattered on for Peterkin, - For Peterkin, oh Peterkin, it made a kind of song - To prove the road was right although it seemed so dark and wrong, - As through the desperate woods we plunged and - ploughed for little Peterkin, - Where many a hidden jungle-beast made noises like a gong - That rolled and roared and rumbled as we rushed along to Peterkin. - - Peterkin, Peterkin, if you could only hear - And answer us; one little word from little lonely Peterkin - To take and comfort father, he is sitting in his chair - In the library: he’s listening for your footstep on the stair - And your patter down the passage, he can only think of Peterkin: - Come back, come back to father, for to-day he’d let us tear - His newest book to make a paper-boat for little Peterkin. - - - - - PART III - - THE HIDEOUS HERMIT - - - Ah, what wonders round us rose - When we dared to pause and look, - Curious things that seemed all toes, - Goblins from a picture-book; - Ants like witches, four feet high, - Waving all their skinny arms, - Glared at us and wandered by, - Muttering their ancestral charms. - - Stately forms in green and gold - Armour strutted through the glades, - Just as Hamlet’s ghost, we’re told, - Mooned among the midnight shades; - Once a sort of devil came - Scattering broken trees about, - Winged with leather, eyed with flame,-- - He was but a moth, no doubt. - - Here and there, above us clomb - Feathery clumps of palm on high: - Those were ferns, of course, but some - Really seemed to touch the sky; - Yes; and down one fragrant glade, - Listening as we onward stole, - Half delighted, half afraid, - _Dong_, we heard the hare-bells toll! - - Something told us what that gleam - Down the glen was brooding o’er; - Something told us in a dream - What the bells were tolling for! - Something told us there was fear, - Horror, peril, on our way! - Was it far or was it near? - _Near_, we heard the night-wind say. - - _Toll_, the music reeled and pealed - Through the vast and sombre trees, - Where a rosy light revealed - Dimmer, sweeter mysteries; - And, like petals of the rose, - Fairy fans in beauty beat, - Light in light--ah, what were those - Rhymes we heard the night repeat? - - _Toll_, a dream within a dream, - Up an aisle of rose and blue, - Up the music’s perfumed stream - Came the words, and then we knew, - Knew that in that distant glen - Once again the case was tried, - Hark!--_Who killed Cock Robin, then?_ - And a tiny voice replied, - “_I_ - _killed_ - _Cock_ - _Robin!_” - - “_I!_ And who are _You_, sir, pray?” - Growled a voice that froze our marrow: - “Who!” we heard the murderer say, - “Lord, sir, I’m the famous Sparrow, - And this ’ere’s my bow and arrow! - “_I_ - _killed_ - _Cock_ - _Robin!_” - - Then, with one great indrawn breath, - Such a sighin’ and a sobbin’ - Rose all round us for the death - Of poor, poor Cock Robin, - Oh, we couldn’t bear to wait - Even to hear the murderer’s fate, - Which we’d often wished to know - Sitting in the fireside glow - And with hot revengeful looks - Searched for in the nursery-books; - For the Robin and the Wren - Are such friends to mortal men, - Such dear friends to mortal men! - - _Toll_; and through the woods once more - Stole we, drenched with fragrant dew: - _Toll_; the hare-bell’s burden bore - Deeper meanings than we knew: - Still it told us there was fear, - Horror, peril on our way! - Was it far or was it near? - _Near_, we heard the night-wind say! - - _Near_; and once or twice we saw - Something like a monstrous eye, - Something like a hideous claw - Steal between us and the sky: - Still we hummed a dauntless tune - Trying to think such things might be - Glimpses of the fairy moon - Hiding in some hairy tree. - - Yet around us as we went - Through the glades of rose and blue - Sweetness with the horror blent - Wonder-wild in scent and hue: - Here Aladdin’s cavern yawned, - Jewelled thick with gorgeous dyes; - There a head of clover dawned - Like a cloud in eastern skies. - - Hills of topaz, lakes of dew, - Fairy cliffs of crystal sheen - Passed we; and the forest’s blue - Sea of branches tossed between: - Once we saw a gryphon make - One soft iris as it passed - Like the curving meteor’s wake - O’er the forest, far and fast. - - Winged with purple, breathing flame, - Crimson-eyed we saw him go, - Where--ah! could it be the same - Cockchafer we used to know?-- - Valley-lilies overhead, - High aloof in clustered spray, - Far through heaven their splendour spread, - Glimmering like the Milky Way. - - Mammoths father calls “extinct,” - Creatures that the cave-men feared, - Through that forest walked and blinked, - Through that jungle crawled and leered; - Beasts no Nimrod ever knew, - Woolly bears of black and red; - Crocodiles, we wondered who - Ever dared to see _them_ fed. - - Were they lizards? If they were, - They could swallow _us_ with ease; - But they slumbered quietly there - In among the mighty trees; - Red and silver, blue and green, - Played the moonlight on their scales; - Golden eyes they had, and lean - Crookéd legs with cruel nails. - - Yet again, oh, faint and far, - Came the shadow of a cry, - Like the calling of a star - To its brother in the sky; - Like an echo in a cave - Where young mermen sound their shells, - Like the wind across a grave - Bright with scent of lily-bells. - - Like a fairy hunter’s horn - Sounding in some purple glen - Sweet revelly to the morn - And the fairy quest again: - Then, all round it surged a song - We could never understand - Though it lingered with us long, - And it seemed so sad and grand. - - - SONG - - _Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, - Summon the day of deliverance in: - We are weary of bearing the burden of scorn_ - _As we yearn for the home that we never shall win; - For here there is weeping and sorrow and sin, - And the poor and the weak are a spoil for the strong! - Ah! when shall the song of the ransomed begin? - The world is grown weary with waiting so long._ - - _Little Boy Blue, you are gallant and brave, - There was never a doubt in those clear bright eyes; - Come, challenge the grim dark Gates of the Grave - As the skylark sings to those infinite skies! - This world is a dream, say the old and the wise, - And its rainbows arise o’er the false and the true; - But the mists of the morning are made of our sighs,--_ - _Ah, shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy - Blue!_ - - _Little Boy Blue, if the child-heart knows, - Sound but a note as a little one may; - And the thorns of the desert shall bloom with the rose, - And the Healer shall wipe all tears away; - Little Boy Blue, we are all astray, - The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn, - Ah, set the world right, as a little one may; - Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn!_ - - Yes; and there between the trees - Circled with a misty gleam - Like the light a mourner sees - Round an angel in a dream; - Was it he? oh, brave and slim, - Straight and clad in æry blue, - Lifting to his lips the dim - Golden horn? We never knew! - - Never; for a witch’s hair - Flooded all the moonlit sky, - And he vanished, then and there, - In the twinkling of an eye: - Just as either boyish cheek - Puffed to set the world aright, - Ere the golden horn could speak - Round him flowed the purple night. - - * * * * * - - At last we came to a round black road - That tunnelled through the woods and showed, - Or so we thought, a good clear way - Back to the upper lands of day; - Great silken cables overhead - In many a mighty mesh were spread - Netting the rounded arch, no doubt - To keep the weight of leafage out. - And, as the tunnel narrowed down - So thick and close the cords had grown - No leaf could through their meshes stray, - And the faint moonlight died away; - Only a strange grey glimmer shone - To guide our weary footsteps on, - Until, tired out, we stood before - The end, a great grey silken door. - - Then from out a weird old wicket, overgrown with shaggy hair - Like a weird and wicked eyebrow round a weird and wicked eye, - Two great eyeballs and a beard - For one ghastly moment peered - At our faces with a sudden stealthy stare: - Then the door was opened wide, - And a hideous hermit cried - With a shy and soothing smile from out his lair, - _Won’t you walk into my parlour? I can make you cosy there!_ - - And we couldn’t quite remember where we’d heard that phrase before, - As the great grey-bearded ogre stood beside his open door; - But an echo seemed to answer from a land beyond the sky-- - _Won’t you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly!_ - - Then we looked a little closer at the ogre as he stood - With his great red eyeballs glowing like two torches in a wood, - And his mighty speckled belly and his dreadful clutching claws, - And his nose--a horny parrot’s beak, his whiskers and his jaws; - Yet he seemed so sympathetic, and we saw two tears descend, - As he murmured, “I’m so ugly, but I’ve lost my dearest friend! - I tell you most lymphatic’ly, I’ve yearnings in my soul,”-- - And right along his parrot’s beak we saw the tear-drops roll; - He’s an _arrant sentimentalist_, we heard a distant sigh, - _Won’t you weep upon my bosom? said the spider to the fly._ - - “If you’d dreamed my dreams of beauty, if you’d seen my works of art, - If you’d felt the cruel hunger that is gnawing at my heart, - And the grief that never leaves me and the love I can’t forget, - (For I loved with all the letters in the Chinese alphabet!) - Oh, you’d all come in to comfort me: you ought to help the weak; - And I’m full of melting moments; and--I--know--the--thing--you--seek!” - And the haunting echo answered, _Well, I’m sure you ought to try; - There’s a duty to one’s neighbour, said the spider to the fly._ - - So we walked into his parlour - Though a gleam was in his eye; - And it _was_ the prettiest parlour - That ever we did spy! - - But we saw by the uncertain - Misty light, shot through with gleams - Of many a silken curtain - Broidered o’er with dreadful dreams, - That he locked the door behind us! So we stood with bated breath - In a silence deep as death. - - There were scarlet gleams and crimson - In the curious foggy grey, - Like the blood-red light that swims on - Old canals at fall of day, - Where the smoke of some great city loops and droops in gorgeous veils - Round the heavy purple barges’ tawny sails. - - Were those creatures gagged and muffled - See--there--by that severed head? - Was it but a breeze that ruffled - Those dark curtains, splashed with red, - Ruffled the dark figures on them, made them moan like things in pain? - How we wished that we were safe at home again. - - * * * * * - - “Oh, we want to hear of Peterkin; good sir, you say you know; - Won’t you tell us, won’t you put us in the way we want to go?” - So we pleaded, for he seemed so very full of sighs and tears - That we couldn’t doubt his kindness, and we smothered all our fears; - But he said, “You must be crazy if you come to me for help; - Why should I desire to send you to your horrid little whelp?” - And again the foolish echo made a far-away reply, - _Oh, don’t come to me for comfort, - Pray don’t look to me for comfort, - Heavens! you mustn’t be so selfish, said the spider to the fly._ - - “Still, when the King of Scotland, so to speak, was in a hole, - He was aided by my brother: it’s a story to console - The convict on the treadmill and the infant with a sum, - For it teaches you to try again until your kingdom’s come! - The monarch dawdled in that hole for centuries of time - Until my own twin-brother rose and showed him how to climb: - He showed him how to swing and sway upon a tiny thread - Across a mighty precipice, and light upon his head - Without a single fracture and without a single pain - If he only did it frequently and tried and tried again:” - And once again the whisper like a moral wandered by, - _Perseverance is a virtue, said the spider to the fly._ - - Then he moaned, “My heart is hungry; but I fear I cannot eat, - (Of course I speak entirely now of spiritual meat!) - For I only fed an hour ago, but if we calmly sat - While I told you all my troubles in a confidential chat - It would give me _such_ an appetite to hear you sympathise, - And I should sleep the better--see, the tears are in my eyes! - Dead yearnings are such dreadful things, let’s keep ’em all alive,-- - Let’s sit and talk awhile, my dears; we’ll dine, I think, at five.” - And he brought his chair beside us in his most engaging style, - And began to tell his story with a melancholy smile.-- - - “You remember Miss Muffet - Who sat on a tuffet - Partaking of curds and whey; - Well, _I_ am the spider - Who sat down beside her - And frightened Miss Muffet away! - There was nothing against her! - An elderly spinster - Were such a grammatical mate - For a spider and spinner, - I swore I would win her, - I knew I had met with my fate! - - That love was the purest - And strongest and surest - I’d felt since my first thread was spun; - I know I’m a bogey, - But _she’s_ an old fogey, - So why in the world did she run? - When Bruce was in trouble, - A spider, my double, - Encouraged him greatly, they say! - Now, _why_ should the spider - Who sat down beside her - Have frightened Miss Muffet away?” - - He seemed to have much more to tell, - But we could scarce be listening well, - Although we tried with all our might - To look attentive and polite; - For still afar we heard the thin - Clear fairy-call to Peterkin; - Clear as a skylark’s mounting song - It drew our wandering thoughts along. - Afar, it seemed, yet, ah, so nigh, - Deep in our dreams it scaled the sky, - In captive dreams that brooked no bars - It touched the love that moves the stars, - And with sweet music’s golden tether - It bound our hearts and heaven together. - - - SONG - - _Wake, arise, the lake, the skies_ - _Fade into the faery day;_ - _Come and sing before our king,_ - _Heed not Time, the dotard grey;_ - _Time has given his crown to heaven--Ah,_ - _how long? Awake, away!_ - - Then, as the Hermit rambled on - In one long listless monotone, - We heard a wild and mournful groan - Come rumbling down the tunnelled way; - A voice, an awful mournful bray, - Singing some old funereal lay; - Then solemn footsteps, muffled, dull, - Approached as if they trod on wool, - And as they nearer, nearer drew, - We saw our Host was listening too! - - His bulging eyes began to glow - Like great red match-heads rubbed at night, - And then he stole with a grim “O-ho!” - To that grey old wicket where, out of sight, - Blandly rubbing his hands and humming, - He could see, at one glance, whatever was coming. - - He had never been so jubilant or frolicsome before, - As he scurried on his cruel hairy crutches to the door; - And flung it open wide - And most hospitably cried, - “Won’t you walk into my parlour? I’ve some little friends to tea,-- - They’ll be highly entertaining to a man of sympathy, - Such as you yourself must be!” - - Then the man, for so he seemed, - (Doubtless one who’d lost his way - And was dwarfed as we had been!) - In his ancient suit of black, - Black upon the verge of green, - Entered like a ghost that dreamed - Sadly of some bygone day; - And he never ceased to sing - In that awful mournful bray. - - The door closed behind his back; - He walked round us in a ring, - And we hoped that he might free us, - But his tears appeared to blind him, - For he didn’t seem to see us, - And the Hermit crept behind him - Like a cat about to spring. - - And the song he sang was this; - And his nose looked very grand - As he sang it, with a bliss - Which we could not understand; - For his voice was very sad, - While his nose was proud and glad. - - _Rain, April, rain, thy sunny, sunny tears!_ - _Through the black boughs the robe of Spring appears,_ - _Yet, for the ghosts of all the bygone years,_ - _Rain, April, rain._ - - _Rain, April, rain; the rose will soon be glad;_ - _Spring will rejoice, a Spring I, too, have had;_ - _A little while, till I no more be sad,_ - _Rain, April, rain._ - - And then the spider sprang - Before we could breathe or speak, - And one great scream out-rang - As the terrible horny beak - Crunched into the Sad Man’s head, - And the terrible hairy claws - Clutched him around his middle; - And he opened his lantern-jaws, - And he gave one twist, one twiddle, - One kick, and his sorrow was dead. - - And there, as he sucked his bleeding prey, - The spider leered at us--“You will do, - My sweet little dears, for another day; - But this is the sort I like; huh! huh!” - - And there we stood, in frozen fear, - Whiter than death, - With bated breath; - And lo! as we thought of Peterkin, - Father and home and Peterkin, - Once more that music clear and thin, - Clear as a skylark’s mounting song, - But nearer now, more sweet, more strong, - Drew all our wandering thoughts along, - Until it seemed, a mystic sea - Of hidden delight and harmony - Began to ripple and rise all round - The prison where our hearts lay bound; - And from sweet heaven’s most rosy rim - There swelled a distant marching hymn - Which made the hideous Hermit pause - And listen with lank down-dropt jaws, - Till, with great bulging eyes of fear, - He sought the wicket again to peer - Along the tunnel, as like sweet rain - We heard the still approaching strain, - And, under it, the rhythmic beat - Of multitudinous marching feet. - Nearer, nearer, they rippled and rang, - And this was the marching song they sang:-- - - - SONG - - _A fairy band are we_ - _In fairy-land:_ - _Singing march we, hand in hand;_ - _Singing, singing all day long:_ - _(Some folk never heard a fairy-song!)_ - - _Singing, singing,_ - _When the merry thrush is swinging_ - _On a springing spray;_ - _Or when the witch that lives in gloomy caves_ - _And creeps by night among the graves_ - _Calls a cloud across the day;_ - _Cease we never our fairy song,_ - _March we ever, along, along,_ - _Down the dale, or up the hill,_ - _Singing, singing still._ - - And suddenly the Hermit turned and ran with all his might - Through the back-door of his parlour as we thought of little Peterkin; - And the great grey roof was shattered by a shower of rosy light, - And the spider-house went floating, torn and tattered through the night - In a flight of prismy streamers, as a shout went up for Peterkin; - And lo, the glistening fairy-host stood there arrayed for fight, - In arms of rose and green and gold, to lead us on to Peterkin. - - And all around us, rippling like a pearl and opal sea, - The host of fairy faces winked a kindly hint of Peterkin; - And all around the rosy glade a laugh of fairy glee - Watched spider-streamers floating up from fragrant tree to tree - Till the moonlight caught the gossamers and, oh we wished for Peterkin! - Each rope became a rainbow; but it made us ache to see - Such a fairy forest-pomp without explaining it to Peterkin. - - Then all the glittering crowd - With a courtly gesture bowed - Like a rosy jewelled cloud - Round a flame, - As the King of Fairy-land, - Very dignified and grand, - Stepped forward to demand - Whence we came. - - He’d a cloak of gold and green - Such as caterpillars spin, - For the fairy ways, I ween, - Are very frugal; - He’d a bow that he had borne - Since the crimson Eden morn, - And a honeysuckle horn - For his bugle. - - So we told our tale of faëry to the King of Fairy-land, - And asked if he could let us know the latest news of Peterkin; - And he turned him with a courtly smile and waved his jewelled wand - And cried, _Pease-blossom, Mustard-seed! You know the old command;_ - _Well; these are little children; you must lead them on to Peterkin._ - Then he knelt, the King of Faëry knelt; his eyes were great and grand - As he took our hands and kissed them, saying, _Father - loves your Peterkin_! - - So out they sprang, on either side, - A light fantastic fairy guide, - To lead us to the land unknown - Where little Peterkin was gone; - And, as we went with timid pace, - We saw that every fairy face - In all that moonlit host was wet - With tears: we never shall forget - The mystic hush that seemed to fade - Away like sound, as down the glade - We passed beyond their zone of light. - Then through the forest’s purple night - We trotted, at a pleasant speed, - With gay Pease-blossom and Mustard-seed. - - - - - PART IV - - PEASE-BLOSSOM AND MUSTARD-SEED - - - Shyly we surveyed our guides - As through the gloomy woods we went - In the light that the straggling moonbeams lent: - We envied them their easy strides! - Pease-blossom in his crimson cap - And delicate suit of rose-leaf green, - His crimson sash and his jewelled dagger, - Strutted along with an elegant swagger - Which showed that he didn’t care one rap - For anything less than a Fairy Queen: - His eyes were deep like the eyes of a poet, - Although his crisp and curly hair - Certainly didn’t seem to show it! - While Mustard-seed was a devil-may-care - Epigrammatic and pungent fellow - Clad in a splendid suit of yellow, - With emerald stars on his glittering breast - And eyes that shone with a diamond light: - They made you feel sure it would always be best - To tell him the truth: he was not perhaps _quite_ - So polite as Pease-blossom, but then who could be - _Quite_ such a debonair fairy as he? - - We never could tell you one-half that we heard - And saw on that journey. For instance, a bird - Ten times as big as an elephant stood - By the side of a nest like a great thick wood: - The clouds in glimmering wreaths were spread - Behind its vast and shadowy head - Which rolled at us trembling below. (Its eyes - Were like great black moons in those pearl-pale skies.) - And we feared he might take us, perhaps, for a worm. - - But he ruffled his breast with the sound of a storm, - And snuggled his head with a careless disdain - Under his huge hunched wing again; - And Mustard-seed said, as we stole thro’ the dark, - There was nothing to fear: it was only a Lark! - - And so he cheered the way along - With many a neat little epigram, - While dear Pease-blossom before him swam - On a billow of lovely moonlit song, - Telling us why they had left their home - In Sherwood, and had hither come - To dwell in this magical scented clime, - This dim old Forest of sweet Wild Thyme. - - “Men toil,” he said, “from morn till night - With bleeding hands and blinded sight - For gold, more gold! They have betrayed - The trust that in their souls was laid; - Their fairy birthright they have sold - For little disks of mortal gold; - And now they cannot even see - The gold upon the greenwood tree, - The wealth of coloured lights that pass - In soft gradations through the grass, - The riches of the love untold - That wakes the day from grey to gold; - And howsoe’er the moonlight weaves - Magic webs among the leaves - Englishmen care little now - For elves beneath the hawthorn bough: - Nor if Robin should return - Dare they of an outlaw learn; - For them the Smallest Flower is furled, - Mute is the music of the world; - And unbelief has driven away - Beauty from the blossomed spray.” - - Then Mustard-seed with diamond eyes - Taught us to be laughter-wise, - And he showed us how that Time - Is much less powerful than a rhyme; - And that Space is but a dream; - “For look,” he said, with eyes agleam, - “Now you are become so small - You think the Thyme a forest tall; - But underneath your feet you see - A world of wilder mystery - Where, if you were smaller yet, - You would just as soon forget - This forest, which you’d leave above - As you have left the home you love! - For, since the Thyme you used to know - Seems a forest here below, - What if you should sink again - And find there stretched a mighty plain - Between each grass-blade and the next? - You’d think till you were quite perplexed! - Especially if all the flowers - That lit the sweet Thyme-forest bowers - Were in that wild transcendent change - Turned to Temples, great and strange, - With many a pillared portal high - And domes that swelled against the sky! - How foolish, then, you will agree, - Are those who think that all must see - The world alike, or those who scorn - Another who, perchance, was born - Where--in a different dream from theirs-- - What they call sins to him are prayers! - We cannot judge; we cannot know; - All things mingle; all things flow; - There’s only one thing constant here-- - Love--that untranscended sphere: - Love, that while all ages run - Holds the wheeling worlds in one; - Love that, as your sages tell, - Soars to heaven and sinks to hell.” - - Even as he spoke, we seemed to grow - Smaller, the Thyme trees seemed to go - Farther away from us: new dreams - Flashed out on us with mystic gleams - Of mighty Temple-domes: deep awe - Held us all breathless as we saw - A carven portal glimmering out - Between new flowers that put to rout - Our other fancies: in sweet fear - We tiptoed past, and seemed to hear - A sound of singing from within - That told our souls of Peterkin: - Our thoughts of _him_ were still the same - Howe’er the shadows went and came! - So, on we wandered, hand in hand, - And all the world was fairy-land. - - * * * * * - - And as we went we seemed to hear - Surging up from distant dells - A solemn music, soft and clear - As if a field of lily-bells - Were tolling all together, sweet - But sad and low and keeping time - To multitudinous marching feet - With a slow funereal beat - And a deep harmonious chime - That told us by its dark refrain - The reason fairies suffered pain. - - - - - SONG - - - Bear her along - Keep ye your song - Tender and sweet and low: - Fairies must die! - Ask ye not why - Ye that have hurt her so. - _Passing away--flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf! - Soon, soon will the year shed its bloom on her bier, and - the dust of its dreams on our grief._ - - Men upon earth - Bring us to birth - Gently at even and morn! - When as brother and brother - They greet one another - And smile--then a fairy is born! - But at each cruel word - Upon earth that is heard, - Each deed of unkindness or hate, - Some fairy must pass - From the games in the grass - And steal thro’ the terrible Gate. - _Passing away--flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf! - Soon, soon will the year shed its bloom on her bier, and the - dust of its dreams on our grief._ - - If ye knew, if ye knew - All the wrong that ye do - By the thought that ye harbour alone, - How the face of some fairy - Grows wistful and weary - And the heart in her cold as a stone! - Ah, she was born - Blithe as the morn - Under an April sky, - Born of the greeting - Of two lovers meeting! - They parted, and so she must die! - _Passing away--flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf!_ - _Soon, soon will the year shed its bloom on her bier, and - the dust of its dreams on our grief._ - - Cradled in blisses, - Yea, born of your kisses, - Oh, ye lovers that met by the moon, - She would not have cried - In the darkness and died - If ye had not forgotten so soon! - - Cruel mortals, they say, - Live for ever and aye, - And they pray in the dark on their knees! - But the flowers that are fled - And the loves that are dead, - What heaven takes pity on these? - - _Bear her along--singing your song--tender and sweet and low!_ - _Fairies must die! Ask ye not why--ye that have hurt her so._ - - Passing away-- - Flower from the spray! - Colour and light from the leaf! - Soon, soon will the year - Shed its bloom on her bier - And the dust of its dreams on our grief! - - * * * * * - - Then we came through a glittering crystal grot - By a path like a pale moonbeam, - And a broad blue bridge of Forget-me-not - Over a shimmering stream, - To where, through the deep blue dusk, a gleam - Rose like the soul of the setting sun; - A sunset breaking through the earth, - A crimson sea of the poppies of dream, - Deep as the sleep that gave them birth - In the night where all earthly dreams are done. - - And then, like a pearl-pale porch of the moon, - Faint and sweet as a starlit shrine, - Over the gloom - Of the crimson bloom - We saw the Gates of Ivory shine; - And, lulled and lured by the lullaby tune - Of the cradling airs that drowsily creep - From blossom to blossom, and lazily croon - Through the heart of the midnight’s mystic noon, - We came to the Gates of the City of Sleep. - - Faint and sweet as a lily’s repose - On the broad black breast of a midnight lake, - The City delighted the cradling night: - Like a straggling palace of cloud it rose; - The towers were crowned with a crystal light - Like the starry crown of a white snowflake - As they pierced in a wild white pinnacled crowd, - Through the dusky wreaths of enchanted cloud - That swirled all round like a witch’s hair. - - And we heard, as the sound of a great sea sighing, - The sigh of the sleepless world of care; - And we saw strange shadowy figures flying - Up to the Ivory Gates and beating - With pale hands, long and famished and thin; - Like blinded birds we saw them dash - Against the cruelly gleaming wall: - We heard them wearily moan and call - With sharp starved lips for ever entreating - The pale doorkeeper to let them in. - And still, as they beat, again and again, - We saw on the moon-pale lintels a splash - Of crimson blood like a poppy-stain - Or a wild red rose from the gardens of pain - That sigh all night like a ghostly sea - From the City of Sleep to Gethsemane. - - And lo, as we neared that mighty crowd - An old blind man came, crying aloud - To greet us, as once the blind man cried - In the Bible picture--you know we tried - To paint that print, with its Eastern sun; - But the reds and the yellows _would_ mix and run, - And the blue of the sky made a horrible mess - Right over the edge of the Lord’s white dress. - - And the old blind man, just as though he had eyes, - Came straight to meet us; and all the cries - Of the crowd were hushed; and a strange sweet calm - Stole through the air like a breath of the balm - That was wafted abroad from the Forest of Thyme - (For it rolled all round that curious clime - With its magical clouds of perfumed trees.) - And the blind man cried, “Our help is at hand, - Oh, brothers, remember the old command, - Remember the frankincense and myrrh, - Make way, make way for those little ones there; - Make way, make way, I have seen them afar - Under a great white Eastern star; - For I am the mad blind man who sees!” - Then he whispered, softly--_Of such as these_; - And through the hush of the cloven crowd - We passed to the gates of the City, and there - Our fairy heralds cried aloud-- - _Open your Gates; don’t stand and stare; - These are the Children for whom our King - Made all the star-worlds dance in a ring!_ - - And lo, like a sorrow that melts from the heart - In tears, the slow gates melted apart; - And into the City we passed like a dream; - And then, in one splendid marching stream - The whole of that host came following through. - We were only children, just like you; - Children, ah, but we felt so grand - As we led them--although we could understand - Nothing at all of the wonderful song - That rose all round as we marched along. - - - - - SONG - - - _You that have seen how the world and its glory_ - _Change and grow old like the love of a friend;_ - _You that have come to the end of the story,_ - _You that were tired ere you came to the end;_ - _You that are weary of laughter and sorrow,_ - _Pain and pleasure, labour and sin,_ - _Sick of the midnight and dreading the morrow,_ - _Ah, come in; come in._ - - _You that are bearing the load of the ages;_ - _You that have loved overmuch and too late;_ - _You that confute all the saws of the sages;_ - _You that served only because you must wait,_ - _Knowing your work was a wasted endeavour;_ - _You that have lost and yet triumphed therein,_ - _Add loss to your losses and triumph for ever;_ - _Ah, come in; come in._ - - And we knew as we went up that twisted street, - With its violet shadows and pearl-pale walls, - We were coming to Something strange and sweet, - For the dim air echoed with elfin calls; - And, far away, in the heart of the City, - A murmur of laughter and revelry rose,-- - A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity, - And sweet as a swan-song’s golden close. - - And then, once more, as we marched along, - There surged all round us that wonderful song; - And it swung to the tramp of our marching feet; - But ah, it was tenderer now and so sweet - That it made our eyes grow wet and blind, - And the whole wide-world seem mother-kind, - Folding us round with a gentle embrace, - And pressing our souls to her soft sweet face. - - - - - SONG - - - _Dreams; dreams; ah, the memory blinding us, - Blinding our eyes to the way that we go; - Till the new sorrow come, once more reminding us - Blindly of kind hearts, ours long ago: - Mother-mine, whisper we, yours was the love for me! - Still, though our paths lie lone and apart, - Yours is the true love, shining above for me, - Yours are the kind eyes, hurting my heart._ - - _Dreams; dreams; ah, how shall we sing of them,_ - _Dreams that we loved with our head on her breast:_ - _Dreams; dreams; and the cradle-sweet swing of them;_ - _Ay, for her voice was the sound we loved best:_ - _Can we remember at all or, forgetting it,_ - _Can we recall for a moment the gleam_ - _Of our childhood’s delight and the wonder begetting it,_ - _Wonder awakened in dreams of a dream?_ - - And, once again, from the heart of the City - A murmur of tenderer laughter rose, - A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity, - And sweet as a swan-song’s golden close; - And it seemed as if some wonderful Fair - Were charming the night of the City of Dreams, - For, over the mystical din out there, - The clouds were litten with flickering gleams, - And a roseate light like the day’s first flush - Quivered and beat on the towers above, - And we heard through the curious crooning hush - An elfin song that we used to love. - _Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn ..._ - And the soft wind blew it the other way; - And all that we heard was--_Cow’s in the corn_; - But we never heard anything half so gay! - - And ever we seemed to be drawing nearer - That mystical roseate smoke-wreathed glare, - And the curious music grew louder and clearer, - Till _Mustard-Seed_ said, “We are lucky, you see, - We’ve arrived at a time of festivity!” - And so to the end of the street we came, - And turned a corner, and--there we were, - In a place that glowed like the dawn of day, - A crowded clamouring City square - Like the cloudy heart of an opal, aflame - With the lights of a great Dream-Fair: - Thousands of children were gathered there, - Thousands of old men, weary and grey, - And the shouts of the showmen filled the air-- - This way! This way! This way! - - And _See-Saw_; _Margery Daw_; we heard a rollicking shout, - As the swing-boats hurtled over our heads to the tune of the roundabout; - And _Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn_, we heard the showmen cry, - And _Dickory Dock, I’m as good as a clock_, we heard the swings reply. - - This way, this way to your Heart’s Desire; - Come, cast your burdens down; - And the pauper shall mount his throne in the skies, - And the king be rid of his crown: - And souls that were dead shall be fed with fire - From the fount of their ancient pain, - And your lost love come with the light in her eyes - Back to your heart again. - - Ah, here be sure she shall never prove - Less kind than her eyes were bright; - This way, this way to your old lost love, - You shall kiss her lips to-night; - This way for the smile of a dead man’s face - And the grip of a brother’s hand, - This way to your childhood’s heart of grace - And your home in Fairy-land. - - _Dickory Dock, I’m as good as a clock_, d’you hear my swivels chime? - To and fro as I come and go, I keep eternal time. - O, little Bo-peep, if you’ve lost your sheep - and don’t know where to find ’em, - Leave ’em alone and they’ll come home, and carry their tails behind ’em. - - And _See-Saw_; _Margery Daw_; there came the chorussing shout, - As the swing-boats answered the roaring tune of the rollicking roundabout; - Dickory, dickory, dickory, dock, d’you hear my swivels chime? - Swing; swing; you’re as good as a king if you keep eternal time. - - Then we saw that the tunes of the world were one; - And the metre that guided the rhythmic sun - Was at one, like the ebb and the flow of the sea, - With the tunes that we learned at our mother’s knee; - The beat of the horse-hoofs that carried us down - To see the fine Lady of Banbury Town; - And so, by the rhymes that we knew, we could tell - Without knowing the others--that all was well. - - And then, our brains began to spin; - For it seemed as if that mighty din - Were no less than the cries of the poets and sages - Of all the nations in all the ages; - And, if they could only beat out the whole - Of their music together, the guerdon and goal - Of the world would be reached with one mighty shout, - And the dark dread secret of Time be out; - And nearer, nearer they seemed to climb, - And madder and merrier rose the song, - And the swings and the see-saws marked the time; - For this was the maddest and merriest throng - That ever was met on a holy-day - To dance the dust of the world away; - And madder and merrier, round and round - The whirligigs whirled to the whirling sound, - Till it seemed that the mad song burst its bars - And mixed with the song of the whirling stars, - The song that the rhythmic Time-Tides tell - To seraphs in Heaven and devils in Hell; - Ay; Heaven and Hell in accordant chime - With the universal rhythm and rhyme - Were nearing the secret of Space and Time; - The song of that ultimate mystery - Which only the mad blind men who see, - Led by the laugh of a little child, - Can utter; Ay, wilder and yet more wild - It maddened, till now--full song--it was out! - It roared from the starry roundabout-- - - _A child was born in Bethlehem, in Bethlehem, in Bethlehem,_ - _A child was born in Bethlehem; ah, hear my fairy fable;_ - _For I have seen the King of Kings, no longer thronged with angel wings,_ - _But croodling like a little babe, and cradled in a stable._ - _The wise men came to greet him with their gifts - of myrrh and frankincense,--_ - _Gold and myrrh and frankincense they brought to make him mirth;_ - _And would you know the way to win to little brother Peterkin,_ - _My childhood’s heart shall guide you through the glories of the earth._ - - _A child was born in Bethlehem, in Bethlehem, in Bethlehem;_ - _The wise men came to welcome him: a star stood o’er the gable;_ - _And there they saw the Kings of Kings, no longer - thronged with angel wings,_ - _But croodling like a little babe, and cradled in a stable._ - - And creeping through the music once again the fairy cry - Came freezing o’er the snowy towers to lead us on to Peterkin: - Once more the fairy bugles blew from lands beyond the sky, - And we all groped out together, dazed and blind, we knew not why; - Out through the City’s farther gates we went to look for Peterkin; - Out, out into the dark Unknown, and heard the clamour die - Far, far away behind us as we trotted on to Peterkin. - - Then once more along the rare - Forest-paths we groped our way: - Here the glow-worm’s league-long glare - Turned the Wild Thyme night to day: - There we passed a sort of whale - Sixty feet in length or more, - But we knew it was a snail - Even when we heard it snore. - Often through the glamorous gloom - Almost on the top of us - We beheld a beetle loom - Like a hippopotamus; - Once or twice a spotted toad - Like a mountain wobbled by - With a rolling moon that glowed - Through the skin-fringe of its eye. - - Once a caterpillar bowed - Down a leaf of Ygdrasil - Like a sunset-coloured cloud - Sleeping on a quiet hill: - Once we came upon a moth - Fast asleep with outspread wings, - Like a mighty tissued cloth - Woven for the feet of kings. - - There above the woods in state - Many a temple dome that glows - Delicately like a great - Rainbow-coloured bubble rose: - Though they were but flowers on earth, - Oh, we dared not enter in; - For in that divine re-birth - Less than awe were more than sin! - - Yet their mystic anthems came - Sweetly to our listening ears; - And their burden was the same-- - “No more sorrow, no more tears! - Whither Peterkin has gone - You, assuredly, shall go: - When your wanderings are done, - All he knows you, too, shall know!” - - So we thought we’d onward roam - Till earth’s Smallest Flower appeared, - With a less tremendous dome - Less divinely to be feared: - Then, perchance, if we should dare - Timidly to enter in, - Might some kindly doorkeeper - Give us news of Peterkin. - - At last we saw a crimson porch - Far away, like a dull red torch - Burning in the purple gloom; - And a great ocean of perfume - Rolled round us as we drew anear, - And then we strangely seemed to hear - The shadow of a mighty psalm, - A sound as if a golden sea - Of music swung in utter calm - Against the shores of Eternity; - And then we saw the mighty dome - Of some mysterious Temple tower - On high; and knew that we had come, - At last, to that sweet House of Grace - Which wise men find in every place-- - The Temple of the Smallest Flower. - - And there--alas--our fairy friends - Whispered, “Here our kingdom ends: - You must enter in alone, - But your souls will surely show - Whither Peterkin is gone - And the road that you must go: - We, poor fairies, have no souls! - Hark, the warning hare-bell tolls;” - So “Good-bye, good-bye,” they said, - “Dear little seekers-for-the-dead.” - They vanished; ah, but as they went - We heard their voices softly blent - In some mysterious fairy song - That seemed to make us wise and strong; - For it was like the holy calm - That fills the bosomed rose with balm, - Or blessings that the twilight breathes - Where the honeysuckle wreathes - Between young lovers and the sky - As on banks of flowers they lie; - And with wings of rose and green - Laughing fairies pass unseen, - Singing their sweet lullaby,-- - Lulla-lulla-lullaby! - Lulla-lulla-lullaby! - Ah, good night, with lullaby! - - * * * * * - - Only a flower? Those carven walls, - Those cornices and coronals, - The splendid crimson porch, the thin - Strange sounds of singing from within-- - Through the scented arch we stept, - Pushed back the soft petallic door, - And down the velvet aisles we crept; - Was it a Flower--no more? - - For one of the voices that we heard, - A child’s voice, clear as the voice of a bird, - Was it not?--nay, it could not be! - And a woman’s voice that tenderly - Answered him in fond refrain, - And pierced our hearts with sweet sweet pain, - As if dear Mary-mother hung - Above some little child, and sung - Between the waves of that golden sea - The cradle-songs of Eternity; - And, while in her deep smile he basked, - Answered whatsoe’er he asked. - - _What is there hid in the heart of a rose,_ - _Mother-mine?_ - _Ah, who knows, who knows, who knows?_ - _A man that died on a lonely hill_ - _May tell you, perhaps, but none other will,_ - _Little child._ - - _What does it take to make a rose,_ - _Mother-mine?_ - _The God that died to make it knows_ - _It takes the world’s eternal wars,_ - _It takes the moon and all the stars,_ - _It takes the might of heaven and hell_ - _And the everlasting Love as well,_ - _Little child._ - - But there, in one great shrine apart - Within the Temple’s holiest heart, - We came upon a blinding light, - Suddenly, and a burning throne - Of pinnacled glory, wild and white; - We could not see Who reigned thereon; - For, all at once, as a wood-bird sings, - The aisles were full of great white wings - Row above mystic burning row; - And through the splendour and the glow - We saw four angels, great and sweet, - With outspread wings and folded feet, - Come gliding down from a heaven within - The golden heart of Paradise; - And in their hands, with laughing eyes, - Lay little brother Peterkin. - - And all around the Temple of the Smallest of the Flowers - The glory of the angels made a star for little Peterkin; - For all the Kings of Splendour and all the Heavenly Powers - Were gathered there together in the fairy forest bowers - With all their globed and radiant wings to make a star for Peterkin, - The star that shone upon the East, a star that still is ours, - Whene’er we hang our stockings up, a star of wings for Peterkin. - - Then all, in one great flash, was gone-- - A voice cried, “Hush, all’s well!” - And we stood dreaming there alone, - In darkness. Who can tell - The mystic quiet that we felt, - As if the woods in worship knelt, - Far off we heard a bell - Tolling strange human folk to prayer - Through fields of sunset-coloured air. - - And then a voice, “Why, here they are!” - And--as it seemed--we woke; - The sweet old skies, great star by star - Upon our vision broke; - Field over field of heavenly blue - Rose o’er us; then a voice we knew - Softly and gently spoke-- - “See, they are sleeping by the side - Of that dear little one--who died.” - - - - - PART V - - THE HAPPY ENDING - - - We told dear father all our tale - That night before we went to bed, - And at the end his face grew pale, - And he bent over us and said - (Was it not strange?) he, too, was there, - A weary, weary watch to keep - Before the gates of the City of Sleep; - But, ere we came, he did not dare - Even to dream of entering in, - Or even to hope for Peterkin. - He was the poor blind man, he said, - And we--how low he bent his head! - Then he called mother near; and low - He whispered to us--“Prompt me now; - For I forget that song we heard, - But you remember every word.” - Then memory came like a breaking morn, - And we breathed it to him--_A child was born!_ - And there he drew us to his breast - And softly murmured all the rest.-- - - _The wise men came to greet him with their gifts - of myrrh and frankincense,--_ - _Gold and myrrh and frankincense they brought to make him mirth;_ - _And would you know the way to win to little brother Peterkin,_ - _My childhood’s heart shall guide you through the glories of the earth._ - - Then he looked up and mother knelt - Beside us, oh, her eyes were bright; - Her arms were like a lovely belt - All round us as we said Good-night - To father: _he_ was crying now, - But they were happy tears, somehow; - For there we saw dear mother lay - Her cheek against his cheek and say-- - Hush, let me kiss those tears away. - - - - - _DEDICATION_ - - - _What can a wanderer bring_ - _To little ones loved like you?_ - _You have songs of your own to sing_ - _That are far more steadfast and true,_ - _Crumbs of pity for birds_ - _That flit o’er your sun-swept lawn,_ - _Songs that are dearer than all our words_ - _With a love that is clear as the dawn._ - - _What should a dreamer devise,_ - _In the depths of his wayward will,_ - _To deepen the gleam of your eyes_ - _Who can dance with the Sun-child still?_ - _Yet you glanced on his lonely way,_ - _You cheered him in dream and deed,_ - _And his heart is o’erflowing, o’erflowing to-day_ - _With a love that--you never will need._ - - _What can a pilgrim teach_ - _To dwellers in fairy-land?_ - _Truth that excels all speech_ - _You murmur and understand!_ - _All he can sing you he brings;_ - _But--one thing more if he may_, - _One thing more that the King of Kings_ - _Will take from the child on the way._ - - _Yet how can a child of the night_ - _Brighten the light of the sun?_ - _How can he add a delight_ - _To the dances that never are done?_ - _Ah, what if he struggles to turn_ - _Once more to the sweet old skies_ - _With praise and praise, from the fetters that burn,_ - _To the God that brightened your eyes?_ - - _Yes; he is weak, he will fail,_ - _Yet, what if, in sorrows apart,_ - _One thing, one should avail,_ - _The cry of a grateful heart;_ - _It has wings: they return through the night_ - _To a sky where the light lives yet,_ - _To the clouds that kneel on his mountain-height_ - _And the path that his feet forget._ - - _What if he struggles and still_ - _Fails and struggles again?_ - _What if his broken will_ - _Whispers the struggle is vain?_ - _Once at least he has risen_ - _Because he remembered your eyes;_ - _Once they have brought to his earthly prison_ - _The passion of Paradise._ - - _Kind little eyes that I love,_ - _Eyes forgetful of mine,_ - _In a dream I am bending above_ - _Your sleep, and you open and shine;_ - _And I know as my own grow blind_ - _With a lonely prayer for your sake,_ - _He will hear--even me--little eyes that were kind,_ - _God bless you, asleep or awake._ - - * * * * * - -BY ALFRED NOYES - -Poems - -With an Introduction by HAMILTON MABIE - -_Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_ - -“Imagination, the capacity to perceive vividly and feel sincerely, and -the gift of fit and beautiful expression in verse-form--if these may be -taken as the equipment of a poet, nearly all of this volume is poetry. -And if to the sum of these be added the indescribable increment of charm -which comes occasionally to the work of some poet, quite unearned by any -of these catalogued qualities of his, you have a fair measure of Mr. -Noyes at his best.... Two considerations render Mr. Noyes interesting -above most poets: the wonderful degree in which the personal charm -illumines what he has already written, and the surprises which one feels -may be in store in his future work. His feelings have already so much -variety and so much apparent sincerity that it is impossible to tell in -what direction his genius will develop. In whatever style he -writes,--the mystical, the historical-dramatic, the impassioned -description of natural beauty, the ballad, the love lyric,--he has the -peculiarity of seeming in each style to have found the truest expression -of himself.”--_Louisville Courier-Journal._ - - -_PUBLISHED BY_ -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -Sixty-four and Sixty-six Fifth Avenue, New York - - - - -A History of English Poetry - -BY W. J. COURTHOPE, C.B., D.Litt., LL.D. - -Late Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford - -_Cloth, 8vo, $3.25 net per volume_ - - VOLUME I. The Middle Ages--Influence of the Roman Empire--The - Encyclopædic Education of the Church--The Feudal System. - - VOLUME II. The Renaissance and the Reformation--Influence of the - Court and the Universities. - - VOLUME III. English Poetry in the Seventeenth Century--Decadent - Influence of the Feudal Monarchy--Growth of the National Genius. - - VOLUME IV. Development and Decline of the Poetic Drama--Influence - of the Court and the People. - - VOLUME V. The Constitutional Compromise of the Eighteenth - Century--Effects of the Classical Renaissance--Its Zenith and - Decline--The Early Romantic Renaissance. - - -“It is his privilege to have made a contribution of great value and -signal importance to the history of English Literature.”--_Pall Mall -Gazette._ - - -_PUBLISHED BY_ -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -Sixty-four and Sixty-six Fifth Avenue, New York - - - - -RECENT POETRY - - -DAWSON--The Worker and Other Poems - -BY CONINGSBY WILLIAM DAWSON - -_Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; by mail, $1.35_ - -“The volume cannot be opened anywhere without yielding verse that will -repay the reading.”--_Courier-Journal._ - - -FALLAW--Silverleaf and Oak - -BY LANCE FALLAW - -_Cloth, 12mo, $1.25_ - -In the title of this book “Silverleaf” stands for South Africa, and -“Oak” for England. - - -NEIDIG--The First Wardens - -POEMS BY WILLIAM J. NEIDIG - -A volume of unusual quality of imagination and style, strongly marked -with the author’s individuality.--_Inter-Ocean._ - - -IRWIN--Random Rhymes and Odd Numbers - -BY WALLACE IRWIN - -“Inimitable jingles, deftly apropos, droll and satiric, striking a -humorous note that sounds of genius.”--_Philadelphia Press._ - -_Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net_ - - - - -RECENT POETIC DRAMAS - - -By Mr. PERCY MACKAYE - - -=The Canterbury Pilgrims=: A Comedy - -_Cloth, illustrated, $1.25 net_ - - -=Fenris, the Wolf=: A Tragedy - -_Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_ - - -Jeanne d’Arc - -_Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $1.25_ - -Presented by E. H. Sothern and Julia Marlowe - - -Sappho and Phaon - -_12mo, cloth, $1.25_ - - The play was accepted before publication for presentation by E. H. - Sothern and Madame Bertha Kalich. - -=Mr. STEPHEN PHILLIPS’S= _POETIC PLAYS_ - - -=Ulysses=: A Drama - -_Cloth, gilt top, $1.25 net_ - - -The Sin of David - -_Cloth, gilt top, $1.25 net_ - - -Nero - -_Cloth, gilt top, $1.25 net_ - -=Mr. WILLIAM B. YEATS’S= _COLLECTED POEMS_ - -Volume I: =Lyrical Poems= -Volume II: =Dramas in Verse=:-- - - “The Countess Cathleen”--“The Land of Heart’s Desire”--“The King’s - Threshold”--“On Baile’s Strand” and “The Shadowy Waters.” - -_Each volume, cloth, $1.25 net_ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |