Chapter 2

Our voices are hoarse and drear, As we sit and mumble together, We have no good tidings to hear We had sooner have never (So we grumble together) been born, That are so sick and forlorn; Just shadows-- But once bright fishers of shallows, Swift hunters of meadows.

We are the old, old men, We have seen and endured much trouble; It has turned us children again, And bent us double. Now we sit like a circle of stones, And hear in each others' moans Ill token. For our sweetest thoughts were broken Or else unspoken.

The Song of Snorro.

"Oh! who can drink at the world's brink, Or reach the twilight star? It's a long sail where the winds wail, And the great waters are.

"Or who can say at the parting day That he will see once more His children's faces in happy places, His true wife at the door?"

Snorro the Viking, his thigh striking, Laughed in his big red beard. "Some are bound by sight and sound. While some have wished and feared.

"Their days dream as a droning stream Or moonlight in a wood. Now who can sate his love or hate, And the tumult of his blood?

"Then cast the die for the open sky When the great sun beats abroad, For the foam-fleck and the narrow deck, The life of oar and sword.

"Life and limb for the wind's hymn, And all the fears that be, The ghost-races with ghastly faces, The phantoms of the sea.

"Mine is the morrow," shouted Snorro, "I longed and have not feared." And his great laughter followed after And rumbled in his beard.

The Island.

Once (was it long ago, dear? Oh! hark to the sighing seas.) We sailed to a wonderful Island In the golden Antipodes, Where the waves wore an azure mantle, The winds were ever at rest, For we'd left the Old World behind us A thousand leagues to the West.

We came to that wonderful Island; Girt by a ring of foam It lay in the sea like a jewel Under an azure dome. The cliffs were all gold in the sunlight, The strand was a floor of gold, So we knew we'd come to the Island We'd read of in tales of old.

Was it long we stayed in our Island? (Dear, I can never say) I know we walked on the mountains Which looked far over the bay. I know that we laughed for pleasure (Were we wise or a couple of fools?) As we gazed at the painted fishes Which swam in the shallow pools.

And night drew over our Island The purple pall of the skies, The air was heavy with fragrance And soft with the breath of sighs, And voices out of the forest, Voices out of the sea, Told the eternal secret.... Told it to you and me.

And the stars came down from the heavens, And the magical tropic moon, To dance a measure together Over the still lagoon; And the whisper of distant forests, The noise of the surf in our ears, Seemed like the song of the ages Sung by the passing years.

But we said "farewell" to our Island Which we had discovered alone.... The sand ... and the palms ... and the headland.... The westering wind ... and the sun. We said "farewell" to our Island (Oh! hark to the sullen rain!) ... And I knew as it fell behind us We should not see it again.

For only a few may go there And they but once may go, With glamour of stars above them And the swinging seas below. But I still hear its forests whisper, The noise of the surf on the shore, In that far-off wonderful Island Which I shall see no more.

Fair Filamelle.

Fair Filamelle is my distress With all her cruel backwardness. She will not listen to my pain, But turneth from me in disdain. That fair Filamelle, Her disdain is now my hell. She hath bewitched me with her eyes, As Circe did the sailor wise, Or Egypt did the Roman Prince, Two thousand years agone. I've little else but weeping since, My heart is like a stone.

If you like laughter's silver sound Why have you dealt me such a wound, If youth and beauty look askance At glum and heavy countenance, Why is it coy and cruel, Adding to my fire more fuel? Alas! Alas! it has no care, Free as the birds which flit in air, Nor heedfulness has any, Else were its kindness not so rare, Its victims then so many.

Ah! fair Filamelle, have pity on my moan, Else must I die alone, My heart is like a stone.

The Song of Kisses.

I have no skill in Love's soft war, Nor am I bold to woo In the same sort that conquerors are When they are lovers too. Tho' passion thunders in my brain Like ocean on a beach, My tongue is bounden with a chain And manacled my speech. Yet, could I let one word go free To touch your chords with fire, Become the wind upon the sea The plectrum of the lyre, Then, my Althea, should we be Two lovers without shame, All things in their epitome, The Universe our name. Then should we bow to Love's command As the waves kiss the shore And the rain falls upon the land That it may thirst no more. Then should we kiss, with time at bay As in the Ajalon valley, A score--two score--two hundred--nay We would not keep the tally-- A hundred thousand in one bout, Ten myriads ere we slumbered, And the stars winked and all went out To find themselves out-numbered.

The Song of Odysseus.

Out of the dark I return-- The abode of the shades; The words which they said Were the strengthless words of the Dead, Meaningless, nothing importing.

Out of the dark I return And the House of the Dead; The endless regions of gloom Deep sepulchred in the womb Of Earth, the mother of all things.

Out of the dark I return, From the stream of the Dead; I slew a goat on the brink And they pressed around me to drink Their shadowy twittering legions.

Out of the dark I return, From the speech of the Dead; I asked them for counsel and word, They twittered like bats when they heard And wailed for the warm blood flowing.

Out of the dark I return; (Ye are baffled, Oh! Dead); Lost hopes, lost hearts, lost loves, Hollow-eyed, hollow-cheeked are your droves, I drew my sword and ye vanished.

Out of the dark I return And the dust of desire; My ears are still filled with the shrieks Of the pitiful Dead and my cheeks Still pale with the paleness of Hades.

Out of the dark I return For the day, for the deed; And now to Apollo, the slayer, I stand and utter a prayer Humbly, first making obeisance.

STORIES IN VERSE.

Adeimantus.

The dream of Adeimantus Who carved for a Grecian Prince Statues of perfect marble, Fairer than all things since, Wonderful, white, and gracious Like lotus flowers on a mere, Or phantoms born of the moonbeam, Beyond all praise but a tear. The dream of Adeimantus (As he lay upon his bed), Wonderful, white, and gracious, And this was the word it said. "Arise! oh! Adeimantus, The breath of the dawn blows chill, The stars begin to fade Ere the first ray strikes the sill. Arise! oh! Adeimantus For here is work to your hand, If the fingers fashion the dream As the soul can understand." He rose from his troubled bed Ere the dream had faded away, And he said, "I will fashion the dream As the potter fashions the clay." He said in his great heart's vanity, "I will fashion a wondrous thing To stand in a palace of onyx And blind the eyes of a king." He said in the pride of his soul As the birds began to sing, "I will surely take no rest Till I fashion this wondrous thing. I will swear an oath to eschew The white wine and the red, To eat no delicate meats Nor break the fair, white bread. I will not walk in the city But labour here alone In the dew and the dusk and the flush Till the vision smiles from the stone." Six days he wrought at the marble, But cunning had left his hand, And his fingers would not fashion What his soul could understand. Six days he fasted and travailed, Hard was the watch to keep, So the chisel fell from his fingers And he sank with a sob to sleep. But a vision came to his slumber Beautiful as before, Floating in with the moonbeam Gliding over the floor. It floated in with the moonbeam And stood beside his bed, Wonderful, white, and gracious, And this was the word it said. "Courage, oh! Adeimantus, I am the perfect thing To stand in a shrine of jasper And blind the eyes of a king. I am the strange desire, The glory beyond the dream, The passion above the song, The spirit-light of the gleam. I come to my best beloved, Not actual, from afar, Fairer than hope or thought, More beautiful than a star. Courage, oh! Adeimantus, Lay strength and strength to your soul. You shall fashion surely a part Tho' you may not grasp the whole."

Pygmalion.

Once ... I seem to remember.... Crept in the noonday heat A boy with a crooked shadow Which capered along the street. A boy whose shadow was mocked at By the children passing along, Straight and tall and beautiful, Happy with laughter and song. So, he envied their beauty.... He who was crooked and brown.... The strong youths of the mountain, The white girls of the town, Envied their happy meetings And the tender words they spoke In the shadow of the temples, Under the groves of oak. And his lonely heart was stricken That never his lot might be To walk with a maid who loved him.... So quaint and crooked was he.

II

Thus was my heart once stricken And I repined for a while, I but a boy in years, Who longed for a maiden's smile. Till once on a day in summer My soul was touched with a gleam, And I woke from my morbid fancies Like one from an evil dream, And knew that the gods in their wisdom Had made and set me apart. Lean, misshapen, and ugly.... No toy for a maiden's heart. And I felt with a heart awakened That leapt in a riot of joy, The heart of a wise man and proud Not the heart of a moody boy. Viewing the old things anew With an inner wonder in each: The cloud ships driven thro' heaven, The sea rolling into the beach, The magic heart of the woodland, The loves of nymph and faun, The splendour of starlight nights, The calm inviolate dawn.

III

Thus was my spirit quickened, And once on a lucky day I drew a bird on plaster, And modelled a horse in clay; Kneeling under a wall Where a shadow fell on the street, Eyes and mind intent In the midst of the noonday heat. Eyes and mind intent.... And a stranger passed my way, ... The shadow grew and lengthened As he stopped to watch my play. He looked at the little horse, He looked at the winging bird; And ere I noticed his presence He touched me and spoke a word: "Hast thou the mind and will As thou hast hand and sight...? Follow me if thou hast And climb ... oh! climb to the height."

IV

So I followed him to his workshop And stayed there a year and a year Working under a master Who praised me and held me dear, Till at last a day arose When, taking my hand in his own, "You have my knowledge," he said, "And now you must stand alone." And tho' I sorrowed to leave him My heart was ready to sing, So first in praise of the gods I made for an offering (Even as does a shepherd His rustic altar of sods) Bright forms larger than human As mortals dream of the gods. Then, in my strange world-worship, The Tritons, Lords of the Sea, The creatures which haunt the woodland, Happy and shy and free, Nymphs and satyrs and fauns Who worship the great god Pan, And lastly the mighty heroes Who fashion the mind of man.

V

Thus thought I and thus wrought I, And my power grew greater still. I rose to the heights of passion And sounded the depths of will, Reaching out to the farthest Winnowing down to the last, Gazing into the future And diving into the past. Higher and ever higher Like an eagle soared my art And I praised the most high gods Who made and set me apart. And Prince and poet and painter Travelled to touch my hand, The minds which had toiled and suffered, The minds which could understand, Marvelling in my workshop At the shining forms they saw.... The children of my spirit Born of a higher law.

VI

But last on a day in summer (An evil day it seems) I thought, "I will fashion a woman As I have seen in dreams. I, who never loved woman That breathed and spoke and moved, Will fashion a noble statue To show what I could have loved; A glorious naked figure Untouched by time or fate, A symbol of all that might be And she shall be my mate. Not mate of my crooked body, Lean, misshapen and brown, (No longer I feared my shadow But walked a prince in the town) But mate for my glorious spirit Winging thro' shimmering heights, On the viewless pinions of fancy Where none can follow its flights." Thus was I moved in spirit And wrought, a happy slave, Striving to make the best Of the gifts the high gods gave, Fashioning out of the marble, --And I knew my work was good-- The arms and the breasts and the thighs And the glory of womanhood.

VII

Lo! the statue is finished. Look how it stands serene A woman with tender smile And proud eyes of a queen! Lo! the statue is perfect.... Flower and crown of my life.... I who never loved woman Could take this woman for wife.... Her, my Galatea, My wonderful milk-white friend, Work of my hand and brain Linked to this noble end.

VIII

The statue stands above me, Flower and crown of my art.... But would that the gods had made me As others, not set me apart. For what, in the measure of life, Is work on a lower plane? And this the finest, brightest-- Further I cannot attain. Shall I grind its beauty to fragments Or shatter its symmetry?-- For I have made it in secret And none has seen it but me. My hand would falter and fail-- Oh! ... I could not forget. I still should see it in dreams With a passion of regret. Or ... Shall I wait till morning White-winged over the land, Ere the fishermen tramp the beach And drag their boats to the sand; And find at last ... oh! at last A boon denied to me, Rest in the ever-restless, The huge, unquiet sea, That the brain may be freed from toil Which has toiled to a luckless end When it touched its highest powers And shaped my milk-white friend.

IX

For a dream is only a dream, (My best and my last stands there) And a stone is only a stone, Be it carven beyond compare, And the veriest hind of the field Who sweats for his hungry brood, Has a deeper knowledge than I Of our mortal evil and good. Oh! gods, if ever I sought you, And found you, terrible lords, Zeus in the rattling thunder, Ares in din of swords; And thou, wise grey-eyed lady, Who lovest the sober mean, Reason and grave discourses, A tempered mind and serene, You have I duly honoured-- Yet one have I kept apart, (Lean, misshapen, and ugly No toy for a maiden's heart). "Oh! foam-begotten and smiling, Oh, perilous child of the sea-- Forgive--ere too late--and befriend me! What am I--what is life without thee?" And his prayer went up like a vapour To the palace above the snows, Where the shining gods held revel, And deathless laughter arose. But Hupnos swiftly descended Like a noiseless bird of the night And brushed his eyes with pinions Downy and thick and light, Circled dimly about him, And brushed his eyes as he prayed Laying a drowsy mandate, And the watcher drooped and obeyed.

X

In at the workshop windows Peacefully stole the dawn; Tinting the marble figures Of wood-nymph, goddess and faun, Broadening in a streamer Which touched with a rosy glow The still white form of the statue, The sleeper kneeling below. ... She moved as the red light touched her And life stirred under her hair, A little shiver ran over Her glorious limbs all bare. Thro' arms and breasts and thighs The warm blood pulsed and ran: And she stepped down from the pedestal-- A woman unto a man; Saying in tender accents Of low and musical tone: "Oh! sleeper, wake from thy slumber No longer art thou alone...."

Alexis.

Who slew Alexis? Some one smote Right thro' the white and tender throat (And scarce gave time for fear) The jewelled doll, who sprang from kings, With farded cheek and flashing rings, And left him lying here.

He sat upon a throne, pardye, The ancient throne of Muscovy, Smiling a harlot's smile, And gave--the painted popinjay-- The word which no man might gainsay, Tossing his curls the while.

And savage warriors, steel on hips, Muttered between their bearded lips, And spat upon the floor, To see a thing so debonnaire Enthroned upon a conqueror's chair, And find their King half-whore.

Or in a gallery all aflare, Approached by some dark palace stair, He lay in languid mood, And naked women, mad with wine, Did cruelty and lust combine To stir his tainted blood.

So plunged, half woman and half devil, In many a foul and roaring revel, By some fierce craving fanned, Alexis, with the girlish face And swaying movements full of grace, The Ruler of this Land.

So, hunted by a mind diseased, By those fierce orgies unappeased, He thirsted after new; And monstrous things he did (they say) Which never saw the light of day, Shared by a chosen few.

The rocks were cleft to bring him treasure, The mothers mourned to give him pleasure, The whole land writhed in pain, All night the secret chambers flared, All night the horrid deeds were dared Which made him thirst again.

And pampered Turks lived by his side, With gobbling negroes bloodshot-eyed, And hags with mouths impure. And day and night the warders tall Stood watching on his castle wall That he might dwell secure.

Strange visions did upon him throng With shapes confused which held him long, A riot in his brain. Unbridled lust, unbounded power So worked upon him in that hour.... I think he was insane.

And I--who had no God to please, And nursed him crowing on my knees-- I waited by the stair, And as he gave a joyous note, Passed this bright iron thro' his throat And left him lying there.

The King's Cloak.

There was a King in Norroway Who loved a famous sport, He followed it in the sun and snow With the nobles of his Court. In all his kingdom mountainous Was none so swift as he (For so they said who ate his bread) At running on the ski.

His black heart swelled with pride As the acorn swells with the tree, And from all his kingdom mountainous He called the men of the ski. From fir-pricked crag and gloomy gorge Where the lonely log-huts cling, And till the King's word bade them cease They raced before the King.

So raced they down a spear-broad track, Where never tree did grow, Between the mountains and the sea A thousand feet below Till sundip in a cold pearl sky And a west of ageless pink From a withered pine to the King enthroned With his nobles by the brink.

There ran one with the racers Straight-fashioned as a sword, With sail-brown cheek and eyes as deep As water in a fiord And till the King's word bade them cease None passed or touched him near, He leapt as frightened chamois leap And ran like a stricken deer.

Dusk threw a hateful shadow On the King's countenance "The guerdons of thy skill," cried he, "Or, boy, thy luck, perchance? This figured ivory drinking horn! This turquoise-hilted sword! But ... shall I see no marvel Ere day dips in the fiord?"

"There is not in fair Norroway My master on the ski One bolder or more skilful.... A marvel wouldst thou see?" --Bold and high was the answer-- "'Twas skill not luck, Oh! King, I am the swiftest.... A marvel Of whom the scalds shall sing."

"Oh! yonder stand the mountains And yonder moans the sea And he who leapt from the topmost crag.... A bold man would he be. A bold man ... yea, a marvel For the grey-haired scalds to hymn...." Day dying touched his swarthy cheek With a lurid light and grim,

While he made the gloomy challenge And round a murmur ran, But ... the boy bowed low and answered, "Oh! King, behold the man The swiftest and the boldest In thy kingdom by the sea, From mountain or ... from hatred What man can do, dares he."

... He swept down from the mountain Like an eaglet on a hare With bent back and swinging arms And tossing golden hair.... The King stood by the precipice (A small sea moaned and broke) ... Looked down over the wrinkled sea And swiftly loosed his cloak.

... He came as an arrow is loosened.... As a slinger slings a stone, Clutched (as the sun shot downwards) At one on the brink alone.... The King leapt back ... the King laughed out.... The great cloak floated free.... There came no sound--tho' he listened long-- From the darkened moaning sea.

The Knight and the Witch.