Hereat, be sure, the wonder-stricken youth,Holden in doubt if this were lies or truth,Was tongue-tied with amaze, and sore perplext,Unknowing what strange thing might chance him next,And ere he found fit words to make reply,The porter bade a youth who stood hard byConduct the princely stranger, as was meet,Through the great golden gate into the street,And thence o'er all the city, wheresoe'erWas aught to show of wonderful or fair.
With that the Prince, beside his willing guide,Went straightway through the gate, and stood insideThe wall, that, builded of a rare white stone,Clasp'd all the city like a silver zone.And thence down many a shining street they passed,Each one appearing goodlier than the last,Cool with the presence of innumerous treesAnd fountains playing before palaces.And whichsoever way the Prince might look,Another marvel, and another, tookHis wildered eyes with very wonderment.And holding talk together as they went,The Prince besought his guide to tell him whyOf all the many folk that passed them byThere was not one that had the looks of eld,Or yet of life's mid-years; for they beheldOnly young men and maidens everywhere,Nor ever saw they one that was not fair.Whereat the stripling: "Master, thou hast seen,Belike, the river that doth flow betweenFlowers and grasses at the city's feet?"And when the Prince had rendered answer meet,"Then," said the other, "know that whosoe'erDrinks of the water thou beheldest there(It matters not how many are his years)Thenceforward from that moment he appearsLike as he was in youthly days, beforeHis passèd summers told beyond a score:And so the people of this land possessUnto all time their youth and comeliness."
Scarce had his mouth made answer when there roseSomewhat of tumult, ruffling the reposeOf the wide splendid street; and lifting upHis eyes, the Prince beheld a glittering troopOf horsemen, each upon a beauteous steed,Toward them coming at a gentle speed.And as the cavalcade came on apace,A sudden pleasure lit the stripling's faceWho bore him company and was his guide;And "Lo, thou shalt behold our queen," he cried,—"Even the fairest of the many fair;With whom was never maiden might compareFor very loveliness!" While yet he spake,On all the air a silver sound 'gan breakOf jubilant and many-tongued acclaim,And in a shining car the bright queen came,And looking forth upon the multitudeHer eyes beheld the stranger where he stood,And round about him was the loyal stir:And all his soul went out in love to her.
But even while her gaze met his, behold,The city and its marvels manifoldSeemed suddenly removed far off, and placedSomewhere in Twilight; and withal a wasteOf sudden waters lay like time between;And over all that space he heard the queenCalling unto him from her chariot;And then came darkness. And the Dream was not.
A fearful and a lovely thing is Sleep,And mighty store of secrets hath in keep;And those there were of old who well could guessWhat meant his fearfulness and loveliness,And all his many shapes of life and death,And all the secret things he uttereth.But Wisdom lacketh sons like those that were,And Sleep hath never an interpreter:So there be none that know to read arightThe riddles he propoundeth every night.
And verily, of all the wondrous thingsBy potence wrought of mortal visioningsIn that dark house whereof Sleep hath the keys—Of suchlike miracles and mysteriesNot least, meseems, is this among them all:That one in dream enamoured should fall,And ever afterward, in waking thought,Worship the phantom which the dream hath brought.Howbeit such things have been, and in such wiseDid that king's son behold, with mortal eyes,A more than mortal loveliness, and thusWas stricken through with love miraculous.
For evermore thereafter he did seemTo see that royal maiden of his dreamUnto her palace riding sovranly;And much he marvelled where that land might beThat basking lay beneath her beauty's beams,Well knowing in his heart that suchlike dreamsCome not in idleness but evermoreAre Fate's veiled heralds that do fly beforeTheir mighty master as he journeyeth,And sing strange songs of life and love and death.And so he did scarce aught but dream all dayOf that far land revealed of sleep, that layHe knew not where; and musing more and moreOn her the mistress of that unknown shore,There fell a sadness on him, thus to beVext with desire of her he might not seeYet could not choose but long for; till erewhileNor man nor woman might behold the smileMake sudden morning of his countenance,But likest one he seemed half-sunk, in trance,That wanders groping in a shadowy land,Hearing strange things that none can understand.Now after many days and nights had passed,The queen, his mother well-beloved, at last,Being sad at heart because his heart was sad,Would e'en be told what hidden cause he hadTo be cast down in so mysterious wise:And he, beholding by her tearful eyesHow of his grief she was compassionate,No more a secret made thereof, but straightDiscovered to her all about his dream—The mystic happy marvel of the stream.A fountain running Youth to all the land;Flowing with deep dim woods on either handWhere through the boughs did birds of strange song flit:And all beside the bloomy banks of itThe city with its towers and domes far-seen.And then he told her how that city's queenDid pass before him like a breathing flower,That he had loved her image from that hour."And sure am I," upspake the Prince at last,"That somewhere in this world so wide and vastLieth the land mine eyes have inly seen;—Perhaps in very truth my spirit hath beenTranslated thither, and in very truthHath seen the brightness of that city of youth.Who knows?—for I have heard a wise man sayHow that in sleep the souls of mortals may,At certain seasons which the stars decree,From bondage of the body be set freeTo visit farthest countries, and be borneBack to their fleshly houses ere the morn."
At this the good queen, greatly marvelling,Made haste to tell the story to the king;Who hearing laughed her tale to scorn. But whenWeeks followed one another, and all menAbout his person had begun to say"What ails our Prince? He groweth day by dayLess like the Prince we knew … wan cheeks, and eyesHollow for lack of sleep, and secret sighs….Some hidden grief the youth must surely have,"—Then like his queen the king himself wox grave;And thus it chanced one summer eventide,They sitting in an arbour side by side,All unawares the Pince passed by that way,And as he passed, unmark'd of either—theyNought heeding but their own discourse—could hearAmidst thereof his own name uttered clear,And straight was 'ware it was the queen who spake,And spake of him; whereat the king 'gan makeAnswer in this wise, somewhat angerly:"The youth is crazed, and but one remedyKnow I, to cure such madness—he shall wedSome princess; ere another day be sped,Myself will bid this dreamer go prepareTo take whom I shall choose to wife; some fairAnd highborn maiden, worthy to be queenHereafter."—So the Prince, albeit unseen,Heard, and his soul rebelled against the thingHis sire had willed; and slowly wanderingAbout the darkling pleasance—all amidA maze of intertangled walks, or hidIn cedarn glooms, or where mysterious bowersWere heavy with the breath of drowsèd flowers—Something, he knew not what, within his heartRose like a faint-heard voice and said "DepartFrom hence and follow where thy dream shall lead."And fain would he have followed it indeed,But wist not whither it would have him go.
Howbeit, while yet he wandered to and fro,Among his thoughts a chance remembrance leaptAll sudden—like a seed, that long hath sleptIn earth, upspringing as a flower at last,When he that sowed forgetteth where 'twas cast;A chance remembrance of the tales men toldConcerning one whose wisdom manifoldMade all the world to wonder and revere—A mighty mage and learn'd astrologerWho dwelt in honour at a great king's courtIn a far country, whither did resortPilgrims innumerable from many lands,Who crossed the wide seas and the desert sandsTo learn of him the occult significanceOf some perplexing omen, or perchanceTo hear forewhisperings of their destinyAnd know what things in aftertime should be."Now surely," thought the Prince, "this subtile seer,To whom the darkest things belike are clear,Could read the riddle of my dream and tellWhere lieth that strange land delectableWherein mine empress hath her dwelling-place.So might I look at last upon her face,And make an end of all these weary sighs,And melt into the shadow of her eyes!"Thus musing, for a little space he stoodAs holden to the spot; and evil, good,Life, death, and earth beneath and heaven above,Shrank up to less than shadows,—only Love,With harpings of an hundred harps unseen,Filled all the emptiness where these had been.
But soon, like one that hath a sudden thought,He lifted up his eyes, and turning soughtThe halls once more where he was bred, and passedThrough court and corridor, and reached at lastHis chamber, in a world of glimmer and gloom.Here, while the moonrays filled the wide rich room,The Prince in haste put off his courtly dressFor raiment of a lesser sumptuousness(A sober habit such as might disguiseHis royal rank in any stranger's eyes)And taking in his hand three gems that madeThree several splendours in the moonlight, laidThese in his bosom, where no eye might seeThe triple radiance; then all noiselesslyDown the wide stair from creaking floor to floorPassed, and went out from the great palace-door.
Crossing the spacious breadth of garden ground,Wherein his footfalls were the only soundSave the wind's wooing of the tremulous trees,Forth of that region of imperial easeHe fared, amid the doubtful shadows dim,No eye in all the place beholding him;No eye, save only of the warders, whoOpened the gates that he might pass therethrough.
And now to the safe-keeping of the nightIntrusted he the knowledge of his flight;And quitting all the purlieus of the court,Out from the city by a secret portWent, and along the moonlit highway sped.And himself spake unto himself and said(Heard only of the silence in his heart)"Tarry thou here no longer, but departUnto the land of the Great Mage; and seekThe Mage; and whatsoever he shall speak,Give ear to that he saith, and reverent heed;And wheresoever he may bid thee speed,Thitherward thou shalt set thy face and go.For surely one of so great lore must knowWhere lies the land thou sawest in thy dream:Nay, if he know not that,—why, then I deemThe wisdom of exceeding little worthThat reads the heavens but cannot read the earth."
So without rest or tarriance all that night,Until the world was blear with coming light,Forth fared the princely fugitive, nor stayedHis wearied feet till morn returning madeSome village all a-hum with wakeful stir;And from that place the royal wayfarerWent ever faster on and yet more fast,Till, ere the noontide sultriness was past,Upon his ear the burden of the seasCame dreamlike, heard upon a cool fresh breezeThat tempered gratefully a fervent sky.And many an hour ere sundown he drew nighA fair-built seaport, warder of the landAnd watcher of the wave, with odours fannedOf green fields and of blue from either side;—A pleasant place, wherein he might abide,Unknown of man or woman, till such timeAs any ship should sail to that far climeWhere lived the famous great astrologer.
Entered within its gates, a wandererBesoiled with dust and no-wise richly drest,Yet therewithal a prince and princeliestOf princes, with the press of motley folkHe mixed unheeded and unknown, nor spokeTo any, no man speaking unto him,But, being wearied sore in every limb,Sought out a goodly hostel where he mightRest him and eat and tarry for the night:And having eaten he arose and passedDown to the wharves where many a sail and mastShowed fiery-dark against the setting sun:There, holding talk with whom he chanced upon,In that same hour by great good hap he foundThe master of a vessel outward-boundUpon the morrow for that selfsame portWhither he sought to go (where dwelt at courtThe mage deep-read in starry charact'ry).An honest man and pleasant-tongued was he,This worthy master-mariner; and sinceHe had no scorn of well-got gain, the PrinceAgreed to pay him certain sums in gold,And go aboard his vessel, ere were toldTwo hours of sunlight on the coming day;And thus agreed they wended each his way,For the dusk hour was nigh, and all the WestLay emptied of its sun. But as he pressedUp the long seaward-sloping street that ranThrough half the town, the Prince sought out a manWho dealt in pearls and diamonds and allManner of stones which men do precious call;To whom the least of his three gems he soldFor a great price, and laden with the goldForthwith returned unto his hostelryAnd dreamed all night of seaports and the sea.
Early the morrow-morn, a fair soft galeBlowing from overland, the ship set sailAt turning of the tide; and from her deckThe Prince gazed till the town was but a speck,And all the shore became a memory:And still he gazed, though more he might not seeThan the wide waters and the great wide sky.And many a long unchangeful day went byEre land was sighted, but at length uproseA doubtful dusky something, toward the closeOf the last hour before one sultry noon:Most like an isle of cloud it seemed, but soonThe sailors knew it for the wishèd strand,And ere the evenfall they reached the land,And that same night the royal wanderer layIn a strange city, amid strange folk, till DayRose from the dim sea's lap and with his wingsFanned into wakefulness all breathing things.
Then he uprose, but going forth that mornA sadness came upon him, and forlornHe felt within himself, and nowise lightOf heart: for all his lonely travel mightProve void and fruitless and of no avail,(Thus pondered he) and should it wholly fail,What then were left him for to do? ReturnTo his own country, that his kin might learnTo know him duped and fooled of fantasies,Blown hither and thither by an idle breezeFrom Dreamland? Or in lieu, perchance, of this,Wander unresting, reft of hope and bliss,A mariner on a sea that hath no coast,Seeking a shade, himself a shade, and lostIn shadows, as a wave is lost i' the sea.
Thus in a heart not lightsome pondered he,And roamed from unfamiliar street to street,Much marvelling that all he chanced to meetShowed faces troubled as his own: for someDid weep outright, and over all a gloomHung, as a cloud that blotteth out the sun.Wherefore the Prince addressed him unto oneOf sadder visage even than the rest,Who, ever as he walked, or beat his breastOr groaned aloud or with his fingers rentHis robe, and, being besought to say what meantThis look of rue on all men's faces, criedIn loud amazement, "What, can any abideWithin this city, having ears to hear,Yet know not how this morn the mighty seerHath died and left the land all desolate?For now, when sudden ills befall the state,There will be none to warn or prophesyAs he, but when calamities are nighNo man will know till they be come and weBe all undone together, woe is me!"
Thus ended he his outcry and againPassed on his way and mixed with other menScarce joyfuller than he, if less they spake.Meanwhile upon the Prince's heart there brakeGrief like a bitter wind, beneath whose breathHope paled and sickened well-nigh unto death:For lo, those dumb and formless fears that cameWithin his heart that morn, and, like a flameThat flickers long and dimly ere it die,Tarried and would not pass, but fitfullyFlickered and flared and paled and flared again,—Lo, those mysterious messengers of pain,Dumb formless fears, were they not verified?And lo, that voyage o'er the waters wide,Was it not vain and a most empty thing?And what might now the years avail to bring,But hopes that barren live and barren die?
Thus did his heart with many an inward sighAsk of itself, though answer there was noneTo be returned: and so the day, begunTristfully, trailed an ever wearier wing;Till toward night another questioningLike a strange voice from far beset his soul:And as a low wind wails for very doleAbout a tarn whereof the listless waveMaketh no answer to its plaining, saveA sound that seems the phantom of its own,So that low voice making unbidden moanNo answer got, saving the many sighsIts echoes; and in this reproachful wise,Heaping new pain on him disconsolate,The low voice spake and spake, importunate:O Prince that wast and wanderer that art,Say doth love live within thy hidden heart(Love born of dream but nurtured wakingly)Ev'n as that Once when thy soul's eyes did seeLove's visible self, and worshipt? Or hast thouFall'n from thy faith in Her and Love ere now,And is thy passion as a robe outworn?Nay, love forbid! Yet wherefore art thou lornOf hope and peace if Love be still thine own?For, were the wondrous vision thou hast knownIndeed Love's voice and Fate's (which are the same)Then, even as surely as the vision came,So surely shall it be fulfilled, if faithAbide in thee; but if thy spirit saithTreason of Love or Fate, and unbeliefHouse in thy heart, then surely shall swift griefFind thee, and hope (that should be as a breathOf song undying) shall even die the death,And thou thyself the death-in-life shalt see,O Prince that wast, O wanderer that shalt be!
So spake the Voice. And in the pauses ofThat secret Voice, there 'gan to wake and move,Deep in his heart, a thing of blackest ill—The shapeless shadow men call Doubt, untilThat hour all unacquainted with his soul:And being tormented sore of this new dole,There came on him a longing to exploreThat sleep-discovered flowery land once more,Isled in the dark of the soul; for he did deemThat were he once again to dream The Dream,His faith new-stablished would stand, and beNo longer vext of this infirmity.And so that night, ere lying down to sleep,There came on him, half making him to weepAnd half to laugh that such a thing should be,A mad conceit and antic fantasy(And yet more sad than merry was the whim)To crave this boon of Sleep, beseeching himTo send the dream of dreams most coveted.And ere he lay him down upon his bed,A soft sweet song was born within his thought;But if he sang the song, or if 'twas noughtBut the soul's longing whispered to the soul,Himself knew hardly, while the passion stoleFrom that still depth where passion lieth prone,And voiced itself in this-like monotone:
"O Sleep, thou hollow sea, thou soundless sea,Dull-breaking on the shores of haunted lands,Lo, I am thine: do what thou wilt with me.
But while, as yet unbounden of thy bands,I hear the breeze from inland chide and chafeAlong the margin of thy muttering sands,
Somewhat I fain would crave, if thou vouchsafeTo hear mine asking, and to heed wilt deign.Behold, I come to fling me as a waif
Upon thy waters, O thou murmuring main!So on some wasteful island cast not me,Where phantom winds to phantom skies complain,
And creeping terrors crawl from out the sea,(For such thou hast)—but o'er thy waves not coldBear me to yonder land once more, where She
Sits throned amidst of magic wealth untold:Golden her palace, golden all her hair,Golden her city 'neath a heaven of gold!
So may I see in dreams her tresses fairDown-falling, as a wave of sunlight restsOn some white cloud, about her shoulders bare,Nigh to the snowdrifts twain which are her breasts."
So ran the song,—say rather, so did creep,With drowsy faltering feet unsure, till SleepHimself made end of it, with no rude touchSealing the lips that babbled overmuch.Howbeit the boon of boons most covetedWithholden was, and in that vision's steadAnother Dream from its dim hold uprose,Which he who tells the tale shall straight disclose.
That night he dreamed that over him there stoleA change miraculous, whereby his soulWas parted from his body for a space,And through a labyrinth of secret waysEntered the world where dead men's ghosts abideTo seek the Seer who yestermorn had died.And there in very truth he found the Seer,Who gazing on him said, "What would'st thou here,O royal-born, who visitest the coastsOf darkness, and the dwellings of the ghosts?"
Then said the Prince, "I fain would know to findThe land as yet untrod of mortal-kindWhich I beheld by gracious leave of Sleep."To whom the Spirit: "O Prince, the seas are deepAnd very wide betwixt thee and that land,And who shall say how many days do stand,As dim-seen armed hosts between thy blissAnd thee?—Moreover, in the world there isA certain Emerald Stone which some do callThe Emerald of the Virtues Mystical;(Though what those Virtues Mystical may beNone living knows) and since, O youth, to meThou dost apply for counsel, be it knownExcept thou have this wondrous emerald stone,Go seek through all the world, thou shalt not findThe land thou wouldst: but like the houseless windThat roams the world to seek a resting-place,Thou through inhospitable time and spaceShalt roam, till time and space deliver thee,To spaceless, timeless, mute eternity.
"For in a certain land there once did dwell(How long ago it needs not I should tell)At the king's court a great astrologer,Ev'n such as erst was I, but mightierAnd far excelling; and it came to passThat he fell sick; and very old he was;And knowing that his end was nigh, he saidTo him that sat in sorrow by his bed,'O master well-beloved and matchless king,Take thou and keep this lowly offeringIn memory of thy servant;' whereuponThe king perceived it was a gem that shoneLike the sea's heart: and on one side of itThis legend in an unknown tongue was writ—Who holdeth Me may go where none hath faredBefore, and none shall follow afterward.So the king took the bright green stone betwixtHis fingers, and upon the legend fixedHis eyes, and said unto the dying Seer,'Now who shall render this dark scripture clearThat I may know the meaning of the gift?'And the mage oped his mouth and strove to liftHis voice, but could not, for the wishèd wordClave to his rattling throat, that no man heard:Whereby the soul, departing, bore awayFrom all men living, even to this day,The secret. And the jewel hath passed downSeven times from sire to son, and in the crownIt shineth of that country's kings, being calledEv'n to this day the mystic emerald;But no man liveth in the world, of witTo read the writing that is on it writ."
"O Master," said the Prince, "and wilt not thouInstruct me where to find the king who nowWeareth the jewel in his diadem?"To whom the Spirit, "O youth, and if the gemBe worth the finding, is't not also worthThe little pain of seeking through the earth?—Yet so thou may'st not wander witlessly,Look thou forget not this I tell to thee:When in thy journeyings thou shalt dream once moreThe fateful dream thou haddest heretofore,That filled thy veins with longing as with wine,Till all thy being brimm'd over—by that signThou mayest know thyself at last to beWithin the borders of his emperyWho hath the mystic emerald stone, whose gleamShall light thee to the country of thy dream."
"But," said the Prince, "When all the world's highwaysMy feet have trod, till after length of daysI reach the land where lies the wondrous stone,How shall I make so rare a, thing mine own?For had I riches more than could be told,What king would sell his jewels for my gold?"And on this wise the answer of the SeerFell in the hollow of his dreaming ear:"Behold this Iron Chain,—of power it isTo heal all manner of mortal maladiesIn him that wears it round his neck but once,Between the sun's downgoing and the sun'sUprising: take it thou, and hold it fastUntil by seeking long thou find at lastThe king that hath the mystic emerald stone:And having found him, thou shalt e'en make knownThe virtues lodged within this charmed chain:Which when the king doth hear he will be fainTo have possession of so strange a thing;And thou shalt make a bargain with the kingTo give the Iron Chain in barteryFor that mysterious jewel whereof heKnows not the secret worth. And when at lastThe emerald stone in thy own hands thou hast,Itself shall guide thee whither thou would'st go—Ev'n to the land revealed of sleep, where noGrief comes to mar their music, neither soundOf sighing, while the golden years go round."
So spake the Spirit unto him that dreamed,And suddenly that world of shadow seemedMore shadowy; and all things began to blendTogether: and the dream was at an end.
Then slept the Prince a deep sweet sleep that knewNor dream nor vision; till the dawnlight grewUp, and his soul a sudden halt did makeAbout the confines dim of sleep and wake,Where wandering lights and wildered shadows meet.But presently uprising to his feetFrom tarriance in that frontier-region dim,Exceeding wonderment laid hold on him;For even while from off his bed he rose,He heard a clinking as of metal, closeThereby, and could in no-wise understand:And lo the Iron Chain was in his hand!
So, being risen, the Prince in brief while wentForth to the market-place, where babblementOf them that bought and them that sold was oneOf many sounds in murmurous union—buzzing as of bees about their hives,With shriller gossiping of garrulous wivesPiping a tuneless treble thereunto:In midst whereof he went his way as whoLooketh about him well before he buys,To mark the manner of their merchandise;Till chancing upon one who cried for saleA horse, and seeing it well-limb'd and hale,And therewithal right goodly to behold,He bought the beast and paid the man in gold,And having gotten him the needful gearRode from the market, nothing loth to hearIts garrulous wives no longer, and the dinOf them that daily bought and sold therein.So from the place he passed, and slowly downStreet after street betook him till the townBehind him and the gates before him were,And all without was cornland greenly fair.
And through the cornland wending many a mile,And through the meadowland, he came erewhileTo where the highways parted, and no manWas nigh to tell him whitherward they ran;But while he halted all in doubtful mood,An eagle, as if mourning for her broodStolen, above him sped with rueful cry;And when that he perceived the fowl to flyPlaining aloud, unto himself he said,"Now shall yon mournful mother overheadInstruct the wandering of my feet, and theyShall follow where she leadeth:" and awayThe bird went winging westward clamorously,That westward even in her wake went he.And it may be that in his heart there stirredSome feeling as of fellowship with the bird;For he, like her, was bound on a lone quest;And for his feet, as for her wings, no restMight be, but only urgence of desire,And one far goal that seemed not ever nigher.
So through that country wended he his way,Resting anights, till on the seventh dayHe passed unwares into another land,Whose people's speech he could not understand—A tract o'er-run with tribes barbarian,And blood-red from the strife of man with man:And truly 'twas a thing miraculousThat one should traverse all that rude land thus,And no man rid him of his gold, nor raiseA hand to make abridgment of his days;But there was that about him could make men'sHearts, ere they knew it, yield him reverence,—Perchance a sovran something in his eye,Whereat the fierce heart failed, it wist not why;—Perchance that Fate which (hovering like a doubtAthwart his being) hemmed him round about,Gloomed as a visible shadow across his way,And made men fearful. Be this as it may,No harm befell him in that land, and soHe came at last to where the ebb and flowOf other seas than he had wandered o'erUpflung to landward an attempered roar;And wandering downward to the beach, he clombTo topmost of a tall grey cliff, wherefromHe saw a smoke as of men's houses, farOff, from a jutting point peninsularUprising: whence he deemed that there a townMust surely be. And so he clambered downThe cliff, and getting him again to horseThither along the seabound held his course,And reached that city about sunset-tideThe smoking of whose hearths he had espied.
There at an hostel rested he, and thereTarried the coming of the morn. But ereHe fell asleep that night, a wandering thought,Through darkling byeways of the spirit brought,Knock'd at his soul for entrance, whispering low"What if to-night thou dream The Dream, and knowTo-morrow, when thou wakest from that bliss,The land wherein thou liest to be hisWho hath the mystic jewel in his keep?"So, full of flattering hope he fell asleep,And sleeping dreamed, but dreamed not that he would:For at one time it seemed as if he stoodAlone upon a sterile neck of land,Where round about him upon either handWas darkness, and the cry of a dark sea,And worldwide vapours glooming thunderously;And ever as he stood, the unstable groundSlid from beneath his feet with a great sound,Till he could find no foothold anywhereThat seemed not unsubstantial as the air.At otherwhiles he wandered all aloneAbout a lonely land, and heard a moanAs of some bird that sang and singing grieved;And peering all about the woods thick-leavedIf so he might espy the bird, he foundAt length, after long searching, that the soundEven from the bottom of his own heart came,And unawares his own mouth sang the same.And then in dream 'twas like as years went by,And still he journeyed, hardly knowing why,Till at the last a mist about him fell,And if the mist were death he could not tell,For after that he knew no more. And soHe slept until the cock began to crow.
Then came the gladful morn, that sendeth sickDreams flying, and all shapes melàncholicThat vex the slumbers of the love-distraught.Unto his heart the merry morning broughtCheer, and forewhisperings of some far-off rest,When he should end in sweet that bitter quest.But going forth that morn, and with his feetThreading the murmurous maze of street and street,All strangely fell upon him everywhereThe things he saw and heard of foul or fair.The thronging of the folk that filled the ways;The hubbub of the street and market-place;The sound of heavy wain-wheels on the stones;The comely faces and ill-favoured ones;The girls with apple-cheeks and hair of gold;The grey locks and the wrinkles of the old;—All these remote and unfamiliarSeem'd, and himself a something from afar,Looking at men as shadows on the wallAnd even the veriest shadow among them all.
But now when all things dreamwise seemed to swimAbout the dubious eyes and ears of him,That nothing in the world might be believed,It chanced that on a sudden he perceivedWhere one that dealt in jewels sat withinHis doorway, hearkening to the outer din,As who cared no-wise to make fast his earsAgainst the babble of the street-farers:Whereat the merchant, seeing a stranger pass,Guessed by his garb what countryman he was,And giving him good-day right courteouslyBespake him in his mother-tongue; for heHad wandered in his youth o'er distant seasAnd knew full many lands and languages.Wherefore with him the royal stranger fellTo talking cheerly, and besought him tellWhence all his gems were had and costly things,Talismans, amulets, and charmèd rings:Whereto the other answered, They had comeSome from a country not far hence, and someFrom out a land a thousand leagues awayTo eastward, ev'n the birthplace of the Day,The region of the sun's nativity;And giving ear to this right readilyThe Prince would fain be told of him the wayTo that far homeland of the youngling Day.So, being ask'd, the other answered, "Sir,There liveth but one master-marinerWhose ship hath sailed so far: and that is heWho hither brought the jewels thou dost see.And now, as luck will have it for the nonce,He wills to voyage thitherward but onceBefore he die—for he is old like me—And even this day se'nnight saileth he.Wherefore if thou be fain to see that land,There needeth only gold within thy hand:For gold, if that it jingle true and clear,Hath still a merry music for man's ear,And where is he that hateth sound of it?"So saying, the merchant bade the stranger sit,But the Prince thanked him for his courtesy,And went his way. And that day se'nnight heWas sailing toward the far-off morningland,And felt the skies about him like a band,And heard the low wind uttering numerous noise,And all the great sea singing as one voice.
Even as one voice the great sea sang. From outThe green heart of the waters round about,Welled as a bubbling fountain silverlyThe overflowing song of the great sea;Until the Prince, by dint of listening long,Divined the purport of that mystic song;(For so do all things breathe articulate breathInto his ears who rightly harkeneth)And, if indeed he heard that harmonyAright, in this wise came the song of the sea:
"Behold all ye that stricken of love do lie,Wherefore in manacles of a maiden's eyeLead ye the life of bondmen and of slaves?Lo in the caverns and the depths of MeA thousand mermaids dwell beneath the waves:A thousand maidens meet for love have I,Ev'n I the virgin-hearted cold chaste sea.Behold all ye that weary of life do lie,There is no rest at all beneath the skySave in the nethermost deepness of the deep.Only the silence and the midst of MeCan still the sleepless soul that fain would sleep;For such, a cool death and a sweet have I,Ev'n I the crystal-hearted cool sweet sea.Behold all ye that in my lap do lie,To love is sweet and sweeter still to die,And woe to him that laugheth me to scorn!Lo in a little while the anger of MeShall make him mourn the day that he was born:For in mine hour of wrath no ruth have I,Ev'n I the tempest-hearted pitiless sea."
So sang the waters, if indeed 'twere theyThat sang unto the Prince's ears that day,Since in the ship was not a soul besidesCould hear that burden of the voiceful tides;For when he told the sailors of this thing,And ev'n what words the waters seemed to sing,They stared astonishment, and some, that hadMore churlish souls than others, held him mad,And laughed before his face outright. But whenThe captain heard the gossip of his menTouching this marvel, the strange news begotNo merry mood in him, who wist not whatShould be the meaning of the miracle,Nor whether 'twere an omen good or ill.Wherefore the old seafarer—having heardThe tale retold with many an afterwordThe mariners' own most fruitful wit suppliedTo grace the telling—took the Prince aside,And ask'd him sundry questions privilyConcerning this same singing of the sea.So the Prince told him all there was to tell,And when that he had heard, the old man fellTo meditating much, and shook his headAs one exceeding ill at ease, and said,"I doubt the singing thou hast heard was noVoice of the waters billowing below,But rather of some evil spirit near,Who sought with singing to beguile thine ear,Spreading a snare to catch the soul of theeIn meshes of entangling melody,Which taketh captive the weak minds of men.Therefore if thou should'st hear the sound again,Look thou content thee not with hearkening,But cast thine eyes around, and mark what thingThou seëst, and let no man know but me."
So spake the white-haired wanderer of the sea.And on the morrow—when the sealine grewO'erhazed with visible heat, and no wind blew,And the half-stifled morning dropt aswoonInto the panting bosom of the noon—There came into the Prince's ears anewThe song that yestermorn had hearkened to.And lifting up his eyes in hope to seeWhat lips they were that made such melodyAnd filled him with the fulness of their sound,He saw the sun at highest of his roundShow as a shield with one dark bloodstain blurred,By reason of the body of some great birdLike to an eagle, with wide wings outspread,Athwart the sunfire hovering duskly red.So to the master of the ship he toldWhat he had witnessed, bidding him beholdThe marvel with his own eyes if he would;Who, though he strained his vision all he could,Yet might not once endure to look the sunI' the face; and calling to him one by oneThe whole ship's crew, he bade each mariner lookSunward who could, but no man's eyes might brookThe glare upon them of the noontide raysAnd lidless fervour of that golden gaze:So none of them beheld the bodeful bird.
Then said the greybeard captain, hardly heardAmid the babble of voices great and small,"The bird thou seëst is no bird at all,But some unholy spirit in guise of one;And I do fear that we are all undoneIf any amongst us hearken to its voice;—For of its mouth, I doubt not, was the noiseThou heardest as of dulcet carolling,When at thine ear the waters seemed to sing."
And truly, many a wiser man than heHerein had farther strayed from verity;For that great bird that seemed to fan the sun'sFace with its wings was even the same as onceFlew screaming westward o'er the Prince's head,Beguiling him to follow where it fled.And bird it was not, but a spirit of ill,Man-hating, and of mankind hated still,And slave to one yet mightier demon-spriteWhose dwelling is the shadow of the night.
So the days passed, and always on the nextThe bird-sprite like a baleful vision vexedThe happy-hearted sunlight; and each timeIts false sweet song was wedded to the rhymeAnd chime of wind and wave—although it droppedAs honey changed to music—the Prince stoppedHis ears, and would not hear; and so the Sprite,Seeing his charmèd songcraft of no mightHim to ensnare who hearkened not at all,On the tenth day with dreadful noise let fallA tempest shaken from the wings of him,Whereat the eyes of heaven wox thunderous-dim,Till the day-darkness blinded them, and fellHolding the world in night unseasonable.And from his beakèd mouth the demon blewA breath as of a hundred winds, and flewDownward aswoop upon the labouring bark,And, covered of the blear untimely Dark,Clutch'd with his gripple claws the Prince his prey,And backward through the tempest soared away,Bearing that royal burden; and his eyesWere wandering wells of lightning to the skies.
Long time the Prince was held in swound, and knewNor outer world nor inner, as they flewFrom darkness unto darkness; till at last—The fierce flight over, and his body castSomewhere alone in a strange place—the lifeStirred in him faintly, as at feeble strifeWith covetous Death for ownership of him.And 'fore his eyes the world began to swimAll vague, and doubtful as a dream that liesFolded within another, petal-wise.And therewithal himself but half believedHis own eyes' testimony, and perceivedThe things that were about him as who hearsA distant music throbbing toward his earsAt noontide, in a flowery hollow of June,And listens till he knows not if the tuneAnd he be one or twain, or near or far,But only feels that sound and perfume are,And tremulous light and leafy umbrage: soThe Prince beheld unknowing, nor fain to know.
About him was a ruinous fair place,Which Time, who still delighteth to abaseThe highest, and throw down what men do build,With splendid prideful barrenness had filled,And dust of immemorial dreams, and breathOf silence, which is next of kin to death.A weedy wilderness it seemed, that wasIn days forepast a garden, but the grassGrew now where once the flowers, and hard byA many-throated fountain had run dryWhich erst all day a web of rainbows woveOut of the body of the sun its love.And but a furlong's space beyond, there toweredIn middest of that silent realm defloweredA palace builded of black marble, whenceThe shadow of a swart magnificenceFalling, upon the outer space begotA dream of darkness when the night was not.Which while the Prince beheld, a wondermentLaid hold upon him, that he rose and wentToward the palace-portico apace,Thinking to read the riddle of the place.And entering in (for open was the door)From hall to hall he passed, from floor to floor,Through all the spacious house, and (saving whereThe subtile spider had his darksome lair)No living creature could he find in it.Howbeit, by certain writing that was writUpon the wall of one dark room and bare,He guessed that some great sorcerer had thereInhabited, a slave to his own lustOf evil power and knowledge, till the dustReceived his dust, and darkness had his soul;But ere death took him he had willed the wholeOf his possessions to a Spirit of Ill,His sometime mate in commerce damnable,Making him lord of that high house, whereinThe twain had sealed their covenant of sin.
With that a horror smote the Prince, and fainWould he have fled that evil spirit's domainAnd shook its dust from off his feet that hour.But from a window of the topmost towerViewing the dim-leaved wilderness without,Full plainly he perceived it hemmed aboutWith waves, an island of the middle sea,In watery barriers bound insuperably;And human habitation saw he none,Nor heard one bird a-singing in the sunTo lighten the intolerable stressOf utter undisputed silentness.
So by these signs he knew himself the thrallOf that foul spirit unseen, and therewithalWholly unfellowed in captivity,Bound round with fetters of the tyrannous sea.And sick for very loneliness, he passedDownward through galleries and chambers vastTo one wide hall wherefrom a vestibuleOpened into a dim green space and cool,Where great trees grew that various fruitage boreThe like whereof he had not seen before,And hard by was a well of water sweet;And being anhungered he did pluck and eatThe strange fair fruit, and being athirst did drinkThe water, and lay down beside the brink;Till sleep, as one that droppeth from the skies,Dropt down, and made a mist about his eyes.
But Sleep, who makes a mist about the sense,Doth ope the eyelids of the soul, and thenceLifteth a heavier cloud than that wherebyHe veils the vision of the fleshly eye.And not alone by dreams doth Sleep make knownThe sealèd things and covert—not aloneInvisionsof the night do mortals hearThe fatal feet and whispering wings draw near;But dimly and in darkness doth the soulDrink of the streams of slumber as they roll,And win fine secrets from their waters deep:Yea, of a truth, the spirit doth grow in sleep.
Howbeit I know not whether as he sleptA voice from out the depth of dream upleaptAnd whispered in his ear; or whether heGrew to the knowledge blindly, as a treeWaxes from bloom to fruitage, knowing notThe manner of its growth: but this I wot,That rising from that sleep beside the springThe Prince had knowledge of a certain thingWhereof he had not wist until that hour—To wit, that two contending spirits had powerOverhisspirit, ruling him with swayAltern; as 'twere dominion now of DayAnd now of Dark; for one was of the light,And one was of the blackness of the night.
Now there be certain evil spirits whomThe mother of the darkness in her wombConceived ere darkness' self; and one of theseDid rule that island of the middle seasHemmed round with silence and enchantment dim.Nothing in all the world so pleasured himAs filling human hearts with dolorousnessAnd banning where another sprite did bless;But chiefly did his malice take delightIn thwarting lovers' hopes and breathing blightInto the blossoms newly-openèdOf sweet desire, till all of sweet were fled:And (for he knew what secret hopes did fillThe minds of men) 'twas even now his willTo step between the Prince and his desire,Nor suffer him to fare one furlong nigherUnto that distant-shining golden goalThat beacon'd through the darkness to his soul.
And so the days, the sultry summer days,Went by, and wimpled over with fine hazeThe noiseless nights stole after them, as stealsThe moon-made shadow at some traveller's heels.And day by day and night by night the PrinceDwelt in that island of enchantment, sinceThe hour when Evil Hap, in likeness ofAn eagle swooping from the clouds above,Did bind him body and soul unto that place.And in due time the summer waxed apace,And in due time the summer waned: and nowThe withered leaf had fallen from the bough,And now the winter came and now the spring;Yea, summer's self was toward on the wingFrom wandering overseas: and all this whileThe Prince abode in that enchanted isle,Marvelling much at Fortune and her ways.
And by degrees the slowly-sliding daysGathered themselves together into years,And oftentimes his spirit welled in tearsFrom dawn to darkness and from dark to dawn,By reason of the light of life withdrawn.And if the night brought sleep, a fitful sleep,The phantoms of a buried time would creepOut of their hollow hiding-places vast,Peopling his Present from the wizard Past.Sometimes between the whirl of dream and dream,All in a doubtful middle-world, a gleamWent shivering past him through the chill grey space,And lo he knew it for his mother's face,And wept; and all the silence where he stoodWept with him. And at times the dreamer wouldDream himself back beneath his father's roofAt eventide, and there would hold aloofIn silence, clothed upon with shadows dim,To hear if any spake concerning him;But the hours came and went and went and came,And no man's mouth did ever name his name.And year by year he saw the queen and kingWax older, and beheld a shadowy thingLurking behind them, till it came betweenHis dreamsight and the semblance of the queen,From which time forth he saw her not: and whenAnother year had been it came again,And after that he saw his sire the kingNo more, by reason of the shadowy thingStepping between; and all the place becameAs darkness, and the echo of a name.
* * * * *
What need to loiter o'er the chronicleOf days that brought no change? What boots it tellThe tale of hours whereof each moment wasAs like its fellow as one blade of grassIs to another, when the dew doth fallWithout respect of any amongst them all?Enow that time in that enchanted airNor slept nor tarried more than otherwhere,And so at last the captive lived to seeThe fiftieth year of his captivity.And on a day within that fiftieth yearHe wandered down unto the beach, to hearThe breaking of the breakers on the shore,As he had heard them ofttimes heretoforeIn days when he would sit and watch the sea,If peradventure there some ship might be.But now his soul no longer yearned as thenTo win her way back to the world of men:For what could now his freedom profit him?The hope that filled youth's beaker to its brimThe tremulous hand of age had long outspilled,And whence might now the vessel be refilled?Moreover, after length of days and yearsThe soul had ceased to beat her barriers,And like a freeborn bird that cagèd singsHad grown at last forgetful of her wings.
And so he took his way toward the sea—Not, as in former days, if haply heMight spy some ship upon the nether blue,And beckon with his hands unto the crew,But rather with an easeful heart to hearWhat things the waves might whisper to his earOf counsel wise and comfortable speech.But while he walked about the yellow beach,There came upon his limbs an heaviness,For languor of the sultry time's excess;And so he lay him down under a treeHard by a little cove, and there the seaSang him to sleep. And sleeping thus, he dreamedA dream of very wonderment: himseemed,The spirit that half an hundred years beforeIn likeness of an eagle came and boreHis body to that island on a day,Came yet again and found him where he lay,And taking him betwixt his talons flewO'er seas and far-off countries, till they drewNigh to a city that was built betweenFour mountains in a pleasant land and green;And there upon the highest mountain's topThe bird that was no bird at all let dropIts burthen, and was seen of him no more.
Thereat he waked, and issuing from the doorOf dream did marvel in his heart; becauseHe found he had but dreamed the thing that was:For there, assuredly, was neither seaNor Isle Enchanted; and assuredlyHe sat upon the peak of a great hill;And far below him, looking strangely still,Uptowered a city exceeding fair to ken,And murmurous with multitude of men.
Now as it chanced, the day was almost spentWhen down the lonely mountain-side he went,The whitehaired man, the Prince that was; and ereHe won the silence of the valley whereThe city's many towers uprose, the gateWas closed against him, for the hour was late.So even as they that have not wherewithalTo roof them from the rain if it should fall,Upon the grassy ground this king's son lay,And slept till nigh the coming of the day.
But while as any vagabond he sleptOr outcast from the homes of men, there creptUnto him lying in such sorry sortA something fairer than the kingliest courtIn all the peopled world had witness of—Even the shadow of the throne of Love,That from a height beyond all height did creepAlong the pavement of the halls of sleep.O fair and wonderful! that shadow wasThe golden dream of dreams that came acrossHis youth, full half an hundred years before,And sent him wandering through the world. Once moreIn a lone boat that sails and oars had none,Midmost a land of summer and the sunWhere nothing was that was not fair to see,Adown a gliding river glided he,And saw the city that was built thereby,And saw the chariot of the queen draw nigh,And gazed upon her in the goodly street;Whereat he waked and rose upon his feet,Remembering the Vision of the Seer,And what the spirit spake unto his ear:"When in thy wanderings thou shalt dream once moreThe fateful dream thou haddest heretofore,That filled thy veins with longing as with wineTill all thy being brimm'd over—by that signThou mayest know thyself at last to beWithin the borders of his emperyWho hath the mystic emerald stone, whose gleamShall light thee to the country of thy dream."
Then rose the heart within his heart and said:"O bitter scornful Fate, in days long deadI asked and thou denied'st mine asking: nowThe boon can no-wise profit me, and thouDost mock me with bestowal!" ThereuponHe fell to thinking of his youthhood gone,And wept. For now the goal, the longtime-sought,Was even at hand, "but how shall I," he thought,"I that am old and sad and hoary-haired,Enter the place for youth and love prepared?For in my veins the wellspring of desireHath failed, and in mine heart the golden fireBurneth no more for ever. I draw nearThe night that is about our day, and hearThe sighing of the darkness as I goWhose ancient secret there is none doth know."
Ev'n so to his own heart he spake full sad,And many and bitter were the thoughts he hadOf days that were and days that were to be.But now the East was big with dawn, and heDrew nigh the city-gates and entered in,Ere yet the place remurmured with the dinOf voices and the tread of human feet;And going up the void and silent street,All in the chill gleam of the new-lit air,A Thought found way into his soul, and thereAbode and grew, and in brief while becameDesire, and quickened to a quenchless flame:And holding converse with himself, he said,"Though in my heart the heart's desire be dead,And can no more these time-stilled pulses move;Though Death were lovelier to these eyes than LoveYet would these eyes behold, or ere I pass,The land that mirror'd lay as in a glassIn the deep wells of dream. And her that isThe sunlight of that city of all bliss,Her would I fain see once with waking eyesWhom sleep hath rendered unto vision twice.And having seen her beauty I would goMy way, even to the river which doth flowFrom daylight unto darkness and the placeOf silence, where the ghosts are face to face."
So mused the man, and evermore his thoughtGave him no peace. Wherefore next morn he soughtThe palace of the king, but on his wayTarried till nigh the middle of the dayIn talk with certain of the city-folk;Whereby he learned, if that were true they spoke,How that the king their lord was nigh distractWith torture of a strange disease that rackedEach day his anguished body more and more,Setting at naught the leeches and their lore.Which having heard he went before the king,Who sat upon his throne, deliveringJudgment, his body pierced the while with pain.And taking from his neck the charmèd chainWhich he had borne about him ever sinceThat morn miraculous, the unknown PrinceUpspake and said, "O king, I hold withinMy hand a wonder-working medicineOf power to make thee whole if thou wilt deignSo to be healèd;" and he held the chainAloft, and straightway told unto the kingThe passing worth and wonder of the thing.
Then he that heard stretched forth a hand that shookWith sudden fever of half-hope, and tookThe chain, and turned it over in his handUntil his eyes had left no link unscanned.And on each separate link was character'dA language that no living ear had heard,Occult, of secret import, mystic, strange.Then said the king, "What would'st thou in exchangeFor this the magic metal thou dost bring?"And the Prince answered him and said, "O king,Even the emerald stone which some do callThe Emerald of the Virtues Mystical."And they who thronged the hall of judgment wereAstonished at the stranger who could dareAsk such a boon; and some base mouths did curlWith sneers, churl whispering to his fellow churl,"Who could have deemed the man so covetous,So void of shame in his great greed?" For thusIt shall be ever underneath the sun,Each man believing that high hearts are noneWhose own is as the dust he treads on low.
But the king answered saying, "Be it so.To-night this chain of iron shall be wornAbout my neck, and on the morrow-morn,If all the pain have left these limbs of mine,The guerdon thou demandest shall be thine.But if this torment still tormenteth me,Thy head and shoulders shall part company,And both be cast uncoffin'd to the worms.Open thy mouth and answer if these termsContent thee." And aloud the Prince replied,"With these conditions I am satisfied:"Whereafter, rising from his knees, he wentOut from before the king, and was content.
Next morning, when the king awoke, I wisNo heart was lighter in the land than his;For all the grievous burden of his painsHad fall'n from off his limbs, and in his veinsUpleapt the glad new life, and the sick soulSeemed like its body all at once made whole.But hardly was the king uprisen beforeThere knock'd and entered at the chamber-doorHis chief physician (a right skilful leech,But given to hollow trickeries of speech,And artful ways and wiles) who said, "O king,Be not deceived, I pray thee. One good thingComes of another, like from like. The weedBeareth not lilies, neither do apes breedAntelopes. Thou art healed of thy painNot by the wearing of an iron chain—An iron chain forsooth!"—(hereat he laughedAs 'twere a huge rare jest) "but by the draughtWhich I prepared for thee with mine own handsFrom certain precious simples grown in landsIt irks me tell how many leagues away:Which medicine thou tookest yesterday."
Then said the king, "O false and jealous man,Who lovest better thine own praises thanThy master's welfare! Little 'tis to suchAs thou, that I should be made whole; but muchThat men should go before thee, trumpeting"'Behold the man that cured our lord the king.'"And he was sore displeased and in no moodTo hearken. But the chief physician stoodUnmoved amid this hail of kingly scorn,With meek face martyr-like, as who hath borneMuch in the name of Truth, and much can bear.And from the mouth of him false words and fairSo cunningly flowed that in a little whileThe royal frown became a royal smile,And the king hearkened to the leech and wasPersuaded. So that morn it came to passThat when the Prince appeared before the throneTo claim his rightful meed, the emerald stone,The king denied his title to receiveThe jewel, saying, "Think'st thou I believeYon jingling chain hath healed my body? Nay;For whatsoever such as thou may sayI am not found so easy to beguile:As for the gem thou wouldest, this good whileIt hath adorned the crown I wear, nor shallThe stone be parted from the coronal."
Scarce had the false king spoken when beholdThrough the high ceiling's goodly fretted goldA sudden shaft of lightning downward spedAnd smote the golden crown upon his head,Yea, melted ev'n as wax the golden crown.And from the molten metal there fell downA grassgreen Splendour, and the Emerald StoneTumbled from step to step before the throne,And lay all moveless at the Prince's feet!And the king sat upon his royal seatA dead king, marble-mute: but no man stirredOr spake: and only silence might be heard.
Then he before whose feet the gem did lieSaid not a word to any man thereby,But stooped and lifted it from off the floor,And passing outward from the open doorPut the mysterious jewel in his breastAnd went his way, none daring to molestThe stranger. For the whisper rose and ran,"Is not the lightning leaguèd with this man?"
And passing through the city he went outInto the fat fields lying thereabout,And lo the spirit of the emerald stoneWith secret influence to himself unknownGuided the wandering of his errant feet,The servants of the errant soul; and sweetThe meadows were, with babble of birds, and noiseOf brooks, the water's voice and the wind's voice.Howbeit he gave small heed to any of them;And now the subtile spirit of the gemLed him along a winding way that ranBeyond the fields to where the woods beganTo spread green matwork for the mountains' feet;A region where the Silence had her seatAnd hearkened to the sounds that only sheCan hear—the fall of dew on herb and tree;The voice of the growing of the grass; the nightDown-fluttering breathless from the heaven's height;And autumn whispering unawares at timesStrange secrets and dark sayings, wrapt in rhymesWind-won from forest branches. At this placeThe old man rested for a little space,Forgetful that the day was wellnigh flown:But soon the urgent spirit of the stoneItself re-entered and possessed anewHis soul; and led thereby, and wandering throughA mile of trackless and untrodden ground,By favour of the rising moon he foundA rude path, broken here and there by rillsWhich crossed it as they hurried from the hills.And going whitherso the wild path went,A two hours' journeying brought him, wellnigh spentWith toiling upwards, to a mountain pass,A bleak lone place where no trees grew nor grass,But on each hand a peak of rock, high-reared,Uprose: afar the two like horns appearedOf some great beast, so tapering-tall they were.And now with forward gaze the wandererStood where the pass was highest and the trackWent downward both ways; and behind his backThe full moon shone, and lo before his faceThe bright sea glimmered at the mountain's base.It seemed, what way soever he might turn,His fate still led him to that watery bourn.
So journeying down the track which lay before,He came, an hour past midnight, to the shore,And, looking backward, far above espiedThe two sharp peaks, one peak on either sideOf that lone pass; verily like a pairOf monstrous horns, the tips far-seen, up there:And in the nether space betwixt the two,A single monstrous eye the moon shone through.
Now all this while the spirit of the stoneHad led him forward, he, the old man lone,Taking no thought of whither he was bound.And roaming now along the beach he foundA creek, and in the creek, some little wayFrom where it joined the sea, a pinnace layMoored at the marge; and stepping thereinto,He sat him down, and from his bosom drewThe mystic gem, and placed it at the prow,That he might watch its paly splendours, howThey lightened here and there, and flashed aflame,Mocked at the moon and put the stars to shame.But hardly was the stone out of his hand,When the boat wrenched her moorings from the land,And swift as any captive bird set freeShot o'er the shimmering surface of the sea,The spirit of the emerald guiding her;And for a time the old man could not stirFor very greatness of astonishment.
But merrily o'er the moonlit waters wentThe pinnace, till the land was out of sight,Far in the dreaming distance. All that night,Faster than ever wind in winter blew,Faster than quarrel flies the bow, she flew.A moment was a league in that wild flightFrom vast to vast of ocean and the night.And now the moon her lanthorn had withdrawn:And now the pale weak heralds of the dawnLifted the lids of their blear eyes afar:The last belated straggler of a starWent home; and in her season due the mornBrake on a cold and silent sea forlorn—A strange mute sea, where never wave hath stirred,Nor sound of any wandering wind is heard,Nor voice of sailors sailing merrily:A sea untraversed, an enchanted seaFrom all the world fate-folden; hemmed aboutOf linkèd Dreams; encompassed with a Doubt.
But not the less for lack of wind went she,The flying pinnace, o'er that silent sea,Till those dull waters of enchantment layBehind her many a league. And now her wayWas toward a shining tract of ocean, whereLow winds with bland breath flattered the mild air,And low waves did together clasp and close,And skyward yearning from the sea there roseAnd seaward yearning from the sky there fellA Spirit of Deep Content Unspeakable:So midway meeting betwixt sky and sea,These twain are married for eternity,And rule the spirits of that Deep, and shareThe lordship of the legions of the air.
Here winds but came to rest them from their warsWith far seas waged. Here Darkness had her starsAlways, a nightly multitudinous birth.And entering on this happier zone of earth,The boat 'gan bate her speed, and by degreesTempered her motion to the tranquil seas,As if she knew the land not far ahead,The port not far: so forward pilotedBy that sweet spirit and strong, she held her wayUnveering. And a little past midday,The wanderer lifted up his eyes, and rightBefore him saw what seemed a great wall, whiteAs alabaster, builded o'er the sea,High as the heaven; but drawing nearer hePerceived it was a mighty mist that layUpon the ocean, stretching far awayNorthward and southward, and the sun appearedPowerless to melt its mass. And while he nearedThis cloudy barrier stretching north and south,A tale once told him by his mother's mouth,In childhood, while he sat upon her knee,Rose to remembrance:how that on the sea.Sat somewhere a Great Mist which no sun's heatCould melt, nor wind make wander from, its seat.So great it was, the fastest ship would needSeven days to compass it, with all her speed.And they of deepest lore and wisest witDeemed that an island in the midst of itBloomed like a rosebush ring'd with snows, a placeOf pleasance, folded in that white embraceAnd chill. But never yet would pilot steerInto the fog that wrapped it round, for fearOf running blindfold in that sightless mistOn sunken reefs whereof no mariner wist:And so from all the world this happy isleLay hidden. Thus the queen, long since; and whileHe marvelled if the mist before his kenCould be the same she told of—even then,Hardly a furlong 'fore the pinnace' prowIt lay: and now 'twas hard at hand: and nowThe boat had swept into the folds of it!But all that vision of white darkness—litBy the full splendour of the emerald stoneThat from the forepart of the pinnace shone—Melted around her, as in sunder cleftBy that strong spirit of light; and there was leftA wandering space, behind her and before,Of radiance, roofed and walled with mist, the floorA liquid pavement large. And so she passedThrough twilight immemorial, and at lastIssued upon the other side, where layThe land no mortal knew before that day.
There wilding orchards faced the beach, and bareAll manner of delicious fruit and rare,Such as in gardens of kings' palacesTrembles upon the sultry-scented trees,The soul of many sunbeams at its core.Well-pleased the wanderer landed on this shore,Beholding all its pleasantness, how sweetAnd soft, to the tired soul, to the tired feet.And so he sat him down beneath the boughs,And there a low wind seemed to drone and drowseAmong the leaves as it were gone astrayAnd like to faint forwearied by the way;Till the persistence of the sound begatAn heaviness within him as he sat:So when Sleep chanced to come that way, he foundA captive not unwilling to be bound,And on his body those fine fetters putWherewith he bindeth mortals hand and foot.
When the tired sleeper oped again his eyes,'Twas early morn, and he beheld the skiesGlowing from those deep hours of rest and dewWherein all creatures do themselves renew.The laughing leaves blink'd in the sun, throughoutThose dewy realms of orchard thereabout;But green fields lay beyond, and farther still,Betwixt them and the sun, a great high hillKept these in shadow, and the brighter madeThe fruitlands look for all that neighbouring shade.And he the solitary man uprose,His face toward the mountain beyond thoseFair fields not yet acquainted with the sun;And crossed the fields, and climbed the hill, and wonThe top; and journeying down the eastern sideEntered upon a grassy vale and wide,Where in the midst a pure stream ran, as yetA youngling, hardly able to forgetThe lofty place of its nativity,Nor lusting yet for union with the sea.And through this valley, taking for his guideThe stream, and walking by the waterside,He wandered on, but had at whiles to fordThe lesser brooks that from the mountains pouredInto this greater; which by slow degrees,Enlarged with such continual soft increase,Became a river broad and fair, but stillAs clear as when it flowed a mountain-rill:And he the wanderer wandering by that streamSaw 'twas the river he had known in dream.
So day by day he journeyed; and it chancedOne day he fared till night was well advancedEre lying down to sleep; and when he wakedNext morn, his bones and all his body ached,And on his temples lay a weary heat,And with sore pain he got upon his feet.Yet when he rose and hard at hand espiedThe City sloping to the riverside,With bright white walls and golden port agleam,Such as he saw them figured in the dream—Then the blood leapt as fire along his veinsAnd the o'erwearied limbs forgat their pains.But when he strove to make what speed he mightToward the happy haven full in sight,The feet that would have hastened thereuntoCould not; and heavily, as old men do,He fell to earth, and groaned aloud and said,"Old man, what would'st thou, with thy silvered head,Yonder, where all their tresses be as goldForever?—Thou art suffered to beholdThe city of thy search: what wilt thou more?Tarry thou here upon this river-shore;Thou mightest farther go nor find the grassGreener, whereon to lay thy head, and passInto the deep dark populous empty land."