All night I hear the chafing iceFloat, griding, down the swollen stream;I lie fast-held in terror's vice,Nor dare to think or dream.I only know the unknown knightKeeps vigil by my father's bed:Oh, who shall wake to see the lightFlame all the east with red?The King's DeathThe sleeping-chamber of the King: a candle burns dimly by the curtained bed. The arras parts, and two slaves enter with daggers. A storm of wind rages without.FIRST SLAVE: He sleeps.SECOND SLAVE: He sleeps, whom only death shall rouseTo dread unsleeping in another world.FIRST SLAVE: How long the careful night has kept him wakeful,As if sleep loathed to snare him for our knives!SECOND SLAVE: Yea, we have crouched so close in quaking darkI scarce can lift my sword-arm: strike you first.FIRST SLAVE: The heavy waiting hours have crushed my strength;The hate that burst to such an eager flameWithin my heart has smouldered to dull ash,Which pity breathes to scatter.SECOND SLAVE: Knows he pity?FIRST SLAVE: Nay, he is throned above his slaughtered kin,A reeking sword his sceptre. He has broken,As one across the knee a faggot snaps,Strong lives to feed the blaze of his ambition;Yet shall a slave's hand strike cold death in himFor whom kings sweat like slaves?SECOND SLAVE: Yea, at the strokeOne slave lies dead--a hundred kings are born;For every man that breathes will be a king;Vast empires, beaten-dust beneath his feet,Will rise again and teem with kingly men,When he, their death, is deadFIRST SLAVE: How still he sleeps!The tempest shrieks to wake him, yet he slumbers.As seas that foam against unyielding scars,The mad wind storms the castle, wall and tower,And is not spent. Hark, it has found a breach--Some latch unloosed--the house is full of wind;It rushes, wailing, down the corridor;It seeks the King; it cries on him to waken;Now 'tis without, and shakes the rattling bolt;Lo, it has broken in, in little gusts,I feel it in my hair; 'twill lay cold fingersUpon his lips, and start him from his sleep.See, it has whipt the yellow flame to smoke.SECOND SLAVE: And now it fails; the heavy, hanging goldThat shelters him from night is all unstirred.FIRST SLAVE: Even the wind must pause.SECOND SLAVE: 'Twas but a breezeTo blow our sinking courage to clear fire.Too long we loiter; soon the approaching dayWill take us, slaves who grasp the arms of menYet dare not plunge them save in our own breasts.Come, let us strike!(They approach the bed and draw aside the curtain.)FIRST SLAVE: The King--how still he sleeps!Can majesty in such calm slumber lie?SECOND SLAVE: Come, falter not, strike home!FIRST SLAVE: Hold, hold your hand,For death has stolen a march upon our hate;He does not breathe.SECOND SLAVE: The stars have wrought for us,And we are conquerors with unbloodied hands.FIRST SLAVE: Nay, nay, for in our thoughts his life was spilt;While yet our bodies lagged in fettered fear,Our shafted breath sped on and stabbed his sleep.Oh, red for all the world, across our brows,Our murderous thoughts have burned the brand of Cain.See, through the window stares the pitiless day!The Knight of the Wood"I fear the Knight of the Wood," she said"For him may no man overthrow.Where boughs are matted thick o'erhead,There gleams, amid the shadows dread,The terror of his armour red;And all men fear him, high and low;Yet all must through the forest go."She paused awhile where larches flameAbout the borders of the wood;Then, crying loud on Love's high nameTo keep her maiden-heart from shame,She entered, and full-swiftly cameWhere, hooded with a scarlet hood,A rider in her pathway stood.She saw the gleam of armour red;She saw the fiery pennon waveIts flaming terror overhead'Mid writhing boughs and shadows dread."Ah God," she cried: "that I were dead,And laid for ever in my grave!"Then, swooning, called on Love to save.Among the springing fern she fell,And very nigh to death she lay;Till, like the fading of a spellAt ringing of the matin-bell,The darkness left her; by a wellShe waked beneath the open day,And rose to go upon her way;When, once again, the ruddy lightOf arms she saw, and turned to flee;But clutching brambles stayed her flight;While, marvelling, she saw the KnightUnhooded; and his eyes were brightWith April colours of the sea;And crowned as a King was he.She knelt before him in the ferns,And sang: "O Lord of Love, I bowBefore thy shield, where blazoned burnsThe flaming heart with light that turnsThe night to day. O heart that yearnsFor love, lo, Love before thee now--The wild-wood knight with crownèd brow!"Notre Dame de la Belle-VerrièreAbove Thy halo's burning blueFor ever hovers the White Dove;Thy heart enshrines, for ever new,The Cross--the Crown of all Thy love;While, sapphire wing on sapphire wing,About Thee choiring angels swingGold censers, and bright candles bear.Because I have no heart to sing,I come to Thee with all my care,Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.Because the sword hath pierced Thy side,Thy brows are crowned with circling gold.The woe of all the world doth hideWithin Thy mantle's azure fold.Because Thou, too, hast dwelt with fears,Through lingering days and endless years,I find no comfort otherwhere,Our Lady beautiful with tears,Our Lady sorrowfully fair,Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.My feet have travelled the hot roadBetween the poppies' barren fires;But now I cast aside the loadOf burning hopes and wild desiresThat ever fierce and fiercer grew.Thy peace falls like a falling dewUpon me as I kneel in prayer,Because Thou hast known sorrow, too,Because Thou, too, hast known despair,Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.In the ValleyLove, take my hand, and look not with sad eyesThrough the valley-shades: for us, the mountains rise;Beneath the cold, blue-cleaving peaks of snowLike flame the April-blossomed almonds blow--Spring-grace and winter-glory intertwinedWithin the glittering web that colour weaves.Yet who are they who troop so close behindWith raiment rustling like frost-withered leavesThat burden winter-winds with ever-restless sighs?Love, look not back, nor ever hearken moreTo murmuring shades; for us, the river-shoreIs lit with dew-hung daffodils that gleamOn either side the tawny, foaming streamThat bears through April with triumphal songDissolving winter to the brimming sea.Yet who are they who, ever-whispering, throng,With lean, grey lips that shudder piteously,As if from some bright fruit of bitter-tasting core?Nay, look not back, for, lo, in trancèd lightLove stays awhile his world-encircling flightTo wait our coming from the valley-ways;See where, a hovering fire amid the blaze,He pants aflame with irised plumes unfurledAbove the utmost pinnacle of noon.Yet who are they who wander through the worldLike weary clouds about a wintry moon,With wan, bewildered brows that bear eternal night?Love, look not back, nor fill thy heart with woeOf old, sad loves that perished long ago;For ever after living lovers treadPale, yearning ghosts of all earth's lovers dead.A little while with life we lead the trainEre we, too, follow, cold, some breathing love.I fear their fevered eyes and hands that strainTo snatch our joy that flutters bright above,To shadow with grey death its ruddy, pulsing glow.Love, look not back in this life-crowning hourWhen all our love breaks into perfect flowerBeneath the kindling heights of frozen time.Come, Love, that we with happy haste may climbBeyond the valley, and may chance to seeSome unknown peak that cleaves unfading skies.Old sorrow saps my strength; I may not fleeThe flame of passionate hunger in their eyes;Beseeching shade on shade--they hold me in their power.Love, look not back, for, all too brief, our day,In wilder glories flameth fast away.Lo, even now, the northern snow-ridge glows--With purple shadowed--from pale gold to roseThat shivers white beneath stars dawning cold.Lift up thine eyes ere all the colour fades.Ah, rainbow-plumèd Love in airs of gold,Too late I turn, a shade among the shades.To follow, death-enthralled, thy flight through ages grey.The Vision.A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY.PERSONS: A YOUNG HERD. HIS MOTHER.SCENE: THE QUEEN'S CRAGS.TIME: CHRISTMAS EVE.The herd stands at the foot of the Crags, gazing across the dark fells. His mother enters.MOTHER: Son, come home, nor tarry hereIn this peril-haunted place.My old heart is filled with fearBy the white flame of thy face,And thine eyes whose restless fireBurneth ever wild and clearAs red peats between the bars.Son, come home; the night is cold;Dropping from the wintry stars,Tingling frost falls through the air;See, the bents are white with rime;All the sheep are in the fold;All the cattle in the byre;Only we, of live things, roamO'er the fells so far from home;E'en the red fox in his lairSnuggles close to keep him warm;And the lonely, wandering hareCrouches, shivering, in her form;While by Greenlea's frozen edgeHides the mallard in the sedge.Son, come home; the ingle-seatWaits thee by the glowing peat,And the door is off the latch.Come, and we will feast and sing,As of old at Christmas time,Until thou wilt drowse and nodAnd with slumber-drooping headGladly seek thy bracken-bedUnderneath the heather-thatch;Where the healing sleep will bringUnto thee the peace of God.Son, come home! Whom seekest thou there?HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!MOTHER: Cry no more on Guenevere.Some wild warlock of the fells,Born beneath the Devil's Scars,Lures thee forth to drown thy soulDeep in Broomlea-water cold.Guenevere no longer dwellsAnywhere beneath the stars;Though she walked these Crags of old,Many hundred years ago,Into earth she sank like snow;As a sunset-cloud in rainBreaks, and showers the thirsty plain,All the glory of her hairFell to earth, we know not where.Leave thy foolish quest forlorn.Lo, to-night a King is born,Who, when earthly kings at lastInto wildering night are passed,Yet shall wear the crown of morn.Mary, Thou whose love may turnEyes that after evil burn,Draw his soul, that strays so far,To Thy Son's white throning-star.Queen of Heaven, hear my prayer!HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!MOTHER: Low she lies, and may not hear.The white lily, Guenevere,Ruthless time has trodden down;Arthur is a tarnished crown,High Gawain a broken spear,Percival a riven shield;They, who taught the world to yield,Closed with death and lost the field,Stricken by the last despair:Launcelot is but a nameBlown about the winds of shame;Surely God has quenched the flameThat burned men's souls for Guenevere.Mary, heed a mother's woe;Mary, heed a mother's tears!Thou, whose heart so long agoKnew the pangs and hopes and fearsWe poor mortal mothers know;Thou, to whom, on Christmas-morn,Christ, the Son of God, was born;Thou whose mother-love hath pressedThe sweet Babe against thy breast;And with wondering joy hath feltThe warm clutch of little hands,When the Kings from far-off lands--Crowned with gold, in gold attire--With the simple shepherds knelt'Mid the beasts within the byre;Mary, if Thy heart, afraid,When beyond Thy care he strayed,Sometimes grieved that he must growUnlike other boys and men--Filled with dreams beyond Thy ken,Anguished with diviner woe,Pangs more fiery than Thy pain,Deeper than Thy dark despair--From the perils of the nightGive me back my son again.Thou, whose love may never fail,Heed a lonely mother's prayer!Come in all Thy healing might!A sudden glory sweeps across the Fells. The vision appears in a cleft of the Crags. The herd and his mother kneel before it.MOTHER: Mary, Queen of Heaven, hail!HERD (falling forward): Guenevere! Guenevere!THE THREE KINGS.To C. J. S.The Three KingsPERSONS: KING GARLAND, KING ARLO, KING ASHALORN.SEA-VOICES, WAVE-VOICES, AND WIND-VOICES.SCENE:A rock in the midst of the North Sea,whereon the three kings, bound naked by conqueringsea-rovers, have been left to perish.VOICE OF THE DAWN-WIND: Awaken, O sea, from thy starry dream;Awaken, awaken!For delight of thy slumber not one pale gleamFrom dim star-clusters remaineth unshaken.All night I have haunted the valleys and rivers;Now hither I come--Ere, quickened with sunlight, the drowsy east quivers--To waken thy song, night-bewildered and dumb;To stir thy grey waters, of starlight forsaken,To loosen white foam in the red of the dawn.WAVE-VOICES: The sound of thy voiceHas broken our sleep;All night we have waited thee, herald of light.We arise, we rejoiceAt thy bidding to leap,And spray with our laughter the trail of the night.All night we have waited thee, weary of stars--The little star-dreams, and the sleep without song;The deep-brooding slumber of silence that holdsOur melody mute in the uttermost deep.O Wind of the Dawn, we have waited thee long;The sound of thy voiceHas broken our sleep;We arise, we rejoiceAt thy bidding to leap,With a tumult of singing, a rapture of spray,To scatter our joy in the path of the day.GARLAND: Day comes at last, beyond the sea's grey rim;The young sun leaps in sudden might of gold.ASHALORN: Before his fire our lives will smoulder dim;Like stars we shine, we fade; the tale is told,And all our empty splendour put to scorn;Fate leaves us, who were clothed in pride, forlorn,To perish, naked, in this lonely sea.But yesterday we ruled as kings of earth;Frail men to-day; to-morrow, who shall be?ARLO: But yesterday my cup of life was filledTo overflowing with the wine of mirth--The plashing joy from fruitful years distilled.GARLAND: But yesterday my kinghood sprang to birth;My fingers scarce had grasped the might new-born,When from my clutch the glittering pomp was torn.SEA-VOICES: They slumber, they slumber, the kings in their pride.The beak of the Rover is dipt in the tide;The sails of the Rover are red in the wind;And white is the trail of the foam flung behind.They have fallen, have fallen, the kings in their pride;Their sea-gates are forced by the rush of the tide;Their splendour is scattered as surf on the wind;And red is the trail of the terror behind.Forsaken, forlorn,On a rock of the sea,In anguish they bow,And wait for the night and the darkness to be;Oh, bright was the gold in their hair;The sea-weed, in scorn,Is twined in it now;Oh, rich was their raiment and rare,Blue, purple, and gold,In fold upon fold;Of glory and majesty shorn,They are clothed with the wind of despair.GARLAND: Lo, the live waters run to greet the day:Even so I laughed to see the soaring light;My life was poised like yonder curving waveTo break in such bright revel of keen spray.ARLO: I counted not the years that took their flight,Gold-crowned and singing; every hour I stood,As one enchanted in an April wood,In some new paradise of scent and flowers.I counted not the countless, careless hours,The days of rapture and the nights of peace.How should I dream that such delight could pass,Such colour fade, such flowing numbers cease,My glory perish where was none to save,And all my strength be trodden in the grass?ASHALORN: Oh, blest art thou who diest in thy youth;Oh, blest art thou who failest in thy prime;While yet thine eyes are full of wondering truth;Ere yet thy feet have found the ways of thorn.Too long I wandered down the vale of time,A lonely wind, all songless and forlorn;For I have found the empty heart of things,The secret sorrow of the summer rose,And all the sadness of the April green;I know that every happy stream that springsInto a sea of bitter memories flows;I know the curse that God has set on kings--The solitary splendour and the crownOf desolation, and the prisoning state;The heart that yearns beneath the robe of gold,The soul that starves behind the golden gate.I know how chance has reared our earthly thronesUpon a shifting wrack of whitened bones,Of heroes fallen in the wars of old--By wind upbuilded and by wind cast down.SEA-VOICES: As foam on the edge of the waters of night,They flicker and fall;More brief than delight,More frail than their tears,They flicker and fallIn the tide of the years;Awhile they may triumph, as lords of the earth,With feasting and mirth,Yet the winds and the waters shall sweep over all.VOICE OF THE WEST WIND: O wide-shifting wonder of sapphire and gold,O wandering glory of emerald and white,From the purple and green of the moorlands I come,To sweep o'er thy waters with turbulent flight,To sway thee, and swing thee abroad in my might;I lean to thy lips, to their white, curling foam,With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.I have drunk the red wine of the heather, and sweptOver moorland and fell, for mile upon mile.The little blue loughs were merry, and leapt,With a shaking of laughter, in dim, dreaming hollows;The little blue loughs were merry, and flungTheir spray on my wings as above them I swung;I laughed to their laughter, and dallied awhile;Then left them to sink in the silence that follows.In the forest I stirred, like the chant of thy tides,The song of the boughs and the branches a-swinging;The ashes and beeches and oak-trees were singing,Like the noise of thy waters when dark tempest rides.I swung on the crest of the pine-trees a-swaying,As now on thy green, flowing surges, O sea;I piped in my triumph, they danced to my playing;I left them a-murmur, to hasten to thee.The white clouds were driven like ships through the air,And grey flowed the shadows o'er sea-coloured bent,And dark on the heathland, and dark on the wold:But here on thy waters, where all things grow fair,They shadow with purple thine emerald and gold.My revel unbroken, my rapture unspent,To thy far-shining wonder, O sea, I have come,To sweep o'er thy splendour with turbulent flight;To sway thee, and swing thee abroad in my might;I lean to thy lips, to their white, curling foam,With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.GARLAND: There is no sadness in the world but death.The years that whitened o'er thy head have takenThe colour from thy life, but still in meThe blood beats young and red; yea, still my breathIs full of freshness as the wind that blowsAcross the morning-fells when night has shakenHis cooling dews among the wakening heath.Yea, now the wind that lashes o'er the seaStings all my quivering body to keen lifeAnd whips the blood into my straining limbs;And all the youth within me springs to fire;I am consumed with ravening desireFor one brief, wild, delirious hour of strife;I yearn for every joy that flies or swims,Rides on the wind or with the water flows.Yet I must die by patient, slow degrees,With hourly wasting flesh and parching blood;Ah God, that I might leap into the flood,And perish struggling in the adventurous seas!ARLO: My mouth is filled with saltness, and I thirstFor forest-pools that bubble in the shade,When loud the hot chase pants through every glade,And fleeing fawns from every thicket burst;Or clear wine vintaged when the world was young,Gurgling from deep-mouthed jars of coloured stone.ASHALORN: The noonday burns my body to the bone,And sets a coal of fire upon my tongue,Between my lips, and stifles all my breath.Oh come, thou only joy undying, death!WAVE-VOICES: O wind, that failing, failing, failing, dies,Beneath the heat of August-laden skies,Sinking in sleep, sinking in quiet sleep--Thy blue wings folded o'er our dreaming deepWe too are weary, weary in the noon;We too will fall in shining slumber soon--Foamless and still, foamless and very still,Unstirred, unshaken by thy restless will.Yet there are eyes that cannot, cannot close,And strong souls racked by fiery, rending woes--Never to rest, never to gather restBy any stream of murmuring waters blest.But slumber falling, falling, on us lies,Silent and deep, beneath noon-laden skies,Silent and deep, silent and very deep,With blue wings folded o'er our dreaming sleep.* * * * *VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND: I have shaken the noonfrom my wings, I ariseTo quicken the flame in the western skies--To blow the clouds to a streaming flame,Where the red sun sinks in the opal sea,And red as the heart of the opal glowsHis last wild gleam in the waters grey.O grey-green waters, curling to rose,The kings are glad of the dying day;The kings are weary; the white mists close--The white mists gather to cover their shame.ASHALORN: The evening mist is dank upon my brow,And cold upon my lips--yea, cold as death;Yet, through the gloom, she gazes on me now,As in our early-wedded days; her breathIs warm once more upon my withered cheek.O gaunt, grey lips, that strive but may not speak;O cold, grey eyes, that flicker in the gloam--Long have we strayed; come, let us wander home!ARLO: Like lit September woodlands, streameth downHer hair, beneath the circle of her crown;Of rarer, redder glory than the coldDead metal that for ever strives to holdThe ever-straying wonder of live gold!Like woodland pools, her eyes, a dreaming brown--Like woodland pools where autumn-splendours drown!O red-gold tresses, shaking in the gloam,Unto your light, unto your shade I come!GARLAND: Her eyes are azure as the wind-blown sea,With deep sea-shadowings of grey and green;And like an April storm her shining hair--Yea, all the glittering Aprils that have been,And all the wondering Aprils yet to be,Have stored their wealth of shower and sunshine there;Yea, all the thousand, thousand springs of earthNew-lit and re-awakened at her birth,In her sweet body glow and glimmer fair.O wonder of sea-colours and white foamAnd April glories, to thine arms I come!
All night I hear the chafing iceFloat, griding, down the swollen stream;I lie fast-held in terror's vice,Nor dare to think or dream.
All night I hear the chafing ice
Float, griding, down the swollen stream;
Float, griding, down the swollen stream;
I lie fast-held in terror's vice,
Nor dare to think or dream.
Nor dare to think or dream.
I only know the unknown knightKeeps vigil by my father's bed:Oh, who shall wake to see the lightFlame all the east with red?
I only know the unknown knight
Keeps vigil by my father's bed:
Keeps vigil by my father's bed:
Oh, who shall wake to see the light
Flame all the east with red?
Flame all the east with red?
The King's Death
The sleeping-chamber of the King: a candle burns dimly by the curtained bed. The arras parts, and two slaves enter with daggers. A storm of wind rages without.
FIRST SLAVE: He sleeps.
FIRST SLAVE: He sleeps.
SECOND SLAVE: He sleeps, whom only death shall rouseTo dread unsleeping in another world.
SECOND SLAVE: He sleeps, whom only death shall rouse
To dread unsleeping in another world.
FIRST SLAVE: How long the careful night has kept him wakeful,As if sleep loathed to snare him for our knives!
FIRST SLAVE: How long the careful night has kept him wakeful,
As if sleep loathed to snare him for our knives!
SECOND SLAVE: Yea, we have crouched so close in quaking darkI scarce can lift my sword-arm: strike you first.
SECOND SLAVE: Yea, we have crouched so close in quaking dark
I scarce can lift my sword-arm: strike you first.
FIRST SLAVE: The heavy waiting hours have crushed my strength;The hate that burst to such an eager flameWithin my heart has smouldered to dull ash,Which pity breathes to scatter.
FIRST SLAVE: The heavy waiting hours have crushed my strength;
The hate that burst to such an eager flame
Within my heart has smouldered to dull ash,
Which pity breathes to scatter.
SECOND SLAVE: Knows he pity?
SECOND SLAVE: Knows he pity?
FIRST SLAVE: Nay, he is throned above his slaughtered kin,A reeking sword his sceptre. He has broken,As one across the knee a faggot snaps,Strong lives to feed the blaze of his ambition;Yet shall a slave's hand strike cold death in himFor whom kings sweat like slaves?
FIRST SLAVE: Nay, he is throned above his slaughtered kin,
A reeking sword his sceptre. He has broken,
As one across the knee a faggot snaps,
Strong lives to feed the blaze of his ambition;
Yet shall a slave's hand strike cold death in him
For whom kings sweat like slaves?
SECOND SLAVE: Yea, at the strokeOne slave lies dead--a hundred kings are born;For every man that breathes will be a king;Vast empires, beaten-dust beneath his feet,Will rise again and teem with kingly men,When he, their death, is dead
SECOND SLAVE: Yea, at the stroke
One slave lies dead--a hundred kings are born;
For every man that breathes will be a king;
Vast empires, beaten-dust beneath his feet,
Will rise again and teem with kingly men,
When he, their death, is dead
FIRST SLAVE: How still he sleeps!The tempest shrieks to wake him, yet he slumbers.As seas that foam against unyielding scars,The mad wind storms the castle, wall and tower,And is not spent. Hark, it has found a breach--Some latch unloosed--the house is full of wind;It rushes, wailing, down the corridor;It seeks the King; it cries on him to waken;Now 'tis without, and shakes the rattling bolt;Lo, it has broken in, in little gusts,I feel it in my hair; 'twill lay cold fingersUpon his lips, and start him from his sleep.See, it has whipt the yellow flame to smoke.
FIRST SLAVE: How still he sleeps!
The tempest shrieks to wake him, yet he slumbers.
As seas that foam against unyielding scars,
The mad wind storms the castle, wall and tower,
And is not spent. Hark, it has found a breach--
Some latch unloosed--the house is full of wind;
It rushes, wailing, down the corridor;
It seeks the King; it cries on him to waken;
Now 'tis without, and shakes the rattling bolt;
Lo, it has broken in, in little gusts,
I feel it in my hair; 'twill lay cold fingers
Upon his lips, and start him from his sleep.
See, it has whipt the yellow flame to smoke.
SECOND SLAVE: And now it fails; the heavy, hanging goldThat shelters him from night is all unstirred.
SECOND SLAVE: And now it fails; the heavy, hanging gold
That shelters him from night is all unstirred.
FIRST SLAVE: Even the wind must pause.
FIRST SLAVE: Even the wind must pause.
SECOND SLAVE: 'Twas but a breezeTo blow our sinking courage to clear fire.Too long we loiter; soon the approaching dayWill take us, slaves who grasp the arms of menYet dare not plunge them save in our own breasts.Come, let us strike!
SECOND SLAVE: 'Twas but a breeze
To blow our sinking courage to clear fire.
Too long we loiter; soon the approaching day
Will take us, slaves who grasp the arms of men
Yet dare not plunge them save in our own breasts.
Come, let us strike!
(They approach the bed and draw aside the curtain.)
(They approach the bed and draw aside the curtain.)
FIRST SLAVE: The King--how still he sleeps!Can majesty in such calm slumber lie?
FIRST SLAVE: The King--how still he sleeps!
Can majesty in such calm slumber lie?
SECOND SLAVE: Come, falter not, strike home!
SECOND SLAVE: Come, falter not, strike home!
FIRST SLAVE: Hold, hold your hand,For death has stolen a march upon our hate;He does not breathe.
FIRST SLAVE: Hold, hold your hand,
For death has stolen a march upon our hate;
He does not breathe.
SECOND SLAVE: The stars have wrought for us,And we are conquerors with unbloodied hands.
SECOND SLAVE: The stars have wrought for us,
And we are conquerors with unbloodied hands.
FIRST SLAVE: Nay, nay, for in our thoughts his life was spilt;While yet our bodies lagged in fettered fear,Our shafted breath sped on and stabbed his sleep.Oh, red for all the world, across our brows,Our murderous thoughts have burned the brand of Cain.See, through the window stares the pitiless day!
FIRST SLAVE: Nay, nay, for in our thoughts his life was spilt;
While yet our bodies lagged in fettered fear,
Our shafted breath sped on and stabbed his sleep.
Oh, red for all the world, across our brows,
Our murderous thoughts have burned the brand of Cain.
See, through the window stares the pitiless day!
The Knight of the Wood
"I fear the Knight of the Wood," she said"For him may no man overthrow.Where boughs are matted thick o'erhead,There gleams, amid the shadows dread,The terror of his armour red;And all men fear him, high and low;Yet all must through the forest go."
"I fear the Knight of the Wood," she said
"For him may no man overthrow.
Where boughs are matted thick o'erhead,
There gleams, amid the shadows dread,
The terror of his armour red;
And all men fear him, high and low;
Yet all must through the forest go."
She paused awhile where larches flameAbout the borders of the wood;Then, crying loud on Love's high nameTo keep her maiden-heart from shame,She entered, and full-swiftly cameWhere, hooded with a scarlet hood,A rider in her pathway stood.
She paused awhile where larches flame
About the borders of the wood;
Then, crying loud on Love's high name
To keep her maiden-heart from shame,
She entered, and full-swiftly came
Where, hooded with a scarlet hood,
A rider in her pathway stood.
She saw the gleam of armour red;She saw the fiery pennon waveIts flaming terror overhead'Mid writhing boughs and shadows dread."Ah God," she cried: "that I were dead,And laid for ever in my grave!"Then, swooning, called on Love to save.
She saw the gleam of armour red;
She saw the fiery pennon wave
Its flaming terror overhead
'Mid writhing boughs and shadows dread.
"Ah God," she cried: "that I were dead,
And laid for ever in my grave!"
Then, swooning, called on Love to save.
Among the springing fern she fell,And very nigh to death she lay;Till, like the fading of a spellAt ringing of the matin-bell,The darkness left her; by a wellShe waked beneath the open day,And rose to go upon her way;
Among the springing fern she fell,
And very nigh to death she lay;
Till, like the fading of a spell
At ringing of the matin-bell,
The darkness left her; by a well
She waked beneath the open day,
And rose to go upon her way;
When, once again, the ruddy lightOf arms she saw, and turned to flee;But clutching brambles stayed her flight;While, marvelling, she saw the KnightUnhooded; and his eyes were brightWith April colours of the sea;And crowned as a King was he.
When, once again, the ruddy light
Of arms she saw, and turned to flee;
But clutching brambles stayed her flight;
While, marvelling, she saw the Knight
Unhooded; and his eyes were bright
With April colours of the sea;
And crowned as a King was he.
She knelt before him in the ferns,And sang: "O Lord of Love, I bowBefore thy shield, where blazoned burnsThe flaming heart with light that turnsThe night to day. O heart that yearnsFor love, lo, Love before thee now--The wild-wood knight with crownèd brow!"
She knelt before him in the ferns,
And sang: "O Lord of Love, I bow
Before thy shield, where blazoned burns
The flaming heart with light that turns
The night to day. O heart that yearns
For love, lo, Love before thee now--
The wild-wood knight with crownèd brow!"
Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière
Above Thy halo's burning blueFor ever hovers the White Dove;Thy heart enshrines, for ever new,The Cross--the Crown of all Thy love;While, sapphire wing on sapphire wing,About Thee choiring angels swingGold censers, and bright candles bear.Because I have no heart to sing,I come to Thee with all my care,Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.
Above Thy halo's burning blue
For ever hovers the White Dove;
Thy heart enshrines, for ever new,
The Cross--the Crown of all Thy love;
While, sapphire wing on sapphire wing,
About Thee choiring angels swing
Gold censers, and bright candles bear.
Because I have no heart to sing,
I come to Thee with all my care,
Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.
Because the sword hath pierced Thy side,Thy brows are crowned with circling gold.The woe of all the world doth hideWithin Thy mantle's azure fold.Because Thou, too, hast dwelt with fears,Through lingering days and endless years,I find no comfort otherwhere,Our Lady beautiful with tears,Our Lady sorrowfully fair,Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.
Because the sword hath pierced Thy side,
Thy brows are crowned with circling gold.
The woe of all the world doth hide
Within Thy mantle's azure fold.
Because Thou, too, hast dwelt with fears,
Through lingering days and endless years,
I find no comfort otherwhere,
Our Lady beautiful with tears,
Our Lady sorrowfully fair,
Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.
My feet have travelled the hot roadBetween the poppies' barren fires;But now I cast aside the loadOf burning hopes and wild desiresThat ever fierce and fiercer grew.Thy peace falls like a falling dewUpon me as I kneel in prayer,Because Thou hast known sorrow, too,Because Thou, too, hast known despair,Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.
My feet have travelled the hot road
Between the poppies' barren fires;
But now I cast aside the load
Of burning hopes and wild desires
That ever fierce and fiercer grew.
Thy peace falls like a falling dew
Upon me as I kneel in prayer,
Because Thou hast known sorrow, too,
Because Thou, too, hast known despair,
Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière.
In the Valley
Love, take my hand, and look not with sad eyesThrough the valley-shades: for us, the mountains rise;Beneath the cold, blue-cleaving peaks of snowLike flame the April-blossomed almonds blow--Spring-grace and winter-glory intertwinedWithin the glittering web that colour weaves.
Love, take my hand, and look not with sad eyes
Through the valley-shades: for us, the mountains rise;
Beneath the cold, blue-cleaving peaks of snow
Like flame the April-blossomed almonds blow--
Spring-grace and winter-glory intertwined
Within the glittering web that colour weaves.
Yet who are they who troop so close behindWith raiment rustling like frost-withered leavesThat burden winter-winds with ever-restless sighs?
Yet who are they who troop so close behind
With raiment rustling like frost-withered leaves
That burden winter-winds with ever-restless sighs?
Love, look not back, nor ever hearken moreTo murmuring shades; for us, the river-shoreIs lit with dew-hung daffodils that gleamOn either side the tawny, foaming streamThat bears through April with triumphal songDissolving winter to the brimming sea.
Love, look not back, nor ever hearken more
To murmuring shades; for us, the river-shore
Is lit with dew-hung daffodils that gleam
On either side the tawny, foaming stream
That bears through April with triumphal song
Dissolving winter to the brimming sea.
Yet who are they who, ever-whispering, throng,With lean, grey lips that shudder piteously,As if from some bright fruit of bitter-tasting core?
Yet who are they who, ever-whispering, throng,
With lean, grey lips that shudder piteously,
As if from some bright fruit of bitter-tasting core?
Nay, look not back, for, lo, in trancèd lightLove stays awhile his world-encircling flightTo wait our coming from the valley-ways;See where, a hovering fire amid the blaze,He pants aflame with irised plumes unfurledAbove the utmost pinnacle of noon.
Nay, look not back, for, lo, in trancèd light
Love stays awhile his world-encircling flight
To wait our coming from the valley-ways;
See where, a hovering fire amid the blaze,
He pants aflame with irised plumes unfurled
Above the utmost pinnacle of noon.
Yet who are they who wander through the worldLike weary clouds about a wintry moon,With wan, bewildered brows that bear eternal night?
Yet who are they who wander through the world
Like weary clouds about a wintry moon,
With wan, bewildered brows that bear eternal night?
Love, look not back, nor fill thy heart with woeOf old, sad loves that perished long ago;For ever after living lovers treadPale, yearning ghosts of all earth's lovers dead.A little while with life we lead the trainEre we, too, follow, cold, some breathing love.
Love, look not back, nor fill thy heart with woe
Of old, sad loves that perished long ago;
For ever after living lovers tread
Pale, yearning ghosts of all earth's lovers dead.
A little while with life we lead the train
Ere we, too, follow, cold, some breathing love.
I fear their fevered eyes and hands that strainTo snatch our joy that flutters bright above,To shadow with grey death its ruddy, pulsing glow.
I fear their fevered eyes and hands that strain
To snatch our joy that flutters bright above,
To shadow with grey death its ruddy, pulsing glow.
Love, look not back in this life-crowning hourWhen all our love breaks into perfect flowerBeneath the kindling heights of frozen time.Come, Love, that we with happy haste may climbBeyond the valley, and may chance to seeSome unknown peak that cleaves unfading skies.
Love, look not back in this life-crowning hour
When all our love breaks into perfect flower
Beneath the kindling heights of frozen time.
Come, Love, that we with happy haste may climb
Beyond the valley, and may chance to see
Some unknown peak that cleaves unfading skies.
Old sorrow saps my strength; I may not fleeThe flame of passionate hunger in their eyes;Beseeching shade on shade--they hold me in their power.
Old sorrow saps my strength; I may not flee
The flame of passionate hunger in their eyes;
Beseeching shade on shade--they hold me in their power.
Love, look not back, for, all too brief, our day,In wilder glories flameth fast away.Lo, even now, the northern snow-ridge glows--With purple shadowed--from pale gold to roseThat shivers white beneath stars dawning cold.Lift up thine eyes ere all the colour fades.
Love, look not back, for, all too brief, our day,
In wilder glories flameth fast away.
Lo, even now, the northern snow-ridge glows--
With purple shadowed--from pale gold to rose
That shivers white beneath stars dawning cold.
Lift up thine eyes ere all the colour fades.
Ah, rainbow-plumèd Love in airs of gold,Too late I turn, a shade among the shades.To follow, death-enthralled, thy flight through ages grey.
Ah, rainbow-plumèd Love in airs of gold,
Too late I turn, a shade among the shades.
To follow, death-enthralled, thy flight through ages grey.
The Vision.
A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY.
PERSONS: A YOUNG HERD. HIS MOTHER.SCENE: THE QUEEN'S CRAGS.TIME: CHRISTMAS EVE.
PERSONS: A YOUNG HERD. HIS MOTHER.
SCENE: THE QUEEN'S CRAGS.
TIME: CHRISTMAS EVE.
The herd stands at the foot of the Crags, gazing across the dark fells. His mother enters.
MOTHER: Son, come home, nor tarry hereIn this peril-haunted place.My old heart is filled with fearBy the white flame of thy face,And thine eyes whose restless fireBurneth ever wild and clearAs red peats between the bars.Son, come home; the night is cold;Dropping from the wintry stars,Tingling frost falls through the air;See, the bents are white with rime;All the sheep are in the fold;All the cattle in the byre;Only we, of live things, roamO'er the fells so far from home;E'en the red fox in his lairSnuggles close to keep him warm;And the lonely, wandering hareCrouches, shivering, in her form;While by Greenlea's frozen edgeHides the mallard in the sedge.Son, come home; the ingle-seatWaits thee by the glowing peat,And the door is off the latch.Come, and we will feast and sing,As of old at Christmas time,Until thou wilt drowse and nodAnd with slumber-drooping headGladly seek thy bracken-bedUnderneath the heather-thatch;Where the healing sleep will bringUnto thee the peace of God.Son, come home! Whom seekest thou there?
MOTHER: Son, come home, nor tarry here
In this peril-haunted place.
My old heart is filled with fear
By the white flame of thy face,
And thine eyes whose restless fire
Burneth ever wild and clear
As red peats between the bars.
Son, come home; the night is cold;
Dropping from the wintry stars,
Tingling frost falls through the air;
See, the bents are white with rime;
All the sheep are in the fold;
All the cattle in the byre;
Only we, of live things, roam
O'er the fells so far from home;
E'en the red fox in his lair
Snuggles close to keep him warm;
And the lonely, wandering hare
Crouches, shivering, in her form;
While by Greenlea's frozen edge
Hides the mallard in the sedge.
Son, come home; the ingle-seat
Waits thee by the glowing peat,
And the door is off the latch.
Come, and we will feast and sing,
As of old at Christmas time,
Until thou wilt drowse and nod
And with slumber-drooping head
Gladly seek thy bracken-bed
Underneath the heather-thatch;
Where the healing sleep will bring
Unto thee the peace of God.
Son, come home! Whom seekest thou there?
HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!
HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!
MOTHER: Cry no more on Guenevere.Some wild warlock of the fells,Born beneath the Devil's Scars,Lures thee forth to drown thy soulDeep in Broomlea-water cold.Guenevere no longer dwellsAnywhere beneath the stars;Though she walked these Crags of old,Many hundred years ago,Into earth she sank like snow;As a sunset-cloud in rainBreaks, and showers the thirsty plain,All the glory of her hairFell to earth, we know not where.Leave thy foolish quest forlorn.Lo, to-night a King is born,Who, when earthly kings at lastInto wildering night are passed,Yet shall wear the crown of morn.
MOTHER: Cry no more on Guenevere.
Some wild warlock of the fells,
Born beneath the Devil's Scars,
Lures thee forth to drown thy soul
Deep in Broomlea-water cold.
Guenevere no longer dwells
Anywhere beneath the stars;
Though she walked these Crags of old,
Many hundred years ago,
Into earth she sank like snow;
As a sunset-cloud in rain
Breaks, and showers the thirsty plain,
All the glory of her hair
Fell to earth, we know not where.
Leave thy foolish quest forlorn.
Lo, to-night a King is born,
Who, when earthly kings at last
Into wildering night are passed,
Yet shall wear the crown of morn.
Mary, Thou whose love may turnEyes that after evil burn,Draw his soul, that strays so far,To Thy Son's white throning-star.Queen of Heaven, hear my prayer!
Mary, Thou whose love may turn
Eyes that after evil burn,
Draw his soul, that strays so far,
To Thy Son's white throning-star.
Queen of Heaven, hear my prayer!
HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!
HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!
MOTHER: Low she lies, and may not hear.The white lily, Guenevere,Ruthless time has trodden down;Arthur is a tarnished crown,High Gawain a broken spear,Percival a riven shield;They, who taught the world to yield,Closed with death and lost the field,Stricken by the last despair:Launcelot is but a nameBlown about the winds of shame;Surely God has quenched the flameThat burned men's souls for Guenevere.
MOTHER: Low she lies, and may not hear.
The white lily, Guenevere,
Ruthless time has trodden down;
Arthur is a tarnished crown,
High Gawain a broken spear,
Percival a riven shield;
They, who taught the world to yield,
Closed with death and lost the field,
Stricken by the last despair:
Launcelot is but a name
Blown about the winds of shame;
Surely God has quenched the flame
That burned men's souls for Guenevere.
Mary, heed a mother's woe;Mary, heed a mother's tears!Thou, whose heart so long agoKnew the pangs and hopes and fearsWe poor mortal mothers know;Thou, to whom, on Christmas-morn,Christ, the Son of God, was born;Thou whose mother-love hath pressedThe sweet Babe against thy breast;And with wondering joy hath feltThe warm clutch of little hands,When the Kings from far-off lands--Crowned with gold, in gold attire--With the simple shepherds knelt'Mid the beasts within the byre;Mary, if Thy heart, afraid,When beyond Thy care he strayed,Sometimes grieved that he must growUnlike other boys and men--Filled with dreams beyond Thy ken,Anguished with diviner woe,Pangs more fiery than Thy pain,Deeper than Thy dark despair--From the perils of the nightGive me back my son again.Thou, whose love may never fail,Heed a lonely mother's prayer!Come in all Thy healing might!
Mary, heed a mother's woe;
Mary, heed a mother's tears!
Thou, whose heart so long ago
Knew the pangs and hopes and fears
We poor mortal mothers know;
Thou, to whom, on Christmas-morn,
Christ, the Son of God, was born;
Thou whose mother-love hath pressed
The sweet Babe against thy breast;
And with wondering joy hath felt
The warm clutch of little hands,
When the Kings from far-off lands--
Crowned with gold, in gold attire--
With the simple shepherds knelt
'Mid the beasts within the byre;
Mary, if Thy heart, afraid,
When beyond Thy care he strayed,
Sometimes grieved that he must grow
Unlike other boys and men--
Filled with dreams beyond Thy ken,
Anguished with diviner woe,
Pangs more fiery than Thy pain,
Deeper than Thy dark despair--
From the perils of the night
Give me back my son again.
Thou, whose love may never fail,
Heed a lonely mother's prayer!
Come in all Thy healing might!
A sudden glory sweeps across the Fells. The vision appears in a cleft of the Crags. The herd and his mother kneel before it.
MOTHER: Mary, Queen of Heaven, hail!
MOTHER: Mary, Queen of Heaven, hail!
HERD (falling forward): Guenevere! Guenevere!
HERD (falling forward): Guenevere! Guenevere!
THE THREE KINGS.
To C. J. S.
The Three Kings
PERSONS: KING GARLAND, KING ARLO, KING ASHALORN.
PERSONS: KING GARLAND, KING ARLO, KING ASHALORN.
SEA-VOICES, WAVE-VOICES, AND WIND-VOICES.
SEA-VOICES, WAVE-VOICES, AND WIND-VOICES.
SCENE:A rock in the midst of the North Sea,whereon the three kings, bound naked by conqueringsea-rovers, have been left to perish.
SCENE:A rock in the midst of the North Sea,
whereon the three kings, bound naked by conquering
sea-rovers, have been left to perish.
VOICE OF THE DAWN-WIND: Awaken, O sea, from thy starry dream;Awaken, awaken!For delight of thy slumber not one pale gleamFrom dim star-clusters remaineth unshaken.All night I have haunted the valleys and rivers;Now hither I come--Ere, quickened with sunlight, the drowsy east quivers--To waken thy song, night-bewildered and dumb;To stir thy grey waters, of starlight forsaken,To loosen white foam in the red of the dawn.
VOICE OF THE DAWN-WIND: Awaken, O sea, from thy starry dream;
Awaken, awaken!
For delight of thy slumber not one pale gleam
From dim star-clusters remaineth unshaken.
All night I have haunted the valleys and rivers;
Now hither I come--
Ere, quickened with sunlight, the drowsy east quivers--
To waken thy song, night-bewildered and dumb;
To stir thy grey waters, of starlight forsaken,
To loosen white foam in the red of the dawn.
WAVE-VOICES: The sound of thy voiceHas broken our sleep;All night we have waited thee, herald of light.We arise, we rejoiceAt thy bidding to leap,And spray with our laughter the trail of the night.All night we have waited thee, weary of stars--The little star-dreams, and the sleep without song;The deep-brooding slumber of silence that holdsOur melody mute in the uttermost deep.O Wind of the Dawn, we have waited thee long;The sound of thy voiceHas broken our sleep;We arise, we rejoiceAt thy bidding to leap,With a tumult of singing, a rapture of spray,To scatter our joy in the path of the day.
WAVE-VOICES: The sound of thy voice
Has broken our sleep;
All night we have waited thee, herald of light.
We arise, we rejoice
At thy bidding to leap,
And spray with our laughter the trail of the night.
All night we have waited thee, weary of stars--
The little star-dreams, and the sleep without song;
The deep-brooding slumber of silence that holds
Our melody mute in the uttermost deep.
O Wind of the Dawn, we have waited thee long;
The sound of thy voice
Has broken our sleep;
We arise, we rejoice
At thy bidding to leap,
With a tumult of singing, a rapture of spray,
To scatter our joy in the path of the day.
GARLAND: Day comes at last, beyond the sea's grey rim;The young sun leaps in sudden might of gold.
GARLAND: Day comes at last, beyond the sea's grey rim;
The young sun leaps in sudden might of gold.
ASHALORN: Before his fire our lives will smoulder dim;Like stars we shine, we fade; the tale is told,And all our empty splendour put to scorn;Fate leaves us, who were clothed in pride, forlorn,To perish, naked, in this lonely sea.But yesterday we ruled as kings of earth;Frail men to-day; to-morrow, who shall be?
ASHALORN: Before his fire our lives will smoulder dim;
Like stars we shine, we fade; the tale is told,
And all our empty splendour put to scorn;
Fate leaves us, who were clothed in pride, forlorn,
To perish, naked, in this lonely sea.
But yesterday we ruled as kings of earth;
Frail men to-day; to-morrow, who shall be?
ARLO: But yesterday my cup of life was filledTo overflowing with the wine of mirth--The plashing joy from fruitful years distilled.
ARLO: But yesterday my cup of life was filled
To overflowing with the wine of mirth--
The plashing joy from fruitful years distilled.
GARLAND: But yesterday my kinghood sprang to birth;My fingers scarce had grasped the might new-born,When from my clutch the glittering pomp was torn.
GARLAND: But yesterday my kinghood sprang to birth;
My fingers scarce had grasped the might new-born,
When from my clutch the glittering pomp was torn.
SEA-VOICES: They slumber, they slumber, the kings in their pride.The beak of the Rover is dipt in the tide;The sails of the Rover are red in the wind;And white is the trail of the foam flung behind.They have fallen, have fallen, the kings in their pride;Their sea-gates are forced by the rush of the tide;Their splendour is scattered as surf on the wind;And red is the trail of the terror behind.
SEA-VOICES: They slumber, they slumber, the kings in their pride.
The beak of the Rover is dipt in the tide;
The sails of the Rover are red in the wind;
And white is the trail of the foam flung behind.
They have fallen, have fallen, the kings in their pride;
Their sea-gates are forced by the rush of the tide;
Their splendour is scattered as surf on the wind;
And red is the trail of the terror behind.
Forsaken, forlorn,On a rock of the sea,In anguish they bow,And wait for the night and the darkness to be;Oh, bright was the gold in their hair;The sea-weed, in scorn,Is twined in it now;Oh, rich was their raiment and rare,Blue, purple, and gold,In fold upon fold;Of glory and majesty shorn,They are clothed with the wind of despair.
Forsaken, forlorn,
On a rock of the sea,
In anguish they bow,
And wait for the night and the darkness to be;
Oh, bright was the gold in their hair;
The sea-weed, in scorn,
Is twined in it now;
Oh, rich was their raiment and rare,
Blue, purple, and gold,
In fold upon fold;
Of glory and majesty shorn,
They are clothed with the wind of despair.
GARLAND: Lo, the live waters run to greet the day:Even so I laughed to see the soaring light;My life was poised like yonder curving waveTo break in such bright revel of keen spray.
GARLAND: Lo, the live waters run to greet the day:
Even so I laughed to see the soaring light;
My life was poised like yonder curving wave
To break in such bright revel of keen spray.
ARLO: I counted not the years that took their flight,Gold-crowned and singing; every hour I stood,As one enchanted in an April wood,In some new paradise of scent and flowers.I counted not the countless, careless hours,The days of rapture and the nights of peace.How should I dream that such delight could pass,Such colour fade, such flowing numbers cease,My glory perish where was none to save,And all my strength be trodden in the grass?
ARLO: I counted not the years that took their flight,
Gold-crowned and singing; every hour I stood,
As one enchanted in an April wood,
In some new paradise of scent and flowers.
I counted not the countless, careless hours,
The days of rapture and the nights of peace.
How should I dream that such delight could pass,
Such colour fade, such flowing numbers cease,
My glory perish where was none to save,
And all my strength be trodden in the grass?
ASHALORN: Oh, blest art thou who diest in thy youth;Oh, blest art thou who failest in thy prime;While yet thine eyes are full of wondering truth;Ere yet thy feet have found the ways of thorn.Too long I wandered down the vale of time,A lonely wind, all songless and forlorn;For I have found the empty heart of things,The secret sorrow of the summer rose,And all the sadness of the April green;I know that every happy stream that springsInto a sea of bitter memories flows;I know the curse that God has set on kings--The solitary splendour and the crownOf desolation, and the prisoning state;The heart that yearns beneath the robe of gold,The soul that starves behind the golden gate.I know how chance has reared our earthly thronesUpon a shifting wrack of whitened bones,Of heroes fallen in the wars of old--By wind upbuilded and by wind cast down.
ASHALORN: Oh, blest art thou who diest in thy youth;
Oh, blest art thou who failest in thy prime;
While yet thine eyes are full of wondering truth;
Ere yet thy feet have found the ways of thorn.
Too long I wandered down the vale of time,
A lonely wind, all songless and forlorn;
For I have found the empty heart of things,
The secret sorrow of the summer rose,
And all the sadness of the April green;
I know that every happy stream that springs
Into a sea of bitter memories flows;
I know the curse that God has set on kings--
The solitary splendour and the crown
Of desolation, and the prisoning state;
The heart that yearns beneath the robe of gold,
The soul that starves behind the golden gate.
I know how chance has reared our earthly thrones
Upon a shifting wrack of whitened bones,
Of heroes fallen in the wars of old--
By wind upbuilded and by wind cast down.
SEA-VOICES: As foam on the edge of the waters of night,They flicker and fall;More brief than delight,More frail than their tears,They flicker and fallIn the tide of the years;Awhile they may triumph, as lords of the earth,With feasting and mirth,Yet the winds and the waters shall sweep over all.
SEA-VOICES: As foam on the edge of the waters of night,
They flicker and fall;
More brief than delight,
More frail than their tears,
They flicker and fall
In the tide of the years;
Awhile they may triumph, as lords of the earth,
With feasting and mirth,
Yet the winds and the waters shall sweep over all.
VOICE OF THE WEST WIND: O wide-shifting wonder of sapphire and gold,O wandering glory of emerald and white,From the purple and green of the moorlands I come,To sweep o'er thy waters with turbulent flight,To sway thee, and swing thee abroad in my might;I lean to thy lips, to their white, curling foam,With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.
VOICE OF THE WEST WIND: O wide-shifting wonder of sapphire and gold,
O wandering glory of emerald and white,
From the purple and green of the moorlands I come,
To sweep o'er thy waters with turbulent flight,
To sway thee, and swing thee abroad in my might;
I lean to thy lips, to their white, curling foam,
With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;
To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,
I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.
I have drunk the red wine of the heather, and sweptOver moorland and fell, for mile upon mile.The little blue loughs were merry, and leapt,With a shaking of laughter, in dim, dreaming hollows;The little blue loughs were merry, and flungTheir spray on my wings as above them I swung;I laughed to their laughter, and dallied awhile;Then left them to sink in the silence that follows.
I have drunk the red wine of the heather, and swept
Over moorland and fell, for mile upon mile.
The little blue loughs were merry, and leapt,
With a shaking of laughter, in dim, dreaming hollows;
The little blue loughs were merry, and flung
Their spray on my wings as above them I swung;
I laughed to their laughter, and dallied awhile;
Then left them to sink in the silence that follows.
In the forest I stirred, like the chant of thy tides,The song of the boughs and the branches a-swinging;The ashes and beeches and oak-trees were singing,Like the noise of thy waters when dark tempest rides.I swung on the crest of the pine-trees a-swaying,As now on thy green, flowing surges, O sea;I piped in my triumph, they danced to my playing;I left them a-murmur, to hasten to thee.
In the forest I stirred, like the chant of thy tides,
The song of the boughs and the branches a-swinging;
The ashes and beeches and oak-trees were singing,
Like the noise of thy waters when dark tempest rides.
I swung on the crest of the pine-trees a-swaying,
As now on thy green, flowing surges, O sea;
I piped in my triumph, they danced to my playing;
I left them a-murmur, to hasten to thee.
The white clouds were driven like ships through the air,And grey flowed the shadows o'er sea-coloured bent,And dark on the heathland, and dark on the wold:But here on thy waters, where all things grow fair,They shadow with purple thine emerald and gold.My revel unbroken, my rapture unspent,To thy far-shining wonder, O sea, I have come,To sweep o'er thy splendour with turbulent flight;To sway thee, and swing thee abroad in my might;I lean to thy lips, to their white, curling foam,With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.
The white clouds were driven like ships through the air,
And grey flowed the shadows o'er sea-coloured bent,
And dark on the heathland, and dark on the wold:
But here on thy waters, where all things grow fair,
They shadow with purple thine emerald and gold.
My revel unbroken, my rapture unspent,
To thy far-shining wonder, O sea, I have come,
To sweep o'er thy splendour with turbulent flight;
To sway thee, and swing thee abroad in my might;
I lean to thy lips, to their white, curling foam,
With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;
To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,
I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.
GARLAND: There is no sadness in the world but death.The years that whitened o'er thy head have takenThe colour from thy life, but still in meThe blood beats young and red; yea, still my breathIs full of freshness as the wind that blowsAcross the morning-fells when night has shakenHis cooling dews among the wakening heath.Yea, now the wind that lashes o'er the seaStings all my quivering body to keen lifeAnd whips the blood into my straining limbs;And all the youth within me springs to fire;I am consumed with ravening desireFor one brief, wild, delirious hour of strife;I yearn for every joy that flies or swims,Rides on the wind or with the water flows.Yet I must die by patient, slow degrees,With hourly wasting flesh and parching blood;Ah God, that I might leap into the flood,And perish struggling in the adventurous seas!
GARLAND: There is no sadness in the world but death.
The years that whitened o'er thy head have taken
The colour from thy life, but still in me
The blood beats young and red; yea, still my breath
Is full of freshness as the wind that blows
Across the morning-fells when night has shaken
His cooling dews among the wakening heath.
Yea, now the wind that lashes o'er the sea
Stings all my quivering body to keen life
And whips the blood into my straining limbs;
And all the youth within me springs to fire;
I am consumed with ravening desire
For one brief, wild, delirious hour of strife;
I yearn for every joy that flies or swims,
Rides on the wind or with the water flows.
Yet I must die by patient, slow degrees,
With hourly wasting flesh and parching blood;
Ah God, that I might leap into the flood,
And perish struggling in the adventurous seas!
ARLO: My mouth is filled with saltness, and I thirstFor forest-pools that bubble in the shade,When loud the hot chase pants through every glade,And fleeing fawns from every thicket burst;Or clear wine vintaged when the world was young,Gurgling from deep-mouthed jars of coloured stone.
ARLO: My mouth is filled with saltness, and I thirst
For forest-pools that bubble in the shade,
When loud the hot chase pants through every glade,
And fleeing fawns from every thicket burst;
Or clear wine vintaged when the world was young,
Gurgling from deep-mouthed jars of coloured stone.
ASHALORN: The noonday burns my body to the bone,And sets a coal of fire upon my tongue,Between my lips, and stifles all my breath.Oh come, thou only joy undying, death!
ASHALORN: The noonday burns my body to the bone,
And sets a coal of fire upon my tongue,
Between my lips, and stifles all my breath.
Oh come, thou only joy undying, death!
WAVE-VOICES: O wind, that failing, failing, failing, dies,Beneath the heat of August-laden skies,Sinking in sleep, sinking in quiet sleep--Thy blue wings folded o'er our dreaming deep
WAVE-VOICES: O wind, that failing, failing, failing, dies,
Beneath the heat of August-laden skies,
Sinking in sleep, sinking in quiet sleep--
Thy blue wings folded o'er our dreaming deep
We too are weary, weary in the noon;We too will fall in shining slumber soon--Foamless and still, foamless and very still,Unstirred, unshaken by thy restless will.
We too are weary, weary in the noon;
We too will fall in shining slumber soon--
Foamless and still, foamless and very still,
Unstirred, unshaken by thy restless will.
Yet there are eyes that cannot, cannot close,And strong souls racked by fiery, rending woes--Never to rest, never to gather restBy any stream of murmuring waters blest.
Yet there are eyes that cannot, cannot close,
And strong souls racked by fiery, rending woes--
Never to rest, never to gather rest
By any stream of murmuring waters blest.
But slumber falling, falling, on us lies,Silent and deep, beneath noon-laden skies,Silent and deep, silent and very deep,With blue wings folded o'er our dreaming sleep.
But slumber falling, falling, on us lies,
Silent and deep, beneath noon-laden skies,
Silent and deep, silent and very deep,
With blue wings folded o'er our dreaming sleep.
* * * * *
VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND: I have shaken the noonfrom my wings, I ariseTo quicken the flame in the western skies--To blow the clouds to a streaming flame,Where the red sun sinks in the opal sea,And red as the heart of the opal glowsHis last wild gleam in the waters grey.O grey-green waters, curling to rose,The kings are glad of the dying day;The kings are weary; the white mists close--The white mists gather to cover their shame.
VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND: I have shaken the noon
from my wings, I arise
from my wings, I arise
To quicken the flame in the western skies--
To blow the clouds to a streaming flame,
Where the red sun sinks in the opal sea,
And red as the heart of the opal glows
His last wild gleam in the waters grey.
O grey-green waters, curling to rose,
The kings are glad of the dying day;
The kings are weary; the white mists close--
The white mists gather to cover their shame.
ASHALORN: The evening mist is dank upon my brow,And cold upon my lips--yea, cold as death;Yet, through the gloom, she gazes on me now,As in our early-wedded days; her breathIs warm once more upon my withered cheek.O gaunt, grey lips, that strive but may not speak;O cold, grey eyes, that flicker in the gloam--Long have we strayed; come, let us wander home!
ASHALORN: The evening mist is dank upon my brow,
And cold upon my lips--yea, cold as death;
Yet, through the gloom, she gazes on me now,
As in our early-wedded days; her breath
Is warm once more upon my withered cheek.
O gaunt, grey lips, that strive but may not speak;
O cold, grey eyes, that flicker in the gloam--
Long have we strayed; come, let us wander home!
ARLO: Like lit September woodlands, streameth downHer hair, beneath the circle of her crown;Of rarer, redder glory than the coldDead metal that for ever strives to holdThe ever-straying wonder of live gold!Like woodland pools, her eyes, a dreaming brown--Like woodland pools where autumn-splendours drown!O red-gold tresses, shaking in the gloam,Unto your light, unto your shade I come!
ARLO: Like lit September woodlands, streameth down
Her hair, beneath the circle of her crown;
Of rarer, redder glory than the cold
Dead metal that for ever strives to hold
The ever-straying wonder of live gold!
Like woodland pools, her eyes, a dreaming brown--
Like woodland pools where autumn-splendours drown!
O red-gold tresses, shaking in the gloam,
Unto your light, unto your shade I come!
GARLAND: Her eyes are azure as the wind-blown sea,With deep sea-shadowings of grey and green;And like an April storm her shining hair--Yea, all the glittering Aprils that have been,And all the wondering Aprils yet to be,Have stored their wealth of shower and sunshine there;Yea, all the thousand, thousand springs of earthNew-lit and re-awakened at her birth,In her sweet body glow and glimmer fair.O wonder of sea-colours and white foamAnd April glories, to thine arms I come!
GARLAND: Her eyes are azure as the wind-blown sea,
With deep sea-shadowings of grey and green;
And like an April storm her shining hair--
Yea, all the glittering Aprils that have been,
And all the wondering Aprils yet to be,
Have stored their wealth of shower and sunshine there;
Yea, all the thousand, thousand springs of earth
New-lit and re-awakened at her birth,
In her sweet body glow and glimmer fair.
O wonder of sea-colours and white foam
And April glories, to thine arms I come!