CANTO IX

1Even as he heard the wicket clash behindCame a great wind beneath that seemed to tearThe solid graves apart; and deaf and blindWhirled him upright like smoke, through towering air.Whose levels were as steps of a sky stair.The parching cold roughened his throat with thirstAnd pricked him at the heart. This was the first.2And as he soared into the next degree,Suddenly all around him he could hearSad strings that fretted inconsolablyAnd ominous horns that blew both far and near.There broke his human heart, and his last tearFroze scalding on his chin. But while he heardHe shot like a sped dart into the third.3And its first stroke of silence could destroyThe spring of tears forever and compressFrom off his lips the curved bow of the boyForever. The sidereal lonelinessReceived him, where no journeying leaves the lessStill to be journeyed through: but everywhere,Fast though you fly, the centre still is there.4And here the well-worn fabric of our life,Fell from him. Hope and purpose were cut short,—Even the blind trust that reaches in mid-strifeTowards some heart of things. Here blew the mortFor the world spirit herself. The last supportWas fallen away—Himself, one spark of soul,Swam in unbroken void. He was the whole,5And wailing: “Why hast Thou forsaken me?Was there no world at all, but only IDreaming of gods and men?” Then suddenlyHe felt the wind no more: he seemed to flyFaster than light but free; and scaled the skyIn his own strength—as if a falling stoneShould wake to find the world’s will was its own.6And on the instant, straight before his eyesHe looked and saw a sentry shape that stoodLeaning upon its spear, with hurrying skiesBehind it and a moonset red as blood.Upon its head were helmet and mailed hoodAnd shield upon its arm and sword at thigh,All black and pointed sharp against the sky.7Then came the clink of metal, the dry soundOf steel on rock, and challenge: “Who comes here?”And as he heard it, Dymer at one boundStood in the stranger’s shadow, with the spearBetween them. And his human face came nearThat larger face. “What watch is this you keep?”Said Dymer, “On the edge of such a deep.”8And answer came, “I watch both night and dayThis frontier ... there are beasts of the upper airAs beasts of the deep sea ... one walks this wayNight after night, far scouring from his lair,Chewing the cud of lusts which are despairAnd fill not, while his mouth gapes dry for blissThat never was.”—“What kind of beast is this?”9“A kind of things escaped that have no home,Hunters of men. They love the spring uncurled,The will worn down, the wearied hour. They comeAt night-time when the mask is off the worldAnd the soul’s gate ill-locked and the flag furled—Then, softly, a pale swarm, and in disguiseFlit past the drowsy watchman, small as flies.”10“I’ll see this aerish beast whereof you speak.I’ll share the watch with you.”—“Nay, little One,Begone. You are of earth. The flesh is weak....”—“What is the flesh to me? My course is run,All but some deed still waiting to be done,Some moment I may rise on, as the boatLifts with the lifting tide and steals afloat.11“You are a spirit, and it is well with you,But I am come out of great folly and shame,The sack of cities, wrongs I must undo....But tell me of the beast, and whence it came;Who were its sire and dam? What is its name?”—“It is my kin. All monsters are the broodOf heaven and earth, and mixed with holy blood.”12—“How can this be?”—“My son, sit here awhile.There is a lady in that primal placeWhere I was born, who with her ancient smileMade glad the sons of heaven. She loved to chaseThe springtime round the world. To all your raceShe was a sudden quivering in the woodOr a new thought springing in solitude.13“Till, in prodigious hour, one swollen with youth,Blind from new broken prison, knowing notHimself nor her, nor how to mate with truth,Lay with her in a strange and secret spot,Mortal with her immortal, and begotThis walker-in-the-night.”—“But did you knowThis mortal’s name?”—“Why ... it was long ago.14“And yet, I think, I bear the name in mind;It was some famished boy whom tampering menHad crippled in their chains and made him blindTill their weak hour discovered them: and thenHe broke that prison. Softly!—it comes again,I have it. It was Dymer, Little One,Dymer’s the name. This spectre is his son.”15Then, after silence, came an answering shoutFrom Dymer, glad and full: “Break off! Dismiss!Your watch is ended and your lamp is outUnarm, unarm. Return into your bliss.You are relieved, Sir. I must deal with thisAs in my right. For either I must slayThis beast or else be slain before the day.”16“So mortal and so brave?” that other said,Smiling, and turned and looked in Dymer’s eyes,Scanning him over twice from heel to head—Like an old sergeant’s glance, grown battle wiseTo know the points of men. At last, “Arise,”He said, “and wear my arms. I can withholdNothing; for such an hour has been foretold.”17Thereat, with lips as cold as the sea-surge,He kissed the youth, and bending on one kneePut all his armour off and let emergeAngelic shoulders marbled gloriouslyAnd feet like frozen speed and, plain to see,On his wide breast dark wounds and ancient scars,The battle honours of celestial wars.18Then like a squire or brother born he dressedThe young man in those plates, that dripped with coldUpon the inside, trickling over breastAnd shoulder: but without, the figured goldGave to the tinkling ice its jagged hold,And the icy spear froze fast to Dymer’s hand.But where the other had stood he took his stand19And searched the cloudy landscape. He could seeDim shapes like hills appearing, but the moonHad sunk behind their backs. “When will it be?”Said Dymer: and the other, “Soon now, soon.For either he comes past us at night’s noonOr else between the night and the full day,And down there, on your left, will be his way.”20—“Swear that you will not come between us twoNor help me by a hair’s weight if I bow.”—“If you are he, if prophesies speak true,Not heaven and all the gods can help you now.This much I have been told, but know not howThe fight will end. Who knows? I cannot tell.”“Sir, be content,” said Dymer. “I know well.”21Thus Dymer stood to arms, with eyes that rangedThrough aching darkness: stared upon it, soThat all things, as he looked upon them, changedAnd were not as at first. But grave and slowThe larger shade went sauntering to and fro,Humming at first the snatches of some tuneThat soldiers sing, but falling silent soon.22Then came steps of dawn. And though they heardNo milking cry in the fields, and no cock crew,And out of empty air no twittering birdSounded from neighbouring hedges, yet they knew.Eastward the hollow blackness paled to blue,Then blue to white: and in the West the rare,Surviving stars blinked feebler in cold air.23Far beneath Dymer’s feet the sad half-lightDiscovering the new landscape oddly came,And forms grown half familiar in the nightLooked strange again: no distance seemed the same.And now he could see clear and call by nameValleys and hills and woods. The phantoms allTook shape, and made a world, at morning’s call.24It was a ruinous land. The ragged stumpsOf broken trees rose out of endless clayNaked of flower and grass: the slobbered humpsDividing the dead pools. Against the greyA shattered village gaped. But now the dayWas very near them and the night was past,And Dymer understood and spoke at last.25“Now I have wooed and won you, bridal earth,Beautiful world that lives, desire of men.All that the spirit intended at my birthThis day shall be born into deed ... and thenThe hard day’s labour comes no more againForever. The pain dies. The longings cease.The ship glides under the green arch of peace.26“Now drink me as the sun drinks up the mist.This is the hour to cease in, at full flood,That asks no gift from following years—but, hist!Look yonder! At the corner of that wood—Look! Look there where he comes! It shocks the blood,The first sight, eh? Now, sentinel, stand clearAnd save yourself. For God’s sake come not near.”27His full-grown spirit had moved without commandOr spur of the will. Before he knew he foundThat he was leaping forward spear in handTo where that ashen brute wheeled slowly roundNosing, and set its ears towards the sound,The pale and heavy brute, rough-ridged behind,And full of eyes, clinking in scaly rind.28And now ten paces parted them: and hereHe halted. He thrust forward his left foot,Poising his straightened arms, and launched the spear,And gloriously it sang. But now the bruteLurched forward: and he saw the weapon shootBeyond it and fall quivering on the field.Dymer drew out his sword and raised the shield.29What now, my friends? You get no more from meOf Dymer. He goes from us. What he feltOr saw from henceforth no man knows but heWho has himself gone through the jungle beltOf dying, into peace. That angel kneltFar off and watched them close but could not seeTheir battle. All was ended suddenly.30A leap—a cry—flurry of steel and claw,Then silence. As before, the morning lightAnd the same brute crouched yonder; and he sawUnder its feet, broken and bent and white,The ruined limbs of Dymer, killed outrightAll in a moment, all his story done.... But that same moment came the rising sun;31And thirty miles to Westward, the grey cloudFlushed into answering pink. Long shadows streamedFrom every hill, and the low hanging shroudOf mist along the valleys broke and steamedGold-flecked to heaven. Far off the armour gleamedLike glass upon the dead man’s back. But nowThe sentinel ran forward, hand to brow,32And staring. For between him and the sunHe saw that country clothed with dancing flowersWhere flower had never grown; and one by oneThe splintered woods, as if from April showers,Were softening into green. In the leafy towersRose the cool, sudden chattering on the tonguesOf happy birds with morning in their lungs.33The wave of flowers came breaking round his feet,Crocus and bluebell, primrose, daffodilShivering with moisture: and the air grew sweetWithin his nostrils, changing heart and will,Making him laugh. He looked, and Dymer stillLay dead among the flowers and pinned beneathThe brute: but as he looked he held his breath;34For when he had gazed hard with steady eyesUpon the brute, behold, no brute was there,But someone towering large against the skies,A wing’d and sworded shape, through whom the airPoured as through glass: and its foam-tumbled hairLay white about the shoulders and the wholePure body brimmed with life, as a full bowl.35And from the distant corner of day’s birthHe heard clear trumpets blowing and bells ring,A noise of great good coming into earthAnd such a music as the dumb would singIf Balder had led back the blameless springWith victory, with the voice of charging spears,And in white lands long-lost Saturnian years.

Even as he heard the wicket clash behindCame a great wind beneath that seemed to tearThe solid graves apart; and deaf and blindWhirled him upright like smoke, through towering air.Whose levels were as steps of a sky stair.The parching cold roughened his throat with thirstAnd pricked him at the heart. This was the first.

Even as he heard the wicket clash behind

Came a great wind beneath that seemed to tear

The solid graves apart; and deaf and blind

Whirled him upright like smoke, through towering air.

Whose levels were as steps of a sky stair.

The parching cold roughened his throat with thirst

And pricked him at the heart. This was the first.

And as he soared into the next degree,Suddenly all around him he could hearSad strings that fretted inconsolablyAnd ominous horns that blew both far and near.There broke his human heart, and his last tearFroze scalding on his chin. But while he heardHe shot like a sped dart into the third.

And as he soared into the next degree,

Suddenly all around him he could hear

Sad strings that fretted inconsolably

And ominous horns that blew both far and near.

There broke his human heart, and his last tear

Froze scalding on his chin. But while he heard

He shot like a sped dart into the third.

And its first stroke of silence could destroyThe spring of tears forever and compressFrom off his lips the curved bow of the boyForever. The sidereal lonelinessReceived him, where no journeying leaves the lessStill to be journeyed through: but everywhere,Fast though you fly, the centre still is there.

And its first stroke of silence could destroy

The spring of tears forever and compress

From off his lips the curved bow of the boy

Forever. The sidereal loneliness

Received him, where no journeying leaves the less

Still to be journeyed through: but everywhere,

Fast though you fly, the centre still is there.

And here the well-worn fabric of our life,Fell from him. Hope and purpose were cut short,—Even the blind trust that reaches in mid-strifeTowards some heart of things. Here blew the mortFor the world spirit herself. The last supportWas fallen away—Himself, one spark of soul,Swam in unbroken void. He was the whole,

And here the well-worn fabric of our life,

Fell from him. Hope and purpose were cut short,

—Even the blind trust that reaches in mid-strife

Towards some heart of things. Here blew the mort

For the world spirit herself. The last support

Was fallen away—Himself, one spark of soul,

Swam in unbroken void. He was the whole,

And wailing: “Why hast Thou forsaken me?Was there no world at all, but only IDreaming of gods and men?” Then suddenlyHe felt the wind no more: he seemed to flyFaster than light but free; and scaled the skyIn his own strength—as if a falling stoneShould wake to find the world’s will was its own.

And wailing: “Why hast Thou forsaken me?

Was there no world at all, but only I

Dreaming of gods and men?” Then suddenly

He felt the wind no more: he seemed to fly

Faster than light but free; and scaled the sky

In his own strength—as if a falling stone

Should wake to find the world’s will was its own.

And on the instant, straight before his eyesHe looked and saw a sentry shape that stoodLeaning upon its spear, with hurrying skiesBehind it and a moonset red as blood.Upon its head were helmet and mailed hoodAnd shield upon its arm and sword at thigh,All black and pointed sharp against the sky.

And on the instant, straight before his eyes

He looked and saw a sentry shape that stood

Leaning upon its spear, with hurrying skies

Behind it and a moonset red as blood.

Upon its head were helmet and mailed hood

And shield upon its arm and sword at thigh,

All black and pointed sharp against the sky.

Then came the clink of metal, the dry soundOf steel on rock, and challenge: “Who comes here?”And as he heard it, Dymer at one boundStood in the stranger’s shadow, with the spearBetween them. And his human face came nearThat larger face. “What watch is this you keep?”Said Dymer, “On the edge of such a deep.”

Then came the clink of metal, the dry sound

Of steel on rock, and challenge: “Who comes here?”

And as he heard it, Dymer at one bound

Stood in the stranger’s shadow, with the spear

Between them. And his human face came near

That larger face. “What watch is this you keep?”

Said Dymer, “On the edge of such a deep.”

And answer came, “I watch both night and dayThis frontier ... there are beasts of the upper airAs beasts of the deep sea ... one walks this wayNight after night, far scouring from his lair,Chewing the cud of lusts which are despairAnd fill not, while his mouth gapes dry for blissThat never was.”—“What kind of beast is this?”

And answer came, “I watch both night and day

This frontier ... there are beasts of the upper air

As beasts of the deep sea ... one walks this way

Night after night, far scouring from his lair,

Chewing the cud of lusts which are despair

And fill not, while his mouth gapes dry for bliss

That never was.”—“What kind of beast is this?”

“A kind of things escaped that have no home,Hunters of men. They love the spring uncurled,The will worn down, the wearied hour. They comeAt night-time when the mask is off the worldAnd the soul’s gate ill-locked and the flag furled—Then, softly, a pale swarm, and in disguiseFlit past the drowsy watchman, small as flies.”

“A kind of things escaped that have no home,

Hunters of men. They love the spring uncurled,

The will worn down, the wearied hour. They come

At night-time when the mask is off the world

And the soul’s gate ill-locked and the flag furled

—Then, softly, a pale swarm, and in disguise

Flit past the drowsy watchman, small as flies.”

“I’ll see this aerish beast whereof you speak.I’ll share the watch with you.”—“Nay, little One,Begone. You are of earth. The flesh is weak....”—“What is the flesh to me? My course is run,All but some deed still waiting to be done,Some moment I may rise on, as the boatLifts with the lifting tide and steals afloat.

“I’ll see this aerish beast whereof you speak.

I’ll share the watch with you.”—“Nay, little One,

Begone. You are of earth. The flesh is weak....”

—“What is the flesh to me? My course is run,

All but some deed still waiting to be done,

Some moment I may rise on, as the boat

Lifts with the lifting tide and steals afloat.

“You are a spirit, and it is well with you,But I am come out of great folly and shame,The sack of cities, wrongs I must undo....But tell me of the beast, and whence it came;Who were its sire and dam? What is its name?”—“It is my kin. All monsters are the broodOf heaven and earth, and mixed with holy blood.”

“You are a spirit, and it is well with you,

But I am come out of great folly and shame,

The sack of cities, wrongs I must undo....

But tell me of the beast, and whence it came;

Who were its sire and dam? What is its name?”

—“It is my kin. All monsters are the brood

Of heaven and earth, and mixed with holy blood.”

—“How can this be?”—“My son, sit here awhile.There is a lady in that primal placeWhere I was born, who with her ancient smileMade glad the sons of heaven. She loved to chaseThe springtime round the world. To all your raceShe was a sudden quivering in the woodOr a new thought springing in solitude.

—“How can this be?”—“My son, sit here awhile.

There is a lady in that primal place

Where I was born, who with her ancient smile

Made glad the sons of heaven. She loved to chase

The springtime round the world. To all your race

She was a sudden quivering in the wood

Or a new thought springing in solitude.

“Till, in prodigious hour, one swollen with youth,Blind from new broken prison, knowing notHimself nor her, nor how to mate with truth,Lay with her in a strange and secret spot,Mortal with her immortal, and begotThis walker-in-the-night.”—“But did you knowThis mortal’s name?”—“Why ... it was long ago.

“Till, in prodigious hour, one swollen with youth,

Blind from new broken prison, knowing not

Himself nor her, nor how to mate with truth,

Lay with her in a strange and secret spot,

Mortal with her immortal, and begot

This walker-in-the-night.”—“But did you know

This mortal’s name?”—“Why ... it was long ago.

“And yet, I think, I bear the name in mind;It was some famished boy whom tampering menHad crippled in their chains and made him blindTill their weak hour discovered them: and thenHe broke that prison. Softly!—it comes again,I have it. It was Dymer, Little One,Dymer’s the name. This spectre is his son.”

“And yet, I think, I bear the name in mind;

It was some famished boy whom tampering men

Had crippled in their chains and made him blind

Till their weak hour discovered them: and then

He broke that prison. Softly!—it comes again,

I have it. It was Dymer, Little One,

Dymer’s the name. This spectre is his son.”

Then, after silence, came an answering shoutFrom Dymer, glad and full: “Break off! Dismiss!Your watch is ended and your lamp is outUnarm, unarm. Return into your bliss.You are relieved, Sir. I must deal with thisAs in my right. For either I must slayThis beast or else be slain before the day.”

Then, after silence, came an answering shout

From Dymer, glad and full: “Break off! Dismiss!

Your watch is ended and your lamp is out

Unarm, unarm. Return into your bliss.

You are relieved, Sir. I must deal with this

As in my right. For either I must slay

This beast or else be slain before the day.”

“So mortal and so brave?” that other said,Smiling, and turned and looked in Dymer’s eyes,Scanning him over twice from heel to head—Like an old sergeant’s glance, grown battle wiseTo know the points of men. At last, “Arise,”He said, “and wear my arms. I can withholdNothing; for such an hour has been foretold.”

“So mortal and so brave?” that other said,

Smiling, and turned and looked in Dymer’s eyes,

Scanning him over twice from heel to head

—Like an old sergeant’s glance, grown battle wise

To know the points of men. At last, “Arise,”

He said, “and wear my arms. I can withhold

Nothing; for such an hour has been foretold.”

Thereat, with lips as cold as the sea-surge,He kissed the youth, and bending on one kneePut all his armour off and let emergeAngelic shoulders marbled gloriouslyAnd feet like frozen speed and, plain to see,On his wide breast dark wounds and ancient scars,The battle honours of celestial wars.

Thereat, with lips as cold as the sea-surge,

He kissed the youth, and bending on one knee

Put all his armour off and let emerge

Angelic shoulders marbled gloriously

And feet like frozen speed and, plain to see,

On his wide breast dark wounds and ancient scars,

The battle honours of celestial wars.

Then like a squire or brother born he dressedThe young man in those plates, that dripped with coldUpon the inside, trickling over breastAnd shoulder: but without, the figured goldGave to the tinkling ice its jagged hold,And the icy spear froze fast to Dymer’s hand.But where the other had stood he took his stand

Then like a squire or brother born he dressed

The young man in those plates, that dripped with cold

Upon the inside, trickling over breast

And shoulder: but without, the figured gold

Gave to the tinkling ice its jagged hold,

And the icy spear froze fast to Dymer’s hand.

But where the other had stood he took his stand

And searched the cloudy landscape. He could seeDim shapes like hills appearing, but the moonHad sunk behind their backs. “When will it be?”Said Dymer: and the other, “Soon now, soon.For either he comes past us at night’s noonOr else between the night and the full day,And down there, on your left, will be his way.”

And searched the cloudy landscape. He could see

Dim shapes like hills appearing, but the moon

Had sunk behind their backs. “When will it be?”

Said Dymer: and the other, “Soon now, soon.

For either he comes past us at night’s noon

Or else between the night and the full day,

And down there, on your left, will be his way.”

—“Swear that you will not come between us twoNor help me by a hair’s weight if I bow.”—“If you are he, if prophesies speak true,Not heaven and all the gods can help you now.This much I have been told, but know not howThe fight will end. Who knows? I cannot tell.”“Sir, be content,” said Dymer. “I know well.”

—“Swear that you will not come between us two

Nor help me by a hair’s weight if I bow.”

—“If you are he, if prophesies speak true,

Not heaven and all the gods can help you now.

This much I have been told, but know not how

The fight will end. Who knows? I cannot tell.”

“Sir, be content,” said Dymer. “I know well.”

Thus Dymer stood to arms, with eyes that rangedThrough aching darkness: stared upon it, soThat all things, as he looked upon them, changedAnd were not as at first. But grave and slowThe larger shade went sauntering to and fro,Humming at first the snatches of some tuneThat soldiers sing, but falling silent soon.

Thus Dymer stood to arms, with eyes that ranged

Through aching darkness: stared upon it, so

That all things, as he looked upon them, changed

And were not as at first. But grave and slow

The larger shade went sauntering to and fro,

Humming at first the snatches of some tune

That soldiers sing, but falling silent soon.

Then came steps of dawn. And though they heardNo milking cry in the fields, and no cock crew,And out of empty air no twittering birdSounded from neighbouring hedges, yet they knew.Eastward the hollow blackness paled to blue,Then blue to white: and in the West the rare,Surviving stars blinked feebler in cold air.

Then came steps of dawn. And though they heard

No milking cry in the fields, and no cock crew,

And out of empty air no twittering bird

Sounded from neighbouring hedges, yet they knew.

Eastward the hollow blackness paled to blue,

Then blue to white: and in the West the rare,

Surviving stars blinked feebler in cold air.

Far beneath Dymer’s feet the sad half-lightDiscovering the new landscape oddly came,And forms grown half familiar in the nightLooked strange again: no distance seemed the same.And now he could see clear and call by nameValleys and hills and woods. The phantoms allTook shape, and made a world, at morning’s call.

Far beneath Dymer’s feet the sad half-light

Discovering the new landscape oddly came,

And forms grown half familiar in the night

Looked strange again: no distance seemed the same.

And now he could see clear and call by name

Valleys and hills and woods. The phantoms all

Took shape, and made a world, at morning’s call.

It was a ruinous land. The ragged stumpsOf broken trees rose out of endless clayNaked of flower and grass: the slobbered humpsDividing the dead pools. Against the greyA shattered village gaped. But now the dayWas very near them and the night was past,And Dymer understood and spoke at last.

It was a ruinous land. The ragged stumps

Of broken trees rose out of endless clay

Naked of flower and grass: the slobbered humps

Dividing the dead pools. Against the grey

A shattered village gaped. But now the day

Was very near them and the night was past,

And Dymer understood and spoke at last.

“Now I have wooed and won you, bridal earth,Beautiful world that lives, desire of men.All that the spirit intended at my birthThis day shall be born into deed ... and thenThe hard day’s labour comes no more againForever. The pain dies. The longings cease.The ship glides under the green arch of peace.

“Now I have wooed and won you, bridal earth,

Beautiful world that lives, desire of men.

All that the spirit intended at my birth

This day shall be born into deed ... and then

The hard day’s labour comes no more again

Forever. The pain dies. The longings cease.

The ship glides under the green arch of peace.

“Now drink me as the sun drinks up the mist.This is the hour to cease in, at full flood,That asks no gift from following years—but, hist!Look yonder! At the corner of that wood—Look! Look there where he comes! It shocks the blood,The first sight, eh? Now, sentinel, stand clearAnd save yourself. For God’s sake come not near.”

“Now drink me as the sun drinks up the mist.

This is the hour to cease in, at full flood,

That asks no gift from following years—but, hist!

Look yonder! At the corner of that wood—

Look! Look there where he comes! It shocks the blood,

The first sight, eh? Now, sentinel, stand clear

And save yourself. For God’s sake come not near.”

His full-grown spirit had moved without commandOr spur of the will. Before he knew he foundThat he was leaping forward spear in handTo where that ashen brute wheeled slowly roundNosing, and set its ears towards the sound,The pale and heavy brute, rough-ridged behind,And full of eyes, clinking in scaly rind.

His full-grown spirit had moved without command

Or spur of the will. Before he knew he found

That he was leaping forward spear in hand

To where that ashen brute wheeled slowly round

Nosing, and set its ears towards the sound,

The pale and heavy brute, rough-ridged behind,

And full of eyes, clinking in scaly rind.

And now ten paces parted them: and hereHe halted. He thrust forward his left foot,Poising his straightened arms, and launched the spear,And gloriously it sang. But now the bruteLurched forward: and he saw the weapon shootBeyond it and fall quivering on the field.Dymer drew out his sword and raised the shield.

And now ten paces parted them: and here

He halted. He thrust forward his left foot,

Poising his straightened arms, and launched the spear,

And gloriously it sang. But now the brute

Lurched forward: and he saw the weapon shoot

Beyond it and fall quivering on the field.

Dymer drew out his sword and raised the shield.

What now, my friends? You get no more from meOf Dymer. He goes from us. What he feltOr saw from henceforth no man knows but heWho has himself gone through the jungle beltOf dying, into peace. That angel kneltFar off and watched them close but could not seeTheir battle. All was ended suddenly.

What now, my friends? You get no more from me

Of Dymer. He goes from us. What he felt

Or saw from henceforth no man knows but he

Who has himself gone through the jungle belt

Of dying, into peace. That angel knelt

Far off and watched them close but could not see

Their battle. All was ended suddenly.

A leap—a cry—flurry of steel and claw,Then silence. As before, the morning lightAnd the same brute crouched yonder; and he sawUnder its feet, broken and bent and white,The ruined limbs of Dymer, killed outrightAll in a moment, all his story done.... But that same moment came the rising sun;

A leap—a cry—flurry of steel and claw,

Then silence. As before, the morning light

And the same brute crouched yonder; and he saw

Under its feet, broken and bent and white,

The ruined limbs of Dymer, killed outright

All in a moment, all his story done.

... But that same moment came the rising sun;

And thirty miles to Westward, the grey cloudFlushed into answering pink. Long shadows streamedFrom every hill, and the low hanging shroudOf mist along the valleys broke and steamedGold-flecked to heaven. Far off the armour gleamedLike glass upon the dead man’s back. But nowThe sentinel ran forward, hand to brow,

And thirty miles to Westward, the grey cloud

Flushed into answering pink. Long shadows streamed

From every hill, and the low hanging shroud

Of mist along the valleys broke and steamed

Gold-flecked to heaven. Far off the armour gleamed

Like glass upon the dead man’s back. But now

The sentinel ran forward, hand to brow,

And staring. For between him and the sunHe saw that country clothed with dancing flowersWhere flower had never grown; and one by oneThe splintered woods, as if from April showers,Were softening into green. In the leafy towersRose the cool, sudden chattering on the tonguesOf happy birds with morning in their lungs.

And staring. For between him and the sun

He saw that country clothed with dancing flowers

Where flower had never grown; and one by one

The splintered woods, as if from April showers,

Were softening into green. In the leafy towers

Rose the cool, sudden chattering on the tongues

Of happy birds with morning in their lungs.

The wave of flowers came breaking round his feet,Crocus and bluebell, primrose, daffodilShivering with moisture: and the air grew sweetWithin his nostrils, changing heart and will,Making him laugh. He looked, and Dymer stillLay dead among the flowers and pinned beneathThe brute: but as he looked he held his breath;

The wave of flowers came breaking round his feet,

Crocus and bluebell, primrose, daffodil

Shivering with moisture: and the air grew sweet

Within his nostrils, changing heart and will,

Making him laugh. He looked, and Dymer still

Lay dead among the flowers and pinned beneath

The brute: but as he looked he held his breath;

For when he had gazed hard with steady eyesUpon the brute, behold, no brute was there,But someone towering large against the skies,A wing’d and sworded shape, through whom the airPoured as through glass: and its foam-tumbled hairLay white about the shoulders and the wholePure body brimmed with life, as a full bowl.

For when he had gazed hard with steady eyes

Upon the brute, behold, no brute was there,

But someone towering large against the skies,

A wing’d and sworded shape, through whom the air

Poured as through glass: and its foam-tumbled hair

Lay white about the shoulders and the whole

Pure body brimmed with life, as a full bowl.

And from the distant corner of day’s birthHe heard clear trumpets blowing and bells ring,A noise of great good coming into earthAnd such a music as the dumb would singIf Balder had led back the blameless springWith victory, with the voice of charging spears,And in white lands long-lost Saturnian years.

And from the distant corner of day’s birth

He heard clear trumpets blowing and bells ring,

A noise of great good coming into earth

And such a music as the dumb would sing

If Balder had led back the blameless spring

With victory, with the voice of charging spears,

And in white lands long-lost Saturnian years.

THE END

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