JULY.

Thenext day came, and he, who all the nightHad ceaselessly been turning in his bed,Arose and clad himself in armour bright,And many a danger he rememberéd;Storming of towns, lone sieges full of dread,That with renown his heart had borne him through,And this thing seemed a little thing to do.So on he went, and on the way he thoughtOf all the glorious things of yesterday,Nought of the price whereat they must be bought,But ever to himself did softly say,"No roaming now, my wars are passed away,No long dull days devoid of happiness,When such a love my yearning heart shall bless."Thus to the castle did he come at last,But when unto the gateway he drew near,And underneath its ruined archway passedInto the court, a strange noise did he hear,And through his heart there shot a pang of fear,Trembling, he gat his sword into his hand,And midmost of the cloisters took his stand.But for a while that unknown noise increasedA rattling, that with strident roars did blend,And whining moans; but suddenly it ceased,A fearful thing stood at the cloister's end,And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to wendAdown the cloisters, and began againThat rattling, and the moan like fiends in pain.And as it came on towards him, with its teethThe body of a slain goat did it tear,The blood whereof in its hot jaws did seethe,And on its tongue he saw the smoking hair;Then his heart sank, and standing trembling there,Throughout his mind wild thoughts and fearful ran,"Some fiend she was," he said, "the bane of man."Yet he abode her still, although his bloodCurdled within him: the thing dropped the goat,And creeping on, came close to where he stood,And raised its head to him, and wrinkled throat,Then he cried out and wildly at her smote,Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the placeRan swiftly, with a white and ghastly face.But little things rough stones and tree-trunks seemed,And if he fell, he rose and ran on still;No more he felt his hurts than if he dreamed,He made no stay for valley or steep hill,Heedless he dashed through many a foaming rill,Until he came unto the ship at lastAnd with no word into the deep hold passed.Meanwhile the dragon, seeing him clean gone.Followed him not, but crying horribly,Caught up within her jaws a block of stoneAnd ground it into powder, then turned she,With cries that folk could hear far out at sea,And reached the treasure set apart of old,To brood above the hidden heaps of gold.Yet was she seen again on many a dayBy some half-waking mariner, or herd,Playing amid the ripples of the bay,Or on the hills making all things afeard,Or in the wood, that did that castle gird,But never any man again durst goTo seek her woman's form, and end her woe.As for the man, who knows what things he bore?What mournful faces peopled the sad night,What wailings vexed him with reproaches sore,What images of that nigh-gained delight!What dreamed caresses from soft hands and white,Turning to horrors ere they reached the best,What struggles vain, what shame, what huge unrest?No man he knew, three days he lay and raved,And cried for death, until a lethargyFell on him, and his fellows thought him saved;But on the third night he awoke to die;And at Byzantium doth his body lieBetween two blossoming pomegranate trees,Within the churchyard of the Genoese.

Thenext day came, and he, who all the nightHad ceaselessly been turning in his bed,Arose and clad himself in armour bright,And many a danger he rememberéd;Storming of towns, lone sieges full of dread,That with renown his heart had borne him through,And this thing seemed a little thing to do.So on he went, and on the way he thoughtOf all the glorious things of yesterday,Nought of the price whereat they must be bought,But ever to himself did softly say,"No roaming now, my wars are passed away,No long dull days devoid of happiness,When such a love my yearning heart shall bless."Thus to the castle did he come at last,But when unto the gateway he drew near,And underneath its ruined archway passedInto the court, a strange noise did he hear,And through his heart there shot a pang of fear,Trembling, he gat his sword into his hand,And midmost of the cloisters took his stand.But for a while that unknown noise increasedA rattling, that with strident roars did blend,And whining moans; but suddenly it ceased,A fearful thing stood at the cloister's end,And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to wendAdown the cloisters, and began againThat rattling, and the moan like fiends in pain.And as it came on towards him, with its teethThe body of a slain goat did it tear,The blood whereof in its hot jaws did seethe,And on its tongue he saw the smoking hair;Then his heart sank, and standing trembling there,Throughout his mind wild thoughts and fearful ran,"Some fiend she was," he said, "the bane of man."Yet he abode her still, although his bloodCurdled within him: the thing dropped the goat,And creeping on, came close to where he stood,And raised its head to him, and wrinkled throat,Then he cried out and wildly at her smote,Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the placeRan swiftly, with a white and ghastly face.But little things rough stones and tree-trunks seemed,And if he fell, he rose and ran on still;No more he felt his hurts than if he dreamed,He made no stay for valley or steep hill,Heedless he dashed through many a foaming rill,Until he came unto the ship at lastAnd with no word into the deep hold passed.Meanwhile the dragon, seeing him clean gone.Followed him not, but crying horribly,Caught up within her jaws a block of stoneAnd ground it into powder, then turned she,With cries that folk could hear far out at sea,And reached the treasure set apart of old,To brood above the hidden heaps of gold.Yet was she seen again on many a dayBy some half-waking mariner, or herd,Playing amid the ripples of the bay,Or on the hills making all things afeard,Or in the wood, that did that castle gird,But never any man again durst goTo seek her woman's form, and end her woe.As for the man, who knows what things he bore?What mournful faces peopled the sad night,What wailings vexed him with reproaches sore,What images of that nigh-gained delight!What dreamed caresses from soft hands and white,Turning to horrors ere they reached the best,What struggles vain, what shame, what huge unrest?No man he knew, three days he lay and raved,And cried for death, until a lethargyFell on him, and his fellows thought him saved;But on the third night he awoke to die;And at Byzantium doth his body lieBetween two blossoming pomegranate trees,Within the churchyard of the Genoese.

Amoment'ssilence as his tale had end,And then the wind of that June night did blendTheir varied voices, as of that and thisThey fell to talk: of those fair islands' blissThey knew in other days, of hope they hadTo live there long an easy life and glad,With nought to vex them; and the younger menBegan to nourish strange dreams even thenOf sailing east, as these had once sailed west;Because the story of that luckless questWith hope, not fear, had filled their joyous heartsAnd made them dream of new and noble partsThat they might act; of raising up the nameTheir fathers bore, and winning boundless fame.These too with little patience seemed to hear,That story end with shame and grief and fear;A little thing the man had had to do,They said, if longing burned within him so.But at their words the older men must bowTheir heads, and, smiling, somewhat thoughtful grow,Remembering well how fear in days gone byHad dealt with them, and poisoned wretchedlyGood days, good deeds, and longings for all good:Yet on the evil times they would not brood,But sighing, strove to raise the weight of years,And no more memory of their hopes and fearsThey nourished, but such gentle thoughts as fedThe pensiveness which that sweet season bred.

Amoment'ssilence as his tale had end,And then the wind of that June night did blendTheir varied voices, as of that and thisThey fell to talk: of those fair islands' blissThey knew in other days, of hope they hadTo live there long an easy life and glad,With nought to vex them; and the younger menBegan to nourish strange dreams even thenOf sailing east, as these had once sailed west;Because the story of that luckless questWith hope, not fear, had filled their joyous heartsAnd made them dream of new and noble partsThat they might act; of raising up the nameTheir fathers bore, and winning boundless fame.These too with little patience seemed to hear,That story end with shame and grief and fear;A little thing the man had had to do,They said, if longing burned within him so.But at their words the older men must bowTheir heads, and, smiling, somewhat thoughtful grow,Remembering well how fear in days gone byHad dealt with them, and poisoned wretchedlyGood days, good deeds, and longings for all good:Yet on the evil times they would not brood,But sighing, strove to raise the weight of years,And no more memory of their hopes and fearsThey nourished, but such gentle thoughts as fedThe pensiveness which that sweet season bred.

Fairwas the morn to-day, the blossom's scentFloated across the fresh grass, and the beesWith low vexed song from rose to lily went,A gentle wind was in the heavy trees,And thine eyes shone with joyous memories;Fair was the early morn, and fair wert thou,And I was happy—Ah, be happy now!Peace and content without us, love withinThat hour there was, now thunder and wild rain,Have wrapped the cowering world, and foolish sin,And nameless pride, have made us wise in vain;Ah, love! although the morn shall come again,And on new rose-buds the new sun shall smile,Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile?E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat,But midst the lightning did the fair sun die——Ah, he shall rise again for ages yet,He cannot waste his life—but thou and I—Who knows if next morn this felicityMy lips may feel, or if thou still shalt liveThis seal of love renewed once more to give?

Fairwas the morn to-day, the blossom's scentFloated across the fresh grass, and the beesWith low vexed song from rose to lily went,A gentle wind was in the heavy trees,And thine eyes shone with joyous memories;Fair was the early morn, and fair wert thou,And I was happy—Ah, be happy now!Peace and content without us, love withinThat hour there was, now thunder and wild rain,Have wrapped the cowering world, and foolish sin,And nameless pride, have made us wise in vain;Ah, love! although the morn shall come again,And on new rose-buds the new sun shall smile,Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile?E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat,But midst the lightning did the fair sun die——Ah, he shall rise again for ages yet,He cannot waste his life—but thou and I—Who knows if next morn this felicityMy lips may feel, or if thou still shalt liveThis seal of love renewed once more to give?

Withina lovely valley, watered wellWith flowery streams, the July feast befell,And there within the Chief-priest's fair abodeThey cast aside their trouble's heavy load,Scarce made aweary by the sultry day.The earth no longer laboured; shaded layThe sweet-breathed kine, across the sunny vale,From hill to hill the wandering rook did sail,Lazily croaking, midst his dreams of spring,Nor more awake the pink-foot dove did clingUnto the beech-bough, murmuring now and then;All rested but the restless sons of menAnd the great sun that wrought this happiness,And all the vale with fruitful hopes did bless.So in a marble chamber bright with flowers,The old men feasted through the fresher hours,And at the hottest time of all the dayWhen now the sun was on his downward way,Sat listening to a tale an elder told,New to his fathers while they yet did holdThe cities of some far-off Grecian isle,Though in the heavens the cloud of force and guileWas gathering dark that sent them o'er the seaTo win new lands for their posterity.

Withina lovely valley, watered wellWith flowery streams, the July feast befell,And there within the Chief-priest's fair abodeThey cast aside their trouble's heavy load,Scarce made aweary by the sultry day.The earth no longer laboured; shaded layThe sweet-breathed kine, across the sunny vale,From hill to hill the wandering rook did sail,Lazily croaking, midst his dreams of spring,Nor more awake the pink-foot dove did clingUnto the beech-bough, murmuring now and then;All rested but the restless sons of menAnd the great sun that wrought this happiness,And all the vale with fruitful hopes did bless.So in a marble chamber bright with flowers,The old men feasted through the fresher hours,And at the hottest time of all the dayWhen now the sun was on his downward way,Sat listening to a tale an elder told,New to his fathers while they yet did holdThe cities of some far-off Grecian isle,Though in the heavens the cloud of force and guileWas gathering dark that sent them o'er the seaTo win new lands for their posterity.

Crœsus, King of Lydia, dreamed that he saw his son slain by an iron weapon, and though by every means he strove to avert this doom from him, yet thus it happened, for his son was slain by the hand of the man who seemed least of all likely to do the deed.

OfCrœsus tells my tale, a king of oldIn Lydia, ere the Mede fell on the land,A man made mighty by great heaps of gold,Feared for the myriads strong of heart and handThat 'neath his banners wrought out his command,And though his latter ending happed on ill,Yet first of every joy he had his fill.Two sons he had, and one was dumb from birth;The other one, that Atys had to name,Grew up a fair youth, and of might and worth,And well it seemed the race wherefrom he cameFrom him should never get reproach or shame:But yet no stroke he struck before his death,In no war-shout he spent his latest breath.Now Crœsus, lying on his bed anightDreamed that he saw this dear son laid a-low,And folk lamenting he was slain outright,And that some iron thing had dealt the blow;By whose hand guided he could nowise know,Or if in peace by traitors it were done,Or in some open war not yet begun.Three times one night this vision broke his sleep,So that at last he rose up from his bed,That he might ponder how he best might keepThe threatened danger from so dear a head;And, since he now was old enough to wed,The King sent men to search the lands around,Until some matchless maiden should be found;That in her arms this Atys might forgetThe praise of men, and fame of history,Whereby full many a field has been made wetWith blood of men, and many a deep green seaBeen reddened therewithal, and yet shall be;That her sweet voice might drown the people's praise,Her eyes make bright the uneventful days.So when at last a wonder they had brought,From some sweet land down by the ocean's rim.Than whom no fairer could by man be thought,And ancient dames, scanning her limb by limb,Had said that she was fair enough for him,To her was Atys married with much show,And looked to dwell with her in bliss enow.And in meantime afield he never went,Either to hunting or the frontier war,No dart was cast, nor any engine bentAnigh him, and the Lydian men afarMust rein their steeds, and the bright blossoms marIf they have any lust of tourney now,And in far meadows must they bend the bow.And also through the palace everywhereThe swords and spears were taken from the wallThat long with honour had been hanging there,And from the golden pillars of the hall;Lest by mischance some sacred blade should fall,And in its falling bring revenge at lastFor many a fatal battle overpast.And every day King Crœsus wrought with careTo save his dear son from that threatened end,And many a beast he offered up with prayerUnto the gods, and much of wealth did spend,That they so prayed might yet perchance defendThat life, until at least that he were dead,With earth laid heavy on his unseeing head.But in the midst even of the wedding feastThere came a man, who by the golden hallSat down upon the steps, and man or beastHe heeded not, but there against the wallHe leaned his head, speaking no word at all,Till, with his son and son's wife, came the King,And then unto his gown the man did cling."What man art thou?" the King said to him then,"That in such guise thou prayest on thy knee;Hast thou some fell foe here among my men?Or hast thou done an ill deed unto me?Or has thy wife been carried over sea?Or hast thou on this day great need of gold?Or say, why else thou now art grown so bold.""O King," he said, "I ask no gold to-day,And though indeed thy greatness drew me here,No wrong have I that thou couldst wipe away;And nought of mine the pirate folk did bearAcross the sea; none of thy folk I fear:But all the gods are now mine enemies,Therefore I kneel before thee on my knees."For as with mine own brother on a dayWithin the running place at home I played,Unwittingly I smote him such-a-wayThat dead upon the green grass he was laid;Half-dead myself I fled away dismayed,Wherefore I pray thee help me in my need,And purify my soul of this sad deed."If of my name and country thou wouldst know,In Phrygia yet my father is a king,Gordius, the son of Midas, rich enowIn corn and cattle, golden cup and ring;And mine own name before I did this thingWas called Adrastus, whom, in street and hall,The slayer of his brother men now call.""Friend," said the King, "have thou no fear of me;For though, indeed, I am right happy now,Yet well I know this may not always be,And I may chance some day to kneel full low,And to some happy man mine head to bowWith prayers to do a greater thing than this,Dwell thou with us, and win again thy bliss."For in this city men in sport and playForget the trouble that the gods have sent;Who therewithal send wine, and many a mayAs fair as she for whom the Trojan went,And many a dear delight besides have lent,Which, whoso is well loved of them shall keepTill in forgetful death he falls asleep."Therefore to-morrow shall those rites be doneThat kindred blood demands that thou hast shed,That if the mouth of thine own mother's sonDid hap to curse thee ere he was quite dead,The curse may lie the lighter on thine head,Because the flower-crowned head of many a beastHas fallen voiceless in our glorious feast."Then did Adrastus rise and thank the King,And the next day when yet low was the sun,The sacrifice and every other thingThat unto these dread rites belonged, was done;And there Adrastus dwelt, hated of none,And loved of many, and the King loved him,For brave and wise he was and strong of limb.But chiefly amongst all did Atys loveThe luckless stranger, whose fair tales of warThe Lydian's heart abundantly did move,And much they talked of wandering out afarSome day, to lands where many marvels are,With still the Phrygian through all things to beThe leader unto all felicity.Now at this time folk came unto the KingWho on a forest's borders dwelling were,Wherein there roamed full many a dangerous thing,As wolf and wild bull, lion and brown bear;But chiefly in that forest was the lairOf a great boar that no man could withstand.And many a woe he wrought upon the land.Since long ago that men in CalydonHeld chase, no beast like him had once been seenHe ruined vineyards lying in the sun,After his harvesting the men must gleanWhat he had left; right glad they had not beenAmong the tall stalks of the ripening wheat,The fell destroyer's fatal tusks to meet.For often would the lonely man entrappedIn vain from his dire fury strive to hideIn some thick hedge, and other whiles it happedSome careless stranger by his place would ride,And the tusks smote his fallen horse's side,And what help then to such a wretch could comeWith sword he could not draw, and far from home?Or else girls, sent their water-jars to fill,Would come back pale, too terrified to cry,Because they had but seen him from the hill;Or else again with side rent wretchedly,Some hapless damsel midst the brake would lie.Shortly to say, there neither man nor maidWas safe afield whether they wrought or played.Therefore were come these dwellers by the woodTo pray the King brave men to them to send,That they might live; and if he deemed it good,That Atys with the other knights should wend,They thought their grief the easier should have end;For both by gods and men they knew him loved,And easily by hope of glory moved."O Sire," they said, "thou know'st how HerculesWas not content to wait till folk asked aid,But sought the pests among their guarded trees;Thou know'st what name the Theban Cadmus made,And how the bull of Marathon was laidDead on the fallows of the Athenian land,And how folk worshipped Atalanta's hand."Fair would thy son's name look upon the rollWherein such noble deeds as this are told;And great delight shall surely fill thy soul,Thinking upon his deeds when thou art old,And thy brave heart is waxen faint and cold:Dost thou not know, O King, how men will striveThat they, when dead, still in their sons may live?"He shuddered as they spoke, because he thought,Most certainly a winning tale is thisTo draw him from the net where he is caught,For hearts of men grow weary of all bliss;Nor is he one to be content with his,If he should hear the trumpet-blast of fameAnd far-off people calling on his name."Good friends," he said, "go, get ye back again.And doubt not I will send you men to slayThis pest ye fear: yet shall your prayer be vainIf ye with any other speak to-day;And for my son, with me he needs must stay,For mighty cares oppress the Lydian land.Fear not, for ye shall have a noble band."And with that promise must they be content,And so departed, having feasted well.And yet some god or other ere they went,If they were silent, this their tale must tellTo more than one man; therefore it befell,That at the last Prince Atys knew the thing,And came with angry eyes unto the King."Father," he said, "since when am I grown vileSince when am I grown helpless of my hands?Or else what folk, with words enwrought with guileThine ears have poisoned; that when far-off landsMy fame might fill, by thy most strange commandsI needs must stay within this slothful home,Whereto would God that I had never come?"What! wilt thou take mine honour quite awayWouldst thou, that, as with her I just have wedI sit among thy folk at end of day,She should be ever turning round her headTo watch some man for war apparelledBecause he wears a sword that he may use,Which grace to me thou ever wilt refuse?"Or dost thou think, when thou hast run thy raceAnd thou art gone, and in thy stead I reign,The people will do honour to my place,Or that the lords leal men will still remain,If yet my father's sword be sharp in vain?If on the wall his armour still hang up,While for a spear I hold a drinking-cup?""O Son!" quoth Crœsus, "well I know thee braveAnd worthy of high deeds of chivalry;Therefore the more thy dear life would I save,Which now is threatened by the gods on high;Three times one night I dreamed I saw thee die,Slain by some deadly iron-pointed thing,While weeping lords stood round thee in a ring."Then loud laughed Atys, and he said again,"Father, and did this ugly dream tell theeWhat day it was on which I should be slain?As may the gods grant I may one day be,And not from sickness die right wretchedly,Groaning with pain, my lords about my bed,Wishing to God that I were fairly dead;"But slain in battle, as the Lydian kingsHave died ere now, in some great victory,While all about the Lydian shouting ringsDeath to the beaten foemen as they fly.What death but this, O father! should I die?But if my life by iron shall be done,What steel to-day shall glitter in the sun?"Yea, father, if to thee it seemeth goodTo keep me from the bright steel-bearing throng,Let me be brave at least within the wood;For surely, if thy dream be true, no wrongCan hap to me from this beast's tushes strong:Unless perchance the beast is grown so wise,He haunts the forest clad in Lydian guise."Then Crœsus said: "O Son, I love thee so,That thou shalt do thy will upon this tide:But since unto this hunting thou must go,A trusty friend along with thee shall ride,Who not for anything shall leave thy side.I think, indeed, he loves thee well enowTo thrust his heart 'twixt thee and any blow."Go then, O Son, and if by some short spanThy life be measured, how shall it harm thee,If while life last thou art a happy man?And thou art happy; only unto meIs trembling left, and infelicity:The trembling of the man who loves on earth,But unto thee is hope and present mirth."Nay, be thou not ashamed, for on this dayI fear not much: thou read'st my dream aright,No teeth or claws shall take thy life away.And it may chance, ere thy last glorious fight,I shall be blinded by the endless night;And brave Adrastus on this day shall beThy safeguard, and shall give good heart to me."Go then, and send him hither, and depart;And as the heroes did so mayst thou do,Winning such fame as well may please thine heart."With that word from the King did Atys go,Who, left behind, sighed, saying, "May it be so,Even as I hope; and yet I would to GodThese men upon my threshold ne'er had trod."So when Adrastus to the King was comeHe said unto him, "O my Phrygian friend,We in this land have given thee a home,And 'gainst all foes your life will we defend:Wherefore for us that life thou shouldest spend,If any day there should be need therefor;And now a trusty friend I need right sore."Doubtless ere now thou hast heard many sayThere is a doom that threatens my son's life;Therefore this place is stript of arms to-day,And therefore still bides Atys with his wife,And tempts not any god by raising strife;Yet none the less by no desire of his,To whom would war be most abundant bliss."And since to-day some glory he may gainAgainst a monstrous bestial enemyAnd that the meaning of my dream is plain;That saith that he by steel alone shall die,His burning wish I may not well deny,Therefore afield to-morrow doth he wendAnd herein mayst thou show thyself my friend—"For thou as captain of his band shalt ride,And keep a watchful eye of everything,Nor leave him whatsoever may betide:Lo, thou art brave, the son of a great king,And with thy praises doth this city ring,Why should I tell thee what a name those gain,Who dying for their friends, die not in vain?"Then said Adrastus, "Now were I grown baseBeyond all words, if I should spare for aughtIn guarding him, so sit with smiling face,And of this matter take no further thought,Because with my life shall his life be bought,If ill should hap; and no ill fate it were,If I should die for what I hold so dear."Then went Adrastus, and next morn all things,That 'longed unto the hunting were well dight,And forth they went clad as the sons of kings,Fair was the morn, as through the sunshine brightThey rode, the Prince half wild with great delight,The Phrygian smiling on him soberly,And ever looking round with watchful eye.So through the city all the rout rode fast,With many a great black-muzzled yellow hound;And then the teeming country-side they passed,Until they came to sour and rugged ground,And there rode up a little heathy mound,That overlooked the scrubby woods and low,That of the beast's lair somewhat they might know.And there a good man of the country-sideShowed them the places where he mostly lay;And they, descending, through the wood did ride,And followed on his tracks for half the day.And at the last they brought him well to bay,Within an oozy space amidst the wood,About the which a ring of alders stood.So when the hounds' changed voices clear they heardWith hearts aflame on towards him straight they drewAtys the first of all, of nought afeard,Except that folk should say some other slewThe beast; and lustily his horn he blew,Going afoot; then, mighty spear in hand,Adrastus headed all the following band.Now when they came unto the plot of groundWhere stood the boar, hounds dead about him layOr sprawled about, bleeding from many a wound,But still the others held him well at bay,Nor had he been bestead thus ere that day.But yet, seeing Atys, straight he rushed at him,Speckled with foam, bleeding in flank and limb.Then Atys stood and cast his well-steeled spearWith a great shout, and straight and well it flew;For now the broad blade cutting through the ear,A stream of blood from out the shoulder drew.And therewithal another, no less true,Adrastus cast, whereby the boar had died:But Atys drew the bright sword from his side,And to the tottering beast he drew anigh:But as the sun's rays ran adown the bladeAdrastus threw a javelin hastily,For of the mighty beast was he afraid,Lest by his wounds he should not yet be stayed,But with a last rush cast his life away,And dying there, the son of Crœsus slay.But even as the feathered dart he hurled,His strained, despairing eyes, beheld the end,And changed seemed all the fashion of the world,And past and future into one did blend,As he beheld the fixed eyes of his friend,That no reproach had in them, and no fear,For Death had seized him ere he thought him near.Adrastus shrieked, and running up he caughtThe falling man, and from his bleeding sideDrew out the dart, and, seeing that death had broughtDeliverance to him, he thereby had died;But ere his hand the luckless steel could guide,And he the refuge of poor souls could win,The horror-stricken huntsmen had rushed in.And these, with blows and cries he heeded noughtHis unresisting hands made haste to bind;Then of the alder-boughs a bier they wrought,And laid the corpse thereon, and 'gan to windHomeward amidst the tangled wood and blind,And going slowly, at the eventide,Some leagues from Sardis did that day abide.Onward next morn the slaughtered man they bore,With him that slew him, and at end of dayThey reached the city, and with mourning soreToward the King's palace did they take their way.He in an open western chamber layFeasting, though inwardly his heart did burnUntil that Atys should to him return.And when those wails first smote upon his earHe set the wine-cup down, and to his feetHe rose, and bitter all-consuming fearSwallowed his joy, and nigh he went to meetThat which was coming through the weeping street;But in the end he thought it good to wait,And stood there doubting all the ills of fate.But when at last up to that royal placeFolk brought the thing he once had held so dearStill stood the King, staring with ghastly faceAs they brought forth Adrastus and the bier,But spoke at last, slowly without a tear,"O Phrygian man, that I did purify,Is it through thee that Atys came to die?""O King," Adrastus said, "take now my life,With whatso torment seemeth good to thee,As my word went, for I would end this strife,And underneath the earth lie quietly;Nor is it my will here alive to be:For as my brother, so Prince Atys died,And this unlucky hand some god did guide."Then as a man constrained, the tale he toldFrom end to end, nor spared himself one whit:And as he spoke, the wood did still behold,The trodden grass, and Atys dead on it;And many a change o'er the King's face did flitOf kingly rage, and hatred and despair,As on the slayer's face he still did stare.At last he said, "Thy death avails me nought.The gods themselves have done this bitter deed,That I was all too happy was their thought,Therefore thy heart is dead and mine doth bleed,And I am helpless as a trodden weed:Thou art but as the handle of the spear,The caster sits far off from any fear."Yet, if thy hurt they meant, I can do this,——Loose him and let him go in peace from me—I will not slay the slayer of all my bliss;Yet go, poor man, for when thy face I seeI curse the gods for their felicity.Surely some other slayer they would have found,If thou hadst long ago been under ground."Alas, Adrastus! in my inmost heartI knew the gods would one day do this thing,But deemed indeed that it would be thy partTo comfort me amidst my sorrowing;Make haste to go, for I am still a King!Madness may take me, I have many handsWho will not spare to do my worst commands."With that Adrastus' bonds were done away,And forthwith to the city gates he ran,And on the road where they had been that dayRushed through the gathering night; and some lone manBeheld next day his visage wild and wan,Peering from out a thicket of the woodWhere he had spilt that well-belovéd blood.And now the day of burial pomp must be,And to those rites all lords of Lydia cameAbout the King, and that day, they and heCast royal gifts of rich things on the flame;But while they stood and wept, and called by nameUpon the dead, amidst them came a manWith raiment rent, and haggard face and wan:Who when the marshals would have thrust him outAnd men looked strange on him, began to say,"Surely the world is changed since ye have doubtOf who I am; nay, turn me not away,For ye have called me princely ere to-day—Adrastus, son of Gordius, a great king,Where unto Pallas Phrygian maidens sing."O Lydians, many a rich thing have ye castInto this flame, but I myself will giveA greater gift, since now I see at lastThe gods are wearied for that still I live,And with their will, why should I longer strive?Atys, O Atys, thus I give to theeA life that lived for thy felicity."And therewith from his side a knife he drew,And, crying out, upon the pile he leapt,And with one mighty stroke himself he slew.So there these princes both together slept,And their light ashes, gathered up, were keptWithin a golden vessel wrought all o'erWith histories of this hunting of the boar.

OfCrœsus tells my tale, a king of oldIn Lydia, ere the Mede fell on the land,A man made mighty by great heaps of gold,Feared for the myriads strong of heart and handThat 'neath his banners wrought out his command,And though his latter ending happed on ill,Yet first of every joy he had his fill.Two sons he had, and one was dumb from birth;The other one, that Atys had to name,Grew up a fair youth, and of might and worth,And well it seemed the race wherefrom he cameFrom him should never get reproach or shame:But yet no stroke he struck before his death,In no war-shout he spent his latest breath.Now Crœsus, lying on his bed anightDreamed that he saw this dear son laid a-low,And folk lamenting he was slain outright,And that some iron thing had dealt the blow;By whose hand guided he could nowise know,Or if in peace by traitors it were done,Or in some open war not yet begun.Three times one night this vision broke his sleep,So that at last he rose up from his bed,That he might ponder how he best might keepThe threatened danger from so dear a head;And, since he now was old enough to wed,The King sent men to search the lands around,Until some matchless maiden should be found;That in her arms this Atys might forgetThe praise of men, and fame of history,Whereby full many a field has been made wetWith blood of men, and many a deep green seaBeen reddened therewithal, and yet shall be;That her sweet voice might drown the people's praise,Her eyes make bright the uneventful days.So when at last a wonder they had brought,From some sweet land down by the ocean's rim.Than whom no fairer could by man be thought,And ancient dames, scanning her limb by limb,Had said that she was fair enough for him,To her was Atys married with much show,And looked to dwell with her in bliss enow.And in meantime afield he never went,Either to hunting or the frontier war,No dart was cast, nor any engine bentAnigh him, and the Lydian men afarMust rein their steeds, and the bright blossoms marIf they have any lust of tourney now,And in far meadows must they bend the bow.And also through the palace everywhereThe swords and spears were taken from the wallThat long with honour had been hanging there,And from the golden pillars of the hall;Lest by mischance some sacred blade should fall,And in its falling bring revenge at lastFor many a fatal battle overpast.And every day King Crœsus wrought with careTo save his dear son from that threatened end,And many a beast he offered up with prayerUnto the gods, and much of wealth did spend,That they so prayed might yet perchance defendThat life, until at least that he were dead,With earth laid heavy on his unseeing head.But in the midst even of the wedding feastThere came a man, who by the golden hallSat down upon the steps, and man or beastHe heeded not, but there against the wallHe leaned his head, speaking no word at all,Till, with his son and son's wife, came the King,And then unto his gown the man did cling."What man art thou?" the King said to him then,"That in such guise thou prayest on thy knee;Hast thou some fell foe here among my men?Or hast thou done an ill deed unto me?Or has thy wife been carried over sea?Or hast thou on this day great need of gold?Or say, why else thou now art grown so bold.""O King," he said, "I ask no gold to-day,And though indeed thy greatness drew me here,No wrong have I that thou couldst wipe away;And nought of mine the pirate folk did bearAcross the sea; none of thy folk I fear:But all the gods are now mine enemies,Therefore I kneel before thee on my knees."For as with mine own brother on a dayWithin the running place at home I played,Unwittingly I smote him such-a-wayThat dead upon the green grass he was laid;Half-dead myself I fled away dismayed,Wherefore I pray thee help me in my need,And purify my soul of this sad deed."If of my name and country thou wouldst know,In Phrygia yet my father is a king,Gordius, the son of Midas, rich enowIn corn and cattle, golden cup and ring;And mine own name before I did this thingWas called Adrastus, whom, in street and hall,The slayer of his brother men now call.""Friend," said the King, "have thou no fear of me;For though, indeed, I am right happy now,Yet well I know this may not always be,And I may chance some day to kneel full low,And to some happy man mine head to bowWith prayers to do a greater thing than this,Dwell thou with us, and win again thy bliss."For in this city men in sport and playForget the trouble that the gods have sent;Who therewithal send wine, and many a mayAs fair as she for whom the Trojan went,And many a dear delight besides have lent,Which, whoso is well loved of them shall keepTill in forgetful death he falls asleep."Therefore to-morrow shall those rites be doneThat kindred blood demands that thou hast shed,That if the mouth of thine own mother's sonDid hap to curse thee ere he was quite dead,The curse may lie the lighter on thine head,Because the flower-crowned head of many a beastHas fallen voiceless in our glorious feast."Then did Adrastus rise and thank the King,And the next day when yet low was the sun,The sacrifice and every other thingThat unto these dread rites belonged, was done;And there Adrastus dwelt, hated of none,And loved of many, and the King loved him,For brave and wise he was and strong of limb.But chiefly amongst all did Atys loveThe luckless stranger, whose fair tales of warThe Lydian's heart abundantly did move,And much they talked of wandering out afarSome day, to lands where many marvels are,With still the Phrygian through all things to beThe leader unto all felicity.Now at this time folk came unto the KingWho on a forest's borders dwelling were,Wherein there roamed full many a dangerous thing,As wolf and wild bull, lion and brown bear;But chiefly in that forest was the lairOf a great boar that no man could withstand.And many a woe he wrought upon the land.Since long ago that men in CalydonHeld chase, no beast like him had once been seenHe ruined vineyards lying in the sun,After his harvesting the men must gleanWhat he had left; right glad they had not beenAmong the tall stalks of the ripening wheat,The fell destroyer's fatal tusks to meet.For often would the lonely man entrappedIn vain from his dire fury strive to hideIn some thick hedge, and other whiles it happedSome careless stranger by his place would ride,And the tusks smote his fallen horse's side,And what help then to such a wretch could comeWith sword he could not draw, and far from home?Or else girls, sent their water-jars to fill,Would come back pale, too terrified to cry,Because they had but seen him from the hill;Or else again with side rent wretchedly,Some hapless damsel midst the brake would lie.Shortly to say, there neither man nor maidWas safe afield whether they wrought or played.Therefore were come these dwellers by the woodTo pray the King brave men to them to send,That they might live; and if he deemed it good,That Atys with the other knights should wend,They thought their grief the easier should have end;For both by gods and men they knew him loved,And easily by hope of glory moved."O Sire," they said, "thou know'st how HerculesWas not content to wait till folk asked aid,But sought the pests among their guarded trees;Thou know'st what name the Theban Cadmus made,And how the bull of Marathon was laidDead on the fallows of the Athenian land,And how folk worshipped Atalanta's hand."Fair would thy son's name look upon the rollWherein such noble deeds as this are told;And great delight shall surely fill thy soul,Thinking upon his deeds when thou art old,And thy brave heart is waxen faint and cold:Dost thou not know, O King, how men will striveThat they, when dead, still in their sons may live?"He shuddered as they spoke, because he thought,Most certainly a winning tale is thisTo draw him from the net where he is caught,For hearts of men grow weary of all bliss;Nor is he one to be content with his,If he should hear the trumpet-blast of fameAnd far-off people calling on his name."Good friends," he said, "go, get ye back again.And doubt not I will send you men to slayThis pest ye fear: yet shall your prayer be vainIf ye with any other speak to-day;And for my son, with me he needs must stay,For mighty cares oppress the Lydian land.Fear not, for ye shall have a noble band."And with that promise must they be content,And so departed, having feasted well.And yet some god or other ere they went,If they were silent, this their tale must tellTo more than one man; therefore it befell,That at the last Prince Atys knew the thing,And came with angry eyes unto the King."Father," he said, "since when am I grown vileSince when am I grown helpless of my hands?Or else what folk, with words enwrought with guileThine ears have poisoned; that when far-off landsMy fame might fill, by thy most strange commandsI needs must stay within this slothful home,Whereto would God that I had never come?"What! wilt thou take mine honour quite awayWouldst thou, that, as with her I just have wedI sit among thy folk at end of day,She should be ever turning round her headTo watch some man for war apparelledBecause he wears a sword that he may use,Which grace to me thou ever wilt refuse?"Or dost thou think, when thou hast run thy raceAnd thou art gone, and in thy stead I reign,The people will do honour to my place,Or that the lords leal men will still remain,If yet my father's sword be sharp in vain?If on the wall his armour still hang up,While for a spear I hold a drinking-cup?""O Son!" quoth Crœsus, "well I know thee braveAnd worthy of high deeds of chivalry;Therefore the more thy dear life would I save,Which now is threatened by the gods on high;Three times one night I dreamed I saw thee die,Slain by some deadly iron-pointed thing,While weeping lords stood round thee in a ring."Then loud laughed Atys, and he said again,"Father, and did this ugly dream tell theeWhat day it was on which I should be slain?As may the gods grant I may one day be,And not from sickness die right wretchedly,Groaning with pain, my lords about my bed,Wishing to God that I were fairly dead;"But slain in battle, as the Lydian kingsHave died ere now, in some great victory,While all about the Lydian shouting ringsDeath to the beaten foemen as they fly.What death but this, O father! should I die?But if my life by iron shall be done,What steel to-day shall glitter in the sun?"Yea, father, if to thee it seemeth goodTo keep me from the bright steel-bearing throng,Let me be brave at least within the wood;For surely, if thy dream be true, no wrongCan hap to me from this beast's tushes strong:Unless perchance the beast is grown so wise,He haunts the forest clad in Lydian guise."Then Crœsus said: "O Son, I love thee so,That thou shalt do thy will upon this tide:But since unto this hunting thou must go,A trusty friend along with thee shall ride,Who not for anything shall leave thy side.I think, indeed, he loves thee well enowTo thrust his heart 'twixt thee and any blow."Go then, O Son, and if by some short spanThy life be measured, how shall it harm thee,If while life last thou art a happy man?And thou art happy; only unto meIs trembling left, and infelicity:The trembling of the man who loves on earth,But unto thee is hope and present mirth."Nay, be thou not ashamed, for on this dayI fear not much: thou read'st my dream aright,No teeth or claws shall take thy life away.And it may chance, ere thy last glorious fight,I shall be blinded by the endless night;And brave Adrastus on this day shall beThy safeguard, and shall give good heart to me."Go then, and send him hither, and depart;And as the heroes did so mayst thou do,Winning such fame as well may please thine heart."With that word from the King did Atys go,Who, left behind, sighed, saying, "May it be so,Even as I hope; and yet I would to GodThese men upon my threshold ne'er had trod."So when Adrastus to the King was comeHe said unto him, "O my Phrygian friend,We in this land have given thee a home,And 'gainst all foes your life will we defend:Wherefore for us that life thou shouldest spend,If any day there should be need therefor;And now a trusty friend I need right sore."Doubtless ere now thou hast heard many sayThere is a doom that threatens my son's life;Therefore this place is stript of arms to-day,And therefore still bides Atys with his wife,And tempts not any god by raising strife;Yet none the less by no desire of his,To whom would war be most abundant bliss."And since to-day some glory he may gainAgainst a monstrous bestial enemyAnd that the meaning of my dream is plain;That saith that he by steel alone shall die,His burning wish I may not well deny,Therefore afield to-morrow doth he wendAnd herein mayst thou show thyself my friend—"For thou as captain of his band shalt ride,And keep a watchful eye of everything,Nor leave him whatsoever may betide:Lo, thou art brave, the son of a great king,And with thy praises doth this city ring,Why should I tell thee what a name those gain,Who dying for their friends, die not in vain?"Then said Adrastus, "Now were I grown baseBeyond all words, if I should spare for aughtIn guarding him, so sit with smiling face,And of this matter take no further thought,Because with my life shall his life be bought,If ill should hap; and no ill fate it were,If I should die for what I hold so dear."Then went Adrastus, and next morn all things,That 'longed unto the hunting were well dight,And forth they went clad as the sons of kings,Fair was the morn, as through the sunshine brightThey rode, the Prince half wild with great delight,The Phrygian smiling on him soberly,And ever looking round with watchful eye.So through the city all the rout rode fast,With many a great black-muzzled yellow hound;And then the teeming country-side they passed,Until they came to sour and rugged ground,And there rode up a little heathy mound,That overlooked the scrubby woods and low,That of the beast's lair somewhat they might know.And there a good man of the country-sideShowed them the places where he mostly lay;And they, descending, through the wood did ride,And followed on his tracks for half the day.And at the last they brought him well to bay,Within an oozy space amidst the wood,About the which a ring of alders stood.So when the hounds' changed voices clear they heardWith hearts aflame on towards him straight they drewAtys the first of all, of nought afeard,Except that folk should say some other slewThe beast; and lustily his horn he blew,Going afoot; then, mighty spear in hand,Adrastus headed all the following band.Now when they came unto the plot of groundWhere stood the boar, hounds dead about him layOr sprawled about, bleeding from many a wound,But still the others held him well at bay,Nor had he been bestead thus ere that day.But yet, seeing Atys, straight he rushed at him,Speckled with foam, bleeding in flank and limb.Then Atys stood and cast his well-steeled spearWith a great shout, and straight and well it flew;For now the broad blade cutting through the ear,A stream of blood from out the shoulder drew.And therewithal another, no less true,Adrastus cast, whereby the boar had died:But Atys drew the bright sword from his side,And to the tottering beast he drew anigh:But as the sun's rays ran adown the bladeAdrastus threw a javelin hastily,For of the mighty beast was he afraid,Lest by his wounds he should not yet be stayed,But with a last rush cast his life away,And dying there, the son of Crœsus slay.But even as the feathered dart he hurled,His strained, despairing eyes, beheld the end,And changed seemed all the fashion of the world,And past and future into one did blend,As he beheld the fixed eyes of his friend,That no reproach had in them, and no fear,For Death had seized him ere he thought him near.Adrastus shrieked, and running up he caughtThe falling man, and from his bleeding sideDrew out the dart, and, seeing that death had broughtDeliverance to him, he thereby had died;But ere his hand the luckless steel could guide,And he the refuge of poor souls could win,The horror-stricken huntsmen had rushed in.And these, with blows and cries he heeded noughtHis unresisting hands made haste to bind;Then of the alder-boughs a bier they wrought,And laid the corpse thereon, and 'gan to windHomeward amidst the tangled wood and blind,And going slowly, at the eventide,Some leagues from Sardis did that day abide.Onward next morn the slaughtered man they bore,With him that slew him, and at end of dayThey reached the city, and with mourning soreToward the King's palace did they take their way.He in an open western chamber layFeasting, though inwardly his heart did burnUntil that Atys should to him return.And when those wails first smote upon his earHe set the wine-cup down, and to his feetHe rose, and bitter all-consuming fearSwallowed his joy, and nigh he went to meetThat which was coming through the weeping street;But in the end he thought it good to wait,And stood there doubting all the ills of fate.But when at last up to that royal placeFolk brought the thing he once had held so dearStill stood the King, staring with ghastly faceAs they brought forth Adrastus and the bier,But spoke at last, slowly without a tear,"O Phrygian man, that I did purify,Is it through thee that Atys came to die?""O King," Adrastus said, "take now my life,With whatso torment seemeth good to thee,As my word went, for I would end this strife,And underneath the earth lie quietly;Nor is it my will here alive to be:For as my brother, so Prince Atys died,And this unlucky hand some god did guide."Then as a man constrained, the tale he toldFrom end to end, nor spared himself one whit:And as he spoke, the wood did still behold,The trodden grass, and Atys dead on it;And many a change o'er the King's face did flitOf kingly rage, and hatred and despair,As on the slayer's face he still did stare.At last he said, "Thy death avails me nought.The gods themselves have done this bitter deed,That I was all too happy was their thought,Therefore thy heart is dead and mine doth bleed,And I am helpless as a trodden weed:Thou art but as the handle of the spear,The caster sits far off from any fear."Yet, if thy hurt they meant, I can do this,——Loose him and let him go in peace from me—I will not slay the slayer of all my bliss;Yet go, poor man, for when thy face I seeI curse the gods for their felicity.Surely some other slayer they would have found,If thou hadst long ago been under ground."Alas, Adrastus! in my inmost heartI knew the gods would one day do this thing,But deemed indeed that it would be thy partTo comfort me amidst my sorrowing;Make haste to go, for I am still a King!Madness may take me, I have many handsWho will not spare to do my worst commands."With that Adrastus' bonds were done away,And forthwith to the city gates he ran,And on the road where they had been that dayRushed through the gathering night; and some lone manBeheld next day his visage wild and wan,Peering from out a thicket of the woodWhere he had spilt that well-belovéd blood.And now the day of burial pomp must be,And to those rites all lords of Lydia cameAbout the King, and that day, they and heCast royal gifts of rich things on the flame;But while they stood and wept, and called by nameUpon the dead, amidst them came a manWith raiment rent, and haggard face and wan:Who when the marshals would have thrust him outAnd men looked strange on him, began to say,"Surely the world is changed since ye have doubtOf who I am; nay, turn me not away,For ye have called me princely ere to-day—Adrastus, son of Gordius, a great king,Where unto Pallas Phrygian maidens sing."O Lydians, many a rich thing have ye castInto this flame, but I myself will giveA greater gift, since now I see at lastThe gods are wearied for that still I live,And with their will, why should I longer strive?Atys, O Atys, thus I give to theeA life that lived for thy felicity."And therewith from his side a knife he drew,And, crying out, upon the pile he leapt,And with one mighty stroke himself he slew.So there these princes both together slept,And their light ashes, gathered up, were keptWithin a golden vessel wrought all o'erWith histories of this hunting of the boar.

Agentlewind had risen midst his tale,That bore the sweet scents of the fertile valeIn at the open windows; and these menThe burden of their years scarce noted then,Soothed by the sweet luxurious summer time,And by the cadence of that ancient rhyme,Spite of its saddening import; nay, indeed,Of some such thoughts the Wanderers had needAs that tale gave them—Yea, a man shall beA wonder for his glorious chivalry,First in all wisdom, of a prudent mind,Yet none the less him too his fate shall findUnfenced by these, a man 'mongst other men.Yea, and will Fortune pick out, now and then,The noblest for the anvil of her blows;Great names are few, and yet, indeed, who knowsWhat greater souls have fallen 'neath the strokeOf careless fate? Purblind are most of folk,The happy are the masters of the earthWhich ever give small heed to hapless worth;So goes the world, and this we needs must bearLike eld and death: yet there were some men thereWho drank in silence to the memoryOf those who failed on earth great men to be,Though better than the men who won the crown.But when the sun was fairly going downThey left the house, and, following up the stream,In the low sun saw the kingfisher gleam'Twixt bank and alder, and the grebe steal outFrom the high sedge, and, in his restless doubt,Dive down, and rise to see what men were there:They saw the swallow chase high up in airThe circling gnats; the shaded dusky poolBroke by the splashing chub; the ripple cool,Rising and falling, of some distant weirThey heard, till it oppressed the listening ear,As twilight grew: so back they turned againGlad of their rest, and pleasure after pain.

Agentlewind had risen midst his tale,That bore the sweet scents of the fertile valeIn at the open windows; and these menThe burden of their years scarce noted then,Soothed by the sweet luxurious summer time,And by the cadence of that ancient rhyme,Spite of its saddening import; nay, indeed,Of some such thoughts the Wanderers had needAs that tale gave them—Yea, a man shall beA wonder for his glorious chivalry,First in all wisdom, of a prudent mind,Yet none the less him too his fate shall findUnfenced by these, a man 'mongst other men.Yea, and will Fortune pick out, now and then,The noblest for the anvil of her blows;Great names are few, and yet, indeed, who knowsWhat greater souls have fallen 'neath the strokeOf careless fate? Purblind are most of folk,The happy are the masters of the earthWhich ever give small heed to hapless worth;So goes the world, and this we needs must bearLike eld and death: yet there were some men thereWho drank in silence to the memoryOf those who failed on earth great men to be,Though better than the men who won the crown.But when the sun was fairly going downThey left the house, and, following up the stream,In the low sun saw the kingfisher gleam'Twixt bank and alder, and the grebe steal outFrom the high sedge, and, in his restless doubt,Dive down, and rise to see what men were there:They saw the swallow chase high up in airThe circling gnats; the shaded dusky poolBroke by the splashing chub; the ripple cool,Rising and falling, of some distant weirThey heard, till it oppressed the listening ear,As twilight grew: so back they turned againGlad of their rest, and pleasure after pain.

Withinthe gardens once again they met,That now the roses did well-nigh forget,For hot July was drawing to an end,And August came the fainting year to mendWith fruit and grain; so 'neath the trellises,Nigh blossomless, did they lie well at ease,And watched the poppies burn across the grass,And o'er the bindweed's bells the brown bee passStill murmuring of his gains: windless and brightThe morn had been, to help their dear delight;But heavy clouds ere noon grew round the sun,And, halfway to the zenith, wild and dunThe sky grew, and the thunder growled afar;But, ere the steely clouds began their war,A change there came, and, as by some great hand,The clouds that hung in threatening o'er the landWere drawn away; then a light wind aroseThat shook the light stems of that flowery close,And made men sigh for pleasure; therewithalDid mirth upon the feasting elders fall,And they no longer watched the lowering sky,But called aloud for some new history.Then spoke the Suabian, "Sirs, this tale is toldAmong our searchers for fine stones and gold,And though I tell it wrong be good to me;For I the written book did never see,Made by some Fleming, as I think, whereinIs told this tale of wilfulness and sin."

Withinthe gardens once again they met,That now the roses did well-nigh forget,For hot July was drawing to an end,And August came the fainting year to mendWith fruit and grain; so 'neath the trellises,Nigh blossomless, did they lie well at ease,And watched the poppies burn across the grass,And o'er the bindweed's bells the brown bee passStill murmuring of his gains: windless and brightThe morn had been, to help their dear delight;But heavy clouds ere noon grew round the sun,And, halfway to the zenith, wild and dunThe sky grew, and the thunder growled afar;But, ere the steely clouds began their war,A change there came, and, as by some great hand,The clouds that hung in threatening o'er the landWere drawn away; then a light wind aroseThat shook the light stems of that flowery close,And made men sigh for pleasure; therewithalDid mirth upon the feasting elders fall,And they no longer watched the lowering sky,But called aloud for some new history.Then spoke the Suabian, "Sirs, this tale is toldAmong our searchers for fine stones and gold,And though I tell it wrong be good to me;For I the written book did never see,Made by some Fleming, as I think, whereinIs told this tale of wilfulness and sin."

The case of this falcon was such, that whoso watched it without sleeping for seven days and seven nights, had his first wish granted him by a fay lady, that appeared to him thereon; and some wished one thing, and some another. But a certain king, who watched the falcon daily, would wish for nought but the love of that fay; which wish being accomplished, was afterwards his ruin.

Acrossthe sea a land there is,Where, if fate will, may men have bliss,For it is fair as any land:There hath the reaper a full hand,While in the orchard hangs aloftThe purple fig, a-growing soft;And fair the trellised vine-bunchesAre swung across the high elm-trees;And in the rivers great fish play,While over them pass day by dayThe laden barges to their place.There maids are straight, and fair of face,And men are stout for husbandry,And all is well as it can beUpon this earth where all has end.For on them God is pleased to sendThe gift of Death down from above.That envy, hatred, and hot love,Knowledge with hunger by his side,And avarice and deadly pride,There may have end like everythingBoth to the shepherd and the king:Lest this green earth become but hellIf folk for ever there should dwell.Full little most men think of this,But half in woe and half in blissThey pass their lives, and die at lastUnwilling, though their lot be castIn wretched places of the earth,Where men have little joy from birthUntil they die; in no such caseWere those who tilled this pleasant place.There soothly men were loth to die,Though sometimes in his miseryA man would say "Would I were dead!"Alas! full little likeliheadThat he should live for ever there.So folk within that country fairLived on, nor from their memories draveThe thought of what they could not have.And without need tormented stillEach other with some bitter ill;Yea, and themselves too, growing greyWith dread of some long-lingering day,That never came ere they were deadWith green sods growing on the head;Nowise content with what they had,But falling still from good to badWhile hard they sought the hopeless bestAnd seldom happy or at restUntil at last with lessening bloodOne foot within the grave they stood.Now so it chanced that in this landThere did a certain castle stand,Set all alone deep in the hills,Amid the sound of falling rillsWithin a valley of sweet grass,To which there went one narrow passThrough the dark hills, but seldom trod.Rarely did horse-hoof press the sodAbout the quiet weedy moat,Where unscared did the great fish float;Because men dreaded there to seeThe uncouth things of faërie;Nathless by some few fathers oldThese tales about the place were toldThat neither squire nor seneschalOr varlet came in bower or hall,Yet all things were in order due,Hangings of gold and red and blue,And tables with fair service set;Cups that had paid the Cæsar's debtCould he have laid his hands on them;Dorsars, with pearls in every hem,And fair embroidered gold-wrought things,Fit for a company of kings;And in the chambers dainty beds,With pillows dight for fair young heads;And horses in the stables were,And in the cellars wine full clearAnd strong, and casks of ale and mead;Yea, all things a great lord could need.For whom these things were ready thereNone knew; but if one chanced to fareInto that place at Easter-tide,There would he find a falcon tiedUnto a pillar of the Hall;And such a fate to him would fall,That if unto the seventh night,He watched the bird from dark to light,And light to dark unceasingly,On the last evening he should seeA lady beautiful past words;Then, were he come of clowns or lords,Son of a swineherd or a king,There must she grant him anythingPerforce, that he might dare to ask,And do his very hardest taskBut if he slumbered, ne'er againThe wretch would wake for he was slainHelpless, by hands he could not see,And torn and mangled wretchedly.Now said these elders—Ere this tideFull many folk this thing have tried,But few have got much good thereby;For first, a many came to dieBy slumbering ere their watch was done;Or else they saw that lovely one,And mazed, they knew not what to say;Or asked some toy for all their pay,That easily they might have won,Nor staked their lives and souls thereon;Or asking, asked for some great thingThat was their bane; as to be kingOne asked, and died the morrow mornThat he was crowned, of all forlorn.Yet thither came a certain man,Who from being poor great riches wanPast telling, whose grandsons now areGreat lords thereby in peace and war.And in their coat-of-arms they bear,Upon a field of azure fair,A castle and a falcon, setBelow a chief of golden fret.And in our day a certain knightPrayed to be worsted in no fight,And so it happed to him: yet heDied none the less most wretchedly.And all his prowess was in vain,For by a losel was he slain,As on the highway side he sleptOne summer night, of no man kept.Such tales as these the fathers oldAbout that lonely castle told;And in their day the King must tryHimself to prove that mystery,Although, unless the fay could giveFor ever on the earth to live,Nought could he ask that he had not:For boundless riches had he got,Fair children, and a faithful wife;And happily had passed his life,And all fulfilled of victory,Yet was he fain this thing to see.So towards the mountains he set outOne noontide, with a gallant routOf knights and lords, and as the dayBegan to fail came to the wayWhere he must enter all alone,Between the dreary walls of stone.Thereon to that fair companyHe bade farewell, who wistfullyLooked backward oft as home they rode,But in the entry he abodeOf that rough unknown narrowing pass,Where twilight at the high noon was.Then onward he began to ride:Smooth rose the rocks on every side,And seemed as they were cut by man;Adown them ever water ran,But they of living things were bare,Yea, not a blade of grass grew there;And underfoot rough was the way,For scattered all about there layGreat jagged pieces of black stone.Throughout the pass the wind did moan,With such wild noises, that the KingCould almost think he heard somethingSpoken of men; as one might hearThe voices of folk standing nearOne's chamber wall: yet saw he noughtExcept those high walls strangely wrought,And overhead the strip of sky.So, going onward painfully,He met therein no evil thing,But came about the sun-settingUnto the opening of the pass,And thence beheld a vale of grassBright with the yellow daffodil;And all the vale the sun did fillWith his last glory. Midmost thereRose up a stronghold, built four-square,Upon a flowery grassy mound,That moat and high wall ran around.Thereby he saw a walled pleasance,With walks and sward fit for the danceOf Arthur's court in its best time,That seemed to feel some magic clime;For though through all the vale outsideThings were as in the April-tide,And daffodils and cowslips grewAnd hidden the March violets blew,Within the bounds of that sweet closeWas trellised the bewildering rose;There was the lily over-sweet,And starry pinks for garlands meet;And apricots hung on the wallAnd midst the flowers did peaches fall,And nought had blemish there or spot.For in that place decay was not.Silent awhile the King abodeBeholding all, then on he rodeAnd to the castle-gate drew nigh,Till fell the drawbridge silently,And when across it he did rideHe found the great gates open wide,And entered there, but as he passedThe gates were shut behind him fast,But not before that he could seeThe drawbridge rise up silently.Then round he gazed oppressed with awe,And there no living thing he sawExcept the sparrows in the eaves,As restless as light autumn leavesBlown by the fitful rainy wind.Thereon his final goal to find,He lighted off his war-horse goodAnd let him wander as he would,When he had eased him of his gear;Then gathering heart against his fear.Just at the silent end of dayThrough the fair porch he took his wayAnd found at last a goodly hallWith glorious hangings on the wall,Inwrought with trees of every clime,And stories of the ancient time,But all of sorcery they were.For o'er the daïs Venus fair,Fluttered about by many a dove,Made hopeless men for hopeless love,Both sick and sorry; there they stoodWrought wonderfully in various mood,But wasted all by that hid fireOf measureless o'er-sweet desire,And let the hurrying world go byForgetting all felicity.But down the hall the tale was wroughtHow Argo in old time was broughtTo Colchis for the fleece of gold.And on the other side was toldHow mariners for long years cameTo Circe, winning grief and shame.Until at last by hardiheadAnd craft, Ulysses won her bed.Long upon these the King did lookAnd of them all good heed he took;To see if they would tell him aughtAbout the matter that he sought,But all were of the times long past;So going all about, at lastWhen grown nigh weary of his searchA falcon on a silver perch,Anigh the daïs did he see,And wondered, because certainlyAt his first coming 'twas not there;But 'neath the bird a scroll most fair,With golden letters on the whiteHe saw, and in the dim twilightBy diligence could he read this:—"Ye who have not enow of bliss,And in this hard world labour sore,By manhood here may get you more,And be fulfilled of everything,Till ye be masters of the King.And yet, since I who promise thisAm nowise God to give man blissPast ending, now in time beware,And if you live in little careThen turn aback and home again,Lest unknown woe ye chance to gainIn wishing for a thing untried."A little while did he abide,When he had read this, deep in thought,Wondering indeed if there were aughtHe had not got, that a wise manWould wish; yet in his mind it ranThat he might win a boundless realm,Yea, come to wear upon his helmThe crown of the whole conquered earth;That all who lived thereon, from birthTo death should call him King and Lord,And great kings tremble at his word,Until in turn he came to die.Therewith a little did he sigh,But thought, "Of Alexander yetMen talk, nor would they e'er forgetMy name, if this should come to be,Whoever should come after me:But while I lay wrapped round with goldShould tales and histories manifoldBe written of me, false and true;And as the time still onward drewAlmost a god would folk count me,Saying, 'In our time none such be.'"But therewith did he sigh again,And said, "Ah, vain, and worse than vain!For though the world forget me nought,Yet by that time should I be broughtWhere all the world I should forget,And bitterly should I regretThat I, from godlike great renown,To helpless death must fall adown:How could I bear to leave it all?"Then straight upon his mind did fallThoughts of old longings half forgot,Matters for which his heart was hotA while ago: whereof no moreHe cared for some, and some right soreHad vexed him, being fulfilled at last.And when the thought of these had passedStill something was there left behind,That by no torturing of his mindCould he in any language name,Or into form of wishing frame.At last he thought, "What matters it,Before these seven days shall flitSome great thing surely shall I find,That gained will not leave grief behind,Nor turn to deadly injury.So now will I let these things beAnd think of some unknown delight."Now, therewithal, was come the nightAnd thus his watch was well begun;And till the rising of the sun,Waking, he paced about the hall,And saw the hangings on the wallFade into nought, and then grow whiteIn patches by the pale moonlight,And then again fade utterlyAs still the moonbeams passed them by;Then in a while, with hope of day,Begin a little to grow grey,Until familiar things they grew,As up at last the great sun drew,And lit them with his yellow lightAt ending of another nightThen right glad was he of the day,That passed with him in such-like way;For neither man nor beast came near,Nor any voices did he hear.And when again it drew to nightSilent it passed, till first twilightOf morning came, and then he heardThe feeble twittering of some bird,That, in that utter silence drear,Smote harsh and startling on his ear.Therewith came on that lonely dayThat passed him in no other way;And thus six days and nights went byAnd nothing strange had come anigh.And on that day he well-nigh deemedThat all that story had been dreamed.Daylight and dark, and night and day,Passed ever in their wonted way;The wind played in the trees outside,The rooks from out the high trees cried;And all seemed natural, frank, and fair,With little signs of magic there.Yet neither could he quite forgetThat close with summer blossoms set,And fruit hung on trees blossoming,When all about was early spring.Yea, if all this by man were made,Strange was it that yet undecayedThe food lay on the tables stillUnchanged by man, that wine did fillThe golden cups, yet bright and red.And all was so apparellédFor guests that came not, yet was allAs though that servants filled the hall.So waxed and waned his hopes, and stillHe formed no wish for good or ill.And while he thought of this and thatUpon his perch the falcon satUnfed, unhooded, his bright eyesBeholders of the hard-earned prize,Glancing around him restlessly,As though he knew the time drew nighWhen this long watching should be done.So little by little fell the sun,From high noon unto sun-setting;And in that lapse of time the King,Though still he woke, yet none the lessWas dreaming in his sleeplessnessOf this and that which he had doneBefore this watch he had begun;Till, with a start, he looked at lastAbout him, and all dreams were past;For now, though it was past twilightWithout, within all grew as brightAs when the noon-sun smote the wall,Though no lamp shone within the hall.Then rose the King upon his feet,And well-nigh heard his own heart beat,And grew all pale for hope and fear,As sound of footsteps caught his earBut soft, and as some fair lady,Going as gently as might be,Stopped now and then awhile, distraughtBy pleasant wanderings of sweet thought.Nigher the sound came, and more nigh,Until the King unwittinglyTrembled, and felt his hair arise,But on the door still kept his eyes.That opened soon, and in the lightThere stepped alone a lady bright,And made straight toward him up the hall.In golden garments was she cladAnd round her waist a belt she hadOf emeralds fair, and from her feet,That shod with gold the floor did meet,She held the raiment daintily,And on her golden head had sheA rose-wreath round a pearl-wrought crown,Softly she walked with eyes cast down,Nor looked she any other thanAn earthly lady, though no manHas seen so fair a thing as she.So when her face the King could seeStill more he trembled, and he thought,"Surely my wish is hither brought,And this will be a goodly dayIf for mine own I win this may."And therewithal she drew anearUntil the trembling King could hearHer very breathing, and she raisedHer head and on the King's face gazedWith serious eyes, and stopping there,Swept from her shoulders her long hair,And let her gown fall on her feet,Then spoke in a clear voice and sweet:"Well hast thou watched, so now, O King,Be bold, and wish for some good thing;And yet, I counsel thee, be wise.Behold, spite of these lips and eyes,Hundreds of years old now am IAnd have seen joy and misery.And thou, who yet hast lived in bliss.I bid thee well consider this;Better it were that men should liveAs beasts, and take what earth can give,The air, the warm sun and the grassUntil unto the earth they pass,And gain perchance nought worse than restThan that not knowing what is bestFor sons of men, they needs must thirstFor what shall make their lives accurst."Therefore I bid thee now beware,Lest getting something seeming fair,Thou com'st in vain to long for moreOr lest the thing thou wishest forMake thee unhappy till thou diest,Or lest with speedy death thou buyestA little hour of happinessOr lazy joy with sharp distress."Alas, why say I this to thee,For now I see full certainly,That thou wilt ask for such a thing,It had been best for thee to flingThy body from a mountain-top,Or in a white hot fire to drop,Or ever thou hadst seen me here,Nay then be speedy and speak clear."Then the King cried out eagerly,Grown fearless, "Ah, be kind to me!Thou knowest what I long for then!Thou know'st that I, a king of men,Will ask for nothing else than thee!Thou didst not say this could not be,And I have had enough of bliss,If I may end my life with this.""Hearken," she said, "what men will sayWhen they are mad; before to-dayI knew that words such things could mean,And wondered that it could have been."Think well, because this wished-for joy,That surely will thy bliss destroy,Will let thee live, until thy lifeIs wrapped in such bewildering strifeThat all thy days will seem but ill—Now wilt thou wish for this thing still?""Wilt thou then grant it?" cried the King;"Surely thou art an earthly thing,And all this is but mockery,And thou canst tell no more than IWhat ending to my life shall be.""Nay, then," she said, "I grant it theePerforce; come nigh, for I am thineUntil the morning sun doth shine,And only coming time can proveWhat thing I am."Dizzy with love,And with surprise struck motionlessThat this divine thing, with far lessOf striving than a village maid,Had yielded, there he stood afraid,Spite of hot words and passionate,And strove to think upon his fate.But as he stood there, presentlyWith smiling face she drew anigh,And on his face he felt her breath."O love," she said, "dost thou fear death?Not till next morning shalt thou die,Or fall into thy misery."Then on his hand her hand did fall,And forth she led him down the hall,Going full softly by his side."O love," she said, "now well betideThe day whereon thou cam'st to me.I would this night a year might be,Yea, life-long; such life as we have,A thousand years from womb to grave."And then that clinging hand seemed worthWhatever joy was left on earth,And every trouble he forgot,And time and death remembered not:Kinder she grew, she clung to himWith loving arms, her eyes did swimWith love and pity, as he stroveTo show the wisdom of his love;With trembling lips she praised his choice,And said, "Ah, well may'st thou rejoice,Well may'st thou think this one short nightWorth years of other men's delight.If thy heart as mine own heart is,Sunk in a boundless sea of bliss;O love, rejoice with me! rejoice!"But as she spoke, her honied voiceTrembled, and midst of sobs she said,"O love, and art thou still afraid?Return, then, to thine happiness,Nor will I love thee any less;But watch thee as a mother mightHer child at play."With strange delightHe stammered out, "Nay, keep thy tearsfor me, and for my ruined yearsWeep love, that I may love thee more,My little hour will soon be o'er.""Ah, love," she said, "and thou art wiseAs men are, with long miseriesBuying these idle words and vain,My foolish love, with lasting pain;And yet, thou wouldst have died at lastIf in all wisdom thou hadst passedThy weary life: forgive me then,In pitying the sad life of men."Then in such bliss his soul did swim,But tender music unto himHer words were; death and miseryBut empty names were grown to be,As from that place his steps she drew,And dark the hall behind them grew.

Acrossthe sea a land there is,Where, if fate will, may men have bliss,For it is fair as any land:There hath the reaper a full hand,While in the orchard hangs aloftThe purple fig, a-growing soft;And fair the trellised vine-bunchesAre swung across the high elm-trees;And in the rivers great fish play,While over them pass day by dayThe laden barges to their place.There maids are straight, and fair of face,And men are stout for husbandry,And all is well as it can beUpon this earth where all has end.For on them God is pleased to sendThe gift of Death down from above.That envy, hatred, and hot love,Knowledge with hunger by his side,And avarice and deadly pride,There may have end like everythingBoth to the shepherd and the king:Lest this green earth become but hellIf folk for ever there should dwell.Full little most men think of this,But half in woe and half in blissThey pass their lives, and die at lastUnwilling, though their lot be castIn wretched places of the earth,Where men have little joy from birthUntil they die; in no such caseWere those who tilled this pleasant place.There soothly men were loth to die,Though sometimes in his miseryA man would say "Would I were dead!"Alas! full little likeliheadThat he should live for ever there.So folk within that country fairLived on, nor from their memories draveThe thought of what they could not have.And without need tormented stillEach other with some bitter ill;Yea, and themselves too, growing greyWith dread of some long-lingering day,That never came ere they were deadWith green sods growing on the head;Nowise content with what they had,But falling still from good to badWhile hard they sought the hopeless bestAnd seldom happy or at restUntil at last with lessening bloodOne foot within the grave they stood.Now so it chanced that in this landThere did a certain castle stand,Set all alone deep in the hills,Amid the sound of falling rillsWithin a valley of sweet grass,To which there went one narrow passThrough the dark hills, but seldom trod.Rarely did horse-hoof press the sodAbout the quiet weedy moat,Where unscared did the great fish float;Because men dreaded there to seeThe uncouth things of faërie;Nathless by some few fathers oldThese tales about the place were toldThat neither squire nor seneschalOr varlet came in bower or hall,Yet all things were in order due,Hangings of gold and red and blue,And tables with fair service set;Cups that had paid the Cæsar's debtCould he have laid his hands on them;Dorsars, with pearls in every hem,And fair embroidered gold-wrought things,Fit for a company of kings;And in the chambers dainty beds,With pillows dight for fair young heads;And horses in the stables were,And in the cellars wine full clearAnd strong, and casks of ale and mead;Yea, all things a great lord could need.For whom these things were ready thereNone knew; but if one chanced to fareInto that place at Easter-tide,There would he find a falcon tiedUnto a pillar of the Hall;And such a fate to him would fall,That if unto the seventh night,He watched the bird from dark to light,And light to dark unceasingly,On the last evening he should seeA lady beautiful past words;Then, were he come of clowns or lords,Son of a swineherd or a king,There must she grant him anythingPerforce, that he might dare to ask,And do his very hardest taskBut if he slumbered, ne'er againThe wretch would wake for he was slainHelpless, by hands he could not see,And torn and mangled wretchedly.Now said these elders—Ere this tideFull many folk this thing have tried,But few have got much good thereby;For first, a many came to dieBy slumbering ere their watch was done;Or else they saw that lovely one,And mazed, they knew not what to say;Or asked some toy for all their pay,That easily they might have won,Nor staked their lives and souls thereon;Or asking, asked for some great thingThat was their bane; as to be kingOne asked, and died the morrow mornThat he was crowned, of all forlorn.Yet thither came a certain man,Who from being poor great riches wanPast telling, whose grandsons now areGreat lords thereby in peace and war.And in their coat-of-arms they bear,Upon a field of azure fair,A castle and a falcon, setBelow a chief of golden fret.And in our day a certain knightPrayed to be worsted in no fight,And so it happed to him: yet heDied none the less most wretchedly.And all his prowess was in vain,For by a losel was he slain,As on the highway side he sleptOne summer night, of no man kept.Such tales as these the fathers oldAbout that lonely castle told;And in their day the King must tryHimself to prove that mystery,Although, unless the fay could giveFor ever on the earth to live,Nought could he ask that he had not:For boundless riches had he got,Fair children, and a faithful wife;And happily had passed his life,And all fulfilled of victory,Yet was he fain this thing to see.So towards the mountains he set outOne noontide, with a gallant routOf knights and lords, and as the dayBegan to fail came to the wayWhere he must enter all alone,Between the dreary walls of stone.Thereon to that fair companyHe bade farewell, who wistfullyLooked backward oft as home they rode,But in the entry he abodeOf that rough unknown narrowing pass,Where twilight at the high noon was.Then onward he began to ride:Smooth rose the rocks on every side,And seemed as they were cut by man;Adown them ever water ran,But they of living things were bare,Yea, not a blade of grass grew there;And underfoot rough was the way,For scattered all about there layGreat jagged pieces of black stone.Throughout the pass the wind did moan,With such wild noises, that the KingCould almost think he heard somethingSpoken of men; as one might hearThe voices of folk standing nearOne's chamber wall: yet saw he noughtExcept those high walls strangely wrought,And overhead the strip of sky.So, going onward painfully,He met therein no evil thing,But came about the sun-settingUnto the opening of the pass,And thence beheld a vale of grassBright with the yellow daffodil;And all the vale the sun did fillWith his last glory. Midmost thereRose up a stronghold, built four-square,Upon a flowery grassy mound,That moat and high wall ran around.Thereby he saw a walled pleasance,With walks and sward fit for the danceOf Arthur's court in its best time,That seemed to feel some magic clime;For though through all the vale outsideThings were as in the April-tide,And daffodils and cowslips grewAnd hidden the March violets blew,Within the bounds of that sweet closeWas trellised the bewildering rose;There was the lily over-sweet,And starry pinks for garlands meet;And apricots hung on the wallAnd midst the flowers did peaches fall,And nought had blemish there or spot.For in that place decay was not.Silent awhile the King abodeBeholding all, then on he rodeAnd to the castle-gate drew nigh,Till fell the drawbridge silently,And when across it he did rideHe found the great gates open wide,And entered there, but as he passedThe gates were shut behind him fast,But not before that he could seeThe drawbridge rise up silently.Then round he gazed oppressed with awe,And there no living thing he sawExcept the sparrows in the eaves,As restless as light autumn leavesBlown by the fitful rainy wind.Thereon his final goal to find,He lighted off his war-horse goodAnd let him wander as he would,When he had eased him of his gear;Then gathering heart against his fear.Just at the silent end of dayThrough the fair porch he took his wayAnd found at last a goodly hallWith glorious hangings on the wall,Inwrought with trees of every clime,And stories of the ancient time,But all of sorcery they were.For o'er the daïs Venus fair,Fluttered about by many a dove,Made hopeless men for hopeless love,Both sick and sorry; there they stoodWrought wonderfully in various mood,But wasted all by that hid fireOf measureless o'er-sweet desire,And let the hurrying world go byForgetting all felicity.But down the hall the tale was wroughtHow Argo in old time was broughtTo Colchis for the fleece of gold.And on the other side was toldHow mariners for long years cameTo Circe, winning grief and shame.Until at last by hardiheadAnd craft, Ulysses won her bed.Long upon these the King did lookAnd of them all good heed he took;To see if they would tell him aughtAbout the matter that he sought,But all were of the times long past;So going all about, at lastWhen grown nigh weary of his searchA falcon on a silver perch,Anigh the daïs did he see,And wondered, because certainlyAt his first coming 'twas not there;But 'neath the bird a scroll most fair,With golden letters on the whiteHe saw, and in the dim twilightBy diligence could he read this:—"Ye who have not enow of bliss,And in this hard world labour sore,By manhood here may get you more,And be fulfilled of everything,Till ye be masters of the King.And yet, since I who promise thisAm nowise God to give man blissPast ending, now in time beware,And if you live in little careThen turn aback and home again,Lest unknown woe ye chance to gainIn wishing for a thing untried."A little while did he abide,When he had read this, deep in thought,Wondering indeed if there were aughtHe had not got, that a wise manWould wish; yet in his mind it ranThat he might win a boundless realm,Yea, come to wear upon his helmThe crown of the whole conquered earth;That all who lived thereon, from birthTo death should call him King and Lord,And great kings tremble at his word,Until in turn he came to die.Therewith a little did he sigh,But thought, "Of Alexander yetMen talk, nor would they e'er forgetMy name, if this should come to be,Whoever should come after me:But while I lay wrapped round with goldShould tales and histories manifoldBe written of me, false and true;And as the time still onward drewAlmost a god would folk count me,Saying, 'In our time none such be.'"But therewith did he sigh again,And said, "Ah, vain, and worse than vain!For though the world forget me nought,Yet by that time should I be broughtWhere all the world I should forget,And bitterly should I regretThat I, from godlike great renown,To helpless death must fall adown:How could I bear to leave it all?"Then straight upon his mind did fallThoughts of old longings half forgot,Matters for which his heart was hotA while ago: whereof no moreHe cared for some, and some right soreHad vexed him, being fulfilled at last.And when the thought of these had passedStill something was there left behind,That by no torturing of his mindCould he in any language name,Or into form of wishing frame.At last he thought, "What matters it,Before these seven days shall flitSome great thing surely shall I find,That gained will not leave grief behind,Nor turn to deadly injury.So now will I let these things beAnd think of some unknown delight."Now, therewithal, was come the nightAnd thus his watch was well begun;And till the rising of the sun,Waking, he paced about the hall,And saw the hangings on the wallFade into nought, and then grow whiteIn patches by the pale moonlight,And then again fade utterlyAs still the moonbeams passed them by;Then in a while, with hope of day,Begin a little to grow grey,Until familiar things they grew,As up at last the great sun drew,And lit them with his yellow lightAt ending of another nightThen right glad was he of the day,That passed with him in such-like way;For neither man nor beast came near,Nor any voices did he hear.And when again it drew to nightSilent it passed, till first twilightOf morning came, and then he heardThe feeble twittering of some bird,That, in that utter silence drear,Smote harsh and startling on his ear.Therewith came on that lonely dayThat passed him in no other way;And thus six days and nights went byAnd nothing strange had come anigh.And on that day he well-nigh deemedThat all that story had been dreamed.Daylight and dark, and night and day,Passed ever in their wonted way;The wind played in the trees outside,The rooks from out the high trees cried;And all seemed natural, frank, and fair,With little signs of magic there.Yet neither could he quite forgetThat close with summer blossoms set,And fruit hung on trees blossoming,When all about was early spring.Yea, if all this by man were made,Strange was it that yet undecayedThe food lay on the tables stillUnchanged by man, that wine did fillThe golden cups, yet bright and red.And all was so apparellédFor guests that came not, yet was allAs though that servants filled the hall.So waxed and waned his hopes, and stillHe formed no wish for good or ill.And while he thought of this and thatUpon his perch the falcon satUnfed, unhooded, his bright eyesBeholders of the hard-earned prize,Glancing around him restlessly,As though he knew the time drew nighWhen this long watching should be done.So little by little fell the sun,From high noon unto sun-setting;And in that lapse of time the King,Though still he woke, yet none the lessWas dreaming in his sleeplessnessOf this and that which he had doneBefore this watch he had begun;Till, with a start, he looked at lastAbout him, and all dreams were past;For now, though it was past twilightWithout, within all grew as brightAs when the noon-sun smote the wall,Though no lamp shone within the hall.Then rose the King upon his feet,And well-nigh heard his own heart beat,And grew all pale for hope and fear,As sound of footsteps caught his earBut soft, and as some fair lady,Going as gently as might be,Stopped now and then awhile, distraughtBy pleasant wanderings of sweet thought.Nigher the sound came, and more nigh,Until the King unwittinglyTrembled, and felt his hair arise,But on the door still kept his eyes.That opened soon, and in the lightThere stepped alone a lady bright,And made straight toward him up the hall.In golden garments was she cladAnd round her waist a belt she hadOf emeralds fair, and from her feet,That shod with gold the floor did meet,She held the raiment daintily,And on her golden head had sheA rose-wreath round a pearl-wrought crown,Softly she walked with eyes cast down,Nor looked she any other thanAn earthly lady, though no manHas seen so fair a thing as she.So when her face the King could seeStill more he trembled, and he thought,"Surely my wish is hither brought,And this will be a goodly dayIf for mine own I win this may."And therewithal she drew anearUntil the trembling King could hearHer very breathing, and she raisedHer head and on the King's face gazedWith serious eyes, and stopping there,Swept from her shoulders her long hair,And let her gown fall on her feet,Then spoke in a clear voice and sweet:"Well hast thou watched, so now, O King,Be bold, and wish for some good thing;And yet, I counsel thee, be wise.Behold, spite of these lips and eyes,Hundreds of years old now am IAnd have seen joy and misery.And thou, who yet hast lived in bliss.I bid thee well consider this;Better it were that men should liveAs beasts, and take what earth can give,The air, the warm sun and the grassUntil unto the earth they pass,And gain perchance nought worse than restThan that not knowing what is bestFor sons of men, they needs must thirstFor what shall make their lives accurst."Therefore I bid thee now beware,Lest getting something seeming fair,Thou com'st in vain to long for moreOr lest the thing thou wishest forMake thee unhappy till thou diest,Or lest with speedy death thou buyestA little hour of happinessOr lazy joy with sharp distress."Alas, why say I this to thee,For now I see full certainly,That thou wilt ask for such a thing,It had been best for thee to flingThy body from a mountain-top,Or in a white hot fire to drop,Or ever thou hadst seen me here,Nay then be speedy and speak clear."Then the King cried out eagerly,Grown fearless, "Ah, be kind to me!Thou knowest what I long for then!Thou know'st that I, a king of men,Will ask for nothing else than thee!Thou didst not say this could not be,And I have had enough of bliss,If I may end my life with this.""Hearken," she said, "what men will sayWhen they are mad; before to-dayI knew that words such things could mean,And wondered that it could have been."Think well, because this wished-for joy,That surely will thy bliss destroy,Will let thee live, until thy lifeIs wrapped in such bewildering strifeThat all thy days will seem but ill—Now wilt thou wish for this thing still?""Wilt thou then grant it?" cried the King;"Surely thou art an earthly thing,And all this is but mockery,And thou canst tell no more than IWhat ending to my life shall be.""Nay, then," she said, "I grant it theePerforce; come nigh, for I am thineUntil the morning sun doth shine,And only coming time can proveWhat thing I am."Dizzy with love,And with surprise struck motionlessThat this divine thing, with far lessOf striving than a village maid,Had yielded, there he stood afraid,Spite of hot words and passionate,And strove to think upon his fate.But as he stood there, presentlyWith smiling face she drew anigh,And on his face he felt her breath."O love," she said, "dost thou fear death?Not till next morning shalt thou die,Or fall into thy misery."Then on his hand her hand did fall,And forth she led him down the hall,Going full softly by his side."O love," she said, "now well betideThe day whereon thou cam'st to me.I would this night a year might be,Yea, life-long; such life as we have,A thousand years from womb to grave."And then that clinging hand seemed worthWhatever joy was left on earth,And every trouble he forgot,And time and death remembered not:Kinder she grew, she clung to himWith loving arms, her eyes did swimWith love and pity, as he stroveTo show the wisdom of his love;With trembling lips she praised his choice,And said, "Ah, well may'st thou rejoice,Well may'st thou think this one short nightWorth years of other men's delight.If thy heart as mine own heart is,Sunk in a boundless sea of bliss;O love, rejoice with me! rejoice!"But as she spoke, her honied voiceTrembled, and midst of sobs she said,"O love, and art thou still afraid?Return, then, to thine happiness,Nor will I love thee any less;But watch thee as a mother mightHer child at play."With strange delightHe stammered out, "Nay, keep thy tearsfor me, and for my ruined yearsWeep love, that I may love thee more,My little hour will soon be o'er.""Ah, love," she said, "and thou art wiseAs men are, with long miseriesBuying these idle words and vain,My foolish love, with lasting pain;And yet, thou wouldst have died at lastIf in all wisdom thou hadst passedThy weary life: forgive me then,In pitying the sad life of men."Then in such bliss his soul did swim,But tender music unto himHer words were; death and miseryBut empty names were grown to be,As from that place his steps she drew,And dark the hall behind them grew.

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