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PR 4 16 1.B3P8 " """'""">' '■"'fary 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013438498 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
PRELUDES AND 
 ROMANCES 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON 
 
 LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & SONS 
 
 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD 
 
 1908 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson 6» Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PRELUDE: ON BEACHY HEAD i 
 
 THE CHOICE OF ADAM 7 
 
 n 
 
 PRELUDE: AT PEVENSEY CASTLE 21 
 
 THE DEBATE OF THE LADY VENUS AND THE 
 
 VIRGIN MARY 29 
 
 III 
 PRELUDE: AT HURSTMONCEUX 49 
 
 CHRYSEIS .... 55 
 
 IV 
 PRELUDE : ON FIRLE BEACON 83 
 
 THE STATUE .... . . . . 91 
 
 NOTE 115 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 I 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 I 
 
 PRELUDE: ON BEACHY HEAD 
 
 Town-dwellers think that Spring begins in May ; 
 
 We of the country know a certain day 
 
 In February, when the shy young year 
 
 Dreams her first dream of love. The skies appear 
 
 Not cloudless with the steely gleam of frost, 
 
 But tender, by soft-footed armies crossed. 
 
 Vaunt-couriers of Queen Spring. The sleeping earth 
 
 Remembers the green things that wait for birth 
 
 In her wide bosom ; and the thrushes stir 
 
 To rouse the laggard morning earlier. 
 
 On such a day, on such a happy day, 
 A sevenfold party went on holiday 
 Along the broad Downs looking o'er the sea 
 From Bourne to Beauchef and the Charles' three, 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 The Titans' turrets, on whose grassy knees 
 Far down the curled red foxes sleep at ease, 
 And though they hear far ofF the huntsman's hallo, 
 Heed nothing, for they know no hound can follow. 
 
 There coming, on the grassy edge they stayed. 
 Thrilled with the glory of the ocean, laid 
 A sapphire floor beneath them, and the gleam 
 Of snowy cliiFs to westward, where the stream 
 Of Cuckmere stealeth to her lover's bed 
 Betwixt the Seven ClifFs and Seaford Head. 
 Silent they stood awhile, and watched the rise 
 Of two great falcons wheeling up the skies 
 In Babylonian gyres. And watched the mew 
 Float from the grass-edge on to the void blue. 
 Quietly spreading noiseless plumes of snow 
 To join the unseen screaming flock below. 
 Then one brake silence with a wistful sigh : 
 " Ten years of life for one day's wings to fly ! 
 Ah, the delights, consider! Ah, the joys ! 
 One moment to stand thus ; the next to poise 
 On the invisible unresisting air 
 Empty and deep beneath you, and not care ! " 
 Echoed another : " Aye, what loss is ours 
 That Man, with all his thoughts and works and powers, 
 
ON BEACHY HEAD 3 
 
 Who might of winged kind have taken birth, 
 
 Has ris'n among the beasts of middle earth ! 
 
 Glorious he were, if his long heritage. 
 
 His ancestry of poet, hero, sage, 
 
 His dreams, ambitions, raptures and desires, 
 
 Had sprung and passed to him from eagle sires. 
 
 What touch diviner his great words had ta'en. 
 
 Truth, Freedom, Honour, Love, from tongue and brain 
 
 Bred to the fearless mastery of wings, 
 
 'Mid clouds and snows and all ethereal things ! 
 
 What dreams had poets dreamed ! and priests what prayer 
 
 Uplifted ! In his songs what sweetness were ! 
 
 A Lucifer unfallen Man had been. 
 
 And none were ape-like, mischievous, or mean." 
 
 " Ah, think you," cried a third, " that such a choice 
 
 Were ever his ? Had creature ever voice 
 
 So infinitely fateful for his kind ? 
 
 Some first of creeping monsters, dumb and blind, 
 
 Made he some great refusal, whence began 
 
 The inveterate vulgarity of Man ? " 
 
 Then one, a poet : " I have found for you 
 
 A history most fond and yet most true. 
 
 Much to this purpose, for the tale is hight 
 
 ' The Choice of Adam.' Hidden long from sight 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Within the pale leaves of a palimpsest, 
 Ev'n as a ghost not wholly laid to rest 
 Moves shadowy in a house of living men, 
 So the blurred script may now be read again 
 Athwart the faded lines of later writ. 
 Deciphered thus, I have re-shapen it, 
 Turning harsh Latin to an English lay." 
 
 Well suited this their mood of holiday 
 And dreams of Springtide ; and they sought a place 
 Sun-warmed and windless on the chalk-clifF face. 
 There is a hold, like a high gallery, hung 
 Below the clifF-top, where a rock, down-flung 
 From breaking scars, has rested and grown hoar. 
 Above, the white walls tower ; and before, 
 Green-breasted Beauchef bows on naked knees 
 O'er snowy feet kissed by the fawning seas. 
 
 Rich is the eye-feast from that eagle-nest ; 
 Ruin of earth's foundations, crumbling crest 
 And turret toppling, ledge o'erleaning ledge. 
 Rampart and rock-face, till a far-off edge. 
 Sheer as a bastion built of giant hands, 
 Unruinous beyond the ruin stands. 
 A passage, narrow as a turret-stair, 
 Leads downward to this refuge whoso dare 
 
ON BEACHY HEAD 5 
 
 Face footless crags and white-lipped waves below. 
 Thither one led them with sure foot and slow ; 
 And seated, quiet as a small grey flock 
 Of sunning sea-birds on a lonely rock, 
 In glad tranquillity they heard this tale. 
 Like new bright fire kindled from ashes pale. 
 
THE CHOICE OF ADAM 
 
 Perfected lay the green world wonderful 
 
 'Neath the Creator's eye, the blue air full 
 
 Of wings and voices, and the solid ground 
 
 Flushed all with flowers, while living creatures round 
 
 Girdled the habitable globe — the whole 
 
 Fair to the sense and fairer to the soul. 
 
 So were the five days ended, the great days 
 
 Of God that are long asons in man's gaze ; 
 
 And in the hush and rest-time of creating 
 
 There seemed an expectation and a waiting. 
 
 Seen in the flower and hearkened in the song. 
 
 Felt in the unrest of the four-foot throng. 
 
 And the Creator, reckoning every kind. 
 
 Where were best lodging for the living Mind, 
 
 And in what mortal the immortal strain 
 
 Implanted fullest stature might attain, 
 
 Out of the void compelled that dreaming spirit 
 
 Which, bodied, should this five-days' world inherit, 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 And be the living crown of things, a flower 
 To nurse the seed of the creating Power ; 
 And to the cloudy spirit, knowing not 
 As yet its own existence or the lot 
 Destined, the Lord God gave in vision-wise 
 Judgment, and hearing ears and seeing eyes. 
 And bound the light thing to the winds, to bear 
 A visitor of earth and sea and air ; 
 And, all things seen, and to his hand returned 
 The bird-like spirit, questioned what was learned. 
 
 DoMiNus Deus 
 Hast thou beheld the world I made to be 
 A throne, a temple, and a school for thee ? 
 
 Spiritus Adami 
 Lord God Almighty, I have seen it all. 
 Marvellous are Thy works in great and small. 
 
 DoMiNus Deus 
 Hast thou beheld the rivers and the seas. 
 The lakes, and all that lives and moves in these ? 
 
THE CHOICE OF ADAM s 
 
 Spiritus Adami 
 Lord, at Thy word I pierced the ocean's sleep, 
 And saw the strange lamp-bearers of the deep ; 
 Around me, shuddering, monstrous shapes did swim ; 
 (What use of beauty in a day so dim ?) 
 Then rising from that thick unlighted grave 
 Saw a faint emerald trembling through the wave, 
 And knew of happier creatures who above 
 In lighted waters play, and feel Thy love 
 In sunlight and soft kisses of the wind ; 
 Which on the surface wanton with their kind. 
 Or lie on sunny rocks afar from foes. 
 All these I saw, and fairer things than those, 
 Of mail-clad monsters and the silver flight 
 Of wing-fish from the water ; I had sight 
 Of pink-sailed argosies on purple seas, 
 And in rock-caverns found anemones 
 Brighter than mountain flowers. All these I saw 
 Living and moving by Thy changeless law. 
 
 DoMiNus Deus 
 Hast thou beheld the nobler lives that fare 
 On earth and breathe the thin ethereal air ? 
 
lo PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Spiritus Adami 
 Unseen amid the multitudes I strayed, 
 No more affrighting than a light cloud's shade. 
 The gross-limbed monsters of the river-bed, 
 The dainty dappled herd, the cavern-bred 
 Carnivorous cruelties, the flying feet 
 Of striped veldt-rangers, woolly flocks that bleat 
 From crag to echoing crag, and chattering things 
 That flit among the tree-tops without wings ; 
 These have I seen, innumerable in kind, 
 Visible thoughts of Thy creating mind. 
 Made, and unmade, and made again more fair, 
 A thousand dying till one perfect were. 
 
 DoMiNus Deus 
 And hast thou followed, nearer to my feet, 
 The aery warbler and the eagle fleet ? 
 
 Spiritus Adami 
 In every bush I heard a living voice ; 
 From every tree one called to me Rejoice ! 
 About each cliff a thousand wings of snow 
 Light-floated o'er the mirror sea below ; 
 
THE CHOICE OF ADAM ii 
 
 High o'er the hills the eagle on sure wing 
 
 Mounted, resistless as a falling thing ; 
 
 In dusky forests like a flash of flame 
 
 The screaming rainbow-creatures went and came ; 
 
 Or, like a cloud, down lighted in the groves 
 
 The chattering starlings and wing-rustling doves ; 
 
 And over stream and meadow restlessly 
 
 Like leaves in whirlwind went the swallows by. 
 
 No seas they fear, but, cradled on the wind. 
 
 Leave winter and the deadly frost behind ; 
 
 Of all Thy creatures these are happiest. 
 
 Of water, earth, and air alike possessed." 
 
 Then spake the Father : " I have given thes, 
 Spirit of Man, the power to hear and see — 
 Thyself yet formless — every creature formed ; 
 That Reason in thee, perfectly informed, 
 Might choose her habitation, where to find 
 Fittest enthronement for the o'erlording Mind 
 In creature of the water, earth, or air. 
 Consider thou what shape of these should wear 
 One that shall be God's viceroy, governing 
 By laws of Heaven every living thing ; 
 
12 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 What strength or speed of limb, what grace of features, 
 
 What gifts for help or judgment of all creatures. 
 
 For I will give thee as thy racial right 
 
 To live not only for thine own delight, 
 
 Nor labour only for self-pleasing ends, 
 
 As do the rest of creatures, who are friends 
 
 To their own kindred, to all others foes. 
 
 This gift I give thee, that is not in those : 
 
 Justice to know and righteousness to seek, 
 
 To give their own to warlike or to weak. 
 
 And in the world, where blind self-love prevails, 
 
 As officer of God to hold the scales. 
 
 Therefore consider, ere desire be born 
 
 With thy new body, and thy soul be torn 
 
 Betwixt the god-like and the fleshly will ! 
 
 While reason in thee, pure of passion still. 
 
 Can pass a selfless judgment, weigh the thing ; 
 
 And say what powers of fin or foot or wing 
 
 Thou choosest to fulfil thy needs and Mine, 
 
 Who made thee to complete the plan divine." 
 
 But on the soul of Adam fell a fear 
 Of his high fate ; and joy of eye and ear. 
 
THE CHOICE OF ADAM 13 
 
 Lent but to prove him, ev'n by this had grown 
 
 Desirable, a thing to make his own ; 
 
 And he had seen a thousand glories, heard 
 
 A hundred raptures, loves of beast and bird. 
 
 Fierce ecstasies of battle or of lust. 
 
 He sought how he might hold that splendid trust. 
 
 Yet keep the license of the unreasoning beast, 
 
 And, ruling, share full measure of the feast. 
 
 And thus he answered : " Wider are the seas 
 
 Than the dry lands, and hugest forms are these 
 
 That swim resistless in the yielding waves. 
 
 East, West, North, South, or downward to dark caves. 
 
 But these are farthest from the Father's care ; 
 
 Perchance Thou wilt forget Thy creature there. 
 
 Forget Thy kindness and Thy love to him. 
 
 Leave him unheld, unholpen, darkling, dim. 
 
 Let me live rather 'neath the open skies. 
 
 Hid but by passing clouds from Heaven's eyes. 
 
 Yet if I choose the empire of the air, 
 
 Haply some son of mine, too bold, shall dare 
 
 To mount ev'n to Thy throne, to vaunt his soul 
 
 Thine equal ; then, flung downward from the pole, 
 
 Ruin and wrath on all his kindred call. 
 
 Or, should he shun so dread a rise and fall. 
 
14 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Yet every weakness of his flesh, each sin, 
 
 Little enough 'mid creatures kind and kin, 
 
 So near Thy throne in Heaven's full light displayed, 
 
 Shall seem a law tremendous disobeyed, 
 
 And Man live 'neath a deprecated frown. 
 
 Fearing each word may call Thy thunders down. 
 
 Safest it were on middle earth to go. 
 
 Neither presumptuous nor ignobly low. 
 
 Stronger the will is, more the self-control. 
 
 Rarer the fine perfection of the soul, 
 
 For ordered lives that move but in one plane. 
 
 Not up and down in gnat-dance free but vain. 
 
 Ringed by the near horizon these discern 
 
 The truths of Law and Limit, and return 
 
 To half-browsed feeding-grounds, like sheep in pen. 
 
 Using to utmost all that comes in ken. 
 
 There are a thousand shapes, fair, strong, and fleet. 
 
 That move upon the solid ground with feet. 
 
 Yet on the water's face will sometimes fare, 
 
 Or climb high hills to dr,ink ethereal air. 
 
 Let such a place be mine, where I may hold 
 
 All creatures of earth, sea, and air controlled. 
 
 Yet would I ask, not as the rest to be. 
 
 But walk with head uplifted, that with Thee 
 
THE CHOICE OF ADAM 15 
 
 I may hold converse as Thine honoured one, 
 Of all Thy children chief and favoured son." 
 
 Then spake the Almighty : "Thou hast chos'n the Mean, 
 The midway path, the kingdom of Between ; 
 And as thy choice shall be thy character, 
 Clinging to earth, yet claiming to prefer 
 Heaven, and pure thought and love, the boons of Heaven. 
 Thus in thy noblest need to be forgiven 
 Shall burn instead of joy in nobleness ; 
 Instead of song and glad light-heartedness. 
 In every temple Sorrow's self shall house ; 
 Smoke of the sacrifice shall pay thy vows ; 
 And bodies lean and eyes with watching dim 
 More righteous seem than health and pride of limb. 
 Oh, hadst thou known thy good, and dared to be 
 Lord of the air, a creature winged and free ! 
 Thou hadst been god-like then, Microuranos 
 Instead of Micro-kosmos. Yea, thy loss 
 Is great, and greater earth's, and greatest Mine. 
 O marred impression of the stamp divine, 
 Unperfect image of the sculptor's thought, 
 A vessel of the potter badly wrought ; 
 
1 6 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Tyrant of earth, destroyer, ravisher, 
 
 That shouldst have been an angel blessing her ! 
 
 Where'er thou walkest, scarred shall be the sod, 
 
 That should have shown green footprints as of God. 
 
 This is thy curse, self-called upon thy head. 
 
 Yet see, lest thou be all uncomforted. 
 
 Within thy breast I plant a seed of fire. 
 
 Which kindle thou and feed with full desire. 
 
 And it shall serve thee in the stead of wings 
 
 To prompt thee ever to the higher things. 
 
 And raise thee by slow steps and heights hard won 
 
 Till thy race win the crown thou hast foregone. 
 
 Only beware ! In thine own hands is fate. 
 
 To strain to higher or fall to lower state. 
 
 A small thing is it to remelt the wax 
 
 And strike again to perfect that which lacks. 
 
 A small thing to the sculptor 'tis to fling 
 
 His casting to the flames for bettering. 
 
 A small thing to the potter 'tis to take 
 
 Another lump and a new vessel make. 
 
 And from the myriad myriad lives of earth 
 
 A small thing were it to call up to birth 
 
 A new, more perfect Man of grander mould. 
 
 And in the slough self-chosen leave the old." 
 
THE CHOICE OF ADAM 17 
 
 Darkness on Eden fell ; and beast and bird 
 Unnamed, unmastered slept. With dawn was heard 
 A new compelling voice that thrilled the glade ; 
 And all the creatures, flocking, saw new-made 
 Their white-limbed lord ; and to his order came 
 To own their fealty and receive a name. 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 II 
 
II 
 
 PRELUDE: AT PEVENSEY CASTLE 
 
 The year had put her sombre raiment by, 
 The earth her snowy mantle long forgot ; 
 
 The lark's song rippled down the radiant sky, 
 The full-toned ousel thrilled the gardenplat ; 
 
 All meadows were as pleasances, all seas 
 
 As quiet lakes made for delight and ease. 
 
 Then on a joyous eventide of June 
 
 Again the seven light hearts set out together, 
 With footsteps dancing and with thoughts in tune 
 
 To Nature's gladness and the golden weather, 
 To where the far-seen walls of Pevensey 
 Rise from the levels, ivied, green, and grey. 
 
22 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Ruined the place lies on the wide green lea, 
 As on a lone shore a long-stranded ship, 
 
 Forgotten plaything of the inconstant sea. 
 Lies ruined ; her no more the wavelets lip 
 
 Nor billows buffet, nor her sailors' cry 
 
 Sounds o'er the darkening waters lustily. 
 
 The sand o'erflowing gluts her roofless hold ; 
 
 Stark are her ribs that kept the storms at bay, 
 No more of service, though they stand as bold 
 
 And apt of curve as on her keeling-day ; 
 A thousand she hath mothered : now not one 
 Cares that she once was fair to look upon. 
 
 Nor here is any life, or labouring hand. 
 
 Or busy market, or defending arm ; 
 The walls, the towers, men toiled so long at, stand 
 
 Outworn defences 'gainst forgotten harm ; 
 The grass that buries all things hath hid deep 
 The hearth and roof-tree as the midden-heap. 
 
AT PEVENSEY CASTLE 23 
 
 The Roman city and Norman citadel 
 
 Are now one ruin, though their builders wrought 
 A thousand years disparted. The green swell 
 
 Of earth untrampled lies where Briton fought 
 So fiercely with the engulfing Saxon horde, 
 And Saxon slaved for Norman overlord. 
 
 There they re-gathered from old chroniclers 
 The scanty record ; saw what was of yore 
 
 Pictured by guess-work of geographers. 
 And pieced to shape by antiquarian lore ; 
 
 Until the Present to the Past gave place. 
 
 And earth before them wore her ancient face. 
 
 Rose to their eyes in necromantic dream 
 
 Wide marshes, tide-brimmed to a bright lagoon, 
 
 Where, like November leaves upon a stream, 
 The low bird-haunted eyots hung a-swoon ; 
 
 Till on the chiefest island grew one day 
 
 The Roman fortress of Anderida. 
 
24 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 They saw the sentries, pacing on the wall, 
 
 Look northward to the low hills, forest-crowned, 
 
 Whence danger of the wild men might befall. 
 And southward to the sea from out whose bound 
 
 The swift sea-snake-like Saxon galleys came 
 
 With threat perpetual of sword and flame. 
 
 Till, when the waves of earthquake swept the world, 
 Ring upon ring, as giant Rome went down, 
 
 Thick as the snowflakes on the north wind whirled, 
 The wild barbarian swooped on city and town ; 
 
 Vain were these marshes and these ramparts vain ; 
 
 To the last man were the defenders slain. 
 
 Then in their talk they turned a later page. 
 And saw the Norman vessels fill the bay. 
 
 "Almost," said one, " these walls might see engage 
 The flashing hosts on Senlac's fateful day ; 
 
 Ev'n yet the eye on yon far upland sees 
 
 Or fancies the great Abbey 'mid the trees." 
 
AT PEVENSEY CASTLE 25 
 
 Like little paper boats by children urged 
 
 From the still margin out to the strong stream, 
 
 So fancy, lightly loosed, was caught and merged 
 In the full current of historic dream ; 
 
 And age on age they touched, and England's power 
 
 And fortune followed to the actual hour. 
 
 Then one : " What help hath History, or what gain 
 The tale half told, half guessed-at, of dead days ? 
 
 A chilling mist that rises from past rain ; 
 
 A ghost that frights us from light-hearted ways ; 
 
 A parent's grief that darkens needlessly 
 
 A child's delight and glooms its hour of glee. 
 
 " Oh, it were happier to record no strife. 
 To note no battle-fields, to mark no graves, 
 
 To drink untainted our own draught of life. 
 And all unwistful watch the laughing waves ; 
 
 Blithely as they to dance in sunny hours. 
 
 Sad only when the heaven above us lowers. 
 
26 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Strong is the race that hath no memory left 
 
 Of its own past, except the hero-tale 
 Or legend long-descended, a bright weft 
 
 New-broidered on dim patterns worn and pale.- 
 The Tree of Knowledge yields no strong-man's meat ; 
 High purpose fails, fed on this evil sweet." 
 
 "Aye," said another; "yet what hand may guide 
 The set career and destiny of Man ? 
 
 To say ' Twere better thus or thus ; to chide 
 Light fancy, or by philosophic plan 
 
 Bind racial energies — this were a thing 
 
 Vain-tempted as to check a planet's swing. 
 
 " We ride a rolling wave, and boast advance ; 
 
 We set the sail and labour with the oar 
 To hasten or retard the moving chance, 
 
 That bears us helpless to an unknown shore ; 
 And, proud of motion, like the Pharisee, 
 Thank God we are not as men used to be. 
 
AT PEVENSEY CASTLE 27 
 
 ' ' O evil time when tender hearts were naught I 
 O cruel hands that could no mercy show ! 
 
 O dark and heathen days ere pity taught 
 
 To spare the weak and tend the wounded foe ! 
 
 Ev'n thus we murmur in our self-content, 
 
 Sure that we face the fixM Orient. 
 
 " We marvel that of such rude loins are we, 
 The flower of human kind, begot and born ; 
 
 Nor question which to better end might be, 
 Our soft lives or the barbarism we scorn. 
 
 The wave rolls on ; the generations ride 
 
 Secure of progress each in its own pride." 
 
 " O ravens 'mid the ruins ! " laughed a voice 
 
 Low, girlish, light-of-heart. " The soft June air 
 
 Itself reproves your croaking. To my choice 
 Better a fool's hope than wise man's despair. 
 
 Let dismal Yesterday and dark To-morrow, 
 
 Seer and sage, take thought for their own sorrow ! 
 
28 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Hath not our poet aught to fit the day, 
 
 The mouldered place, the melting evening mood ? 
 
 For to a heart-sick world the poet's lay 
 
 'Twixt hope and wan-hope is a healing food." 
 
 Came answer : " Will ye hear another tale 
 
 Rudely re-fashioned from that parchment pale ? " 
 
 There is a tower tall-rising, scarred and rent. 
 
 Of Norman's building ; and a broad-topped wall 
 
 Beneath it. Here in sunshine and the scent 
 Of golden wall-flowers, looking wide o'er all 
 
 From emerald plain to purple promontory, 
 
 Silent they sat to hear the poet's story. 
 
THE DEBATE OF THE LADY VENUS 
 AND THE VIRGIN MARY 
 
 Lone in a lonely land of wooded vales 
 Queen Venus had a temple anciently ; 
 
 White dove-wings beat around it, and soft gales 
 Blew spices thither from the neighbour sea. 
 
 There was her ritual purest, and no sin 
 
 'Gainst man or nature ever entered in. 
 
 Where was this land is now no word to tell, 
 But somewhere in the warm west lands it lay ; 
 
 And seeing that now the world is mapped so well, 
 Some place it may be where men live to-day ; 
 
 And for my part I would my faith advance 
 
 This temple lay in some fair nook of France. 
 
30 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 But when the Cross triumphant beat to dust 
 The antique temples and the old-world creeds, 
 
 From this her temple was Queen Venus thrust, 
 And devilish were accounted all her deeds ; 
 
 But, for the place itself was fit and fair. 
 
 For the New Faith they raised a temple there. 
 
 Through doors rich-carven with cadaverous saints 
 Passed in the sad-robed brotherhood to prayer 
 
 In lamplit darkness, where the mingled taints 
 Of dead-men's bones and incense filled the air 
 
 With holy drowse about the sculptured tombs. 
 
 High-soaring pillars, and low-vaulted glooms. 
 
 Many a saint was carved there, many a king 
 From finial stared with sightless eyes of stone ; 
 
 But chiefest the Maid-mother, pitying. 
 
 Held in her arms her babe, and stood alone, 
 
 Human amid the inhumanities. 
 
 Listening the whole world's whispered agonies. 
 
irtii Ut^HAlh. Ut ViirsiUh AJND MAKY 31 
 
 Passed the slow-footed ages, and the fame 
 gOf ancient Venus long had been forgot ; 
 Lost from the people's language was her name ; 
 
 Till once it fell that in the sacred plot 
 A labourer, delving deep below the ground, 
 A|wondrous woman all of marble found. 
 
 The Prior was a lettered man of Rome, 
 
 And touched with the New Learning. He perceived 
 At once the white-limbed goddess of the foam. 
 
 And joyed in such a treasure so retrieved ; 
 And to the Chapter-house he bade them bear 
 The wonderful white woman with due care. 
 
 So came the banished goddess back once more 
 
 To her old habitation. In the even 
 Glimmered her glorious whiteness as of yore 
 
 Through the dusk chamber, and a wondrous sweven 
 That night on all the sleeping brothers came. 
 And in the morn, lo, each had dreamed the same. 
 
32 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 The night was at its blackest, the vast vault 
 Silent and dark as some deep ocean cave, 
 
 Whose echoes never whisper doth assault, 
 
 Nor ray pierced ever the thick ponderous wave ; 
 
 Only before the Mother and the Child 
 
 One ruby star burnt like a beacon mild. 
 
 Suddenly out of darkness spake a voice, 
 
 Softer than the first bird that wakes the morn, 
 
 And sweeter than the flu tings that rejoice 
 
 The mid- June starlight from the flowered thorn ; 
 
 " I am come again," it said, " unto mine own. 
 
 Woman, what dost thou in the goddess' throne ? " 
 
 The little ruby fire leapt suddenly, 
 
 Like the quick flushing of a maiden's cheek ; 
 
 And answer breathed as sweet of melody 
 
 And soft of murmur, but of tone more meek ; 
 
 " This church," it said, " these altars are mine own. 
 
 What false god claimeth Christ his Mother's throne .'' ' 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 33 
 
 Then came the answer, like a clear-toned bell 
 That soundeth but one note, and yet doth thrill 
 
 The throbbing air with various fall and swell, 
 And ranging undertones, both deep and shrill. 
 
 Half heard, half fancied by the entranced ear, 
 
 And full of meanings of delight or fear : 
 
 " The natural delight of earth is mine. 
 
 The joyous instinct in all things that breathe ; 
 
 The animal desire I made divine. 
 
 And sweet as flowers that did my altars wreathe, 
 
 I was a goddess lawful and devout. 
 
 And lawful lovers thronged my feet about. 
 
 " Where are the half-god heroes of my day. 
 
 The noble faces and the glorious limbs. 
 The free decorous souls ? These are not they, 
 
 The lank- limbed starvelings, droning prayers and hymns, 
 The creed-cramped souls, the dogma-darkened eyes, 
 Who blacken earth to heighten Paradise." 
 
34 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 A shudder through the dreaming brothers ran, 
 And lips of sleepers muttered " Blasphemy ! " 
 
 One only sighed, remembering a man 
 
 How like himself, could like so unlike be ! — 
 
 Ha ! retro Satanas ! — Yet how deep he sighed, 
 
 And in his sleep a name, not sainted, cried. 
 
 And to the sleepers in their dreams 'twas known 
 
 A high debate now heralded afar ; 
 The church walls widened each way, and a throne 
 
 Was set on each side, where, like evening star 
 And morning star, each rival glorious Queen 
 Looked on the other, over space between. 
 
 Ah ! but to pen the faces of the twain ! 
 
 The glowing palate should grow blanched and pale, 
 That would attempt such ineffectual pain ; 
 
 And how must words, the tongue's tired drudges, fail 
 To fire the sluggard fancy with the sense 
 Of such love-kindling soft magnificence ! 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 3s 
 
 Each claimed her empire in the name of Love ; 
 
 This love the Elysium where right lovers dwell ; 
 And this the haven of sorrow, spread above, 
 
 And wide wing-shelter from the hounds of Hell. 
 Innumerable thousands thronged each throne, 
 Claiming the empire for the One alone. 
 
 And seemed those wondrous faces, as each prayer. 
 Each life lived in their service faithfully, 
 
 Had brought some added consecration there, 
 And filled them to a fuller deity ; 
 
 As thickening raindrops to the sunlit bow 
 
 Glory on glory add and glow on glow. 
 
 Who spake the first ? Ev'n she the challenger, 
 The outlawed goddess of the golden day 
 
 Of Hellas ; Aphrodite called they her 
 In syllables so musical to say, 
 
 That men have loved her for her very name. 
 
 Before a baser age defiled its fame. 
 
36 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Hark with what dropping music she begins, 
 Preluding, as the April nightingale. 
 
 In shy sweet gusts of song, before she wins 
 Full utterance ! For she hath one to assail 
 
 High-seated, whom no old Olympian vaunt 
 
 Vanquisheth, nor doth lofty challenge daunt. 
 
 " Glad is the world and made for happy things, 
 Light hearts and joyous lovers. It is I 
 
 Who lend the flower its hue, the bird his wings, 
 And to the soul of man its ecstasy." 
 
 Lightly she carolled like a happy child. 
 
 More sober answer made the Mother mild. 
 
 " Sad is the world, full of unhappiness. 
 
 Death brooding over all. 'Tis I who balm 
 
 Torn hearts that need a mother's tenderness. 
 And on the seas of shipwreck whisper calm." 
 
 Oh, soft, oh, sweet, oh, like a mother's tone ! 
 
 Her rival even did the music own. 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 37 
 
 " There is a beauty in the hurt made whole, 
 In love that leavens anguish ; but the dead 
 
 Are nothing, and much mourning makes the soul 
 Fade as a ghost, on dead men's manna fed. 
 
 Live ! for the Spring comes yearly, and the rose ; 
 
 And earth is the right heritage of those." 
 
 " Nay but of others also," came reply, 
 
 "The flower worm-ruined, and the wind -rent leaf; 
 And truth is prospered oft by those that die, 
 
 And love made yet more beautiful by grief. 
 Who leaves his joy to lighten others' pain. 
 Makes earth more rich than beauty without stain." 
 
 " There," cried the other, " is our node of strife. 
 If earth be for the happy or the sad. 
 
 Why should the worthier be the wounded life ? 
 If life be good, the best life is the glad. 
 
 Look how all young things dance for life's delight. 
 
 The nearer to the source is life more bright." 
 
38 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Aye," softly said the Mother-maid, " but see 
 
 What pangs have brought their joyousness to birth ! 
 
 What cares, what toiling lives uphold their glee ! 
 Youth is a day-lived flower upon the earth. 
 
 And joy a blossom beautiful but brief ; 
 
 Labour the root is, sorrow the green leaf." 
 
 " Nature hath natural sorrow," Venus said, 
 " And many are the griefs of motherhood ; 
 
 Yet ask of her the happiest newly-wed : 
 Doth she not daily on a new hope brood ? 
 
 The dream of bearing new young happy things 
 
 Makes her more glad than all that wifehood brings. 
 
 " The happiness that from her womb shall grow, 
 The promise of child-creatures made for glee, 
 
 Enlightens all her heaven with such a glow 
 
 As spreads before the dawn. How else should she, 
 
 But for upholding gladness, bear her pain ? 
 
 Her pangs, forsooth, and not her bliss, are gain ! 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 39 
 
 " Say that the day is but eclipse of night, 
 And stars unlighted the true lamps of space ; 
 
 That were more reasonable, than delight 
 
 An outlaw, and this world the rightful place 
 
 Of griefs and wants and legioned miseries ; 
 
 A house of sweetmeats builded for the flies." 
 
 " Nay," Mary said, " that mother should she bear 
 No straight-limbed manling, but a puny creature, 
 
 Deformed, dull-witted, giveth she less care 
 Than if perfection lay in every feature ? 
 
 Not this she dreamed of; but a happiness 
 
 Higher than joy puts out her first distress. 
 
 " How dear she loves the child ! Yet never he 
 Shall be a grace, a joy, a benediction. 
 
 The happy heed him not ; no childish glee 
 Illumines his long days of slow affliction. 
 
 Her love more vigour gaineth by vexation ; 
 
 This is the crown, for her, of all creation." 
 
40 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " For her ! for her ! " rang out the flute-like scorn. 
 
 " But who is she, that for her own self-heal 
 Hurts the good world with her ungainly-born ? 
 
 Who's the wise gardener, he who spares the steel, 
 And lets the wild shoot draw the rose's life, 
 Or he who wields the hoe and pruning-knife ? 
 
 "Each life unlovely keepeth from his own 
 The lawful heir, the goodly half-god man. 
 
 But grimly the usurper holds the throne, 
 And boldly calls Religion with her ban 
 
 Nature to bind and Man to terrify 
 
 With the ten thunder-claps of Sinai. 
 
 " Look on this man, ugly, deformed and old. 
 
 Rich from his birth, and nursed to some poor style 
 
 Of Manhood, coaxed to pleasure, and cajoled 
 To appetite. For him the fairest smile. 
 
 The strongest labour, and the bravest fight. 
 
 Who is incapable of all delight. 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 41 
 
 " How many joyous lives hath he displaced 
 In the compacted press of living things ! 
 
 Abortive beauties that had lived and graced 
 The laughing earth with woven rainbow-rings 
 
 Of effluent lustre and joy-breeding joy ! 
 
 What worlds of love may one foul life destroy ! " 
 
 " What," cried the Mother, " hath the Man no right 
 To clutch at life, and live as other lives ? 
 
 Life is a thing so feeble and so slight, 
 
 Saved from the void ; a sea-waif that survives 
 
 A million deaths, and clings where it be able. 
 
 To spar, or raft, or rocks inhospitable. 
 
 " This life extinguished, howso base it be, 
 Who knoweth surely that a new shall rise ? 
 
 Aye, from the basest often may we see 
 
 The best in due time born. What we despise 
 
 Is one link in eternity's vast chain ; 
 
 Who knows what hopes its breaking may make vain ? 
 
42 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 "Let man serve man in kindlv brotherhood, 
 Reaching wide hands of love to all his kind, 
 
 The foul, the beautiful, the bad, the good. 
 What is regarding, to what might be blind. 
 
 Not his to sort or sift, to judge or weigh ; 
 
 He too is in the balance where are they." 
 
 " How then ? " as temperately the Queen returned ; 
 
 " Why has he judgment, if he may not use it ? 
 Or knowledge, if it need to be unlearned ? 
 
 Or thirst for beauty, if he may not choose it ? 
 Or aspirations for an age ideal, 
 If for the right he may not change the real ? 
 
 " Look you, ye priests, how loudly ye pretend 
 This life is nothing and this world is vain ! 
 
 Why, your own lips condemn you, when ye spend 
 Such labour to preserve these lives of pain, 
 
 Keeping them from their heritage of bliss. 
 
 What reason or what charity is this ? 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 43 
 
 " How doth Man weary his dull brains to guess 
 
 Why in a good world evil so prevails. 
 Here is Doubt's stronghold, here the hardest stress 
 
 Of Love and Hope ; and throned Religion quails, 
 Sick in her heart, lest haply in the end 
 Her good God cannot His own name defend. 
 
 " And lo, it is the very hand of Man 
 
 That sows the dreadful harvest. Let him heed 
 Wisdom, and work obedient to the plan 
 
 Whereby creation moves. 'Tis his to breed 
 Reasonably, extinguish the weak strain. 
 Nourish the strong, and give sweet death to pain. 
 
 " Why count ye only your now living kind 
 Your neighbours, and the actual generation, 
 
 Leaving your children's children out of mind, 
 As if in one horizon lay creation ? 
 
 Part of your owing is to them that live, 
 
 Part to who shall be ; weigh the due, and give ! 
 
44 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Let Nature, tenderer than your charity, 
 
 Slay whom she will, and whom she will retain. 
 
 The wounded bird, the torn-winged butterfly. 
 The stunted flower, the starved unkindly grain, 
 
 These perish that fair lives be not displaced ; 
 
 Man only keeps the broken and the waste. 
 
 " Such might the world be now as ye foretell 
 Hereafter : health and gladness everywhere, 
 
 And goodness that with gladness loves to dwell. 
 A nobler Adam and an Eve more fair 
 
 Should walk a Paradise regained, nor find 
 
 One form less glorious in all mankind. 
 
 " Let reason-gifted Man use reason right 
 
 To speed the coming of that crowning kind, 
 
 Creature of beauty, heir of life's delight, 
 And self-fulfilment of the Eternal Mind, 
 
 The folded flower from age to age unfurled 
 
 To the full blossom of a perfect world." 
 
THE DEBATE OF VENUS AND MARY 45 
 
 " Nay who can judge perfection," said the other, 
 " Himself imperfect ? This is not of Man. 
 
 The stronger dying for the weaker brother, 
 Unreasonably righteous, helps the plan 
 
 He understands not, more than did he use 
 
 His unborn sons for selfishness' excuse. 
 
 " See how the dark and cruel world doth now 
 Love darkness less and more leave cruelty, 
 
 As the light spreads and all the nations bow 
 To the new Altar ! Pity and Piety, 
 
 Like the soft winds of summer, change the face 
 
 Of earth, and out of weakness groweth grace. 
 
 " See in their churches what a comeliness ! 
 
 See in their cities laws how just and good ! 
 See in their lives how sweet a gentleness ! 
 
 See in their deaths how high a hardihood ! 
 See how wrath dies, and foes are reconciled 
 Kneeling before the Mother and the Child ! " 
 
46 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Aye ! " Venus answered, " for To-day is thine ; 
 
 The wounded world had need of healing hands. 
 Yet am I sure the Morrow shall be mine, 
 
 When thy soft law hath leavened all the lands. 
 My kingdom is of joy, and thine of grief ; 
 And gladness is eternal, sorrow brief. 
 
 " And pity is but sadness helping sorrow ; 
 
 Sorrow and sadness both shall flee away. 
 What place for pity in the all-bright morrow. 
 
 More than for lamplight in the risen day ? 
 Beauty and love of beauty shall remain, 
 And Aphrodite hold men's hearts again." 
 
 What answer had the Mother-maid returned 
 The brethren knew not, for by this the star 
 
 That heralds morning in the heaven burned, 
 And the first warbler woke. A sudden jar 
 
 Of earthquake shook the phantom edifice. 
 
 And all that pageant faded in a trice. 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 III 
 
Ill 
 
 PRELUDE: AT HURSTMONCEUX 
 
 Who knows not Hurstmonceux, those russet walls 
 
 That nestle 'mid green fields where upland falls 
 
 To fenland, southward facing, now more fair 
 
 In memory-haunted ruin than when, four-square 
 
 In ashlar, first they rang with life and noise. 
 
 The fingering ivy with the turret toys. 
 
 And loosens brick from brick, and makes the grim 
 
 Hard outline gracious, breaks the plumb-ruled rim 
 
 Into such faultless flaws as human art 
 
 Mars often but makes never. Every part 
 
 That nameless and soft-handed Power that hides 
 
 In Nature, but man's question not abides 
 
 Nor his command obeys, has touched to forms 
 
 Unmatched, unmeasured, shaped to unknown norms. 
 
 The roseate ruin lingers like a dream 
 
 That holds half-waking eyes, still fain to deem 
 
50 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 The dying vision to be living day ; 
 
 Or sunset cloud ready to pass away ; 
 
 So real it is to sense, to sight so plain, 
 
 To thought so quickening, and to use so vain. 
 
 Hither, when oaks new-leafed and fern new-grown 
 Filled earth with scents of Eden, and full-blown 
 The bluebells lay (like robes from Heaven flung 
 To fit a beggar-maid for place among 
 Queens at high banquet), came these friends again, 
 A-foot, by field-path and green-mantled lane. 
 Across the grassy levels many a mile 
 They wandered, leaped the ditch and climbed the stile ; 
 Where in wide leasowes, like the fields of heaven, 
 Feed flocks and herds like those of old time driven 
 By conquerors across a conquered land. 
 Or creatures of the prairie, band on band. 
 Unnumbered, swallowed in the dream of space. 
 So wide the earth is, and so vast the face, 
 Milky, pearl-lucent of the peaceful sky ; 
 So low the green world and the blue so high ; 
 So all forgotten is the noise of man 
 And grime of cities ; so immense the span 
 Of emptiness above ; that thought lets go 
 Her anchorage awhile, and to and fro 
 
AT HURSTMONCEUX 51 
 
 Wavers in buoyant, new, unstrained delight, 
 
 And with strange wonder takes each common sight. 
 
 But when at last, with travel-weary feet, 
 
 They reached the rising land and hedgerows sweet 
 
 With honeysuckle, and came unto their end. 
 
 And saw the ruin, saw the road descend 
 
 To moat and gateway : " Here," one cried, " we stay. 
 
 And rest and feed and dream an hour away, 
 
 Removed a little from the sight-seers ; 
 
 For here is scented fern and golden furze, 
 
 And turf for seat or table ; and outspread 
 
 Before us, like a pageant of the dead. 
 
 The unseen ghosts on that yet real stage 
 
 Shall act again their parts from age to age." 
 
 Ah, what delight more joyous than, between 
 Dull days of labour, in some blissful scene. 
 With friends close-bound by many sympathies, 
 To give the wand to fancy, and see rise 
 Touched by romance the old dry bones of story. 
 Like spiritual bodies seen in glory ! 
 Ev'n thus these friends re-pictured ancient days. 
 Each adding his self-touch, in divers ways. 
 And many divers colours. " Oh, for me," 
 Cried one, " let History fancy-tinted be. 
 
52 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 And dreamlike as a distant landscape, veiled 
 
 The sordid motive, and the dark deed paled ! 
 
 This is the dearest whiteness on Time's brow 
 
 To dote on : Then and thus men laboured, now 
 
 May we, their children, without labour share 
 
 The joy of labour, without battle bear 
 
 The glory of battle. O rich heritage ! 
 
 O priceless history ! O golden page ! 
 
 Elysian rest, down-looking on the world ; 
 
 Gladness of truce, when for a moment furled 
 
 Our forward banners stand, the incessant fray 
 
 Forgotten, striving limbs no more at bay. 
 
 O dreamlike pageant ! Cassar's blood is shed 
 
 As in our sight, and yet the earth not red ; 
 
 Francesca wrongly loves, yet does no wrong ; 
 
 Paul is thrice scourged, and no flesh feels the thong ; 
 
 Buddha his body to the tigress gives, 
 
 And still with untorn body Buddha lives. 
 
 So in yon walls was many an evil way, 
 
 In yon green woodlands many a wild affray ; 
 
 Here was the red hand harboured, and the crime 
 
 Allowed full oft ; until at last the time 
 
 Ripened to murder in the woods, and he, 
 
 The high young lord, was hanged on Tyburn tree. 
 
AT HURSTMONCEUX 53 
 
 All this was done ; yet here peace broods for us, 
 And all the place unmindful, slumberous, 
 And innocent abides, as here had stood 
 The cloister of some holiest brotherhood." 
 
 " Yet," said another, " can we surely know 
 Which seed is fruitful ? Does the deed of woe, 
 Lust, murder, vengeance, like the doer die. 
 Or break in other semblance presently ? 
 For oft it has been told or sung in verse 
 That on this house or that there hangs a curse ; 
 And well it may be that a wicked deed 
 Soweth from heart to heart such evil seed 
 As flowers from age to age and dieth ne'er, 
 Though crime change fashion and new feature wear. 
 What if a madness haunted yon proud halls 
 Prompting to evil act ? Who but recalls 
 That direful wreaking of a woman's spleen 
 That wrecked their splendour ? Came it of the tene 
 Of ancient time, because in this fair glade 
 Rage was familiar, madness common made ? " 
 
 " Nay, why explain by ought but nature's chance," 
 One answered him, " a woman's petulance ? 
 Two thousand years ago a poet knew 
 What deeds a woman in mad mood will do. 
 
54 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Her will is as the wind, stormy or soft, 
 In calm how soothing ! aye, and strenuous oft 
 For great and happy purpose. Yet what ship, 
 Trusting the wind alone, with no stern grip 
 Of stark hand on stout rudder, should escape 
 Shipwreck on reef or rock or jutting cape ? " 
 
 " Here," cried the poet, " have I yet for you, 
 All pat to purpose, an old tale made new, 
 A little gold thing from that monkish mine. 
 Which I have set about and sought make fine 
 With jewels stolen from old Homer's store, 
 In his hand glorious — ah, in mine how poor ! " 
 
CHRYSEIS 
 
 She stood, a captive, in the conqueror's tent. 
 
 Weeping. The great lord Agamemnon bent 
 
 His low' ring eyes upon her loveliness. 
 
 And felt some long-forgotten tenderness 
 
 Rise in his breast. The heart, that had not beat 
 
 Long time for any passion save the heat 
 
 Of royal anger, or the fierce wild joys 
 
 Of battle, throbbed again as doth a boy's 
 
 In his first love-dream. At himself amazed. 
 
 In a long silence on the girl he gazed, 
 
 Doubting if he, the lord of war, might yield 
 
 To the sweet influence ; but while he steeled — 
 
 Or thought to steel — his breast, her large dark eyes 
 
 She lifted, soft with sorrow, in such wise 
 
 As a tame creature hunted, who not yet 
 
 Has learnt she might be tortured. And their wet 
 
 Shy lashes, and their pitiful deep gleams, 
 
 Changed in a moment all his world. His dreams. 
 
56 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Ambitions, faded from him. As a soul 
 
 Stands in the dead-world, stripped clean ^f its whole 
 
 Life's clothing, worn desire and soiled delight. 
 
 And faces a new Orient : so the might 
 
 Of Agamemnon saw new heaven and earth 
 
 In one look of a girl's eyes leap to birth. 
 
 He spake not ; but the signs of love she knew, — 
 What woman knows not .'' — and a brighter hue 
 Stole to her cheek, as hope came back, and pride. 
 Her drooping head was raised, her tears were dried ; 
 Ev'n as the rain-bowed lily after rain 
 Shakes off the drops, and lifts her face again 
 To watch for sunbeams : so Chryseis stood 
 Before the stern dark face in its soft mood ; 
 Then spake with liquid low untroubled tone : 
 
 " Magnanimous Atrides ! If alone 
 On thee my fate hangs now, what need of prayer ? 
 Thy noble heart shall prompt thee, lord, to spare 
 The lowly creature that to thee is nought, 
 Yet much to those that mourn her. 'Tis thy thought. 
 
CHRYSEIS 57 
 
 Haply, that cheap to thee is cheap to all. 
 
 Nay — not the lightest forest-leaf can fall 
 
 But leaves its little void. Let me go back 
 
 To them whose large gain means how small a lack 
 
 To thee, Lord Agamemnon ! " 
 
 So she prayed ; 
 But he, who listened, not the meaning weighed 
 Of her girl talk, but her delicious tone 
 Drank as the very echo of Love's own. 
 
 " Gift of the Gods ! Fear not thy lofty fate ! 
 Not thus the Immortals dower when they hate ; 
 Nor here of their own handiwork are they 
 Grown jealous (this too has been !) since to-day 
 They crown their gift of beauty with this prize, 
 The love of Agamemnon. In thine eyes 
 I find again an old forgotten dream, 
 A joy desirable above the gleam 
 And dusty glory of a conqueror's name. 
 Therefore lift up thy head, to wear the fame 
 Of Agamemnon as thy worthy crown, 
 The day when Clytemnestra is cast down 
 
58 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 (The adulteress, so they whisper) and her sway 
 And all these evil days put clean away ! " 
 
 No pleading lover this, but as a god 
 Imperious in kindness, whose least nod 
 Stirs storm or fire or earthquake, ungainsayed. 
 And in a dumb amazement stood the maid. 
 Listening the low grave thunders of his speech. 
 The words fell as great waves fall on a beach, 
 When a tempestuous day has died serene, 
 And the full waves fall thunderous ; but between 
 Are silences that mark the measured beat 
 Of a great music. She knew well the sweet 
 Petulant importunities, the soft 
 Unmeaning words of lovers, listened oft 
 By every maiden on the lengthening eves. 
 When nightingales sing love's name to the leaves. 
 How all unlike that low-voiced love was this 
 Half-awful wooing ! Yet an unknown bliss 
 Grew round her heart, and on his face she stole 
 A shy fleet glance ; and wonder held her soul 
 If Zeus himself, within his golden cloud. 
 Were nobler, more majestic, broader-browed. 
 
CHRYSEIS 59 
 
 So every impulse, that stirs woman's heart 
 
 To love, now moved her, one alone apart. 
 
 And had the calm of power sat less serene 
 
 Upon his brow, and had his utterance been 
 
 But once half-broken by one pleading tone — 
 
 One touch to show that great heart mateless, lone, 
 
 A desolation 'neath its mask of pride : 
 
 Then Pity, Love's half-sister, had thrown wide 
 
 Her heart's half-opened gates, and Love rushed in. 
 
 (So easy 'tis a woman's love to win !) 
 
 But, pity wanting, all the rest was vain ; 
 
 And with herself she warred to let disdain 
 
 Of his despotic speech and high self-praise 
 
 Master the awe, the gladness, the amaze. 
 
 That stayed her speech and stirred her heart within. 
 
 (So hard it is a woman's love to win !) 
 
 So to the great king made the girl reply : 
 
 " What, am I Helen ? or think you to vie 
 With Paris in light loving ? As he left 
 Forlorn ^none, will you thus with deft 
 Excuse leave Clytemnestra ? In this thing 
 Wiser, that not the darling of a king 
 
6o PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 But a weak girl you cozen, whom no war 
 
 Shall follow, nor a nine-year siege pay for. 
 
 Mighty is Agamemnon, but the maid 
 
 Of Troas not by sounding names is swayed, 
 
 Nor lets love follow fancy, as the Greek, 
 
 Light, lovely and lascivious ; nor is meek 
 
 To any man who holds before her eyes 
 
 His own proud name as her most glorious prize. 
 
 With us, forsooth, are heroes not so rare, 
 
 Nor all too numerous are maidens fair ! 
 
 Talk Agamemnon in some prouder ear. 
 
 And leave Chryseis to her lowly sphere ! " 
 
 Lovely she looked, in the defiant pride 
 Of beauty ; and her half-feigned furies hide 
 For him — unused to woman's ways — her heart, 
 That half reproved, half urged her to the part 
 She played, too tragical to be all true. 
 For as one in a whirlpool caught, she knew 
 Of vague great conflict round her, but discerned 
 No clear decision, nor what fortunes turned 
 For what dim multitudes upon the act 
 Of her unweighted girlishness, compact 
 
CHRYSEIS 6 1 
 
 Of light desires and little straws of will, 
 And not one master purpose good or ill. 
 Lovely she looked, and Agamemnon smiled 
 Indulgently as on an angry child. 
 
 " Girl, I am Agamemnon. Woman's tongue 
 Can wound me not, nor taunts at random flung. 
 Not yours to speed the issue or delay ! " 
 And smiling still, unmoved, he turned away. 
 
 His love had moved her not to love or hate ; 
 His anger might have moved her love, had fate 
 So willed it ; but his smiling untouched calm 
 Stung her to fury. Speechless, with clenched palm, 
 She stood, her words of anger and disdain, 
 A woman's armoury, spent all in vain. 
 In a white stillness, like a shape of i-are 
 Cold marble, she stood solitary there. 
 But not within were cold or calm ; a fire 
 Scorched all her soul, one passionate desire 
 To sting some way that steeled heroic heart. 
 This thought and that she tried, nor let depart 
 
62 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Unscrutinised the grisliest shapes of harm, 
 
 Witchcraft and bloody murder, heathen charm 
 
 And hellish potion that drives reason out. 
 
 But as her pulse beat calmer, the red rout 
 
 Of horrible revenges, fading, left 
 
 Clearer her purpose, and her wit more deft. 
 
 And using woman's subtle ways, she sent 
 
 A secret message, by a ship that went 
 
 On other purpose, to Apollo's priest, 
 
 Chryses, her father, — might she be released 
 
 By ransom. And the old man rose and came. 
 
 Gifts in his hand, and made his high heart tame ; 
 
 And humbly to the proud AchcEans prayed, 
 
 And most to the twin chieftains, that the maid 
 
 Might be restored ; and shewed the ransom meant. 
 
 Then all the Argives' voice was to consent. 
 
 Save only Agamemnon's ; but the king 
 
 Thrust him away and spake a cruel thing : 
 
 '* Look to it that I find thee not again 
 Loitering by the ships, old priest, or vain 
 For thy defence shall all thy priest-gear be, 
 Nor shall thy holy office shelter thee 
 
CHRYSEIS 63 
 
 From Agamemnon's anger. She is mine, 
 And shall be ; nor for prayer or gift of thine 
 Will I release her, ere her head grow grey 
 Beside my hearth in Argos far away." 
 
 Heavy with grief, and dread, and bitter wrath. 
 From the king's presence went the old man forth ; 
 And slow, with leaden feet that slurred the sand. 
 Passed from the busy ship-staith, till the strand 
 Curved round a rocky point, that hid the bay 
 And the black boat-hulls ; and before him lay 
 A lonely beach, a wide and lonely sea. 
 Then his grey head he lifted, breathing free, 
 And raised his white-robed arms to heaven, and prayed 
 To great Apollo whom he served ; and said : 
 
 " Hear me, Apollo, who with sovran pride 
 Chryse and holy Cilia dost bestride. 
 And over western Tenedos ev'n now 
 Majestically lift'st thy royal brow ! 
 
64 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Look, Lord, on all the service of thy priest, 
 The temples raised, and blood of many a beast ! 
 Look now on his dishonour, hear his cry. 
 And rain thy vengeance on the Danai ! " 
 
 So spake the priest, full-facing to the West, 
 Where the great Sun-god stood above the breast 
 Of the broad waters. And behold a sign 
 Followed the prayer ! For, lo, as line on line, 
 Like even ridges in a long plough-land, 
 The marching waves rolled in upon the sand. 
 The reddening sunlight from the verge began 
 To touch each crest, till seemed a ladder ran 
 Right down the waters, and with glowing feet 
 The golden god himself stepped down to meet 
 His minister, and presently declare 
 The swift and terrible answer to his prayer. 
 
 Then with a vengeful gladness in his heart 
 Homeward he went, the priest, and watched apart 
 
CHRYSEIS 65 
 
 For news of evil in the Grecian camp. 
 Nor did the god forget. No arm^d tramp 
 Nor warlike trumpet tells when gods attack. 
 Silently the host sickened, for a black 
 Horrible plague broke out on beasts and men, 
 And day and night the death-fires burnt. 
 
 But when 
 For nine full days had grown the deadly bale. 
 And ever more the people's hearts 'gan fail ; 
 Nor ever Agamemnon spake a word, 
 The looked-to leader, for within him stirred 
 A doubtful dim foreboding ; then at last 
 Arose Achilles, and his heralds passed 
 Through all the host, with summons to debate. 
 And Agamemnon heard ; and knew dark fate 
 Nearer and nearer pressing, like the net 
 When hunters trap a lion ; but not yet 
 Discerned he the decreed resistless end. 
 What ! had one weak girl-captive force to bend 
 The fates 'gainst Agamemnon ? 'Twas a thing — 
 A thought — envenomed as a gadfly's sting, 
 But lightly brushed aside. And yet the hour 
 Called him, lest even now the kingly power 
 
66 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Pass from him. For another's voice ev'n then, 
 Not his, had called the council ; and to men 
 Stricken and strong in numbers, a king's name 
 Weighed light. — The shadow of a coming shame 
 Fell on him, and with fierce resolve he bade 
 Summon Chryseis. And she came, the maid, 
 Slight in her girlhood, lovely in her youth ; 
 A thing to be crushed lightly, save for ruth ; ^ 
 A flower to be trod under, save for grace ; 
 A cage-bird to be spared a little space 
 For song's sake or bright feathers — such she seemed ; 
 And briefly the king spake, for still he deemed — 
 Being in his power to spare her or to kill — 
 That one strong word would fright her to his will : 
 
 " Girl, 'tis no time for follies that girls use ; 
 The hour is stern, and brief the time to choose. 
 Content thee to be Agamemnon's bride, 
 For so the god will put his wrath aside ! " 
 
 As to a slave he spoke, imperiously ; 
 And like one startled from a dream stood she. 
 
CHRYSEIS 67 
 
 For, once her vengeance sure, her mind had turned 
 
 Back to soft thoughts ; and in her memory burned 
 
 His kingliness, his godlike looks, his tone 
 
 Of world-dominion. — 'There are deeps unknown 
 
 In all girl-hearts, where of slight things is wove 
 
 In secret the first nameless shape of Love. 
 
 And all the nine days past her dreams had been 
 
 Of him, so royal a lover, by the tene 
 
 Her hands had brought upon him, turned to crave 
 
 For pity and for love of her his slave ; 
 
 And rainbow-bright had been her dreams beyond 
 
 Of love and splendour. Day by day with fond 
 
 And disappointed eyes she looked for him ; 
 
 But when he came, more stern, more hard, more grim, 
 
 And spake with curt command his " Be content ! " 
 
 A sudden anger changed her soft intent. 
 
 " Nay, I am in thy power for good or ill ! 
 But not thy power can move a maiden's will 
 To love the bed she loathes, or count her shame 
 Well cloaked behind a warrior's bloody fame. 
 Truly to him, who for fair wind and wave 
 To vengeful gods his very daughter gave, 
 
68 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Light seems a maiden-sacrifice. Arise, 
 
 And slay me, while the blood is in thine eyes, 
 
 If so Apollo may be won to spare 
 
 Some lean remains of Argives here and there*! " 
 
 As a keen bowman from his well-strung bow 
 Lets fly his shafts to lay some hero low, 
 Choosing him in the press ; and tries in vain. 
 For through the mail no arrow may attain ; 
 At last some fissure finds the stubborn steel. 
 And with a sudden death he sees him reel ; 
 So, trying many taunts, the girl's light tongue 
 At last that great heroic heart had stung. 
 " Girl, girl, you know not what you say ! " he cried, 
 And turned him from her eyes his hurt to hide. 
 But she with swift repentance, woman-like, 
 And half afraid — as one unused to strike — 
 At her own doing, and half pitying. 
 Gazed on the bowed head of the great grim king. 
 And had he then but raised his troubled eyes. 
 The sorrow in them yet without disguise, 
 And so met hers where yet the pity lay. 
 Had been another ending of that day. 
 
CHRYSEIS 69 
 
 Not so 'twas written. Just one step she made 
 
 Towards him ; but, ere her light touch was laid 
 
 Upon his shoulder, lo, in the tent door 
 
 Talthybius stood, the messenger, who bore 
 
 Word to the king — the leaders all were met 
 
 Already, and the council duly set. 
 
 And as he heard him, knew the king the weight 
 
 Of a dark urgent hour, and pressing Fate. 
 
 And from the tent he passed, nor turned his head 
 
 Once where the girl stood gazing. A great dread 
 
 Lay heavy on his soul. Like one he seemed, 
 
 A swimmer, who with practised limbs has deemed 
 
 'Twere light to reach the shore whene'er he would. 
 
 But making thither finds his force withstood ; 
 
 Some soft resistless current thwarts his toil. 
 
 And bears him, in full sight of the fair soil. 
 
 Irrevocably to a sunless deep. 
 
 Or as a dreamer, striving in his sleep, 
 
 Who, striving ever, never nears the goal : 
 
 So Agamemnon felt, with raging soul, 
 
 Despised things grown resistless : a priest's prayer, 
 
 A slave-girl's mood — by these things he must bear, 
 
 He, Agamemnon, to be turned aside 
 
 From his determined path ! A flame of pride 
 
70 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Flared in him : if to gods he needs must bow, 
 Let men look to it how they thwart him now ! 
 
 So, like a black cloud in whose bosom burn 
 The boding lightnings, strode he grim and stern 
 Beside the ship-staith, where the heroes wait. 
 And first Achilles spake and 'gan debate. 
 
 " Great Agamemnon, if now sickness crave 
 And war as well its tithing, what can save ? 
 Better, ere all shall perish, to enquire 
 Of seer or soothsayer, for what the ire 
 Of Lord Apollo burns so balefully. 
 And for what offering he will lay it by." 
 
 So spake the king ; but Agamemnon still 
 Kept silence, knowing in his heart the will 
 Of Heaven, and raging 'gainst the gathering doom. 
 And the host watched him, as men watch the gloom 
 When the low mutter 'mid the hills grows loud, 
 And black as midnight climbs the thunder-cloud. 
 
CHRYSEIS 71 
 
 Then rose, with bright eyes watching the king's frown, 
 And pale as one who trembles to call down 
 The sudden lightning, Calchas, the skilled seer, 
 To whom what is, was, shall be, all was clear ; 
 And through dark seas and dangerous days he led. 
 By dexterous divination piloted. 
 All the right way to Troy the Grecian ships. 
 But now he spoke with less assurM lips : 
 
 " Achilles, all thou askest I can tell, 
 And why Apollo's fury is so fell. 
 Yet swear thou to defend me, since belike 
 One shall I anger, who hath power to strike 
 This day, or when he will, a meaner man. 
 Ill luck it is to lie 'neath kingly ban." 
 
 Then proudly spake Achilles : " Be this arm 
 Thy bulwark 'gainst whoe'er would do thee harm. 
 Aye, were it Agamemnon ! " 
 
 Then the seer 
 Spake confidently, putting off his fear : 
 
72 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Lo, he who troubles Argos — even he, 
 King Agamemnon ! who refused to free 
 The damsel, the priest's daughter ; and reviled 
 With cruel words the priest who craved his child. 
 For this Apollo's wrath is fall'n on you ; 
 Nor will he turn therefrom until the due 
 Amend be made — the girl unransomed given. 
 And hecatombs arise in smoke to Heaven." 
 
 He spake, and all might see the deepening night 
 On Agamemnon's brow. He rose upright, 
 Black as a storm-cloud ; from his eyes a flame 
 Flashed on the cowed seer ; and the thunder came. 
 
 " Thou evil prophet ! Never hadst thou yet 
 Fair sooth for me. Thy heart is ever set 
 On bitter bodings, nor one happy thing 
 Hast thou e'er said or compassed for the king. 
 And now thou dar'st to use a great god's name 
 To do despite to Agamemnon's fame, 
 
CHRYSEIS 73 
 
 And filch his lawful portion, the fair slave 
 
 Whom to their king the Argive voices gave. 
 
 Be it so ! Yet not so weak a king am I 
 
 To see this insult, sitting tamely by* 
 
 Look ! There were other girl-slaves in the prey. 
 
 To others portioned ! Let who will gainsay. 
 
 One will I send for, whom I choose, of those." 
 
 He spake ; and with fierce eyes Achilles rose : 
 " Ah, clothed in shamelessness, thou usurer king ! 
 How shall Achoeans bear thy captaining 
 In wayfare or in warfare any more ? 
 No grudge against these men of Troy I bore ; 
 Mine ox they had not stolen nor my steed. 
 Nor harried lands of mine ; too wide indeed 
 Between us the dark skies and dangerous seas. 
 Thee came we all this weary way to please. 
 Therefore will I the way I came return. 
 Nor spend dishonoured days thy wealth to earn ! " 
 
 As in the desert ways the lion's lair 
 Is unmolested, for no creature dare 
 
74 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Challenge or chance his wrath ; until some day 
 Haply another lion come that way : 
 So looked the two kings in each other's eyes, 
 Equals in anger ; and Atrides cries, 
 
 " Away then, if thou wilt ! No word from me 
 Shall stay thee ! I have surer friends than thee 
 And wiser counsellors. Thy joy of heart 
 Is but in battle, and thine only art 
 Untutored turbulence to friend or foe. 
 Strong though thou be, 'tis God that made thee so, 
 Not thine own arm or brain ! — I tell thee then, 
 Away with thee ! Call off thy ships, thy men ! 
 Rule thine own Myrmidons, that brook thy rule ! 
 Hear this beside, thy lofty heart to school ! 
 Ev'n as Apollo claims this maid from me. 
 So will I, Agamemnon, take from thee 
 Thy maiden. This, to tame that pride of thine. 
 Nor let another match his might with mine ! " 
 
 As a keen sword-stroke dealt in the last stress, 
 When foemen, weary of fencing, fiercely press 
 
CHRYSEIS 75 
 
 In deadliest onset : so the king's high speech 
 Had some insistent hatred that could reach 
 The heart of the adversary. And he, who sings 
 In antique simpleness this wrath of kings, 
 Tells how Achilles' mind was instantly 
 To draw the vengeful steel and bid him die ; 
 Had not Athene with unseen control 
 His impulse swayed, and soothed his angry soul. 
 To us the story tells of that old might 
 Of kingliness we mock at and think slight 
 In these unkingly days ; that yet had force 
 So godlike in strong will and strenuous course, 
 That ev'n Achilles, that renowned name. 
 Before king Agamemnon proved so tame. 
 
 Then Nestor rose, the ancient calm old man. 
 Whose long full life had passed the human span. 
 Whose voice was as the voice of judgment-days 
 Far-oiF, eternal, passionless — the phrase 
 Of grave historian or philosopher. 
 Who lets to-morrow's light on this day's stir. 
 He now with quiet words assuaged their ire ; 
 Nor yet did more than one who stays a fire 
 
76 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Among the heaths and grasses of a plain, 
 But leaves a smoulder that shall blaze again. 
 Yet for the present was the strife composed, 
 And that undying rancour lightly glosed. 
 And the assembly to their tents went back, 
 Hoping the end might be of days so black ; 
 When Agamemnon had the maid released, 
 Surely the angry god and vengeful priest 
 Should stay the pestilence ! And now a fleet 
 Black ship lay ready ; and the unresting feet 
 Of swift decorous heralds hotly went 
 To bring the maiden from the royal tent. 
 
 There came no brightness in her face — her breast 
 Heaved with no sudden gladness. She had guessed — 
 No word yet said — the very tale they bore. 
 Her seemed she dreamed of things done long before, 
 And moved resistless in a dreamer's way. 
 For in her heart one moment 'twas to say 
 Take me to Agamemnon ! but her tongue 
 Helped her not, nor her hands helped, when she clung, 
 (Did she not cling ?) resistful, to the tent. 
 And slowly, like a sleep-walker, she went 
 
CHRYSEIS 77 
 
 Following to the ship-staith and the ship. 
 
 She heard the signal — saw the brown hands grip 
 
 The smooth-worn ashen oars, the white foam churned 
 
 In bubbling whirlpools, as the long keel spurned 
 
 The grooved sand and leapt out to meet the wave. 
 
 That tore her heart out : one low cry she gave, 
 
 Heard not amid the creak of oars, the crash 
 
 Of smiting oar-blades and the water's dash. 
 
 Then rising, turning, to the land she set — 
 
 The flying land — -her face, if haply yet 
 
 One lordly lonely man she might discern 
 
 Last lingering of the gazers. Ah, too stern, 
 
 (Her heart knew well) too stern, too proud, too great 
 
 He, for the void regrets 'twixt love and hate ! 
 
 He watched not, as some weaker lover might. 
 
 Half wistfully the dwindling sails of white, 
 
 Giving one hour to dreams of might-have-been. 
 
 Empty her eyes returned ; and wide between 
 
 Now grew the waters, misty the low land. 
 
 Dreamlike the blue hills and the shining sand. 
 
 Now has she missed her life's immortal hour 
 In one light moment. As a splendid flower. 
 
78 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Whose bearing was her birthright, whose rich fruit 
 Ripening had blessed the world in years yet mute, 
 And spread to distant lands a golden seed, 
 It died unblossomed through her petulant deed. 
 A great fear fell on her, and boding dire 
 Of blood and infinite wailing and black fire. 
 Her soul in its tense agony took on 
 A prophet prescience ; visions waste and wan 
 Arose and vanished. In a swoon of fears 
 She lay, with dreadful music in her ears. 
 Yet no clear shape she saw of coming doom, 
 The sequence of her deeds ; and knew not whom, 
 Trojan or Greek, she feared for. Not the rout 
 Of Argives, nor Patroclus' death, the shout 
 That shook the Ilian plain, nor Hector drawn. 
 Nor Priam's praying hands, nor that red dawn 
 Of fire upon the rocking walls of Troy — 
 Not these clear sorrows saw she ; nor the joy 
 Of the victorious, and her lover-king 
 Lord of the triumph ; nor the last worst thing, 
 The adulterous queen, the snaky paramour. 
 The treacherous welcome at the palace door, 
 The bath, the horrible net, the murderess wife 
 At work with the brute axe, the ebbing life 
 
CHRYSEIS 79 
 
 Of that great lord of lions, dying so, 
 Not as a king, facing some glorious foe, 
 But shamefully, a naked man, by hands 
 A coward's and a woman's. 
 
 Ah, what brands 
 Are lighted at one little flame, that she, 
 Who lightly kindled it, shall never see ! 
 Therefore because to women the clear sight 
 Not oft is giv'n, to follow wrong and right 
 From one small-seeming moment in their great 
 Irrevocable sequence ; at each gate 
 Of perilous decision God has set 
 Love for the guide and guard ; nor ever yet 
 One woman, how-so weak, unreasonable. 
 Took noble Love for guide, but has been able, 
 Spite of all doubtful turns and crossing ways, 
 To tread true paths, and live out righteous days. 
 
PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 IV 
 
IV 
 PRELUDE: ON FIRLE BEACON 
 
 Fair are the hills of Sussex, low and long, 
 And softly rounded as a mother's arm 
 
 About a cradle, dimpled, naked, strong ; 
 A fence against the fear of some dim harm. 
 
 Earthquake, or tide, or terror from the sea. 
 
 Darkly foretold, none knoweth when to be. 
 
 They are a border-land, a several realm, 
 
 A refuge yet of outlawed deities. 
 Old simple gods, haunters of beech and elm, 
 
 Yew-shaded hollows, hidden cavities 
 Where the horse treads not ; heathen gods forlorn. 
 
 Houseless, unfeared, unworshipped, all men's scorn. 
 
 83 
 
84 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 They are a wonderland, where shapes well-known, 
 Hayrick or homestead, bush or tree-top, seen 
 
 Far oiF, take forms of faerie not their own ; 
 
 Where viewless things, half-human, lurk between 
 
 The beechwood stems, or on some lonely spur 
 
 Hide in the sparse low-growing juniper. 
 
 Abiding peace is on them. Like the calm 
 
 Cold monument in a cathedral aisle 
 That keeps some great one's likeness ; and the psalm 
 
 Rolls daily o'er the head, and like a smile 
 The sunlight falls upon the carven brow, 
 And peace for ever is his portion now ; 
 
 So a memorial of diviner mould 
 
 Are these to Time himself, that ancient Time 
 That died or ever this, that we call old. 
 
 Rose fresh and young in his forgotten prime ; 
 The lark-song is their anthem, and the drone 
 Of unseen insect-wings an organ-tone. 
 
ON FIRLE BEACON 85 
 
 Many a grassy path lies o'er the down 
 To lead the rare-seen wayfarer from farm 
 
 To lonely farm, from town to little town, 
 By stony hollows where in quick alarm 
 
 The coneys rush to refuge, and o'er crests 
 
 Green, gentle-rising, where the lapwing nests. 
 
 'Twas August, hot and cloudless ; a light haze 
 Dreamed over land and sea ; when forth they set, 
 
 That little company, by chalk-white ways 
 To gain that high, long-fronted parapet 
 Whose dominance looks down on Firle, and frowns 
 
 Across to Caburn and the Lewes Downs. 
 
 They wandered long in that high -lifted world, 
 The far-off sea to left-hand, and to right 
 
 The wide weald far beneath, a map unfurled, 
 
 Dark woods, and golden fields, and emerald light 
 
 A jewel-gleam on tree or hill or mead. 
 
 The prick of revelation dull eyes need. 
 
86 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Till, coming to the Beacon-top, they stayed, 
 And on the sun-warmed turf at ease reclining 
 
 Gazed in long silence on the landscape laid 
 (As if just for their joy was its designing) 
 
 In lavish feast before them, all their own. 
 
 As a boy's vision of an oiFered throne. 
 
 Till presently: "Lo, there Newhaven lies," 
 
 One said, " and Lewes there ! " — " Nay, break not so 
 
 The spell ! " came soft reproof from one more wise. 
 " In such an hour 'tis richer not to know, 
 
 But to let Fancy like a falcon soar, 
 
 And for herself the wonder-world explore. 
 
 " The golden-streeted port, the castled steep, 
 The haunted hollows and far hills forlorn, 
 
 Let us in dreamland for one hour keep ! 
 
 Let Now be Then, Here Yonder, Joy unworn ! 
 
 We blind our eyes by seeking overmuch 
 
 Content of poorer senses, taste or touch." 
 
ON FIKJLK BKACON 87 
 
 " Oh," cried another, " for the eyes to see 
 Earth as she lieth ih the lap of Heaven, 
 
 All miracle, all Eden ! view her free 
 
 From Man, from Mind, that worketh as a leaven 
 
 To change her nature, so that use and grace 
 
 All perish save to make Man's dwelling-place. 
 
 " As some fair church forsaken, where a brood 
 Of bats have entered, everything defiling, 
 
 And made foul nests in altar-cloth or rood, 
 And marred the rich mosaic and rare tiling ; 
 
 The carven tomb or jewelled shrine provides 
 
 Fit place to feed or breed — what use besides ? 
 
 " So taketh Man this temple marvellous. 
 
 With splendour decked, enriched by heavenly art. 
 
 Where angels and archangels numerous 
 
 Have laboured with such love that every part 
 
 Doth its due service to the One Divine, 
 
 Each stone an altar, every tree a shrine ; 
 
88 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " And uses Earth so ignorantly ill 
 
 As doth no creature else ; her beauty scars, 
 
 Her working changes by his woeful skill ; 
 No fairest spot he visits but he mars, 
 
 No live thing seeth but he seeks to slay. 
 
 No pure thing but defiles ; this is his way. 
 
 " And we, who would^ can see not for the blindness 
 Of use, and long-sealed eyes, and wonted words ; 
 
 Save at rare moments when Heav'n's loving-kindness 
 Shows us the earth of flowers and beasts and birds. 
 
 Revealing, for our heart-sick nature's cure. 
 
 Beauty the one thing holy, righteous, pure." 
 
 Another took in turn the word : " They gain 
 Much but lose more, who, ever seeking cause, 
 
 Pass semblance over, and while they explain 
 With keen analysis all Nature's laws, 
 
 No eyes have for the simple revelation. 
 
 The mystic light that streams from all creation. 
 
ON FIRLE BEACON 89 
 
 " Therefore no more doth Art steal heavenly fire ; 
 
 Statue and high-roofed temple take no more 
 The touch divine ; nor gleam nor dream inspire 
 
 The painter ; while man's spirit, loth to soar, 
 Prisoner herself, her fellow-prisoner calls 
 Only to gild her chain and deck her prison-walls." 
 
 Answered the gentle voice of youth and joy : 
 " Despair not thus ! For Time is justified, 
 
 As Wisdom, of his children. Let Hope buoy 
 On waiting wings till the returning tide ! 
 
 Tend we the tree of knowledge, leaf and root ! 
 
 Who knows how fair our sons shall find the fruit ? 
 
 " We see not ; but 'tis something men have seen 
 Through opened gates a glory not of Man ; 
 
 We soar not ; but we know that there have been 
 Winged spirits, and we claim us of their clan. 
 
 The seed they left us, though it slumber long. 
 
 Shall yet break out in statue, picture, song. 
 
90 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Man of himself can nothing make of beauty ; 
 
 This gift God keepeth at His own award ; 
 .With labour man can compass law and duty, 
 
 But loveliness is largesse of the Lord ; 
 Though for long years the oracles be dumb, 
 Know surely there is yet a seer to come ! " 
 
 Awhile was silence. Then the Poet spake : 
 " Lo, here a story kindred to our theme, 
 
 A pleasant tale, which whoso will may take 
 For parable, how every highest dream 
 
 And every perfect work is from above. 
 
 And comes to man unearned, the gift of Love." 
 
THE STATUE 
 
 I 
 
 This too was written as a tale of old 
 
 On those sere wrinkled leaves in artless phrase. 
 
 Among the Grecian Histories 'tis told 
 How once a sculptor of the golden days 
 
 Won fame by infamy and life by death, 
 
 Though now his name no man remembereth. 
 
 A wind of piety upon a time 
 
 Blew through the Westward Isles, and temples rose 
 Like flowers in every city. 'Twas the prime 
 
 Of glorious Art ; and never such as those 
 Before were seen, nor after shall be wrought 
 Dwellings with such divinity o'erfraught. 
 
92 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Then did the men of Melos piously 
 For Aphrodite a fair house ordain ; 
 
 And when the ranging columns bore on high 
 The gleaming roof, and perfect stood the fane, 
 
 Through all the Grecian lands they sent to win 
 
 An image worthy to be set therein. 
 
 A ship they furnished to proclaim the prize 
 From land to land ; and in the ship they sent 
 
 Men of sound mind and keen discerning eyes ; 
 And round the little ancient world they went ; 
 
 Too great no city was, too small no town. 
 
 Thither to track some sculptor of renown. 
 
 Long was their seeking ; the white empty shrine 
 To dove and sparrow had familiar grown, 
 
 A safest nesting-place. The wilding vine 
 
 Had wrapped soft tendrils round the lintel-stone. 
 
 And still the ship returned not ; and the days 
 
 Went peacefully o'er men of patient ways. 
 
THE STATUE 93 
 
 Then on a day of Spring-time from the main 
 Rose a swart tempest like a pitiless foe ; 
 
 The new-blown flowers shrank ruined by the rain, 
 And the drowned fledgeling lay the nest below ; 
 
 As 'gainst a city which the gods have doomed 
 
 All night the angry wave-artillery boomed. 
 
 But when the next day broke, the laughing sun 
 Lit shining sands. The overweening waves 
 
 Forsook their wrack-marked border-lands new-won, 
 And muttered discontent to grumbling caves. 
 
 While teasing Zephyr this way, that way, flew, 
 
 And lightly promised to make all things new. 
 
 And lo, amid the wreckage on the shore, 
 A ship, mast-broken, in a cove of sand 
 
 Lay silent, sunken deep, as if she bore 
 
 Some massy burden. Whosoe'er had manned 
 
 That hull disfigured, there was no sign now, 
 
 Nor face down-peering from the lifted prow. 
 
94 , PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 By trailing ropes some gained the ruinous deck, 
 And downward to her bowels made their way. 
 
 There, dead or sleeping, careless of the wreck, 
 In the dim inmost twilight one man lay, 
 
 Sleeping or dead ; and overshadowing him 
 
 The freight, a marble mass, rough-hewn and grim. 
 
 There was none else, no living thing nor dead, 
 Nor other burden in the empty darkness ; 
 
 The ribs re-echoed hollow to their tread ; 
 
 Their eyes found nothing but that marble starkness. 
 
 Yet breathing seemed the man ; and near him stood 
 
 A shrunken wine-skin and the crusts of food. 
 
 Him to the upper light they bore ; and soon 
 Fanned by the freshness he awoke and sighed, 
 
 And stared, as one that struggles out of swoon, 
 On the strange faces round ; and then more wide 
 
 Wandered his glance about that unknown bight, 
 
 The cliffs, the town, the temple on the height. 
 
THE STATUE 95 
 
 Which when he saw, a sudden eagerness 
 Lit up the leaden dimness of his gaze ; 
 
 And half he rose. And then a quick distress 
 Smote him as one remembering old dismays ; 
 
 And a hoarse question broke from his wan lip : 
 
 " The marble, is it whole within the ship ? " 
 
 Nor with reply contented, soon he rose 
 
 And feebly back returned where he was found, 
 
 And the great marble in its grey repose 
 With anxious fingers felt and fumbled round. 
 
 And stooped and pried in that wan-lighted place. 
 
 And searched it everywhere from crown to base. 
 
 But when his eyes and hands were satisfied 
 That all unriven and flawless lay his treasure. 
 
 Back to the upper air he climbed, and cried 
 Strange thanksgiving in a rhapsodic measure, 
 
 Facing the shining temple on the shore. 
 
 With palms raised flatwise to the blue heaven o'er : 
 
96 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Dear Lady, sweet on land and strong on sea, 
 Making life gladness, keeping death at bay ! 
 
 Behold again thy servant offers thee 
 His service to the utmost for no pay. 
 
 The power is thine, the eye, the hand, the brain ; 
 
 Breathe on him till he make thee breathe again ! " 
 
 Then mightily, as one refreshed with wine, 
 
 He stretched himself and lightly leapt on land. 
 
 And swiftly mounted to the pillared shrine. 
 
 And laughed glad-hearted laughter, seeing it stand 
 
 In flawless beauty, yet untenanted. 
 
 With fireless altar and bare statue-bed. 
 
 By this the tidings of the shipwrecked man 
 In gathering wonder went about the town ; 
 
 But while the rumour through the market ran, 
 A livelier interest beat the murmur down ; 
 
 For round the head that hid the distant blue 
 
 The long-awaited ship to haven drew. 
 
THE STATUE 97 
 
 Then every street was emptied, house and stall 
 
 Lay open to the pilferer, none to care ; 
 While, like a slipping hillside, one and all 
 
 The gathering townsfolk to the harbour fare 
 To greet the coming goddess, who should bless 
 Their temple with her crowning loveliness. 
 
 How changed were their glad faces, when the tale 
 
 Ran through the throng, that all their hope destroyed ; 
 
 The night-long labouring in the deadly gale. 
 And jaws of death too instant to avoid 
 
 Save the too heavy burden of her womb 
 
 The good ship yielded to the yawning doom. 
 
 Then were there tears and anger, questioning 
 And blaming, random and unreasonable ; 
 
 Till, vexed by the intolerable sting 
 
 Of disappointment, the impetuous rabble 
 
 Cried for the blood of those in trust, who dared 
 
 Let slip their treasure, and their own lives spared. 
 
 G 
 
98 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Already flew the stone and flashed the steel, 
 The tools of haste and fury, when a shout. 
 
 Sharp as a trumpet, turned them head and heel 
 To see who shouted. On the wall without 
 
 Stark as a statue, lo, the stranger stood, 
 
 And swayed with Hermes' urgence their mad mood. 
 
 " Beware ! Be warned ! Madmen ! Behold the hand 
 Of Heaven, a sign of favour to your isle ! 
 
 Servant of Aphrodite, here I stand, 
 Announcing that within a little while 
 
 In yonder temple will she take the throne 
 
 In fairer likeness than the world hath known. 
 
 " Tell ye whose eyes have seen her, how she sleeps 
 In marble cerements ! How the tempest bore — 
 
 When the false image weltered to the deeps — 
 The veritable goddess safe to shore ! 
 
 There without form she sleepeth in the stone ; 
 
 This hand hath she ordained to make her known." 
 
THE STATUE 95 
 
 As one inspired he spake. The light-moved mob 
 Tamed to his master-words, and to the strand 
 
 All followed. Then, with many a laboured sob 
 And muscle-crack, went up the heavy sand, 
 
 And by the stony stairway of the street. 
 
 The marble, on an hundred human feet. 
 
 And ever that imperious man's command 
 Became the free-will of the multitude. 
 
 As when a god unseen goes through the land. 
 And strong religion changes all the lewd, 
 
 A wave of impulse carried all who heard 
 
 In swift obedience to the stranger's word. 
 
 So, none forbidding, to the temple gate 
 
 They came ; and, none forbidding, onward bore 
 
 Up the broad marble steps the massy weight ; 
 And, still no man forbidding, passed the door 
 
 And entered the white echoing empty hall. 
 
 And heavily raised it on the pedestal. 
 
lOo PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Then came the times of Saturn to the isle, 
 
 Light winds, soft sunshine, gentle, kindly rain ; 
 
 No strife of neighbours, no sea-robber's guile ; 
 
 Large were the clusters, plump the bounteous grain. 
 
 And ever in the temple on the height 
 
 Toiled the strange sculptor and the chips lay white. 
 
 And one who, hid in shadow, watched his toil 
 Told with what nimble ease his fingers wrought. 
 
 He seemed as one who breaks the clayey coil 
 Round a cast image, rather than with thought 
 
 And patient finger-touches of fine skill 
 
 To fashion formless marble to his will. 
 
 Like racing clouds the shining hours went by, 
 The happy day, the never dreadful night ; 
 
 And lo, the work was ended, and the cry 
 
 Rang through the isle to call men to the sight ; 
 
 And to the feast from hamlet and seaport 
 
 The whole world came with revelry and sport. 
 
THE STATUE lo 
 
 Sweet were the garlands, rich the incense smoke, 
 Bright every garment, all lips curved with laughter, 
 
 Until amid the mist the white shape broke 
 
 Upon their eyes, and a great hush came after ; 
 
 As after earthquake all men's faces change, 
 
 And our own voices suddenly seem strange. 
 
 There was no lightest-hearted that could look 
 Not reverently upon that face divine ; 
 
 The jest died on the lip ; the gay glance took 
 A sudden soberness ; all eyes 'gan shine 
 
 With the high gladness of a poet's hour 
 
 Who hears within his soul some word of power. 
 
 There was no speaking ; but a murmur went. 
 
 Like winds on moorlands, through the thronging hall 
 
 One look was on all faces ; one intent, 
 One inspiration in the hearts of all. 
 
 To every man that marble silence seems 
 
 A new religion nobler than his dreams. 
 
102 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Long was the orgasm of that ecstasy, 
 Ere silently by one and one the crowd 
 
 Departed from the temple. Lo, the sky, 
 
 The green land, the wide sea, each little cloud, 
 
 Seemed changed — a book, long uninterpreted, 
 
 Now clearly in the ears of all men read. 
 
 Quick through the neighbour islands ran the tale, 
 And drew a thousand strangers o'er the sea. 
 
 More quick did proud vaingloriousness prevail 
 Above that first pure flame of piety ; 
 
 And, like a beggar summoned to a crown. 
 
 The island flaunted in her new renown. 
 
 But ever with them in much honour held 
 
 Continued he who wrought their marble pride, 
 
 A silent presence, with deep eyes that quelled 
 Enquiry and near fellowship denied. 
 
 And the glad days went like a spendthrift's wealth. 
 
 Uncounted happiness and careless health. 
 
THE STATUE 103 
 
 II 
 
 What is this crying on the summer air ? 
 
 What is this tumult ? Who, ah, who is he 
 The furious rabble with fierce faces bear — 
 
 Tossing and beating like an angry sea — 
 To what wild doom ? We know those doedal eyes ! 
 'Tis he, the sculptor, in what haggard guise ! 
 
 With clamour and with curses and with blows 
 
 They brought him bleeding to the judgment-seat. 
 
 He looked : he saw no faces but of foes ; 
 Then, rising hardly, stood upon his feet. 
 
 And beckoning in the old imperious way, 
 
 Made sudden silence while he said his say. 
 
 " O friends, whose fury is more kind than love, 
 If ye hate hear me, if ye love me, kill ! 
 
 For none more guilty breathes the air above ; 
 And save ye slay me outright, torture still 
 
 Must wait on torment, and my tongue be made. 
 
 Forced to confession, a self-murdering blade." 
 
I04 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 Like the night-screaming wind that whirls the dead 
 To icy hells, so wailed the bleak despair 
 
 In that wild voice, nor one knew what was said ; 
 Yet each sharp syllable that stabbed the air 
 
 Stung to the naked heart ; and when he stilled. 
 
 An awful silence the thronged faces filled. 
 
 Therefore, beholding wished-for death delay, 
 And keen blades sheathing offer hope no more, 
 
 He turned him, as a wild thing turns to bay, 
 To face the unseen Furies, urging sore ; 
 
 And rending his own heartstrings, uttered loud 
 
 His agonies to the awe-stricken crowd. 
 
 " There was a man enamoured from his birth 
 Of gracious outlines, curve of moulded limbs, 
 
 Wood-slope on river-cliff, snow-muffled earth, 
 Bosomy clouds, soft hills, and pencilled rims 
 
 Of low horizons, and the maidenly 
 
 Long arms of witch-elms on the winter sky. 
 
THE STATUE lo^ 
 
 " And ere his lips knew letters, he could shape 
 With infant fingers creatures of the clay ; 
 
 And, learning by his labour, sought to ape 
 The human face and form in childish play ; 
 
 Then, early come to manhood, knew the whole 
 
 Of his rich birthright and the sculptor's soul. 
 
 " I do remember well that hour's delight 
 
 When first with chisel-tooth I touched the skin 
 
 Of satin-surfaced marble, smooth and white, 
 Dreaming to find the dream that slept within ; 
 
 The quick surprise, the joy of power, the feel 
 
 Of that soft hardness giving to the steel. 
 
 " Alas, how many a time I flung afar 
 My chisel, like a mutinous mage-wand 
 
 That would not work my will, and did but mar 
 The shape my eye saw through the marble bond ; 
 
 Yet, to the task returning, ever wrought 
 
 Little by little nearer to my thought. 
 
io6 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " Yet, past success conception still would soar, 
 As o'er the heron climbing climbs the hawk. 
 
 What mattered that men praised me more and more ? 
 The beauty of beauties still my hand did balk. 
 
 Though each new effort half the distance gained, 
 
 Still by the half the goal lay unattained. 
 
 " Aye, like the flowing and the ebbing tide, 
 
 Art touched its topmost, and despair returned, 
 
 Again and yet again ; and for no pride 
 
 Could I forget the dream to which I yearned : 
 
 A marble womanhood whose nakedness 
 
 Were more religious than a vestal's dress. 
 
 " Alas, one loved me, and I loved her — she 
 Beyond the world, I only next my art. 
 
 Once in a woeful day she came on me 
 Eating despair, and from my bitter heart 
 
 With softly-worded whispers won the tale 
 
 Of that dark Hell of artist souls — To Fail. 
 
THE STATUE lo' 
 
 " She stilled, to sudden whiteness ; but her eyes 
 Burned with a raptured fire ; and when that hush 
 
 Was ended, and with wild and weakling cries 
 I cursed myself for fool, a new rare blush 
 
 Mounted on her wan cheek ; and she 'gan thrill me, 
 
 Putting her hand upon my lips to still me. 
 
 " She spake : ' I too have dreamed, and in my dreaming 
 
 Foreseen a coming glory to be won 
 For me and thee together. For earth's teeming 
 
 Is ever of the twain and not the one ; 
 And for thine art's perfection needs a soul 
 Wedded and welded in a perfect whole. 
 
 '" O unwise sculptor, who for love's desire 
 Bade deathless marble mortal woman be, 
 
 And beauty melt as snow before love's fire. 
 And art fall basely from her great degree ! 
 
 For her hath Death long swallowed, and he is dead. 
 
 And earth the poorer for that wife ill-wed. 
 
io8 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " ' But thou with me consider, could thine art 
 Of this weak flesh a marble woman win, 
 
 Or hide in rock-bands, which shall burst apart 
 As Love breaks out to meet Art breaking in ; 
 
 For as the sea-shell liveth in the stone 
 
 Imprisoned, so may human flesh and bone.' 
 
 " And then she spake of marvels, sorceries 
 Of Thessaly, and old Egyptian spells, 
 
 Taught her long since by one among the wise, 
 A woman feared amid her native fells, 
 
 Who knew what words enchanted Niobe, 
 
 And what laid Daphne in a laurel-tree. 
 
 *' Alas, how blinded were mine eyes ! Mine ears 
 How stopped ! that I should heed her, and allow 
 
 That softest heart and fount of golden tears 
 To turn itself to stone, that living brow 
 
 To lose its sunny changes and grow still 
 
 For ever, just to glut diseased self-will ! 
 
THE STATUE 109 
 
 " 'Twas midnight, and the full moon shone on her ; 
 
 Her whiter limbs against the marble gleamed 
 Of the huge stone to be her sepulchre. 
 
 * Farewell,' her dark eyes whispered, and there seemed 
 Echoes of farewell from long lonely years 
 To murmur through the room, and ghostly tears. 
 
 " But harder than the marble was my heart 
 In dire ambition. The dark words were said 
 
 'Twixt her and me ; fulfilled the fearful art ; 
 She stepped upon the stone as to a bed. 
 
 And all her warm blood froze, and every limb 
 
 Mixed with the marble, white and dead and dim. 
 
 " And sleep came on me, and a cruel dream 
 Of love and wedded life. But in the morn 
 
 No wife lay by me : that great stone did gleam 
 Still in the house, and all the house forlorn ; 
 
 And to my tools I hasted, to set free 
 
 My marble prisoner for the world to see. 
 
no PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " But lo, there came a crying to my door, 
 
 Some wind of rumour woke, I know not how ; 
 
 And ever grew the question more and more 
 
 ' Where is thy wife ? ' Some brand was on my brow 
 
 Of toil or sorrow ; and all voices cried 
 
 ' A murderer ! Let him die as she has died ! ' 
 
 " Before the judge they haled me ; and I knew 
 My life lay at a wind-breath. Then aloud 
 
 I cried before them, ere the judgment flew, 
 ' O Aphrodite, judge me ! ' And the crowd 
 
 Stilled for a moment, and upon the still 
 
 A voice came none knew whence, not loud nor shrill 
 
 " ' To winds and waves the marble and the man ! ' 
 No more ; but this had saved me ; for indeed 
 
 Divine that voice was. And in haste they ran 
 
 Shoreward, and found the ship, the seafolks' meed 
 
 Giv'n yearly to the goddess of the sea. 
 
 Therein they set the marble freight and me. 
 
THE STATUE ii 
 
 The sails were set and bound the rudder-bands ; 
 
 Like a fair purpose blew the steady wind. 
 By rocky islands and low purple lands 
 
 We passed, and land and landmarks left behind. 
 Nor rope I touched, nor sail, but with good will 
 My fate gave to the goddess to fulfil. 
 
 " All day I saw her in the silver waves, 
 
 And nightly in great dreams she came to me, 
 
 And ever showed me, over rocks and caves, 
 A shining temple looking o'er the sea, 
 
 A vacant temple and bare pedestal ; 
 
 Till I knew certainly how fate should fall. 
 
 *' Ye know, ye men of Melos, how I brought 
 My treasure hither through the deadly storm ; 
 
 And how these hands in yonder temple wrought 
 Your goddess in such all-surpassing form ; 
 
 And what great love hath Aphrodite shown 
 
 To this your island, all the world hath known. 
 
112 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 " But this ye know not, how no dragging day 
 Nor dreadful night has since gone o'er my head 
 
 Without so dark oppression that I pray 
 From morn till midnight only to be dead. 
 
 The moon shows blacker than a tarnished shield, 
 
 And green earth bloody as a battle-field. 
 
 " And in my ears there sounds with every breath 
 The voice of her I loved, who still doth cry 
 
 To be delivered from that iron death 
 And icy prison, where in agony 
 
 Her cramped and palsied muscles must endure. 
 
 Save the hand frees her that did once immure. 
 
 " Ye cruel men of Melos ! Even now, 
 Had ye not stayed me, I had set her free. 
 
 Had broke the marble casing of her brow, 
 And loosed the rigid fetter of the knee, 
 
 And from the ruins of the shattered stone. 
 
 As from a corpse, that gracious soul had flown." 
 
THE STATUE ii 
 
 Abrupt he ended, for his eye had seen 
 
 How all men hung attentive, and the hands 
 
 That held had loosed him ; marked the space betwee 
 The low wall's barrier and where he stands ; 
 
 And with a quick leap, like a wild thing's bound, 
 
 He is forth and runs upon the outer ground. 
 
 No outstretched hand could grasp him, nor no threat 
 Stay him, nor fleetest foot could overtake ; 
 
 Up the steep street his urgent course is set 
 
 Towards the temple that white thing to break. 
 
 The wild goat, swiftest climber of the crag, 
 
 Beside those flying feet had seemed to lag. 
 
 Fierce their pursuit was, deadly their intent ; 
 
 But ere they reached the temple, they might hear 
 A blow, a crash, a cry of full coAtent ; 
 
 And, entered, saw the sculptor fallen, near 
 The image maimed, whose mighty arm had slain 
 In falling him who outraged thus the fane. 
 
 H 
 
114 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 He smiled in death ; above him the cold face 
 (So some averred) a calm unwonted wore. 
 
 Two white doves, or things dovelike, from the place 
 Flew softly. Rumour made the story more ; 
 
 And lo, the goddess in her marred estate 
 
 Seemed rather grown diviner and more great. 
 
NOTE 
 
 In a certain library are preserved a few leaves of mediae v 
 manuscript containing, or purporting to contain, the Latin con 
 mentary of one Stephanus de Essartis upon the book of Tobi 
 But these pages have a human interest considerably greater thj 
 any we can now find in the prosings of the good Stephen. Fi 
 the parchment on which he wrote was what is known as 
 Palimpsest, that is, it was parchment from which a previoi 
 manuscript had been erased to allow it to be used again ; ar 
 strange to say the previous writing is now more legible ths 
 that written over and across it. A brief note by Stephen himse 
 sets forth its history. In the Monastery to which he belong* 
 a certain Brother had been discovered writing stories of noi 
 religious savour and tales of human love in place of the mor 
 exempla which he had been charged to compile. He had bee 
 disgraced and punished, and his book condemned to be burne 
 But Stephen, in need of vellum for his lucubrations, had beggt 
 to be allowed to erase the evil writings, and to cheat the De\ 
 by consecrating to Heavenly service the material prepared for h 
 works. This had been granted. But by one of "Time 
 revenges" the bad ink of the religious writer has now fade 
 while the stronger pigment of the worldly-minded brother hi 
 reappeared. And thus is left to us a curious trace of an almo 
 unknown side of monastic life. The few tales preserved, in ba 
 prosy Middle Latin, are pure in tone and by no means irreligiou 
 in spite of their touch of worldliness ; and they seem to shov 
 
ii6 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 half pathetically, that beneath the monastic robe beat sometimes 
 hearts not wholly reconciled to the ascetic life, but too noble 
 to sink in despair into the slough of hypocrisy and low self- 
 indulgence. Such a nature must have been that which found 
 its anodyne in the composing or writing from recollection of 
 these so-called worldly stories ; though in truth they seem to us 
 little different from many of the exempla or gesta which were in 
 the library of every religious Foundation, save that they frankly 
 dispense with the maralizatio at the end of the tale. 
 
 The four poems in this book are versifications, considerably 
 amplified, of four of these Latin stories ; of which the originals 
 are here appended. One of the four, " Chryseis," was published 
 separately by Blackwell ; Oxford, 1894. The others now appear 
 for the first time. 
 
 I hope that it is not unpardonable to have attached the story 
 of the sculptor to the most beautiful statue remaining in the 
 world, the Venus of Melos, in spite of objections on two grounds, 
 a possible anachronism, and a certain disagreement in facts, such 
 as that the Venus of Melos is wrought out of two blocks of 
 marble and not one, and that the figure is half-clothed. For 
 the effect I have tried to describe is produced by this particular 
 statue, and, as far as I know, by no other. It may be seen 
 perceptibly influencing all sorts and conditions of sightseers on 
 any visit to that lofty chamber in the Louvre which has been 
 with such reverent insight devoted entirely to this, the greatest 
 treasure of that splendid house of treasures. 
 
NOTE I ] 
 
 Legitur in libris Judaorum antiquissimis, quod Dominus Dei 
 antequam hominem creavit, nocte ilia suprema quinti diei ere 
 tionis, spiritum Adami e vasto ad se evocavit ; et oculis atqi 
 auribus illi datis, ratione etiam ac lingua additis, jussit illi omn 
 res jam creatas inspicere et dicere qualem istarum speciem si 
 ipsi pro forma hominis optaret, Igitur omnibus animalibus cete 
 isque viventibus diligenter conspectis, dixit ille spiritus Adam 
 " O Domine Deus ! si ego piscis fuero et in aquis inferiorib 
 vitam degero, longius a te abero, et mei oblivisceris. Sin aute 
 ales fuero et in coelis superioribus volavero, nimis prope ad 
 accedam, et culparum mearum omnium scrutator eris. Concei 
 ergo mihi et filiis meis in terra ambulare ; neque tamen omnii 
 bestiis similiter quadrupediis et humilibus ; sed capite advers 
 coelum semper erecto." 
 
 II 
 
 Scriptum est in quodam libro Monasterii nostri quod 
 prioratu Nicolai efFossa est in curtili statua quaedam mirabi 
 pulchritudinis, quam pro Venere, dea Venustatis sicut diciti 
 agnovit ipse Prior. Ille vero, daemonis illius artibus proc 
 dubio illecebratus (satis enim constat deos vel deas paganoru 
 daemones exstitisse) falsam illam deam intra claustrum adduci fee 
 Noctu autem somnium mirificum omnibus fratribus apparui 
 scilicet rixa magna orta, atque altercatio duarum reginarum, vei 
 atque falsae. Falsa fuit ilia Venus, quae sibi regnum totius orl 
 terrarum arrogavit. Altera fuit Domina nostra impeccabilis 
 beata Virgo Maria Dei genetrix, qua; dominationem sibi ipsi atqi 
 fidelibus asseruit. Hase altercatio usque ad diem continu 
 Sed ad primos lueis radios simul evanuere et falsa et vera, neq' 
 finis conten tionis ulla eerta erat. 
 
ii8 PRELUDES AND ROMANCES 
 
 III 
 
 Narrat Homerus, poeta Grasciae celeberrimus, rixam Achillidis 
 cum Agamemnone ; cujus irae hasc fuit causa. Scilicet inter 
 spolia Agamemnoni sorte data virgo erat quaedam pulcherrima, 
 Chryseis nomine ; quam Agamemnon, amore captus, ad voluntatem 
 suam compellere conatus est. Ilia autem superba renuit ; et 
 pater ejus, qui Apollinis erat sacerdos, ad castra Graecorum 
 properans, filiam suam humiliter rogavit. Cui omnes fere Graeci 
 consentire volebant. Agamemnon autem verbis ferocissimis senem 
 castigavit et a castris indigne expulsit. Tum ille Apollinem 
 imprecatus est ut facinus vindicaret ; et dec instigante lues diris- 
 sima inter Graecos orta est. Igitur, facta Graecorum concione, 
 Calchantis monitu placuit puellam patri reddendam. Qua re 
 Agamemnon vehementer iratus clamavit : ' Me imperatorem sine 
 spoliis restate intolerabile est. Si ancilla mihi sorte data sic 
 injuste tollitur, ego ipsam Achillidis tollam.' Hinc illae irae. 
 Qua; autem Chryseidis postea esset fortuna, hoc non narrat poeta. 
 Credibile est puellam non sine desiderio tantos amores praeter- 
 missos respexisse. 
 
 IV 
 
 Legitur in gestis Graecorum quod statuarius quidam qui 
 effigiem miram Veneris effinxerat ad admirationem et amorem 
 totius orbis, postea conatus est ipse illam destruere, dicens quod 
 animam quamdam innocentissimam et pulcherrimam in ilia statua 
 quasi in carcere includerat, quam liberare praeter omnia necesse 
 erat. Amici autem et custodes templi, eum insanire putantes, in 
 vincula jecerunt. E quibus ipse evadens usque in templum pergit, 
 et ad statuam aggressus martello illam frangere incepit. Con- 
 currentes igitur sacerdotes a conatu eum restrinxerunt ; in quo 
 luctu mortuus est ille statuarius. 
 
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co., Edinburgh & London; and published by 
 Ghorge Allen & Sons, Charing Cross Road, London, March 22, igo8 
 

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