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PATE DUE 
 AUG 1 1 1952 
 
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DAPHNE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
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DAPHNE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK TENNYSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'days AND HOUKS' 
 
 HonOon 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 189I 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
f\. 
 
 ns-] 
 
 •2. A- 
 
DELOS 
 DAPHNE 
 
 The coming Day flush'd all the orient, 
 
 And more and more the purple dawnlight soar'd 
 
 To radiant glory, as Apollo trod. 
 
 With breeze-blown locks, the long Olympian slopes. 
 
 His harp upon his shoulders, as he came. 
 
 Dashing away from him the diamond dews 
 
 With his swift feet, that seem'd afire with haste 
 
 And joy. But lo ! the darkness on his brows 
 
 Speaks but of pain ; and, were he not a God, 
 
 Those twin pearls in his eyes were unshed tears ; 
 
 And those pale lips, that never yet had paled. 
 
 Seem touch'd as with a winter of despair. 
 
 And yet the odorous breezes rang the chords 
 
 Of his gold harp, as tho' to waken up 
 
 The heart of the high minstrel, and his tongue 
 
 To their wont use — the, song, the morning song. 
 
 The p^an, which the sleep of Nature hears 
 
 VOL, II B 
 
DELOS 
 
 Ev'n in its dreams and listens — and the birds 
 
 Under the thickets sparkle forth a note, 
 
 And then another, till the woodlands seethe, 
 
 Their green waves surging, a melodious sea. 
 
 With flooded music. From the marble steeps 
 
 The cataracts fling themselves with conscious pride, 
 
 And pour upon the winds their rolling bass. 
 
 Set to the forest's harmony, and catch 
 
 Upon their azure shields the first broad lance 
 
 Of sunrise, as the swift empyreal shafts 
 
 Shoot o'er the peaks down thro' the purple glooms, 
 
 Like thunderbolts of gold. He, the great King 
 
 Of Day, was silent, and he listen'd not 
 
 To all that music, and his eyes were blind 
 
 To all that beauty ; yet his step was swift. 
 
 And now he paused upon the bloomed edge 
 
 Of a green hill, the last before the vale 
 
 Spread out its wobds and waters ; and he stood 
 
 Musing awhile ; his tall, immortal form 
 
 To the shy wood-gods, and the satyrs, rose 
 
 Dark and gigantic on the glowing light ; 
 
 But the blind eyes of men beheld him not. 
 
 And he advanced, and raised his hand, and sinote 
 
 The golden harp ; and worldwide pulses ran 
 
 Round the deep sky, keen, vital, undulant ; 
 
 And, glancing from the airy peak, rolled back 
 
 The vast illumined gates of volumed cloud. 
 
 In answer to that cry, and lifted hand, 
 
 The great Sun, sceptred Monarch of the world. 
 
DAPHNE 3 
 
 Nature's sole king, look'd from his mountain throne ; 
 
 And mortal vision veil'd itself, and bow'd 
 
 Before him, and the heart of all things throbb'd 
 
 Exulting adoration without fear. 
 
 The laughters of the woodnymphs, and the fawns. 
 
 From their high bowered walks, and arched aisles 
 
 Of forestry, ran down the glens and vales. 
 
 As they peep'd out a moment, and then fled 
 
 To their cool grots, or to the sloping green 
 
 Of rivulet banks, that rush'd away beneath 
 
 The curtains of wild rose, and eglantine. 
 
 And the tall oaks, and beeches swung their heads 
 
 Before the waved banners of the winds, 
 
 That blew their trumpets on before the king. 
 
 The dark lakes shiver'd with ^ fearful joy. 
 
 And flash'd it back into the sovran eye 
 
 In splendour worthy of him ; and far off 
 
 Surf-smitten shores, and rosy headlands, laugh'd 
 
 Hush'd rapture, and were felt, although unheard 
 
 The glad hymns of the ocean-beaten isles. 
 
 Then turn'd he toward the plain, and hark ! the mirth 
 
 Of man came up in mingled shout and song, 
 
 And the shrill cries of merry children, crost 
 
 By bleat, and bark, and low of oxen, fiU'd 
 
 The plain with the blithe utterance of the bliss 
 
 That glows through all things. " Happy ye," he said, 
 
 " Who with your simple instincts taste the joy 
 
 I bring ye with the daylight ; whose prone loves 
 
 Draw from the breast of Nature their sole boon, 
 
DELOS 
 
 And seek no higher. If the simple herd 
 
 That drives ye to the pool — the shepherd boy 
 
 That gathers the wild flock — the fowler skill'd 
 
 To snare his birds — could make ye feel the pulse 
 
 Of their own life, so far beyond your state 
 
 Would ye be happier with the sense of new 
 
 Ineffable affections — thrills of hope — 
 
 Pangs of regret — imaginations, fears — 
 
 Than now ye are amid the pearled flowers ? 
 
 And would a mortal — if a God should fill 
 
 Her heart with sudden impulses, enough 
 
 To shake the slender harpstrings of her frame, 
 
 To run along her nerves in rills of fire. 
 
 To speed the pulses of her kindling blood 
 
 To tenfold swiftness — love to feel the shock 
 
 Of that great life, and call for it again ? 
 
 Or would she shrink beneath the awful joy 
 
 Like something smit with lightning ? " As he spoke 
 
 A fair girl with her golden hair unbound, 
 
 And flying windward, and her lips apart, 
 
 Came forth upon a little grassy mead. 
 
 An opening in the forest, which the sun 
 
 Laid with a golden pavement swift as thought ; 
 
 And he who flung that glory on the green 
 
 Cast it upon her face as suddenly 
 
 And show'd him all its sweetness. " There she is ! 
 
 Once more, and many a morn it is I mark 
 
 Her advent, as she comes into the light 
 
 I fling down for her on the checker'd sward. 
 
DAPHNE 
 
 That I may see her clearly ; and the moss 
 Loves to be prest down by her little feet. 
 The hyacinth, and anemone look up, 
 And see her blue eyes, and her crimson lips, 
 And turn away abash'd ; the very brook 
 Bends to her wistfully, and, when it takes 
 Her image on its bosom, turns away, 
 And would bear off her beauty to the sea 
 Along with his own waters ; but it hath 
 No art to stay her image when she flies ; 
 And so it sighs, and whimpers through its reeds. 
 And would turn back upon its springs again. 
 
 II 
 
 "And oh ! what spell hath smitten me a God, 
 That I too should come down, to gaze at her, 
 From the glad seats where blue-eyed Hebe runs, 
 And laughs, and hands the bubbling cups, and mirth 
 Fails not, nor any tears are shed ? but I 
 Could weep, that I, the King of light and song. 
 Am powerless to cast off my crown ; to wear 
 A few brief years the fashion of a man ; 
 To make myself Humility ; to serve. 
 Instead of ruling ; win her heart with wiles 
 That shepherds ken ; and bring her dappled eggs 
 From under thickets, in deep nooks of green, 
 Such as the children know of, and at morn 
 A bunch of forest flowers, or purple fruits, 
 
DELOS 
 
 Cold with the dawn, the bloom upon their cheeks, 
 And gems of dew ; and sit by her, and sing 
 Of hopes and fortunes such as maidens dream. 
 Close by her side upon a turfy bank. 
 Tented o'erhead by the wildrose, our feet 
 Cushion'd on the lush grass, and cowslips, or 
 'Mong hidden violets breathing by a stream ; 
 Suiting my speech to her dear simple soul ; 
 Till, grown familiar with all lowly loves. 
 And rustic arts, she should look daily to me. 
 As for her daily bread. Then would 1 stir 
 Her soul with deeper knowledge, and awake 
 Motions within her that should sleep no more ; 
 And show her, pointing down the sylvan aisles. 
 Where the gloom'd woodlands open'd to the sun. 
 Ladders of light, that led thro' fiery gates 
 Into the land of wonders. And sometimes 
 At sunrise I would pour along his beams 
 Sweet sounds, that should awaken her fuUsoon 
 From happy dreams just breathed into her ear. 
 That with the first ray leaping on the dark 
 Should grow from less to more, and strengthening on 
 Should kindle into torrent harmony 
 Ineffable, just as the great Sun rose ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 " Oh woe is me ! that, in the pride of strength 
 Of my own life, shielded from human ills 
 
DAPHNE 7 
 
 By virtue of supreme intelligence, 
 
 By knowledge of all secrets, all things rare, 
 
 Begetting daily wonder and delight, 
 
 Filling my cup of being to the brim. 
 
 And spilling from it some bright drops for men, 
 
 I still forgot that under all mine arts 
 
 There burn'd a fire within me, and that fire 
 
 Made the thoughts burn that kindled after-thoughts ; 
 
 No life without it, for that fire was Love. 
 
 Shall Love be then forgot and not avenged ? 
 
 Shall Love be hidden, when all other spirits 
 
 Work freely and are honour'd ? shall the king, 
 
 Who rules the court, be lesser than his slaves ? 
 
 And, when they walk in purple, sit at home, 
 
 Clad in grey weeds with ashes on his head ? 
 
 So, as I wander'd forth at morn, my wont, 
 
 Dreaming of music, and of light, I saw 
 
 This crown of Nature, this fair mirror wrought 
 
 To image all her inmost harmonies ; 
 
 A forest daughter, fairer than the Nymphs ; 
 
 Worthy as Psyche to be wed in Heaven ; 
 
 So that the blue sky cradled in her eyes. 
 
 Her heart's soft rhythms were echoes of all sounds 
 
 Of wind, and bird, and streams ; and in the folds 
 
 Of her deep hair, that gambol'd with the breeze, 
 
 Sunlights, and shadows of long summers lay : 
 
 All this I knew soon as I look'd on her ! 
 
DELOS 
 
 IV 
 " O Eros ! Eros ! had I known' thee near, 
 I would have fenced my heart against thy might 
 With such a sheaf of arrows as, thrown down 
 Upon thy fatal bow, should have made blind 
 Thy keen sight, with the dazzle of the gold 
 Thrown back into thine eyes! thou wouldst have shriek'd, 
 And fled in fear, and cast it on the ground ! 
 Or, hadst thou drawn the bow, thou wouldst have glanced 
 The fierce inflamed shaft so far aside, 
 It should have smit the little maiden's heart 
 Instead of mine ! And then she should have sued 
 To him for peace, to whom her heart is cold. 
 I would not scorn her love as she doth mine. 
 For had I not within me evermore 
 That heart of fire that kindles noblest arts, 
 Wisdom and knowledge ? Then, how should it spurn 
 Beauty, that lives, and moves, and speaks, and sings ; 
 Beauty that is the crown of all things ; whence 
 All arts are drawn, to which they are consecrate ; 
 To which they bow down ever and adore ; 
 And which they strive for ever to remould ? 
 
 V 
 " Ah ! ah ! she flies, she flies ! at my approach. 
 She hides her sweet head in the leafy glooms, 
 And scarce the glory of her saffron robe 
 Drown'd in the deepening shadow comes to me. 
 
DAPHNE 
 
 And now again her fleet foot skims across 
 A span of flowery sward ; she pants along ; 
 And now the rough slope of a rocky way 
 Sorrows her heart, and spurs her eager fears 
 But stays her steps. Now will I hasten on ; 
 Now shall I take her, ere she gain the crest 
 Of yon steep path — fly, sunbeams, after her — 
 And flood the way she takes with fire — I follow, 
 Your king — Fly after her, and light me on — 
 Thro' copse, and thicket, o'er the fragrant cones 
 Strew'd by the pine — across the bounding brook- 
 And up the mountainside — Ah ! she is swift 
 And hath the start of me ! yet not so swift 
 As sunbeams after her — Fly ! dazzle her eyes 
 With sudden flashes struck from sparkling flints. 
 Bright wavelet, leaf, bird's wing, or watchful eye 
 Of cowering fawn — Fly aft,er her, and melt 
 Her heart with weariness, her limbs with sloth. 
 And snatch her breath away ! that I may bring 
 Life back to her again when I have caught 
 Her beauty in mine arms, and kiss'd away 
 Her girlish tears — And see, I fling the light 
 Beyond the woods and mountains,, and it falls 
 Upon a lovely champaign, green with vines. 
 And dark with cypress ; and it runs along 
 The tawny shore of a blue lakelet, fringed 
 With towered cities ; now she clears the woods 
 She darts along the sand — I see her no more. 
 
DELOS 
 
 VI 
 
 " Sometimes I laugh, and mock myself to think 
 
 Such things should be — What ! shall a glorious God 
 
 Find beauty in simplicity ? a charm 
 
 In that pure artless smile, some rustic chance 
 
 Hath kindled ? It may be a rare bright bird 
 
 That she hath caught and caged, and tamed, that leaves 
 
 Her gentle hand no more — and sings between 
 
 Her dewy lips, held for a space apart 
 
 In childlike wonderment — some crimson flower. 
 
 Stolen from the green woods which she hath set 
 
 In her own garden plot ; or shall I prize 
 
 The rapture of those blue eyes, as she hears 
 
 Far echoes of a horn among the hills ; 
 
 Or clear song of a vintager — blithe heart, 
 
 Uttering old simple tales in simplest rhythm ? 
 
 Well : who can solve the mystery of Love ? 
 
 Or all the threads of Beauty's magic web, 
 
 Shot with all hues ? Is not this maid unlike 
 
 All others ? Is not Beauty, howsoever 
 
 Begotten, mighty, as when Hebe laughs, 
 
 Listening Alcides and his wondrous works ? 
 
 Or to the many-voiced harmonies 
 
 And charming songs of the Pierides ? 
 
 O Beauty, Beauty in each several form 
 
 Is a new soul — there is no living thing 
 
 Perfect similitude of any other — 
 
 For Nature the divine is infinite, 
 
DAPHNE I 
 
 And to repeat herself but only once 
 
 Is less than Best — a spot upon the sun — 
 
 A void in the immeasurable space — 
 
 And there is something in this gentle child 
 
 Which neither Heaven nor Earth can wholly match ; 
 
 That woos, and wins, and conquers me, to whom 
 
 All forms of Beauty are familiar thoughts, 
 
 And who have power to vary them at will. 
 
 Who ofttimes lavish on the world of men 
 
 Stray fancies I have worn, like lovely gems 
 
 A moment, or fair vesture laid aside ; 
 
 Some blossom, yet unwither'd, which I drop 
 
 Upon the heart of some boy-minstrel, laid 
 
 In summer dream ; and he wakes up, and sighs 
 
 For it, and weeps, and shall forget no more, 
 
 Perchance inweave it with his after days 
 
 And feeding on the memory of it grow 
 
 To better, nobler manhood. And I know 
 
 She hath a little humble village heart ; 
 
 And one, her playmate, grown to be a youth. 
 
 Hath link'd his hopes to hers, her heart to his. 
 
 How can I sever them ; for he can sing. 
 
 And play the flute, and hold her willing ear 
 
 With ballads, and old ditties ? She can see 
 
 No heaven beyond his aspect, and their sires 
 
 Are glad they should be plighted ; can a God 
 
 Divide them now ? Ah me ! then how to win 
 
 That sympathy which is the heart of things ? 
 
 Which binds the stars together, makes them turn 
 
: DELOS 
 
 About each other, and the sun of suns — 
 
 Would she be glad to hear of things in heaven, 
 
 Whereto the crowning miracles of Time 
 
 Are but as shadows ? Would the highest thoughts 
 
 Draw out that sunlike radiance from her face. 
 
 That dazzles me, when some old village crone 
 
 Lays in her hair a fond parental hand. 
 
 And touches with pale lips her spotless brow, 
 
 If I should tell her all the things I know ? 
 
 Else are we match'd unfairly — for her heart 
 
 Leans to that youth ; nor can I stand between 
 
 Their loves, by making me as one of them, 
 
 Vinedresser, reaper, hunter, fowler, — though 
 
 I would become her household drudge to take 
 
 Her biddings, and to run for her delight, 
 
 Could I but sound the cold spring of her heart, 
 
 And make it gush in answer to my touch, 
 
 Like fountain waters leaping in the light. 
 
 What if by patient love and loving arts 
 
 I raise her childlike spirit to a height 
 
 Her fellows could not hope to win at all, 
 
 Though they were all kings' daughters, taught all arts, 
 
 And daily listening to the wisest tongues 
 
 Of bard and sage ? what if I make her mine. 
 
 When that young spirit fed with light from me 
 
 Is a new Muse ? then if I snatch her up 
 
 From earthly dust, and her mortality, 
 
 And she, no longer flesh and blood, but Hght 
 
 And air, a godlike form walks by my side ; 
 
DAPHNE 
 
 AVhat if I lead her in among the Gods, 
 And seat her at the selfsame banquet-table ; 
 Who shall say nay, when I have made her mine ? 
 
 VII 
 
 " Alas ! it was a mournful day for me 
 
 When first I mock'd at Eros, taunting him 
 
 AA'ith his strange prowess in those childish limbs. 
 
 ' Thy bow and arrows are too big for thee ; 
 
 Give them to me, whose breadth of shoulder sure 
 
 Is fitter for them ; learn to know thy place ; 
 
 Learn wisdom from its master, little boy.' 
 
 But he turned to me laughing : — ' Say'st thou so ? 
 
 Be not too bold, drop the fantastical, 
 
 And hearken unto one, who is a child, 
 
 And ever shall be. Yes, both Gods and men 
 
 Know this and feel it ; if thou art the King 
 
 Of Knowledge, know this, I am Lord of Life. 
 
 Thou searches! all things of the outward world ; 
 
 Thou throwest light into the valleys dark. 
 
 And on the mountaintops ; and leaf and flower, 
 
 Stirr'd by thy smile, turn to thee, turn and live 
 
 Their daily life ; the slumbering lion wakes 
 
 At thy call, and the tiny linnet trills. 
 
 All feel thy power, and gladden ; but their joy 
 
 Is fleeting as thy light ; for, let thy face 
 
 Be hidden from them for a day, a month, 
 
 A year, they mourn, they faint, they sink, they die : 
 
14 DELOS 
 
 The teeming earth is chain'd in endless frost, 
 
 And Death and Silence rule it. Thou art great; 
 
 But I am greater, for, where I have place. 
 
 There is no sorrow, ev'n tho' Youth give place 
 
 To white hair, and to palsied limbs, and Death 
 
 Is weak to sever those whom I have join'd. 
 
 What thou art unto Nature, charming her 
 
 With light, and cheering her with song, I am 
 
 To the inner life, and innermost. I clothe 
 
 The souls of men with a new life, and change them, 
 
 Transfiguring evil thoughts, transforming sloth 
 
 To vital uses, laying low The Self — 
 
 That garden choked with all unfruitful growths, 
 
 Greeds, lusts, ambitions, envies, hates, and prides — 
 
 I give all things a spirit from within 
 
 Working to outward, 'til the plastic forms, 
 
 Thou nurturest, I fashion by my fire 
 
 Into a more consummate excellence. 
 
 And difiering beauty, as though each fresh flower 
 
 Had its own conscience and particular will. 
 
 But that which is so lovely hath no life. 
 
 And that which shapes it is the Life I am. 
 
 Thy sun may shine upon an icicle, 
 
 And give it seeming warmth, but all is cold ; 
 
 My Sun is of the soul, and from within. 
 
 Making unloveliness a lovely thing. 
 
 Until it glows like beauty — even more — 
 
 And making beauty's self so radiant 
 
 With the diviuQ, that Gods themselves, and men, 
 
DAPHNE 
 
 15 
 
 Whose hearts I kindle, live above themselves. 
 
 A God becomes more glorious, as my life 
 
 Shines through him, and a man becomes a God 
 
 With pulses of delight, unfelt till then ! 
 
 And dost thou dream that thou art Self-sustained? 
 
 Did not my life breathe ever into thine, 
 
 As the Sun into the earth, it were as dark 
 
 As earth itself without a sun, or star. 
 
 I guide thy quicken'd eye, I lift thine hand ; 
 
 And then thou piercest through all hidden ways 
 
 Of Science, and unrollest as a scroll 
 
 Illimitable, the manifold of Art, 
 
 Ev'n as the Sun lightens through all dark ways. 
 
 And fills them with a gladness not their own.' 
 
 Scornful I answer'd : — ' I am lord of light ; 
 
 I challenge thee to combat ; I will take 
 
 A lower form to win this lovesome one. 
 
 And I through him will strive with thee through her.' " 
 
 Love laugh'd, and even the echoes of his mirth 
 
 Startled the king of music ; for the sounds, 
 
 In their simplicity and tenderness. 
 
 Were sweeter in his ear than all the songs 
 
 That he had interwoven with rich chords 
 
 Of manifold harmonies, and the best art 
 
 That he was proud of. For a moment he 
 
 Stood trembling for his throne of eminence ; 
 
 Then strode with haughty step and swift, that sped 
 
 With painless effort over the broad plains 
 
 Up to the mountain ridges, and along 
 
i6 DELOS 
 
 The flaming avenues of glory-clouds, 
 Higher and higher to the burning gates 
 Of his own peerless palace in the East. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Ofttimes at noon, when all the forest slept. 
 
 And only the green grasshopper was heard 
 
 Ringing amid the glory, she was seen 
 
 Under the cool shade of the domed pines. 
 
 Or spreading oaks ; for then the fiery light 
 
 Drove her into dark coverts, that o'erlook'd 
 
 A sloping turf scatter'd with disc and bell. 
 
 Amber and azure, by a clear cold brook, 
 
 Fill'd from the fountains treasured in the hills 
 
 That rush'd by ever with a lulling sound. 
 
 One day when she had sung both loud and clear. 
 
 And, after her blithe songs, began to talk 
 
 To her own heart, and the sweet forest leaves, 
 
 Whose whispers would not make her secret known, 
 
 With nimble fingers linking all the while 
 
 A fragrant necklace of all-colour'd flowers, 
 
 A shadow pass'd before her, and she gave 
 
 A startled cry } for close before her stood 
 
 One in a hunter's garb, with plume, and bow. 
 
 And buskins pearl'd with dews, that he had shook 
 
 From grasses, sunless in the sylvan deeps, 
 
 In shadow even at noonday. As he gazed, 
 
 Down in her blue eyes tenderly, and oft. 
 
DAPHNE 17 
 
 She rose to part ; with gentle voice he spoke. 
 " Why fly, O little one, if thou hast seen 
 Nought of me heretofore ; is that a sign 
 Of any evil in me ? If I had seen thee 
 Never before this moment, is my sight 
 Deceived, if it declares it never look'd 
 On aught before so blissful and so rare ? 
 And now the time is burning, and the swoon 
 Of Nature woos to sympathetic rest." 
 And turning to her he mark'd her with his eye ; 
 " Look up," he said, " and thou shalt be as we ; 
 Knowledge shall give thee all things ; thou shalt be 
 Hereafter named above the happy Nymphs, 
 Who bear down blessings over hill and plain.'' 
 And every day that she had seen or heard 
 His marvels, she went home, and gather'd round 
 Her chair the simple staring country folk ; 
 And with her wandering tongue and awful looks 
 She made the wondrous tale more wonderful ; 
 Till sudden tears ran o'er their eyes ; and soon 
 Their whispering tongues grew sad and pitiful. 
 The loving youth, who knew her inmost thoughts 
 Heretofore, when her heart was all his own. 
 And every secret of that artless soul, 
 Look'd with sad brimful eyes upon her face. 
 And terror smote his heart, as though he saw 
 Some bleeding wound he could not hope to stay. 
 And rival damsels under pity mask'd 
 Their biting scorn ; and bad her friends of kin 
 
 VOL. II c 
 
 % 
 
i8 DELOS 
 
 Look well to her, or she would work some ill 
 
 To others, or herself. " Ere Phyllis raved. 
 
 And they were forced to bind her little hands," 
 
 Said one, whose bloom was waning, "just such eyes 
 
 Glared on us ; and she told us of such dreams, 
 
 And saw things pass no other eye could see. 
 
 And then she died ; let him beware, who trusts 
 
 So wild a thing as Daphne ; 'twere as wise 
 
 To clutch a rosebrier swinging in the wind 
 
 Over a precipice." Another laugh'd 
 
 Grimly, and said, " They have so feasted her 
 
 With flatteries of her beauty, and her skill, 
 
 That they have turn'd to poisons, like sweet cates 
 
 Swallow'd untimely, and the Gods are wroth 
 
 To witness such vainglory. Better bear 
 
 A homely presence with a sober heart. 
 
 Than be the fairest of all lovely forms, 
 
 Beloved by all men, hated of the Gods." 
 
 All but the heart of him she once had loved 
 
 Grew cold to her ; yet she charged not herself 
 
 With all this ill, nor blamed the foolish will 
 
 That drove her to the forest day by day, 
 
 And charm'd her onward in her own despite. 
 
 And ever onward, in the vain desire 
 
 Of new delight and wonder, like a child 
 
 That night by night beholds the same sweet dream. 
 
 And loves the darkness for the sake of it. 
 
 Thus wax'd she wiser than her lowly friends ; 
 
 So that they knew her not and ceased to love. 
 
DAPHNE 19 
 
 For now no more she help'd the humble dame, 
 
 Her mother, at the loom, or in the field ; 
 
 To fill the water-urns, to tend the byre. 
 
 The fruits fell down ungather'd from the boughs ; 
 
 The goats forgotten wander'd all night long ; 
 
 And, when her plighted lover sought for her. 
 
 She was not ; and her mother wept, and said : 
 
 " I watch her take the left-hand woodland way. 
 
 And vanish thro' the shadows ; follow her, 
 
 For much I fear me other longings hold 
 
 That heart that once was given to thee all whole." 
 
 IX 
 
 One day, when she was weary of her walk. 
 
 After long converse with this weird wise man, — - 
 
 It was a still and slumbrous afternoon, — 
 
 He fix'd her with his eyes ; and hers were drawn 
 
 To gaze on his, as the poor fluttering finch 
 
 Caged with a serpent lapses to its foe. 
 
 Stronger and stronger wax'd the mystic spell, 
 
 Till she, before his terrible bright orbs, 
 
 Fell prone, had he not caught her in his arms ; 
 
 Died, or seem'd dead ; for earth, and heaven, and all 
 
 The sights, and sounds that but a moment since 
 
 Were pictured on the mirrors of her eyes, 
 
 Or harp'd upon her ears, were folded up. 
 
 And, Uke the curtain of a theatre. 
 
 Oblivion veil'd the present and the past. 
 
DELOS 
 
 Until again the magic veil drawn back 
 Show'd her another world ; and yet that world 
 Was but the memories garner'd in the soul 
 Of him the God beside her, which he drew 
 Forth from that treasure-house of lovely things, 
 And gave them the swift wings of his own will 
 To bear down to her. He beheld her smile 
 In that weird sleep ; he saw the trembling lips 
 And awful looks ; he heard her wondering words 
 Whisper'd with slow solemnity ; he heard 
 Her answers to his voice, as oft as he 
 Question'd her of the marvels that she saw : 
 "Look, damsel, look, and tell me what thou seest.' 
 
 X 
 
 " I see a damsel with a downcast face. 
 
 And drooping arms, and folded palms, as one 
 
 Shadow'd by such a sorrow as no art 
 
 Could solace ; for the heart within her breast, 
 
 Widow'd of all its early loves, has found 
 
 No better treasure to fill up the loss. 
 
 She mutters with pale lips, and calls for death 
 
 Rather than desolation. Oh ! I mark 
 
 The country folk, that were her well-beloved. 
 
 Pass by her ; and the little children flee 
 
 As from a nameless peril ; and the old 
 
 Whisper together of her, and then sign 
 
 With pointed finger the unholy thing, 
 
DAPHNE 
 
 Smile wintry smiles, half pity and half scorn ; 
 
 Then turn aside, and leave her solitary ; 
 
 Until she flings herself upon the ground, 
 
 And wails in woe. I cannot see her tears 
 
 Unmoved myself; I seem to feel the pangs 
 
 She feels myself; I see her now no more." 
 
 " Look now again, and tell me what thou seest." 
 
 " I see her wandering in green wildernesses, 
 
 By secret paths untrodden ; and she stays 
 
 Her steps full -oft to look upon the wealth 
 
 Of wild flowers ; and the hidden growths, that lie 
 
 Darkling in crannies of the sunless rocks. 
 
 Or by lone springs, but which the peasant shuns 
 
 As deadly venoms, knowing not their powers. 
 
 Or others — which he gathers carelessly. 
 
 Bright berries, or pink blossoms, which in sooth 
 
 Are deadly foes to flesh and blood — she binds. 
 
 Her daily harvest of mysterious things, 
 
 Because she feels a force, that spurs her will 
 
 To turn her motions, and to raise her hand 
 
 To pluck them ; and a tongue that tells her all. 
 
 In soundless accents of an inner voice. 
 
 Their virtues manifold. But when they see 
 
 The maiden passing down the village street, 
 
 Laden with her fresh herbs, they shake their heads. 
 
 Some laugh, some rail, and others faintly smile ; 
 
 But none have pity on one they deem a fool ; 
 
 And most are cruel-hearted toward the maid ; 
 
 For they are poor, and poverty must toil ; 
 
! DELOS 
 
 If not, abide the scorn of them who do. 
 But now I see her first great grief is past, 
 Although her face be sad; and she has hope." 
 " Look now again, and tell me what thou seest. 
 
 XI 
 
 " I see her bending o'er a sick man's bed. 
 
 It is a cottage on a highland slope. 
 
 Hard by a stream that rushes over rocks 
 
 Down to a teeming dale ; but parch'd and bare 
 
 The soil about that hut, and lean the crop 
 
 That shivers round it. And now life departs 
 
 From the strong arm, and from the loving eye ; 
 
 And who shall stay the widow and her babe 
 
 When he is not ? And there is weeping now 
 
 And loud lament ; but she hath given to him 
 
 A cup of wildflower waters, and he sleeps ; 
 
 His pains have lull'd, her heart is lull'd with hope. 
 
 And see ! he opens on them once again 
 
 The kind eyes that were dimming, and he sighs, 
 
 ' Ah me ! what do I ? Tell me is it day, 
 
 My dreams have made me laggard; for I dreamt 
 
 I went out from my father's house, a youth. 
 
 Hopeful and strong, and found thee, dear ; I spoke 
 
 Sweet words to thee, and thou didst answer me 
 
 In sweeter still ; which made it hard for me 
 
 So soon to part from thee as yesterday, 
 
 When I was stricken sorely ; and 'tis not so ; 
 
DAPHNE 23 
 
 See, I am strong again, I will arise ! ' " 
 
 "Look once again, and tell me what thou seest" 
 
 XII 
 
 "I see the maid again, but she is changed. 
 
 Behold the hopeless one is happy now, 
 
 And the forlorn is honour'd ! No more tears ; 
 
 No mutter'd accents of unpitying fear, 
 
 Or cruel scorn ; she owns a realm-wide name. 
 
 And they who fled from her, and spake no word 
 
 To comfort her disconsolate, rejoice 
 
 To seek her smile, to touch her hand, to hear 
 
 A brief word utter'd, or to take from her 
 
 A simple boon of healing leaf, or flower. 
 
 They lay their palsied at her gate, and bring 
 
 The dying to her that they may have life. 
 
 The noble flock in chariots, to behold 
 
 Her wonderworkings ; rich and poor she sees 
 
 Impartially, and, as a queen, rebukes 
 
 The great man's frown, and stays the poor man's fear. 
 
 So that a monarch would not step before 
 
 A beggarman, if such was her command. 
 
 And none dispute her words oracular. 
 
 For she does good to all ; she takes no gift 
 
 From either, but their blessing, and is paid 
 
 With glory of the bounty she bestows ; 
 
 And her own conscience is her treasury. 
 
 I see and hear all this as in a dream. 
 
24 DELOS 
 
 When wondrous things arid their interpreting 
 
 Are close together, but we know not how." 
 
 " Look once again, and tell me what thou seest." 
 
 " I see a change ; another day is come. 
 
 For she who sorrow'd once is glorified. 
 
 Some winged power hath snatch'd her from the earth ; 
 
 And they who cursed, and mock'd and jeer'd at her. 
 
 Are comfortless. There is a weary cry 
 
 Through all that land for her ; a quenchless thirst 
 
 Of many hearts for one ; the aged weep. 
 
 And little children stretch their arms for her ; 
 
 And even the dumb creatures she hath heal'd 
 
 Look for her, but in vain, for she is not. 
 
 And they have beaten every thorny nook ; 
 
 Search'd at the foot of the gaunt precipices ; 
 
 Peer'd into cavern'd silences, and swept 
 
 Down their familiar streams far as the sea 
 
 To seek for her ; dived down into the deeps. 
 
 And stood on the high peaks, and pierced the glooms 
 
 Of the old forest aisles ; but she is not ; 
 
 I cannot bear this sorrow, hide it from me." 
 
 " Look once again, and tell me what thou seest." 
 
 XIII 
 
 " Am I on earth, or betwixt earth and heaven. 
 Or in the Gods' own paradise of bliss. 
 And under shade of their ambrosial bowers ? 
 Here large dark leaves shut out the sloping sun 
 
DAPHNE 25 
 
 Of afternoon, and make a twilight soft, 
 
 Burst by quick gushes of the quivering light. 
 
 Along the floors, strown with the fragrant leaf 
 
 Of myrtle, bay, and laurel, whereon fall. 
 
 From interwoven branchage of the roof, 
 
 Flower-goblets spilling odours, sprays of rose 
 
 Purple and pale ; and 'mid the blossoms droop 
 
 Large fruit-globes which the hand can reach and pluck, 
 
 With dark and tawny clusters of the vine. 
 
 And I can see the smooth wings rainbow-plumed 
 
 Of turtles moaning slumbrously ; and mark 
 
 The rustle of blithe songbirds ; and the flight 
 
 Of pictured moths, that catch the golden sparks, 
 
 Dropping 'twixt gloom and gloom upon their scales. 
 
 That change to falling gems ; and far within. 
 
 Under an opening in the network green, 
 
 A fountain leaps up, and takes fire above 
 
 In the full day, and falls back in a rain 
 
 Of unimaginable wealth, as though 
 
 All earth had pour'd its riches from the sky. 
 
 And farther still, towards the western side, 
 
 A gate, as 'twere into the sun itself 
 
 Such flaming lustre bursts upon me there, 
 
 I cannot look upon it ; yet it sends 
 
 From out that throbbing depth no sultry breath 
 
 Steeping the soul in languors ; all along 
 
 This blissful aisle, inwall'd and domed with flowers. 
 
 Float lovingly the zephyrs soft and cool, 
 
 And freighted from exhaustless treasure-chambers 
 
26 DELOS 
 
 With all delightsome essences ; my sense 
 
 Breathes in new harmonies of odours, flowing 
 
 Together, as the ear the mingled tones 
 
 Of many notes and divers instruments. 
 
 Just in the centre where four alleys meet, 
 
 And, overhead, a lighter verdure drinks 
 
 Into its green the azure of the skies, 
 
 A banquet-table all' of precious pearl, 
 
 Rimm'd by deep ruby and cool emerald, round. 
 
 Of amplest measure ; and the clearer Ught 
 
 Falls on the cups and flagons of pure gold 
 
 And carven gems ; the shadows from above 
 
 Of tremulous leaf, and crimson anther fall 
 
 Dappling the pearl. Lo ! one of aspect grave 
 
 Yet beautiful — in majesty a King 
 
 Of kings ! his deep eyes and his ebon hair 
 
 Majestical and solemn, yet his smile 
 
 Sweet as the moonlight of a summerday. 
 
 Radiance of sovereign love, and cloudless peace, — 
 
 RecUnes and lightens round him all the bliss 
 
 Of an all-happy, all-possessing Life. 
 
 From him the spirits round about him draw 
 
 Fresh gladness every moment ; and when mirth 
 
 And joyance flag, they look upon his face, 
 
 And feel within them a renascent life. 
 
 More than from those bright drops, wherewith she fills 
 
 Their cups, the cupbearer, whose brows are bound 
 
 With amaranth, sprung where the pure rivers run 
 
 From founts of Life ; whose laughing aspect haunts 
 
DAPHNE 27 
 
 The heart Uke winsome melodies, that flow 
 
 Thro' the enchanted memory, day by day, 
 
 Where harp and voice are not, and all is still ; 
 
 Like a lone seashell singing to itself 
 
 Far from its own blue waters. Now I see 
 
 The selfsame damsel wandering all alone, 
 
 And wondering at the glory of the world 
 
 She hath just enter'd ; and a sudden turn 
 
 Brings her in sight of all that company. 
 
 She veils her eyes in presence of that host, 
 
 Transcending all things. Then a spirit rose. 
 
 Joyfully from his seat among the blest. 
 
 And, passing to her, took her by the hand, 
 
 And led her forward. ' I am he,' he said, 
 
 ' Whom heretofore, remember, thou didst meet 
 
 In thine own woods, and valleys, on the earth ; 
 
 From whom the knowledge of all lovely things, 
 
 Wisdom beyond thy tender years, and thoughts 
 
 That soar'd above the spirit of the time, 
 
 ■Were breathed in thee, that I might bring thee hither. 
 
 Hereafter, fitted for a higher life 
 
 Than Nymph, or Faun ; and thus to be my joy. 
 
 My bride ; no longer earthly of the earth. 
 
 But spiritual only, and endued without 
 
 With spiritual raiment, everlasting, pure.' 
 
 Then, turning to the shining host, he said : 
 
 ' This is my spouse I told ye of, O Gods ; 
 
 I pray ye look on her with loving eyes. 
 
 And bid her welcome to your blissful seats, 
 
28 DELOS 
 
 As worthy to inhabit them with ye.' 
 
 Lo ! they rise up with one consent, and one 
 
 Acclaim of welcome ! welcome ! and I see 
 
 The Father of the Immortal Gods himself 
 
 Lift up his arms in blessing. I can see 
 
 His peerless daughters wreathe the charming dance, 
 
 Inimitable motion, perfect grace, 
 
 Which only to look on, as she does now, 
 
 Moulds her lithe limbs, of plastic essence wrought, 
 
 To sweeter symmetry, and clothes upon 
 
 With a diviner light. The Queen herself 
 
 Of beauty turns upon her all the spells 
 
 Of her delights, until her aspect glows 
 
 With a new bloom, as when the sunUght pour'd 
 
 Thro' the pale petals of a lilybell 
 
 Fills it with golden fire. One with a bow 
 
 And quiver, and green kirtle, huntress-clad. 
 
 And amber tresses, that the dawn hath kiss'd, 
 
 And blue eyes, pure as waters of a spring, 
 
 Touches her heart, and wandering eyes, till nought 
 
 Moves in her but the sacred love of him 
 
 Who is her bridegroom. One with helmed head, 
 
 And eyes that glitter like a waved sword, 
 
 Breathes on her brow her own inspiring breath, 
 
 That gives her inner life, and wisdom clear. 
 
 Then, swift as summer tempest breathed with sweets. 
 
 And glad and strong as torrents smit with light, 
 
 The sacred quire, the sisterhood of song 
 
 Waken their harps and voices, as he leads 
 
DAPHNE 29 
 
 His dazzled bride beside him." " Once again 
 I bid thee look, and tell me what thou seest." 
 
 XIV 
 
 " I stand upon an aery steep, that breathes 
 
 The summer of the valleys, and the sighs 
 
 Of the blue waters seen between the hills. 
 
 Between, the tufted capes and promontories 
 
 Sway to the balmy gusts, that from below 
 
 Bear up to me at intervals the sound 
 
 Of multitudinous acclaim, and songs 
 
 Of a great festival. And now I see 
 
 Banners, and lifted trumpets, and a host 
 
 That raise up on their heads the piled wealth 
 
 Of vale, and woodland, mount, and rivershore, 
 
 Blossom, and fresh green branch, and herb, and fruit. 
 
 Which the sun, glancing over forest tops. 
 
 And craggy spires, checkers with sudden hues. 
 
 Green, purple, golden. Up they came by ways. 
 
 That wind thro' lights and shadows ; nearer waves 
 
 The swell of the proud voices, and the clash 
 
 Of cymbals, and the shouting ; and a name 
 
 That rises, like a star above the sea. 
 
 Over the happy tumult ; one great name, 
 
 ' Daphne the blessed, Daphne the divine ! ' 
 
 I stand upon the steps of a tall fane. 
 
 That crowns the seaward heights, and the vast doors, 
 
 Flung open, show the glory far within 
 
30 DELOS 
 
 Thro' fragrant smoke of tossing thuribles, 
 A double shrine ! Again the festal crowd 
 Utter their hymning voices : ' Hail ! all hail ! 
 Daphne the blessed, Daphne the divine !'" 
 
 When she awoke the hymnings and the joy 
 Were sounding in her ears ; and then she wept, 
 To think that all the glory she had seen 
 Was but a vision, and had fled away 
 To leave her desolate. Oh ! she wept, and call'd 
 For him who had awaken'd her to things 
 Beyond this world ; but he was not. No more 
 She met him in the woods, or by the streams. 
 Or on the mountainside ; but in her burnt 
 The fire of a new birth, and the great hope 
 To reach what he had shown her, and to be 
 What she had seen herself. She rose, infill'd 
 With nobler thoughts, and fled with lighter foot. 
 For the old earth was nothing to her now. 
 Save that the fleeting hours were as the steps 
 Of the great stair that vanishes in heaven ! 
 
 XV 
 
 And now the youth, whose wistful eyes and heart 
 
 Had followed her since they were boy and girl. 
 
 Grew sick, as a first flower smit by the frost. 
 
 And, though he went forth daily to his toil, 
 
 He sigh'd where he had sung ; and hopes, which once 
 
 Had nerved his hand, gave place to doubt and fear, 
 
DAPHNE 
 
 That sunk his heart, until his arm grew weak ; _ 
 And half the task, which he had daily done 
 Unharass'd, now seem'd heavier than the whole. 
 He saw her not ; and so his eye grew blind 
 To the fair Nature once seen best through her. 
 He heard her not, and now his ear was deaf 
 To the sweet birds that sang of love for him. 
 At last they bore him in no more to pass 
 Fieldward at morn, and back to her at even. 
 And all his hope was to behold once more 
 The beauty that had slain him by its scorn ; 
 To take a last hold of the unyielding hand ; 
 To meet once more the unrelenting eyes. 
 That once had given him welcome, oft as chance 
 Brought them together at greenwood, or glen, 
 And that the dying might with deathless love 
 Vanquish the living and unloving heart, 
 And by forgiveness move the unforgiving. 
 So, when his hour was come, and weeping friends 
 Stood by his bed, and to the clouded eyes 
 The sun wax'd darker momently, she pass'd 
 Wandering, she cared not whither ; so her hours 
 Might reap fresh lore, fresh wonders, fresh delights 
 Of Knowledge, in obedience to the laws 
 And counsels gather'd from the lips of Him, 
 Who wander'd with her in green solitudes 
 At noonday, or beneath the summer stars ; 
 And show'd her all things, not as schoolmen do. 
 But as the Immortals, making darkness bright 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 DELOS 
 
 By flashes, sudden as self-kindled stars, 
 
 Of mystic sympathies ; rough places plain ; 
 
 Untwisting ravell'd knots of secrecy 
 
 By some sweet symbol ; teaching thought itself, 
 
 As though it were a song, and building up 
 
 Intelligence by pleasant arts, that seem'd 
 
 Sweet pastime ; so that her great name might grow 
 
 To be a godlike thing, her soul a star 
 
 Set in the far heaven of Futurity, 
 
 To look on thro' the grey folds of the Past. 
 
 She wander'd by, and heard the low lament. 
 
 She stood, and question'd a young village maid : 
 
 " Is there one sick ? Then suffer me to pass. 
 
 For I may heal him." And she stept between 
 
 Neighbours and friends, who wonder'd and made way. 
 
 But, when he saw her there, the filmed eyes 
 
 Flash'd suddenly with all the fire of youth. 
 
 He raised his arm, a wondrous light of joy ; 
 
 A smile of glory play'd upon his lips : 
 
 Then the arm fell, the eyes grew dim and dark ; 
 
 And, just as she remember'd all the past. 
 
 His soul went forth. But she sent up a cry. 
 
 That might have follow'd him beyond this world ; 
 
 And without words it told the tale of all 
 
 Her wild remorse, her penitence, and pain. 
 
 And then she raised her voice in frenzied tone : 
 
 " Come back, come back ! Was it not three days back 
 
 We met where the home valley meets the brook, 
 
 And plighted, each to other, loving troth. 
 
DAPHNE 33 
 
 And to be wed ere summer ? O my heart ! 
 
 What serpent's poison hath benumb'd it since ? 
 
 What do I say ? Three days ? Ah ! so it seems, 
 
 Now that I look upon his face again. 
 
 And yet I know not, now I think of it, 
 
 If they be days or years that are gone by, 
 
 So many marvels have possess'd my sense ; 
 
 So many thoughts have flooded thro' my soul ; 
 
 For all the hours between are as the night, 
 
 Whose darkness is but air, and yet it veils 
 
 Near and dear objects from us, till the morn. 
 
 Whence do I come, and whither have I stray'd ? 
 
 Surely the past is an unreal thing. 
 
 When I, methought, met with a man I fear'd, 
 
 And yet he held me near him with such might 
 
 I could not flee. And then I lost my fear, 
 
 And listen'd to his words ; and then, it seem'd, 
 
 Resistless power gat hold of me, and sway'd 
 
 The motions of my mind unto his will 
 
 ' Look up,' it said, ' and thou wilt be as we. 
 
 Knowledge shall give thee all things ; thou shall be 
 
 Hereafter named above the happy Nymphs 
 
 Who bear down blessings over hill and plain.' 
 
 Come back, come back ; if thou art dead, come back ; 
 
 I cannot be without thee, if thou wilt not 
 
 I will go to thee quickly. Oh ! 'tis not death ; 
 
 He only sleeps, and I will wake him soon." 
 
 She said, and placed her lips upon his lips. 
 
 Her brow upon his brow, and pluckt a bunch 
 
 VOL. II D 
 
34 DELOS 
 
 Of wild herbs from her bosom, gather'd where 
 No foot had been in balmy wildernesses. 
 " He show'd me this," she said, " I thank him now. 
 Though he hath turn'd my heart from all it loved ; 
 He bade me touch the lips and eyes of those 
 Who slept in deepest trance, like death, with mine. 
 And let them breathe the spirit of these flowers. 
 They shall unclose their sealed eyes and live ; 
 He is not dead, but sleeps." " Alas !" they cried, 
 Who stood about her weeping, " thinkest thou 
 When the heart stirs not, and the breathless lips 
 Are shut together, and the eyes are blind. 
 That there is hope?" But she put forth her hand, 
 Not doubting, with a fixed awful look, 
 Moveless as marble image. For a space 
 There was no change ; and those about him sigh'd. 
 And shed fresh tears ; but in her eyes a light 
 Began to kindle, then a flash of joy, 
 And then she gave a cry that shook the night, 
 " He lives, he lives !" drew up his hand with hers. 
 And the eyes open'd, and the bosom heaved, 
 And the warm rose came back into his cheek ; 
 " He lives ! I thank thee, O I thank thee, God, 
 Or man for this ; the evil thou hast wrought. 
 Thyself hast heal'd thro' this frail hand of mine !" 
 She cried, and join'd her palms in silent prayer. 
 And he rose up, and round about him gazed. 
 And wonder'd when he saw her, and he smiled, 
 And sigh'd, and with a faint voice, " It was death. 
 
DAPHNE 35 
 
 And I was passing where no sorrows are, 
 
 And hast thou bad me back, O cruel love. 
 
 To make my life unlovable again ? 
 
 Oh ! rather kill me again, and once for all, 
 
 By telling me thou never wilt be mine ; 
 
 And I will sleep a sleep, beyond the power 
 
 Of any arts to waken, or any will." 
 
 " O love, dear love," she cried, "whom I had slain. 
 
 Had not the marvels shown me in the woods, 
 
 And secrets taught me by a matchless man. 
 
 Wisest of men, if he be not a God, 
 
 Brought thee to life ; albeit he thought that thou 
 
 Wouldst vanish from before him, leaving me 
 
 Free to his arts ; he then — to woo and win — 
 
 Fill'd me with his own spirit, and made me more 
 
 Than all I ever' dreamt of, more than all 
 
 My village kindred, ev'n as the Oread nymphs, 
 
 And Hamadryads ; then, beloved one, 
 
 Himself hath thus avenged thee on himself 
 
 While all my heart at sight of thee again 
 
 Thee stricken nigh to death, given back to me. 
 
 Straightway forgets all knowledge but this one. 
 
 The memory of our childhood, youth, and love, 
 
 And plighted vows ; forgoes all hopes of power 
 
 And glory ; all treasures save thy heart alone." 
 
 He stretch'd his arms, and she laid on his breast 
 
 Her beating heart ; and all the villagers 
 
 Shouted for joy ! Then in a moment all 
 
 The dusky spaces fill'd with light, and there 
 
36 DELOS 
 
 Right in the middle of the chamber stood 
 Two radiant ones ; the right-hand spirit smiled, 
 And turn'd unto the other, who was sad. 
 " Say not that I have vanquish'd thee," he said ; 
 " Thyself hast turn'd thine arrows on thyself, 
 Thinking to strike me ; but, 'twixt me and thee. 
 Need be no strife, no victory ; if I won 
 The maiden's heart back to its early faith. 
 Returning love, and penitential tears 
 Had been in vain, but for thy power alone. 
 The wisdom without which love can but fail. 
 O brother, we are one ; for I am thine. 
 And thou art mine, altho' thou knowedst not. 
 Thou canst not know, unless I warm thy will ; 
 And I am nothing if thou aid me not ; 
 Together we are conquerors, all in all ; 
 Henceforth no strife shall separate us more !" 
 
 XVI 
 
 Then those Immortals on each other look'd 
 With such benign divinity, that all 
 The air was thrill'd with low sweet melody. 
 And breathed with happy spirits of such flowers 
 As bloom not in this world. The thickets near 
 Broke into song, that rippled o'er the leaves 
 Far as the purple highlands ; and at once 
 A Dawn came flooding o'er the mountaintops, 
 Such as was never seen until that day. 
 
DAPHNE 37 
 
 The men and maidens lifted up their hands 
 
 In thanksgiving, and a sweet matin hymn 
 
 Flow'd heavenward, with the sound of silver streams 
 
 And early birds. Slowly the Immortals waned 
 
 Out of their sights into the golden mists 
 
 That bathed the valley ; and then suddenly 
 
 Eros and Phoebus, Love and Wisdom, rose 
 
 Up from the earth, and flew along the streams 
 
 Of Morn ; and, as the Sun broke o'er the hills, 
 
 They vanish'd, drown'd in floods of Fire and Light, 
 
 Mingled in One, and nevermore to part. 
 
 Each to the other kin for evermore : 
 
 And far beyond the Sun of Nature pass'd 
 
 On to the Living Centre of all things. 
 
CYPRUS 
 PYGMALION 
 
 A Maymorn by the azure sea ! a morn 
 
 So vital in the freshness of its youth, 
 
 That Sorrow should have fled before its beams, 
 
 As from the crimson lips and laughing eyes 
 
 Of some fair girl, bent down to look on him, 
 
 And charm him into mirth, and merry songs. 
 
 The warm wind smote the tops of blooming briers. 
 
 And caught away their roses ; and the sound 
 
 Of silver ripples, chiming o'er the shells 
 
 And golden sands, was as a low-toned hymn 
 
 Chanted to the clear peaceful morning skies 
 
 By the delighted waters ! Not far off". 
 
 Nor yet so near as to o'ercome the tongues 
 
 Of Solitude, the City with its towers 
 
 Sparkled from out green gardens ; and I stood 
 
 Gazing about me, in that blissful hour 
 
 That brought no bliss to me, but made me sadder 
 
PYGMALION 39 
 
 With thoughts of all those ills that had been done 
 
 In mine unhappy island-home, whose seas, 
 
 And shores, so lovely in the morning light 
 
 Were overcast, as by a thunder cloud, 
 
 By memories of blood, that seem'd to rise 
 
 Between me and the sun. I who had throned 
 
 The beautiful within my heart of hearts 
 
 Yeam'd for some hush'd spot out of reach of man. 
 
 Where I might worship it in perfect peace. 
 
 And purest passion. On me daily grew 
 
 That passion, strengthening till it overcame 
 
 All other motions of the soul, and arm'd 
 
 My heart 'gainst light affections. No dark eyes 
 
 Of the loose laughing daughters of the isle 
 
 Could stir me, when I set them by the side 
 
 Of that one Form, invisible to sight. 
 
 Visible to the Soul, which day and night 
 
 I feasted on, till the Ideal grew 
 
 More real than all things outward, and I saw 
 
 More with an inner sight than with mine eyes. 
 
 II 
 
 Then said I : " Pardon, Goddess of this isle, 
 
 Urania ever-blessed, if I turn 
 
 Less toward thine altars crown'd with flowers, than back 
 
 To the all-lovely image in my heart. 
 
 And worship there — Oh pardon me — methinks 
 
 I see in peerless beauty, there enshrined. 
 
40 CYPRUS 
 
 As fair a Goddess as was ever crown'd 
 
 Upon Olympus ; and at times I dream 
 
 That such a radiant image can be nought 
 
 Except thine own — thus mirror'd in my soul 
 
 As thy white-column'd temple in the blue 
 
 Of this calm sea — so that I faint, I sigh, 
 
 ' If this could be ! Ah ! no, it cannot be !' 
 
 And, if it were, can mortal be beloved 
 
 By the Immortals ? Can they love them ? No ! 
 
 'Tis but a dream ; a spirit-picture, drawn 
 
 By many an unrecorded influence, 
 
 As many diverse odours, born from far 
 
 And near, from hill and plain, from leaf and flower, 
 
 Pour'd thro' the sense, commingle into one ; 
 
 As shadows of the myrtle slopes behind 
 
 I see before me now ; and evermore, 
 
 Though the wild waves and storm-winds shatter them, 
 
 They will return in the returning hours 
 
 Of sunny windless calm ; so, 'twixt all change 
 
 Of momentary troubles, tumults, cares. 
 
 Discourse, diversions, in me rises up 
 
 The one bright Image, sweet, ineffable ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 " Oh ! mystery, beyond all knowledge, how 
 Can such things be ? Great Powers above us all. 
 Hath some one from amid ye made a heaven 
 Within me, that I see, with such clear sight. 
 
PYGMALION 41 
 
 The peerless brow beneath the golden hair, 
 
 The blue eyes, and the parted crimson lips. 
 
 Whose lavish tenderness dissolves my being, 
 
 And wins me from all thoughts of mortal beauty ? 
 
 Therefore, henceforth if I withhold my heart, 
 
 Goddess, from such affections and delights 
 
 As Thou inspirest in this blissful clime 
 
 And fair land, where thine odorous temples shine, 
 
 And the sweet breath, from inland gardens blown, 
 
 Kisses the sea breeze from the snowy crests 
 
 Of the warm waves, and all things speak of Thee ; 
 
 If I withhold me, and about me gird 
 
 An adamantine corselet, proof against 
 
 All human influences, light of eyes, 
 
 Lovesongs, melodious voices ; all soft thoughts 
 
 Born of the spring, and youthful moods ; and those 
 
 Swift radiances, that pass across the face, 
 
 Flash'd from the heart, and are reflexes pale 
 
 Of inner ardours deeper than all thought ; 
 
 Dumb raptures, and unutterable thrills. 
 
 Pulses of instincts from unfathom'd deeps 
 
 Of Being, which do in a moment melt 
 
 Hard hearts, as adamant with lightning-points ; 
 
 All these I war against if from without 
 
 They reach me ; now they reach me from within. 
 
 IV 
 
 " Pardon me then, dear Goddess, if this form, 
 This matchless picture, or this glorious dream 
 
42 CYPRUS 
 
 Within me, wins from me a nobler love, 
 
 And purer aspirations than belong 
 
 To aught without me. Tho' there come to me 
 
 No hope through all my lonely mortal life, 
 
 (Worse widowhood, which weeps not for the Good 
 
 Departed, but the Good that cannot be), 
 
 But as I live so also shall I die ; 
 
 Yet still must worship at that inner shrine 
 
 Where She is glorified : but this I vow. 
 
 No outward act that shall dishonour thee, 
 
 Urania, whose heavenly purity, 
 
 Profaned here, is well nigh laugh'd to scorn 
 
 By the lax life of heartless Vanity • 
 
 Where Summer passions, like the gaudy fly, 
 
 In one day live and die ; who call that Love, 
 
 Which, as a lightning-flash, or falling star. 
 
 Burns, and goes by, and is no more remember'd. 
 
 If I deny me any mortal love. 
 
 However holy, truthful, chaste and pure, 
 
 I will refrain from all that in the life 
 
 Might shame thy Majesty, Urania. 
 
 Then pardon me, oh pardon me ! but not 
 
 The less shall all my coming days be given 
 
 To one sole labour, one surpassing toil. 
 
 I will not sleep till I have pray'd to dream 
 
 Of that rare phantasy, that it may be 
 
 The more impress'd upon my inner sense ; 
 
 And, when I wake, the beauty that I see 
 
 May be transferr'd with might, and very truth 
 
PYGMALION 43 
 
 To the dead marble, till I make it live, 
 
 And strive thro' years of life, albeit in vain, 
 
 To show that outward which I shrine within, 
 
 Beauty though imaged, unimaginable ! 
 
 Till Time, through all his Future, shall delight 
 
 To look on that which this inspired hand 
 
 Shall fashion ; and I bid Death stand and wait. 
 
 Till I have multiplied a thousandfold 
 
 Each lovely change of that immortal form ; 
 
 And left so vast an heritage of Art 
 
 To coming generations, they shall cry 
 
 ' Enough ; we feel despair ! to us belongs 
 
 Only to look and live by loving these ; 
 
 We can add nought, except our endless praise ! ' " 
 
 V 
 Alas ! how little did I understand 
 My little strength. No sooner did I set 
 My hand to throw forth into outward act 
 The spiritual impress, and to force 
 The silent marble to 'give back to sense 
 The soul's creation, than a wondrous change 
 Pass'd over me. Now 'twas no more in me 
 The adoration of a mortal man 
 For high immortal presences ; a man's 
 Far off and passionless humility. 
 Methought, with every motion of my hand. 
 The invisible became a real thing, 
 And more and more wrought on me day by day, 
 
44 CYPRUS 
 
 Till I cried wildly, " Oh ! I'll give it life ! 
 
 And wherefore no ? " The very thought begat 
 
 A sudden incarnation of the dream, 
 
 As 'twere, and more enchanting than itself 
 
 Which I had deem'd without a parallel. 
 
 And now it seem'd a mockery to unfold 
 
 Such thoughts from marble ; Oh ! a childish play, 
 
 A poor vain pastime ! Could not steadfast will. 
 
 Earnest, intent desire with patient toil 
 
 Become resistless ? I would give it life, 
 
 Give strength, and motion to a shade, and make 
 
 The metaphysical an ultimate 
 
 In Nature, clothed with fitting attributes. 
 
 Then mortal weakness mock'd me, and I cried ; — 
 
 " Oh for some God, able to read my heart. 
 
 And see all there, to work for me awhile ! 
 
 Or still, ah still, I must bow down to toil 
 
 To make thought fruitful." Madness seized on me. 
 
 For now I thought that verily the dream 
 
 Would be fulfill'd in time ; that Faith, such Faith, 
 
 Would work me miracles ! then let me work 
 
 The irresponsive substance, till it lives. 
 
 For the cold senseless marble, void of warmth 
 
 And sympathy, and gladness, were it wrought, 
 
 Ev'n by the fervent genius of a God, 
 
 Into consummate grace, without the fire 
 
 Of love that moves this hand, would be as far 
 
 From my blest image, as the dead cold moon 
 
 Far from the blest Midsummer sun at noon ! 
 
PYGMALION 45 
 
 VI 
 
 And, after many a day, when my long toil 
 
 Was well nigh o'er, the sweet delirium 
 
 Of Phantasy wax'd wilder than before. 
 
 I cried, " She lives, she breathes." And even then 
 
 A red glow from the sunset smote upon 
 
 The loveborn image, and my madness grew. 
 
 Rapt, and entranced, and drown'd in my own dream 
 
 I stood apart ; to make the ideal true 
 
 I snatch'd a scarlet robe, and chain of gold, 
 
 And threw it round the fair cold marble neck 
 
 The work of my own hands ; and now my work 
 
 Seem'd perfected ; it was as Life itself; 
 
 So living-true, that for a little space 
 
 Lost to all knowledge of the world without 
 
 And world within, I fell down at the feet 
 
 Of the unconscious form myself had wrought ! 
 
 "Divine Creation, born of love inspired! 
 
 Shall all be given unto thee, but the gift 
 
 Most needful, power of motion, feeling, act 
 
 To speak, to turn upon my tender eyes 
 
 The tenderness of thine ? to crown my toil 
 
 With that crown of all blisses, love of him 
 
 Who made thee lovable ? Hear, hear me, love ; 
 
 Look on me, or turn from me ; " and I wept 
 
 In that sweet agony of Phantasy, 
 
 Till sense, from weariness of Nature, fail'd, 
 
 And I sank down upon the marble floor 
 
46 CYPRUS 
 
 In a long swoon, broken by troubled thoughts. 
 
 And, while I lay tranced in that sudden swoon, 
 
 Mine inner eyes were open'd, and I saw 
 
 Round me, as in a dream, heroic men, 
 
 Tall as the Gods. I heard them speak together, 
 
 A sound like tuneful waters, of deep things 
 
 Veil'd from the thought of man. " Seest thou," said one, 
 
 " This poor, sick youth, who would transfer the power 
 
 And life we give him momently to cold 
 
 Unsympathetic stone ? how nigh to death 
 
 He lies, as though in very truth his life 
 
 Had been bestowed upon the bloodless shape, 
 
 And he was left without it ; yet he hears 
 
 Our voices, and, albeit his natural sense 
 
 Is closed to Space and Time, he now may learn 
 
 That Man is twofold ; now the body lies. 
 
 As it might lie ev'n if the soul were fled ; 
 
 And, if it were so, yet he were not dead. 
 
 For, though it be not whisper'd on the earth. 
 
 And may not be for cycles yet to come. 
 
 There is One Life, but one, that rolls through All, 
 
 As the circumfluent, ebbless fire and light 
 
 Floods from the Sun for ever ; and fills in 
 
 The natural forms with being ; so all the lives 
 
 Of all the spirits, both of men and gods. 
 
 Are but the vessels, fiU'd from one great spring 
 
 According to their measures ; and, as that Life 
 
 Can never die, so man must Hve for ever. 
 
 When one is stricken to the earth, as he, 
 
PYGMALION 47 
 
 This boy, by death himself, last ill so call'd, 
 
 'Tis Death himself shall take him by the hand, 
 
 And bring him home, that home where we are now, 
 
 A swifter spirit with a nobler form 
 
 And fairer youth ; tho' differing yet the same ; 
 
 Built of such substance, as shall nevermore 
 
 Take hurt from flood, or fire, or rending steel. 
 
 Or pestilential air. Let him remember, 
 
 The thing that now lies stretch'd upon the floor 
 
 Is not the Man, altho' the beating heart, 
 
 The throbbing pulse, and all the wondrous ways 
 
 Of life within his limbs surpass the dreams 
 
 Of Poet, or of Sage, in miracle ; 
 
 But that which sees, and hears, and loves, and fears, 
 
 And thinks, and knows, and has the power to move 
 
 This fallen creature that men take for Man. 
 
 And yet the glittering eyes, the laughing lip, 
 
 The utterance, articulate and clear. 
 
 And all that seems fair and majestical, 
 
 Is but the veil, that hangs before the shrine. 
 
 That hides the Oracle which it reveals. 
 
 Men meet together, but man sees not man ; 
 
 Only the flowing robe that circles him. 
 
 So the smooth outward tissues of the body 
 
 Shut up the mighty Universe within. 
 
 So fearfully and wonderfully made. 
 
 This youth may know now that he lives, although, 
 
 Were he to see another stricken thus. 
 
 He would cry ' Dead ! ' " 
 
48 CYPRUS 
 
 Another voice was heard — 
 " How long shall Man live on in a vain dream 
 That what is outward is Reality, 
 The Inward but a Shadow ? that the Form 
 Is the true Man, and not his Minister ? 
 That, with the ruin of the Natural frame, 
 Thought dies, as heat and motion fly from it ? 
 That, from circumference to centre, Life 
 Proceeds, and not contrariwise ? that Nature 
 Is the great source of Life, not Life of Nature ? 
 Hence have they deified the Natural, 
 Beyond which they see nothing, and, led on 
 By Sense, they worship the Material 
 And Sensuous. The loveliness of Shape, 
 The bloom of Youth, which are the outward signs 
 Of inward states, to them are all they dream 
 Of lovable. Strength, Symbol of true Power, 
 They venerate, but not the power for Good 
 Strength images ; delights, which thro' the sense 
 Picture the Soul's diviner attributes. 
 To them are all things : so that Pleasure, Lust, 
 Glory, and Pride, and Vengeance, are their Gods, 
 Raised from the dust to sit on thrones in Heaven. 
 But oh ! the Life divine, the only Life 
 Earthward descends, and not ascends from it ; 
 And secretly, and yet most surely works 
 Within the inmost temple of man's soul. 
 Against the many tongues of his Self-love, 
 Whispering with still small voice, when they are mute. 
 
PYGMALION 49 
 
 Behold the earth in winter, how it sleeps 
 
 Formless, and void ; no hue of beauty there. 
 
 No heat of motion, as the tranced form 
 
 Of this poor boy. But now the spirit of Spring 
 
 Bends o'er it with her warm and pulsing wings. 
 
 And runs through all the labyrinthine walks. 
 
 And mystic ways of Nature ; and behold 
 
 She is transfigured, ev'n as the face of Man, 
 
 Awakening after slumber in the morn. 
 
 Laughs at the first sight of the rising Sun ; 
 
 And lo ! the duU cold apathy of sleep 
 
 Lightens with all-inimitable grace. 
 
 And then, then first the ,Man begins to live, 
 
 As the dawn-light first glancing o'er the earth 
 
 Brings it its glory and its beauty back. 
 
 The Life Divine raises, and re-creates. 
 
 Subliming into his Self-consciousness 
 
 The Natural Man, till he, who was in sleep 
 
 The shadow of Death, at morn becomes a God ! 
 
 Because 'tis then that this one Life Divine — 
 
 Which is Man's too, so far as he can bear, 
 
 And is the Man — again begins to move 
 
 Within the Finite. Nature is not Lord, 
 
 But slave of Man, and to his spirit bows. 
 
 As every leaf of a great forest moves 
 
 Before the winds of morn. And were it not 
 
 That this one Life, this one Eternal Life, 
 
 This Infinite, for wisest purposes 
 
 Had suifer'd Man to hold his Finite being, 
 
 VOL. II E 
 
50 CYPRUS 
 
 As 'twere his own possession — (that he might, 
 
 Feeling his weakness, his infirmities, 
 
 His many natural evils — feeling too 
 
 That his own strength can never raise him up 
 
 Beyond the accusing voice of Conscience — voice 
 
 Divine that whispers to him what he is. 
 
 His many wants, his follies, and his pride, 
 
 That he might call upon that One great Life, 
 
 For help ; to the All-father lift his hands. 
 
 And cry, as doth a weeping, woful child) 
 
 Were it not so each day, and every hour — 
 
 Did he but know his Life were not his own — 
 
 He would stand, as that marble statue, cold, 
 
 His heart unmoved, his lips expressionless, 
 
 No hope, no fear, no prayer to wing to God ! 
 
 See, how the pale cold marble he hath touch'd, 
 
 Which hath no life, but such as atoms have 
 
 That cling together, from his soul hath caught 
 
 Some of its light, and, could he give it life. 
 
 Which it might feel, as Man himself, its own. 
 
 Then, if he hid himself behind a screen, 
 
 What would the Statue think, to find itself 
 
 Alone, with senses waken'd to the world, 
 
 And, tho' with no more soul than hath a bird 
 
 That breaks its shell, and looks around, and sees 
 
 Amid the vast, and bright, and wonderful. 
 
 Only its mother, and a grain of corn ; 
 
 Would it not feel, ' I live ' not ' Who hath made me ?' 
 
 And, did he step forth, and with rude dominion 
 
PYGMALION 51 
 
 Rule o'er the fearful creature, day by day, 
 
 And hour by hour, revealing to it more 
 
 Its abject, utter weakness ; showing it 
 
 His own great riches, and its penury ; 
 
 And that it could not will, or feel, or move, 
 
 Without his license ; would it not lament 
 
 The Being without liberty, and crave 
 
 The free wing of the lark, the glorious strength 
 
 Of the wild horse, the blisses of the bee. 
 
 That sings and roves ? Would it not, could it speak, 
 
 Say, ' Wherefore hast thou made me thus a slave, 
 
 AVhile all things else, like thee, are glad and free?' 
 
 So hath the Infinite in wisdom framed 
 
 The Finite ; on dead dust hath set the seal 
 
 Of his own power and beauty, and hath made 
 
 That dust obedient to the Life, which He 
 
 Hath breathed into it ; then hath hid Himself 
 
 Behind the Selfhood of the Man, that he. 
 
 Wandering alone in light and dark, might feel 
 
 At length, that he had need of other strength 
 
 Than his own selfhood, in this mighty World 
 
 Of unimaginable wonderment ; 
 
 And weep, and tremble, and at last behold 
 
 Dimly, as 'twere afar off, the All-father 
 
 With arms stretch'd down to him, although he dwells 
 
 Not far off, but so nigh to each of us, 
 
 That, if His Life were not ours, we were not ! " 
 
52 CYPRUS 
 
 VII 
 
 No sooner were they parted, than I seem'd 
 
 To wander by the long shores of the sea, 
 
 Far off to silent nooks, and shelly grots. 
 
 And turn'd aside into green glades, and glens. 
 
 And myrtle valleys, by the bowery huts 
 
 Of fishers, and of country-folk. The sun 
 
 Twinkled thro' the twined leaves, and blossoms pale, 
 
 And made the lilies of the Spring with light 
 
 Transparent, touch'd the cypresses with gold. 
 
 Not far away a low sound of the waves 
 
 Chimed to the linnets' twitter, and the flutes 
 
 Of many blackbirds, while I stood to breathe 
 
 The sweet airs, charm'd with the soft hour and clime. 
 
 I saw a young face, peering thro' the boughs 
 
 Of a roselaurel ; what a face ! O Heaven ! 
 
 It must be — it is she ! the very form 
 
 Of my own marble wonder ! but withal 
 
 That which poor marble lack'd, the Self — the Life ! 
 
 I stretch'd my arms, I wept, I cried in sleep, 
 
 And my own passion woke me. And lo ! the night 
 
 Had fallen ; scarce a glimpse of twilight cheer'd 
 
 The still cold chamber ; and the mantled form 
 
 Was hidden from me in the thickening gloom. 
 
 Now, for the rosy kisses of the sun 
 
 A shapeless blackness met my yearning eyes ; 
 
 Instead of Youth and Beauty dreary Death. 
 
 But what is this ? is it the rising moon ? 
 
PYGMALION 53 
 
 Or glimmering sheen of burning from afar ? 
 
 For, quick as thought, a golden radiance 
 
 Rain'd thro' the roof upon me, and lit up 
 
 The chamber, waxing every moment more 
 
 Till it grew sunlike, and so dazzling-bright 
 
 I veil'd my eyes ; and soon the glory wrapt 
 
 The marble image in its folds. O Heaven ! 
 
 And was it giving it the hfe I dream'd, 
 
 Ev'n as the sunbeam opens the dead seed 
 
 And speeds the blossom ? for methought those eyes 
 
 Began to move, the quivering lips to part. 
 
 And the whole form to pulse with fires of life. 
 
 I smote my brow, that I might know for sure 
 
 That I was not adream ; I cried aloud, 
 
 As dreamers are not wont, and all the walls, 
 
 Columns, and arches echoed to the sound. 
 
 And, as the echoes died in whispers off. 
 
 The sound was taken up by the other sounds, 
 
 That came like silver tones of virgin tongues. 
 
 And seem'd to float down on the starry beams 
 
 Nearer and nearer, till they ceased. And then 
 
 I heard another voice articulate : — 
 
 " I know thy thoughts, and life, I heard thy prayer. 
 
 The pure heart only wins the beautiful ; 
 
 Choked by the serpents, of Self-love, and Pride, 
 
 It is defiled, dishonour'd ; the dark heart 
 
 Is not a temple where white Innocence 
 
 Can flee for refuge ; Beauty there enshrined, 
 
 However pure, and spotless in itself, 
 
54 CYPRUS 
 
 Is there transfigured, and becomes at once 
 
 Dark as the shadow by white marble cast, 
 
 The inverse of itself. Thou hast not sought 
 
 The haunts of those who crown themselves with flowers 
 
 That droop, and wither in one hour, like their 
 
 Brief blisses rooted in the dust of Death, 
 
 Where no good is ; the revel, and the dance. 
 
 And midnight winecup, thou hast scorn'd and fled. 
 
 All mockeries of the Beautiful and True, 
 
 Done in a day to be undone the next, 
 
 Thou hast despised ; the light love, and the vain 
 
 Pledge, and the joy, no sooner won than lost. 
 
 Like the torn petals of a trodden rose. 
 
 Thy heart was fix'd upon a godhke dream, 
 
 A pure white image of a purer thought. 
 
 Where twin hearts thirsting after Good and Truth 
 
 Blend into one thro' mutual sympathy. 
 
 The love of the one heart is taken up 
 
 And planted in the other, as chord to chord 
 
 Trembles, when both are knit in unison. 
 
 Thy pure Ideal was Immortal Love, 
 
 Imperishable essence, not to cease 
 
 With this brief life of Nature, but pass out, 
 
 And waxing ever onward in fresh strength, 
 
 New raptures, daily kindled ecstasies, 
 
 Become a lamp, illumining all things, 
 
 A fire subduing all things to itself, 
 
 A power to melt and mould all outward forms. 
 
 Like as thy hand the marble ; as the will 
 
PYGMALION 55 
 
 Directs, and guiding intellectual light ; 
 
 Until the heaven within thee shall unfold 
 
 And fashion to itself an outward world, 
 
 And sky above thee brighter than all skies 
 
 That spread themselves over this earth of thine. 
 
 According to thy state ; a purer air, 
 
 A more enchanting earth, a nobler sun, 
 
 A Universe of wonders from without 
 
 Painting a Universe of bliss within. 
 
 Thy state was known to the Immortal spheres. 
 
 So we have led thee onward step by step 
 
 Unto this day ; the very fire within thee 
 
 We breath'd into thee, and the glorious form, 
 
 Which thou hast wrought in marble, is a type 
 
 Of thine Eternity ; behold it there. 
 
 It is a shadow of the life to be, 
 
 When inner states shall mould the outward shows 
 
 Which shall react upon the inner state 
 
 And multiply all joys to manifold." 
 
 "Alas !" I cried, "my spirit only lives ; 
 
 But this cold form is dead ; though sometimes— ay 
 
 Full oft I dreamt that it had taken life, 
 
 And woke to find it but a dream — and hold 
 
 Myself the slave of things impalpable 
 
 That are as truth, last night I dreamt 'twas so." 
 
 VIII 
 " Last night thou dreamedst," said the Voice ; " that 'dream 
 Was sent to thee, and was not sent in vain. 
 
S6 CYPRUS 
 
 It was the shadow of a day long past, 
 When thy young heart was stricken unawares 
 With the rare beauty of a face, beheld 
 But for a moment ; but that moment, set 
 And framed in adamant, lived in thy heart. 
 Hid like the burning diamond in a mine. 
 The troubles of the time — the whirl of change — 
 The waves of many sorrows have roll'd o'er 
 That moment, like the great seas o'er a pearl ; 
 But when the flood reels back, the pearl is seen. 
 So when the tumults of the time had pass'd. 
 Faint influences, like the smell of flowers 
 In twilight, or the inexpressible 
 Sweet light that hovers 'twixt the Day and Night 
 When all is hush'd, dim glory, as a dawn 
 Rose in thy heart ; and by our strength and power 
 It strengthen'd, till it burst into a sun ; 
 Seized hold of thee as only Real can ; 
 , Possessing thee, as with a double life, 
 It strung thee to a supernatural might 
 Of effort, raised thee to a godlike height. 
 And wrought in thee divinely ! till at length 
 The love, that burnt within thee, show'd without, 
 And centering in that marble image — thy 
 Creation — was reflected back to thee. 
 Stirring the soul's faint sparkles till they broke 
 In flame. And thou wert mad, as men would say. 
 Who see the states they cannot reach unto, 
 Like a far fire upon a mountain-peak 
 
PYGMALION 
 
 Dilating in a mist ; or, envying bliss 
 
 They cannot feel, they breathe on it with lies ; 
 
 Till the world, looking for divinity 
 
 In the bright mirror of a godlike soul, 
 
 Sees but a cloud ! " 
 
 IX 
 
 57 
 
 -Again the heavenly voice 
 
 Sweeter than song — " I bid thee have no fear 
 Lest thy fond love shall have no counterpart. 
 She too hath had her dream ; the soft blue eyes 
 Thou sawest in the thicket met thine own, 
 And sure as light reflected in a mirror, 
 The ardent loving wonder in thy face 
 Flew back to thee out of the Maiden's heart. 
 From that day forth in noonday quietness 
 Of midnight slumber those dark eyes of thine. 
 Thou raptured youth, flashing beneath thy curls. 
 As starlight thro' the clouds, appear before her. 
 She worketh too, but not thy handicraft. 
 The joy of coming ages ; man must throw 
 His strength out or must perish ; woman lives 
 And feeds upon celestial phantasies. 
 Ye have each pictured faithfully the other." 
 "Tell me, O Goddess, must I only live 
 To love my own creation, or wilt thou 
 Give life to this sweet work of hand and brain ? 
 For where, oh where to find her, who hath lived 
 Within this heart? haply she lives no more. 
 
58 CYPRUS 
 
 And the hot whirlwinds of revolt and war 
 
 Have fallen on her, swept her from the stem 
 
 Of household safety, like a broken rose, 
 
 That falls ungather'd ; or some other man 
 
 Hath wedded her, and now I am forgot, 
 
 Or but remember'd as a thing so vain 
 
 That with her dreams she only ranks it now." 
 
 " I will give life to this thy marble love," 
 
 Urania cried, " Live, live !" Again the sound 
 
 Of the sweet silvery voices came anear ; 
 
 The golden light flow'd round more gloriously. 
 
 And it began to move ! " O Heaven ! " I cried, 
 
 "What thing is this? wonder unparallel'd !" 
 
 Down from the pedestal it softly stept. 
 
 And slowly drawing back the veil, I saw 
 
 The countenance that I had carved in stone 
 
 Glowing and vital ! eyes, whose fixed orbs. 
 
 Senseless and colourless, had mock'd my sense, 
 
 And only took their life from my own soul, 
 
 Moved radiantly, deep blue, with golden iire 
 
 That wander'd thro' them; cold, though rounded cheeks, 
 
 Bloom'd rosy clear ; and then the sculptur'd lips, 
 
 Tho' matchless in their form, unmoved by joy 
 
 Or sorrow, now wax'd scarlet, dewy, warm. 
 
 And then I heard a voice ; oh yes ! I heard 
 
 A girlish voice, sweet as a valley brook, 
 
 Low-tongued and musical. But, ere she spoke. 
 
 The Goddess spoke again ; " Oh pardon her, 
 
 That she hath sought thee ; is not this an answer 
 
PYGMALION 59 
 
 Unto the plaint that said 'Where shall I find her?' 
 
 She hath been led unto thee by sweet impulse 
 
 Imbreathed ; this is she whom thou didst see 
 
 In the rose-thicket on that morn of May, 
 
 When fearful thoughts were stronger in thy heart 
 
 Than memories of young beauty ; so the last 
 
 Vanish'd from off the earth, to live within thee. 
 
 In thy deep heart's most inmost sanctuary, 
 
 No more of Space and Time, but, as the Gods, 
 
 Immortal. Take her, she is worthy of thee. 
 
 For she hath fed on wildflowers, and hath drunk 
 
 The dews of Nature ; she hath mark'd the changes 
 
 Of the swift year, with love's own faithful art ; 
 
 Sweet pictures in the chambers of her heart 
 
 She hath hung up ; clear morns, and glowing evens ; 
 
 Green turfwalks murmuring with the noonday bees. 
 
 And summer birds ; and they shall never fade ; 
 
 The majesty of midnight with its stars 
 
 And summer moon ; and she hath loved to watch 
 
 ■When the dread winter winds began to blow ; 
 
 To see the moon run up the thunder-hills ; 
 
 The glory of the tempest, and its gloom 
 
 Rended with fire ; and all things that are sweet. 
 
 Noble, and pure, have made of her one heart 
 
 A mirror that shall give back all of thine. 
 
 Beauty is Beauty's mate ; thus should it be ; 
 
 And Phantasy, that makes thee what thou art. 
 
 Breathing from thee upon the magic mirror, 
 
 Will call to life, as often as thou wilt, 
 
6o CYPRUS 
 
 Thine own best thoughts for answer, and shall burnish 
 
 Those hues, and forms of memory, till they live 
 
 A better life impregnated by thine : 
 
 So love in ye shall be a twofold one. 
 
 Not only this, but whatsoe'er she lacks 
 
 Thou wilt supply, and what in thee is not 
 
 She shall give to thee : thus for evermore 
 
 Shall ye spread in variety, for ever 
 
 Be centred more and more in Unity, 
 
 Till everlasting ^ons shall but serve 
 
 To bring ye more together !" As she spoke 
 
 Again the music breathed, the voices sang ; 
 
 And subtle influences penetrating 
 
 The soul, expanding and exalting it. 
 
 As with invisible wings, drew us together. 
 
 She moved, then bent down to me, and I leant 
 
 Towards her ; one hand upon my shoulder laid 
 
 She prest the other to her heart ; those eyes. 
 
 Those deep blue eyes, with their soft lightnings turn'd 
 
 To mine, those lovely lips a little parted ; 
 
 The bosom heaving softly as the swell 
 
 Of summer waters. Then, oh then, I knew. 
 
 What was the beauty, born of Phantasy, 
 
 What that of Nature ! Fancy-born, it is 
 
 Imperfect, unsubstantial, insecure ; 
 
 Tho' from that very imperfection springs 
 
 The ardent thirst to see it perfected ; 
 
 So we mistake Love's ghost for Love itself. 
 
 As in the moonlight hueless, formless flowers, 
 
PYGMALION 6i 
 
 That stir not, and the garden leafage dark 
 
 Beget in us the longing to behold them 
 
 Array'd in colours of the morning sun, 
 
 Their bridal robes kist by the loving light, 
 
 The living loveliness of Nature's Self. 
 
 'Twas this then I had dreamt of; it was this 
 
 That warm'd my heart, which fondly I believed 
 
 Stirr'd by the outwrought image in my brain ; 
 
 And now 'twas true ! oh true ! And Phantasy 
 
 Kindled no moony lamp within my soul, 
 
 Yet needs must I have turn'd to the sweet youth 
 
 And perfect beauty of this peerless one, 
 
 As to my lodestar ; so the total Earth, 
 
 And its inhabitants would hail at once, 
 
 With songs and rapture, the first break of day. 
 
 The sunrise, had it never dawn'd before. 
 
 But tenfold was the fervour of that fire, 
 
 The light of that reality, which, drawn 
 
 Into the furnish'd chambers of the heart. 
 
 Hung with the mirrors of my phantasy. 
 
 From each received an image of itself. 
 
 Kindling afresh its warmth, its light, its life ! 
 
 Some Spirit rare had sung to me a song 
 
 Faint, sweet, ineffable, and dying off. 
 
 And then returning ; now my heart and brain 
 
 Were filled to overflow with echoed notes 
 
 Golden, and everlasting of the full 
 
 Celestial harmony ! Now had I heard 
 
 That paean of the heart, that triumph-voice 
 
62 CYPRUS 
 
 Of Nature and of Being, bliss no more 
 
 To be exceeded ; which to drink and die, 
 
 And iiy away for ever from this world 
 
 Of change, and shelter underneath the wings 
 
 Of some all-potent God of Gods, who can 
 
 Shield from all evil, Man might yearn, might pray for ! 
 
 X 
 
 As were my thoughts, ev'n such were hers, I knew. 
 
 And so she told me in sweet after-hours 
 
 Of calm. Such was that subtlest sympathy 
 
 On which all true love builds, and which we pour'd 
 
 Silently into one another's eyes. 
 
 The golden light was drawn up from the earth, 
 
 The silver voices seem'd to faint away 
 
 And pass up thro' bright mountain-paths of cloud 
 
 Back into Heaven, and silence breathed instead, 
 
 Except the roseleaves rustling in the air, 
 
 And babbling of a fountain. Suddenly 
 
 I started wildly ; had it been a dream ? 
 
 No, there she stood in twilight, that seemed dark 
 
 After the glory ; so I saw her not, 
 
 Till my eyes open'd to the waning light. 
 
 'Twas but a moment, ah — 'twas but a moment — 
 
 But in that moment I had deem'd her false, 
 
 Fear'd she had fled away, but she was there. 
 
 And now I heard her speak, now first I heard — 
 
 Her eyes had spoken in their radiance, 
 
PYGMALION 63 
 
 Her heart in its swift pulse, her beaming cheeks 
 
 And mute lips each its utterance — Oh ! but now 
 
 " My own," she cried, I answer'd her, " My own ! " 
 
 Again we spoke together in those tones 
 
 That trembling met in one another's hearts, 
 
 As sun-smit undulations in midsea 
 
 Kiss, and are join'd at once in perfect peace — 
 
 " Love, Love ! my own ! my only one ! Love ! Love !" 
 
CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 ARIADNE 
 PART I 
 
 I 
 
 The winds have fallen, and the blue-eyed Spring 
 Lifts up the misty curtains of the land ; 
 And all the valley to the wine-dark sea 
 Lies quivering in the morning light, and seems 
 A billowy ocean of green woods, and vines, 
 OKves, arid fig trees pierced with cypress dark, 
 And cornfields, changing into harvest gold 
 With every hour. Soft shadows breathe adown 
 The purple slopes, and laughing lights return, 
 Fetching from out the hollows of the hills. 
 And gloomed glens, like sudden lightning-flash, 
 The glance of some swift stream, or torrent-fall, 
 Or the fair frontal of some snow-white fane. 
 The young vinedresser down the turf-walk comes, 
 Shaking his sheeny black locks in his mirth ; 
 The wildbirds quire of love amid the leaves. 
 And all things sing of merriment and morn. 
 
ARIADNE 65 
 
 I see a sweet-faced maiden, with blue eyes 
 
 And yellow hair ; or is she but a young 
 
 And widow'd bride ? Hard by the rippling sea 
 
 She sits on a smooth rock ; her looks are wan, 
 
 Altho' she sings ; anon she weeps, and wails. 
 
 And flings her tangled distaff on the sands,- 
 
 Then turns to flee to the high hills. Again 
 
 She wanders back to her old seat, as one 
 
 Who has forgotten all the past, and hope 
 
 And memory strive within her day by day. 
 
 And night and morn ; and many a passer by 
 
 Looks on her kindly, as though her wUd ways 
 
 Were an accustom'd sight. Sometimes she leaps 
 
 Down from her rocks, and clutches by the arm 
 
 Some fisher, and, with piteous eager looks. 
 
 Seems as she pray'd him, pointing far away 
 
 O'er the blue waters ; and he sees her thought. 
 
 And answers softly, rude man though he be, 
 
 And sometimes with a teardrop in his eye, 
 
 "Oh yes, sweet lady, we have seen a sail." 
 
 And she laughs sweetly; for she dreams, she dreams 
 
 That he will turn again ; and well they know 
 
 All her sad musings, all her dear vain hopes, 
 
 And eke out her fond fancies with their own ; 
 
 So for a moment she be comforted. 
 
 II 
 
 Just such a morning had she in her mind, 
 A morn of other years, a sunny morn, 
 
 VOL. II F 
 
66 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 When sorrow hid not from her eyes the sun. 
 
 But, had the sun been hidden, joy had made 
 
 A brighter sun within her. These were days 
 
 When monarchs were but simple men, and drew 
 
 Their better life from Nature, fix'd their hopes 
 
 Upon the coming Springtime, and reposed 
 
 Their happy memories in the golden days 
 
 Of Summer and of Autumn ; and she thought 
 
 Of those brief blissful hours, when she had sung 
 
 Far other songs, and when her ditty ceased 
 
 She heard her brother answer her from far. 
 
 Of joy and life he in the vineyard sang, 
 
 And cropt the sprouting vines ; her mother span 
 
 In the cool portico beneath the shade ; 
 
 At times she smiled and murmur'd of those years 
 
 When love was something more than the old song. 
 
 That whiled away her aged hours, and youth 
 
 Fairer than in this old age of the world. 
 
 Her father drank the old wine of last year 
 
 And laugh'd unto himself : but, as a flower. 
 
 That 'twixt the sun and shadow shares its sweetness, 
 
 Hither and thither flitting in the wind. 
 
 Softly the blue-eyed Ariadne moved 
 
 Beneath the whispering poplars, sometimes seen. 
 
 And sometimes hid. Ah ! when she lifted up 
 
 Her loving face unto the clouds of morn. 
 
 That, from the purple of the oceanstream, 
 
 Rose like a triumph, her gold hair blown back 
 
 From brows as pure as the unfretted sand. 
 
ARIADNE 67 
 
 Laved by the last smooth sea, as tho' she hoped 
 
 That some lithe Mercury would stoop therefrom, 
 
 And kiss her on the lips ; her large blue eyes 
 
 Grew darker with the heaven drawn into them, 
 
 And seem'd to bid the little plumy loves 
 
 Into their softer spheres. Then bending down 
 
 Her neck, whose grain was soft as lily leaves. 
 
 Eager she look'd along the level seas ; 
 
 For she had caught a little homeward sail 
 
 Between two myrtles blown apart, yet far, 
 
 Far off that silver sail : whereat she stoop'd 
 
 To peep among the flowers, that waved beneath 
 
 The dews of the old fountain by the way. 
 
 Nearer and nearer creeping towards the shore. 
 
 With glances, that between the darksome veils 
 
 Of her sweet eyes might almost feed the flowers 
 
 She gazed upon, and on her crimson lip 
 
 Arch pleasure, like a rosy bacchanal. 
 
 Lay dreaming of the world, and bliss to be. 
 
 She sees far off the slowly-moving sail. 
 
 Soon is the trysting-hour ; 'tis he who comes 
 
 For her, the warrior, whose great heart she won 
 
 By that one loving act of woman's art, 
 
 Which saved him once, and all his men of war 
 
 From death in youth. What if his eyes grew blind 
 
 To all her wondrous beauty, deaf his ears 
 
 To her young voice, whose natural accents seem 
 
 To drink for ever from the secret springs 
 
 Of melody ? can his true living heart 
 
68 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Forget his saviour, her to whom he owes 
 That all the promise of his regal race, 
 That the proud hopes of his heroic youth 
 Were not cast under the resistless fangs 
 Of the fell dragon ? So she laughs, instead 
 Of any words, in answer to her thoughts ; 
 And her eyes sparkle for a moment, hke 
 The sunlit waters lightening thro' the leaves. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Shadows have fallen on the ancient home ; 
 
 The day is ended. Where her mother span. 
 
 Under the portico amid the shade, 
 
 Her father drank the red wine of last year, 
 
 Her brother cropt the vines, is silence now 
 
 And darkness ; nothing but the rustling leaves. 
 
 And bubbling of the fountain. Soon the moon 
 
 Arose, and with it the familiar chant 
 
 Of the dark nightingale, that never sang 
 
 Sad notes to her till now ; but now they seem 
 
 A loud clear voice of fear, an oracle 
 
 Of woe, a piteous pleading, a strong spell 
 
 Of incantation to win back her soul. 
 
 She listens, and she stays with beating heart ; 
 
 Her steps go back altho' she knows it not ; 
 
 She only hears the voice she heard of old. 
 
 When first she learnt the music of love-words 
 
 Till death to be remember'd. Oh ! what thoughts 
 
ARIADNE 69 
 
 Are hers in that strange interval, that holds 
 Her heart suspended betwixt love and love, 
 The old loves, and the new ! the love of friends, 
 The love of kinsfolk, and the inborn love 
 Of mother and of father ! Then she thinks 
 Of the sweet music of the tongues of praise ; 
 But do they tell her more than she hath seen, 
 When her own eyes have look'd upon herself 
 In her own mirror, or in the smooth sea ? 
 And then she runs along a bowery walk. 
 And enters by a little garden-gate. 
 And seeks the inner shadows of the house. 
 That she must leave before the morrow-morn 
 Shall rise upon the moonlight ; and she makes 
 A present picture of the things to be ; 
 Her aged mother weeps beneath the porch ; 
 Her father stands apart, and dimly smiles 
 To cheat her tears, and steady her weak heart, 
 Torn by her griefs like a stormbeaten flower. 
 And then the days of old come back to her, 
 As to one drowning, when the mystic lamp 
 Of Nature, flickering between life and death, 
 Flashes a momentary last farewell, 
 Lights up the secret chambers of the soul. 
 And shows us all therein. Old days appeared 
 As the far hills lit by the setting sun ; 
 Like sweet bells soaring on the billowy wind ; 
 And things she took slight note of every day 
 Show'd, like a picture, in the burning fancy 
 
70 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Fed by her sorrow : oh ! those beloved hills, 
 
 That old house with its treasures, those old trees, 
 
 The flower-plots, and the home fields newly mown, 
 
 Had never seem'd so magic-sweet as now. 
 
 She saw the chamber, whence, at break of day. 
 
 Her mother look'd out thro' the ancient vine ; 
 
 She saw the lamp beside her evening chair. 
 
 The jocund supper and the vesper song ; 
 
 She saw her young and fair, who now was old. 
 
 As when she follow'd her about the house. 
 
 Thro' galleries haunted by the ghosts of kings ; 
 
 And peep'd in dusty corners, in dim cells. 
 
 In hingeless coffers cramm'd with rusty wealth ; 
 
 Or when she pass'd, in breathless afternoons, 
 
 Into the orchards with their soft green walks ; 
 
 Their fresh, cold runnels fringed with mint and moss : 
 
 Or marvell'd at the heavy hanging boughs. 
 
 Purple with fruits that dipp'd into the stream. 
 
 The long-forgotten hours awoke and lived 
 
 Like his first conscience to a guilty man 
 
 Borne out to die : but now the world was changed. 
 
 Their sweet of life was gone, their years to come 
 
 Were few, their joy of heart had pass'd to her, 
 
 And little more of hope was left to them. 
 
 And she should be their proper comforter. 
 
 And they must part ; her eyes grew dim, her heart 
 
 Had lost its motion ; ah ! the touch of death 
 
 Seem'd sweeter to her than that waking sense 
 
 That all the past, so dear, so full of music. 
 
ARIADNE 
 
 Must cease and come to silence. Shall she hide, 
 
 Or fly where he can never follow her, 
 
 Forget the almighty present in the past ? 
 
 As tho' the moonshine, flittering on her brow, 
 
 Could warm it like the sunny shine of day ; 
 
 As tho' the first kiss she can call to mind 
 
 Felt as the last, the golden seal from him. 
 
 She feels that pain would be a welcome thing, 
 
 By side of this forlorn and deathlike swoon, 
 
 Where all her vital passions slay each other 
 
 Like waves that meet together. " Ah ! " she cries, 
 
 "Fain would I die this moment, if" — and hark ! 
 
 The strength as of a giant sunders all 
 
 The links of adamant that lock'd her will 
 
 And purpose ; 'tis his voice among the boughs 
 
 Between her and the sea; the love of friends, 
 
 The love of kinsfolk, and the inborn love 
 
 Of father and of mother : see ! they stand, — 
 
 Who were not long ago as strong and fair 
 
 As armed giants, all unconquerable — 
 
 Now like pale phantoms of their former selves. 
 
 Thin ghosts that melt away as morning mists, 
 
 Wan stars that cannot front the glorious day. 
 
 That love that is the life of life hath shone 
 
 Into her soul ; what can she do ? Her tears 
 
 Are nought against it, more than are the drops 
 
 Of matin dew, that seem as little suns 
 
 Against the orb of noon : oh ! 'tis his voice 
 
 Scattering her doubts, as 'twere a httle dust 
 
 71 
 
72 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Shaken down by a trumpet blast ; 'tis he 
 
 Who mounts the shoreward stair ; and 'tis his head 
 
 That peers between the parted leaves and flowers, 
 
 And takes the sudden moonlight on his face. 
 
 He murmurs a few notes of an old song, 
 
 And whispers some low-voiced words ; and all, 
 
 Childhood, and girlhood, wonted hopes, and fears 
 
 Fade in oblivion, as the garden trees, 
 
 The flowers she loved the best, her little birds 
 
 That sang to her until this very day, 
 
 And the beloved home of all her days, 
 
 Drown in the shadow of that passing cloud. 
 
 She marks not that the moon is hid away ; 
 
 Her heart is radiant and she lights the dark. 
 
 But when its sheeny face looks down again, 
 
 It shows her, far below beneath a rock 
 
 O'er-plumed with rosebrier, the appointed bark. 
 
 And the strong men that only wait for her. 
 
 And, while she bides with beating heart, again 
 
 The nightingale unloosens the long chain 
 
 Of his melodious thoughts, showers on the dark 
 
 Rapturous joys, like arrows which their speed 
 
 Turns into fire ; no more she is afraid 
 
 To listen to that song, which seems a voice 
 
 Of godlike victory o'er a thousand ills, 
 
 Chiding her feeble sad humanity. 
 
 The rising breeze is singing in her hair ; 
 
 It seems to wing her heart, and she is free 
 
 To fly with him, to fly — she hath no fear ! 
 
ARIADNE 73 
 
 IV 
 
 All night the bark held on beneath the moon ; 
 
 And airs, that only breathed upon the sea 
 
 Lovesighs, and only drew soft answers from it, 
 
 That trembled back a subtle sympathy, 
 
 A soundless ripple, kissing the dark side 
 
 O'er which she leant, and heard at intervals 
 
 The silvery waters chiming, while the wake 
 
 Of the light vessel quiver'd like a flame 
 
 In the warm moonlight, vanishing away 
 
 Thro' darkest shadows toward her island home, 
 
 Whose distant mountain summits seem'd to frown 
 
 A silent warning on her silent fears, 
 
 Which that beloved voice close by her ear 
 
 Scarce charm'd away. Sorrietimes they join in song, 
 
 Which the deep voices of the men of war 
 
 Lifted on pealing chorus, as the swell 
 
 Of the dark waters lift on high the crests 
 
 Of the bright spray, when winds are blowing strong. 
 
 Sometimes he moved her mirth with mirthful words, 
 
 And she laugh'd out ; sometimes he held her ear 
 
 Wound in the meshes of a wondrous tale 
 
 Wherein. he was chief venturer ; and his words 
 
 Became to her as vital forms, and shook 
 
 Her pitying soul, as tho' she had been by : 
 
 And the dim waters, and the midnight still 
 
 Seem'd but as phantoms, after the dread sight 
 
 Of mortal peril, for a moment shaped 
 
74 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 In his swift speech, and hardly pass'd away 
 
 When his blithe laugh, and yet another song 
 
 Brought back the present. Soon her swooning sense 
 
 Grew blind to all things outward, and she heard 
 
 No utterance but her own tumultuous thoughts. 
 
 That rose before her in disastrous shapes. 
 
 It was no more her lover's dusky brows 
 
 Leaning toward her, nor the silver sound 
 
 Of the seawaters, mingling with his words. 
 
 She sat in her old chamber, and the breeze 
 
 Stirr'd the large flowers, that with her lattice twined ; 
 
 Below there lay the gardens, dark and still, 
 
 The fountain-waters hidden in the gloom ; 
 
 But in the middle of the chamber stood 
 
 Her own dear mother weeping, and the tears 
 
 Dropt in the moonlit silence ; and she rose 
 
 And came nigh to her, look'd into her face. 
 
 And dreamt she threw fond arms about her neck. 
 
 But in that mourning aspect show'd no sign 
 
 Of knowledge ; was it madness, was it pride ? 
 
 Or was it blinded by too many tears ? 
 
 Or was she then for ever unforgiven ? 
 
 She knew not, but her sorrow was as death. 
 
 Her vision changed ; she thought she stood again 
 
 Under the broad leaves of the murmuring vine 
 
 That curtain'd them, and heard her father speak 
 
 The last words she had heard him utter there. 
 
 Had not her father said, one merry morn 
 
 Of Spring, one May-day morn, while holding her 
 
ARIADNE 75 
 
 At arm's length from him, to look on her face, 
 
 That virgin beauty fairer than all blooms 
 
 Breathing around them there ; had he not said : 
 
 " Kiss me, my child ; whom, if mine eyes grew dark 
 
 After this moment, I should ever see 
 
 Pictured upon my heart, a light, a star 
 
 To lighten me till death ? I tell thee, child, 
 
 Dearest, and only one, our hope, and joy, 
 
 The day is come for thee to be the joy 
 
 Of yet another, and to lean thy youth 
 
 On some young heart, and to untwine thine arms 
 
 From ours, the old ones ; tho' the old ones still 
 
 Must follow thee with their dim eyes, so far 
 
 As they may follow. Let it not be far, 
 
 my beloved : if thou take a mate. 
 Choose him among the chiefs of this thy land, 
 The noblest, and the best ; is not this isle 
 The first of all the daughters of the deep ? 
 Wilt thou find any lovelier, or a race 
 
 For valour and for wisdom more renown'd ? 
 
 1 know not any. Should some prince from far 
 Ask me to give thee to him for his mate, 
 
 Could I, could thy fond mother, who have mark'd 
 Thine eyes first open to the light, and heard 
 Thy first words lisp, and seen thy little feet 
 Bring thee up to our arms ; could we, dear girl, 
 See thee go from us over unknown seas, 
 And be divided by them from thy land 
 And lineage, haply never hearing more 
 
76 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Of thee, or from thee ; thee no more of us, 
 
 Whose closing eyes will hope to look on thee, 
 
 And thy young children : and, if we were blind, 
 
 To clasp them in our arms, and thus to feel, 
 
 That if all else that men love in this world 
 
 Were taken from us, strength, and wealth, and power, 
 
 We should not be forsaken ? Heaven forbid 
 
 That I should see thee part, and linger on 
 
 Under a cloud of ever-during grief, 
 
 A king of men to other's eyes, a man 
 
 Unto himself whose heart is turned to stone, 
 
 Cold, cold, and dead, as this bright isle would be 
 
 Without its sun. Ah ! rather strike us dead. 
 
 Than leave us to lament thee, dead to all 
 
 Thy cherish'd first affections and to us ! 
 
 So choose thy mate among us " : and a tear 
 
 Stood in his eye. And then he laugh'd, and said, 
 
 " But I am as a child myself, to dream 
 
 Of what can never be. I know not what 
 
 Has sway'd me this glad morn to utter words, 
 
 As harsh and dissonant from thy young mirth. 
 
 As would be a grim cloud of winter snow 
 
 Athwart this golden summer : kiss me, child." 
 
 She cried aloud ; and with that cry awoke ; 
 
 The marvel was dissolved, and half the pain. 
 
 She could not be where she was not ; her home 
 
 Was on the land, and she was on the sea. 
 
 But the unreal was so real still, 
 
 That undreamt tears were falling ; but the day 
 
ARIADNE 77 
 
 Was dawning, and far other sights and sounds 
 Were round about her ; for the coming morn 
 Was darker than the moonhght. From the west 
 Uprose huge shapes, as of avenging gods, 
 That foUow'd swiftly with a thunderous voice, 
 That mingled with the winds, and drove the foam 
 Against the sail, and shuddering hull, that rose, 
 As 'twere to front the tempest, and again 
 Rush'd madly on against a mountain-wall 
 Of waters ; so she veil'd her face in fear. 
 And trembled, for she deem'd that all was lost. 
 The loves that had been, with the joy to be. 
 Would vanish in a moment ; every hope 
 And memory, drown'd in terror, ere death came 
 To swathe her warm life in the cold salt surge. 
 But a hand touch'd her, and a voice was heard 
 That drove sad fancies from her, as the breeze 
 Of morning scatters the pale ghosts of night. 
 His strong arm round her, she arose, and saw 
 Another land, a land of corn and wine, 
 A land of hill and valley, laughing out 
 Thro' rents in the pale stormdrift, and she mark'd 
 That they were borne into a quiet bay. 
 Circled by fair green woods, and pastoral dales ; 
 And the dread sound of the great wrath had ceased 
 Tho' far behind them roll'd its voice in vain. 
 
78 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 PART II 
 
 Oh let not woman read the faith of man 
 In light of her own love ; or dream the fire, 
 That leaps up in his heart, will burn as long 
 As that more steadfast and enduring flame, 
 That, waxing gently, grows to more and more, 
 As the dawn waxing to the noon of day ; 
 While his from its first ardour dies away. 
 As the sun waning to the west at even 
 To less and less. She feeds her thirsty soul 
 With his burnt-offering only, and delights 
 To trample underfoot all flowers of life, 
 Tho' lavish'd on her by a thousand hands, 
 Only as wither'd leaves : oh ! her pure gold, 
 Tho' light in seeming, will outweigh full soon 
 His gilded baser metal of self-love. 
 Of self-deceiving, of smooth flatteries ; 
 Ev'n passion's self, tho' for a moment made 
 To sink the scale. Yet, while it is her heaven 
 To reign sole Goddess of his prostrate soul. 
 Still more she loves to leave that throne, to bow 
 Before him, and to minister to him. 
 Sole priestess, casting on the altar fire 
 All joys, all hopes that she hath ever known. 
 All past and future, all her selfhood, all 
 
ARIADNE 
 
 For love of him, and for his love. But he 
 
 Is as the fire upon a mountain-top, 
 
 Beaten by veering winds, that whirl it round 
 
 Hither and thither ; and the pleasant plots. 
 
 Gardens and vineyards, that rejoiced erewhile 
 
 Under its shelter, suddenly are swept 
 
 By the fire-torrent ; for his fickle loves 
 
 Change as those winds, each stormy in its change ; 
 
 While hers is constant as an ebbless sea. 
 
 II 
 
 But, if the corselet of a warrior shields 
 His heart's blood from the javelin's point — in vain 
 He seeks to hide the thoughts within that heart 
 From woman's eye. Ev'n as the light will sound 
 The darkest waters, her diviner fire 
 Of indivisible, all-searching love 
 Will find it, ev'n though hidden from itself; 
 Will read the shadows cast from it, where'er 
 'That heart is not transparent to its beams. 
 And she will mark the secret in a smile 
 Colder than heretofore ; will echo a tone 
 Too faint for other's ears ; will hear a sigh. 
 And question it ; or fear a flash of mirth 
 Not due to the occasion : she will feel, 
 Like one atrembling between life and death, 
 The passing of a shadow, or cool wind. 
 After the warm sun any sudden change, 
 
 79 
 
8o CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 And on the tablets of her spotless peace 
 Will read the sum of all. And he will stand 
 In wonderment, when after many days 
 Her wisdom, like an oracle, unfolds 
 The purpose, or the passion he believed 
 The whole world knew no more, nor wisest men, 
 Than she that simple child. And so it chanced 
 That her sweet words fell on his ear in vain ; 
 Her laughters were not mirror'd in his eyes ; 
 Her simple wonder stirr'd him not ; she felt 
 As though her footstep, feeling for the ground, 
 Shock'd her with a harsh void, and she was sad. 
 Oft, when his joy in her was fresh and pure, 
 He loved to waken up her thirsty soul 
 To the great wondrous world — by night or day 
 Wondrous — and breathed in her delighted ear 
 The mystic motions of his inmost soul. 
 Wandering beyond its confines ; call'd her oft. 
 Ere daybreak, to behold the solemn dawn 
 Flood o'er the mountain-tops, and woodlands dark. 
 When all was stillness, so profound they heard 
 Their heart-beats ; and from far the argent chime 
 Of falling waters, and the first blithe note 
 Of songbird waking, swiftly to 'become 
 A tuneful sea, ere yet the sun roU'd o'er 
 The purple summits, and led on the winds, 
 » That sway'd the billowy forest, touch'd with gold 
 Of sunrise, and bore up its dewy breath 
 Of odours, and deep, distant organ voice. 
 
ARIADNE i 
 
 Oft, when the nightly winds had made the sea 
 
 Put on his might, she joy'd at morn with him 
 
 To mark the loud tormented waters rage 
 
 Against the adamantine steeps, and writhe 
 
 'Mid fallen crags, and caves, and, with the weight 
 
 Of their vast wrath, shake all the isle. She thought 
 
 She saw the powers, that rule beneath the sea. 
 
 Moving amid the thunder and the foam. 
 
 And wielding their great arms ; until the glory. 
 
 And hundred voices of the ocean fill'd 
 
 Her ear, as with the music of a triumph. 
 
 Her heart with exultation ; and she turn'd 
 
 Her eager eyes on him to answer her 
 
 With gladness like her own. But now his eyes 
 
 Seem'd with that visible majesty unmoved. 
 
 And inly turn'd on that she could not scan. 
 
 And she grew thoughtful too, and could have wept. 
 
 That, when her heart was sunny as the morn, 
 
 His should be cold in shadow ; but alas ! 
 
 Had she then dreamt of sorrow such as hers. 
 
 First by those maned monsters of the deep 
 
 He should have seen her torn, and after thrown 
 
 Pale at his feet amid the murmuring spray 
 
 On the smooth sunlit sands ; and when he saw 
 
 The golden morning, that awakes the hearts. 
 
 And wins the smile of all things beautiful, 
 
 The dewy morning light upon her face. 
 
 That used to turn its first looks toward him, 
 
 Fix'd in the hush'd cold undelight of death ; 
 
 VOL. II G 
 
82 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Ah ! then perchance her solitary ghost 
 
 Had witness'd some few sighs, some tender words. 
 
 Ere he spread forth his wings to flee away, 
 
 And in her woe she had been comforted. 
 
 He would have bended over her his eyes 
 
 For the last time, and in her sunken orbs 
 
 Have urn'd his tears ; her hopes had been but tears 
 
 III 
 
 At last her fancy show'd him his own guile. 
 
 He heard her weeping in an evil dream. 
 
 And touch'd her with his hand, and she awoke ; 
 
 (It was a gusty time, about the dawn.) 
 
 She said still weeping, "Strange it is that sleep. 
 
 With its dim Ukeness of reality 
 
 And idle shapes, hath power to move my soul 
 
 With grief, which thou and daylight, in whose smile 
 
 111 phantoms fade away, cannot control. 
 
 Thou hearest how this fresh and breezy morn 
 
 The sea is stirring, and the waves beat loud 
 
 Upon the beach : this night there hath been wind. 
 
 Whose rising, with the rising of the sea, 
 
 Seem'd in my sleep like fatal voices calling 
 
 Louder and louder, Ariadne, come. 
 
 Wake, Ariadne, for thy spouse is fled. 
 
 Thy warrior is afar upon the sea. 
 
 So, as I was, my eyes bedimm'd with sleep 
 
 And thronging tears, methought I rose from bed, 
 
ARIADNE 83 
 
 Where thou wert not, and rush'd into the storm 
 
 And flying spray ; forlorn, as one pursued 
 
 By the Eumenides ; for I was mad, 
 
 And heeded not myself. And, lo, a crowd 
 
 Of hungry fishers, wild men of the sea, 
 
 Whose savage breasts with pity seem'd to heave 
 
 For my distress ; and some did scatter tears 
 
 Amid the salt sleet of the seas, and beat 
 
 Their rugged bosoms with sincerity ; 
 
 And all, with outstretcht arms, and eager looks, 
 
 Made signs that still thy sail was dimly seen 
 
 Under the lee of a dark mountain isle. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! I look'd, but only saw. 
 
 In the drear twilight of that cruel morn, 
 
 The towering waters ridge the gleaming East, 
 
 As the shrill northwind crisp'd the gloomy seas 
 
 With wreathen spume ; so that, in my despair. 
 
 My long, loose hair streaming upon the breeze 
 
 With head uncover'd, with unsandall'd feet, 
 
 I ran along the vineyards in wild haste. 
 
 That I might reach the highest craggy peak 
 
 Of all the isle, and then perchance behold 
 
 The last of him who had forsaken me. 
 
 I wildly thought to look upon thy face 
 
 Once more, and kill thee with the sight of mine : 
 
 And make thee hear, as from the towers of Heaven, 
 
 The lightning-winged notes of my revenge. 
 
 Of my great sorrow, anger, and despair : 
 
 Then, if that fail'd, I would have sued thee thus 
 
84 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 With supplication low, and folded palms. 
 I well remember that pale Autumn morn. 
 And the rough winds had just begun to whirl 
 The dying roses up into the air, 
 And the long tendrils of the drooping vines 
 Were scattering off their red and golden leaves 
 Along the stony ways. I wept aloud ; 
 For Nature seem'd my fortunes to bewail 
 With that old Autumn song, and tear her hair 
 And cast her Summer chaplets to the ground. 
 To see me thus ; ah ! drear and desolate hour. 
 The winds rush'd by me, shrieking as they flew, 
 Like spirits frantic with their pain; and then 
 Into low wailing fell among the rocks. 
 And in the pauses of the inland storm, 
 I heard the voice of the unmerciful ; 
 I heard the orphan, and the widow-maker 
 Speak to me in the thunder of the seas. 
 And then again it seem'd a mourning voice. 
 Awful, as was my sorrow, but withal 
 Compassionate, and like a mother's kind, 
 A friendly, old, and sweet monotony. 
 But oh ! 'tis past ; may all the Gods be thank'd 
 That dreams are only dreams ; it is not true 
 That thou hast left me, Theseus. O my love. 
 It is not true that thou wilt leave me thus." 
 So saying, she look'd sadly in his face. 
 He said — " I am the firstborn of a King ; 
 Wert thou a poor man's child, yet be thou sure 
 
ARIADNE 85 
 
 I love thee more than royal damsels clad 
 In Tyrian folds, and zoned with pearls of Ind." 
 ' But while he spoke, she saw perplexed thoughts 
 A moment pass across his face, then sink 
 Into his soul ; as on a summer's night 
 Strange lightnings spring from out the tempest's skirts 
 And deep into the central thundercloud 
 Strike, and are lost, but never reach the earth. 
 Alas ! alas ! her soul divined too well 
 What she had never dared confess to it. 
 Under those blue eyes, looking clear as Truth, 
 The motions of his heart were false and cold 
 As is the sunlight underneath the sea. 
 That looks so fair, and trembles on the sands. 
 Ah ! then she twined her arms about his neck, 
 And with the long locks of her cloudy hair 
 Wiped away tears, but they were tears of joy, 
 And sweet as dews shed out of morning flowers. 
 And all that day she wander'd by herself. 
 And spoke not even to him ; it was delight 
 That made her lonely ; in great bliss she loved 
 To be alone, as she was now in grief; 
 And to the clouds, the mountain-trees, and springs 
 To tell of that she loved, and him she loved 
 Now more than heretofore ; for he had said 
 That he loved her, albeit a King's son. 
 Were she a poor man's daughter, not a king's. 
 Ev'n then she knew how hard it is to part, 
 When hearts have beat together in one sleep. 
 
86 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 And in that sleep have dreamt the selfsame dream. 
 
 Once in their sleep they dreamt the selfsame dream, 
 
 And woke at once thinking each other slain. 
 
 Once, on a moonlight night, she waking look'd 
 
 Upon his face so beautiful in sleep, 
 
 And heard him murmur in the muffled voice 
 
 Of strengthless sleep : " For ever she is mine ! 
 
 Away and leave me. Death is not so fierce 
 
 As ye are, hated executioners. 
 
 Who part us twain, whose hearts are firmlier knit 
 
 Than one to itself. Death is not so alone ; 
 
 Ah ! bloodless Death is not so desolate 
 
 As Love that seeketh Love and cannot find." 
 
 And then his breast with inward torment stirr'd, 
 
 His fingers feebly moved, as if to strive 
 
 With some that bound him ; and she kiss'd his brow, 
 
 Whereon the sweat of mortal conflict stood. 
 
 As though it had been real ; for those words. 
 
 Breathed thus, did seem the very seal of truth. 
 
 But he raised up the side that held his heart. 
 
 And, turning on the other, with deep sighs 
 
 Sank into sleep again, and dreamless calm. 
 
 IV 
 
 So all she had foreshadow'd in her sleep 
 Came to her, even as she had pictured it. 
 One morning he was missing from her side. 
 She ran down to the shore, forlorn and pale ; 
 
ARIADNE 87 
 
 She heard the pitiful words of fishermen ; 
 
 Against the distant purple isle she saw 
 
 The far-off bark ; she ran to the hilltop 
 
 To see it while she could ; and from that day 
 
 Her spirit, darken'd by its real woe, 
 
 Took fragments of imperfect memories 
 
 For things to come ; as the uncertain sight 
 
 By moonlight takes the images of life 
 
 For living forms ; all pity sued in vain. 
 
 Her sighs, like smoke from burning mountains driven. 
 
 Rose from her heart of anguish night and day. 
 
 Her lamentation, like the lonely waves. 
 
 When the first tempest of her woe was past, 
 
 A ceaseless murmur made : a pale old man 
 
 Who once had lived amid the strife of men. 
 
 Said that it was ambition : " How couldst thou, 
 
 Poor child, subdue ambition ? " And he smiled 
 
 A palsied smile, that wither'd into grief. 
 
 Because she answer'd, " Tell me where he is ; 
 
 Oh let me meet mine enemy, and I'll plead 
 
 For my lost love that he hath stolen away. 
 
 Upon my bended knees ! " And then she blush'd 
 
 At her own foolish words, and spoke again 
 
 In bitter truth ; " Oh that the hateful thing, 
 
 The cruel passion, could transform itself 
 
 Into a very serpent in its wrath. 
 
 Or the slain Minotaur return'd to hfe ; 
 
 Into whose dark den I might pass alone 
 
 To strive with it ! " 'Twas best for her to part. 
 
CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 When all things fought against her in this world. 
 
 She saw no more one face of all she loved. 
 
 The hero present to her eyes and ears, 
 
 The lord of all her thoughts was now no more, 
 
 Only a bloodless phantom, not less dear, 
 
 Tho' she no more might clasp it in her arms. 
 
 More than forsaken Orpheus his foregone 
 
 Eurydice, across the nether stream ; 
 
 Only a lifeless thing, a silent shape ; 
 
 And yet not silent ; for it utter'd all 
 
 That he had ever spoken in her ear 
 
 In their love moments, in their prime of bliss, 
 
 Like songs of sweet birds in the Mayday dawn, 
 
 Whisperingly, but no other words. 
 
 How many of such words were promises. 
 
 Were blessings 1 — she remember'd that too well — 
 
 And now came back to her, like sounds in sleep, 
 
 Like voices cast away upon the wind, 
 
 Like mocking echoes when the sound is gone ; 
 
 And 'twixt those hours and these there was a gulph. 
 
 Whence angry furies flung their arms and howl'd ! 
 
 The very day was dark ; but, ere she died, 
 
 She felt a sudden rapture, kin to hope ; 
 
 And, for a brief space, all the dread to come. 
 
 And all her dearest memories, — which begat 
 
 Between them her dark brood of present thoughts — 
 
 Vanish'd in mere forgetfulness ; for see, 
 
 Two loving eyes look'd up into her own ! 
 
 And then she pray'd for life, that it might live, 
 
ARIADNE 89 
 
 Oblivion — so she might but think on it — 
 
 Pain — that she might bear pain, so it were free — 
 
 For sorrow, if it might rejoice ; for strength 
 
 To fight against herself; so that it grew 
 
 To bring back to her widow'd eyes again 
 
 The presence she had lost ; perchance to his, 
 
 Who would come back — oh ! sure he would come 
 
 back — 
 And, if she were not there to welcome him. 
 Look on her in her child. So memory twined 
 Into its ghostly garland one live flower 
 Of hope, that promised a new hfe ; but Fate 
 Stood by and frown'd ; and ever-armed Death, 
 Following the flying shadow of her sorrow. 
 Cast down his own upon her as she smiled. 
 
 V 
 
 But, ere she died, she saw a wondrous sight. 
 
 Or dreamt she saw. She raised her swooning head. 
 
 And for a while the glory in her eyes 
 
 Kindled again, the red rose in her cheek. 
 
 Her tongue was loosed ; " O friends, bewail me not, 
 
 Behold, I know that I am not forsaken. 
 
 I thought my love was false, and that he fled 
 
 Beyond the seas, and left me in a land 
 
 Of strangers ; but this morn I wander'd forth. 
 
 There is a spot, among the mountains wild 
 
 In my beloved isle, untrodden, green. 
 
90 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Whereto ye came, after a long ascent, 
 
 Thro' jungles, and huge rocks, and dangerous waters 
 
 Breaking around ye like a sundering world, 
 
 But one short curve, unhoped-for, took ye forth 
 
 Out of that chaos ; and, O Heaven ! a sight 
 
 Of beauty broke upon ye in a moment, 
 
 Glad as the face of a Divinity, 
 
 Or Peace herself, showing her blessed face 
 
 Amid the noise of battle. I have seen 
 
 Rude voyagers shed irresistible tears 
 
 At that bright apparition, and a shout 
 
 Of exultation, bursting from their hearts, 
 
 Hath scaled the peaked hills around, and made 
 
 The solitary Nymphs of that sweet place 
 
 Fly into trackless paths, and deepest shade. 
 
 So lovely was the view beheld on high 
 
 Of that green land, its winding streams, soft hills, 
 
 Plumed with their forest trees ; no roofs of men, 
 
 Sparkling from out their vineyards ; no tall towers 
 
 Of palaces, arising out of woods 
 
 And gardens green ; no rustic smoke ascending 
 
 From the near hut, no cities seen afar. 
 
 Only the silence of the champaign broad 
 
 Throbbing with light ; all dying into thin 
 
 Azure of morning, with the circling sea 
 
 Shining afar off like a crystal wall. 
 
 Methought I stood upon that glorious plain ; 
 
 And, as I look'd upon the lovely realm, 
 
 I heard a sudden tumult, and behold 
 
ARIADNE 91 
 
 From under green boughs link'd with eglatere, 
 
 And bloombells, came forth, with a sound of songs 
 
 And beaten cymbals, a great company. 
 
 Such as were never seen in this dim world. 
 
 And youths and maidens, beautiful as they 
 
 Who trod the young earth in the youth of Time, 
 
 Swinging between them many a wildflower chain, 
 
 And woodbine, sparkling with their dewy drops. 
 
 Came onward in quick dance. Others there were. 
 
 Farther than eyesight, following in the mists 
 
 Of dawn, as tho' the old earth had begun 
 
 To be repeopled with a fairer race 
 
 Than mortal man, once more. I stood apart, 
 
 And, in my wonder, I forgot my grief 
 
 Some shouted jubilant, and flung their arms 
 
 Into the air, and toss'd a red-rose rain 
 
 Amid the torrent sunrise ; others blew 
 
 Trumpets, and smote on timbrels ; and, between 
 
 The nearer voices, far cries from the deep 
 
 Of pathless valleys and dark woods, uproU'd, 
 
 Like some great sea, whose waves were blown by hope 
 
 To never-ebbing, still exulting joys. 
 
 They came, they came, they cover'd all the mount. 
 
 And, in the midst of all that pomp, I saw 
 
 One, as enthroned, who in a chariot sat ; 
 
 And speckled pards, as swift and bright as fire, 
 
 Drew him along, and in his hand he bore 
 
 A rod o'ergrown with viny sprays, his brow 
 
 Wreathed with the ruby grapes like clustering gems. 
 
92 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 And his deep eye look'd on me, and I forgot 
 
 All sorrow, and the love that I had lost. 
 
 Was it my lost love from among the Gods 
 
 Come back to call me ? Oh full well I know 
 
 My love hath not forsaken me ; I know 
 
 He could no more embrace me here on earth. 
 
 If glorious death hath wing'd him up to them : 
 
 But I shall find him. As I bow'd my head, 
 
 The joyous host stood still, the songs were hush'd. 
 
 He rose, advanced a step, as if to light 
 
 Down from his car, and with delighted eyes 
 
 Stretch'd out his arms unto me !" Here she ceased. 
 
 But her eyes burn'd, as though again she saw 
 
 The vision on the mount ; then, as the star 
 
 Of even drowns amid the dews of dawn. 
 
 The rapturous light was quench'd, and the grey cloud 
 
 Breathed o'er her mortal beauty ; and she lay 
 
 Free of all sorrow, while her orphan child 
 
 Lay wondering at the world that she had left. 
 
 VI 
 
 Oh ! oft the Gods bring near to us in time 
 
 The chastisement of pride, make our vain wills 
 
 Rebound upon us ; fragments wounding us 
 
 Of the sword broken in our hands, the pain 
 
 Of the burnt hand we thrust into the fire, 
 
 We deem their vengeance. Ofttimes, when too late. 
 
 Awake the yearnings of the heart in vain 
 
ARIADNE 93 
 
 For that we have thrown by in thriftless haste, 
 
 And never look on more : pure gold of peace 
 
 Lost for gilt folly ; worth for wreaths of praise ; 
 
 True hearts for heartless flattery ; love itself 
 
 For love of self. And so it was with him, 
 
 The man of wars and wiles, and weary ways, 
 
 Darken'd by sun, and dust, and battlefields, 
 
 Whose kingly stature spoke of knitted strength, 
 
 Of perfect manhood, his broad brows of thought ; 
 
 In whose dusk aspect the maymorn of youth 
 
 Was quench' d, but not the starlight in his eyes. 
 
 As he stood underneath a well-known rock. 
 
 Where he had paced in early days with her, 
 
 Who had long years been nothing more to him, 
 
 Than some sweet summerdawn, to one who strives 
 
 Against the roaring of the winter winds, 
 
 And midnight snowblasts. Two or three were there. 
 
 Fellows in his ill fortune ; for his bark 
 
 Lay on the shoals a wreck, and they were hush'd 
 
 In weary slumbers, and the wind alone 
 
 Howl'd in the caverns, and bent back the boughs 
 
 Of a leafless tree, fit emblem of his fate, 
 
 And desolation ; but the tree was there 
 
 In its own land while he was far away. 
 
 Oh once that well-known isle had seem'd his home ; 
 
 Now was it all forlorn as his own heart, 
 
 Lash'd by the stormy wind, and the salt spray. 
 
 There had he walk'd, beneath the summer sun. 
 
 In those remember'd hours, which in his heart 
 
94 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Whirl'd swiftly, like the dead leaves at his feet. 
 
 But in a moment all the lovely past, 
 
 Behind the mists of tumult and of change, 
 
 Dim as a pictured unreality, 
 
 Rose up before him, and the years between 
 
 Show'd like the smoke of tempest rolling off. 
 
 He whisper'd, " Have the Rulers of the world 
 
 Cast me again upon this peaceful shore, 
 
 That I may link again the broken chain 
 
 Of happy thoughts, and find the blissful rest 
 
 I rent asunder ? Oh ! I know this place. 
 
 And all the fashions of that pleasant home. 
 
 Which seldom, since the morn I fled away 
 
 Rebellious, had I for a moment's space 
 
 Leisure to muse on, save in dreams. I know 
 
 The rocky bypath, winding from the beach, 
 
 O'erhung with its brier-roses, till it join'd 
 
 The viny walk we loved to pace at morn. 
 
 Before the sudden sun came up the east, 
 
 And smote the cool turf with its trembling beams. 
 
 Kindling the argent dews to gold, and changed 
 
 The stainless waters in their lilycups 
 
 To ruddy wine. I see the osier gate 
 
 Parting the trellised alley, hung with green. 
 
 And purple bunches from the flowers that waved 
 
 Before the door thrown open, and behind 
 
 Dark bowery slopes, tipt here and there with flames 
 
 Of sunrise, and, above, the jagged peaks 
 
 Of purple hills. We heard the hidden flow 
 
ARIADNE 95 
 
 Of a clear runnel, rushing to the sea 
 
 Down through a tangled valley to the left ; 
 
 Hark ! even now I hear the sound of it, 
 
 Swollen with angry floods, as though it raved 
 
 And moan'd with grief; ah ! 'tis the surer sign. 
 
 The Immortal ones, I fear, but mock me now. 
 
 By holding up to my rewaken'd eyes 
 
 The picture of that fairest lot on earth. 
 
 Love undisturb'd, when I can clasp no more 
 
 Aught but an image of it — as one sees 
 
 The youthful shape, that is no longer his. 
 
 And nevermore can be — A thing that was, 
 
 A presence, like the cloudless sun of morn 
 
 Remember'd when the thunderclouds at even 
 
 Have swathed it round ; a thing that is to be 
 
 Flickering before my vision till I die, 
 
 As the sun's image in the eye, to one 
 
 Who hath gazed on it shining in its strength ; 
 
 Beauty and Truth a hving form, and lost. 
 
 And nevermore to answer to my call, 
 
 Or tremble to my touch ! But, oh ! I feel 
 
 The magic of this place is over me. 
 
 As though a wizard's hand had touch'd mine eyes, 
 
 And bid me slumber, deaf to every voice 
 
 But hers. Ah ! if she stood before me now. 
 
 As last I saw her, once again my heart 
 
 Would clothe itself in blisses, and forget 
 
 All but its first enchantment ; once again 
 
 Glide down the unruffled future that I loved 
 
96 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 To babble of as idly as a child, 
 
 Ere yet the fires of glory that I fed 
 
 Lay, like dead ashes, underneath my feet. 
 
 O God ! if she be dead, and I be doom'd 
 
 To hear the winds and waters, that of old 
 
 Spoke to us musically, cry unto me 
 
 In lamentation, ' Thou hast slain her ! Thou 
 
 Hast hated the one heart that loved thee best ! 
 
 Hast slain thy loved and lovely one !' And yet 
 
 Love is not kill'd, nor hers, nor mine. Alas ! 
 
 For mortal man and his humanity ; 
 
 What can heal woful life, but only death ? 
 
 Were not death better than to think of it ? 
 
 If she be dead shall I not follow her ? 
 
 Or is this madness ? What is madness more ? " 
 
 VII 
 
 They show'd him where she slept, and heard no more 
 Her own voice mourning, nor the moaning seas 
 That plain'd in answer to her. There she lay. 
 Nigh where she look'd forth daily with dim eyes. 
 Yearning to see once more the sail she saw 
 From her home garden on the Cretan shore. 
 He stood beside her lone tomb ; and then all 
 The lovely hours, which troublous years between 
 Had hidden from him, rose up from her dust 
 And pass'd before him ; came back, as a face, 
 Hid in a clouded mirror, reappears 
 
ARIADNE 97 
 
 Slowly ; the stormy interval of cares, 
 
 And pains, of fearful strivings, of delights 
 
 Snatch'd out of terrors — as when a strong man 
 
 Stands after victory with quivering limbs 
 
 And panting breath — seem'd vain to him, all vain. 
 
 Beside that crown of Time, that hour of love ; 
 
 Love, when twin hearts are swiftly link'd in one 
 
 By sympathies as subtle as the air, 
 
 Yet strong as are atoms of adamant, 
 
 Fed by the beams of beauty, as the air 
 
 By the Spring sunlight. Now indeed he knew 
 
 That if he stood upon the topmost height 
 
 Of all the ages ; look'd down, as a God, 
 
 On all the treasures of a vanquish'd world ; 
 
 The triumphs, and the treasures, and the breath 
 
 Of adoration, and a life, prolong'd 
 
 Thro' countless generations, would be less 
 
 Against the few fleet moments of those joys 
 
 Given and taken by two mortal souls ! 
 
 And for the selfsame blisses he would change 
 
 The whole world, were it his ; and where were they ? 
 
 Fled, as it were the sun from out the face 
 
 Of Nature, and for ever, leaving nought 
 
 But memory, as cold moonlight, lighting up 
 
 A frozen world, sad symbol of his soul. 
 
 But, as he mused and mourn'd, he thought again ; 
 
 But could love die, more than the sunken sun 
 
 That rises on the morrow ? Would her soul. 
 
 Whose glory, radiant through her loving face 
 
 VOL. II H 
 
98 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Was to his daily life as that same sun, 
 
 Have yet a better rising ? " O ye Gods, 
 
 Whose power may compass all things, grant me this. 
 
 Were not such prayers mere folly, I would crave 
 
 That the dear image, flitting thro' my thoughts. 
 
 Might pass before my eyesight once a day ; 
 
 And the faint words my spirit seems to hear 
 
 Might stir my sense, and soothe my widowhood. 
 
 Which thus might not be inconsolable. 
 
 And I might hope while looking on that shade. 
 
 That she was living still somewhere apart, 
 
 Afar, and feeding her forsaken lot, 
 
 As I, with fond revivals of the past. 
 
 And standing wistful on some twilight shore, 
 
 Dreaming of me alone, as I of her. 
 
 Until the hour when she shall see my sail 
 
 Bear down again upon her lonely isle, 
 
 And mutual welcomes shall awake again 
 
 The sever'd being to one endless life ! 
 
 love, love, blessed shade, if thou canst hear 
 
 From that far world where now thou art, I know not ; 
 But this I know, because I feel, if love 
 Be life indeed, thou livest ; if I love 
 
 1 shall not die ; thy love, too hungry flame, 
 Laid waste the lovely palace of thy soul, 
 And set that free to wander where it will. 
 
 Which men call death. But ofttimes have I thought 
 In nightly watches, while encamped foes 
 Hoped for the dawn, ev'n while the javelins rang 
 
ARIADNE 
 
 99 
 
 Against my shield and helm, if I be slain, 
 
 Shall all the motions that within me stir, 
 
 Cease with the pulsing heart, and burning eye ? 
 
 If words I utter with this voice be borne 
 
 Far down the listening ranks, from ear to ear, 
 
 From heart to heart, perchance from age to age ; 
 
 So that, when I am seen no more, the tongue 
 
 That utter'd them shall seem to speak again 
 
 With kingly accents of command, and shape 
 
 A passing shadow of the thing I am ; 
 
 If the high prophet, if the poet speaks. 
 
 When scarce a little dust is all of him 
 
 That we call life on earth ; shall that, which spake 
 
 Thro' tongues like these, and through all words and 
 
 deeds 
 Of kings and chiefs, and, mighty men of mind, 
 Be blown asunder like the shock of dust 
 That is their mortal monument ? And yet 
 Their thoughts and utterance fill the world with power ; 
 The deeds they did sow other deeds ; and still 
 The cities that they builded, and the homes 
 That shelter'd them, are proof against the winds 
 Of countless winters : but they are not ! Shall 
 The fountains dry up while the rivers run ? 
 Was it not love — love, life itself — that spurr'd 
 The spirits of great men, and made them strive 
 For victory over Time ? Was it not love. 
 The love of honour, wealth, or power, still love ; 
 The love to be remember'd after death ; 
 
CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 The better love of country, and of kin ; 
 
 And that best love, the love of Good, for Good's 
 
 Unguerdon'd self, the love of Truth for Truth's ? 
 
 So love itself was captain to them all. 
 
 Ev'n hate is but love's shadow, the cold gloom 
 
 Where heat and light are not ; and if hate burns 
 
 Like fire, so will ice where fire is not. 
 
 So love is life itself, as is the sun 
 
 To this great world ; and shall the sun I see 
 
 Burn on for ever, and that sun within us, 
 
 That makes the sun we look on but a sign. 
 
 Cease and be nothing, nothing evermore ? 
 
 Ah me, what do I say ! 'Tis vain, 'tis vain 
 
 To call on phantasy to fill the void 
 
 In the waste heart, and longing eyes ; 'tis vain 
 
 To hope the future may redeem the past. 
 
 When nought is known of that which is to be. 
 
 If there be aught ; vain as the fleeting shapes 
 
 The eye may conjure from the formless blackness 
 
 Of midnight ; thy lost face among the rest, 
 
 That flies from me ev'n as I picture it : 
 
 While thou wert near me in the days of old. 
 
 And often as I would I look'd upon thee. 
 
 And ever saw that sweetness, that remains 
 
 To feed my sorrow, as the odours thrown 
 
 Upon a funeral pyre. Once on a time 
 
 Long since I heard an old man, good and wise. 
 
 Utter deep things that I remember still. 
 
 Ofttimes at Athens, when the day was done, 
 
ARIADNE 10 
 
 He came forth by the riverside, to breathe 
 
 The freshness of the twiUght. I was young, 
 
 Fearless of this world, reckless of another ; 
 
 And so — as those who have no fear at all — 
 
 I dared to question him of fearful things. 
 
 His years were nigh a hundred, and his heart 
 
 Barren of hopes, as a bare mountain-peak, 
 
 In this life, or of aught beyond ; his eye 
 
 Was calm and cloudless ; and he said to me, 
 
 ' O boy, I care not if I answer thee. 
 
 Youth heeds not his mortality ; his life 
 
 Is so delightsome it defies the thought 
 
 That it is not immortal ; if he were 
 
 One of my years, who came to question me, 
 
 I might be silent, lest I should awake 
 
 The fears I feel not ; but I know thou art 
 
 Too sunny-soul'd to cast a shadow down 
 
 So far beyond the present. Time, my son. 
 
 Is our great teacher, and he shows us this. 
 
 That, as his swift years follow on each other. 
 
 So all that is begotten of those years 
 
 Falls, and is follow'd by its proper heir. 
 
 Behold the long life of the forest tree, 
 
 An acorn, giant oak, and hollow trunk ; 
 
 Behold the short life of a single leaf. 
 
 Pale green, then dark at length, and sere at last : 
 
 So 'tis with man. For the babe knows not aught, 
 
 And thoughts and feelings strengthen with his strength. 
 
 And the old man hath well forgotten all : 
 
[02 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 But forests fall and other forests rise, 
 
 And when those die the other forests live. 
 
 So men are the inheritors of men, 
 
 Their forms and aspects with their thoughts and powers ; 
 
 So life is everlasting even on earth 
 
 To men, as leaves ; and, if it were not so. 
 
 Oh doth not one man's life outlive the years 
 
 Of all the forests since the earth was green ? 
 
 For if my spirit put forth thoughts for leaves. 
 
 And each year's thoughts are but as fallen ones. 
 
 While others come with every coming spring. 
 
 And hopes that waned give place to other hopes ; 
 
 Why should I scorn my threescore years and ten. 
 
 While forests count their thousands, if I live 
 
 More than their whole millenniums in one day ?' 
 
 Yet one last answer comes up from my heart. 
 
 The life of the most lovely flower on earth, 
 
 The inmost spirit of the richest rose 
 
 Breathes from it neither hope, nor yet despair ; 
 
 And, while I know that, I have felt them both. 
 
 And still feel that one love whence both are born. 
 
 And, should I live beyond all life of man, 
 
 And fall at last, a hundred-aged oak. 
 
 The breath, that goes forth from my dying lips. 
 
 Will bear on it the deathless thought, I love. 
 
 Even despair shall lead me back to hope. 
 
 And I will weep no more : if love, if love 
 
 Be life indeed, thou Uvest ; if I love, 
 
 As evermore I must, I shall not die !" 
 
ARIADNE 103 
 
 VIII 
 
 He stood awhile, and covered up his face, 
 
 To shut out the vain world, as though its light 
 
 Were darkness, while the inner glory shone 
 
 Of all he had lost And, when he raised his head. 
 
 Suddenly he saw a little child 
 
 Weeping; "O boy, what seekest thou?" he said. 
 
 "Mother, my mother!" through his sighs and tears 
 
 He murmur'd, " for they laid her here, and shall 
 
 I see her never? since this day I know 
 
 That she I named as such is not my mother. 
 
 This morn she spurn'd me forth, and said with scorn, 
 
 ' Go seek thy kin,' but I have none, none, none. 
 
 I never saw my father, and, oh me. 
 
 Mother is dead, and one who knew her said, 
 
 ' Come with me, I will bring thee to thy mother.' 
 
 He led me silently to this lone spot ; 
 
 Then left me, signing to me ' She is there ! ' 
 
 Yes, surely she is there !" And then he laid 
 
 His brow against the marble monument. 
 
 And then the warrior saw it was his son. 
 
 And wonder'd at himself, and then at him 
 
 The little one ; and stretch'd his arms, and cried, 
 
 "Ah ! then, I see they lost thee here, my child, 
 
 That I might find thee "; and caught him to his heart. 
 
 And held him there awhile, as one might hold 
 
 A treasure dug up from a fallen house. 
 
 And then look'd on him with such eager love — 
 
104 CRETE, NAXOS 
 
 Keeping him at arm's length — as though his eyes 
 
 Would never wink again, until he saw 
 
 All the fair mother wake up in the child. 
 
 And then he clasp'd him to his heart again, 
 
 That he might muse on all that he had seen : 
 
 For he had seen another marvel now. 
 
 Had he not dreamt but now of that rare life, 
 
 Love perfect, harmony, one heart in two. 
 
 So that twin aspects borrowing, each from each, 
 
 A daily light that mingles with its own. 
 
 Are changed into the likeness of each other ? 
 
 And here was one, a wondrous form and new. 
 
 That in one countenance had pictured two, 
 
 And therewithal a beauty of its own. 
 
 Looking on him he mused of what he was 
 
 In the same years ; and, as he look'd, he felt 
 
 The motions and the changes of that face 
 
 Revive within him lovely phantasies, 
 
 And feelings, even to the mystic dawn 
 
 Of being, when familiar things are strange. 
 
 And sow immortal memories in the soul. 
 
 Looking at him he saw what she had been. 
 
 The real image cast a living light 
 
 Upon the cherish'd tablets in his heart. 
 
 And that heart pulsed with a fresh life again. 
 
 All was not lost while the young boy was there, 
 
 But something won to live for in this world. 
 
 His sorrow changed into a tender joy, 
 
 As when grey clouds lift after set of sun. 
 
ARIADNE I OS 
 
 And cast a glimmer on the weeping earth. 
 So they two left the mourning place together ; 
 And he, who came up with despair, went back 
 Leading his heir, like lorn hope, by the hand. 
 
HESPERIDES 
 HESPERIA 
 
 She sat at noonday in her tent of flowers, 
 
 Her cheek leant on her hand ; and, tho' the sight 
 
 Of the Spring beauty of her paradise 
 
 Each morning brought fresh brightness to her eyes, 
 
 Fresh gladness to her heart, this happy morn 
 
 She saw not aught of all she loved the most. 
 
 And the bent brows and introverted eyes 
 
 Show'd that unwelcome and unwonted thoughts 
 
 Made blind and deaf her senses, while the soul 
 
 Wander'd in a day-dream of troublous moods. 
 
 A little fountain bubbled like sweet bells 
 
 Into a conch hard by ; the fearless birds, 
 
 Who knew her motions and obey'd her voice, 
 
 Flutter'd the rose-briers and acanthus leaves. 
 
 And whirr'd their wings within them : but the sound 
 
 Awaken'd not the dreamer ; silently 
 
 A veil of silver clouds was rent in twain, 
 
HESPERIA 107 
 
 And lavish stars, like Danae's golden shower, 
 
 Flecker'd the far blue seas between the hills ; 
 
 And yet no dazzle wink'd her sightless eyes. 
 
 And down the high slopes of the mountains flow'd 
 
 Shadow on shadow softly, as tho' they strove 
 
 Against the midday splendours for her sake 
 
 That should not rudely rouse her : for she mused 
 
 On her ill-fated lot ; for day by day 
 
 Came suitors fickle, yet importunate ; 
 
 Lovers unloving ; faithless lips, and eyes 
 
 That counterfeited truth ; and greedy hearts. 
 
 That sought her only for her fair domain. 
 
 Still they proclaim'd themselves her counsellors, 
 
 Spirited by pure love of good alone, 
 
 And justice, as the guardian Gods themselves. 
 
 So, as she sat and mused, her heart was stirr'd 
 
 Within her, and she rose up with a fire 
 
 In her dark eyes, and laughter on her lip, 
 
 And said, "'Tis finished; oh I know ye now, 
 
 'Tis your last day of power, and 'tis my first ; 
 
 Come once again, so that ye come no more." 
 
 Four several suitors daily sat with her. 
 
 To win her ear by flattery of themselves. 
 
 First came a soldier dazzling in his arms ; 
 
 Then came a stoled priest both good and wise ; 
 
 Then came a wakeful, wily man of law ; 
 
 Then came a merchant who knew all the world : 
 
 And sometimes an old woman veil'd and grey. 
 
 But she brought wisdom without price, and gave 
 
io8 HESPERIDES 
 
 Good counsel without hope of recompense ; 
 Therefore the damsel loved her and approved. 
 
 II 
 
 She rose to part, a twinkle in her eye 
 
 Of merriment ; a little space, and lo ! 
 
 Up came the soldier with a towering look. 
 
 And bow'd his salutations with brave words ; 
 
 Then lifted up his head, as one who felt 
 
 A moment more of such humility 
 
 Misspent in one the doer of great deeds. 
 
 But she said, " Pass, I bid thee come no more ! " 
 
 Then yet a little space, and after him 
 
 The stoled priest, majestical and pale. 
 
 And with a smile, so sweet it seem'd as though 
 
 He must have wrought an hour to perfect it 
 
 To such a sweetness ; then resumed his look 
 
 Of great authority, as one who bore 
 
 Upon his lips the doom of other men. 
 
 And need not look on woman but to win : 
 
 But she said, "Pass, I bid thee come no more." 
 
 And yet a little space, and after him 
 
 The cunning man of law,, with steps that seem'd 
 
 To think the very grass beneath his feet 
 
 Ought not to feel his motions ; and he stood 
 
 Suddenly by her side, ere she had heard 
 
 One whisper of him, and he turn'd to her 
 
 With such a pleasant self-approving air, 
 
HESPERIA 109 
 
 As one who said, " Ha ! ha ! I can be near 
 
 When I am thought far off, and steal so softly 
 
 That none can flee me if I search for them : " 
 
 But she said, "Pass, I bid thee come no more !" 
 
 Lastly, the merchant, spinning from his face 
 
 A dizzying mist of fable and of truth. 
 
 And with a hovering mystery on his tongue. 
 
 As one who could pour forth a hundred tales 
 
 In one brief afternoon ; his memory 
 
 A vase, that gush'd forth water mix'd with wine, 
 
 And sometimes water only, though it took 
 
 A golden lustre from his sunny looks. 
 
 She felt a little kinder as he came, 
 
 But after-thought rekindled her disdain ; 
 
 So she said, "Pass, I bid thee come no more"; 
 
 A long calm interval when they were gone. 
 
 Morn lapsed to midday, midday lapsed to even ; 
 
 And then the old wife, bowing on her crutch. 
 
 Grey-mantled and grey-headed, came anear, 
 
 A veil upon her face, thro' which at times 
 
 A sparkle, as of younger eyes, would leap. 
 
 But when she saw the old familiar form. 
 
 She rose and went to meet her, took her hand, 
 
 And spoke the aged one with kindly words. 
 
 "Welcome ! I saw thee thro' the open gates, 
 
 And said, ' She comes, the aged mother comes, 
 
 Not for herself, nor yet for any gain 
 
 Tho' she be poor, and friendless, and alone, 
 
 She came because she loves me.' Welcome then, 
 
HESPERIDES 
 
 Old friend, and let us sit upon this bank, 
 
 And hear the seawind thro' this hedge of rose, 
 
 And quaff the luscious odour that it brings 
 
 From woodbines, and wild-briers ; and let us hark 
 
 The everlasting murmur of the leaves, 
 
 Sweet hymn of Even, fraught with pleasant dreams. 
 
 And peaceful memories." She, the dark-eyed, paused. 
 
 And smiled upon her guest ; and, as she smiled 
 
 Fearless of aught, Aurora might have seen 
 
 With praise the graces she herself had wrought. 
 
 Her dewy crimson lip, and sunbrown cheek 
 
 Suffused with warm flame, and beheld the mould 
 
 Of those tall limbs, that grateful toil had tuned 
 
 To such harmonious beauty, knit with strength ; 
 
 And heard the ring of her delighted voice. 
 
 And seen the starry glitter of those eyes 
 
 Deep, dark ; which only the fresh breezes, breathed 
 
 At daybreak, ere the dews are blown away 
 
 And drown'd in blazing sunrise, and the waves 
 
 Of the green ocean of the forest trees 
 
 Surge in the dawn-light of the summer day. 
 
 And all the thousand glad vitalities 
 
 Of morning, blessed morning, could have given her. 
 
 And silent stood the dame ; but in her eye 
 
 There was a light, such as but rarely burns 
 
 In those waste lamps that light the night of eld. 
 
 And now she led her down the garden-walks 
 
 With measured steps timed to the feeble feet 
 
 Of her companion ; so she might survey 
 
HESPERIA 
 
 On either hand the marvels of the place. 
 
 It seem'd a leafy palace, interlaid 
 
 With turfy corridors, whose fresh-green roof 
 
 Was broider'd with all flowers, pale, red, and gold, 
 
 And purple, which the last beams of the sun, 
 
 Running along the smooth floor of the sward, 
 
 Struck here and there, and turn'd to living gems. 
 
 And when the day sank underneath, he left 
 
 Broad bands of sanguine flame along the west. 
 
 Which the dark fluttering vines, and poplars tall. 
 
 Waving before the low-toned airs of even, 
 
 Dash'd into tumult like a fiery sea ; 
 
 While the late blackbirds, out of fragrant glooms 
 
 Of laurel-thickets, fluted their last notes 
 
 Sad-sweet, as tho' the day was all too brief 
 
 For their delight ; and the dark nightingale 
 
 Took up the song, and told unto the stars 
 
 All the bright wonders she had seen by day. 
 
 They wander'd homeward after many words. 
 
 And sat down on a vine-embowered seat, 
 
 Hard by the fountain ; and, all lesser talk 
 
 Being ended, nearer to her aged friend 
 
 She crept in the hush'd twilight, and again 
 
 In sadder tones than heretofore she spoke. 
 
 " O mother, mother, thou hast heard from me 
 
 No other note of welcome than I gave 
 
 Ere cares fell on me ; but now, tho' my voice 
 
 Sounds cheery, as of old, my heart is sad ; 
 
 And only solaced by the warmth of thine. 
 
HESPERIDES 
 
 Which gave me hopes and strength in days gone by. 
 
 I am a flower set in a garden fair, 
 
 Not cherish'd kindly by sweet dews and Ught, 
 
 But blown on by hot winds, and stormy change. 
 
 And torn untimely. What is maidenhood, 
 
 Tho' crown'd with beauty and prosperity. 
 
 Around her brows the Unked lily-buds 
 
 Of fancy and of hope, about her heart 
 
 The rosy zone of youth, and health, and mirth, 
 
 If all, that she calls heaven or earth, becomes 
 
 Only a snare ; and she is but a bird 
 
 With gaudy plumes, a mark for the wild eyes 
 
 Of savage men ? Oh better wander forth, 
 
 Beggar'd of all misnamed felicity, 
 
 That without peace is nought but a vain show. 
 
 And trust to hard hands and despairing hearts 
 
 For sympathy and pity, than to stand, 
 
 The seeming idol of adoring loves, 
 
 But yet the victim of as many hates. 
 
 The glances of whose eyes are soft as light, 
 
 Cruel as lightning. Tho' my years are few. 
 
 The voice that whispers to me from my heart 
 
 Is as an oracle ; my timid eyes — 
 
 That droop'd so often under the proud looks 
 
 Of those false lovers, my true enemies. 
 
 Whereof so oft I told thee — yet could see. 
 
 More subtly from their ambush, the cross-threads 
 
 Of all their toils cast on me with less art 
 
 Because of my simplicity ; as full oft. 
 
HESPERIA 113 
 
 In sidelong glances, I have better mark'd 
 
 The shifting colours of the earth and sky, 
 
 And delicate hues 'twixt light and dark, that flee 
 
 From the full sight. Therefore this very morn 
 
 I have done a deed, that, if it bring me bale. 
 
 Will leave me freedom. I am free ; no more 
 
 The basilisk shall strike me with his eye 
 
 Among my own dear flowers and evergreens. 
 
 The men I fear'd are fled ; and have no plea 
 
 To urge me more — as when they feign'd to take 
 
 My silence for my will — for they have heard, 
 
 And from my gentle lips, unfeigned scorn. 
 
 But, should it be that I have spoken in vain, 
 
 And they should come with weapons worse than scorn, 
 
 Should come again — O mother, other fear 
 
 Shadows me now, I know not what ; old friend. 
 
 Counsel me well." She shed some stormy tears ; 
 
 Then bow'd her head upon the kindly heart 
 
 Of that old friend : the aged woman smiled ; 
 
 " Fear not thou evil for itself, nor them 
 
 Whose arms are evil, little one,'' she said ; 
 
 " Good is a beam straight from the unchanging sun ; 
 
 Evil the cloud that intercepts the light. 
 
 But cannot quench it ; and thy vexed heart 
 
 Sunn'd once again by blessed rays of peace. 
 
 Will bless the hours of sorrow, for the sake 
 
 Of that they leave behind them, strength and calm ; 
 
 And purer love for all things loved before, 
 
 When bliss comes back, like sunshine thro' the cloud. 
 
 VOL. II I 
 
1 14 HESPERIDES 
 
 Fear not the evil ; half their days go by 
 
 In watching one another ; and sometimes 
 
 They will do ev'n the good they have forsworn, 
 
 So that a rival be the worse for it. 
 
 And, should they whisper in thine ear again, 
 
 It will be treason one against another. 
 
 So that the traitor may be better for it. 
 
 If they should steal into these walks again, 
 
 One of thy many foes, whoe'er he be. 
 
 Will be thy sentinel against the rest ; 
 
 And thou shalt be their earthquake, shattering 
 
 Each against each, till not a foe is left. 
 
 Fear not the evil for itself; for all 
 
 That man calls evil, circumstance opposed, 
 
 Or hope defeated, man may overcome 
 
 Even by manhood, or o'er-live by faith. 
 
 Or, if he cannot, life goes by so fast 
 
 Counted in moments, that our days appear 
 
 To scud like drops of rain before the wind. 
 
 To flee like rushing waters toward the sea. 
 
 And joy and grief, its bubbles, go with it. 
 
 Some rail at poverty, and some at wealth ; 
 
 And most against their lot, and at themselves ; 
 
 And some at beauty, some at ugliness. 
 
 But life is brief, my child ; my seventy years 
 
 Are long since past, and thou may'st call me dead. 
 
 If so thou wilt, for ought I not to be so ? 
 
 And now I know that Life — the shadow cast 
 
 From higher Life — is, as a shadow, swift, 
 
HESPERIA 115 
 
 From flying clouds between us and the sun ; 
 
 And wonder at the madness of the world, 
 
 That, like a fierce crowd at a theatre, 
 
 Thrust, jostle, trample one another down 
 
 To see the unreal thing — and Life is such, 
 
 Unless we live the very Life of Life, 
 
 The good we love and know — for whether Life 
 
 End with the days of nature, or fly on 
 
 For ever, it is vain, if it beget 
 
 No higher issues, than to sate the sense. 
 
 And hallow empty shows. Though it be fill'd 
 
 With glory and honour, it is vain again. 
 
 Compared with the high being yet to be. 
 
 Think of these words when I lie low ; let not 
 
 Good fortune dazzle thee, nor ill confound, 
 
 Nor all earth's blisses chain thee to the earth. 
 
 And now take heart ; I promise thee good days. 
 
 Give me a cup of water, then farewell." 
 
 Swiftly she went, and with the brimming cup 
 
 Turn'd smiling, and would have handed it, when lo 
 
 The aged woman was not ! had she fled ? 
 
 But how, and whither ? a Nymph, a Goddess was she ? 
 
 Mask'd and now vanish'd ? While she ponder'd thus 
 
 A lovely youth, with large eyes and deep hair. 
 
 Came down the vine-walks with swift step ; she look'd 
 
 With wonder at him ; " Sure 'tis he,'' she said, 
 
 " My vinedresser ; too well I know that face ; 
 
 Else should I fear some other crafty guest. 
 
 For now his raiment is of one who walks 
 
ii6 HESPERIDES 
 
 In palaces ; shall he too mock me now, 
 
 And hope to go unpunish'd ? What if I call 
 
 Back one of those whom I dismiss'd this morn, 
 
 And bid him to avenge me on this boy ? " 
 
 And then she spoke with wrathful voice, it seem'd ; 
 
 " Say, wherefore dost thou come before me now, 
 
 As though I had not bid thee seek the north 
 
 O' the garden, where the orchard trees are few. 
 
 And the sun finds them late, and they have need 
 
 Of all thy care, o'errun with parasites. 
 
 And the poor folk that work there need the skill 
 
 A master's lore can show them ? And is that 
 
 A vinedresser's apparel ? Sure, it seems 
 
 Thou hast a mind to mock me like the rest, 
 
 With boldness without warrant ; day is not 
 
 The time for masking ; and if lords may take 
 
 The countryman's own fashion for a while, 
 
 It is not fitting for the countryman 
 
 To ape the lord's habiliments. What now ! 
 
 Hast thou drunk wine too early ? Thou too, thou. 
 
 Who art " — She would have said, " my slave," but felt 
 
 Forced breath of anger fail her, as she spoke ; 
 
 And the warm blood, but not of anger, flow'd 
 
 Up from her heart ; and to herself she sigh'd, 
 
 " Alas ! he is my master, I his slave. 
 
 Yet 'tis this secret knowledge of myself 
 
 That scares me from myself, and bids me hide 
 
 My true humility with mock-disdain. 
 
 And frowns I hate ; for I have seen his face 
 
HESPERIA 117 
 
 Daily pass near, and graven every smile ; 
 
 And mark'd his mien as he stept thro' the vines ; 
 
 And character'd upon my molten heart 
 
 The languors of his eye ; and heard plain speech 
 
 As tho' 'twere music. And oh ! when he sang 
 
 It was as tho' my will were drown'd in bliss, 
 
 And swept away ! and I must shun him thus. 
 
 And prison my own self; for if he thought 
 
 On me as madly as I think on him, 
 
 The world, that knows not love, and lives in pride. 
 
 Hath piled a wall of adamant between 
 
 Two things so far apart, as he and I. 
 
 But oh ! I dream, he thinks of nought but mirth, 
 
 Pastime and folly." He look'd on her in doubt 
 
 And wonder, and with faltering accents said : 
 
 " Lady, it were indeed too bold for me 
 
 To venture on thy presence as I am, 
 
 If I were that that I have seemed to be. 
 
 Up to this moment ; but this is my garb 
 
 As others see me, and I mock thee not 
 
 In taking back what I had laid aside. 
 
 Though, as a gardener, I stole thy trust, 
 
 And loved to hear thee chide me or approve, 
 
 Better than all court, looks and silver lies. 
 
 Rememberest thou my unforgotten morn. 
 
 When first, with lowly weeds and rustic speech, 
 
 I stood before thee in the trellis'd walk 
 
 That slopes up to thy porch ? I humbly craved 
 
 To serve thee, promising thee faithful hours. 
 
ii8 HESPERIDES 
 
 Sedulous care and skill ; for I had learnt 
 All the vine-dresser knows, and how to lop 
 The trailing sprays, and wanton gambolings 
 Of leafy overflourishes ; to thin 
 The knotted bunches of the coming fruits, 
 Lest too much plenty, like a liar's boast. 
 End in too little ; how to train and stay 
 The luscious roses round the supple stems ; 
 And how to dress grey Winter in his best. 
 And give him youth and beauty like the Spring. 
 All for thy sake I learnt these pleasant arts 
 From countryfolk about my father's house, 
 That thou mightst daily look upon my face. 
 And hear my voice. It was my cruel sport — 
 I tell thee frankly now that all is past — 
 All for a worthless wager with my friends. 
 To win thee somehow, and, being won, to know 
 That I had won thee by myself alone ; 
 Thus should I triumph reckless of all else, 
 Not with old honours, not with a great name, 
 But with my youth, and mirth, and many songs, 
 Service, and converse. Oh ! what have I done ? 
 It was as tho' the fowler were himself 
 Snared by the bird he follow'd to his death. 
 The heart itself that was to vanquish thine 
 Was taken captive in a single hour. 
 And bound for ever ; daily sight of thee 
 Served but to feed my love and my despair ; 
 For all my simple armoury was nought 
 
HESPERIA 119 
 
 Against the seeming prowess of thy scorn. 
 My own fond dream was true, but, welladay, 
 I was what I Ijad fancied thou wouldst be ; 
 Thou wert the thing I thought to be myself; 
 And I who vow'd to war without a wound, 
 With unresisting sweetness, fell myself 
 Slain by a marble statue ! " 
 
 When he ceased 
 Silent she sat and moveless, and her face 
 Turn'd from him. Was it anger, pride, or scorn. 
 Or pity there ? Pale was she, but again 
 Flash'd suddenly ; and oh ! he thought he saw 
 The gleam of a half-smile. Softly he said, 
 " Say, must I part for ever ? Then I crave, 
 Lady, a pardon for the worthless wiles 
 That have not won thee. If the soldier came. 
 The lawyer, and the merchant, and the priest, 
 They came, and went, and come no more, because 
 They came not for thee ; 'tis not so with me. 
 Lady, if I go from thee, ev'n as they, 
 I bear away with me a heart, so full 
 Of one, no others can possess it more ; 
 Thoughts which no baser thoughts have power to stir. 
 I too, like them, could tell thee of myself. 
 If thou couldst hear me ; not of wonders seen. 
 Or- wrought in the outward, but of inner pains 
 And raptures, hke the sun-bursts and the showers 
 Of early spring ; self-flatteries, and despairs ; 
 
120 HESPERIDES 
 
 Great lights, and sudden darkness ; fever fires, 
 And fever chills. Oh ! many a day I sigh'd. 
 And my heart fail'd me ; in thine^eyes methought 
 I read disdain if they turn'd not on me ; 
 And in thy speech the icy breath of pride. 
 Because thy words were calm ; oh ! liefer I 
 Had heard thee chide me for a bitter while. 
 Like mountain gusts that search the inmost bowers. 
 Than pass by coldly with a low brief word. 
 For oh ! believe me, 'tis true love alone 
 Can bear the pelting of the storm, that turns 
 The cold heart backward ; love alone can feel 
 The darts of scorn, and weep, yet not despair. 
 The faithless heart is faint, and but a coward ; 
 The truthless heart can never truly love ; 
 The false vow is the blossom, cut asunder 
 By the snow-winds, before the fruit is set. 
 But, when the fruit is form'd, the bitter winds 
 Beat it not down, tho' they be hard to bear." 
 " How knowest thou," she cried, " what lovers came 
 Before thee, and whether they were false or true ? " 
 
 in 
 
 " What if I tell thee all the soldier said ? " 
 Replied the youth. " How canst thou know," she cried, 
 " Words only whisper'd in mine ear ? " "I know 
 Their boastful tongues that deal with things to be. 
 In self-applause, as tho' they had been done, 
 
HESPERIA 12 
 
 Proud of the glory which is yet to win, 
 
 As if they own'd it, like the peacock there. 
 
 That lifts his plumes because we look at him ; 
 
 He shows to others' eyes what by his own 
 
 Was never seen ; or, if he had beheld 
 
 A vaUant stroke dealt by another's hand, 
 
 He makes it seem unto his listening love 
 
 As tho' 'twas his own deed. So well he paints 
 
 The action to its issue, that she dreams 
 
 He is the hero of it, and forgets 
 
 That he, who stands 'twixt life and death, and strives, 
 
 Is better witness'd by a looker-on 
 
 Than his own record of it ; so he grows 
 
 A giant to the simple maid, who yields 
 
 To her weak heart, and thinks his swelling words 
 
 And feigned looks have won her. Said he not ? 
 
 ' We sought the robbers in their mountain-hold, 
 
 All night, with cat-like footfalls creeping on 
 
 'Twixt the dark slopes that wall the vale, and saw, 
 
 At break of dawn, the ancient crazy tower 
 
 Black in the sunlight, and an hundred men 
 
 Stood 'mid the blaze of morning cresting it, 
 
 Each as two men in stature ; but my heart 
 
 Grew stronger momently, for now the hour 
 
 Was come to win my laurels ; arrows flew 
 
 From battlement and bulwark ; javelins rang 
 
 Against our helms and shields, a hail of death 
 
 That thaw'd upon the heat of our resolve 
 
 Like hail in summer. As we paused before 
 
HESPERIDES 
 
 The barr'd, and clamp'd, and burly, knotted door, 
 
 Waiting the iron ram to beat it in, 
 
 I cried unto the chief, " Come down, and take 
 
 The scorn of one who, if thou comest not, 
 
 Will damn thee for a coward ; if thou dost, 
 
 Will strip thee of thy borrow'd braveries, 
 
 Will match thee, wert thou bravest of all men. 
 
 And not a thief; take back thy stolen arms, 
 
 And only take one lesson from thine art 
 
 And steal thy life.'' Whereat the brigand frown'd. 
 
 And his black brows seem'd to shut in his eyes. 
 
 And sware dread oaths, and shook his mailed hand, 
 
 And strode down by the winding stair alone, 
 
 His iron heels crashing the dinted stone. 
 
 And came forth thro' the dark arch of the door. 
 
 As one about to spring upon our host, 
 
 And cope, a single lion, with the dogs. 
 
 We waged the combat round about the tower 
 
 With sword and buckler, I, the lesser man, 
 
 A cubit. But his heart was full of ill. 
 
 That palsied his red hand, and film'd his eyes, 
 
 So that his blows were as a drunken man's. 
 
 And clave the air ; and as he whirl'd his brand, 
 
 A mighty semicircle o'er my head. 
 
 He miss'd the mark, fell forward, and the point 
 
 Of my own weapon met his brawny weight. 
 
 And he fell, like the shadow of the tower. 
 
 As the sun glanced out from a passing cloud. 
 
 Swiftly ; and on his breast I set my foot. 
 
HESPERIA 
 
 123 
 
 As his eyes closed in darkness.' " " Hold," she cried, 
 
 " This is most wonderful, for all I heard 
 
 Thou hast repeated." " But not all he said, 
 
 Dear girl, for, trust me, well I know the man. 
 
 He haunts the wineshops, and, when he hath quafFd 
 
 Two or three beakers, little lying elves 
 
 Play antics in his brain, and lead him on 
 
 From one feat to another, till at last. 
 
 When simple souls have wonder'd at his words, 
 
 He thinks at last he is what he would be. 
 
 This is not all, for treason against Truth, 
 
 E'en in small matters, strengthens by its use. 
 
 As well as Honour — like a workman's arm — 
 
 And, when time serves, becomes a poison'd shaft 
 
 To wound the guileless. Know thou then this man 
 
 As I do know him, for he said to me. 
 
 While I look'd on him with disdainful eyes 
 
 That said as well as words could do ' A lie ! ' 
 
 ' Ha ! ha ! my friend, and what if it be so ? 
 
 Yestere'en I won the heart of a sweet maid — 
 
 The like of whom through all the countryside 
 
 Ye would not find — by this same fairy tale — 
 
 While they who know not such a gentle art 
 
 Lack half the means to win the gentle ones.' " 
 
 Then spake she, blushing under frowning brows 
 
 Like sundown under storm-cloud ; " 'Tis an arm 
 
 As perilous to wield too oft, as though 
 
 An arrow should glance inward from a bow, 
 
 And pierce the hand that would have sent it home ; 
 
124 HESPERIDES 
 
 So say no more of him ; e'en, while he spoke, 
 I doubted, and my doubt lock'd up my heart." 
 
 IV 
 
 Again the youth, demurely smiling, said, 
 " What if I tell thee of that merchantman ? 
 Rememberest thou his many wondrous tales ; 
 His wanderings o'er forsaken shores ; his feats 
 Among the islands ; and his hard-won wealth ; 
 His treasures raked up from beneath old wrecks 
 And seaweed ; or, by diver's strength and skill, 
 Dragg'd from the deep sea, where in purple calm 
 Lie undisturb'd and undiscover'd gems 
 Far under the sea monsters, as they throw 
 Their downward shadows on them ? Said he not ? 
 ' And once we anchor'd in a little bay. 
 Entering by one tall gate from the outer sea, 
 Whence rose on all sides, like great prison-walls, 
 Sheer precipices, pinnacled and spired 
 With spearlike crags that caught the blood-red light 
 Of the Indian eve ; the night was still and clear 
 With stars that were as little suns. But soon 
 The moon arose ere we were well asleep. 
 And roused me, as it glanced into mine eyes. 
 Rolling above the towers and steeples dark 
 Of those huge battlements ; and, swift as light. 
 The grey rocks into silver were transform'd. 
 I sat up wondering ; what was that I saw ? 
 
HESPERIA 125 
 
 Was I still dreaming ? no — around me lay 
 
 My weary mates, and not an eye unclosed 
 
 But mine. O monstrous vision ! for the cliffs 
 
 And crags were clutch'd, and grasp'd, and swathed in 
 
 folds 
 That seem'd an hundred mighty serpents, risen 
 Out of the still deep underneath, and black 
 As the uttermost abyss of Erebus ! 
 And as I glared aghast the ship began 
 To heave, and quake, and shudder, and' the sea 
 Itself — O horror ! — seem'd to change to land 
 That rock'd beneath us ! and methought I saw 
 Two moonlike lamps fix'd on me thro' the gloom, 
 That moved and lighten'd like two living orbs. 
 I could not cry, my heart beat as the sound 
 Of thunder in mine ears, and then grew still. 
 For lo, another wonder ! I beheld 
 The monstrous serpents curl'd about the rocks 
 Slide slowly back, loosing their iron grasp. 
 Dragging with them a storm of riven scars. 
 That hurl'd upon the waters ; then again 
 The moving isle, whereon the vessel lay. 
 Sank slowly, and drew back its fearful arms. 
 Then I drew breath, and shouted to my men 
 To raise the anchor, set sail, and away ! ' " 
 " And yet the thing itself, tho' wonderful. 
 Is not so wondrous as to hear thee tell it, 
 A secret never told thee," she exclaimed 
 In wild astonishment. But he pursued. 
 
126 HESPERIDES 
 
 " I too was only as a little child, 
 
 Athirst for all things wild and wonderful ! 
 
 And yet a whisper, faint at first and low 
 
 As the first ripple when a rising breeze 
 
 RufHes the blue, of doubt began to stir 
 
 Within me after all that I had heard. 
 
 What if his too should be the gentle art 
 
 Boasted of by the plumed man of war, 
 
 Hidden this time beneath seafaring words ? 
 
 And so ofttimes I wander'd in the dusk — 
 
 The hour when he came forth to sit awhile 
 
 Under the fluttering trellis, as the breeze 
 
 Awoke from slumber after the long day — 
 
 And by well-feigned wonder and delight, 
 
 And that best adulation which takes form 
 
 Of self-submission, and a cup or two 
 
 Of his own grape, grown on a slope behind 
 
 Though he had boasted it of Lesbian growth, 
 
 I so won on him that he trusted me. 
 
 And, as a babe may lead the way across 
 
 A quicksand, and beguile a thoughtless man, 
 
 Whose heavy limbs are swallow'd up at once, 
 
 I led him on till he out-did himself 
 
 So, at the opening of a second flask, 
 
 His wit flew up so wildly against the wind 
 
 That it came down head foremost, and I laugh' d. 
 
 As only once in life a man can laugh. 
 
 And clapp'd him on the shoulder ; and ' Come, come,' 
 
 I cried, half smother'd, ' thou canst never pass 
 
HESPERIA 127 
 
 This paragon of glories. Tell me true, 
 
 My friend, that thou art lying, and so take 
 
 More honour from thine art than can accrue 
 
 From any ventures that thou may'st have scored 
 
 Upon the tablet of thy memory, 
 
 Which are no part of thee ; for Circumstance 
 
 Is from without, Invention from within.' 
 
 ' Well, well,' he said, half flatter'd and half wroth, 
 
 ' Think twice ere thou dost scorn this gentle art. 
 
 Thine eyes run o'er with laughter, other eyes 
 
 Flow from sweet sympathy to hear me tell 
 
 My wanderings and wayfarings, and the fates 
 
 That I have rush'd on, wondering to be saved, 
 
 The perils I have dared, the fearful sights 
 
 That I have seen, and yet escaped to tell.' 
 
 And then he said with self-approving smile, 
 
 ' Though I be something more than a mere boy. 
 
 My hair a little touch'd by early frost. 
 
 There is one who would listen to me now. 
 
 If I may judge from such sweet signs, as speak 
 
 Of sympathetic motions in her soul, 
 
 A flush, a springing tear, or blenching lips ; 
 
 And if I have not all I tell the boys ; 
 
 The buried treasures, dug up in the night 
 
 By one pale lamp in solitary tombs 
 
 Hard by forsaken cities ; last bequests 
 
 Of travellers caught by sudden death in wastes 
 
 Of burning sand ; yet hath she, well I trow. 
 
 Fair slopes of viny lands, fat breadths of grain ; 
 
128 HESPERIDES 
 
 Orchards that fill their turf-walks with the smell 
 Of first pink blossoms and last ruby fruits, 
 As when the incensed thuribles are shook, 
 And the cloud-odour streams through arch and aisle 
 Of a great temple ; and she herself is. fair, 
 Tho' not so fair as all that goodly place. 
 And, if she were her grandam, she would take 
 Rich hues of beauty from that rich abode. 
 Oh ! thro' green arches of the nearer bowers 
 Are seen the waving heads of distant woods, 
 Perennial verdure fed by streams, that leap 
 From the high hills, o'ertopt by some far snows. 
 That cool the eye, hot with the midday sun. 
 And farther still the ever-waving seas, 
 Whispering symphonious answers to the sighs 
 Of the sweet gusts of Summei-, sleep and dream. 
 Or shout from their abyss with awful voice 
 To the high thunders, when the winter-night 
 Shakes all the world, except that garden-rest. 
 Which hears the dread winds from the peaks above 
 Soften'd to something like a lullaby ; 
 And all that Eden shall, me thinks, be mine.'" 
 Again she said — and blush'd with frowning brow — 
 A sunset under storm-cloud, " 'Tis an arm 
 As perilous to wield too oft, as though 
 An arrow should glance inward from the bow. 
 And pierce the hand that would have sent it home ; 
 So say no more of him ; even, while he spoke, 
 I doubted, and my doubts lock'd up my heart." 
 
HESPERIA 129 
 
 Again that youth, demurely smiling, said, 
 
 " Then came a stoled priest "■ — ■" O wonderful ! " 
 
 She cried, " hast thou the secrets of all hearts 
 
 Pour'd into thy one ear?" "That Priest," he said, 
 
 " With his sweet words, and deep-set eyes, and speech 
 
 Sown thick with marvels and with mysteries. 
 
 Came nigher to thee than the freest tongue 
 
 Of all the rest. Did he not say, fair girl, 
 
 ' The Gods have blest thy fair inheritance ' ? 
 
 And over his dark brow he laid his hand 
 
 To shade it, as he turn'd his eyes about 
 
 To look upon the teeming Paradise, 
 
 And rubb'd his palms, and smiled : 
 
 " ' But men talk of thee 
 As tho' thou wert a flask that holds sweet wine, 
 The bloomy rind that circles the sweet fruit, 
 '■ The olive-branch that kindles the warm flame. 
 The gold-dropt finch that utters the gay song ; 
 And neither flask, nor rind, nor branch, nor bird. 
 Are aught without the precious gifts they hold. 
 So thou, with all thy beauty, art^o them 
 No more than raiment is to thy fair self. 
 The better with it, but no less without. 
 Wouldst thou not scorn to be thrown in, as 'twere 
 The ballast to fill up the empty bark 
 That it might sail right smoothly ? changeable 
 
 VOL. II ^ 
 
130 HESPERIDES 
 
 To them, as the strange lizard, whose bright hues 
 
 Glance into grey according to its state ? 
 
 Prized to the measure of the present worth 
 
 Of thine own wealth, which, if it drift away 
 
 Thro' cracks and chinks of their improvidence. 
 
 Dice, drink, or worse, thou wouldst, with the same stealth, 
 
 Vanish with all thy beauty from their thoughts, 
 
 Till, with the last coin, flung into the dark. 
 
 Thou wouldst be nothing, or cast out with it ? 
 
 But we, who serve the Gods, and guard the shrines 
 
 Both day and night, are not as other men ; 
 
 But, as the mountains fill the plains with life, 
 
 Feeding them with fresh brooks and purest air ; 
 
 We have for our reward the holy gifts 
 
 Of Wisdom and of Knowledge ; power to do, 
 
 And to undo ; to bless men, or to curse. 
 
 So, if the breath of some sUght-minded man 
 
 Link'd to thee, would draw down the wrath of Heaven 
 
 Upon him, think, that thou wouldst suffer with him. 
 
 Partner of evils as of good ; if he ' 
 
 Should draw down on thee poverty, and waste 
 
 Thy corn-lands and thy vineyards ; send the worm. 
 
 And fly to eat the heart of thy fair fruits ; 
 
 Dry up the rills that feed thy purple plots. 
 
 Mint beds, and parsley borders, and fresh thyme -, 
 
 So he, the holy man, would lift his hand — 
 
 But lift his hand — and sunder the grey clouds 
 
 Of winter, and win forth the bUssful sun ; 
 
 Drive out into the borders of thy foes 
 
HESPERIA , 131 
 
 Scorpions, toads, serpents, and all noxious airs ; 
 
 Make thy rare roses breathe a rarer breath ; 
 
 And fill the red grape with a better wine. 
 
 Bethink thee then, sweet lady (but his voice 
 
 Sounded as threatful, though his words were smooth), 
 
 Bethink thee what it is to lose or win 
 
 The love of such, which blesseth the abodes 
 
 Of the obedient, and with his frown 
 
 Sends fear and trembling into faithless hearts. 
 
 But if a sickness fall on flocks or herds 
 
 Of better men ; a sudden blight infest 
 
 The young grape or ripe grain ; hath he not arts 
 
 To stay the ill and turn it into good ? 
 
 And if the vintager, who toils i' the sun. 
 
 Falls smitten, doth not he restore him whole 
 
 By charm or syrup ? lay his lulling hand 
 
 Upon the reaper's palsied limb, and heal it 
 
 By magic touches only ? And, if a child, 
 
 Struck by the wing of Autumn, writhes in hell, 
 
 'Twixt fire and frost, knows he not how to drive 
 
 The Furies from within him, and bring back 
 
 The temperate blood into the ashen cheek ? 
 
 Bethink thee then, sweet lady (but his voice 
 
 Seem'd yet more threatful, though his words were smooth), 
 
 Bethink thee what it is to lose or win 
 
 The love of such.' And then he stretch'd his arms. 
 
 And moved his hands before thee, I know why. 
 
 Thy heart beat with quick fear, thy senses sank 
 
 Into a stealthy drowse, that deepen'd still. 
 
132 HESPERIDES 
 
 Still deepen'd ever. But it so fell out, 
 
 Just at that moment, that a mountain-gust 
 
 Bore down upon the roaring forest oaks. 
 
 A sudden burst of thunder shook the land ; 
 
 Leaves whirl'd and blossoms snow'd ; the fountain dash'd 
 
 Thwart splashes o'er the drowned urns of flowers ; 
 
 A dusty whirlwind rose 'twixt land and sea ; 
 
 The peacocks scream'd, the songbirds shrill'd and fled ; 
 
 The tumult stay'd his hand, and with a start 
 
 He turn'd, and so the spell was broke ; and thou 
 
 Awakedst ; else who knows what were the end ? " 
 
 " O Heaven ! " she cried, " this is more wonderful 
 
 Than the enchantment's self, that thou shouldst know 
 
 All, and particular that so befell. 
 
 But know this, not more surely did I wake 
 
 From that weird drowse, than I rose up, and ran. 
 
 And hid myself behind thick laurel boughs. 
 
 Where, he could never know ; for, -vyhile he spake, 
 
 I doubted, and my doubts lock'd up my heart." 
 
 VI 
 
 Again that youth, demurely smiling, said, 
 " And yet another came." " O wonderful ! " 
 She cried, and started from her mossy seat ; 
 " Art thou a man or god ? for we have heard 
 That the Olympians take the form of man 
 For earthly purposes ; yet would I fain 
 Be spared such high communion, such as I." 
 
HESPERIA 
 
 133 
 
 He laugh'd. " There came another, a small man, 
 
 Wrinkled with seeming age, though he was young. 
 
 And, as he trod along the turf-walk green, 
 
 Did he not step as featly as a cat. 
 
 And blink about him, rubbing his dry palms, 
 
 And smile, as one who is about to spring 
 
 On something helpless ? Took he not his seat 
 
 Beside thee in the twilight, like to one 
 
 Who was unworthy even to raise his eyes 
 
 Above thy sandals ? And with humble mien. 
 
 And smirking deferences, and a voice 
 
 That would be sweet, and yet, with all its art. 
 
 If he lapsed back a moment to himself, 
 
 Rasp'd like a saw, and whistled like a hinge ; 
 
 Said he not ? ' O sweet lady, I have thought 
 
 That this world's changes out of good to ill 
 
 Come ofttimes unforeseen, as mountain winds 
 
 That lay the proud pines low, and lash the sea 
 
 To madness in a moment ; and, methought, 
 
 If one so pure, so gentle, and so fair, 
 
 As is the mistress of these happy seats. 
 
 Should come within the scowl of some ill Fate, 
 
 Who would be nigh to fence against bad arts. 
 
 Envy, and Malice, Craft, and Force, and Greed ? 
 
 What could the soldier bring thee but his sword ? 
 
 What could the merchant bring thee but his wealth ? 
 
 What could the priest bring but his oracles ? 
 
 And yet the sword of war is vain in peace ; 
 
 And wealth is never given to those who lack ; 
 
134 HESPERIDES 
 
 And holy counsels change not human ills. 
 
 The soldier's sword would fight against the wind, 
 
 For violence scatters not the charm of words ; 
 
 The merchant's hands the faster gripe his gold, 
 
 Or lose his wealth in seeking to save thine ; 
 
 The holy prophet makes thy doom more sure 
 
 By turning all thy thoughts from earth to heaven. 
 
 Yet some there be who are so skill'd to scent 
 
 All lurking evils, and as swift to hark 
 
 As watchdogs, even when the winds are out, 
 
 And would so fasten their well-sharpen'd fangs 
 
 On any prowler as to leave on him 
 
 But half his skin ; and not alone possess'd 
 
 Of skill to fence and guard, but, if so will'd, 
 
 They might with subtlest warfare — for such power 
 
 As, being well used, is godlike to protect, 
 
 Might, being abused, be mighty to destroy — 
 
 Into the heedless camp of them who sleep 
 
 Unsentinel'd, bear sudden havoc down ; 
 
 Tho' 'tis not fit that he, whose steps are right, 
 
 Should stay to cast a look down the dark walks 
 
 Of Evil, but for ends of Good itself, 
 
 Oh no, 'tis not. But, O dear lady, I 
 
 Speak of such powers as one might speak of Heaven's, 
 
 Whose arm may cast forth lightnings, or withhold ; 
 
 Breathe health or sickness, scatter dews or frost ; 
 
 Give life or death ; and, if the Gods do this. 
 
 Do they not furnish patterns unto Man, 
 
 Tho' Man may not dare follow them in act, 
 
HESPERIA 135 
 
 Lest he should seem to mock their majesty ? 
 
 I speak of this, as but the omnipotence 
 
 Of men, which, if it save, may sometimes scathe ; 
 
 But, oh no, 'tis not fit ; who, if they would 
 
 Do good, can do it, and, if they would, do ill. 
 
 And have no fear of force or counteracts. 
 
 Bethink thee then, fair lady (but his voice 
 
 Was harsh and threatful, though his words were smooth), 
 
 Bethink thee what it is to lose or win 
 
 The love of such. I knew two men of wealth. 
 
 And they were neighbours ; a green bank and thorns 
 
 Sunder'd them from each other, but there grew 
 
 A tall old oak among the brush and briers. 
 
 So old, the trunk was hollow, and wild cats 
 
 Housed in it ; each one claim'd it for his own, 
 
 And swore it was an inch on his own side. 
 
 They sought the counsels of two like myself. 
 
 Subtle and wise — although I will not boast — 
 
 Subtle and wise they were, I knew the men 
 
 Well as myself; but Heaven forbid that I 
 
 Should work such wiles as theirs for love of self. 
 
 Each brought his gold to gain them ; and they spoke 
 
 At first brave words that brought a hope to each. 
 
 Daily they said, " I toil for thee alone ; 
 
 The scrolls are well-nigh ready " ; still each came 
 
 Daily, and brought them gold ; and now their speech 
 
 Grew dark, and darker, as the bright gold grew. 
 
 And then the feud, that was begun for nought 
 
 But lack of thought, and leisure, from those seeds 
 
136 HESPERIDES 
 
 Sent up two thistle-heads of empty pride. 
 
 They vow'd that, whatsoever were the end, 
 
 They would abide it, reckless of their fate, 
 
 They still would wage the war for glory's sake, 
 
 Tho' both should perish. So for years they came. 
 
 And went, and came, till all their gold was gone. 
 
 And they stood, glaring on each side the hedge. 
 
 One on the other, now opposed in hate, 
 
 As once in folly, now alike in want 
 
 As once in riches ; and before the scrolls 
 
 Were fully writ and read, before the judge 
 
 Could utter his award, the aged tree 
 
 Fell with a crash, as they stood on each side. 
 
 Threatening and pale ; it was a stormy morn. 
 
 And, when they saw it, suddenly their eyes 
 
 Were open'd, and they parted, nevermore 
 
 To meet ; for they were driven from house and home. 
 
 And wander'd beggars till they died ; and who 
 
 Laugh'd, as they met them ? They their counsellors 
 
 Subtle and wise, their guests, and trusty friends, 
 
 Crueller than the wild cat, as he sprang 
 
 Out of the hollow oak-tree when it fell 
 
 On that same stormy morn, with two dead birds. 
 
 One in his teeth, the other in his claw.' " 
 
 " Wonder of wonders ! What shall I believe ?" 
 
 She cried ; " that each has whisper'd in thine ear 
 
 Among the shadows, ere he went away. 
 
 All that he utter'd to me here alone ? 
 
 Or that wild echoes have betray'd them to thee ? 
 
HESPERIA 
 
 Or dreams reveal'd ? But tell me one thing more ; 
 
 Canst thou not tell me now what she too said, 
 
 The aged mother ?" Then he dropt his eyes, 
 
 And, softly stepping nigh her, leant his head, 
 
 And whisper'd, " Pardon, lady, if I can ; 
 
 She is my mother's mother, household friend, 
 
 Oracle, counsellor, and treasure-house 
 
 Of life-love and of wisdom. Yes, I know 
 
 She never fail'd to praise one whom she loves, 
 
 And, when she spoke of him, as is her wont, 
 
 I fear her love hath proved as bad as hate. 
 
 Alas ! she will have framed so fair a thing. 
 
 That, by the side of her bright image, he 
 
 Will seem its hollow shadow." When he ceased. 
 
 She laugh'd so wild a laugh that he turn'd pale. 
 
 "Ah well!" she said, "not Minos, judge and king. 
 
 Could have rebuked thy wanton wickedness 
 
 More sharply than avenging Chance hath done. 
 
 Hadst thou not spoken, as a man may do, 
 
 Thy woman's wiles, thy poor unmanly arts. 
 
 Thy hard vainglory, and thy pure self-love. 
 
 Had earn'd for thee a woman's cureless fate. 
 
 To break thy heart in silence ; but thy mouth. 
 
 Confessing thine offending, bids my tongue 
 
 To answer ; canst thou murmur, if my scorn 
 
 Condemns thee openly, and to thy sin 
 
 Adds scarlet shame to mingle with the pain 
 
 Of unrequited " But he heard her not. 
 
 Or seem'd not to have heard, but, kneeling there. 
 
 137 
 
138 HESPERIDES 
 
 He sigh'd, and whisper'd, " Pardon me once more, 
 
 And listen, lady, to a few last words " — 
 
 Nearer he bent unto her as he spoke^ — - 
 
 " Oh she hath babbled to me many things 
 
 That I had never dreamt of but for her, 
 
 Else had I never ventured here again. 
 
 Her many years have look'd down on thy few. 
 
 As when an eagle earthward turns his eye 
 
 Down thro' the clouds, and sees the tiny things 
 
 Hidden from humbler vision. Pardon me. 
 
 Too daring lover, if wild hope at last. 
 
 Kin to despair, defies all fear, and tells thee 
 
 Her cunning read thy secret ; her old eyes 
 
 Served her to follow thine ; her aged ears 
 
 Heard the low sigh, half breathed and half represt, 
 
 As one I will not name came by the way. 
 
 Or when from far away his jocund voice 
 
 Broke with a song the intervals between 
 
 Your evening communings ; so he grew bold. 
 
 Ah ! hath she taught me how to read thyself. 
 
 Spite of thyself, and all thy bitter words ? 
 
 Or have I trusted a vain oracle 
 
 Who was too thine own seer, and hearted friend ? 
 
 And now, if I have stirr'd thy heart, what need 
 
 Of mockery or of masking ? young love's truth 
 
 Full surely is a match for old heart's faith ; 
 
 Love's fire worth all the frosty light of age ; 
 
 Constancy may be led of Hope, as well 
 
 As follow Memory. Then behold in me 
 
HESPERIA 139 
 
 Thine ancient friend transform'd to loving youth ; 
 Accept in- me, instead of garner'd grain 
 Of wintry wisdom, promises of Spring, 
 Sunlight for moonlight, Day instead of Night. 
 Make not poor Iphis of me, or, if I be, 
 Save me from his ill-fortune ; for the Gods 
 Love better the unlovable than them 
 Who are unloving." As the young man spoke, 
 He came, and took her hand, that lay in his 
 Without disdain or fear ; and then he said : 
 " In Cyprus isle there is a lovely spot, 
 Fear'd and forsaken ; country-folk at morn 
 Leave it far off; by night, 'tis said, are heard 
 Voices of weeping and of scorn ; for there, 
 'Tis said, that once a broken-hearted boy, 
 
 Whose life was full of sweetness, as a rose 
 Of honey-dew, — that heart so tender-true 
 
 Was crushed by the hard heart of her he loved ; 
 
 And so he slew himself before her door. 
 
 And she pass'd forth disdainfully, as one 
 
 Who had been wrong'd. Oh ! strange that woman, 
 framed 
 
 By Heaven for soft emotions, loving sighs, 
 
 Sympathies, consolations, sometimes proves 
 
 Cold as the icicle, whose essence is 
 
 Soft as her tears, while the fierce strength of man — 
 
 Armour for strife, and victory over ills — 
 
 Is shiver'd by a glance, as though it were 
 
 By lightning that dissolves the adamant ! 
 
140 HESPERIDES 
 
 But the Gods cursed her deed, and it is said 
 
 They turn'd her into stone ! " She anSwer'd him, 
 
 " O boy, words are not things, nor hopes, nor fears 
 
 Reahty ; if all the Gods should wreak 
 
 Their wrath upon me, can I change my heart ? 
 
 'Tis theirs to give me one if I have not, 
 
 And not to hate me if I cannot love. 
 
 If I have seen thee, and cannot approve, 
 
 Must I be turn'd to stone, when there may be 
 
 Haply some face which I have never seen, 
 
 Which, seen but once, would melt me, were I stone?" 
 
 She ended, but his heart, that danced with hope. 
 
 Was on a sudden, as the leaping brooks, 
 
 Lock'd in a moment by the frost ; and pale 
 
 He turn'd away, and his cold hand relax'd, 
 
 And a large tear stood in those happy eyes. 
 
 But she came forward, laughing like the sun, 
 
 That shatters the dark rack ; and, looking up 
 
 To his down gaze, said in a low sweet voice — 
 
 That nothing sure could echo but his heart, 
 
 And with a charming smile upon her lip, 
 
 That nothing sure might image but his soul — 
 
 " Dear boy, my words were wanton, thine were true. 
 
 Fear not, I know thee, I have seen thee oft ; 
 
 The many forms and faces that go by 
 
 Our daily life, tho' noted, pass away 
 
 Fleetly, as shadows of a Summer-cloud, 
 
 That leaves no fixen image ; but, dear boy. 
 
 Mine eyes have stolen thee, mine heart hath hid 
 
HESPERIA 141 
 
 The stolen treasure ; hath apparell'd it 
 So radiantly, no painter ever wrought 
 In such proof colours ; so we are old friends. 
 He answer'd : " Ofttimes have I pass'd thy gate, 
 Hoping to catch the glimmer of thy robe 
 Among the cool green shadows, and have heard 
 Thee singing in the dawn amid the birds, 
 Who knew thee and who fear'd not, and I said, 
 ' The thrush, that runs along the lawn, and flutes 
 Within his brake, is far more blest than I, 
 Who cannot enter, save thro' fancies, here, 
 Fancies by day, and blissful dreams by night. 
 The purple branch that kisses thy dark curls. 
 When thou art pacing under the cool vines, 
 More blest than I who walk without, and see 
 No shadow of thy shape, and may not touch 
 Thy footmark, or pluck off the full-blown rose 
 Thy hand hath lifted with its weight of dew — 
 Lest it should fall, so tender is thy care — 
 Though I have sworn, oh better lie with her 
 Under cold marble, than to live without her ; 
 For Death would be a glory, where thou art ! ' " 
 
 VII 
 
 And then she smiled on him, and gave her hand, 
 And led him forth under the pleached boughs, 
 And alleys of her gardens ; fairyland ; 
 None knew what blissful hands had planted it, 
 
142 HESPERIDES 
 
 And fashion'd in primeval happy hours. 
 
 The sun was sloping 'twixt the noon and even, 
 
 And, thro' the blown leaves, dazzled in their eyes. 
 
 And shot the domed leaves with countless hues. 
 
 Emerald, pale fire, and purple ; every arch 
 
 Of the long bowery avenues was framed 
 
 Of linked branchwork, and thick-woven sprays, 
 
 Bearing all manner of fruits of fragrant rind, 
 
 Whose rosy-red or pale-gold clusters mix'd 
 
 With the pearl and silver of their own sweet flowers ; 
 
 And with them twined about the sturdier stems 
 
 The lissom vine, full-bearing, hanging down 
 
 Lower than the orbed gold of other fruits. 
 
 Their amber, green, and crimson berries seem'd 
 
 Like wealth of all rare gems, suspended there 
 
 From unseen hands, and took the eager glance 
 
 Of the hot sunbeam, as it leapt through all 
 
 The flowered umbrage, till it set on fire 
 
 The sweet blood in them, and then fled away 
 
 Leaving its warm shaft in their quivering hearts. 
 
 Side-arches, twisted of green osiers, graced 
 
 With drooping tassels of lithe creeping plants. 
 
 Led them to orchards, where the gnarled fig. 
 
 Ancient as Time, it seem'd, and overladen 
 
 With their dark bunches under ample leaves. 
 
 Shaded the cool green under^ and, beneath 
 
 The curving boughs, showed farther off' some bowers 
 
 Of paler leafage where the pink-cheek'd peach 
 
 Hued like the delicate clear shells, that sleep 
 
HESPERIA 143 
 
 On sunny shores, and drink into themselves 
 The rathest blushes of the dawning East, 
 Distill'd its syrup from the brooding light. 
 With persic apple nectarine, between 
 Rich apricots, that breathed of mountain flowers. 
 They heard the big plum tumble from its perch, 
 And hide itself amid the turf and bells. 
 That, bending o'er it, kept intact and fresh 
 Its bloom, pure dew of tenderest pearly clouds 
 Shed down ere sunrise ; till the blackbird's eye. 
 Piercing the woof of wavering herbage, saw 
 A thirsty sunbeam light upon his prize, 
 And ceased his song to pierce its ruby heart. 
 Large pears of divers shapes, red, ruddy-brown, 
 And amber-colour'd, clung so thick together 
 The very leaves were hidden under them ; 
 , And when the ripe fruit, like a honey-vase, 
 Fell down with all its weight, the nimble thrush 
 Was ready with his sharp bill to unseal 
 And open out the luscious gold within. 
 And, all betwixt the laden fruit trees wound. 
 And in the middle of the turf-walks, lay 
 Smooth, sheeny paths of shellwork, radiant 
 As 'twere with fixed rainbows ; with bright fringe 
 Of seasonable flowers, set in fair rows 
 On either hand, with other rows between, 
 To blossom later when the earlier fail'd. 
 And make the Winter merry with their smiles. 
 Each pathway had its fountain in the midst 
 
144 HESPERIDES 
 
 Dashing its diamond up into the blue, 
 
 That fell in dust of dew upon the leaves ; 
 
 The rest was drunk up into little grooves 
 
 Of pebble-stones, that open'd here and there, 
 
 To bear the waters of the tiny rills 
 
 Straight to the roots of the o'erhanging blooms. 
 
 While they walk'd hand in hand between the trees, 
 
 They saw far off, yet near enough to mark, 
 
 Blithe troops of country-folk, at gleesome toil 
 
 Gathering fresh fruits, or flowers, and with their songs 
 
 Cheering themselves ; others they saw apart 
 
 At dance in the green shadows ; elders sat. 
 
 And, with the wicker'd flask between them, talk'd 
 
 Of past and future, and with trembling hands 
 
 Sign'd where some loving pair were, even as they 
 
 In days of prime, whose hope they were, to be 
 
 Again as they are in the days to come. 
 
 And where a dark-green archway of tall boughs 
 
 Open'd upon the champaign, they could see 
 
 Some purple mountain, shadowing like a tower, 
 
 As 'twere a buttress between them and ill. 
 
 She led him down hush'd dingles, where green light 
 
 Scarce found its way thro' cross-boughs, and the air 
 
 Was dim and cool, as in some oratory ; 
 
 And the eye, shifting from the day without, 
 
 Not all at once could riddle the soft glooms 
 
 Where the dews, ready for the thirsty sun, 
 
 Waited in vain ; and, when a sudden beam 
 
 Shot thro' the leafy network, it lit up 
 
HESPERIA 
 
 145 
 
 The quivering pendent drops ; they seem'd to flash 
 
 And throb like fireflies, then grew dark again. 
 
 There was a sound of waters far and near ; 
 
 Of mountain rills that call'd unto each other, 
 
 Lapsing from slope to slope, and whirling off 
 
 Sparkles and foambells, and then spreading smooth, 
 
 Unrippled darkness underneath the shades. 
 
 Till all the babbling shallows grew into 
 
 A still deep lake, which, as a mirror seen 
 
 In a dark chamber, steals, we know not how, 
 
 All the stray gleams that hover near to it, 
 
 Show'd the thick umbrage grasp'd with flowery cords 
 
 And hung with ivy ; and the curly vine, 
 
 Wildrose, and woodbine, faintly pictured in 
 
 The clear dark under. Here sweet birds had swung 
 
 Their dewy cradles, and flew in and out 
 
 From sun to shadow, and brought to their homes 
 
 Sparks from the life of the great summer-day. 
 
 And turn'd them into melodies, that made 
 
 The quiet place a temple of delight. 
 
 And told each other all things new and strange. 
 
 Freshness, and odours of the confluent breath 
 
 Of unseen blooms, flow'd round them everywhere. 
 
 Sometimes a gust shook all the place, and swell'd 
 
 The whispering of the little waterfalls 
 
 Into a stormy symphony, that drown'd 
 
 Their trebles and soft flutings ; and the doves 
 
 Ceased plaining, and the golden oriole 
 
 Flew out into the sun ; blue kingfishers 
 
 VOL. II L 
 
146 HESPERIDES 
 
 Forgot their blue forget-me-nots, and hid 
 Behind the mossed stones and hollow banks. 
 But thro' the winds and waters might be heard 
 The fearless nightingale, who all day long 
 Ceased not his songs, and loved to think it night 
 In that ambrosial twilight. " Here," she said, 
 " I charm'd the hearts of all my feather'd friends ; 
 First with a song, unheard till then by all 
 The thousand songbirds ; and their tongues abash'd 
 Grew- silent ; then I mock'd their divers notes 
 So featly, I became a bird to them. 
 And by and by they flitter'd nearer to me, 
 And nearer daily, till their fears were changed 
 To wonder and to love, and they came nigh. 
 First perching on the low sprays overhead. 
 Then swinging on the rose-briers close at hand, 
 Then circling round my temples, and at last 
 Daring to touch my hand, and set themselves 
 A-singing 'mid my curls ; and where I went 
 They went ; and often, as I stept from out 
 The embowering shades into the sunny day. 
 Out rush'd my warblers, like a little cloud, 
 Piping their breezy welcomes all together." 
 Then, with a tender smile, like a sunbeam 
 A.cross an April shower, softly she said ; 
 " Oh, if I were a God, my sport should be 
 Only to make hearts glad. Methinks man's wisdom 
 Further and further puts him off from heaven 
 And independence ; children are likest gods 
 
HESPERIA 147 
 
 In their delights and innocence ; when I was 
 
 A child, my pleasure was to purchase pleasure 
 
 By giving it, and if I could not find 
 
 Love for my love, a smile to answer mine, 
 
 I sought to pass my leisure with fond things. 
 
 That without speech communicate their thoughts, 
 
 And always tell the truth. I fed the birds. 
 
 That flock'd from out a leafless wood hard by, 
 
 With sweets from mine own hand ; daily they came 
 
 At morn and even answering to my call. 
 
 Methought it was delight enough, 'twas godlike 
 
 To tame those winged creatures, and to make 
 
 Myself their hope, and object of their care, 
 
 AVho cared for them ! Thou seest I am not changed 
 
 In outward seeming, for my little ones. 
 
 My winged lieges are most loving still. 
 
 And all-obedient ; oh I would not live 
 
 To be a bloodless image of myself. 
 
 Oh perish memory, rather than remember 
 
 The spotless days of childhood, but as pictures 
 
 That show me what I am not any more ! " 
 
 And then she piped some notes they understood. 
 
 And straightway flock'd to her from far and near 
 
 The glad, wild creatures. Some in circles spun, 
 
 And cheep'd, and twitter'd round her brow ; and some. 
 
 Bolder by use, preen'd themselves on her head, 
 
 Or tangled their free wings among her curls ; 
 
 And their swift glancing motions shed the light 
 
 From off them in all colours ; and she laugh'd, 
 
148 ■ HESPERIDES 
 
 And darted off into a thicket near 
 
 Till they had fled ; then turn'd again, and said, 
 
 " Thou hast well seen my power to win wild birds ; 
 
 I have a pleasant tale to tell thee now, 
 
 How I have a power to scare wild birds away. 
 
 VIII 
 
 " This very morn, about the break of day, 
 
 When dreams are true, 'tis said, I dreamt a dream. 
 
 Methought my wooers by some fickle chance, 
 
 111 for them, good for me, came all together. 
 
 I laugh'd within, the while I held to them 
 
 My outward aspect of staid courtesy. 
 
 And, as they turn'd their eyes on one another. 
 
 They frown'd at first, but, after, they put out 
 
 A sudden radiance of well-feigned mirth. 
 
 And each put on his softest mood and smiled. 
 
 ' May the Gods bless this gathering,' said the priest, 
 
 'And breathe us pregnant thoughts, and pleasant speech. 
 
 As the sweet sunshine over us draws out 
 
 The little seedling, hidden in the earth. 
 
 And the full fragrance of the open flower.' 
 
 ' We thank thee, holy sir,' the lawyer said ; 
 
 ' How shall we laud enough the words of one 
 
 Who wafts to man on earth the will of heaven ? ' 
 
 ' How can we thank thee, sir,' the priest replied, 
 
 ' For the rare wisdom, that hath pour'd that will 
 
 Thro' divers channels into daily use. 
 
HESPERIA 149 
 
 As one may sluice the common rain of heaven 
 
 Thro' many rills to feed the thirsty earth ? ' 
 
 ' But how may we praise him who makes no boast, 
 
 Save that he lives but for his country's sake, 
 
 And loves to die that she may better live, 
 
 And lends his strength to save the weak, and arms 
 
 To rescue captives, and avenge the fallen ? ' 
 
 Said both, and bent toward the man of arms. 
 
 Then all together with one voice they cried, 
 
 Looking toward the mariner ; ' Who is he 
 
 Can be compared with one who links all lands 
 
 Together in his person ; pours the wealth 
 
 Of every clime into his own ; and tells 
 
 In his own tale the story of the world ? ' 
 
 But, while they thus discoursed, I stole away. 
 
 And ran along a green walk full of glee, 
 
 And laughing to myself, and, as I turn'd, 
 
 Hoping to hide me in another walk, 
 
 I met the cat-like lawyer face to face. 
 
 Bowing his bent back till it grew a hunch ; 
 
 He show'd me parchments scrawl'd with endless phrase 
 
 Against which armour not a host would stand, 
 
 And all the arrows of the evil fail, 
 
 Would I but take him with them — that was all. 
 
 ' Forbear,' I cried, ' my friend, for it is vain ; 
 
 Thou hast a foe — that mighty man of war — 
 
 And he hath sworn that if I wed not him 
 
 Or any other — but most surely thee — 
 
 For artless strength loathes ever strengthless art — 
 
ISO HESPERIDES 
 
 To take my land, and hold it by the sword, 
 
 And rend thy sheepskins, and then flay thyself; 
 
 And see ! he comes'; the lawyer sneak'd away. 
 
 Up came the modest soldier to my side, 
 
 And there and then — his hand upon his heart — 
 
 With vailed crest, but in a warlike bass, 
 
 Offer'd himself and valour for my good, — 
 
 My lifelong good — all for my little hand. 
 
 ' Forbear,' I cried, ' my friend, for it is vain. 
 
 Thou hast three foes — for those three foes are mine — 
 
 Each hath a separate power to do me hurt, 
 
 And take away my riches if he will ; 
 
 And each hath threaten'd in his turn to use it, 
 
 Should I not wed him, or wed any other. 
 
 Should the proud priest perceive that thou hast won. 
 
 His powerful curse, with which he threatens me. 
 
 Would dry up all this land, and make me poor ; 
 
 And see ! he comes ! ' The soldier took to flight. 
 
 Then the priest, bending low, and smiling sweet, 
 
 Promised me all things with the love of Heaven, 
 
 If I were his, if I were only his. 
 
 ' Forbear,' I cried, ' my friend, for it is vain ; 
 
 Should man of law perceive that thou hast won. 
 
 He would weave round me such a fatal web — 
 
 And this he threatens — as would leave me nought. 
 
 For all my goods would pass away from me 
 
 Through his arch-juggling fingers unto others ; 
 
 And lo ! he comes ! ' and the priest turn'd his heel. 
 
 And after him the jovial seaman join'd, 
 
HESPERIA 
 
 And promised me a fresh tale every night, 
 
 So that our lives should ebb as stealthily 
 
 As the slow-sinking waves of falling tides, 
 
 That, as we watch them, seem to come again 
 
 To the same spot, and with the selfsame sound. 
 
 'Forbear,' I cried, 'my friend, for it is vain; 
 
 The priest, the lawyer, and the man of war 
 
 Have been before thee — them I have denied — 
 
 And they are sworn to be avenged on me ! 
 
 Thou art one simple seaman — nothing more — 
 
 How wilt thou strive against the Cerberus 
 
 Of threefold hate ? the curse, the craft, the sword ? 
 
 The priest would curse thee, and the soldier slay. 
 
 If we were wed ; the priest would blight my lands, 
 
 The lawyer net them, and the soldier spoil ; 
 
 Thou wouldst be slain, a victim for my sake ; 
 
 And I should be a beggar all thro' thee ! ' 
 
 As tho' a thunderclap had smote his ear. 
 
 He started, and pass'd dolefully away. 
 
 Such was my dream, and so, this very morn 
 
 Faithful to it, as to an oracle, 
 
 I bad my lovers part and come no more. 
 
 And now fresh sorrow shadows me ; until 
 
 I knew that thou art mine, as I am thine, 
 
 Beloved one, my fears were for myself. 
 
 As now they are for thee, and tenfold more ; 
 
 The love that goes forth for another's sake 
 
 Leaves self-love cold beside her quenched hearth. 
 
 And I am fearless for myself, tho' frail 
 
 151 
 
1 52 HESPERIDES 
 
 I seem a champion arm'd in perfect mail, 
 
 And, standing over thee, I throw them all 
 
 My worthless wealth, as to the hungry wolves. 
 
 Across thy body. Oh ! this too weak heart. 
 
 That trembled at imaginings of ill, 
 
 Is proof against the real. I love thee so. 
 
 That I could bear, methinks, without a sigh 
 
 The knotted blows of their contorted hates. 
 
 So I might stand a shield 'twixt them and thee ; 
 
 Not that thy strength hath need of this weak hand, 
 
 Or I could save thee from thine enemies ; 
 
 Oh ! I am dreaming.'' Here she ceased, and wept. 
 
 " What have I done that the great Gods should make 
 
 My youth, my happy days, my paradise. 
 
 The sources of my sorrows and my fears, 
 
 The outward mockeries of mine inner woe ? 
 
 Oh let me fly from treacherous shows, and leave 
 
 This direful happy land, and leave it theirs. 
 
 Who covet it, to strive for ; so their hates 
 
 Of one another shall avenge my wrongs. 
 
 Better the shelter of a desert rock. 
 
 Where our sole garden should be in our hearts. 
 
 And Love and Truth like rose-trees interwined, 
 
 Shall bear the two rare blossoms, peace and joy !" 
 
 IX 
 
 And, when the wondrous tale was ended all. 
 What seized the youth that he blazed forth at once 
 
HESPERIA 153 
 
 In quenchless laughter ? "Art thou mad ?" she cried ; 
 
 " For solemn things that move my tears can stir 
 
 Thy merriment, as though a child should take 
 
 The wrinkled brow and twisted lips of pain 
 
 For laughter, and so laugh ?" He said, " Dear girl ; 
 
 Pardon this seeming ribald mood, this trance 
 
 Of unresisted mirth ; but thou, ere long, 
 
 Shall join myself in mocking at thyself." 
 
 No sooner said than he leapt up, and fled 
 
 Into the nearest thicket, and came forth, 
 
 After a moment, bearing a vine-stem, 
 
 Wherefrom the four sad scorned lovers hung. 
 
 Disconsolate, but now, now truly dead. 
 
 And, tho' the dead men were a dreadful sight, 
 
 Arguing more dreadful deed, the boy once more 
 
 Burst out in peals of maddest mirth ; till, she 
 
 Turning to flee, he cast them to the earth. 
 
 And running after bad her turn and see. 
 
 Palely she look'd up to him, as tho' scared 
 
 At his strange motions and his idiot glee. 
 
 " Come now," he said, " and look upon thy foes." 
 
 Fearfully then she follow'd him, afraid 
 
 Lest he, her love, were wicked or a fool. 
 
 And, looking down upon the turf, she cried — 
 
 Now spurring his wild laughter with her own — 
 
 " O Nemesis ! is this thy work indeed ? 
 
 Nothing I see but loose habiliments. 
 
 Empty of man ; but, tell me, I pray thee, where 
 
 Are the good men who dwelt erewhile in them?" 
 
154 HESPERIDES 
 
 " Dear girl," he answered : " these are all of man 
 
 That ever troubled thee with love or lies. 
 
 And, had they been possess'd of human forms, 
 
 Still would my words be true and fit for them. 
 
 For when the heart of truth is not within. 
 
 The outward vesture is the whole of man 
 
 Seen by his fellow ; wouldst thou better know 
 
 Where they are fled, thou needst but look on me, 
 
 While I put on the priestly stole and beard, 
 
 And with false hair a little streak'd with grey 
 
 Speak in a feigned voice, which art I learnt 
 
 Right early, as I mimick'd the woodbirds, 
 
 While wandering in the forest whole days long, 
 
 And then to ape my little friends at school. 
 
 So with the soldier, and the man of law, 
 
 And with the merchant." "Art thou all?" she cried. 
 
 " Hast thou fill'd singly all these many parts ?" 
 
 " Listen," he said ; " I knew that what hath been 
 
 Might be again, and that the bitter world 
 
 Might work thee ill, unless I dealt with it ; 
 
 So what might be, dear girl, I made to be. 
 
 Thou hast affronted perils that I fear'd 
 
 In seeming to affront them, and hast won 
 
 A victory over them ere they appear ; 
 
 And, had I not thy heart, as thou hast mine, 
 
 Still would I fear no danger to that heart. 
 
 Though I were wandering in a distant land 
 
 And saw thee not ; fenced by experience 
 
 Thou still wert safe, but, arm'd by love, secure : 
 
HESPERIA 155 
 
 Were I far off, I should have left thee thus 
 Shielded against the soldier's ringing brass, 
 And countercharm'd against the ghostly priest, 
 Sheepskinn'd against the subtle man of law. 
 And deafen'd to the merchant's thousand tales." 
 
 X 
 
 When he had ceased, she sat a moment still. 
 
 And turn'd away her face, as one who saw 
 
 Some far-off motion, or would sound the clouds. 
 
 Or pierce the mountains. Soon an angry shame 
 
 Flush'd cheek and forehead, and she turn'd and said, 
 
 " Say, was the aged mother whom I lov'd 
 
 And trusted, but the last act of thy play. 
 
 The best of thy disguises ? Yes, methinks, 
 
 I saw the selfsame features, as she sat 
 
 'Mid evening shadows, and but dimly seen 
 
 Under the glooming umbrage. If 'twere so. 
 
 Thou hast been, boy, too venturous ; 'twas too much, 
 
 That I should lean my sorrows on thy breast 
 
 Deeming it hers ; that thou, too daring one, 
 
 Shouldst steal me from myself, and my resolves. 
 
 Albeit unwitting, into such frail acts 
 
 As show unseemly in the light of truth. 
 
 Whereof no maiden pardons to herself, 
 
 Tho' guiltless, ev'n the memory; was it so?" 
 
 " Fear not," he answer'd, " then should I have been 
 
 Loveless, as all the others ; for true love 
 
iS6 HESPERIDES 
 
 Loves best to crown the idol of his heart 
 
 With dream-perfection. Had I snared thee thus, 
 
 It would have been as though a wanton boy 
 
 Should smirch the dewy fruitage with rough hand, 
 
 For pastime should tear off the wild-bird's plumes, 
 
 Whose feathers glancing in free light and air 
 
 Are magically hued, but once pluckt off 
 
 Can be no more restored. He stands apart. 
 
 Gazing upon its beauty, as a work 
 
 Divinely wrought, but not for him, and so 
 
 He dares possess it with his eyes alone. 
 
 Nor with a touch or breath unsanctify it. 
 
 She is my mother's mother, as I said. 
 
 And will rejoice, O love, to see this day." 
 
 Again she look'd upon him, her sweet face 
 
 Sadden'd again a little, and she said : 
 
 " There is one other thing I still would know ; 
 
 Wherefore, if thou art noble, as I hear. 
 
 In name, and nobler, as I hoped, in heart, 
 
 Didst thou, in guise of priestly raiment, dare 
 
 To lock me up in that enchanted sleep. 
 
 That leaves us helpless, and, tho' living still. 
 
 Deaf to this world and blind ; as I have heard 
 
 The stoled guardians of the sacred shrines. 
 
 Ministers of the holy oracles, 
 
 'Tis said, themselves are wont to do ? Didst thou 
 
 Seek to know if the hosts of other lands 
 
 Are arming silently? Where vanish'd wealth 
 
 Is treasured ? Whence a sudden plague shall swoop 
 
HESPERIA 157 
 
 Upon this realm ? Or if some tyrant, swoln 
 
 With adulation, or on fire with pride, 
 
 Shall perish in his madness, if he rides 
 
 Beyond his city gates to win the world?" 
 
 " None of these things," he answer'd, " have I sought. 
 
 But, O beloved, I have heard it said 
 
 By a wise man from Egypt, who had fill'd 
 
 His spirit with all knowledge, and had heard 
 
 Whispers, 'twas said, from other worlds, and seen 
 
 Their habitants pass by him as he lay 
 
 With open eyes, and visions in his sleep 
 
 When voices, speaking to him, as of men, 
 
 Told him celestial secrets, and the use 
 
 Of secret charms on earth, to sound the mind 
 
 And heart of others. For he arm'd himself 
 
 Against such perilous ventures by long fast 
 
 And solitary prayer. And I have known," 
 
 He said, " a lover shadow'd by despair 
 
 Lay in a trance the maiden whom he loved, 
 
 But she had scorn'd him — for her pride was great, 
 
 And he was lowly-born — but when she spoke 
 
 Out of her inward life — her natural sight 
 
 And hearing vanish'd, and her body stretch'd 
 
 In death-like palsy — 'twas with other words. 
 
 All the sweet utterances the hapless boy 
 
 Imagined in wild dreams that flatter'd him ; 
 
 All the kind looks he treasured in his heart. 
 
 Remembering how beautiful she was. 
 
 When he had seen her smile on other men ; 
 
158 HESPERIDES 
 
 Became now real to him as he sat 
 And spoke to her; and she, in accents changed, 
 Named him her first, her only love, her life. 
 And so he won her, slowly turning all 
 Her outward semblance of disdain to truth 
 Of love at last — by might of steadfast wjll — 
 Till she was powerless to withhold the thoughts 
 That she had bound till then in chains of pride. 
 And so I hoped to charm from thee, O love. 
 In charming words, the secret of thy soul, 
 If that should be as I had dreamt it was. 
 But all is over now, and those dear lips 
 Have told me freely all I sought to know ; 
 Those eyes awake have seen me by thy side, 
 And seen me take thy hand, as I do now.'' 
 
 XI 
 
 " I trust myself to thee, and to thy love," 
 
 She softly answer' d, " and thy youthful arm. 
 
 Yet tho' my cares, like mists at morn, are fled. 
 
 Still do their pulses shake me, and I seem 
 
 As one awaken'd who can scarcely trust 
 
 'Twas all a dream. Think what it was to be 
 
 A lone maid loving, loving to be loved, 
 
 Yet woo'd by loveless lovers, who would slay 
 
 Her whom they woo'd, might they but win her place, 
 
 Each other in that self-love which is hate. 
 
 Think what it was to have my ears and heart 
 
HESPERIA 159 
 
 Assail'd by silver speech and blandishments, 
 And so to know that I must arm myself, 
 Like Artemis, or Pallas, to be true 
 Unto myself, tho' seeing, as I could see. 
 With natural maiden instinct, through all 
 Their dark-woven corselets of hypocrisy. 
 As tho' they were transparent. Oh ! to be 
 Daily in peril, as a frightened bird 
 That fear charms slowly to the serpent's mouth : 
 Daily in peril, like a citadel 
 Starved in a siege, and drawn to its surrender 
 For lack of that true bread which thou hast brought, 
 Possessing which, I fear not all strong arms. 
 All crafty arts ; nor soldier, lawyer, priest. 
 Or merchant ; let them flatter, let them threat. 
 With thee, with thee ! " — And here her happy eyes 
 Gazed on him, as Andromeda on him 
 ^Vho with heroic heart and stalwart arm 
 Unbound her from the rock, and from the fear 
 Of the sea-monster. After that sweet smile 
 There burst a storm of happy tears, wrung out 
 From the long-gathering clouds of daily care, 
 The thunder-shower that clear'd her troubled soul. 
 And she sank down upon his breast in peace. 
 And then she pour'd into his loving heart 
 The music of her own, the secret joys. 
 Hidden like pearls in caskets, which she fear'd 
 To look on, ev'n in secret, lest some thief 
 Should come nigh, and should steal them, and make 
 known 
 
i6o HESPERIDES 
 
 The priceless treasure ; all the summer dreams, 
 
 That, through her open lattice, lighted down 
 
 Upon her moonlit loveliness, in nights 
 
 Gone by, when she had left the garden walks 
 
 At sundown, and had sought her chamber dim. 
 
 And lay as one entranced, her lips apart, 
 
 And one white arm beneath dark tresses drown'd, 
 
 In blissful slumber ; and the world without 
 
 Slept all in starry stillness, but the song 
 
 Of nightingales that answer'd one another ; 
 
 The far-off waterfall, the moaning pine ; 
 
 And such weird whispers in the thrilling air 
 
 As seem the tongues of watchful spirits ; all 
 
 Mingled together in her happy swoon. 
 
 And one came down thro' the ambrosial gloom 
 
 Looking upon her with soft eyes like his. 
 
 She told him all the sweet moods she had seem'd 
 
 To mask in prideful accents or in frowns ; 
 
 The many tears that she had shed, to think 
 
 That her poor fence might kill the love she craved 
 
 And dared not compass ; and the golden hopes 
 
 Of blessed days to come, dear to the heart 
 
 As those rose-hues and many-colour'd fires 
 
 That light a summer-eve, when thundrous clouds 
 
 Are banded eastward, and the promise shines 
 
 Of many glorious morrows of bright morns. 
 
 When she had finish'd her sweet words, they sat 
 
 Down on a turf-seat under low, dark boughs 
 
 Of cedar, and he took her by the hand, 
 
HESPERIA i6i 
 
 And said ; " Dear love, when I look on this land 
 
 Of flowers, and ever-fruitful pleasances. 
 
 Comes memory of strange things that I have heard 
 
 Ev'n from the lips of one whom thou hast spurn'd — 
 
 That merchant — who had measured sea and land ! — 
 
 Yet was he more deserving than the rest, 
 
 For with the wildest fables he could mix 
 
 Things true, tho' wilder than his phantasies. 
 
 And once — it was a dusky eve, and clouds 
 
 RolFd eastward, threatening change, and a black night 
 
 Of tempest, and the waves began to wail. 
 
 And whiten underneath the thundrous pall. 
 
 And the hot sands were whirl'd into the air, 
 
 And the shrill gusts bent low the tamarisks — 
 
 'Twas then he leant toward me, and he laid 
 
 His hand upon my arm, and in his eyes 
 
 There shone a fire I had not seen before. 
 
 His tones were mournful, and his trembling lips 
 
 Grew pale, as if some weird, unutterable, 
 
 And ghostly memories from within him drove 
 
 All lighter legends and all jocund tales. 
 
 As thus he whisper'd to me, ' O my friend. 
 
 Hast never dreamt of the Hesperian isles. 
 
 The blessed isles, delightsome, which the Gods, 
 
 Some say, once made their dwelling in the dawn 
 
 Of years, and left them to the sons of men, 
 
 Elysiums of Nature ? Once I heard 
 
 My grandsire — he too was a mariner bold 
 
 From whom my love of the blue water flow'd — 
 
 VOL. II M 
 
i62 HESPERIDES 
 
 Tell of a voyage which he once had made 
 In his brave youth. His voice shook, as he said : 
 ' My child, the thoughts of the fair land I saw, 
 The memories of the solemn tale I heard, 
 Live in me yet, tho' many cares, and pains, 
 That since have troubled me, are swallow'd up. 
 And all forgotten ; but these memories 
 Come back to me in the night-watches still. 
 And seem to scroll the darkness. O my boy, 
 I speak not now of present times, my own 
 Slight ventures ; and I add not my own words 
 To those that I have heard, for they are true.' 
 
ATLANTIS 
 PART I 
 
 " We sail'd beyond the great gates of the World, 
 
 That shut in all we know, — into the Deep 
 
 Unknown ; and on and on, by day and night. 
 
 We fled along the unruffled Ocean-floor, 
 
 Borne by light, happy winds, till hope began 
 
 To freeze to fear ; for there was ne'er a change. 
 
 Nor rock, nor isle, to speck the azure vast, 
 
 That with the blue heaven made a single orb 
 
 Unfathomable, above us and below. 
 
 Our men cried, 'Whither wend we?' and began 
 
 To whisper, and to mutter, and to snarl. 
 
 Methought they yearn'd to fling me to the sharks 
 
 And krakens ; but I said, ' Have patience yet 
 
 A single day, and bear with me, for I 
 
 Have mystic warrant for the things I do. 
 
 I saw in dream a land that none have seen. 
 
 A voice said, 'Seven days' sail shall bring thee there '; 
 
 And this is but the sixth.' They scowl'd on me ; 
 
 And 'If another morn,' said one, 'shall break 
 
 Without thy dream's fulfilment ' — as he spak6. 
 
i64 ATLANTIS 
 
 The wind blew fresher, and the ship sped on. 
 I rose, and pointed with my trembling hand 
 To where at intervals a mountain-peak 
 Clave the far-rolling purple, and shone out 
 Brighter with every moment, as we glanced 
 Along the seas : and then a shout arose, 
 And all hands to their travail turn'd again 
 With an obedient awe, and better will. 
 The seventh day all the day we sail'd, till eve 
 Flush'd the grey main, and, at the set of sun. 
 Over the waves that roll'd into the flame 
 Of the wide West, I saw an island lone 
 Far off grow dark against the flood and fire. 
 Like some great battle tower. There lay a cloud 
 Upon its topmost summit, burning red. 
 That seem'd a giant with uplifted arms ; 
 He seem'd to blow a trumpet from on high. 
 And wave a banner. On the morrow morn. 
 The morning of the eighth day, at the dawn. 
 Were we spellbound, or did a choral strain. 
 Solemn and sweet, float to us o'er the sea, 
 As tho' the guardian spirits of the place 
 Had bad us welcome to it? On we fared 
 Nearer and nearer to that nameless isle : 
 And now we saw its beauty waken up 
 With every moment, and our gladness rose. 
 On either hand seashore, with gardens back'd. 
 And high with plumed forests, higher still 
 With silver mountain thrones that turn'd to gold 
 
ATLANTIS 165 
 
 At the first sunburst ; and, midway between 
 The shores and woods, a piled city ranged, 
 Terrace on terrace, citadel and tower. 
 And dome and pinnacle ; soft shadows fell 
 From summer clouds upon that happy realm, 
 Kissing the lights with coolness, and anon 
 Between them great shafts of translucent gold 
 Made the deep valleys and tall cliffs to burn 
 With gem-like clearness. 
 
 As we near'd the strand. 
 We saw the ramparts and the city-wall 
 Throng'd with the multitudes ; but not a voice 
 Clave the clear air ; and, when the anchor fell. 
 Two or three pass'd down to us with grave mien. 
 And eyes of wonder, and some words were spoken 
 In a strange speech ; and then they sign'd to one 
 Who stood apart, a man of stately build 
 And many years ; and with a peaceful smile 
 He bad us welcome, uttering friendly words 
 In the same tongue. I thought it strange at first ; 
 But, listening eagerly, it seem'd I heard 
 Some old old utterance of the golden notes 
 Of Hellas ; and, in hearing more and more, 
 I shaped the speaker's thought in antique words, 
 As one by gazing on a mother's face 
 Long lost may trace the semblance of his own. 
 And clearly and more clear, as he discoursed, 
 Rose the full stature of the archaic tongue, 
 Majestical, as are the massive girth. 
 
1 66 ATLANTIS 
 
 And gnarled boughs, of some ancestral oak, 
 
 That far above the valley's leaves and streams 
 
 Murmurs apart, and whispers of the Past. 
 
 ' Approach and fear not, whosoe'er thou art, 
 
 And whencesoe'er,' he said, 'and wonder not, 
 
 The' we must wonder ; for behold thou standest 
 
 On the last remnant of an ancient world. 
 
 That was the nurse of nations, ere the deep. 
 
 Like Death itself, in one night swallow'd it. 
 
 Hungrier than Death who leaves our bones entire. 
 
 It left no fragment but this lonely isle. 
 
 This dreadful doom I will relate to thee 
 
 Some time when I have shown thee other things. 
 
 I bid thee welcome ; 'tis a day foretold 
 
 By the old oracles whose voice I am, 
 
 Ministering in the temple night and day. 
 
 Thou art the man to whom the Gods have made 
 
 A way to us across the dreadful deep. 
 
 The first of ail for many thousand years. 
 
 And, were it not that I am heir to them 
 
 From whom the nations flow'd, thou hadst not breathed 
 
 The spirit of my speech, nor I of thine ; 
 
 And thou hadst been, on these remotest shores, 
 
 As one who wanders down among the dead, 
 
 The silent shades ; but in the early time 
 
 Flocking from east and west, and north and south. 
 
 The sons and daughters of far hills and isles 
 
 Sought this world's paradise, Atlantis fair, 
 
 That lay where now the ruthless ocean rolls. 
 
ATLANTIS 167 
 
 But since that day, when, looking towards the west, 
 
 We saw but the wild waters, toward the East, 
 
 And saw but the wild waters, none have dared 
 
 The angry deep to visit us, save one. 
 
 Like thee, a Greek, who, generations past. 
 
 Was cast by evil winds upon these shores. 
 
 And never parted more, but lived and died 
 
 Among us, and forgot his fatherland. 
 
 For love of the sweet refuge he had found ; 
 
 And sons and daughters were born to him here. 
 
 One of his kindred is among us still ; 
 
 Though ages are roU'd by, he hath not yet 
 
 Forgot their tongue and thine, and he may well 
 
 Serve as interpreter 'twixt thee and us. 
 
 No islander of ours hath found his way 
 
 To other shores ; ah me ! we know not aught 
 
 Who once knew all things ; we who had all powers 
 
 And blisses of the earth are smitten down ; 
 
 Nor know we if the whole world, like our own. 
 
 Hath perish'd in the waters. In old time 
 
 Our fleets went outward, freighted with our wealth. 
 
 Our sons and daughters with them, and all lands 
 
 Owe life to ours. I know not whence thou art ; 
 
 But this I know, that thy melodious tongue 
 
 Sure is the tender offspring of our own.' 
 
 II 
 
 " While yet he spoke a herald cross'd the way. 
 And bad us to the regal banquet-chamber. 
 
i68 ATLANTIS 
 
 And soon we mounted by a marble stair 
 
 Up to the palace of the living King, 
 
 The last of the Atlantes, heritor 
 
 Of that one island, the fair jewel left 
 
 To witness to past riches, heritor 
 
 Of silent memories, whose dim twilights cast 
 
 All actual into darkness. He rose up 
 
 To bid us welcome, and the guests came in, 
 
 And took their places ; to the foremost seats 
 
 We were led up by silent seneschals. 
 
 From unseen alcoves rose the sound of harps 
 
 And voices in low-breathed harmonies, 
 
 That, from the shadows, reach'd us, sad and sweet. 
 
 And seem'd to swoon as tenderly away. 
 
 As summer seas that fall along the shore 
 
 Thro' silvery whispers into silences ; 
 
 As memories dying back thro' sumless years. 
 
 The carven vessels on the banquet-table 
 
 Were wrought in weird, sweet fashions ; and the shapes. 
 
 Crusting the gold and silver, show'd us things 
 
 We fondly dreamt of as Hellenic lore, 
 
 Hellenic poesy, Hellenic art ; 
 
 And yet were older than our race entire. 
 
 Dating from dimmest aeons of the dawn 
 
 Of very Time itself. All I beheld 
 
 Showed me the might and magistery of men, 
 
 The vanished ancestors of those I saw. 
 
 The sculptures set in niche or pedestal ; 
 
 The pictured phantasies along the walls ; 
 
ATLANTIS 169 
 
 The wreathen scroll-work on the roof, afire 
 With rainbow colours, and the writhen gold 
 Of the tall urns and jewell'd chalices ; 
 The musical sweet voices of the singers, 
 Who sang the songs of ages that had reap'd 
 The harvest of all good things long ago ; 
 The unknown instruments, of gracious mould. 
 For wind or string ; all round me made me feel 
 Like some hoar patriarch of an hundred years. 
 Whose soul is dark to all beyond the day, 
 When for a moment memory glances forth, 
 Like a last glory from the setting sun 
 Firing the peaks of snow, and shows him deeds 
 Done in the warlike prowess of his youth ; 
 He starts, and weeps, and wonders at himself. 
 And sighs that all is fled for ever by, 
 All but his weary frame and vain regrets. 
 And when the cupbearers with silent grace 
 Bore round in graven ewers the bright blood 
 Of island vintages, long hid away 
 In sunless grots, until the prison'd fires, 
 As 'twere rejoicing in their freedom, leapt 
 Out of long years of darkness into day, 
 And gave the sun back all its stolen gold, 
 Methought the fragrance of the amber drops. 
 And purple, rose up in my sense, like steam 
 Of orient mists shot thro' with sparks of dawn 
 Innumerable, and thro' my heart and brain 
 Wander'd sweet phantoms, born of the delight 
 
170 ATLANTIS 
 
 Of that old wine breathing of paradises, 
 And the first world of loving hearts and free. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " And when the feast was ended, and the hearts 
 
 Of men wax'd jocund with the golden wine, 
 
 The heir of the Atlantes, with a smile 
 
 Bending toward my grandsire : ' Stranger, speak ; 
 
 All other tongues will hush ; I pray thee speak 
 
 Of that thou knowest, and hast seen ; for we 
 
 Are lost to space and time since that great day. 
 
 And if a winged messenger came down 
 
 From the Immortals, he were not more rare 
 
 Than thou art fresh from the great outer world.' 
 
 ' O King,' he answer' d, ' it would fill the days. 
 
 And months, and years of yet another life 
 
 As long as mine lived back into the past, 
 
 If I should tell thee all the marvellous things 
 
 That I have mark'd since boyhood. Then I spake,' 
 
 My grandsire said, ' of all my busy life. 
 
 My many wanderings by land and sea. 
 
 Thro' Persia, Egypt, Araby and Ind ; 
 
 Of Scythian ruins, seeming old as time. 
 
 Of many tongues, whose diverse utterance raised 
 
 Barriers 'twixt race and race, and man and man. 
 
 And then he show'd me how the differing forms 
 
 Of this diversity were but the strands 
 
 Of the one cable anchor'd in the deeps 
 
 Of fathomless antiquity ; once more 
 
ATLANTIS 171 
 
 He show'd me how to wind the scatter'd threads 
 
 Into the primal unity. And once, 
 
 Spurr'd on by busy cares of life, I said, 
 
 I went down into Egypt, and I saw 
 
 Mysterious, imperishable stones 
 
 Of structures, older than all memories 
 
 Of generations of the living race 
 
 Of mortal men, whereof no record lived 
 
 In scroll or legend.' With astonished eyes 
 
 King Atlas said, ' 'Tis ev'n as I had dreamt. 
 
 Thy memory pictures to me the old land 
 
 In its first beauty ; all that thou hast seen 
 
 Of regal structure, pillar'd temple, tomb 
 
 Pyramidal, is but the shadow cast 
 
 From the old world, how fair soe'er they seem. 
 
 And if the spirit of thine Hellas wrought 
 
 The thoughts, inherited thro' countless years. 
 
 Into all lovely fashions, 'twas no more 
 
 Than the first instincts breath'd from sire to son. 
 
 Of the first generations ; nay far less. 
 
 And ever dimmer, as the interval 
 
 'Twixt past und present widen'd thro' the years ; 
 
 And only then to be reborn in full 
 
 Perfection of their beauty, when the days 
 
 Of these sad years of lamentation cease ; 
 
 When the great manhood of the world shall come, 
 
 Crown'd with that glory, which the Gods shall give, 
 
 Unknown to all the ages that have been. 
 
 In thy discourse, methinks, I meet again 
 
172 ATLANTIS 
 
 Mine ancestry, whose noble land was lost 
 
 These many thousand years, the self-same race, 
 
 Whose mighty deeds are chanted by us yet 
 
 In this lone isle, the only remnant left 
 
 To witness for the truth of the great days. 
 
 Oh ! when I hear thy voice, I feel as they 
 
 Who pass thro' some far city they have dreamt 
 
 Long years before, and now remember nought, 
 
 But know they look on a familiar thing.' 
 
 Again my grandsire spake before the King : 
 
 ' And when I saw the proud Egyptian Lords, 
 
 And the high chief of armies, and the first 
 
 In council, and the women wise and fair, 
 
 I spoke to them of Athens, Corinth, Thebes, 
 
 Bright eyes of Hellas, and of our renown. 
 
 They said, ' A greater Athens stood where now 
 
 She stands, a people wiser than ye are, 
 
 Who boast yourselves supreme ; and, where the proud 
 
 Acropolis looks over the blue sea, 
 
 A fairer city shone, whose noble sons 
 
 Seem'd very Gods on earth — so moulded they. 
 
 So dower'd with mind — each brotherhood in arts 
 
 Or arms wrought earnestly, and with that love 
 
 That grows perfection ; their heroic men 
 
 Subdued the nations, and their wisdom ruled ; 
 
 Their priests of holy things, their ministers 
 
 Of justice, and their lawgivers were fill'd 
 
 With the pure spirit of truth.' ' I wonder not,' 
 
 King Atlas said, ' for when the land, that sank 
 
ATLANTIS 173 
 
 Beneath the waters, was the chief on earth, 
 
 Great hosts went out from it, and fjll'd the earth 
 
 Eastward ; thine ancestors were sons of ours.' 
 
 My grandsire said, ' The Egyptians told me this, — 
 
 Alas ! 'tis sad, yet vain, to think of it — 
 
 That foremost race, the cities of that time. 
 
 The primal Athens with its glory fell 
 
 The selfsame hour when earthquake, storm, and sea 
 
 Bore down the great Atlantis.' He replied, 
 
 ' Oh thou art from the remnant that escaped 
 
 When desolations at the fated time 
 
 Wasted these regions, and thy fatherland.' 
 
 'They told me also this,' my grandsire said, 
 
 ' Of old, where now the long Pirsus runs 
 
 Down to the waters, only fishers' huts 
 
 Stood on the shore beside their little barks ; 
 
 Upon the heights the shepherd's tent, and flock.' 
 
 King Atlas said, ' We knew not if thy land 
 
 Were desolate, or still inhabited ; 
 
 For, since the doom that swallow'd up our world, 
 
 The sons of the first race, whom thou hast found 
 
 Dwelling in this far isle, are drown'd in night. 
 
 As their forefathers in the flood ; since then 
 
 All things are hid from us, the world is lost ; 
 
 No voice from it hath reach'd us o'er the seas ; 
 
 No living sign hath pass'd from us to them. 
 
 But now I know thou art a brother, saved 
 
 From the great wreck, as we are ; and thy tongue, 
 
 Tho' varied, claims a kinship unto ours.' 
 
174 ATLANTIS 
 
 IV 
 
 " He ended, and tumultuous voices rose. 
 
 And, when they ceased, the monarch raised his hand. 
 
 And call'd upon his chief of bards, a man 
 
 Who seem'd to press beneath his breast and brows 
 
 Secrets of the old cycles, ere the lights 
 
 Of other lands were kindled, that are now 
 
 The world's great capitals ; and he began 
 
 In tones not low nor loud, that struck the ear. 
 
 As twilight strikes the eye when the full moon 
 
 Rises at sunset, and the air is still 
 
 And shadowless, a tender, tuneful voice. 
 
 Wherein were mingled solemn things and sweet, 
 
 That won as with a charm the sense and soul. 
 
 ' Of old, when the great Gods who rule the Earth 
 
 Shared it between them without strife, the King 
 
 Of Waters, Poseidaon, throned himself 
 
 Upon the blest Atlantis, now no more, 
 
 All but this little remnant, this lone isle, 
 
 And took unto himself a bride, among 
 
 The fairest of men's daughters. On a mount. 
 
 That dropt with gentle slope toward the plain. 
 
 Like which no garden out of all the earth 
 
 Was ever seen for beauty, Evenor dwelt, 
 
 And Leucippe his wife, and their one child 
 
 Fair Clito, fairest among women. He, 
 
 The monarch of the waters, look'd on her. 
 
 And loved her, and he took her for his bride, 
 
ATLANTIS 175 
 
 Her parents dying ; and he fenced the mount, 
 
 And circled it with zones of land and sea, 
 
 Three zones of water, and two zones of land 
 
 Alternately, each separate from each 
 
 By equal spaces, that this realm might be 
 
 For ever unassailable by man ; 
 
 For in that day no ship with sail or oar 
 
 Breasted the seas. He by his godlike power 
 
 Made all things round about him beautiful. 
 
 He bad, and lo ! twin fountains sprang to life 
 
 Out of the centre of the pleasant land, 
 
 Tepid, and cold, and breathed fertility 
 
 On hill and valley ; all fair fruits, that serve 
 
 For uses and delights, boon Nature shower'd 
 
 From lavish horn. Four sons the Monarch had, 
 
 And by division of the realm entire 
 
 Into ten portions, he bestow'd on him, 
 
 Who was the firstborn, all his mother own'd, 
 
 The largest and the best, and made him king 
 
 Over the others who were also chiefs. 
 
 Each o'er a noble race and godly realm. 
 
 He gave them names ; the eldest, Atlas, gave 
 
 His to the whole Atlantis ; to the rest, 
 
 Who were born after, for their shares he gave 
 
 The regions lying eastward, toward the gates 
 
 And pillars of Alcides ; this lone isle, 
 
 Last fragment of a world-wide continent, 
 
 Which thou hast reach'd, lies midway 'twixt the East 
 
 And further West ; and here, it seems, was raised 
 
176 ATLANTIS 
 
 The central city of the sunken world ; 
 
 For the vast ruins and the scatter'd piles 
 
 Of the old temples tell of its renown. 
 
 All these, for seons kings of land and sea, 
 
 Thro' many generations spread their rule 
 
 Far ev'n as Egypt and Tyrrhenia ; 
 
 But he named Atlas was the king of kings. 
 
 The Atlantis race the foremost. Each king left 
 
 His sceptre to his firstborn, as at first. 
 
 Each piled up such wealth as in other lands 
 
 Was heretofore unknown, perchance henceforth 
 
 Shall never be again. All goods of life, 
 
 Such as great cities boast of, or elsewhere 
 
 Are gather'd, were brought to them, and their power 
 
 Served them to reach the riches of far shores. 
 
 But most their pleasant birthplace minister'd. 
 
 Ores of all metals cavern'd in the earth. 
 
 And orichalcum precious next to gold ; 
 
 All woods that serve for house-work ; food of beasts 
 
 Both tame and wild, for those that dwelt by pools 
 
 And lakes, on hill and plain, and lord of all 
 
 The surging elephant ; all fragrant plants, 
 
 Which the earth bears to-day, or roots, or herbs. 
 
 Rare barks, or weeping odorous gums ; all fruits, 
 
 And flowers ; and such rare sweets as are the charm 
 
 Of banquet-tables ; syrups for the sick ; 
 
 All .these grew up beneath the blissful breath 
 
 Of that one clime ; lovely, and wonderful. 
 
 And inexhaustible ! They saw the wealth 
 
ATLANTIS 177 
 
 Of that great country, and began to build 
 Cities with ports, temples, and palaces, 
 Throughout the land ; the imperial capital 
 Shone on this island's western side, not here 
 Where this poor shadow-city, yearly less, 
 Dies of old age ; while the great vanish'd one, 
 After its countless ages, wax'd in strength 
 And beauty ; thither thou shalt go with me. 
 And I will show thee where, in ancient time, 
 Bridges had spann'd the water-zones, and link'd 
 The sea and land together, till the heights 
 Of the Acropolis and palace courts 
 Had seaward issues. The imperial house 
 Grew out of the first temple of the God ; 
 Each king received it from his ancestor, 
 And, piling it with riches, and with arts, 
 Each left the structure nobler than he found. 
 Out of the sea they led a watercourse 
 A hundred feet in depth, three furlongs wide, 
 That, from the inmost city, reach'd unto 
 The utmost zone of waters, which became 
 A haven opening seaward, space enough 
 To harbour lordliest vessels. All about 
 The city ran a wall of rock-hewn stones. 
 With towers and gates at intervals ; along 
 The bridges curving o'er the water-zones. 
 'Twas a strange sight to see the city then. 
 With its tall fanes of mingled marbles wrought ; 
 Its zones, and its imperial palace heights ; 
 
 VOL. II N 
 
178 ATLANTIS 
 
 Its gates, and towers, and temples ; and to see 
 
 Its bridges raying seaward, and its walls 
 
 Dazzling with plates of brass towards the main, 
 
 And, toward the land, with fair white metal arm'd ; 
 
 And all the walls of the Acropolis 
 
 Blazing with orichalcum in the sun ! 
 
 Upon a central summit, high above 
 
 The circling capital, the palace stood. 
 
 Still from the western heights it may be seen 
 
 Midsea, a solitary witness left 
 
 To the first God-built city ; its tall crest 
 
 Rugged, and shatter'd by the hand of Time, 
 
 Once lifted up its pinnacles of gold. 
 
 Right in the midst a temple, dedicate 
 
 To Clito and Poseidon, stood inwall'd 
 
 Within a golden circle ; here were born 
 
 The first ten kings ; here were the offerings brought, 
 
 Gather'd from the ten fair provinces. 
 
 And sacrificed to them. Three furlongs deep 
 
 The temple stood, three plethra broad, in height 
 
 Proportional, and shadow'd all the place 
 
 With its vast spaces and barbaric state. 
 
 All the outer faces of the fane 
 
 Were laid with silver, but the pinnacles 
 
 Were golden ; and, within, the domed roof 
 
 Was wrought with ivory carved work, inlaid 
 
 With gold and orichalcum ; all the parts. 
 
 Walls, pillars, pavements, glisten'd with the same. 
 
 Within were golden statues ; first the God 
 
ATLANTIS 179 
 
 Himself, aloft in wondrous chariot drawn 
 
 By six wing'd horses, held the reins, and reach'd 
 
 AVith his great stature to the roof itself; 
 
 And round him sea-nymphs on their dolphins rode, 
 
 A hundred Nereids ; other sculptures shone 
 
 Raised to the memory of heroic men. 
 
 Outside the temple golden images 
 
 Of all the race descended from the king. 
 
 Both male and female ; famous citizens, 
 
 And names of honour out of other lands. 
 
 Then the great altar, wrought with precious art, 
 
 Equal in size and beauty to the rest. 
 
 So the vast palace, with its temple, seem'd 
 
 A symbol of the glory and the power 
 
 Of that old empire God-inherited ! ' 
 
 V 
 
 " He ceased ; and then the monarch Atlas turn'd 
 
 To the grave priest, his guide, ' O father, speak. 
 
 And let this stranger hear what thou hast heard, 
 
 Hear things, of this, and yet beyond, this world ; 
 
 Such rare realities, if they be real, 
 
 As seem like dream.' 'O King,' the priest replied, 
 
 ' Thou bid'st me tell again of that drear night. 
 
 I sorrow to relate, yet will obey. 
 
 Once, as I mused upon that dreadful time, 
 
 When all the glory of a godlike race, 
 
 The treasures of a nation, first of men. 
 
i8o ATLANTIS 
 
 With all its crested cities, hills, and vales, 
 
 Forests, and fields, and gardens, sank beneath 
 
 Deep waters, all that Time had built with care 
 
 For ever vanish'd in one single night, 
 
 I marvell'd and I said unto myself, 
 
 ' Can such things be, and the great God of Gods 
 
 Look on, and say 'tis well ? ' Who, think ye, first 
 
 Made answer to my musings ? He alone. 
 
 The King of Kings, who was the last to part, 
 
 Came back the first, and told me of these things. 
 
 The ancient spirit from the other world 
 
 Spoke thro' the voice of an entranced maid, 
 
 As I served in the temple on that day. 
 
 For know, my son, the wise, from eldest time. 
 
 From unrecorded years of the world's prime, 
 
 Inherit magic arts, and power to charm, 
 
 Thro' might of fixed will, and waved arms, 
 
 The trembling framework of the delicate life 
 
 Of the pure-minded maid, or guileless boy. 
 
 To seeming death — for, if we will, the life 
 
 Comes, as it went — and when the body lies, 
 
 As tho' the spirit had departed thence. 
 
 That spirit rises into godlike strength, 
 
 And space and time fly from it, or the Gods 
 
 Utter their voices thro' the mortal tongue ; 
 
 I know not which ; and then oracular speech 
 
 Lays bare the past and future. On that day, 
 
 Methinks, no power had wrought the wondrous thing, 
 
 But the soul's self. I call'd to me a maid. 
 
ATLANTIS i8i 
 
 And laid her in that supernatural swoon, 
 
 Sleep likest death, that sets the spirits free, 
 
 With power to compass all things, and to range 
 
 From end to end of all this World, and leap 
 
 The walls of Time. I bad her call up one 
 
 Of the first Atlanteans — the great race 
 
 That pass'd away for ever — and he came. 
 
 Lo 1 in a moment, the enchanted one 
 
 Lapsed into deep oblivion of this life, 
 
 Herself, and all around her, as one blind ; 
 
 And through the unconscious utterance spoke the King. 
 
 ' Listen, O man : I am of those who saw 
 
 That night of desolations, and of doom, 
 
 When darkness in its folds wrapt up despairs. 
 
 And frantic fears, pierced by lamenting cries, 
 
 And cursings vain. On our primeval land 
 
 Its many peoples, — like the crowd that stand 
 
 Upon the deck of a becalmed bark, 
 
 And call unto the winds, tho' not a breath 
 
 Makes answer, and the helpless sails are still. 
 
 Till in a moment swoops the hurricane. 
 
 And the wild waters, and the end is come — 
 
 Its many peoples on that fatal night 
 
 Made merry, heedless of the morrow-morn. 
 
 The nation held its holiest festival ; 
 
 I was among the revellers, and with me 
 
 Were many guests. On high enthroned I sat, 
 
 I, of the stem of Atlas, king of kings. 
 
 Proud of my state, proud of my guests, myself. 
 
i82 ATLANTIS 
 
 And the high festival that gather'd us. 
 
 I call'd to the musicians, young and old, 
 
 The company of harpers with their harps. 
 
 The singing men, and singing maids ; and all 
 
 Timbrels, and flutes, and viols made a sound 
 
 Of gladness, and gave forth the hymned praise 
 
 Of our great country, foremost on the earth 
 
 For honour and for riches ; and I sat 
 
 High on my throne above the banquet-table. 
 
 The King of all that land. And, while I heard 
 
 The banded harmonies and voices roll 
 
 Delight, like sunlit waters, and the priest 
 
 Stood by the altar, and the flames went up, 
 
 And all the guests arose, and with a shout 
 
 Peal'd into the still darkness the vain words 
 
 ' Long live the King of Kings,' and in my hands 
 
 I held the golden chalice^ wreathed with flowers. 
 
 Just as the triumph and the music ceased. 
 
 It seem'd an answer came from far below 
 
 Thro' the black night Whether it was the sound 
 
 Of echoes doubling and redoubling still 
 
 From cliff and tower, or from the city cries 
 
 Of revelry, we knew not for a while. 
 
 But nearer, and still nearer rose the sound. 
 
 And now it was not music, or delight. 
 
 But horror mingled with astonishment. 
 
 And hopeless desolation. As I rose 
 
 In fear and in confusion, lo ! a tongue 
 
 Of fire leapt from the altar suddenly. 
 
ATLANTIS 183 
 
 And cast a glare into the outer dark ; 
 And what was that we saw ? O holy Gods, 
 Though I be now crown'd with Elysian peace, 
 Immortal calm, and gladness undisturb'd, 
 Still does the memory of that night of fears 
 Come back to me, and shake me as at first, 
 For a brief moment, till the blessed sight 
 Of happy faces, that will change no more, 
 If not to added beauty, on whom death 
 No more can fall, and happy songs remove 
 The frightful shadows. What was it we saw 
 From our high palace on the central mount ? 
 Great Gods ! the flame-light show'd us but the last, 
 As 'twere the last uplifted, piteous arms 
 Of that great city, in its few tall towers 
 Still toppling o'er the flood, its terraces 
 Crowded with fearful, supplicating hosts, 
 Whose utter woe went up in one great cry 
 And then was silent ; for where they had been 
 The waters drawn in by the whirling gulph 
 RoU'd as a cataract, nearer to us, nearer. 
 The mountain summits far along the West, 
 Whereon the stars of old were wont to stay 
 In crowns of light, were sunk beyond our sight ; 
 And now the surging mountain waters took 
 The place of their old thrones. With mazed eyes 
 And moveless limbs we look'd upon the wreck 
 Of that great realm — as from a topmast looks 
 The captain of a ship, the last man left 
 
1 84 ATLANTIS 
 
 Upon the sinking vessel with its freight, 
 
 And gasping crew, knowing that he must be 
 
 With them a moment after — and the sound 
 
 Of the near waters show'd me I too, I 
 
 Was call'd to death. Into the royal halls 
 
 The stormy deluge burst at length, and quench'd 
 
 The golden lamps, and altar fires ; a noise 
 
 Roll'd like a circling thunder in mine ears, 
 
 Then dark, dark, dark ! I saw, I heard no more ! 
 
 Next morn the dwellers in the farthest east, 
 
 The remnant isle that we inhabit now, 
 
 Look'd toward the west where they were wont to feast 
 
 Their eyes with this world's beauty to the full. 
 
 Bathe in deep shade of mountain purples, range 
 
 O'er rivers, widening from them, and behold 
 
 The far-off woodlands, bending silently 
 
 To the first airs, and trembling gold of dawn ; 
 
 And see the lordly city in the sun, 
 
 With all its sheeny towers, and arched zones, 
 
 And crested with its tall Acropolis, 
 
 Palace, and temple. And, as a man who lays 
 
 His trembling hand upon his open eyes, 
 
 Suddenly blinded — as though aught again 
 
 Could quicken the dead sense to living things — 
 
 So stared they, as tho' living eyes once more 
 
 Could quicken into being that dead world ; 
 
 Then shouted with dismay. And a great host. 
 
 Thousands of thousands, stood along the steeps, 
 
 Whence the old land was sever'd, looking down 
 
ATLANTIS 1 8s 
 
 Into the boiling gulphs far underneath, 
 
 That flung themselves against the marble walls, 
 
 As tho'. to bid them follow ; and, across 
 
 The dreadful deeps, thenceforward nevermore 
 
 Rose pinnacle or tower above the sea. 
 
 Only, on summer days, when the blue plain 
 
 Is smooth as mountain tarn, and clear below, 
 
 As the blue air above or sapphire gem, 
 
 Some say the tall peaks of high mountains gleam. 
 
 Whereon once throned temples and palaces ; 
 
 Great hosts appear and vanish, and a sound 
 
 Of voices fainting through the dread abyss 
 
 Heard far and farther down, till all is still.' 
 
 VI 
 
 " The Highpriest paused awhile, then spoke again. 
 
 His solemn utterance deepen'd into awe. 
 
 ' But, when I thought how wondrous was the work 
 
 Wrought in the spirit of a simple maid. 
 
 How straightway she became an oracle 
 
 Uttering unearthly voices, ' Sure,' I cried, 
 
 ' If he who spake the awful words I heard 
 
 Be the last King of Kings, he lives, he Hves ! 
 
 Nothing is lost, though all things may be changed, 
 
 The mortal to immortal, dust and ash 
 
 Wherein we are imprison'd, and held down. 
 
 To light and liberty, the wings of hfe. 
 
 And, if they live, who perish'd in that night, 
 
1 86 ATLANTIS 
 
 Will he not tell me of their present home, 
 
 And if they wander, as the poets say, 
 
 Starving on vain regrets, and tasting nought 
 
 But sapless memories, while they strive to mock 
 
 Their mortal triumphs, as a shadow does 
 
 The palm-tree that rejoices in the sun ? 
 
 So that the hapless poet faintly sings 
 
 To ghostly chords, that mimic his lost lyre 
 
 And tuneful voice, as a last echo gives 
 
 A trumpet sound ; the captain that led on 
 
 His thousands, runs on airy walls and towers 
 
 Thin as the vapours of a dream, and strikes 
 
 Upon phantasmal armour with a sword 
 
 Frail as an infant's fighting with a reed ; 
 
 The judge sets free his prisoner, or condemns, 
 
 Tho' nothing be arraign'd but empty air ; 
 
 The captive trembles, and the monarch nods. 
 
 Though each to each be nothing more than mist. 
 
 Or moonlight shaping shadows unto life.' 
 
 I was resolved; again I call'd the maid. 
 
 I laid her in the supernatural swoon ; 
 
 I bad her call up him who came before ; 
 
 I bad her follow wheresoe'er he went. 
 
 Pale as the dead, and speechless for a while, 
 
 At length she utter'd with a fearful voice ; 
 
 ' Oh ! what is this ? See ! I am rapt away, 
 
 I know not whither, on a boundless sea. 
 
 My little bark leaps o'er the snow-white crests 
 
 Of the great waves, as tho' the Gods themselves 
 
ATLANTIS 187 
 
 Were wafting me far off from sight of shore 
 To show me a new world : how swift my flight ! 
 My bark is drifted underneath the shade 
 Of old-world ruins, that, methinks, have been 
 Sometime a kingly palace. I see an arch 
 O'ershadowing, that opens far within 
 Thro' twilight into night ; the granite base 
 Of the tall pile, the very lowest towers 
 Above the highest watermark, and all 
 The fury of the stormwind and the sea 
 Roars underneath the giant walls above. 
 And scarce the spray spills on its marble floors, 
 For the stern buttress of the moveless rock 
 Flings the torn waters from it. Now I lie 
 On calmest azure, and the winds are still. 
 And, as I marvel musing on my state. 
 Right where the rocky platform slopes away 
 Toward the ocean, on the edge itself, 
 I see a shape, as of a crowned King, 
 Taller than mortal men. He makes a sign 
 That I should moor my shallop to the rock. 
 And mount to meet him — nay, I must obey — 
 For unimagined forces compass me. 
 And I am drawn against my strength and will 
 To stand before him, as a strengthless child. 
 The crowned giant turns to me, and smiles. 
 Fastening his eyes upon me ; and those eyes 
 Have such a potent magic that their glance 
 Informs me with his knowledge ; so I know 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 This is the skeleton of the great house 
 Of the Atlantean kings, whereof he was. 
 And now he shows me what to outward eyes 
 Was never seen ; for the old walls and floors 
 Are broken up ; the mountain, that sank down 
 With the first city, leaving only this. 
 Huge fragments of its once magnificence 
 Surmounting it down to this very day. 
 Is open'd to my view, becomes a stair 
 Descending to the earth beneath the sea. 
 He signs to me to follow him ; we pass 
 Under an archway, and his steps are swift, 
 Downward, it seems, for ever ; for the slope, 
 Methinks, sinks underneath the deep still seas, 
 Into such darkness as we dreamt not of. 
 Were it not that a light around him flows. 
 And shoots up from the starpoints of his crown. 
 And now my feet descend no more ; on, on, 
 I follow him thro' silent galleries 
 Hewn by the countless years and unseen powers 
 Out of the sunken mountain ; and we pass, 
 Thro' light like moonshine, o'er millennial floors. 
 As of an endless temple. And at first 
 I see not aught around me ; by and by 
 Behold gigantic circling halls, dim roofs 
 Fretted thro' cunning skill of hermit gnomes, 
 And set with precious gems of every hue. 
 That for a moment flash above my head 
 Like stars and fiery meteors ; and the breath 
 
ATLANTIS 189 
 
 Of the seawaters, and the fairy touch 
 Of the hght-finger'd sea-nymphs have inwrought 
 In the great walls — that seem as treasures piled, 
 Until they vanish in the gulphy glooms — 
 Things never seen upon the sunlit earth. 
 And our swift motion and the wavering light 
 Breed dismal shadows round me, that appear 
 Instinct with silent passions, anger, fear, 
 And sorrow ; and, methinks, they show me things 
 That once befell the ancient drowned race, 
 Phantoms that signal to me in dumb show. 
 I seem to see the earthborn giants loom. 
 Shaking their angry locks against the Gods. 
 Born between light and darkness suddenly 
 They vanish as a cloud. Far up I hear 
 Imprison'd winds, like sighs of weary ghosts, 
 Wandering for sunless aeons thro' the night ; 
 Or was it the great deep that moans above 
 Heard in the silence ? Sometimes a sad form, 
 As of a mother weeping for her sons 
 Slain in her presence ; or a drowning child 
 Stretching its arms in vain ; but, as I gaze, 
 Ev'n in the act of vision they are lost, 
 And other shadows rise, and live, and die. 
 Onward we move, and though it be thro' gloom 
 Of utter night, I see the radiant sheen, 
 As of a lamp, from him who goes before, 
 The crowned one ; but lo ! the end is come. 
 I only see immeasurable height, 
 
1.90 ATLANTIS 
 
 And breadth, a barrier of eternal rock, 
 
 Blackness of darkness ; but he lifts his hand ; 
 
 That wall is penetrable as the air. 
 
 He takes me by the hand, and we swim through 
 
 The shapeless mass, as though it were a cloud. 
 
 And now a change ! oh ! what a wondrous change ! 
 
 It is another world beneath the sea. 
 
 My sight is dazed, as when the sun of morn 
 
 Bursts on a night of visions of despair. 
 
 We hear no more the thunder of the main 
 
 That rolls above, nor raving of the winds ; 
 
 The ocean is translucent as a gem. 
 
 Or drop of its own waters held in light. 
 
 Or so 'twould seem. I see the vanish'd land 
 
 That once stood on the waters, and went down 
 
 With all its hills and valleys. Hark ! he speaks,' 
 
 She said, ' the crowned one ' ; and for a space 
 
 Her tongue was silent, then again she spake. 
 
 ' It is King Atlas who is now my guide, 
 
 And he hath told me all things '; ' Here,' he said, 
 
 ' We dwell in the old land that we had lost. 
 
 How strange soe'er it seem to thee, 'tis true. 
 
 The cities are rebuilt, the mountains stand 
 
 In sunshine, and the vintage on the slopes. 
 
 The harvest in the valleys. This fair realm 
 
 To which thy natural senses would be blind, 
 
 Ev'n couldst thou breathe and live beneath the sea. 
 
 Thy spirit looks on with its inner eyes. 
 
 The vast abysses, silent and unsunn'd, 
 
ATLANTIS 191 
 
 Drew down into them all the ancient world. 
 
 But when we knew that death was only life 
 
 Stript of its mortal vesture, soon we saw 
 
 All things without your sunlight, and the deeps 
 
 Grew breathable, as the supernal air. 
 
 A cloudless, golden ether rain'd itself 
 
 On hill and plain, illumining the land 
 
 We loved before to look on with a light 
 
 Purer and sweeter. And we met again, 
 
 Not only all who went down on that night 
 
 A mighty people, but a host of those 
 
 Of earlier generations, kings, and chiefs, 
 
 High men of honour, who had sought us here, 
 
 Leaving awhile their own more blissful homes. 
 
 To give us comfort. I have brought thee here ; 
 
 For I have will'd that thou shouldst see the sights 
 
 That I behold, and they who live with me. 
 
 Whose memories, fill'd with the old time, create 
 
 An earth, like that which vanish'd, throwing out 
 
 The ideal beauty and unfailing love, 
 
 That lived in memory, into outward form 
 
 Imperishable. The thing is not more strange 
 
 Than what I bid thee now recall to mind. 
 
 That thou may'st know. Hast thou not seen full oft, 
 
 In dreams and visions of the night, such wonders 
 
 As make imaginations pale and cold ? 
 
 And with what senses didst thou look on them. 
 
 For eye and ear were blind and deaf, and all 
 
 Thy natural windows dark as death itself? 
 
192 ATLANTIS 
 
 And hast thou not at noonday ofttimes stood 
 Musing, until the sights and sounds without 
 Were all unseen, unheard, while lovely shapes 
 Swept o'er thy mind's clear mirror suddenly ? 
 Dream'st thou that in the world which thou hast left 
 Such pleasant pictures in the day or night 
 Come of thy selfhood ? Trust me, they are breath'd 
 Into thy being by immortal ones, 
 As I breathe now ; and so thine ears and eyes 
 Do hear and see around thee ev'n as mine. 
 And what thou seest now, because I see. 
 Is spirit-substance, everlasting, strong. 
 Because the spirit itself can never fail.' 
 Thus spoke King Atlas. Now I seem to stand 
 Upon a mountain summit, and I see 
 Beneath the drowned city, as of old 
 Its earthly denizens so oft had seen. 
 On sunny daybreaks when the air was still. 
 And all the tumult and the motion rose 
 Soften'd into a murmur ; and I count 
 Its every dome and spire, as once they flash'd 
 , In the gay morn and morning of the world ; 
 For we look on the circumambient earth 
 Of kindred substance. Lo ! though all is changed 
 From matter into spirit, yet all abides 
 Seeming the same ; and thou may'st see full well 
 That spirit, by spiritual substance bound. 
 Looks out, as once mortality, inwall'd 
 By space and time ; the vision that thou seest 
 
ATLANTIS 193 
 
 Hath not an atom of the dust of earth. 
 
 And, if we see the old Atlantis still, 
 
 'Tis that our own imperishable thought 
 
 Sets every hill and valley in its place, 
 
 As once it was ; and, tho' the mountains sink. 
 
 And valleys rise on the old earth of time, 
 
 And bastion'd capitals are burnt with fire, 
 
 And regions waste with ages and are lost, 
 
 And sea and land change places, and the race 
 
 That is to-day, to-morrow is no more ; 
 
 Oh ! while the spirit of man immortal is, 
 
 The world around him, wheresoe'er he is, 
 
 Endureth with him deathless, and all change 
 
 Is but a nobler shape of things that are. 
 
 For ever perfecting, and not the end 
 
 Of good that was and nevermore shall be.' 
 
 Then she awoke, and wonder'd at herself, — 
 
 Ev'n as an infant whose undreaming soul 
 
 Deems the long night as but a moment past. 
 
 When her eyes open to the morning sun — 
 
 Remembering nought. I wonder'd more than she. 
 
 And when I show'd her written her own words. 
 
 She paled with doubt and fear, and fled away.' 
 
 He ended ; and again he raised his head. 
 
 As one awakening from a troubled sleep 
 
 Suddenly, and his mournful majesty 
 
 Of look and tone gave place to a sweet smile, 
 
 Gracious, as might have been the smile of them, 
 
 Firstborn of Time and Nature, whom he praised ; 
 
 VOL. II o 
 
194 ATLANTIS 
 
 Who through his fancy seem'd to live again, 
 As though he held the memory of those days 
 Lock'd in his heart and brain. 
 
 VII 
 
 " The King arose, 
 The guests dispersed, the doors were open thrown. 
 ' Come,' said my venerable guide and friend, 
 ' Let us go forth into the City, raised 
 After the pattern of that elder one, 
 So fair, the paragon of kingly thrones, 
 Discrowned heir of old regalities. 
 Bereaved infant suckled at the breast 
 Of a more regal mother. O my friend ! 
 The goodly city that thou seest now, 
 Although it be immemorably old. 
 Owns but few stones of that great capital 
 That Ues beneath us ; it hath waned to this 
 Thro' many ages, till it seems in truth 
 To be the risen spectre of the drown'd. 
 This realm, how fair soe'er it seems to thee. 
 Was but the last gem, loosen'd from the chain, 
 That link'd the rising to the setting sun 
 Across the gulphy seas, that humbly then 
 Kiss'd the bright feet of its imperial hills, 
 And ever-vernal plains.' He pass'd before 
 Out of the portal, and I foUow'd him 
 Into the crowded city, through the marts, 
 
ATLANTIS 195 
 
 By palaces, and crumbling theatres, 
 
 Up to the central citadel, and thence 
 
 He show'd me all the face of land and sea. 
 
 I wonder'd, as I mark'd the gracious forms 
 
 And aspects of those islanders. I felt 
 
 That some great sorrow, remnant of the past, 
 
 Heirloom in every heart, transfigured them. 
 
 And, like a shadow of eclipse, bedimm'd 
 
 Their natural mirth, best gift of heaven to men, 
 
 And made their motions stealthy, as the steps 
 
 Of those who waken while a monarch sleeps ; 
 
 And the best radiance of their happiest thoughts 
 
 Was but a mournful glimmer of a smile, 
 
 Like moonshine after a long summerday. 
 
 The midday tumult of the life of men, 
 
 The concourse, and the chariots, and the cries. 
 
 That stir the cities of the travell'd world, 
 
 Hellas, or Iran, Egypt, Babylon, 
 
 Were muffled to a murmur ; and I saw 
 
 Fishers, and fowlers, merchants, marketmen. 
 
 Damsels that hung their panniers on their arms. 
 
 Or bore their water-urns upon their heads, 
 
 Go by me softly, as a silent scene 
 
 Shown in a picture ; or a troop of ghosts 
 
 Vision'd in a dream, whose voices sound 
 
 Thin as a far-off multitude's, that call 
 
 From a high mountain. ' Wonder not,' he said, 
 
 ' That sadness is the seal upon the brow 
 
 Of this doom'd race, erewhile so glad and strong. 
 
196 ATLANTIS 
 
 For, as the fashion of the form comes down 
 
 Thro' countless generations, so within 
 
 The ruHng passions, that possess'd the sires, 
 
 Rule o'er the sons ; and so, from age to age, 
 
 This orphan isle hath mourned its mother's fate 
 
 So constantly, that on our faces dwell 
 
 The memories of our sorrows. Wonder not, 
 
 Tho' that dread day be far behind us now. 
 
 The shadow of it lingers on our souls. 
 
 As though it were a storm of yestereven. 
 
 Yearly with lamentation and with tears 
 
 And beaten breasts, and dust upon our heads. 
 
 And sad procession as a funeral pomp. 
 
 We go out from the city to the shore 
 
 Of the great sea, those waters without end, 
 
 That swallow'd up that race of godlike men 
 
 With all their realm, save only this lone isle 
 
 Whereon we stand. And when we reach the heights, 
 
 Wherefrom the last fair fragment of that land 
 
 Was sever'd, there is weeping, with the sound 
 
 Of sympathetic music. Ere we part. 
 
 We lift our arms over the threatful deep. 
 
 Whose dreadful voices call us, and we plead 
 
 To the Immortals who have charge of us, 
 
 To spare the little remnant ; and we fling 
 
 Garlands upon the waters ; and we burn 
 
 A fragrant offering to the Almighty One 
 
 Who fashion'd Space and Time ; and all together 
 
 We sing a hymn that dies into a dirge. 
 
ATLANTIS 197 
 
 Then into doleful silence. So we turn 
 
 Back to the city, and we hold the day 
 
 Sacred to sorrow, for the ancient time 
 
 Whose glory was, and nevermore may be.' 
 
 He spoke no more : and now the sun went down 
 
 Beyond the western heights, and all the land 
 
 Grew dark between the city and the hills. 
 
 PART II 
 
 " One day we wander'd to the western side 
 
 O' the island, passing through a matchless realm, 
 
 A bowered champaign, rich in corn and wine, 
 
 And all fair growths of Hellas, with a wealth 
 
 Of native fruitage I had never seen, 
 
 Gleaming amid their thickets of dark leaf 
 
 And deepest shade. Oh what a fairyland ! 
 
 I mark'd how- tall flowers tassell'd the tall trees. 
 
 Filling the clime with odours and with light. 
 
 I listen'd the rare songbirds never heard 
 
 In other lands ; I glimpsed the nimble play 
 
 Of happy fearless creatures, in green shade 
 
 Of interlinked branch and leaf, or down 
 
 The wandering woodwalks. Many a bloomy dale. 
 
 Made musical with fountain-waters, curved 
 
 'Twixt slopes, that teem'd with the perennial pomps 
 
 Of mingled Spring and Autumn ; from the heights. 
 
1 98 ATLANTIS 
 
 Tufted with gardens, rose white pleasure-house, 
 
 And sacred dome. At last we reach'd the sea, 
 
 And, looking down upon the purple vast, 
 
 Heard only the low winds and mourning waves 
 
 Instead of all the voices of the Past. 
 
 Sighing he said, ' Behold, my friend,' and sign'd 
 
 Toward the western side, and the great deep. 
 
 That lay as tranquil, as tho' never Time 
 
 Had ruffled its dark purples, mix'd with green 
 
 And rose, and all soft colours, as the shells 
 
 Upon its shores. ' There was a time,' he said, 
 
 ' When he, who look'd down from these island heights. 
 
 Which then lay midway 'twixt the lovely lands 
 
 Far West, and the extremes! Orient, 
 
 Saw but the valleys, and the folded hills. 
 
 Azure, and green, and golden, where the light 
 
 Drown'd itself in unfathomable glooms 
 
 Of forest shades ; or struck the cataract 
 
 In its full swing ; or lit the tawny slopes 
 
 Of the full harvest ; or, in later days. 
 
 The orchards piled up to the mountain crests ; 
 
 Or paths of pleasure-gardens fringed with rose ; 
 
 Or fountains, flinging up from precious cups 
 
 Of agate, or of porphyry, diamond dews. 
 
 And charming drops of silver into gold. 
 
 And, when the eye fell on the soft blue peaks 
 
 And throned clouds, he knew that underneath 
 
 There wander'd green ways into other worlds 
 
 Beyond. So tell the legends of that race, 
 
ATLANTIS 199 
 
 Whose primal habitation of delights 
 
 And loveliness went down beneath the sea. 
 
 Hark ! how it whispers when the gusty wind 
 
 Blows hitherward, as though it would reveal 
 
 Things only known unto it and that wind, 
 
 Its messenger ; for only thou, Sea, 
 
 Canst look down on the ruins thou hast made. 
 
 Do not the giants of those godlike days 
 
 Sleep there, their brows upon their folded arms. 
 
 Above their wasted treasures, some great day 
 
 To be awaken' d, and to rise again 
 
 With a great shout, and shake this fallen world ? 
 
 But this is idle phantasy ; my thoughts 
 
 Could wander thus, before I heard the voice 
 
 Of the great king speak thro' the unconscious child. 
 
 They will not come, but we shall go to them. 
 
 See yon great rock, yon tower'd and steepled pile. 
 
 That throws along the deep its shadows lone. 
 
 As tho' Death's self should cast his image down 
 
 Upon a sepulchre ; so old it is, 
 
 That hoary palace-temple of our kings ! 
 
 'Twas there the tranced maiden, in her sleep 
 
 Of living death, pass'd underneath the earth 
 
 Into the sunken mountain, on whose crest 
 
 The palace rose, as far above the plain, 
 
 As now the city lies beneath the waves.' 
 
 And, as we stood upon the utmost verge 
 
 Of the steep cliff, rent from a drowned world. 
 
 And saw the sea between the castled rock 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 And the isle, he show'd me, laid along the strait, 
 
 A rocky mole, built of unmortar'd stone, 
 
 And a broad way atop, that bridged the gulf 
 
 To that primeval monumental height, 
 
 Vast skeleton of the departed kings. 
 
 ' See,' said my guide, ' right onward from the base 
 
 Of this storm-beaten precipice, the sea 
 
 Is shallow, till beyond the ruin'd pile ; 
 
 And then into unfathomable depths 
 
 It falls at once, but all between is dense 
 
 With fragments of the ancient capital, 
 
 Cumber'd with shatter'd marbles, thick with rocks. 
 
 Which the long lapse of ages hath engrain'd 
 
 With sea-born atoms, shifting sands, and shells. 
 
 And, when the waters are serene and still, 
 
 Sometimes we have a sight of things, that lay 
 
 Unseen, unshaken since the awful day ; 
 
 And divers fetch up from their secret glooms 
 
 Relics of gold, and gems of antique mould, 
 
 Beyond our art and skill, more precious now. 
 
 As tokens of their world, than for their worth 
 
 In cunning work, or substance. So it was. 
 
 That our forefathers, hallowing that wreck 
 
 Of the first empire, laid across the strait, 
 
 Betwixt it and the island, that remain'd 
 
 Upon the ruin'd fragments as a base. 
 
 The massive mole below, that, on a high 
 
 And holy day, the people might repair 
 
 To the old temple of the ancient Gods, 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 And house of kings, to offer as of old 
 
 Incense and sacrifice, and light again 
 
 The sacred ruins, with the altar fires 
 
 That flamed of old, and strike the silent halls 
 
 With harp and voice.' And then, a little space 
 
 Further, he show'd me, sunken in the cliff, 
 
 A granite stair that led us face to face 
 
 With the old rock-way ; and we follow'd it, 
 
 Until we stood beneath the sacred pile, 
 
 Whose time-worn marbles for a moment shone 
 
 In a gay sun-burst, as tho' life once more 
 
 Would break forth from within it, and call up 
 
 The buried city to our sight again. 
 
 We mounted from the rock-way by a stair 
 
 Up to the palace-temple's shatter'd gates, 
 
 And marble floors ; and from the topmost step 
 
 We look'd down seaward ; and he show'd me then, 
 
 Limn'd on an ancient open scroll he held. 
 
 All he had vaguely pictured in his words 
 
 At the king's table ; how Poseidaon, 
 
 The monarch of the waters, fenced the mount- — 
 
 The solitary wreck where now we stood — 
 
 And circled it with zones of land and sea. 
 
 Three zones of water, and two zones of land, 
 
 Alternately, each separate from each 
 
 By equal spaces, that his realm might be 
 
 For ever unassailable by man ; 
 
 And made me see the city that had been. 
 
 ' Behold,' the old priest said, ' this blissful isle 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 We dwell in, lavish though it be of wealth 
 
 And beauty, is but as the face of Age, 
 
 Wherein the glorious youth it once possess'd 
 
 Is but a pale-eyed phantom. This fair land. 
 
 Round which the ocean murmurs, is the all 
 
 Left of the Great Atlantis which was whelm'd, 
 
 Whereof the memory lingers, like the shafts 
 
 Of splendour soaring from behind the clouds, 
 
 Or that illumined shore, that lies beyond 
 
 The twilight of eclipse. There was a land, 
 
 Vast as the surface of thy seven days' sea. 
 
 On either hand. The ocean thou hast plough'd, 
 
 Sailing from the far East, was once dry land. 
 
 Like the vast waters which we look on now 
 
 To farthest West ; midway this island mourn'd, 
 
 Forgotten of the world, if world there was 
 
 Beyond the waves ; where now the waters moan 
 
 The wind play'd with green paradises ; where 
 
 The threatening waters, like earthquaking hills. 
 
 Rock in the wintry hurricanes, there rose 
 
 Soft slopes of corn and wine ; where the sharp crags 
 
 Shoot from the dark abysses, cities rose 
 
 Tower'd and bulwark'd ; and once there was heard, 
 
 Instead of the hoarse wind, and wailing wave. 
 
 And shrilling of the seabirds, many a swell 
 
 Of festal melody, when there were kings 
 
 And chiefs, and mighty men of old, who sleep 
 
 In deep unfathomable silence now, 
 
 And darkness evermore. Think of the days 
 
ATLANTIS 203 
 
 When thou wert but a child, and this old world 
 
 Seem'd to thee fresh and new, and the free sense, 
 
 Thirsty as spring-buds for the streams of life. 
 
 And all things wondrous, drank in light and air, 
 
 Colours, and odours, and delightsome forms. 
 
 Think of those days, and of their memories now ; 
 
 And, as those rise again thro' years between 
 
 With supernatural glory, to us comes. 
 
 Thro' song and legend and wild fable, a sense 
 
 As of a nobler and a happier world ; 
 
 A world where Art and Science, since forgot. 
 
 Went hand in hand with Health, and eager Hope, 
 
 And earnest Love ; and centenary age 
 
 Was the full moonlight after summerday ; 
 
 And Death was but a deeper sleep that pass'd, 
 
 As on the eyelids of a weary child. 
 
 Leading the parted soul into new life. 
 
 As the young child into his blissful dreams. 
 
 Yet the wise world will cry, I hear it cry, 
 
 As though its utterance flew on all the winds, 
 
 ' Where are the tokens now of your renown ? 
 
 The star of your primeval power, that was. 
 
 And is no more, and is for ever sunken ? 
 
 Oh ! all the glory of that ancient time 
 
 Is but a phantasy ! we are the men. 
 
 For arts, for arms, for knowledge, wealth and pow'r. 
 
 Forests spring from a seedling, and the race 
 
 With each new generation puts forth strength 
 
 And virtues unreveal'd till then. Its birth 
 
204 ATLANTIS 
 
 Is as the babe's, the feeblest thing on earth, 
 
 Tho' cradled in the wisdom of the Gods, 
 
 Its youth is as a giant's ! ' So they cry. 
 
 But they have not well said ; for the babe's dreams, 
 
 Breathed in his heart by guardian spirits pure. 
 
 Are symbols of the young thoughts of the world, 
 
 When innocence and instincts, caught from heaven. 
 
 Are link'd together, and great knowledge comes 
 
 Swiftly, like daybreak. They have not well said, 
 
 To name themselves the full-grown Youth of Time, 
 
 When they but hold the interval between 
 
 The charmed infant and the noble man 
 
 A clime of world-wide tumults, wrath, and wrongs. 
 
 Stranger, if we may gather from the bones 
 
 Of a dead giant what his living strength, 
 
 The very dust and ashes of those days. 
 
 Which we hold fast in sanctuaries, tell 
 
 More of the Past than any fancies can. 
 
 For I can show thee fragments, shatter'd off 
 
 From that old world, that silent answers make 
 
 To all proud words.' And then he led the way 
 
 Thro' many chambers, hush'd as sepulchres. 
 
 Grey as the twilight, where the ocean's voice 
 
 Came faintly from behind the ancient walls, 
 
 Hung with the bones of empire and old Time, 
 
 As some far wilderness along the sea, 
 
 Spread o'er with wrecks of sunken armaments. 
 
 Heard of no more on earth. For these I saw 
 
 In graven image, or in pictured form. 
 
ATLANTIS 20S 
 
 Or folded scroll, inscribed with mystic rhythms, 
 
 With sign, and symbol half inscrutable. 
 
 Of that departed land ; a manifold voice 
 
 That told of nations of the days of prime, 
 
 Unnumber'd years before ! while some live here. 
 
 Dreaming the years of men upon the earth 
 
 Stretch not beyond the memories of old men 
 
 Of some few generations ! As I look'd, 
 
 I knew how noble and majestic arts. 
 
 And sciences, beyond all modern lore. 
 
 Were born, and wax'd from morn to perfect noon ; 
 
 While we are proud, as little children are, 
 
 To pick up some fair sea-shell, and then lay 
 
 Their ears to listen to its inner song 
 
 Oceanic, thunder of a sunken tide. 
 
 Glories that wail in far oblivion, 
 
 Faint sighs, yet breathing from the infinite, 
 
 That seem to say, 'We shall be heard again.' 
 
 I saw there, moulded after living men 
 
 Of those far times, sculptures more beautiful 
 
 Than aught we dream of! Such were the first men ; 
 
 While we are happy, if we can behold 
 
 One in a thousand out of living men 
 
 Fair as those statues, while the thousand then 
 
 Were as this one ! ' And, while I stood amazed, 
 
 The old man raised his head, and clasp'd his hands. 
 
 As in deep grief, ' Oh we are fallen, fallen. 
 
 My son,' he said, ' but that that is must be. 
 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, on each other 
 
206 ATLANTIS 
 
 Follow, throughout the many-pictured year, 
 
 As Childhood, Boyhood, Manhood, and Old Age 
 
 Tread on each other thro' the days of Man. 
 
 What if it be that the great Sun in heaven 
 
 Images in its course this life of ours ? 
 
 And each man in his own particular form, 
 
 From Infancy to Manhood, shadows forth 
 
 The onward steps of the whole Life of Time ? 
 
 What if the first-born cycles of the world 
 
 Are as the infant's sweet simplicity ? 
 
 What if the days of the Atlantis fair 
 
 Were as the beauty, and the innocence, 
 
 The health and joyance, of the playful boy ? 
 
 What if the troubled years in which we live 
 
 Are as the stripling's, neither boy nor man, 
 
 A struggle 'twixt the past and the to come ? 
 
 What if the unborn future be the Man, 
 
 For ever clothed with strength and bloom ; for Time 
 
 Once perfected can never see old age ? 
 
 Old age with Him is ever-added Youth ! 
 
 But there are other things to see within. 
 
 Follow me, I will show thee sights to make 
 
 Thy memory wealthy, and the dreaming soul 
 
 Fertile for all the remnant of thy days. 
 
 And wise men wiser in the days to come. 
 
 II 
 
 " ' A little while, ere the dread doom befell. 
 This realm of ours — so do our records say — 
 
ATLANTIS 207 
 
 While yet the great Atlantis rode the waves, 
 
 Came from the East a wizard, who had skill 
 
 To give an outward life to inner moods 
 
 By colours, and by shadows, and by forms. 
 
 We thought at first he was no mortal man, 
 
 But of the Demigods, heroic chiefs, 
 
 Who by great deeds, and self-devoting lives. 
 
 Win themselves thrones in heaven. All day he wrought 
 
 His precious art, attended by the best 
 
 Of the land's cunning workers. They brought gems. 
 
 Silver, and gold, marbles of many hues. 
 
 And sheeny pebbles from the upland streams, 
 
 That glitter' d, like imperishable flowers, 
 
 With clearest colours. Nought that Time could mar 
 
 Shared in the glowing spaces ; so thou seest 
 
 The precious pictures ev'n as at the first ; 
 
 The dust of ruin, and the soundless teeth 
 
 Of ages have not marr'd them. Here they stand. 
 
 Pointing to the four ages of the world. 
 
 As 'twere four giants throned in the four winds ! 
 
 Vast were his memories, and he spoke the tongues 
 
 Of many peoples with our own ; he sigh'd. 
 
 Oft as he mingled bitter thoughts and sweet. 
 
 Speaking of things that first began to gloom, 
 
 And threaten, many thousand years before 
 
 This age of time. ' I wander from a land. 
 
 Where Evil swallows up the light of Good, 
 
 As shadows lengthen from the setting sun. 
 
 I wander from a land where all things great 
 
2o8 ATLANTIS 
 
 Have grown and blossom'd, ev'n as they do here ; 
 
 But the clear spirits of that noble race 
 
 Are clouding yearly ; the heroic form 
 
 Begins to bow beneath the waste of life. 
 
 Thriftless of time they revel, and the man, 
 
 That look'd up to things godlike, seeks no more 
 
 Than to enthrone himself above his peers, 
 
 Till festal triumphs hallow cursed things ; 
 
 Till banquets end in blood, and songs in sighs ; 
 
 Till holy men, whose eyes were love and truth, 
 
 Whose hearts were sunny summers, now are they 
 
 Who only weep ; till fruitful realms are changed 
 
 Into a wilderness. So I have fled. 
 
 And seek to die far from the land I loved, 
 
 Rather than look upon its utter end. 
 
 But I have purposed, ere I die, to leave 
 
 An image of my thoughts to aftertimes ; 
 
 To make a speechless shadow speak of me ; 
 
 So that such silent records shall discourse 
 
 More movingly than any breathed words ; 
 
 A colour'd dream to be interpreted 
 
 By the wise men of ages that shall be. 
 
 The jocund years of the sweet birth of Time, 
 
 The dewy dawn and sunrise are no more. 
 
 I see the tempest coming up, with clouds 
 
 And darkness ; and I weep to think that none 
 
 Shall ever see the morn of years again. 
 
 Nor any living race look on this world 
 
 As once it was before. But, when I mused 
 
ATLANTIS 209 
 
 Of my own self, the marvels I infold 
 
 Within this mystic personality, 
 
 That wraps up in itself the outer world. 
 
 And inward ; all one little will can do ; 
 
 The secret rivers and uncounted rills 
 
 That run within me ; secret fires that burn 
 
 Ev'n till a hundred years ; and all the stars 
 
 Of thought, that lighten from our heaven of mind 
 
 Above this body of matter ; hopes, and loves. 
 
 And phantasies that make a God of me, 
 
 A God on earth, able to rule and rise 
 
 From throne to throne of empire over Time ; 
 
 I dreamt, and still I dream that every age. 
 
 From infancy to manhood, shadows forth 
 
 A separate cycle of the onward life 
 
 Of the whole race of Man, from first to last : 
 
 And all together show its life entire, 
 
 Ev'n as one spark of light the glorious sun ; 
 
 Ev'n as one waterdrop the sumless seas : 
 
 Ev'n as one grain of dust the spanless world. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " ' Therefore they show'd him — so the record runs- 
 Vast halls of the old palace of the kings. 
 Where now we stand, where silence reigns alone ; 
 Which once were throng'd with the primeval men. 
 Men of renown, bards, minstrels, lords of mind, 
 Who hallow'd not things evil, but the good ; 
 
 VOL. II P 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 And triumph'd o'er the hearts and loving eyes 
 Of their enraptured fellows, by such arts, 
 As have not left to these faint days of ours 
 Aught but the last and feeblest echo, drawn 
 From other echoes ; who bore down with them, 
 That fatal night, down into the dark sea, 
 Wonders of wisdom, not to be unveil'd 
 Till the good days are come again, and Time 
 Shall bring about the manhood of the earth ; 
 And all the beauty of the Past shall spring 
 To life again, like a strange harvest reap'd 
 From seed sown after many thousand years ; 
 And, blending with the firstfruits of that day, 
 The everlasting Age that is to be. 
 Round off the wondrous circle of the world ! 
 And here he limn'd those vast symbolic forms. 
 Half shadow of the Past, half prophecy. 
 Whose secret, hadst thou never reach'd this shore, 
 The nations of the world had never known, 
 Whose dread fulfilment thou hast seen in part — 
 This moonlight interval 'twixt day and day — 
 Whose perfect morn of Life, henceforth to be, 
 The sevenfold light of that unrisen sun, 
 Alas ! no living race may hope to see ! ' 
 
 IV 
 
 " We enter'd now a chamber cold, and vast, 
 And silent ; and he said, ' Look on the walls.' 
 And I beheld four pictured mysteries ; 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 Each picture twofold in its imagery ; 
 
 And, subdivided into many parts, 
 
 Show'd in one half the glory of the time. 
 
 And in the other its earth-shaking fall. 
 
 Before each picture was a sculptured shape. 
 
 I saw before the first an innocent babe ; 
 
 Before the second stood a merry boy ; 
 
 Before the third a stripling sad and pale ; 
 
 Before the fourth a mighty full-grown man ; 
 
 Each limned on its own particular wall, 
 
 In colours still undimm'd as at the first. 
 
 To make known that the painter had portray'd 
 
 Some age of living progress ; after it 
 
 Some day of desolations which befell, 
 
 And fill'd the earth with ruins, and the hearts 
 
 Of its inhabitants with fears, as great 
 
 As if the Immortal Gods, full-arm'd and wing'd 
 
 With fire and thunder, had come down to craze 
 
 The sons of men. Again my guide began ; 
 
 ' Behold these silent phantasms on the walls ; 
 
 For they are all that tell us in this age 
 
 Of greater ages, better life ; the first 
 
 And second are gone by for evermore. 
 
 And scarce a twilight lingers ; but the third 
 
 Symbols the age, whereof he saw the dawn. 
 
 Sunless and cold, and prophesied its day, 
 
 Wherein we live till now, if all thou say'st 
 
 Of the great woful outer world be true. 
 
 The fourth, I doubt not, images a time. 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 Glad as a sunrise after dismal days 
 
 And nights of wintry darkness ; it shall be ! 
 
 For he who pictured them, it seems, design'd 
 
 To show us that the individual man. 
 
 In his own person, is the type of all 
 
 The stages in the great life of the race. 
 
 From infancy, thro' boyhood, and that frail 
 
 And vexed interval 'twixt boy and man,^ 
 
 Up to the perfect lustihood of Youth ; 
 
 Whereof two stages only have we run, 
 
 And even now are struggling in the third. 
 
 With only this faint hope that, after lapse 
 
 Of untold generations, the sick world 
 
 Should clothe it in the majesty of Man, 
 
 And move through endless aeons, calm and strong. 
 
 In these behold the changes of all Time 
 
 From the beginning ; for the remnant, left 
 
 After each world-wide havoc, whisper'd of it 
 
 To the next generation, and they bore 
 
 The legend to their children, till the time 
 
 When the next day of doom o'ershadow'd them. 
 
 Leaving a few to keep the knowledge of it 
 
 For their descendants. As I tell to thee 
 
 The sorrows of our fall, inheriting 
 
 The lamentable story from the few, 
 
 Who lived beyond the deluge, that o'erwhelm'd 
 
 The ancient lovely land, so they before 
 
 Wafted the terrors down thro' countless years 
 
 Up to the days when the great realm — whereof 
 
ATLANTIS 213 
 
 This island fragment only lives to tell — 
 
 Was fresh and new ; and on these silent walls 
 
 Thou may'st behold the secrets of the Past, 
 
 As they came down thro' thousand thousand years, 
 
 Ev'n to this very hour. The hand that shaped 
 
 These lights and shadows of primeval years, 
 
 More cunning in the skill of later days, 
 
 Gave form and colour to the solemn chants 
 
 Of ages upon ages, ere the art 
 
 Of poet, or of painter, had come forth 
 
 To make them heard and seen. I hear thee say 
 
 That legendary marvels, like a flood, 
 
 Or rolling fire, get strength as they come on. 
 
 Feeding upon the fears of them who tell 
 
 The fears they have been told again, to those 
 
 Who darken them with other fears. But doom. 
 
 My friend, and death, that striketh suddenly 
 
 'Mid flames, and falling mountains, and the roar 
 
 Of torrent waters, scarce can be outdone, 
 
 Or even imaged fitly; for the soul, 
 
 Dealing with such incomparable woes. 
 
 Can hardly fashion in its wildest trance 
 
 That which it never suffer'd ; so, may be, 
 
 All that thou seest falls short of half the true. 
 
 How sad soe'er it seem. Those only who burn 
 
 Can tell us what is fire^ and drowning men 
 
 How dire is the unbreathable abyss ; 
 
 And only such, as die in fear and pain 
 
 Suddenly, can know all the dread of Death ! 
 
214 ATLANTIS 
 
 V 
 
 " ' Stranger, look up,' he said, ' what dost thou see 
 On the great wall before thee ?' As he spoke, 
 I turn'd to scan more clearly what at first 
 Seem'd dim confusion ; but intenter gaze 
 Unravell'd the far mystery of that time, — 
 First cycle of the first-born men who lived 
 Their measured date, and perish'd — and I saw 
 In the first picture, by the sculptured babe, 
 A pastoral realm with slopes of green ; a vale 
 Of many waters ; and I seem'd to hear 
 The whispers of the woodlands, in the flow 
 Of the sweet winds that herald a new dawn ; 
 The songs of shepherds, mingling with the bleat 
 Of flocks that wander'd freely ; and the wings 
 Of fearless songbirds rustling in the leaves. 
 By the clear runnels, whose unsullied springs 
 No breath of burning summers ever quench'd, 
 No frosts of winter chain'd. They, lightly clad. 
 Were free to roam the boundless world, as yet 
 Unscarr'd of evil, and to reach their hands 
 To gather the wild vintage all the year, 
 Lavish'd by the boon Mother, and to reap 
 Spontaneous harvests. 'See,' he said, 'the days 
 When-so the tongues of countless ages ran, — 
 There was no fear, no pain, nor any smear 
 Of bloodshed on the dewy green and flowers, 
 The Age of Infancy, the Age of Gold. 
 
ATLANTIS 215 
 
 And, as the infant full of faith will sleep, 
 His head upon his mother's breast, so Man, 
 Guiltless and guileless, fear'd no monstrous thing 
 In his woodwalks, and grottoes cool. God's hand 
 Prepared a safe home for the innocent ; 
 No lion roar'd, no serpent hiss'd ; no storm 
 Lash'd the fair champaign, or the mountainside ; 
 No earthquake shook, no torrent overwhelm'd ; 
 And naked Winter had not wander'd down 
 From his far kingdom on the peaks of snow. 
 The outward aspect of the lovely earth 
 Answer'd unto the lovable kind heart 
 Of its first habitants ; and, if they knew 
 No marvels, such as later ages vaunt. 
 No starry secrets, no earth-hidden wealth, 
 No rapturous outbreathings, such as shape 
 The Arts that lift up others to behold 
 Unearthly paradises, they were blithe 
 As the free birds whose toil is bliss to them ; 
 And their untutor'd gay simplicity 
 Lived in, the life of Nature. Their pure sense 
 Drank of her stainless bounties, as their thirst 
 Of the wild rockborn waters for all wine. 
 Such was the Age of Innocence ; and there 
 Thou may'st behold the symbol of the whole, 
 A laughing infant cradled in spring-flowers.' 
 
2i6 ATLANTIS 
 
 VI 
 
 " Then on the other half the artist strove 
 To tell us unimaginable things. 
 ' Thou wouldst not dream that it could ever b,e,' 
 The old man said in accents sad and low, 
 'But that primeval, fair, and guileless race 
 Lapsed into Evil, and, when Love and Truth 
 Are darken'd, then upon the Outer World 
 The shadow falls, for Man and Nature meet 
 As Body and Soul ; as fleshly 111 is born 
 Of Spiritual Evil, so the Outer World 
 Entire reflects the Inner in its Whole. 
 Behold thou seest the first of fallen worlds.' 
 And while he spoke I look'd on it, and lo ! 
 Mountains were shaking, and unprison'd flames 
 Swathed every valley and green hill with death. 
 The mist of waters and commingling fires 
 Rose, as the smoke of furnaces ; and all 
 The distances were dark as coming night 
 When thunders roll up, drowning moon and star. 
 I saw whole armies of afirighted souls 
 Flee into gloomy caverns underground. 
 From the death-breathing blasts, and burning hail. 
 ' Herein,' the old man said, ' is seen portray 'd 
 The doom of the most ancient world by fire. 
 
ATLANTIS 217 
 
 VII 
 
 " 'Look,' said my guide, 'upon the second wall.' 
 
 Before the picture stood its symbol form, 
 
 A merry-hearted boy, twelve years of age. 
 
 The babe is grown into the fearless boy. 
 
 The first simplicity, that loved to lean 
 
 On others' strength, hath put on its own will ; 
 
 A daring heart is lifted on the wings 
 
 Of boundless exultation, and the hope 
 
 That sees not possibilities of ill ; 
 
 Danger is nought, and life itself is nought, 
 
 If each new day bring not its own delight. 
 
 And new emprise ; the thriftless joy, and strength, 
 
 That measures not itself, nor counts mischance. 
 
 Bear him, like blown waves over hidden shoals 
 
 And perilous rocks. His is the time of day 
 
 When the sun flies above the mountain-tops, 
 
 Casting its glory on the western side. 
 
 And showing all things in the sudden light 
 
 That were in shadow ; so his instincts soar 
 
 Up thro' the realms of knowledge eagle-wise. 
 
 Springing toward the light, seen thro' the cloud. 
 
 And what he sees with wonderment he loves. 
 
 And wills to master and possess. The throbs 
 
 Of panting toil are hush'd, amid the glow 
 
 Of unrelaxing ardour, as the pains 
 
 Of wounded men are lull'd amid the dust 
 
 And shouts of onset ; with the love of life 
 
2i8 ATLANTIS 
 
 The life he lives is quicken'd, and becomes 
 
 Twofold itself; so that, the' young and frail, 
 
 Strong men themselves will marvel at his might. 
 
 And promise of great prowess. ' Stranger, these 
 
 Were the old days of our departed bliss, 
 
 What time the great Atlantis rode the waves, 
 
 And all the land was full of mirth and songs. 
 
 And no proud passions jarr'd the clime of peace 
 
 With struggles for dominion ; no man strove 
 
 Against his fellow, in that love of self. 
 
 Which changes honest impulse into guile. 
 
 And unforgotten failure to revenge. 
 
 More than the merry boy, who strikes, and laughs. 
 
 And, whether vanquish'd or the victor, sleeps 
 
 Without a thought of evil ; for the blaze 
 
 Of wrath aroused sank with the setting sun. 
 
 Oh happy morning of delighted hearts. 
 
 And newborn hopes, and winged thoughts, that sprang. 
 
 Like larks that fill the sunlight with their songs ! 
 
 Why art thou fled, and whither ? Shall we see 
 
 Any more the glad mountains, clothed with light. 
 
 Like kings with festal garments ? that sweet light 
 
 Of everlasting Spring that kiss'd the earth 
 
 Each morn ? The blossoming green woodland, bright 
 
 And quivering with the tender nightly shower ? 
 
 The teeming valleys, laughing to the brim 
 
 With harvest and with vintage ? For the earth 
 
 Fail'd not of old, no more than the pure heart 
 
 Of man and maid lack'd joyaunce ; than their limbs, 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 Complete in beauty, wanted for one day 
 
 The even flow of life. So all the land, 
 
 From east to west, was one great garland, wrought 
 
 Of all the spring-flowers of prosperity ; 
 
 And hurricane and earthquake roU'd not then 
 
 Over our pleasant gardens ; and the dawn 
 
 Was as the gate of Heaven, the evening sweet 
 
 And clear and calm, as the last hour of man 
 
 Who swoon'd into oblivion without pain.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 " I look'd upon the second wall, and lo ! 
 The glory of a sunrise, when the tide 
 Of dawn hath flooded o'er the purple peaks. 
 And bears down like a cataract on the world. 
 The shepherds and their flocks are fled away 
 Far up into the mountain solitudes ; 
 And the dark forest shows its turf-walks smooth. 
 And breezy aisles, as tho' the wild were wrought 
 Into a natural temple ; now the brier 
 Tangles not, nor the wildgrape by the way 
 Hangs out its amber clusters, but the trim. 
 Full-fruited vinerows tent their alleys green, 
 And yellow cornslopes waver in the wind. 
 For man hath flatter'd so the bounteous heart 
 Of the great Mother, that she rises up 
 And clothes herself anew ; she bids the nymphs. 
 Her drowsy handmaids, wake to a new morn. 
 
 219 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 Deck them in festal robes, and minister 
 
 To all best uses. Order, like a bride, 
 
 With measured step seeks every secret place 
 
 Of the old house, and she will garnish it 
 
 Till all seems new. Where wildings, fruits or flowers. 
 
 Sprang unregarded in the tangled brake. 
 
 Or shiver'd in the sunless glen, or pined 
 
 In thirsty sands, she leads forth, as a spouse 
 
 Her simple children ; and the burnish'd earth 
 
 Grows a fit habitation for the heart 
 
 And mind ; and goodly tabernacles rise 
 
 For Gods and men ; and nature and the soul. 
 
 Illumining each other, make a world 
 
 Of daily wonders, hope emblazoning 
 
 The coming hours as the morning sun 
 
 Long avenues of roses ; morrow's dawn 
 
 Lighted at memories of sweet yesterday ; 
 
 And, with the will to do, great things are done, 
 
 Faith working miracles. For the heart unscathed 
 
 By woes remember' d — barbed points of ill — 
 
 Weighs not the venture which its love achieves. 
 
 And, if it fails, strives on till all is done. 
 
 As the sun rose, I saw a troop of girls 
 
 Ascending by a mountain-walk, that shelved 
 
 Into a fragrant valley, thick with trees, 
 
 Almond, and orange, nut, and fig, and pear ; 
 
 Dark evergreens, pierced with the spiry stems 
 
 Of cypress and of poplar. All the wood. 
 
 Flowing before a low wind from the east. 
 
ATLANTIS 221 
 
 Lay softly rippling in the morning gold. 
 The slant beams struck upon their happy eyes, 
 And flash'd from clasped zone, and scarlet vest, 
 And sandals fleckt with dew, as they came up 
 With merriment and songs ; then lost their way 
 In emerald deeps of green, and shadows cool ; 
 And down green alleys carpeted with mint, 
 Wild strawberries, and purple Autumn flowers, 
 All curtain'd o'er with network of broad leaves. 
 That on the sward their chequer'd image threw, 
 With golden lights between, that here and there 
 Flamed on some fallen bunch of purple fruit, 
 Struck down in haste, and trodden under foot, 
 And crush'd 'mid scatter'd leaves, and pearly dews. 
 And bleeding precious drops. Onward they came — 
 Methought I heard their songs — and, poised aloft 
 By native art, and with a single touch 
 Of their light fingers, on their jocund heads. 
 Baskets of unpeel'd osier, trick'd with leaves. 
 And bellied with the grape, whose lavish blood 
 Stain'd all the green, and rain'd upon the moss. 
 Tall were they as young Oreads ; on their necks. 
 Warm ivory, roll'd down their ebon locks. 
 Like the curl'd cloud, that hides the light of morn, 
 Taking and giving beauty ; their sunn'd brows 
 Shaded with large and dewy pampinus ; 
 And in their hands some twisted stems they bore 
 Clasp'd with vine tendrils ; they came up with songs ! 
 It is the symbol of the growing life 
 
ATLANTIS 
 
 Of the world's youth and beauty ; 'tis the first 
 Full vintage of the world brought in with songs, 
 The first ingathering of the grapes of joy ! 
 
 IX 
 
 " Then, on the other half, the artist strove 
 
 To tell us- unimaginable things ; 
 
 ' Thou wouldst not dream that it could ever be,' 
 
 The old man said in accents sad and low, 
 
 ' But ev'n that second, hopeful, happy race 
 
 Lapsed into Evil, and its fatal doom : 
 
 Behold another, and a sadder change ; ' 
 
 I look'd upon the picture, and behold 
 
 The day had darkened, and the mountain-towers 
 
 Were wrapt in thunders. One fair girl apart. 
 
 Upon a sere knoll in the foreground, stood. 
 
 A pannier, piled with the last Autumn gifts, 
 
 Had fallen from her head, and cast its fruits 
 
 Amid the dry leaves and the dying flowers. 
 
 She look'd across the land toward the hills. 
 
 With such a gaze as the first terror brings 
 
 To a fair child, whose heart could hold no fear, 
 
 Because of love given, and return'd ; a tear 
 
 Shone in the last light of the parting sun. 
 
 With one foot forward as about to fly 
 
 She stood ; ah ! whither ? swiftly from the heights 
 
 The winged death, swathed in a ghastly mist. 
 
 Came flying ; and, from under the pale storm. 
 
ATLANTIS 223 
 
 Roll'd down the torrents with a might, that shook 
 The marble walls ; methought I heard them roll. 
 And from before the torrent and the cloud 
 The fearful country-folk, with stormblown hair 
 And outstretch'd arms, fled wailing ; 'twas the last. 
 Again I see her on the wither'd knoll, 
 That maid forlorn ; but round about the bSse 
 Of the lone hillock rush the torrent streams. 
 And make an isle of it ; she cries in vain ; 
 For none can hear her weeping in the storm. 
 And none could help her in her utmost need. 
 And now I saw a fearful remnant crowd 
 The mountain steeps, far over roaring floods, 
 That gather momently, as they would sweep 
 Their very crests beneath them ; some are there 
 On lower heights, and nearer to the seas, 
 Who stretch their arms to their beloved ones. 
 To lift them up from crazy barks, and boughs. 
 And rafters of their dwellings overwhelm'd. 
 ' So once again,' he said, ' a world was lost 
 By waters ; but we are a remnant saved ! ' 
 Sad sunset of the blissful age of gold. 
 The summer morn of Time ; before it stood 
 The marble symbol of that blissful day. 
 The merry-hearted boy twelve years of age. 
 
 X 
 
 " Again my guide turn'd toward me, and said, 
 'Stranger, what seest thou on the third wall? say.' 
 
224 ATLANTIS 
 
 I see a traveller in a mountainland. 
 
 Under dark-frowning, wintry clouds he stands 
 
 Above the purple of the lower hills, 
 
 Just on the edge of a high plain of snow, 
 
 Whence, in sight of higher frozen heights, 
 
 And sunless valleys, lo J far up, beyond. 
 
 And ilnderneath, he sees a pale new world. 
 
 It is the realm of mighty Death himself. 
 
 Ghastly, and grim, whereon dim moonlight pours 
 
 Askance, thro' clefts in the great roof of cloud, 
 
 Revealing dim titanities, and shows 
 
 The piled city of the bloodless King 
 
 Shuddering with icy splendours, and alone 
 
 Amid the stars of night ; where he unseen, 
 
 The giant old, lord of the silence vast, 
 
 Forges from his exhaustless treasuries 
 
 Armour for endless winters ; chains and bars 
 
 To prison the free elements, and bolt, 
 
 Under crystalline rocks, for countless years, 
 
 Until the world be ended ; linked atoms 
 
 To bind all winged things, that love to live, 
 
 With the loud winds and streams : or thence unlocks 
 
 His sweeping desolations, hurricane. 
 
 Whirlwind, and hail ; and rolls down the great wheels 
 
 That shake the world. And underneath he sees, 
 
 Along the moonlit valleys strown, what seem 
 
 The monstrous ruins of a fallen world. 
 
 Sheer emptied into this ; he seems to hear 
 
 Above, below, and far and near, along 
 
ATLANTIS 225 
 
 That ghostly region, dismal groans, and sighs. 
 
 As of weird armies driven 'twixt icy walls ; 
 
 Clangours of rending adamant, flung back 
 
 From cliffs and caverns far remote, with sound, 
 
 Like rushing on of brazen wheels of war. 
 
 He flies in fear from that abhorred hold. 
 
 He knows not whither. Again he looks upon 
 
 Another sight, a boundless plain below 
 
 The frozen mountains. Still above him soar, 
 
 Above the earth, above the sable clouds, 
 
 The towers and bulwarks of that City of Death, 
 
 Whose wakeful warders ever looked abroad, 
 
 Eiv'n to the utmost bounds ; and from its walls 
 
 Glance unseen arrows, charged with doom, that smite 
 
 The hearts of men with faintness, smite with pain. 
 
 Fear, and despair : and round about him lies 
 
 A battlefield, lit by a blood-red moon. 
 
 That show'd it scatter'd with the helms, and arms. 
 
 And corselets of the slain. Foe, laid by foe, 
 
 Felt with his cold hand for his broken sword, 
 
 To plunge it in the dead cold heart beside him. 
 
 And smiled a wan smile, dreaming he would slay 
 
 Afresh the slain man by him. Then I saw 
 
 The muffled robber, like a nightbird, steal 
 
 Between the fallen, to strip off their last 
 
 Torn garments from them ; and one, who had found 
 
 Another robber, stealthier than himself, 
 
 Possess'd of that he sought, fell on him there, 
 
 And slew him ; and a stronger than himself 
 
 VOL. II Q 
 
225 ATLANTIS 
 
 Crouching hard by in shadow of a rock, 
 Shall slay him in his turn ; strife follows strife, 
 War begets war. It seem'd the weary battle 
 Had welter'd thro' long ages, one long night. 
 Lit by a moon whose setting was not yet ; 
 For never sun had shone upon that world. 
 Amid the armed warriors that strove on. 
 Amid the dead and dying, I could see 
 The bleaching bones of others who had fallen 
 Ages agone ; and there were cairns, and caves, 
 And mounds, that hid the dead men of the Past ; 
 And arches graven with the fearful deeds 
 They had accomplish'd. Others, from high tojvers 
 With barred gates, blew trumpets to defy 
 Their hated brothers, and were answer'd quick 
 From other towers. Beneath, in shadow, lay 
 Lean beggars, with lean dogs and crawling things, 
 Suppliants for the poor dole that came anon 
 From iron hands above them ; but no peace ; 
 Only the bloodshed under the red moon. 
 And I could see the portals of tall fanes 
 Throng'd with the proud and pitiless, mingled with 
 The prouder priests, who blest their bloody hopes. 
 When they went forth to kill men, or received them. 
 After the bloodshed, with a hymn of praise ! 
 But, in the distance, two or three I mark'd 
 Ascending a grey slope towards the East, 
 With slow step, yet with upward-gazing eyes ; 
 For, far behind the dusky field of death. 
 
ATLANTIS 227 
 
 A glimmer of a coming dawn was seen. 
 
 They seem'd a solitary remnant, fled 
 
 From dread and darkness, and they seem'd to tread 
 
 A weary way to some new world, a world 
 
 Lit by a sun, not by that blood-red moon. 
 
 That show'd all faces ghastly and deform. 
 
 ' This shows us, O my friend,' the old man said, 
 
 ' The world we live in now ; for, if this isle, 
 
 The lovely remnant of a peaceful prime. 
 
 Be spared the havoc of the world without, 
 
 What thou hast told me of the ways of men, 
 
 Their feuds, their fears, their perils, and their cares, 
 
 Their plagues, and famines, their faint hopes of good 
 
 From any change, may show thee how the wise, 
 
 Prophetic soul, who drew these shadowy shapes. 
 
 Truly foresaw that future of our race. 
 
 Which is the present, symboll'd in that stage 
 
 Of his own life between the boy and man. 
 
 Therefore thou seest the carven stripling stands 
 
 Before the picture ; one hand tears his hair, 
 
 One hand is raised to threaten ; yet he weeps ! ' 
 
 XI 
 
 " Then, on the other half, the artist strove 
 To tell us unimaginable things. 
 While they are struggling on that battlefield, 
 O'ershadow'd by the citadel of Death, 
 The first ray from the reascending sun 
 
228 ATLANTIS 
 
 Smiles on the brazen legions, and the tongues 
 
 Of terror and of anguish cease at once. 
 
 They cannot look upon that light and live. 
 
 And there is world-wide silence ; nothing breathes, 
 
 Save the few wanderers wending toward the East. 
 
 It is the end of the long night of Time. 
 
 As wanderers gasp in the high mountain air ; 
 
 As prison'd eyes grow blind in sudden light ; 
 
 Evil hath perish'd, smitten down by Good. 
 
 XII 
 
 " 'These two or three shall build a better world.' 
 Sighing the old man said, ' My son, our time, 
 Methinks. All these wild years of woes and wrongs, 
 Of tumults, and of discords, and of hates — 
 When Nature's self draws with her mighty hand 
 On the great spaces of the outer world, 
 In hurricanes, in earthquakes, flood and fire ; 
 When nation wars with nation, man with man, 
 And each deems this world made for him alone. 
 Or to be won from others — seems that age 
 'Twixt infancy and youth, when first the boy 
 Scorns at himself, the late untutor'd child ; 
 Scorns at himself, the yet imperfect man ; 
 Sickens to look back at his merry days, 
 When phantasy clothed every little thing 
 With wonder, every childish act was done 
 With earnest love, and quicken'd into life 
 
ATLANTIS 229 
 
 With joy like that of gods ; and yet repines, 
 
 Ahhough he would not lock the wheels of Time, 
 
 To muse on the sweet memories of those hours. 
 
 Thus wasted in infantine glee, yet more 
 
 Than aught he knows of since, those sunbright hours 
 
 That nevermore can be. A mightier soul 
 
 Gets wings with him now ; far off he sees 
 
 Glory, and power, and marvels ; but his heart 
 
 Faints at the future, though it spurns the past. 
 
 Stronger than little children, he is weak, 
 
 And but a child before the armed man. 
 
 Thus the pure peace of infancy is lost, 
 
 The stature of proud manhood is not gain'd. 
 
 Thus stands he, wavering idly 'twixt the two, 
 
 Shaken by changeful storms of fear and pride, 
 
 Weeping vain tears, or kindling vain desires. 
 
 Blazing with angers, mad with baffled hopes, 
 
 Drown'd in love-swoons, and dreaming heavenly joys ; 
 
 Rending in rage his simple handiwork. 
 
 To be rebuilt with nicer art again. 
 
 His soul is tossing in so many moods 
 
 That none can hold him ; and inconstancy 
 
 Within him leads him on to doubt the truth 
 
 Of all without him — ' Are there powers above,' 
 
 He cries, ' who see and suffer this ill world 
 
 Of chance and tumult ; such a thing as I ? ' — 
 
 Until the time when he begins to feel 
 
 The strength of Youth, and straight forgets the days 
 
 Of his first simple innocence, and all 
 
230 ATLANTIS 
 
 The lights and shadows of the years between, 
 And looks right onward. In another scene 
 Of the same picture, see, the artist draws 
 Time passing onward, as a traveller swift, 
 Treading a stormy frontier 'twixt two realms, 
 Where lions prowl, and serpents hiss ; who sees 
 Caverns, and cliffs by lightning-light, and hears 
 The winds and waters howling ; and behind 
 Sees the dear land he shall not seek again ; 
 And far before him other regions vast, 
 With towered heights, and cities dimly shown. 
 So, after the delighted lovely Prime 
 Of ages, other ages dawn'd ; and days 
 Of clouds, and darkness, and unruly fires. 
 And we, O stranger, wheresoe'er the world 
 Is habitable, are the dwellers now 
 Of the wild frontier wilderness, beneath 
 A whirling sky, upon a quaking earth. 
 The sweet infantine sense of earlier life. 
 The kind instincts of nature, the pure joy 
 Of Nature's beauty, are a fable now. 
 The simple mirth, and the unruffled peace ; 
 The temperate yet full-hearted pleasure, quaff'd 
 With the keen sense and uncorrupted soul ; 
 The hand that needed not draw back, or fear, 
 To gather all sweet flowers and fruits ; the will, 
 That needed no repentance of its pure. 
 And lawful purposes ; all this, my friend. 
 Is as far music floating down the wind. 
 
ATLANTIS 231 
 
 Listen'd to with sad-hearted eagerness, 
 For it may nevermore be heard ; or then 
 Only, when the bright stars we look on now 
 Come back to the same spaces, after flight 
 Through all heaven, and immeasurable years ! 
 
 XIII 
 
 " 'Turn,' said my guide, 'to the fourth wall and see.' 
 
 Before the picture, shapen wondrously. 
 
 There stood the symbol of a perfect one, 
 
 Boon and majestic, beautiful and strong ; 
 
 The stripling grown into the perfect man ; 
 
 Nobility throned on expanded brows 
 
 Radiant ; and eyes kindling with love and light ; 
 
 An age of promise of all mighty things, 
 
 Henceforth to crown his being without end. 
 
 ' Lo ! ' said my guide, ' the fourth age of the world, 
 
 To follow after these forlornest years 
 
 Of struggling races, and distracted souls. 
 
 When earth rebels against the Gods in Heaven, 
 
 When nation strives with nation, house with house, 
 
 Brother with brother, and the very thoughts 
 
 Of one sad heart are warring with themselves. 
 
 Far off that day may be ; yet it shall come 
 
 With fair new hopes, and other loves, as he. 
 
 The carven image, with illumined gaze 
 
 Turns upward, and right onward; with his hand 
 
 Waving his full locks in the summer air. 
 
2J2 ATLANTIS 
 
 And stepping forward, as a warrior sprung 
 
 From sleep, to win great conquests, not of blood, 
 
 Of burning cities, of disbanded hosts ; 
 
 But such as, from the ruins of the Past, 
 
 Over the fallen towers and pyramids 
 
 Of pride, shall lay the great foundation-stones 
 
 Of endless progress into brighter day ; 
 
 Of empire over Evil, and that rule. 
 
 That shall bind all the sons of man together 
 
 In bonds of love and knowledge. Look, his eyes 
 
 Raised heavenward, and his firm foot on the earth, 
 
 Symbol the long-lost harmony of Gods, 
 
 And men, and Nature, brought beneath his sway, 
 
 From end to end of the wide wondrous world, 
 
 By help of the Immortal ones themselves ! ' 
 
 XIV 
 
 " I look'd on the fourth wall, and saw thereon 
 The selfsame traveller on the mountain-land. 
 But now he stands in wonder ; hath he dreamt 
 Of that grim region, and that city pale. 
 That dismal battlefield, and blood-red moon ? 
 Now he sees nothing — nothing — for at first 
 The glory of another sunrise blinds 
 His eyes. He cannot see the eastern clime. 
 For its own amber smoke of radiance floods. 
 And brims the happy vales, as tho' the seas, 
 Changed into sunbright fiery ethers, whelm'd 
 
ATLANTIS 233 
 
 The world, erewhile lock'd under doleful chains 
 
 Of icy darkness. Soon his dazzled eyes 
 
 Grew stronger in the light ; and now he sees 
 
 That ghastly city with its icy towers — 
 
 Death's armoury, whence universal ill 
 
 Ray'd round about, as from a central sun 
 
 Beauty and life — by some great countercharm 
 
 Wrought into soUd gold, wherethrough ascends 
 
 The splendour from the East, and makes those walls 
 
 Diaphanous, as when a summer rose. 
 
 Beauty itself, becomes more beautiful 
 
 In rosy ways transfused ; and, with the light, 
 
 Roll down swift winds, and sweep the illumin'd plain. 
 
 That battlefield ! and all the ruin there, 
 
 Deep in the dust of ages, or piled up 
 
 In funeral pyramids, is blown away; 
 
 As when a fire, that runs along the ground. 
 
 Licks up the dry weeds of a wilderness. 
 
 He stands upon the very plot of ground 
 
 Where once he crush'd the frozen snows ; but, see. 
 
 His feet are hidden amid purple flowers ; 
 
 He breathes the sweetness of their mingled souls. 
 
 And where the silent midnight round him slept, 
 
 Or started to appalling sounds, he hears 
 
 The still, small voices of unnumber'd streams 
 
 In whisper'd converse, as of captives' tongues. 
 
 Who fly in fear from the abhorred hold. 
 
 And gladden with the dawn of this new day. 
 
 Again he hearkens, gazing eagerly 
 
234 ATLANTIS 
 
 Thro' the orient fire, as though he heard 
 
 From far an onward motion of great wings, 
 
 Kindling the air with deep vibrations, hke 
 
 The endless shudder of a mighty chord. 
 
 Or thunder league on league away, and heard 
 
 At midnight faint and low. It seems as though 
 
 A secret, sudden instinct shadow'd him. 
 
 And warn'd him of a God. And now he stands. 
 
 Listening the voice of the Immortal — sweet 
 
 As melody that draws forth loving tears — 
 
 Upon the utmost border of that land. 
 
 And looks far forth, as one who veils his eyes 
 
 From sunlight thrown up from a dazzling sea, 
 
 That he may see the clearer ; and the God 
 
 Touches with his bright hand the traveller's eyes. 
 
 And far things are brought near. He seems to see 
 
 A world-wide empire, gather'd into bounds 
 
 Of one fair valley, such the overflow 
 
 Of things majestic, bright and beautiful. 
 
 The aerial abysses, and the shapes. 
 
 Cloudlike, of mountains curtain round, and shield 
 
 The riches of the valley, laid with rows 
 
 Of sun-smit columns, graven temples, tall 
 
 Towers, and broad-based pyramids, that rise 
 
 Thro' quivering lights, and silence, from the depths 
 
 Of breathing gardens dark with odorous bowers. 
 
 Into the purple of the morn, and take. 
 
 Upon their fronts and summits, the first flash 
 
 Of day like stars. And there were arches, spanning 
 
ATLANTIS 235 
 
 The dimpled rivers, that inverted all 
 The carven structures with their open doors, 
 Imaged therein ; and he may see afar, 
 Looking across that valley toward the hills, 
 High terraced lawns that stepp'd into a lake 
 Of azure sheen, a cup of clear cold dews 
 Fresh from the peaks of snow ; a crystal clear. 
 That drew the trembling shadows of the trees 
 And dove-wing'd clouds of summer. 'Tis a land. 
 Where lovely shows respond to loving hearts, 
 And Man and Nature are twin souls that pulse, 
 Like golden chords in living unison. 
 
 XV 
 
 " Again the vision changes, and the God 
 
 Touches with his bright hand the traveller's eyes. 
 
 And far things are brought near ; and he can see 
 
 Great multitudes upon a mountain plain. 
 
 Who stretch their arms rejoicing. They can see. 
 
 Descending thence, an army, ev'n of those 
 
 Who go forth conquering, but not with arms. 
 
 And each immortal of that mighty host 
 
 Bears in his hand a separate diadem. 
 
 To crown withal each mortal man below ; 
 
 To bring him with each added year a power ; 
 
 To deal him daily strength, and bliss, and hope ; 
 
 And in the endless conquests over Time 
 
 Aids him with his own might ; brings him swift thoughts 
 
236 ATLANTIS 
 
 By day, and dreams and visions in the night, 
 Such as no mortal hath beheld, or shall 
 Behold, till that great day which is foredoom'd 
 To lead a march of triumph through all years ! 
 
 XVI 
 
 "Then, on the other half, the. artist strove 
 
 To tell us unimaginable things : 
 
 But woe belongs not to them, nor dismay. 
 
 Behold, as in an amphitheatre. 
 
 The whole world gather'd ; 'tis a hemisphere 
 
 Of living faces, whose astonished eyes 
 
 Gaze upward to another hemisphere 
 
 Of living faces ; but the latter live 
 
 No longer in this world. They stretch their arms 
 
 Each to the other ; and they seem to hold 
 
 Converse, in music new and wonderful ; 
 
 And interchange divine antiphonies. 
 
 As tho' they sang the very death of Death, 
 
 And Heaven and Earth were joining in the song ! 
 
 XVII 
 
 " Such were the pictures on the ancient walls 
 I look'd on ; but the soul that breathed from them 
 Had reach'd my soul but dimly, had not he. 
 Interpreter and guide, revealed to me 
 The inner spirit of the silent forms. 
 
ATLANTIS 237 
 
 So that, inspired by his prophetic voice, 
 Which gave them all his thought and poesy, 
 Methought, I added life and motion to them, 
 And fancy multiplied the artist's skill 
 By changes manifold, as when, in dream, 
 A simple action of the outer world 
 Becomes a world-within. I saw and heard 
 The Past and Future, as he spoke to me, 
 And all the dead, cold marbles glow'd with life. 
 These things by help of my far-seeing guide 
 I understood, and stored up in my mind. 
 And when his tongue was silent, and I thought 
 He would no more have spoken, suddenly 
 Lights, like twin stars, came up into his eyes, 
 Tho' he seem'd blind to all things outward, deaf 
 To every sound. He lifted up his arms, 
 And with a prophet's voice he cried aloud. 
 Looking across the illimitable sea. 
 ' The great Atlantis shall arise again ! 
 I stand upon the farthest promontory 
 Of an old world, and look across a main 
 Of purple waters endless ; what is this 
 I see before me ? For it seems no more 
 The restless, glancing ocean ; it grows calm, 
 Hush'd and immovable ; its colours change 
 With every moment, and the level plain 
 Is moulded into solid substance, shaped 
 Like hill and valley : heavens ! it is a world, 
 A newborn world ! The waters have gone down, 
 
238 ATLANTIS 
 
 The earth hath risen once more ! but it is waste 
 
 And silent, no green thing hath blossom'd there, 
 
 And Man is not. Again I look upon 
 
 The selfsame, boundless region ; but it seems 
 
 A thousand years are gone, and all is changed. 
 
 The wilderness is clothed, the mountain-tops 
 
 Are plumed with forests ; but no column'd fanes 
 
 Are there, no sacred places ; all is still. 
 
 And beautiful, beneath the azure air, 
 
 As that old world, whereof the highpriest spake. 
 
 The selfsame surging woods, and golden vales. 
 
 Gardens and orchards ; founts, and curving streams, 
 
 And falling waters. Do I see once more 
 
 The imperial city, as it stood of old ? 
 
 It stands upon the selfsame mount and plain. 
 
 But where are the old bulwarks ? where the zones. 
 
 Alternately of land and sea, the walls. 
 
 And towers, once unassailable by man ? 
 
 The gates are open, and the harbours full, 
 
 And many nations throng the marts again, 
 
 As in old time. I hear the sound of songs. 
 
 And festal cheer, and not a voice is sad ; 
 
 All faces turn with faith upon each other ; 
 
 I mark no hateful frown, no angry word. 
 
 Where are the temples of the early Gods ? 
 
 Are they cast down dishonour'd ? Or do men 
 
 Behold their faces so familiarly. 
 
 That other worship is not needed now. 
 
 But loving faith that makes obedience sure. 
 
ATLANTIS 239 
 
 And scatters phantoms of o'ershadowing fears, 
 
 That lead the weak to folly, so that they, 
 
 That tremble for their guilt, will sooner strive 
 
 To cheat with a vain show the very Gods, 
 
 Who judge the earth, than think upon their deeds ? 
 
 Where are the armed hosts that pass'd of old. 
 
 Out of the gates into the morning plain, 
 
 With thunderous tread, and lightnings, and the sound 
 
 Of lifted standards, and of flowing songs ? 
 
 Where they, who laugh'd and sang, when others wept? 
 
 I hear the music, and I see the pomp, 
 
 As in the days before ; but it is life, 
 
 Not death, that calls for triumph ; and the love 
 
 Of many for their few, those kings of men 
 
 Whose crowns are loving thoughts, and gentle deeds ; 
 
 Who rule their kind by serving them the best ; 
 
 Who give them life from their own living souls, 
 
 As the blest sun the thankful earth at morn. 
 
 The great Atlantis shall arise again ! 
 
 And yet, methinks, it is not that of old. 
 
 Impulsive moods, and eager hopes have pass'd 
 
 Into serenest noon of peaceful thought. 
 
 Simplicity and innocence have clothed 
 
 Their youthful limbs in wisdom ; and the heart. 
 
 Earnest and pure, is fixed on high resolves, 
 
 And that pure heart so wedded to man's hand. 
 
 That what he wills he works, and what he works 
 
 He wills ; no dissonance 'twixt thought and act, 
 
 As when sweet echoes, which sweet sounds beget. 
 
240 ATLANTIS 
 
 Fall back, and join themselves unto the sounds. 
 
 The great Atlantis shall arise again ! 
 
 Oh ! still I hope, I dream, I look beyond 
 
 These vexed times, how long soe'er they last. 
 
 Unto a bright futurity, the dawn 
 
 Of unrelapsing seons, when the world 
 
 Without us, and the living world within. 
 
 Shall live their youth, a youthhood of all strength, 
 
 And beauty, like the form of him, who steps 
 
 At morning from his chamber, and throws back 
 
 His deep hair, and looks up with sunny eyes 
 
 Sunward ; and knows, before the end of day, 
 
 That, as the star unto the zenith runs. 
 
 So he shall do great deeds, and win the praise 
 
 Of thousands upon thousands, and shall hear 
 
 The music and the shouting in his ears. 
 
 And gain him countless welcomes, and a crown ! 
 
 That day shall open with the end of wars ; 
 
 That day shall see the nations flock together ; 
 
 And every hand shall fetch with loving care 
 
 Some serviceable stone, or precious gem, 
 
 To build into the pyramid of peace. 
 
 And, as the young man, full of love and light. 
 
 At peace with all, and concord with himself, 
 
 Is radiant outward, and delights the hearts 
 
 Of others, and takes back the love he gives ; 
 
 So the whole world that shall be — each to all, 
 
 And all to each breathing goodwill — shall weld 
 
 With sympathetic ardour, swift and sure. 
 
ATLANTIS 241 
 
 Issues of all things, godlike, noblest arts, 
 
 And faultless science. For the Gods shall bend 
 
 From heaven to hark the pseans of the earth ; 
 
 And join the banquets of abundant powers, 
 
 And waxing wonders ; and themselves shall speed 
 
 The work of mortals, till one day shall grow 
 
 More fruit than many years of this sad time. 
 
 And Man himself, in wisdom as a God, 
 
 Shall talk with the Immortals, and shall hear. 
 
 And see the things of the Eternal Life. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 " The day that wanderer from the Eastern clime 
 Had ended all this wondrous handiwork, 
 He call'd the wise together, and he said ; 
 ' I have depicted by archaic Art, 
 And bodied in imperishable form. 
 What is recorded in the mystic lore, 
 And dateless revelations of old Time. 
 But whether all be true, or but a part, 
 I know not ; only He who sleepeth not, 
 Whom walls of Space and Time imprison not. 
 Can fully grasp the Future and the Past. 
 Oft have I told ye whence I came, and oft 
 Have own'd the ancients of this realm of yours, 
 Mine ancestors. To other lands they pass'd. 
 And bore with them their wisdom and their skill 
 In knowledges and arts ; yea, we have grown 
 
 VOL. II R 
 
242 ATLANTIS 
 
 All Stately flowers from that same goodly seed, 
 
 Rivals of all the best we left behind. 
 
 Whereof I leave ye — for I know I die — 
 
 This long-wrought, now consummate work. I die 
 
 With something of a melancholy joy. 
 
 To think I leave ye that may bring delight 
 
 To look on ! and a knowledge, and a power 
 
 To follow me in paths, where long ago 
 
 Your own forefathers led us ; so I pay 
 
 Back the great gift of good they have bestow'd, 
 
 With something of a warning to your souls 
 
 That ye may flee, if this be possible, 
 
 The coming night of evil o'er the earth. 
 
 The shadow of whose wings myself have seen. 
 
 For, O my friends, believe a dying man 
 
 Whose ears have heard the whispers of the Gods, 
 
 That watch about the world. The time is nigh 
 
 When Evil, like a night that hath no morn, 
 
 Shall pall the world — but I shall be away — ' 
 
 Ev'n while he spake his trembling accents faint 
 
 Answer'd not to the brightness in his eye, 
 
 But he pursued, ' When I am flown afar, 
 
 Forget not all my words, tho' ye no more 
 
 Remember me. But oh ! if that I fear 
 
 Should fall on this blest region, as on ours. 
 
 And I, a living man, were with ye still, 
 
 Rather than see it wasting, like a fire, 
 
 That from a little spark grows more and more. 
 
 Into a sea of flame, oh ! liefer I 
 
ATLANTIS 243 
 
 Would cry to the Immortals night and morn, 
 Would call on the great Gods, to make all vain 
 The wrath of man, and under the deep sea 
 Lay my dear country with its hills and streams, 
 Lay me, and mine, and all I hear and see 
 Around me, ay, ev'n all I love the best. 
 And bid the waters save us from the fire ! ' 
 He spake no more, and slowly in his eyes 
 Were quench'd the twin stars of his love and truth. 
 And with grey finger, pointing to the wall. 
 Whence frown'd the endless battle, he breath'd out 
 His spirit, and they wept for him in vain ; 
 For none remember'd those foredooming words. 
 Till the last dreadful night that made them true.' 
 
 XIX 
 
 "Again the morning rose on our farewell; 
 
 The sails were set, the anchor was updrawn. 
 
 The sea-walls of the city, as before. 
 
 The towers and ramparts, throng'd with living forms, 
 
 Silent as memory's ghostlike images. 
 
 Phantasms we only seem to see and hear ; 
 
 Dead shadows of things quick and vital once. 
 
 We saw them lift their arms into the air. 
 
 And wave farewell ; but not a voice was heard. 
 
 Save of our men, and ev'n that was low, 
 
 As tho' their hearts were loth to leave that home 
 
 Of peace and beauty, for the stormy clime 
 
244 ATLANTIS 
 
 Of the great world without. Then, round the walls 
 Of the weird city, rose a choral strain, 
 Solemn and sweet, and floated o'er the sea, 
 As tho' the guardian spirits of the place 
 Bad us turn back to it, and look again 
 Once more, but once, upon that lovely land, 
 As one may look upon a dying face 
 No eye shall see again for evermore. 
 We felt as tho' we shook off with the morn 
 Imagin'd joys, which Hecate and Night 
 Mock our sad days withal — the haggard cares 
 That meet us at the gate — and pass'd with sighs 
 Among the warring hosts of mortal men. 
 The sea was calm, blue as the cloudless air ; 
 Unwillingly the sleepy zephyrs breathed ; 
 Our slumbrous bark crept through a slumbrous sea. 
 All day we kept the western isle in view ; 
 Slowly it seem'd to sink, that fairy isle. 
 Under the cruel waters, as of old 
 " The Motherland ; and still we seem'd to hear 
 The silver sweetness of the parting song. 
 Fainter and fainter, till at eventide 
 The enchanting mystery of sight and sound 
 Drown'd in the flaming west from whence it rose. 
 Again the wind sprang up, and snatch'd away 
 Our bark thro' starlight onward to the east ; 
 And seem'd to warn us with its freshening voice 
 To look no more for ever on the past. 
 Beneath the stars I thought of the weird isle 
 
ATLANTIS 245 
 
 That seem'd to vanish ; did it only seem ? 
 
 I know not ; but the story that I told 
 
 Stirr'd many more to venture after me 
 
 Across the western waves ; but nevermore 
 
 Was found that land of melancholy souls. 
 
 Did the fair island follow in the wake 
 
 Of the first drowned world, as 'twere a child, 
 
 Call'd by its mother's ghost, or little bark 
 
 Drawn under by the rolling of a wreck ? 
 
 I know not ; but when years and cares had dimm'd 
 
 Its first bright image in my heart, methought, 
 
 I must have dreamt it only, and the dream, 
 
 More wonderful than other ghosts of sleep. 
 
 Ruled o'er me, like an earthly memory first, 
 
 And then dissolv'd into its elements. 
 
 Old tales, and phantasies, at work to pour 
 
 Their warm breath and their rainbow colours on 
 
 Grey dust and ashes. Oh ! I know not now, 
 
 But fain would deem, like weary wayfarers, 
 
 The magic waters in the wilderness 
 
 Real, the' they flee before me ; fain would take 
 
 The gardens, and the temples, and the towers. 
 
 Wove of thin air and sunshine, for the home 
 
 Of beings, nobler than the sons of men, 
 
 A city builded of pure gold and pearl. 
 
 And, if no eye had seen so fair a world, 
 
 This let me dream some unborn age may see.' 
 
 Thus did my grandsire speak, the mariner bold." 
 
HALCYONE 
 
 The King sat gazing on the Autumnal sea, 
 
 His brow upon his hand, and in his eye 
 
 The evening twilights deepen'd into night 
 
 Sombre, and sorrowful ; hard by the wind 
 
 Moan'd thro' some clambering rosebriers, that had shed 
 
 Their Summer leaves, and whispering answer made. 
 
 Like sympathetic sorrow ; for oh ! his thoughts 
 
 Were of those ills that had befallen him. 
 
 The shadow of the Supernatural Powers 
 
 Hung o'er him, like yon slowly shaping cloud. 
 
 And on his household ; first his brother's doom ; 
 
 Chione's death, his niece ; and the dread signs, 
 
 And wonders, that had gone before that day, 
 
 And follow'd it. Far off the lightning scroll'd 
 
 The gathering rack and darkness with weird symbols 
 
 Of sudden fatal ruin, and low thunder 
 
 Roll'd, like the voice of a gigantic foe. 
 
 Advancing to o'erwhelm the hapless king. 
 
 And queen, that very night, and bury them 
 
 Under the fragments of their palace walls ! 
 
HALCYONE 247 
 
 And the air shudder'd at the shock ; the doors 
 Trembled, as with an earthquake, and he sigh'd 
 Again, and whisper'd ; — " Oh that I could tell 
 The hidden years ; unravel — as the flash. 
 Threading those clouds, shows me their awful shapes — 
 The mystery of the Future ! so would I 
 Go forth to meet the purpose of the Gods, 
 And tame the eager hope, and love of life 
 To peaceful patience ; and take off the point 
 Of Death's worst arrows, by imagining 
 All dooms most hateful and most horrible ; 
 So that at last I would go down to him 
 Tearless, and with a triumph on my lips. 
 Wherefore are They against me ? Have I done 
 Aught that might anger them of late ? They know 
 I have forgone the pomps and pride of youth ; 
 'The folUes of the crowd I have rebuked. 
 Whose voices, false as hissing serpents, led me 
 Even to such self-worship, as becomes 
 No earth-born man, although he be a king. 
 They shouted one day in the temple gate — 
 ' Behold a God ! 'tis Jove himself come down ! 
 His dark locks, and his large illumined eyes ! 
 His stature, and his step majestical ! 
 Behold a God indeed ! a very God ! ' 
 If I remember that my soul was glad 
 Within me ; that my heart beat, as the sea 
 Heaves to the summer wind, whose pleasant strength 
 Shall dash it on the rocks ; I too remember 
 
248 HALCYONE 
 
 That, many an after day, I have repined. 
 
 And beat my breast, and wept to think of it. 
 
 Vainglorious dreams have shed away their plumes. 
 
 And now, instead of pride to madness spurr'd, 
 
 My mood is sad humility ; my hope 
 
 To do as one, who is a King, should do ; 
 
 Shine, as a sun, upon his fatherland ; 
 
 Joy with the joyful ; weep with those who weep ; 
 
 Amend the wintry fortunes of the poor ; 
 
 Abase the proud, redress the innocent. 
 
 I call the Gods to witness, that, if I 
 
 Have mock'd them madly, I have served them wisely. 
 
 Through all these earnest days of joy and pain 
 
 Thou, dearest one, hast been my staff and stay, 
 
 My own Halcyone — the loving heart 
 
 In lovely form — but something, something still 
 
 Whispers my inmost soul that all is not 
 
 Finish'd of Evil. Hark ! the thunder speaks 
 
 In answer to my thoughts ! a darker day 
 
 Threatens, than any that have gone before ! 
 
 Looms like the tempest yonder, that shall burst 
 
 Where none are watching, in the middle night ; 
 
 And some one shall awaken, and cry out, 
 
 ' Woe ! woe ! the lightning-kindled fires are round us, 
 
 The strong towers of the citadel of Peace 
 
 Are falling earthward ! Open the great gates 
 
 Of Time, for all is lost ! Despair ! Despair !' " 
 
HALCYONE 249 
 
 II 
 
 The Queen came near, and with a dusky smile 
 
 Sweet-sorrowful, she said : " I heard thy voice, 
 
 Beloved, and I caught some murmuring words. 
 
 I know what thou art dreaming, oh ! I know 
 
 But, O beloved, be not to thyself 
 
 Too willing oracle of Good, or 111 ; 
 
 The Gods who doom are throned where no mists are, 
 
 Or, like the sun, they pierce them ; but, weak man, 
 
 Joy dazzles him, and sorrow dims his eyes ; 
 
 And oft, when he looks for a thunderbolt, 
 
 The clouds divide, and pour a sunbeam on him. 
 
 Oft, when the time is windless, clear, and soft, 
 
 An earthquake shakes the mountains from their seats ! 
 
 Then, my beloved, be not to thyself 
 
 Deceiver ; nor beseech the Gods to give 
 
 Such knowledge of the Future, as would be 
 
 Fatal to freedom, as the sun would prove, 
 
 To those who dared to gaze upon it, death 
 
 Of eyesight ; thinkest thou that prowess comes 
 
 From looking on the evil yet to be ? 
 
 With every day that brings us nearer to it 
 
 The ghost of Hope, that, — while it. was far off, 
 
 Yet smiled, and look'd like Hope herself — grows pale, 
 
 Paler, and palest, till she fades away. 
 
 For one sharp pang that strikes us unforeseen, 
 
 A thousand darts of anguish, hour by hour. 
 
 Vex the poor spirit ; many deaths are borne 
 
250 HALCYONE 
 
 For one, that comes and goes unlook'd for by us. 
 
 Take counsel ; better 'tis to walk with Hope 
 
 Thro' starless night, than thro' midnoon with Fear. 
 
 And, should the III to come be light as down 
 
 Borne from a thistle-head before the wind. 
 
 Forethought would make it as a rolling rock. 
 
 Dread phantasies will paint in fire and blood ; 
 
 And, piercing thro' the gloom of night, will see 
 
 The empty void fill'd in with dismal sights. 
 
 If it were told thee, that on such a day 
 
 A little child, a very little child 
 
 Would prick thy finger with the thorn of a rose — 
 
 In such a month, on such a day, and hour, 
 
 And moment — would not that month, day, and hour 
 
 And moment, and that very little child. 
 
 Grow in the eye of Fancy — as attention 
 
 Intenser, and intenser wax'd — till that, 
 
 Which in itself the little child would scorn, 
 
 Became a goblin, skulking in thy heart 
 
 To stop thy breath ? Why should we wake in darkness, 
 
 While others sleep and haply see good dreams ? 
 
 The year is dying ; all the summerdays 
 
 Are ended, and the tongues of many storms. 
 
 Like cohort upon cohort, I can hear, 
 
 Like multitudinous echoes of that peal 
 
 That thunders now. Tempt not the hungry sea. 
 
 Whose wintry anger may not spare a King. 
 
 And think of me, O dear one, wert thou lost ; 
 
 Of me imprison'd in these very towers. 
 
HALCYONE 251 
 
 Where I have power to prison others ; think, 
 If some hard Chief, usurper of thy rights. 
 Might cast me forth abandon'd, with wild hair, 
 And weeping eyes ; or if some stroke of doom 
 Should lay me low when thou art parted hence. 
 And thy great voice should call for me in vain ; 
 Thy homeward step but echo from these walls. 
 Not in mine ear, not in this faithful heart ; 
 No step of mine to meet thee hastening hither ; 
 No hand to take from thee thy helm and sword ; 
 Or serve to thee a draught of the old wine 
 As in the day of old — old days of youth— 
 The days ere sorrow fell upon this house.'' 
 
 Ill 
 
 " O wife, fain would I listen to thy voice 
 For ever," he said, " it speaks to me of love, 
 And loving-kindness, better than all gauds 
 That dazzle poor men's eyes, when they behold 
 The glory of a King, and his great state. 
 Which they mistake for blisses. For the poor 
 Are blesseder than many mighty Kings, 
 If only for this boon, that they may sleep 
 In fearless peace, claspt in each other's arms. 
 And look into their cup, that brims with pure 
 Spring-drops, and fear no poison ; and be sure 
 That tender words are true ; and no loud sound- 
 Like brazen cymbals drowning silver strings — 
 
252 HALCYONE 
 
 Of flattery leaves the heart a malcontent, 
 
 Spite of their lavish lips ; and, were it not 
 
 That thou and I are faithful as the poor, 
 
 'Twere better to exchange our state for theirs. 
 
 But oh ! I may not listen to thee now. 
 
 Nor drink thy golden words into my heart — 
 
 True to thee ever, even when it rebels — 
 
 That are the same that I have ever heard ; 
 
 And years and sorrows have not dried the fount 
 
 Of that sweet speech right from thy woman's heart. 
 
 For ever true, save when it pleads in vain 
 
 To Conscience, deafer than poor Love is blind. 
 
 Thou too art deaf to all except thy fears ; 
 
 And I were blind to pore into the dark. 
 
 Without the lamp of Heaven. Oh pardon me. 
 
 Who prize thine every word, as though it were 
 
 A separate note of music, if in this 
 
 I yield not to thee ; if I listen not 
 
 To one, who bids me wander in the night — 
 
 Peopling it with all those dismal shapes, 
 
 Which thou wouldst warn me are begot of Faith, 
 
 But which I tell thee are the brood of Doubt — 
 
 When I may walk beneath the sun of day, 
 
 And from the sacred shrine receive the note 
 
 Of certainty ; who in my sorrows rest 
 
 Unsatisfied, and thro' the twilight dim 
 
 See phantoms, worse than if my doom were death 
 
 Proclaim'd — the hour when no escape can be, 
 
 Save that which frees us from both doubt and fear. 
 
HALCYONE 253 
 
 For fear is phantasy, and mortals arm 
 
 Against mortality, when they behold 
 
 Their last great enemy ; and, when he thinks 
 
 To strike them down, they cast him under them, 
 
 Lifting their heads up to the light of morn ; 
 
 Scattering before them the abhorred shapes 
 
 Of superstitions, as the mountain-tops, 
 
 Smit with the dawn, fling off the shrouding mists 
 
 And roll them under. Else, could men go forth 
 
 To die in battle, who would shake at home 
 
 To hear the whisper of a dead man's voice. 
 
 Less fearful than the buzzing of a fly ? 
 
 And feel the warm blood that they freely shed 
 
 Freeze at the thought of that where no blood is ! 
 
 But is all dark because thy soul is sad, 
 
 Halcyone ? Bethink thee, gentle wife, 
 
 That, when the storms are over, comes the Spring, 
 
 And sunbright hours ; that we have sufifer'd much, 
 
 And more than others ; will they not relent, 
 
 Who have afilicted us, and send us days. 
 
 Like vintage clusters following the scant sheaves 
 
 Of burnt-up harvests ? Better Hope than Fear. 
 
 And listen, dearest, I will combat thee 
 
 With thine own arms ; remember thy own words : 
 
 ' Take counsel ; better 'tis to walk with Hope 
 
 Thro' starless night, than thro' midnoon with Fear.' '' 
 
254 HALCYONE 
 
 IV 
 
 In the last days, ere parting, the sad queen 
 
 Said to herself : " I only know him now. 
 
 How hath my heart been hidden from itself ! 
 
 And love, my life, a stranger to itself. 
 
 For what is all that I have felt before 
 
 But something dreamt of, rather than fulfiU'd ? 
 
 As for a moment, ere the tempest bursts. 
 
 The dying sun strikes through a cloud, and breathes 
 
 A sudden light and heat upon the earth, 
 
 Unfelt before, and kindles by contrast 
 
 The lovely slopes and valleys into joy, 
 
 Beauty, and glory, unsurpassable ! " 
 
 Now, now she seem'd to look into the mind • 
 
 And heart of him she loved, with surer light, 
 
 And knowledge until then unknown. She saw 
 
 His form heroical, that stood before her. 
 
 As though it never met her eyes till now, 
 
 Or she had never seen him as she ought. 
 
 Memory became a tablet magical^ — 
 
 A mirror wrought so bright, that hues and forms, 
 
 Tho' less, seem'd greater than Reality — 
 
 Whereon his slightest humours were imprest, 
 
 Motions, and utterances : a smile became 
 
 A picture drawn for ever ; a passing sigh, 
 
 A tone of sorrow, or a tender word. 
 
 Sank deep down to the secret well of tears 
 
 Within her heart, henceforth, — she felt, she knew — 
 
HALCYONE 255 
 
 To draw up never-failing urns of grief. 
 And, when he took the harp into his hand, 
 And the even-feast was o'er, and the sunk sun 
 Still burn'd along the West, and the day birds 
 Were hushed in all the copses, and he sang 
 Those deep but merry notes, that he was wont 
 After their supper in the days gone by. 
 The song, tho' full of mirth, rose to her ear 
 Thro' mists of melancholy ; and it seem'd 
 That very song, jocund, and jubilant. 
 Would surely come back, in the days to come, 
 Rising from out the slowly ebbing past 
 Sad as the low tide, or triumphant shouts 
 Of some great host, upon a festal day, 
 Sweeten'd by distance to a solemn hymn. 
 The echoes of it in her heart would dwell 
 For ever, and would melt into its core 
 More than the actual — Music is a king 
 That rules with tenfold tyranny in the heart. 
 More than the ear — and would for ever grow 
 The pale ambrosia of her widow'd hours. 
 
 V 
 
 While he was not yet gone, and wander'd still 
 About the house, and she could see him still 
 At morn and even, apprehensive woe 
 Was not yet real — the parting had not come — 
 Mayhap it might not be : how swiftly fled 
 
256 HALCYONE 
 
 The hours ; how precious every little word, 
 
 Every last smile ; and how one single tone 
 
 That was not perfect-kind — such as her heart 
 
 Thirsted for — pierced like steel, and drew her tears ! 
 
 Though at no other moment would her ear 
 
 Have felt the change, nor the heart heeded it. 
 
 O Life ! O Time ! 'tis then that ye are fearful. 
 
 O vast, wide world ! O Space, that swiftest wings 
 
 Take time to traverse ; 'tis in such a time 
 
 Thou art most dreadful ! Partings worse than Death 
 
 When that is shared by lovers ! for is it not 
 
 Love's death in Life — worse than Love's Life in death- 
 
 That farewell, leaving in the heart no " Well," 
 
 But baleful bodings, sighs, and bitter tears, 
 
 And aching anguish ? Then, tho' weigh'd within 
 
 With heaviness, her heart was never tired, 
 
 Her spirit never flagg'd. What cheer it was 
 
 To set fresh comforts, fresh delights about him ! 
 
 To fill up the few fleeting tender days. 
 
 Ere the great shadow fell upon the house ! 
 
 While he was musing o'er his stern resolve, 
 
 And saw but that alone, and nought between 
 
 Now and that fixed end, she fill'd the void 
 
 With fearful phantoms, pictures of her fear ; 
 
 But, stifling her own heart, and crushing down 
 
 Its apprehensions in her voice, she kept 
 
 Old notes of mirth, that he might not be chill'd 
 
 By such imaginations of despair. 
 
HALCYONE 257 
 
 VI 
 
 Alas ! alas ! that hour — the end of all, 
 However hidden under loving arts- 
 Would not be cheated of its future present. 
 One morning she woke first from sleep, wherein 
 She thought she rambled thro' green woods with him ; 
 Close by her side was he, and help'd her o'er 
 The tinkling freshets ; on they fared with glee, 
 Thro' shadowy coverts, breathing of young flowers, 
 And singing with the bees ; they trod the turf 
 Of mountain slopes, till on the top they stood 
 To see the sun rise — just as he came up 
 From out the sea— she woke, and it was true ! 
 The sun was dazzling in her eyes — but he 
 Lay slumbering — then she awoke him too 
 With voice of seeming mirth, but with a heart 
 The morning could not solace. She awoke him ; 
 The time was lovely, and the wind was fair ; 
 No Summer morning ever was so sweet ; 
 But never Winter flowers more frozen were 
 Than her heart's motions. Oh ! the hour had come — 
 She scarce remember'd that the hour had come, 
 When it was on her — and, as one who moves 
 Swiftly thro' twilights of a painful dream, 
 Seeking to save his hfe, she sped her acts, 
 She bad him haste — the moments would not pause — 
 "Behold, the wind blows soft, is it not time 
 To lift the anchor, to unreef the sail, 
 
 VOL. II s 
 
2S8 HALCYONE 
 
 Time for the mariners, loitering in the sun, 
 
 To give their last cheer, and to wave farewell ? " 
 
 She mimick'd triumph to hold back her tears. 
 
 Ev'n when the swift embrace was o'er, while he 
 
 Yet hurried towards the gate, ev'n while she saw him 
 
 Stepping aboard, and when he kiss'd his hand 
 
 She did not weep ; but oh ! when she could see him 
 
 No more, no more — would it be nevermore ? 
 
 Something like suffocation grappled her. 
 
 A sudden palsy, like the grip of Death, 
 
 Seized her, and her heart was like to burst. 
 
 Choked with a rushing torrent, chain'd till then. 
 
 A mighty weight sank down upon her, dread, 
 
 Immovable, an endless widowhood ; 
 
 A cloud like instant blindness seem'd to press 
 
 Upon her eyeballs, and shut out the world ; 
 
 Her life was failing, she fell to the earth. 
 
 And light, with thought, forsook her, as she lay. 
 
 VII 
 
 But, when the days of weeping were gone by. 
 And the sad lull of her exhausted grief 
 Sank, like a twilight, on her, the old walks. 
 The long familiar places, drew her steps 
 And woo'd her to them. Often, so unchanged 
 Were all things round her — but that he was not — 
 That, as she listen'd to familiar tongues. 
 The murmurs of the household, and the stir 
 
HALCYONE 259 
 
 Of Day, with breezy lights and quivering leaves, 
 
 The birds that flutter'd past in little clouds, 
 
 The ringing of the fountain on the green. 
 
 The rustle of the cypresses and planes, 
 
 And the low music of the Summer sea, 
 
 She stood awhile, and waited for his voice. 
 
 In passing by their bridal-chamber door. 
 
 That stood ajar, she dreamt, a moment's space, 
 
 That she should see him there ; as, oft, of old. 
 
 She had beheld him, when at early morn. 
 
 Returning from the orchard, in her hand 
 
 The fresh fruits blooming, and still pearl'd with dew. 
 
 Ere yet the nightingale had ceased her song. 
 
 Just as the blackbird and the thrush began 
 
 To drown her golden solitary voice. 
 
 That, as the Day wax'd, seem'd to weep farewell, 
 
 With melodies of greeting, she look'd in, 
 
 In passing, saw him still in slumber laid. 
 
 His dark hair flowing over his lax arm, 
 
 A lingering smile upon his dreamy lips. 
 
 And blessing him pass'd on, and was content. 
 
 And now again she pass'd the door ajar. 
 
 All things within were even as they had been ; 
 
 And a child's fancy, half akin to hope, 
 
 Possess'd her. What, if she should see him now 
 
 Stretch'd, as of old, and all the painful past 
 
 Only a dream ? She knew her thought was vain. 
 
 Fantastic — yet she turn'd to look — alas ! 
 
 He was not there, and she shed foolish tears. 
 
26o HALCYONE 
 
 Sometimes a mood came o'er her, startling her, 
 
 Like fatal tidings ; how was it that she 
 
 Had mourn'd for him alive, as for one dead ? 
 
 Was her great grief a prophecy ? a voice 
 
 Sensed in a dream, the sound of which awakes 
 
 The sleeper, and 'tis true what he had dreamt ? 
 
 She moved from out the shadow of that thought 
 
 Into a growing dawn of hope again. 
 
 Days, months were gone, and soon a year would be. 
 
 Why were those days and months so seeming-dead, 
 
 But, like the drowsy winter, to bring back 
 
 The long-lost blossom in a night ? She thought 
 
 She saw him sailing shoreward ; hark ! the cry 
 
 Of many voices, see uplifted hands ; 
 
 How slow the motion, how unkind the winds ! 
 
 Speed then, heart-love, and draw them faster on. 
 
 The land is reach'd, the sail is furl'd, the bark 
 
 Lets fall its anchor, and he steps on shore ! 
 
 And she is there ! no, she is hid awhile 
 
 Behind the lattice of an upper room. 
 
 To dry her happy tears, ere she runs down 
 
 Swift, as an eagle dropping from the sun. 
 
 To clasp him, and he bends his head o'er hers, 
 
 In silence, and then murmurs, " Nevermore 
 
 To part," as she had whisper'd heretofore, 
 
 "Nevermore to return"; and that death-word, 
 
 Like one arisen from death, was glorified. 
 
 So living-sweet that vision in the sight 
 
 Of her mind's eye, it seem'd no peril, or fear. 
 
HALCYONE 261 
 
 No phantasy, no boding could o'ercast 
 The sunny picture ; and she laugh'd aloud, 
 And forward stept to fold him in her arms ! 
 Such glory, like the storm-gleam, is a threat 
 Soon follow'd by the storm. Ah ! better far 
 Had the first sadness frozen more and more, 
 Little and little, till her heart had ceased. 
 Better, if those fond creatures never more 
 Had utter'd note of welcome, and had chill'd 
 Aught like to mirth in her, as blasphemy 
 Against the awful Future. But 'tis so, 
 That ofttimes Good and 111 are shown to us 
 By opposites ; a weird and breathless calm 
 Heralds the earthquake, or the hurricane ; 
 Anon the world-confounding tempest is 
 The lifting of a mighty curtain drawn 
 Across fair days, weeks, months of Summer-time ; 
 And all this joy that sprang up in her heart 
 Was but the pale laugh of the haggard Three, 
 Already by the threshold holding forth 
 The scissors and the thread in bloodless hands ! 
 As the first cold of Winter is most drear. 
 And custom reconciles the frame to bear 
 The blustering snows, and eager mountain flaws. 
 So many days, and hope within the heart — 
 Best gift of the Immortals — takes away 
 The edge of sorrows : little atoms build 
 By day and night the tender lily of Spring ; 
 And secret, trackless motions raise again 
 
262 HALCYONE 
 
 The magic palace of immortal Hope. 
 So she began to comfort her ; she sang 
 To her tame birds again ; they answer'd her ; 
 As though her kindling cheer rekindled theirs 
 Long widow'd of it ; and the great old hound, 
 That had grown thin, and whimper'd in his dreams, 
 Ev'n wagg'd his tail, and seem'd to hear the voice 
 Of her own soul, and look'd into her face ; 
 Then gave a bound and rushed out thro' the door, 
 Making the crags, and cliffs, and caverns hoarse 
 With echoes of his glee. That night she pass'd 
 To her lone chamber, with an infant's hope 
 For a bright morrow : and she dreamt he came 
 And stood before her. " O my love,'' she said, 
 " Wherefore so pale ? '■' and he, " O dearest one, 
 I come for thee ; the ways were long and waste. 
 And wearisome ; o'er mountain paths I toil'd, 
 And thro' dark glens ; by forests, dark and dread. 
 Howling with savage creatures, I have pass'd. 
 And stumbled over twilight wilderness ; 
 And sometimes when I thought to cross dryfoot 
 The rough bed of a river, came the roar 
 Of waters from behind the mountain-walls, 
 And sudden swirling of a torrent, cloven 
 With drowning arms flung up, and shrieks and cries 
 Of multitudes o'erwhelm'd ; and voices wail'd, 
 ' Go back ; wilt thou forsake the glad new world, 
 Where thou art king o'er blissful realms, more fair 
 Than if the fairest gardens of the Earth 
 
HALCYONE 263 
 
 Were pluckt to make an Eden for thee ? wait, 
 And she will seek thee ; or perchance the love 
 Of the old things may forfeit thee the bliss 
 Of the great Life Immortal' " Here he ceased ; 
 And as a pale cloud vanish'd ; but she thought 
 She heard them call to him thro' shrilling winds, 
 And plunging waters, faint and far away. 
 
 VIII 
 
 He stretch'd his arms at parting, and she wept. 
 
 And with that anguish she awoke, and saw 
 
 The last torn banners of a tempest rent, 
 
 And shatter'd in the sunrise ; and she cried — 
 
 " The Gods be thank'd that visions of the Night, 
 
 Like yonder dismal storm-clouds, are dissolv'd. 
 
 And vanish in the bliss of Day ; or I 
 
 Had liefer wake from sleep no more at all. 
 
 So I might follow wheresoe'er he goes." 
 
 Yet, tho' the skies were laughing golden-bright, 
 
 The winds still raved, the waters roll'd, and made 
 
 A choral hymn together, like the tongue 
 
 Of world-wide hosts lamenting all things lost ; 
 
 Or she had surely heard, between the sound 
 
 Of winds and waters, something still more dread. 
 
 Men's voices mourning, women weeping sore ; 
 
 And then again the plunging of the seas. 
 
 The shriek of the mad winds. She rose, she ran. 
 
 Like one prepared to front some terror, worse 
 
264 HALCYONE 
 
 Than all imagined ill ; and it was so. 
 
 Close by the edge of the tall surges lay, 
 
 Half hidden by a crowd, whose eager eyes 
 
 Were bending stilly o'er it, a still form. 
 
 The crowd drew back as she advanced ; some bow'd 
 
 Their heads in silence, some broke forth in wails, 
 
 And sobs; but all turn'd to her, and stretch'd their arms 
 
 Behind them towards the terror ; and she stood. 
 
 The centre of that circle, now become 
 
 Hush'd as the death before her ; and what death ? 
 
 Was it some aged fisher, friend of all, 
 
 Leaving a widow'd wife, and hungry babes ? 
 
 Some hapless stranger from an unknown land ? 
 
 Some fair youth, just about to wed, and cast 
 
 Before the eyes of his betrothed one ? 
 
 Some messenger from kings beyond the seas ? 
 
 When first she stood beside it she could see 
 
 Only a pale thing, hidden under coils 
 
 Of tangled salt-weed, and the face was turn'd 
 
 And press'd the shore; one hand had scrawl'd the sand 
 
 As with a last fierce agony, and his hair 
 
 Lay over his bared shoulders, softly stirr'd 
 
 By the sea-wind. She bad them raise him up ; 
 
 And soon again she knew the well-known face, 
 
 The kingly brows, like heaven, illumined once 
 
 As by two suns, those large eyes, set in night 
 
 For ever ; the broad breast, and ebon locks ; 
 
 The warrior's stalwart arm, the sceptral hand 
 
 Comely yet mighty. Then her answer came — 
 
HALCYONE 265 
 
 " My God ! " she utter'd with a mighty cry, 
 
 "It is your king, the king of all this land ! " 
 
 Then went there up to heaven a shrill lament 
 
 Of the poor fishers, hush'd and meek till then ; 
 
 And knowledge in a moment came to them, 
 
 As when a mighty wind beats back the doors 
 
 Of their lone dwellings by the sea, the while 
 
 A lightning flash lights up all things within. 
 
 For now, in bending o'er him, they beheld 
 
 Him whom they oft had gazed on robed and crown'd. 
 
 Was this the man they had seen in scarlet clad ? 
 
 This poor, afflicted, marr'd and moveless form ? 
 
 Up to the palace walls that mighty cry 
 
 Of woe ascended ; and the cliffs and shores 
 
 Made answer to it, and the weltering seas 
 
 Bore it in lengthening lamentations down 
 
 The winding beach ; she knew not what befell ! 
 
 A hush'd, void interval of utter night 
 
 Wrapt her, wherein nor hope, nor memory shone ; 
 
 And when she woke, she saw the mournful crowd 
 
 Had parted, and again she was alone. 
 
 IX 
 
 Then was she free to wing her woe with words. 
 
 But she is calm, as in her arms she held 
 
 That well-loved head — now dark, with lampless eyes, 
 
 A night, without a star — and to and fro 
 
 She rock'd him, like a babe we lull to sleep. 
 
266 HALCYONE 
 
 So haply she might wake him ; for that face, 
 
 Now turn'd unto the sun, seem'd so serene, 
 
 So painless sweet, that surely this was sleep. 
 
 For is not Death a fearful thing to see ? 
 
 And lo ! as by a charm, divinely wrought 
 
 By the good Gods, in pity for her state. 
 
 Her phantasy, that would have wrapt her round 
 
 With ever-deepening shadows of despair. 
 
 And made her woe vast as a thunder-cloud, 
 
 Took a sweet change, and suddenly became 
 
 As 'twere the rainbow on it ; and she laugh'd, 
 
 And laid her hand among his curls, and spoke 
 
 Her last wild words with utterance like to song. 
 
 " Oh wake ! wake ! my beloved ; it is morn. 
 
 Look how the halcyon skims the azure coves. 
 
 Whose waves are calm ; the wildflowers in the rocks 
 
 Lift up their dewy eyes to this new day ! 
 
 Look, how the sun makes rainbows, as the seas 
 
 Draw back, and leave a mirror on the sands ! 
 
 Down from the uplands, quivering with the tears 
 
 Of the last night, the rippling rillets fall 
 
 With tongues, like argent bells. What ! wilt thou sleep. 
 
 Love, yet awhile ? Then dream such pleasant dreams. 
 
 As shall delight me, when at noon we moor 
 
 Our boat in some sweet haven blue and calm ; 
 
 Where, leaning o'er the side, we shall look down 
 
 Thro' purest hyaline, and see beneath 
 
 Smooth sands of golden grain, a mirror fair 
 
 That shall make pictures of us ; and sea-forms. 
 
HALCYONE 267 
 
 Catching the sunKght on their pearled coats, 
 
 Shall flash, like fire-tongues, from the watery deeps, 
 
 And hide them in cool shadows of our cave. 
 
 For oh ! we will sail forth this summerday, 
 
 And wind among green islets until even ; 
 
 And feast with water-gods, and be attended 
 
 By sea-nymphs, serving us in coral cups 
 
 Drinks, that shall bubble o'er the rosy marge, 
 
 Like the full tide that flings its sparkles up 
 
 O'er the beach, kindling in the crimson East. 
 
 And I will tell thee too how I have dreamt 
 
 A weary dream — too woful to be told — 
 
 But I must tell it thee, dear heart, to-day. 
 
 For now I see thee lying by my side 
 
 Once more, and sorrow's self is changed to joy — 
 
 The thistle blossom'd with a purple flower — 
 
 And thou, methought, my life, hadst fled away, 
 
 Forsaken me, and none could tell me where ; 
 
 Hadst flown thro' perils to the utmost bourne 
 
 Of all this world, to seek forbidden lore. 
 
 To search out the dark Future, while To-day 
 
 With all its idle wealth was left to me — 
 
 Like a big jewel to a beggar blind 
 
 Who would give all to see the light again — 
 
 Bootless to me, when thou, my light, wert not. 
 
 Yet I had hope — hope never left me, dear, — 
 
 That thou wouldst turn again ; that winds, and clouds. 
 
 And threatful seas would scatter at thy word, 
 
 And lull, before the light of that true love, 
 
268 HALCYONE 
 
 The sun that rises fair, and sets in peace. 
 
 And here thou art : but wake ! the sun is high. 
 
 I hear the murmur from the city marts, 
 
 The sound of wheels, the clang of hoofs ; warm Day 
 
 Cheers the great palace, and the prison lone, 
 
 And gilds the lowly hovel ; the very dust, 
 
 That curls, and flies above the horses' manes. 
 
 Sun-smitten glows like mingled smoke and flame. 
 
 All things are waking ; wilt thou not awake. 
 
 And taste the freshness of the morn, ere yet 
 
 The redrose springs from underneath the weight 
 
 Of the full dew-drop ? — hush, what do I say ? 
 
 Thou art aweary, thou hast wandered far ; 
 
 But thou art here again, ah ! thou art here. 
 
 Is that not comfort, bliss enough to make 
 
 Ev'n madness patient ? Thou hadst toil and pain 
 
 To battle with ; rest now. I will not speak. 
 
 But in a whisper, but that whisper low 
 
 Shall breathe into thine ear a thousand sweets, 
 
 Such as no tongue but mine could scatter there." 
 
 Then, bending low, she kiss'd him on the brow. 
 
 Cold, marble-cold ; she started back ; she pass'd 
 
 Her hand across her eyes, as one who wakes. 
 
 Then, with a last dread agonizing cry, 
 
 She flung her arms above her head — " Dead ! dead ! 
 
 Dead!" 
 
HALCYONE 269 
 
 X 
 
 On the morrow morn the seas were calm. 
 The winds had fallen ; only the low moan 
 Of the tired waters, like remorseful sighs 
 Of weary vengeance, rose and fell among 
 The rocks ; the nearer ripples gush'd between, 
 As 'twere a voice of weeping : but the morn 
 Was fair. New life was in the lovely world, 
 A peaceful bliss of sunlit azure skies, 
 Brisk airs, and twinkling leaves, and breathing flowers. 
 But where were they who, but a year ago, 
 Had walk'd those shores, stroll'd under the deep shade 
 Of overhanging gardens, sung together 
 In the clear twilight, or the sweet May-morn ? 
 Here, underneath the domed central hall 
 Of their ancestral towers, two youthful forms. 
 Their dark locks diadem'd, and in their hands 
 Twin lilies snowy-white ; their eyes are closed 
 For ever, but a lovely peace is throned 
 On lip and brow ; the troubles, that had writ 
 Too early lines of sorrow on their cheeks, 
 Seem'd charm'd away by some diviner hand 
 In this last hour of Time ; they almost smiled. 
 A holy quiet fill'd the place ; for awe 
 Hush'd lamentable tongues, and stay'd the tears 
 Of women, while the echoes of the waves 
 Wander'd around, and quavering sunlights struck 
 From the near waters up against the roof. 
 
270 HALCYONE 
 
 And gambol'd there. At last a minstrel came. 
 
 He touch'd his harp, and with a golden voice 
 
 He sang the praise of those who had done good ; 
 
 He sang the loves of those who were no more ; 
 
 Their ancient stem, their glory and their power ; 
 
 Their early sorrows, and their timeless fate. 
 
 " Farewell " — he said — " I would I were as ye. 
 
 For, now the cloud of ill hath roll'd away. 
 
 Your hearts — twin stars — are seen in heaven together. 
 
 Joy not, ye Evil, that a kingly crown 
 
 Is laid aside ; that nought remains of all 
 
 Ye fear'd. Dominion, Judgment, armed Strength, 
 
 That held in mortal hands the lives of men ; 
 
 If ye lose Mercy, have ye lost a foe ! 
 
 Weep not, ye Just, that he your friend is not ; 
 
 Tho' what ye look on now is but a shell, 
 
 A casket rifled of its precious wealth. 
 
 The bright joy in the eye, the thought that moved 
 
 The lip, the kindly voice that breathed the heart. 
 
 What, if the twain, who ruled so wisely here. 
 
 Have power to guide ye better on the seats 
 
 They rule from now ? What, if your hearts, so oft 
 
 Hidden on earth, are open to them there ; 
 
 And they can lavish on ye dews of hope. 
 
 And with sweet consolations feed your hearts 
 
 And all good things — better than all they gave 
 
 Ye heretofore — more precious than the past ? " 
 
 And, when he ended, all the multitude 
 
 Sang a low hymn, which the sea-waters join'd 
 
HALCYONE 271 
 
 In symphony ; sadly it died away, 
 
 And there was silence. Then another sound, 
 
 A flutter of quick wings, and lo ! two birds, 
 
 With plumes, that glanced all colours in the light. 
 
 Up from the waves those rainbow-pictured forms 
 
 Rose, glittering round and round the marble hall 
 
 In ever-narrowing circles, and at last 
 
 Hover'd above the pale brows of the dead ; 
 
 And then they parted with a joyful sound, 
 
 And flew back to the waters, skimming soft 
 
 The azure surface of a quiet cove 
 
 Between the rocks, and vanish'd as they came. 
 
 But all eyes foUow'd ; and the Minstrel spoke — 
 
 His dark eye bright, a smile upon his lips — 
 
 "Think ye, O friends, that these beloved ones 
 
 Will soon be dust, and mingle with the earth, 
 
 Won back to Nature to be lost to Life ? 
 
 What, if their loving spirits came to us 
 
 On fair birds' wings, and dwell among us still, 
 
 In radiant forms ? " And then he bended o'er them. 
 
 Sighing, " Farewell, farewell ! " What made him start ? 
 
 Hears he within his soul, whose finer chords 
 
 Had been attuned ev'n from his earliest years 
 
 To commune with high spirits, the low tones 
 
 That answer'd him ? " And what if we are here. 
 
 In our own forms made godlike, and look down 
 
 On the old mortal tabernacle, changed 
 
 For an immortal temple ? and henceforth 
 
 Are near, to soothe, to counsel, to command. 
 
272 HALCYONE 
 
 To breathe strength in the erring, hope to fears, 
 
 And solace to the downcast ; and remain — 
 
 Once call'd by the high names of King and Queen- 
 
 Your ministers, to serve ye better now 
 
 Than ever ye served us ? Oh ! hear ye not 
 
 Our voices ? " But they heard them not, save one : 
 
 The Immortals could behold Mortality, 
 
 The Mortals could not know the Immortal ones. 
 
PSYCHE 
 
 The Summerday was dying into Even, 
 When Psyche, beautiful as any flower. 
 Psyche the young, the pious, and the piteous. 
 Dear to the King, and dearer to the down. 
 Whose smile to all that teeming countryside 
 Was welcome, as the day unto the earth. 
 Her words as fresh cool springs to eager lips, 
 Turn'd homeward, mirth and garlands on her brow, 
 And blessings round her steps. For oft she spoke 
 Kind words unto the sunburnt vintagers 
 In matin wanderings thro' the vinerows green ; 
 She knew the cottars and their thrifty ways ; 
 She call'd their little children by their names ; 
 And she dropt comfort into poor men's hands ; 
 She help'd the widow with the ready cruse ; 
 She stay'd the sick with flasks, she sat beside 
 The lowly bed of misery and pain, 
 Breathed hope into the ears of the forlorn, 
 Cheer'd the faint babe, and listen'd to the words 
 
 VOL. II T 
 
274 PSYCHE 
 
 Of grave old men. Ah ! sure she went and came 
 
 On ministries of mercy, like a Nymph, 
 
 And left a light upon deserted hearths. 
 
 And in dejected hearts, and bended low 
 
 Her princely state and made it kiss affliction ; 
 
 So that the proud, who hated pride, yet scorn'd her 
 
 For her humility ; but others loved her 
 
 More than their daughters. Psyche, with her maids, 
 
 Came laughing from the noisy festival, 
 
 Her ears still ringing with the festal songs. 
 
 Her rose-wreathed temples reeling with the dance, 
 
 Clomb to her bower, a chamber cool and still, 
 
 And breathing all of faded garden sweets. 
 
 Jasmin, and vervains, and old lavender, 
 
 And savorous herbs, that lay together crush'd 
 
 In some tall vases, wrought with cunning shapes 
 
 Of Dian and her Wood-nymphs, gone to meet 
 
 Pan with his Fauns. And you might see from thence. 
 
 Wandering adown a slope of yellow vines, 
 
 Into a quiet valley, dark with tufts 
 
 Of ancient pines, that rose amid a bower 
 
 Of Summer trees, beyond, a river, curving 
 
 Far oif into the dews and moonlit mist, 
 
 Was lost atwixt the horns of two grey hills. 
 
 Jocund she came. Ah ! sure the marble stair 
 
 Had never echoed to a sweeter sound 
 
 Than her light footfall, glowing with her play, 
 
 Her sandals sprent with green herbs, and the red, 
 
 And golden blossoms strown along the ways, 
 
PSVCHE 275 
 
 For it had been a Summer holiday, 
 
 And all the folk had come from far and near, 
 
 In honour of the morn ; and some had brought 
 
 Gifts to the shrine ; and some had laid the earth 
 
 With fresh buds, flung from panniers piled with Spring. 
 
 Some weary roses, fallen from her wreath, 
 
 Lay tangled in her hair, and in her hand 
 
 A branch of wild fruits, gather'd from the woods. 
 
 Drooping. She sigh'd a httle happy sigh 
 
 Drawn from a long, fair Summerday of mirth ; 
 
 And from a little eager spring, that gush'd 
 
 Into an alabaster conch, and fill'd 
 
 The odorous chamber with a low sweet chime, 
 
 She brimm'd a cup, and quaff'd it all athirst. 
 
 Ere well the bubbles, twinkling in the moon, 
 
 Had burst away. And then from overhead. 
 
 Smiling, she took a little lovely lyre, 
 
 A royal birthday gift, four silver strings, 
 
 That wept themselves down from a golden grot 
 
 Into two slumbering Naiads' golden arms ; 
 
 And wedded it to her delighted voice, 
 
 Whose pure clear joy was holy as a prayer, 
 
 Through a rare song, a song of ancient days, 
 
 A song of Spring, a song of mountains green. 
 
 Of Love, of Freedom, and of Victory. 
 
 And when she ceased a hundred unseen Loves 
 
 Throng'd the slant moonbeam, striving with each other 
 
 For the last note, to waft it up to heaven ! 
 
276 PSYCHE 
 
 II 
 
 She ceased ; and solitude, that echoed not 
 
 Her playful thoughts, began to shadow her 
 
 With soft regrets ; the silence sadden'd her, 
 
 And memories sank like twiHght on her soul. 
 
 Ah me ! I fear the sigh that Psyche breathed 
 
 Was not all born of overweariness. 
 
 Nor was it the sweet death of too much mirth. 
 
 It said — for Psyche utter'd not her thoughts, 
 
 Haply unmindful of the mood she bore, 
 
 And would have chid her conscience for such dreams 
 
 And idle pinings, had she own'd to them — 
 
 But in that sigh there was a subtle voice ; 
 
 It said, "I would I were not left alone 
 
 This blissful moonlight hour ; in such a time 
 
 Twin voices feed each other's tenderness, 
 
 Fair fancies fly into each other's arms, 
 
 And lovely thoughts are married to each other. 
 
 Methinks my damsels, that be lowly born. 
 
 Are more akin to Nature than am I, 
 
 The firstfruits of whose heart are snatched away 
 
 By needy majesty. And one will walk 
 
 Under the shadows of the slumberous trees 
 
 And hear a voice she loves ; and one will sit 
 
 Beside the fountain and forget its chime. 
 
 While softer notes are trembling in her ears ; 
 
 But I am lonely in this kingly house ; 
 
 There is a softer than a father's kiss, 
 
PSYCHE 277 
 
 I would I were not only what I am " ; 
 \Vith that she breathed again that truant sigh ; 
 And, in the spirit of that hush'd regret, 
 Pure as the starlit waters of a spring, 
 She leant her cheek against her arm, her brow 
 Upon the fainting blossoms in her hair. 
 That curved arm amid her loosed locks 
 Lay still, and glitter'd in the pure cold light. 
 Like sculpture, drooping o'er the marble slab 
 Whereon her lamp, a little silver barge, 
 Lit by a Nereid sitting in the prow, 
 Gleam' d, like an Autumn moon, upon the sea. 
 One dewy eyelid with its long dark fringe, 
 One half cheek kindled by the rose within 
 Shone o'er that blissful pillow as she lay, 
 And so she fell asleep. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Hush'd was the hour ; 
 Not yet the gold of the new-risen moon 
 Had changed to silver, and her peaceful face 
 Threw warm beams, like a sweet ghost of the Day, 
 Upon the roofs and pinnacles, and towers 
 Of the hush'd champaign. When she woke from sleep 
 Young Psyche woke the fairest of the three 
 Fair daughters of a king ; ah ! she was fair 
 Amid the cruel aspects of her foes 
 As witching melody, that breaks the dark, 
 
278 PSYCHE 
 
 And brings back memories of youth ; a rose 
 
 Amid the thorns ; a vine upon a rock ; 
 
 A silver river singing thro' the sands. 
 
 She woke from sleep, a sleep of such rare dreams, 
 
 As plumed Summer sheds upon the night. 
 
 When she steps softly forth, at set of sun. 
 
 From her noon rest in some cool lilybell 
 
 Dew-laden, and outspreads her musky wings. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell what dreams sweet Psyche had, 
 
 How colour'd and how fashion'd ? Sooner fix 
 
 The wavering iris on the spider's web. 
 
 That from the roof-tree swings its silver threads, 
 
 Twinkling and dim, and shifts against the light 
 
 Oft as the eye ; or gather up the dust 
 
 Scatter'd from the moth's wings ; or catch the breath 
 
 Of lemon-blooms, that come and go again 
 
 Like blissful thoughts. Perhaps the garden flowers 
 
 Had whisper'd her in sleep how they had fill'd 
 
 Their nectaries with sweets, till she hath stroll'd 
 
 Thro' bowery walks of the Hesperian isles, 
 
 Gathering gold bells that rose above her head. 
 
 And screen'd the midday sun with fair large leaves. 
 
 Or, while she slept, the impassion'd nightingale 
 
 Hath throbb'd a golden note into his ear 
 
 Out of his laurel shadows, and she dream'd 
 
 Of harp-strings, struck unto Elysian song. 
 
 Or some chance beam hath fallen on her face 
 
 Thro' the wove leaves, and she hath seemed to see 
 
 A lover lighten from the purple sky. 
 
PSYCHE - 279 
 
 In beauty and in brightness like the gods, 
 And with the flashing of his amber vest 
 Turn the soft night to day. 
 
 IV 
 
 As she lay there 
 Such dreams had Psyche, and the unfelt wings 
 Of amorous Sylphids had but just forsook 
 Her drowsy lids. And now she lean'd her cheek 
 Against a lazy hand, and, from beneath 
 The odorous archway of a white-rose bough. 
 That stoop'd with all its clusters o'er the roof, 
 Across the darkling lattice open thrown 
 She saw the outspread region in the moon 
 Dimly, the starry night, the lucid air 
 Hush'd in such wondrous calm, as it had been 
 Fix'd by the finger of the God of love. 
 In lovely immortality, unfit 
 For the harsh tongues of the unkindly world. 
 Or dusty tread of toiling men, but laid 
 Forth like a mirror for twin lovers' souls. 
 She look'd into the night, that seemed to hark 
 The pulses of her heart ; but they, alas ! 
 Were not the echoes of sweet phantasies, 
 Hopes, or remember'd joys ; her mournful eyes 
 Gazed without seeing thro' the misty light 
 Of woods, and sleeping gardens, and far streams. 
 To many an island cloudlet in the East, 
 
28o PSYCHE 
 
 That floated thro' the purple ether, steep'd 
 In moony splendours, piled with snowy domes, 
 And citadels of silver ; she had seen. 
 In her short sleep, a sorrow unconsoled 
 By any waking sense, for it was true. 
 
 V 
 
 Her youth — a blessing to the earth — was still 
 
 Unblest, and chill'd with tears ; and her affections, 
 
 Like a full fountain between narrow banks, 
 
 Gush'd forth, and eddy'd back upon themselves. 
 
 Seldom she sang, although her simple heart 
 
 Rose birdlike in the morn, and her rare tongue 
 
 Did not commend itself to their deaf ears 
 
 In tones of love, more sweet than theirs, but seem'd 
 
 To cry, "Shame on ye"; and the tenderness. 
 
 That curved her red lips into gracious smiles. 
 
 When with clear notes she woke them up at morn, 
 
 Leaning her dewy eyelids over them. 
 
 Or left them with a low farewell at even, 
 
 And backward bended neck, and lamp in hand, 
 
 Show'd to their blind sense like the perfidy 
 
 Of her self-flattery. And if some one said, 
 
 " Bless her," it lighten'd like a curse against them. 
 
 But most if her old father, turn'd to them. 
 
 Poising a fond tear in his upward eye, 
 
 As, in a whisper to himself, he said, 
 
 "She is most fair!" with peremptory faith 
 
PSYCHE 281 
 
 Look'd for swift confirmation of his words, 
 
 And cried, "Is she not fair ?" Oh ! those proud sisters 
 
 Liefer had listen'd to the harshest word 
 
 Which that old man might utter — though it were 
 
 To hear their pleasant consciousness of beauty 
 
 Scatter'd with scorn, so that she shared it with them— 
 
 Than feed on adoration, hour by hour. 
 
 Lean by the side of her. But the grey king, 
 
 Relapsing to sweet thoughts of long ago. 
 
 Was answer'd with mere silence, which he took 
 
 For their approval, or with feign'd emotion 
 
 Sprung from some other cause, as some quick thought 
 
 Of recollected duty, some regret. 
 
 Some jocund mood too merry to be chain'd. 
 
 Some passing shadow, howsoever light ; 
 
 So that it served their rancours for a shield. 
 
 And they would start up wildly from their stools. 
 
 And rather weave a toilsome net of lies, 
 
 Than speak a hated truth. Then, if a sound 
 
 Stirr'd in the garden, " Hark !" they cried, "a voice 
 
 Calls from without " ; what fortune ! up they sprang, 
 
 Unbarr'd the lattice, and would rather front 
 
 The burning noon, than answer, " She is fair." 
 
 VI 
 
 Howbeit the heart of Psyche, perfect-sweet. 
 And thriftless of its sweetness, as a rose 
 That to all winds is bounteous, but takes back 
 
282 PSYCHE 
 
 To its sweet heart the bliss it breathed around 
 So bounteously, sweet breath of other flowers — 
 Oh ! she who dealt free graces, tender mercies, 
 Pity, and ready smiles, and pleasant words. 
 Witless of her own treasures, was the first 
 To mark all virtues, and to store all good 
 Fondly, as if her soul, so richly fill'd, 
 Found all the more fair nooks, and quiet cells 
 To house boon memories in, and voices kind. 
 As two sharp thorns beset that lovely rose, 
 And, as it bends its bright head to and fro. 
 Following the enamour'd winds that flow to it. 
 Wound the smooth petals in the constant motion 
 With their hard fixed points ; her lavish spirit. 
 That round about spread circlets of delight. 
 And made wild natures bend to her, and tamed 
 With looks strange foes at strife with one another, 
 Felt the near presence of her proper kin, 
 Her own fair sisters, daughters of one mother, 
 As something evil. For they had forsworn 
 All sympathy of kind, since one spring morn. 
 In the clear twilight of their bridal bower, 
 They had beheld the king and queen together. 
 Over the cradle of the sleeping child 
 Leaning with looks of wonder and of love. 
 And heard the hateful words, " Oh ! she is fair. 
 And still more fair than they." Behind their backs 
 A Fury hover'd, gaunt as Death, beneath 
 The threshold of the outer door, and cast 
 
PSYCHE 283 
 
 Down the long gallery its shadow cold. 
 
 And since that hour that never should have been 
 
 Those dark-brow'd sisters, with thwart eyes of ill, 
 
 Beheld in her blue eyes of tenderness 
 
 The pride of Aphrodite, mocking them ; 
 
 And all her winsome innocence and mirth 
 
 Show'd in their vision as triumphant scorn. 
 
 The elder-born, that should have held her up. 
 
 Like two fair trees clasp'd with one lovely vine, 
 
 And loved each other linked sweetly thus 
 
 More fondly than before ; the wiser hearts 
 
 Like two bass chords of an harmonious lyre 
 
 That tremble to its treble, should have felt 
 
 Their memories echo to her artless hopes 
 
 Utter'd in pure simplicity to them. 
 
 Oh ! those tall maidens, as they stood apart. 
 
 Under an archway in a shadow soft. 
 
 And lovelier than all, save that sweet child. 
 
 Saw in each other's faces bloodless hate. 
 
 Their beauty -vvither'd into fell disdain. 
 
 Like two peach-blossoms smit with frost in March. 
 
 They look'd upon each other with shrunk lips. 
 
 And, from the twilight, of that chamber, flow'd 
 
 Whispers, that in their ears did quickly change 
 
 To hisses, that aroused a hidden brood 
 
 Of serpents in their hearts ; and then they turn'd 
 
 To leave the chamber; but they paused awhile, 
 
 And with reverted eyes again they said, 
 
 " Oh ! she is fairer, fairer still than we ! " 
 
284 PSYCHE 
 
 VII 
 
 How can I number all the illumined drops, 
 
 That glitter on the winds of morn, or count 
 
 The wavering glories on a pearly shell ? 
 
 Or all the woodnotes that the wildbirds sing ? 
 
 Or sum the voices of the lisping sea 
 
 On Summer evens ? Then, how should I record 
 
 All the enchantments from before thee flowing. 
 
 Rare Psyche, as thou walkedst on the earth. 
 
 Kindling the air with beauty, and with music ? 
 
 Sometimes thy laughter, and sometimes thy sorrow, 
 
 And sometimes those sweet rainbows, wove between 
 
 Thy smiles and tears, all were most beautiful. 
 
 And each more beautiful, succeeding each. 
 
 The painters strove together, mad with love 
 
 Of their own works, drawn from her many moods ; 
 
 And after fell to strife with one another, 
 
 Contending for the one look each had seen ; 
 
 And sculptors kiss'd the marble they had wrought. 
 
 Musicians dreamt of her sweet-sounding tongue. 
 
 And multiplied its magic in their tongue. 
 
 As 'twere a spark become a wreathing flame. 
 
 The poets did their best, but scorn'd it all 
 
 When done ; but, had they not, they must have died 
 
 Expressionless. When she went forth, the day 
 
 Gave welcome to her, and, where'er she pass'd, 
 
 They follow'd her in blessing old and young. 
 
 World-weary spirits felt a thrill of youth, 
 
PSYCHE 28s 
 
 And iron hearts vvax'd pitiful, and changed 
 
 At her approach, and men, who had shed blood 
 
 Remorselessly, repented from that hour. 
 
 The boys and girls flung her fresh wreaths of flowers. 
 
 Or bended sly to look into her face ; 
 
 And hungry misery on his crutches rose 
 
 To wonder at that sight ; and from on high 
 
 The marble palaces were throng'd with eyes 
 
 To gaze down on her, and the temple gates 
 
 Grew narrow with the press as she came in. 
 
 The priests went home to dream of her, ev'n they 
 
 In hours of adoration saw but her, 
 
 And from the clouding incense shaped her face. 
 
 And first a whisper ran along the crowd, 
 
 Like wind among the leaves ; and then a murmur, 
 
 As of a gathering exultation, rose. 
 
 And then a mighty cry, " She is not mortal, 
 
 Kypris is not so fair, another Kypris ! 
 
 Hail thou, our island princess ! hail ! all hail ! " 
 
 And eager mothers held their babes on high. 
 
 To catch the light that from her aspect shone ; 
 
 The lame man touch'd her robe, and the blind eyes 
 
 Wept for the love of that they could not see ! 
 
 VIII 
 
 The city maidens, emulous of praise. 
 
 Beheld her and despair'd. And first they shaped 
 
 Their motions and their utterance after hers ; 
 
286 PSYCHE 
 
 As if the colour of a vest, the grace 
 
 Of measured steps, the fashion of the hair, 
 
 A sweet voice, or the radiance of a smile. 
 
 Or all the cunning mimicries of art 
 
 Could change them to that Nature had made her, 
 
 True to herself, and gracious unto all, 
 
 A perfect harmony whose inward parts 
 
 Fill'd up the visible presence with the soul ; 
 
 A lamp of beauty lighted from within. 
 
 And, when they saw that fashion is not form. 
 
 They fell to railing ; and some blamed her eyes. 
 
 They were too blue ; and straight the blue-eyed spoke 
 
 In her defence ; and some disdain'd her speech. 
 
 It was too seldom ; then the silent moved 
 
 Their tongues for modesty ; and so it came 
 
 That all, who thought themselves rebuked in her, 
 
 Stood up her vouchers. So she grew in fame. 
 
 Till the great tide of her continued triumph 
 
 Drew into it all passions, all opinions. 
 
 And those, that were her rivals, grew at last 
 
 To be her flatterers ; and their envious scorn, 
 
 Turn'd from its mark, fell on the heads of those 
 
 That rose against her. But, oh ! Psyche dreamt not 
 
 Of glory, or of praise, or sought the eyes 
 
 That gazed upon her, and her virgin heart 
 
 Wept, for she loved not worship, but affection. 
 
 Her barren honours quench'd that love, no more 
 
 Than thirsty wanderers in a wilderness 
 
 Can drink the mist, that tempts them from afar. 
 
PSYCHE 287 
 
 And yet the mountain-nymphs were not so blithe 
 
 As she when soaring on freehearted song ; 
 
 And she would dance before her father's chair 
 
 Till the flowers dropt upon her heated brow, 
 
 And fell upon the floor ; and her quick breath 
 
 Drown'd her gay laughter and her jocund words. 
 
 Or, when she fiU'd the golden antique cup, 
 
 That kings had drain'd on coronation days, 
 
 In festal banquet-rooms, or after battle 
 
 Under the tent had lifted to their lips, 
 
 AVhile the foe fled amid the dust afar. 
 
 And they put off" their helms, as, bending low, 
 
 ^Vith one knee on the footstool of her sire. 
 
 She raised to him the blood-red wine, and he 
 
 Murmuring would put her back, her rare smile won 
 
 The king to do that honour to himself. 
 
 And who so happy if a merry word 
 
 Fell from his lips ? or, if a tender look 
 
 Glanced on her, who so fond and proud as she ? 
 
 IX 
 
 Ah ! sure the Gods, who wake and watch for all, 
 With patience shield afflicted innocence, 
 And fill with love the heart that throbs with pain. 
 Else Psyche's had been broke — for, had she striven, 
 And scorn'd, and answer'd evil words with ill, 
 Her tender nature, scorch'd with fiery heats, 
 Had wither'd as a blossom without rain, 
 
288 PSYCHE 
 
 And shed its delicate hues ; or, had she wept 
 But half the tears that throng'd within her heart, 
 Like that same blossom with the rain-drops wet, 
 Been frozen unto death by frosts of scorn. 
 What solace is there for a callow dove, 
 Torn by the vultures, but to flee, and hide 
 Within the secret silence of deep boughs, 
 And nestle under loving wings, and mourn 
 Its low-toned anguish to one faithful ear ? 
 High in a bower, that look'd across the land 
 Beyond the palace gardens, over realms 
 Of breezy forest, dales of fluttering vine. 
 O'er templed steeps, and sheeny villages. 
 Far as the silver margin of the sea, 
 One sat apart who seem'd not of this world. 
 An aged woman of an hundred years ; 
 One who had been a nurse unto the queen 
 Stricken in years herself A marvel she 
 Of snowy age ; and yet so bright her eye 
 Beneath her pale and venerable brows, 
 All written o'er with unremember'd moments, 
 And still remember'd hours, that it might seem, 
 As tho' the gather'd thoughts of all her life 
 Burn'd like a beacon there. She sat and whirl'd 
 Her crazy distaff" with a crazy hand. 
 And span and span, and look'd toward the fields 
 She could not see. Ofttimes she mutter' d, oft 
 She shook her head and sigh'd, for then she felt 
 The sunbeams creeping o'er her face, and knew 
 
PSYCHE 289 
 
 It made the hidden world more beautiful. 
 
 She felt the soft wind kiss her, and she heard 
 
 The wild bees moaning round her cherish'd flowers, 
 
 And urns of spikenard ; and two lazy doves 
 
 Coo'd to each other in an open arch. 
 
 So she lived on and span, and sigh'd for Fate 
 
 To snap their thread, and seem'd as weird as they. 
 
 But all the records of that kingly house 
 
 Were homed in that old brain ; she knew how oft 
 
 The funeral trumpet, and the bridal torch 
 
 Had pass'd beneath the gates ; the sad old tales, 
 
 And ghostly echoes of the days of old. 
 
 And now the oracles were not so wise 
 
 As her great age. Therefore, in grief or joy. 
 
 In hushes 'mid the tumults of the world. 
 
 They came to her, and all perplexed thoughts. 
 
 Doubts, angers, hopes, imaginations, fears. 
 
 They whisper'd in her old familiar ear. 
 
 They fear'd no more her frowning brows, her voice, 
 
 Her crutch once awful to their innocence, 
 
 A rod of chastisement, an arm of succour, 
 
 A wand to beckon from the earth or air 
 
 All that they loved or fear'd. And now the spells, 
 
 That ruled them children, broken in their hearts. 
 
 By growing years had soften'd into love ; 
 
 Love still could seek the chamber in the tower, 
 
 And listen to the voice it once had fear'd, 
 
 Though it was weak and faint ; and its sage words. 
 
 And snatches of old songs, and mumbled sounds, 
 
 VOL. II u 
 
29.0 PSYCHE 
 
 That from the ruin'd chambers of her brain 
 
 Shook hke the dust of ages. Psyche came 
 
 One morn, and laid against the aged heart 
 
 Her tear-dropt cheek, and murmured, " O old friend, 
 
 Were they not what they are, my sisters, tall 
 
 And beautiful, the daughters of one mother 
 
 Joining her soft eyes to my father's brows. 
 
 At their unkindness tho' mine eyes might weep, 
 
 I still might seek for comfort, in the hope 
 
 To win with years, and patience, and goodwill, 
 
 Their hard averted hearts ; with timely acts 
 
 To make their pulses tremble unto mine, 
 
 And w^arm their strange blood into tenderness. 
 
 But, if the love of nature be not there, 
 
 Can friendship build a nest in kindred hearts, 
 
 Or slowly piece together little things 
 
 As birds and bees that know not what they do. 
 
 In spite of cruel instincts that oppose. 
 
 Till a fair fabric rise before their reason, 
 
 And take it captive spite of evil will ? 
 
 Will they, who chide my laughter, scorn my songs, 
 
 I^ove me the more when doleful age hath made 
 
 My unloved face unlovelier ? Will they mock 
 
 My unskill'd tongue the less, when daily grief 
 
 Hath made it tuneless, or I cease to sing? 
 
 If I am vain, slight-hearted ; if their beauty 
 
 Heaven hath not dealt me — for they tell me so, 
 
 They tell me hourly — and if all my words 
 
 Be idle, ignorant, unprofitable, 
 
PSYCHE 291 
 
 Oh ! would not Nature's love — as thine, dear friend, 
 
 Which never fail'd us — rather veil my faults, 
 
 And gild my poverty, and hide it from me, 
 
 Than show it to me, as though one should chide 
 
 A hungry beggar for his nakedness ? 
 
 Oh ! kindly Nature kindles with her sun 
 
 Bare rocks, and barren sands, and icy peaks, 
 
 And with divine enchantment turns the nought 
 
 Of darkness into all the wealth of day ! 
 
 Who knows but with soft accents they might change 
 
 Mine evil into good, with timely smiles 
 
 They might subdue the froward heart they blame ? 
 
 Yet, as I muse, I guess not what they mean ; 
 
 For never anger lived within me, nor 
 
 Vainglory, such as they have charged to me, 
 
 But only that pale flower of love, that breathes 
 
 The best it can, when trodden under foot, 
 
 And lifts its dying head that never dies. 
 
 I never pull'd a rose for Helen's hair. 
 
 But she would fling it down upon the ground ; 
 
 I never twined my arms round Rhoda's neck, 
 
 But she would thrust me back with frowns, or blows ; 
 
 I who can never pluck a butterfly 
 
 Out' of a lilybell, for fear to fray 
 
 Its filmy wings : they know not what they do." 
 
 Then would she sigh, and weep, and wreathe her arms 
 
 About the aged one, and cry, " O mother, 
 
 Learn me art's magic, learn me charms to win 
 
 Them whom I love ; 'tis long to sow, and bide 
 
292 PSYCHE 
 
 Thro' loveless years, and then perchance to reap 
 
 Only despair ! Ah ! rather let me die, 
 
 And lay my youth beside the aged bones 
 
 Of those, who pass before me out of time, 
 
 Than live, when they are gone, with none to love me ! 
 
 So I have sought thee rather than my own 
 
 Fond mother ; for, if thou canst hear my voice. 
 
 Thou canst not look upon my troubled face, 
 
 Else would my words be frozen in their flow. 
 
 And half the secrets of my soul be hid." 
 
 So did poor Psyche, artless of all ill 
 
 To others, chide herself, and mourn in vain, 
 
 Sue heaven for graces which she could not lack, 
 
 And pray for love, or death. Her golden hair 
 
 Stream'd o'er her ivory shoulders as she knelt 
 
 Grief-stricken ; her fair arms, beneath her cross'd, 
 
 Pillow'd her aching brows ; the blind one felt 
 
 The throbbing of that innocent heart awake 
 
 Once more the dying pulses of her own 
 
 With sorrow and with scorn ; for she had loved 
 
 Psyche more than her sisters ; she, the youngest. 
 
 The fairest and the best — now she was blind — 
 
 Sweet as the last beam of the lovely light, 
 
 Ere her old eyes were seal'd unto the world, 
 
 Lay in her memory. Slowly she arose. 
 
 And, fondly feeling for the radiant head 
 
 Of that dear child, she said, " Ah ! welladay, 
 
 Ah ! weary hour, that I should live to hear 
 
 The Furies mutter in this honour'd house. 
 
PSYCHE 293 
 
 Sooner than this I should have lost mine ears 
 
 Together with mine eyes. In this strange world 
 
 Jll things keep pace with good ; blossoms have blights ; 
 
 Foul cankers eat away the core o' the rose ; 
 
 The serpent creeps into the cuckoo's nest ; 
 
 And worms lie gnawing in the heart o' the nut ; 
 
 And all things have their shadows ; and, my child, 
 
 Wisdom on crutches walks. What wonder then 
 
 If thy young beauty, promising so richly, 
 
 Is peck'd at ere 'tis ripe ; thy blue-eyed youth 
 
 Is torn and chatter'd at by wicked pies 
 
 That yearn to snatch thy plumes ? But have good cheer. 
 
 Dear child, ere these old eyes were dark as night, 
 
 One morn, as thou wert in thy nurse's arms. 
 
 And thy two sisters sported at her side. 
 
 Gathering wild berries, stringing flowers, or ran 
 
 Under the dewy coverts to peep in 
 
 Where blackbirds chanted loudly ; I myself. 
 
 Wandering not far apart, came up to thee, 
 
 To look upon thee, and I saw thy face 
 
 Lit by a sunbeam suddenly, as 'twere 
 
 A little golden picture, set around 
 
 With green leaves of the forest ; and I mark'd 
 
 Upon thy infant forehead, lilywhite, 
 
 A blue vein, like a tiny river, run. 
 
 And then I said unto myself, alas ! 
 
 Again I see the warning I once saw 
 
 On my own babe's fair brow. For long ago 
 
 The old folk told me this, that they had heard 
 
294 PSYCHE 
 
 From other ancients, and so long ago, 
 
 So long, they hardly knew if it were speech, 
 
 Or something whisper'd to them in a dream ; 
 
 That blue vein, that divides the forehead clear 
 
 Into two portions with its azure line 
 
 So clearly graven, signifies the death 
 
 Too soon, as of white violets ere their time, 
 
 Sunn'd into life by a too flattering Spring, 
 
 Of the young child who shows the mystic sign ; 
 
 Or a long life of all prosperity. 
 
 Riches, and honours, and delights. She died, 
 
 Ev'n as I fear'd ; but thou, I ween, wilt live 
 
 Daughter of Princes, when ill tongues have ceased ; 
 
 Wilt live to prove the double of that sign. 
 
 The sunshine, not the shadow ; and my words 
 
 Will come to thee hereafter, when thy words 
 
 No more can come to me. For this I pray 
 
 The Immortal Gods ; and, if 'twere possible. 
 
 Thou couldst die early, that thy death may be 
 
 A victory crown'd with everlasting life ; 
 
 And so the twofold oracle on thy front 
 
 Doubly fulfilled in thee for ever bless thee ! " 
 
 X 
 
 Then Psyche lifted up her head and spoke. 
 " O mother, mother, what I tell thee now 
 Will seem impossible to mortal ears. 
 And yet 'tis true ; who would believe the sun 
 
PSYCHE 295 
 
 Who had not seen it, though all tongues should join 
 
 To witness to it ? or divine the sea, 
 
 Because a thousand eyes had look'd on it ? 
 
 Great things are less than little, if the tale 
 
 Of their great glory draws not sympathy 
 
 From listening ears. So many things have been 
 
 Since Time was, and will be till Time is not, 
 
 Which are too mighty for the vulgar sense. 
 
 And so in their supremacy o'ertop 
 
 All vision, even as the tiniest things. 
 
 Smaller than grains of dust, or motes of mist. 
 
 Lie under it. How shall I tell thee all. 
 
 And yet seem to thee not the maddest thing 
 
 That ever went unbound ? For, O dear friend, 
 
 I love, and yet my lover is not man. 
 
 And, though I keep his image in my heart, 
 
 The substance is not seen upon this earth. 
 
 Or to my waking eyesight. If I turn 
 
 Coldly away from flattering arts, and see 
 
 But faintest moonshine in the courtly smiles 
 
 Of those, who seek me for my state alone. 
 
 After that midnight sun who shines on me 
 
 As in some lands the sun of Nature lights 
 
 The world when men are sleeping ; if I seek 
 
 In vain some semblance of the God I dream — 
 
 Tho' 'tis not dreaming, for I see and hear 
 
 The changes of his aspect and his voice. 
 
 And not a word falls from him but my heart 
 
 Drinks in, my soul approves — 'tis that by day 
 
296 PSYCHE 
 
 All beauty of humanity is nought, 
 
 Beside that treasured memory ; and the least 
 
 Faint glimmer of it in the face of man 
 
 But serves to mock me, minding me of all 
 
 Still lacking to the glory of the whole ; 
 
 As the sad moonbeam trembling on the sea, 
 
 Of the full blaze of noon. But, if I hear, 
 
 And see, and know, and feel, alas ! alas ! 
 
 When day comes back, and I return to day, 
 
 As to a sickly world of phantoms, whence 
 
 The greater light is banish'd, oh ! I weep, 
 
 I weep to think the fair brief night is past. 
 
 And then, a miracle ! for not in vain 
 
 I strive — as once I strove to gather up 
 
 With tears the loose pearls of a broken chain 
 
 Strewn on the marble floor, lest I should lose 
 
 One only of the precious gems I took 
 
 That morning from my mother, — not in vain. 
 
 For with the yearning, fixed will I can 
 
 Rethread upon my heartstrings the sweet words 
 
 Of wisdom utter'd to my soul in sleep. 
 
 And then the lovely spirit of the whole 
 
 Reigns o'er me ; while that dreadful thought, I love, 
 
 Vibrates within me, lighting to despair 
 
 My lone young life ; for oh ! I know not who 
 
 Nor whence he is, nor whither he may draw 
 
 My virgin widowhood more sorrowful 
 
 Than any penury, wherein memory shares 
 
 Of past abundance ; for both worlds are shut, 
 
PSYCHE 297 
 
 Both earth and heaven ; the one I cannot share, 
 
 The other may not reach ; yet I must love. 
 
 Then let me die that I may meet my love ; 
 
 Or know for sure that all was but a dream. 
 
 The wounded bird, that struggles in mid-air. 
 
 Is but a feeble image of this doom ! 
 
 Oh ! all goes back behind the folding gates 
 
 Of sleep, except the image of that bliss 
 
 Unparallel'd ; and when I stretch my arms 
 
 To clasp the peerless vision, I awake, 
 
 Folding within these arms my own fond mother, 
 
 Her aspect sorrowful, her earnest eyes 
 
 Dewy with tears ; for she is ever by 
 
 To watch my waking, wonder in her looks 
 
 To see the sudden sorrow in my face 
 
 After the light that shone there just before. 
 
 It was the eve of the great festival. 
 
 And, weary of delights, I laid my head 
 
 Amid the flowers fresh-gather'd ; and the moon 
 
 Rain'd o'er my little fountain by the wall 
 
 Its own soft radiance, till its waters ran 
 
 A stream of stars, the while its tinkling flow 
 
 LuU'd me to summer slumber. Still I saw. 
 
 Or seem'd to see, the chamber dark, and bright 
 
 With midnight gleams and gloomings ; but its hush 
 
 Seem'd to speak to me lovingly, its light 
 
 Wax'd golden-soft rather than silver ; all 
 
 The space grew vaster, and its twilights fiU'd 
 
 With odours sweeter than my wildflower bells. 
 
298 PSYCHE 
 
 And all without, drown'd in the ocean pale 
 Of breathless glory, was a paradise, 
 Such as my waking eyes had never seen. 
 Such forests surged amid the mountain folds, 
 Such regal summits glitter'd, and such streams, 
 Mighty and calm, wound in and out the woods, 
 And not a motion stirr'd. But, as I gazed. 
 In wonder, something on the topmost peak 
 Shone like a fire ; it rested not, but leapt 
 The perilous height, like to a falling star. 
 Waved o'er the waving woodlands, and along 
 The viny champaign flew right onward. Then 
 It rose again into the sheeny air, 
 Upon the slanting broad beams of the moon 
 Glanced downward silently, then paused awhile ; 
 And that star-brightness took a living form. 
 And face, more lovable than aught on earth. 
 And I could tell, as I look'd on him, all 
 That all the phantasies of all this world 
 Might leave untold for ever. I could tell 
 That what I look'd on was the outward sign 
 Of all I held within me ; in that face, 
 That mutely smiled upon me, there were traced 
 What seem'd my own far memories, fold in fold, 
 And hopes too subtle to be snatch'd, except 
 For one wild moment, passionate instincts, flames 
 Of exultation, tenderness of ruth, 
 Mingled with momentary flashing fears. 
 And pains. Ev'n all, that on this earth of ours 
 
PSYCHE 
 
 Had stirr'd my heart, moved on that countenance, 
 
 As on a wondrous harp of many strings 
 
 Manifold music ; and I knew it all ; 
 
 And knew that I and that diviner one 
 
 Could never more be parted, tho' we met 
 
 No more for ever ; that my days of life 
 
 Were ended if he came not. For no use 
 
 Remain'd for me but to forget no more 
 
 For ever for a moment the fair face. 
 
 That had look'd on me, and made fully known 
 
 That he was mine and I was his ; or death 
 
 Of body and of soul were better far. 
 
 Than to lament and live for evermore. 
 
 And then I heard him utter holy words 
 
 In such a voice, as when a melody, 
 
 Wrought wonderfully, takes the raptured ear 
 
 With an omnipotence, that breaks the gates 
 
 Of sense, and reaches inward to the soul, 
 
 And reigns therein by day and night, and makes 
 
 All other sounds as vanity. As he spoke 
 
 I heard my dearest hopes and phantasies 
 
 Utter'd like music. ' Yes,' he said, ' my soul 
 
 Knows thee, beloved soul, my thought thy thought. 
 
 And my love thine ; and, tho' not yet on earth 
 
 Thou couldst be one with him who is in heaven, 
 
 Nor he in heaven with her who is on earth. 
 
 Yet, as the moon is nought without the sun. 
 
 Thou hast from me drunk in my spirit, I 
 
 Have drawn from thee the knowledge, that thou art 
 
 299 
 
300 PSYCHE 
 
 The one predestined for me, out of all 
 
 Incalculable creatures, gods or men. 
 
 And loves innumerable. Now is the time 
 
 That I may woo thee, O my promised bride, 
 
 That I may tell thee, all I am to thee, 
 
 All thou shalt be to me. The time is come, 
 
 As when the curtain of the dark is raised 
 
 Before the day, and thro' the golden deeps 
 
 Of the unfathomable orient 
 
 Thy sight flies inward, inward ; till the sun 
 
 Leaps up, and light and heat are wed together. 
 
 Listen, beloved, for the earth is deaf 
 
 To holy things, as when the sun is set. 
 
 And the last purple of the west is cold. 
 
 All hearts are darken'd, but thine own, thy one, 
 
 Which I have cared to feed with thoughts, beyond 
 
 Thy years and time, by secret influences 
 
 As those that, whether waking or asleep, 
 
 Sustain the hidden framework, night and day. 
 
 Of thy frail body which is born to die ; 
 
 So have I fed thy soul unknown to thee. 
 
 And, if I show'd Thee in my changeful face 
 
 My heart's unfailing sympathy with thine, 
 
 Because, thine unseen guardian, I drank in 
 
 Its many moods, and loved them, henceforth thou 
 
 Shalt give me back, when thou hast known me well, 
 
 An answering throb for every pulse of mine.' 
 
PSYCHE 301 
 
 XI 
 
 " He paused awhile, and then his voice became 
 
 More solemn in its tone, tho' not less tender. 
 
 He said, 'Beloved, I will tell thee now 
 
 Of things, yet unreveal'd to mortal man, 
 
 Divinest mysteries, that shall be known 
 
 Hereafter, when the soul of Man shall be 
 
 Best fitted to receive '; and thus he spake : 
 
 ' From uncreated substance all things flow ; 
 
 And all the causes are but effluences 
 
 From one eternal Essence ; from His life 
 
 Do all things hold their own, and, as He lives. 
 
 They live ; for they but shadow in finite 
 
 His Infinite ; and He hath set the seal 
 
 Of his own image upon all his works. 
 
 But Man is likest God : he is the king 
 
 Of Nature, in his person summing all 
 
 Her attributes. As She, throughout her vast 
 
 Extension, symbols his humanity. 
 
 Love, sex, and marriage, so Man images 
 
 The Male and Female of the highest one, 
 
 Which are the Wisdom and the Love Divine ; 
 
 And Love, flown down from heaven upon the earth. 
 
 Is Female, and discreted wisdom Male. 
 
 Look on the sun, which, in thy world of Space 
 
 And Time, is Nature's mirror of her God, 
 
 Of her Creator ; how the heat and light 
 
 Are to the earth His wisdom and His Love, 
 
302 PSYCHE 
 
 The one illuming, interpenetrating, 
 
 The other unfolding and expanding all. 
 
 Consider how that every spark, that flies 
 
 Forth from that central glory, ev'n the least, 
 
 Are separate suns, and from them radiate 
 
 Both light and heat, as, from the Love and Truth 
 
 Of God each separate fresh-created form. 
 
 Which He throws out into the Universe 
 
 From Self-existent Being, and informs 
 
 With His own Life, reflects in its degree 
 
 The Male and Female of the highest one. 
 
 Which are the Wisdom and the Love Divine. 
 
 All things are male and female, twofold all, 
 
 Ev'n from the highest lives in highest heaven 
 
 Down to the atom elements on earth, 
 
 And Love itself the everlasting chain 
 
 That winds through all things ; and the outward world. 
 
 In all its forms, is but the endless pomp 
 
 Of bridal triumphs, which are visible signs 
 
 Of the invisible. Whether typified 
 
 By manifold breathing life of man, and beast, 
 
 And bird, and creeping things ; or lower forms 
 
 Of green tree, herb, and flower ; or by the cold 
 
 Insentient stone, and metal ; 'tis the same, 
 
 Infinite complex of the Good and True, 
 
 Picturing in all created worlds 
 
 The Infinite Dual of the Highest One, 
 
 That sheds itself — as the all-searching sun 
 
 In light and heat through all material things — 
 
PSYCHE 
 
 Through every form of being, making two 
 
 Of every creature, thro' the one Great Whole ; 
 
 Reflect, and supplement each other's Kfe, 
 
 As bride and bridegroom ; and all Life flows on 
 
 From contact of twin opposites, that make 
 
 One harmony ; no other spring of Life 
 
 But Love and Marriage, or in earth or heaven. 
 
 And as each leaf, and flower, and grain of dust. 
 
 And every atom, moulded into shape, 
 
 Are Male and Female, so the soul of Man, 
 
 Foremost image of the One Supreme ; 
 
 For Will is Female, Understanding Male. 
 
 And as the husband and the wife uphold 
 
 Each other, mutually give and take. 
 
 So Love and Truth exchange their fire and light. 
 
 And blend together till the two are one. 
 
 And as the Highest in His Infinite 
 
 Is twofold, so each separate human soul 
 
 Of Man or Woman, in its proper self 
 
 Is Male and Female both, the Woman more 
 
 Vessel of Love, of Understanding less, 
 
 Man less of Love, of Understanding more.' 
 
 And, whensoe'er he paused, I answered him 
 
 With radiant light of love ineffable ! 
 
 ' Within the sanctuary of his being Man 
 
 ^^'■orshipp'd the love and wisdom of his God, 
 
 Reflected in his own, and loved himself 
 
 Beyond all creatures ; for he saw therein 
 
 All that was rarest and most excellent. 
 
 303 
 
304 PSYCHE 
 
 For all that was in separate vessels held, 
 Whether in mineral, in fair flower, green tree, 
 In fish, or bird, or beast, he held them all. 
 Under imperial rule of his own form, 
 Within the kingdom of his single life. 
 But still he was alone, and what he loved — 
 The marvels, and the might of his own soul — 
 Loved not again ; the wonders, that he saw 
 Within him, made no answer to his prayer. 
 The beauty, which his silent thoughts adored, 
 Was to his sense unseen, while every form 
 Around him look'd up with rapt eyes to his. 
 The blossoms breathed to him, the low wind sigh'd, 
 And woodbirds gave him back in flowing songs 
 The sweetness of affections, springing up 
 Within'him silently ; the world without 
 Brought him delights and homage, gave him all, 
 Save that he dreamt of, yearn'd for, the sole form, 
 That might look up, in likeness of himself. 
 To the Supreme, as all this radiant world 
 Look'd up to him ; something his spirit shaped. 
 Whose loveliness might charm him like the rose 
 Held in his hand ; enchant him, as the sun 
 At morn above the mountains ; soothe his soul. 
 Like the soft stars at midnight, and respond. 
 As the lone echoes to his own clear voice. 
 But with a living tongue, and speak to him 
 Freely, and of itself; and charm him on — 
 As he could draw the wild things with a song — 
 
PSYCHE 30s 
 
 With rapturous heaven-born utterance, like his own, 
 
 And make the world within his heart a sphere 
 
 Lit by a lovelier sun than Nature's own, 
 
 With love for him alone ! ' I answer'd him 
 
 With radiant light of love ineffable ! 
 
 Howbeit, ever as his golden words 
 
 Ceased, and his presence vanish'd, and I wept, 
 
 Sighing, ' Oh ! how shall I remember all 
 
 That he hath said, or half?' my memory fill'd. 
 
 Like my dark chamber, with the rising sun. 
 
 And every syllable that he had spoken 
 
 Came back as it doth now ; for, oh ! it seems, 
 
 When I am waken'd to the outer world, 
 
 His spirit whispers to an inner sense 
 
 All that he utter'd first unto my soul ; 
 
 Or how should my frail nature sound the deeps 
 
 Of heaven-born revelations such as these. 
 
 More than this body soar amid the stars ? 
 
 But thus I make them a famihar mood. 
 
 And learn by musing ; as a dazzled eye 
 
 By little and by little fronts the hght." 
 
 XII 
 
 So, every night of the full moon, he came 
 Into her chamber, and she heard his voice. 
 But ever, with the waning moon, they saw 
 Her strength go from her, and her beauty grew 
 Transparent, as a lily in the Ught 
 
 VOL. II X 
 
3o6 PSYCHE 
 
 Of dying day ; and her still breathing form 
 
 It seem'd too rude a breath might bear away. 
 
 Till, one bright morn, she came not forth, and all 
 
 Went up in fear, for they had ceas'd to hope. 
 
 They cross'd the threshold with swift steps, but hush'd. 
 
 And not a voice was heard ; and they look'd down 
 
 Upon her face, whereon a sunbeam lay 
 
 That glorified it ; for a while they stood, 
 
 And thought she slept, for still the rose of life 
 
 Bloom'd on her cheek, and still a happy smile 
 
 Moulded her lip, as tho' she saw in dream 
 
 Again the wonders she had seen before. 
 
 But they who watch'd her wearied, for the rose 
 
 Died from her cheek, the smile from off her lip. 
 
 Yet the pure graces of the virgin form 
 
 Changed not, nor lifeless marble was more cold 
 
 Than that unbreathing beauty, which to take 
 
 For sculptured fancy were an easy thing. 
 
 And, if but hungry death had held his hand, 
 
 Nor marr'd that rare and visible harmony, 
 
 There was a marvel to all ages left. 
 
 Better than carved work, or poet's dream. 
 
 Then in the silent chamber there uprose 
 
 The sound of weeping ; but she was not there. 
 
 They knew they look'd on something that had been. 
 
 And, having lost the inmost all of all. 
 
 Was not, and should never be again. 
 
 They knew they look'd on all that was of all 
 
 That had been, something less than the cold stone, 
 
PSYCHE 307 
 
 The image that hath neither heart nor brain, 
 
 And yet, if it had sight, might mock at men. 
 
 And see their countless generations die, 
 
 Triumphant in its beauty over all. 
 
 They call'd to her ; she was not there, she heard 
 
 No mourning voice, she saw no hopeless tears ; 
 
 She seem'd to waken in a sea of light, 
 
 Wherein there moved beloved shapes she knew. 
 
 Who raised her up, and bad her welcome home. 
 
 As swoons a babe into the world of sleep. 
 
 And wakens there to unimagined things 
 
 Breathed by the loving spirits in its soul. 
 
 With every moment clearer grew her sense 
 
 Of all things round her. Then she heard a voice, 
 
 " Make ready, and put on thy bridal robes. 
 
 Thy heavenly garments sent thee from the JCing." 
 
 She heard the virgins singing, and the sound, 
 
 As of a jubilee, from open doors, 
 
 That rose and fell upon the sunny morn ; 
 
 And all that song so moved the listeners' ears. 
 
 And hers too, that there lapsed into her soul 
 
 Blissful serenest calm and joy divine ! 
 
 XIII 1 
 
 And then behold an Angel enter'd in. 
 
 And stood before her. " Come with me," he said. 
 
 ^ The following two pages are paraphrased from one of the " Memor- 
 able Relations " of Swedenborg in the Conjugial Love. 
 
3o8 PSYCHE 
 
 Straightway she foUow'd him, until they reach'd 
 The nuptial palace, and the doors were open'd ; 
 Another Angel welcomed them. " I am," 
 He said, "thy bridegroom's messenger,'' and led 
 The way into a vestibule, and show'd 
 The seats prepared for them ; and there was set 
 A table in the middle of the hall. 
 Whereon there stood a seven-branch'd candlestick 
 With golden sconces, and along the walls 
 Hung silver lamps ; and, when the lamps were lit. 
 The atmosphere of the whole chamber breathed 
 A golden softness ; other tables stood 
 Hard by, whereon were order'd loaves of bread 
 In triple row ; and every corner had 
 Its little stand with crystal goblets set 
 For wine. And, as they look'd on all these things, 
 A door was open'd near the marriage chamber ; 
 Six virgins issued, then the bridegroom's self; 
 ' And lo ! he was the lover of her dreams ! 
 And, as she stood in sweet astonishment. 
 He took her by the hand ; the blessed pair 
 Took seats before the golden candlesticks. 
 The bride on the right hand, and by her side 
 The virgins ranged ; the bridegroom on the left 
 Carried what seem'd a mitre on his head. 
 And wore a purple vesture, and beneath 
 A tunic of bright linen, belted round 
 With lustrous girdle boss'd with golden plate, 
 Circled with gems, and, graven on the plate, 
 
PSYCHE 
 
 309 
 
 An eagle, ensign of that marriage sphere 
 
 Above, the heavenly host whereto henceforth 
 
 They should belong ; the bride in scarlet shone 
 
 Above a garment of fine needlework 
 
 Of rarest tissue ; and beneath her breast 
 
 A golden girdle, and upon her head 
 
 A crown of gold with rubies. As they sat. 
 
 The bridegroom turn'd and look'd upon the bride, 
 
 And on her finger put a ring of gold. 
 
 And claspt both wrists, and hung her neck with pearls, 
 
 Saying, " Accept these pledges," which she took ; 
 
 And then he kiss'd her, murmuring, "Thou art mine !" 
 
 Then all the marriage guests assembled there, 
 
 First each one uttering with his single voice. 
 
 And then in choral acclamation all, 
 
 " Blessing divine attend upon ye both ! " 
 
 When they were silent, yet another form 
 
 Majestical took up the blissful words, 
 
 For he appear'd amid that company 
 
 In place of the Great King himself; and lo ! 
 
 A rolling smoke of odours breathed from high 
 
 In token of supreme approval, fill'd 
 
 The chamber ; then the immortals ministrant 
 
 Took from the table by the candlestick 
 
 The loaves of bread, and from the corner ones 
 
 Cups fill'd with wine, and gave to every guest. 
 
 They ate and drank ; the bridegroom and the bride 
 
 Then rose together, and the virgins six 
 
 Holding the lamps of silver walk'd with them 
 
310 PSYCHE 
 
 Up to the threshold of the nuptial chamber, 
 And then the married pair went in together. 
 Then a wise man, one of the marriage guests. 
 Said to the strangers, " Have ye understood ? " 
 (For there were souls of strangers from the earth 
 Permitted for a time to look on things 
 Supernal, while the body lay in trance) 
 They answer'd, " But a little ; tell us why 
 The bridegroom was so strangely habited." 
 The wise man answer'd, " Know ye, 'tis because 
 The bridegroom symbols the Great King'^himself, 
 Who is our One Highpriest, and Lord, and King ; 
 The bride his faithful ones ; and this is why 
 He wore a robe and tunic, and his brow 
 Was mitred as a priest's ; and this is why 
 She had a crown of gold upon her head. 
 And wore a scarlet mantle as a queen. 
 To-morrow morn they will be clad anew. 
 For these first garments are but for a day." 
 The strangers said, " Why did the bridegroom lack 
 His bridesmen answering to the bridal maids?" 
 The wise man answer'd, " Know ye, 'tis because 
 The male as well as female bear the name 
 Virgin, which signifies the faithful ones, 
 And they are male and female ; and they twain 
 Follow the Great King wheresoe'er he goes." 
 
PSYCHE 311 
 
 XIV 
 
 Again, behold, it was the morrow morn 
 
 After the marriage, and they stood together. 
 
 Gazing up into heaven, and they could see 
 
 Three firmaments above them, each from each 
 
 Apart ; then they could see the first unfold, 
 
 And then the second over it ; and last 
 
 The third and highest. After they beheld. 
 
 Beyond the first and lowest firmament, 
 
 The immortal habitants of the first Heaven ; 
 
 Beyond the second, those of the second Heaven ; 
 
 Beyond the third and highest, the third Heaven. 
 
 And, as she marvell'd much at what she saw, 
 
 A voice, as of a trumpet, call'd to her ; 
 
 " We see that in your thoughts is wedded love. 
 
 But know that in your world it is not known 
 
 Hitherto ; but henceforth it must be known. 
 
 Therefore it seemeth good to the Great King 
 
 To open heaven unto ye, and to fill 
 
 Your inmost spirits with diviner light. 
 
 Our blisses in the highest heaven flow 
 
 From purest wedded love ; so we are charged 
 
 To send down to ye, a true-wedded pair. 
 
 Pure, harmonious, perfect." As he spoke 
 
 We saw a chariot from the highest heaven 
 
 Descending, and therein was seated One, 
 
 It seem'd, not two ; but, as it near'd, they saw 
 
 The one part into twain ; the chariot shone 
 
312 PSYCHE 
 
 With diamantine splendours, to it yoked 
 Young horses snowy-white ; the loving ones 
 Held in their hands two turtles, and they spoke. 
 " Shall we come nearer to ye ? But beware 
 The fiery radiation that we draw : 
 Search not too far within ye, for the thoughts, 
 That would hght up your innermost, are all 
 Ineffable, and incommunicable 
 To mortal man on earth. Take warning then, 
 And of the thoughts breathed into ye by us 
 Ponder those only which ye can bear down 
 To mortal men, no higher." And they said 
 " Come near, we will take heed to what ye say.'' 
 So they came nearer, and behold they were 
 Husband and wife. " We are a wedded pair," 
 Said they ; " and we have lived in heaven together 
 All happy, since the age of gold, and young 
 As now ye see us." Psyche and her spouse 
 Look'd on them, and beheld, in their attire 
 And aspects, wedded love was symbolised ; 
 For the celestial habitants are all 
 Affections of pure love in human form ; 
 The ruling love is pictured in the face. 
 And from its kind the raiment and its hues 
 Are fashion'd ; so in heaven it is said 
 That every one is clothed in his own love. 
 Then gazing on the beauty of the bride 
 They saw, and did not see it ; for they saw 
 Beauty all-perfect, yet they did not see. 
 
PSYCHE 313 
 
 For the all-perfect is ineffable. 
 
 She said, "What see ye?" and they answer'd her 
 
 " We see but love conjugial, and its form ; 
 
 And yet we do not see it " ; for there shone 
 
 Out of her face lightnings, that dimm'd the sight, 
 
 And filled them with great wonder ; whereupon 
 
 She leant a little from them, and their eyes 
 
 Could look on her undazzled, and they saw 
 
 Her hair was braided with a charming art. 
 
 Worthy of peerless beauty, and diadem'd 
 
 With flowers ; she wore a chain of carbuncles 
 
 About her neck, whence hung a rosary 
 
 Of chrysolites ; armlets of pearl she bore, 
 
 And robe of scarlet clasp'd with ruby gems ; 
 
 And lo ! a wonder, for their colours changed 
 
 Oft as the changes of her countenance 
 
 Turn'd to or from her husband, sometimes more 
 
 And sometimes less ; and when she look'd on him 
 
 They flamed forth brightly, when she turn'd aside. 
 
 They paled, and waned. And when the husband spake, 
 
 It seem'd the wife spoke too, and when she spoke 
 
 He spoke ; such unison arose in minds 
 
 Of perfect harmony ; each voice itself 
 
 Was musical with mutual love, and sprang 
 
 From inmost joy of innocence and peace. 
 
 Then spoke the spouse of Psyche : " Now 'tis time 
 
 To tell thee of myself, not what I am — 
 
 For that, O love, thou knowest — but what I was. 
 
 For the immortal is but mortal man. 
 
314 PSYCHE 
 
 Higher, and happier, and mortality 
 
 The one sole basis of the immortal life. 
 
 On earth I was of those who loved to cast 
 
 In moulds of beauty Truth and Good ; I sought 
 
 One for my mate who should delight to know 
 
 My attributes, and look on them, and love 
 
 Me for their sake, and them for mine again ; 
 
 And I should love her for that beauty and grace, 
 
 Sweetest reflex of mine own soul in her, 
 
 Whence, as thro' some translucent crystal lamp. 
 
 Her heart's pure good should radiate ; but I found 
 
 None who might answer to my lonely sighs. 
 
 And so I fled the earth, where she was not. 
 
 Ere youth was over ; for the heart, that thirsts 
 
 For spiritual food, will pine and die, 
 
 Ev'n as the starved body, and so bring 
 
 Death to the last as surely from within. 
 
 As when an arm'd hand strikes it from without. 
 
 So, in my desolate state, I welcomed that 
 
 Which men call death, as others would a bride. 
 
 Alas ! for me who triumph'd over time. 
 
 Time wrought his vengeance on me, and I saw. 
 
 As only spiritual eyes can see. 
 
 One day thy spirit prison'd like my own ; 
 
 Thy goodness answering to my very thought ; 
 
 Thy beauty kindled by thy loving soul ; 
 
 One, like myself, the idol of thy dreams ; 
 
 And more than all thy tender widow'd heart, 
 
 That sought in vain for less than I had sought, 
 
PSYCHE 315 
 
 A gentle voice of one of thine own kin, 
 
 A sympathetic smile, a pitying tear, 
 
 And found no answer to thy love but hate ! 
 
 If thou hadst wedded any chief or king, 
 
 And he had gloried in thy flower of youth, 
 
 As thou in his renown, still hadst thou been. 
 
 Since thou wert born, betrothed unto me, 
 
 My promised only bride since thou hadst life. 
 
 And I beheld thee from my sphere above 
 
 Beyond the earth ; for in thee are contain'd 
 
 All attributes that answer unto mine. 
 
 As mine to thine, as harp and voice, attuned 
 
 To one another, make no harmony 
 
 Until they join ; and if a thousand men 
 
 Should woo thee, each one holding something less 
 
 Than the full measure of the complement 
 
 I am to thee, he could not be thy spouse. 
 
 And all the beauty I have seen on earth, 
 
 With all the beauty of the maids of heaven, 
 
 Are less than thy fulfilment ; for thou art 
 
 My fulness, my own thought, my second self; 
 
 And, though a thousand ages roll'd between 
 
 My being and thine, we must together meet, 
 
 As sure as sun and moon, as earth and sea. 
 
 As voices utter'd from remotest stars 
 
 That seek each other thro' the deeps of space. 
 
 And now the time is come for thee, O love, 
 
 To know me, as thou art known by me ; to draw 
 
 Thy heart to mine, as mine is drawn to thee ; 
 
3i6 PSYCHE 
 
 To feed my growing wisdom with thy love, 
 
 To feed thee with that wisdom, doubly strong 
 
 When sunn'd by love of thine ; so that we two 
 
 May win from one another evermore 
 
 Beauty and strength, for evermore to wax 
 
 In strength and beauty." And she answer'd him 
 
 With radiant light of love, ineffable ! 
 
 More full of truth than any tongue could be ; 
 
 Ev'n as a silent sunburst glorifies 
 
 Both heaven and earth, when not a sound is heard. 
 
 XV 
 
 And, while he spake these words, they held their way 
 
 Forth from the city, and beheld a realm 
 
 Spread out before them, such as mortal man 
 
 Had never look'd on wholly. " This," he said, 
 
 " Is the fair kingdom of such loving souls. 
 
 As, in the twilights of that world below. 
 
 Which we have left, still fashion'd something rare 
 
 From waking dreams, fantastically wrought 
 
 In lineaments and hues, so beautiful 
 
 That all the smoke and dust of evil things 
 
 Was hidden from them thro' those pleasant hours 
 
 That held them thus spellbound ; as tho' the light 
 
 Of rainbows hung between them and the world 
 
 Bathing it in all colours. Here are they 
 
 Who overcame the sorrows and the sins 
 
 Of proud self-love by love of that they saw 
 
PSYCHE 
 
 317 
 
 Soaring far off above the walls of Time, 
 
 The cares and the perplexities of those 
 
 Who bend their faces downward to the earth 
 
 And lose all vision of the stars of heaven, 
 
 In search of gold ; and raise them, but to mock 
 
 The heart, that sighs for good that is to be, 
 
 The godlike soul, that thinks not of himself. 
 
 With his loud honours, and his piled wealth. 
 
 His thriftless hand, and thousand pastimes bought 
 
 Of needy misery with such scanty dole 
 
 As ransom'd him from Death, no more. Here they. 
 
 Who caught the light they saw upon their brows 
 
 At intervals, and echoed the sweet sounds 
 
 They heard, in moments snatch'd from the uproar 
 
 Of daily fears and tumults; who portray'd 
 
 The forms and aspects of the very Gods 
 
 And show'd them unto men ; who sow'd with seed 
 
 Of better life, and love, the barren earth. 
 
 And went forth lavishing with either hand 
 
 Blisses and boons, like golden anthers blown 
 
 On winds of morning ; yet whose pulses keen 
 
 Thrill'd to the simple notes of homely joy ; 
 
 Shook to the sound of weeping, more than theirs 
 
 Who look'd on daily sorrows ; and could sound 
 
 The depths of anguish in a single heart 
 
 More than a conqueror one of all the woes 
 
 That he had left behind him. Here they dwell, 
 
 Who had no need on earth of any wealth. 
 
 Save that in the hush'd treasure-house, unlock'd 
 
3i8 PSYCHE 
 
 By loving spirits only, who beheld, 
 
 Outspread before them as realities, 
 
 Rapturous ideals. While the painter lays 
 
 Upon his tablets something of the fair. 
 
 And fleeting fancies that his soul hath seen, 
 
 In forms and colours for the outward sense 
 
 To look on, which but mock the inward eye, 
 
 That gazed half-blinded on the passing pomp — 
 
 As one who turns back dazzled from the sun 
 
 To paint his image — here each spirit brings 
 
 His loveMest imaginings, his best 
 
 Of beauty ; and the unimagined All, 
 
 Sharing in that bestow'd on it by each, 
 
 Stands forth in living actuality. 
 
 More clearly shown than any realm on earth 
 
 Beneath a zenith sun ; till all rejoice, 
 
 To see their own with kindred glories mix'd 
 
 In peerless harmony. The world without 
 
 Rises, illumined from the life within, 
 
 Before their eyes for ever, varying still, 
 
 As on the earth the changes of the Spring 
 
 And Summer, or of one long summerday 
 
 In their finite diversity unfold ; 
 
 Here manifold in mutability, 
 
 And infinite in beauty ; as the moods 
 
 Of the Immortals, and their heaven-born loves 
 
 Mingle and multiply for evermore. 
 
 And, as they gazed around them and above, 
 
 They saw with wonder everlasting forms. 
 
PSYCHE 
 
 Picturing the majesty of the One Soul 
 Common to all ; the ever-soaring love, 
 The aspiration after godlike things, 
 In sun-bathed mountain summits, whence arose 
 Mansions of higher spirits ; where enthroned 
 Sat the sage rulers of unnumber'd realms 
 Of subject Gods, glad spirits, that from them 
 Drew inspiration, as themselves had drawn 
 From the AUwise ; and the sun never set 
 In that high World, for both its fire and light 
 Were living substances that fed the soul, 
 Ev'n as the orb of Nature is the heart 
 Of natural things and fills them from itself. 
 And, if the spirits of the immortals sleep. 
 Or seem to sleep, forgetful for a while 
 Of their own blissful being, it is to see 
 Marvels and mysteries, more rarely wrought 
 Than could be shown to the awaken'd sense. 
 Indrawn to nearer commune with the Gods 
 Above them ; as on earth a weary child. 
 After some great jubilee, hears and sees 
 The festal flowers, the triumphs and the songs. 
 The music and the dancing, and the joy 
 In slumber multiplied a thousandfold. 
 So they hear sweeter words, and have a sight 
 Of fairer things ev'n in that fairest world. 
 Within the confines of the glorious Whole, 
 Whose grander aspects were the same to all, 
 Picturing the universal heart of Love, 
 
 319 
 
320 
 
 PSYCHE 
 
 And Good, and Truth that changed not, there were 
 
 found, 
 Or fashion'd wonderfully, inner worlds 
 Of beauty and of sweetness, more akin 
 To individual instincts ; valleys sunk 
 'Twixt mountain folds so lonely and so still 
 That nothing but a rockborn rill, a sound 
 Of quivering leaves, or songbird in the shade 
 Fill'd up the intervals 'twixt low-voiced words 
 Of lovers reunited, or first found 
 In this new World. Here some remember'd nook 
 Of childhood, burning in the memory, like 
 A ray of light from some forgotten life, 
 And garnish'd with sweet fancies that had grown 
 About it thro' long years, rose suddenly 
 Circled with all the fair things that the mind 
 Had clothed on the material ; not as thoughts, 
 Impalpable and shadowy, but rebuilt 
 Of living spirit-substance, made to mould 
 The spirit's own affections, till they grow 
 To solid semblance of the very soul." 
 Then spake the spouse of Psyche, " O my soul. 
 Thou wilt no more dream as thou dreamedst once. 
 That heaven, the habitation of the Gods, 
 Was something so dissever'd from thy world, 
 That they who enter'd would be sad at heart 
 With shadows of things gone ; that ears and eyes. 
 Once feasting on the beauty of the earth. 
 Would here be lacking to the unthralled soul ; 
 
PSYCHE 321 
 
 That only thought, turn'd inward on itself, 
 And memory, ranging thro' the ghostly past, 
 Should dower the Immortals ; that no voice 
 Of all thy friends should speak to thee again — 
 As one who walks on regal floors alone 
 Without a smile to welcome him, a hand 
 To lead him on, but only the great walls 
 To echo his low cry ; and if thy foes 
 Should nevermore torment thee as of old, 
 That even mortal sorrow, with the doom 
 Of utter nothing, would be better life 
 Than everlasting being, so far above 
 Both hope and fear. Behold all things are new, 
 Tho' like the old ; and dear familiar forms 
 Come at the bidding of the heart's desire. 
 And if there be things never seen before. 
 Haply they were foreshadow'd in some mood 
 Of raptured thought, some poesy, some dream 
 Dropt down from summer starlight, and appear, 
 Tho' wonderful, not stranger than the light 
 Of reawaken'd memories. What the heart 
 Yearn'd for, as missing to some mortal state, 
 Here crowns it in its immortality 
 With all perfection, and is hail'd at once 
 As hope fulfill' d, ev'n as the dear old face. 
 So well beloved under its grey hair. 
 And wrinkled brows remember'd on the earth. 
 Is known at once for all its hues of youth 
 Restored, its thousand graces, and the voice, 
 
 VOL. II Y 
 
322 PSYCHE 
 
 That welcomes to this land of happy souls 
 The pilgrim, late deliver'd from the glooms 
 Of failing nature, and the mist of tears ; 
 Or as a virgin daughter brings to mind 
 The lovely bride of the first days gone by. 
 All states advance by gentle steps, so small 
 That, tho' they be swifter than thought itself, 
 Seem slow in their progression ; the Allwise 
 Shakes not the guilty and rebellious soul 
 With sudden thunders, nor the simple heart 
 With light beyond endurance ; all things change 
 By secret motions imperceptible. 
 As the far-reaching voice of the great sea 
 Grows out of tiny ripplets none can hear." 
 
 XVI 
 
 He ceased ; but one sweet thought possess'd them 
 
 both. 
 The memory of the joyful day to each. 
 The memory of that day, when first on earth 
 They saw the beauty of their dwelling-place. 
 The world of Nature, as the lavish Spring 
 Came forth to them, and first the love of her 
 Attuned their hearts, tho' far apart, in time 
 And space, to other sweeter love than that. 
 Denied them till this moment, when their hands 
 Were link'd together, and their fond eyes met 
 In heavenly interchange of soul, till then 
 
PSYCHE 323 
 
 Impossible, except in blissful dreams 
 
 Breathed to her soul from his. But, as their hearts 
 
 Went back to that first morn of youth and hope, 
 
 And tender yearnings, lo ! a sudden change ! 
 
 The wonderworking of their glad new world, 
 
 Magic of Heaven ! For round about them grew, 
 
 In all perfection, all that vanish'd past, 
 
 More than imagination, tenfold clear 
 
 Of earthly bard, could compass. It was Spring ; 
 
 They saw the young leaves and the opening flowers. 
 
 They heard the woodland music, and all things 
 
 Made perfect concord with that perfect mood 
 
 Of sympathetic hearts, for evermore 
 
 To feed on unimaginable states 
 
 Of infinite variety, for ever 
 
 Painting themselves upon their subtle sense, 
 
 Sublimed to keener touches of delight. 
 
 Than heretofore on earth the inmost trance 
 
 Of highest souls. And then they took their way, 
 
 Under a fragrant roof of pale green fronds, 
 
 And blossoms, into that appointed home 
 
 Where all things, lovely to the ear and eye, 
 
 Would bring joy in the morn, and hope at even, 
 
 And all sweet spirits, most akin to theirs, 
 
 Should hold high converse with them, and should 
 
 bring 
 Voices of wisdom to them, which their own 
 Should bear down to the lower, and at last 
 The mournful earth itself should hear and see 
 
324 PSYCHE 
 
 The beauty of their kingly countenances, 
 The light and music of the spheres divine. 
 Again they look'd into each other's eyes, 
 Drew thro' them from their twin immortal souls 
 That pure and perfect love, the inmost heaven 
 Of hearts in perfect harmony ; that love, 
 The reflex of whose golden Summer falls. 
 Thro' clouds of mortal sorrow, as a rare 
 Fleet wintry sunbeam, coming but to part ; 
 But leaves such blissful memories, hope is born 
 That it shall be made perfect, as was theirs. 
 
NIOBE 
 
 PART I 
 
 Dreaming of ancient Niobe the Queen 
 
 Methought I had a vision of the Past, 
 
 And lo ! two spirits pass before me charm'd 
 
 By sympathetic magic to appear : 
 
 I see an old man with a kindly face, 
 
 Yet sorrowful ; he bears beneath his arms 
 
 Tablets and scrolls ; and by him, bending low, 
 
 Another aged form ; great age, it seems, 
 
 Lies on them both ; ah yes ! it is the nurse. 
 
 The guardian of children, and the man 
 
 Is the boys' teacher. See ! they start, they weep, 
 
 As tho' they had remember'd fearful things. 
 
 And mutter to each other : and I see 
 
 The morning mists upon the mountain-sides 
 
 Rise up and scatter into fragments vast. 
 
 Like winged giants soaring. Lo ! the state 
 
 Of a great city, standing on the steeps, 
 
 Shines forth, and fills the hollows of the hills. 
 
 And crests the many underslopes ; and higher 
 
 The barren heights come out against the light. 
 
326 NIOBE 
 
 Like the dark forms of ever-frowning Gods. 
 The city, piled upon the airy heights, 
 Soars amid shadows, and unfolding clouds. 
 And broken fires of sunrise, crown'd with towers. 
 The aged man comes slowly up ; then stays 
 A while, and shades his forehead with his hand. 
 He lifts his head, and now he moves his lips 
 As one who speaks ; I seem to hear his words. 
 " Ye call me to your presence, as though one 
 Were bidden to remember in the day 
 A dreadful dream of night, whereof alone 
 The huge and formless shadow hangs on him. 
 Ye bid me look back on the woes of Time, 
 Out of Eternity ; ye bid me tell 
 Of that disastrous day, whose memory still, 
 With all its terrors, — as it looms again 
 Slowly from deeps within me, shut and barr'd 
 For many thousand years — is as a blast. 
 Borne into blissful Edens of our world, 
 From dismal caves where weeping spirits cower 
 In darkness, dread, and cold : it thus befell. 
 
 II 
 
 " One morning, as the Queen of all the land. 
 The stately Niobe, walk'd amid her sons, 
 And daughters by the river, thro' smooth walks 
 Under the rustling May-leaves, and beheld 
 The fish glance sunward from the curling stream, 
 And fluttering flocks of finches sweep and twirl 
 
NIOBE 327 
 
 'Mid the low greeneries of sweetbrier rose, 
 
 And laurel coverts ; and look'd on the forms 
 
 And aspects, and the loveliness of all 
 
 Her own fair flock, the little ones she loved ; 
 
 For, in her love and tenderness, she named 
 
 All little ones, whom she remember'd, such, 
 
 Tho' some were tall youths, and their sisters past 
 
 The days of childhood. As they reach'd the plain. 
 
 Whence all the towered regal city rose, 
 
 Back'd by tall, sunlit, snow-white summer-cloud. 
 
 And azure deeps between, and sometimes flash'd 
 
 A sudden glory from it, and then drown'd 
 
 In a soft purple twilight ; they could hear 
 
 The trumpets from the citadel, and saw 
 
 The helmets of the armed men, and caught 
 
 The shouting of the eager citizens, 
 
 As tho' for victory ; and then a cry. 
 
 That rose amid the palaces and fanes. 
 
 As though a sea had flooded all the place, 
 
 And roar'd unseen within it. For that day. 
 
 That very day, the last stone of the walls 
 
 Of the new city had been set, to sounds 
 
 Of music, and the festival was great. 
 
 And the great king Amphion heard his name 
 
 RoU'd up high as the topmost towers, and back 
 
 RoU'd from the topmost towers unto the plain. 
 
 For all was finish'd, and the king was glad ; 
 
 And the fair mother of his children heard 
 
 The triumph, and her heart was glad and free. 
 
328 NIOBE 
 
 III 
 
 " Alas ! like as in calmest summer hours 
 
 Hurricanes gather, earthquakes rouse themselves, 
 
 In the serenest moment of her bliss 
 
 Pride started up within her suddenly, 
 
 A hissing serpent's head amid the flowers. 
 
 She whisper'd to herself, ' Oh ! am I not 
 
 The queen of this fair region ? All I see 
 
 Looks up to me and smiles ; and all I hear 
 
 Seems like the voice of Nature singing to me. 
 
 Wafting my thoughts in music back to me ' : 
 
 The trumpets with their echoes fann'd her pride ; 
 
 The shouting from the city swell'd her praise ; 
 
 The winds flew round her and her children fair, 
 
 Whispering — ' Thou art more blessed than all women 
 
 Widow'd, or childless ; ay, than all, who bear 
 
 Children less beautiful than these thine own.' 
 
 ' And are there any not less beautiful ? ' 
 
 She cried — ' who dares say nay? The Gods themselves 
 
 Might envy me, as they behold me walk 
 
 Before my royal city, thro' these paths 
 
 Of songbirds and of roses, this sweet time 
 
 Of Spring flowers, which boon Nature lavishes ; 
 
 Though all she bears in beauty rival not 
 
 One of their lovelocks, one of their dear smiles.' 
 
 And then she call'd them to her ; and they came 
 
 Each in his turn, and each as she was named. 
 
 Fondly she read each lovely, loving face ; 
 
NIOBE 329 
 
 Softly she kiss'd each on the spotless brow ; 
 
 And looking up to heaven with — Was it then 
 
 A smile of heartfelt, pious, holy love. 
 
 Grateful to the Immortals for the boon 
 
 Of such a race as hers ? Was it to vow 
 
 The service of their future lives to them 
 
 Who had bestow'd it ? Heavens ! what did I see ? 
 
 Was there a Fury, hidden in those walks, 
 
 Beneath the laurel shadows that bright morn ? 
 
 She stood, and seem'd to hearken to a voice 
 
 That spake within her ; all at once her brow 
 
 Flush'd, and her eyes grew starlike, and she look'd 
 
 Heavenward, and raised her arms ; but folded not 
 
 Her hands, as one in prayer, as one who knew 
 
 Her own supreme felicities, but own'd 
 
 The great Gods for the givers : ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 Dread day, dread moment of fatality ! 
 
 Dread words self-dooming ! For I heard her voice 
 
 Sent up exultingly. ' Come down and see. 
 
 Ye that are Queens in heaven, as I on earth ; 
 
 And, if I cannot match ye in myself. 
 
 Look on these children ; have I ever seen ye 
 
 Whom men call the Immortals ? Are ye Gods 
 
 Who can be vanquish'd by us on the earth ? 
 
 And needs must yield — whose offspring rival yours 
 
 In beauty, and outrival in all else. 
 
 Mother of Artemis and Phoebus, whom 
 
 Men call Latona, know I what thou art. 
 
 Or they, while I behold with these glad eyes 
 
330 NIOBE 
 
 This very day all my beloved ones 
 
 Delighting, and delighted ? Bliss is yours, 
 
 And loveliness is yours, and yours is power ; 
 
 So say the stoled priests ; but they are men, 
 
 And chant of that they know not — if it be — 
 
 Beauty, prosperity, and pow'r are mine ; 
 
 So I am equal to ye, O ye Gods. 
 
 And, more than power and riches, I can feel 
 
 This vital moving personality. 
 
 Radiant of joy, and drinking in delights. 
 
 Giving and taking love the flower of life ; 
 
 So I am equal to ye, O ye Gods. . 
 
 But I am greater than ye are, O Gods, 
 
 Tho' but a mortal woman on the earth ; 
 
 For they are mine, and theirs is innocence ; 
 
 They have done no wrong, can ye say the same ? 
 
 Come down, and see if there be one of ye 
 
 Worthy to stand beside the least of these : 
 
 Lo ! I am greater than ye are, O Gods ! ' 
 
 Just then they pass'd from out the bowery walks 
 
 Into the open ; and lo ! on one hand 
 
 The pillar'd front of dread Latona's shrine ; 
 
 The marble stair throng'd with the votaries 
 
 Bearing their offerings ; and the long-robed priests 
 
 Enter'd before, hymning a sacred song, 
 
 And vanish'd in the temple's dim retreats, 
 
 Shaking their thuribles, amid the fumes 
 
 Of odours, and the breath of orisons. 
 
 And, while they pass'd, and the last note was heard 
 
NIOBE- 331 
 
 Dying amid the incense, the great doors 
 
 Closed with a brazen clang ; and, when it hush'd, 
 
 A thunder spoke beyond the purple hills. 
 
 IV 
 
 " The faithless morning of that fatal day. 
 
 The whole air drew in thirstily the breath 
 
 Of the awaken'd earth ; for pleasant showers 
 
 Had fallen in the night, and leaf and flower 
 
 Quiver'd in thickets, and in garden nooks. 
 
 And the smooth ocean of the woodlands waved 
 
 With bright, and dark, far up the mountain-side. 
 
 That morning, when their school tasks had been done, 
 
 They rushed from under the great portico, 
 
 Down thro' the sloping gardens to the plain. 
 
 The teacher following ; and after them 
 
 The mother, and the sisters, and the nurse 
 
 Came up with staid steps, and in ordered file. 
 
 The noble youth, on that same festal morn. 
 
 The promise of the city, henceforth to be 
 
 The champions of the native land, the heads 
 
 Of armies, met together on the plain ; 
 
 But none were there so excellent as they 
 
 The sons of Niobe. Tho' few their years, 
 
 With subtle instinct, and with native skill 
 
 They seem'd to antedate their manhood's might. 
 
 As tho' foreseeing, in the days to come. 
 
 The assembled nations, and the laurel crowns. 
 
332 -NIOBE 
 
 And the fresh herbage of the plain, along 
 
 The riverside, sprang under their light feet, 
 
 As though it were rejoicing with the joy 
 
 Of their young hearts. They arm'd for playful strife 
 
 Of strength and art ; some made the bowstring twang. 
 
 Till the swift arrow clave the central shield ; 
 
 Some hurl'd the javelin till its greater weight 
 
 Vied with the arrow's swiftness ; and some ran 
 
 To match the winged weapons with their feet. 
 
 And there were wrestlers who had heard of men 
 
 Matchless for might and cunning ; and, in faith 
 
 That their light limbs were equal, and their skill 
 
 Not less, set limb to limb, and brow to brow. 
 
 The elder ones ran with the running steed. 
 
 And sprang upon him lightly ; others stood 
 
 High up in chariots, circling the smooth green 
 
 With rival wheels ; some rode one horse, and held 
 
 Another by the rein, until they reach'd 
 
 The goal, then sprang from one upon the other 
 
 Nimbly and swiftly ; others, more withdrawn, 
 
 Hurl'd the flat disk, or ball ; or proud of strength. 
 
 The heritage of strength, they ventured on 
 
 The perilous leap itself with weighted arms. 
 
 They laugh'd, they sang ; they interchanged their sports : 
 
 Then paused awhile, and soon resumed ; and mirth 
 
 Seem'd to renew their lavish'd force. Hard by 
 
 The river murmur'd and the thickets sigh'd ; 
 
 But, in a hush between their jocund cries, 
 
 A thunder spoke beyond the purple hills. 
 
NIOBE 333 
 
 V 
 
 " I saw four daughters, fresh as April flowers, 
 
 Struck down, four sons as the Immortals fair ; 
 
 And all the spectre of that angry day 
 
 Is pictured on my soul. Whene'er I will 
 
 I see the dreadful image fix'd as death ; 
 
 So one may see a fearful thing in sleep 
 
 Clear as the waken'd eyesight. First there crept 
 
 A sullen shadow o'er the meadow sward ; 
 
 The birds flew wildly, and their notes were shrill, 
 
 The thickets shiver'd, and the poplars sway'd, 
 
 And the grey river ruffled angrily. 
 
 The mountains frown'd, for over them there roll'd 
 
 A purple vastness, like a higher range. 
 
 Until it met the midday sun, and flow'd 
 
 Across its disk, with jagged edges, black 
 
 And threatful. All at once, on that dark pile 
 
 Of thunders, rose a giant, in his hand 
 
 A golden bow, that caught the light beyond. 
 
 And seem'd alive with quivering sunny flame ; 
 
 And on his steps follow'd another form. 
 
 Lesser, yet mighty. And they bent the knee 
 
 Upon that thunderous bulwark, and then broke 
 
 A storm, amid whose voices manifold 
 
 I heard a great cry thro' the rending winds, 
 
 That with the echoes seem'd to pass afar 
 
 Through all the windings of the marble hills ; 
 
 A cry as of a warrior when he sets 
 
334 
 
 NIOBE 
 
 His brazen heel upon his foeman's helm, 
 
 Ha ! ha ! and all the volumed alps of cloud 
 
 Bore the triumphal laughter to and fro ! 
 
 The eldest-born, just blossom'd into youth, 
 
 Gave promise of that might, henceforth to snatch 
 
 The glory of great chiefs, and rule a world, 
 
 Won by his arms, and win love from that world. 
 
 Heroic stature seem'd not what it was ; 
 
 For each limb, in its concord with the rest. 
 
 Built up that pure and perfect excellence. 
 
 That veils its own perfections ; for therein 
 
 A world of inner harmonies is hid. 
 
 He, and the second, younger by a year. 
 
 Stood up, and, leaning forward, whirl'd and lash'd 
 
 Their rival chariots round the river plain. 
 
 Up from the plain there rose no dusty cloud. 
 
 But only pure drops of the nightly shower 
 
 Dash'd from the wheels like sparkles ; and the dogs 
 
 Bay'd at their heels, and strove against each other. 
 
 And the swift chariot horses ; prone, intent 
 
 On their fix'd aims, they heeded neither shouts, 
 
 Nor warning cries, nor barking hounds, nor sounds 
 
 Of the dread winds, and onward thunderbursts ; 
 
 Their locks were floated on the mountain gusts. 
 
 Their mantles flown behind them. As they wheel'd 
 
 Round by the corner of the grassy mead 
 
 Nighest the river, the first arrow fiew. 
 
 The boy fell sidelong, and the left-hand wheel 
 
 Pass'd o'er his neck. Then the scared brother shriek'd; 
 
NIOBE 335 
 
 Yet, reckless of himself, flung by the reins. 
 And then himself upon the turf, beside 
 The dying one ; and while he raised him up. 
 And the warm blood stain'd all the green with red, 
 The second arrow struck the younger one. 
 Thus, lock'd together in a last embrace. 
 They look'd upon me as I ran to them, 
 And lifted their pale heads despairingly ; 
 And in a whisper, just ere the last breath. 
 The youngest utter'd dreaming, not awake 
 To the old world of sorrow ; ' O dear friend ; 
 'Tis best to die in battle ; do not weep. 
 We thought it was a fable that we read 
 This morn with thee about a warrior's fate ; 
 And then we swore that we would die like him ; 
 Now we are stretch'd upon the field of fame. 
 And tell our mother, and the little ones. 
 We had no fear, and so there was no pain.' 
 
 VI 
 
 " But hark ! there is another sound from far, 
 
 A cry from off the city's topmost tower. 
 
 Who is it that descends into the plain 
 
 With madden'd haste, mounts the first ready steed. 
 
 And spurs beneath the gateway ? who is he, 
 
 Flashing the sunlight from his mail and helm ? 
 
 Just as Amyclas fell he reached the lad. 
 
 He cast his plumed casque down on the earth. 
 
336 NIOBE 
 
 As tho' to brave the bitter Gods to take 
 
 His own life for the lad's, the timeworn man 
 
 For the untimely boy ; but o'er his head 
 
 He lifted up his shield against the light 
 
 To screen that tender one ; alas ! too late. 
 
 For as Amphion raised the stripling up, 
 
 With the last beam that lit his dying eye, 
 
 He look'd into his father's face, and said ; — 
 
 'I die ; but it is nothing to the grief 
 
 That must have seized me, had ye gone before. 
 
 My father and my mother ; oft and oft 
 
 That very fear has been as death to me ; 
 
 Your time is less, and I shall see ye soon.' 
 
 Two younger ones, divided by a year, 
 
 Playmates, who scarcely breathed without each other, 
 
 Yet wrangled in their play, and then forgot 
 
 All passions in fresh moments of delight, 
 
 Just then were redly fronting one another 
 
 With loud tongues, and uplifted hands ; and all 
 
 The stormy darkness, and the shrilling cries 
 
 Were unregarded ; and the deathful dooms 
 
 They flung at one another in hot words 
 
 Fell on them swift and real, and they sank 
 
 Into each other's arms, as heretofore, 
 
 Fair infants, after anger, ere they slept. 
 
 They had embraced each other and forgiven. 
 
 As for the youngest, oh ! he ran to me. 
 
 The little one just eight years old ; he stretch'd 
 
 His hands unto me, and he hid his head 
 
NIOBE 337 
 
 Under my robe ; alas ! the arrow flew, 
 Sharpest to me, and scatter'd all my skirts 
 With his warm blood ; I saw it and lived on ! 
 
 VII 
 
 "The first-born daughter flies not; but she stands 
 
 Fearless, and sets her foot upon a rock ; 
 
 I see her upward eyes, and braidless hair. 
 
 She stretches her white arms, as tho' to plead 
 
 Her youth, her beauty, and her innocence. 
 
 Peerless Aglaia ; but the arrow flew ! 
 
 How shall I speak of her, the rapturous soul ? 
 
 She would rejoice with jocund hearts, and mourn 
 
 With them who wept ; and a rare sweetness breathed 
 
 Through her sad sympathies, while tearful notes 
 
 Sometimes would mingle with her merry songs. 
 
 But, tho' to grief she never yielded up 
 
 Her whole soul, listening to young hope, sometimes 
 
 She soar'd alike above both grief and joy. 
 
 And took, for wings of rapture, holy thoughts 
 
 In equipoise of solemn fear and love. 
 
 For upward flight Oh then her voice would swell 
 
 In soUtary song, so holy-pure 
 
 That the Immortals might have leant their ears 
 
 And listen'd lovingly. Ofttimes the face 
 
 Of glorious Nature shone into her soul 
 
 With such a power, as into lovers' hearts 
 
 The beauty of the one beloved one, 
 
 VOL. II z 
 
338 NIOBE 
 
 Which, like the unseen but irresistible air 
 
 Kindling with lightnings, passes into flame. 
 
 And something new and strange, a pulse of life, 
 
 Unfelt till then within her, answer'd to 
 
 The lights and shadows of the outer day. 
 
 Then was she fill'd with that she loved the most. 
 
 The godlike moods that wing'd her from the earth. 
 
 And all its clouds of trouble ; and, when again 
 
 She touch'd the sad world and mortality, 
 
 They saw she had held converse, of such kind 
 
 As made her heart more loving than before. 
 
 The very pride, which in her mother's soul 
 
 AVax'd perilous, was temper'd in her own 
 
 By all-subduing sweetness, as harsh notes 
 
 Of dissonance a moment jar the ear, 
 
 Then drown in the full flood of harmony. 
 
 Her father's songs had breathed into her peace ; 
 
 And his high art, to which the city rose. 
 
 Had built up the great palace of her soul ! 
 
 VIII 
 
 " Agatha follow'd, gentle, yet a maid 
 
 Of other make. No glories in her blazed, 
 
 Able to drink up sorrows, no wild griefs 
 
 Piled dust upon her head, or rent her hair 
 
 Or froze her temperate instincts. She was glad 
 
 With simple meditations, free of pride 
 
 And passion, free too of the vain self-love 
 
NIOBE 
 
 339 
 
 That, foe to others, profits not itself. 
 
 As a lone bird that hath a single note, 
 
 She sorrow'd most in silence ; but she loved 
 
 To hear kind friends about her, and the flow 
 
 Of even converse neither low nor loud ; 
 
 Communion of fresh feeling, breathing pure 
 
 As ever-welcome green, or healthful air ; 
 
 Such as joins hearts together, as the herb 
 
 Of the green champaign runs from flower to flower. 
 
 But she was wakeful as the little bird, 
 
 That, nestled in high leafage, sees afar. 
 
 And then flies down, and pecks the grain ; her eyes 
 
 Could clearly see what others pass'd in haste ; 
 
 And knew the value of poor lowly hearts. 
 
 As the plain country-folk, who pluck wild weeds 
 
 And press strange virtues from them ; though a child. 
 
 They call'd her wise as they who live and learn. 
 
 No care was wanting, could she minister 
 
 To poverty, or pain, or such as fate, 
 
 Or ruthless stormy change, or swift mischance 
 
 Had beggar'd of their hopes : and she could see. 
 
 Through her calm eyes, where fortune might come back. 
 
 Better than their vex'd souls disconsolate. 
 
 Despairing. And sometimes she show'd to them 
 
 Things that might be, and, if they will'd it, would, 
 
 As one who makes his lantern light the dark 
 
 Before them, of long galleries underground, 
 
 Till the poor prisoners, reckless what shall be, 
 
 Come forth into the air and sunny day 
 
340 NIOBE 
 
 Once more, and wonder. So, tho' young, she was 
 
 An oracle to others, young as she, 
 
 And grew in their affections, as the green 
 
 Turf, or grey cloud is welcome, after sight 
 
 Of dazzling sunlight, or of crimson flowers. 
 
 She listened always to her sisters' tongues ; 
 
 Heard utterances of passions, prides and fears, 
 
 And triumphs ; and her words iill'd in the lull 
 
 Of theirs with some well-timed monotony. 
 
 That drew back their wild spirits to a sense 
 
 Of Time, and Space, and strong Necessity ; 
 
 As one who lays his hand upon his eyes 
 
 Sunblinded, so that he may see his way. 
 
 I see her, true and tender-hearted one, 
 
 Flying before the wrath ; and, tho' she fears, 
 
 She turns her eyes upon a brother dear 
 
 Struck down beside her, and she leans to him 
 
 Despite the peril ; but the arrow flew ! 
 
 Then came twin sisters, mirrors of each other, 
 
 With their right hands they held their mantles up 
 
 Curl'd by the wind, in their pale aspects fear 
 
 Past utterance ; but all the gracious curves 
 
 Of their young limbs shone thro' their airy vests ; 
 
 A softer beauty theirs, and something less 
 
 Than noblest ; as they ran twin arrows flew ! 
 
 IX 
 
 " Then she, who was the one surpassing rose 
 In that proud garden of delightsome Youth, 
 
NIOBE 341 
 
 Ilia, whose form and face were in themselves 
 
 The centre of the beauties of them all : 
 
 How shall I speak of her ? 'Twere vain to tell 
 
 Of Agatha the wise, Hilaria 
 
 The mirthful, and Aglaia rapture-soul'd, 
 
 While she, without their inner loveliness, 
 
 Witch'd by the magic of her countenance 
 
 Free hearts, and spell-bound every rebel tongue. 
 
 Did young Hilaria's silvery laughter call 
 
 To dance and play ; did Agatha enthrall 
 
 By her clear words and kindness ; did the voice 
 
 Of rapt Aglaia melt and fire with song ? 
 
 Ilia, with her unutter'd harmonies, 
 
 The lights and shadows of her artless power 
 
 Cast on her face, was stronger than them all. 
 
 And they who heard her voice — as 'twere the chime 
 
 Of a low music, gushing from among 
 
 Sweet mountain waters — knew their senses bound 
 
 With links invisible of subtlest might. 
 
 She tamed the boy's heart, and with strengthless arms 
 
 She vanquish'd ; they who saw her fled with sighs. 
 
 And when, amid the turmoil of the world, 
 
 In afterdays, some interval of calm 
 
 Call'd up old memories, or in dreams of sleep 
 
 Came visions, unremember'd she appear'd, 
 
 With the same starshine in her dewy eyes, 
 
 Dark blue, the same resistless charming smile. 
 
 That, when they woke, they wept for that flown dream. 
 
 I saw her flying, like some tender flower 
 
342 
 
 NIOBE 
 
 Bent forward by the storm, before it falls ; 
 Swiftly she runs, but turns her head aside, 
 And with her left arm on her shoulder stays 
 Her robe, and with her right hand on her knee 
 Presses it down ; I see her golden curls 
 Stray from beneath the braids ; I seem to see 
 Still in my memory that most perfect mould 
 Of gentleness and grace ; the arrow flew 
 
 ■ I 
 
 X 
 
 " Hilaria, sweet delight of heart and eyes, 
 Her mother's comforter, her father's joy, 
 A sun in winter, and a summer wind, 
 Fill'd all the house with laughter and with songs. 
 As 'twere a fountain flashing in the Ught. 
 Her winged spirit, like the breeze of morn, 
 Thrill'd thro' my soul and memory its own self. 
 And flew around me, like a circling fire. 
 Whose golden sparkles whirl'd above my head. 
 Her voice broke in upon my barred hours, 
 Like song-birds thro' my lattice in the dawn. 
 I did not put her by when I was glad. 
 For then I triumph'd with her like a king ; 
 I did not bid her cease when I was dull. 
 For then I drew fresh courage from her cheer. 
 My child, Hilaria, when I saw thee then 
 I shut my eyes, and pray'd for death myself. 
 So thou wert spared ; she utter'd no lament, 
 
NIOBE 343 
 
 But, softly creeping to her mother's arms, 
 
 She nestled near her heart, poor little bird. 
 
 Caught in a snowstorm, and that regal form 
 
 With mute instinctive tenderness and care 
 
 In a last agony of love, and fear 
 
 Held her, as tho' they two must fall together. 
 
 Scarce knowing what she did, for her large eyes 
 
 Follow'd about the plain the flying feet 
 
 Of her doom'd sons ; and once she rais'd her head 
 
 Up from her mother's arms, like some pale flower 
 
 Soon to be dash'd beneath the coming hail. 
 
 She said, ' I see my brothers lying still ; 
 
 Are they asleep tired with their play ? Alas ! 
 
 They are so still I think they must be dead ; 
 
 And I see blood upon them, I see blood ! 
 
 Why must they die, sweet mother, and so soon ? 
 
 I too will die, my mother, if thou wilt ; 
 
 And yet I cannot for I see thee there, 
 
 O mother ! ' As she sobb'd the arrow flew. 
 
 XI 
 
 " I stood apart, helpless to shield from ill 
 My well-beloved, as one who meets the wind 
 RoU'd down a rocky pass 'twixt mountain walls, 
 And, 'twixt the onward struggle and the force 
 That drives him back, stands palsied. So I stood. 
 Hearing and seeing all the dreadful things, 
 The vengeance and the sorrow ; the wild cry 
 
344 NIOBE 
 
 That, as a flash at midnight, lighten'd forth. 
 
 Then quench'd in the death darkness ; the proud voice, 
 
 Jocund but now, rebelling against Heaven, 
 
 Of hopeful boyhood fronted by despair ; 
 
 The lamentations dying into sighs 
 
 Of stricken girls, their long locks, dark or fair. 
 
 Blown backwards in their flight ; the lovely arms 
 
 Stretch'd forward, and the young hands clasp'd in prayer. 
 
 I saw the mother, awful in her woe, 
 
 The glory of her pride eclipsed at noon, 
 
 Majestic amid misery, as the one 
 
 Unfallen column of an ancient house. 
 
 Whose shadow falls on shafts, and capitals, 
 
 And carved-work around her. As her pride 
 
 Wasted to drear unutterable thoughts, 
 
 She look'd down on the chambers of her heart, 
 
 Where late her loves were garner'd ; no tear stood 
 
 In her dilated orbs ; while horror froze 
 
 Her conscience like the fears that in a dream 
 
 Would wing us, yet have power to stay our flight. 
 
 And lock us to the earth. When all were dead 
 
 I sped from one to other in vain haste, 
 
 Seeking my doom with theirs ; but I was spared ; 
 
 Till years on years, and deep old age at last 
 
 Made me oblivious of all things beside. 
 
 But oh ! I never ceased to see that day. 
 
 To hear the last cries utter'd, and to bear 
 
 Graven within me their last flying steps, 
 
 Their last imploring looks, their last faint words. 
 
NIOBE 345 
 
 And, now that it is granted me awhile 
 To look, as on a picture long time hid. 
 The memory of earth-sorrows, all things flow 
 Back to me, even as then, and I could weep, 
 Ev'n though a spirit — for we feel the more 
 The more that we are free of mortal dust — 
 Did I not know that they are with me here. 
 
 PART II 
 
 " I TOO remember, in the after years. 
 
 The long-hair'd Niobe, when she was old. 
 
 Sitting alone, without the city gates. 
 
 Upon the ground ; alone she sat, and mourn'd. 
 
 Her watchers, mindful of her royal state. 
 
 Her widowhood, and sorrows, follow'd her 
 
 Far off, when she went forth, to be alone 
 
 In lonely places ; and at set of sun 
 
 They won her back by some fond phantasy. 
 
 By telling her some tale of the gone days 
 
 Of her dear lost ones, promising to show her 
 
 Some faded garland, or some broken toy, 
 
 Dusty and dim, which they had found, or feign'd 
 
 To have found, some plaything of their infant hours. 
 
 Within the echoes of a ruin'd court 
 
 She sat and mourn'd, with her lamenting voice, 
 
 Melodious in sorrow, like the sound 
 
346 NIOBE 
 
 Of funeral hymns ; for in her youth she sang 
 
 Along the myrtle valleys in the spring, 
 
 Plucking the fresh pinks and the hyacinths, 
 
 With her fair troop of girls, who answer'd her 
 
 Silverly sweet, so that the lovely tribe 
 
 Were Nature's matchless treble to the last 
 
 Delicious pipe, pure, warbling, dewy, clear. 
 
 In summer and in winter, that lorn voice 
 
 Went up, like the struck spirit of this world. 
 
 Making the starry roof of heaven tremble 
 
 With her lament, and agony, and all 
 
 The crowned Gods in their high tabernacles 
 
 Sigh unawares, and think upon their deeds. 
 
 Her guardians let her wander at her will. 
 
 For all could weep for her ; had she not been 
 
 The first and fairest of that sunny land. 
 
 And blest with all things ; doubly crown'd with power 
 
 And beauty, doubly now discrown'd and fallen ? 
 
 Oh ! none would harm her, only she herself; 
 
 And chiefly then when they would hold her back, 
 
 And sue her to take comfort in her home, 
 
 Or in the bridal chambers of her youth. 
 
 Or in the old gardens, once her joy and pride, 
 
 Or the rose-bowers along the river-shore 
 
 She loved of old, now silent and forsaken. 
 
 For then she fled away, as though in fear. 
 
 As if she saw the spectres of her hours 
 
 Of joyaunce pass before her in the shapes 
 
 Of her beloved ones. But most she chose 
 
NIOBE 347 
 
 Waste places, where the moss and lichen crawled, 
 
 And the wild ivy flutter'd, and the rains 
 
 Wept thro' the roofless ruins, and all seem'd 
 
 To mourn in symbols, and to answer to her, 
 
 Showing her outward that she was within. 
 
 The unregarding multitude pass'd on, 
 
 Because her woe was a familiar sight. 
 
 But some there were that shut their ears and fled, 
 
 And they were childless ; the rose-lipt and young 
 
 Felt that imperial voice and desolate 
 
 Strike cold into their hearts ; children at play 
 
 Were smit with sudden silence, with their toys 
 
 Clutch'd in their hands, forgetful of the game. 
 
 Aged she was yet beautiful in age. 
 
 Her beauty, thro' the cloud of years and grief, 
 
 Shone as a wintry sun ; she never smiled, 
 
 Save when a darkness pass'd across the sun. 
 
 And blotted out from her entranced eyes 
 
 Disastrous shapes that, rode upon his disk. 
 
 Tyrannous visions, armed presences ; 
 
 And then she sigh'd and lifted up her head. 
 
 And shed a few warm tears. But when he rose. 
 
 And her sad eyes unclosed before his beams. 
 
 She started up with terrors in her look, 
 
 That wither'd up all pity in affright. 
 
 And ran about, like one with Furies torn, 
 
 And rent her hair, and madly threaten'd Heaven, 
 
 And call'd for retribution on the Gods ! 
 
 Crying, ' O save me from Him, He is there. 
 
348 NIOBE 
 
 Oh let me wear my little span of life. 
 
 I see Him in the centre of the sun ; 
 
 His face is black with wrath ! thou angry God, 
 
 I am a worthless thing, a childless mother, 
 
 Widow'd and wasted, old and comfortless, 
 
 But still I am alive ; wouldst thou take all ? 
 
 Thou who hast snatch'd my hopes and my delights, 
 
 Thou who hast kill'd' my children, wouldst thou take 
 
 The little remnant of my days of sorrow, 
 
 Which the sharp winds of the first winter days, 
 
 Or the first night of frost may give unto thee ? 
 
 For never shall I seek again that home 
 
 Where they are not ; cold, cold shall be the hearth 
 
 Where they were gather' d, cold as is my heart ! 
 
 Oh ! if my living lot be bitterness, 
 
 'Tis sweeter than to think, that, if I go 
 
 Down to the dust, then I shall think no more 
 
 Of them I loved and lost, the thoughts of whom 
 
 Are all my being, and shaU speak no more. 
 
 In answer to their voices in my heart, 
 
 As though it were mine ear, rewording all 
 
 Their innocent delights, and fleeting pains. 
 
 Their infant fondnesses, their little wants. 
 
 And simple words. Oh ! while I am, I dream 
 
 Of those who are not ; thus my anguish grows 
 
 My solace, as the salt surf of the seas 
 
 Clothes the sharp crags with beauty.' Then her mood 
 
 Would veer to madness, like a windy change 
 
 That brings up thunder, and she raised her voice, 
 
NIOBE 349 
 
 Crying, ' And yet they are not, they who were. 
 And never more shall be ! accursed dreams ! ' 
 And, suddenly becoming motionless. 
 The bright hue from her cheeks and forehead pass'd, 
 And, full of awful resignation, fixing 
 Her large undazzled orbs upon the sun. 
 She shriek'd, ' Strike, God, thou canst not harm me 
 more ! ' 
 
 II 
 
 "She would remember all their little ways 
 
 In days of innocence, when all the loves. 
 
 Which to grown men are empty nothing, stirr'd 
 
 Their childish fancies, as the unseen wind 
 
 Kindles a fire of straw. ' I see the day. 
 
 The morn, the hour, our first-born woke from sleep. 
 
 And stared with great eyes, and with outstretch'd hands. 
 
 To see his image in the polish'd brass. 
 
 The corselet of his father, as he came 
 
 To bid me farewell for a day of raid ; 
 
 And, as I wept, he touch'd the falling tear 
 
 With his soft finger.' And again, ' I see 
 
 The dear ones flying from a squall of rain. 
 
 So Minding was it that the youngest stood 
 
 Prisoner of whirling waters for a while. 
 
 His bonnet blown away, and his flown hair 
 
 Blinding him more, and from the whirlwind came 
 
 The thin voice, like a harpstring's waning plaint ; 
 
 Then his fond sister rush'd into the mist. 
 
3S0 NIOBE 
 
 Frighted from every fear by love alone, 
 
 And he came forth, as one by water-nymph 
 
 Pluck'd from the drowning. Once the second boy 
 
 Was froward, and his teacher barr'd him in 
 
 For a whole summerday ; the little one. 
 
 His brother, sought him after midday meal. 
 
 Bearing untasted fresh fruits in his hand 
 
 For the poor captive, and for his sweet sake 
 
 The sinner was forgiven. I saw the four — 
 
 Their added ages number'd eighteen years — 
 
 Playing on the river-shore ; the eldest-born 
 
 Was Jove unto the second, and the second 
 
 Look'd on the third like Phcebus, aiid the third 
 
 Was oracle unto the fourth, and he 
 
 Echoed the little blisses that he heard 
 
 In tinier accent ; and I blest those babes. 
 
 Whose awful love look'd ever up and on, 
 
 From the first-born who took his mother's hand 
 
 And voice for God's, and told them, 'Hush she told me,' 
 
 To little Three who could no higher look 
 
 Than to great Four, but not to giant Six ! ' 
 
 After a little pause, she spoke again 
 
 So lovingly, a music seem'd to rill 
 
 Straight from her inmost being, and her soul 
 
 Thrill'd the air round her, tho' the voice was low. 
 
 ' O mystic world ! O wondrous state of man ! 
 
 O all ye ages, rolling good and ill. 
 
 And life and death. Oh ! what a note were lost 
 
 Out of the universal harmony. 
 
351 
 
 NIOBE 
 
 If children's voices were not heard on earth, 
 Above the deep bass of lamenting woe, 
 With winged rapture of delighted thoughts, 
 With soaring tones of exultation sweet 
 Cleaving the azure, music, fit to turn 
 Justice to mercy, mercy into love, 
 And love into a signal to unbar 
 The golden gates of the immortal life 
 To mortal men, no more to close again !' 
 
 Ill 
 
 " A hopeless cripple with a weary face 
 
 Said, ' Death is good, and they who die in youth 
 
 The sooner taste the nectar of the Gods, 
 
 The which to taste is everlasting life, 
 
 And ebbless joy, free power and thought undimm'd ; 
 
 So weep no more for any thou hast lost. 
 
 Envy, but pity not, unless thy pity, 
 
 Presumptuous as a Titan, dares to show 
 
 Its sad pale brows above the throne of Jove.' 
 
 She laugh'd, and said in scorn, ' If Death were good. 
 
 The Gods were not immortal ; they have piled 
 
 All ills on this side of the golden gates, 
 
 And throned the monstrous skeleton of Death 
 
 Upon the mountain of our miseries ; 
 
 So that the last and worst calamity. 
 
 The gleam of his inexorable spear. 
 
 In the cold shadows of our living woes 
 
3S2 NIOBE 
 
 Shows like a sunbeam, and we welcome it, 
 
 Calling Death good because it is not Life.', 
 
 He listen'd to her words, but answer'd not ; 
 
 Then slowly turn'd into the public walk, 
 
 And being into contemplation drawn, 
 
 And haply into self-forget fulness. 
 
 By those last words, he stumbled and he fell. 
 
 Just then a horseman, terrible in youth. 
 
 Spurring a hot steed with his nostrils wide, 
 
 Drave on him, and he had but time to shriek 
 
 ' Hold ! hold ! I die,' when under those black hoofs 
 
 I had beheld his white hairs red with blood ; 
 
 But the wise beast, more pitiful than man, 
 
 Or Gods, glanced wide and harm'd no hair of him ; 
 
 As he rose up she laugh'd again in scorn — 
 
 The childless have no pity — and he said, 
 
 ' Pardon me if the presence of the foe, 
 
 Beneath the corselet of philosophy 
 
 Shook my weak heart with fear ; alas ! alas ! 
 
 'Tis that the real sorrows of old age 
 
 Are worse than aught we know of mystic Death, 
 
 And we call madly on our enemy ; 
 
 But under the uplifted angry arm ' 
 
 Of the gigantic Shadow none may stand 
 
 Undaunted, save Despair, whose tearless orbs 
 
 Are stiff with ice, that eats away the heart 
 
 Worse than all aches, and pangs, and doleful throes 
 
 Over the wintry spaces of Despair 
 
 Death's Self is king ; sighs, curses, agonies, 
 
NIOBE 353 
 
 Proud blasphemies, discomfortable tears, 
 
 Cease ; piteous cries, and beatings of the breast, 
 
 And gnashing teeth and lamentations cease, 
 
 Ev'n as the loud winds in the days of frost.' 
 
 Then Niobe arose, and to the height 
 
 Of her full stature slowly drew her limbs 
 
 Majestical, and from beneath her veil 
 
 Show'd her pale aspect, like a marble tomb 
 
 Lit with the ever-burning lamp of grief ; 
 
 And, with the gaze of an immortal, turn'd 
 
 Her tearless eyes upon him. ' Know'st thou not, 
 
 Know'st thou who I am, ah ! know'st thou not 
 
 That I am Niobe, that Niobe 
 
 Is but Despair, Despair ! I am Despair ! ' 
 
 She shouted with a voice imperial, 
 
 That woke the lonely echoes of the place, 
 
 And scared the nestling birds that haunted there. 
 
 IV 
 " If I could say that solace ever came 
 To that lone heart, 'twas comfort, like the grey 
 Stillness of twilight when the winds have lull'd. 
 Darkness of night, that seems as day, against 
 The utter blackness of a lampless cave. 
 And most she loved the dim autumnal days 
 When the thin rain fell stealthily from heaven. 
 And one by one the beautiful bright leaves 
 Flitted to earth ; ah ! then she freely wept. 
 For gentle Nature seem'd to weep with her. 
 
 VOL. II 2 A 
 
354 NIOBE 
 
 She wept, and spake not ; softly sighing airs 
 Breathed through an aged cypress that stood by, 
 And the last sweetness of the dying year. 
 In tender emblems of her woful state, 
 Soothed her heart into quiet with their spells. 
 I look'd upon her, though she saw me not. 
 And heard her chant to a sad Lydian air 
 Low words, that sometimes flash'd up, like a flame 
 From smouldering embers ; thus I heard her sing. 
 ('Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me ! ') 
 
 ' This night I dreamt a dream of mingled light, 
 And darkness, which hath brought me some faint hope 
 Of something yet to be beyond this world. 
 The gleam whereof should lead us on the ways 
 Of sorrow, wanderers thro' the night, who seek 
 First comings of the dawn ; 'twas thus I dreamt : 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 It seem'd a morning of the early spring, 
 An April morn ; light-pinion'd airs did stream 
 Thro' the pomegranate, and the almond bowers, 
 And, like the wandering bees, did charge their wings 
 With precious things and new ; the earth was green. 
 And heaven its mingled shadows and sweet lights 
 Pour'd down upon the waters and the woods. 
 Softly as their young breath flow'd from the hearts 
 Of my dear children • from beneath the leaves 
 Of the fresh thickets, and the living plots 
 Beside the streams and fountains, where the red 
 
NIOBE 355 
 
 Anemone and the gold crocus flamed, 
 
 The rapid song of merry finches rang. 
 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 
 It seem'd again that lovely day forlorn, 
 
 That day which did arise so beautiful. 
 
 That day which did go down so miserable. 
 
 The great day of my gladness and my grief. 
 
 Day sweeter unto me than aught had been, 
 
 Darker than aught shall be in this dark world : 
 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 
 The poplar, with its fresh and quivering leaf. 
 
 Beside the river waters whisper'd oft 
 
 Its vernal music ; the deep sky was piled 
 
 With stately clouds, thro' whose tall arches flow'd, 
 
 And silver portals, glory from the throne 
 
 Of Him who fed his pride with my despair ; 
 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 
 Ev'n as I look'd upon the lovely sight, 
 
 Methought a grey veil dropt 'twixt earth and heaven ; 
 
 Noon turn'd to twilight, twilight into night, 
 
 An earthquake seem'd to shudder thro' the world, 
 
 And then a whirlwind rent the fresh green woods. 
 
 And blossom'd champaign, and upgather'd all 
 
 The promise of the year, and swept it off 
 
 With dust, and hail and thunder; then the moon 
 
 Came out upon a desert, and the rack 
 
 Had huddled over, and the winds were still ; 
 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 
 And, thro' the mingling torrents of dread sounds, 
 
3S6 NIOBE 
 
 Voices of anger and of fear, with wails 
 
 Of lamentation, such as seem'd to rise 
 
 Together from tfie inmost heart of All, 
 
 And ebb'd away among the tempest-clouds. 
 
 Till their faint echoes, and the dying winds 
 
 Were indistinguishable, and silence fell 
 
 At last upon the wreck of all that world 
 
 of beauty and of music, silence deep 
 
 And drear ! worse than the tumult of the storm : 
 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 
 I hid my eyes beneath my robe, I cried 
 
 For death, and sank upon the earth in swoon, 
 
 And lapsed, methought, into a mystic sense 
 
 Of years, and years that roU'd for ever on, 
 
 Of years that grew to cycles, with a sound 
 
 Like the great tread of armies. Then all thought, 
 
 And memory quench'd, until a whisper came. 
 
 As the first breath of morn, and I sprang up, 
 
 And saw with awful wonder what I saw. 
 
 The sun was rising on that wreck of things, 
 
 And all the mountains gather'd up again, 
 
 Like troubled kings that fold their robes in haste, 
 
 Their long dark shadows ; and across the plain 
 
 Came swiftly One, who seem'd no shape of Time, 
 
 But an Immortal, for his presence cast 
 
 No darkness from it ; and from every step 
 
 Life flow'd as fast as death from burning fire ! 
 
 Across the realm he moved with speed of flame ; 
 
 On either hand the herbless wilderness — 
 
NIOBE 357 
 
 Where once o'er all the green width of the land 
 
 The loving Spring had breathed, and from her flung 
 
 Uncounted treasures, crowns, and golden cups, 
 
 And silver stars, and with a wand of might 
 
 Changed every gem that sleeps beneath the earth 
 
 To living flowers — once more put on a robe 
 
 Of many colours, but 'twas Summer now. 
 
 A deeper azure, a serener air 
 
 Infolded this new world, and every spray, 
 
 And every flower, that had been blown away, 
 
 Was now surpass'd by one more beautiful ! 
 
 Each living thing became a nobler life, 
 
 And every fashion a more perfect form, 
 
 And every odour a diviner soul. 
 
 The trees were taller, and the vernal vales 
 
 More full of light ; the many-voiced birds 
 
 More rapturous and vital in the joy 
 
 Of their new songs, now vocal with a sense 
 
 Of something inward more than aught without. 
 
 I heard a voice from Him who swept the plain, 
 
 Answer'd in golden echoes without end, 
 
 ' Daughter, be of good cheer, for none are lost.' 
 
 And, looking toward the mountains, I beheld 
 
 A thousand torrents, smit with morning light, 
 
 Dance downward, and o'ertop the rocky edge 
 
 Of the waste watercourses, and fling up 
 
 Into the sunlight sparkles of their rain ; 
 
 And all those torrents seem'd to sing together 
 
 With a great voice, as tho' their several streams 
 
358 NIOBE 
 
 Were thunderous organ-pipes, of the full joy 
 
 Of unborn hearts ; of the oncoming years, 
 
 When heaven and earth should breathe and pulse 
 
 together 
 In one full concord, and this world should be 
 Sown with all truths, as the waste torrent-beds 
 Were fill'd with waters, even to the brim, 
 From the high summits radiant in the sun. 
 And, thro' the veil of rainbow-tinted dews 
 That floated o'er the waters, far above 
 The splendid clouds upon the heights of dawn, 
 A very city of the Immortal Gods — 
 Whence He had flown who stood before me now — 
 Terrace on terrace, dome on dome ; through all 
 The sun shone, filling it with such a light. 
 As might ray forth from the whole world of gems 
 Gather'd together into one. I cried 
 With a heart-cry, and with that cry awoke : 
 And there was nothing but my sorrow left. 
 And the faint shadows of the things I saw. 
 (Ah ! woe is me ! for none is like to me !) 
 A little space, and then once more I swoon'd 
 Into a dream of wonder. Lo ! a change ! 
 I stood upon Olympus, and, methought, 
 I was in presence of the awful Gods, 
 The ancient giants, tyrannous and strong. 
 The vengeful rulers of this scorned world • 
 The setting sun shone with a blood-red glare 
 Upon their golden thrones, where now they sat 
 
NIOBE 359 
 
 In fearful waiting for they knew not what. 
 
 A rushing wind, Hke roaring cataracts, Hke 
 
 The howl of flame, and He stood in the midst, 
 
 A peerless form, that in its godlike strength 
 
 And beauty show'd the likeness of them all 
 
 Wrought into perfect glory : there He stood 
 
 Tall giant, king more mighty than them all. 
 
 But what is this ? Instead of crowns like theirs, 
 
 He wore a wreath of thorns upon his head. 
 
 And gazed up with a supplicating brow. 
 
 And eyes wherein all sorrows seem'd to weep, 
 
 And, in that light that only fell on Him, 
 
 And made the sunlight darkness, and at once 
 
 Cast all their shuddering faces into shade, 
 
 I saw, and wonder'd, on that forehead pale 
 
 Great drops of blood that fell upon the ground. 
 
 He stretch'd his hand, and hush'd the whirling wind, 
 
 To utter silence deep as in a tomb : 
 
 And in a moment all those throned kings, 
 
 Changed, as it were, to marble images, 
 
 Sat still, and bow'd in slumber. As I look'd 
 
 The light waned, and an ashen deathly grey 
 
 Stole o'er the dread assembly, like the moon's 
 
 Funereal glimmer through a wintry mist. 
 
 Each regal hand fell sceptreless, and all 
 
 The forms and aspects of their endless youth 
 
 Shrunk into eyeless skeletons ; my feet 
 
 Felt as they crept through heavy dust of death ; 
 
 The holy mountain of the Immortal Gods, 
 
36o NIOBE 
 
 The very mountain underneath me sank 
 And vanish'd hke a shadow ; and again 
 I stood upon the plain. Again 'tis morn ; 
 And He was there and standing by my side ; 
 Again I saw the city by the sun, 
 And the bright rivers rolling, and I heard 
 The voice again that I had heard before, 
 'Daughter, be of good cheer, for none are lost." 
 
 V 
 
 " This dream to me the orphan mother old 
 Told on the morrow morn ; and for a while 
 She leant her head upon her hand, and wept. 
 Then, with a smile that, 'mid her trembling tears. 
 Rose like a resurrection of dead hope. 
 She spoke ; ' It will be even as I have said ; 
 Jove cast out ancient Saturn, and shall be 
 Cast out by one more mighty, who shall prove 
 The bearer, not the builder of our sorrows. 
 The nightly vision to my daily thoughts — 
 Such as the floodtide of my sorrow leaves 
 Traced on the naked sands of my despair — 
 Is answerable. O thou Comforter, 
 Immortal gladness is repluming in me 
 Its shatter'd wings ; the arrows of Apollo 
 Have slain my little ones, have beaten down 
 My earthly joys, but I shall see them yet !' 
 Thus saying she arose, and winding round 
 
NIOBE 361 
 
 That royal form, majestical in age, 
 
 Her robes with comely beauty, as of old, 
 
 Went up into the city once again, 
 
 And spoke to the companions of her youth, 
 
 And those that she had known in days of pride. 
 
 Pale was her countenance, but most serene. 
 
 So that all wonder'd ; but when she had told 
 
 The secret of her comfort, and great hope, 
 
 The more they marvell'd ; they who deem'd her mad 
 
 Saw but in this the veering of the wind. 
 
 That blew the quenchless flame another way. 
 
 Right thro' the middle of the street she came, 
 
 Like one new-risen from a grave ; she pass'd 
 
 Straight onward, but her fix'd eyes saw not aught, 
 
 As tho' the visual orb, for nature made. 
 
 Changed for the inner supernatural eye. 
 
 Had lost its uses ; but when she awoke 
 
 Once more to sight and sound, and gazed around. 
 
 There came to her a little blue-eyed child 
 
 With golden hair, who, many a time and oft. 
 
 Had listen'd unreproved to the sad voice. 
 
 Broken with sighs and tears, the earnest prayer 
 
 Breathed up to heaven so often and in vain, 
 
 ' Give me back one, oh ! give me only one ! ' 
 
 So that the child shed sympathetic tears 
 
 Altho' she knew not of them — for hush'd awe 
 
 To see the wan face buried in her hands. 
 
 And the long hair stream wildly o'er her knees, 
 
 Made the dear one forgetful of itself — 
 
362 NIOBE 
 
 And now he came, that little blue-eyed child 
 
 With golden hair, and look'd up in her face — 
 
 The fearless wonder of a loving heart, 
 
 Where love a moment had forgotten fear. 
 
 She looking down beheld the boy, and cried, 
 
 ' I thank thee. Heaven, I thank thee, gentle Heaven,' 
 
 And would have clasp'd him ; but he fled away 
 
 At sight of those drear eyes so worn with tears. 
 
 And in the breast of his own mother laid 
 
 His scared heart. That grief was worst of all ; 
 
 Down to the earth the childless widow fell. 
 
 And with a cry of desolation piled 
 
 The dust upon her head ; those that stood by. 
 
 Familiar with her long-enduring pains, 
 
 Fed, as it seem'd, by the avenging Gods, 
 
 Till she became a living fount of tears, 
 
 And knowing all good words to be in vain. 
 
 Left her with her old woe ; she spake no more. 
 
 No arrow from the quiver of Apollo 
 
 Came sharper than that sight of tenderness 
 
 Which had been hers, and was not ; bitter sounds 
 
 Of cursing would have fallen on her ear. 
 
 And daggers pointed to her wither'd breast 
 
 Had been more welcome ; death came to her thus. 
 
 Showing an infant in its mother's arms ; 
 
 Showing her love — the love that had been hers — 
 
 And, when her watchers followed her they found her 
 
 Lying where she had fallen, still and cold." 
 
^SON 
 
 PART I 
 
 It was the twilight of an Autumn day, 
 And I was wandering over wooded slopes, 
 That darken'd more the darkening grey above : 
 And silence seem'd the monarch of the place. 
 Broken by sighings, when the creeping wind 
 Bore up the wailings of the sea, and stirr'd 
 The shivering boughs to answer them, in sounds 
 Of mimic sorrow ; and my heedless feet 
 Sank thro' the tawny floor of fallen leaves 
 Of oak or pine, with sound, like waters chafed, 
 Or trampled on the sun-dried sprays, and cones 
 Startling the woodpecker ; and, from behind 
 Half-naked stems, like columns of old fanes 
 Roofless for ages, stilly golden bars 
 Lay all along the great shore of the West, 
 Like the sunk tide of some high main of fire, 
 That flow'd, all hush'd, amid its purple isles 
 Of scatter'd cloud. The whispers of the wind, 
 That every moment shed away the leaves. 
 
364 yESON 
 
 Sometime the lovely, radiant crown of May, 
 
 In their fresh dewy green ; the close of day ; 
 
 The iron-grey clouds of the coming night 
 
 Of storm, bred thoughts within me, better hush'd 
 
 Than spoken ; such as come to mortal man. 
 
 When youth is gone, and the first downward steps 
 
 Are taken unto death. I pass'd my hand 
 
 Across my brows, now bare, where once there lay 
 
 The dark deep locks of prime, no longer dark. 
 
 But touch'd, like garden-flowers, with early snows. 
 
 While yet fond Autumn dreams of the sweet Summer ; 
 
 For yet he sees far off her flying feet 
 
 And rosy skirts. Deep down within my heart, 
 
 Unutterable weepings, ghostly pains, 
 
 Welter'd ; as 'twere through all the desert soul 
 
 Swept the drear winds of winter, in regrets, 
 
 In mournful memories, such as man alone 
 
 May feel and know. "O Heaven !" I cried at last, 
 
 " Shall rrian too die, whom thou hast crown'd with powers, 
 
 And o'er the manifold creation throned, 
 
 Most vital, and most multiform of all, 
 
 So that we know no more of the great Gods 
 
 Than is reveal'd to us thro' man, his form 
 
 And faculties, which made him ruler here 
 
 O'er beast, and bird, and over men themselves ? 
 
 The Understanding with its instruments 
 
 Taking the height and depth of visible things ; 
 
 The great Imagination, with its wings 
 
 Searching through All in sumless enterprises ; 
 
.•ESON 365 
 
 The Fancy with its figures filling it, 
 
 And dazzling wonders ; and the Moral Soul 
 
 Unto all nature, superadding God, 
 
 Are Man's, his only ; so that he, who first 
 
 Is weaker than the weakest, grows the King 
 
 Of Nature, and her mighty strength he yokes 
 
 To his wing'd chariot ; and her monstrous shapes 
 
 Tremble before his fixed eye, and fall 
 
 Before his wondrous hand ; and none so fierce 
 
 And daring, but by knowledge he can tame. 
 
 Or Ry from. And when all the outward world 
 
 Lies at his feet, like a strong giant, chain'd 
 
 By unseen links of adamant, he turns 
 
 Within himself, and builds another world 
 
 Of spirit-atoms, vaster than the old, 
 
 And, in the blazing furnace of his thought. 
 
 Melts down stray memories, fragments of the past. 
 
 Torn shreds of time, and moulds colossal shapes 
 
 Of wonder, so that ages stand to look 
 
 On one man's work, and marvel. Shall he die, 
 
 When ravens live an hundred years, and trees 
 
 Long as ten long-lived ravens, and the rocks. 
 
 And mountains live their own life, and are glad 
 
 With their own joy?" Oh then I had not dream'd 
 
 Of.any life for man beyond this world ; 
 
 Tho' priest, and sage, and poet utter'd words 
 
 Mighty and mystic of a life to come. 
 
 Or veil'd in gorgeous symbol secret truths 
 
 Of solemn moment. When the sun was up, 
 
366 ^SON 
 
 The city sounding, and the day begun, 
 
 The dust and tumult of this working world 
 
 Dimm'd their great thoughts, and hush'd their holy words ; 
 
 And all the power and glory of such thoughts. 
 
 The Immaterial, the Life to be, 
 
 Immortal youth, eternal knowledge, fled. 
 
 As stars before the great flood of the Sun, 
 
 Or mists before his fire. But now those thoughts, 
 
 Those awful thoughts rush'd on me all at once ; 
 
 As when at night, the great gates open thrown 
 
 Of an illumined palace, one goes down. 
 
 And standing on the threshold stares abroad 
 
 Into the deep, dread, voiceless, starless night. 
 
 And shouts, and draws no echoes from the dark. 
 
 So to piy fearful cry no answer came, 
 
 As tho' the fatal Three, dread Sisterhood, 
 
 When they span, stretch'd, and shear'd the threads of Life, 
 
 To Man's vain sighings after the ' To come,' 
 
 To Man's three questionings — How ? where ? and when ? 
 
 Gave. back three separate, silent, solemn frowns. 
 
 Great sorrow shadow'd me. "O Gods!" I cried, 
 
 " Are all the days of man, so dower'd, fewer 
 
 Than are the swift thoughts of a single hour ? 
 
 And, when the Soul hath gather'd all his strength. 
 
 Falls it like lightning, and is quench'd in darkness ?" 
 
 Just at that moment, from the uproUing rack. 
 
 The lightning glanced, and shiver'd to its roots 
 
 An ancient pine that, crashing in its fall. 
 
 Bore down the trees beside it, and the winds 
 
^SON 367 
 
 Flooded the gloomy alleys, and tore off 
 
 The remnant banners of the year. I fled, 
 
 With voices knelling at my heart. " The fate 
 
 Of "all things earthly, bides its proper hour. 
 
 And, as the year dies, and the forest falls. 
 
 So cities crumble, and so nations craze. 
 
 Why weepest thou, as if thy lot were ill ? 
 
 Who, in a moment, knowest more than all 
 
 The generations from the dawn of Time, 
 
 Of birds and fishes, and four-footed beasts ; 
 
 So that thy life of threescore years and ten, 
 
 Measured by thoughts, is longer than the sum 
 
 Of all their added cycles, more than all 
 
 Millennial forests, than all sleepless seas, 
 
 Eternal floods, and clouds, exhaustless fires, 
 
 Or ev'n the quenchless stars that live for ever ! 
 
 Is Death in Life a boon ? Oh ! wherefore linger, 
 
 After the harvest of the earth is reap'd. 
 
 And every fruit of use, and bloom of beauty 
 
 Is gather'd ? Wouldst thou tread a thousand years 
 
 The selfsame valley, till the weary eyes 
 
 Saw not its flowers and sunshine ; thy dull ears 
 
 Heard no bird's song, and all the morning air 
 
 Was wasted on a pulseless skeleton ? " 
 
 And so familiar grew my fearful thoughts. 
 
 They witch'd me to the love of them ; at last 
 
 I loved to rouse them up, altho' they stung me ; 
 
 So that I fled the court, the city shows, 
 
 And din of life ; and built me here a cot, 
 
368 ^SON 
 
 With a flower-garden fed by mountain rills, 
 Fresh from the snows ; and daily the aspect 
 Of the old crags, and mossy paths, and trees, 
 Deepen'd the unseen shadows in my heart. 
 That first swept o'er me on that Autumn day, 
 When first I wander'd thither years ago. 
 
 II 
 
 Then, even as one who, after travel, stands 
 
 Midway upon a hilltop, and looks down 
 
 Upon a desert on the other side 
 
 Sloping toward the silent barren sands 
 
 Of the great sea, beyond whose gloomy rim 
 
 Are slowly shadowing up the stormy clouds 
 
 To burst at even ; I beheld, and groan'd. 
 
 The sorrow of the future. O Great Gods ! 
 
 To be a bark, such as that traveller sees 
 
 Scudding before the waves and winds ; the helm 
 
 Crazing and loose, the ragged sail fresh-rent 
 
 With every blast of the dread coming night ; 
 
 That bark the last of all the fisher fleet, 
 
 That went forth in the dawn — for they are moor'd 
 
 In the home port, and fear not — shall I stay 
 
 To bale out the fierce waters momently. 
 
 Till strength and hope both fail me in the dark. 
 
 And the deep strangles my last feeble cry. 
 
 And horror ravens me ? And not leap forth, 
 
 And end it suddenly ? I sent a shout 
 
^:soN 369 
 
 Thro' the hush'd forest, and the brooding birds 
 Fled from their nests, and hidden creeping things, 
 I knew not of, moved from me, and fled in fear ; 
 And snakes writhed to their holes. They loved their 
 
 life. 
 Life worse than death to Man ; while I, a Man, 
 Monarch of all things, hated mine, and sought 
 To cut it short, altho' not half so long 
 As a young tree, and yet too long to be 
 Prisoner of pain and fear ! I hasten'd on, 
 With quicken'd steps ; for now the hope of death 
 Spurr'd all my sinews to a sudden life, 
 So that I laugh'd and mock'd, yet hurried on. 
 Till I stood by the dewy rivage green. 
 Where I had wander'd with Alcimeda, 
 The dawn of hope before us, on the morn 
 Of our betrothal, fairest of all Time, 
 And saw our image in the purple stream, 
 A perfect picture, true Love shrined in Youth. 
 And now I was alone, yet not alone ; 
 With all the very selfsame buds and flowers, 
 The silver call of woodbirds, and the ring 
 Of tinkUng ripples at my feet ; the gush 
 Of blossom-stealing winds, and windblown sound 
 Of waters falling in the shade ; and all 
 Simple sweet voices, pleading to mine ear, 
 As though in tenderness they yearn'd to say, 
 " Wilt thou, dear friend, forsake us all so soon, 
 Thou only who canst hear us, and delight ; 
 
 VOL. II 2 li 
 
370 ^SON 
 
 Out of whose soul we can draw melodies 
 
 In answer, and harmonious raptures full 
 
 Of that divinity of humanity, 
 
 Without which we were nothing, tho' we breathed 
 
 Our souls in music for ten thousand years ; 
 
 Without whose answers to our questionings, 
 
 The nobler songs we love more than our own. 
 
 We should grow faint, for lack of thy sweet tongue, 
 
 As these green woods without the summer sun ? " 
 
 I saw an unfledged birdlet from its nest 
 
 Drop in the thicket near ; I heard the wail 
 
 Of the poor mother bird, that flitted round 
 
 In narrowing circles, as though it would risk 
 
 All peril, so to pluck it from my hold. 
 
 I fed it from my hand with seeds ; I laid 
 
 The helpless outcast in its down again ; 
 
 And heard the happy mother chirp her joy, 
 
 In notes that were a blessing. And agairi 
 
 A little child came running thro' the wood, 
 
 And weeping ; for what seem'd two fiery eyes 
 
 Glared on her from a brake ; she clasp'd my knees, 
 
 And I caught up the little frighted love. 
 
 And press'd her to my heart, and kiss'd her tears 
 
 Away, till she laugh'd on me ; and I laugh'd 
 
 To think what little straws could bar the door 
 
 Against my fatal purpose ; and I heard 
 
 The voice of my dead mother, when she said 
 
 In her old age, when moments were but cares, 
 
 " Listen, my child, let no weak heart despair. 
 
/ESON 371 
 
 When the first odour-breath of love and youth 
 Was past, and joy seem'd but a wither'd leaf, 
 I cried, ' My life is empty ; ' till I saw 
 I could do good. And only then I saw, 
 When 1 had sought and found some few to whom 
 Good might be done, so all mankind might be 
 Both givers and receivers, if they would. 
 So life came back ; let all who live, and will. 
 And know, and can, arise, and seek, and find ! 
 Seek them who burn in daily fires of pain 
 Of racking limb, or writhing nerve ; who pray 
 For mom at even, and for even at morn ; 
 Whose life is breathing betwixt agonies 
 Of death in life ; them, haunted by some dread 
 They cannot flee from more than in a dream. 
 To which the daily burning fire of pain 
 Were enviable pastime ; them, who drowse 
 In numbing sorrow, like a pillar of ice 
 Circled with mist, through which the living forms 
 Of good and ill are seen as passing shades 
 Dim and impalpable ; where no tears are, 
 Such as sweet pity's wintry sunshine draws 
 From frozen orbs that nothing else can thaw : 
 Seek these, my child ; be not as those with eyes 
 Who cannot see. Oh ! what a mighty host 
 Is there, whose hearts, and heads, and hands 
 Are smit with palsy and they know it not : 
 Remember my words, be not like to them." 
 My steps grew slower as these words came back. 
 
372 ^SON 
 
 Still I sped onward, and my hope was still 
 
 To dare the death of them who have no hope. 
 
 And, as I ran, my purpose fix'd and fell ; 
 
 The wind rose softly and blew back my hair. 
 
 And o'er the dewy tops of the green trees 
 
 Wafted sweet gusts so ravishing, it seem'd 
 
 As tho' the earth had drawn in breath from heaven, 
 
 And kiss'd me with it. All things seem'd to weave 
 
 A charm about the last hour of my life, 
 
 So that I paused in wonder at the world 
 
 About me, as tho' now I first beheld 
 
 The youth and beauty of grey Time, and heard 
 
 The songs that fear and sorrow had shut out. 
 
 And mark'd the old, old sights for ever new. 
 
 So that mine eyes forgot to look below. 
 
 In search of the dark herb, whose deadly wine 
 
 Would bring that sleep, the anodyne of ill. 
 
 The eternal, sooner than mischance or age. 
 
 And, while I stood in that uncertain mood, 
 
 'Twixt anger, self-hate, and repining love, 
 
 'Twixt eager passion and oblivion, 
 
 Whispers of memory, clamours of despair. 
 
 There passed by one who doubled all my years. 
 
 The thing I feared to be, and so would die 
 
 Rather than brook it. On his staff he leant. 
 
 And his old limbs shook in the summer air. 
 
 I saw he was an hunger'd, as he look'd 
 
 On me with patient eyes and trembling lips. 
 
 But spake not. " Tell me all thy needs, old man. 
 
^SON 
 
 Thy pains, and wrongs ; if thou art full of years, 
 
 I say thy sorrows cannot equal mine, 
 
 Though I be younger by a half of life." 
 
 He answer'd in such tones as were not sad, 
 
 Tho' meek, and without hope. " This day I laid 
 
 My last friend in the earth ; he was my dog. 
 
 Whose mute affection, and quick guardian eyes 
 
 AVere all in all since their sweet voices ceased, 
 
 Who were my children : first the mother went. 
 
 And left me with them ; my one daughter next. 
 
 Fair image of her mother ; my sons died 
 
 Far from me in the wars, I know not where ; 
 
 And one, who was my friend, took from me all 
 
 I had stored up against my winter days, 
 
 To put it out to usury, and fled ; 
 
 Nothing I have, and nothing can I hope. 
 
 But this I feel, that somewhere there shall be 
 
 Knowledge of all that is not known, and sure 
 
 Just equipoise then for the ills of now. 
 
 My arms are feeble, and I cannot toil, 
 
 So that my little garden runs to waste, 
 
 And there are none to help me ; but I know 
 
 That, whatsoever be my weary lot, 
 
 I cannot cast the burthen ; for I came 
 
 To earth at bidding other than my own, 
 
 And may not quit this earth without the same.'' 
 
 He would have parted ; but I clutch'd his arm. 
 
 " What ! O just Gods," I cried, " and have ye sent, 
 
 In this lorn soul, your messenger to me. 
 
 373 
 
374 ^SON 
 
 Made of despised lips an oracle, 
 
 That I may learn first wisdom after him 
 
 A man, a king, a demigod to me, 
 
 And from his woes the vanity of mine, 
 
 And from his worth how base a thing I am ? 
 
 My neck is bow'd before a breath of air. 
 
 His shakes not, Atlantean under weight 
 
 Of mountain sorrows :" and I bad him hope, 
 
 And gave him cheer, and pray'd him follow me. 
 
 And in a little chamber nigh my own 
 
 I minister'd unto him, till he died 
 
 In some few days. " Would I had known thee first," 
 
 I cried, " or one in patience such as thou, 
 
 Ere darkness filled the void of my vain days. 
 
 Peopled with phantoms ; can I flee them now ? ' 
 
 But, for a while, my heart put armour on. 
 
 And for a little space was comforted, 
 
 For doubt and fear were hush'd for very shame. 
 
 The poor man taught me that one life is ours, 
 
 Not for our uses only ; and thenceforth, 
 
 Tho' the old griefs came back, I buried them 
 
 Deep in my soul ; my lamentations ceased ; 
 
 Or when they would break forth, I went abroad 
 
 And help'd some greater sorrow. So my hand 
 
 No more was raised against the hated self. 
 
 The poor mortality that daily waned. 
 
^SON 375 
 
 III 
 
 Sometimes, in fond perversity, I loved , 
 
 To picture to myself the impossible. 
 
 Like babes, that yearn for that they cannot reach, 
 
 And yearn the more the less they can attain. 
 
 And so I lull'd my daily growing fears. 
 
 By imaging fantastic opposites. 
 
 In a daydream sometimes I laugh'd and said, 
 
 " I live again, I live the days of old. 
 
 And now I have the purpose and the power 
 
 To fill them with a nobler life, and acts, 
 
 Such as the Sons of Gods, primeval Kings, 
 
 \^'rought on the earth ; now will I live indeed. 
 
 All crooked winding ways that lead to death. 
 
 All sunny swamps that breathe malignant air, 
 
 I will eschew ; I will not pluck the flowers 
 
 Whose honey poisons ; I will climb the way 
 
 Whose steps are steadfast purposes of honour, 
 
 Nor swerve, if I should tread a wintry realm. 
 
 Sunless and cold." I heard a mocking tongue 
 
 Hiss in mine ears : " What is it thou desirest ? 
 
 Is it not to relieve the past, to quaff 
 
 The wine of pleasure ; else why covet youth ? 
 
 Such youth would then be but a painted death. 
 
 Then listen, listen ; what if the pulsing blood, 
 
 What if the strength, and fierce impulse of youth. 
 
 Should drive thee on so hotly and so fast. 
 
 The speed should shut thine ears, and blind thine eyes 
 
376 yESON 
 
 To all the past ? would not the selfsame hours, 
 
 The selfsame mood, the selfsame circumstance 
 
 Repeated, make thee do again the deeds 
 
 Abhorr'd ? If not, what then ? " A shrieking laugh 
 
 Answer'd itself, " Good cannot vanquish 111, 
 
 Unless they meet together in one hour. 
 
 And if the old life, echoed in the new. 
 
 Should scare thee, and thy will should fold her wings, 
 
 The deed thou hast not doubled hath been done ! 
 
 Not to have done it twice is all thy praise ; 
 
 The deed once wrought can never be o'erthrown ! " 
 
 IV 
 
 This day I follow'd to the place of tombs 
 My last dear kinswoman, the last fall'n leaf 
 Of the first generation. Though I stood 
 Midway in life, full man in heart and frame. 
 Needing no help but my own heart and hand, 
 I felt as tho' the fall of that old tree 
 Let in shrill winds upon me. I had known 
 A sweet instinctive bliss to hear myself 
 Call'd by the fond old names, familiar sounds 
 Endearing, which we hear when first our eyes 
 Turn sunward, but yet have no strength at all ; 
 When others' strength and tender care must guide 
 Our feet and mould our tongues. Tho' wiser now 
 Than they, whose wisdom seem'd a godlike thing 
 To our first innocence (and I could feel 
 
^SON 377 
 
 A touch of sorrow not to think it still), 
 
 I loved to cherish the infantine faith 
 
 That help must come from them, protection, power, 
 
 A fond dream that of purpose shut out thought 
 
 So long as I could hear their voices breathe 
 
 The selfsame tones, and utter the old words. 
 
 But that sad morning was the last link snapt 
 
 That tied me to old years. I felt alone, 
 
 Alone, as one who, in a desert isle, 
 
 Sees the last plank of a great wreck go by. 
 
 And drift into the deep; as one who hangs 
 
 O'er the dread brink of a sheer precipice, 
 
 And feels the hand, that held him up, relax, 
 
 And falls down, down into the deep dark sea ! 
 
 When should I hear again the dear old words ? 
 
 Oh, nevermore ! or, if I did, the sound 
 
 Would be unlike, as some sweet pipe might be 
 
 A^'ith one stop only, to the harmony 
 
 Of many-voiced organs ; there are loves 
 
 Differing from one another, as the song 
 
 Of a full voice from one thin silver string, 
 
 Or the sun from a star. There is the child's, 
 
 Such as was mine, though it would come no more ; 
 
 A man's, a, maid's, a sister's, and a brother's. 
 
 But have they all the self-devoting might 
 
 Of that first love, the mother's for the child ? 
 
 Who would cast over me a guardian hand. 
 
 Now that the kind old folk are gone for aye. 
 
 The fond old women, tender souls and true ? 
 
378 ^SON 
 
 No, no ; the early notes were echoes now ; 
 Self-love must hold me up in days to come, 
 Not their divine affection. Oh ! how strong 
 I felt before, ev'n to that day of death. 
 In feeling that I bask'd in the full beams 
 Of such affection ! Oh ! how feeble now. 
 Standing alone in perfect liberty ! 
 I stood between the Future and the Past, 
 A rock that takes the ebb-tide and the flood. 
 It was the hour when shadows eastward turn, 
 The solemn shadows of the failing sun. 
 
 V 
 
 Now that old age at last hath fallen on me, 
 
 I cannot mock at it, as when a boy ; 
 
 For boys are heartless in their sudden pride. 
 
 And I remember me how once I met 
 
 At dawn of day, a man of eighty years, 
 
 Bow'd with his fleshly ills and load of care. 
 
 I cried, " Good-morrow to thee, lovely youth ! " 
 
 Soon should I be ev'n as that scorned one. 
 
 Nor could I, full of hope and power, contrast 
 
 With the fair morning of my pleasant youth. 
 
 Imagined sorrows of a time to be — 
 
 The very light of such imaginings, 
 
 Masking their deathcold shadows — or feel mirth 
 
 As when I nicknamed some sick boy " old man," 
 
 Or some hoar head of sorrow, " a sweet youth." 
 
.liSON 379 
 
 Or, if my memory cheats me, and I lapse 
 
 To the fantastic humours of my prime, 
 
 Conscience breathes o'er me, hke a chilly wind 
 
 Cast by the shadow of a wintry cloud 
 
 Across the sun ; and suddenly I know, 
 
 That some one, pictured in the present past, 
 
 Was of my years, or dead ; that 'twixt us roU'd 
 
 A flood of stormy decades, and the voice, 
 
 That sounded in mine ears a shout, a laugh. 
 
 Unto my waken'd judgment was no more 
 
 Than whisperings of the fallen leaves. Oh ! where 
 
 Should Hope take refuge ? and where shall she find 
 
 A fair white surface of the days to come. 
 
 Whereon to lay her colours ? And no more 
 
 Hath Fancy any vineyard of her own. 
 
 Or, like a beggar gleaning in the dark, 
 
 May only work when searching out in vain 
 
 Some bruised memory ; or with crazy step 
 
 Totters into the darkness of the night 
 
 Of the last ills ; and with her palsied hands 
 
 Throws round the pale abhorred skeletons 
 
 Some torn stray rags that have no warmth at all. 
 
 VI 
 
 And now first was the rustle of Time's wings 
 Heard in my heart, the inconstancy of Life 
 Made visible. Now first I felt my feet 
 Floating on waves that swept from under me, 
 
38o ^SON 
 
 With not a moment's point to call my own, 
 
 Ere it had vanish'd. Onward I was driven, 
 
 (Worse nightmare than what clings about the feet 
 
 Of one who flees from danger,) with a speed 
 
 I could not curb. An hour of mirthful talk ; 
 
 An evening charm'd with dances, and with songs ; 
 
 The enchantments of a sunny summermorn 
 
 With sweetness after showers ; joys scarce were sipp'd. 
 
 Ere they were snatch'd from me ; the memory of them 
 
 Scarce past by, seem'd already far away, 
 
 Like gardens, and gay pleasances we pass 
 
 On a wild horse ; scarce seen, ere rapt behind. 
 
 And, with the sense of mutability, 
 
 There came another sense ; my heart was fill'd 
 
 With avarice of joy, I hugg'd the hours, 
 
 I fondled the sweet moments with the greed 
 
 Of misers o'er their gold ; nought anger'd me 
 
 Like sudden hindrance, shadowing as a cloud 
 
 The gladness of the present ; lovingly 
 
 I listen'd words of love ; I drank the charm 
 
 Of virgin voices singing, and the mirth 
 
 Of children ; all beauty of the beautiful. 
 
 My thirst to drink of pleasure, while I could. 
 
 Grew quenchless, as the thirst of fever'd men 
 
 Who know that they must die, and every joy 
 
 I tinted, at the moment it was quaff d. 
 
 With hues'of phantasy, as one who holds 
 
 Old wine upon his tongue. I strove in thought 
 
 To multiply it, like to one who lifts 
 
^SON 381 
 
 A wine-cup, and lets fall the sunny gold 
 
 Into the middle of the golden wine, 
 
 To glorify it. " Oh ! to-day, to-day," 
 
 I cried, " for me, and let me live to-day. 
 
 As tho' no morrow could be anymore ! 
 
 And ifthere.be, will it be like to-day? 
 
 For is not every day that comes to me 
 
 A paler twilight, lapsing into grey, 
 
 And utter blackness of eternal night ? 
 
 Wreathe me my cup with garlands, and bring in 
 
 The skeleton, and set it on a throne 
 
 Above the golden vessels ; let me pour 
 
 The last rare drops of life, and then come darkness 
 
 For ever and for ever ! let no thought, 
 
 Ev'n such a thought as that, draw forth a tear. 
 
 Let my heart dance ev'n if my limbs be slow. 
 
 Strike ye your harps, young minstrels, soothe me softly, 
 
 And silverly ; ye dark-eyed Maenads, come. 
 
 Let me hear laughters ringing ; let my day 
 
 Whose sun is setting, end without a cloud ! " 
 
 VII 
 
 But most of all I laugh'd a bitter laugh, 
 
 To think of all the madness of the wise. 
 
 Who wake and watch when sundown bids them sleep. 
 
 And, rather than look on the lovely shapes. 
 
 That come from dreamland, sit by one dim lamp. 
 
 Or underneath the starlight, if, by toil, 
 
382 ^SON 
 
 And knowledge upon knowledge piled with pain, 
 Or fancy on fancy wrought with seeming ease — 
 But real toil, as delicate carved-work 
 Hung on a shrine — they may hereafter win 
 A laurel-crown which they can never wear, 
 A name of honour they can never hear, 
 Ev'n if the gather'd tongues of all this world, 
 Through all the future thundering in his ears, 
 Should raise his pasan ! and so let the years, 
 When life is merry May and June, go by. 
 Like a bright river between rocky banks 
 That never feels the sun. " Ha ! are ye mad 
 To die in youth that ye may — what ? not live 
 In after ages, more than the swift wave 
 Of that same river shall flow back again 
 For ever, and for ever ! and say not this. 
 That ye do thus because of other men 
 Who shall come after ; glory is your star. 
 And must be seen to be delighted in, 
 Not as a pale ghost glimmering in the gloom. 
 But as the noonday sun ! And could ye be 
 Contented with a sight of that pale thing. 
 Instead of the full sun ? Know, Death is night 
 Without a star ! without one little star ! " 
 
 VIII 
 
 Ah ! then another mood got hold of me, 
 A desolate dark thought, and shook me so. 
 
^SON 383 
 
 That all imaginations fled away 
 
 Before it, like the warm light of the west 
 
 Glanced o'er a flowery vale, before the cold 
 
 Shade of a dark cloud rushing from behind. 
 
 For where were they whose voices made me glad 
 
 In the old days ? Yes, two or three were left. 
 
 They greeted me like shadows of the Past, 
 
 Their voices faint, their eyes more dim than mine ; 
 
 Their hearts, like mine, with little left to spare 
 
 Beyond the circle of their proper cares ; 
 
 Haply were more familiar with that thought 
 
 Of coming silence, which I fought against 
 
 With tears and sighs. Oh ! where were they ? That 
 
 thought 
 Sad memories answer'd, like a wailing, heard 
 At night from deep-sea waters ; they brought up 
 Moments long dead that now avenged themselves ; 
 Moments of strife and bitterness ; hard words 
 Flung in unkindness, and not yet unsaid ; 
 Of things done which should never have been done ; 
 Brotherly loves forgot. And if I knew, 
 That ofttimes since ill moods had been subdued 
 By gentle words ; those words of kindness now 
 Pierced my sad heart, more keen in tenderness, 
 Than if swift recompense had smit me then 
 And there with proud disdain. O careless Youth, 
 O reckless prime of days, that throwest down 
 The flowers just pluck' d, and tramplest underfoot ! 
 Forget not ever, oh ! no more forget. 
 
384 ^SON 
 
 There is no spectre half so terrible 
 
 As shadows of old wrongs ; heart-rending words 
 
 Lighten'd at one we loved ; of scorns that drew 
 
 Desolate tears ; slights dealt from our self-love. 
 
 For where those shadows are, no after-dawns 
 
 Of friendships ; no good deeds, nor mirth, nor songs, 
 
 Nor triumphs of delight, can blot them out. 
 
 Oh ! they instead lick up with their own shade 
 
 Things lovable and lovely. Oh ! one curse 
 
 Outweighs a thousand blessings, and one frown 
 
 Will gloom a long day's sunshine in the Past ! 
 
 IX 
 
 And now, too often, like an icy wind, 
 
 A wintry fear breathed on me, telling me 
 
 That, as Hope feeds the heart in Spring with promise 
 
 Of coming Summer, and as Summer brings 
 
 To Hope her diadem of full-blown flowers, 
 
 And the last days of Autumn, without Hope, 
 
 Are clouded with the fear that every day 
 
 And hour, and moment, will shed off the leaves 
 
 From every fairest tree, and loveliest flower ; 
 
 So, in my mournful age, the wintry fear 
 
 Was this, that every welcome and farewell 
 
 Would be the last of all ; when one had come. 
 
 And parted, he would leave me, or I him. 
 
 For ever ; we sad souls would meet no more. 
 
 And oft I marvell'd to hear aged men, 
 
 Dreaming like boys how they should come and go. 
 
JESOTS! 385 
 
 As thus. " Farewell, until we meet again 
 
 This time another year ; and I put forth 
 
 A fresh green leaf;" or, "I must haste away. 
 
 I hear the horse's hoof, the chariot wheel. 
 
 But I will tell thee all another year. 
 
 When cobwebb'd flask of Samian is unseal'd, 
 
 The old Samian, mind, the old Samian ; and we sit 
 
 Beneath the trellised vine i' the afternoon, 
 
 When our grandchildren in the orchard run. 
 
 The old Samian, mind, the old Samian ; now, farewell.' 
 
 Alas ! I never knew them meet again. 
 
 Yet was it better they should part with hope, 
 
 However faithless, than the certainty 
 
 That weigh'd down my own heart ? when I myself 
 
 Mutter'd their words, I mock'd myself and them. 
 
 Oh ! had their years been younger^ they had heard. 
 
 Beneath the mimic music of my speech, 
 
 The deep bass of the desolate "No more." 
 
 Some said, " Come to us in the vintage days. 
 
 When vats are overflowing with the must. 
 
 And country ditties o'er the valleys run. 
 
 Like rivulets in the sun, and rise to us, 
 
 Sitting in the cool shadow of the planes." 
 
 Or one would say, unmindful of his years, 
 
 " Oh ! leave this turmoil to another year," 
 
 And to themselves, " Another and another ; " 
 
 With every last delay, as full of promise 
 
 To the grey head and heart of fourscore years, 
 
 As was the first ; as though he had not seen 
 
 VOL II 2 c 
 
386 ^SON 
 
 But twenty summers. Better so, than shake 
 As I did with the fear of that "To come," 
 And, thro' the glories of the setting sun, 
 To see the stormcloud scowling underneath. 
 Farewell ! which ever echoed in their hearts 
 Eternal welcome, was to me a mask 
 That hid despair ! Yet, should I sink beneath 
 The load of mine own sorrow, and not seek 
 To fling it off with all my might ? not quaff 
 Last drops of pleasure with a quenchless thirst ? 
 Last grapes on the last bunch of the old vine ? 
 Should I not drink again into mine ears 
 The songs that were the dearest to my youth ? 
 Nor sip the old wine hidden from all eyes 
 These fifty years, as though it were the growth 
 Of yesterday ? and feel the golden dews 
 Feed my old heart with memories of hopes ? 
 Should I not live again, beneath the charm 
 Of the wine's short-lived summer in the blood, 
 The stars and roses of young happy faces 
 Round me — the days of old, the days of youth ? 
 Forget, forget, forget, what I am now. 
 And hear, in the sweet silvery, ringing laugh. 
 And chainless merriment of some dear child. 
 My own voice at his age ? and thus once more 
 Blossom into the image of those hours. 
 Until the icicles about my heart 
 Melted in the suncolour's matin play. 
 Once more to childish tears of tenderness ? 
 
^SON 387 
 
 X 
 
 From year to year, oft as the autumn fell, 
 
 And the green woods were changed, the selfsame 
 
 thoughts 
 Were born within me, still with deepening gloom. 
 And now I stood upon the utter edge 
 Of the great precipice. No leaf of youth 
 Hung on the sad old tree ; but some white hairs, 
 Like the eternal snows. And, as I stood 
 Sounding the same heart music, as of old. 
 The same dread anthem of despair and fear. 
 That seem'd still sadder on the broken strings, 
 I heard a sweet voice down the woodland walks. 
 Clear as a sunbeam. In that voice was all 
 The glory of youth ; and fell upon mine ear 
 With vital affluences of delight, 
 Like matin fragrance blown thro' wildrose briers 
 Against the brows of dreamers in affright. 
 Waking ere sunrise; and a sense of joy 
 Sprang up a moment in me and no more. 
 But such a moment for full half a life 
 I had not known. O blessed thrills of youth ! 
 So sweet it left its pulse the livelong day. 
 Nearer and nearer flow'd the blissful song, 
 And now I saw it was my son's young wife. 
 The broadbrow'd daughter of the Thracian King, 
 AVisest of mortal women ; and I stood 
 Bow'd on my staff, to see that vision bright. 
 
388 ^SON 
 
 Radiant she stept upon the sunht path, 
 
 And young anemones. Ere I could cry, 
 
 " Welcome," she ran, and took me by the robe. 
 
 " O father, know'st thou not, this very morn 
 
 The city rings with pseans, and the walls 
 
 Are throng'd with eyes ; and shouts and beaten palms, 
 
 And fresh white roses rain'd from virgin hands. 
 
 Attend the conqueror to the temple gates, 
 
 Where all the air is dim with breath of flowers 
 
 And smoke of urns of odours ? I am come 
 
 To lead thee to the triumph of thy son, 
 
 Mine own beloved one. Come, even now 
 
 The altars hold their offerings ; aged sires 
 
 And mothers, dropping happy tears, are by. 
 
 For the great ship is anchor'd by the mole. 
 
 Our mighty men of valour, safe on shore. 
 
 Send up a grateful utterance to the Gods, 
 
 For their glad fortune ; and the first of men 
 
 Hears his proud name, borne on from tongue to tongue. 
 
 Without a pause, like thunder in the hills." 
 
 She ceased. "Alas !" I cried, in feeble tones. 
 
 Like childhood ; " can these limbs, that scarce may creep 
 
 A little forth at noonday in the sun ; 
 
 These ears that faintly take thy words, my child ; 
 
 These eyes that dimly catch the far-off flash 
 
 Of yonder tumbling torrent ; (which I loved 
 
 To hark in days of old, when all the world 
 
 Of outward nature was a pictured answer 
 
 To the great thoughts within me) ; can this heart 
 
^SON 389 
 
 Move to fresh notes of glory ? Now, oh, now. 
 When other life than memory have I none. 
 When to look forward is to see the gloom 
 Of mere oblivion, as a lampless cave. 
 Where silence is so deep, that all the tongues 
 Of all men calling to me, near as thou, 
 Would never move me more. A few more days. 
 And this sad heart, that was the throne of love, 
 Glory, ambition, all that stirs my son. 
 Shall be thrown by, like to an outburnt slag. 
 Think ye, I am a subject for delight, 
 For summer pageants, happy songs and flowers ? 
 If I must see ought, let it be my tomb. 
 And daily sitting there, by daily use 
 Conform me to the sorrow and the shade ; 
 While yet I live, seem as tho' dead ; and feel 
 No pang at parting when the last farewell 
 Waves to me from the hills, and golden clouds, 
 And rolling waters. Pardon me these thoughts, 
 Which are not those of other men, I know. 
 But, since the days when life began to wane. 
 My fears have wax'd with anguish at the thought. 
 That life is but a dream, while the fair world 
 Of Nature clothes herself in fresh green youth 
 From year to year. Oh better be a tree, 
 A rock o'er-grown with wildrose, or a spring, 
 Whose voice gives utterance to no subtle thoughts, 
 A rushing river that goes by for ever ; 
 While Life once fled by, never more returns ; 
 
390 
 
 /ESON 
 
 Than think, and think, and for the sum of thoughts, 
 Find that thought only is a spring of sorrow ! " 
 
 XI 
 
 The lovely Princess listen'd to the words 
 
 Of the old man, and with a loving smile. 
 
 " Last night," she said, " I dreamt a pleasant dream. 
 
 I walk'd amid the withering flowers, and trees, 
 
 Whose leaves were shed, all but one aged oak. 
 
 And its last plumes were falling silently. 
 
 Methought my step shook off the few fair petals 
 
 Of the last rose, how light soe'er I trod ; 
 
 So that I stay'd my foot beneath the shade 
 
 Of that old oak, and stretching forth my hand — 
 
 I seem'd to say : ' If I could have my will, 
 
 Thy sere leaves, only remnant of the Past, 
 
 Sweet Summer, should be changed to April green.' 
 
 And, as I spoke, I touch'd the knarry trunk 
 
 With this weak hand and straightway buds appear'd. 
 
 And little leaves unfolding, till the whole, 
 
 With low sounds as of subtle music, robed 
 
 Itself in its first beauty ; and I woke 
 
 In wonder at the spirit of that dream. 
 
 What if thou art that oak, and mine the hand 
 
 To make thee spring again ? Farewell, my father. 
 
 Breathe in new hopes, for by to-morrow morn 
 
 I hope an answer to my prayer this night. 
 
 Showing me many things ! " 
 
^SON 
 
 391 
 
 And then she fled. 
 For from the city rose the festal sounds 
 And shouts uprolling, Hke a breezy sea 
 On a rough shore. " Oh can it be," I said, 
 " That by the force of will, or skill of art, 
 Or subtle essences of plants and flowers, 
 Or even by the free will of the Gods, 
 Death can be stay'd ? If Nature makes, and Time 
 Unmakes us, Nature may remake us still. 
 Could we but snatch the inmost germ of life 
 Whence, as a flame from one expanding spark. 
 All outward forms unfold. It may be so. 
 Shall the green herb, that shrinks, grow green again 
 With each new spring? and flowers have life, as long 
 As man who is a spirit ? shall the sun. 
 That swooneth in the winter, put on strength 
 And give it unto all things every year ? 
 Shall streams, that feed the mountain pastures, dance 
 With joyance to the light and songs of May ? 
 Shall Mother Earth have everlasting Life, 
 And we her children have no power to rise 
 Again when we are fallen ? Alas ! the Gods 
 Brook not that Man should live to be their like ; 
 Else had they shown to us in dream, or vision. 
 Or thro' their oracles deliver'd us 
 This secret." 
 
 Then I smiled, to mark her run 
 light as a wood-nymph, and again to think 
 How the fresh blood of youth can make of things, 
 
392 ^SON 
 
 Impossible to reason, truths as strong 
 As their wild thoughts to dreamers. Such is youth, 
 That what it loves it sees, and knows no stay 
 More than a man who flieth in his sleep. 
 
 XII 
 
 One day, the Princess came to me in haste. 
 
 Her eyes were starbright, and her cheeks were flush'd 
 
 With bloom of some great joy. She knelt beside me. 
 
 And she said fondly : " Father dear, my dreams 
 
 Are coming true ; there is no death for thee, 
 
 Perchance, no more for any man ; who knows ? 
 
 I have had speech of Jason, and his words 
 
 Were wonderful ; he told me many things. 
 
 And mighty, such as few have ever dream'd." 
 
 And, as she spake, her chariot drew nigh 
 
 To bear her to the city. " Come with me,'' 
 
 She said, " and hear the voice of thine own son 
 
 Confirm the great things I shall tell thee now. 
 
 Seated beside me while the horses run. 
 
 This land of Hellas, glorious though it be. 
 
 Father, is but the youngest-born of Time. 
 
 But in the mystic Orient survive 
 
 The heirs of the primeval men, possessed 
 
 Of magic knowledge hid from all the world. 
 
 Marvellous fruits, and gums, and charmed roots, 
 
 Better than all the wealth of all this world. 
 
 That make men Gods. ' An aged man,' he said. 
 
^SON 
 
 393 
 
 ' Met me at Colchis, by the shore o' the sea, 
 
 A man of many winters. In my tongue 
 
 He spake to me ; for he had wander'd far 
 
 To East and West, and dwelt in many lands ; 
 
 Egypt and Persia, and far India seen ; 
 
 Talk'd with the wise old priests of other Gods ; 
 
 And taken gifts, and from white-bearded men 
 
 Learnt subtlest spells. ' And once I spoke with one,' 
 
 The traveller said. ' 'Twas by an odorous lamp, 
 
 In solitary chamber, far within 
 
 A Brahma temple, at midnight, we sat. 
 
 Discoursing Fate, Time, and Eternity, 
 
 Sorrows of this world, flashes of the next. 
 
 Vain hopes and vain regrets. ' Hark,' said the Priest ; 
 
 ' I have been young, who now am old, with thoughts 
 
 Far other than my present. I remember 
 
 The rapture of unfolding love, the sweetness 
 
 Of early hopes ; ambitions that have fallen, 
 
 And pleasures that have fail'd. Ah me ! sometimes 
 
 Unutterable yearnings for the Past, 
 
 And vain desires to kindle it anew. 
 
 Laid hold of me. I sigh'd, and secret tears 
 
 Sprang from mine eyes ; my melancholy moods 
 
 Led me to lonely places, and I met 
 
 Strange men, and poor and friendless. And one day 
 
 A dervish said to me, (he was a man 
 
 Tall, and with that deep eye, and regal brow, 
 
 That mark'd him born one of the Sacred Race, 
 
 By birthright bard and seer) : ' The rich are poor. 
 
394 
 
 ^SON 
 
 The wise are fools ; I plod not, I, nor toil, 
 
 I wander where I will ; I have no fears. 
 
 But hark ! I have the secret of all power. 
 
 And knowledge, of Eternity, and Time, 
 
 Unfailing blisses, and immortal youth. 
 
 What matters it, if I am old and weak. 
 
 My raiment ragged ? what if I have not 
 
 Thy wisdom reap'd from every antique scroll, 
 
 And not one precious coin to cross my hand? 
 
 Still can I be all that I will ; and Time, 
 
 In one brief moment, is Eternity ; 
 
 One span unrolls into Infinitude. 
 
 And, if I wander in a wilderness, 
 
 It blossoms with rose gardens, and is set 
 
 With kingly palaces of gold and gems. 
 
 And, if I set my heart to dream of Youth, 
 
 I meet fair troops of laughing girls, who dance. 
 
 And clash the cymbals, set the air on fire 
 
 With thrilling songs, and I too dance and sing ; 
 
 My aged feet are wing'd, my mirth unchain'd, 
 
 My strength renew'd : and, if ambition stirs 
 
 My soul, and thoughts of glory lift me up, 
 
 Lo ! I am seated in a gilded car, 
 
 And cloth of gold and purple, fit for kings. 
 
 Apparels me ; the trumpets sound before me, 
 
 Legions proclaim my triumph ; festal hymns. 
 
 And flowers, and shouts of victory, follow me ; 
 
 Vast plains are shadow'd by Titanic hosts, 
 
 And helm, and lance, and shield give back the sun ; 
 
^SON 395 
 
 My name is thunder'd into distant vales, 
 
 And to the mountain peaks, and frozen snows ! 
 
 Onward we march and onward, with the tread 
 
 Of giants, and with songs, as sound of seas !' 
 
 Whereat he reach'd, from out a niche hard by, 
 
 A cup and vial, and with trembling hand 
 
 Pour'd out some drops, that in the setting sun 
 
 Shone, like those dews that, 'mid the forest leaves 
 
 Take their green hue, or as the radiant sheen 
 
 Of molten emerald ; and he quaff'd in haste 
 
 That mystic rain. I mark'd him as he lay, 
 
 Muttering to himself, until at length 
 
 He sank to moveless slumber, and I watch'd 
 
 Hour after hour until the dawn of day. 
 
 And, as the sun was leaping o'er the hills. 
 
 Up started he from silence with a shout. 
 
 That made me deem him phrenzied. ' Lo !' he cried, 
 
 XHI 
 
 ' I am Great Brouma from the rising sun, 
 World-conqueror and king ; I come ! I come ! 
 Rejoice, thou Summer, and rejoice, O friends. 
 With whom this morn I set forth on my way, 
 To win the World. And from the mountain-tops. 
 And from the heart of the abundant vales. 
 Let one great voice go up, one voice of song. 
 And exultation ! for this morn I mount 
 My chariot drawn by lions, here at hand. 
 
396 ^SON 
 
 Not such as tear men in their hungry rage, 
 
 But such as bend their necks, and give their strength 
 
 To noble uses, even as the will. 
 
 That moves me now to do all kindly deeds. 
 
 sweet Morn in the mountains, clothed with wealth 
 Of many-colour'd light, and teeming growth 
 
 Of red and golden vintage ! Oh I feel 
 The soft, enamour'd, odour-laden breath 
 Of sweet winds, from the unseen thickets sighing, 
 Down in the covert dingles, and green glens. 
 Where woodbines, link'd with jasmin and wildrose. 
 Fill all the brooding sunshine with delight. 
 And mingled fragrance's ; and other airs, 
 Leaping the slant sides of the mountains, bring 
 The spirits of wild thyme and heatherbells. 
 
 1 hear the noise of dashing waters, sway'd 
 To and fro by the wavering wind ; I catch 
 The flash of the fierce torrent, as it flies 
 From far above me unto far below. 
 
 And hides itself among the crazed rocks. 
 And sunless gulfs, bathing the sunbrown turf 
 With such a vital freshness, that the Spring 
 Laughs out once more. Upon the mountain-peaks 
 The golden clouds hold back, and stay their course. 
 Like fiery horses, by their charioteers 
 Curb'd in, that they may have a perfect sight 
 Of the full pomp of this high festival ! 
 Oh ! Heaven and Earth are in full concord now ; 
 For I go forth to Victory, to win. 
 
^SON 397 
 
 Not with sharp sword and spear, but with the power 
 
 Of a new Hfe, that shall embrace the world, 
 
 As these green leaves twine round the naked stem 
 
 I hold. For I go forth, to make of man 
 
 The Lord of Nature, to ennoble him, 
 
 And make him more a king, a thousandfold, 
 
 Than they, who ride from battle splash'd with blood. 
 
 And laden with the spoil of other kings ; 
 
 And he sings blithely, and his children dance 
 
 Beneath the broad leaves of the jocund vine ! 
 
 The unborn generations shall look back 
 
 To this great Morn, as to the first sunrise, 
 
 And everlasting melodies shall roll 
 
 The glory of it down the expanding streams 
 
 Of Ages, and the voices of to-day 
 
 Shall echo through all ^ons, till the end ! 
 
 Hark ! do I hear the manifold acclaim 
 
 Of the great army of my friends ? A shout 
 
 Of gather'd thousands, as they flood this way ? 
 
 And village boys that come on hand in hand 
 
 With laughing girls ? Thrice happy country-folk ! 
 
 Innumerable they come, winding beneath 
 
 The sloping woodlands, and grey rocks, and snatch 
 
 The acorn and the chestnut as they pass. 
 
 And the wildberry from the brier, and stain 
 
 Their lips with it, unknowing that I bring 
 
 The godlike seed, that shall transform the earth 
 
 Into a blissful garden, out of which 
 
 They shall draw streams, to make the heart of man 
 
398 ^SON 
 
 Forgetful of his sorrows, and his eye 
 Radiant with summer, and his fertile brain 
 A treasure-house of phantasies for aye ! 
 See, how far off the many-colour'd robes 
 Of the great multitude, in passing, glow, 
 And flame out in the sunlight ; and again 
 Are drown'd in the green gloom of oaken glade 
 And beechen hollow ; how they wind in light 
 And shadow, and, as some vast serpent, twine. 
 Like fire and smoke, creeping along the ground, 
 Or some great river, which a rainbow paints 
 With its own glories. Wait, my lions, wait 
 Their coming ; hasten not until they join. 
 For altogether shall we stream along . 
 Over the hills and vales, from morn till even. 
 No weariness shall overtake our joy ; 
 For we are bent to overcome by Good 
 The ancient Ills, and the waste places turn 
 To happy gardens, and the hungry bones 
 Of poverty to clothe and warm with life. 
 New life, abundance, strength, prosperity ! 
 Shall not the hope of the true love of all 
 Mankind raise up the weary heart, like wings 
 Above the earth ? Where is the place for pain 
 Or sorrow ? They are hush'd, as is the owl 
 After the sunrise, banish'd to the dens 
 Where no light enters ; as the ghastly leaves. 
 That in the darkness of the woods grow pale ; 
 For them no sunbeam kisses :' and he shriek'd 
 ' Evoe ! Evoe ! Evoe ! ' 
 
^SON 399 
 
 XIV 
 
 ' Here he ceased, 
 And fell, as though a bolt had stricken him 
 Prone to the earth. I saw that he was dead. 
 The life, with this last madness, had burnt out, 
 Long worn with hunger and with wanderings. 
 I trembled ; was it that the life had thus 
 Snapt, like a spring o'er-strained, or did that cup 
 Hold fatal syrup ? In his rocky cell 
 I buried him, and fled, but not without 
 The magic vial hidden in my vest. 
 And since that day, remembering the strange height 
 Of rapture, that the wonder-working dew 
 Had raised him to, that poor and hungry man, 
 Oft was I tempted in the dead of night, 
 When striving with the pale ghosts of old years, 
 And voices, and sad thoughts that harrow'd sleep. 
 To test upon myself what I had seen ; 
 Make man into a God ! Ofttimes my hand 
 Stretch'd forth to clutch the mighty wine ; and still 
 A holy awe, mix'd with a natural dread. 
 Forbad me, and I withdrew the daring hand. 
 And now, so many years are fled away. 
 Since the first burning thirst for secret things 
 Is quench'd within me, that I fear no more 
 Its presence near me. Oh' am I not a priest, 
 A minister to Chrishna the divine ? 
 Vow'd to self-rule, self-agony, self-death ; 
 
400 
 
 ^SON 
 
 To afflict the body for the spirit's sake ; 
 
 To suffer all things hateful, heat and cold, 
 
 Hunger and thirst ? The loves that others live for. 
 
 Have I not all forsworn, and every bliss, 
 
 Tasted by common men, trod down, and scorn'd. 
 
 For sake of that high place that is for me 
 
 Prepared in highest heaven, a crown, a throne, 
 
 And everlasting empire over those 
 
 I envy now ? No, no ! 'tis finish'd now. 
 
 And, that I may not wander from the right, 
 
 (Though, as I said, I fear not, no, I fear not), 
 
 And in some evil moment do the thing 
 
 In Time, which would kill all Eternity, 
 
 And snatch from me for ever and for ever 
 
 Glory, and gladness, and supremacy. 
 
 Take thou the magic vial, take it, friend, 
 
 Hide it henceforward from me ; thou mayst live 
 
 For time, and use it for high purposes. 
 
 And may great Brahma bless thee in its use.' 
 
 And then a silver casket he unlock'd, 
 
 And took from it the vial, which I bore 
 
 Away with me. But still, as with the priest, 
 
 Awe weigh'd upon my heart, and natural fear, 
 
 Lest the same doom, that struck the dervish dead. 
 
 Should seize upon me if I drank of it. 
 
 And I too, I, that I may not be won 
 
 In evil moment, hand' it over to thee. 
 
 According to thine earnest prayer, lest I 
 
 Sometime should pour it out into the air. 
 
^SON 401 
 
 O Jason ! But, I charge thee, use it not, 
 
 Unless it shall be found that some sore ill 
 
 Befalling man, some lamentable pain, 
 
 That laughs at all else, may be charm'd by it. 
 
 For thus dread things are made to minister. 
 
 As 'twere in mockery, when good things have fail'd. 
 
 And save the life that else they would consume.' 
 
 ' Thus spake to me that wanderer to the East ; 
 
 And what he counsell'd me, I counsel thee, 
 
 Beloved ; oh ! I charge thee, use it not,' 
 
 Said Jason. Then I said, ' I have no fear. 
 
 And I perceive that mighty men of war. 
 
 Who would stand proudly, one man against ten. 
 
 Fearless of death, or pain, or any ill 
 
 Without them, ofttimes shudder at a thought. 
 
 That is not all as clear as the great sun 
 
 At noonday, or as round as their own shields. 
 
 And shrink from the Unseen. So might a child 
 
 Take, for a snake, the shadow of a bough 
 
 Laden with goodly fruitage ; I will pluck 
 
 That fruitage, mindless of the shadows under.' 
 
 And so he gave it me. I tell thee, father, 
 
 I had no fear ; but in my heart there grew, 
 
 While musing on this essence marvellous, 
 
 A strange desire, a fever-thirst, a passion, 
 
 To visit that far clime, that very realm 
 
 Where growths hke that were ev'n familiar things. 
 
 Were men as Gods there ? Were the women wise. 
 
 As beautiful ? Were infants of that land 
 
 VOL. II 2D 
 
402 ^SON 
 
 Able to counsel old men of our own ? 
 
 Were cities built of diamond ? Were the builders 
 
 Giants and Titans ? Did the golden flowers 
 
 Breathe strength into the spirit thro' the sense ? 
 
 And the rare fruits, instinct with life, distil 
 
 The nectars of the Immortals, growing Youth 
 
 And length of days ? And were the earth and sky 
 
 Radiant with the selfsame sun and stars ; 
 
 The mountains and the valleys as our own 
 
 Or dropt from Heaven itself? The while I mused 
 
 On all these things, I stretch'd my hand, and took 
 
 The vial, and I rain'd upon my tongue 
 
 Three emerald drops, and to my chamber fled, 
 
 And slept, how long I know not. But I woke 
 
 Suddenly in a glory of such light, 
 
 As never bathed the world till then ; and all 
 
 I had imagined and desired was there. 
 
 The solid marbles of the chamber grew 
 
 Translucent, and the ceiling parted, showing 
 
 The blazing day ; and lo ! a car above. 
 
 Of golden flame, and, yoked thereto, I saw 
 
 Untameable wild creatures, winged, strong, 
 
 And magically swift to speed me on 
 
 From land to land ; I mounted in glad haste. 
 
 We rose until the earth beneath me lay. 
 
 Like a great picture, framed in azure lights, 
 
 And wreathen cloud ; the mountain-tops went down, 
 
 And rolling rivers seem'd as little rills ; 
 
 And multitudinous voices seem'd to quire 
 
^SON 
 
 Above, beneath, around me, hymning all 
 
 The glory of Ind. Methought I join'd the weird, 
 
 Oceanic song ; immeasurable Space, 
 
 Out of its hollow vastness, answer'd me 
 
 With sumless echoes, awful undulations, 
 
 And endless, making music manifold. 
 
 And sweet, as dying thunders, or the fall 
 
 Of world-wide torrents into the Abyss ; 
 
 Until we poised, in silver ether swaying. 
 
 Over that far, that ancient land — " 
 
 XV 
 
 Her voice, 
 Like melody in mine ear, had smit my soul 
 \\^th such deep wonder, that I strain'd my sense 
 To catch each lightest syllable. But soon 
 I ceased to hear that silver tongue, and ear 
 And eye both fail'd, and then I knew no more ; 
 Whether it were that exultation wrought 
 Too fiercely in my aged frame j or glare 
 And dust of the great city, and the sound 
 Of many chariots, and the shouts of men ; 
 Or all together, like a full floodtide, 
 Rush'd o'er me ; or that now the hour had come 
 When I must go to Death, not come to Life, 
 And 'twas too late, too late ! O dreadful thought ! 
 Too dreadful ! So I fell into a swoon. 
 And when I woke, lo, pitying eyes were there ; 
 
 403 
 
404 ^SON 
 
 Kind hands had placed me in a silver bath, 
 
 That seem'd a large and lovely-fashion'd shell, 
 
 In summer moonlight, wafted o'er calm seas, 
 
 Fragrant with essences of richest flowers, 
 
 And rarest herbs ; and then I knew I lay 
 
 In Jason's palace. All around me shone 
 
 AVhat I had never dreamt, and now first saw. 
 
 The glory of my son ; the riches brought 
 
 Out of the Orient, and the gifts bestow'd 
 
 By the proud citizens upon the man. 
 
 Who had done deeds no other men had done ; 
 
 Saw gold, and gems, and marbles, that inlaid 
 
 The stately, carven chamber, whose high dome 
 
 Was pictured with wing'd shapes, and scrolled flowers. 
 
 And little fluttering shapes of flying Loves, 
 
 That shot down arrows, hidden in roseleaves. 
 
 Into the hearts of the scared nymphs, and laugh'd 
 
 At their blue-eyed dismay. O'er mountain-peaks 
 
 The blazing wheels, and many-trampling hoofs. 
 
 Of the great steeds of Eos onward came, 
 
 Back'd by the glory of the unrisen sun, 
 
 'Twixt many-volumed clouds of gold and rose ; 
 
 And through an opening in the marble dome 
 
 The deep, still purple ether shone divine. 
 
 From sculptured urns of agate there arose 
 
 Rich smoke of burning odours, that half veil'd. 
 
 And half revealed, the lovely pictured roof 
 
 And when the fumes of fragrance had exhaled, 
 
 Passing up to the open air, I saw 
 
^SON 405 
 
 What their sweet clouds had hidden from my sight ; 
 
 How milkwhite statues, shaped by cunning hand, 
 
 Stood in each angle, bearing on their heads 
 
 Baskets of breathing violets, or red rose, 
 
 Or tall-neckt lilies, fed with dewy drops 
 
 Of tiniest rillets, gushing from the walls 
 
 With a low, tinkling chime that flatter'd sleep. 
 
 But was I there to drowse, as a sick girl 
 
 Fantastically musing ? Was I there 
 
 To dream, to sleep, perchance to die ? 'Twas Life 
 
 That I had sought, and she had promised me ; 
 
 Where was the blest elixir ? As I turn'd 
 
 Around me, half in anger, half despair. 
 
 Ah ! there, there, the weird vial nigh me stood 
 
 Upon a golden tripod ! " Alala ! " 
 
 I cried, like those who rush upon the foe, 
 
 " Death, thou art vanquish'd ! Victory ! Victory ! 
 
 The Gods have told their secret j I shall live 
 
 For ever ; shall the everlasting oak 
 
 Mock me with its endurance ? Shall a rose, 
 
 Burnish'd afresh each spring with perfect grace. 
 
 Laugh in my face ? and the green herb arise 
 
 Out of its grave anew, and I a man. 
 
 Once fallen, be no more, as tho' the Gods 
 
 Fear'd their own earthly image, and refuse 
 
 The boori they know to be the best of all ? 
 
 And, if I die in dreaming, I shall live. 
 
 Were it not better thus to pass away, 
 
 Hopeful, exulting, into hopeless Night, 
 
4o6 ^SON 
 
 Than linger thro' regrets and fears — the shadows 
 
 That, in this twilight of my utter years, 
 
 Shape themselves horribly, and are more dread 
 
 Than very dark of Doom ? " I was resolved. 
 
 I took the vial in my trembling- hand 
 
 At last, with beating heart, 'twixt hope and fear, 
 
 And saw the green drops fall into the cup, 
 
 Like emeralds sparkling in the even-light, 
 
 And drank athirst for Immortality, 
 
 And threw myself upon my bed, and slept. 
 
 PART II 
 
 "Victory!" I cried, awaking, "Victory!" 
 And from the walls a thousand echoes sprang. 
 Like welcomes to me. Was it mine, this frame. 
 Strong as a wrestler's, nimble as a child's ? 
 Mine these dark ringlets dancing on my neck ; 
 Mine this blithe heart that bears me up like wings ? 
 Some hand had near me laid fresh-gather'd flowers. 
 And the bright-colour'd raiment, fit for youth, 
 Folded beside me : 'twas the early dawn. 
 When the pale glory, like a floodtide, drowns 
 The orient, waxing momently. I ran 
 Along the vacant streets, and still crossways, 
 Till I had found the first green hill, beyond 
 The city gates, and saw the sun come up, 
 
^SON 407 
 
 And felt the young wind play with my deep hair. 
 
 How shall I ever paint the glad spring-morn, 
 
 And those first pulses of exulting youth, 
 
 Renew'd like morn ? not, as in the first years, 
 
 Vibrating unregarded in the heart, 
 
 First instincts drank in like the morning air, 
 
 And sunlight, after dreamless sleep — a state 
 
 Unnoted, and with nothing to compare 
 
 Except itself — but as it were a picture 
 
 Dim with the dust of years, and once again 
 
 Made visible, with all its forms, and hues. 
 
 In all their primal freshness. As it were 
 
 A deathcold image of pale Memory 
 
 Incarnated, and fiU'd with thought, and stirr'd 
 
 With motion, stepping from its pedestal 
 
 Into the living world ; a wither'd rose 
 
 Expanded into vernal bloom once more ; 
 
 A frozen fountain leaping into light. 
 
 The resurrection, sweeter than th'e birth. 
 
 Found images and echoes of itself 
 
 In all things round about me ; Nature now 
 
 Mock'd me no more, but answer'd to my joy ! 
 
 A sumless wonder had been work'd ; I knew 
 
 I had come up to that which I desired. 
 
 The breeze of morn, the glory of the May ; 
 
 The wrinkled stems, that put on crowns of Youth ; 
 
 The upland slopes, that zone themselves with flowers. 
 
 Like many-colour'd fire ; the trembling leaves. 
 
 That clothed the ancient giants of the woods. 
 
4o8 .ESON 
 
 Rustling with dewy twinklings, and as young 
 
 As since a thousand years ; and the glad quire 
 
 Of busy birds, that swam the sunny streams 
 
 That gush'd thro' the green glooms, and mix'd their songs 
 
 In one great choral paean ; the fresh brooks 
 
 Flashing like quenchless Ughtnings from the steeps, 
 
 And plunging thro' dust valleys, yet not hid 
 
 From the all-seeing sun that sought them out. 
 
 And kiss'd them as they fled with stars of gold ; 
 
 All things were happy, all. They spoke of Life, 
 
 Youth, joy ; I also, I was blest as they. 
 
 I who had yearn'd, for half a hundred years. 
 
 For this great day, now felt again the bliss 
 
 Of the first times, beneath the selfsame sky. 
 
 In the same fragrant wood-walks, the same hour ; 
 
 And, to the ecstasy of present joy, 
 
 The memory of first feelings join'd itself. 
 
 Like rainbow beyond rainbow. Oh ! I laugh'd, 
 
 I sang, I shouted, till the very birds 
 
 Were hush'd ; I could not weary of delight ; 
 
 I open'd all my senses to the morn, 
 
 I drown'd in draughts of light, and air ; I ran, 
 
 And danced along the rivulet's daisied brink, 
 
 And with the dancing waters ; and I leap'd. 
 
 And tried the feats of strength I wrought of old ; 
 
 Coursed up the mountain's side without a breath ; 
 
 Scaled the rough crags for berries and for birds ; 
 
 And sought out perils but to vanquish them ; 
 
 Dropt o'er great rocks, and raised myself again 
 
^SON 409 
 
 With mighty arms, as tho' this youth restored, 
 
 Could never more be mortal. Then I paused 
 
 To hark to my strong pulses, as they beat, 
 
 And proud with godlike triumph ; and, stooping down. 
 
 With a boy's sudden thirst that must be quench'd. 
 
 To catch the clear cold water in my hand. 
 
 And bending o'er the brook, I saw myself 
 
 Mirror'd with long, dark locks, and star-bright eyes, 
 
 And cheeks like April roses. Oh ! I cried, 
 
 'Tis better than all Fancy, and 'tis true ! 
 
 II 
 
 Alcimeda, bow'd down by ills of age, 
 
 Went forth no more, or leant upon my strength. 
 
 Now strength no more ; but she, poor soul, held fast 
 
 Her faith in my protecting arm, and smiled, 
 
 Ev'n as a last beam of the setting sun 
 
 In winter. But this day she pass'd not forth. 
 
 For the sky lower'd, and sharp winds from the snow 
 
 Made the blood, shiver. In the inner room 
 
 She sat, her white head bow'd upon her hands : 
 
 And, as I softly towards the portal came. 
 
 Laughing unto myself (O fool ! oh fill'd 
 
 With emptiness, if to thine inner sense 
 
 No wiser thoughts could flow than such as once 
 
 Possess'd thee, when our hearts, as well as brows, 
 
 Were full of youth and hope !), she raised her head 
 
 From under sheltering palms ; she turn'd her eyes 
 
4IO MSO'N 
 
 Upon me, and she said with trembling lips ; 
 
 " It is a dream, but oh so like the truth 
 
 Of sixty years agone. Do the mind's eyes 
 
 See visions born within us, while the outward 
 
 Is daily waxing fainter and more faint ? 
 
 Or sure I saw the boy, so dearly loved 
 
 In youth ; but were it true, 'twere vain, for I 
 
 Have fill'd my heart with dust of this world's ills. 
 
 And now the broken cistern would not hold 
 
 The dancing waters of delight again ; 
 
 They would run thro' the chinks by sorrow made. 
 
 And bitter with the tears that lie therein." 
 
 " Alcimeda," I murmur'd, " it is I. 
 
 The Enchantress hath given back to me my youth, 
 
 And strength ; and so rejoice with me, rejoice, 
 
 Dear heart." A cry ! she answer'd with a cry. 
 
 And from her seat she cast herself in grief 
 
 And fear. " Ye Gods, he hath forsaken me ! 
 
 ^son, thou hast forsaken her, whose heart 
 
 Hath beat with thine for half a hundred years. 
 
 They laugh, who have done this, I know they laugh, 
 
 And I must weep ; but if the Enchantress now 
 
 Had made me young as thou art, I would pray 
 
 For my grey years once more, that look for death 
 
 More than for more of life, as a tired child 
 
 Leans on his cradle with his half-shut eyes. 
 
 Oh ! well I know that cunning worker means 
 
 No good to me, by cheating me of that 
 
 I love now better in thee than dark locks. 
 
^SON 411 
 
 And glittering eyes, or any bloom of youth ; 
 
 Memories, that bring unutter'd sympathies ; 
 
 Hopes, that look on together to the fair 
 
 Elysian fields ; a mutual sigh, a tear 
 
 That times a tear, and then they fall together 
 
 O'er some sweet past, brought up once more in talk 
 
 Beneath the vine, when the hot hours are o'er, 
 
 Or in the moonlight silence. Look on me ! 
 
 Say, was not I thy wife ? Behold thy mother ! 
 
 Thy daughter's self is fitter for thy mother, 
 
 Her daughter for thy mate, than I am now ; 
 
 Her youth more faded than that form I see 
 
 Before me, radiant as in days of prime. 
 
 Canst thou rejoice with me, or I with thee ? 
 
 Can I feel sympathy with thine old age. 
 
 Thus mask'd in brightest youth ? can boyish blood 
 
 Quivering with life, feel sympathy with hers. 
 
 That creeps like rillets lost among dry sands ? 
 
 Canst thou approach me with a lover's looks, 
 
 And I receive thee with these half-blind orbs ? 
 
 Can the smooth hand lie in the wither'd palm, 
 
 Unless they be a mother's and her child's ? 
 
 Wrinkles kiss roses, the midsummer morn 
 
 'Welcome the snowflake, the midwinter frost 
 
 Leap to the laughing June?" She spake no more, 
 
 Save this — " O ^son, ^son, my first love ! 
 
 My thoughts had been^my hope, this many a day — 
 
 That we two, match'd in years, whose hearts were one 
 
 In gladness and in sorrow, should be join'd, 
 
412 
 
 ^SON 
 
 Where most are parted, in the day of doom. 
 That we two, hand in hand upon the shore 
 Of the dark river, should await the bark, 
 And the dusk ferryman, to waft us o'er. 
 Where troubled souls are comforted with calm. 
 And weary hearts with memories of sweet hours, 
 Balmy as sleep with summer dreams. But thou 
 Hast shiver'd all the tablet of my hopes 
 And broke this heart — that haply else had stood 
 A few more winters with thee, and blind eyes, 
 Ev'n with blind eyes, for such will be my lot — 
 As 'twere a vessel whence the wine is drain' d, 
 Heirloom of ages, suddenly thrown down, 
 And shatter'd by unpitying hand ; this heart 
 Weak, and now void of all but those few drops. 
 That lived on dear imaginations, born 
 Of dearer memories. And it seems to me,'' 
 (And here two tears ran over those old eyes 
 As springs, dried up for long long years, again 
 Gush forth in earthquakes), " I shall better love 
 To wander o'er the dim shore all alone. 
 Than pass across, where I might find a home. 
 Another home, but farther off from thee." 
 Ah ! then I wept ; had sorrow come so soon ? 
 Or were they dews of dawn, these gushing drops ? 
 But I went forth, to seek one who had power 
 To give new life, as she had given to me, 
 Nought doubting, nor, that those dear aged eyes 
 Should shed no more of such heart-breaking tears, 
 
yESON 413 
 
 But be the faithful mirror of my own, 
 Taking my joy on their delighted orbs 
 Like sunshine on the waters ; and I pass'd 
 As 'twere with wings, so eager was my hope. 
 But had I dreamt the grief that was to come, 
 My hope had been less instant than my fear ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Alas ! not long did the great light of bliss 
 Shine on me, when the fiery pulse was calm. 
 The senses drowsy, and return of thought 
 Brought back my memories, and the knowledges 
 Gather'd thro' years of change — the memories 
 Of friends who had grown up with me, were young 
 When I was young, and old when I was old. 
 How sad it was sometimes to meet the son. 
 And take him for the father, whom I knew, 
 In first old age with me, his friend ; to see 
 The thin grey hair, the palsied step ; and hear 
 The well-known voice again, for so it seem'd ; 
 And, if I call'd him by his name, to meet 
 Strange looks of cold disdain, and loveless words. 
 Then fear possess'd me, and a new desire. 
 Could I not shake off, with the aged frame. 
 The experienced mind? and once again put on 
 Boyhood's simplicity, and eager will ? 
 For, though at first the marvellous rebirth 
 Of all that I had yearn'd for came most sweet. 
 
414 ^SON 
 
 And doubly sweet from my self-consciousness, 
 
 Soon came the bitter knowledge after it 
 
 That this fair resurrection of the Past 
 
 Was all unsuited to the timeworn soul, 
 
 That dwelt within it. What were lively limbs 
 
 Without the love that moved them ? Could I think 
 
 With youthful thoughts, because my blood was warm ? 
 
 Clothe myself with new hope and nought to hope for ? 
 
 True, I might seek the revel, join the dance, 
 
 And quaff the winecup ; with a keener sense 
 
 Listen to sweet music, and breathe in 
 
 The odours of spring flowers, and mark their hues 
 
 With undimm'd eyes; but what had I to hope. 
 
 Whom sad experience had taught to know 
 
 The vanity of all things, and the blight 
 
 That kills the blossom ere the fruit is set ? 
 
 True, I might join the sports of the young men. 
 
 Whose very souls were one with their delights. 
 
 Would mockery of that I did not feel 
 
 Be good for them or me ? Could sympathy 
 
 Echo to mockeries ? and, if it could. 
 
 Mine could not answer theirs ; how could I feel 
 
 The first ambition to be foremost now 
 
 At ball-play, or upon the chariot-course, 
 
 A hunter, or a wrestler, or a swimmer. 
 
 When memory told me of far other things ? 
 
 Of triumphs won, and glories, that since then 
 
 Drank like the noonday sun the dews of morn. 
 
 The innocent first prides, and happy crowns ? 
 
JESON 41 S 
 
 And yet the first ambition was as strong, 
 
 Ay, stronger than the man's who seeks a throne. 
 
 Or a new realm ; as tireless as the search 
 
 Of power, or wealth, or honour ; could it be ? 
 
 Then a swift picture cross'd my tearful eyes. 
 
 I saw myself a boy, but twelve years old. 
 
 Girt for the race along the smooth-shorn green. 
 
 My eager friends had match'd me to outrun 
 
 One elder by two years, and he had mock'd, 
 
 And laugh'd, and warn'd me back ; and then he said ; 
 
 " Go to — start twenty paces on before me. 
 
 Ere thou hast taken twenty of thine own, 
 
 I shall be twenty paces on before thee.'' 
 
 I scorn'd his proffer ; we stood foot to foot. 
 
 My fresh nerves, tighten'd by my eager will, 
 
 Like to a bowstring drawn by a strong hand. 
 
 Made arrows of my feet, and I flew on. 
 
 And heard my shouting fellows, when they burst 
 
 Into a triumph, as I clutch'd the goal. 
 
 And oh, methought, 'twere sweet to raze from thought 
 
 All other victories, and leave but that. 
 
 The glory of that first acclaim, of those 
 
 Who gloried in me ! Oh ! what music since 
 
 Hath lifted up my heart to such delight, 
 
 Tho', by the side of better conquests won, 
 
 It were as nought ? Yet other conquests won 
 
 Have left no moment in my memory, sweet 
 
 As that, when little hearts and voices shrill 
 
 Spake to me, as thro' silver trumpet-tones ! 
 
4i6 ^SON 
 
 And, tho' young senses might delight and bask 
 
 In beauty's eyes, where should I now bestow 
 
 That heart, which long ago another held. 
 
 Whose dear face, thro' the mist of years, look'd back 
 
 On me, whose voice, heard thro' the silent past, 
 
 Whose beauty, in the mirror of my mind. 
 
 Was seen as clearly, and more fondly loved. 
 
 Than any of the fairest of these days, 
 
 Who pass'd before me ? Would the heart rewarm 
 
 With its warm blood, or would the eyes, for all 
 
 Their brightness now, be tenderer than they were, 
 
 When fiU'd with tenderest tears, at thought of her, 
 
 Tho' dim with age ? Then came the first of ills. 
 
 Alcimeda, who, since that day of folly. 
 
 Had lain with hush'd lips turn'd toward the wall, 
 
 Sign'd to me, lifting on me her pale face. 
 
 And bad me to her with that voice of old. 
 
 All tenderness, but as a whisper now. 
 
 " Beloved, O beloved, come to me ; 
 
 For I can bear to pardon thee, to hear thee, 
 
 To speak to thee, and listen to thy voice. 
 
 As once I heard it on that April morn, 
 
 ■\Vhen we two, wandering on the river shore. 
 
 Set, as with rainbows, with the springing flowers, 
 
 Look'd down upon the mirror of the stream. 
 
 And saw that lovely picture of our love. 
 
 Two perfect forms, our mutual arms entwined, 
 
 And circling each the other, as lithe vine 
 
 That leans its young arms from one guardian tree, 
 
^SON 417 
 
 And meets halfway the young arms from another. 
 That picture now I see with clearest eyes, 
 But not the eyes thou sawest yesterdays 
 For I am Wind, O ^son, I am blind. 
 And better so, than see thee as I saw, 
 Mine aged helpmate mocking me with youth. 
 With that dread sight, in pity for my pain, 
 Methinks the Gods have burnt out my old eyes. 
 But I can bear to listen to thee now. 
 And answer thee, because I see no more 
 My wrinkled arms, my curved frame ; and so 
 Fancy I am thy young bride, as of old. 
 Now that my strength grows hourly less, and all 
 The world of Nature is a starless night 
 To the outward eye, I find an inner sense. 
 That shows me things beyond all phantasy. 
 We shall not languish in an endless dream. 
 And vain regret of all that we have lost, 
 This earth and sun ; nor will our spirits be 
 As moonbeams faint, and cold, and pale ; but all 
 The virtue that our souls have gather'd here, 
 The wisdom and the knowledge we have won, 
 Shall live again, and put on year by year 
 Strength upon strength, as the returning sun 
 Soars from the depths of winter day by day 
 With added power and glory. And the flower 
 Of youth, that here the autumn of old age 
 Sheds off, shall bloom again as in the spring, 
 In that New Life, but with a radiant light 
 
 VOL. II 2 E 
 
4i8 ^SON 
 
 Of beauty, such as never dawns on earth, 
 
 And is but shadow'd in the Poet's eye, 
 
 Which dimly sees, what shall hereafter be, 
 
 The perfect Flower of Time ; that lifts its head 
 
 Out of the dead earth of Mortality 
 
 Into the pure airs of Eternity. 
 
 Therefore my heart takes comfort ; for I see, 
 
 In these fair visions, many whom I knew 
 
 Children, a child myself, who left us soon. 
 
 Yet they are not grown old as I am now. 
 
 But stood before me, as the fadeless flowers 
 
 That feel no winter. Many, who were old. 
 
 As I am now, when they left us behind, 
 
 I saw reborn, restrung, recrown'd with life, 
 
 As tho' midwinter drear should all at once 
 
 Turn back to the dear summer, whence he fell. 
 
 And the dead roses should burst out again I 
 
 Therefore I know, that, if I go before, 
 
 I shall put on my lovely youth anew. 
 
 But thou, unwise one, to be pitied more 
 
 Than she who quits thee, will be chain'd once more 
 
 To a new life, and to another death ; 
 
 For Death is not what he hath seem'd to thee. 
 
 Death is the daily lapse from good to ill ; 
 
 Death is the fall from strength to weakness ; Death 
 
 The falling off of blisses, leaf by leaf; 
 
 The pining for the loves we have no more ; 
 
 And not the last swift parting of the breath. 
 
 Which is the upward moving of that wing 
 
^SON 419 
 
 That wafts to godlike being ; now I know ! 
 
 And thou hast died, O ^son ; once hast died, 
 
 And now in thy fresh life wilt die again ! 
 
 I know I shall be clothed in beauty there, 
 
 In that far land whither I go ; henceforth, 
 
 When thou hast tasted all vain joys afresh, 
 
 And wakest to that wisdom which the Gods 
 
 Have breathed into my spirit, since my heart 
 
 Was broken by thee, just before I die ; 
 
 Thou shalt pray daily for the death, which now 
 
 Thou fliest from. And when thy trembling hands 
 
 Are stretcht forth, morn by morn, unto that clime. 
 
 That lies beyond the sunrise in the east, 
 
 I shall be near, I know I shall be near. 
 
 To see, to stay, to comfort thee ; to hear 
 
 Thy tongue confess the folly of thy fears. 
 
 And those young eyes, that see me aged now. 
 
 Dim with the long years of a second life, 
 
 Shall look upon me in my youth again. 
 
 Like thy once bride, yet fairer ; and the home 
 
 I shall prepare thee, shall be like to that 
 
 We enter'd on that April morn of old." 
 
 And, as she spoke, she lifted up her head ; 
 
 Her eye was lightning, and a godlike smile 
 
 Play'd on her lip a moment ; and then all 
 
 Grew ashy-grey, as when the mountain-tops 
 
 Lose the last glory of the setting sun. 
 
 Oh ! all she was, was nothing to me now ; 
 
 "Alas !" I cried — "and will be nevermore !" 
 
420 
 
 ^SON 
 
 For, though her words were as an oracle, 
 Rapturous, and wing'd with hope, as soaring fire. 
 They went no deeper than my listening ear, 
 And knock'd against my coward heart in vain 
 That day : but, like dread ghosts, they rose once more 
 To buffet me, when youth was gone again. 
 
 IV 
 
 In days of old the first voice that I heard. 
 After the merry birds of dawn, was hers. 
 Sure as the breeze of morning, bearing up, 
 From the dew-laden woods and plots of flowers, ' 
 The newborn sweets, upbreathing with the day, 
 Her reawaken'd heart went forth in song. 
 That broke into my dreams, and I arose. 
 And now I dreamt again — but she was not 
 To call me up with music — and my dream 
 Sweetest of all, and saddest, was of her. 
 Ah ! there we were, as on that April morn, 
 Bending above the brook, with linked hands. 
 No shadow fell upon me of regrets, 
 Or timorous apprehensions ; no one cloud 
 Of all the griefs that haunted me by day ; 
 The past was present, and that present more 
 Than all the past itself. I held her hand 
 Olowing with love and youth. " Alcimeda ! 
 Dearest," I cried, " Alcimeda, the Gods 
 Have dealt most gently with me ; for I dreamt 
 
^SON 421 
 
 We two were stricken with the lack of all 
 
 That makes life worth the living ; youth's warm spring 
 
 Was gone for ever ; manhood's midsummer, 
 
 Grand in its storms and glories, had declined 
 
 Into autumnal shadows ; these had pass'd. 
 
 And we stood underneath the winter night 
 
 Frozen and still, the deepening night of age 
 
 Darkness without a star ! And now 'tis morn, 
 
 Morn, and our griefs and terrors were a dream. 
 
 'Tis morn ; I see thee once again, renew'd 
 
 In all that beauty which the wand of sleep — 
 
 Subtle to stretch out moments into years. 
 
 Or lock up years in moments — made me fear 
 
 Was past away for ever, long ago. 
 
 That loveliest of all fair realities 
 
 Itself became unreal as a dream ; 
 
 O happy day ! with many more to be 
 
 Happy, and happier ! I will drowse no more 
 
 With thoughts of weariness, of age, and death, 
 
 With all the future lying in our sight. 
 
 Like this fair champaign with its dewy green, 
 
 Quivering with light and colours, on, far on. 
 
 Up to the mountain slopes, and glorious clouds ! " 
 
 " So jocund is my heart," was her reply, 
 
 " That, O my lover, I could fling away 
 
 All burthen of mortality this hour. 
 
 With thee ! with thee ! and we shall die no more. 
 
 Death is a painful sleep, and nothing more ; 
 
 And lo ! 'tis past ! This very morn we flee 
 
422 MSON 
 
 Where neither fear nor care can follow us, 
 
 But Hope lead on for ever into realms 
 
 That lie beyond the summits ; and we live 
 
 Over again, divinely perfected. 
 
 Those hours, that fled, from us too soon on earth, 
 
 That fled ere we could grasp them ; like a beam, 
 
 Chased by a shadow o'er a breezy field." 
 
 Even to my slumbering sense her tuneful words 
 
 Seem'd strange, and phrenzied, and, through all my bliss, 
 
 A chill shot down, as from an icy peak 
 
 Frore air through all the sunlight ; and the fear 
 
 Shatter'd the golden vision, and I woke, 
 
 Lamenting. Then I knew the words were true ; 
 
 And, if we met, it must be in a dream, 
 
 But, face to face and living, nevermore ! 
 
 V 
 
 When that great grief was wash'd away in tears. 
 And sighings ceased, like mists before the sun. 
 My young life made me restless, and I sought 
 To slake the unnatural vitality 
 By frequent wanderings over land and sea. 
 I pass'd thro' many lands, o'er mount and plain. 
 Saw divers cities, spake with many men. 
 But to make friends I must dissemble now, 
 And this was evil — a struggle and a pain. 
 How could I hold wise converse with the wise ? 
 Tell of my lifelong trials, joys, and cares ? 
 
^SON 
 
 423 
 
 Speak of dead loves, a youth myself ? discourse 
 
 Of boyish impulses, myself a boy ? 
 
 AVhen Nature is no mirror of herself. 
 
 And lookers-on know more of us than we 
 
 Ourselves, it was for ever to keep watch 
 
 Upon my words ; as, speaking of great names 
 
 Departed, bygone battles lost or won, 
 
 Men cast strange eyes upon me, and I heard 
 
 Whisperings, or jeering laughter ; and some said 
 
 Under their breath, " O liar ! " or " O fool !" 
 
 While others only murmur'd " He is mad !" 
 
 Sometimes a youth would take me for his friend, 
 
 And knit his arm with mine, and in mine ears 
 
 Pour all his hopes, and fears, his prides, and wrongs, 
 
 And seek to win my sympathy with all. 
 
 But I was cold to hear of his delights, 
 
 Love-swoons, and raptures ; at his wrath I smiled. 
 
 But it was sad to look upon his face, 
 
 And see therein the image of some friend. 
 
 Born the same year with me, gone long ago, 
 
 Who with such words once would have spurr'd me on 
 
 To any venture, and have won my will, , 
 
 My wit, my prowess, ay, my life itself, 
 
 To strengthen him. If some fair girl should lean 
 
 Toward me, and, with momentary warmth 
 
 And glowing speech, kindled by thoughts of mine 
 
 Dear to me once, should answer me, as I 
 
 Had answer'd her, when those fair thoughts were new, 
 
 And smile in loving sympathy, then sigh 
 
424 • ^SON 
 
 And droop her eyes ; coldly I turn'd apart, 
 Not without sorrow; wherefore should I win 
 A heart with which mine could not beat accord ? 
 " Alas ! " I cried, " 'tis well great Death is pale, 
 And cold, and bloodless, else Himself would seek 
 Rather to die than snatch away the living ; 
 Rather than any more to walk the world 
 A mockery to himself, a snare to others ! " 
 Sometimes a wrinkled sneerer at young men 
 Would scoff at my wise answers, deeper than 
 His knowledge. And how strange it seem'd to me. 
 That I might say unto him, if I would, 
 " Old ? thou art young enough to be mine heir ; 
 And I who seem to count but twenty summers. 
 Have reckon'd up more than an hundred winters, 
 I seem thy grandson, but I am thy grandsire ! " 
 
 VI 
 
 Once, when eight decades of my earlier life 
 Were well-nigh over (and so clear remains 
 The picture in my memory, that it seems 
 As yesterday), I wander'd forth, my heart 
 Full of its discontent, and bitterness. 
 Thro' bowered walks beyond the city-gate. 
 And lovely was that early summer's eve. 
 Beyond all art ; the sun had set but now, 
 And fired the glorious cloud-palaces ; 
 And lit up the gigantic temples, domed 
 
^SON ' 425 
 
 With silver ; and a soft wind from the seas 
 
 Crept o'er the dusky gardens, bearing up 
 
 Rich breath of their blown roses, and all flowers. 
 
 But all things seem'd to mock my sad old age, 
 
 That told of youth and beauty ; the hoarse wail 
 
 Of rising waters, and of stormy winds, 
 
 Had been more tuneful to my restless mood 
 
 Than any sight or sound of summer. Soon 
 
 The twilight deepen' d, and the western gold 
 
 Changed into ruby ; my deep musing drew, 
 
 By little and by little, the rapt sense 
 
 From outward things. I heard at intervals 
 
 The nightingales, from out the shadows warm. 
 
 Of flowering thickets, call to one another. 
 
 When suddenly far other sights and sounds 
 
 Startled me from my trance ; and lo ! there turn'd 
 
 A bridal pomp into the public way 
 
 Out of a sidewalk, and came on to meet me 
 
 With songs and cymbals, and with torches waved, 
 
 And paniers piled with lilies ; but the mirth 
 
 And music shock'd me like a battle cry. 
 
 Oh ! I remember'd thus my own dear bride, 
 
 Brought to my home long years ago ; ah me ! 
 
 How lovely was that even, and the night 
 
 Of that great day. I saw the torchlight dance 
 
 In her dark eyes, and turn them into stars. 
 
 How smooth that brow, now ribb'd with years and care, 
 
 Like seasands, fretted with unnumber'd tides ; 
 
 How golden-bright that flowing hair, now grey 
 
426 ^SON 
 
 AVith time, like the sere leaves in January. 
 
 And yet to me the glory of that day, 
 
 Repeated after all those years, stirr'd in me 
 
 No sympathy with rapture, and with youth. 
 
 But rather envy, bitterness and wrath. 
 
 I fled back to a dark grove by the way, 
 
 Whose inner blackness made the outer show, 
 
 The flitting flames, and colour of the robes. 
 
 Brighter by contrast ; on a cypress-stem 
 
 I leant, and saw the nuptial chariot pass 
 
 Slowly. The lights, the songs, the ruby sky. 
 
 Seem to me all a lovely vision now. 
 
 But then as cruel as the frowning Fates. 
 
 A sudden flash of torchhght show'd the face 
 
 Of the young bride ; O Heavens ! methought I saw 
 
 Once more the face of my Alcimeda, 
 
 In flower of virgin beauty ; I rush'd forth 
 
 Not knowing what I did ; some youth went by 
 
 Praising her loveliness, and then I heard 
 
 She was a young kinswoman of my wife. 
 
 The beauty that had faded was not lost ; 
 
 Behold the sun, long set, was risen again, 
 
 In sweet Euarete : how can I tell 
 
 The wonder and the anguish of my soul ; 
 
 The cruel magic passing — vanishing — 
 
 And leaving me despair? The chariot stay'd 
 
 Before the portal of the bridegroom's home. 
 
 He, in the piide of strength, and bloom of grace. 
 
 Moulded like Phoebus, lord of many lands. 
 
^SON 427 
 
 And treasures, wedded her, the morning-star 
 
 Of a long day of light, and life, and love. 
 
 I parted not, and swore to drain the cup 
 
 Of sad regrets ; I enter'd with the rest 
 
 Amid the shadows, and I stole behind 
 
 Some laurels in the garden, and I heard 
 
 The tumult of the festival ; I mark'd 
 
 The dancers moving 'mid the silver lamps ; 
 
 I heard the midnight hymeneal song ; 
 
 And some came forth into the starlit walks 
 
 Whispering together ; then I fled away 
 
 Lest I should curse them whom I could not bless, 
 
 And make myself accursed ; so I fled ; 
 
 But all my vengeance was a deepdrawn sigh. 
 
 " O happy pair ! " I cried, " your day will come : 
 
 I would not bid it hasten if I could. 
 
 But, if ye live to taste the lees of joy, 
 
 There .is no bitterer taste like that, I warn ye. 
 
 Live, live ; perchance some tongue, as old as mine. 
 
 Blest me, when I was even as ye are, 
 
 And I too bless ye, may no night fall on ye, 
 
 Dismal as mine ; Oh rather pray that fire 
 
 From heaven may smite ye both the selfsame moment I " 
 
 I fled away, weeping unmanly tears. 
 
 I thought again of that delighted pair. 
 
 Loving and lovely ; they had sought their home, 
 
 And enter'd crown'd with blisses. When they reach 
 
 My years since I was wed, will they go forth 
 
 Together ? will not one be left to weep ? 
 
428 /ESON 
 
 VII 
 
 And now four decades of my other life 
 
 Had gone by, and I stood again, in strength 
 
 Like a tall forest-tree, six months ago 
 
 Seeming as dead, and then renew'd in spring, 
 
 Now flourishing in summer. In a tree 
 
 The sap might rise ; in my recover'd might 
 
 What was there left of youth ? a sculptur'd tomb 
 
 Of Parian marble, richly wrought without. 
 
 Was not more cold within ; for many years 
 
 I had not thought of those two youthful mates. 
 
 Sad moods had held me ; Alcimeda was dead ; 
 
 My heart, that pulsed with youth, could beat no more 
 
 For any other ; and it chanced again 
 
 That I again had sought my native shore 
 
 After long wanderings over other lands. 
 
 Cities, and customs, chance and change, and good. 
 
 And ill, and words, and deeds of many men. 
 
 Lay quivering, like a slowly gather'd haze. 
 
 Between me and the past. It chanced again 
 
 I wander'd thro' the old embowered walks 
 
 Without the city ; I stood beside the gate 
 
 Of that same garden where I once lay hid 
 
 That evening of the bridal. I look'd up ; 
 
 I marvell'd at the silence, I who knew 
 
 That home and its indwellers ; I remember'd 
 
 My own thoughts then, I marvell'd at the silence ! 
 
 While thus I stood, I heard faint sounds, and saw 
 
.ESON 429 
 
 The great doors open flung, and there came forth 
 
 A funeral company ; upon two biers 
 
 Two aged forms were lying side by side, 
 
 Their foreheads wreath'd with flowers; and then I spoke 
 
 The foremost of the mourners. " Friend," I said — 
 
 " I am a stranger ; tell me who are these." 
 
 " Needs must thou be a stranger," he replied ; 
 
 " Or needless 'twere to tell thee who are these. 
 
 In all the city there is not an eye 
 
 But knoweth, as his own, familiarly. 
 
 The aspects of this good man and his wife ; 
 
 The loving-hearted, sweet Euarete ; 
 
 Euphron the just, the noble, and the wise." 
 
 I shook, as though it thunder'd ; I had seen. 
 
 And had not known them ; for remembrance brought 
 
 Only to mind the image of that eve. 
 
 That blissful bridal, and the years between 
 
 I had not counted ; I was young and strong. 
 
 Could they be old ? I knew I had been old. 
 
 While they were young. Alas ! full forty years 
 
 Had sped since that bright night ; six decades roll'd 
 
 Over those two, and yet their goodly forms 
 
 Might have sustain'd three decades more of life, 
 
 And seen their great grandchildren at their knees, 
 
 Had it not been that the Immortals will'd 
 
 To save them from the evils yet to be, 
 
 By snatching them away, while yet they knew 
 
 Glory, and honour, and prosperity. 
 
 " How died they, friend, I pray thee learn me this ?" 
 
430 /ESON 
 
 " It is a wondrous thing I tell thee now," 
 
 He answer'd — " It was in the vintage-time 
 
 Among the hills, and they went forth to mark 
 
 The vintagers, and cheer them at their toil 
 
 With words and deeds of kindness. When the day 
 
 Was not far gone, a sudden tempest rose, 
 
 And a great darkness wrapt the land, and drove 
 
 The scared villagers this way and that. 
 
 The aged pair sought refuge underneath 
 
 An aged oak ; when down the lightning flew, 
 
 And thunder foUow'd, like a voice, that bad 
 
 The countryfolk turn back, to mark the end 
 
 Of these their lifelong friends ; and yet not mourn, 
 
 As tho' to die together without pain. 
 
 When the fair cup of their good deeds was full. 
 
 Were not a boon. For there they lay in peace. 
 
 And side by side — -ev'n as ye see them now — 
 
 Shot thro' by one swift bolt !" I stood, as though 
 
 Myself were smitten with a bolt like that, 
 
 Dumb and astonied ; for, like phantoms, pass'd 
 
 My own words thro' me — Oh rather pray that fire 
 
 From heaven may smite ye at the selfsame moment." 
 
 Were they a vision, or a prophecy ? 
 
 Were they a blessing turn'd into a curse ? 
 
 Or but a curse that sounded like a blessing ? 
 
 For I remember'd now the evil mood 
 
 That held me then, and how I fled away 
 
 To smother my dark thoughts. I trembled now, 
 
 Howbeit they were gone, and I was left ; 
 
^SON 431 
 
 They, with grey hair and wrinkled brows, who were 
 Dazzling in youth, when I was old and bow'd ; 
 Now, I was fresh and mighty once again. 
 Ah, there they lay ! it was a wondrous sight. 
 How could it be ? yet it was so, and I 
 Bent o'er their placid faces, to recall, 
 Under the rude disfigurements of Time, 
 Their beauty as I saw it first. Ah me ! 
 It was a wondrous sight, and I could hear 
 Unutterable voices in my soul ! 
 
 VIII 
 
 Then came a sadder day ; for they, who once 
 
 Had seen me aged and forlorn, went by me 
 
 In the swift race of life. Our states were changed. 
 
 Inversely ; I was young, who had been old. 
 
 And they were aged, who had first been young. 
 
 The smooth brows I had envied, the clear sight, 
 
 And supple strength, had been transferr'd to me, 
 
 And they were pale, and palsied, deaf, and blind. 
 
 Ah ! then came thoughts I never dream'd before. 
 
 Was there another Life ? Was this a rung 
 
 Of a great ladder, all whose steps were ages, 
 
 Higher and higher lifting into light 
 
 The blissful spirit ? God ! what have I done ! 
 
 I wept, I cried, "What is it I have done?" 
 
 Oh ! dread enchantments that have left me curst ! 
 
 The fruit whereof is vanity and woe. 
 
432 yESON 
 
 And desolation ! whither shall I flee, 
 
 Where turn me, where the last familiar friend, 
 
 Is parted ? what if these, myself as well, 
 
 Henceforth were bound for happy voyages 
 
 To undiscover'd isles ! What if they now 
 
 Be landing there, and gazing round them smile 
 
 In bliss past utterance, as a sweeter air 
 
 Breathes on them, and a brighter sunlight falls ? 
 
 What if this youth I vainly yearn'd for here. 
 
 Which binds me to the earth, and to its sorrows, 
 
 Clothes them now in a moment with a life. 
 
 Such as this fleshly house can never hold. 
 
 And strength, and powers, that Gods alone possess ? 
 
 What have I done ? If I be young once more, 
 
 Is not my state that of a palsied wretch 
 
 Stretch'd by the wayside helpless, whom no hand 
 
 Can succour, while, behold, the glorious pomp 
 
 Of the great living dead goes by with songs, 
 
 Up to the golden City of the Gods, 
 
 And godlike men ; and from behind the walls 
 
 He hears the hymnings of the free, while I 
 
 Lie weeping and forsaken ? O vain man. 
 
 To turn back thus into a world of pain. 
 
 Just as my hand was on the gate of heaven ! 
 
 Should this be so ? Great Gods ! what have I done ? 
 
 O young eyes, blinder than mine aged orbs. 
 
 Be blotted out ! Ye fires within my blood 
 
 Be quench'd once more ! Blood dancing in my veins 
 
 Be turn'd to water ! that I may fall back 
 
^SON 433 
 
 Once more into the dimness of old age. 
 Better its twilights, and its moonlight hopes, 
 Than darkness and the midnight of despair ! 
 
 IX 
 
 Then came the inevitable fate of those, 
 
 Who, in this world of space and time, forget 
 
 That man, imprison'd there, must needs remain 
 
 Blind occupant of this mysterious earth. 
 
 Which may not be unriddled, but by those 
 
 Who have forsook it ; and so go the round 
 
 Of the old instincts, and the dusty waste. 
 
 Whereon fresh dews can never fall again ; 
 
 Till the heart sighs for darkness in the day, 
 
 Andsleepwith pleasant dreams than aught without them : 
 
 Who dream of Immortality in Time ; 
 
 While Death, so call'd, is but the step, beneath 
 
 The adamantine archway of that gate. 
 
 That opens into morningland ; where they, 
 
 Who went -before us, taste their hearts' desire, 
 
 Feast on the life they dream'd of; love and hope, 
 
 And wait for us ; while I, a fetter'd slave. 
 
 Clung to the dust of space, and thought to cheat • 
 
 My own heart to renew the early fires 
 
 From their grey, outburnt embers. Such was I, 
 
 A death in life, a statue made to move, 
 
 Beneath whose painted surface only lay 
 
 Impenetrable darkness, without blood, 
 
 VOL. II 2 F 
 
434 ^SON 
 
 Or nerves, or bones. Grief seized on me, and fear, 
 
 Now that I stood upon the frozen peak 
 
 Of twofold age — that which I had desired, 
 
 In dread of Death, and vain regret of youth. 
 
 And dreamt of as the foremost boon of all. 
 
 The crown of crowns, the best felicity 
 
 The Gods could give us, immortality 
 
 On this sad earth, began to shake me, as 
 
 The curse of curses ! What ! to wander on 
 
 In weariness for ever, like a stream 
 
 Lock'd into frozen armour ; strive in vain 
 
 To charm back warmth into a living death ; 
 
 Rekindle passions, phantasies, and hopes, 
 
 With nought to hope for more, imagine, feel ; 
 
 Till my sad, silent, sunless winterday, 
 
 My waking state, more like a dreamless sleep. 
 
 Should weep at even for the morn, at morn 
 
 For even. O retribution worse than Death ! 
 
 O fearful vengeance of the wrinkled Fates ! 
 
 Were not to be abolish'd, to be nought. 
 
 And mere unconsciousness, without regret, 
 
 Better than such selfconscious desolation ? 
 
 X 
 
 And now I saw, with that clear inner eye. 
 That wakens when the outer eyes are dim, 
 What once I had repeated to myself. 
 With boyhood's easy mockery of the wise. 
 
^SON 435 
 
 Words without knowledge ; while warm-hearted hope 
 
 Set the fair future on a moveless base 
 
 Of adamant, forgetful of all wreck 
 
 And ruin, careless unto all the past. 
 
 I saw and felt the vanity of all. 
 
 The vanity of vanities ! and tired 
 
 And crippled of the faculties of joy, 
 
 Fill'd with all knowledge that could yield no fruit. 
 
 Cold to the beauty of a new-sprung thought, 
 
 Philosophies could bring me no delight, 
 
 Dead to the royal charms of poesy. 
 
 Or pictured life, or carvedwork. All arts 
 
 Had lost their cunning ; save, perchance, the spell 
 
 Of some old song that, breathing on the deeps 
 
 Of memory, for a moment ruffled them, 
 
 And drew forth tears, not like the thunderdrops 
 
 Flung from young eyes, that bring a brighter sun. 
 
 But as the blood-drops from a broken heart, 
 
 That set ray frame a shaking -as with death, 
 
 A stranger now to tumult, whether grief 
 
 Or joy, and dead to life, though still alive. 
 
 I wonder'd, tho' 'twas wonder at myself 
 
 As once I was, to mark the eager will. 
 
 The fretful, anxious cares, the stormy lights 
 
 Of hopes and disappointments, that o'ercame 
 
 The wavering soul, the sole aim of the great. 
 
 And of the small, to get a foothold here, 
 
 Upon these shifting sands of Time ; to build 
 
 A home thereon that should not fall for ever. 
 
436 ^SON 
 
 I marvell'd now to see such deaf and blind, 
 While strong men in their labours were cut down. 
 And if a chief came back from battlefield 
 Unharm'd, some swift, still dart of pestilence 
 Struck him at his own hearthstone , wealth, piled up 
 Thro' years of hungry greed, was melted down 
 By one hot summer of folly ; earthquakes crack'd 
 Huge ancient citadels, as the strong hills 
 Buttress'd against all time ; while structures new, 
 Gay pleasure-houses, deck'd with youngest arts, 
 Open'd to festal cheer, to dance and song. 
 In the same night were swept with fatal fire. 
 Promise of mighty harvest came to nought. 
 Thro' drought, and vintage, thro' untimely rains. 
 Thick as the forest leaves in autumn days. 
 That stay the wonderer's steps, the memories lay 
 Around me of inconstancy and change ; 
 But their ear heard not, nor their eye could see. 
 Story was nought, nor knowledge to be wrung 
 Now, as of old, from old things seeming new : 
 Why not ? Why should I wander ? Happy they 
 Dreaming futurity ! I had no dreams 
 But of the dead ; the lands that I had pass'd 
 Lay far and grey behind me ; they step on 
 Swiftly toward the dawn. True, I might sigh 
 At thoughts of all their coming ills ; what clouds 
 Of sorrows twenty, ten years, might bring up 
 From fathomless abysses ; but should I, 
 A wintry wind, moaning thro' leafless boughs, 
 
^SON 437 
 
 Startle them, if indeed 'twere possible, 
 
 With cruel apprehension ? Vain regrets 
 
 Would reach them soon enough ; could I make them 
 
 See shadows underneath a zenith sun ? 
 
 Or hear the echoes of their own wild mirth 
 
 Dying thro' sighs to silence ? Let them laugh, 
 
 And sing as I have done ; the day of dole 
 
 Comes surely ; is not sorrow the keynote 
 
 Of the weird chant of Time ? Oh look around. 
 
 And listen ; mark the motions on the face 
 
 Of Nature ; hath not every light its shade ? 
 
 All golden harmony its dissonance ? 
 
 Far off victorious paeans, bridal songs, 
 
 Sound as the wailings of a funeral. 
 
 The morning seas bursting upon the sands. 
 
 And throwing up their waters in the wind. 
 
 Translucent with the sunlight, and afire 
 
 With rainbow colours, that make glad the eyes. 
 
 And weaving, with the breeze, a glorious hymn. 
 
 That draws down echoes from the cliffs and shores ; 
 
 Look, underneath the many-colour'd lights — 
 
 Listen, beneath the many-voiced sounds — 
 
 Thou wilt see darkness, hear a deep-drawn tone 
 
 Like endless lamentation. Lo ! a cloud 
 
 Will breathe a chill wind on the happy flowers, 
 
 That in their noonday beauty were as queens. 
 
 When twilight deepens o'er them. Beauty sighs 
 
 To think of the swift years, and Strength laments 
 
 That he must fail ; and none so lone but hath 
 
438 ^SON 
 
 Pale Sorrow for his sister, though unseen. 
 If Youth steps forth into the morning sun, 
 Wedded to Hope, that walks at his right hand, 
 Sorrow, the shadow, takes the other side. 
 
 XI 
 
 When I was left alone upon the earth 
 
 At last, with not a soul of all I loved 
 
 To cheer me, when the gulf of second age 
 
 Had swallow'd up my second life, again 
 
 Thoughts of the first old age that I had borne 
 
 Mix'd with the second, as night speaks to night 
 
 In silence and in shadows, and in fears ; 
 
 Till the two long perspectives grew to one. 
 
 The old, far spectres jostled one another 
 
 Along that moonlit road ; and then again 
 
 They parted, and the ancient ghosts of all 
 
 Drown'd in so far a distance, that I dream'd, 
 
 Sometimes, that one half of the awful past 
 
 Of this my double life was not in Time, 
 
 But sunder'd by immeasurable years. 
 
 And, o'er the wailing waters, I could hear 
 
 The voices of those far-off inner days. 
 
 Like dreams in noonlight. In that gloomy calm 
 
 Of twofold Eld, I sat, as in a cave ; 
 
 And all the murmurs of the life of man, 
 
 Its conflicts and its triumphs, all the mirth 
 
 And beauty of the morning, as it rose. 
 
/ESON 439 
 
 With songs of birds, and children, and unbound 
 
 The wings of balmy winds, and blew the drops 
 
 Of sweet dews o'er my forehead, came to me, 
 
 As unto one, o'er whom the waters roll 
 
 Deeper, and deeper still. And then I heard 
 
 (Silence, and twilight round me) in my heart's 
 
 Far galleries, as it were, the banded tongues 
 
 Of all my years, uplifted into one 
 
 Acclaim ; as when, far down in rayless vales. 
 
 The torrents, fallen from the golden peaks, 
 
 Are floated on the wind. Methought I heard 
 
 The accents of old friends, and over clouds 
 
 Saw their raised heads, and outstretch'd arms ; methought 
 
 They call'd me ; whither ? Could I wish to live 
 
 Another life ? Ah ! yes, with them, with them. 
 
 But where were they ? What if this mortal life. 
 
 Which I had dared to meet a second time. 
 
 Were but the narrow gate thro' which we pass, 
 
 As from a lamp-lit slumbrous chamber, to 
 
 The million Ughts of Day ? If I had borne, 
 
 As bliss, a bitter wrong unto myself. 
 
 Deeming my fortune better than all men's 
 
 Who had not length of days ? O fool, O fool ! 
 
 If this were so, and this poor life a cell, 
 
 Re-enter'd by some faint o'erwearied man, 
 
 With eyes so weak, they dared not meet the sun ! 
 
440 
 
 ^SON 
 
 XII 
 
 As heretofore, when Youth came back to me, 
 
 I startled the old men, whose years were short 
 
 Of mine, although I was a beardless boy. 
 
 By bearing living witness to a Past 
 
 Behind their utmost memories, so now, 
 
 In holding converse with the younger ones, 
 
 (Albeit hoar-headed men with half-blind eyes) 
 
 Because their years, tho' many, halv'd not mine, 
 
 I shock'd them by my dark oblivion ; 
 
 Or seem'd to mock them, as I heap'd upon them 
 
 Days more than ever fall unto the lot 
 
 Of mere mortality. And so it fell, 
 
 That once, in speaking of a Chief of old, 
 
 Great in renown, who moved the world, when I, 
 
 The young and fervent lover of high deeds, 
 
 Worship'd his name — it was the eventide 
 
 And we were holding pleasant talk together, — 
 
 I turn'd unto an old man sitting by. 
 
 About my own years, when my youth return'd 
 
 (And when the hair is white, the eyes are dim. 
 
 And the limbs shake, what sign is there to mark 
 
 Whose years are seven times ten, whose seventy times ?) 
 
 And who, for all his wrinkles and hoar hair. 
 
 Might be my grandson, ask'd him unawares, 
 
 " Sir, you have seen him at the festivals, 
 
 And chariot races ?" But he sat amazed, 
 
 And, with a faint smile, and some wondering tones, 
 
^SON 441 
 
 He answer'd, while some others shook their heads ; 
 " Seen him ? If I have rightly heard the name, 
 
 friend, he left the earth, ere I was born ! " 
 And then I would bethink me, with a sigh. 
 That he, whose old age dififer'd not from mine 
 In visible outward seeming, had his birth 
 
 In time three generations after mine. 
 
 Once again involv'd in the far Past, 
 
 That seem'd the Present to me — all between 
 
 Wrapt in thick darkness — thinking of a friend, 
 
 Unconsciously unto myself I said ; 
 
 "Yes he was sick ten days ago, and I 
 
 Had nigh forgotten him ! What have I done ? 
 
 What will he judge me, for he loved me well ? 
 
 Dear soul, and we have laugh'd and wept together ! 
 
 This very day I go to comfort him ; 
 
 Well thought ! but better still, this very hour. 
 
 And, turning down a bypath thro' the vines, 
 
 1 reach the well-known garden, with the seats 
 Under the trellis'd pampinus, that screen'd 
 
 The augBst noon ; whose fluttering roof of leaves 
 
 Shot wandering arrows of the sunlight through 
 
 Upon the dappled floor ; and overhead 
 
 The gold and purple clusters hung to hand. 
 
 But now I gaze in vain. Is this a dream ? 
 
 Or have I only dream'd ? For now I see 
 
 No hospitable settles of cool stone, 
 
 Where the tired children laid their ruffled heads. 
 
 Or scrawl'd their names, with the old dog beneath ; 
 
442 iESON 
 
 No waterpots in order, full and cold, 
 
 Fresh from the rockborn spring, heard plashing near, 
 
 No lintels hid with roses, no fair face. 
 
 No young hands piling ripe fruits on the board. 
 
 With the two goblets, and the breathing flowers. 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! there are strange faces here. 
 
 Another dwelling this, and other hosts. 
 
 I marvel as I look, they marvel too ; 
 
 I stay my tears ; again 'twixt Now and Then 
 
 Rolls the dark river of two hundred years. 
 
 And there is Silence ! Silence ! 
 
 XIII 
 
 More than all, 
 'Twas chiefly in the stillness of that hour, 
 'Twixt night and day, when, musing in half-dream, 
 I heard the finches in the thicket greet 
 The dawn, with such swift notes of jubilee, 
 They seem'd as sparks thrown upward from one fire. 
 Dreams came which gave me back my childish years- 
 Boyhood, and youth — and stirr'd again my heart 
 With a faint pulse of the first living loves, 
 Which, like the embers, shrouded in grey ash. 
 Blown by the shrunken lips of some weird hag. 
 Blaze up once more. 'Twas then I saw myself 
 Throned at some festal board, and purple-robed, 
 My brows wreath'd with red roses, and my hand 
 Sweeping the lyre, that lent its silver tongue 
 
^SON 443 
 
 To my lovesongs, while dark, yet star-bright eyes 
 Of young girls clasping one another's necks, 
 And listening with their dewy lips apart, 
 Laugh'd their delight to hear me. Again I see 
 The black eyes, and the brown eyes, and the blue ; 
 The dark hair and the golden ; the tall form 
 Majestical as Dian ; the lithe limbs 
 Of sweet sixteen, her bloom, and virgin grace, 
 As of a wood-nymph. All of them I see ; 
 But where are they ? Oh treacherous memory 
 Shows me a moment only ; mournful thought. 
 With eyes awake, shows me the waste between, 
 Scatter'd with their old bones, and broken by 
 The lights and shadows of their many fates. 
 Again, behold, between the Then and Now, 
 Rolls the dark river of two hundred years ; 
 And there is Silence ! Silence ! Chiefly then, 
 Awaken'd by young voices out of sleep. 
 Clear voices long since silent, I leap up. 
 And we run down unto the twilight sand. 
 And, plunging into the transparent blue 
 Of summer waters, pure as diamond. 
 Pluck from the golden floor of the still sea, 
 Many a gem, coral stone, or sheeny shell. 
 Starfish, or oozy leaf, or seaflower pale. 
 And, just as I came up to take a breath, 
 The sun rose too, and flashing in my face 
 Dazzled mine eyes with rainbows j and the shouts 
 Of my companions reach'd me from afar, 
 
444 ^SON 
 
 Faint, out of other waters ; when in haste 
 And heedless, I o'ertask my little strength, 
 And failing, swooning, sinking in the deep, 
 Throw up my arms with a great cry ! and — -wake 
 Trembling — and lo, between the Now and Then 
 Rolls the dark river of two hundred years. 
 And there is Silence ! Silence ! 
 
 XIV 
 
 Once again. 
 In this awakening hour, 'twixt night and day, 
 I go forth to the games, my heart refresh'd. 
 My might renew'd with weeks of mountain air. 
 My eye is resolute, my cheek aglow ; 
 My arms like writhen iron, and my hand 
 Twisted in my deep hair. I stride along 
 To meet my foe, who is my friend ; our limbs 
 Are supple with the olive, and our skins 
 Tawny with summer, and my heart is great 
 Within me, and my hope untameable 
 Of victory, honour, hymnings, and a crown ! 
 We two were friends born in the selfsame year. 
 He was the taller. Now we clutch each other ; 
 We sway, lock'd in the fierce embrace of pride ; 
 And, even in dream, the proud awaken'd soul 
 Works in me, writhing all my prostrate form. 
 And makes the muscles, in my idle arms 
 Start in my sleep ! I pant, as one who hangs 
 
^SON 445 
 
 'Twixt very life and death. We rock, we reel ; 
 
 No pause, no momentary span unwrung 
 
 With agony, to which the mortal pang 
 
 Itself were pleasant pastime. Ah ! there is 
 
 No interval to look up to the sky, 
 
 To breathe a breath of freshness from the hills. 
 
 The sunlit waving forests, glad with morn. 
 
 The peaceful flocks, and glittering rills ; or look 
 
 Upon the eager ring of lookers on. 
 
 The vast crowd shaken as a rolling sea, 
 
 Hearts beating, and eyes beaming with our own, 
 
 In sympathetic triumph, joy, and fear ; 
 
 Or, when a turn of skill came unforeseen. 
 
 The tumult, and the shouting ! O great Gods ! 
 
 What dread is this ? What ! do I faint and fail ? 
 
 O blest Alcides, for a moment more 
 
 Of strength from thee ! Alas, I fall ! I wake 
 
 With dews of anguish on my wither'd brow ; 
 
 My moveless arms are lying cold beside me. 
 
 Heaven, to think upon that moment then, 
 Ev'n though I be all-conscious and awake, 
 Thrills me with trembling pulses, kin to those 
 
 1 felt in the old strife and in the dream ! 
 The glorious pride within me, towering up. 
 Threw down its dreadful shadow, fear of shame ! 
 At once, the rings and bars of adamant. 
 
 That link'd the deathproof armour of my will, 
 Seem'd to be drawn out by a sickly ghost. 
 Had not Despair himself, the giant, driven 
 
446 ^SON 
 
 Back the old bolts into their place again, 
 The metal of my manhood had been loosed, 
 And every hope had fallen to the earth, 
 So tenfold might rush'd back again to meet 
 The torrent of that momentary fear. 
 But now comes memory, and I knew that he. 
 Who was about to throw me in my dream. 
 Himself was vanquish'd, fourscore years before 
 My first long life had waned unto its night. 
 Arid then I weep, and fain would give him all, 
 The triumph, and the praises, and the crown ; 
 Once more, once more to take his hand, to look 
 Upon his face again ! 'Twixt Now and Then 
 Rolls the dark river of two hundred years. 
 And there is silence ! Still the happy birds 
 Twitter, the green leaves twinkle ; and I see 
 The Dawn, the Dawn, the everlasting Dawn, 
 With orient Life, with dewy breath, and songs, 
 And Victory, throned 'twixt wings of rosy cloud. 
 And Joy, and torrent light, and rolling flame ! 
 
 XV 
 
 And then I felt a sorrow, worse than all 
 That I had felt before. I cried to Heaven, 
 I wail'd, I stretch'd my arms. But who is there ? 
 One of the great Gods, or some godlike Man ? 
 For full before me, right against the sun, 
 There stood a glorious shape, ineffable, 
 
^SON 447 
 
 Clad in white raiment, and his aspect shone 
 
 With such a light, that it put out the sun. 
 
 Blinded I trembled, and I hid mine eyes. 
 
 And then a voice. " Lo ! I am He, O man, 
 
 Whom thou hast dreaded all thy life-long days. 
 
 My Name is Life, but they have call'd me Death, 
 
 And so misnamed. And, if I come for thee, 
 
 Be not discomforted, there is no fear ; 
 
 Life cannot fail, Death is Immortal Life ! " 
 
 I veil'd my eyes from him, I cried aloud 
 
 To that great shape who stood against the sun. 
 
 " O Death, Death, Death ! that I have fear'd so much ; 
 
 What sayest Thou ? dost Thou too speak of Life ? 
 
 Mock me not with such words, for thou and I 
 
 May not abide together, well I know. 
 
 And, if I see thee living, 'tis a sign 
 
 I may no longer live. I see thee there. 
 
 And Thou art come for me. But hold, great King, 
 
 Spare me ; my sighs and tears, and vain regrets. 
 
 My weariness of Nature, are not so bad 
 
 As endless darkness without hope of day ; 
 
 Motionless silence without thought or act ; 
 
 Or ev'n despair, which is a living Death ; 
 
 Or ev'n the uncouth dreams, that come and go 
 
 Thro' the strait gates of sleep. Oh give me Life, 
 
 Although it be no sweeter than the wine 
 
 Thrice mix'd with water. I will take it back ; 
 
 'Tis better to bestow than Jake away. 
 
 Once an Enchantress brought me back my Youth ; 
 
448 ^SON 
 
 Leave me the deathless sorrow of Old Age 
 
 Rather than Nought." And I bow'd down to Him — 
 
 But He, Death, answer'd, glorious as a God — 
 
 "Why dost thou deem, that, what no others taste. 
 
 Is best for thee ? If all men from the first, 
 
 Made of the dust, had stood on dust unchanged, 
 
 They must have died ev'n of the boon they craved. 
 
 Or lived together, with no more delight 
 
 Than fetter'd captives cast into a pit. 
 
 One o'er the other, till the pit was full. 
 
 There is one Life, but One, whence others flow ; 
 
 That cannot die, nor they that flow from it. 
 
 Life cannot die ; else would all things that be 
 
 Cease in a moment, nothing left but Nought ; 
 
 As, (though it be a frail similitude), 
 
 When the great Eye of Nature is withdrawn, 
 
 The Earth is dark, all living creatures fail ; 
 
 As, when the fountains dry up in the hills, 
 
 The rivers perish ; and that Inmost Life 
 
 Is all in all, feeding them with itself. 
 
 So, if thou wilt not cease, thou wilt be changed ; 
 
 And ev'n the Immortals know no more than this. 
 
 I am the appointed Messenger to thee. 
 
 Whom hadst thou foUow'd, when thy time was come, 
 
 Thou hadst gone back to ever onward Youth, 
 
 And Youth for evermore more beautiful. 
 
 But now, behold, thou art turn'd back again 
 
 To that same loveless Age thou didst abhor. 
 
 O Mortal, thinkest thou the thirst of Good, 
 
MSO'N 449 
 
 Of Truth, of Beauty, was inborn in thee, 
 Not to be satisfied ? Can it be quench'd 
 In the poor fretful life of fourscore years, 
 When half the Universe of outward things 
 Is hidden wholly, and the other half 
 Is all but hidden from thee, and Thyself 
 Art but a daily riddle to Thyself? 
 What boots it thee to know all thou hast known 
 If aU goes down into the dust with thee. 
 And shall become the heritage of none ? 
 Remember, how these very riddles once 
 Harrow'd thy soul, ere first old age had come. 
 Remember how thy voice did utter them 
 Lamenting in the autumn woods ; for I 
 Breathed in thy heart such motions, as might lead 
 Thy spirit on to wisdom, but in vain." 
 Again I said — " Shall we take with us hence 
 The joys and sorrows of our Being here ? 
 Shall Vanity and Mockery live again ? 
 Shall hollow-hearted Merriment go on. 
 Laughing at all things in his Self-delight ? 
 Shall Pride, and Passion, and the thirst of gold 
 Burn unconsumed ? Shall Sloth, and Lust, and Hate, 
 Crawl in thy realm, and evils mix, as here 
 Poisons with good, and all things live for ever ? 
 Shall they, whose eyes are full of tears that spring 
 From their despairs, go weeping in thy world ? 
 Hear me, O Great One, shall the woes that wear 
 Daily the heart like slow, cold waterdrops, 
 
 VOL. II 2 G 
 
450 ^SON 
 
 Till neither love, nor hope, nor thought remains. 
 
 Put forth young flowers again ? How can they live, 
 
 More than the lilies and the violets can, 
 
 Whose roots are stricken by a lingering frost ? " 
 
 Again Death answer'd, glorious as a God : 
 
 " Ofttimes the wandering eye, that seems a star 
 
 Of mirth, is but the sickly light that flits 
 
 Over a grave — the dead heart where no peace 
 
 Remains — or rude heart overgrown with weeds — 
 
 A wilderness that knows not its own wealth. 
 
 Oft too, on thy poor earth, the face ye see 
 
 Wintry with care, the eye a mist of tears, 
 
 The cheek grey with afflictions, and the lips 
 
 Writhen with anguish, ofttimes are a veil 
 
 That hides a spirit, radiant with sweet thoughts, 
 
 And phantasies of beauty; one that breathes 
 
 Auras from Heaven, unwithering paradises. 
 
 And hears the voices of the blessed Gods, 
 
 And music manifold, and feels his own 
 
 Melt in pure sympathy with other souls. 
 
 Vain shows shall cease in the Eternal world. 
 
 And that which is not shall not seem to be, 
 
 Nor that which is, be hidden in a cloud. 
 
 Evil shall mate with evil, good with good. 
 
 The plant that might not flourish on the earth 
 
 Shall put forth flower and fruitage ; and the weeds. 
 
 That pluck them downwards, shall be rooted out. 
 
 Blossoms, whose honey poisons, shall be changed 
 
 To the fair growths of Wisdom and of Love ; 
 
^SON 451 
 
 Or, if their leaves be barren of all use, 
 Thro' the great ^ons of the Eternal Life, 
 Shall be transformed, ev'n as the Body is, 
 With silent atom upon atom laid 
 Momently, till the wondrous whole is new ! 
 And nothing shall be lost, but what is Nought, 
 Evil — the Shade forsaken of the Sun — 
 But henceforth to be kindled, and to shine 
 In noonday splendours of the Sun of Love, 
 The Zenith light, that leaves no room for shade !" 
 Then spake I once again to Death, and said — 
 "And Thou, O Great One, wilt not take away 
 My spirit-wealth ? Thou wilt not drown it all 
 In the oblivion of undreaming Nought, 
 The pictures, and sweet phantasies, that were 
 Our consolations, like pure draughts of wine 
 To weary hearts of sorrow-laden men ?" 
 Again Death answer'd glorious as a God — 
 " Lo ! I, Death's Self, I make them living-true ! 
 This robe of Nature is but as a cloud 
 By which the Sun is hid — a prison-house. 
 Whence I will lead thee, through empyreal gates, 
 Into bright daylight, and sweet air — -Come to me r 
 For I will fill thee with the enduring strength, 
 And robe thee with the everlasting Youth, 
 That may not live on Earth, and lead thee up 
 The steps of the great stair of that New World, 
 Which takes its forms and colours from the loves 
 Of the inner Will, that Giant, while on earth, 
 
452 ^SON 
 
 Fetter'd in chains of heaviness and pain ; 
 
 Else would he leap forth and delight all eyes 
 
 With godlike magic, swaying his swift slaves 
 
 Of the material elements, as fire 
 
 Will solve and mingle, mould and change, but faster 
 
 Than lightnings work, for Thought shall be that fire, 
 
 And, as a picture, which the enamour'd eyes 
 
 Of some rare painter, have, through eager years 
 
 And earnest, wrought up to be wonderful ; 
 
 Though he tnust needs work, with the means he hath. 
 
 The dust o' the earth, what hath no life at all, 
 
 And having done this, he can do no more. 
 
 And this poor image, faintly setting forth 
 
 The outward life of Nature, faintlier still 
 
 The burning essence of his inmost soul, 
 
 Still, still, however feeble, is a shadow 
 
 Of that same essence. So the outward forms 
 
 Of the Immortal Life, shall paint and shape 
 
 The inner spirit, but with perfect Art, 
 
 A glorious beauty unimaginable, 
 
 By other than the Artist's self; for He 
 
 The sovran Genius, the All-powerful, 
 
 Is the Soul's self; the picture to be drawn 
 
 The image of that Soul ; and without hand 
 
 The mighty work shall be accomplished. 
 
 The cloth, the pencil, and the colours are 
 
 The plastic substance of this wondrous World, 
 
 Obedient to the Spirit, as the clay 
 
 Follows the moulder's touch. 
 
^SON 453 
 
 Know thou, O Man, 
 Thy heart's desire shall blossom in my clime. 
 The soul's own image shall be changed into 
 A visible form of Beauty, and the Love, 
 So often baffled, crost, and frozen here, 
 Expand and feed upon the blessedness 
 Of the affections of the Eternal Life, 
 Hope, Rapture, Peace and Concord evermore ! 
 Without, the glory of a Universe 
 That to the Senses represents the Soul ! " 
 And that great Voice seem'd in mine ears to fill 
 The infinite of Space ; that sunlike face 
 Illumined all the deeps of my despair 
 With knowledge clear as noonday, without fear. 
 I rose, I cried with a triumphant voice, 
 " O Death, Death, Death, whom I have fear'd so much, 
 Whose very name was torture, whom I clothed 
 By stripping of all beauty, leaving nought 
 But eyeless sockets, and but fleshless bones. 
 Come, come to me, and let me see thee now 
 In that diviner Beauty, which thou art, 
 That peerless Youth, more youthful every day. 
 Come, Thou, who wert an icewind to my soul. 
 And thou shalt be as sweet airs of the spring. 
 For now I know thou bringest all things good. 
 Glory, and Power, and Gladness ! Now I know thee ! ' 
 
454 /ESON 
 
 XVI 
 
 Ev'n while I thought He spoke, and seem'd to hear 
 
 My own voice answer, I awoke — awoke ! 
 
 Wonder of wonders ! on the bed I lay, 
 
 The Life-elixir in my hand ! The steam, 
 
 Breathed from the aromatic waters, clomb 
 
 Still fervid to the chamber's marble dome. 
 
 The waters of the bath, whence I had risen 
 
 Behold ! still sway'd and quiver'd in the light. 
 
 And the last drops of the enchanted drink 
 
 Rain'd on the floor from the inverted cup. 
 
 Yes, all that magical new spring of life, 
 
 The pains, the fleeting joys of all those years 
 
 Were huddled — like the steam-clouds round my head 
 
 Into a drop of water — into one 
 
 Brief second. Kingly Phantasy had yoked 
 
 Unto his winged car both Space and Time, 
 
 And lash'd them on so fast, they were not seen. 
 
 It was as though a lip-blown bubble swell'd 
 
 Into a world, and show'd upon its orb 
 
 A web of wondrous colours, and then burst 
 
 And vanish'd. Verily, verily, she had 
 
 Renew'd my Youth ; her mighty drugs had work'd, 
 
 Not on the frame, but on the soul within. 
 
 The knowledge I had gain'd may serve for others ; 
 
 The Fates are wiser than the wisest man. 
 
 Dark doubts, and vain regrets, and frantic fears 
 
 May learn from me to doubt and fear themselves, 
 
^SON 455 
 
 And know that knowledge comes, that Life begins, 
 
 When mortals think it is extinguished, 
 
 As the new sun is soaring in the east. 
 
 While all is dread and dark where he went down. 
 
 The Gods apportion to each man his days, 
 
 With their fix'd shares of sorrow and of joy, 
 
 Not to outrun the common span of life, 
 
 And parallel to theirs, his fellowmen 
 
 Born in the selfsame year. All other measure 
 
 Dealt to him, would bring sorrow without balm, 
 
 And so would wrong him. Oh ! if he might dwell 
 
 For ever in this tabernacle of Time, 
 
 If no faint-heartedness, no shadow fell 
 
 On him, no wrinkle crost his marble brow ; 
 
 If the warm blood of radiant endless Youth 
 
 Throbb'd in his veins. All this would only be 
 
 The lifeless sunshine of a winterday. 
 
 The death-cold glories of an icicle ; 
 
 While the sad spirit, or the Man himself. 
 
 Could hope, and love, and feel, and know no more, 
 
 Abandoji'd on the desert sands of Time, 
 
 And toward the great deep of the Unknown 
 
 Gazing in vain. All this return'd to me. 
 
 As I lay languidly upon the bed. 
 
 And soon I saw sad faces bending o'er me ; 
 
 Medea, Jason, nearest to me leant ; 
 
 Alcimeda was there — she was not dead — 
 
 But weeping for me, as I wept for her ; 
 
 Behind, dusk aspects of a muffled crowd 
 
456 /ESON 
 
 Peeping and muttering ; and their voices came 
 Like faint sea-murmurs borne off by the wind, 
 Fainter each moment ; then I heard no more ; 
 Again a twilight gather'd on my sense — 
 My vision darken'd — darken'd — for a while 
 This world and that beyond it were a void. 
 But what is this ? another light, a dawn ! 
 With sound of other voices. What ! my sire. 
 My grandsire, as I best remember ye, 
 
 Cretheus, O Salmoneus, are ye there ? 
 And thou, my mother, with the loving smile 
 
 1 best remember of all things on earth. 
 And in that lovely youth I first beheld ? 
 And ye too, friends, long-lost, beloved ones. 
 Heroes, that were my comrades, faithful hearts, 
 Do ye stand there to welcome me again ? 
 Then welcome. Death, for thou art Life indeed ! 
 
KING ATHAMAS 
 
 PART I 
 
 I 
 
 Great halls, whose doors, flung open to the sea, 
 All day drink in its freshness and its sounds. 
 And multiply its echoes ; whence the eye 
 Wanders o'er steepy isle, and sunlit crests 
 Of Summer waters, gold, and blue, and green ; 
 Or the ear hears the surges, lash'd to rage 
 By mountain blasts, that bear the surf inland. 
 Like snowflakes ; whence is seen the thundercloud 
 Wrapping the nearer headlands in its gloom. 
 Breathing grey twilights o'er the golden shores. 
 But far away are leaping in the light 
 The many-colour'd deeps, whose dazzling sprays 
 Scale, like hthe giants, many a splinter'd peak. 
 And fall back howling, and yet so far off, 
 Only the eye can reach it, not the ear. 
 Here sits King Athamas this gloomy morn ; 
 For the sun shines not, and the winds are still, 
 All but the wailing gusts that shake the gates. 
 And wave the curtains wildly ; and his eye 
 Looks on the dark sea as a clouded star, 
 
458 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 That soon shall set in darkness. Then he said : 
 
 " Behold I am a King, a God on earth, 
 
 And yet the slave of slaves ; for do not fears 
 
 Rule over Kings themselves ? although I bid, 
 
 And am obey'd, and I can do to death. 
 
 And none gainsay. From lowly cupbearers 
 
 On bended knee I take the noblest blood 
 
 Of this fair land in golden chalice, wrought 
 
 With cunning shapes, and rough with gems ; I shout, 
 
 And captains tremble ; I am glad, I laugh. 
 
 And all the world feels as if the great sun, 
 
 Cleaving the winter snowcloud, warm'd the earth 
 
 With sudden summer ! What is that to me, 
 
 If I am sad myself, as yon great peak 
 
 For ever frozen ? Yet from yonder fall 
 
 Into the valleys blessed streams, that shed 
 
 Abundance : but my eyes have shed their tears ; 
 
 And when that rain of tenderness is o'er. 
 
 Ah me ! what next ? but death or madness, both 
 
 It may be. O agony ! to think of bliss 
 
 Which was, and shall not be again for ever ! 
 
 Young hope, young love, young loveliness, all mine. 
 
 And power to burn all incense of delights 
 
 To please her whom I loved ; that fiU'd the hours, 
 
 As garden nooks are fill'd with breath of flowers. 
 
 And all is Vanity ! it is to-day," 
 
 He sigh'd, " I married her — ^ten years ago — 
 
 My early love was dead ; or fled away 
 
 And none knew whither, for she could not die. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 459 
 
 For was she not a daughter of the Gods, 
 
 Perfect in stature as the Im. mortals are, 
 
 Perfect in wisdom too ? Oh, she was good 
 
 As fair, and those dear children have her eyes, 
 
 And the heart-love which lit them. Oh, ten years ! 
 
 Could we but know what ten brief years can do ! 
 
 Might wish to die before we stept into 
 
 Its fringe of gloom ! I knew a happy man ; 
 
 He had this world's wealth, and a jocund heart ; 
 
 His wife was fair, his children fair and strong : 
 
 But in the first year came a pestilence. 
 
 And pluck'd the firstborn ; in the next a fire 
 
 Left of his goodly dwelling but the walls. 
 
 And in the burning gulf were swallow'd up 
 
 Twain others as they ran with naked feet 
 
 Over the crumbling beams ; a third beheld 
 
 The lean earth gape beneath the cruel sun. 
 
 And the great promise of a lordly spring 
 
 Sicken like a frail child ; and, harvest failing, 
 
 And vintage, hunger seized them, and then death. 
 
 Till but the mother and the father lived 
 
 To weep in the lone silence of their house. 
 
 And in the last year of the fatal ten, 
 
 She call'd to him one frozen wintermorn 
 
 About the dawn ; and, as he look'd on her, 
 
 He saw that she was dead ! ' 'Tis strange,' he said — 
 
 For pity moved me to behold the man, 
 
 And talk with him, and know his heart — ' 'tis strange 
 
 How, in that silent moment, all the past 
 
46o KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Of those ten years rose, like a dream of life 
 
 To drowning men ; and I could see the day 
 
 When we were gather'd under the great vine 
 
 One Autumn eve rejoicing, and their lips, 
 
 Stain'd with new wine, ran off with songs of mirth, 
 
 And every note of their triumphant tongues 
 
 Stirr'd in mine ears, as I beheld her lie 
 
 Cold, deaf, and dumb, my first love and my last ! 
 
 I could not weep, for I had drain'd till dry 
 
 The spring of tears : but when I see a boy, 
 
 A merry maid ; and when I hear them say, 
 
 In ten years I shall be a man, a chief, 
 
 A conqueror ; in ten years I shall be wed 
 
 To one who shall inherit oil and wine. 
 
 And slopes of yellow grain, and gems, and gold, 
 
 Ten years agone, dear children, I would say, 
 
 I was all that ye ever wish to be. 
 
 What am I now ? a poorer man than ye, 
 
 Tho' ye should never taste your heart's desire. 
 
 Such as my grief, all blisses may become. 
 
 Better a crownless than discrowned king ; 
 
 Better a barren hope, than memory sere, 
 
 So be ye wise, not wanton ; think on me ! 
 
 'Twas no harsh wish to slake their innocent, 
 
 And happy forecasts in these tears of mine, 
 
 That made me tell of them ; but that it was 
 
 My lullaby to listen to myself. 
 
 And well I knew the glory of their youth 
 
 Made rainbows on the dark cloud of mine ills.' 
 
KING ATHAMAS 461 
 
 II 
 
 " Blest wert thou, O my first, my heavenborn mate ! 
 
 Blest wert thou, Nephele ; had I listen'd to thee 
 
 I had been shielded against ill, and saved 
 
 From all misdeeds. O Hera, wherefore wed 
 
 A mortal man, although he be a king, 
 
 To an immortal ? We were strangely match'd ; 
 
 And her wing'd spirit, far outspeeding mine. 
 
 Left me for ever humbled ; so at length 
 
 Moody self-love, and lack of sympathy 
 
 Estranged my heart from hers. I was not wise 
 
 As she was, though in truth her lord and king. 
 
 I could not brook, that, as an oracle, 
 
 She should o'errule my cherish'd purposes. 
 
 My fondest hopes, as tho' they were a child's, 
 
 And thwart my follies with a smiling calm. 
 
 So, when my love grew cold, I turn'd mine eyes 
 
 On the fair daughter of a mortal man, 
 
 And thought I saw in her — across whose face 
 
 Sunshine, and shadows of humanity 
 
 FoUow'd each other, prides, and angers broken 
 
 By laughter, or by tears — a beauty more 
 
 Akin to nature, and her outward shows ; 
 
 And, in the voices of her many moods, 
 
 A music echoing sweeter in frail hearts. 
 
 Than that low tongue, tuned to the selfsame mode 
 
 Of calm selfrule, and peaceful tenderness. 
 
 Tho' now I know, when knowledge is in vain. 
 
462 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 That noble heart was pure of earthly ill, 
 
 And nearer to that heaven from whence she came, 
 
 As mountain summits, clear of thundercloud. 
 
 Soar thro' the sunny deeps, and windless air. 
 
 Tho' now I know that every word of hers. 
 
 If plain, was true as unwrought silver ; all 
 
 Her counsels, given in compass of brief speech, 
 
 Precious, and weighty, as a little gold 
 
 Unburnish'd by the side of polish'd brass. 
 
 And, had I listen'd to her, that sweet voice 
 
 Had stay'd the pillars of this fallen house. 
 
 Which storms of hate and pride have beaten down. 
 
 But when I look'd on Ino all my heart 
 
 Was changed within me ; and I only sought 
 
 For means to compass my delights, and give 
 
 Colour of reason to my dark resolve, 
 
 Harbour'd against the guileless, guiltless queen 
 
 Out of my passion and my purpose grew 
 
 Occasion ; for, tho' Nephele's pure heart 
 
 Cherish'd no evil, 'twas an oracle 
 
 That answer'd quickly her clear-sighted eyes ; 
 
 And in her anguish she was heard and seen 
 
 By subtle watchers, working on my side. 
 
 To commune with herself in the dead night 
 
 When all was still, and utter such deep words 
 
 As, without meaning to their crafty hearts, 
 
 They twisted into folly. Once indeed. 
 
 Her arms uplifted and her eyes to heaven. 
 
 She pleaded piteously, until her voice 
 
KING ATHAMAS 463 
 
 Rose like a doleful chant ; and when she ceased 
 
 She smote herself, and fell as without life. 
 
 ' Ofttimes,' they said, ' we have beheld her thus ;' 
 
 Tho' 'twas but once her broken heart — a harp 
 
 Of golden chords, now shatter'd — in its woe 
 
 Gave forth such wailings ; but their wicked words 
 
 Sown in my heart bore fruit of evil thoughts. 
 
 ' If this be so,' I said, ' it needs must be 
 
 That I do put her from me, she is mad ! ' 
 
 There was no need, for when she knew the worst, 
 
 Whether her lone prayer had moved the Gods 
 
 To aid her, or her anger and disdain 
 
 Had given her wings, I knew not, but no more 
 
 They saw her weeping in her bower, no more 
 
 By night in the iiosegardens like a ghost 
 
 By moonlight, and I never saw her more. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " It seem'd as though a thousand years had roU'd 
 O'er me ; it seem'd as though I stood behind 
 The tumults and the changes of a life, 
 And look'd back to another state of being, 
 A blissful calm, pure heaven of peacefulness, 
 Lovedays, and lovedays following one another, 
 One long sunshiny summer. Oh ! there came 
 A change, a storm, an earthquake in one hour ! 
 My golden palace of delights was thrown 
 Down, and my hopes were scatter'd, like the leaves 
 
464 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Torn off while they are green ; a day of doom, 
 
 A day of darkness, and of horrors, such, 
 
 That still my soul is overshadow'd by it ! 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! what is it I have done ? 
 
 Once had I wife and children ; once I saw 
 
 Their innocent faces, like the flowers at morn. 
 
 Come to my bedside, and look up at me ; 
 
 Their beauty, and their artless babble were 
 
 Mine evening music, better than all songs, 
 
 And more beloved for their mother's sake 
 
 Who left them to me, and was seen no more ; 
 
 Whom death struck, as snow-winds the first pale rose. 
 
 And in their eyes I saw their mother's own. 
 
 Her silver-sweet tones trembled on their tongues. 
 
 But when, alas ! I took another wife, 
 
 Though Ino's sons were loved for Ino's sake, 
 
 Ino loved not Nephele's for mine. 
 
 As well as for their own. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Now am I widow'd and bereaved of all ! 
 
 She loved not my sweet sons ; her cruel eyes 
 
 Scowl'd on them till they wept ; but when her own 
 
 Were born to her, she cherish'd them, as blooms 
 
 Screen'd from the March-wind, tender precious flowers. 
 
 Her voice to them was toned to the full tune 
 
 Of tenderness ; but oh ! to their half-brothers, 
 
 Sharp as a knife with scorn, or set with teeth 
 
 Of snarls, and sneers, as 'twere a saw, her tongue 
 
 Rail'd on them ; but how could I ever dream 
 
 That such a chilling change could fall upon her ! 
 
KING ATHAMAS 465 
 
 Who, ere she wedded me, look'd on the boys 
 
 As tho' they were her own, as proud of them ; 
 
 She praised their grace and prowess, and their trust 
 
 In her was perfect faith ; ah ! then I said, 
 
 ' 'Tis well she hath a heart so fond, and gentle ; 
 
 Stepmothers mostly are a cruel race. 
 
 And, like the spiked aloe-plant, they bear 
 
 A rose of love once in an hundred years. 
 
 But from so kind a heart no ill shall spring, 
 
 But a new joy shall fill the house with light ; 
 
 All hearts together shall beat unison, 
 
 The sorrow for the dear lost mother change 
 
 Thro' daily consolation to the love 
 
 Of this their second loving as the first.' 
 
 IV 
 
 " And, as I sat one melancholy eve. 
 Lone in my hall, nursing within my heart 
 My wrongs, that nest of serpents, torn with pangs 
 Incurable, that they who knew my love 
 Shared equally among them, turn'd the warmth 
 Of that — their sun — my love to bitterness, 
 And for sweet fruits grew poisons. Oh, what hell 
 Is worse than one cold hearth, one ruin'd home. 
 Frozen with scorns, or set on fire with hate, 
 That shoots forth venom'd arrows every day 
 Fatal to Nature ? Should not kindred hearts. 
 Alike, yet differing, as the red rose 
 
 VOL. II 2 H 
 
466 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 And white, that make the self-same garden-plot 
 Fairer than either would without the other, 
 Tune such pure harmony from blended thoughts, 
 And heart-affections, as would make a world 
 Of one small chamber, and Elysium 
 Out of a poor man's cot ? My column'd halls, 
 Hung with their golden lamps, and echoing oft 
 To harp and song, and words that wing'd to heaven 
 High deeds, and holy, might as well give back 
 The hissing of the Furies ; for the peace, 
 That comes of love alone, cannot be won — 
 Though it be woo'd by many-voiced Arts — 
 Where Love is not to meet them at the door. 
 
 V 
 
 " A sudden change swept over earth and heaven. 
 The sky grew dark, the thunder roll'd, the winds 
 Shouted against the thunder, and I heard 
 The sea mix in the dreadful harmony, 
 Vast as the lamentation of a world ! 
 All seem'd but echo to my inmost mood 
 Of darkness ; and a sort of fatal joy, 
 Blazed up within me, and got hold of me 
 Amid the whirl of Nature. ' Howl ! and hiss, 
 I cried, ' ye tongues of the Eumenides ! 
 I hear ye striding to me in the dark. 
 Ye awful Three ; faster, ay, faster come ! 
 And I will clasp ye to my anguish'd heart, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 467 
 
 Fit resting place for ye ! See if your brows 
 
 Will cool, if laid upon its burning throes ! 
 
 Let agonizing Nature raise her voice 
 
 And chorus my afflictions ! let the winds, 
 
 Earthquakes, and bursting fires, shake and consume 
 
 This gloomy pile ! and leave no record of it 
 
 But dust and ashes ! Better that this home 
 
 Of Kings — whom hitherto the Gods have loved — 
 
 Should fall, and its inhabitants should die, 
 
 And pass to silence and oblivion. 
 
 Than blot the sun with curses and with sighs. 
 
 And waken echoes but of hate and fear ! ' 
 
 Ev'n as I shouted in the clanging hall, 
 
 A mighty blast of wind burst back the doors, 
 
 And the great curtains, from the threshold hung, 
 
 Blew inward, and a blinding lightning flash 
 
 Seem'd to set fire ev'n to the marble walls ; 
 
 And then the thunder follow'd, with a sound 
 
 As if a hundred citadels had fallen 
 
 Down from the mountain tops !- I look'd beyond 
 
 The portal, through whose yawning void there seem'd 
 
 To pour a flood of fire unquenchable. 
 
 I saw rush forward from the vast of night 
 
 Black and gigantic shapes, with streaming hair, 
 
 And lifted arms ! bearing great torches up. 
 
 Whose flames show'd blood red in the lightning-light. 
 
 Toward me they ran, with cries that shook the dark, 
 
 And drew down answers from the mountain-caves. 
 
 And, as they whirl'd in awful dance, and clapt 
 
468 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Their bony hands, each breathed a breath upon me ; 
 
 And in a moment I was changed ! my grief 
 
 Turn'd into fury, and my love to hate. 
 
 Passive inaction to a sudden might 
 
 Of vengeance. Oh ! on whom shall it be wreak'd ? 
 
 Little Learchus stood beside my chair ; 
 
 He had been near me all that woful night ; 
 
 I felt the dear boy clinging to my knees, 
 
 And his limbs trembling, and his sobs and tears 
 
 Bursting in his affright. I had no pity. 
 
 For, as I look'd upon him, he seem'd changed 
 
 Into a wild beast of the woods, as I 
 
 Myself had changed, and felt within my soul 
 
 The sudden raging of a lion's wrath. 
 
 I raised him quickly from the floor, I swung him 
 
 Thrice round and round me in the air, and dash'd him 
 
 Shrieking against the solid wall ; the cries 
 
 Ceased, and the frail form quiver'd to the earth, 
 
 And the warm blood of that exulting life 
 
 In red streams painted on the dead cold stone 
 
 The picture of my misery and my sin ! 
 
 Then suddenly I knew what I had done ! 
 
 Then I fell prone. There was a deadly hush. 
 
 All but the tempest. Then again there came 
 
 A wailing, an unutterable plaint ; ' 
 
 And by and. by I saw — but could not move — 
 
 Women and children, and a crowd pass by 
 
 Weeping, for ever weeping. I had no strength 
 
 Left in me, only a confused sense 
 
KING ATHAMAS 469 
 
 Of moving forms ; I saw them streaming out, 
 Thro' the open doorway, into the fell night. 
 . Ino it was, her handmaids, and one child. 
 The one who had fled from me, Melicertes, 
 The old nurse, and a troop of mourning friends. 
 Onward they rush'd towards the roaring sea, 
 Shrieking amid the lightning, while I lay 
 Stricken and without action. A huge rock, 
 Not far off overhung the deep, and scowl'd, 
 With its bent brows for ever threatening it, 
 To dash down on it ; and I saw that troop 
 Rush violently to that storm-beaten height. 
 I heard their cries of anguish and despair ; 
 I saw their forms far off, arms stretch'd to heaven, 
 Darkly as 'twere against a wall of fire ; 
 Then, hurling one last universal cry 
 Up to the cloudy vault, with one consent 
 They flung themselves into the boiling gulf ! 
 Then suddenly the tempest ceased ; the wind 
 Moan'd timorously, nor moon, nor star were seen. 
 But only blackness, blackness everywhere, 
 Silence, death, doom ! I saw, and heard no more. 
 And now I wake again, and know the deeds 
 That I have done ! I live, I am not slain 
 By one sharp bolt. I live, who hate my life, 
 While they are gone, the young and beautiful ; 
 The Gods have spared the murderer of his kin. 
 His best beloved ! Now the question is 
 Shall I live on to weep, to weep, to weep. 
 
470 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 From fountains inexhaustible of tears, 
 
 Or fountains, that exhausted leave the heart 
 
 Dry dust and cinders ? or until at length 
 
 The never-changing winter of my sorrow 
 
 Freezes me to still death? Or shall I fly 
 
 To that death now — ev'n now — and follow them ?" 
 
 VI 
 
 Ev'n as he spoke he saw a wondrous sight — 
 
 So that he trembled, and rose swiftly up, 
 
 Clasping his brows with both hands, and he cried ; 
 
 " What is it ? are the Sisters on me again ? 
 
 Have not the Gods yet given me back my mind ? 
 
 Oh 1 what is this I see ! I know they pass'd 
 
 Into the flaming midnight ; and I heard 
 
 Their death-cry, as they vanished o'er the cliff 
 
 Into the deep, whose howling winds and waves 
 
 Hush'd it for ever ! " This was the sight he saw — 
 
 Under the open portals of the hall. 
 
 Approaching with slow step and downcast eyes, 
 
 A veiled company of women pass'd ; 
 
 And lo ! 'twas Ino with her damsels there, 
 
 The old nurse, and the children ; and she came 
 
 Nigh to his chair, and cast her at his feet ; 
 
 And, weeping bitterly, with broken voice — 
 
 " O King," she cried, " O husband, O best friend. 
 
 Whose days were darken'd, and whose heart was torn 
 
 By her who should have been thy comforter. 
 
 Whose evil mind, whose burning tongue, whose pride, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 47 1 
 
 And envy well-nigh slew thee ; now I thank 
 
 The Gods who have restored thee to self-rule, 
 
 Resceptred reason, and relit affection, 
 
 Without which all dominion were in vain. 
 
 Behold thy dear ones ; now, I may unlock 
 
 This heart to thee, and thou mayst do with it 
 
 Ev'n as thou wilt ; as I submit me now 
 
 To the justice and the mercy of a King. 
 
 And if thy mercy fail thee in the task. 
 
 Yet thou wilt then be just enough to trust 
 
 The last words, and the true of her, who tells thee 
 
 That all her heart is changed, and in it springs 
 
 Fresh feeling, as the green herb after rain, 
 
 As fragrant mornings after stormy nights ; 
 
 And, whether now she lives, or dies in youth. 
 
 That all her heart is changed. Oh yes, this heart 
 
 Is changed in all things ; clouds of evil thought 
 
 Are lifted from it, and the sun of love 
 
 Shines forth, and shall not set for evermore. 
 
 Or once again be hidden. If I have sinn'd. 
 
 Till thou no more didst know me, or thy sons. 
 
 Till thy blank eye look'd dreamily upon us, 
 
 And I, a woman, with an evil tongue 
 
 Turn'd thee from glorious manhood, such as thine, 
 
 To something less than wildbeast of the woods ; 
 
 And if my deathful influence has been 
 
 To hold thee wrapt in folds of monstrous dream. 
 
 For days, and weeks, and months ; trust this, I say ; 
 
 That thou, in thy dread resolution, thou 
 
472 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Hast heal'd the fatal heart, and fiery tongue 
 
 That wounded thee to death ; whilst thou wert dark, 
 
 Light hath come back to me ; whilst thou wert dead, 
 
 I have begun to live again. O King ! 
 
 Pains have brought peace, and weakness hath subdued. 
 
 For I beheld thee, who wert just and true. 
 
 Foaming out threats of vengeance, with white lips 
 
 Clutching at nothing ! with dilated eyes 
 
 Staring before thee at the cold white wall, 
 
 And, pointing with thy finger, cry — ' 'tis blood. 
 
 If I have shed it, she is guilty of it. 
 
 And is accurst ! ' Alas ! I see myself, 
 
 I know my sin ; henceforth I am no more 
 
 The torch of discord in this kingly house. 
 
 Oh ! I have sought in daily sacrifices 
 
 The blessed Gods, if they might give thee back 
 
 That noble mind, that, but for me, had been 
 
 For ever just and merciful ; thro' tears 
 
 And sighs, and supplications, this hard heart 
 
 Is temper'd and renew'd ; the sense of all 
 
 That I have done, brought me an adverse thought 
 
 Of all the good I should and might have done ; 
 
 And that sweet picture fanciful, not true, 
 
 Makes sadder all the dreadful opposite. 
 
 Know thou, that now thy children, whose young hearts. 
 
 First turn'd to me in fond simplicity, 
 
 I had estranged, and set against each other, 
 
 Are reconciled ; and their half-brothers' love 
 
 To join them as of old ; and in affection 
 
KING ATHAMAS 473 
 
 They are so match'd, as fair fresh roses bound 
 In one gold band. And oh ! I had been blest, 
 And comforted by such a sight as that, 
 Hadst thou been by to witness it, as once." 
 
 VII 
 
 Long, with his bent brows hidden in his hands, 
 The King sat weeping ; then he slowly raised 
 
 His sorrowful pale face, and o'er it swept. 
 
 Dread, anguish, desolation, like swift clouds, 
 
 Follow'd by piteous love, then hope and peace ; 
 
 And last, like to a glorious summer-even. 
 
 Sunlike, a radiance of godHke joy. 
 
 And then he spoke. " I know not yet aright 
 
 If I be dead or living,, for I see 
 
 Him whom I slew before me ! O dear child, 
 
 Come hither to me, let me touch that form. 
 
 And feel it is no shadow ; let me know 
 
 That I indeed am risen from the dead 
 
 With thee ; come, let me kiss that curly head 
 
 That I saw crimsoning the floor with drops, 
 
 That sooner should have come from my own heart. 
 
 Were I not masterless, as is a flame 
 
 Driven by the northwind ; let me hear thee speak. 
 
 Then whether I be living or be dead. 
 
 There shall be no more sorrow." Then the Queen 
 
 Led up the timorous brothers to his chair. 
 
 And with them bow'd, and claspt his knees ; and they 
 
474 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 With eyes of wonder look'd on him their sire, 
 
 Whom they thought dead ; and he with wonder look'd 
 
 On him, the child, whom surely he had slain. 
 
 Yet, there he stood, the bloom upon his face ; 
 
 No hair was scathed, no gentle limb was marr'd ; 
 
 And then the Queen arose and spoke to him. 
 
 " O King, dear spouse, and risen from the dead. 
 
 We found thee stretch'd upon the moonlit floor ; 
 
 For the great tempest had flown by, and now 
 
 The summer-night was glory ; but ah me ! 
 
 When the light fell upon thy face, I mark'd 
 
 Such hideous tumult had distraught thy soul 
 
 As was that hurly-burly to the night. 
 
 And left it, as an earthquake leaves the plain 
 
 Writhen with throes of torment. Soon came one 
 
 Skill'd as a leech, and he said, ' See ye not 
 
 The King is smit with phrenzy, not with death, 
 
 And he hath need of syrups, and of calm ? 
 
 Bear him up to his chamber ' : and I cried, 
 
 ' If he shall die, alas ! if he be dead. 
 
 The pains I dealt him will fall back on me 
 
 In endless retribution, and avenge 
 
 Out of myself the woes that he hath borne ; 
 
 And I shall know, when knowledge is in vain. 
 
 All the true heart that I have scorn'd and lost.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 " O King, three days in slumber of deep trance. 
 Thou layest, hush'd and pale as very Death. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 475 
 
 Sometimes I saw thee move thy lips, sometimes 
 
 Shadows of fear and sorrow came and went 
 
 Across thy face and forehead, and thy hands 
 
 Were lifted in affright ; anon they seem'd 
 
 Folded in supplication. ' Oh ! ' I cried, 
 
 ' He lives, he lives, altho' with sealed eyes 
 
 And with mute lips, and ears that cannot hear. 
 
 He senses not the motions of this world. 
 
 His body lieth there ; where is the soul 
 
 That hath no strength to raise that body up. 
 
 More than if 'twere another's ? ' In thine ears 
 
 I shriek'd despairingly ; thou didst not hear. 
 
 I spoke, thou didst not answer ; in mine arms 
 
 I claspt thee, and thou didst not feel ! thy limbs 
 
 Seem'd all so dead to sensibility. 
 
 That had a sharp sword pierced thy heart, in truth, 
 
 As evil tongues, alas ! had done before. 
 
 Thou hadst not known it." " Be thou comforted, 
 
 O wife,'' he answer'd, " all things are forgiven ; 
 
 Be they no more remember'd. Oftentimes 
 
 Thou mayst have noted that, in converse with thee, 
 
 Talking of the weird things of sleep, I said, 
 
 Do the Gods show us coming things in dream 
 
 And vision ; pointing in dark symbolisms. 
 
 Or lovely imagery the Good or 111, 
 
 Done or yet to be done ? We know not all. 
 
 Yet sometimes I do think that we must bear 
 
 A twofold life, one in this world of Space, 
 
 And Time, the other in some inner realm. 
 
476 KING ATHAiVTAS 
 
 Where miracles, or what to us are such, 
 
 Are universal laws, not singular. 
 
 What if it be that, when the sun is set. 
 
 Is given us thus occasion to behold 
 
 The state we shall inherit after death. 
 
 Once every day, that no man may forget ? 
 
 Lo ! when the outer sense is bound in sleep. 
 
 The gates of Nature, shut and barr'd unto us, 
 
 The body prostrate, and we know no more. 
 
 If we possess it, than if it were dead, 
 
 How is it that ofttimes there are reveal'd 
 
 Glories, and wonders past imagining. 
 
 Strange sympathies are touch'd, and states unfold, 
 
 And beauty unforeknown to ear or eye ? 
 
 And, tho' the sun of this world be gone down, 
 
 And the sense shut in gloom, another sun 
 
 Rises within us, other fields and flowers. 
 
 Gardens, and woods, and waters stretch before us. 
 
 Faces, and forms, and voices come and go ? 
 
 A subtler spirit quivers in my frame, 
 
 I laugh, I weep with a diviner joy, 
 
 And a more dreadful sorrow than belongs 
 
 To wakeful moments, and, when I awake. 
 
 The awaken'd conscience thro' the sun-bright day 
 
 Mirrors the awful influences of night. 
 
 As though, in that mysterious swoon of Nature, 
 
 A window had been open'd far within 
 
 To the Infinite ; as when, at earthly break 
 
 Of day, a sick man casts his lattice back, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 477 
 
 To look upon the ascending light, and breathe 
 
 The keen inspiring auras of the dawn. 
 
 It seems that, for a moment, I have breathed 
 
 The immortal Life ! and yet I had not died ! 
 
 And all the following day, and many days. 
 
 The magic memory of such dreams becomes 
 
 As a new sense, subliming, terrifying. 
 
 Appalling, or enrapturing with joy, 
 
 A quicker life, not to be borne by man 
 
 For long, the pulses of an inner being 
 
 Half-heard at moments thro' the closed doors. 
 
 Behind the walls of Space, and chains of Time ! 
 
 And now I tell ye something more than Dream 
 
 Or Phantasy ; 'twas Vision ! I have been 
 
 In a new World, led by what hand I know not, 
 
 A world of wonder and of dread ! a world 
 
 So full of terror that to reawake. 
 
 Even in this sad house, is welcome change. 
 
 And to bear all the evil done to me. 
 
 Than do to others evil ; better so 
 
 Than to confront the living hosts of them 
 
 "Who died in wrong, and hail us as their kin 
 
 Who follow them in evil — for I tell ye 
 
 That evil dies not with the flesh and bones ; 
 
 But, when we put on the Immortal Life, 
 
 Follows us — I have learnt from all I saw, 
 
 And heard, that Life, once given to man, remains 
 
 A boon for aye ; no sooner flows the breath 
 
 From forth the worn frame of Mortality, 
 
478 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Ev'n ere the funeral trumpet wails, before 
 The flowers are scatter'd, he is there alive, 
 And, whether he be evil or be good, 
 Reknit with everlasting youth and might, 
 To work more Good or Evil ; scarce believes he 
 That he is pass'd from earth ; for round him lie 
 Familiar sights, and steadfast as this world 
 The earth he treads, and, as this arching dome 
 Of azure, the vast heaven above his head. 
 
 PART II 
 
 " Long after I had fall'n with that great cry. 
 Oblivion, with deep darkness, compass'd me. 
 After a while a faint light, as the moon 
 Thro' foggy air, gleam'd onward. By and by 
 Great glory shone and shatter'd all the mist. 
 And I beheld anear me one, a son 
 Of the great Gods ; and pitifully he 
 Bent over me, and raised me by the hands 
 My eyes were open'd, and I heard a voice 
 Speaking to me lowly and tenderly : — 
 ' O brother in Humanity, thy pains 
 Are known to us, thy sighs and tears, thy Ufe 
 Afflicted, thine affections pierced and torn, 
 That drove thee on to madness and to blood, 
 Unheeding on whose head the vengeance fell. 
 Though it were on the lives most dear to thee. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 479 
 
 Thine own beloved children : lo ! I show thee, 
 
 A mystery, that hereafter shall unfold 
 
 To all men's knowledge — but Time is not yet — 
 
 My mission now is to reveal to thee 
 
 The state of them, whose wild misgovern'd will. 
 
 Whose lawless lusts have sunder'd them for ever 
 
 From good of life, and from God-fearing men. 
 
 'Tis not one deed, one act of evil, wash'd 
 
 With bitter tears, and overlaid with acts 
 
 Of mercy healing twofold, that will bring 
 
 The soul of that man hither. Thou hast dared 
 
 To shed blood, and what blood ! blood of thy son ! 
 
 Therefore art thou brought hither to behold 
 
 The end of them who, as the lion tastes 
 
 Blood once, and to that thirst returns, renew 
 
 Their evils daily, till in dreams by night, 
 
 And morn-awaken'd hopes, they still delight 
 
 To ponder evil, and the means to do. 
 
 Here Pride, and Avarice, and Hypocrisy 
 
 Unmask themselves ; for none are hidden here, 
 
 Ev'n tho'-the mountains hide them ; what is done 
 
 In secret is proclaim'd, the crime, the wrong 
 
 Escapes not ; Justice binds him hand and foot 
 
 Keener than earthly eyes, and mightier 
 
 Than earthly arms : and surely as the hand 
 
 Thrust in the fire is burnt, surely as poison 
 
 Swallow'd is deadly. Right, assail'd by "Wrong, 
 
 Shoots at the heart of his great enemy 
 
 The venom'd point of violated Law. 
 
48q king ATHAMAS 
 
 And they, whose ills began on earth, and grew 
 
 Into gigantic shadows tyrannous, 
 
 Know now full well that, when they choose their ills, 
 
 They cannot shun the Avengers. Here they know 
 
 That the deceitful are deceived, the proud 
 
 Abased, the unmerciful await 
 
 No mercy, but the sharp and sudden blow. 
 
 The timely punishment, that saves the wretch 
 
 From other and worse wrong — first done to others 
 
 And so unto himself — And yet, such might 
 
 Sinews old custom, long in arms, ev'n now 
 
 What they have done they will do, and the Good 
 
 They have abhorr'd they ever will abhor ! 
 
 For when the evil of the heart is wrought — 
 
 The conscience slumbering till it wakes no more — 
 
 Day after day in outward act, it seems 
 
 Time slowly closes every door of Life, 
 
 Ev'n as perennial waters, bearing on 
 
 The flinty unseen atoms, change at length 
 
 A lovely breathing flower into a stone. 
 
 And if the evil spirit, ere it fly 
 
 Forth from the mortal dwelling, for awhile 
 
 Drowses beneath the burthen of old age. 
 
 No sooner is vitality renew'd 
 
 With twofold life, than it desires again 
 
 To live the hateful, yet beloved past ; 
 
 And, like a giant after slumber, wakes 
 
 To double strength at morn. But, whatsoe'er 
 
 The madness be that rouses into might. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 
 
 If hath to strive with Evil here, not Good, 
 And takes back the same arrow that it flings.' 
 Ere he had finish'd, all my manhood shook, 
 My anguish broke in stormy tears, my soul 
 ^Vas rack'd with agonies unspeakable. 
 At thought of my misdeeds : and then I knew 
 That, when the spirit is unclothed, it feels 
 Tenfold the misery that it felt before ; 
 As when, by reason of an evil dream, 
 Terror is strengthless, and the will is vain, 
 And we cannot escape. But he said, ' Come, 
 Arise, and follow : ' 
 
 II 
 
 " And, while he forward pass'd. 
 The mists roll'd oif before me, and I saw 
 Myself, as 'twere once more upon the Earth. 
 Here were, methought, the well-beloved hills, 
 The mountains of my native Land ; I saw 
 The selfsame joyous sun, and azure sea : 
 The winds blew softly, and the air was fiU'd 
 With songbirds, and the summer slopes were waving 
 With corn, and vine, and olive ; and they curl'd 
 Fast and radiantly before the breath 
 Of morning ; and I laugh'd out at the sight, 
 For I was glad. But the Immortal said ; 
 ' Dream not this world to be the Earth of Nature ; 
 This is that Hades by thy Poets sung, 
 
 VOL. II 2 I 
 
482 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Thy Priests foreshown ; and hither all have pass'd, 
 
 The mighty, and the lowly, rich, and poor. 
 
 The simple, and the sage, and king and slave. 
 
 Conqueror and captive here have met together. 
 
 But know they dwell not here as thou hast dreamt ; 
 
 There are no abiding cities for them here. 
 
 They live not here, as thou hast fondly thought, 
 
 On memories sad or sweet of Time, or lean 
 
 On violet slopes, to breathe the sunset airs, 
 
 AVitching the hours with harp and voice, with songs 
 
 Of high heroic deeds, and loves of old, 
 
 Or twine the amaranth, and the asphodel 
 
 For garlands, quafiSng of the golden wine. 
 
 Taking their everlasting rest, as 'twere 
 
 A summer dream. Far other is their lot ; 
 
 As the Earth traveller stays by the wayside, 
 
 A little while to drink the spring ; or rests 
 
 Beneath the planetree by the river-shore ; 
 
 Or slumbers in the cool of pleached vine ; 
 
 Then starts up suddenly, and swiftly parts, 
 
 And vanishes into the dusty cloud 
 
 Of the down-trodden way ; those who come here 
 
 Fare onward without ceasing ; and thou too 
 
 Wilt come here in thy season, but not yet, 
 
 For thou hast work to do, not as a King 
 
 Only, a chief of men, a Lawgiver 
 
 To others, but as ruler o'er thyself. 
 
 Within the proper realm of thine own- soul ; 
 
 That henceforth thou mayst be in all things fit 
 
KING ATHAMAS 483 
 
 For the last voyage. And now behold,' he said, 
 
 As from the crest of a high hill we gazed 
 
 Down on the wide-spread champaign fringed with green 
 
 Uplands, with woods and waters girt behind 
 
 By the great mountain towers, some bathed in floods 
 
 Of glorious unimaginable light, 
 
 And others dark with shadows terrible, 
 
 That hung o'er darker valleys far within. 
 
 And lo ! along the middle of the plain 
 
 Ran a broad road, whereon a motley crowd, 
 
 A multitude unnumber'd held their way. 
 
 Chariots, and horses, piles of sumless wealth. 
 
 Vast herds of sheep and oxen — so they seem'd — 
 
 Chequer'd with sun and shadow moved along. 
 
 Huge was the tumult blown up on the wind 
 
 From that great multitude, all, as it seem'd. 
 
 Travelling the selfsame way. I heard the sound 
 
 Of shouting, and of conflict here and there. 
 
 Sudden and fierce, soon hid in dusty cloud ; 
 
 None turn'd back, all went forward rapidly. 
 
 And we went down and join'd ourselves to them ; 
 
 But they beheld us not, for o'er their eyes 
 
 The Immortal One with me had cast a veil. 
 
 How shall I tell the wonders of that way. 
 
 Whereon I saw all Nations of the Earth 
 
 Move swiftly onward, like a host pursued. 
 
 Each laden with the wealth it loved the most, 
 
 Indian, Persian, and Sarmatian, 
 
 Egyptian and Assyrian ; and their robes 
 
484 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Diverse, and many-colour'd, took the sun 
 
 Of morn, and gleam'd, and flutter'd ; and I heard 
 
 A sound of songs at intervals, between 
 
 The clash of arms, and the shrill notes of war ; 
 
 With hymns of triumph, lamentations, fears. 
 
 Some, weary of their burthens, cast them down 
 
 Midway, and bounded forward with a strength 
 
 Unfelt till then, and shouted and rejoiced 
 
 Others, tho' worn and footsore, earthward bent 
 
 Their eyes, with semblance of humility 
 
 That inly burn'd with a dull fire of pride. 
 
 And, well-nigh fainting with the load they bore. 
 
 Cast it not by ; and, ever and anon. 
 
 Were lifted up above all lesser sounds 
 
 Laughter of scorn, with frantic shrieks, that died 
 
 In shuddering groans. And, as we wended on, 
 
 I mark'd that many, who had throng'd together 
 
 In silence, and as strangers to each other, 
 
 Were parted into lesser companies. 
 
 Drawn together by a word, a look, 
 
 A smile of sympathy ; and for a while 
 
 These separate bands were held in willing bonds 
 
 Of mutual love, and ministry : the most 
 
 Again divided, and was heard a cry 
 
 Full oft, ' Thou art not of us ; ' or, again, 
 
 ' My soul is weary of ye ; ' and I saw 
 
 The outcasts fly to other fellowships ; 
 
 Till, after many changes, each one found 
 
 Them he delighted in. And then I heard 
 
KING ATHAMAS 485 
 
 Choral songs, of such perfect harmony 
 
 As breathed of soul-affections : there were some 
 
 Who, after many trials, could find none 
 
 To comfort them, and sat down by the way. 
 
 Weary and worn ; and it was found that these, 
 
 AVho linger'd thus, still hid within their vests 
 
 Clasp'd to their hearts the treasures that their friends 
 
 Had cast away ; and, as they flock'd together. 
 
 They wonder'd that they had not sought each other. 
 
 And yet had found ; and then they rose together, 
 
 A mighty host, and took the onward way. 
 
 And yet, though all these — each of his free will — 
 
 Chose the same way, no sympathetic spell 
 
 Drew them together, and no welcome words 
 
 Were utter'd by them ; only mutter'd wrath. 
 
 And threatful frowns, and eyes that gleam'd askance 
 
 Suspicious dread, or wakeful craft ; for each. 
 
 Ruled by self-love and pride, shut up his heart 
 
 Against his neighbour, and no spark of love 
 
 Kindled between them ; and a gathering gloom 
 
 Starless, and cold, above them, and around. 
 
 Was as the gulf between each sever'd soul. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " And now there came a change ; we reach'd a point 
 ^^'here the long road divided into two. 
 One, on the right, ascended sunlit slopes 
 To golden peaks toward the Orient ; 
 
486 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 The left one downward into valleys dark, 
 
 O'erhung by craggy steeps, whose crests were lost 
 
 In wreathen storm-cloud : and no sooner there, 
 
 Than lo ! a sight of wonder ; for, far down 
 
 The mountain-sides, another host descending 
 
 With trumpets blown, and standards, a bright host 
 
 In gold and azure raiment, and with palms. 
 
 Soon as the eyes of them, who had flung down 
 
 Their burthens by the way, beheld the sight. 
 
 Onward they ran lightly, and joyfully ; 
 
 And many, who had wept and groan'd full oft, 
 
 Along the weary march that brought them there, 
 
 Fell on the necks of those bright mountaineers. 
 
 Whose aspects, long departed from the earth. 
 
 Were still familiar ; unto them were brought. 
 
 In crystal bowls by ministering hands, 
 
 The fountain-waters of that upper land, 
 
 Which gave them strength and joy for the ascent. 
 
 Again we wended onward for a while. 
 
 And then I look'd back toward that mountain-land : 
 
 And lo ! far off, above the dusky host, 
 
 Above the valley's cloudy wall, I saw, 
 
 Gather'd on high, the happy brotherhood 
 
 Of them who cast their burthens by the way. 
 
 And foUow'd the Immortals clad in gold 
 
 And azure, whose unnumber'd godlike forms 
 
 Flash'd back the sunfire from their diadems ; 
 
 And heard the tempest of their hymned joy, 
 
 As they pass'd on amid the golden mists 
 
KING ATHAMAS 487 
 
 Of Morning : and scarce had I time to sigh 
 
 My deep regrets, my woful state, when he 
 
 My leader bad me follow. ' Mortal Man ! ' 
 
 He said, ' thy burthen sinks thee ; gaze not up ; 
 
 Blind not thine eyes, thou canst not follow them ; 
 
 Easier the downward slope than to ascend. 
 
 But thou must go back to thine earthly sun. 
 
 Thine earthly home ; when years have worn thy frame, 
 
 Have strung thy soul, thy reascent from Time 
 
 Shall find thee fitter to cast off thy load. 
 
 And, without fear, or shame, or sorrow, wait 
 
 The loving welcome of Immortal friends. 
 
 And, if thou treadest now the fatal road, 
 
 It is that thou mayst never tread it more. 
 
 Follow, and fear not to look on the men 
 
 Who living had no fear, or love, and now 
 
 Have lost that hope that led them thro' the World, 
 
 To feast on Evils without pain ; to deal 
 
 Out curses and be scatheless ; and to slay 
 
 And not be slain ; and to be Kings unruled 
 
 Of justice, doing Evil, suffering none.' 
 
 I wept to turn from that high company 
 
 Of happy gods, perfect in strength and joy. 
 
 Their glad advent and glorious parting gave 
 
 Place to another host, that rose from out 
 
 The shadows on the left hand, with uproar 
 
 Hoarse as a wintry sea amid the rocks. 
 
 Quickly they seized on those who had not flung 
 
 Their burthens from them weary with the way. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 
 
 And took them captive ; and in haste they fled 
 
 Down the slope vale into the growing glooms, 
 
 Darkness that grew each moment as they went. 
 
 ' Lo ! these are they,' said the Immortal one, 
 
 ' Who, being confirm'd in Evil, have the power 
 
 By stronger will to fetter weaker souls : ' 
 
 And as they pass'd down swiftly into gloom. 
 
 We heard the clang, as of great brazen doors 
 
 Closing with sound of thunder, rolling through 
 
 The void, and echoed in ten thousand tongues. 
 
 ' O King, 'tis meet we follow where they go,' 
 
 Whisper'd my Guide, ' for thou art here for this.' 
 
 And, turning down the valley on the left. 
 
 We foUow'd them in silence and in haste. 
 
 Ev'n while he spake, darker and darker grew 
 
 The valley dim ; and now I saw it close, 
 
 And bar all onward ; and above us rose 
 
 What seem'd a portal huge, whose height was lost 
 
 In rolling clouds, that glanced at intervals 
 
 A lurid lightning, showing momently 
 
 Vast gates of knotted adamant. But my guide 
 
 Stretch'd forth his hand, and from it sprang a beam, 
 
 Before whose strong vitality recoil'd 
 
 The impenetrable substance without life, 
 
 As though it were a cloud before the sun. 
 
 Stilly ; and right before us, on and on, 
 
 O'erarch'd with midnight blackness, a slope way, 
 
 Illumin'd only by a radiance cast 
 
 From far within, that laid beneath our feet 
 
KING ATHAMAS 489 
 
 A blood-red glow, as from the open doors 
 
 Of sevenfold heated furnace, only hid 
 
 At intervals by its own rolling smoke, 
 
 That swathed the sombre brightness of the fires, 
 
 Leaving us in great darkness, till again 
 
 The doleful light flow'd up the dismal way. 
 
 Then spake I to the Son of the Great Gods, 
 
 In fear and trembhng. ' Bear with me, my Lord, 
 
 And deign to answer ; how shall I advance 
 
 Further into this fiery realm and live ? 
 
 Thou who, by mute command and lifted hand, 
 
 Unbarrest gates of adamant, mayst roll back 
 
 All peril and all power that might affront 
 
 Supremest virtue ; but for such as I, 
 
 Less than the beast that have no thirst for blood, 
 
 When sated, and no hunger to destroy, 
 
 Except when hunger'd, and would spare ev'n man 
 
 Their enemy, unless he seek their life; 
 
 For me — ' Fear nothing,' said my guide ; ' for all 
 
 Thou seest is but a semblance, and thou seest 
 
 All that I see by virtue I impart j 
 
 For in the world of spirits higher life 
 
 Rules o'er the lower, tho' the lower life 
 
 May not approach the higher ; for a while 
 
 Thy sense is ev'n as mine.' And, as he spake. 
 
 And we came nearer to the realm of fire, 
 
 It seem'd to be extinguish'd, and instead 
 
 Darkness, and cold, as from a mountain-peak 
 
 Of frozen snows, flow'd round us ; darkness all. 
 
490 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Save round about the footsteps of my guide 
 Radiant. And, as we pass'd from underneath 
 The arched sloping way, the gloom of night. 
 That foUow'd after that red glow of fires 
 Seen afar oif, gave place, as he advanced. 
 To a pale twilight, like to moonshine veil'd 
 By wintry mist, and all before us lay 
 A wilderness ; but neither moon, nor star 
 Made visible that world ; and by and by 
 What seem'd a city, fashion'd with the art 
 Of some great capital. And, when my sight 
 Gat strength to sound the ghastly light, I saw 
 Soaring into the dimness its grey walls. 
 Whence came the murmurs of a gathering host. 
 Clashing of brazen armour, and the sound 
 Of trumpets. Yet, altho' we stood beneath 
 The city walls, the voices of the men. 
 That moved above us swiftly, and all sounds. 
 Came faintly to our ears, as from beyond 
 Barriers of mighty mountains, or beneath 
 Great waters ; and above the piled walls 
 We could descry pale architecture, wrought, 
 As in the cities of my sunny land, 
 With sculptured pediment, and architrave 
 Resting on lordly columns of great fanes 
 And carven palaces. Again he spake, 
 ' Behold, O hapless king, the under world. 
 Such as it seems to us, and to thy sight 
 Inform'd by mine ; for not yet is thine hour 
 
KING ATHAMAS 491 
 
 To be as they, perchance shall never be, 
 
 If, when thou wakest to earth light again, 
 
 The memory of this vision shall beget 
 
 A better life within thee. Now thou seest 
 
 The spiritual substances of all 
 
 That on the earth was evil ; here they dwell. 
 
 Not, as on earth, the evil with the good. 
 
 The one sweet sun for all, and common air, 
 
 Each subject to his rule of love or fear ; 
 
 But, as on earth the banded enemies 
 
 Of order and of law remain apart. 
 
 In secret conclave, till the moment dawns 
 
 To kill, and overturn, so here below 
 
 The immortal enemies of mortal man, 
 
 AVorkers of evil only, are conjoin'd. 
 
 Strong, implacable, innumerable, 
 
 A mighty commonwealth, whose bond of love — 
 
 If love it can be call'd — is common hate 
 
 Of things divine and human, in their hearts 
 
 leaving not ev'n the momentary calm 
 
 Of him who hath struck down his earthly foe 
 
 In battle, or avenged a wrong with blood ; 
 
 If peace can e'er be named where war is waged 
 
 Betwixt opposing hatreds, each dark host 
 
 Serried for this alone, to curse and slay, 
 
 Ev'n tho' they know their immortality 
 
 For ever bars against their phrenzied ire 
 
 That gate of death, welcome to mortal woes ; 
 
 And shows them only, through aeonian years, 
 
492 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Vain purposes, unutterable pangs, 
 Renew'd forever, and forever vain ; 
 Until they curse in their great misery 
 The God of Gods against whom they rebel. 
 And He sends fear into their hearts, to bind 
 Their arms as in a chain ; for only fear 
 Can stay the evil for a little space. 
 Until continual anguish breeds at length 
 Despair, and patience, and that wisdom, born 
 Of pure self-love, no love of aught beside, 
 Nor sense of others' ill, or fear to harm. 
 And yet they seem not to themselves, as now 
 They show to us, inhabitants of dim. 
 Grey, wintry wastes, lit up by sombre fires. 
 That make the dark more desolate — for eyes 
 Used to the light of heaven behold this world 
 As darkness — but they love the things they see ; 
 And the dull fires that have nor heat, nor light — 
 The outward symbol of their inmost states. 
 Loves void of Good, and thoughts devoid of Truth- 
 Seem to their madness better than the Sun — 
 A mighty commonwealth, where equal Law 
 Deals with the mightiest as with the mean ; 
 ■With monarchs, as with slaves ; and with all ill 
 By counter-ill ; so that the lordhest wills, 
 Like dark seas tempest-tost, and lifted up. 
 As tho' to rend the firmament, are stay'd 
 Within their barriers, nor can surge beyond 
 Their fixed bounds ; and where all Good is Evil, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 493 
 
 And Evil Good — the Sun of inmost Heaven — 
 
 AVhich is another name for Love Divine, 
 
 That is the Life of all things Good or 111, 
 
 And, as the sun of thine own world dissolves 
 
 The icy peaks, and sets the rivers free, 
 
 And draws the green herb from the frozen earth. 
 
 Melts the hard heart, and draws forth all its good, 
 
 And wins to greater good the willing one — 
 
 That Sun of Heaven, hid from the hearts of men 
 
 By clouds of self-love, and rebellious pride. 
 
 Leaves fear, as 'twere a chain of adamant, 
 
 Fear only, fear, that — as the sunless sky 
 
 Fastens the icepeaks with a deadlier frost. 
 
 Locks the free streams, and strikes the earth with death, — 
 
 Poisons the lawless heart where no love is ; 
 
 Till the proud will is palsied into calm. 
 
 As unsunn'd germs are frozen ere their birth. 
 
 IV 
 
 " 'And now I take back,' the Immortal said, 
 ' The virtue that I gave thee for a while 
 To see them as we see. Behold them now, 
 O King, ev'n as they seem unto themselves.' 
 And, as he spake, the great gates open'd wide. 
 And the arm'd host, that throng'd the battlements. 
 Descending moved into the open space ; 
 And from the dusk horizon I could see 
 Another host advancing. Swift as thought 
 
494 KING ATHAMAS . 
 
 The spectral armies rush'd, and clash'd together ; 
 
 And there was war, such as on earth is seen, 
 
 And lifted swords, and waving helms, with sounds 
 
 Of javelins ringing against brazen plates. 
 
 And banners waving : there were cries of pain. 
 
 And shrieks and curses, with the show of blood 
 
 Purpling the dust. ' Whatever here thou see'st 
 
 Of outward seeming,' said my guide, ' is born 
 
 Of inmost moods of vengeance, and of hate. 
 
 The will, omnipotent o'er its own world 
 
 Of spirit substance, fashions all its wants 
 
 Into obedient forms of shield and spear, 
 
 Corselet, and casque, swifter than all the strength 
 
 Of a thousand armourers, by night and day 
 
 Toiling o'er fire and anvil ; for 'tis done. 
 
 Swift as the sudden lightning shapes the dark.' 
 
 And now the ghastly conflict seem'd to ebb 
 
 Far down into the misty waste, beyond 
 
 The city walls, and the two armies moved 
 
 Against the far horizon. ' See,' he said ; 
 
 ' These are the spirits of such evil kings 
 
 As strove with one another on the earth. 
 
 And now they strive as then, and take the lead — 
 
 As heretofore over their hapless slaves 
 
 On earth — over such banded influences 
 
 For evil, as are weaker than their own. 
 
 Yet, being evil, bound to the dread will 
 
 That is most mighty.' Again the battle sway'd 
 
 Citywards ; but, as the warriors near'd, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 495 
 
 It seem'd the strife had ceased, and in its stead 
 
 Triumphal cars and trumpets blown, and shouts 
 
 Of jubilant disdain, seen in such light 
 
 As when the glare of glowing embers falls 
 
 Upon a death-pale face ; and after them 
 
 The host of the discomfited enchain'd, 
 
 Or dragg'd behind their chariots, wherein sat 
 
 The conqueror and his chieftains, on each hand 
 
 Their cohorts, marching to the sound of rhythms 
 
 Attuned to scorn, and with relentless hearts 
 
 Breathing a hate more cruel, and a will 
 
 More iron to inflict it on their foes 
 
 Now taken captive. ' Mark,' my leader said, 
 
 ' The conquerors' strength, the weakness of their foes, 
 
 Are not, as on the earth, cause and effect 
 
 Of strength, or skill subduing opposites, 
 
 But mightier wills for evil over less. 
 
 He, whom thou seest in the foremost car. 
 
 On earth was a great conqueror who shed blood. 
 
 Till it became a glory o'er his head, 
 
 As when a crimson sunset strikes against 
 
 Dark thunderclouds ; tho' vengeance cut him off 
 
 One night before his time, and by the hand 
 
 Of one he trusted, born again to life 
 
 Immortal he revived once more to lust 
 
 Of power, and that dominion over men 
 
 ■\\Tiich, being won by violence, is no more 
 
 Sated by power than quenchless feverthirst 
 
 By fiery wine.' Thro' the colossal gates 
 
496 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Of the Tartarean city roll'd the cars 
 TraiUng their captives, and the banded hosts 
 Follow'd into the dusk and dreary light. 
 And by and by we follow'd, till we heard 
 A shouting from within a domed hall 
 Rotund, and vast, of polish'd marble, black 
 And shining as the fabled river, cross'd 
 By gloomy ghosts. We enter'd, but unseen ; 
 For he, my guide, had cast before their eyes, 
 By the sole might of his unspoken will, 
 A cloud 'twixt us and them : and there he sat. 
 Whom we had seen returning from the war, 
 Crowned, and throned, and central over all. 
 While, circle over circle, round him ranged, 
 High as the roof, the countless host of those 
 Who bow'd before him : and he rose and spake. 
 ' Warriors and friends, are we not met together 
 To celebrate our triumph, and to read 
 Our glory in the faces of our foes 
 Fallen, and abject, and to taste the bliss 
 Of looking down from our imperial seats 
 Upon the torments we shall deal to them 
 Who would have dealt them to us ? Is there aught 
 Lovely as sated vengeance, save the hope 
 Of other conquests over higher foes, 
 Till all are cast beneath us, and the Gods 
 Themselves, who vaunt supremacy, are thrown 
 Into the lowest dungeons, and we reign 
 . Unrivall'd ? Meanwhile from our capital 
 
KING ATHAMAS 497 
 
 Let us send forth our banded legions, strong 
 In victory, to subdue our lesser foes 
 On earth, in heaven ; are not our foes on earth 
 The few, the weak, the fearful ? those who shrink 
 From conflict, and, because they are but few 
 Against the host of our incarnate friends, 
 That are on our side, tho' they know it not, 
 Prevail no more than can one voice or two 
 Against the wind and thunder ? When have those. 
 Who whisper peace on earth, been heard above 
 The warcries of a thousand years, perchance 
 Thousands of thousands, in the past, to be 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand in the years 
 That shall be, if we faint not ? Shall the kings 
 Of weak, blind, miserable mortal men. 
 Were they all wise, as sages are on earth. 
 Were they all saints, as sages feign to be. 
 Together with their peoples good and wise. 
 Strive with the foes they see not, and oppose 
 The frail and erring willpower to the dream 
 By night, the passion, eager to receive 
 The touches of our power and subtle might 
 By day, that, as a spark, shall set on flame 
 The kindling soul ? And let us not forget. 
 If rival hates, that burn between us here, 
 In this new world of glory without end. 
 Shape themselves into arms and armour, like 
 The shields, and spears, and panoplies of old, 
 We have no need, for victory over man, 
 
 VOL. II 2 K 
 
498 KING ATHAMAS ' 
 
 Of other weapons than our magic wiles, 
 Wrought secretly within unconscious souls, 
 Till hopes, that brood in silence, bring forth act, 
 As heat, that works in darkness, bursts in flame. 
 For with such power our cunning magistery 
 Will rule them that, upon the earth at last, 
 Its laws of time and space shall forge them arms 
 Such as we wield at will ; and other arms 
 They dream not of we shall put in their hands. 
 Till the whole earth shall be a theatre 
 For us to look on, war a festal show 
 With thunders for its music. Let them dream 
 No more of peace, as tho' 'twere possible. 
 Let us not dream that any day shall be 
 When daily thousands from the earth we left. 
 And still rule over, shall have ceased to swell 
 The hosts of Hell, and add unto our strength, 
 Till Heaven itself, outnumber'd and disarm'd. 
 Shall have no power to breathe into our hearts 
 A single breath of calm, calm, worse than death 
 Of total darkness and oblivion, death 
 Such as we dreamt of once, but fear not now, 
 Awaken'd unto tenfold life again, 
 And all the bliss of the delights we love, 
 And still shall love for ever and for ever ! 
 
 " ' Yet, ere we crown our triumph with the sight 
 Of our rack'd prisoners, let us take, O friends. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 499 
 
 A moment's pastime, and show forth the might 
 
 Of one soul's willpower over many souls. 
 
 Come forth,' he cried, ' O Phantasis, who art 
 
 In this our realm, as once a bard on earth. 
 
 Or a buffoon to make men merriment 
 
 At royal banquet-tables.' As he spake, 
 
 What seem'd a giant, in a vesture clad 
 
 Of many colours, from the shadows rose. 
 
 And passed o'er the arena ; wings he had. 
 
 Or seem'd to have, and on his eyeballs mirror'd 
 
 The changeful shapes of things ; and o'er his face. 
 
 Like cloud and sunshine following one another, 
 
 Flitted all moods and passions. In his train 
 
 I saw a host of those whom he had tamed 
 
 To think, and feel, to suffer, and delight, 
 
 Ev'n as he might imagine ; and a wand 
 
 He bore in his right hand, and with it touch'd 
 
 Lightly the brows of them he will'd to move ; 
 
 And straightway they were spellbound to obey. 
 
 And burn again with passions they had felt, 
 
 And act. once more the dark deeds they had done. 
 
 Witch'd by his magic, they were fain to show — 
 
 As in a theatre, in many masks— 
 
 The moods that were on earth realities, 
 
 The evil joys and sorrows of all Time, 
 
 And none dare say, ' I will not : ' and he wrote 
 
 On empty nothing fiery words, that flamed 
 
 A moment, and then darken'd ; that were read 
 
 Swiftly, and then forgotten. Then I heard 
 
500 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Acclaim of many, mingled with despair, 
 
 ' Oh, had we but remember'd, we had been 
 
 The saviours of the world ! ' And these were they, 
 
 Who, with fantastic visions while on earth. 
 
 Had won upon weak hearts to lift them up 
 
 To highest seats of honour, and when they fail'd. 
 
 And fell, and were dishonour'd, in despair 
 
 They dragg'd their slaves to ruin with themselves ; 
 
 And in their wrath they cried, ' Let us go back 
 
 To our first loves ; there is no hope in good. 
 
 And live each for himself ! ' And they were here. 
 
 Anon a troop of young and old came up, 
 
 Treading on one another's heels ; some pass'd 
 
 In bridal garments, some in funeral weeds. 
 
 As last they had appear'd upon the earth. 
 
 And such he will'd that they should seem again. 
 
 But, whether clad in sorrow or in joy, 
 
 The lying hearts within could not be hid. 
 
 For nought is hidden in the bloodless worlds ; 
 
 And all who look'd upon them knew at once 
 
 That Guile and Greed had wedded Power and Pride, 
 
 That woful weeds had mock'd before the world 
 
 Some murder'd one whom cruelty had kill'd ; 
 
 And they were here. Some out of broken vessels 
 
 Drank lordly wine ; but they had robb'd and slain, 
 
 And in a drunken revel had been kill'd 
 
 Some without hand, and some by one another. 
 
 To meet again ; and some from golden bowls. 
 
 That seem'd as tho' pure nectar swam therein. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 501 
 
 Quaff'd aconite ; and they were darksome souls, 
 
 Whose fears and memories turn'd their sweetest hours 
 
 To bitterness ; and they were here together. 
 
 And some there were who, thro' their mortal life, 
 
 Dream'd of no life beyond mortality, 
 
 And joys of Time ; they, with a hundred years 
 
 Upon their shoulders, flung their crutches down. 
 
 As in the moment when they fell and died 
 
 On earth, and shouted, ' Lo ! there is no death. 
 
 So let us eat and drink, and dance, and sing. 
 
 Said we not that we never could grow old ? 
 
 Oh ! Nature is immortal ! ' Others took 
 
 Those crutches up, and, with the flowing hair 
 
 Of youth, did wipe away the dew of tears, 
 
 That o'er unwrinkled cheeks for ever flow'd. 
 
 Wailing, ' There is no hope of joy in Time, 
 
 Oh ! that we could cast off this weary frame 
 
 And sleep for ever ! ' So, before their hour. 
 
 They sprang thro' the dark gates into the void ; 
 
 And so were here together. Others came, 
 
 As tho' the ghostly pomp would never end. 
 
 Amid a band of crowned heads, that walk'd 
 
 Together with sad palsied steps, and look'd 
 
 With hateful fear upon the lest, I saw 
 
 A poor man who, upon his hungry face. 
 
 Received the light that stream'd alike on all. 
 
 Singing among those kings, ' I'd liefer be 
 
 A careless beggar basking in the sun. 
 
 Than the arm'd chief of a. distressful land ! ' 
 
502 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Yet he had slain men, as a king might do, 
 
 Fired with the selfsame passions, greed of gain, 
 
 Or hunger for revenge ; so he was here. 
 
 Some, damn'd unto hoarse mirth, did leap and yell. 
 
 Their garments spatter'd with the lees of wine ; 
 
 Some gnash'd their teeth with envy and with hate ; 
 
 Others did shrink and tremble, and became 
 
 Less than the beasts with fear ; some laugh'd, some wept. 
 
 Some cried aloud, and clave the vast above 
 
 With terror like a sword : some mad with rage 
 
 Did with convulsed limbs, and starting eyes 
 
 Clutch one another's throats ; and these were men. 
 
 Who, on the direful chances of a die. 
 
 Had lost or won, and then had striven together 
 
 And so were here untimely. I saw a youth, 
 
 Led captive by the follies of the world, 
 
 Who, had he fed on better hopes, had been 
 
 A winged spirit ; but he too was here. 
 
 His lawless purpose of adulterous love 
 
 Had been betray'd, and he was sick at heart. 
 
 As one who fails in doing some great good. 
 
 He sat, pale lips apart, and hair astray, 
 
 Looking up into heaven, as tho' from thence 
 
 Hope would come down again, and make the night 
 
 Flash with her presence like a new-born star. 
 
 Then suddenly he turn'd upon himself. 
 
 And with a dagger drawn, and red with blood, 
 
 Watch'd his own heartdrops falling on his hand. 
 
 And smiled as when he died. Still others came, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 503 
 
 Till all the sin and sorrow of the world 
 
 Was shown, to move infernal merriment, 
 
 And laughters wild. They pass'd, and all was still. 
 
 VI 
 
 "Then, with a shout that seem'd to shake the vault, 
 
 He cried, ' Bring forth the captives ! ' and I saw 
 
 A long pale pomp of them who were erewhile 
 
 Captains and chiefs themselves ; I heard their chains 
 
 Ring in the eager silence, that possess'd 
 
 Their enemies in that dread interval 
 
 Between their acclamation, and that voice 
 
 More terrible, that would salute the sight 
 
 Of torment and of vengeance. ' Follow me,' 
 
 Whisper'd my guide ; and by the arched stair. 
 
 That wound throughout the amphitheatre 
 
 Up to the topmost seats, we pass'd in haste. 
 
 And from a height, that show'd us at a glance 
 
 The circles of the whole assembled host 
 
 From lowest unto loftiest, we look'd down 
 
 Into the vast arena, where the band 
 
 Of the tormentors waited but the sign 
 
 Of the enthroned Emperor, to unbar 
 
 Underground caverns, where great beasts abode, 
 
 For ever ready to rush forth and slay 
 
 At bidding of the sovran will ; ev'n then 
 
 We heard the lions roar, and serpents hiss. 
 
 The King arose, and gave a sign ; and lo ! 
 
504 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Just as I lean'd to see the monsters huge — 
 Monsters that were the mere embodiments 
 Of hates, and angers, and bloodthirsty prides — 
 Leap forth upon their prey, my Leader spake. 
 ' Henceforth, when evil shadows on the earth 
 Deepen to total darkness, men shall see 
 The things that now we look on ; throned Kings, 
 Whose hearts imbreathe the efHuence from below, 
 Shall play with murder as a pastime ; hear 
 The cries of the tormented as it were 
 Sweet music ; love the sight of writhing pain 
 Better than love-scenes at a theatre. 
 And they, who will not fall before their Gods, 
 Which are men's evils worshipp'd by themselves. 
 Shall be thrown to the lions ; and the hearts 
 Of women shall so harden they shall smile 
 To see men slain to furnish them with sport, 
 And shed their blood by moving of a hand ! 
 And so the spirits here, that feed on wrath 
 Mingling with mortal evil, shall draw down 
 The greater part of men unto themselves. 
 And so enlarge the bounds of Hell, that Heaven 
 Itself shall tremble, and the Lord of all 
 Himself shall wage the war against his foes 
 Till they be vanquish'd — but the time is far — 
 Yet Love and Truth must triumph in the end. 
 Or Evil conquer Good, which were as vain 
 As though a shadow should blot out the sun ! ' 
 Ere yet his words were ended, I could hear 
 
KING ATHAMAS 505 
 
 A murmur, and I look'd around, and saw 
 
 The aspect of the mighty multitude 
 
 Changed in a moment, and their fearful eyes 
 
 Turn upward with a cry, as when the gates 
 
 Of some beleaguer'd city are thrown back 
 
 At midnight, and the army of the foe 
 
 Floods in with fire and sword, and echoed tread, 
 
 And wakes the dreamers into life again 
 
 With threat of instant death. For what seem'd once 
 
 The domed roof had vanish'd, and gave place 
 
 Unto a vision so surpassing bright. 
 
 So wondrous, that I stood fix'd to the spot 
 
 With hush'd lips, and with beating heart. I saw 
 
 The black infinity, that yawn'd above, - 
 
 Ablaze as with a lamp of starry lights 
 
 Innumerable, a circle, like a crown 
 
 Amid the darkness, that each moment grew 
 
 Vaster and brighter, till it rested o'er 
 
 The sphere of the Infernals ; and behold 
 
 Another army of Immortal Gods, 
 
 Whose sphered faces made another roof 
 
 To that dread amphitheatre, and turn'd 
 
 Its thousand lamps to midnight, and therefrom 
 
 Glanced down, as 'twere a star into the gloom, 
 
 A spirit, in his beauty like to him 
 
 Who stood beside me ; and he stood alone 
 
 Upon the void arena, soon to be 
 
 Fill'd with the writhing shapes of captives torn 
 
 By hungry lions, if the conqueror's will 
 
So6 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Had stood a moment proof against the might 
 Of higher powers. ' Behold,' my leader said, 
 ' All these, whom thou hast look'd on hitherto. 
 Such as they seem unto themselves to be, 
 Conquerors, and chiefs, and mighty men, as seen 
 By the strong spirits above them, who alone 
 Look down on them, and overrule, and stay 
 Their madness ere it flame beyond all bound, 
 And burn up all things ; for, had they the power 
 Freely to work their will, the earth, and all 
 Its children in a moment they would rend 
 Piecemeal, and scatter over- the abyss, 
 As thou hast seen autumnal tempests whirl 
 The summer dust, and cast it on the sea.' 
 I turn'd again, ev'n while my leader spake. 
 Upon the countless multitude, that throng'd 
 The circles of the amphitheatre. 
 And, as I look'd, the illumined structure sank 
 With all it held, until I saw it not ; 
 But in its place were caverns, that appear'd 
 Gateways to utter darkness underneath ; 
 And, for the Kings, and chiefs, and men of war, 
 I saw the forms of monstrous things, that fled 
 Tumultuously with bowlings and dismay. 
 Crowding the steps of the broad stairs that wound 
 Down into nether blackness. ' These are they,' 
 He said, ' who, but a moment past, were seen 
 By thee as they appear unto themselves. 
 And now behold them as they seem to us, 
 
KING ATHAMAS 507 
 
 Symbols of their own evils, which have power 
 
 At will to cast themselves in outward shapes 
 
 Of cruelty, when they would wreak their wrath 
 
 Upon the weaker vessel they enslave ; 
 
 And, at the bidding of the assembled host, 
 
 Lions, and wolves, and serpents, for the moment 
 
 Wrought magically by concentred might 
 
 Of evil wills converging, would have sprung 
 
 Upon the affrighted captives, had not we, 
 
 To whom the Highest hath committed power 
 
 To rule these realms, and into order bring 
 
 Unruly spirits, and set bounds awhile 
 
 To madness at its fioodtide, stay'd them, ere 
 
 They rush'd beyond the limit of their ill 
 
 Appointed to them. Now their punishment 
 
 Is to endure the wrongs they would have wrought, 
 
 In sight of them on whom they would have worked 
 
 Their vengeance, who in their turn had incurr'd 
 
 Erewhile the selfsame agony and shame. 
 
 And thus are warn'd by anguish they behold 
 
 To bring to mind the wrath they once endured. 
 
 To hold from evils that, like arrows shot 
 
 Against their foes, are blown back on themselves. 
 
 Yet all is vain, for, when the woe is past. 
 
 The will awakens, and the fell desire 
 
 To torture others with fresh pangs o'erwhelms 
 
 All memory of their own, until at length, 
 
 After long aeons of regather'd wrath 
 
 And refluent woe, the unrepentant soul 
 
5o8 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Waxes in selfish wisdom, and is drawn 
 
 To weigh at last in equal balances 
 
 The passion and the penalty. And so 
 
 A change may pass upon them, bringing on 
 
 A palsied peace, perchance oblivion 
 
 Of all the past, and in that neutral state 
 
 The spirit may be fed by better thoughts. 
 
 By little and by little, as a child 
 
 After a fever, or a drowned man 
 
 Restored to life : and this I tell thee now 
 
 As from myself; it may be, or may not ; 
 
 We know not all things ; there is only One 
 
 Can tell the Future, and those chosen ones 
 
 To whom He shows it when the times are full. 
 
 VII 
 
 " O Man, thou see'st before thee what of old 
 
 Was deem'd a poet's fable, fully shown 
 
 In its reality ; remember this ; 
 
 That what is here fuU-orb'd, and perfected. 
 
 Begins on earth ; that, whether it be hate 
 
 That steels the heart, and arms the murderer's hand. 
 
 Or envy, or ambition, or the lust 
 
 Of the world's lawless pleasures that begets 
 
 The robber's lawless act, or tyranny. 
 
 And pride, that sacrifice unto themselves 
 
 The simple, and the poor, and lash them on 
 
 In serried hosts to slaughter one another. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 509 
 
 In days of youth when love and hope are new, 
 And thus annul the purpose of earth-life, 
 Which should endure until its time is full. 
 And the experience which that life should give, 
 Kingly, or common crimes ; whatever deeds 
 Of darkness meet together in deep Hell 
 Are rooted in self-loves, and godless wills ; 
 Else were this world the very poet's dream 
 That mortals deem it : were they then but wise, 
 As they shall be hereafter. Hell were not. 
 Remember too, O King, men on the earth — 
 Where Good and Evil flow on side by side. 
 Or mix together like to wandering streams. 
 Or change, as shade and sunshine, as ye look 
 Across a champaign — see Futurity 
 For ever as the Present, or the end 
 Of all things with the mortal life itself. 
 But Life, being Life, can never die at all ; 
 And yet it cannot live without its Love, 
 For Life and Love are One ; and so it is 
 That, tho' the Love be evil, it must feed 
 The Life that never dies. And, mark, the love 
 Of Evil is a thirst unquenchable 
 By those who drink of Evil, till at length 
 All pure affections, born of Good and Truth, 
 Grow tasteless to the fever'd heart on fire. 
 As sweet fruits to the lion's tongue ; for Evil 
 Is never sated anymore than Good. 
 But Good is as the Sun that clothes with life. 
 
Sio KING ATHAMAS 
 
 And fills the waste while aught remains to fill ; 
 
 But Evil rolls on as the fiery flame 
 
 While aught remains before it to destroy. 
 
 Hatred is never cool'd, nor Envy charm'd, 
 
 Nor Pride abated, nor the Lust of power, 
 
 Or Greed of gain ; and so it is that they, 
 
 Who hide themselves from Good and Truth, beget 
 
 Evil and False within them, ev'n as weeds 
 
 Rankle in sunless caverns,- or foul worms 
 
 Feed on the rotting corse : and after death 
 
 They waken to the joys they loved before. 
 
 With strength regather'd. Oh ! that Man on earth 
 
 Would see the smallest seed of Evil sown, 
 
 And not uprooted, as the poison-tree 
 
 That will o'ershadow all Futurity, 
 
 Which else were sunbright ; would look on the wrongs, 
 
 That he delights in, as that gate of Hell, 
 
 Which, shut on him, is nevermore unbarr'd ; 
 
 And the first slope beneath the mountain-top. 
 
 That lies in sunshine, toward which he moves 
 
 With dance, and song, and heedless step, as paths 
 
 That glide with quickening speed upon the edge 
 
 Of fearful precipices, and the gloom 
 
 Of endless darkness whence there is no way ! ' 
 
 vin 
 
 " He ceased awhile ; but I was stricken dumb. 
 Till from my sorrow came low-voiced words. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 511 
 
 ' O Spirit, what shall save the death-bound man, 
 
 If this be true ? Will He, who hath condemn'd 
 
 The evildoer to the prisonhouse 
 
 Of this dark world, not rather laugh to hear 
 
 The feeble cry, if He could hear so far ; 
 
 As earthly kings — alas ! that such should be — 
 
 Gloat o'er the tortured lives of them they hate. 
 
 Rather than slay ? ' He answer'd, ' Son of Man, 
 
 Ye are not judged, or sentenced, or enchain'd, 
 
 Save by your ownselves, victims of selfwill. 
 
 The Evil is your own, the punishment 
 
 Evil itself, which strikes in its rebound 
 
 The heart that dealt it, and implants therein 
 
 Its barbed point ; God, who is only Good, 
 
 [Ministers unto Man but Good alone. 
 
 Man is made free to choose, or to refuse 
 
 The Good that is provided, as he is 
 
 To live in darkness rather than in day. 
 
 And shun the sunlight, or to blind his eyes. 
 
 And, if his choice be Good, it is free love 
 
 That blossoms into beauty more and more, 
 
 As the Spring roses in the Summer sun ; 
 
 But if his choice be evil, 'tis free Hate 
 
 That spreads in burning as a forest fire ; 
 
 Such freedom, shackled by resistless power 
 
 In forced obedience, would avenge itself 
 
 In anger and in hate, as prisoners bound 
 
 On earth by armed men, and stay'd from ill, 
 
 Will curse the righteous judge, and rend their chains. 
 
5X2 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 And crown with bitter thoughts their wrongful deeds. 
 
 So Man delights in freedom, as a babe 
 
 Tries its first steps, remembering not the hand 
 
 That holds him up ; and yet his will, tho' free 
 
 To crown itself with Evil, is not free ■ 
 
 To triumph, and discrown Almightiness, 
 
 For so freewill would be an Antigod. 
 
 Man works himself the torment that he fears 
 
 By lawless acts against the perfect Law. 
 
 Who thrusts his hand into the fire, and cries 
 
 Against his Maker, or against the fire 
 
 That is ordain'd for uses and delights. 
 
 Is but an angry child ; who cries that God 
 
 Hath damn'd to death one living soul He made. 
 
 And doom'd to penal torment without end 
 
 One Spirit for the evils wrought in Time, 
 
 Hath made of Him a Demon Infinite, 
 
 Compared with whom the blackest fiend below 
 
 Is a bright Angel ! And who holds that God 
 
 Avenges wrongs, as though Himself were wrong'd. 
 
 With lightnings that afflict but not consume, 
 
 Crowns the Allwise with folly like his own. 
 
 Ah ! rather think Almighty Love itself 
 
 Would weep eternally, if but one soul 
 
 Were irredeemable, and His right hand 
 
 Unable to uplift it from the deeps 
 
 Ev'n of abysmal darkness ! Son of Man, 
 
 I cannot tell thee more ; I tell thee now 
 
 More than I know ; yet, if the will be light 
 
KING ATHAMAS 
 
 513 
 
 That leads to knowledge, what I feel, and yearn, 
 
 And hope for, surely shall fulfil itself. 
 
 Shall not the God of gods come forth at last 
 
 Out of His temple, and reveal Himself 
 
 To Man all-perfect in His Love and Truth ; 
 
 Love, as a sevenfold glory on His face. 
 
 Truth, oceanic music hymning Him 
 
 Changelessly Good, omnipotently wise, 
 
 Therefore for ever Just, for ever True, 
 
 For ever without measure Merciful ? 
 
 And, if both Will and Thought be Life from Him, 
 
 From Him full surely all good thoughts are breathed. 
 
 Therefore I know that all I feel, and yearn, 
 
 And hope for, shall come forth as Power Divine ! ' 
 
 IX 
 
 " ' Spirit,' I cried, ' thy words are strange and new. 
 What know we on the earth of Power, that holds 
 Mercy, and not a sword, in his right hand ? 
 I am a king ; and if there be a King 
 Of kings, I cannot think of such a one. 
 Save as unpitying Pride that spares no foe. 
 And casts down to the dust all rebel wills 
 As I might crush a scorpion underfoot.' 
 I ceased ; there was long silence ; then again 
 I spake in whispers low. ' Fain would I hear 
 Such thoughts for ever, even were they dreams ; 
 For they are as sweet music, long unheard, 
 
 VOL. II' 2 L 
 
514 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Breathed suddenly into the charmed ear 
 
 Upon a gust of summer ; yet again 
 
 My heart is troubled, and my mind is dark. 
 
 Can Love like that, with power to work its will, 
 
 Look for a moment on the wrecks of Time, 
 
 The cry of wounded innocence ; the wrath 
 
 Of darkling hearts that never saw the light ; 
 
 And not stretch forth the hand that rules the world, 
 
 And snatch the suffering race, both good and ill, 
 
 From endless pain ?' I ceased, and bow'd my head. 
 
 Half blinded by perplexity and woe. 
 
 But for a moment, but that moment fill'd 
 
 With thoughts so fast it seem'd an age of Time, 
 
 Ev'n as a flash of lightning in the night 
 
 Unveils a hidden world. Again I spake 
 
 In whispers low ; ' Can it be possible. 
 
 Immortal one, can it be possible 
 
 That pain may be the steep and flinty road 
 
 That reascends unto the mountain-top, 
 
 To lave in light once more, and quaff the dawn ? 
 
 Is sorrow needful? Are the woful heart. 
 
 And wasted frame, but as annealing fires 
 
 That cleanse away the dross, and leave the gold 
 
 Pure in the crucible of mortal clay ? 
 
 Is evil but the lifeless mask that hides 
 
 A better life? the terror that conceals 
 
 Beauty, that shall be seen, when days of Time, 
 
 And ages of Eternity shall pass. 
 
 And be no more for ever ? Shall the soul 
 
KING ATHAMAS 515 
 
 That sins, and dies, yet lives, — as I have seen 
 
 In this dread world — ev'n as the spirit-form. 
 
 That clothes thy soul, O thou Immortal one. 
 
 Thro' throes of Nature, through afflicting pains. 
 
 Through age and weakness, comes forth in the end 
 
 A nobler body ; shall the soul itself. 
 
 Stronger by striving with infernal foes. 
 
 Risen out of torment, and the fires of Hell, 
 
 After Ionian seons are roU'd by, 
 
 'Mid the celestial hosts stand forth at last, 
 
 The mightiest of the mighty ; ev'n as he, 
 
 — If I may show the greater by the less — 
 
 Who overcomes earth-trials, earns a crown 
 
 More honourable than the little child 
 
 Who parts on wings of innocence ? ' Alas ! 
 
 That thought, like to an Atlantean load. 
 
 ^\^eigh'd me down utterly ; within it lay 
 
 Far less of hope, than terror and despair. 
 
 My cry went forth in anguish, ' Oh ! how long 
 
 Shall I, the miserable, self-condemn'd. 
 
 The doer of dread deeds nought can undo. 
 
 Destroyer of the lives I loved the best. 
 
 And can no more recall when I go back 
 
 To fill up my mortality, and drain 
 
 My cup of hopeless tears ; how long shall I 
 
 Linger in darkness ? ' Then he answer'd me ; 
 
 And tears were trembling in his eyes the while. 
 
 And a sweet sorrow in his voice ; ' O King, 
 
 I speak from knowledge ; only till the pride 
 
5i6 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 That hath rebell'd is broken ; till the eyes 
 
 That never wept at last dissolve in tears ; 
 
 The tongue, that shot forth curses, mourns ; the hands, 
 
 That shook defiance, clasp in prayer ; the brows, 
 
 That threaten'd Heaven, are level with the dust ; 
 
 And the heart loves that love which it receives, 
 
 For Man is Man because he can go forth 
 
 To meet his God, and from free heart and full 
 
 Give back the lovegift without measure given. 
 
 Sure as the Sun is seen thro' parting clouds, 
 
 Love, that is Life, fills up the yearning void 
 
 That seeks for Love when ills are cast away ; 
 
 I speak from knowledge ; once I was as thou ! ' 
 
 ' Alas ! ' I cried, ' if some are ransom'd thus 
 
 From their own evils, what is the doom of them 
 
 Who stand as adamant, or peaks of ice 
 
 That never melt, against all better thoughts ? ' 
 
 ' Hast thou not mark'd on earth,' my guide replied, 
 
 ' One who rebels against the laws divine 
 
 Of Nature, till the ruin'd tabernacle 
 
 Of his own body, builded of the dust, 
 
 Falls from him, haply destined to endure 
 
 An hundred years but for his mad misdeeds ? 
 
 And so the soul goes forth before its time, 
 
 And seeks the evil sphere to which his ills 
 
 Have drawn him. Even as his fleshly house 
 
 Was wreck'd on earth, his spiritual frame, 
 
 Knit of such subtle substances as- yield 
 
 Obedience to the will, and better serve 
 
KING ATHAMAS 517 
 
 Than swiftest wings to bear him to and fro ; 
 
 This nobler armour, fitted to advance 
 
 From strength to strength of the Immortal Life, 
 
 From beauty unto beauty, dies at length 
 
 The second death, because the darken'd soul 
 
 Within no longer could receive the light 
 
 From the One Life, that is the Sun of All 
 
 That is, and was, and will be, gods and men. 
 
 And so the spirit which can never die 
 
 Goes forth again, and whither ? Who can tell. 
 
 Save Him alone from whom all spirits flow ? ' 
 
 X 
 
 "Again I sued him in low-voiced words. 
 
 ' O spirit, suffer me again to plead 
 
 For answer to my troubled thoughts. I hear 
 
 Such utterance from thy lips as lifts my heart 
 
 Above itself, and shows a door of hope 
 
 Beyond the dungeon walls of my despair. 
 
 Can deeds like mine be ransom'd by good thoughts ? 
 
 Can blood be wash'd by penitential tears ? 
 
 Is not all wrong men do to one another 
 
 FoUow'd on earth by vengeance ? Ev'n the poor, 
 
 Who have not knowledge, done to death at once 
 
 By angry justice — Shall a king go free 
 
 Hereafter, whom they cannot reach on earth ? 
 
 Oh ! will not rather the Great Gods who rule 
 
 Crown him with all their wrath?' He answer'd me 
 
5i8 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 In such sweet tones as might a mother's voice : 
 
 ' Be comforted ; the Gods whom ye have dream'd 
 
 Are but your proper selves, enthroned and fiU'd 
 
 With Hfe immortal only to be lived 
 
 For pride, or vengeance ; fling away the fear 
 
 That hath bewilder'd ye, and wrought your souls 
 
 Into the semblance of the things ye fear. 
 
 For there is only One, and He is Love, 
 
 And Love is Life : ye cannot look on Him 
 
 In picture, or in carved work, or hear 
 
 His voice in outward tongues oracular. 
 
 But, whensoe'er an ill thought is disarm'd 
 
 By pity ; or a self-love is outweigh'd 
 
 In the just balance by a wiser will ; 
 
 Or when the freezing hand, that griped the gold, 
 
 Relaxing lets it fall into the lap 
 
 Of deathpale hunger ; when the envious tongue 
 
 Forbears to slander ; or the proud man's scorn 
 
 Yields a soft answer ; and the uplifted hand 
 
 Of hatred or of anger falls again ; 
 
 And eyes that lighten'd vengeance melt in tears ; 
 
 Then He speaks to ye, then ye hear His voice. 
 
 He only bids ye ask, that He may give 
 
 Out of His treasures that same very love 
 
 That is His Life and yours ; and were but men. 
 
 And kings of men, fit vessels to receive, 
 
 New passions would burn in the hearts of all ; 
 
 New visions would light up the sight of eyes ; 
 
 New knowledge would illumine the dark ways ; 
 
KING ATHAMAS 519 
 
 And miracles would be no longer marvels ; 
 Sorrow, and pain on earth, and death no more, 
 And earth as heaven ; for that diviner Sun 
 Of Living Love would scatter off all 111, 
 Ev'n as the orb of Nature rends the clouds, 
 And turns the icebound earth to paradise ! 
 
 XI 
 
 " ' O King, abide in patience, not despair. 
 We cannot know till the All-knowing wills. 
 And they, the nearest to his counsels, bid 
 The lesser ministers to make them known 
 Ev'n to the least, and they, when time is full 
 Breathe them into the souls of mortal men.' 
 He stood awhile with upward-gazing eyes. 
 And parted lips, as though he saw a light. 
 Or heard a voice ; and then he said, ' Ev'n now, 
 Methinks, I drink in hopes unfelt till now. 
 As though I heard a highest Angel say, 
 ' Beloved, speak unto this son of man 
 A word of comfort ; let him not lament 
 The far-off of the Future, as though he 
 Were doom'd to linger on the woful earth 
 Throughout a night of countless ages, lit 
 By momentary lightnings, and the gleam 
 Of stars thro' rifted thunderclouds, again 
 To be o'erwhelm'd with darkness, till the dawn 
 Comes slowly thro' millenniums of despair. 
 
520 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 The Infinite alone can lift the weight 
 
 Of the Eternal aeons ; and the hopes 
 
 Of mortal man can never burn so bright 
 
 And far into the Future as to leave 
 
 The Present quench'd in darkness, as the eye 
 
 Blinded by daring to look on the sun. 
 
 Man looks but for a moment on the life 
 
 Of Man, and, parted thence, may minister 
 
 To Good or 111 ; blessed is he to whom 
 
 The first is given, for he shall weep no more 
 
 Who wipes from weeping eyes the tears away ! ' 
 
 Again I hear a highest Angel say ; 
 
 ' The Allwise, who looks on Evil, in the end 
 
 Must vanquish, or be vanquish'd ; shall the cry 
 
 That we have heard, that challeng'd Heaven, be heard, 
 
 And have no answer from the Highest Throne ? 
 
 O spirit, this we tell thee. Life is God ! 
 
 O spirit, tell this mortal. Life is God ! 
 
 And every life in every living thing, 
 
 And lowest life in lowest Hell, is His ! 
 
 And shall He doom one living soul to death 
 
 Eternal, and to everlasting pain. 
 
 And not withhold the fatal life foreknown. 
 
 Rather than breathe it ? Spirit, name it not ! 
 
 No ! as the stars come forth upon the earth. 
 
 When tempest-clouds, that hid them, rend asunder, 
 
 God at the last shall bring forth every life. 
 
 As on the earth, so in the lowest Hell, 
 
 Thro' swathing folds of sorrow, sin, and pain. 
 
KING ATHAMAS 521 
 
 That shall fall off— as doth the mortal dust 
 Of Man on earth leaving his spirit free — 
 Pure as at first, and Good shall conquer 111 ; 
 And Evil into eternal ruin cast, 
 Like thunders before sunlight, pass away 
 Before His face for ever and for ever ! ' 
 
 XII 
 
 "Once more we trod the way by which we came. 
 
 And now 'twas upward, till we reached the gate 
 
 Of knotted adamant ; but it was barr'd 
 
 As at the first. I turn'd back once to look ; 
 
 And, thro' grey twilightj were made visible 
 
 Over the undulating vastness strown, 
 
 As 'twere far off, the blacken'd ruins huge 
 
 Of smouldering cities, and their smoke arose 
 
 Unto the farthest distance ; here and there 
 
 A glow of fires that made the drearness sound 
 
 More desolate. I saw a moment's light 
 
 Flash down from heaven upon it, and the waste, 
 
 From dimness, changed to blackness palpable. 
 
 Impenetrable ; and I stretch'd my arms 
 
 Before me ; darkness was upon me again 
 
 As heretofore, when, after that great cry, 
 
 I sank down in oblivion on the earth. 
 
 Only I saw the God who led me on 
 
 Pass swiftly from me, and his glory wane 
 
 Fast as a beam before a shadow flies. 
 
522 KING ATHAMAS 
 
 Or moonlight from the dark before the dawn. 
 
 I cried more lamentably than at first, 
 
 ' Forsake me not ! ' A sweet voice from afar 
 
 Came unto me, or seem'd to speak within 
 
 In answer ; ' King of men, be merciful 
 
 Who hast found mercy ; part, and be at peace.' 
 
 And then I woke, and see ye by me here." 
 
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