PR T — S CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY PRINTED INU.5.A. 3 1924 013 555 960 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013555960 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE AND OTHER POEMS MR. SWINBURNE'S WORKS. SELECTIONS FROM THE POETICAL WORKS OF A. C. SWINBURNE. Fcp. 8vo. 6s. ATALANTA IN CALYDON. Crown 8vo. 6s. CHASTELARD : a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. ^s. POEMS AND BALLADS. First Series. Crown 8vo. or icp. 8vo. gs. POEMS AND BALLADS. Second Series. Crown 8vo. gs. POEMS AND BALLADS. Third Series. Crown 8vo. ^s. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE. Crown 8vo. los. 6d. BOTHWELL ; a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. \zs. 6d. SONGS OF TWO NATIONS. Crown 8vo. 6s. GEORGE CHAPMAN. (See Vol. II. of George Chapman's Works. ) Crown 8vo. 6s. ESSAYS AND STUDIES.. Crown 8vo. lis. ERECHTHEUS : a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s. A NOTE ON CHARLOTTE BRONTE. Crown 8vo. 6s. A STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. Crown 8vo. %s. SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES. Crown 8vo. f-s. STUDIES IN SONG. Crown 8vo. Ts. MARY STUART : a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 8j. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, &c. Crown 8vo. gs. A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS. Small 4to. 8.r. A MIDSUMMER FIOLIDAY, &c. Crown 8vo. Ts. MARINO FALIERO : a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s. A STUDY OF VICTOR HUGO. Crown 8vo. 6s. MISCELLANIES. Crown 8vo. I2s. LOCRINE : a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s. A STUDY OF BEN JONSON. Crown 8vo. ys. THE SISTERS : a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s. ASTROPHEL, &c. Crown 8vo. Js. STUDIES IN PROSE AND POETRY. Crown 8vo. gs. THE TALE OF BALEN. Crown 8vo. 7s. tondon: CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, W.C. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE AND OTHER POEMS BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE FIFTH EDITION LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1896 PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON TO MY BEST FRIEND THEODORE WATTS I DEDICATE IN THIS BOOK THE BEST I HAVE TO GIVE HIM spring speaks again, and all our woods are stirred. And all our wide glad wastes aflower around. That twice have heard keen April's clarion sound Since here we first together saw and heard Spring's light reverberate and reiterate word Shine forth and speak in season. Life stands crowned Here with the best one thing it ever found. As of my soul's best birthdays dawns the third. There is a friend that as the wise man saith Cleaves closer than a brother: nor to me Hath time not shown, through days like waves at strife, This truth more sure than all things else but death, This pearl most perfect found in all the sea That washes toward your feet these waifs of life. The Pines, A^l i88a. CONTENTS. Tristram of Lyonesse ; — prelude : tristram and iseult i. the sailing of the swallow , II. THE queen's PLEASANCE . iii. tristram in brittany , , iv. the maiden marriage . . v. iseult at tintagel . , , vi. joyous gard . . . • vii. the wife's vigil . . . ■ viii. the last pilgrimage . . jx. the sailing of the swan . , Athens : an Ode The Statue of Victor Hugo . . i Sonnets : — hope and fear . . AFTER sunset . A STUDY FROM MEMORY TO DR. JOHN BROWN TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT A DEATH ON EASTER DAY 3 13 41 S9 75 85 97 "5 125 149 171 191 20s Z06 209 210 211 212 X CONTENTS. Sonnets — continued. pj^cb ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT 213 AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES 2I4 A LAST LOOK 2l6 DICKENS 217 ON lamb's SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS. . 2x8 to john nichol 220 dysthanatos 222 euonymos 223 on the russian persecution of the jews . 224 bismarck at canossa 22^ quia nominor leo 226 the channel tunnel 228 sir william gomm 229 euthanatos 23i First and Last 234 Lines on the Death of Edward John Trelawny 236 Adieux a Marie Stuart 238 Herse 244 Twins 247 The Salt of the Earth ..,.,. 252 Seven Years Old . . . . , ^ . 21;^ Eight Years Old ,,g Comparisons .... 259 What is Death? ... , 261 A Child's Pity .... 262 CONTENTS. xi PAGE A CHitD's Laughter 264 A Child's Thanks 266 A Child's Battles 268 A Child's Future 274 Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650) : — i. christopher marlowe . . . . 279 ii. william shakespeare .... 2s0 III. BEN JONSON 28 1 IV. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER . . . 282 V. PHILIP MASSINGER 283 VI. JOHN FORD 2S4 VII. JOHN WEBSTER 28$ VIII. THOMAS DECKER 286 IX. THOMAS MIDDLETON 287 X. THOMAS HEYWOOD 288 XI. GEORGE CHAPMAN 289 XII. JOHN MARSTON 2g0 XIII. JOHN DAY 291 XIV. JAMES SHIRLEY 292 XV. THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN . . . . 293 XVI. ANONYMOUS PLAYS : ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM 294 XVII. ANONYMOUS PLAYS 295 XVIII. ANONYMOUS PLAYS 296 XIX. XX. THE MANY . . . c « . 297 XXI. EPILOGUE 299 A Dark Month 301 Sunrise . • • . 359 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE PRELUDE. TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. LoveJ that is first and last of all things made, The light that has the living world for shade, The spirit that for temporal veil has on The souls of all men woven in unison, One fiery raiment with all lives inwrought And lights of sunny and starry deed and thought, And alway through new act and passion new Shines the divine same body and beauty through, The body spiritual of fire and light That is to worldly noon as noon to night Love, that is flesh upon the spirit of man Anjd_spirit within theflesh whence breath began Love, that keeps all the choir of lives in chime ; Love, that is blood within the veins of time ; That wrought the whole world without stroke of hand. Shaping the breadth of sea, the length of land, And with the pulse and motion of his breath Through the great heart of the earth strikes life and death, B3 4 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. I'he sweet twain chords that make the sweet tune live , Through day and night of things alternative, Through silence and through sound of stress and strife, And ebb and flow of dying death and life ; Love, that sounds loud or light in all men's ears, Whence all men's eyes take fire from sparks of tears, That binds on all men's feet or chains or wings ; Love, that is root and fruit of terrene things ; Love, that the whole world's waters shall not drown, The whole world's fiery forces not bum down ; Love, that what time his own hands guard his head The whole world's wrath and strength shall not strike dead ; Love, that if once his own hands make his grave The whole world's pity and sorrow shall not save ; Love, that for very life shall not be sold. Nor bought nor bound with iron nor with gold ; So strong that heaven, could love bid heaven farewell, AVould turn to fruitless and unflowering hell ; So sweet that hell, to hell could love be given, Would turn to splendid and sonorous heaven ; Love that is fire within thee and light above And lives by grace of nothing but of love ; Through many and lovely thoughts and much desire Led these twain to the life of tears and fire • Through many and lovely days and much delight Led these twain to the lifeless life of night. Yea, but what then ? albeit all this were thus And soul smote soul and left it ruinous. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. < And love led love as eyeless men lead men, Through chance by chance to deathward — Ah, what then? Hath love not likewise led them further yet. Out through the years where memories rise and set, Some large as suns, some moon-like warm and pale, Some starry- sighted, some through clouds that sail Seen as red flame through spectral float of fume, Each with the blush of its own special bloom On the fair face of its own coloured light, Distinguishable in all the host of night. Divisible from all the radiant rest And separable in splendour ? Hath the best Light of love's all, of all that burn and move, A better heaven than heaven is ? Hath not love Made for all these their sweet particular air To shine in, their own beams and names to bear, Their ways to wander and their wards to keep, Till story and song and glory and all things sleep ? lath he not plucked from death of lovers dead Their musical soft memories, and kept red The rose of their remembrance in men's eyes, ihe sunsets of their stories in his skies, The blush of their dead blood in lips that speak Of their dead lives, and in the listener's cheek That trembles with the kindling pity lit In gracious hearts for some sweet fever-fit, A fiery pity enkindled of pure thought By tales that make their honey out of nought, 6 TRISTRAM OF LYON ESSE. The faithless faith that lives without belief Its light life through, the griefless ghost of grief? Wea, as warm night refashions the sere blood In storm-struck petal or in sun-struck bud, With tender hours and tempering dew to cure The hunger and thirst of day's distemperature And ravin of the dry discolouring hours, Hath he not bid relume their flameless flowers With summer fire and heat of lamping song, And bid the short-lived things, long dead, live long, And thought remake their wan funereal fames, And the sweet- shining signs of women's names That mark the months out and the weeks anew He moves in changeless change of seasons through To fill the days up of his dateless year Flame from Queen Helen to Queen Guenevere ? For first of all the sphery signs whereby Love severs light from darkness, and most high, In the white front of January there glows The rose-red sign of Helen like a rose : And gold-eyed as the shore-flower shelterless Whereon the sharp-breathed sea blows bitterness, A storm-star that the seafarers of love Strain their wind-wearied eyes for glimpses of, Shoots keen through February's grey frost and damp The lamplike star of Hero for a lamp ; The star that Marlowe sang into our skies With mouth of gold, and morning in his eyes • And in clear March across the rough blue sea The signal sapphire of Alcyone TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. 7 Makes bright the blown brows of the wind-fool year ; And shining like a sunbeam-smitten tear Full ere it fall, the fair next sign in sight Burns opal-wise with April- coloured light When air is quick with song and rain and flame, My birth-month star that in love's heaven hath name Iseul t, a light of blossom and beam and shower, My singing sign that makes the song-tree flower ; Next like a pale and burning pearl beyond The rose-white sphere of flower-named Rosamond Signs the sweet head of Maytime ; and for June Flares like an angered and storm-reddening moon Her signal sphere, whose Carthaginian pyre Shadowed her traitor's flying sail with fire ; Next, glittering as the wine-bright jacinth-stone, A star south-risen that first to music shone. The keen girl-star of golden Juliet bears Light northward to the month whose forehead wears Her name for flower upon it, and his trees Mix their deep English song with Veronese ; And like an awful sovereign chrysolite Burning, the supreme fire that blinds the night, The hot gold head of Venus kissed by Mars, A sun-flower among small sphered flowers of stars, The light of Cleopatra fills and burns The hollow of heaven whence ardent August yearns j And fixed and shining as the sister-shed Sweet tears for Phaethon disorbed and dead, The pale bright autumn's amber- coloured sphere^ That through September sees the saddening year 8 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. As love sees change through sorrow, hath to name Francesca's ; and the star that watches flame The embers of the harvest overgone Is Thisbe's, slain of love in Babylon, Set in the golden girdle of sweet signs A blood-bright ruby ; last save one light shines An eastern wonder of sphery chrysopras, The star that made men mad, Angelica's ; And latest named and lordliest, with a sound Of swords and harps in heaven that ring it round, Last love-light and last love-song of the year's, Gleams like a glorious emerald Guenevere's. The se are the signs whe rethrough the year sees move. Full of the sun, the sun-god which is love, A fiery body blood-red from the^eart Outward, with fire-white wings made wide apart, That close not and unclose not, but upright Steered without wind by their own light and might Sweep through the flameless fire of air that rings From heaven to heaven with thunder of wheels and wings And antiphones of motion-moulded rhyme Through spaces out of space and timeless time. So sh ine ab ove dead ^ance and conquered change The sphered sjfi ns, and^leave_wi th^vrtJiorTange Doub t and desire, and hope with fear for wife Pale pains, and"pleasiirenong~ worn" otTTOf life. Yea, even the shadows of them spifittess. Through the dim door of .«ieep that seem to press TRISTRAM OF L YONESSE. g Forms without form, a piteous people and blind Men and no men, whose lamentable kind The shadow of death and shadow of life compel Through semblances of heaven and false-faced hell, Through dreams of light and dreams of darkness tost On waves innavigable, are these so lost ? Shapes that wax pale and shift in swift strange wise, Void faces widi unspeculative eyes, Dim things that gaze and glare, dead mouths that move, Featureless heads discrowned of hate and love. Mockeries and masks of motion and mute breath, Leavings of life, the superflux of death — If these things and no more than these things be Left when man ends or changes, who can see ? Or who can say with what more subtle sense Their subtler natures taste in air less dense A life less thick and palpable than ours. Warmed with faint fires and sweetened with dead flowers And measured by low music ? how time fares In that wan time-forgotten world of theirs, Their pale poor world too deep for sun or star To live in, where the eyes of Helen are, And hers who made as God's own eyes to shine The eyes that met them of the Florentine, Wherein the godhead thence transfigured lit All time for all men with the shadow of it ? Ah, and these too felt on them as God's grace The pity and glory of this man's breathing face j 10 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. For these too, these my lovers, these my twain, Saw Dante, saw God visible by pain. With lips that thundered and with feet that trod Before men's eyes incognisable God ; Saw love and wrath and light and night and fire Live with one life and at one mouth respire, And in one golden sound their whole soul heard Sounding, one sweet immitigable word. They have the night, who had like us the day ; We, whom day binds, shall have the night as they. We, from the fetters of the light unbound. Healed of our wound of living, shall sleep sound. All gifts but one the jealous God may keep From our soul's longing, one he cannot — sleep. This, though he grudge all other grace to prayer, This grace his closed hand cannot choose but spare. This, though his ear be sealed to all that live, Be it lightly given or lothly, God must give. We, as the men whose name on earth is none, We too shall surely pass out of the sun ; Out of the sound and eyeless Ught of things, Wide as the stretch of life's time-wandering wings, Wide as the naked world and shadowless, And long-lived as the world's own weariness. Us too, when all the fires of time are cold The heights shall hide us and the depths shall hold Us too, when all the tears of time are dry. The night shall lighten from her tearless eye. Blind, is the day and eyeless all its light. But th e large unbewil dered eye of night TRISTRAM OF LYON ESSE. ii Hath sense a nd speculation ; and the sheer Limitless length of hfeje^ life and clear, The timeless space wherein the brief worlds move Clothed with light life and fruitful with light love, With hopes that threaten, and with fears that cease, Past fear and hope, hath ia it only peace. Yet of these lives inlaid with hopes and fears, Spun fine as fire and jewelled thick with tears, These lives made out of loves that long since were, Lives wrought as ours of earth and burnihg air. Fugitive flame, and water of secret springs. And clothed with joys and sorrows as with wings. Some yet are good, if aught be good, to save Some while from washing wreck and wrecking wave. Was such not theirs, the twain I take. ^ an d ^ iye Out of my life to make th ei rdead.life I j j yg, Some d ays of pii pe , and blow my living breath Between dead lips forg otten e ven of death ? So many and many of old have given my twain Love and live song and honey-hearted pain, Whose root is sweetness and whose fruit is sweet, So many and with such joy have tracked their feet. What should I do to follow ? yet I too, I have the heart to follow, many or few Be the feet gone before me ; for the way, Rose-red with remnant roses of the day Westward, and eastward white with stars that break, Between the green and foam is fair to take For any sail the sea- wind steers for me From morning into morning, sea to sea. THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. About the middle music of the spring Came from the castled shore of Ireland's king A fair ship stoutly sailing, eastward bound And south by Wales and all its wonders round To the loud rocks and ringing reaches home That take the wild wrath of the Cornish foam, Past Lyonesse unswallowed of the tides And high Carlion that now the steep sea hides To the wind-hollowed heights and gusty bays Of sheer Tintagel, fair with famous days. Above the stem a gilded swallow shone, Wrought with straight wings and eyes of glittering stone - As flying sunward oversea, to bear Green summer with it through the singing air. And on the deck between the rowers at dawn, As the bright sail with brightening wind was drawn, Sat with full face against the strengthening light Iseult, more fair than foam or dawn was white. 14 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. Hec_gazejKas_glad_paat-laxe!§.pwn singing of, And her face lovely past desire of love. Past thought and speech her maiden motions were, And a more golden sunrise was her hair. The very veil of her bright flesh was made As of light woven and moonbeam-coloured shade More fine than moonbeams ; white her eyelids shone As snow sun-stricken that endures the sun, And through their curled and coloured clouds of deep Luminous lashes thick as dreams in sleep Shone as the sea's depth swallowing up the sky's The springs of unimaginable eyes. As the wave's subtler emerald is pifirced-through With^the utmo st heaven's inextricable blue, And both are woven and molten in one sleight Of amorous colour and implicated light Under the golden guard and gaze of noon, So glowed their awless amorous plenilune, Azure and gold and ardent grey, made strange With fiery difference and deep interchange Inexplicable of glories multiform ; Now as the sullen sapphire swells toward storm Foamless, their bitter beauty grew acold, And now afire with ardour of fine gold. Her flower-soft lips were meek and passionate, For love upon them like a shadow sate Patient, a foreseen vision of sweet things A dream with eyes fast shut and plumeless wings That knew not what man's love or life should be Noi had it sight nor heart to hone or see THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 15 What thing should come, but childlike satisfied Watched out its virgin vigU in soft pride And unkissed expectation ; and the glad Clear cheeks and throat and tender temples had Such maiden h e at as if a rose's blood Beat in the live heart of a lilvrbud. Between the small round breasts a white way led Heavenward, and from slight foot to slender head The whole fair body flow er-like swayed and jhon e_ Moving, and what her light hand leant upon Grew blossom-scented : her warm arms began To round and ripen for delight of man That they should clasp and circle : her fresh hands, Like regent lilies of reflowering lands MTiose vassal firstlings, crown and star and plume. Bow down to the empire of that sovereign bloom, Shone sceptreless, and from her face there went A silent light as of a God content ; Save when, more swift and keen than love or shame, Some flash of blood, light as the laugh of flame, Broke it with sudden beam and shining speech. As dream by dream shot through her eyes, and each Outshone the last that lightened, and not one Showed her such things as should be borne and done. Though hard against her shone the sunlike face That in all change and wreck of time and place Should be the star of her sweet living soul. Nor had lo ve made it as his written scroll For ev il will a nd good to reatfnTyet ; But smooth and mighty, wHEout scar or fret. 1 6 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. Fresh and high-lifted was the helmless brow As the oak-tree flower that tops the topmost bough, Ere it drop off before the perfect leaf ; And nothing save his name he had of grief. The name his mother, dying as he was born, Made out of sorrow in very sorrow's scorn. And set it on him smiling in her sight, Tristram ; who now, clothed with sweet youth and might. As a glad witness wore that bitter name, The_second symbol _of the world for fame. Famous and full of fortune was his youth Ere the beard's bloom had lefThis cheek unsmooth, And in his face a lordship of strong joy And height of heart no chance could curb or cloy Lightened, and all that warmed them at his eyes Loved them as larks that kindle as they rise Toward light they turn to music love the blue strong skies. So like the morning through the morning moved Tristram, a light to look on and be loved. Song sprang between his lips and hands, and shone Singing, and strengthened and sank down thereon As a bird settles to the second flight. Then from beneath his harping hands with might Leapt, and made way and had its fill and died, And all whose hearts were fed upon it sighed ' Silent, and in them all the fire of tears Eurned as wine dmnken not with lips but ears. And gazing on his fervent hands that made The might of music all their souls obeyed THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW, ij With trembling strong subservience of delight, Full many a maid that had him once in sight Thought in the secret rapture of her heart In how dark onset had these hands borne part How oft, and were so young and sweet of skill ; And those red lips whereon the song burned still, What words and cries of battle had they flung Athwart the swing and shriek of swords, so young ; And eyes as glad as summer, what strange youth Fed them so full of happy heart and truth, That had seen sway from side to sundering side The steel flow of that terrible springtide That the moon rules not, but the fire and light Of men's hearts mixed in the mid mirth of fight Therefore the joy and love of him they had Made thought more amorous in them and more glad For his fame's sake remembered, and his youth Gave his fame flowerlike fragrance and soft growth As of a rose requickening, when he stood Fair in their eye, a flower of faultless blood. And that sad queen to whom his life was death, A rose plucked forth of summer in mid breath, A star fall'n out of season in mid throe Of that life's joy that makes the star's life glow, Made their love sadder toward him and more strong. And in mid change of time and fight and song Chance cast him westward on the low sweeUstrand Where songs are sung of the old green Irish land. And the sky loves it, and the sea loves best, And as a bird is taken to man's breast c 1 8 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. The sweet-souled land where sorrow sweetest sings Is wrapt round with them as with hands and wings And taken to the sea's heart as a flower. There in the luck and light of his good hour Came to the king's court like a noteless man Tristram, and while some half a season ran Abode before him harping in his hall, And taught sweet craft of new things musical To the dear maiden mouth and innocent hands That for his sake are famous in all lands. Yet was not love between them, for their fate Lay wrapt in its appointed hour at wait, ^^nd had no flower to show yet, and no sting. _But once being vexed with some past wound the king Bade give him comfort of sweet baths, and then Should Iseult watch him as his handmaiden. For his m ore honour in men's siglit, and ease The hurts he had with holy remedies Madebj her mother's magic in strange hours Out of live roots and life-compelling flowers. And finding by the wound's shape in his side This was the knigiit by wJiom their sTrength had died And all their might in one man overthrown Had left their shame in sight of all men shown. She would have slain him swordless with his sword ; Yet seemed he to her so greaTand fair Tiord She heaved up hand and smote not ; then said he, Laughing—' What comfort sV.all this dead man be, Damsel ? what hurt is for my blood to heal ? But set your hand not near the toolhfed steel THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 19 Lest the fang strike it.' — 'Yea, the fang,' she said, ' Should it not sting the very serpent dead That stung mine uncle ? for his slayer art thou, And half my mother's heart is bloodless now Through thee, that mad'st the veins of all her kin Bleed in his wounds whose veins through thee ran thin.' Yet thought she how their hot chief's violent heart Had flung the fierce word forth upon their part Which bade to battle the best knight that stood On Arthur's, and so dying of his wild mood Had set upon his conqueror's flesh the seal Of his mishallowed and anointed steel, Whereof the venom and enchanted might Made the sign bum here branded in her sight. These things she stood recasting, and her soul Subsiding till its wound of wrath were whole Grew smooth again, as thought still softening stole Through all its tempered passion ; nor might hate Keep high the fire against him lit of late ; But softly from his smiling sight she passed. And peace thereafter made between them fast Made peace between two kingdoms, when he went Home with hands reconciled and heart content, To bring fair truce 'twixt Cornwall's wild bright strand And the long wrangling wars of that loud land. And when full peace was struck betwixt them twain Forth must he fare by those green straits again, And bring back Iseult for a plighted bride And set to reign at Mark his uncle's side. ~ c 2 20 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. So now with feast made and all triumphs done They sailed between the moonfall and the sun Under the spent stars eastward ; but the queen Out of wise heart and subtle love had seen Such things as might be, dark as in a glass, And lest some doom of these should come to pass Bethought her with her secret soul alone To work some charm for marriage unison And strike the heart of Iseult to her lord With power compulsive more than stroke of sword. Therefore with marvellous herbs and spells she wrought To win the very wonder of her thought, And brewed it with her secret hands and blest And drew and gave out of her secret breast To one her chosen and Iseult's handmaiden, Brangwain, and bade her hide from sight of men This marvel covered in a golden cup. So covering in her heart the counsel up As in the gold the wondrous wine lay close ; And when the last shout with the last cup rose About the bride and bridegroom bound to bed, Then should this one word of her will be said To her new-married maiden child, that she Should drink with Mark this draught in unity, And no lip touch it for her sake but theirs : For with long love and consecrating prayers The wine was hallowed for their mouths to pledge ; And if a drop fell from the beaker's ed Grief smiles, joy weeps, that day should live and die. ' Is it with soul's thirst or with body's drouth That summer yearns out sunward to the south. With all the flowers that when thy birth drew nigh Were molten in one rose to make thy mouth ? O love, what care though day should live and die ? ' Is the sun glad of all the love on earth, The spirit and sense and work of things and worth ? Is the moon sad because the month must fly And bring her death that can but bring back birth ? For all these things as day must live and die. ' Love, is it day that makes thee thy delight Or thou that seest day made out of thy. light ? Love, as the sun and sea are thou and I, Sea without sun dark, sun without sea bright j. The sun is one though day should live and die, (• O which is elder, night or light, who knows ? \Aiid life or love, which first of these twain grows ? "^^^or life is born of love to wail and cry, And love is born of life to heal his woes, And light of night, that day should live and die. 'O sun of heaven above the worldly sea, O very love, what light is this of thee ! My sea of soul is deep as thou art high, But all thy light is shed through all of me, As love's through love, while day shall live and die." D 34 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. ' Nay,' said Iseult, ' your song is hard to read.' ' Ay ? ' said he : 'or too light a song to heed, Too slight to follow, it may be ? Who shall sing Of love but as a churl before a king If by love's worth men rate his wortiiiness ? Yet as the poor churl's worth to sing is less, Surely the more shall be the great king's grace To show for churlish love a kindlier face.' ' No churl,' she said, ' but one in soothsayer's wise Who tel ls but truths that help no more than lies. l^Jiave heard riien sing ofjove a simpler way Than these wrought riddlebimade_gf night ajnd day, Like jewelled r eins whereon the rliyme-bells hang.' And Tristram smiled and changed his song and sang. ' The breath between my lips of lips not mine, Like spirit in sense that maltes pure sense divine. Is as life in them from the living sky That entering fills my heart with blood of thine And thee with me, while day shall live and die. ' Thy soul is shed into me with thy breath. And in my heart each heartbeat of thee saith How in thy life the lifesprings of me lie. Even one life to be gathered of one death In me and thee, though day may live and die. ' Ah, who knows now if in my veins it be My blood that feels life sweet, or blood of thee. And this thine eyesight kindled in mine eye That shows me in thy flesh the soul of me, For thine made mine, while day may live and die ? ' Ah, who knows yet if one be twain or one. And sunlight separable again hom sun, And I from thee with all my lifespiings dry. And thou from me with all thine heartlieats done. Dead separate souls wliile day .shall live and die ? THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 35 ' I see my soul within thine eyes, and hear My spirit in all thy pulses thrill with fear, And in my lips the passion of thee sigh, And music of me made in mine own ear ; Am I not thou while day shall live and die? ' Art thou not I as I thy love am thou ? So let all things pass from us ; we are now, For all that was and will be, who knows why ? And all that is and is not, who knows how? Who knows? God knows why day should live and die.' And Iseult mused and spake no word, but sought Through all the hushed ways of her tongueless though What face or covered likeness of a face In what veiled hour or dream-determined place She seeing might take for love's face, and believe This was the spirit to whom all spirits cleave. For that sweet wonder of the twain made one And each one twain, incorporate sun with sun, Star with star molten, soul with soul imbued, And all the soul's works, all their multitude, Made one thought and one vision and one song, Love— this thing, this, laid hand on her so strong She could not choose but yearn till she should see. So went she musing down her thoughts ; Jbutjie, Sweet-hearted as a bird that takes ibe sun With clear strong eyes, and feels t he glad god run Bright through his blood and wide rejoicijig. wings, AndLQpena,aU.hjmseJf to heaven and sings, Made her mind light and full of noble mirth With w ords and songs the gladdest grown on earth, 36 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. Till she was blithe and high of heart as he. So swam the Swallow tiirough the springing sea. And while they sat at speech as at a feast, Came a light wind fast hardening forth of the east And blackening till its might had marred the skies ; And the sea thrilled as with heart-sundering sighs One after one drawn, with each breath it drew, And the green hardened into iron blue, And the soft light went out of all its face. Then Tristram girt him for an oarsman's place And took his oar and smote, and toiled with might In the east wind's full face and the strong sea's spite Labouring ; and all the rowers rowed hard, but he More mightily than any wearier three. And Iseult watched him rowing with sinless eyes That loved him but in holy girlish wise For noble joy in his fair manliness And trust and tender wonder ; none the less She thought if God had given her grace to be Man, and make war on danger of earth and sea, Even such a man she would be ; for his stroke Was mightiest as the mightier water broke, And in sheer measure like strong music drave Clean through fhe^wetjweight^ofUiewanomn^^ And as a tune before a great king played For triumph was the tune their strong strokes made, And sped the ship through with smooth strife of oars Over the mid sea's grey foam-paven floors. For all the loujd breach of the waves at wilL So for an hour they fought the storm out still. THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 37 And the shorn foam spun from the blades, and high The keel sprang from the wave-ridge, and the sky Glared at them for a breath's space through the rain ; Then the bows with a sharp shock plunged again Down, and the sea clashed on them, and so rose The bright stem like one panting from swift blows, And as a swimmer's joyous beaten head Rears itself laughing, so in that sharp stead The light ship lifted her long quivering bows As might the man his buffeted strong brows Out of the wave-breach ; for with one stroke yet Went all men's oars together, strongly set As to loud music, and with hearts uplift They smote their strong way through the drench and drift. Till the keen hour had chafed itself to death And the east wind fell fitfully, breath by breath, Tired ; and across the thin and slackening rain Sprang the face southward of the sun again. Then all they rested and were eased at heart ; And Iseult rose up where she sat apart. And with her sweet soul deepening her deep eyes Cast the furs from her and subtle embroideries That wrapped her from the storming rain and spray, And shining like all April in one day, Hair, face, and throat dashed with the straying showers, She stood the first of all the whole world's flowers, And laughed on Tristram with her eyes, and said, ' I too have heart then, I was not afraid.' 38 THE SAIL/A G OF THE SIVALLOIV. And answering some light courteous word of grace He saw her clear face lighten on his face Unwitt ingh'. with un enamoured eyes, For the last time. A live man in such wise Looks in the deadly face of Tiis fixed hour And laughs with lips wherein he hath no power To keep the life yet some five minutes' space. So Tristram looked on Iseult face to face And knew not, and she knew not. The last time — The last that should be told in any rhyme Heard anywhere on mouths of singing men That ever should sing praise of them again ; The last hour of their hurtless hearts at rest. The last that peace should touch them breast to breast, ! The last that sorrow far from them should sit, i This last was with them, and they knew not it. For Tristram being athirst with toil- now spake, Saying, ' Iseult, for all dear love's labour's sake Give me to drink, and give me for a pledge The touch of four lips on the beaker's edge.' And Iseult sought and would not wake Brangwain Who slept as one half dead with fear and pain, Being tender-natured ; so with hushed light feet Went Iseult round her, with soft looks and sweet Pitying her pain ; so sweet a spirited thing She was, and daughter of a kindly king. And spying what strange bright secret charge was kept Fast in that maid's white bosom while she slept, THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. 39 She sought and drew the gold cup forth and smiled Marvelling, with such light wonder as a child That hears of glad sad life in magic lands ; And bare it back to Tristram with pure hands Holding the love-drAught that should bf for flame To bum out of them Jear and faith and shame, And lighten all their lif£ up in men's^ight, And make them sad_for ever. Then the knight Bowed toward her and craved whence had she this strange thmg That might be spoil of some dim Asian king, By starlight stolen from some waste place of sands, And a maid bore it here in harmless hands. And Iseul^ laughing — ' Other lords that be Feast, and their men feast after them j but we, Our men must keep the best wine back to feast Till they be full and we of all men least Feed after them and fain to fare so well : So with mine handmaid and your squire it fell That hid this bright thing from us in a wile : ' And with light lips yet full of their swift smile And hands that wist not though they du g a grave. Undid the hasps of gold, and drank, and gave. And he drank after, a deep glad kingly draught : And all t heir life changed in them, for they quaffed V Death ; ^ it be deatEso to drink, anlff fare As men who change and are what these twain were. And shuddering with eyes full of fear and fire And heart -stung with a serpentine desire 40 THE SAILING OF THE SWALLOW. He turned and saw the terror in her eyes That yearned upon him shining in such wise As a star midway in the midnight fixed. Their Galahault was the cup, and she that mixed j Nor other hand there needed, nor sweet speech To lure their hps together ; each on each Hung with strange eyes and hovered as a bird Wounded, and each mouth trembled for a word ; Their heads neared, and their hands were drawn in one, And they saw dark, though still the unsunken sun Far through fine rain shot fire into the south ; And their four lips became one burning moutli. II THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. ' Out of the night arose the second day, And saw the ship's bows break the shoreward spray. As the sun's boat of gold and fire began To sail the sea of heaven unsailed of man, And the soft waves of sacred air to break Round the prow launched into the morning's lake. They saw the sign of their sea-travel done. Ah, was not something seen of yester-sun, When the sweet light that lightened all the skies Saw nothing fairer than one maiden's eyes. That whatsoever in all time's years may be To-day's sun nor to-morrow's sun shall see? Not while she lives, not when she comes to die ^halljh^l^^unwardjnth t£atjjnle^eye. Yet fairer now than song may show them stand Tristram and Iseult, hand in amorous hand. So ul-satisfie d, their eyes made great and bright With all the love ofall the livelong night ; With all its hours yet singing in their ears 42 THE QUEEN'^ PLEASANCE. No mortal music made of thoughts and tears, But such a song, past conscience of man's thought, As hearing he grows god and knows it not. Nought else they saw nor heard but what the night Had left for seal upon their sense and sight, Sound of past pulses beating, fire of amorous light. Enough, and overmuch, and never yet Enough, though love still hungering feed and fret, To fill the cup of night which dawn must overset. For still their eyes were dimmer than with tears And dizzier \coxa diviner sounds their ears Than though from choral thunders of the quiring spheres. They heard not how the landward waters rang, Nor saw where high into the morning sprang. Riven irom the shore and bastioned with the sea. Toward summits where the north wind's nest might be, A wave-walled palace with its eastern gate Full of the sunrise now and wide at wait. And on the mighty-moulded stairs that clomb Sheer from the fierce lip of the lapping foam The knights of Mark that stood before the wall. So with loud joy and storm of festival They brought the bride in up the towery way That rose against the rising front of day, Stair based on stair, between the rocks unhewn. To those strange halls wherethrough the tidal tune Rang loud or lower from soft or strengthening sea. Tower shouldering tower, to windward and to lee, THE QUEEN'S PLEASAlSiCE. 43 VVith change of floors and stories, flight on flight, That clomb and curled up to the crowning height Whence men might see wide east and west in one And on one sea waned moon and mounting sun. And severed from the sea-rock's base, where stand Some worn walls yet, they saw the broken strand, The beachless cliff that in the sheer sea dips. The sleepless shore inexorable to ships, And the straight causeway's bare gaunt spine between The sea-spanned walls and naked mainland's green. On the mid stairs, between the light and dark, Before the main tower's portal stood King Mark, Crowned : and his face was as the face of one Long time athirst and hungering for the sun In barren thrall of bitter bonds, who now Thinks here to feel its blessing on his brow. A swart lean man, but kinglike, still of guise. With black streaked beard and cold unquiet eyes, Close-mouthed, gaunt-cheeked, wan as a morning moon, Though hardly time on his worn hair had strewn The thin first ashes from a sparing hand : Yet little fire there burnt upon the brand. And way-worn seemed he with life's wayfaring. So between shade and sunlight stood the king. And his face changed nor yearned not toward his bride; But fixed between mild hope and patient pride Abode what gift of rare or lesser worth This day might bring to all his days on earth. \; 44 iBE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. But at the glory of her when she came His heart endured not : very fear and shame Smote him, to take her by the hand and kiss, Till both were molten in the burning bliss, And with a thin flame flushing his cold face He led her silent to the bridal place. There were they wed and hallowed of the priest ; And all the loud time of the marriage feast One thought within three hearts was as a fire. Where craft and faith took counsel with desire. For when the feast had made a glorious end They gave the new queen for her maids to tend At dawn of bride-night, and thereafter bring With marriage music to the bridegroom king. Then by device of craft between them laid To him went Brangwain delicately, and prayed I That this thing even for love's sake might not be, ' But without sound or light or eye to see I She might come in to bride-bed : and he laughed, As one that wist not well of wise love's craft, And bade all bridal things be as she would. Yet of his gentleness he gat not good ; For clothed and covered with the nuptial dark Soft like a bride came Brangwain to King Mark, And to the queen came Tristram ; and the night Fled, and ere danger of detective light From the king sleeping Brangwain slid away. And where had lain her handmaid Iseult lay. And the king waking saw beside his head That face yet passion-coloured, amorous red THE QUEEN'S FLEASANCE. 45 From lips not his, and all that strange hair shed Across the tissued pillows, fold on fold, Innumerable, incomparable, all gold, To fire men's eyes with wonder, and with love Men's hearts ; so shone its flowering crown above The brows enwound with that imperial wreath, A»id framed with fragrant radiance round the face beneath. And the king marvelled, seeing with sudden start Her very glory, and said out of his heart ; ' What have I done of good for God to bless That all this he should give me, tress on tress, All this great wealth and wondrous ? Was it this That in mine arms I had all night to kiss, And mix with me this beauty ? this that seems More fair than heaven doth in some tired saint's dreams, Being part of that same heaven ? yea, more, for he. Though loved of God so, yet but seems to see. But to me sinful such great grace is given That in mine hands I hold this part of heaven -Not to mine eyes lent merely. Doth God make Such things so godlike for man's mortal sake ? Have I not sinned, that in this fleshly life Have made of her a mere man's very wife ? ' So the king mused and murmured ; and she heard The faint sound trembling of each breathless word And laughed into the covering of her hair. And many a day for many a month as fair Slid over them like, music ; and as bright Burned with love's offerings many a secret night 46 THE QUEEN'S FLEASANCE. And many a dawn to many a fiery noon Blew prelude, when the horn's heart-kindling tune Lit the live woods with sovereign sound of mirth Before the mightiest huntsman hailed on earth Lord of its lordliest pleasure, where he rode Hard by her rein whose peerless presence glowed Not as that white queen's of the virgin hunt Once, whose crown- crescent braves the night-wind's brunt, But with the sun for frontlet of a queenlier front For where the flashing of her face was turned As lightning was the fiery light that burned From eyes and brows enkindled more with speed And rapture of the rushing of her steed Than once with only beauty J and her mouth Was as a rose athirst that pants for drouth Even while it laughs for pleasure of desire. And all her heart was as a leaping fire. Yet once more joy they took of woodland ways Than came of all tliose flushed and fiery days When tlie loud air was mad with life and sound. Through many a dense green mile, of horn and hound Before the king's hunt going along the wind, And ere the timely leaves were changed or thinned, Even in mid maze ot summer. For the knight Forth was once ridden toward some frontier fight Against the lewd folk of the Christless lands That warred with wild and intermittent hands Against the king's north border ; and there came A knight unchristened j'et of unknown name, THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 47 Swar t Palamede, upon a secret quest, To high Tintagel, and abode as guest In likeness of a minstrel with the king. Nor was there man could sound so sweet a string, Save Tristram only, of all held best on earth. And one loud eve, being full of wine and mirth. Ere sunset left the walls and waters dark. To that strange minstrel strongly swore King Mark, By all that makes a knight's faith firm and strong, That he for guerdon of his harp and song Might crave and have his liking. Straight there came Up the swart cheek a flash of swarthier flame, And the deep eyes fulfilled of glittering night Laughed out in lightnings of triumphant light As the grim harper spake : ' O king, I crave No gift of man that king may give to slave, But this thy crowned queen only, this thy wife. Whom yet unseen I loved, and set my life On this poor chance to compass, even as here. Being fairer famed than all save Guenevere.' Then as the noise of seaward storm that mocks With roaring laughter from reverberate rocks The cry from ships near shipwreck, harsh and high Rose all the wrath and wonder in one cry Through all the long roof's hollow depth and length That hearts of strong men kindled in their strength May speak in laughter lion- like, and cease, Being wearied : only two men held their peace And each glared hard on other ; but King Mark Spake first of these : ' Man, though thy craft be dark 48 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCR And thy mind evil that begat this thing, Yet stands the word once plighted of a king Fast : and albeit less evil it were for me To give my life up than my wife, or be A landless man crowned only with a curse, Yet this in God's and all men's sight were worse, To live soul-shamed, a man of broken troth. Abhorred of men as I abhor mine oath Which yet I may forswear not' And he bowed His head, and wept : and all men wept aloud, Save one, that heard him weeping : but the queen Wept not : and statelier yet than eyes had seen That ever looked upon her queenly state She rose, and in her eyes her heart was great And full of wrath seen manifest and scorn More strong than anguish to go thence forlora Of all men's comfort and her natural right. And they went forth into the dawn of night> Long by wild ways and clouded Hght they rode, Silent ; and fear less keen at heart abode With Iseult than with Palamede : for awe Constrained him, and the might of love's high law, That can make lewd men loyal ; and his heart Yearned on her, if perchance with amorous art And soothfast skill of ver)- love he might For courtesy find favour in her sight And comfort of her mercies : for he wist More grace might come of that sweet mouth unkissed Than joy for violence done it, that should make His name abhorred for shame's disloyal sake. THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 49 And in ^he stormy starlight clouds were thinned And thickened by short gusts of changing wind That panted like a sick man's fitful breath: And like a moan of lions hurt to death Came the sea's hollow noise along the night. But ere its gloom from aught but foam had light They halted, being aweary : and the knight As reverently forbore her where she lay As one that watcheil his sister's sleep till day. Nor durst he kiss or toucli her hand or hair For love and sharaefast pity, seeing how fair She slept, and fenceless from the fitful air. And shame at heart stung nigh to death desire, But grief at heart burned in him like a fire For hers and his own sorrowing sake, that had Such grace for guerdon as makes glad men sad, To have their will and want it. And the day Sprang : and afar along the wild waste way They heard the pulse and press of hurrying horse- hoofs play : And like the rushing of a ravenous flame Whose wings make tempest of the darkness, came Upon them headlong as in thunder borne Forth of the darkness of the labouring mom Tristram: and up forthright upon his steed Leapt, as one blithe of battle, Palamede, And mightily with shock of horse and man They lashed together : and fair that fight began As fair came up that sunrise : to and fro, With knees nigh staggered and stout heads bent low E so THE QUEENS PLEASANCE. From each quick shock of spears on either side. Reeled the strong steeds heavily, haggard-eyed And heartened high with passion of their pride As sheer the stout spears shocked again, and flew Sharp-splintering: then, his sword as each knight drew, They flashed and foined full royally, so long That but to se e so fair a strife and strong A man might well have g iven out ofhislijg. One year's void space forlorn of lo ve or strife^. As when a bright north-easter, great of heart, Scattering the strengths of squadrons, hurls apart Ship from ship labouring violently, in such toil As earns but ruin — with even so strong recoil Back were the steeds hurled from the spear-shock, fain And foiled of triumph : then with tightened rein And stroke of spur, inveterate, eidier knight Bore in again upon his foe with might. Heart-hungry for the hot-mouthed feast of fight And all athirst of mastery : but full soon The jarring notes of that tempestuous tune Fell, and its mighty music made of hands Contending, clamorous through the loud waste lands, Broke at once off; and shattered from his steed Fell, as a mainmast ruining, Palamede, Stunned : and those lovers left him where he lay. And lightly thr ough green lawns they rode away. There was a bower beyond man's eye more fa^ Than ever summer dews and sunniest air Fed full vrith rest and radiance till the boughs- Had wrought a roof as for a hoUer house THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 51 Than aught save love might breathe in ; fairer far Than keeps the sweet light back of moon and star From high kings' chambers : ther e might love and sleep Divide for j oy the darkling hours, and keep With amorous alternation' of sweeTitrife The^soft and secret ways of death and life Made smooth for pleasure's feet to rest and run Even from the moondawn to the kindling sun, Made bright for passion's feet to run and rest Between the midnight's and the morning's breast, Where hardly though her happy head lie down It may forget the hour that wove its crown ; Where hardly though her joyous limbs be laid They may forget the mirth that midnight made. And thither, ere sweet night had slain sweet day, Iseult and Tristram took their wandering way. And rested, and refreshed their hearts with cheer In hunters' fashion of the woods ; and here More sweet it seemed, while this might be, to dwell And take of all world's weariness farewell Than reign ,of.aIl,-wnr]Ji3!i. lordsbip,^ueen and^king. Nor here would time for three moons' changes bring Sorrow nor thought of sorrow ; but sweet earth Fostered them like her babes of eldest birth, Reared warm in pathless woods and cherished welL And the sun sprang above the sea and fell. And the stars rose and sank upon the sea ; And outlaw-like, in forest wise and free. The rising and the setting of their lights Found those twain dwelling all those days and nights 52 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. And under change of sun and star and moon Flourished and fell the chaplets woven of June, And fair through fervours of the deepening sky Panted and passed the hours that Ut July, And each day blessed them out of heaven above, And each night crowned them with the crown of love, Nor till the mipht o f August ov erhead Weighed on the worl d was yet one rpseleaf shed Of all their iov's warm coronal, jior aug ht, T ouched them in passing eve r with a thought That ever this m ight end on any day Or any night not love them where they lay ; Rut like, a^abbling tal e of barr en breath Seeme d all r eport and rumour held of death, And ajalse_bmit the legend tear-impearled That such_a_thing_ as change was in the world..^ And each bright song upon his lips that came, Mocking the powers of change and death by name, Blasphemed their bitter godhead, and defTed* Time, though clothed round with ruin as kings with pride. To blot the glad Ufe out of love : and she Drank lightly deep of his philosophy In that warm wine of amorous words which is Sweet with all truths of all philosophies. For well he wist all subtle ways of song. And in his soul the secret eye was strong That burns in meditation, till bright words Break flamelike forth as notes from fledgeling birds THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 53 Thai feel the soul speak through them of the spring. So fared they night and day as queen and king Crowned of a kingdom wide as day and night. Nor ever cloudlet swept or swam in sight Across the darkling depths of their delight Whose stars no skill might number, nor man's art Sound the deep stories of its heavenly heart. Till, even Jqrwoiider that such life should live, D esires and dreams of what death's self might give Would touch with tears and laughter and^ild speech The lips and eyes of passion, fain to reach, Beyond all bourne of time or trembling sense, The verge of love's last possible eminence. Out of the heaven that storm nor shadow mars, Deep from the starry depth beyond the stars, A yearning ardour without scope or name Fell on them, and the bright night's breath of flame Shot fire into their kisses ; and like fire The lit dews lightened on the leaves, as higher Night's heart beat on toward midnight. Far a nd fain Somewh iles the sqftjush ofrejoicin g rain Solaced the darltness, and f rom steep to steep Of heaven they s aw the sweet sheet lightning leap Andjaugh^its heart out in a thousand smiles, When the clear sea for miles on glimmering miles Bumjed as thpughjdawn were strewn abroad astray, Or, showeringjout of heaven, all heaven's array Had paven instead the waters : fain and far Somewhiles the burning love of star for star 54 THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. Spa^^wor^ AatJove_might w^ellnigh seem to hear In_such_deep_hpurs as turii delight to fear Swe et as delight's selfeyer. So they lay Tranced once, nor watched along the fiery bay The shine of summer darkness palpitate and play. She had nor sight nor voice ; her swooning eyes Knew not if night or light were in the skies ; Across her beauty sheer the moondawn shed Its light as on a thing as white and dead ; Only with stress of soft fierce hands she prest Between the throbbing blossoms of her breast His ardent face, and through his hair her breath Went quivering as when life is hard on death ; And with strong trembling fingers she strained fast His head into her bosom ; till at last. Satiate with sweetness of that burning bed. His eyes afire with tears, he raised his head And laughed into her lips ; and all his heart Filled hers ; then face from face fell, and apart Each hung on each with panting Hps, and felt Sense into sense and spirit in spirit melt. jJHast tIiQU-flfl..SWOrd ?- 1 would njot live till da y ; O love, th is night and we must pass away. It m ust di e soon, and let not us die late.' ' Take then ray sword and slay me ; nay, but wait Till day be risen ; what, wouldst thou think to die Before the light take hold upon the sky ? ' ' Yea, love ; for how shall we have twice, being twain. This verj' night of love's most rapturous reign ? THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 55 Live thou and have thy day, and year by year Be great, but what shall I be ? Slay me here ; ]^me_diem)twhen love lies dead, but now Strike through my heart : nay, sweet, what heart hast """"thou? ' Is it so much I ask thee, and spend my breath In asking ? nay^ thou knowest i t is but death. Hadst thou true heart to love me, thou wouldst give This : but for hate's sake thou wilt let me live.' Here he caught up her lips with his, and made The wild prayer silent in her heart that prayed. And strained her to him till all her faint breath sank And her bright light limbs palpitated and shrank And rose and fluctuated as flowers in rain That bends them and they tremble and rise again And heave and straighten and quiver all through with bliss And turn afresh their mouths up for a kiss, Amorous, athirst of that sweet influent lovef So, hungering toward his hovering lips above, Her red-rose mouth yearned silent, and her eyes Closed, and flashed after, as through June's darkest skies The divine heartbeats of the deep live light Make open and shut the gates of the outer night. Long lay they still, subdued with love, nor knew If cloud or light changed colour as it grew, If star or moou beheld them ; if above The heaven of night waxed fiery with their love, 56 THE QUEEN'S FLEASANCE. Or earth beneatli were moved at heart and root To bum as they, to burn and bring forth fruit Unseasonable for love's sake ; if tall trees Bowed, and close flowers yearned open, and the breeze Failed and fell silent as a flame that fails : And all that hour unheard the nightingales Clamoured, and all the woodland soul was stirred, And depth and height were one great song unheard, As though the world caught music and took fire From the instant heart alone of their desire. So sped their night of nights between them : so, For all fears past and shadows, shirie and snow, That one pur? hour alL-£oldenjvhere they lay Made their life perfect and their darkness day. And warmer waved its harvest yet to reap. Till in the lovely fight of love and sleep At length had sleep the mastery ; and the dark Was lit with soft live gleams they might not mark. Fleet butterflies, each like a dead flower's ghost, White, blue, and sere leaf-coloured ; but the most White as the sparkle of snow-flowers in the sun Ere with his breath they lie at noon undone Whose kiss devours their tender beauty, and leaves But raindrops on the grass and sere thin leaves That were engraven with traceries of the snow Flowerwise ere any flower of earth's would blow ; So swift they sprang and sank, so sweet and light They swam the deep dim breathless air of night. Now on her rose-white amorous breast half bare, Now on her slumberous love-dishevelled hair. THE QUEEN'S PLEASANCE. 57 The white wings lit and vanished, and afresh Lit soft as snow lights on her snow-soft flesh, On hand or throat or shoulder \ and she stirred Sleeping, and spake some tremulous bright word, And laughed upon some dream too sweet for truth. Yet not so sweet as very love and youth That there had charmed her eyes to sleep at Ijist. Nor woke they till the: perfect nighi^.as past, And the soft sea thrilled with blind hope of light. But ere the dusk had well the sun in sight He turned and kissed her eyes awake and said, Seeing earth and water neither quick nor dead And twilight hungering toward the day to be, 'As the dawn loves the sunlight I love thee.' And even as rays with cloudlets in the skies Confused in brief love's bright contentious wise, Sleep strove with sense rekindling in her eyes ; And as the flush of birth scarce overcame The pale pure pearl of unborn light with flame Soft as may touch the rose's heart with shame To break not all reluctant out of bud, Stole up her sleeping cheek her waking blood ; And ;vith the lovely laugh of love that takes The whole soul prisoner ere the whole sense wakes. Her lips for love's sake bade love's will be done. And all the sea lav subject to the sua 59 III. TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. ' " As the dawn loves the sunlight I love thee ; " As men that shall be swallowed of the sea Love the sea's lovely beauty ; as the night That wanes before it loves the young sweet light. /A.nd dies of Ipyingl as the worn-out noon Loves twilight, and as twilight loves the moon That on its grave a silver seal shall set — We have loved and slain each other, and love yet. Slain ; for we live not surely, being in twain : In her I lived, and in me she is slain, Who loved me that I brought her to her doom. Who loved her that her love might be my tomb. As all the streams on earth and all fresh springs And sweetest waters, every brook that sings, Each fountain where the young year dips its wings First, and the first-fledged branches of it wave. Even with one heart's love seek one bitter grave^ From hills that first see bared the morning's breast And heights the sun last yearns to from the west, 6o TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. All tend but toward the sea, all bom most high Strive down.vard, passing all things joyous by, Seek to it and cast their lives in it and die. So strive all lives for death which all lives win ; So sought her soul to my soul, and therein Was poured and perish^ ; Omylove, and mine Sought to thee and died of thee and died as thine. As the dawn loves the sunlight that must cease Ere dawn again may rise and pass in peace ; ' Must die that she being dead may live again, To be by his new rising nearly slain. So rolls the great wheel of the great world round, And no change in it and no fault is found, i And no true life of perdurable breath, And surely no irrevocable death. Day after day night comes that day may break. And day comes back for night's reiterate sake. Each into each dies, each of each is bom : Day past is night, shall night past not be morn ? Out of this moonless and faint-hearted night That love yet lives in, shall there not be light ? Light strong as love, that love may live in yet ? Alas, but how shall foolish hope forget How all these loving things that kill and die Meet not but for a breath's space and pass by? Night is kissed once of dawn and dies, and day But touches twilight and is rapt away. So may my love and her love meet once morei And meeting be divided as of yore. TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 6x Yea, surely as the day-star loves the sun JVnd when he hath risen is utterly undone, So is my love of her :ind hers of me — And its most sweetness bitter as the sea. Jiiould God yet dawn might see the sun and die ! ' j Three years had looked on earth and passed it by I Since Tristram looked on Iseult, when he stood So communing with dreams of evil and good, And let all sad thoughts through his spirit sweep As leaves through air or tears through eyes that weep Or snowflakes through dark weather : and his soul, That had seen all those sightless seasons roll One after one, wave over weary wave, Was in him as a corpse is in its grave. Yet, for his heart was mighty, and his might Through all the world as a great sound and light, The mood was rare upon him ; save that here In the low sundawn of the lightening year }yith all last year's toil and its triumph done He could not choose but yearn for that set sun Which at this season saw the firstborn kiss Xhat made his lady's mouth one fire with his. Ycl his great heart being greater than his grief Kept all the summer of his strength in leaf And all the rose of his sweet spirit in flower ; Still his soul fed upon the sovereign hour That had been or that should be ; and once more He looked through drifted sea and drifting shore That crumbled in the wave-breach, and again Spake sad and deep within himself : ' What pain 62 TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. Should make a man's soul wholly break and die, Sapped as weak sand by water ? How shall I Be less than all less things are that endure And strive andjiTgli_when_time^is?i ' Nay, full sure All these and we are parts o^one same end ;~7 And if through fire or water we twam tend To that sure life^ where both must be made one, If one we be, whatmatter ? Tho u, O sun, The face of God, if God tho u be not— nay, J What but God should I think thee, what should say, Seeing thee rerisen, but very God ? — should I, I fool, rebuke thee sovereigii in thy sky. The clouds dead round thee and the air alive, The winds that lighten and the waves that strive ■ Toward this shore as to that beneath thy breath, Because in me my thoughts bear all towards death ? O sun, that when we are dead wilt rise as brie;ht. Air deepening .up toward h ea ven, and nameless light. And heaven immeasurable, and faint clouds blown Between us and the lowest aprial znnf; And each least skirt of their imperial state — Forgive us that we held ourselves so great ! What should I do to curse you ? I indeed Am a thing meaner than this least wild seed That my foot bruises and I know not — yet Would not be mean enough for worms to fret Before their time and mine was. * Ah, and ye. Light washing w eeds, blind, waifs of dull blind sea. TRISTRAM IN BRITTANY. 63 Do ye so thirst and hunger and aspire, Are ye so moved with suc h long s trong desire . In , tl^e ebb and flow ot! your sad life, and strive Still toward some end ye shall not see alive — But at high noon ve know it by Hght and heat Some half-hour, till ye feel the fresh tide beat Up round you, and at nightI§ jBast,bitter.naoa. The rinples leave you naked to th e moo n ? And this dim dusty heather that I tread, These half-born blossoms, born at once and dead, Sere brown as funeral cloths, and purple as pall, What if some life and grief be in them all ? ' Ay, what of these ? but, O strong sun I O sea ! I bid not you, divine things ! comfort me, I stand not up to match you in your sight — Who hath said ye have mercy toward us, ye who have might ? And though ye had mercy, I think I would not pray That ye should change your counsel or your way To make our Hfe less bitter : if such power Be given the stars on one deciduous hour. And such might be in planets to destroy _Grief and rebuild, and break and build up joy, What man would stretch forth hand on them to make Fate mutable, God foolish, for his sake ? i/For if in life n^ Hi-w6«M€«-4s.my sin. And perfect my transgression : that above All offerings of all ot'^ers is my love, \Vho have chosen it only, and put away for this Thee, and my soul's hope, Saviour, of the kiss Wherewith thy lips make welcome all thine own AVhen in them life and death are overthrown ; The sinless lips that seal the death of sin, I The kiss wherewith their dumb lips touched begin Singing in heaven. ' Where we shall never, love. Never stand up nor sing ! for God above Knows us, how too much more than God to me Thy sweet love is, my poor love is to thee ! Dear, dost thou see now, dost thou hear to-night, Sleeping, my waste wild speech, my face worn white, — Speech once heard soft by thee, face once kissed red!— In such a dream as when men see their dead And know not if they know if dead these be ? Ah love, are thy days my days, and to thee ISEULT AT TJNTAGEL. 89 Are all nights like as my nights ? does the sun Grieve thee? art thou soul-sick till day be done, And weary till day rises ? is thine heart Full of dead things as mine is ? Nay, thou art Man, with man's strength and praise and pride of life, No bondwoman, no queen, no loveless wife That would b3 shamed albeit she had not sinned.' And swordlike was the sound of the iron wind, And as a breaking battle was the sea. ' Nay, Lord. I pray thee let him love not me, Love me not any more, nor like me die. And be no more than such a thing as I. Turn his heart f rom me^ lest my love too lose Thee asj[ lose thee, and his fair soul refuse For my sake thy fair heaven, and as I fell Fall, and be mixed with my soul and with hell. Let me die rather, and only ; let me be Ha^cTof him so h e be loved of thee, Lord : for I would not have him with me there Out of thy light and love in the unlit air. Out of thy sight in the unseen hell where I Go gladly, going alone, so thou on high Lift up his soul and love him— Ah, Lord, Lord, -Shalt thou love as I love him ? she that poured From the alabaster broken at thy feet An ointment very precious, not so sweet As that poured likewise forth before thee then From the rehallowed heart of Magdalen, From a heart broken, yearning like the dove, An ointment very precious which is love — 90 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. Couldst thou being holy and God, and sinful she, Lovejier indeed as surely she loved thee ? Nay, but if not, then as we sinners can Let us love still in the old sad wise of man. Forjirith less love than my love, having had Mine, though God love him he shall not be glad. And with such love as my love, I wot^I^l, He shall not lie disconsolate in hell : Sad only as souls for utter love's sake be Here, and a little sad, perchance, for me — Me happy, me more glad than God above, In the utmost hell whose fires consume not love ! For in the waste ways emptied of the sun He would say — " Dear, thy place is void, and one Weeps among angels for thee, with his face Veiled, saying, O sister, how thy chosen place Stands desolate, that God made fair for thee I Is heaven not sweeter, and we thy brethren, we Fairer tlian love on earth and life in Iiell I " And I — with me were all things then not well ? Should I not answer — " O love, be well content ; Look on me, and behold if I repent." Th is were more tcp^ ^, ;; tha n^an an °;ers wings. Yea. ms^pY i '"sn pray God for m a n Y thipg gr But I pray that this onlv thing may be.' And as a full field charging was the sea, And as the cry of slain men was the wind. ' Yea, since I surely loved him, and he sinned Surely, though not as my sin his be black, God, give him to me— God, God, give him back 1 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 91 For now how should we, live in twain or die ? I am he indeed, thou knowest, and he is I. Not man and woman several as we were, But one thing with one life and death to bear. How should one love his own soul overmuch ? And time is long since last I felt the touch, The sweet touch of my lover, hand and breath, In such delight as puts delight to death, Bum my soul through, tiU spirit and soul and sense, In the sharp grasp of the hoiu", with violence Died, and again through pangs of violent birth Lived, and laughed out with refluent might of mirth ; Laughed each on other and shuddered into one, As a cloud shuddering dies into the sun. Ah, sense is that or spirit, soul or flesh, That only love lulls or awakes afresh ? Ah, sweet is that or bitter, evil or good, That very love allays not as he would ? Nay, truth is this or vanity, that gives No love assurance when love dies or lives ? This that my spirit is wrung withal, and yet No surelier knows if haply thine forget. Thou that my spirit is wrung for, nor can say Love is not in thee dead as yesterday ? Dost thou feel, thou. -feis heartbeat wh ence my heart Would send thee word what Ufe is mine apart. And know by keen response what life i s thine? Dost thou not hear one cry of all of mine? Tristram's heart, have I no part- in thee ? ' And all her soul was as the breaking sea, 92 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. And all her heart anhungered as the wind. ' Dost thou repent thee of the sin we sinned? Dost thou repent thee of the days and nights That kindled and that quenched for us their lights. The months that feasted us with _ all their hours , T he ways that breathed of us in aU their, flowers. The dell s that san g of us with all th eir doves? P"ilf IllP'.] rpnpnt thpp of rl^p wildwond InvPS? Is thine heart changed, and hallowed ? art thou grown God's, and not mine ? Yet, though my heart make moan, Fain would my soul give thanks for thine, if thou Be saved — yea, fein praise God, and knows not how. How should it know thanksgiving ? nay, or learn Aught of the love wherewith thine own should burn, God's, that should cast out as an evil thing Mine ? yea, what hand of prayer have I to cling, What heart to prophesy, what spirit of sight To strain insensual eyes toward increate light, Who look but back on life wherein I sinned ? ' And all their past came wailing in the wind, And all their future thundered in the sea. ' But if my soul might touch the time to be. If hand might handle now or eye behold My life and death qjjdMjied me from of old, Life palpable, compact of blood and breath, Visible, present, naked, very death> Should I desire to know before the day These that I know not, nor is man that may ? ISEULT AT TINTACEL 93 For haply, seeing, my heart would break for fear, And my soul timeless cast its load off here. iTs load of life too bitter, love too sweet, And fall down shamed and naked at thy feet, God, who w ouldst take no pit y of it. , nor prive One houj; back, one of all its hours to live Clothed with my mortal' body, that , once more, Once, on this reach of barren beaten shore. This stormy strand of life, ere sail were set, Had haply felt love's ar ms ab out it yet— Yea, ere death's bark put off to seaward, might With many a grief have bought me one delight That then should know me never. Ah, what years Would I endure not, filled up full with tears. Bitter like blood and dark as dread of death. To win one amorous hour of mingling breath, One fire-eyed hour and sunnier than the sun, For all these nights and days like nights but one ? One hour of heaven bom once, a stormless birth. For all these windy weary hours of earth ? tone, but one hour from birth of joy to death, For all these hungering hours of feverish breath ? And I should lose this, having died and sinned.' And as man's anguish clamouring cried the wind, And as God's anger answering rang the sea. ' And yet what life — Lord God, what life for me Has thy strong wrath made ready ? Dost thou think How lips whose thirst hath only tears to drink Grow grey for grief untimely ? Dost thou know, O happy God, how men wax weary of woe — 94 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. Yea, for their wrong's sake that thine hand hath done Come even to hate thy semblance in the sun ? Turn back from dawn and noon and all thy light To make their souls one with the soul of night ? Christ, if thou hear yet or have eyes to see, Thou that hadst pity, and hast no pity on me. Know'st thou no more, as in this life's sharp span, What pain thou hadst on earth, what pain hath man? Hast thou no care, that all we suffer yet ? What help is ours of thee if thou forget ? What profit have we though thy blood were given, If we that sin bleed and be not forgiven ? Not love but hate, thou bitter God qff( ; l stransfe. Whose heart as man's hear^ hath grown cold with chans;e. Not love but hate thQU showest us that have sinned. ' And like a world's cry shuddering was the wind, And like a God's voice threatening was the sea. ' Nay, Lord, for thou wast gracious ; nay, in thee No change can come with time or varying fate, No tongue bid thine be less compassionate, No sterner eye rebuke for mercy thine, No sin put out thy pity — no, not mine. Thou knowest us. Lord, thou knowest us. all we are, He, and the soul that hath his soul for star : Thou knowest as I know. Lord, how much more worth Than all souls clad and clasped about with earth, But most of all, God, how much more than I, Is this man's soul that surely shall not die^ ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 93 What righteousness, what judgment, Lord most high. Were this, to bend a brow of doom as grim As threats me, me the adulterous wife, on him ? There lies none other nightly by his side : He hath not sought, he shall not seek a bride. Far as God sunders earth from heaven above, So far was my love bom beneath his love. I loved him as the_5.ea:mjid. lo- ves the sea. To rend and ru in it pnly and waste : but he. As the sea loves a sea-bird loved he me. To foster and uphold my tir^d life's wing. And bounteouslv beneath me spread fo Hli ^prinpr^ A springtide space whereon to float or fly. A world of happy water , whence the sky Glowed goodlier^ li ghtening from so glad a glass. Than with its ow'n light onlv> Now, alas ! Cloud hath come down and clothed it round with storm. And gusts and fits of eddying winds deform The feature of its glory. Yet be thou, vGod, merciful : nay, show but justice now, ' And let the sin in him that scarce was his Stand expiated with exile : and be this The price for him, the atonement this, that I With all the sin upon me live, and die [With all thy wrath on me that most have sinned.' And like man's heart relenting sighed the wind. And as God's wrath subsiding sank the sea. * But if such grace be possible — if it be 96 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. Not sin more strange than all sins past, and worse Evil, that cries upon thee for a curse, To pray such prayers from such a heart, do thou Hear, and make wide thine hearing toward me now ; Let not my soul and his for ever dwell Sundered : thouglTdoonilceep always heaven and hell Irreconcilable, infinitely aparF, Keep not in twain for ever heart and heart That nnre, alheij^ hyjinyhy law, jvere£ne ; Let this be not thy will, that this be done. Let all else, all thou wilt of evil, be, But no doom, none, dividing him and rue.' By this was heaven stirred eastward, and there came Up the rough ripple a labouring light like flame ; And|dawnj sore trembling still and grey with fear, Looked hardly forth, a face of heavier cheer Than one which grief or dread yet half enshrouds. Wild-eyed and wan, across the cleaving clouds. And Iseult, worn with watch long held ou pain, Turned, and her eye lit on the hound Hodain, And all her heart went out in tears : and he Laid his kind head along her bended knee. Till round his neck her arms went hard, and all The night past from her as a chain might fa ll : But yet th e heart within her, half undone. Wailed, and was loth to let her see the_sun. And ere full day brought heaven and earth to flower, Far thence, a maiden in a marriage bower. That moment, hard by Tristram, oversea, Woke with glad eyes Iseult of Brittany, 97 VI. yOYOUS GARD. A LITTLE time, O Love, /little lightA A little hour for ease befOTe the nightl Sweet Love, that art so bitter ;vfoolisn Love, Whom wise men know for wiser, and thy dove More subtle than the serpent j for thy sake These pray thee for a little beam to break, A little grace to help them, lest men think Thy servants have but hours like tears to drink. O Love, a little comfort, lest they fear To serve as these have served thee who stand here. For these are thine, thy servants these, that stand Here nigh the limit of the wild north land, At margin of the grey great eastern sea, Dense-islanded with peaks and reefs, that see No life but of the fleet wings fair and free Which cleave the mist and sunlight all day long With sleepless flight and cries more glad than song; Strange ways of life have led them hither, here To win fleet respite from desire and fear H 98 yOYOVS CARD. With armistice from sorrow ; strange and sweet Ways trodden by forlorn and casual feet Till kindlier chance woke toward them kindly will In happier hearts of lovers, and their ill Found rest, as healing surely might it not, By gift and kingly grace of Launcelot At gracious bidding given of Guenevere. For in the trembli np twilight of this yea r Ere April sprang fro m hope to certitude Two hearts of frian ds fast linked" had Tallen at feud As they rode forth on hawking, by the sign Which gave his new bride's brot her Ganhardine To know the truth of Tristram's dealin g^ how FaUh kgpU^iiUU^gaiast JwS-maEriag.e vow Kept vir ginal hisjbride^bed night and morn ; Whereat, as wroth his blood should suffer scorn. Came Ganhardine to Tristram, saying, ' Behold, We have loved thee, and for love we have shown of old Scorn hast thou shown us : wherefore is thy bride Not thine indeed, a stranger at thy side. Contemned ? what evil hath she done, to be Mocked with mouth- marriage and despised of thee, Shamed, set at nought, rejected ? ' But there came On Tristram's brow and eye the shadow and flame Confused of wrath and wonder, ere he spake. Saying, ' Hath she bid thee for thy sister's sake Plead with me, who believed of her in heart More nobly than to deem such piteous part Should find so fair a player ? or whence hast thou Of us this knowledge ? ' ' Nay.' said he, ' but now, yOYOUS CARD. 99 Riding beneath these whitethorns overhead, There fell a flower into her girdlestead Which laughing she shook out, and smiling said — " Lo, what large leave the wind hath given this stray, To lie more near my heart than till this day Aught ever since my mother lulled me lay Or even my lord ca^ne ever j " whence I wot We are all thy scorn, a race regarded not Nor held as worth communion of thine own. Except in her be found some fault alone To blemish our alliance.' Then replied Tristram, ' Nor blame nor scorn may touch my bride, Albeit imknown of love she live, and be Worth a man worthier than her love thought me. Fai th only, faith withheld m e, faith forbade The blameless grace wherewith love's grace makes glad All lives linked else in wedlock ; not that less I loved the sweet light of her loveliness, BuTdiatjn^JoyejQ^ardJaith^T^^ thou, Albeit thine heart be keen against me now, Couldst thou behold my very lady, then No more of thee than of all other men Should this my faith be held a faithless fault' . And ere that day their hawking came to halt Being sore of him entreated for a sign, He sware to bring his brother Ganhardine To sight of that strange Iseult : and thereon Forth soon for Cornwall are these brethren gone, 100 JOYOUS CARD. Even to that royal pleasance where the hunt Rang ever of old with Tristram's horn in front Blithe as tlie queen's horse bounded at his side: And first of all her dames forth pranced in pride That day before them, with a ringing rein All golden-glad, the king's false bride Brangwain, The queen's true handmaid ever : and on her Glancing, ' Be called for all time truth-teller, Q Tristram (^£all true men's tongues alive,' ^uoth Ganhardine ; ' for may my soul so thrive As jjet mine eye drank never sight liSetms.' ' Ay ? ' Tristram said, 'and she ffiou'ldoK'st on is So great in grace of goodliness, that thou Hast less thought left of wrath against me now, Seeing but my lady's handmaid ? Nay, behold ; See'st thou no light more golden than of gold Shine where she moves in midst of all, above All, past all price or praise or prayer of love ? Lo, this is she.' But as one mazed with wine Stood, stunned in spirit and stricken, Ganhardine, And gazed out hard against them : and his heart As with a sword was cloven, and rent apart As with strong fangs of fire ; and scarce he spake, Saying how his life for even a handmaid's sake Was made a flame within him. And the knight Bade him, being known of none that stood in sight, Bear to Brangwain his ring, that she unseen Might give in token privily to the queen And send swift word where under moon or sun They twain might yet be no more twain but one. yOYOUS GAUD. Toj And that same night, under the stars that rolled Over their warm deep wildwood nights of old Whose hours for grains of sand shed sparks of fir e. Such way was made anew for their desire By secret wile of sickness feigned, to keep The king far off her vigils or her sleep, That in the queen's pavilion midway set By glimmering moondawn were those lovers met, And Ganhardine of Brangwain gat him grace. And in some passionate soft interspace Between two swells of passion, when their lips Breathed, and made room for such brief speech as slips From tongaes athirst with draughts of amorous wine That leaves them thirstier than the salt sea's brine, Was counsel taken how to fly,and where F i nd covert fro m the wild world's ravening air That hunts with storm the feet of nights and days Through strange thw^t Imes^ ofTi!e"lind"l(owerless ways. Then said Iseult : ' Lo, now the chance is here Foreshown me late by word of Guenevere, To give me comfort of thy rumoured wrong. My traitor Tristr am, when report was strong Of me forsaken and thine heart estranged : Nor should her sweet soul toward me yet be changed Nor all her love lie barren, if mine hand Crave harvest of it from the flowering land. See therefore if this counsel please thee not^ That we take horse in haste for Camelot 102 JOYOUS CARD, And seek that friendship of her plighted troth Which love shall be full fain to lend, nor loth Shall my love be to take it.' So nesLoight The multitudinous stars laughed round their flight, Fulfilling far with laughter made of light The encircling deeps of heaven : and in brief space At Camelot their long love gat them grace Of those fair twain whose heads men's praise ira- pearled As love's two lordliest lovers in the world : And thence as guests for harbourage past they forth To win this noblest hold of all the north. Far by wild ways and many days they rode, Till clear acrpss June's king[i^stjunset glowed The great round girth of goodly wall that showed Where for one clear sweet season's length should be Their place of strength to rest in, fain and free, By the utmost margin of the loud lone sea. And now, O Love, what comfort? God most high, Whose life is as a flower's to live and die, Whose lig ht is everlastmg : Lor^whose breath Speaks music through the deathless lips of death Whereto time's heart rings answer : Bard, whom time Hears, and is vanquished with a wandering rhyme That once thy lips made fragrant : Seer, whose sooth * Joy knows not well, but sorrow knows for truth. Being priestess of thy soothsayings : Love, what grace Shall these twain find at last before thy face ? JOYOUS GARD. 103 This many a year they have served thee, and deserved, If ever man might yet of all that served, Since the first heartbeat bade the first man's knee Bend, and his mouth take music, praising thee, Some comfort ; and some lioney indeed of thine Thou bast mixed for these with life's most bitter wine Commending to their passionate lips a draught No deadlier than thy chosen of old have quaffed And blessed thine hand, their cupbearer's : for not On all men comes the grace that seals their lot As holier in thy sight, for all these feuds That rend it, than the light-souled multitude's, Nor thwarted of thine hand nor blessed ; but these Shall see no twilight. Love, nor fade at ease, Grey-grown and careless of desired delight, But lie down tired and sleep before the night. These shall not live till time or change may chill Or doubt divide or shame subdue their will, Or fear or slow repentance work. them wrong. Or love die first : t hese sh all not live so long. Death shall not tak e them drained of dear tru e life Akeadv, sick or stagnant from the strife, Quenched: not with dr y ^drawn veins a nd lingering breath. Shall these throug h cru mbling hours croiich down to death. Swift, with one strong clean leap, ere life's p ulse tire. M ost like the leap of li ons or of fire. 104 JOYOUS CARD. SJTeer jgathjha ll bound upon them : one pang past. The first keen sense of him shall be their last. Their last shall be no sense of any fear, More t han thpjr Ufa )\a^( \ sense of anguish here. Weeks and light months had fled at swallow's speed Since here their first hour sowed for them the seed Of many sweet as rest or hope could be ; Since on the blown beach of a glad new sea Wherein strange rocks like fighting men stand scarred They saw the strength and help of Joyous Gard. Within the full deep glorious tower that stands, Between the wild sea and the broad wild lands Love led and gave them quiet : and they drew Life like a God's life in each wind that blew, And took their rest, and triumphed. Day by day The mighty moorlands and the sea-walls grey, The brown bright waters of green fells that sing One song to rocks and flowers and birds on wing, Beheld the joy and glory that they had, Passing, and how the whole world made them glad, And their great love was mixed with all things great, As life being lovely, and yet being strong like fate. For when the sun sprang on the sudden sea Their eyes sprang eastward, and the day to be Was lit in them untimely : such delight They took yet of the clear cold breath and light That goes before the morning, and such grace Was deathless in them through their whole life's space yOYOUS CARD. los As dies in many with their dawn that dies And leaves in pulseless hearts and flameless eyes No light to lighten and no tear to weep For youth's high joy that time has cast on slee'i,. Yea, this old grace and height of joy they had, To lose no jot of all that made them glad And filled their springs of spirit with such fire That all delight fed in them all desire ; And no whit less than in their first keen prime The spring's breath blew through all their summer time. And in their skies would sunlike Love confuse Clear April colours with hot August hues, And in their hearts one light of sun and moon Reigned , and the morning died not of the noon ; Such might of life was in them, and so high Their heart of love rose higher than fate could fly. And many a large delight of hawk and hound The great glad land that knows no bourne or bound, Save the wind's own and the outer sea-bank's, gave Their days for comfort ; many a long blithe wave Buoyed their blithe bark between the bare bald rocks. Deep, steep, and still, save for the swift free flocks Unshepherded, uncompassedj unconfined. That when blown foam keeps all the loud air blind Mix with the wind's their triumph, and partake The joy of blasts that ravin, waves that break. All round and all below their muster ing wings, 'A clanging cloud that round the cliff's edge clings 106 JOYOUS GAUD. On each bleak bluff breaking the strenuous tides That rings reverberate mirth when storm bestrides The subject night in thunder : many a noon They took the moorland's or the bright sea's boon With all their hearts into their spirit of sense. Rejoicing, where the sudden dells grew dense With sharp thick flight of hillside birds, or where On some strait rock's ledge in the intense mute air Erect against the cliff's sheer sunlit white Blue as the clear north heaven, clothed warm with light, Stood neck to bended neck and wing to wing IWith heads fast hidden under, close as cling sFlowers on one flowering almond-branch in spring, Three herons deep asleep against the sun, Each with one bright foot downward poised, and one Wing-hidden hard by the bright head, and all Still as fair shapes fixed on some wondrous wall Of minster-aisle or cloister-close or hall To take even time's eye prisoner with delight. Or, satisfied with joy of sound and sight. They sat and communed of things past : what state King Arthur, yet unwarred upon by fate, Held high in hall at Camelot, like one Whose lordly life was as the mounting sun That climbs and pauses on the point of noon, Sovereign : how royal rang the tourney's tune Through Tristram's three days' triumph, spear to spear. When Iseult shone enthroned by Guenevere, yOYOUS GARD. 107 Rose against rose, the highest adored on earth, Imperial : yet with subtle notes of mirth Would she bemock her praises, and bemoan Her glory by that splendour overthrown Which lightened from her sister's eyes elate ; Saying how by night a little light seems great, But less than least of all things, very nought, When dawn undoes the web that darkness wrought ; How like a tower of ivory well designed By subtlest hand subserving subtlest mind. Ivory with flower of rose incarnadined And kindling with some God therein revealed, \ light for grief to look on and be healed, stood Guenevere : and all beholding her Were heartstruck even as earth at midsummer With burning wonder, hardly to be borne. So was that amorous glorious lady bom, A fiery memory for all storied years : Nor might men call her sisters crowned her peers. Her sister queens, put all by her to scorn : She had such eyes as are not made to mourn ; But in her own a gleaming ghost of tears Shone, and their glance was slower than Guenevere's, And fitfuUer with fancies grown of grief; Shamed as a Ma)rflower shames an autumn leaf Full well she wist it could not choose but be If in that other's eyeshot standing she Should lift her looks up ever : wherewithal Like fires whose light fills heaven with festival io8 JOYOUS CARD. Flamed her eyes full on Tristram's ; and he laughed, Answering, ' What wile of sweet child-hearted craft That cLildren forge for children, to beguile Eyes known of them not witless of the wile But fain to seem for sport's sake self-deceived, Wilt thou find out now not to be believed ? Or how shall I trust more than ouphe or elf Thy truth to me-ward, who beliest thyself? ' ' Nor elf nor ouphe or aught of airier kind,' Quoth she, ' though made of moonbeams moist and blind. Is light if weighed with man's winged weightless mind. Though thou keep somewise troth with me, God wot, When thou didst wed, I doubt, thou thoughtest not So charily to keep it.' ' Nay,' said he, ' Yet am not I rebukable by thee As Launcelot, erring; held me ere he wist No mouth save thine of mine was ever kissed Save as a sister's only, since we twain Drank first the draught assigne d our li p s to drain That Fat P and T.nvfi with da rkling hs^ wda r.nmmiyt Poured, j md no power to part them came betwixt. But cither's will , howbeit ^ they seem at strife, Was toward us one, as death itself and life Are one sole doom toward all men , nc^ir may ofl^ Behold not darkness, who he h^ldfj tji 'Ah, then,' she said, 'what word is this men heai Of Merlin, how some doom too strange to fear Was cast but late about him oversea. Sweet recreant, in thy bridal Brittany ? yOYOUS CARD. 109 Is not his life sealed fast on him with sleep, By witchcraft of his own and love's, to keep Till earth be fire and ashes ? ' ' Surely,' said Her lover, ' not as one alive or dead The great good wizard, well beloved and well Predestinate of heaven that casts out hell For guerdon gentler far than all men's fate, Exempt alone of all predestinate, Takes his strange rest at heart of slumberland, More deep asleep in green Bioceliande Than shipwrecked sleepers in the soft green sea Beneath the weight of wandering waves : but he Hath for those roofing waters overhead Above him always all the summer spread Or all the winter wailing : or the sweet Late leaves marked red with autumn's burning feet, Or withered with his weeping, round the seer Rain, and he sees not, nor may heed or hear The witness of the winter : but in spring He hears above him all the winds on wing Through the blue dawn between the brightening boughs. And on shut eyes and slumber-smitten brows Feels ambient change in the air and strengthening sun, 'And knows the soul that was his soul at one With the ardent world's, and in the spirit of earth His spirit of life reborn to mightier birth And mixed with things of elder life than ours ; iJV^ith cries of birds, and kindling lamps of flowers, 110 JOYOUS GAUD. And sweep and song of winds, and fruitful light Of sunbeams, and the far faint breath of night, And waves and woods at morning : and in all, Soft as at noon the slow sea's rise and fall, He hears in spirit a song that none but he Hears from the mystic mouth of Nimue Shed like a consecration ; and his heart. Hearing, is made for lu ve's sake a s a part Of that far singing, and the life thereof Part of that life'tKaFfeeds^ffiTworld with love : Yea, heart in hearris'moRe^TTglTand' his, Into the world's hearTahd th e foul t hat is Beyond or sense or vision ; and their breath Stirs the soft springs of deathless life and death, Death tha t bears life, ^pd£h^"g£that brings forth Of life to death and death to life indeed. As blood recircling through the unsounded veins Of earth and heaven with all their joys and pains. Ah, that when love shall laugh no more nor weep We too, we too might hear that song and sleep ! ' ' Yea,' said Iseult, 'some joy it were to be Lost in the sun's light and the all-girdling sea, Mixed with the winds and woodlands, and to bear Part in the large life of the quickening air, And the sweet earth's, our mother : yet to rass More fle e t than rnirrpred faces from the glass Out of all pain and all delipjht^ so far That love should seem but as the furthest star Sunk deep in trembling heaven, scarce seen or known, JOYOUS CARD. Ill A.S a dead moon forgotten, once that shone Where now the sun shines — nay, not all things yet, Not all things always, dying, would I forget.' And Tristram answered amorously, and said : ' heart that here art mine, O heavenliest head That ever took men's worship here, which art Mine, how shall death put out the fire at heart, Quench in men's eyes the head's remembered light That time shall set but higher in more men's sight ? Think thou not much to die one earthly day, Being made not in their mould who pass away Nor who shall pass for ever.' ' Ah,' she said, ' What shall it profit me, being praised and dead ? What profit have the flowers of all men's praise ? What pleasure of our pleasure have the days That pour on us delight of life and mirth ? What fruit of all our joy on earth has earth? Nor am I — nay, my lover, am I one To take such part in heaven's enkindling sun And in the inviolate air and sacred sea As clothes with grace that wondrous Nimue ? For all her works are bounties, all her deeds Blessings ; her days are scrolls wherein love reads The record of his mercies ; heaven above Hath not more heavenly holiness of love Than earth beneath, wherever pass or pause Her feet that move not save by love's own laws. In gentleness of godlike wayfaring To heal men's hearts as earth is healed by spring 112 JOYOUS CARD. Of all such woes as winter : what am I, Love, that have strength but to desire and die, That have but grace to love and do thee wrong, What am I that my name should live so long, Save as the star that crossed thy star-struck lot, With hers whose hght was life to Launcelot ? Life gave she him, and strength, and fame to be For ever : I, what gift can I give thee ? Peril and sleepless watches, fearful breath Of dread more bitter for my sake than death When death came nigh to call me by my name. Exile, rebuke, remorse, and — O, not shame. Shame only, this! gave ,, t hee not, who m none May giv e th^t jyoyjLthing ever— no^ not one. Of all that hate, all hateful hearts that see Darkness for light and hate where love should b e, None for my shame's sake may speak shame of thee.' And Tristram answering ere he kissed her smiled ■ ' O very woman, god at once and child, What ails thee to desire of me once more The assurance that thou hadst in heart before ? For all this wild sweet waste of sweet vain breath, Thou knowest I know thou hast given me life, not death. The shadow of death, informed with shows of strife, Was ere I won thee all I had of life. Light war, light love, light living, dreams in sleep, Joy slight and light, not glad enough to weep. Filled up my foolish days with sound and shine, iVision and gleam from strange men's cast on mine, j Reverberate light from eyes presaging thine yOYOUS CARD. 113 That shed but shadowy moonlight where lj»y fec^ Now sheds forth sunshine in the deep same place, The deep live heart half dead and shallowe:?|then Than summer fords which thwart not wandering men. For how should I, signed sorrow's from my birth, Kiss dumb the loud red laughing lips of mirth ? Or how, sealed thine to be, love less than heaven on earth? My heart in me was held at restless rest, Presageful of some prize beyond its quest. Prophetic still with promise, fain to find the best. For one was fond and one was blithe and one Fairer than all save twain whose peers are none ; For third on earth is none that heaven hath seen To stand with Guenevere beside my queen. Not Nimue, girt with blessing as a guard : Not the soft lures and laughters of Ettarde : Not she, that splendour girdled round with gloom, Crowned as with iron darkness of the tomb. And clothed with clouding conscience of a monstrous doom, Whose blind incestuous love brought forth a fire To burn her ere it bum its darkling sire. Her mother's son, King Arthur : yet but late We saw pass by that fair live shadow of fate, The queen Morgause of Orkney, like a dream That scares the night when moon and starry beam Sicken and swoon before some sorcerer's eyes Whose wordless charms defile the saintly skies. Bright still with fire and pulse of blood and breath, Whom her own sons have doomed for shame to death.' I 114 JOYOUS GAUD. !■ « ■ I . . , ,.1 . I •' Dgath . — yea,' quoth she, ' there is not said or heard So oft aloud on earth so sure a word. Death, and again death, and for each that saith Ten tongues chime answer to the sound of death. Good end God send us ever — so men pray. But I — this end God send me, would I say, Todie not of diyisipn and ajieart Rent or with sword of severance cloven apart, But only when '.hou diest and only where thou art, O thou my soul and spirit and breath to me, O light, life, love ! yea, let this only be, That dying I may praise God who gave me thee, Let hap what will thereafter.' So that day They communed, even till even was worn away, Nor aught they said seemed strange or sad to say, But sweet as night's dim dawn to weariness. Nor lo ved they life or love for death's sake less, Nor feared they death ToitTove^'bTTfle's^ake more. And on the sounSingsmt funereal shore They, watching till the day should wholly die, Saw the far sea sweep to the far grey sky. Saw the long sands sweep to the long grey sea. And night made one sweet mist of moor and lea. And only far off shore the foam gave light. And life in them sank silent as the night. "5 VII, THE WIPES VIGIL. But all that year in Brittany forlorn, More sick at heart with wrath than fear of scorn I And less in love with love than grief, and less iWith grief than pride of spirit and bitterness, JTill all the sweet life of her blood was changed And all her soul from all her past estranged jAnd all her will with all itseltat strife And all her mind at war with all her life. Dwelt the white-handed Iseult, maid and wife, A mourner that for mourning robes had on jAnger and doubt and hate of things foregone. For that sweet spirit of old which made her sweet Was parched with blasts of thought as flowers with heat And withered as with wind of evil will ; Though slower than frosts or fires consume or kill That bleak black wind vexed all her spirit stilL As ripples reddening in the roughening breath Of the eager east when dawn does night to death, 1,6 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. So rose and stirred and kindled in her thought Fierce barren fluctuant fires that lit not aught, But scorched her soul with yearning keen as hate And dreams that left her wrath disconsolate. When change came first on that first heaven where all Life's hours were flowers that dawn's light hand let fall, The sun that smote her dewy cloud of days Wrought from its showery folds his rainbow's rays, For love the red, for hope the gentle green. But yellow jealousy glared pale between. Ere yet the sky grew heavier, and her head Bent flowerwise, chill with change and fancies fled, She saw but love arch all her heaven across with red, A burning bloom that seemed to breathe and beat And waver only as flame with rapturous heat Wavers ; and all the world therewith smelt sweet. As incense kindling from the rose-red flame : And when that full flush waned, and love became Scarce fainter, though his fading horoscope From certitude of sight receded, hope Held yet her April-coloured light aloft As though to lure back love, a lamp sublime and soft But soon that light paled as a leaf grows pale And fluttered leaf-like in the gathering gale And melted even as dew-flakes, whose brief sheen The sun that gave despoils of glittering green ; Till harder shone 'twixt hope and love grown cold A sallow light like withering autumn's gold. The pale strong flame of jealous thought, that glows More deep than hope's green bloom or love's enkindled rose : THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 117 As though the sunflower's faint fierce disk absorbed The spirit and heart of starrier flowers disorbed. That same full hour of twilight's doors unbarred To let bright night behold in Joyous Gard T he ^lad ffl"ave eves of lovers fa r away Watch with sweet thoughts of death the death of day Saw lonelier by the narrower opening sea Sit fixed at watch Iseult of Brittany. As darkness from deep valleys void and bleak Climbs till it clothe with night the sunniest peak Where only of all a mystic mountai n-la n d Day seems to cling yet with a tre mbling h and And yielding heart reluctant to recede, So. till her soul was clothed with night iQdged< ^ose the slow cloud of,enYiqu!} „^U within lAntl Imrdiiinn tintftflifii iifid itelf n9 fiai Veil ed heads o f visioHj eyes of evil gleam. Dim thought on thought, and darkling dream on dre^rn^ Far off she saw in spirit, and seeing abhorred, The likeness wrought on darkness of her lord Shine, and the imperial semblance at his side Whose shadow from her seat cast down the bride, Whose power and ghostly presence thrust her forth : Beside that unknown other sea far north She saw them, clearer than in present sight Rose on her eyes the starry shadow of night ; And on her heart that heaved with gathering fate Rose red with storm the starless shadow of hate ; And eyes and heart made one saw surge and swell The fires of sunset like the fires of helL ii8 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. As though God's wrath would burn up sin with shame, The incensed red gold of deepening heaven grew flame : The sweet green spaces of the soft low sky Faded, as fields that withering wind leaves dry : The sea's was like a doomsman's blasting breath From lips afoam with ravenous lust of death. A night like desolation, sombre-starred. Above the great walled girth of Joyous Gard Spread forth its wide sad strength of shadow and gloom Wherein those twain were compassed round with doom : Hell from beneath called on them, and she heard Reverberate judgment in the wild wind's word Cry, till the sole sound of their names that rang Clove all the sea-mist with a clarion's clang, And clouds to clouds and flames to clustering flames Beat back the dark noise of the direful names. Fear and strong exultation caught her breath, U.nd triumph like the bitterness of death. And rapture like the rage of hate allayed With ruin and ravin that its might hath made ; And her heart swelled and strained itself to hear What may be heard of no man's hungering ear. And as a soil that cleaves in twain for drouth Thirsted for judgment given of God's own mouth Against them, till the strength of dark desire Was in her as a flame of hell's own fire. Nor seemed the wrath which held her spirit in stress Aught else or worse than passionate holiness, THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 119 Nor the ardent hate which called on judgment's rod More hateful than the righteousness of God. ' How long, till thou do justice, and my wrong Stand expiate? O long-suffering judge, how long? Shalt thou not put him in mine hand one day Whom I so loved, to spare not but to slay ? Shalt thou not cast her down for me to tread, Me, on the pale pride of her humbled head ? Do I not well, being angry ? doth not hell Require them ? yea, thou knowest that I do well. Is not thy seal there set of bloodred light For witness on the brows of day and night ? Who shall unseal it ? what shall melt away Thy Mgnet from The TJoors'of night and day? No man, nor strength of any spirit above, Nor prayer, nor ardours of adulterous love. Thou art God, the strong lord over body and soul : Hast thou not in the terrors of thy scroll All names of all men written as with fire ? Thine only breath bids time and space respire : (And are not all things evil in them done [^ore clear in thine eyes than in ours the sun ? Hast thou not sight stretched wide enough to see These that offend it, these at once and me ? Is thine arm shortened or thine hand struck down As palsied ? have thy brows not strength to frown ? Are thine eyes blind with film of withering age? Bums not thine heart with righteousness of rage Yet, and the royal rancour toward thy foes Retributive of ruin ? Time should close, 120 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. Thou said'st, and earth fade as a leaf grows grey, Ere one word said of thine should pass away. Was this then not thy word, thou God most high, That sin shall surely bring forth death and die, Seeing how these twain live and have joy of life. His harlot and the man that made ine wife? For is it I, perchance, I that have sinned ? Me, peradventure, should thy wasting wind Smite, and thy sun blast, and thy storms devour Me with keen fangs of lightning ? should thy power Put forth on me the weight of its awakening hour? Shall I that bear this burden bear that weight Of judgment ? is my sin against thee great. If all my heart against them burn with all its hate? Thine, and not mine, should hate be ? nay, but me They have spoiled and scoffed at, who can touch not thee. Me, me, the fullness of their joy drains dry, Their fruitfulness makes barren : thou, not I, Lord, is it, whom their wrongdoing clothes with shame, That all who speak shoot tongues out at thy name As all who hear mock mine ? Make me thy sword At least, if even thou too be wronged, O Lord, At all of these that wrong me : make mine hand As lightning, or my tongue a fiery brand, To burn or smite them with thy wrath : behold, I have nought on earth save thee for hope or hold, Fail me not thou : I have nought but this to crave, Make me thy mean to give them to the grave, THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 121 Thy sign that all men seeing may speak thee just, Thy word which turns the strengths of sin to dust, Thy blast which burns up towers and thrones with fire. Lord, is this gift, this grace that I require, So great a gift, Lord, for thy grace to give And bid me bear thy part retributive ? That I whom scorn makes mouths at, I might be Thy witness if loud sin may mock at thee ? For lo, my life is as a barren ear Plucked from the sheaf : dark days drive past me here Downtrodden, while joy's reapers pile their sheaves, A thing more vile than autumn's weariest leaves, For these the sun filled once with sap of life. thou my lord that hadst me to thy wife. Dost thou not fear at all, remembering me. The love that bowed my whole soul down to thee ? Is this so wholly nought for man to dread, Man, whose life walks between the quick and dead, JNaked, and warred about with wind and sea. That one should love and hate as I do thee ? jThat one should live in all the world his foe Bo mortal as the hate that loves him so ? Thought, is it nought, O husband, O my knight, O strong man and indomitable in fight, That one more weak than foam-bells on the sea Should have in heart such thoughts as I of thee ? Thou art bound about with stately strengths for bands : What strength shall keep thee from my strengthless hands ? 122 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. Thou art girt about with goodly guards and great : What fosse may fence thee round as deep as hate ? Thou art wise : will wisdom teach thee fear of me ? Thou art great of heart : shall this deliver thee ? What wall so massive, or what tower so high, Shall be thy surety that thou shouldst not die, If that which comes against thee be but I ? Who shall rise up of power to take thy part, What skill find strength to save, what strength find art, If that which wars against thee be my heart ? Not iron, nor the might of force afield. Nor edge of sword, nor sheltering weight of shield. Nor all thy fame since all thy praise began. Nor all the love and laud thou hast of man, Nor, though his noiseless hours with wool be shod. Shall God's love keep thee from the wrath of God. O son of sorrows, hast thou said at heart. Haply, God loves thee, God shall take thy part, Who hath all these years endured thee, since thy birth From sorrow's womb bade sin be born on earth ? So long he hath cast his buckler over thee, Shall he not surely guard thee even from me? Yea, but if yet he give thee while I live Into mine hands as he shall surely give, Ere death at last bring darkness on thy face, Call then on him, call not on me for grace. Cast not away one prayer, one suppliant breath, On me that commune all this while with death. For I that was not and that was thy wife Desire not but one hour of all thy life THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 123 Wherein to triumph till that hour be past ; But this mine hour I look for is thy last.' So mused she till the fire in sea and sky Sank, and the northwest wind spake harsh on high, And like the sea's heart waxed her heart that heard. Strong, dark, and bitter, till the keen wind's word Seemed of her own soul spoken, and the breath All round her not ^oLdarkness, but of death . »25 vni. THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. Enough of ease, Love, enough of light, Enough of rest before the shadow of night. Strong Love, whom death finds feebler ; kingly Love, Whom time discrowns in season, seeing thy dove Spell-stricken by the serpent ; for thy sake These that saw light see night's dawn only break, Night's cup filled up with slumber, whence men think The draught more dread than thine was dire to drink. Love, thy day sets darkling : hope and fear . Fall from thee standing stern as death stands here. For what have these to do with fear or hope On whom the gates of outer darkness ope, On whom the door of life's desire is barred ? Past like a cloud, their days in Joyous Card Gleam like a cloud the westering sun stains red Till all the blood of day's blithe heart be bled And all night's heart requickened ; in their eyes ^oja me and fade those far memorial skies, So shines the moorland, so revives the sea, Whereon they gazing mused of things to be 126 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. Andwist not mor£of the m than waters know What wind with next day's change of tide shall blow. Dark roll the deepening days whose waves divide Unseasonably, with storm-struck change of tide, Tristram from Iseult : nor may sorrow say If better wind shall blow than yesterday With next day risen or any day to come. For ere the songs of summer's death fell dumb, And autumn bade the imperial moorlands change Their purples, and the bracken's bloom grow strange As hope's green blossom touched with time's harsh rust, Was all their joy of life shaken to dust. And all its fire made ashes : by the strand Where late they strayed and communed hand from hand For the last time fell separate, eyes of eyes Took for the last time leave, and saw the skies Dark with their deep division. The last time — The last that ever love's rekindling rhyme Should keep for t hem life's days and nights in tune With refluence of the m orning an d the moon Alternative in music, and make one The secrets of the, stardawn and the sun ' For thesejwain souls ere darknessLheldJtheiQjasL; The last before the labour marked for last And toil of utmost knighthood, till the wage Of rest might crown his crowning pilgrimage Whereon forth faring must he take farewell. With spear for staff and sword for scallop-shell THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 127 And scrip wherein close memory hoarded yet Things holier held than death might well forget ; The last time ere the travel were begun Whose goal is unbeholden of the sun, The last wherewith love's eyes might yet be lit, Came, and they could but dream they knew not it. For Tristram parting from her wist at heart How well she wist they might not choose but part, And he pass forth a pilgrim, when there came A sound of summons in the high king's name For succour toward his vassal Triamour, King in wild Wales, now spoiled of all his power, As Tristram's father ere his fair son's birth. By one the strongest of the sons of earth, Urgan, an iron bulk of giant mould : I And Iseult in Tintagel as of old [ Sat crowned with state and sorrow : for her lord ' At Arthur's hand required her back restored. And willingly compelled against her will She yielded, saying within her own soul still Some season yet of soft or stormier breath Should haply give her life again or death : For now nor quick nor dead nor bright nor dark Were all her nights and days wherein King Mark Held haggard watch upon her, and his eyes Were cloudier than the gradual wintering skies _,That closed about the wan wild land and sea. And bitter toward him waxed her heart : but he Was rent in twain betwixt harsh love and hate With pain and passion half compassionate 128 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. That yearned and laboured to be quit of shame, And could not : and his life grew smouldering flame, And hers a cloud full-charged with storm and shower, Though touched with trembling gleams of fire's bright flower That flashed and faded on its fitful verge, As hope would strive with darkness and emerge And sink, a swimmer strangled by the swallowing surge. But Tristram by dense hills and deepening vales Rode through the mid glad wastes of glorious Wales, High-hearted with desire of happy fight And strong in soul with merrier sense of might Than since the fair first years that hailed him knight ; For all his will was toward the war, so long Had love repressed and wrought his glory wrong, So far the triumph and so fair the praise Seemed noiw that kindled all his April days. And here in bright blown autumn, while his life Was summer's yet for strength toward love or strife, Blithe waxed his hope toward battle, and high desire To pluck once more as out of circling fire Fame, the broad flower whos e breath makes death more sweet Than roses crushed bv love's y e ceding feet. But all the lovely land wherein he went The blast of ruin and ravenous war had rent ; And black with fire the fields where homesteads were, And foul with festering dead the high soft air, THE LAST PILGRIMAGE,. 129 And loud with wail of women many a stream Whose own live song was like love's deepening dream, Spake all against the spoiler : wherefore still Wrath waxed with pity, quickening all his will, In Tristram's heart for every league he rode Through the aching land so broad a curse bestrode With so supreme a shadow : till one dawn. Above the green bloom of a gleaming lawn. High on the strait steep windy bridge that spanned A glen's deep mouth, he saw that shadow stand Visible^sword on thigh and mace in hand Vast as 'the mid bulk of a roof-tree's beam. So, sheer above the wild wolf-haunted stream, Dire as the face disfeatured of a dream. Rose Urgan : and his eyes were night and flame ; But like the fiery dawn were his that came Against him, lit with more sublime desire Than lifts toward heaven the leaping heart of fire : And strong in vantage of his perilous place The huge high presence, red as earth's first race, Reared like a reed the might up of his mace. And smote : but lightly Tristram swerved, and drove Right in on him, whose void stroke only clove Air, and fell wide, thundering athwart : and he Sent forth a stormier cry than wind or sea When midnight takes the tempest for her lord ; And all the glen's throat seemed as hell's that roared ; But high like heaven's light over hell shone Tristram's sword, K I30 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. Falling, and bright as storm shows God's bare brand Flashed as it shore sheer off the huge right hand Whose strength was as the shadow of death on all that land. And like the trunk of some grim tree sawn through Reeled Urgan, as his left hand grasped and drew A steel by sorcerers tempered : and anew Raged the red wind of fluctuant fight, till all The cliffs were thrilled as by the clangorous call Of storm's blown trumpets from the core of night, Chargii;g : and even as with the storm- wind's might On Tristram's helm that sword crashed : and the knight Fell, and his arms clashed, and a wide cry brake From those far off that heard it, for his sake Soul-stricken : and that bulk of monstrous birth Sent forth again a cry more dire for mirth : But ere the sunbright arms were soiled of earth They flashed again, re-risen : and swift and loud Rang the strokes out as from a circling cloud. So dense the dust wrought over them its drifted shroud. Strong strokes, within the mist their battle made. Each hailed on other through the shifting shade That clung about them hurtling as the swift fight swayed : And each between the jointed corslet saw Break forth his foe's bright blood at each grim flaw Steel made in hammered iron : till again The fiend put forth his might more strong for pain And cleft the great knight's glittering shield in twain, THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 131 Laughing, for very wrath and thirst to kill, A beast's broad laugh of blind and wolfish will. And smote again ere Tristram's lips drew breath Panting, and .swept as by the sense of dea th, That surely should have touched and sealed them fast Save that the sheer stroke shrilled aside, and passed Frustrate : but answering Tristram smote anew, And thrust the brute breast as with lightning through Clean with one cleavinsj stroke of perfect might : And violently the vast bulk leapt upright, And plunged over the bridge, and fell : and all The cliffs reverberate from his monstrous fall Rang : and the la nd by Tristram's grace was free. So with high laud and honour It^ence went he, And southward set his sail again, and passed The lone land's ending, first beheld and last Of eyes that look on England from the sea : And his heart mourned within him, knowing how she AVhose heart with his was fatefully made fast Sat now fast bound, as though some charm were cast About her, such a brief space eastward thence, And yet might soul not break the bonds of sense And b rmg her to him in very life and breath More than had this been even the sea"T5f death That washed between them, an^ The dim strait's darkness of the narrowing night —-^-"^ » mnTr m rm a ui m , , ii jfB - « ji i ,-! n...im s>BBi6i«^»i^- ■'■ That shuts about men dving whose sou ls put forth II I I - ■»- ,. J ^ To pierce its passage through : but south and north Alike for him were other than they were : For all the northward coast shone smooth and fair. 132 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. And ofT its iron cliffs the keen-edged air Blew summer, kindling from her mute bright mouth ; But winter breathed out of the murmuring south, Where, pale with wrathful watch on passing ships, The lone wife lay in wait with wan dumb lips. Yet, sailing where the shoreward ripple curled Of the most wild sweet waves in all the world, His soul took comfort even for joy to see The strong deep joy of living sun and sea, The large deep love of living sea and land, As past the lonely lion-guarded strand Where that huge warder lifts his couchant sides, Asleep, above the sleepless lapse of tides. The light sail swept, and past the unsounded caves Unsearchable, wherein the pulse of waves Throbs through perpetual darkness to and fro, And the blind night swims heavily below While heavily the st rong noon b roods abovey Ey^ii _to the v ery bay whence very Love, Strong daughter of the giant g ods who wroug ht Sun, earth, a nd sea out of their procreant thflyglit, Most meetly m ight have n sen, and most div i pe Beheld and heard things round her so un d and shine From floors of f oam and gold to wall s of serpentine. For splendid as the limbs of that supreme Inramate beauty through men's_yisi_ons^£leam, Whereof al l fairest things are even but _shadow or_ ikeaia. And lovely like as L ove's own heavenljest fact^ THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 133 Gleams there and glows the presence and the grace Even of the mother of all , in perfect pride of pkr.e. For otherwhere beneath our world-wide sky- There may not be beheld of men that die Aught els2 like this that dies not, nor may stress Of ages that bow down men's works make less The exultant awe that clothes with power its loveliness. For who sets eye thereon soever knows How since these rocks and waves first rolled ani rose The marvel of their many-coloured might Hath borne this record sensible to sight. The witness and the symbol of their own delight, The gospel graven of life's most heavenly law, Joy, brooding on its own still soul with awe, A sense of godlike rest in godlike strife, |The sovereign conscience of the spirit of life. Nor otherwhere on strand or mountain tower Hath such fair beauty shining forth in flower Put on the imperial robe of such imperious power. For all the radiant rocks from depth to height Burn with vast bloom of glories blossom-bright As though the sun's own han d .had. tJirjlled thfinL. through with light And stained t h em through with splendour : yet from thence Such awe strikes rapture through th^^^iritof sense From all the inaccessible sea-wall's girth. That exultation, bright at heart as mirth, Bows deeper down before the beauty of earth 134 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. Than fear may bow down ever : nor shall one Who meets at Alpine dawn the mounting sun On heights too high for many a wing to climb Ee touched with sense of aught seen more sublime Than here smiles high and sweet in face of heaven and time. For here the flower of fire, the soft hoar bloom Of springtide olive-woods, the warm green gloom Of clouded seas that swell and sound with dawn of doom, The keen thwart lightning and the wan grey light Of stormy sunrise crossed and vexed with night, Flash, loom, and laugh with divers hues in one From all the curved cliff's face, till day be done, Against the sea's face and the gazing sun. And whensoever a strong wave, high in hope, Sweeps up some smooth slant breadth of stone aslope, That glowed with duskier fire of hues less bright. Swift as it sweeps back springs to sudden sight The splendour of the moist rock's fervent light, Fresh as from dew of birth when time was bom Out of the world-conceiving womb of morn. All its quenched flames and djrkling hues divine Leap into lustrous life and laugh and shine And darken into swift and dim decline For one brief breath's space till the next wave run Right up, and ripple down again, undone, And leave it to be kissed and kindled of the sun. And all these things, bright as they shone before Man first set foot on earth or sail from shore, THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 135 Rose not less radiant than the sun sees now When the autumn sea was cloven of Tristram's prow, ' And strong in sorrow and hope and woful will That hope might move not nor might sorrow kill He held his way back toward the wild sad shore Whence he should come to look on these no more, Nor ever, save with sunless eyes shut fast, Sail home to sleep in home-born earth at last. And all these things fled fleet as light or breath Past, and his heart waxed cold and dull as death. Or swelled but as the tides of sorrow swell, To sink with sullen sense of slow farewell. So surely seemed the silence even to sigh Assurance of inveterate prophecy, 'JThqu shalt not come again home hither ere thou die.' And the wmdlnournedandtriumphed, and the sea Wailed and took heart and trembled ; nor might he Hear more of comfort in their speech, or see More certitude in all the waste world's range Than the only certitude of death and change. And as the sense and semblance fluctuated Of all things heard and seen alive or dead That smote far off upon his ears or eyes Or memory mixed with forecasts fain to rise And fancies faint as ghostliest prophecies, So seemed his own soul, changefully forlorn, To shrink and triumph and mount up and moura Yet all its fitful waters, clot hed with night, . Lost heart not wholiy. lacked not wholly light, Seein g oyer life and death one star m sight 130 T-HE LAS2' PILGRIMAGE. Where evening's gates as fair as morning's ope, Whose name was mernpry, bu t wh os.gJiagi&jas. hope. For all the tides of thought that rose and sank Felt its fair strength wherefrom strong sorrow shrank Aimightier tru^Mhan^tiine could change or cloy, More strong than sormwjjnore secure than joy. So came he, nor content nor al] imblest, Back toJh e^tg^.^i4Jajid^M£Eliq'ajest. Eut ere six paces forth on shore he trod Before him stood a knight with feet unshod, And kneeling called upon him, as on God Might sick men call for pity, praying aloud With hands held up and head made bare and bowed; ' Tristram, for God's love and thine own dear fame, I Tristram that am one with thee in name And one in heart with all that praise thee — I, Most woful man of all that may not die For heartbreak and the heavier scourge of shame, By all thy glory done our woful name Beseech thee, called of all men gentlest knight. Be now not slow to do my sorrows right. I charge thee for thy fame's sake through this land, I piay thee by thine own wife's fair white hand. Have pity of me whose love is borne away By one that makes of poor men's lives his prey, A felon m.nsked with knighthood : at his side Seven brethren hath he night or day to ride With seven knights more that wait on all his will : And here at hand, ere yet one day fulfil Its flight througli light and darkness, shall they fare Forth, and my bride among them, whom they bear THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 137 Through these wild lands his prisoner; and if now I lose her, and my prayer be vain, and thou Less fain to serve love's servants than of yore, Then surely shall I see her face no more. But if thou wilt, for love's sake of the bride Who lay most loved of women at thy side, Strike with me, straight then hence behoves us ride And rest between the moorside and the sea Where we may smite them passing : but for me Poor stranger, me not worthy scarce to touch Thy kind strong hand, how shouldst thou do so much ? For now lone left this long time waits thy wife And lacks her lord and light of wedded life Whilst thou far off art famous : yet thy fame, If thou take pity on me that bear thy name Unworthily, but by that name implore Thy grace, how shall not even thy fame grow more ? But be thy will as God's among us done, Who art far in fame above us as the sun : Yet only of him have all men help and grace.' And all the lordly light of Tristram's face \ Was softened as the sun's in kindly spring. ' Nay, then may God send me as evil a thing When I give ear not to such prayers,' he said, 'And make my place among the nameless dead When I put back one hour the time to smite And do the unrighteous griefs of good men right. Behold, I will not enter in nor rest Here in mine own halls till this piteous quest Find end ere noon to-morrow : but do thou, AVhose sister's face I may not look on now, 138 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. G o. Ganhardine. with tiding of the vow That bids me turn aside for one day's strife Or Uve dishonoured all my days of life, And greet lor me in brother's wise my wife, And crave her pardon that for knighthood's sake And womanhood's, whose bands may no man break And keep the bands of bounden honour fast, I seek not her till two nights yet be past And this my quest accomplished, so God pleast By me to give this young man's anguish ease And on his wrongdoer's head his wrong requite.' And Tristram with that woful thankful knight Rode by the seaside moorland wastes away Between the quickening night and darkening day Ere half the gathering stars had heart to shine. And lightly toward his sister Ganhardine Sped, where she sat and gazed alone afar Above the grey sea for the sunset star, And lightly kissed her hand and lightly spake His tiding of that quest for knighthood's sake. And the white-handed Iseult, bowing her head. Gleamed on him with a glance athwart, and said ; 'As God's on earth and far above the sun. So toward his handmaid be my lord's will done.' And_doub^j^,_dim_to_£uestiqn or divine Touched asjvith shade the spirit of Ganhardine, Rearing ; an d scarce for half a^douttfufbreath His bright ligliLhe^rt held half a thought of death And knew not whence this darkling thought might be, But surely not his sister's work : for she THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 139 Was ever sweet and good as summer air, And soft as dew when all the night is fair, And gracious as the golden maiden moon When darkness craves her blessing : so full soon His mind was light again as leaping waves, Nor dreamed that hers was like a field of graves Where no man's fooFoSis^iverve" to'left or right, Nor ear dares hearken, nor dares eye take sight Of aught that moves and murmurs there at night. But by the sea-banks where at morn their foes Might find them, lay those knightly name-fellows, One sick with grief of heart and sleepless, one With heart of hope triumphant as the sun Dreaming asleep of love and fame and fight : But sleep at last wrapped warm the wan young knight ; And Tristram with the first pale windy light Woke ere the sun spake summons, and his ear Caught the sea's call that fired his heart to hear, A noise of waking waters : for till dawn The sea was silent as a mountain lawn When the wind speaks not, and the pines are dumb, And summer takes her fill ere autumn come Of life more soft than slumber : but ere day Rose, and the first beam smote the bounding bay, Up sprang the strength of the dark East, and took With its wide wings the waters as they shook, And hurled them huddling on aheap, and cast The full sea shoreward with a great glad blast, Blown from the heart of morning : and with joy FuU-souled and perfect passion, as a boy 140 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. That-leaps.up Jight to wrestle with the sea For pure heart's^ gl adness a n d large ecstasy. Up sgrang. the might of Tristram ; and his soul YearnecLfoj delight within hiirij and waxed w hole As a young,£luld!s 5vjtt rapture-olihehour That brough t his spirit and all the^wgridUo flower^ And_all the bright blood in his vejns beat^ti me To the^ind's clari on anfl tl;ie water's chime That callftfjjijm and he followed it and stood On the sand's verge before the grey great flood Where the white hurtling heads of waves that met Rose unsaluted of the sunrise yet. And from his heart's root outward shot the sweet Strong joy that thrilled him to the hands and feet, Filling his limbs with pleasure and glad might, And his soul drank the immeasurable delight That earth drinks in with morning, snd the free Limitless love that lifts the stirring sea When on her bare bright bosom as a bride She takes the young sun, perfect in his pride. Home to his place with passion : and the heart Trembled for joy within the man whose part Was here not least in living ; and his mind Was rapt abroad beyond man's meaSSTkind And pierced with. lov^ ofalLfcings and jrith mirth Moved to_make^ne with heaven and heayenlike eaith And with the light live water. So awhile He watched the dim sea with a deepening smile, And felt the sound and savour and swift flight Of waves that fled beneath the fading night THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 141 And died before the darkness, like a song With harps between and trumpets blown along Through the loud air of some triumphant day, Sink through his spirit and purge all sense away 'Save of the glorious gladness of his hour And all the world about to break in flower Before the sovereign laughter of the sun ; . And he, ere night's wide work lay all undone, as earth from her bright body casts off night, Cast off his raiment for a rapturous fight And stood between the sea's edge and the sea Naked, and godlike of his mould as he Whose swift foot's sound shook all the towers of Troy; So clothed with might, so girt upon with joy, As, ere the knife had shorn to feed the fire His glorious hair before the unkindled pyre Whereon the half of his great heart was laid. Stood, in the light of his live limbs arrayed. Child of h eroic earth and heavenly sea. The flower o f all men : scarce less bright than he, If any of all men lattCT-l%fn'imglit''^taj^ I— III mriMii imi .-w— ^tnL-ft«w»Y^- "-—- -— iirra^Bii a,, ujri.i .11111 Stood Tristram, silent, on the glimmering strand. mt lorigT"5urvn^°fri^'^ofT6t^"ffiSFKtf§ As from a trumpet golden-mouthed, he sprang, As toward a mother's where his head might rest Her child rejoicing, toward the strong sea's breast That none may gird nor measure : and his heart Sent forth a shout that bade his lips not part, But triumphed in him silent : no man's voice, No song, no sound of clarions that rejoice, 142 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. Can set that glory forth which fills with fire The body and soul that have their whole desire Silent, ^nd freer tha n birds or dreams are fre£ Take all their will gfaU Jthe encountering sea. And toward the foam he bent and forward smote, Laughing, and launched his body like a boat Full to the sea breach, and against the tide Struck strongly forth with amorous arms made wide To take the bright breast of the wave to his And on his lips the sharp sweet minute's kiss Given of the wave's lip for a breath's space curled And pure as at the daydawn of the world. And round him all the bright rough shuddering sea Kindled, as though the world were even as he, HeaJtgtung^ijJljSjai^^ : And all the life that moved him seemed to aspire, As all the sea's life toward the sun : and still Delight within him waxed with quickening will More smooth and strong and perfect as a flame That springs and spreads, till each glad limb became A note of rapture in the tune of life. Live music mild and keen as sleep and strife : Till the sweet change that bids the sense grow sure Of deeper depth and purity more pure Wrapped him and lapped him round with clearer cold, And all the rippling green grew royal gold Between him and the far sun's rising rim. And like the sun his heart rejoiced in him. And brightened with a broadening flame of mirth : And hardly seemed its life a part of earth, THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 143 But the life kindled of a fiery birth And passion of a new-begotten son Between the live sea and the living sun. And mightier grew the joy to meet full-faced Each wave, and moimt with upward plunge, and taste The rapture of its rolling strength, and cross Its flickering crown of snows that flash and toss Like plumes in battle's blithest charge, and thence To match the next with yet more strenuous sense ; Till on his eyes the light beat hard and bade His face turn west and shoreward through the glad Swift revel of the waters golden-clad, And back with light reluctant heart he bore Across the broad-backed rollers in to shore; Strong-spirited for the chance and cheer of fight, And donned his arms again, and felt the might In all his limbs rejoice for strength, and praised God for such life as that whereon he gazed, And wist not surely its joy was even as fleet As that which laughed and lapsed against his feet. The bright thin grey foam-blossom, glad and hoar. That flings its flower along the flowerless shore On sand or shingle, and still with sweet strange snows, As where one great white storm-dishevelled ro^e May rain her wild leaves on a windy land. Strews for long leagues the sounding slope of strand, And flower on flower falls flashing, and anew A fresh light leaps up whence the last flash flew, And casts its brief glad gleam of life away To fade not flowerwise but as drops the day T44 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. Storm-smitten, when at once the dark devours Heaven and the sea and earth with all their flowers ; No star in heaven, on earth no rose to.gee. But the white blown brief blossoms of the sea. That make her green gloom starrier than the sky, Dance yet before the tempest's tune, and die. And all these things he glanced upon, and knew How fair they shone, from earth's least flake of dew To stretch of seas and imminence of skies. Unwittingly, with unpresageful eyes, Eot-ttifi jas}: tinae . The world's half heavenly face. The music of the silence of the place, The confluence and the refluence of the sea, The wind's note ringing over wold and lea, Smote once more through him keen as fire that smote, Rang once more through him one reverberate note. That faded as he turned again and went. Fulfilled by strenuous joy with strong content, To take his last delight of labour done That yet should be beholden of the sun Or ever give man comfort of his hand. Beside a wood's edge in the broken land An hour at wait the twain together stood. Till swift between the moorside and the wood Flashed the spears forward of the coming train ; And seeing beside the strong chief spoiler's rein His wan love riding prisoner in the crew. Forth with a cry the young man leapt, and flew Right on that felon sudden as a flame ; And hard at hand the mightier Tristram came, THE LAST FILGRIMAGE. 14S Bright as the sun ind terrible as fire : And there had sword and spear their soul's desire, And blood that quenched the spear's tliirst as it poured Slaked royally the hunger of the sword, Till the fierce heart of steel could scarce fulfil Its greed and ravin of insatiate will. For three the fiery spear cf Tristram drove Down ere a point of theirs his harness clove Or its own sheer mid shaft splintered in twain ; And his heart bounded in him, and was fain As fire or wind that takes its fill by night Of tempest and of triumph : so the knight Rejoiced and ranged among them, great of hand, Till seven lay slain upon the heathery sand Or in the dense breadth of the woodside fern. Nor did his heart not mightier in him burn Seeing at his hand that young knight fallen, and high The red sword reared again that bade him die. But on the slayer exulting like the flame Whose foot foreshines the thunder Tristram came Raging, for piteous wrath had made him fire ; And as a lion's look his face was dire That flashed against his foeman ere the sword Lightened, and wrought the heart's will of its lord, And clove through casque and crown the wrongdoer's head. And right and left about their dark chief dead Hurtled and hurled those felons to and fro, Till as a storm-wind scatters leaves and snow L 146 THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. His right hand ravrening scattered them ; but one That fled with sidelong glance athwart the sun Shot, and the shaft flew sure, and smote ariglit, Full in the wound's print of his great first fight When at his young strength's peril he made free Cornwall, and slew beside its bordering sea The fair land's foe, who yielding up his breath Yet left him wounded nigh to dark slow death. And hardly with long toil thence he won home Between the grey moor and the glimmering foam, And halting fared through his own gate, and fell, Thirsting : for as the sleepless fire of hell The fire within him of his wound again Burned, and his face was dark as death for pain, And blind the blithe light of his eyes : but they Within that watched and wist not of the fray Came forth and cried aloud on him for woe. And scarce aloud his thanks fell faint and slow As men reared up the strong man fallen and bore Down the deep hall that looked along the shore. And laid him soft abed, and sought in vain If herb or hand of leech might heal his pain. And the white-banded Iseult hearkening heard All, and drew nigh, and spake no wifely word, But gazed upon him doubtfully, with eyes Clouded ; and he in kindly knighdy wise Spake with scant breath, and smiling : ' Surely this Is penance for discourteous lips to kiss And feci the brand burn through them, here to lie And jack the strength here to do more than sigh THE LAST PILGRIMAGE. 147 And hope not hence for pardon.' Then she bowed Her head, still silent as a stooping cloud, And laid her lips against his face ; and he Felt sink a shadow across him as the sea Might feel a cloud stoop toward it : and his heart Darkened as one that wastes by sorcerous art And knows not whence it withers : and he turned Back from her emerald eyes his own, and yearned All night for eyes all golden : and the dark Hung sleepless round him till the loud first lark Rang record forth once more of darkness done, And all things bom took comfort from the sun. 149 IX. THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. Fate, that was born ere spirit and flesh were made, The fire that fills man's life withlight and shade ; The power beyond all godhead which puts on All forms of multitudinous unison, A raiment of eternal change inwrought With shapes and hues more subtly spun than thought, Where all things old bear fruit of all things new And one deep chord throbs all the music through, The chord of cha nge unchanging, sh adow and light Inseparable as reverberate day from night : Fate, that of all things save the souT "minan IsjOTdandGod since body andsoul Began ; Fate, that keeps all thelurie of tRTn°g£lin=^me ; Fate, that breathes power upon the lips of time ; That smites and soothes with heavy and healing hand All joys and sorrows bom in life's dim land, Till joy be found a shadow and sorrow a breath And life no discord in the tune with death, But all things fain alike to die and live In pulse and lapse of tides alternative, ISO THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. Through silence and through sound of peace and strife, Till birth and death be one in si^itj^Jife ; Fate, heardand seen of no man's eyes or ears, To no man shown through light of smiles or tears, And moved of no man's prayer to fold its wings ; Fate, that is night and light on worldly things ; Fate, that is fire to burn and sea to drown, Strength to build up and thunder to cast down ; Fate, shield and screen for each man's lifelong head, And sword at last or dart that strikes it dead ; Fate, higher than heaven and deeper than the grave, That saves and spares not, spares and doth not save ; Fate, that in gods' wise is not bought and sold For prayer or pi ice of penitence or gold ; Whose law shall live when life bids earth farewell. Whose justice hath for shadows heaven and hell ; Whose judgment into no god's hand is given. Nor is its doom not more than hell or heaven: Fate, that is pure of love and clean of hate. Being equal-eyed as nought may be but fate ; Through many and weary days of foiled desire Leads life to rest where tears no more take fire ; Through many and weary dreams of quenched delight LeaisJife-titfOugh deaJiupast sense of day and night. Nor shall they feel or fear, whose date is~(Jone, Aught that made once more dark the living sun And bitterer in their breathing lips the breath Than the dark dawn and bitter dust of death. For all the light, with fragrance as of flowers. That clothes the lithe live limbs of separate hours, THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 151 More sweet to savour and more clear to sight Dawns on the soul death's undivided night. No vigils has that perfect night to keep, No fever-fits of vision shake that sleep. Nor if they wake, and any place there be Wherein the soul may feel her wings beat free Through air too clear and still for sound or strife ; If life were haply death, and death be life ; If love with yet some lovelier laugh revive, And song relume the hght it bore alive. And friendship, found of all earth's gifts most good. Stand perfect in perpetual brotherhood ; If aught indeed at all of all this be, Though none might say nor any man might see, Might he that sees the shade thereof not say This dream were trustier than tlie truth of day. Nor haply may not hope, with heart more clear. Burn deathward, and the doubtful soul take cheer, Seeing through the channelled darkness yearn a star Whose eyebeams are not as the morning's are, Transient, and subjugate of lonllier light, But all unconquerable by noon or night. Being kindled only of life's own inmost fire, Truth, stablished and made sure by strong desire, Fountain of all things living, source and seed. Force that perforce transfigures dream to deed, God that begets on time, the body of death. Eternity : nor may man's darkening breath. Albeit it stain, disfigure or destroy The glass wherein the soul sees life and joy 1 52 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. Only, with strength renewed and spirit of youth, And brighter than the sun's the body of Truth Eternal, unimaginable of man, Whose very face not I'hought's own eyes may scan, But see far off his radiant feet at least. Trampling the head of Fear. t]i^ fakq |iiorVi pripgi-^ Wliose broken chalice foams with blood no more, And prostrate on that high priest's chancel floor, Bmised, overthrown, blind, maimed, with bloodless rod, The miscreation of his miscreant God. That sovereign sfiadow cast of souls that dwell In darkness and the prison-house of hell Whose walls are built of deadly dread, and bound The gates thereof with dreams as iron round, And all the bars therein and stanchions wrought Of shadow forged like steel and tempered thought And words like swords and thunder-clouded creeds And faiths more dire than sin's most direful deeds : That shade accursed and worshipped, which hath made The soul of man that brought it forth a shade Black as the womb of darkness, void and vain, A throne for fear, a pasturage for pain. Impotent, abject, clothed upon with lies. A foul blind fume of words and prayers thatrise, Aghast and harsh. , 3bhorrei>t a,nd ab horred, Fierce as its God, blood-saturate as its Lord.; With loves and mercies on its lips that hiss Comfort, and kill compassion with a kiss^ And strike the world black with their blasting breath ; That ghost whose core of life is very death THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 153 And all its light of heaven a shadow of hell, Fades, falls, wanes, withers by none other spell But theirs whose eyes and ears have seen and heard Not the face naked, not the perfect vrord. But the bright sound and feature felt from far Of life which feeds the spirit and the star. Thrills the live light of all the suns that roll. And stirs the still sealed springs of every soul. Three dim days through, three slumberless nights long, Perplexed at dawn, oppressed at evensong, The strong man's soul now sealed indeed with pain. And all its springs half dried with drought, had lain Prisoner within the fleshly dungeon-dress Sore chafed and wasted with its weariness. And fain it would have found the star, and fain Made this funereal prison-house of pain A watch-tower whence its eyes might sweep, and see If any place for any hope might be Beyond the hells and heavens of sleep and strife, Or any light at all of any life Beyond the dense false darkness woven above, And could not, lacking grace to look on love. And in the third night's dying hour he spake, Seeing scarce the seals that bound the dayspring break And scarce the daystar bum above the sea : ' Ganhardine, my brother true to me, I charge thee by those nights and days we knew No great while since in England, by the dew IS4 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. That bathed those nights with blessing, and the fire That thrilled those days as music thrills a lyre, Do now for me perchance the last good deed That ever love may crave or life may need Ere love lay life in ashes : take to thee My ship that shows aloft against the sea Carved on her stem the semblance of a swan, And ere the waves at even again wax wan Pass, if it may be, to my lady's land, And give this ring into her secret hand, And bid her think how hard on death I lie, _And fain would look upon her face and die. But as a merchant's laden be the bark VVith royal ware for fraughtage, that King Mark iviay take for toll thereof some costly thing ; And wh'in this gift finds grace before the king, Choose forth a cup, and put therein my ring Where sureliest only of one it may be seen, Aftd bid her handmaid bear it to the queen For earnest of thine homage : then shall she Fear, and take counsel privily with thee. To know what errand there is thine from me And what my need in secret of her sight. But make thee two sails, one like sea-foam white To spread for signal if thou bring her back. And if she come noi see the sail be black. That I may Knuw'of ever thouTake'Tand If these my lips may die upon her hand Or hers may never more be mixed with mine.' And his heart quailed for grief in Ganhardine^ THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 155 Hearing ; and all his brother bade he swore Surely to do, and straight fare forth from shore. But the white-handed Iseult hearkening heard All, and her heart waxed hot, and e.v^ry word Thereon seemed graven and printed in her thought As lines with fire and molten iron wrought. And hard within her heavy heart she cursed Both, and her life was turned to fiery thirsty And all her soul was hunger, and its breath Of hope and life a blast of raging death. For only in ho pe of evil was her life. Sobitter bu rned withm the (mdlitagd wife A virgin lus t lor vengearice,~an^uch hate ■W^oughtSTlefTHSW the Ifervfflrwwk^offate. Then with a south-west wind the Swan set forth, And over wintering waters bore to north, And round the wild land's windy westward end Up the blown channel bade her bright way bend East on toward high Tintagel : where at dark Landing, fair welcome found they of King Mark, And Ganhardine with Brangwain as of old Spake, and she took the cup of chiselled gold Wherein lay secret Tristram's trothplight ring, And bare it unbeholden of the king Even to her lady's hand, which hardly took A gift whereon a queen's eyes well might look, With grace forlorn of weary gentleness. But, seeing, her life leapt in her, keen to guess The secret of the symbol : and her face Flashed bright with blood whence all its grief-worn srace 156 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. Took fire and kindled to the quivering hair. And in the dark soft hour of starriest air Thrilled through with sense of midnight, when the world Feels the wide wings of sleep about it furled, Down stole the queen, deep-muffled to her wan Mute restless lips, and came where yet the Swan Swung fast at anchor : whence by starhght she Hoised snowbright sails, and took the glimmering sea. But all the long night long more keen and sore His wound's grief waxed in Tristram evermore, And heavier always hung his heart asway Between dim fear and clouded hope of day. And still with face and heart at silent strife Beside him watched the maiden called his wife, Patient, and spake not save when scarce he spake. Murmuring with sense distraught and spirit awake Speech bitterer than the words thereof were sweet : And hatred thrilled her to the hands and feet, Listening : for alway back reiterate came The passionate faint burden of her name. Nor ever through the labouring lips astir Came any word of any thought of her. But the soul wandering struggled and clung hard Only to dreams of joy in Joyous Gard Or wildwoo d nights beside the Cornish strand, Or[Merlin|s^olier sleep here hard at hand Wrapped round with deep soft spells in dim — Broceliande. And with such thirst as joy's drained wine-cup leaves THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 157 When fear to hope as hope to memory cleaves His soul desired the dewy sense of leaves, The soft green smell of thickets drenched with dawjL The faint slot kindling on the fiery lawn As day's first hour made keen the spirit agam That lured and spurred on quest his hound Hodain, The breeze, the bloom, the splendour and the sound, That stung like fire the hunter and the hound, The pulse of wind, the passion of the sea, The rapture of the woodland : then would he Sigh, and as one that fain would all be dead Heavily turn his heavy-laden head Back, and close eyes for comfort, finding none. And fain he would have died or seen the sun, Being si^ _ at heart.of darkness : yet afresh Began the long strong strife of spirit and flesh And branching pangs of thought whose branches bear The bloodred fruit whose core is black, despair. And the wind slackened and again grew great. Palpitant as men's pulses palpitate Between the flowing and ebbing tides of fate That wash their lifelong waifs of weal andwoe Throu gh night and light and twilight to and fro. Now as a pulse of hope its heartbeat throbbed, Now like one stricken shrank and sank and sobbed, Then, yearning as with child of death, put forth A wail that filled the night up south and north With woful sound of waters : and he said, • So might the wind wail if the world were dead iS8 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. And its wings wandered over nought but sea. I would I knew she would not come to me, For surely she will come not : then should I, Once knowing I shall not look upon her, die. I knew not life could so long breathe such breath As I do. Nay, what grief were this, if death, The sole sure friend of whom the whole world saith He lies not, nor hath ever this been said. That death would heal not grief — if death were dead And all ways closed whence grief might pass with life ! ' Then softly spake his watching virgin wife Out of her heart, deep down below her breath : ' Fear not but death shall come — and after death Judgment' And he that heard not answered her, Saying — ' Ah, but one there was, if truth not err. For true men's trustful tongues have said it— one Whom these mine eyes knew living while the sun Looked yet upon him, and mine o\vn ears heard .The deep sweet sound once of his godlike word — Who sleeps and dies not, but with soft live breath Takes always all the deep delight of death, J?hrough love's gift of a woman : but /or me Love's hand.is not_theJiand_c)f Uimue, L2^;.!^rd"".^t'l^. "niOnth Pinrmur of t)l,fi dnve^ No k iss of peace for me th e kiss of love. Nor, whatsoever thy lifels lQye.^ er give^ Dear, shall it ever bid me .slee£_orJivej Nor from thy b rows and lips an d living breast. As his from Nimue's shall jny_S£aiLtak&,KSt4 Not rest bu.t unrest hath, our long love ^S£Dt— Unrest on earth that wins not rest in heaven. THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 139 What rest may we take ever? what have we Had ever more of peace than has the sea ? Has not our life been as a wind that blows Through loneHer lands than rear the wild white rose That each year sees requickened, but for us Time once and twice hath here or there done thus And left the next year following empty and bare? What rose hath our last year's rose left for heir, What wine our last year's vintage ? and to me More were one fleet forbidden sense of thee, One perfume of thy present grace, one thought Made truth one hour, ere all mine hours be nought. One very word, breath, look, sign, touch of hand. Than all the green leaves in Broceliande Full of sweet sound, full of sweet wind and sun ; God, thou knowest I would no more but one, 1 would no more but once more ere I die Find thus much mercy. Nay, but then were I Happier than he whom there thy grace hath found, For thine it must be, this that wraps him round, Thine only, albeit a fiend's force gave him birth. Thine that has given him heritage on earth Of slumber-sweet eternity to keep Tast in soft hold of everliving sleep. Happier were I, more sinful man, than he, Whom one love-worthier then than Nimue Should with a breath make blest among the dead.' "" And the wan wedded maiden answering said. Soft as hate speaks within itself apart : ' Surely ye shall not, ye that rent mine heart, I Co THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. Being one in sin, in punishment be twain.' And the great knight that heard not spake again And sighed, but sweet thought of sweet things gone by Kindled with fire of joy the very sigh And touched it through with rapture : ' Ay, this were How much more than the sun and sunbright air. How much more than the springtide, how much more Than sweet strong sea-wind quickening wave and shore { With one divine pulse of continuous breath. If she might kiss me with the kiss of death, I And make the light of life by death's look dim !' And the white wedded virgin answered him, Inwardly, wan with hurt no herb makes whole : ' Yea surely, ye whose sin hath slain mv soul. Surely your own souls shall have peace in death And pass with benediction in their breath And blessing given of mine their sin hath slain.' And Tristram with sore yearning spake again, Saying : ' Yea, might this thing once be, how should I, With all my soul made one thanksgiving, die. And pass before what judgment-seat may be. And cry, " Lord, now do all thou wilt with me, Take all thy fill of justice, work thy will ; Though all thy heart of wrath have all its fill, My heart of suffering shall endure, and say, For that thou gavest me living yesterday I bless thee tho ugh thou curse me." Ay, and well Might one cast dowiTrntotHe'giiiror hell, THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. i6i Remembering this, take heart and thank his fate — That God, whose doom now scourges him with hate, Once, in the wild and whirling world above, Bade mercy kiss his dying lips with love. "T5ut if this come not, then he doth me wrong. For what hath love done, all this long life long, That death should trample down his poor last prayer Who prays not for forgiveness ? Though love were Sin dark as hatejhave we not here that sinned Suffered ? has t hat been less than wintry wind Wherewith our loveTies blasted i'""iymine own, mine and no man's yet save mine alone, Iseult ! what ails thee that I lack so long All of thee, all things thine for which I long ? For more than watersprings to shadeless sands, More to me were the comfort of her hands Touched once, and more than rays that set and rise The glittering arrows of her glorious eyes, More to my sense than fire to dead cold air The wind and light and odour of her hair, More to my soul than summer's to the south ■ The mute clear music of her amorous niuuin. And to my heart's heart more than heaven's great rest The fullness of the fragrance of her breast. Iseult, Iseult, what grace hath life to give More than we twain have had of life, and live ? Iseult, Iseult, what grace may death not keep As sweet for us to win of death, and sleep? Come therefore, let us twain pass hence and try I f it be better not to live bu t die, M i62 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. Witli love for lamp to light us out of life.' And on that word his wedded maiden wife, Pale as the moon in star-forsaken skies Ere the sun fill them, rose with set strange eyes And gazed on him that saw not : and her heart Heaved as a man's death-smitten with a dart That smites him sleeping, warm and full of life : So toward Jier lord that was not looked his wife, His wife that was not : and her heart within Burnt bitter like an aftertaste of sin To one whose memory drinks and loathes the lee Of shame or sorrow deeper than the sea : And no fear touched him of her eyes above And ears that hoarded each poor word whence love Made sweet the broken music of his breath. ' Iseult, my life that wast and art my death. My life in life that hast been, and that art Death in my death, sole-wound that cleaves mine hears, Mine heart that else, how spent soe'er, were whole, Breath of my spirit and anguish of my soul, How can this be that hence thou canst not hear, Being but by space divided ? One is here. But one of twain I looked at once to see ; Jshall death keep time and thou not keep with me?' And the white married maiden laughed at heart. Hearing, and scarce with lips at all apart Spake, and as fire between them was her breath ; 'Yea, now thou liest not : yea, for I am death.' By this might eyes thatwatched without behold Deep in the gulfs of aching air acold TBE SAILING OF THE SWAN. J63 The roses of the dawning heaven that strew The low soft sun's way ere his power shine through And burn them up with fire : but far to west Had sunk the dead moon on the live sea's breast, Slain as with bitter fear to see the sun : And eastward was a strong bright wind begun Between the clouds aiid waters : and he said, Seeing hardly through dark dawn her doubtful head, ' Iseult ? ' and like a death-bell faint and clear The virgin voice rang answer — ' I am here.' And his heart sprang, and sank again : and she Spake, saying, ' What would my knightly lord with me ? ' And Tristram : ' Hath my lady watched all night Beside me, and I knew not ? God requite Her love for comfort shown a man nigh dead.' ' Yea, God shall surely guerdon it,' she said, ' Who hath kept me all my days through to this hour.' And Tristram : ' God alone hath grace and power To pay such grace toward one unworthier shown Than ever durst, save only of God alone, Crave pardon yet and comfort, as I would Crave now for charity if my heart were good. But as a coward's it fails me, even for shame.' Then seemed her face a pale funereal flame That burns down slow by midnight, as she said : ' Speak, and albeit thy bidding spake me dead, God's love renounce me if it were not done.' And Tristram : ' When the sea-line takes the sun That now should be not far off sight from far. Look if there come not with the morning star M 2 i64 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. My ship bound hither from the northward back, And if the sail be white thereof or black' And knowing the soothfast sense of his desire So sore the heart within her raged like fire She could not wring forth of her lips a word, But bowing made sign how humbly had she heard. And the sign given made light his heart ; and she Set her face hard against the yearning sea Now all athirst with trembling trust of hope To see the sudden gates of sunrise ope ; But thirstier yearned the heart whose fiery gate Lay wide that vengeance might come in to hate. And Tristram lay at thankful rest, and thought Now surely life nor death could grieve him aught, Since past was now life's anguish as a breath, ^And surely past the bitterness of death. For seeing he had found at these her hands this grace, It could not be but yet some breathing-space \Might leave him life to look again on love's own face. ' Since if for death's sake,' in his heart he said, ' Even she take pity upon me quick or dead. How shall not even from God's hand be compassion shed? For night bears dawn, how weak soe'er and wan, And sweet ere death, men fable, sings the swan. So seems the Swan my signal from the sea To sound a song that sweetens death to me Clasped round about with radiance from above Of dawn, and closer clasped on earth by love. THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. t6f Shall all things brighten, and this my sign be dark? V* ~~^nd high from heaven suddenly rang the lark, Triumphant ; jiid the far first refluent ray Filled all the hollow darkness full. with day. And on the deep sky's verge a fluctuant light Gleamed , grew , shone , strengthened intp perfrrf sight, As bowe d and dippe d and rose again the sail's clear white. And swift and steadfast as ajea-m^yf^s wing It neared before the wind, as fain to bring Comfort, and shorten yet its narrowing track. And she that saw looked hardly toward him back. Saying, ' Ay, the ship comes surely ; but her sail is black.' And fain he would have sprung upright, and seen. And spoken : but strong death struck sheer between, And darkness closed as iron round his head : And smitten through tlie heart lay Tristram dead. And scarce the word had flown abroad, and wail Risen, ere to shoreward came the snowbright sail, And lightly forth leapt Ganhardine on land, And led from ship with swift and reverent hand Iseult : and round them up from all the crowd Broke the great wail for Tristram out aloud. And ere her ear might hear her heart had heard, Nor sought she sign for witness of the word ; But came and stood above him newly dead, And felt his death upon her : and her head Bowed, as to reach the spring that slakes all drouth ; And their fo ur ligs became orie silent mouth. 1 66 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. So came their hour on them that were in life Tristram and Iseult : so from love and strife The stroke of love's own hand felt last and best Gave them deliverance to perpetual rest. So, crownless of the wreaths that life had wound, They slept, with flower of tenderer comfort crown From bondage and the fear of time set free, And all the yoke of space on earth and sea Cast as a curb for ever : nor might now Fear and desire bid soar their souls or bow. Lift up their hearts or break them : doubt nor grief More now might move them, dread nor disbelief Touch them with shadowy cold or fiery sting, Nor sleepless languor with its weary wing. Nor harsh estrangement, born of time's vain breath, Nor change, a darkness deeper far than death. And round the sleep that fell around them then Earth lies not wrapped, nor records wrought of men Rise up for timeless token : but their sleep Hath round it like a raiment all the deep ; No change or gleam or gloom of sun and rain. But all time long the might of all the main Spread round them as round earth soft heaven is spread. And. oea£.e more strong than death ryund all the dead. THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 167 For d eath is of an hour, an d after death Peace: nor. f or .aughLlha,tJbac or fancy s aith. Nor even for very love's own sake, shall strife Perplex again that perfect peace with life. And if, as men that mourn may deem or dream, Rest haply here than there might sweeter seem, And sleep, that lays one hand on all, more good By some sweet grave's grace given of wold or wood Or clear high glen or sunbright wind-worn down Than where life thunders through the trampling town With daylong feet and nightlong overhead. What grave may cast such grace round any dead^ What so sublime sweet sepulchre may be For all that life leaves mortal, as the sea ? And these, rapt forth perforce from earthly ground. These twain the deep sea guards, and girdles round Their sleep more deep than any sea's gulf lies. Though changeless with the change in shifting skies. Nor mutable with seasons : for the grave That held them once, being weaker than a wave. The waves long since have buried : though their tomb Was royal that bv ruth 's relenting doom Men gave them in Tintagel : for the word Took wing which thrilled all piteous hearts that heard The word wherethrough their lifelong lot stood shown, A.nd when t he long sealed springs of fate were known, ] The blind bright innocence of lips that quaffed t^Love, and the marvel of the mastering draught, J 68 THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. And all the frauglitage of the fateful bark, Loud like a child upon them wept King Mark, Seeing round the sword's hilt which long since had fought For Cornwall's love a scroll of writing wrought, A scripture writ of Tristram's hand, wherein Lay bare the sinl ess sourc e of all their sin, Noj:hoice of will, but chance and sorcerous art, "With prayer oi l^i^^ fof. P^'^don : and his heart Was.molteri, iqjiim, ,.-ff.a.iJtog.asil.eJa§g£d, Each with the kiss of kinship—' Had I wist, Ye had never sinned nor died thus, nor ha d I Borne in this doom t hat ba de you sin and die ^ sore a part of sor row.' A nd the king Built for their tomb a chapel bright like spring With flower-soft wealth of branching tracery made Fair as the frondage each fleet year sees fade. That should not fall till many a year were done. There slept they wedded under moon and sun And change of stars : and through the casements came Midnight and noon girt round wj|;h shaHnw pnd flame Xa illume their grave or veil it : till at last On these things too was doom'as'Sarkness cast : For the strong sea hath swallowed wall and tower. And where t heir limbs were laid in woful hour j ^r many a fathom gleams and moves and m o ans The tide that sw eepsabove their coffined bones In the wrecked chancel by the shivered shrine : Nor where they sleeo shall moon or sunlight shine THE SAILING OF THE SWAN. 1(9 Nor man look down for ever : none shall say, Here once, or here, Tristram and Iseult lay : But peace they have that_ng iie_niay gain. jwbo live, And rest about them that no love can give, And over them, while death and life shall be. The lig ht and sounii .aaiLdatimfi&5U3f,the. sea. 171 ATHENS: AN ODE. Ere from under earth again like fire the violet kindle, \Str. r. Ere the holy buds and hoar on olive-branches bloom, Ere the crescent of the last pale month of winter dwindle, Shrink, and fall as falls a dead leaf on the dead month's tomb, Round the hills whose heights the first-born olive- blossom brightened. Round the city brow-bound once with violets like a bride. Up from under earth again a light that long since lightened Breaks, whence all the world took comfort as all time takes pride. Pride have all men in their fathers that were free before them, In the warriors that begat us free-born pride have we: 172 ATHENS. But the fathers of their spirits, how may men adore them, With what rapture may we praise, who bade our souls be free ? Sons of Athens born in spirit and truth are all born free men ; Most of all, we, nurtured where the north wind holds his reign : Children all we sea-folk of the Salaminian seamen, Sons of them that beat back Persia they that beat back Spain. Since the songs of Greece fell silent, none like ours have risen ; Since the sails of Greece fell slack, no ships have sailed like ours ; How should we lament not, if her spirit sit in prison ? How should we rejoice not, if her wreaths renew their flowers ? All the world is sweeter, if the Athenian violet quicken : All the world is brighter, if the Athenian sun return : All things foul on earth wax fainter, by that sun's light stricken : All ill growths are withered, where those fragrant flower-lights bum. All the wandering waves of seas with all their warring waters Roll the record on for ever of the sea-fight there, ATHENS. 173 When the capes were battle's lists, and all the straits were slaughter's, And the myriad Medes as foam-flakes on the scattering air. Ours the lightning was that cleared the north and lit the nations. But the light that gave the whole world light of old was she : Ours an age or twain, but hers are endless genera- tions : All the world is hers at heart, and most of all are we. Ye that bear the name about you of her glory, \Ant. 1. Men that wear the sign of Greeks upon you sealed. Yours is yet the choice to write yourselves in story Sons of them that fought the Marathonian field. Slaves of no man were ye, said your warrior poet. Neither subject unto man as underlings : Yours is now the season here wherein to show it, If the seed ye be of them that knew not kings. If ye be not, swords nor words alike found brittle From the dust of death to raise you shall prevail : Subject swords and dead men's words may stead you litde. If their old king-hating heart within you fail If your spirit of old, and not your bonds, be broken, If the kirigless lieart be molten in your breasts, X74 ATHENS. By what signs and wonders, by what word or token, Shall ye drive the vultures from your eagles' nests ? All the gains of tyrants Freedom counts for losses ; Nought of all the work done holds she worth the work, When the slaves whose faith is set on crowns and crosses Drive the Cossack bear against the tiger Turk. Neither cross nor crown nor crescent shall ye bow to, Nought of Araby nor Jewry, priest nor king : As your watchword was of old, so be it now too : As from lips long stilled, from yours let healing spring. Through the fights of old, your battle-cry was healing, And the Saviour that ye called on was the Sun : Dawn by dawn behold in heaven your God, revealing Light from darkness as when Marathon was won. Gods were yours yet strange to Turk or Galilean, Light and Wisdom only then as gods adored : Pallas was your shield, your comforter was Paean, From your bright world's navel spake the Sun your Lord. Though the names be lost, and changed the signs of Light and Wisdom be, \Ep. i. By these only shall men conquer, by these only be set free : When the whole world's eye was Athens, these were yours, and theirs were ye. ATHENS. 175 Light was given you of your wisdom, light ye gave the world again : As the sun whose godhead lightened on her soul was Hellas then : Yea, the least of all her children as the chosen of other men. Change your hearts not with your garments, nor your faith with creeds that change : Truth was yours, the truth which time and chance transform not nor estrange : Purer truth nor higher abides not in the reach of time's whole range. Gods are they in all men's memories and for all time's periods, They that hurled the host back seaward which had scourged the sea with rods : Gods for us are all your fathers, even the least of these as gods. In the dark of days the thought of them is with us, strong. to save. They that had no lord, and made the Great King lesser than a slave ; They that rolled all Asia back on Asia, broken like a wave. No man's men were they, no master's and no God's but these their own : Gods not loved in vain nor served amiss, nor all yet overthrown : Love of country. Freedom, Wisdom, Light, and none save these alone. 176 ATHENS. King by king came up against them, sire and son, and turned to flee : Host on host roared westward, mightier each than each, if more might be : Field to field made answer, clamorous like as wave to wave at sea. Strife to strife responded, loud as rocks to clangorous rocks respond Where the deep rings wreck to seamen held in tem- pest's thrall and bond, Till when war's bright work was perfect peace as radiant rose beyond : Peace made bright with fruit of battle, stronger made for storm gone down. With the flower of song held heavenward for the violet of her crown Woven about the fragrant forehead of the fostress maiden's town. Gods arose alive on earth from under stroke of human hands : As the hands that wrought them, these are dead, and mixed with time's dead sands : But the godhead of supernal song, though these now stand not, stands. Pallas is not, Phoebus breathes no more in breathing brass or gold : Clytsmnestra towers, Cassandra wails, for ever : Time is bold. But nor heart nor hand hath he to unwrite the scrip- tures writ of old. ATHENS. 177 Dead the great chryselephantine God, as dew last evening shed : Dust of earth or foam of ocean is the symbol of his head : Earth and ocean shall be shadows when Prornetheus shall be dead. Fame around her warriors living rang through Greece and lightened, \Str. 2. Moving equal with their stature, stately with their strength : Thebes and Lacedxmon at their breathing presence brightened, Sense or sound of them filled all the live land's breadth and length. All the lesser tribes put on the pure Athenian fasliion, One Hellenic heart was from the mountains to the sea: Sparta's bitter self grew sweet with high half- human passion, And her dry thorns flushed aflower in strait Ther- mopylae. Fruitless yet the flowers had fallen, and all the deeds died fruitless, Save that tongues of after men, the children of her peace. Took the tale up of her glories, transient else and rootless, And in ears and hearts of all men left the praise of Greece. N 178 ATHENS. Fair the war-time was when still, as beacon answering beacon, Sea to land flashed fight, and thundered note oi wrath or cheer ; But the strength of noonday night hath power to waste and weaken. Nor may light be passed from hand to hand of year to year If the dying deed be saved not, ere it die for ever. By the hands and lips of men more wise than years are strong ; If the soul of man take heed not that the deed die never, Clothed about with purple and gold of story, crowned with song. Still the burning heart of boy and man alike rejoices, Hearing words which made it seem of old for all who sang That their heaven of heavens waxed happier when from free men's voices Well-beloved Harmodius and Aristogeiton rang. Never fell such fragrance from the flower-month's rose-red kirtle As from chajilets on the bright friends' brows who slew their lord : Greener grew the leaf and balmier blew the flower of myrtle When its blossom sheathed the sheer tyrannicidal sword. ATHENS. 179 None so glorioas garland crowned the feast Panathe- nsean As this wreath too frail to fetter fast the Cyprian dove : None so fiery song sprang sunwards annual as the psean Praising perfect love of friends and perfect country's love. Higher than highest of all those heavens wherefrom the starry \Ant. 2. Song of Homer shone above the rolling fight, Gleams like spring's green bloom on boughs all gaunt and gnarry Soft live splendour as of flowers of foam in flight, Glows a glory of mild-winged maidens upward mount- ing Sheer through air made shrill with strokes of smooth swift wings Round the rocks beyond foot's reach, past eyesight's counting, Up the cleft where iron wind of winter rings Round a God fast clenched in iron jaws of fetters. Him who culled for man the fruitful flower of fire. Bared the darkling scriptures writ in dazzling letters. Taught the truth of dreams deceiving men's desire, Gave their water- wandering chariot- seats of ocean Wings, and bade the rage of war-steeds champ the rein, i8o ATHENS. Showed the symbols of the wild birds' wheeling motion, Waged for man's sake war with God and all his train. Earth, whose name was also Righteousness, a mother Many-named and single-natured, gave him breath Whence God's wrath could wring but this word and none other — He may smite me, yet he shall not do to death. Him the tongue that sang triumphant while tormented Sang as loud the sevenfold storm that roared ere- while Round the towers of Thebes till wrath might rest contented : Sang the flight from smooth soft-sanded banks of Nile, When like mateless doves that fly from snare or tether Came the suppliants landwards trembling as they trod. And the prayer took wing from all their tongues together — King of kings, most holy of holies, blessed God. But what mouth may chant again, what heart may know it, All the rapture that all hearts of men put on When of Salamis the time-transcending poet Sang, whose hand had chased the Mede at Marathon? ATHENS. i8i Darker dawned the song with stormier wings above the watch-fire spread [Et. 2. Whence from Ida toward the hill of Hermes leapt the light that said Troy was fallen, a torch funereal for the king's tri- umphal head. Dire indeed the birth of Leda's womb that had God's self to sire Bloomed, a flower of love that stung the soul with fangs that gnaw like fire : But the twin-bom human-fathered sister-flower bore fruit more dire. Scarce the cry that called on airy heaven and all swift winds on wing, Wells of river-heads, and countless laugh of waves past reckoning, Earth which brought forth all, and the orbfed sun that looks on everything, Scarce that cry fills yet men's hearts more full of heart devouring dread Than the murderous word said mocking, how the child whose blood he shed Might clasp fast and kiss her father where the dead salute the dead. But the latter note of anguish from the lips that mocked her lord. When her son's hand bared against the breast that suckled him his sword. How might man endure, O ^schylus, to hear it and record? i82 ATHENS. How might man endure, being mortal yet, O thou most highest, to hear ? How record, being born of woman ? Surely not thy Furies near, Surely this beheld, this only, blasted hearts to death with fear. Not the hissing hair, nor flakes of blood that oozed from eyes of fire. Nor the snort of savage sleep that snuffed the hunger- ing heart's desire Where the hunted prey found hardly space and har- bour to respire ; She whose likeness called them — 'Sleep ye, ho? what nt ed of you that sleep ? ' (Ah, what need indeed, where she was, of all shapes that night may keep Hidden dark* as death and deeper than men's dreams of hell are deep ?) She the murderess of her husband, she the huntress of her son, More than ye was she, the shadow that no God with- stands but one. Wisdom equal-eyed and stronger and more splendid than the sun. Yea, no God may stand betwixt us and the shadows of our deeds. Nor the light of dreams that lighten darkness, nor the prayer that pleads, But ihe wisdom equal-souled with heaven, the light alone that leads. AJHENS. 1S3 Light whose law bids home those childless children of eternal night, Soothed and reconciled and mastered and transmuted in men's sight Who behold their own souls, clothed with darkness once, now clothed with light. King of kings and father crowned of all our fathers crowned of yore, Lord of all the lords of song, whose head all heads bow down before, Glory be to thee from all thy sons in all tongues ever- more. Rose and vine and olive and deep ivy-bloom en- twining \Str. 3. Close the goodliest grave that e'er they closeliest might entwine Keep the wind from wasting and the sun from too strong shining Where the sound and light of sweetest songs still float and shine. Here the music seems to iUume the shade, the light to whisper Song, the flowers to put not odours only forth, but words Sweeter far than fragrance : here the wandering wreaths twine crisper Far, and louder far exults the note of all wild birds. i84 ATHENS. Thoughts that change us, joys that crown and sorrows that enthrone us, Passions that enrobe us with a clearer air than ours, Move and breathe as living things beheld round white Colonus, Audibler than melodies and visibler than flowers. Love, in fight unconquered, Love, with spoils of great men laden, Never sang so sweet from throat of woman or of dove :' Love, whose bed by night is in the soft cheeks of a maiden. And his march is over seas, and low roofs lack not Love; Nor may one of all that live, ephemeral or eternal, Fly nor hide from Love ; but whoso clasps hira fast goes mad. Never since the first-born year with flowers first-born grew vernal Such a song made listening hearts of lovers glad or sad. Never sounded note so radiant at the rayless portal Opening wide on the all-concealing lowland of the dead As the music mingling, when her doomsday marked her mortal. From her own and old men's voices round the bride's way shed, Round the grave her bride-house, hewn for endless habitation, ATHENS. 185 Where, shut out from sunshine, with no bridegroom by, she slept ; But beloved of all her dark and fateful generation, But with all time's tears and praise besprinkled and bewept : Well-beloved of outcast father and self-slaughtered mother, Born, yet unpolluted, of their blind incestuous bed; Best-beloved of him for whose dead sake she died, her brother, Hallowing by her own life's gift her own bom brother's head : Not with wine or oil nor any less libation \Ant. 3. Hallowed, nor made sweet with humbler perfume's breath ; Not with only these redeemed from desecration. But with blood and spirit of life poured forth to death ; Blood unspotted, spirit unsullied, life devoted, Sister too supreme to make the bride's hope good, Daughter too divine as woman to be noted. Spouse of only death in mateless maidenhood. Yea, in her was all the prayer fulfilled, the saying All accomplished — Would that fate would let me ■wear Hallowed innocence of words and all deeds, weighing Well the laws thereof, begot on holier air, 1 86 ATHENS. Far on high sublimely stablished, whereof only Heaven is father ; nor did birth of mortal mould Bring them forth, nor shall oblivion lull to lonely Slumber. Great in these is God, and grows not old. Therefore even that inner darkness where she perished Surely seems as holy and lovely, seen aright, As desirable and as dearly to be cherished, As the haunt closed in with laurels from the light, Deep inwound with olive and wild vine inwoven, Where a godhead known and unknown makes men pale. But the darkness of the twilight noon is cloven Still with shrill sweet moan of many a nightingale. Closer clustering there they make sweet noise to- gether. Where the fearful gods look gentler than our fear. And the grove thronged through with birds of holiest feather Grows nor pale nor dumb with sense of dark things near. There her father, called upon with signs of wonder. Passed with tenderest words away by ways un- known, Not by sea-storm stricken down, nor touched of thunder. To the dark benign deep underworld, alone. ATHENS. 187 Third of three that ruled in Athens, kings with sceptral song for staff, \Ef. 3. Gladdest heart that God gave ever milk and whie of thought to quaff, Clearest eye that lightened ever to the broad lip's lordliest laugh, Praise be thine as theirs whose tragic brows the loftier leaf engirds For the live and lyric lightning of thy honey-hearted words, Soft like sunny dewy wings of clouds and bright as crymg of birds ; Full of all sweet rays and notes that make of earth and air and sea One great light and sound of laughter from one great God's heart, to be Sign and semblance of the gladness of man's life where men breathe free. With no Loxian sound obscure God uttered once, and all time heard. All the soul of Athens, all the soul of England, in that word : Rome arose the second child of freedom : northward rose the third. Ere her Boreal dawn came kindling seas afoam and fields of snow. Yet again, while Europe groaned and grovelled, shone like suns aglow Doria splendid over Genoa, Venice bright with Dan- dolo. i88 ATHENS. Dead was Hellas, but Ausonia by the light of dead men's deeds Rose and walked awhile alive, though mocked as whom the fen-fire leads By the creed- wrought faith of faithless souls that mock their doubts with creeds. Dead are these, and man is risen again : and haply now the Three Yet coequal and triune may stand in story, marked as free By the token of the washing of the waters of the sea. Athens first of all earth's kindred m.any-tongued and many-kinned Had the sea to friend and comfort, and for kinsman had the wind : She that bare Columbus next : then she that made her spoil of Ind. She that hears not what man's rage but only what the sea-wind saith : She that turned Spain's ships to cloud-wrack at the blasting of her breath, By her strengths of strong-souled children and of strong winds done to death. North and south the Great King's galleons went in Persian wise : and here She, with -^sch)lean music on her lips that laughed back fear. In the face of Time's grey godhead shook the splen- dour of her spear. ATHENS. 189 Fair as Athens then with foot upon her foeman's front, and strong Even as Athens for redemption of the world from sovereign wrong, Like as Athens crowned she stood before the sun with crowning song. All the world is theirs with whom is freedom : first of all the free, Blest are they whom song has crowned and clothed with blessing : these as we, These alone have part in spirit with the sun that crowns the sea. Afril, 1881. 191 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. Since in Athens God stood plain for adoration, Since the sun beheld his likeness reared in stone, Since the bronze or gold of human consecration Gave to Greece her guardian's form and feature shown, Never hand of sculptor, never heart of nation. Found so glorious aim in all these ages flown As is theirs who rear for all time's acclamation Here the hkeness of our mightiest and their own. Iheirs and ours and all men's living who behold him Crowned with garlands multiform and manifold; Praise and thanksgiving of all mankind enfold him Who for all men casts abroad his gifts of gold. With the gods of song have all men's tongues enrolled him, With the helpful gods have all men's hearts en- rolled : 192 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. Ours he is who love him, ours whose hearts' hearts hold him Fast as his the trust that hearts like his may hold. He, the he^rt most high, the spirit on earth most blameless, Takes in charge all spirits, holds all hearts in trust : As the sea-wind's on the sea his ways are tameless, As the laws that steer the world his works are just. All most noble feel him nobler, all most shameless Feel his wrath and scorn make pale their pride and lust : All most poor and lowliest, all whose wrongs were nameless, Feel his word of comfort raise them from the dust Pride of place and lust of empire bloody-fruited Knew the blasting of his breath on leaf and fruit : Now the hand that smote the death-tree now dis- rooted Plants the refuge-tree that has man's hope for root. Ah, but we by whom his darkness was saluted, How shall now all we that see his day salute ? How should love not seem by love's own speech con- futed, Song before the sovereign singer not be mute ? THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 193 5- With what worship, by what blessing, in what measure, May we sing of him, salute him, or adore, With what hymn for praise, what thanksgiving for pleasure, Who had given us more than heaven, and gives us more? Heaven's whole treasury, filled up full with night's whole treasure, Holds not so divine or deep a starry store As the soul supreme that deals forth worlds at leisure Clothed with light and darkness, dense with flower and ore. 6. Song had touched the bourn : fresh verses overflow it, Loud and radiant, waves on waves on waves that throng ; Still the tide grows, and the sea-mark still below it Sinks and shifts and rises, changed and swept along. Rose it like a rock ? the waters overthrow it, And another stands beyond them sheer and strong : Goal by goal pays down its prize, and yields its poet Tribute claimed of triumph, palm achieved of song. 7- Since his hand that holds the keys of fear and wonder Opened on the high priesf s dreaming eyes a door o 194 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. Whence the lights of heaven and hell above and under Shone, and smote the face that men bow down before, Thrice again one singer's note had cloven in sunder Night, who blows again not one blast now but four, And the fourfold heaven is kindled with his thunder. And the stars about his forehead are fourscore. 8. From the deep soul's depths where alway love abounded First had risen a song with healing on its wings Whence the dews of mercy raining balms unbounded Shed their last compassion even on sceptred things.' Even on heads that like a curse the crown surrounded Fell his crowning pity, soft as cleansing springs ; And the sweet last note his wrath relenting sounded Bade men's hearts be melted not for slaves but kings. 9- Next, that faith might strengthen fear and love embolden, On the creeds of priests a scourge of sunbeams fell: And its flash made bare the deeps of heaven, beholden Not of men that cry, Lord, Lord, from church or celL^ ' La PitU Suprlme. 1 879. • Keli^ions et Religion. 1S80. THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 195 Hope as young as dawn from night obscure and olden Rose again, such power abides in truth's one spell : Night, if dawn it be that touches her, grows golden ; Tears, if such as angels weep, extinguish hell. 10. Through the blind loud mills of barren blear-eyed learning Where in dust and darkness children's foreheads bow, While men's labour, vain as wind or water turning Wheels and sails of dreams, makes life a leafless bough, Fell the light of scorn and pity touched with yearning. Next, from words that shone as heaven's own kind- ling brow.' Stars were these as watch-fires on the world's waste burning, Stars that fade not in the fourfold sunrise now.* II. Now the voice that faints not till all wrongs be wroken Sounds as might the sun's song from the morning's breast, All the seals of silence sealed of night are broken, All the winds that bear the fourfold word are blest. » VAnt. 1880. ' Les Quatre Vents de V Esprit. I. Lt Livre satiriqtte. II. Le Livre dramatique. III. Le Livre lyrigue, IV. Le Livre (pique. 1 88 1. 02 196 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. All the keen fierce east flames forth one fiery token ; All the north is loud with life that knows not rest, All the south with song as though the stars had spoken ; All the judgment-fire of sunset scathes the west. 12. Sound of pxan, roll of chanted panegyric, Though by Pindar's mouth song's trumpet spake forth praise, March of warrior songs in Pythian mood or PjTrhic, Though the blast were blown by lips of ancient days, Ring not clearer than the clarion of satiric Song whose breath sweeps bare the plague-infected ways Till the world be pure as heaven is for the lyric Sun to rise up clothed with radiant sounds as rays. 13- Clear across the cloud-rack fluctuant and erratic As the strong star smiles that lets no mourner mourn, Hymned alike from lips of Lesbian choirs or Attic Once at evensong and morning newly bom. Clear and sure above the changes of dramatic Tide and current, soft with love and keen with scorn. Smiles the strong sweet soul of maidenhood, ecstatic And inviolate as the red glad mouth of morn. THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 197 14. Pure and passionate as dawn, whose apparition Thrills with fire from heaven the wheels of hours that whirl, Rose and passed her radiance in serene transition From his eyes who sought a grain and found a pearl. But the food by cunning hope for vain fruition Lightly stolen away from keeping of a churl Left the bitterness of death and hope's perdition On the lip that scorn was wont for shame to curl.' IS- Over waves that darken round the wave-worn rover Rang his clarion higher than winds cried round the ship, Rose a pageant of set suns and storms blown over, Hands that held life's guerdons fast or let them slip. But no tongue may tell, no thanksgiving discover. Half the heaven of blessing, soft with clouds that drip. Keen with beams that kindle, dear as love to lover, Opening by the spell's strength on his lyric lip. ' Les Deux Tiouvailles de Callus, i. Margarita, comidie, III Esca, drame. 198 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 16. By that spell the soul transfigured and dilated Puts forth wings that widen, breathes a brightening air, Feeds on light and drinks of music, whence elated All her sense grows godlike, seeing all depths made bare, All the mists wherein before she sat belated Shrink, till now the sunlight knows not if they were ; All this earth transformed is Eden recreated, With the breath of heaven remurmuring in her hair. 17- Sweeter far than aught of sweet that April nurses Deep in dew-dropt woodland folded fast and furled Breathes the fragrant song whose burning dawn disperses Darkness, like the surge of armies backward hurled, Even as though the touch of spring's own hand, that pierces Earth with life's delight, had hidden in the impearled Golden bells and buds and petals of his verses All the breath of all the flowers in all the world. THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 199 18. But the soul therein, the light that our souls follow, Fires and fills the song with more of prophet's pride, More of life than all the gulfs of death may swallow, More of flame than all the might of night may hide. Though the whole dark age were loud and void and hollow. Strength of trust -were here, and help for all souls tried, And a token from the flight of that strange swallow ' Whose migration still is toward the wintry side. 19. Never came such token for divine solution From the oraculous live darkness whence of yore Ancient faith sought word of help and retribution. Truth to lighten doubt, a sign to go before. Never so baptismal waters of ablution Bathed the brows of exile on so stern a shore, Where the lightnings of the sea of revolution Flashed across them ere its thunders yet might roar. ' Je suis une hirondelle Strange, car j'^migre Du cote de I'hiver. Lt Livre Lyrique, liii. 200 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. By the lightning's light of present revelation Shown, with epic thunder as from skies that frown, Clothed in darkness as of darkling expiation, Rose a vision of dead stars and suns gone down, Whence of old fierce fire devoured the star-struck nation, Till its wrath and woe lit red the raging town. Now made glorious with his statue's crowning station, Where may never gleam again a viler crown. 21. King, with time for throne and all the years for pages, He shall reign though all thrones else be over- hurled. Served of souls that have his living words for wages. Crowned of heaven each dawn that leaves his brows impearled ; Girt about with robes unrent of storm that rages. Robes not wrought with hands, from no loom's weft unfurled ; All the praise of all earth's tongues in all earth's ages, All the love of all men's hearts in all the world. 22. Yet what hand shall carve the soul or cast the spirit. Mould the face of fame, bid glory's feature glow ? Who bequeath for eyes of ages hence to inherit Him, the Master, whom love knows not if it know? THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 201 Scarcely perfect praise of men man's work might merit, Scarcely bid such aim to perfect stature grow, Were his hand the hand of Phidias who shall rear it, And his soul the very soul of Angelo. 23- Michael, awful angel of the world's last session, Once on earth, like him, with fire of suffering tried, Thine it were, if man's it were, without transgression, Thine alone, to take this toil upon thy pride. Thine, whose heart was great against the world's oppression, Even as his whose word is lamp and staff and guide : Advocate for man, untired of intercession, Pleads his voice for slaves whose lords his voice defied. 24. Earth, with all the kings and thralls on earth, below it. Heaven alone, with all the worlds in heaven, above. Let his likeness rise for suns and stars to know it. High for men to worship, plain for men to love ; Brow that braved the tides which fain would overflow it, Lip that gave the challenge, hand that flung the glove ; Comforter and prophet. Paraclete and poet, Soul whose emblems are an eagle and a dove. 202 THE STATUE OF VICTOR HUGO. 2S- Sun, that hast not seen a loftier head wax hoary, Earth, which hast not shown the sun a nobler birth, Time, that hast not on thy scroll defiled and gory One man's name writ brighter in its whole wide girth, Witness, till the final years fialfil their story. Till the stars break off the music of their mirth, What among the sons of men was this man's glory, What the vesture of his soul revealed on earth. SONNETS 905 HOPE AND FEAR. Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope, With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere, Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope, And makes for joy the very darkness dear That gives her wide wings play ; nor dreams that fear At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope. Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn, May truth first purge her eyesight to discern Vv hat once being known leaves time no power to appal ; Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn The kind wise word that falls from years that fall — ' Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at ail.' 206 AFTER SUNSET. ' Si quis piorum Manibus locus.' Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life : and I, Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest By growth and change of ardours felt on high. Make onward, till the last flame fall and die And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest. Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death. Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath Blows more of benediction than the morn, So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith That half our heart of life there Ues forlorn May light or breath at least of hope be bom. 307 II. The wind was soft before the sunset fled : Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day Is lowered along a red funereal way Down to the dark that knows not white from red, A. clear sheer breeze against the night makes head, Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey, Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead. From far beyond the sunset, far above, Full toward the starry soundless east it blows Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose. Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove ; Till more and more as darkness grows and glows Silence and night seem likest life and love. 208 in. If light of life outlive the set of sun That men call death and end of all things, then How should not that which life held best for men And proved most precious, though it seem undone By force of death and woful victory won, Be first and surest of revival, when Death shall bow down to life arisen again ? So shall the soul seen be the self-same one That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes As love shall doubt not then to recognise, And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense None other than we knew, for evidence That love's last mortal word was not his last ZC9 A STUDY FROM MEMORY. If that be yet a living soul which here Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year, Death can have changed not aught that made it dear ; Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings ; Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer ; A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang By might of nature and heroic need More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed ; A song that shone, a light whence music rang High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought j All these must be, or all she was be nought TO DR. JOHN BRO WN. Beyond the north wind lay the land of old Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread, The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold. None there might wear about his brows enrolled A light of lovelier fame than rings your head, Whose lovesome love of children and the dead All men give thanks for : I far off behold A dear dead hand that links us, and a light The blithest and benignest of the night, The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be A star to show your spirit in present sight Seine happier island in the Elysian sea Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjoriei March 1882. 311 TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. The larks are loud above our leagues of whin Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold With odour like the colour : all the wold Is only light and song and wind wherein These twain are blent in one with shining din. And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled, Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old, Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin. Though all but we from life be now gone forth Of that bright household in our joyous north Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end, First met your hand ; yet under life's clear dome, Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend, Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home. April 20, 1 88a. P2 212 A DEATH ON EASTER DAY. The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise, Rise and make revel, as of old men said, Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed : A light more bright than ever bathed the skies Departs for all time out of all men's eyes. The crowns that girt last night a living head Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead : Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies. Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled, Hope sees, past all division and defection, And higher than swims the mist of human breath, The soul most radiant once in all the world Requickened to regenerate resurrection Out of the likeness of the shadow of death. Afiril 1882. 213 ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARL YLE AND GEORGE ELIOT, Two souls diverse out of our human sight Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder : The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder, Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might Of darkness and magnificence of night ; And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder, Searching if light or no light were thereunder, And found in love of loving-kindness light. Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire Still following Righteousness with deep desire Shone sole and stern before her and above, Sure stars and sole to steer by ; but more sweet Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet, The light of little children, and their love. 214 AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLES REMINISCENCES. I. Three men lived yet when this dead man was young Whose names and words endure for ever : one Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung, But like the strain half uttered earth hears none, Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done : One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung Between the mountains hallowed by his love And the sky stainless as his soul above : And one the sweetest heart that ever spake The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled. These deathless names by this dead snake defiled Bid memory spit upon him for their sake. 2IS n. Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake, Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam, And for my love's sake, powerless as I am For love to praise thee, or like thee to make Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break, Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb. Things hatefuUest thou hadst not heart to damn, Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake. Let worms consume its memory with its tongue, The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung Men's memories uncorroded with its breath. Forgive me, that with bitter words like his I mix the gentlest English name that is. The tenderest held of all that know not death. 2l6 A LAST LOOK. Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank, With German garters crossed athwart thy frank Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl, And boys responsive with reverberate howl Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul. Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven. Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace. Peace upon earth thou knewest not : now, being dead, Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head, Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease. 317 DICKENS. Chief in thy generation born of men Whom English praise acclaimed as English-bom, With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when Reverence of age with love and labour worn. Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn. Shot through them flame that winged th}' swift live pen : Where stars and suns that we behold not burn^ Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place. Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace; Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine. siS ON LAMBS SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS. If all the flowers of all the fields on earth By wonder-working summer were made one, Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun, Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run Breathed life, and all its breath was benison. Beloved beyond all names of English birth, More dear than mightier memories ; gentlest name That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame, Or linked itself with loftiest names of old By right and might of loving ; I, that am Less than the least of those within thy fold, Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb. 319 II. So many a year had borne its own bright bees And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived, John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived So well with craft of moulding melodies, Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived Of summer music from the spring derived When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees. But thine was not the chance of every day : Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny, And light between the clouds ere sunset swam, Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away. When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb. 220 TO JOHN NICHOL. Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute The song saluting friends whose songs are mute With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise. That since our old young years our several ways Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays, The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree, Friendship — this only and duly might impel My song to salutation of your own ; More even than praise of one unseen of me And loved — the starry spirit of Dobell, To mine by light and music only known. 221 H. But more than this what moves me most of all To leave not all unworded and unsped The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall, The sign to friends on earth of that dear head Alive, which now long since untimely dead The wan grey waters covered for a pall. Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems Took never life more taintless of rebuke. More pure and perfect, more serene and kind. Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames^ And made the now more hallowed name of Luke Memorial to us of morning left behind. May mi. 223 DYSTHANATOS. Ad generem Cenris sine cade et vitlnere paitci Descendunt reges, aut skcd morte tyranni. By no dry death another king goes down The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice, For stem compassion and deep awe, rejoice That one sign more is given against the crown, That one more head those dark red waters drown Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys As human hearts that shrink at human frown. The name writ red on Polish earth, the star That was to outshine our England's in the far East heaven of empire — ^where is one that saith Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar ? ' In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath, Few tyrants perish by no violent death.' Marih 14, 1881. 223 EUONYMOS. tZ /liiv ^ Ti/*V iSlSov i'tieri^-v Jan. 23, 1882. 225 BISMARCK AT CANOSSA, Not all disgraced, in that Italian town, The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand, Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand, ■■ And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown. Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band. But now the princely wielder of his land, For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down, No strength is in the foot to spurn : its tread Can bruise not now the proud submitted head : But howmuch more abased, much lower brought low. And more intolerably humiliated, The neck submissive of the prosperous foe, Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow 1 December ^i, 1881, 226 QUIA NO MINOR LEO. What part is left thee, lion ? Ravenous beast, Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope And compass of thine homicidal hope The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast Of souls subdued from west to sunless east, From blackening north to bloodred south aslope, All servile ; earth for footcloth of the pope, And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest ; Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod. Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was GoJ, And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell; Heaven laughs with all his light and might above That earth has cast thee out of faith and love ; Thy part is but the hollow dream of heU. 327 II. The light of life has faded from thy cause, High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory : Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story, But the red prey was rent out of thy paws Long since : and they that dying brake down thy laws Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary High altars, waning with the world's applause. This Italy was Dante's : Bruno died Here : Campanella, too sublime for pride, Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home. And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink For thy sake downward ? What art thou, to think Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome ? January, 1882. Q2 228 THE CHANNEL TUNNEL. Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee, ' Sweet enemy ' called in days long since at end. Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend, Bright sister of our freedom now, being free ; Not for less love or faith in friendship we Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend Between our shores suppression of the sea. Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art Shall these be linked for no man's force to part Nor length of years and changes to divide, But union only of trust and loving heart And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide And spirit at one with spirit on either side. April %, 1882. 229 5Zff WILLIAM GOMM. At threescore years and five aroused anew To rule in India, forth a soldier went On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew .Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo. Landing, he met the word from England sent Which bade him yield up rule : and he, content, Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due ; And wrote as one rejoicing to record That ' from the first ' his royal heart was lord Of its own pride or pain ; that thought was none Therein save this, that in her perilous strait England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great, Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son. 230 II. Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame Go with the warrior's memory who preferred To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred, A.nd acclamation of his own proud name With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame Of pageant honour, and the titular word That only wins men worship of the herd, His countr)''s sovereign good ; who overcame Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth. For this land's love that gave his great heart birth. O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea. Immortal England, goddess ocean-born, What shall ihy children fear, what strengths not scorn, While children of such mould are born to thee ? 231 EUTHANA TOS. In memory of Mrs. Thellusson. Forth of our ways and woes, Forth of the winds and snows, A white soul soaring goes, Winged like a dove : So sweet, so pure, so clear. So heavenly tempered here, Love need not hope or fear her changed above ; Ere dawned her day to die, So heavenly, that on high Change could not glorify Nor death refine her : Pure gold of perfect love, On earth like heaven's own dove, She cannot wear, above, a smile diviner. Her voice in heaven's own quire Can sound no heavenlier lyre Than here : no purer fire Her soul can soar : No sweeter stars her eyes In unimagined skies Beyond our sight can rise than here before. 232 EUTHANATOS. Hardly long years had shed Their shadows on her head : Hardly we think her dead, Who hardly thought her Old : hardly can believe The grief our hearts receive And wonder while they grieve, as wrong were wrought her. But though strong grief be strong No word or thought of wrong May stain the trembling song, Wring the bruised heart, That sounds or sighs its faint Low note of love, nor taint Grief for so sweet a saint, when such depart A saint whose perfect soul, With perfect love for goal, Faith hardly might control, Creeds might not harden : A flower more splendid far Than the most radiant star Seen here of all that are in God's own garden. Surely the stars we see Rise and relapse as we, And change and set, may be But shadows too : But spirits that man's lot Could neither mar nor spot Like these false lights are not, being heavenly true. EUTHANATOS. 233 Not like these dying lights Of worlds whose glory smites The passage of the nights Through heaven's blind prison : Not like their souls who see, If thought fly far and free, No heavenlier heaven to be for souls rerisen. A soul wherein love shone Even like the sun, alone, With fervour of its own And splendour fed. Made by no creeds less kind Toward souls by none confined, Could Death's self quench or blind, Love's self were dead. Febi-uaiy 4, j8iil. 234 FIRST AND LAST. Upon the borderlands of being, Where life draws hardly breath Between the lights and shadows fleeing Fast as a word one saith, Two flowers rejoice our eyesight, seeing The dawns of birth and death. Behind the babe his dawn is lying Half risen with notes of mirth From all the winds about it flying Through new-bom heaven and earth : Before bright age his day for dying Dawns equal-eyed with birth. Equal the dews of even and dawn, Equal the sun's eye seen A hand's breadth risen and half withdrawn ; But no bright hour between Brings aught so bright by stream or la^vn To noonday growths of green. FIRST AND LAST. 235 Which flower of life may smell the sweeter To love's insensual sense, Which fragrance move with offering meeter His soothed omnipotence, Being chosen as fairer or as fleeter, Borne hither or borne hence, Love's foiled omniscience knows not : this Were more than all he knows With all his lore of bale and bliss, The choice of rose and rose. One red as lips that touch with his, One white as moonlit snows. No hope is half so sweet and good, No dream of saint or sage So fair as these are : no dark mood But these might best assuage ; The sweet red rose of babyhood, The white sweet rose of age. 236 LINES ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD JOHN TRE LAWNY. Last high star of the years whose thunder Still men's listening remembrance hears, Last light left of our fathers' years, Watched with honour and hailed with wonder Thee too then have the years borne under, Thou too then hast regained thy peers. Wings that warred with the winds of morning, Storm-winds rocking the red great dawn, Close at last, and a film is drawn Over the eyes of the storm-bird, scorning Now no longer the loud wind's warning. Waves that threaten or waves that fawn. Peers were none of thee left us living. Peers of theirs we shall see no more. Eight years over the full fourscore Knew thee : now shalt thou sleep, forgiving All griefs past of the wild world's giving, Moored at last on the stormless shore. ON EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY. 237 Worldwide liberty's lifelong lover, Lover no less of the strength of song, Sea-king, swordsman, hater of wrong, Over thy dust that the dust shall cover Comes my song as a bird to hover. Borne of its will as of wings along. Cherished of thee were this brief song's brothers Now that follows them, cherishing thee. Over the tides and the tideless sea Soft as a smile of the earth our mother's FUes it faster than all those others, First of the troop at thy tomb to be. Memories of Greece and the mountain's hollow Guarded alone of thy loyal sword Hold thy name for our hearts in ward : Yet more fain are our hearts to follow One way now with the southward swallow Back to the grave of the man their lord. Heart of hearts, art thou moved not, hearing Surely, if hearts of the dead may hear. Whose true heart it is now draws near ? Surely the sense of it thrills thee, cheering Darkness and death with the news now nearing — Shelley, Trelawny rejoins thee here. 238 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. Queen, for whose house my fathers fought, With hopes that rose and fell, Red star of boyhood's fiery thought, Farewell. They gave their lives, and I, my queen, Have given you ol my life, Seeing your brave star burn high between Men's strife. The strife that lightened round their spears Long since fell still : so long Hardly may hope to last in years My song. But still through strife of time and thought Your light on me too fell : Queen, in whose name we sang or fought, Farewell. ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. 239 II. There beats no heart on either border Wherethrough the north blasts blow But keeps your memory as a warder His beacon-fire aglow. Long since it fired with love and wonder Mine, for whose April age Blithe midsummer made banquet undei The shade of Hermitage. Soft sang the burn's blithe notes, that gather Strength to ring true : And air and trees and sun and heather Remembered you. Old border ghosts of fight or fairy Or love or teen, These they forgot, remembering Mary The Queen. III. Queen once of Scots and ever of ours Whose sires brought forth for you Their lives to strew your way like flowers, Adieu. Dead is full many a dead man's name Who died for you this long Time past : shall this too fare the same, My song ? 240 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. But surely, though it die or live, Your face was worth All that a man may think to give On earth. No darkness cast of years between Can darken you : Man's love will never bid my queen Adieu. IV. Love hangs like light about your name As music round the shell : No heart can take of you a tame Farewell. Yet, when your very face was seen, 111 gifts were yours for giving : Love gat strange guerdons of my queen When living. O diamond heart unflawed and clear, The whole world's crowning jewel I Was ever heart so deadly dear So cruel? Yet none for you of all that bled Grudged once one drop that fell: Not one to life reluctant said Farewell. ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. 241 Strange love they have given you, love disloyal, Who mock with praise your name, To leave a head so rare and royal Too low for praise or blame. You could not love nor hate, they tell us, You had nor sense nor sting : In God's name, then, what plague befell us To fight for such a thing ? ' Some faults the gods will give,' to fetter Man's highest intent : But surely you were something better Than innocent ! No maid that strays with steps unwary Through snares unseen. But one to live and die for ; Mary, The Queen. VI. Forgive them all their praise, who blot Your fame with praise of you : Then love may say, and falter not Adieu. 242 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART. Yet some you hardly would forgive Who did you much less wrong Once : but resentment should not live Too long. They never saw your lip's bright bow, Your swordbright eyes, The bluest of heavenly things below The skies. Clear eyes that love's self finds most like A swordblade's blue, A swordblade's ever keen to strike. Adieu. VII. Though all things breathe or sound of fight That yet make up your spell, To bid you were to bid the light Farewell. Farewell the song says only, being A star whose race is run : Farewell the soul says never, seeing The sun. Yet, wellnigh as with flash of tears, The song must say but so That took your praise up twenty years Ago. ADIEUX A MARIE STUART, 243 More bright than stars or moons that vary, Sun kindling heaven and hell, Here, after all these years, Queen Mary, Farewell. 244 HERSE. When grace is given us ever to behold A child some sweet months old, Love, lajdng across our lips his finger, saith, Smiling, with bated breath. Hush ! for the holiest thing that lives is here, And heaven's own heart how near ! How dare we, that may gaze not on the sun. Gaze on this verier one ? Heart, hold thy peace ; eyes, be cast down for shame ; Lips, breathe not yet its name. In heaven they know what name to call it ; we, How should we know? For, see ! The adorable sweet living marvellous Strange light that lightens us Who gaze, desertless of such glorious grace, Full in a babe's warm face ! All roses that the morning rears are nought, All stars not worth a thought, Set this one star against them, or suppose As rival this one rose. Wliat price could pay with earth's whole weight of gold One least flushed roseleaf s fold BERSE. 245 Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine From each warm curve and line, Each charm of flower-sweet flesh, to reillume The dappled rose-red bloom Of all its dainty body, honey- sweet Clenched hands and curled-up feet, That on the roses of the dawn have trod As they came down from God, And keep the flush and colour that the sky Takes when the sun comes nigh, And keep the likeness of the smile their grace Evoked on God's own face When, seeing this work of his most heavenly mood, He saw that it was good ? For all its warm sweet body seems one smile, And mere men's love too vile To meet it, or with eyes that worship dims Read o'er the little limbs. Read all the book of all their beauties o'er. Rejoice, revere, adore, Bow down and worship each delight in turn. Laugh, wonder, yield, and yearn. But when our trembling kisses dare, yet dread, Even to draw nigh its head. And touch, and scarce with touch or breath surprise Its mild miraculous eyes Out of their viewless vision — O, what then, What may be said of men ? What speech may name a new-born child ? what word Earth ever spake or heard ? 246 HERSE, The best men's tongue that ever glory knew Called that a drop of dew Which from the breathing creature's kindly womb Came forth in blameless bloom. We have no word, as had those men most high, To call a baby by. Rose, ruby, lily, pearl of stormless seas — A better word than these, A better sign it was than flower or gem That love revealed to them : They knew that whence comes light or quickening flame, Thence only this thing came, And only might be likened of our love To somewhat born above, Not even to sweetest things dropped else on earth, Only to dew's own birth. Nor doubt we but their sense was heavenly true, Babe, when we gaze on you, A dew-drop out of heaven whose colours are More bright than sun or star. As now, ere watching love dare fear or hope, Lips, hands, and eyelids ope, And all your life is mixed with earthly leaven. O child, v^ hat news from heaven ? 247 TWINS. Affectionately inscribed to W. M. R. and L. R. April, on whose wings Ride all gracious things, Like the star that brings All things good to man, Ere his light, that yet Makes the month shine, set, And fair May forget Whence her birth began, Brings, as heart would choose, Sound of golden news, Bright as kindling dews When the dawn begins ; Tidings clear as mirth. Sweet as air and earth Now that hail the birth. Twice thus blest, of twins. Tn the lovely land Where with hand in hand Lovers wedded stand Other joys before 248 TWINS. Made your mixed life sweet : Now, as Time sees meet, Three glad blossoms greet Two glad blossoms more. Fed with sun and dew, While your joys were new. First arose and grew One bright olive-shoot : Then a fair and fine Slip of warm-haired pine Felt the sweet sun shine On its leaf and fruit. And it wore for mark Graven on the dark Beauty of its bark That the noblest name Worn in song of old By the king whose bold Hand had fast in hold All the flower of fame. Then, with southern skies Flattered in her eyes, Which, in lovelier wise Yet, reflect their blue Brightened more, being bright Here with life's delight, And with love's live light Glorified anew, TWINS. 24c Came, as fair as came One who bore her name (She that broke as flame From the swan-shell white), Crowned with tender hair Only, but more fair Than all queens that were Themes of oldworld fight, Of your flowers the third Bud, or new-fledged bird In your hearts' nest heard Murmuring like a dove Bright as those that drew Over waves where blew No loud wind the blue Heaven-hued car of love. Not the glorious grace Even of that one face Potent to displace All the towers of Troy Surely shone more clear Once with childlike cheer Than this child's face here Now with living joy. After these again Here in April's train Breaks the bloom of twain Blossoms in one birth 250 TWINS. For a crown of May On the front of day When he takes his way Over heaven and earth. Half a heavenly thing Given from heaven to Spring By the sun her king, Half a tender toy, Seems a child of curl Yet too soft to twirl ; Seems the flower-sweet girl By the flower-bright boy. All the kind gods' grace, All their love, embrace Ever either face, Ever brood above them : All soft wings of hours Screen them as with flowers From all beams and showers : All life's seasons love them. When the dews of sleep Falling lighdiest keep Eyes too close to peep Forth and laugh off rest, Joy from face to feet Fill them, as is meet : Life to them be sweet As their mother's breast TWINS. 251 When those dews are dry, And in day's bright eye Looking full they lie Bright as rose and pearl, All returns of joy Pure of time's alloy Bless the rose-red boy, Guard the rose-white girl. Postscript, Friends, if I could take Half a note from Blake Or but one verse make Of the Conqueror's mine^ Better than my best Song above your nest I would sing : the quest Now seems too divine. April 2%, 1881. 252 THE SALT OF THE EARTH. If childhood were not in the world, But only men and women grown ; No baby-locks in tendrils curled, No baby-blossoms blown ; Though men were stronger, women fairer, And nearer all delights in reach, And verse and music uttered rarer Tones of more godlike speech j Though the utmost life of life's best hours Found, as it cannot now find, words ; Though desert sands were sweet as flowers And flowers could sing like birds, But children never heard them, never They felt a child's foot leap and run : This were a drearier star than ever Yet looked upon the sun. 253 SEVEN YEARS OLD. Seven white roses on one tree, Seven white loaves of blameless leaven, Seven white sails on one soft sea, Seven white swans on one lake's lee. Seven white flowerlike stars in heaven, All are types unmeet to be For a birthday's crown of seven. II. Not the radiance of the roses. Not the blessing of the bread. Not the breeze that ere day grows is Fresh for sails and swans, and closes Wings above the sun's grave spread. When the starshine on the snows is Sweet as sleep on sorrow shed, III. Nothing sweetest, nothing best, Holds so good and sweet a treasure 254 SEVEN VEARS OLD. As the love wherewith once blest Joy grows holy, grief takes rest, Life, half tired with hours to measure, Fills his eyes and hps and breast With most light and breath of pleasure ; As the rapture unpolluted, As the passion undefiled, By whose force all pains heart-rooted Are transfigured and transmuted, Recompensed and reconciled, Through the imperial, undisputed, Present godhead of a child. V. Brown bright eyes and fair bright head, Worth a worthier crown than this is. Worth a worthier song instead, Sweet grave wise round mouth, full fed With the joy of love, whose bliss is More than mortal wine and bread, Lips whose words are sweet as kisses, VI. Little hands so glad of giving, Little heart so glad of love, Little soul so glad of living, SEVEN YEARS OLD. 255 While the strong swift hours are weaving Light with darkness woven above, Time for mirth and time for grieving, Plume of raven and plume of dove, VII. I can give you but a word Warm with love therein for leaven, But a song that falls unheard Yet on ears of sense unstirred Yet by song so far from heaven, Whence you came the brightest bird, Seven years since, of seven times seven. 2S6 EIGHT YEARS OLD. Sun, whom the faltering snow-cloud fears, Rise, let the time of year be May, Speak now the word that April hears, Let March have all his royal way j Bid all spring raise in winter's ears All tunes her children hear or play, Because the crown of eight glad years On one bright head is set to-day. II. What matters cloud or sun to-day To him who wears the wreath of years So many, and all like flowers at play With wind and sunshine, while his ears Hear only song on every way ? More sweet than spring triumphant hears Ring through the revel-rout of May Are these, the notes that winter fears. EIGHT YEARS OLD. 257 III. Strong-hearted winter knows and fears The music made of love at play, Or haply loves the tune he hears From hearts fulfilled with flowering May, Whose molten music thaws his ears Late frozen, deaf but yesterday To sounds of dying and dawning years, Now quickened on his deathward way. IV. For deathward now lies winter's way Down the green vestibule of years That each year brightens day by day With flower and shower till hope sc arce fears And fear grows wholly hope of May. But we — the music in our ears Made of love's pulses as they play The heart alone that makes it hears. The heart it is that plays and hears High salutation of to-day. Tongue falters, hand shrinks back, song fears Its own unworthiness to play Fit music for those eight sweet years, Or sing their blithe accomplished way. No song quite worth a young child's ears Broke ever even from birds in May. s 258 EIGHT YEARS OLD. VI. There beats not in the heart of May, When summer hopes and springtide fears, There falls not from the height of day, When sunlight speaks and silence hears, So sweet a psalm as children play And sing, each hour of all their years, Each moment of their lovely way. And know not how it thrills our ears. VII. Ah child, what are we, that our ears Should hear you singing on your way, Should have this happiness ? The years Whose hurrying wings about us play Are not like yours, whose flower-time fears Nought worse than sunlit showers in May, Being sinless as the spring, that hears Her own heart praise her every day. Yet we too triumph in the day That bare, to entrance our eyes and ears, To lighten daylight, and to play Sucli notes as darkness knows and fears, The child whose face illumes our way. Whose voice lifts up the heart that hears, Whose hand is as the hand of May To bring us flowers from eight full years. February 4, 1882. 259 COMPARISONS. Child, when they say that others Have been or are like you. Babes fit to be your brothers, Sweet human drops of dew, Bright fruit of mortal mothers. What should one say or do ? We know the thought is treason. We feel the dream absurd ; A claim rebuked of reason, That withers at a word : For never shone the season That bore so blithe a bird. Some smiles may seem as merry, Some glances gleam as wise, From lips as like a cherry And scarce less gracious eyes ; Eyes browner than a berry. Lips red as morning's rise. S3 26o COMPARISONS. But never yet rang laughter So sweet in gladdened ears Through wall and floor and rafter As all this household hears And rings response thereafter Till cloudiest weather clears. When these your chosen of al! men, Whose honey never cloys, Two lights whose smiles enthrall men, Were called at your age boys, Those mighty men, while small men, Could make no merrier noise. Our Shakespeare, surely, daffed not More lightly pain aside From radiant lips that quaffed not Of forethought's tragic tide : Our Dickens, doubtless, laughed nol More loud with life's first pride. The dawn were not more cheerless With neither light nor dew Than we without the fearless Clear laugh that thrills us through : If ever child stood peerless. Love knows that child is you. 301 WHAT IS DEATH f Looking on a page where stood Graven of old on old-world wood Death, and by the grave's edge grim, Pale, the young man facing him, Asked my well-beloved of me Once what strange thing this might be, Gaunt and great of limb. Death, I told him : and, surprise Deepening more his wildwood eyes (Like some sweet fleet thing's whose breath Speaks all spring though nought it saith). Up he turned his rosebright face Glorious with its seven years' grace, Askings What is death ? 262 A CHILD'S PITY. No sweeter thing than children's ways and wiles, Surely, we say, can gladden eyes and ears : Yet sometime sweeter than their words or smiles Are even their tears. To one for once a piteous tale was read. How, when the murderous mother crocodile Was slain, her fierce brood famished, and lay dead Starved, by the Nile. In vast green reed-beds on the vast grey slime Those monsters motherless and helpless lay, Perishing only for the parent's crime Whose seed were they. Hours after, toward the dusk, our blithe small bird Of Paradise, who has our hearts in keeping, ^^'^as heard or seen, but hardly seen or heard, For pity weeping. He was so sorry, sitting still apart. For the poor little crocodiles, he said. Six years had given him, for an angel's heart, A child's instead. A CHILD'S PITY. 263 Feigned tears the false beasts shed for murderous ends, We know from travellers' tales of crocodiles : But these tears wept upon them of my friend's Outshine his smiles. What heavenliest angels of what heavenly city Could match the heavenly heart in children here ? The heart that hallowing all things with its pity Casts out all fear ? So lovely, so divine, so dear their laughter Seems to us, we know not what could be more dear : But lovelier yet we see the sign thereafter Of such a tear. With sense of love half laughing and half weeping We met your tears, our small sweet-spirited friend : Let your love have us in its heavenly keeping To life's last end. 264 A CHILD'S LAUGHTER. All the bells of heaven may ring, All the birds of heaven may sing, All the wells on earth may spring, All the winds on earth may bring All sweet sounds together ; Sweeter far than all things heard, Hand of harper, tone of bird, Sound of woods at sundawn stirred, Welling water's winsome word, Wind in warm wan weather. One thing yet there is, that none Hearing ere its chime be done Knows not well the sweetest one Heard of man beneath the sun, Hoped in heaven hereafter ; Soft and strong and loud and hght, Very sound of very light Heard from morning's rosiest height, AVhen the soul of all delight Fills a child's clear laughter. A CHILD'S LAUGHTER. 265 Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such notes, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant mouth of gold Here that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale — why, then, Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of sevea 266 A CHILD'S THANKS, How low soe'er men rank us, How high soe'er we win, The children far above us Dwell, and they deign to love us. With lovelier love than ours. And smiles more sweet than flowers ', As though the sun should thank us For letting light come in. With too divine complaisance, Whose grace misleads them thus, Being gods, in heavenly blindness They call our worship kindness, Our pebble-gift a gem : They think us good to them. Whose glance, whose breath, whose presence, Are gifts too good for us. The poet high and hoary Of meres that mountains bind Felt his great heart more often Yearn, and its proud strength soften A CHILD'S THANKS. 267 From stern to tenderer mood, At thought of gratitude Shown than of song or story He heard of hearts unkind. But with what words for token And what adoring tears Of reverence risen to passion, In what glad prostrate fashion Of spirit and soul subdued, May man show gratitude For thanks of children spoken That hover in his ears ? The angels laugh, your brothers. Child, hearing you thank me. With eyes whence night grows sunny, And touch of lips like honey, And words like honey-dew : But how shall I thank you ? For gifts above all others What guerdon-gift may be ? What wealth of words caressing, What choice of songs found best. Would seem not as derision. Found vain beside the vision And glory from above Shown in a child's heart's love ? His part in life is blessing ; Ours, only to be blest. 268 A CHILD'S BATTLES irif iperii' evpdv, — PiNDAR. Praise of the knights of old May sleep : their tale is told, And no man cares : The praise which fires our lips is A knight's whose fame eclipses All of theirs. The ruddiest light in heaven Blazed as his birth-star seven Long years ago : All glory crown that old year Which brought our stout small soldier With the snow ! Each baby born has one Star, for his friends a sun, The first of stars : And we, the more we scan it. The more grow sure your planet, Child, was Mars. A CHILD'S BATTLES. 269 For each one flower, perchance, Blooms as his cognizance : The snowdrop chill. The violet unbeholden. For some : for you the golden Daffodil. Erect, a fighting flower, It breasts the breeziest hour That ever blew. And bent or broke things brittle Or frail, unlike a little Knight like you. Its flower is firm and fresh And stout like sturdiest flesh Of children : all The strenuous blast that parches Spring hurts it not till March is Near his fall. If winds that prate and fret Remark, rebuke, regret. Lament, or blame The brave plant's martial passion. It keeps its own free fashion All the same. We that would fain seem wise Assume grave mouths and eyes Whose looks reprove 270 A CHILD'S BATTLES. Too much delight in battle : But your great heart our prattle Cannot move. We say, small children should Be placid, mildly good And blandly meek : WTiereat the broad smile rushes Full on your lips, and flushes All your cheek. If all the stars that are Laughed out, and every star Could here be heard, Such peals of golden laughter We should not hear, as after Such a word. For all the storm saith, still, Stout stands the daffodil : For all we say, Howe'er he look demurely, Our martialist will surely Have his way. We may not bind with bands Those large and liberal hands, Nor stay from fight, Nor hold them back from giving : No lean mean laws of livhig Bind a knight A CHILD'S BATTLES. 271 And always here of old Such gentle hearts and bold Our land has bred : How durst her eye rest else on The glory shed from Nelson Quick and dead ? Shame were it, if but one Such once were born her son, That one to have borne, And brought him ne'er a brother : His praise should bring his mother Shame and scorn. A child high-souled as he Whose manhood shook the sea Smiles haply here : His face, where love lies basking, With bright shut mouth seems asking, What is fear ? The sunshine-coloiu-ed fists Beyond his dimpling wrists Were never closed For saving or for sparing— For only deeds of daring Predisposed. Unclenched, the gracious hands Let slip their gifts like sands Made rich with ore 272 A CHILD'S BATTLES. That tongues of beggars ravish From small stout hands so lavish Of their store. Sweet hardy kindly hands Like these were his that stands With heel on gorge Seen trampling down the dragon On sign or flask or flagon, Sweet Saint George. Some tournament, perchance, Of hands that couch no lance, Might mark this spot Your lists, if here some pleasant Small Guenevere were present, Launcelot. My brave bright flower, you need No foolish song, nor heed It more than spring The sighs of winter stricken Dead when your haunts requickea Here, my king. Yet O, how hardly may The wheels of singing stay That whirl along Bright paths whence echo raises The phantom of your praises, Child, my song ! A CHILD'S BATTLES. 273 Beyond all other things That give my words fleet wings, Fleet wings and strong, You set their jesses ringing Till hardly can I, singing, Stint my song. But all things better, friend. And worse must find an end : And, right or wrong, 'Tis time, lest rhyme should baffle, I doubt, to put a snaffle On my song. And never may your ear Aught harsher hear or fear. Nor wolfish night Nor dog-toothed winter snarling Behind your steps, my darling My delight ! For all the gifts you give Me, dear, each day you live, Of thanks above All thanks that could be spoken Take not my song in token. Take my love. 274 A CHILD'S FUTURE. What will it please you, my darling, hereafter to be ? Fame upon land will you look for, or glory by sea? Gallant your life will be always, and all of it free. Free as the wind when the heart of the twilight is stirred Eastward, and sounds from the springs of the sunrise are heard : Free — and we know not another as infinite word. Darkness or twilight or sunlight may compass us round, Hate may arise up against us, or hope may confound ; Love may forsake us ; yet may not the spirit be bound. Free in oppression of grief as in ardour of joy Still may the soul be, and each to her strength as a toy: Free in the glance of the man as the smile of the boy. A CHILD'S FUTURE. 275 Freedom alone is the salt and the spirit that gives Life, and without her is nothing that verily lives : Death cannot slay her : she laughs upon death and forgives. Brightest and hardiest of roses anear and afai Glitters the blithe little face of you, round as a star : Liberty bless you and keep you to be as you are. England and liberty bless you and keep you to be Worthy the name of their child and the sight of their sea : Fear not at all ; for a slave, if he fears not, is free. T8 SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS (1590-1650) 279 I. CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire, Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star 1 Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far, Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire Where all ye sang together, all that are, And all the starry songs behind thy car Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire. ' If all the pens that ever poets held Had fed the feehng of their masters' thoughts,' And as with rush of hurtling chariots The flight of all their spirits were impelled Toward one great end, thy glory — nay, not then. Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men. aSo II. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee; Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea, What power is in them all to praise the sun ? His praise is this, — he can be praised of none. Man, woman, child, praise God for him ; but he Exults not to be worshipped, but to be. He is ; and, being, beholds his work well done. All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, Are his : without him, day were night on earth. Time knows not his from time's own period. All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. All stars are angels ; but the sun is God. 28l III. BEN yONSON. Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform, With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine, AVherein the springs of all the streams run wine, And many a crag full-faced against the storm, The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine From tossing torches round the dance aswarm. Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights, High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights Hold converse : and the herd of meaner things Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed. Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings. 282 IV, BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west, Arose two stars upon the pale deep east. The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast, Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased, Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest. Across them and between, a quickening fire, Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire. Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears. Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth. Which rings and glitters down the darkling years. a83 V. PHILIP MASSINGER. Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon Chequered our Enghsh heaven with lengthening bars And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon, When the clear still warm concord of thy tune Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars Yet, Uke a sound of silver speech of stars, With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon. Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face High melancholy lights with loftier grace Than gilds the brows of revel : sad and wise, The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song. Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong, Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes. a84 VI. JOHN FORD. Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom, That his Memnonian likeness thence may start Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art Carved night, and chiselled shadow : be the tomb That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart, As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow His record of rebellion. Not the day Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord, Touching this marble : darkness, none knows how, And stars impenetrable of midnight, may. So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford. 28s VII. yOITN WEBSTER. Thunder : the flesh quails, and the soul bows down. Night : east, west, south, and northward, very night. Star upon struggling star strives into sight. Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown. The very throne of night, her very crown, A man lays hand on, and usurps her right. Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town. Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime, . Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves. Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves. Shapes here and there of child and mother pass. 286 VIII. THOMAS DECKER. Out of the depths of darkling life where sin Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe ; Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in j ^Vhat charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow, Winds that blow healing in each note they blow, Is this that the outer darkness hears begin ? O sweetest heart of all thy time save one, Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun, Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city, Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great. Than thine toward man was more compassionate. Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity. 28; IX, THOMAS MIDDLETON. A WILD moon riding high from cloud to cloud, That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath, Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud: A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud, With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed: A game of close contentious crafts and creeds Played till white England bring black Spain to shame A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds High conscience lights for mother's love and fame : Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds : Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name. 288 X. THOMAS HEYWOOD. Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom, What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright Even yet the laughing and the weeping light That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from ? Small care was thine to assail and overcome Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right Thy name has part with names of lordlier might For English love and homely sense of home, Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bay leaf young And gives it place aloft among thy peers Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled : And this ihy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue — ' O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world 1 ' 289 xr. GEORGE CHAPMAN. High priest of Homer, not elect in vain, Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train : Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain, Takes form and fire and Fashion from thy mind. Tormented and transmuted out of kind : But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain, Like Tailor ' smooth, like Fisher ^ swollen, and now Grim Yarrington ' scarce bloodier marked than thou. Then bluffasMayne's ^ or broad-mouthed Barry's ' glee , Proud still with hoar predominance of brow And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea, Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee. ' Author of The Hog hath lost his Pearl. ' Author of Fuimiis Troes, or the True Trojans. ' Author of Two Tragedies in One. * Author of The City Match. • Author oi Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks, 290 XIl. JOHN MARSTON. The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn. Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne, Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn. Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul, Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud And all the strengths of tyrants ; whence unflawed It keeps this noble heart of hatred whol& 291 xm. yOHN DAY. Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm, AVhen in the skies of song yet flushed and warm With music where all passion seems to strive For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive Struggling along the splendour of the storm, Day for an hour put off his fiery form, And golden murmurs from a golden hive Across the strong bright summer wind were heard, And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May. Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word. When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird, Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day. U 3 293 XIV. yAMES SHIRLEY. The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp That shone across her shades and dewy damp A small clear beacon whose benignant spark Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark, Though changed the watchword of our English camp Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp, When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park. And in the thickening twilight under thee Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he, The bHthest throat that ever carolled love In music made of morning's merriest heart, Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above And reeled on slippery roads of alien art 293 XV. THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN. Sons bom of many a loyal Muse to Ben, All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale, Bright from the broad light of his presence, hail ! Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men, Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail : Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale, Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen : Marmion, whose verse keeps alvvay keen and fine The perfume of their Apollonian wine Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine : Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see? 394 XVI. ANONYMOUS PLAYS: 'ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM: Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men, Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames, Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then, Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen Which drew, reflected from encircling flames, A figure marked by the earlier of thy names Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen Marked by the sign of murderess ? Pale and great, Great in her grief and sin, but in her death And anguish of her penitential breath Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate, She stands, the holocaust of dark desire, Clothed round with song for ever as with fiie. 295 XVII. ANONYMOUS PLAYS. Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour, Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims For ever, but forgetfulness defames And darkness and the shadow of death devour, Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power. Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames And smile, albeit night name not even their names, Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower : That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed Singing, and light was from its darkness cast To paint the face of Painting fair with praise : ' And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure Between two child-faced masks of merrier days.* ' Doctor Dodypol. » Nobody and Somebody, 2g6 XVIIl. ANONYMOUS PLAYS. More yet and more, and yet we mark not all : The Warning fain to bid fair women heed Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed ; ' The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall Whence Nero watched his fiery festival ; ^ That iron page wherein men's eyes who read See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed, A mad red-handed husband's martyr fall ; ^ The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife ; * And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend, Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one, Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened In the jjleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton.* • A Warning for Fair Women, ' The Tragedy of Nero. ' A Yorkshire Tragedy. • Look about you. • The Merry Devil of Edmontot^, 297 XIX. THE MANY. Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers, Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage : Peek, froip whose hand the sweet white locks of age Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours : Nash, laughing hard : Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers: And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers : Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves : And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse : Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves, Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse : Live likewise ye : Time takes not you for slaves. 29S XX. THE MANY. II. Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will : Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird And keen alternate notes of laud and gird : Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil : Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word : Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred : Turk Mason : Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand : Light Nabbes : lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns, But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns : Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland : Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns : Praise be with all, and place among our band. 299 XXI. EPILOGUE. Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith, Found first among the nations : once, when she Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare : once, when death Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath More than thy place, then first among the firee, More than that sovereign lordship of the sea Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth, More than thy fiery guiding- star, which Drake Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake, More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand. This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong. That thou wast head of all these streams of song, And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land. A DARK MONTH. 'La maison sans eniants!' — Victor Huoa 303 A MONTH without sight of the sun Rising or reigning or setting Through days without use of the day, Who calls it the month of May? The sense of the name is undone And the sound of it fit for forgetting. We shall not feel if the sun rise, We shall not care when it sets : If a nightingale make night's air As noontide, why should we care ? Till a light of delight that is done rise. Extinguishing grey regrets ; Till a child's face lighten again On the twilight of older faces ; Till a child's voice fall as the dew On furrows with heat parched through And all but hopeless of grain. Refreshing the desolate places — Fall clear on the ears of us hearkening And hungering for food of the sound 304 A DARK MONTH. And thirsting for joy of his voice : Till the hearts in us hear and rejoice, And the thoughts of them doubting and darkening Rejoice with a glad thing found. When the heart of our gladness is gone, What comfort is left with us after ? When the light of our eyes is away, What glory remains upon May, What blessing of song is thereon If we drink not the light of his laughter ? No small sweet face with the daytime To welcome, warmer than noon ! No sweet small voice as a bird's To bring us the day's first words ! Mid May for us here is not Maytime : No summer begins with June. A whole dead month in the dark, A dawn in the mists that o'ercome her Stifled and smothered and sad — Swift speed to it, barren and bad ! And return to us, voice of the lark. And remain with us, sunlight of summer. A DARK MONTH. 305 II. Alas, what right has the dawn to glimmer, What right has the wind to do aught but moan? All the day should be dimmer Because we are left alone. Yestermorn like a sunbeam present Hither and thither a light step smiled, And made each place for us pleasant With the sense or the sight of a child. But the leaves persist as before, and after Our parting the dull day still bears flowers ; And songs less bright than his laughter Deride us from birds in the bowers. Birds, and blossoms, and sunlight only, As though such folly sufficed for spring 1 As though the house were not lonely For want of the child its king 1 3o6 A DARK MONTH. III. Asi.EEP and afar to-night my darling Lies, and heeds not the night, If winds be stirring or storms be snarling ; For his sleep is its own sweet light. I sit where he sat beside me quaffing The wine of story and song Poured forth of immortal cups, and laughing When mirth in the draught grew strong. I broke the gold of the words, to melt it For hands but seven years old, And they caught the lale as a bird, and felt it More bright than visible gold. And he drank down deep, with his eyes broad beaming. Here in this room where I am, The golden vintage of Shakespeare, gleaming In the silver vessels of Lamb. A DARK MONTH. 307 Here by my hearth where he was I listen For the shade of the sound of a word, Athirst for the birdhke eyes to ghsten, For the tongue to chirp hke a bird. At the blast of battle, how broad they brightened, Like fire in the spheres of stars, And clung to the pictured page, and lightened As keen as the heart of Mars ! At the touch of laughter, how swift it twittered The shrillest music on earth ; How the lithe limbs laughed and the whole child glittered With radiant riot of mirth ! Our Shakespeare now, as a man dumb-stricken, Stands silent there on the shelf : And my thoughts, that had song in the heart of them, sicken, And relish not Shakespeare's self. And my mood grows moodier than Hamlet's even, And man delights not me. But only the face that morn and even My heart leapt only to see. That my heart made merry within me seeing. And sang as his la«gh kept time : But song finds now no pleasure in being, And love no reason in rhyme. 3o8 A DARK MONTH. IV. Mild May-blossom and proud sweet bay-flower, What, for shame, would you have with us here ? It is not the month of the May-flower This, but the fall of the year. Flowers open only their lips in derision. Leaves are as fingers that point in scorn : The shows we see are a vision ; Spring is not verily born. Yet boughs turn supple and buds grow sappy, As though the sun were indeed the sun : And all our woods are happy With all their birds save one. But spring is over, but summer is over, But autumn is over, and winter stands With his feet sunk deep in the clover And cowslips cold in his hands. His hoar grim head has a hawthorn bonnet, His gnarled gaunt hand has a gay green staff With new-blown rose-blossom on it : But nis laugh is a dead man's laugh. A DARK MONTH. 309 The laugh of spring that the heart seeks after, The hand that the whole world yearns to kiss, It rings not here in his laughter, The sign of it is not this. There is not strength in it left to splinter Tall oaks, nor frost in his breath to sting : Yet It is but a breath as of winter. And it is not the hand of spring. 3IO A DARK MONTH. Thirty-one pale maidens, clad All in mourning dresses, Pass, with lips and eyes more sad That it seems they should be glad, Heads discrowned of crowns they had, Grey for golden tresses. Grey their girdles too for green, And their veils dishevelled : None would say, to see their mien, That the least of these had been Bom no baser than a queen, Reared where flower-fays revelled. Dreams that strive to seem awake, Ghosts that walk by daytime, Weary winds the way they take, Since, for one child's absent sake. May knows well, whate'er things make Sport, it is not Maytime. A DARK MONTH. sit VI. A HAND at the door taps light As the hand of my heart's delight : It is but a full-grown hand, Yet the stroke of it seems to start Hope like a bird in my heart, Too feeble to soar or to stand. To start light hope from her cover Is to raise but a kite for a plover If her wings be not fledged to soar. Desire, but in dreams, cannot ope The door that was shut upon hope When love went out at the door. Well were it if vision could keep The lids of desire as in sleep Fast locked, and over his eyes A dream with the dark soft key In her hand might hover, and be Their keeper till morning rise j 312 A DABK MONTH. The morning that brings after many Days fled with no light upon any The small face back which is gone ; When the loved little hands once more Shall struggle and strain at the door They beat their summons upon. A DA UK MONTH. 313 VII. If a soul for but seven days were cast out of heaven and its mirth, They would seem to her fears like as seventy years upon earth. Even and morrow should seem to her sorrow as long As the passage of numberless ages in slumberless song. Dawn, roused by the lark, would be surely as dark in her sight As her measureless measure of shadowless pleasure was bright. Noon, gilt but with glory of gold, would be hoary and grey In her eyes that had gazed on the depths, unamazed with the day. Night hardly would seem to make darker her dream never done, When it could but withhold what a man may behold of the sun. 314 A DARK MONTH. For dreams would perplex, were the days that should vex her but seven, The sight of her vision, made dark with division from heaven. Till the light on my lonely way lighten that only now gleams, I too am divided from heaven and derided of dreams. A DARK MONTH. 315 VIII. A TWILIGHT fire-fly may suggest How flames the fire that feeds the sun : ' A crooked figure may attest In little space a million.' But this faint-figured verse, that dresses With flowers the bones of one bare month, Of all it would say scarce expresses In crooked ways a millionth. A fire-fly tenders to the father Of fires a tribute something worth : My verse, a shard-borne beetle rather, Drones over scarce-illumined earth. Some inches round me though it brighten With light of music-making thought, The dark indeed it may not lighten, The silence moves not, hearing nought. Only my heart is eased with hearing, Only mine eyes are soothed with seeing, A face brought nigh, a footfall nearing. Till hopes take form and dreams have being. 3i6 A DARK MONTH. DC. As a poor man hungering stands with insatiate eyes and hands Void of bread Right in sight of men that feast while his famine with no least Crumb is fed, Here across the garden-wall can I hear strange chil- dren call, Watch them play, From the windowed seat above, whence the goodUer child I love Is away. Here the sights we saw together moved his fancy like a feather To and fro, Now to wonder, and thereafter to the sunny storm of laughter Loud and low — A DARK MONTH. 317 Sights engraven on storied pages where man's tale of seven swift ages All was told — Seen of eyes yet bright from heaven— for the lips that laughed were seven Sweet years old. 3i8 A DARK MONTH. Why should May remember March, if March forget The days that began with December, The nights that a frost could fret ? All their griefs are done with Now the bright months bless Fit souls to rejoice in the sun with, Fit heads for the wind's caress ; Souls of children quickening With the whole world's mirth, Heads closelier than field-flowers thickening That crowd and illuminate earth, Now that May's call musters Files of baby bands To marshal in joyfuller clusters Than the flowers that encumber their hands. Yet morose November Found them no less gay. With nought to forget or remember Less bright than a branch of may. A DARK MONTH. 319 All the seasons moving Move their minds alike Applauding, acclaiming, approving All hours of the year that strike. So my heart may fret not, Wondering if my friend Remember me not or forget not Or ever the month find end. Not that love sows lighter Seed in children sown. But that life being lit in them brighter Moves fleeter than even our own. May nor yet September Binds their hearts, that yet Remember, forget, and remember, Forget, and recall, and forget. 320 A DARK M0N2H. XI. As light on a lake's face moving Between a cloud and a cloud Till night reclaim it, reproving The heart that exults too loud, The heart that watching rejoices When soft it swims into sight Applauded of all the voices And stars of the windy night, So birief and unsure, but sweeter Than ever a moondawn smiled. Moves, measured of no tune's metre, The song in the soul of a child ; The song that the sweet soul singing Half listens, and hardly hears, Though sweeter than joy-bells ringing And brighter than joy's own tears ; The song that remembrance of pleasure Begins, and forgetfulness ends With a soft swift change in the measure That rings in remembrance of friends A DARK MONTH. 321 As the moon on the lake's face flashes, So haply may gleam at whiles A dream through the dear deep lashes AVhereunder a child's eye smiles, And the least of us all that love him May take for a moment part With angels around and above him, And I find place in his heart 322 A DARK MONTH. XIL Child, were you kinless and lonely — Dear, were you kin to me — My love were compassionate only Or such as it needs would be. But eyes of father and mother Like sunlight shed on you shine : What need you have heed of another Such new strange love as is mine ? It is not meet if unruly Hands take of the children's bread And cast it to dogs ; but truly 'I'he dogs after all would be fed. On crumbs from the children's table That crumble, dropped from above, My heart feeds, fed with unstable Loose waifs of a child's light love. Though love in your heart were brittle As glass that breaks with a touch, You haply would lend him a little Who surely would give you much. A DARK MONTH. 323 XIII. Here is a rough Rude sketch of my friend, Faint-coloured enough And unworthily penned. Fearlessly fair And triumphant he stands, And holds unaware Friends' hearts in his hands ; Stalwart and straight As an oak that should bring Forth gallant and great Fresh roses in spring. On the paths of his pleasure All graces that wait What metre shall measure What rhyme shall relate Each action, each motion, Each feature, each limb, Demands a devotion In honour of him : 324 A DARK MONTH. Head that the hand Of a god might have blest. Laid lustrous and bland On the curve of its crest : Mouth sweeter than cherries Keen eyes as of Mars Browner than berries And brighter than stars. Nor colour nor wordy- Weak song can declare The stature how sturdy, How stalwart his air. As a king in his bright Presence-chamber may be, So seems he in height — Twice higher than your knea As a warrior sedate With reserve of his power, So seems he in state — As tall as a flower : As a rose overtowering The ranks of the rest That beneath it lie cowering, Less bright than their best A DARK MONTH. 325 And his hands are as sunny As ruddy ripe corn Or the browner-hued honey From heather-bells borne. When summer sits proudest, Fulfilled with its mirth, And rapture is loudest In air and on earth, The suns of all hours That have ripened the roots Bring forth not such flowers And beget not such fruits. And well though I know it. As fain would I write, Child, never a poet Could praise you aright I bless you ? the blessing Were less than a jest Too poor for expressing ; I come to be blest. With humble and dutiful Heart, from above : Bless me, O my beautiful Innocent love 1 326 A DARK MONTH. This rhyme in your praise With a smile was begun ; But the goal of his ways Is imcovered to none, Nor pervious till after The limit impend ; It is not in laughter These rhymes of you end. A DARK MONTH. 327 XIV. Spring, and fall, and summer, and winter, Which may Earth love least of them all, Whose arms embrace as their signs imprint her, Summer, or winter, or spring, or fall ? The clear-eyed spring with the wood-birds mating. The rose-red summer with eyes aglow, The yellow fall with serene eyes waiting. The wild-eyed winter with hair all snow ? Spring's eyes are soft, but if frosts benumb her As winter's own will her shrewd breath sting : Storms may rend the raiment of summer, And fall grow bitter as harsh-lipped spring. One sign for summer and winter guides me, One for spring, and the like for fall : Whichever from sight of my friend divides me, That is the worst ill season of all. 328 A DARK MONTH. XV. Worse than winter is spring If I come not to sight of my king : But then what a spring will it be When my king takes homage of me 1 I send his grace from afar Homage, as though to a star ; As a shepherd whose flock takes flight May worship a star by night. As a flock that a wolf is upon My songs take flight and are gone : No heart is in any to sing Aught but the praise of my king. Fain would I once and again Sing deeds and passions of men : But ever a child's head gleams Between my work and my dreams. Between my hand and my eyes The lines of a small face rise, .And the lines I trace and retrace .Are none but those of the face. A DARK MONTH. 329 XVI. Till the tale of all this flock of days alike All be done, Weary days of waiting till the month's hand strike Thirty-one, Till the clock's hand of the month break ofT, and end With the clock. Till the last and whitest sheep at last be penned Of the flock, I their shepherd keep the count of night and day With my song, Though my song be, like this month which once was May, All too long. 330 A DARK MONTH. XVII. The incarnate sun, a tall strong youth, On old Greek eyes in sculpture smiled ; But trulier had it given the truth To shape him like a child. No face full-grown of all our dearest So lightens all our darkness, none Most loved of all our hearts hold nearest So far outshines the sun. As when with sly shy smiles that feign Doubt if the hour be clear, the time Fit to break off my work again Or sport of prose or rhyme. My friend peers in on me with merry Wise face, and though the sky stay dim The very light of day, the very Sun's self comes in with him. A DARK MONTH. 331 XVIII. Out of sight, Out of mind ! Could the hght Prove unkind ? Can the sun Quite forget What was done Ere he set? Does the moon When she wanes Leave no tune That remains In the void Shell of night Overcloyed With her light? Must the shore At low tide Feel no more Hope or pride, 332 A DARK MONTH. No intense Joy to be, In the sense Of the sea — In the pulses Of her shocks It repulses, When its rocks Thrill and ring As with glee ? Has my king Cast off me, Whom no bird Flying south Brings one word From his mouth ? Not the ghost Of a word Riding post Have I heard, Since the day When my king Took away With him spring, ^ DARK MONTH. 333 And the cup Of each flower Shrivelled up That same hour, With no light Left behind. Out of sight. Out ot mind I 334 ^ DARK MONTH. XIX. Because I adore you And fall On the knees of my spirit before you — After all, You need not insult, My king. With neglect, though your spirit exult In the spring, Even me, though not worth, God knows, One word of you sent me in mirth, Or one rose Out of all in your garden That grow Where the frost and the wind never harden Flakes of snow. Nor ever is rain At all. Rut the roses rejoice to remain Fair and tall — A DARK MONTH. 335 The roses of love, More sweet Than blossoms that rain from above Round our feet, When under high bowers We pass, Where the west wind freckles with flowers All the grass. But a child's thoughts bear More bright Sweet visions by day, and more fair Dreams by night, Than summer's whole treasure Can be : What am I that his thought should take pleasure, Then, in me ? I am only my love's True lover, With a nestful of songs, like doves Under cover, That I bring in my cap Fresh caught. To be laid on my small king's lap — Worth just nought. 336 A DARK MONTH. Yel it haply may hap That he, When the mirth in his veins is as sap In a tree, Will remember me too Some day Ere the transit be thoroughly through Of this May- or perchance, if such grace May be, Some night when I dream of his face, Dream of me. Or if this be too high A hope For me to prefigure in my Horoscope, He may dream of the place Where we Basked once in the light of his face, Who now see Nought brighter, not one Thing bright, Than the stars and the moon and the sun, Day nor night. A DARK MONTH. 337 XX. Day by darkling day, Overpassing, bears away Somewhat of the burden of this weary May. Night by numbered night, Waning, brings more near in sight Hope that grows to vision of my heart's delight Nearer seems to bum In the dawn's rekindling urn Flame of fragrant incense, hailing his return. Louder seems each bird In the brightening branches heard Still to speak some ever more delightful word. All the mists that swim Round the dawns that grow less dim Still wax brighter and more bright with hope of him. 7, 338 A DARK MONTH. All the suns that rise Bring that day more near our eyes When the sight of him shall clear our clouded skies. All the winds that roam Fruitful fields or fruitless foam Blow the bright hour near that brings his bright face home. A DARK MONTH. 339 XXI. I HEAR of two far hence In a garden met, And the fragrance blown from thence Fades not yet. The one is seven years old, And my friend is he : But the years of the other have told Eighty-three. To hear these twain converse Or to see them greet Were sweeter than softest verse May be sweet. The hoar old gardener there With an eye more mild Perchance than his mild white hair Meets the child. I had rather hear the words That the twain exchange Than the songs of all the birds There that range. 340 A DARK MONTH Call, chirp, and twitter there Through- the garden-beds Where the sun alike sees fair Those two heads, And which may holier be Held in heaven of those Or more worth heart's thanks to see No man knows. A DARK MONTH 341 xxn. Of such is the kingdom of heaven. No glory that ever was slied From the crowning star of the seven That crown the north world's head, No word that ever was spoken Of human or godlike tongue, Gave ever such godlike token Since human harps were strung. No sign that ever was given To faithful or faithless eyes Showed ever beyond clouds riven So clear a Paradise. Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven And blood have defiled each creed : If of such be the kingdom of heaven, It must be heaven indeed. 342 A DARK MONTH. XXIII. The wind on the downs is bright As though from the sea : And morning and night Take comfort again with me. He is nearer to-day, Each night to each morning saith, Whose return shall revive dead May With the balm of his breath,. The sunset says to the moon, He is nearer to-night Whose coming in June Is looked for more than the light. Bird answers to bird, Hour passes the sign on to hour, And for joy of the bright news heard Flower murmurs to flower. - A DARK MONTH. 343 The ways that were glad of his feet In the woods that he knew Grow softer to meet The sense of his footfall anew. He is near now as day, Says hope to the new-born light : He is near now as June is to May, Says love to the night. 344 A DARK MONTH. XXIV. Good things I keep to console me For lack of the best of all, A child to command and control me. Bid come and remain at his call. Sun, wind, and woodland and highland, Give all that ever they gave : But my world is a cultureless island. My spirit a masterless slave. And friends are about me, and better At summons of no man stand : But I pine for the touch of a fetter, The curb of a strong king's hand. Each hour of the day in her season Is mine to be served as I will : And for no more exquisite reason Are all served idly and ilL A DARK MONTH. ^45 By slavery my sense is corrupted, My soul not fit to be free : I would fain be controlled, interrupted, Compelled as a thrall may be. For fault of spur and of bridle I tire of my stall to death : My sail flaps joyless and idle For want oi a small child's bicatL. 346 A DARK MONTH. XXV. Whiter and whiter The dark lines grow. And broader opens and brighter The sense of the text below. Nightfall and morrow Bring nigher the boy Whom wanting we want not sorrow, Whom having we want no joy. Clearer and clearer The sweet sense grows Of the word which hath summer for hearer, The word on the lips of the rose. Duskily dwindles Each deathlike day, Till June rearising rekindles The depth of the darkness of May. A DARK MONTH. 347 XXVI. *In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere,^ Stars in heaven are many, Suns in heaven but one : Nor for man may any Star supplant the sun. Many a child as joyous As our far-off king Meete as though to annoy us In the paths of spring. Sure as spring gives warning, All things dance in tune : Sun on Easter morning, Cloud and windy moon, Stars between the tossing Boughs of tunefiil trees. Sails of ships recrossing Leagues of dancing seas ; 348 A DARK MONTH. Best, in all this playtime, Best of all in tune, Girls more glad than Maytime, Boys more bright than June ; Mixed with all those dances. Far through field and street Sing their silent glances. Ring their radiant feet. Flowers wherewith May crowned ua Fall ere June be crowned : Children blossom round us All the whole year round. Is the garland worthless For one rose the less. And the feast made mirthless ? Love, at least, says yes. Strange it were, with many Stars enkindling air. Should but one find any Welcome : strange it were, Had one star alone won Praise for light from far : Nay, love needs his own one Bright particular star. A DARK MONTH. 349 Hope and recollection Only lead him right In its bright reflection And collateral light Find as yet we may not Comfort in its sphere : Yet these days will weigh not When it warms us here ; When full-orbed it rises, Now divined afar : None in all the skies is Half so good a star ; None that seers importune Till a sign be won : Star of our good fortune, Rise and reign, our sun I 3SO A DARK MONTH. XXVII. I PASS by the small room now forlorn Where once each night as I passed I knew A child's bright sleep from even to mom Made sweet the whole night through. As a soundless shell, as a songless nest, Seems now the room that was radiant then And fragrant with his happier rest Than that of slumbering men. The day therein is less than the day. The night is indeed night now therein : Heavier the dark seems there to weigh, And slower the dawns begin. As a nest fulfilled with birds, as a shell Fulfilled with breath of a god's own hymn, Again shall be this bare blank cell, Made sweet again with him. A DARK MONTH. 35* XXVIII. Spring darkens before us, A fkme going down, With chant from the chorus Of days without crown — Cloud, rain, and sonorous Soft wind on the down. She is wearier not of us Than we of the dream That spring was to love us And joy was to gleam Through the shadows above us That shift as they stream. Half dark and half hoary. Float far on the loud Mild wind, as a glory Half pale and half proud From the twilight of story, Her tresses of cloud j 352 A DARK MONTH. Like phantoms that glimmer Of glories of old With ever yet dimmer Pale circlets of gold As darkness grows grimmer And memory more cold. Like hope growing clearer With wane of the moon, Shines toward us the nearer Gold frontlet of June, And a face with it dearer Than midsummer noon. A DARK MONTH. 353 xxrx. You send me your love in a letter, I send you my love in a song : Ah child, your gift is the better, Mine does you but wrong. No fame, were the best less brittle. No praise, were it wide as earth, Is worth so much as a little Child's love may be worth. We see the children above us As they might angels above : Come back to us, child, if you love us, And bring us your love. A A 354 -^ DARK MONTH, XXX. No time for books or for letters : What time should there be ? No room for tasks and their fetters ; Full room to be free. The wind and the sun and the Maytime Had never a guest More worthy the most that his playtime Could give of its best. If rain should come on, peradventure, (But sunshine forbid !) Vain hope in us haply might venture To dream as it did. But never may come, of all comers Least welcome, the rain, To mix with his servant the summer's Rose-garlanded train 1 A DARK MONTH 355 He would write, but his hours are as busy As bees in the sun, And the jubilant whirl of their dizzy Dance never is done. The message is more than a letter, Let love understand, And the thought of his joys even better Than sight of his hand. 3S6 A DARK MONTH. XXXI. Wind, high-souled, full-hearted South-west wind of the spring ! Ere April and earth had parted, Skies, bright with thy forward wing. Grew dark in an hour with the shadow behind it, that bade not a bird dare sing. Wind whose feet are sunny, Wind whose wings are cloud, With lips more sweet than honey Still, speak they low or loud, Rejoice now again in the strength of thine heart: let the depth of thy soul wax proud. We hear thee singing or sighing. Just not given to sight. All but visibly flying Between the clouds and the light. And the light in our hearts is enkindled, the shadow therein of the clouds put to flight A DARK MONTH. 357 From the gift of thine hands we gather The core of the flowers therein, Keen glad heart of heather, Hot sweet heart of whin, Twin breaths in thy godlike breath close blended of wild spring's wildest of kin. All but visibly beating We feel thy wings in the far Clear waste, and the plumes of them fleeting, Soft as swan's plumes are, f And strong as a wild swan's pinions, and swift as the flash of the flight of a star. As the flight of a planet enkindled Seems thy far soft flight Now May's reign has dwindled And the crescent of June takes light And the presence of summer is here, and the hope of a welcomer presence in sight. Wind, sweet-souled, great-hearted Southwest wind on the wold I From us is a glory departed That now shall return as of old. Borne back on thy wings as an eagle's expanding, and crowned with the sundawn's gold. 35 8 A DARK MONTH. There is not a flower but rejoices, There is not a leaf but has heard: All the fields find voices, All the woods are stirred: There is not a nest but is brighter because of the coming of one bright bird. Out of dawn and morning, Noon and afternoon, The sun to the world gives warning Of news that brightens the moon ; And the stars all night exult with us, hearing of joy that shall come with June. 359 SUNRISE. If the wind and the sunlight of April and August had mingled the past and hereafter In a single adorable season whose life were a rapture of love and of laughter, And the blithest of singers were back with a song ; it again from his tomb as from prison, If again from the night or the twilight of ages Aristo- phanes had arisen, With the gold-feathered wings of a bird that were also a god upon earth at his shoulders, And the gold-flowing laugh of the manhood of old at his lips, for a joy to beholders, He alone unrebuked of presumption were able to set to some adequate measure The delight of our eyes in the dawn that restores them the sun of their sense and the pleasure. For the days of the darkness of spirit are over for all of us here, and the season When desire was a longing, and absence a thorn, and rejoicing a word without reason. 36o SUNRISE. For the roof overhead of the pines is astir with delight as of jubilant voices, And the floor underfoot of the bracken and heather alive as a heart that rejoices. For the house that was childless awhile, and the light of it darkened, the pulse of it dwindled, Rings radiant again with a child's bright feet, with the light of his face is rekindled. And the ways of the meadows that knew him, the sweep of the down that the sky's belt closes. Grow gladder at heart than the soft wind made them whose feet were but fragrant with roses. Though the fall of the year be upon us, who trusted in June and by June were defrauded, And the summer that brought us not back the desire of our eyes be gone hence unapplauded. For July came joyless among us, and August went out from us arid and sterile. And the hope of our hearts, as it seemed, was no more than a flower that the seasons imperil. And the joy of our hearts, as it seemed, than a thought which regret had not heart to remember. Till four dark months overpast were atoned for, and summer began in September. Hark, AprU again as a bird in the house with a child's voice hither and thither : See, May in the garden again with a child's face cheering the woods ere they wither. June laughs in the light of his eyes, and July on the sunbright cheeks of him slumbers. SUNRISE. 301 And August glows in a smile more sweet than the cadence of gold-mouthed numbers. In the morning the sight of him brightens the sun, and the noon with dehght in him flushes, And the silence of nightfall is music about him as soft as the sleep that it hushes. We awake with a sense of a sunrise that is not a gift of the sundawn's giving, And a voice that salutes us is sweeter than all sounds else in the world of the living, And a presence that warms us is brighter than all in the world of our visions beholden, Though the dreams of our sleep were as those that the light of a world without grief makes golden. For the best that the best of us ever devised as a likeness of heaven and its glory, What was it of old, or what is it and will be for ever, in song or in story. Or in shape or in colour of carven or painted resem- blance, adored of all ages, But a vision recorded of children alive in the pictures of old or the pages ? Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven if they come not again shall be never : But the face and the voice of a child are assurance of heaven and its promise for ever. SfottUwoode 6* Co.^ PritiUrs,'^New-street Square^ LottiUn B B [S»j!t. iBgjt LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WIND US in ST. MARTIN'S LANE, CHARING CROSS, LONDON. W.C. About (Edmond).— The Fellah: An Egyptian Nbvelr "Translated by Sir RANDAL ROBERTS. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2J. - Adams (W. Davenport), Works by. - . n A Dictlouavy of the Drama; beiner a comprehensive Guide to the Flays, Flayvrngrlits. 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The Woman of the Iron Bracelets. The Harding Scandal. I A MiaslDg Witness. By 'BELLE.' Vavhtl and Esther. _ _ „,„« By SirW. BESANT and J. RICE. Beady-MoneyMortlboy. | By CeUa^s Ajbour. Mv Little Girl. With Harp and Crown. This Son of Tolcan. The Golden Entterf y. The Monks of Thelema. Chaplain of the Fleet. The Seamy Side. The Case of Mr. Lucraft. In Trafalgar s Bay. The Ten Tears' Tenant. By Sir WALTER BESANT. All Sorw and Condi- The Bell of St. Fanl'i. The Holy Rose. Armorel of Lyonesse. S.Eatherfne's by Tower Verbena Camellia Ste- phanotls. The Ivory Gate. The Rebel Qneen. Beyond the Dreams of Avarice. The Master Craftsman. The C.ty of Refuge. tlons of Men. The Captains' Room. All in a Garden Fair. Dorothy Forster. mcle Jack. _ _ The World Went Very Well Then. Children of Glbeon. Eerr Faulns. For Faith and Freedom. To CaU^Her Mine. The Revolt of Man. \„ «,,„„_— By PAUL BOURQET. ''"'^^y^ROBERT BUCHANAN. Shadow of the Sword. ""-* "— »*""•' A Child of Nature. God and the Man. Martyrdom of Madeline LoveMe for Ever. Annan Water. Foxglove Manor. The Hew Abeiard. Matt. I Rachel Dene. Master of thi Mine. The Beir ot Linne. Woman and the Man. Rtid and White Heather. Lady Kilratrlcb. ROB. BUCHANAN & HY. MURRAY ^'"g';'j':*MITCHELL CHAPPLE. ^•*^°^?rHALLCAINE. The Bhadow of a Crime. I Tie Eeemiler. ^"■""""irANNE' COAXES. '"""BTiWACLAREN COBBAN. '■'•''''bw.LKlETollLNl ' Armadale.] AfterDark. KoName. lAntonin* Basil. I Hide and Seek. The Dead Secret. Qneen of Beaxtr. My MiBceUanies. The Woman In White. The Moonstone. Man and Wife, poor Miss BlncB, Mies or Mrs. 7 Tbe New Magdalen, The Frozen Deep. The Two Destinies. The Law and. the Lady. The Haunted HoteL The Fallen Leaves. Jezebel's Danghter. The Black Eooe. Heart and Science. ' I Bay No.' Little Novels. The Evil Qenlttff. The Legacy of CalA A Rogue's Life. Blind, Love, The Real Lady HDda. Married or Single t Two Masteri, IntheRiagdom of Eerry Interference. A Third Person, The Village Comedy. t ^f>^ ^^7 ™^ False. By B. H. COOPER. GeoSory Hamilton. By V. CECIL COTES. Two Girls en a Barge. By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. His Vanished Star. By H. N. CRELLIN. Romances of the Old Seraglio. By MATT CRIM. The Adventures of a Fair Rebel. By S. R. CROCKETT and others. Tales of Our Coast. By B. M. CROJCER. Diana Barrlngton. Proper Pride. A Family Likeness. Pretty Miss Neville. A Bird of Passage. • To Let.* I Mr. Jervlfl. Village Tales & Jungle Tragedies. By WILLIAM CYPLES. Hearts of Gold. By ALPHONSE DAUDET. The Evangelist ; or, fort Salvation. By H, COLEMAN DAVIDSON. Mr. Sadler's Daughters. By ERASMUS DAWSON. The Fountain of Tenth. By JAMES DE MILLE. A Castle In Spain. By. J. LEITH DERWENT. Cur Lady of Tears. I Circe's Lovers. By DICK DONOVAN. Tracked to Doom. I The Mystery of Jamalea Man from Manchester. 1 Terrace. The Chronicles of Michael Danevitch. By RICHARD DOWLINO. "^'^^"T/kfco'NAN DOYLE. %'rs."'jeANNEtTB DUNCAN. A Daughter or To-day. I Vernonji Aunt. By a. MANVILLE FENN. The New MiBtreee. I The meer "l/- ., '''^'' By R. E. FRANCILLON. One by One. I Eopee of Sand. A Dog and bit Sladow. Jack Doyle'» Daughter. VrefacedTby Sir BARTLE FRERE. ^"•^'"r^^'BwARD GARRETT. The cape. fflrl..p^jjj^ QAULOT. ^"""-BrcHARLES GIBBON, Bobln Gray. I Of B^gh Degree. I The Golden Gbaft. QLANVILLE. I The Golden Rock. I Tales ftom the VelM Loving a Dreain.__ By p. The Lost Heiresl. A Fair Colonist. ""'°"'°^rE. J. GOODMAN. ""irRev."lfBAlllNa GOULD. Bed Bplder. \ Evo. By CECIL GRIFFITH. CoilntUft tianuion. 98 CHATTO & WINDUS, ill St. Martin's Lane, London, W.c. The Piccadilly (3/6) Hovkus— continued. By SYDNEY ORUNDY. Tli« DJtyi of hli Tuiitr. By OWEN HALL. The Track of a Storm. I Jetiatn. By THOMAS HARDY. ITnder the Greenwood Tree. By BRET HARTE. A Waif of the rUina. * - - - A Ward of the Ooiden Gabe. ' [Sprlngi. A Sappho of Green Col. Btarhottle'i Client. Siuy. I Sally Dowi. Bell-Singer of Angel'i, A Protegee of Jack Humlin'i. Clarence. Barker's Luck. DeTil's Ford. [celi*or.' The Crusade of the ' Ex- Three Partners. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. Beatrix Randolph. JBayld Foindexter's Dis- appearance. '^e Spectra oS the Camera. Garth. ElUce Qnoutln. Sebastian Strom*. Dust. Fortnne'i Fool. By Sir A. HELPS, Ivan de Biron. By I, HENDERSON. Agatha Page. By a. A. HENTY. Rnjnb the Jnggler, | The Queen's Cap. Dorothy's Donble. | By John hill. The Common Ancestor. Py Mrs. HUNaERFORD. Lady Terner's Flight. The Bed-Honse Mys* jry The Three Graces. Professor's Experiment. A Point of Conscience. Nora C^'einSf An Anzloai Moment. April's Lady. Peter's Wife. By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. The Leaden Casket. I Sftlf- Condemned. That Other Person. | Mrs. Juliet. By C. J. CMTCLIFFE HYNE. Houonr of ThleTes>- By R. ASHE KING. A Drawn Game. l. By EDMOND LEPELLETItR. Uadame Sans 06ne. ■'* By HARRY LINDSAY. Rhoda Roberts. By HENRY W. LUCY. Gideon Fle7ce By E. LYNN LINTON. Patricia KembaU. — . - . Under which Lord ? ' My Love I ' I lone. Faston Carew. Sowing the Wind. _ By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. A Fair Saxon. Donna (j^iixote. Linley Rochford. — --^ * ... Dear Lady Disdain. C>imiola. Waterdale Nei^bonrs, My Enemy's Daughter. Miss Misanthrope, The Atonement of Learn Dandas. The World Well Lost. The Gas Too Many. Dnlcie Everton. .Maid o| Athens. The Comet of a Season. TheDlctator. Red Diimonds. The Riddle Ring. The Three Disgraces. By JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY. A London Legend. I The Royal Christopher. By GEORGE MACDONALD. Heather and Snow. \ Phantastes. By L. T. MEADE. A Soldier or FortuMBiV- TTho Voice of th« la an Iron Grin. ■ '■ - | - Charmer. By L. T. MEADE atid CLIFFORD HALIFAX, M.D. Dr. Rnmsey's Fat ent. By LEONARD MERRICK.. This Stage of Fools, I Cynthia. By BERTJ^AM MITFORD. The Gun Runner. / 1 Thu Rtng'^A^sse^al. The Luck 6/ Gerard ^enshav Panning 's Rldgeley. - _^ ■ Quest. . By J. E. MUDDOCK^ Uald Marian and.Jtobin Hood. - Baslle the Jesttr, 1 Yovkng LocblnTar. By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. Cynic Fortune. The Way of the World. BobMartin B Little GlrL Time's Revenges. A Wasted Crime. In Direst Peril. Mount Despair. A Capful o' Mails. Tales and Poems. A Life's Atonement. Joseph's Coat. Coals of Fire. Old Blazer's Hero. Val Strange, t Hearts. A Model Father. By the Gate of the Sea. A Bit of Human Nature, First Person Singular. By MURRAY and HERMAN. The Bishops' Bible. I Paul Jones's Alias. One Traveller Returns. | By HUME NISBET. • Ball VpV By W. E. NORRIS. Saint Ann's. ~ , | Billy Bellew. By G. OHNET. A Weird Gift. By Mrs. OLIPHANT. The Sorceiess. By OUIDA. Held in Bondage. Two Little Wooden Strathmore. InaWlnterCity. Shoai Chandos. Friendship. Under Two Flagi. Moths, i Ruffino. Idalla. lQAg9. PipUtreUo. Cecil Oastlemaine'i A village Commqnfl. Tricotrin. | Pack. BlmbL | Wanda. FoUe Farina. Frescoes. | Othmar. ADogof Planderi. InMaremma. Pa^carel. | Slgna. Syrlln. | Gnlldorov. Princess Napraxine. Sahta Barbara. Ariadne. Two Offenders. By MARGARET A. PAUL. Gentle and Simple. L02t Sir Massingberd. Less Black than We're Fainted. A Confidential Agent. A Grape from a Thorn. In Fetll and Privation. The Mystery of Mlr- Br Proxy. [bridge. The Canon's Ward. Walter's Word. By JAMES PAYN. High Spirits. Under One Roof. Glow worm Tales. The Talk of the Town. Holiday Tasks, For Cash Only. The Burnt Million. The Word and the WilL Sunny Stories. A Trying Patient. By WILL PAYNE. * Jerry the Dreamer. By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED. Outlaw and Lawmaker. I Mi's. Tregaakiss. Ciiriitina Chard, | By E. C. PRICE. Valentlna. | Foreigners. | Mrs. Lancaster s Rlvat By RICHARD PRYCE. Miss Maxwell's Affections. « „ By CHARLES READE, Peg WoEDngton ; and " "" ~" Christie Johnstone, Hard Cash. Cloister A the Hearth. Never Too Late to Mend The Course of Tme Love Never Did Run Smooth ; and Single- heart andDoubleface. Autobiography of a Thief; Jack of all T'adea; A Hero and a Martyr; and The Wandering Heir. Griffith Gaunt. Love Me Little, LoTO Me Long. The Donble Mania^e. Foul Play. Put Yonrselt In His Place. A Terrible Temptation, A Simpleton. A Woman-Hater, The Jilt. & others cries; & Good Stories of Man and.ofcher Animals. A Perilous Secret. Readiana; and Blblft Characters, H. RIDDELL. _ , By Mrs. J. Weird Stories. »v „ ?yj- ^- ROBINSON. The HandB of Ju.tlcs, | woman in tbe Dir» By DORA RUSSELL. A Oonntry gwe.tluut. | Ik. Drift ol ratt. >.nario at WINDUS, III St. Martin's Lane. London, W.C. ThB PlCCADlLlY (3/6) NOVELS-eo«(l»«erf. Boot forthe Hammock. Good BMv 'Mohock' Myrteryof 'dcm BUr' The OoBylot "hip? The Bomanca orjenay Heart ol Oak. Hulowe. The nie of the Ten. An OceanTraeedy. The Last Entrr By BAYLE ST. JOHN. A Levantine Family. By JOHN SAUNDERS. Gay Waterman. | The Two Dreamers. Bound to ths Wheel, ThB Lion In the Path. By KATHARINE SAUNDERS. Margaret and EUsaheth I Heart Balvage, Gideon's Bock. Sebaatian. The High MUli. I By ADELINE SERQEANT- Dr. Endfcott'B Experiment. By HAWLEY SMART. Wlthont Love or Licence. I The Ontslder. The Muter of Kathkelly. Beatrice ft Benedick. Long Odds. I A Kaclng Rubber. By T, W. SPEiaHT. A Secret of the Sea. I TheMaaterof Trenanee. The Grey Monk. | A Minion of the Moon. By ALAN ST. AUBYN. A Fellow of Trinity. I In Face of the World. The Junior Dean. Orchard Damerel. Master orst.Benedict'i. I The Tremlett Diamonds. Tohli Own Master. t By JOHN STAFFORD. Doris and I. By RICCARDO STEPHENS. The Cruciform Mark. By R. A. STERNDALE. The Afghan Knife. By r: LOUIS STEVENSON. The Suicide dub. By BERTHA THOMAS. Proud Maisie. | 7hi Violin-Player. By ANTHOr;V TROLLOPE. The Way we Live Hovr. | BcarLoroagh's Family. Fran Fro^T^^'^" 1 The Land-League ra 39 By PRANCES E. TROLLOPE. Like Ships upon the 1 Anne Fomeis. Sea. I Mabel's Progress. By IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c. Stories firom Foreign Novelists. By MARK TWAIN. Tom Sawyer, Detective. Fndd'nhead Wilson. The Gilded Am, Prluce and the Fauf er. Life on the Mississippi. The Adventures of Hnckleherry Finn. A Yankee at the Court of Kin g Arthur. Stolon White Elephant, £1,000,0C0 Banknote. Mark Twain's Choice Works. Mark Twain's Library of Humour. The Innocents Abroad. Roughing It; and The Innocents at Home. A Tramp Abroad. , TheAmerlcan Claimant. AdventuresTomSawyer Tom Sawyer Abroad. By C. C. FRASER.-TYTLER. Mistress Judith. By SARAH TYTLER. Lady Bell. [The Macdonald Lais. Buried Diamone. .. The Tents of Shem. By E. LESTER ARNOLD. Phra the Phoenician. . _^ BY FRANK BARRETT. The Scallywag Thi-! Mortal Coll. At Market Value. Fettered for Life. Little Lady Linton. B'^tween Life & Death. The Bin <^ Olga Zassou licb. ■ FoUyMorrlBOD. Ueut. Barnabas, ^onest Davie. A Prodigal's Progress. Found Guilty. A Recoiling Vengeance. For Love and'Hononr. John Ford; and His Helpmate. The Woman of the Iron Bracelet*) By SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. Grantley Grange. By Sir W. BESANT and J, RICE. Ready- Money Mortiboy My Little Girl. With Harp and Crown. This Son of Vulcan. The GolHen Butterfly. The Monks of Tfielema. By Cella's Arbour. Chaplain of the fleet. The Seamy Side, The Case of Mr. Lucraft. In Trafalgar's Bay. The Ten Te&rs> Tenant, By Sir WALTER BESANT. All Sorts and Condi- tions of Men. The -Captains' Room. All in a Garden Fair. Dorothy Forster. Uncle Jadk. The World Went Very Well Then. Children of GIbeon. Herr Faulus. For Faith and Freedom. To Call Her Mine. The Bell of StvFanl'fl, The Holy Rose. - Armorel of Lyonesse. SiKatherlne's by ToWer, Verbena Camellia Ste*' phanotis. The Ivory Gate. The Rebel Queen. Beyord the Dredms of 'Avarice. In the Mi^t of Life. By FREDERICK BOYLE Camp Notes. "^ '"' ' " Savage Life. BY BRET HARTE. Callfomlan Stories. Gabriel Conroy. The Luck of Roaring Camp.^ An aelresi of Bed Dog. Chronicles of No man's Land. Flip. I Maruja. A Phyllis of the Sierras. AWalf of thePlfllns. A Ward tfl the Golden aate. ao CHATTO & WINDU5, iii St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C. Two-Shilling Novels — continued. By HAROLD BRYDOES. Uncle Sam at Home. By ROBERT BUCHANAN. Shadow of the Sword. A Child of Natnre. God and the Mam LoTfl Me for Ever. Foxglove Manor. The Master of the Mine. Annan Water. The Martyrdom of Ma- deline. The New Abelard. Matt. The Heir of Llnn'^. Woman and the Man. Rachel Dene. By BUCHANAN and MURRAY. The Charlatan, By HALL CAINE. The Ehadowof aCrime. I The Deemster. A Son of Hagar. | By Commander CAMERON. The Crulie of the ' Black Prince.' By Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON. Decalvers Ever. | JnUet'i Ouardiiin. By HAYDBN CARRUTH. The AdTentnrea of Jones. By AUSTIN CLARE. Tor the Love of a LasB. • ,„ By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE. Panl Ferroll, Why Paul FerroU Killed his Wife. By MACLAREN COBBAN. The Cure of Soule. | The Red Snltan. _ By C. ALLSTON COLLINS. The Bar Sinister. By MORT, & FRANCES COLLINS. Sweet Anne Page, Transmigration. From MTdnlght to Mid night. A Flgbt with Fortune, Sweet and Twenty. The Village Comedy. Tou Plav ipe False. Blacksmith and Scholar Frances. By WILKIB COLLINS. Araadale. \ AfterDark, No Name. Antonlna. BasU. Hide and Seek, The Dead Secret. Queen of Hearts. Hiu or Mrs. 7 The New Magdalen. The Frozen Deep. The Xaw and the Lady The Two Destinies. The Haunted Hotel. A Rogue's Life. _ By M. J. COLQUHOUN. Et sry Inch a Soldier. By DUTTON COOK. l*o- I Paul Foster's Daughter, By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mouutaioi ^ ... *_^y MATT CRIM. The AdT«Btnres of a Fair Rebel. By B. M. CROKER. My Miscellanies. The Woman In White. The Moonstone. Man and Wife. Poor Miss Finch. The Fallen Leaves. Jezebel's Daughter. The Black Robe. Heart and Science. 'I Say No I' The EvU Genius. Little Novels. Legacy of Cain, Blind Love. Family Likeness. Village Tales and Jungle Tragedies. Two MasteriL Mr. Jervis. CYPLES. Pretty MlBBNevlUe, Diana Barrlngton, 'To Let.' A Bird of Passagfl. Proper Pride. By W. Eeartf of Gold. By ALPHONSE DAUDET. The Evangelist : or, fort Salvation. By ERASMUS DAWSON. The Fonntaltt of Touth. By JAMES DE MILLE. A Castle In Spain. By J. LEITH DERWENT. Car Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. By CHARLES DICKENS. Ckrtchea by Boz. By DICK DONOVAN In the Grip of ihe Law. From Information Re- ceived. Tracked to Doom. Link bv Link Suspicion Arouied. Darlc Deeds. Biddies Read. The Man-Hunter. Tracked and Taken, Caught at Last I Wanted I Who Folsoned Hetty Duncan 7 Man from Manchester. ADetectlve'6 Triumphs muuio« i TiM Mystery of Jamaica Terrace. , By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES. A Point of Honour. ( Archie Lovell. ^ By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. FellcU. I Kitty. ^ By EDWARD EOOLESTON. Rozy. ^ ^^ By O. MANVILLE FENN. The New Mistress. I The Tiger Lily. Witness to the Deed. | The White Virgin. , „ vBy PERCY FITZGERALD. Bella Donna. | Second Mrs. Tillotson. Never Forgotten. Seventy - five Brooke Po"r. Street. Fatal Zero. [ The Lady of Brantomo ^ By P. FITZGERALD and others. strange Secrets. By ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE. Filthy Lucre. E. FRANCILLON. King or Knave? Romances of the Law. Ropes of Sand. A Dog and his Shadow. By R Olympla. One by One. A Re^ Queen. Queen Cophetna. ^ ^ By HAROLD FREDERIC. Seth's Brother's Wife. | The Lawton Girl. Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERE Pandurang Hari. By HAIN FRISWELL. One of Two. By EDWARD GARRETT. The Capel Girls. ^,? GILBERT GAUL. A Strange Manuscript. By CHARLES QI^BON Robin Gray. Fancy Free. For Lack of Gold. What will World Say 7 In Love and War. For the King. In Fastuces Green. Queen of the Meadow. A Heart's Problem. The Dead Heart. In Honour Bound. Flower of the Forest The Braes of 7arrow. The Golden Shaft. Of High Degree. By Mead and Stream. Loving a Dream. A Hard Knot. Heart's Delight. Blood-Money. By WILLIAM GILBERT. Dr. Austin's Quests. | The Wizard of the James Duke. | Mountain. nn. r ^7 ERNEST GLANVILLE. The Lost Heiress. 1 The Fossicker A Fair Colonist | „ By Rev. S. BARING GOULD Red Spider. | etq . „ „ By HENRY GREVILLE- A Noble Woman. | Nikanor By CECIL GRIFFITH. Oorinthia Marazion. " -^"^ •^ ■ « « <• «.u «. By SYDNEY GRUNDY. The Diy s of his Vanity. "- "^ ^ ' ^^ » • , ^ By JOHN HABBERTON. «rueton'B Bayou. | Country Luck. E.er.faJplpT..'*^^ HALLIDAY. n«- .^ ^^ THOMAS HARDY. under the Oreenwood Tree Ihel^.Vi.^.^'^^'CK HARWOOD. eriATTO & ^iNDtJ^, 111 §t. Martln»s Lane, London, W.d. ^i Two-SHiLt.iNG Novels— con«««erf. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. Beatrix Randolph. Love— or a. Name. Cavid Folndexter'i Dlx- appearance. The Spectre of the Camera. , .^Z Sir ARTHUR HELPS. Ivan de Biron. Qarth. EHlce Quentla. Fortune's Fool, Uiia Cadogna. Sebaatlan Strom*. Pttit, By G. Unjuli the Jnggler. A. HENTY, _ ^ ^ By HENRY HERMAN. A Leading L&dy. By HEADON HILU Zambra the Detective. By JOHN HILL. Treaion Feloiiy. By Mrs. CASHEL HOEY. The Lover's Creed. By Mrs. QEORQB HOOPER. The Hoiue of Raby. By TIGHE HOPKINS. Twixt Love and Duty. By Mrs, HUNGBRPORD. A Uatden all Forlorn. In Durance Vile. Marvel. A Mental Struggle. A Modem Circe. Lady Verner'a Plight The Red House Mystei y The Three Qraceg Unsatisfactory Lover. Lady Fatty. By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. Thomlcroft's ModeL J Self-Condemned. That Other Person. | The Leaden Casket. By JEAN INGELOW. Fated to be Free. By WM. JAMESON. Uy Dead BeLF. By HARRIETT JAY. ne Dark Colleen. | Queen of Conuaught. By MARK KERSHAW. Colonial Facts and Fictions. By R. ASHE KING. ADrawn Game. I Passion's Slave. ' The Wearing of the Bell Barry. Oreen.' I By EDMOND LEPELLETIER. Uadame Sans Gene. By JOHN LEYS. The Lindsays. By E. LYNN_ LINTON. Fatrlcia Kemhall, The World Well Lost. Dnder which Lord 7 Paston Carev. ' My Love I ' lone. By HENRY W, Gideon Fleyce. By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. The Atonement of Leam Dundas. With a Silken Thread. Behei of the Family. Sowing the Wind. The One Too Many. "' LUCY. Camlola. Donna Quixote. Maid of Athens. The Comet of a Season. Tiie Dictator. Red Diamonds. MACCOLL. Dear Lady Disdain. Waterdale Neighbours. Ky Enemy's Daughter. AFalr'Sazcn. Linley Rochford. Miss Misanthrope. By HUGH Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet. By GEORGE MACDONALD. Heather and Snow. _ By AGNES MACDONELL. Qnafcer Cousins. By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID The RvU Eye. I Lost Eose. ™ i^™ g ^ „ 'mallock. A Romance of the Nine- 1 The New E*nnbUc. teenth Century. i By FLORENCE MARRY AT. Open I Sesame I I A Harvest of Wild Oats, fighting the Air, | Written in Fire, By J. MASTERMAN. Half-a-dozen Daughters, , By BRANDER MATTHEWS. A Secret of the Sea. By L. T. MEADE. A Soldier of Fortune. By LEONARD MERRICK. The Man who was Good. By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. By Mrs. MOLESWORTH. Eathercourt Rectory. By J. E. MUDDOCK. Stories Weird and Won- 1 From the Bosom of the derful. ' Deep; The Dead Man's Secret. 1 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. By the Gate of the Sea, A Bit of Human Nature, First Person Singular. Bob Martin's Little Girl Time's Revenges. A Wasted Crime. In Direst Peril. Mount Despair. A Model Father. Joseph's Goat. Coals of Fire. Val Strange. I Hearts, Old Blazer's Hero. The Way of the World. Cynic Fortune. A Life's Atonement, By MURRAY and HERMAN. One Traveller Returns, I The Bishops' Bible. Paul Jones's Alias. | By HENRY MURRAY. A Game of Bluff. | A Bong of Sixpence. By HUME NISBET. ' Ball Up 1 ' j Dr.Beruard St. Vincent. By W. E. NORRIS. Saint Ann's. By ALICE O'HANLON. The Unforeseen. | Chance ? or Fate T By GEORGES OHNET. Dr. Rameau. I A Weird Gift. A La«t Love. { By Mrs. OLIPHANT. Whiteladies. 1 The Greatest Heiress in The Primrose Fath. I England. By Mrs. ROBERT O'REILLY. Phoebe's Fortunes. By OUIDA. Held in Bondage. Sbrathmore, CiiaudoB. IdaUa. Under Two Flags. Cecil Castlemaine'sGage Trlcotrln. Pack. Folle Farlne. A Dog of Fianderi. Fascarel. Slgna. Princess Napraxlna. In a Winter City. Ariadne. - Friendship. Two Lit. Wooden Shoes. Moths. Elmbi. Fipistrello. A Village Commune. Wanda. Othmar Frescoes. In Mar^mma, Gullddroy. Ruffino. Syrlin. Santa Barbara. Two Offenders. Ouida'B Wisdom, and Pathos. Wit, By MARGARET AGNES PAUL. Gentle and Simple. By C. L. PIRKIS. Lady Lovelace, By EDGAR A. POE. The Mystery of Marie Roget. By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED, The Romance of a Station. The Soul of Countess Adrian. Outlaw and Lawmaker. Christina Chard. By E. C. PRICE. Valentlna. I Mrs. Lancaster's Rival, The Foreigners. ! Gerald. By RICHARD PRYC8. Wm Maxwell's Affectiom. CHATTO & WIN0US, iii St. Martin*^ Laile, tOndon. W.G. Two-Shilling tiov^^s— continued. By JAMES PAYN. Bentlnck's Tutor. "' " *" * ICarphy'i Master. A Coontr Famllsr. At Her Mercy. Cecil's Tryst. The OlytEards of CTyffe. The Foster Brotheri. Foimd Dead- The Best of Husbands. Walter's Wor* Halves. Fallen Fortunes. Hnmorous Stories. £200 Reward. A Marine Residence. Mirk Abbey By Proxy. Under One Roof. High Spirits. Carlyou's Tear. From Exile. For Cash Only. Kit. The Canon's "V^axi. The Talk of ^e Town. Holiday Tasks. A Perfect Treasure. What He Cost Her. A Confidential Agent. Glow-worm Tales. The Burnt Million. Sonny Stories. Lo9t Sir Massingberd. A Woman's Vengeance, The Family Scapegrace. Gwendoline's Harvest. Like Father, Like Son. Married Beneath Him. Not Wooed, but Won. Less Black than We're Painted. Some Private Views, A Grape from a Thorn. The Mystery of Mir- brldee. The Word and the Will. A Prince of the Blood. A Trying Patient. By CHARLES READB. It Is Never Too Late to , A Terrible Temptation. Mend. Christie Johnstone. The Double Marriage. Put Tonrsolf in His Place Love Me Little, Love Ue Long. The Cloister and the Hearth, The Coarse of True Love. The Jlltk The Autobiography of a Thief. By Mra. J, Weird Stories. Fairy Water. Her Mother's Darling. The Prince of Wales's Garden Party. Foul Flay. The Wandering Heir, Hard Cash. Singleheart and Double- face. Good Stories of Ma Grifath Gaunt. A Perilous Secret. A Simpleton. Keadlana. A Woman-Hater, H, ftlDDEIX. Tho Uninhabited House. The Mystery in Palace Garden^. The Nun's Curse. Idle Tales. By AMEUB RIVES. Barbara Dering. By F. W. ROBINSON. Women are Strange, t ^^^ Hands of Justice. By JAMES RUNCIMAN. Skippers and Shellbacks. | Schools and Scholars. Grace Balmalgn's Sweetheart. By W. CLARK RUSSELL, The Romance of Jenny Harlowe. All Ocean Tragedy, My Shipmate Louise. Alone ouWldeWide Sea. The Good Ship 'Mo- hock.' The Phantom Death. Round the GaUey Fire. On the Fo'k'sle Head. In the Middle Watch. A Voyage to the Cape. ^ Book for the Jia: mockr Iir^ mystery of the * Ocean Star.' By DORA RUSSELL. A Country Sweetheart. By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. Gaslight and Daylight. By JOHN SAUNDERS. Guy Waterman. I The Lion in the Patlu The Two Dreamers. I By KATHARINE SAUNDERS. Joan Merryweather, I Sebastian. The High Mills. Margaret and Eliza- Heart Salvage. I beth. By GEORGE R. SIMS. The Ring o' Bells. Mary Jane's Memoirs. Mary Jane Married. Tales of To-day. Dramas of Life. Tinkletop's Crime. My Two Wives. Zeph. M^Qiautf. a La n dlaJj. Scenes from the Showl The 10 CommEindments. Dagonet Abroad. By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. ihint- - ■ A Match In the Dark, By HAWLEY SMART. Without Love or Licence. The Plunger. Beatrice and Benedick. By T^ W. SPEIGHT. Back to Life. The LoudwaterTragedy. Burga's Romance. Quittance in Full. A Husband from the Sea The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. The Golden Hoop. Hoodwinked. ' By Devious Ways. By ALAN ST. AUBVN. A Fellow of Trinity. |' To His Own Master. The Junior Dean. Orchard Damerel. Master of St.Benedlct's ] In the Face of theWorld. By R. A. STERNDALE, Tho Afghan Knife. By R. LOUIS STEVENSON. New Arabian Nights. By BERTHA THOMAS. Cresslda. I The Violin-Player. Frond Malsle. | By WALTER THORNBURY. Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Retold. By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. Diamond Cut Diamond. By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE. Like Ships upon tiie I Anne Fumess. Sea. I Mabel's Progress. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE, Fraa f rohmann, Marion Fay. % Kept In the Dark. John Caldlgate. The Way We Live Now, The Land-Leaguers. The American Senator. Mr. Scarborough's Family. GoldenLion of Granpero T. TROWBRIDGE. By J. ' Farnell'B Folly. By IVAN TURQENIEFF. &c. Stories item Foreign Novelists. By MARK TWAIN. A Pleasure Trip on the Continent. The Glided Age. Huckleberry Finn. MarkTwain's Sketches. Tom Sawyer. A Tramp Abl^Oftd. Stolen White Elephant. By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER Mistress Judith. By SARAH TYTLER. Life on the Mlsalsslppl. The Prince and tne Pauper. A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur. The £1,000,000 Bank- Note. The Huguenot Family. The Blackball Ghosts. What SheCameThrough Beauty and the Beast, Citoyenne Jaqueline. The Bride's Pass. Burled Diamonds, St. Mungo'B City. Lady Bell. Noblesse Oblige, Disappeared.. By ALLEN UPWARD. The Queen againsb Owen. | Prince of Balkistan. ' God Save the Queen I ' By AARON WATSON and LILLIAS WASSERAIANN. The Marquis of Carabas. By WILLIAM WESTALL. Trust- Money. By Mrs. F. H. WILLIAMSON. A Child Widow. By J. S. WINTER. Cavalry Life. I Regimental Legends.. By H. F. WOOD. The Passenger ftom Scotland Yard. The Englishman of the Rue Cain. By Lady WOOD. Sablna. Rac! By EDMUND YATES. The Forlorn Hope. I Castaway. Land at Last. ' By GELIA PARKER WOOLLEY;. ;nel Armstrong ; or. Love and Tlieology. Ghetto Tragedies. By L 2ANGWILL. diei OGDEHi SMALE AlfD CO. LIUITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C».