Chapter 2

Shadows and shapes of fable and storied sooth Rose glorious as with gleam of gold unpriced; Eve, clothed with heavenly nakedness and youth That matched the morning's; Cain, self-sacrificed On crime's first altar: legends wise as truth, And truth in legends deep embalmed and spiced; The stars that saw the starlike eyes of Ruth, The grave that heard the clarion call of Christ. And higher than sorrow and mirth The heavenly song of earth Sprang, in such notes as might have well sufficed To still the storms of time And sin's contentious clime With peace renewed of life reparadised: Earth, scarred not yet with temporal scars; Goddess of gods, our mother, chosen among the stars.

VI.

Earth fair as heaven, ere change and time set odds Between them, light and darkness know not when, And fear, grown strong through panic periods, Crouched, a crowned worm, in faith's Lernean fen, And love lay bound, and hope was scourged with rods, And death cried out from desert and from den, Seeing all the heaven above him dark with gods And all the world about him marred of men. Cities that nought might purge Save the sea's whelming surge From all the pent pollutions in their pen Deep death drank down, and wrought, With wreck of all things, nought, That none might live of all their names again, Nor aught of all whose life is breath Serve any God whose likeness was not like to death.

VII.

Till by the lips and eyes of one live nation The blind mute world found grace to see and speak, And light watched rise a more divine creation At that more godlike utterance of the Greek, Let there be freedom. Kings whose orient station Made pale the morn, and all her presage bleak, Girt each with strengths of all his generation, Dim tribes of shamefaced soul and sun-swart cheek, Twice, urged with one desire, Son following hard on sire, With all the wrath of all a world to wreak, And all the rage of night Afire against the light Whose weakness makes her strong-winged empire weak, Stood up to unsay that saying, and fell Too far for song, though song were thousand-tongued, to tell.

VIII.

From those deep echoes of the loud Ægean That rolled response whereat false fear was chid By songs of joy sublime and Sophoclean, Fresh notes reverberate westward rose to bid All wearier times take comfort from the pæan That tells the night what deeds the sunrise did, Even till the lawns and torrents Pyrenean Ring answer from the records of the Cid. But never force of fountains From sunniest hearts of mountains Wherein the soul of hidden June was hid Poured forth so pure and strong Springs of reiterate song, Loud as the streams his fame was reared amid, More sweet than flowers they feed, and fair With grace of lordlier sunshine and more lambent air.

IX.

A star more prosperous than the storm-clothed east's Clothed all the warm south-west with light like spring's, When hands of strong men spread the wolves their feasts And from snake-spirited princes plucked the stings; Ere earth, grown all one den of hurtling beasts, Had for her sunshine and her watersprings The fire of hell that warmed the hearts of priests, The wells of blood that slaked the lips of kings. The shadow of night made stone Stood populous and alone, Dense with its dead and loathed of living things That draw not life from death, And as with hell's own breath And clangour of immitigable wings Vexed the fair face of Paris, made Foul in its murderous imminence of sound and shade.

X.

And all these things were parcels of the vision That moved a cloud before his eyes, or stood A tower half shattered by the strong collision Of spirit and spirit, of evil gods with good; A ruinous wall rent through with grim division, Where time had marked his every monstrous mood Of scorn and strength and pride and self-derision: The Tower of Things, that felt upon it brood Night, and about it cast The storm of all the past Now mute and forceless as a fire subdued: Yet through the rifted years And centuries veiled with tears And ages as with very death imbrued Freedom, whence hope and faith grow strong, Smiles, and firm love sustains the indissoluble song.

XI.

Above the cloudy coil of days deceased, Its might of flight, with mists and storms beset, Burns heavenward, as with heart and hope increased, For all the change of tempests, all the fret Of frost or fire, keen fraud or force released, Wherewith the world once wasted knows not yet If evil or good lit all the darkling east From the ardent moon of sovereign Mahomet. Sublime in work and will The song sublimer still Salutes him, ere the splendour shrink and set; Then with imperious eye And wing that sounds the sky Soars and sees risen as ghosts in concourse met The old world's seven elder wonders, firm As dust and fixed as shadows, weaker than the worm.

XII.

High witness borne of knights high-souled and hoary Before death's face and empire's rings and glows Even from the dust their life poured forth left gory, As the eagle's cry rings after from the snows Supreme rebuke of shame clothed round with glory And hosts whose track the false crowned eagle shows; More loud than sounds through stormiest song and story The laugh of slayers whose names the sea-wind knows; More loud than peals on land In many a red wet hand The clash of gold and cymbals as they close; Loud as the blast that meets The might of marshalled fleets And sheds it into shipwreck, like a rose Blown from a child's light grasp in sign That earth's high lords are lords not over breeze and brine.

XIII.

Above the dust and mire of man's dejection The wide-winged spirit of song resurgent sees His wingless and long-labouring resurrection Up the arduous heaven, by sore and strange degrees Mount, and with splendour of the soul's reflection Strike heaven's dark sovereign down upon his knees, Pale in the light of orient insurrection, And dumb before the almightier lord's decrees Who bade him be of yore, Who bids him be no more: And all earth's heart is quickened as the sea's, Even as when sunrise burns The very sea's heart yearns That heard not on the midnight-walking breeze The wail that woke with evensong From hearts of poor folk watching all the darkness long.

XIV.

Dawn and the beams of sunbright song illume Love, with strange children at her piteous breast, By grace of weakness from the grave-mouthed gloom Plucked, and by mercy lulled to living rest, Soft as the nursling's nigh the grandsire's tomb That fell on sleep, a bird of rifled nest; Soft as the lips whose smile unsaid the doom That gave their sire to violent death's arrest. Even for such love's sake strong, Wrath fires the inveterate song That bids hell gape for one whose bland mouth blest All slayers and liars that sighed Prayer as they slew and lied Till blood had clothed his priesthood as a vest, And hears, though darkness yet be dumb, The silence of the trumpet of the wrath to come.

XV.

Nor lacked these lights of constellated age A star among them fed with life more dire, Lit with his bloodied fame, whose withering rage Made earth for heaven's sake one funereal pyre And life in faith's name one appointed stage For death to purge the souls of men with fire. Heaven, earth, and hell on one thrice tragic page Mixed all their light and darkness: one man's lyre Gave all their echoes voice; Bade rose-cheeked love rejoice, And cold-lipped craft with ravenous fear conspire, And fire-eyed faith smite hope Dead, seeing enthroned as Pope And crowned of heaven on earth at hell's desire Sin, called by death's incestuous name Borgia: the world that heard it flushed and quailed with shame.

XVI.

Another year, and hope triumphant heard The consummating sound of song that spake Conclusion to the multitudinous word Whose expectation held her spirit awake Till full delight for twice twelve years deferred Bade all souls entering eat and drink, and take A third time comfort given them, that the third Might heap the measure up of twain, and make The sinking year sublime Among all sons of time And fan in all men's memories for his sake. Each thought of ours became Fire, kindling from his flame, And music widening in his wide song's wake. Yea, and the world bore witness here How great a light was risen upon this darkening year.

XVII.

It was the dawn of winter: sword in sheath, Change, veiled and mild, came down the gradual air With cold slow smiles that hid the doom beneath. Five days to die in yet were autumn's, ere The last leaf withered from his flowerless wreath. South, east, and north, our skies were all blown bare, But westward over glimmering holt and heath Cloud, wind, and light had made a heaven more fair Than ever dream or truth Showed earth in time's keen youth When men with angels communed unaware. Above the sun's head, now Veiled even to the ardent brow, Rose two sheer wings of sundering cloud, that were As a bird's poised for vehement flight, Full-fledged with plumes of tawny fire and hoar grey light.

XVIII.

As midnight black, as twilight brown, they spread, But feathered thick with flame that streaked and lined Their living darkness, ominous else of dread, From south to northmost verge of heaven inclined Most like some giant angel's, whose bent head Bowed earthward, as with message for mankind Of doom or benediction to be shed From passage of his presence. Far behind, Even while they seemed to close, Stoop, and take flight, arose Above them, higher than heavenliest thought may find In light or night supreme Of vision or of dream, Immeasurable of men's eyes or mounting mind, Heaven, manifest in manifold Light of pure pallid amber, cheered with fire of gold.

XIX.

And where the fine gold faded all the sky Shone green as the outer sea when April glows, Inlaid with flakes and feathers fledged to fly Of cloud suspense in rapture and repose, With large live petals, broad as love bids lie Full open when the sun salutes the rose, And small rent sprays wherewith the heavens most high Were strewn as autumn strews the garden-close With ruinous roseleaves whirled About their wan chill world, Through wind-worn bowers that now no music knows, Spoil of the dim dusk year Whose utter night is near, And near the flower of dawn beyond it blows; Till east and west were fire and light, As though the dawn to come had flushed the coming night.

XX.

The highways paced of men that toil or play, The byways known of none but lonely feet, Were paven of purple woven of night and day With hands that met as hands of friends might meet-- As though night's were not lifted up to slay And day's had waxed not weaker. Peace more sweet Than music, light more soft than shadow, lay On downs and moorlands wan with day's defeat, That watched afar above Life's very rose of love Let all its lustrous leaves fall, fade, and fleet, And fill all heaven and earth Full as with fires of birth Whence time should feed his years with light and heat: Nay, not life's, but a flower more strong Than life or time or death, love's very rose of song.

XXI.

Song visible, whence all men's eyes were lit With love and loving wonder: song that glowed Through cloud and change on souls that knew not it And hearts that wist not whence their comfort flowed, Whence fear was lightened of her fever-fit, Whence anguish of her life-compelling load. Yea, no man's head whereon the fire alit, Of all that passed along that sunset road Westward, no brow so drear, No eye so dull of cheer, No face so mean whereon that light abode, But as with alien pride Strange godhead glorified Each feature flushed from heaven with fire that showed The likeness of its own life wrought By strong transfiguration as of living thought.

XXII.

Nor only clouds of the everlasting sky, Nor only men that paced that sunward way To the utter bourne of evening, passed not by Unblest or unillumined: none might say, Of all things visible in the wide world's eye, That all too low for all that grace it lay: The lowliest lakelets of the moorland nigh, The narrowest pools where shallowest wavelets play, Were filled from heaven above With light like fire of love, With flames and colours like a dawn in May, As hearts that lowlier live With light of thoughts that give Light from the depth of souls more deep than they Through song's or story's kindling scroll, The splendour of the shadow that reveals the soul.

XXIII.

For, when such light is in the world, we share, All of us, all the rays thereof that shine: Its presence is alive in the unseen air, Its fire within our veins as quickening wine; A spirit is shed on all men everywhere, Known or not known of all men for divine. Yea, as the sun makes heaven, that light makes fair All souls of ours, all lesser souls than thine, Priest, prophet, seer and sage, Lord of a subject age That bears thy seal upon it for a sign; Whose name shall be thy name, Whose light thy light of fame, The light of love that makes thy soul a shrine; Whose record through all years to be Shall bear this witness written--that its womb bare thee.

XXIV.

O mystery, whence to one man's hand was given Power upon all things of the spirit, and might Whereby the veil of all the years was riven And naked stood the secret soul of night! O marvel, hailed of eyes whence cloud is driven, That shows at last wrong reconciled with right By death divine of evil and sin forgiven! O light of song, whose fire is perfect light! No speech, no voice, no thought, No love, avails us aught For service of thanksgiving in his sight Who hath given us all for ever Such gifts that man gave never So many and great since first Time's wings took flight. Man may not praise a spirit above Man's: life and death shall praise him: we can only love.

XXV.

Life, everlasting while the worlds endure, Death, self-abased before a power more high, Shall bear one witness, and their word stand sure, That not till time be dead shall this man die Love, like a bird, comes loyal to his lure; Fame flies before him, wingless else to fly. A child's heart toward his kind is not more pure, An eagle's toward the sun no lordlier eye. Awe sweet as love and proud As fame, though hushed and bowed, Yearns toward him silent as his face goes by: All crowns before his crown Triumphantly bow down, For pride that one more great than all draws nigh: All souls applaud, all hearts acclaim, One heart benign, one soul supreme, one conquering name.

NOTES

ST. V. V. 3. La Légende des Siècles: Le Sacre de la Femme. 4. La Conscience. 7. Booz endormi. 8. Première rencontre du Christ avec le tombeau. 9. La Terre: Hymne. VI. 3. Les Temps Paniques. 9. La Ville Disparue. VII. Les Trois Cents. VIII. 1. Le Détroit de l'Euripe: La Chanson de Sophocle à Salamine. 7. Le Romancero du Cid. IX. 3. Le Petit Roi de Galice. 5. Le Jour des Rois. 9. Montfaucon. X. La vision d'où est sorti ce livre. XI. 9. L'an neuf de l'Hégire. 12. Les sept merveilles du monde. XII. 1. Les quatre jours d'Elciis. 4. Le Régiment du baron Madruce. 7. La Chanson des Aventuriers de la Mer. 9. Les Reîtres. 12. La Rose de l'Infante. XIII. 1. Le Satyre. 12. Les paysans au bord de la mer. XIV. 1. Les pauvres gens. 5. Petit Paul. 7. Guerre Civile. 9. La Vision de Dante. 15. La Trompette du Jugement. XV. Torquemada (1882). XVI. La Légende des Siècles: tome cinquième et dernier (1883). XVII. November 25, 1883.

_LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI._

Italia, mother of the souls of men, Mother divine, Of all that served thee best with sword or pen, All sons of thine,

Thou knowest that here the likeness of the best Before thee stands, The head most high, the heart found faithfullest, The purest hands.

Above the fume and foam of time that flits, The soul, we know, Now sits on high where Alighieri sits With Angelo.

Not his own heavenly tongue hath heavenly speech Enough to say What this man was, whose praise no thought may reach, No words can weigh.

Since man's first mother brought to mortal birth Her first-born son, Such grace befell not ever man on earth As crowns this one.

Of God nor man was ever this thing said, That he could give Life back to her who gave him, whence his dead Mother might live.

But this man found his mother dead and slain, With fast sealed eyes, And bade the dead rise up and live again, And she did rise.

And all the world was bright with her through him: But dark with strife, Like heaven's own sun that storming clouds bedim, Was all his life.

Life and the clouds are vanished: hate and fear Have had their span Of time to hunt, and are not: he is here, The sunlike man.

City superb that hadst Columbus first For sovereign son, Be prouder that thy breast hath later nurst This mightier one.

Glory be his for ever, while his land Lives and is free, As with controlling breath and sovereign hand He bade her be.

Earth shows to heaven the names by thousands told That crown her fame, But highest of all that heaven and earth behold Mazzini's name.

_LES CASQUETS._

From the depths of the waters that lighten and darken With change everlasting of life and of death, Where hardly by noon if the lulled ear hearken It hears the sea's as a tired child's breath, Where hardly by night if an eye dare scan it The storm lets shipwreck be seen or heard, As the reefs to the waves and the foam to the granite Respond one merciless word,

Sheer seen and far, in the sea's live heaven, A seamew's flight from the wild sweet land, White-plumed with foam if the wind wake, seven Black helms as of warriors that stir not stand. From the depths that abide and the waves that environ Seven rocks rear heads that the midnight masks, And the strokes of the swords of the storm are as iron On the steel of the wave-worn casques.

Be night's dark word as the word of a wizard, Be the word of dawn as a god's glad word, Like heads of the spirits of darkness visored That see not for ever, nor ever have heard, These basnets, plumed as for fight or plumeless, Crowned of the storm and by storm discrowned, Keep ward of the lists where the dead lie tombless And the tale of them is not found.

Nor eye may number nor hand may reckon The tithes that are taken of life by the dark, Or the ways of the path, if doom's hand beckon, For the soul to fare as a helmless bark-- Fare forth on a way that no sign showeth, Nor aught of its goal or of aught between, A path for her flight which no fowl knoweth, Which the vulture's eye hath not seen.

Here still, though the wave and the wind seem lovers Lulled half asleep by their own soft words, A dream as of death in the sun's light hovers, And a sign in the motions and cries of the birds. Dark auguries and keen from the sweet sea-swallows Strike noon with a sense as of midnight's breath, And the wing that flees and the wing that follows Are as types of the wings of death.

For here, when the night roars round, and under The white sea lightens and leaps like fire, Acclaimed of storm and applauded in thunder, Sits death on the throne of his crowned desire. Yea, hardly the hand of the god might fashion A seat more strong for his strength to take, For the might of his heart and the pride of his passion To rejoice in the wars they make.

When the heart in him brightens with blitheness of battle And the depth of its thirst is fulfilled with strife, And his ear with the ravage of bolts that rattle, And the soul of death with the pride of life, Till the darkness is loud with his dark thanksgiving And wind and cloud are as chords of his hymn, There is nought save death in the deep night living And the whole night worships him.

Heaven's height bows down to him, signed with his token, And the sea's depth, moved as a heart that yearns, Heaves up to him, strong as a heart half broken, A heart that breaks in a prayer that burns Of cloud is the shrine of his worship moulded, But the altar therein is of sea-shaped stone, Whereon, with the strength of his wide wings folded, Sits death in the dark, alone.

He hears the word of his servant spoken, The word that the wind his servant saith, Storm writes on the front of the night his token, That the skies may seem to bow down to death But the clouds that stoop and the storms that minister Serve but as thralls that fulfil their tasks; And his seal is not set save here on the sinister Crests reared of the crownless casques.

Nor flame nor plume of the storm that crowned them Gilds or quickens their stark black strength. Life lightens and murmurs and laughs right round them, At peace with the noon's whole breadth and length, At one with the heart of the soft-souled heaven, At one with the life of the kind wild land: But its touch may unbrace not the strengths of the seven Casques hewn of the storm-wind's hand.

No touch may loosen the black braced helmlets For the wild elves' heads of the wild waves wrought. As flowers on the sea are her small green realmlets, Like heavens made out of a child's heart's thought; But these as thorns of her desolate places, Strong fangs that fasten and hold lives fast: And the vizors are framed as for formless faces That a dark dream sees go past.

Of fear and of fate are the frontlets fashioned, And the heads behind them are dire and dumb. When the heart of the darkness is scarce impassioned, Thrilled scarce with sense of the wrath to come, They bear the sign from of old engraven, Though peace be round them and strife seem far, That here is none but the night-wind's haven, With death for the harbour bar.

Of the iron of doom are the casquets carven, That never the rivets thereof should burst. When the heart of the darkness is hunger-starven, And the throats of the gulfs are agape for thirst, And stars are as flowers that the wind bids wither, And dawn is as hope struck dead by fear, The rage of the ravenous night sets hither, And the crown of her work is here.

All shores about and afar lie lonely, But lonelier are these than the heart of grief, These loose-linked rivets of rock, whence only Strange life scarce gleams from the sheer main reef, With a blind wan face in the wild wan morning, With a live lit flame on its brows by night, That the lost may lose not its word's mute warning And the blind by its grace have sight.

Here, walled in with the wide waste water, Grew the grace of a girl's lone life, The sea's and the sea-wind's foster-daughter, And peace was hers in the main mid strife. For her were the rocks clothed round with thunder, And the crests of them carved by the storm-smith's craft: For her was the mid storm rent in sunder As with passion that wailed and laughed.