Silently over his vast imperial seas,Over his sentinel fleets the Shadow sweptAnd all his armies slept.There was but one quick challenge at the gate,Then—the cold menace of that out-stretched hand,Waving aside the panoplies of State,Brought the last faithful watchers to their knees,And lightning flashed the grief from land to land.Mourn, Britain, mourn, not for a king alone!This was the people's king! His purple throneWas in their hearts. They shared it. Millions of swordsCould not have shaken it! Sharers of this doom,This democratic doom which all men know,His Common-weal, in this great common woe,Veiling its head in the universal gloom,With that majestic grief which knows not words,Bows o'er a world-wide tomb.Mourn, Europe, for our England set this CrownIn splendour past the reach of temporal power,Secure above the thunders of the hour,A sun in the great skies of her renown,A sun to hold her wheeling worlds in oneBy its own course of duty pre-ordained,Where'er the meteors flash and fall, a sunWith its great course of duty!So he reigned,And died in its observance. Mightier heThan any despot, in his people's love,He served that law which rules the Thrones above,That world-wide law which by the raging seaAbased the flatterers of Canúte and makesThe King that abnegates all lesser powerA rock in time of trouble, and a towerOf strength where'er the tidal tempest breaks;That world-wide law whose name is harmony,Whose service perfect freedom!AndhisnameThe Peacemaker, through all the future yearsShall burn, a glorious and prophetic flame,A beaconing sun that never shall go down,A sun to speed the world's diviner morrow,A sun that shines the brighter for our sorrow;For, O, what splendour in a monarch's crownVies with the splendour of his people's tears?And now, O now, while the sorrowful trumpet is blown,From island to continent, zone to imperial zone,And the flags of the nations are lowered in grief with our own;Now, while the roll of the drums that for battle were dumbWhen he reigned, salute his passing; and low on the breezeFrom the snow-bound North to the Australasian seasSurges the solemn lament—O, shall it not come,A glimpse of that mightier union of all mankind?Now, though our eyes, as they gaze on the vision, grow blind,Now, while the world is all one funeral knell,And the mournful cannon thunder his great farewell,Now, while the bells of a thousand cities toll,Remember, O England, remember the ageless goal,Rally the slumbering faith in the depths of thy soul,Lift up thine eyes to the Kingdom for which he fought,That Empire of Peace and Good-will, for which to his death-hour he wrought.Then, then while the pomp of the world seems a little thing,Ay, though by the world it be said,The King is dead!We shall lift up our hearts and answer—Long live the King!
Silently over his vast imperial seas,Over his sentinel fleets the Shadow sweptAnd all his armies slept.There was but one quick challenge at the gate,Then—the cold menace of that out-stretched hand,Waving aside the panoplies of State,Brought the last faithful watchers to their knees,And lightning flashed the grief from land to land.
Mourn, Britain, mourn, not for a king alone!This was the people's king! His purple throneWas in their hearts. They shared it. Millions of swordsCould not have shaken it! Sharers of this doom,This democratic doom which all men know,His Common-weal, in this great common woe,Veiling its head in the universal gloom,With that majestic grief which knows not words,Bows o'er a world-wide tomb.
Mourn, Europe, for our England set this CrownIn splendour past the reach of temporal power,Secure above the thunders of the hour,A sun in the great skies of her renown,A sun to hold her wheeling worlds in oneBy its own course of duty pre-ordained,Where'er the meteors flash and fall, a sunWith its great course of duty!
So he reigned,And died in its observance. Mightier heThan any despot, in his people's love,He served that law which rules the Thrones above,That world-wide law which by the raging seaAbased the flatterers of Canúte and makesThe King that abnegates all lesser powerA rock in time of trouble, and a towerOf strength where'er the tidal tempest breaks;That world-wide law whose name is harmony,Whose service perfect freedom!
AndhisnameThe Peacemaker, through all the future yearsShall burn, a glorious and prophetic flame,A beaconing sun that never shall go down,A sun to speed the world's diviner morrow,A sun that shines the brighter for our sorrow;For, O, what splendour in a monarch's crownVies with the splendour of his people's tears?
And now, O now, while the sorrowful trumpet is blown,From island to continent, zone to imperial zone,And the flags of the nations are lowered in grief with our own;Now, while the roll of the drums that for battle were dumbWhen he reigned, salute his passing; and low on the breezeFrom the snow-bound North to the Australasian seasSurges the solemn lament—O, shall it not come,A glimpse of that mightier union of all mankind?Now, though our eyes, as they gaze on the vision, grow blind,Now, while the world is all one funeral knell,And the mournful cannon thunder his great farewell,Now, while the bells of a thousand cities toll,Remember, O England, remember the ageless goal,Rally the slumbering faith in the depths of thy soul,Lift up thine eyes to the Kingdom for which he fought,That Empire of Peace and Good-will, for which to his death-hour he wrought.Then, then while the pomp of the world seems a little thing,Ay, though by the world it be said,The King is dead!We shall lift up our hearts and answer—Long live the King!
The fleet, the fleet puts out to seaIn a thunder of blinding foam to-night,With a bursting wreck-strewn reef to lee,But—a seaman fired yon beacon-light!Seamen hailing a seaman, know—Free-men crowning a free-man, sing—The worth of that light where the great ships go,The signal-fire of the king.Cloud and wind may shift and veer:This is steady and this is sure,A signal over our hope and fear,A pledge of the strength that shall endure—Having no part in our storm-tossed strife—A sign of union, which shall bringKnowledge to men of their close-knit life,The signal-fire of the king.His friends are the old grey glorious waves,The wide world round, the wide world round,That have roared with our guns and covered our gravesFrom Nombre Dios to Plymouth Sound;And his crown shall shine, a central sunRound which the planet-nations sing,Going their ways, but linked in one,As the ships of our sailor-king.Many the ships, but a single fleet;Many the roads, but a single goal;And a light, a light where all roads meet,The beacon-fire of an Empire's soul;The worth of that light his seamen know,Through all the deaths that the storm can bringThe crown of their comrade-ship a-glow,The signal-fire of the king.
The fleet, the fleet puts out to seaIn a thunder of blinding foam to-night,With a bursting wreck-strewn reef to lee,But—a seaman fired yon beacon-light!Seamen hailing a seaman, know—Free-men crowning a free-man, sing—The worth of that light where the great ships go,The signal-fire of the king.
Cloud and wind may shift and veer:This is steady and this is sure,A signal over our hope and fear,A pledge of the strength that shall endure—Having no part in our storm-tossed strife—A sign of union, which shall bringKnowledge to men of their close-knit life,The signal-fire of the king.
His friends are the old grey glorious waves,The wide world round, the wide world round,That have roared with our guns and covered our gravesFrom Nombre Dios to Plymouth Sound;And his crown shall shine, a central sunRound which the planet-nations sing,Going their ways, but linked in one,As the ships of our sailor-king.
Many the ships, but a single fleet;Many the roads, but a single goal;And a light, a light where all roads meet,The beacon-fire of an Empire's soul;The worth of that light his seamen know,Through all the deaths that the storm can bringThe crown of their comrade-ship a-glow,The signal-fire of the king.
With my fiddle to my shoulder,And my hair turning grey,And my heart growing olderI must shuffle on my way!Tho' there's not a hearth to greet meI must reap as I sowed,And—the sunset shall meet meAt the turn of the road.O, the whin's a dusky yellowAnd the road a rosy white,And the blackbird's call is mellowAt the falling of night;And there's honey in the heatherWhere we'll make our last abode,My tunes and me togetherAt the turn of the road.I have fiddled for your cityThro' market-place and inn!I have poured forth my pityOn your sorrow and your sin!But your riches are your burden,And your pleasure is your goad!I've the whin-gold for guerdonAt the turn of the road.Your village-lights 'll call meAs the lights of home the dead;But a black night befall meEre your pillows rest my head!God be praised, tho' like a jewelEvery cottage casement showed,There's a star that's not so cruelAt the turn of the road.Nay, beautiful and kindlyAre the faces drawing nigh,But I gaze on them blindlyAnd hasten, hasten by;For O, no face of wonderOn earth has ever glowedLike the One that waits me yonderAt the turn of the road.Her face is lit with splendour,She dwells beyond the skies;But deep, deep and tenderAre the tears in her eyes:The angels see them glisteningIn pity for my load,And—she's waiting there, she's listening,At the turn of the road.
With my fiddle to my shoulder,And my hair turning grey,And my heart growing olderI must shuffle on my way!Tho' there's not a hearth to greet meI must reap as I sowed,And—the sunset shall meet meAt the turn of the road.
O, the whin's a dusky yellowAnd the road a rosy white,And the blackbird's call is mellowAt the falling of night;And there's honey in the heatherWhere we'll make our last abode,My tunes and me togetherAt the turn of the road.
I have fiddled for your cityThro' market-place and inn!I have poured forth my pityOn your sorrow and your sin!But your riches are your burden,And your pleasure is your goad!I've the whin-gold for guerdonAt the turn of the road.
Your village-lights 'll call meAs the lights of home the dead;But a black night befall meEre your pillows rest my head!God be praised, tho' like a jewelEvery cottage casement showed,There's a star that's not so cruelAt the turn of the road.
Nay, beautiful and kindlyAre the faces drawing nigh,But I gaze on them blindlyAnd hasten, hasten by;For O, no face of wonderOn earth has ever glowedLike the One that waits me yonderAt the turn of the road.
Her face is lit with splendour,She dwells beyond the skies;But deep, deep and tenderAre the tears in her eyes:The angels see them glisteningIn pity for my load,And—she's waiting there, she's listening,At the turn of the road.
Life like a cruel mistress woosThe passionate heart of man, you say,Only in mockery to refuseHis love, at last, and turn away.To me she seems a queen that knowsHow great is love—but ah, how rare!—And, pointing heavenward ere she goes,Gives him the rose from out her hair.
Life like a cruel mistress woosThe passionate heart of man, you say,Only in mockery to refuseHis love, at last, and turn away.
To me she seems a queen that knowsHow great is love—but ah, how rare!—And, pointing heavenward ere she goes,Gives him the rose from out her hair.
[This poem commemorates an event of some years ago, when a young Englishman—still remembered by many of his contemporaries at Oxford—went up into Mount Ida and was never seen again.]
INot cypress, but this warm pine-plumage nowFragrant with sap, I pluck; nor bid you weep,Ye Muses that still haunt the heavenly browOf Ida, though the ascent is hard and steep:Weep not for him who left us wrapped in sleepAt dawn beneath the holy mountain's breastAnd all alone from Ilion's gleaming shoreClomb the high sea-ward glens, fain to drink deepOf earth's old glory from your silent crest,Take the cloud-conquering throneOf gods, and gaze aloneThro' heaven. Darkling we slept who saw his face no more.IIAh yet, in him hath Lycidas a brother,And Adonaïs will not say him nay,And Thyrsis to the breast of one sweet MotherWelcomes him, climbing by the self-same way:Quietly as a cloud at break of dayUp the long glens of golden dew he stole(And surely Bion called to him afar!)The tearful hyacinths and the greenwood sprayClinging to keep him from the sapphire goal,Kept of his path no trace!Upward the yearning faceClomb the ethereal height, calm as the morning star.IIIAh yet, incline, dear Sisters, or my songThat with the light wings of the skimming swallowMust range the reedy slopes, will work him wrong!And with some golden shaft do thou, Apollo,Show the pine-shadowed path that none may follow;For, as the blue air shuts behind a bird,Round him closed Ida's cloudy woods and rills!Day-long, night-long, by echoing height and hollow,We called him, but our tumult died unheard:Down from the scornful skyOur faint wing-broken cryFluttered and perished among the many-folded hills.IVAy, though we clomb each faint-flushed peak of vision,Nought but our own sad faces we divined:Thy radiant way still laughed us to derision,And still revengeful Echo proved unkind;And oft our faithless hearts half feared to findThy cold corse in some dark mist-drenched ravineWhere the white foam flashed headlong to the sea:How should we find thee, spirits deaf and blindEven to the things which we had heard and seen?Eyes that could see no moreThe old light on sea and shore,What should they hope or fear to find? They found not thee;VFor thou wast ever alien to our skies,A wistful stray of radiance on this earth,A changeling with deep memories in thine eyesMistily gazing thro' our loud-voiced mirthTo some fair land beyond the gates of birth;Yet as a star thro' clouds, thou still didst shedThrough our dark world thy lovelier, rarer glow;Time, like a picture of but little worth,Before thy young hand lifelessly outspread,At one light stroke from theeGleamed with Eternity;Thou gav'st the master's touch, and we—we did not know.VINot though we gazed from heaven o'er IlionDreaming on earth below, mistily crownedWith towering memories, and beyond her shoneThe wine-dark seas Achilles heard resound!Only, and after many days, we foundDabbled with dew, at border of a woodBedded in hyacinths, open and a-glowThy Homer's Iliad.... Dryad tears had drownedThe rough Greek type and, as with honey or blood,One crocus with crushed goldStained the great page that toldOf gods that sighed their loves on Ida, long ago.VIISee—for a couch to their ambrosial limbsEven as their golden load of splendour pressesThe fragrant thyme, a billowing cloud up-swimsOf springing flowers beneath their deep caresses,Hyacinth, lotus, crocus, wildernessesOf bloom... but clouds of sunlight and of dewDropping rich balm, round the dark pine-woods curledThat the warm wonder of their in-woven tresses,And all the secret blisses that they knew,Where beauty kisses truthIn heaven's deep heart of youth,Might still be hidden, as thou art, from the heartless world.VIIIEven as we found thy book, below these rocksPerchance that strange great eagle's feather lay,When Ganymede, from feeding of his flocksOn Ida, vanished thro' the morning grey:Stranger it seemed, if thou couldst cast awayThose golden musics as a thing of nought,A dream for which no longer thou hadst need!Ah, was it here then that the break of dayBrought thee the substance for the shadow, taughtThy soul a swifter roadTo ease it of its loadAnd watch this world of shadows as a dream recede?IXWe slept! Darkling we slept! Our busy schemes,Our cold mechanic world awhile was still;But O, their eyes are blinded even in dreamsWho from the heavenlier Powers withdraw their will:Here did the dawn with purer light fulfilThy happier eyes than ours, here didst thou seeThe quivering wonder-light in flower and dew,The quickening glory of the haunted hill,The Hamadryad beckoning from the tree.The Naiad from the stream;While from her long dark dreamEarth woke, trembling with life, light, beauty, through and through.XAnd the everlasting miracle of thingsFlowed round thee, and this dark earth opposed no bar,And radiant faces from the flowers and springsDawned on thee, whispering,Knowest thou whenceweare?Faintly thou heardst us calling thee afarAs Hylas heard, swooning beneath the wave,Girdled with glowing arms, while wood and glenEchoed his name beneath that rosy star;And thy farewell came faint as from the graveFor very bliss; but weCould neither hear nor see;And all the hill withHylas! Hylas!rang again.XIBut there were deeper love-tales for thine earsThan mellow-tongued Theocritus could tell:Over him like a sea two thousand yearsHad swept. They solemnized his music well!Farewell! What word could answer but farewell,From thee, O happy spirit, that couldst stealSo quietly from this world at break of day?What voice of ours could break the silent spellBeauty had cast upon thee, or revealThe gates of sun and dewWhich oped and let thee throughAnd led thee heavenward by that deep enchanted way?XIIYet here thou mad'st thy choice: Love, Wisdom, Power,As once before young Paris, they stood here!Beneath them Ida, like one full-blown flower,Shed her bloom earthward thro' the radiant airLeaving her rounded fruit, their beauty, bareTo the everlasting dawn; and, in thy palmThe golden apple of the Hesperian isleWhich thou must only yield to the Most Fair;But not to Juno's great luxurious calm,Nor Dian's curved white moon,Gav'st thou the sunset's boon,Nor to foam-bosomed Aphrodite's rose-lipped smile.XIIIHere didst thou make the eternal choice aright,Here, in this hallowed haunt of nymph and faun,They stood before thee in that great new light,The three great splendours of the immortal dawn,With all the cloudy veils of Time withdrawnOr only glistening round the firm white snowsOf their pure beauty like the golden dewBrushed from the feathery ferns below the lawn;But not to cold Diana's morning rose,Nor to great Juno's frownCast thou the apple down,And, when the Paphian raised her lustrous eyes anew,XIVThou from thy soul didst whisper—in that heavenWhich yearns beyond us! Lead me up the height!How should the golden fruit to one be givenTill your three splendours in that Sun uniteWhere each in each ye move like light in light?How should I judge the rapture till I knowThe pain?And like three waves of music thereThey closed thee round, blinding thy blissful sightWith beauty and, like one roseate orb a-glow,They bore thee on their breastsUp the sun-smitten crestsAnd melted with thee smiling into the Most Fair.XVUpward and onward, ever as ye wentThe cities of the world nestled beneathCloser, as if in love, round Ida, blentWith alien hills in one great bridal-wreathOf dawn-flushed clouds; while, breathing with your breathNew heavens mixed with your mounting bliss. Deep eyes,Beautiful eyes, imbrued with the world's tearsDawned on you, beautiful gleams of Love and DeathFlowed thro' your questioning with divine repliesFrom that ineffable heightDark with excess of lightWhere the Ever-living dies and the All-loving hears.XVIFor thou hadst seen what tears upon man's faceBled from the heart or burned from out the brain,And not denied or cursed, but couldst embraceInfinite sweetness in the heart of pain,And heardst those universal choirs againWherein like waves of one harmonious seaAll our slight dreams of heaven are singing still,And still the throned Olympians swell the strain,And, hark, the burden, of all—Come unto Me!Sky into deepening skyMelts with that one great cry;And the lost doves of Ida moan on Siloa's hill.XVIII gather all the ages in my songAnd send them singing up the heights to thee!Chord by æonian chord the stars prolongTheir passionate echoes to Eternity:Earth wakes, and one orchestral symphonySweeps o'er the quivering harp-strings of mankind;Grief modulates into heaven, hate drowns in love,No strife now but of love in that great seaOf song! I dream! I dream! Mine eyes grow blind:Chords that I not commandEscape the fainting hand;Tears fall. Thou canst not hear. Thou'rt still too far above.XVIIIFarewell! What word should answer but farewellFrom thee, O happy spirit, whose clear gazeDiscerned the path—clear, but unsearchable—Where Olivet sweetens, deepens, Ida's praise,The path that strikes as thro' a sunlit hazeThrough Time to that clear reconciling heightWhere our commingling gleams of godhead dwell;Strikes thro' the turmoil of our darkling daysTo that great harmony where, like light in light,Wisdom and Beauty stillHaunt the thrice-holy hill,And Love, immortal Love ... what answer but farewell?
I
Not cypress, but this warm pine-plumage nowFragrant with sap, I pluck; nor bid you weep,Ye Muses that still haunt the heavenly browOf Ida, though the ascent is hard and steep:Weep not for him who left us wrapped in sleepAt dawn beneath the holy mountain's breastAnd all alone from Ilion's gleaming shoreClomb the high sea-ward glens, fain to drink deepOf earth's old glory from your silent crest,Take the cloud-conquering throneOf gods, and gaze aloneThro' heaven. Darkling we slept who saw his face no more.
II
Ah yet, in him hath Lycidas a brother,And Adonaïs will not say him nay,And Thyrsis to the breast of one sweet MotherWelcomes him, climbing by the self-same way:Quietly as a cloud at break of dayUp the long glens of golden dew he stole(And surely Bion called to him afar!)The tearful hyacinths and the greenwood sprayClinging to keep him from the sapphire goal,Kept of his path no trace!Upward the yearning faceClomb the ethereal height, calm as the morning star.
III
Ah yet, incline, dear Sisters, or my songThat with the light wings of the skimming swallowMust range the reedy slopes, will work him wrong!And with some golden shaft do thou, Apollo,Show the pine-shadowed path that none may follow;For, as the blue air shuts behind a bird,Round him closed Ida's cloudy woods and rills!Day-long, night-long, by echoing height and hollow,We called him, but our tumult died unheard:Down from the scornful skyOur faint wing-broken cryFluttered and perished among the many-folded hills.
IV
Ay, though we clomb each faint-flushed peak of vision,Nought but our own sad faces we divined:Thy radiant way still laughed us to derision,And still revengeful Echo proved unkind;And oft our faithless hearts half feared to findThy cold corse in some dark mist-drenched ravineWhere the white foam flashed headlong to the sea:How should we find thee, spirits deaf and blindEven to the things which we had heard and seen?Eyes that could see no moreThe old light on sea and shore,What should they hope or fear to find? They found not thee;
V
For thou wast ever alien to our skies,A wistful stray of radiance on this earth,A changeling with deep memories in thine eyesMistily gazing thro' our loud-voiced mirthTo some fair land beyond the gates of birth;Yet as a star thro' clouds, thou still didst shedThrough our dark world thy lovelier, rarer glow;Time, like a picture of but little worth,Before thy young hand lifelessly outspread,At one light stroke from theeGleamed with Eternity;Thou gav'st the master's touch, and we—we did not know.
VI
Not though we gazed from heaven o'er IlionDreaming on earth below, mistily crownedWith towering memories, and beyond her shoneThe wine-dark seas Achilles heard resound!Only, and after many days, we foundDabbled with dew, at border of a woodBedded in hyacinths, open and a-glowThy Homer's Iliad.... Dryad tears had drownedThe rough Greek type and, as with honey or blood,One crocus with crushed goldStained the great page that toldOf gods that sighed their loves on Ida, long ago.
VII
See—for a couch to their ambrosial limbsEven as their golden load of splendour pressesThe fragrant thyme, a billowing cloud up-swimsOf springing flowers beneath their deep caresses,Hyacinth, lotus, crocus, wildernessesOf bloom... but clouds of sunlight and of dewDropping rich balm, round the dark pine-woods curledThat the warm wonder of their in-woven tresses,And all the secret blisses that they knew,Where beauty kisses truthIn heaven's deep heart of youth,Might still be hidden, as thou art, from the heartless world.
VIII
Even as we found thy book, below these rocksPerchance that strange great eagle's feather lay,When Ganymede, from feeding of his flocksOn Ida, vanished thro' the morning grey:Stranger it seemed, if thou couldst cast awayThose golden musics as a thing of nought,A dream for which no longer thou hadst need!Ah, was it here then that the break of dayBrought thee the substance for the shadow, taughtThy soul a swifter roadTo ease it of its loadAnd watch this world of shadows as a dream recede?
IX
We slept! Darkling we slept! Our busy schemes,Our cold mechanic world awhile was still;But O, their eyes are blinded even in dreamsWho from the heavenlier Powers withdraw their will:Here did the dawn with purer light fulfilThy happier eyes than ours, here didst thou seeThe quivering wonder-light in flower and dew,The quickening glory of the haunted hill,The Hamadryad beckoning from the tree.The Naiad from the stream;While from her long dark dreamEarth woke, trembling with life, light, beauty, through and through.
X
And the everlasting miracle of thingsFlowed round thee, and this dark earth opposed no bar,And radiant faces from the flowers and springsDawned on thee, whispering,Knowest thou whenceweare?Faintly thou heardst us calling thee afarAs Hylas heard, swooning beneath the wave,Girdled with glowing arms, while wood and glenEchoed his name beneath that rosy star;And thy farewell came faint as from the graveFor very bliss; but weCould neither hear nor see;And all the hill withHylas! Hylas!rang again.
XI
But there were deeper love-tales for thine earsThan mellow-tongued Theocritus could tell:Over him like a sea two thousand yearsHad swept. They solemnized his music well!Farewell! What word could answer but farewell,From thee, O happy spirit, that couldst stealSo quietly from this world at break of day?What voice of ours could break the silent spellBeauty had cast upon thee, or revealThe gates of sun and dewWhich oped and let thee throughAnd led thee heavenward by that deep enchanted way?
XII
Yet here thou mad'st thy choice: Love, Wisdom, Power,As once before young Paris, they stood here!Beneath them Ida, like one full-blown flower,Shed her bloom earthward thro' the radiant airLeaving her rounded fruit, their beauty, bareTo the everlasting dawn; and, in thy palmThe golden apple of the Hesperian isleWhich thou must only yield to the Most Fair;But not to Juno's great luxurious calm,Nor Dian's curved white moon,Gav'st thou the sunset's boon,Nor to foam-bosomed Aphrodite's rose-lipped smile.
XIII
Here didst thou make the eternal choice aright,Here, in this hallowed haunt of nymph and faun,They stood before thee in that great new light,The three great splendours of the immortal dawn,With all the cloudy veils of Time withdrawnOr only glistening round the firm white snowsOf their pure beauty like the golden dewBrushed from the feathery ferns below the lawn;But not to cold Diana's morning rose,Nor to great Juno's frownCast thou the apple down,And, when the Paphian raised her lustrous eyes anew,
XIV
Thou from thy soul didst whisper—in that heavenWhich yearns beyond us! Lead me up the height!How should the golden fruit to one be givenTill your three splendours in that Sun uniteWhere each in each ye move like light in light?How should I judge the rapture till I knowThe pain?And like three waves of music thereThey closed thee round, blinding thy blissful sightWith beauty and, like one roseate orb a-glow,They bore thee on their breastsUp the sun-smitten crestsAnd melted with thee smiling into the Most Fair.
XV
Upward and onward, ever as ye wentThe cities of the world nestled beneathCloser, as if in love, round Ida, blentWith alien hills in one great bridal-wreathOf dawn-flushed clouds; while, breathing with your breathNew heavens mixed with your mounting bliss. Deep eyes,Beautiful eyes, imbrued with the world's tearsDawned on you, beautiful gleams of Love and DeathFlowed thro' your questioning with divine repliesFrom that ineffable heightDark with excess of lightWhere the Ever-living dies and the All-loving hears.
XVI
For thou hadst seen what tears upon man's faceBled from the heart or burned from out the brain,And not denied or cursed, but couldst embraceInfinite sweetness in the heart of pain,And heardst those universal choirs againWherein like waves of one harmonious seaAll our slight dreams of heaven are singing still,And still the throned Olympians swell the strain,And, hark, the burden, of all—Come unto Me!Sky into deepening skyMelts with that one great cry;And the lost doves of Ida moan on Siloa's hill.
XVII
I gather all the ages in my songAnd send them singing up the heights to thee!Chord by æonian chord the stars prolongTheir passionate echoes to Eternity:Earth wakes, and one orchestral symphonySweeps o'er the quivering harp-strings of mankind;Grief modulates into heaven, hate drowns in love,No strife now but of love in that great seaOf song! I dream! I dream! Mine eyes grow blind:Chords that I not commandEscape the fainting hand;Tears fall. Thou canst not hear. Thou'rt still too far above.
XVIII
Farewell! What word should answer but farewellFrom thee, O happy spirit, whose clear gazeDiscerned the path—clear, but unsearchable—Where Olivet sweetens, deepens, Ida's praise,The path that strikes as thro' a sunlit hazeThrough Time to that clear reconciling heightWhere our commingling gleams of godhead dwell;Strikes thro' the turmoil of our darkling daysTo that great harmony where, like light in light,Wisdom and Beauty stillHaunt the thrice-holy hill,And Love, immortal Love ... what answer but farewell?
IBluff and burly and splendidThro' roaring traffic-tides,By secret lightnings attendedThe land-ship hisses and glides.And I sit on its bridge and I watch and I dreamWhile the world goes gallantly by,With all its crowded houses and its colored shops a-streamUnder the June-blue sky,Heigh, ho!Under the June-blue sky.IIThere's a loafer at the kerb with a sulphur-coloured pileOf "Lights! Lights! Lights!" to sell;And a flower-girl there with some lilies and a smileBy the gilt swing-doors of a drinking hell,Where the money is rattling loud and fast,And I catch one glimpse as the ship swings pastOf a woman with a babe at her breastWrapped in a ragged shawl;She is drinking away with the rest,And the sun shines over it all,Heigh, ho!The sun shines over it all!IIIAnd a barrel-organ is playing,Somewhere, far away,Abide with me, andThe world is gone a-maying,AndWhat will the policeman say?There's a glimpse of the river down an alley by a church,And the barges with their tawny-coloured sails,And a grim and grimy coal-wharf where the London pigeons perchAnd flutter and spread their tails,Heigh, ho!Flutter and spread their tails.IVO, what does it mean, all the pageant and the pity,The waste and the wonder and the shame?I am riding tow'rds the sunset thro' the vision of a CityWhich we cloak with the stupor of a name!I am riding thro' ten thousand thousand tragedies and terrors,Ten million heavens that save and hells that damn;And the lightning draws my car tow'rds the golden evening star;And—They call it only "riding on a tram,"Heigh, ho!They call it only "riding on a tram."
I
Bluff and burly and splendidThro' roaring traffic-tides,By secret lightnings attendedThe land-ship hisses and glides.And I sit on its bridge and I watch and I dreamWhile the world goes gallantly by,With all its crowded houses and its colored shops a-streamUnder the June-blue sky,Heigh, ho!Under the June-blue sky.
II
There's a loafer at the kerb with a sulphur-coloured pileOf "Lights! Lights! Lights!" to sell;And a flower-girl there with some lilies and a smileBy the gilt swing-doors of a drinking hell,Where the money is rattling loud and fast,And I catch one glimpse as the ship swings pastOf a woman with a babe at her breastWrapped in a ragged shawl;She is drinking away with the rest,And the sun shines over it all,Heigh, ho!The sun shines over it all!
III
And a barrel-organ is playing,Somewhere, far away,Abide with me, andThe world is gone a-maying,AndWhat will the policeman say?There's a glimpse of the river down an alley by a church,And the barges with their tawny-coloured sails,And a grim and grimy coal-wharf where the London pigeons perchAnd flutter and spread their tails,Heigh, ho!Flutter and spread their tails.
IV
O, what does it mean, all the pageant and the pity,The waste and the wonder and the shame?I am riding tow'rds the sunset thro' the vision of a CityWhich we cloak with the stupor of a name!I am riding thro' ten thousand thousand tragedies and terrors,Ten million heavens that save and hells that damn;And the lightning draws my car tow'rds the golden evening star;And—They call it only "riding on a tram,"Heigh, ho!They call it only "riding on a tram."
RobinEarl of Huntingdon, known as "Robin Hood."Little John}Friar Tuck}Will Scarlet} Outlaws and followers of "Robin Hood."Reynold Greenleaf}Much, the Miller's Son}Allan-a-Dale}Prince John.King Richard, Cœur de Lion.BlondelKing Richard's minstrel.OberonKing of the Fairies.TitaniaQueen of the Fairies.PuckA Fairy.The Sheriff of Nottingham.FitzwalterFather of Marian, known as "Maid Marian."Shadow-of-a-LeafA Fool.Arthur PlantagenetNephew to Prince John, a boy of about ten years of age.Queen ElinorMother of Prince John and Richard Lion-Heart.Marian FitzwalterKnown as Maid Marian, betrothed to Robin Hood.JennyMaid to Marian.Widow ScarletMother of Will Scarlet.Prioress of Kirklee.Fairies, merry men, serfs, peasants, mercenaries, an abbot, a baron, a novice, nuns, courtiers, soldiers, retainers, etc.
Scene I.Night. The borders of the forest. The smouldering embers of a Saxon homestead. TheSheriffand his men are struggling with aSerf.
SERFNo, no, not that! not that! If you should blind meGod will repay you. Kill me out of hand![EnterPrince Johnand several of his retainers.]JOHNWho is this night-jar?[The retainers laugh.]Surely, master Sheriff,You should have cut its tongue out, first. Its criesTingle so hideously across the woodThey'll wake the King in Palestine. Small wonderThat Robin Hood evades you.SHERIFF[To theSerf.]Silence, dog,Know you not better than to make this clamourBefore Prince John?SERFPrince John! It is Prince John!For God's love save me, sir!JOHNWhose thrall is he?SHERIFFI know not, sir, but he was caught red-handedKilling the king's deer. By the forest lawHe should of rights be blinded; for, as you see,[He indicates theSerf'sright hand.]'Tis not his first deer at King Richard's cost.JOHN'Twill save you trouble if you say at mine.SHERIFFAy, sir, I pray your pardon—atyourcost!His right hand lacks the thumb and arrow-finger,And though he vows it was a falling treeThat crushed them, you may trust your Sheriff, sir,It was the law that clipped them when he lastHunted your deer.SERFPrince, when the Conqueror came,They burned my father's homestead with the restTo make the King a broader hunting-ground.I have hunted there for food. How could I bearTo hear my hungry children crying? Prince,They'll make good bowmen for your wars, one day.JOHNHe is much too fond of 'Prince': he'll never liveTo see a king. Whose thrall?—his iron collar,Look, is the name not on it?SHERIFFSir, the nameIs filed away, and in another hourThe ring would have been broken. He is one of thoseGreen adders of the moon, night-creeping thievesWhom Huntingdon has tempted to the woods.These desperate ruffians flee their lawful mastersAnd flock around the disaffected EarlLike ragged rooks around an elm, by scores!And now, i' faith, the sun of HuntingdonIs setting fast. They've well nigh beggared him,Eaten him out of house and home. They sayThat, when we make him outlaw, we shall findNought to distrain upon, but empty cupboards.JOHNDid you not serve him once yourself?SHERIFFOh, ay,He was more prosperous then. But now my cupboardsAre full, and his are bare. Well, I'd think scornTo share a crust with outcast churls and thieves,Doffing his dignity, letting them call himRobin, or Robin Hood, as if an EarlWere just a plain man, which he will be soon,When we have served our writ of outlawry!'Tis said he hopes much from the King's returnAnd swears by Lion-Heart; and though King RichardIs brother to yourself, 'tis all the moreUngracious, sir, to hope he should return,And overset your rule. But then—to keepSuch base communications! Myself would think itUnworthy of my sheriffship, much moreUnworthy a right Earl.JOHNYou talk too much!This whippet, here, slinks at his heel, you say.Mercy may close her eyes, then. Take him off,Blind him or what you will; and let him thankHis master for it. But wait—perhaps he knowsWhere we may trap this young patrician thief.Where is your master?SERFWhere you'll never find him.JOHNOh, ho! the dog is faithful! Take him away.Get your red business done, I shall requireYour men to ride with me.SHERIFF[To his men.]Take him out yonder,A bow-shot into the wood, so that his clamourDo not offend my lord. Delay no time,The irons are hot by this. They'll give you lightEnough to blind him by.SERF[Crying out and struggling as he is forced back into the forest.]No, no, not that!God will repay you! Kill me out of hand!SHERIFF[ToPrince John.]There is a kind of justice in all this.The irons being heated in that fire, my lord,Which was his hut, aforetime.[Some of the men take the glowing irons from the fire and follow into the wood.]There's no needTo parley with him, either. The snares are laidFor Robin Hood. He goes this very nightTo his betrothal feast.JOHNBetrothal feast!SHERIFFAt old Fitzwalter's castle, sir.JOHNHa! ha!There will be one more guest there than he thought!Ourselves are riding thither. We intendedMy Lady Marian for a happier fateThan bride to Robin Hood. Your plans are laidTo capture him?SHERIFF[Consequentially.]It was our purpose, sir,To serve the writ of outlawry upon himAnd capture him as he came forth.JOHNThat's well.Then—let him disappear—you understand?SHERIFFI have your warrant, sir? Death? A great Earl?JOHNWhy, first declare him outlawed at his feast!'Twill gladden the tremulous heart of old FitzwalterWith his prospective son-in-law; and then—No man will overmuch concern himselfWhither an outlaw goes. You understand?SHERIFFIt shall be done, sir.JOHNBut the Lady Marian!By heaven, I'll take her. I'll banish old FitzwalterIf he prevent my will in this. You'll bringHow many men to ring the castle round?SHERIFFA good five score of bowmen.JOHNThen I'll take herThis very night as hostage for Fitzwalter,Since he consorts with outlaws. These grey ratsWill gnaw my kingdom's heart out. For 'tis mine,This England, now or later. They that holdBy Richard, as their absent king, would makeMy rule a usurpation. God, am IMy brother's keeper?[There is a cry in the forest from theSerf, who immediately afterwards appears at the edge of the glade, shaking himself free from his guards. He seizes a weapon and rushes atPrince John. One of the retainers runs him through and he falls at thePrince'sfeet.]JOHNThat's a happy answer!SHERIFF[Stooping over the body.]He is dead.JOHNI am sorry. It were better sportTo send him groping like a hoodman blindThrough Sherwood, whimpering for his Robin. Come,I'll ride with you to this betrothal feast.Now for my Lady Marian![Exeunt all. A pause. The scene darkens. Shadowy figures creep out from the thickets, of old men, women and children.]FIRST OLD MAN[Stretching his arms up to Heaven.]God, am IMy brother's keeper? Witness, God in heaven,He said it and not we—Cain's word, he said it!FIRST WOMAN[Kneeling by the body.]O Father, Father, and the blood of AbelCries to thee!A BLIND MANIs there any light here still?I feel a hot breath on my face. The darkIs better for us all. I am sometimes gladThey blinded me those many years ago.Princes are princes; and God made the worldFor one or two it seems. Well, I am gladI cannot see His world.FIRST WOMAN[Still by the body and whispering to the others.]Keep him away.'Tis as we thought. The dead man is his son.Keep him away, poor soul. He need not know.[Some of the men carry the body among the thickets.]A CHILDMother, I'm hungry, I'm hungry!FIRST OLD MANThere's no foodFor any of us to-night. The snares are empty,And I can try no more.THE BLIND MANWait till my sonComes back. He's a rare hunter is my boy.You need not fret, poor little one. My sonIs much too quick and clever for the Sheriff.He'll bring you something good. Why, ha! ha! ha!Friends, I've a thought—the Sheriff's lit the fireReady for us to roast our meat. Come, come,Let us be merry while we may! My boyWill soon come back with food for the old folks.The fire burns brightly, eh?SECOND OLD MANThe fire that feedsOn hope and eats our hearts away. They've burntEverything, everything!THE BLIND MANAh, princes are princes!But when the King comes home from the Crusade,We shall have better times.FIRST OLD MANAy, when the KingComes home from the Crusade.CHILDMother, I'm hungry.SECOND WOMANOh, but if I could only find a crustLeft by the dogs. Masters, the child will starve.We must have food.THE BLIND MANI tell you when my boyComes back, we shall have plenty!FIRST WOMANGod pity thee!THE BLIND MANWhat dost thou mean?SECOND WOMANMasters, the child will starve.FIRST OLD MANHist, who comes here—a forester?THE BLIND MANWe'd bestSlip back into the dark.FIRST WOMAN[Excitedly.]No, stay! All's well.There's Shadow-of-a-Leaf, good Lady Marian's foolBeside him!THE BLIND MANAh, they say there's fairy bloodIn Shadow-of-a-Leaf. But I've no hopes of moreFrom him, than wild bees' honey-bags.[EnterLittle John, a giant figure, leading a donkey, laden with a sack. On the other side,Shadow-of-a-Leaftrips, a slender figure in green trunk-hose and doublet. He is tickling the donkey's ears with a long fern.]SHADOW-OF-A-LEAFGee! Whoa!Neddy, my boy, have you forgot the Weaver,And how Titania tickled your long ears?Ha! ha! Don't ferns remind you?LITTLE JOHNFriends, my masterHath sent me to you, fearing ye might hunger.FIRST OLD MANThy master?LITTLE JOHNRobin Hood.SECOND WOMAN[Falling on her knees.]God bless his name.God bless the kindly name of Robin Hood.LITTLE JOHN[Giving them food.]'Tis well nigh all that's left him; and to-nightHe goes to his betrothal feast.[All the outcasts except the first old man exeunt.]SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF[Pointing to the donkey.]Now look,There's nothing but that shadow of a crossOn his grey back to tell you of the palmsThat once were strewn before my Lord, the King.Won't ferns, won't branching ferns, do just as well?There's only a dream to ride my donkey now!But, Neddy, I'll lead you home and cry—Hosanna!We'll thread the glad Gate Beautiful again,Though now there's only a Fool to hold your bridleAnd only moonlit ferns to strew your path,And the great King is fighting for a graveIn lands beyond the sea. Come, Neddy, come,Hosanna![ExitShadow-of-a-Leafwith the donkey. He strews ferns before it as he goes.]FIRST OLD MAN'Tis a strange creature, master! ThinkestThere's fairy blood in him?LITTLE JOHN'Twas he that broughtWord of your plight to Robin Hood. He flitsLike Moonshine thro' the forest. He'll be homeBefore I know it. I must be hastening back.This makes a sad betrothal night.FIRST OLD MANThat minds me,Couched in the thicket yonder, we overheardThe Sheriff tell Prince John....LITTLE JOHNPrince John!FIRST OLD MANYou'd bestWarn Robin Hood. They're laying a trap for him.Ay! Now I mind me of it! I heard 'em sayThey'd take him at the castle.LITTLE JOHNTo-night?FIRST OLD MANTo-night!Fly, lad, for God's dear love. Warn Robin Hood!Fly like the wind, or you'll be there too late.And yet you'd best be careful. There's five scoreIn ambush round the castle.LITTLE JOHNI'll be thereAn if I have to break five hundred heads![He rushes off thro' the forest. The old man goes into the thicket after the others. The scene darkens. A soft light, as of the moon, appears between the ferns to the right of the glade, showingOberonandTitania.]TITANIAYet one night more the gates of fairylandAre opened by a mortal's kindly deed.OBERONLast night the gates were shut, and I heard weeping!Men, women, children, beat upon the gatesThat guard our happy world. They could not sleep.Titania, must not that be terrible,When mortals cannot sleep?TITANIAYet one night moreDear Robin Hood has opened the gates wideAnd their poor weary souls can enter in.OBERONYet one night more we woodland elves may stealOut thro' the gates. I fear the time will comeWhen they must close for ever; and we no moreShall hold our Sherwood revels.TITANIAOnly loveAnd love's kind sacrifice can open them.For when a mortal hurts himself to helpAnother, then he thrusts the gates wide openBetween his world and ours.OBERONAy, but that's rare,That kind of love, Titania, for the gatesAre almost always closed.TITANIAYet one night more!Hark, how the fairy host begins to singWithin the gates. Wait here and we shall seeWhat weary souls by grace of Robin HoodThis night shall enter Dreamland. See, they come![The soft light deepens in the hollow among the ferns and the ivory gates of Dreamland are seen swinging open. The fairy host is heard, singing to invite the mortals to enter.][Song of the fairies.]The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!Your world is growing old;But a Princess sleeps in the greenwood,Whose hair is brighter than gold.The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!O hearts that bleed and burn,Her lips are redder than roses,Who sleeps in the faëry fern.The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!By the Beauty that wakes anewMilk-white with the fragrant hawthornIn the drip of the dawn-red dew.The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!O hearts that are weary of pain,Come back to your home in FaërieAnd wait till she wakes again.[The victims of the forest-laws steal out of the thicket once more—dark, distorted, lame, blind, serfs with iron collars roun their necks, old men, women and children; and as the fairy song breaks into chorus they pass in procession thro' the beautiful gates. The gates slowly close. The fairy song is heard as dying away in the distance.]TITANIA[Coming out into the glade and holding up her hands to the evening star beyond the tree-tops.]Shine, shine, dear star of Love, yet one night more.
SERF
No, no, not that! not that! If you should blind meGod will repay you. Kill me out of hand!
[EnterPrince Johnand several of his retainers.]
JOHN
Who is this night-jar?
[The retainers laugh.]
Surely, master Sheriff,You should have cut its tongue out, first. Its criesTingle so hideously across the woodThey'll wake the King in Palestine. Small wonderThat Robin Hood evades you.
SHERIFF
[To theSerf.]
Silence, dog,Know you not better than to make this clamourBefore Prince John?
SERF
Prince John! It is Prince John!For God's love save me, sir!
JOHN
Whose thrall is he?
SHERIFF
I know not, sir, but he was caught red-handedKilling the king's deer. By the forest lawHe should of rights be blinded; for, as you see,
[He indicates theSerf'sright hand.]
'Tis not his first deer at King Richard's cost.
JOHN
'Twill save you trouble if you say at mine.
SHERIFF
Ay, sir, I pray your pardon—atyourcost!His right hand lacks the thumb and arrow-finger,And though he vows it was a falling treeThat crushed them, you may trust your Sheriff, sir,It was the law that clipped them when he lastHunted your deer.
SERF
Prince, when the Conqueror came,They burned my father's homestead with the restTo make the King a broader hunting-ground.I have hunted there for food. How could I bearTo hear my hungry children crying? Prince,They'll make good bowmen for your wars, one day.
JOHN
He is much too fond of 'Prince': he'll never liveTo see a king. Whose thrall?—his iron collar,Look, is the name not on it?
SHERIFF
Sir, the nameIs filed away, and in another hourThe ring would have been broken. He is one of thoseGreen adders of the moon, night-creeping thievesWhom Huntingdon has tempted to the woods.These desperate ruffians flee their lawful mastersAnd flock around the disaffected EarlLike ragged rooks around an elm, by scores!And now, i' faith, the sun of HuntingdonIs setting fast. They've well nigh beggared him,Eaten him out of house and home. They sayThat, when we make him outlaw, we shall findNought to distrain upon, but empty cupboards.
JOHN
Did you not serve him once yourself?
SHERIFF
Oh, ay,He was more prosperous then. But now my cupboardsAre full, and his are bare. Well, I'd think scornTo share a crust with outcast churls and thieves,Doffing his dignity, letting them call himRobin, or Robin Hood, as if an EarlWere just a plain man, which he will be soon,When we have served our writ of outlawry!'Tis said he hopes much from the King's returnAnd swears by Lion-Heart; and though King RichardIs brother to yourself, 'tis all the moreUngracious, sir, to hope he should return,And overset your rule. But then—to keepSuch base communications! Myself would think itUnworthy of my sheriffship, much moreUnworthy a right Earl.
JOHN
You talk too much!This whippet, here, slinks at his heel, you say.Mercy may close her eyes, then. Take him off,Blind him or what you will; and let him thankHis master for it. But wait—perhaps he knowsWhere we may trap this young patrician thief.Where is your master?
SERF
Where you'll never find him.
JOHN
Oh, ho! the dog is faithful! Take him away.Get your red business done, I shall requireYour men to ride with me.
SHERIFF
[To his men.]
Take him out yonder,A bow-shot into the wood, so that his clamourDo not offend my lord. Delay no time,The irons are hot by this. They'll give you lightEnough to blind him by.
SERF
[Crying out and struggling as he is forced back into the forest.]
No, no, not that!God will repay you! Kill me out of hand!
SHERIFF
[ToPrince John.]
There is a kind of justice in all this.The irons being heated in that fire, my lord,Which was his hut, aforetime.
[Some of the men take the glowing irons from the fire and follow into the wood.]
There's no needTo parley with him, either. The snares are laidFor Robin Hood. He goes this very nightTo his betrothal feast.
JOHN
Betrothal feast!
SHERIFF
At old Fitzwalter's castle, sir.
JOHN
Ha! ha!There will be one more guest there than he thought!Ourselves are riding thither. We intendedMy Lady Marian for a happier fateThan bride to Robin Hood. Your plans are laidTo capture him?
SHERIFF
[Consequentially.]
It was our purpose, sir,To serve the writ of outlawry upon himAnd capture him as he came forth.
JOHN
That's well.Then—let him disappear—you understand?
SHERIFF
I have your warrant, sir? Death? A great Earl?
JOHN
Why, first declare him outlawed at his feast!'Twill gladden the tremulous heart of old FitzwalterWith his prospective son-in-law; and then—No man will overmuch concern himselfWhither an outlaw goes. You understand?
SHERIFF
It shall be done, sir.
JOHN
But the Lady Marian!By heaven, I'll take her. I'll banish old FitzwalterIf he prevent my will in this. You'll bringHow many men to ring the castle round?
SHERIFF
A good five score of bowmen.
JOHN
Then I'll take herThis very night as hostage for Fitzwalter,Since he consorts with outlaws. These grey ratsWill gnaw my kingdom's heart out. For 'tis mine,This England, now or later. They that holdBy Richard, as their absent king, would makeMy rule a usurpation. God, am IMy brother's keeper?
[There is a cry in the forest from theSerf, who immediately afterwards appears at the edge of the glade, shaking himself free from his guards. He seizes a weapon and rushes atPrince John. One of the retainers runs him through and he falls at thePrince'sfeet.]
JOHN
That's a happy answer!
SHERIFF
[Stooping over the body.]
He is dead.
JOHN
I am sorry. It were better sportTo send him groping like a hoodman blindThrough Sherwood, whimpering for his Robin. Come,I'll ride with you to this betrothal feast.Now for my Lady Marian!
[Exeunt all. A pause. The scene darkens. Shadowy figures creep out from the thickets, of old men, women and children.]
FIRST OLD MAN
[Stretching his arms up to Heaven.]
God, am IMy brother's keeper? Witness, God in heaven,He said it and not we—Cain's word, he said it!
FIRST WOMAN
[Kneeling by the body.]
O Father, Father, and the blood of AbelCries to thee!
A BLIND MAN
Is there any light here still?I feel a hot breath on my face. The darkIs better for us all. I am sometimes gladThey blinded me those many years ago.Princes are princes; and God made the worldFor one or two it seems. Well, I am gladI cannot see His world.
FIRST WOMAN
[Still by the body and whispering to the others.]
Keep him away.'Tis as we thought. The dead man is his son.Keep him away, poor soul. He need not know.
[Some of the men carry the body among the thickets.]
A CHILD
Mother, I'm hungry, I'm hungry!
FIRST OLD MAN
There's no foodFor any of us to-night. The snares are empty,And I can try no more.
THE BLIND MAN
Wait till my sonComes back. He's a rare hunter is my boy.You need not fret, poor little one. My sonIs much too quick and clever for the Sheriff.He'll bring you something good. Why, ha! ha! ha!Friends, I've a thought—the Sheriff's lit the fireReady for us to roast our meat. Come, come,Let us be merry while we may! My boyWill soon come back with food for the old folks.The fire burns brightly, eh?
SECOND OLD MAN
The fire that feedsOn hope and eats our hearts away. They've burntEverything, everything!
THE BLIND MAN
Ah, princes are princes!But when the King comes home from the Crusade,We shall have better times.
FIRST OLD MAN
Ay, when the KingComes home from the Crusade.
CHILD
Mother, I'm hungry.
SECOND WOMAN
Oh, but if I could only find a crustLeft by the dogs. Masters, the child will starve.We must have food.
THE BLIND MAN
I tell you when my boyComes back, we shall have plenty!
FIRST WOMAN
God pity thee!
THE BLIND MAN
What dost thou mean?
SECOND WOMAN
Masters, the child will starve.
FIRST OLD MAN
Hist, who comes here—a forester?
THE BLIND MAN
We'd bestSlip back into the dark.
FIRST WOMAN
[Excitedly.]
No, stay! All's well.There's Shadow-of-a-Leaf, good Lady Marian's foolBeside him!
THE BLIND MAN
Ah, they say there's fairy bloodIn Shadow-of-a-Leaf. But I've no hopes of moreFrom him, than wild bees' honey-bags.
[EnterLittle John, a giant figure, leading a donkey, laden with a sack. On the other side,Shadow-of-a-Leaftrips, a slender figure in green trunk-hose and doublet. He is tickling the donkey's ears with a long fern.]
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
Gee! Whoa!Neddy, my boy, have you forgot the Weaver,And how Titania tickled your long ears?Ha! ha! Don't ferns remind you?
LITTLE JOHN
Friends, my masterHath sent me to you, fearing ye might hunger.
FIRST OLD MAN
Thy master?
LITTLE JOHN
Robin Hood.
SECOND WOMAN
[Falling on her knees.]
God bless his name.God bless the kindly name of Robin Hood.
LITTLE JOHN
[Giving them food.]
'Tis well nigh all that's left him; and to-nightHe goes to his betrothal feast.
[All the outcasts except the first old man exeunt.]
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
[Pointing to the donkey.]
Now look,There's nothing but that shadow of a crossOn his grey back to tell you of the palmsThat once were strewn before my Lord, the King.Won't ferns, won't branching ferns, do just as well?There's only a dream to ride my donkey now!But, Neddy, I'll lead you home and cry—Hosanna!We'll thread the glad Gate Beautiful again,Though now there's only a Fool to hold your bridleAnd only moonlit ferns to strew your path,And the great King is fighting for a graveIn lands beyond the sea. Come, Neddy, come,Hosanna!
[ExitShadow-of-a-Leafwith the donkey. He strews ferns before it as he goes.]
FIRST OLD MAN
'Tis a strange creature, master! ThinkestThere's fairy blood in him?
LITTLE JOHN
'Twas he that broughtWord of your plight to Robin Hood. He flitsLike Moonshine thro' the forest. He'll be homeBefore I know it. I must be hastening back.This makes a sad betrothal night.
FIRST OLD MAN
That minds me,Couched in the thicket yonder, we overheardThe Sheriff tell Prince John....
LITTLE JOHN
Prince John!
FIRST OLD MAN
You'd bestWarn Robin Hood. They're laying a trap for him.Ay! Now I mind me of it! I heard 'em sayThey'd take him at the castle.
LITTLE JOHN
To-night?
FIRST OLD MAN
To-night!Fly, lad, for God's dear love. Warn Robin Hood!Fly like the wind, or you'll be there too late.And yet you'd best be careful. There's five scoreIn ambush round the castle.
LITTLE JOHN
I'll be thereAn if I have to break five hundred heads!
[He rushes off thro' the forest. The old man goes into the thicket after the others. The scene darkens. A soft light, as of the moon, appears between the ferns to the right of the glade, showingOberonandTitania.]
TITANIA
Yet one night more the gates of fairylandAre opened by a mortal's kindly deed.
OBERON
Last night the gates were shut, and I heard weeping!Men, women, children, beat upon the gatesThat guard our happy world. They could not sleep.Titania, must not that be terrible,When mortals cannot sleep?
TITANIA
Yet one night moreDear Robin Hood has opened the gates wideAnd their poor weary souls can enter in.
OBERON
Yet one night more we woodland elves may stealOut thro' the gates. I fear the time will comeWhen they must close for ever; and we no moreShall hold our Sherwood revels.
TITANIA
Only loveAnd love's kind sacrifice can open them.For when a mortal hurts himself to helpAnother, then he thrusts the gates wide openBetween his world and ours.
OBERON
Ay, but that's rare,That kind of love, Titania, for the gatesAre almost always closed.
TITANIA
Yet one night more!Hark, how the fairy host begins to singWithin the gates. Wait here and we shall seeWhat weary souls by grace of Robin HoodThis night shall enter Dreamland. See, they come!
[The soft light deepens in the hollow among the ferns and the ivory gates of Dreamland are seen swinging open. The fairy host is heard, singing to invite the mortals to enter.]
[Song of the fairies.]
The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!Your world is growing old;But a Princess sleeps in the greenwood,Whose hair is brighter than gold.
The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!O hearts that bleed and burn,Her lips are redder than roses,Who sleeps in the faëry fern.
The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!By the Beauty that wakes anewMilk-white with the fragrant hawthornIn the drip of the dawn-red dew.
The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer!O hearts that are weary of pain,Come back to your home in FaërieAnd wait till she wakes again.
[The victims of the forest-laws steal out of the thicket once more—dark, distorted, lame, blind, serfs with iron collars roun their necks, old men, women and children; and as the fairy song breaks into chorus they pass in procession thro' the beautiful gates. The gates slowly close. The fairy song is heard as dying away in the distance.]
TITANIA
[Coming out into the glade and holding up her hands to the evening star beyond the tree-tops.]
Shine, shine, dear star of Love, yet one night more.
Scene II.A banqueting hall inFitzwalter'scastle. The guests are assembling for the betrothal feast ofRobinandMarian. Some ofRobin Hood'smen, clad in Lincoln green, are just arriving at the doors.Shadow-of-a-Leafruns forward to greet them.