Chapter 3

A voice cried over the Hills "Follow the strange desire. Oh! follow, follow, follow, The world is on fire. Day burns on funeral bed In flame of sky and sea, And, black against that red, Is the tower where dwelleth she And gazeth, white foot pressed On bruisèd heaps of bloom, O'er the sea which cannot rest And sounds thro' her room. Murmurs in her room Thro' a casement open wide The sea which is a tomb For mariners of pride. Oh! follow, follow, follow, Come quickly unto her, Her body is more sweet Than cassia or myrrh, She is whiter than the moon, She is stranger than death, Stronger than the new moon Which the waters draweth. More lovely are her words More lovely is she Than the flight of white birds O'er a halcyon sea. She took the stars for toys-- Her magic was so strong-- Murmurs of earth and the noise Of green seas for a song. She leant down on the sill And called across the sea. ... Oh! follow, follow, follow, Come quickly unto me...." A voice cried over the Hills "Oh! come, I fail, I swoon, Pale with my love's excess, Paler than our pale moon. Oh! come, Oh! come, Oh! come, Before the days eclipse We'll meet with brimming eyes And kiss with quivering lips. Love-drunken, breast to breast, With half-closed eyes we'll kiss, And reel from bliss to pain From pain again to bliss. The sea which cannot rest From its undernote of doom (We swooning breast on breast) Shall murmur thro' my room. Shall murmur all night long Thro' a casement open wide. The sea, which is a tomb For mariners of pride, With an undernote of doom Shall murmur evermore That love is in the room And Death is at the door, That Death will bruise to dust Our flower-drenched passion soon Darker than darkest night Colder than our cold moon. So shall it ebb and flow Our love like those sea-tides For a space ... a little space-- What matter? ... nought abides."

A voice cried over the Hills, "What matter? ... all things die, Our quivering love's excess, Our rose-drenched ecstasy As glimmering waters drawn By the magic of the moon, As the moon itself at dawn Our love shall vanish soon. So swift (my love-pale groom) A white bird wings its flight. Then find you Death's cold room, Darker than darkest night; Then find you that dark door (And find it all men must) And love there nevermore But crumble back to dust, And kiss there nevermore In flower-drenched ecstasy; Too late then to implore, Too cold to hear a cry."

And then towards the shelving beach A cedar shallop drew, With silver prow shaped like a swan And sails of rainbow hue. Swiftly it came with a wake of foam And lying on its side Like an arrow's flight towards the Knight, Tho' none sat there to guide. And in the shallows by the shore It came to rest at last, The cordage slacked and the rainbow sail Flapped idly on the mast. And the Swan-prow with the ruby eyes Opened his silver beak, And with a musical, magic voice He thus began to speak. "Step in, step in, my gallant lad, Your youth shall be my fare. For you my mistress opes her door And combs her wine-dark hair. She swelled my sail with an eager wind And drove me to this beach, She gave strange sight to my ruby eyes And filled my beak with speech.

"She saw you in the magic glass The hour that she has might, As you rode across the purple heath, Honour and armour bright. Step in, step in, my lover bold And come to the West with me Where the young nymphs play in the wave and lift Their white arms from the sea; And the Tritons chase the laughing rout And swim by the vessel's side, Blowing on horns confusedly, Or shouting words of pride. You hear it now, but the time will come When you shall hear no more The ceaseless wash of a dreaming sea, Its ripples on the shore. Oh! follow, follow the sinking sun And the great white Evening Star, A magic wind shall breathe behind Our sail, and bear us far."

He doffed his red-plumed casque of steel, All flaxen was his hair, And he was clad from throat to heel In the armour princes wear, From throat to heel in silver mail Like a shining prince in a fairy-tale.

The witch Hegertha o'er him bent, (Ah! God, her face was fair) Her breath blew on him like a scent, She touched him with her hair. There was no stronger witch than this, And she gave the Knight her first kiss. And he was bound to her sword and hand, To do whatever she might command.

Then up to her full height she drew, Down poured her hair like wine, Her pale, proud face looked sadly through --A moon in a wood of pine-- She breathed a spell in a low, sweet tone Which none of woman born could disown. And he was bound to her side till death By the spell just uttered above her breath.

She drew his soul forth with her eyes, As a drinker slakes his drouth, A little smile played sorrowful, wise, About her rose-red mouth. She stooped down and called his soul forth, And left him naught but his body's earth. And he was bound to her evermore By the soul he lost and the word he swore.

For evermore and evermore In the chamber by the sea, Till death should break the spell-bound door And end his slavery; In the chamber strewn with flowers in bloom With a heavy scent like death, Echoing ever the song of doom Which the sad sea moaned beneath. For evermore and evermore Till life ceased in his side, Bound to the room and the rose-strewn floor And the strange, unholy bride.

And naught could save him now, when once the spell Had fallen on him, binding limbs and will, Where he sat listening to the sad sea swell, Amid the roses which no time could kill. Naught could restore lost courage to his eyes, The Knightly ardour that he used to feel, Or make his heart the seat of high emprise, Or nerve his hand to grasp the shining steel. Whether she kept him fast by her enchantment, Or drove him forth to roam death-pale and weeping, Naught could remind him what his life's fair grant meant, Now that his soul was in Hegertha's keeping.

The Dreamer.

This is the dream of the Dreamer With the grave thought-sunken eyes, Which he dreamed between sleeping and waking, Between the night and the making Of dawn ... and he dreamed in this wise:

To the gate of the dawn came a chariot Which four black stallions were drawing, And a spirit charioteer, With the burning eyes of a seer, Held them impatiently pawing.

He mounted the floor of the chariot, And the Spirit drew together His reins, his strong grip tight'ning, And his thong flashed out like a lightning, And the horses rushed up to æther.

The Dreamer was caught into space With a pang as of ending or birth, And lo! clouds builded above him, And beneath him soundless and moving The sea of his own little earth.

They clove the walls of the clouds, And snorted each coal black stallion Nursed by the Spirit, whose hair Streamed out like a banner, and bare In the night was the moon--a medallion

And then an ice-sheathed corpse With ancient glaciers and snouted Craters of fires extinct, Chain on chain of them linked. And the Lord of the Chariot shouted

And shook out his hissing lash Over the backs of the four Till they whirled up faster and faster, Till the sun became vaster and vaster, And its flames leapt out with a roar

Of mountains, subsident, resurging, Innumerable, ceaseless of action, Years and years into space.... And the Dreamer covered his face, As he rode, in his stupefaction.

They passed with a dip and a swerve, As a swallow skims the downs, Far up into the height, And the stars looked down from the night Like the lights of distant towns.

Swift is the lonely thought Of a sage, a mountain-dweller, But swifter far was their rush Thro' the awful cold and the hush Of the spaces interstellar.

They heard the approaching thunder, And saw the glare of a comet Holding its destined way To an undiscovered day, And its tresses streamed out from it.

They broke thro' other systems, By huger alien spheres, Each in its orbit travelling, The timeless skeins unravelling Of a law with no count of years

And came at last to a planet, Girt in a gleaming ring Of cloud and vapour and mist, Which the light of four moons kissed To a wonderful milk-white thing.

Then the Spirit reined in his stallions, And pointed in exultation And turned his orbèd eyes, Which burned with a wild surmise And a dreadful penetration,

On the Dreamer, who followed, and lo! The Heavens had changed their stations, And their voids were with unknown And greater galaxies sown And altered constellations.

And, beyond, a scatter of crystals, And, beyond, bright motes in a beam, And, beyond, while the Spirit probed him To the soul in the flesh that robed him, An uncountable shimmering stream.

He saw these worlds all marshalled, And their ways all governed for ever; And he felt the sight of his soul Shrivel up like a fire-licked scroll In his insupportable terror.

Then the Spirit pointed again, And wheeled the might of his horses And shouted ... and down they fell, As a pebble drops in a well, Thro' the worlds and the roar of their courses.

And the Dreamer looked, and behold! In a point to æons withdrawn.... A scarce visible speck of light, His own sun like a mite, And the blur of his own little dawn.

II

Now the Dreamer, who rode by night In the car of the Spirit thro' space, Came in the blue of June morning, In a mood betwixt pity and scorning, To the populous market-place.

Afar in the infinite blue Hung the snow-capped mountain-ranges; But round him moved the press Of the city's business In kaleidoscopic changes.

For the square was all life and all colour, All confusion and clamour, As dealers showed the paces Of colts, untamed in the traces, To the rap of the auctioneer's hammer.

He saw there the dusty sheep Trotting blindly amidst the throng; The swine with quivering snouts, The boys who urged them with shouts, The hawkers of picture and song;

The brown-skinned peasants trudging By their slow-paced bullock wains, With children asprawl the load, And wives who scolded and rode With an eye to their husbands' gains;

The hooknosed Orient merchants, Who came in the caravans And bargained over the prices Of silks and carpets and spices, Pearls and feathers and fans;

The clumsy sailors in ear-rings From the echoing harbour beach, With parrots and shells for their wares, The light of the sun in their stares, The sound of the wind in their speech.

And the shrill-voiced changers of money Who sat with their clerks at the tables.... And it seemed to him all no matter As he gazed ... like the evening chatter Of starlings under his gables.

III

And lo! hard by at a pillar Two learned Sophists disputed, Taking the turn of speech And disciples applauded each Or else each other confuted

With babble and clenching of fist, And thrusting of face into face, And saying "Demus hath reason" Or "Lycas hath conquered. The season Of Demus hath passed, and his place

"Is with us no longer." And mildly The grave-eyed Dreamer watched them Shouting and seething and ranting. But, when they perceived him, panting (For a sudden impulse snatched them)

Ran up a crowd of both factions And cried, "Oh! Master, befriend us, For we all of us know thou art wisest, That thou speakest the truth and despisest No man and his need. Therefore lend us

"Thy wisdom in this our dilemma." And the Dreamer answered, "I hear." So they told him with quibble and chatter.... And it seemed to him all no matter Like the croaking of frogs in a mere.

IV

And behold! there ran thro' the market, Hard by where the Dreamer stood, A natural, void of desire Save for warmth of the sun or of fire Or for softness abed or food.

Naught held he dearer in mind, Save the branchèd lightning veins; And in naught more strongly rejoiced Save the sound of the thunder deep-voiced Or the fertile flash of the rains

Or the seas climbing into the harbour; And so thro' the market he ran Happy and careless and free (Him no man heeded for he Was a boy who would ne'er be a man)

Munching the gift of a cake, A pilfered apple or fig, Or danced with his shadow awhile, Smiling a secret smile, Or twirled a hued whirligig.

And the Dreamer called to him, "Come!" As he skipped in the sun with his Shadow. And the boy came doubtful and shy With a timid foot and eye, As a young horse comes in a meadow.

And the Dreamer touched his cheek And murmured, "Be not afraid," And the boy took heart and smiled, For the voice was tender and mild, And then half sadly it said,

"Oh! ye who have called me the Master, The Teller of Truth, and the Wise, Oh! ye who have strayed in the dark Give ear to my saying and mark, For I give you a pearl of price,

"A dark saying, and a hard saying To those who read it aright-- This natural, whom ye see, Is wiser, Oh! blind ones, than ye, And thus have I learned in the night."

DIALOGUES.

The Parting of Lancelot and Guinevere.

(Mallory paraphrased.)

"Be as be may," said Lancelot, "I go upon my quest." So mounted he and rode alone Eight days into the West. And to a nunnery came at last Hard by a forest ride, And walking in the cloister-shades Was by the Queen espied. And, when she saw him, swooned she thrice And said, when speak she might, "Ye marvel why I make this fare? 'Tis truly for the sight Of yonder knight that standeth there, And so must ever be; Wherefore I pray you swiftly go And call him unto me." And to them all said Guinevere When Lancelot was brought "Fair ladies, thro' this man and me Hath all this war been wrought, And death of the most noblest knights Of whom we have record. And thro' the love we loved is slain My own most noble lord. Wherefor, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well, As thou dost wish my weal, That I am set in such a plight To get my dear soul heal. For sinners were the Saints in Heaven And trust I in God's grace To sit that day at Christ's right hand And see His Blessèd Face. Therefore I heartily require And do beseech thee sore For all the love betwixt us was To see my face no more. But bid thee now, on God's behalf, That thou my side forsake, And to thy kingdom turn again, And keep thy realm from wrake. My heart, as well it loved thee once, Serveth me not arights To see thee, sithen is destroyed The flower of kings and knights. Therefore now get thee to thy realm And take to thee a wife And live with her in joy and bliss, And pray God mend my life." "Nay, Madam," said Sir Lancelot, "That shall I never do, For I should never be so false Of that I promised you. But unto the same destiny As you I will me take, And cast me specially to pray For you, for Jesu's sake. In you I take record of God, Mine earthly joy I found, And had you willed had taken you To dwell on mine own ground. But sithen you are thus disposed And will the world forsake, Be now ensured that I likewise To penance will me take, And so, if haply I may find A hermit white or grey Who shall receive and shrive me clean, While lasteth life will pray. Wherefore I pray you kiss me now, And never then no mo." "Nay," said the Queen, "Oh! get thee gone, That can I never do." So parted they with wondrous dole And swooned for their great teen And to her chamber scarce on live Her ladies bare the Queen. But Lancelot woke at last and went And took his horse from keeping, And all that day and all that night Rode thro' a forest weeping.

The Hermit and the Faun.

A hermit knelt before his door Long-bearded, bald of head, When a laughing faun peeped thro' the brake And these the words he said, "My mother was a water-nymph And in these woods I grew, The faun, Amyntas, is my name, To what name answer you? How came you to this lonely hut, Why kneel you in the dust, With scalp as bald as a beggar's bowl And beard as red as rust? Why make you with those knotted claws Your gestures strange and sad? The sheep-bells tinkle from the plain, The forest paths are glad."

"Oh! creature of the wood and wild You may not know my name, It was forgotten long ago For it was one of shame. Therefore I made a vow to dwell Upon this forest brink And take the ripened nuts for food And catch the rain for drink, To scrape wild honey from the rocks And make my bed on leaves Because of the hot sins of my youth Whereat my spirit grieves."

"Not such as you, Oh! ancient man, Our joyous Satyrs here: Old men are they all laughter-mad Who wallow in good cheer. Amid lush grasses soft and cool They make their feasting ground, With smilax and with bryony Their rosy pates are crowned. You see them thro' the forest trunks Great rolling gladsome shapes, Who prop themselves on skins of wine By purple piles of grapes. Their huge brown bellies quake with mirth, Their ancient eyes are bright, And there they sit and roar old tales Far, far into the night. Then tipsy with the heady juice Each falls into a heap, Till white-horned morning bids him wake With all the land from sleep."

"Oft lying in this lonely hut On panting summer nights I watched the stars like silver lamps Hung from those purple heights, And heard the forest-depths behind Fill with disquieting noise Like frightened cries of flying girls And shouts of eager boys, And saw white shapes go flitting past Like runners in a race And caught faint murmurs, sighs and laughs From all the forest place. And oft a distant sound of shouts Came with the soft night airs, And I ... lest evil might befall Got swiftly to my prayers."

"And tell me now, Oh! ancient man, The God to whom you pray, These woods know none but mighty Pan Whom all our folk obey. His altar stands by yonder plane And there the shepherds bring, Toiling up from the fields below, Each day an offering, A lamb or else a yearling kid, A bud-horned lusty fellow, Great cheeses, grapes, or bursting figs, Or apples red and yellow, Or melons ripened in the sun A foot from end to end. Such gifts the shepherds bring to Pan That he may be their friend.

"He is our Father, Lord of all, From the meadow to the Pass, So ... pray you to a painted bird, Or green snake in the grass?"

"Rash Thing, beware," the Hermit cried, Like agates were his eyes, "The God I serve you do not know A strong God, just and wise. For He will purge your streams and woods, And smite both hip and thigh Your Satyrs, amorous bestial sots, Your careless company Who wanton in the thymy ways In which these woods abound, And kiss with soft empurpled mouths, Luxuriantly crowned. My soul is filled with prophecy; Dimly I see a bark Which runs by some low wooded isle; The night is warm and dark, And from a promontory rings A sudden bitter cry, It smites the lonely helmsman's ears And tingles in the sky. 'Oh! Traveller, tell in every land These tidings strange and dread, Let all the peoples wail and weep, For Pan, great Pan, is dead.'"

Amyntas pursed his pouting lips And shook his curly head, "Farewell, old man, the forest calls; I like you not," he said. "Your flesh is dried, your ribs are lean, You are too lank and sere, Your voice is harsh, your words are grim And do not please mine ear. The great god Pan is all I need And all I wish to know, My Father Pan, the shepherd's god, And now, old man, I go."

Behind him closed a greening brake, And, after many a hail, He joined his gay companions And gambolled in a vale.

Love's Defiance.

"Light of my life lie close Oh! Love, I have found you at last; Let me hear your low sweet voice The knell of the aching past. The lashes lie on your cheek Oh! lift them and show me your eyes; Twin stars in a mortal face, They are soft, they are kind, they are wise."

"Heart of my hungry heart My hero whose hand is in mine If we fall let it be to the pit, For to-day we have touched the divine. Time has stood still to-day.... This day which has squandered its sun. It has been all glory and gold All perfect days in this one."

"Light of my life, my love, My lady of dreams, lie near, The evening sighs thro' the pines, Hark! do you feel no fear? The light of love flashes out.... Oh! wonder so old and so new-- I am strong with the strength of that name, Dear, when I look at you."

"Heart of my beating heart, My friend whose forehead I kiss In the days which were not days, Weaker was I than this. In the years which the locust ate My spirit clove to the dust, But now--come fate--I am bold, I build on a higher trust."

"Light of my life, my Queen, Let us quarrel no more with life-- The tears--or the final truth-- We are victors now in the strife. With its purer days of joy With its prison anguish too, All myself, and the past of myself, My darling, worship you."

"Heart of my singing heart, My lover, my lord, all hail! Fear shall be underfoot, I feel that we shall not fail. In the shadowy land we leave The grim wolves raven and bark, But our hearts are steadfast at length And our faces turn from the dark."

The Playmates.

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my Mary, oh! You looked so bonny then. Will you no give me your little hand, The sweetest hand I ken?"

"Oh! I will give you my little hand, I'm sweir to say you no, Oh! I'll now give you my hands both My friendship for to show."

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my lassie dear, The tears stand in these eyne. Will you no give me a kind word For the sake of old lang syne?"

"Oh! I will give you a kind word Tho' I have little skill, For the time that we were children And played upon the hill."

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my lass o' gold, Will you no give me a kiss? My heart, I think, is like to break If you refuse me this."

"Alas! and if I must refuse You will not think me bad. That your heart should break for my sake, In truth it makes me sad."

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my lassie oh! I will be true as steel. Will you no give me your promised word For the love that I do feel?"