Chapter 7

Float from the East, O silver world, Unto the ocean of the West; And the foam-sparkles upward hurled, That fringe the twilight's surging crest, Snatch up and gather 'round thy brow In lustrous twine of rosy heat, And rain on us its starry glow,-- O fragment of the evetide's sheet,-- And Oriana's eyes o'erflow.

O courting cricket, with thy pipe Now shrill true love thro' the warm grain O feathered buds, that nodding stripe The blue glen's night, sigh love again! Thou glimmering bird, that aye doth wail From some wind-wavered branch of snow, Sweep down the moonlit, hay-sweet dale Thy bubbled anguish, swooning low, For Oriana walks the vale!

The moon comes sowing all the eve With myriad star-grains of her light; The torrent on the crag doth grieve; The glittering lake is smooth with night. O mellow lights that o'er us slide, O wrinkled woods that ridge the steep, O bearded stems that billowing glide, With laughing night-dews happy weep, For Oriana'll be my bride!

THE IDEAL.

Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old, A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream, With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold, And features like a dream.

Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet, A silver poniard chased with imageries Hung at a buckled belt, while at thy feet The gasping heron dies.

Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keep A maiden in chaste samite, and her mien Like that of loved ones visiting our sleep, Or of a fairy queen.

She, where the cushioned ivy dangling hoar Disturbs the quiet of her sable hair, Pores o'er a volume of romantic lore, Or hums an olden air.

Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just, Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn, At heathen castles, demons' dens of lust, Winding her bugle horn.

Just as stern Artegal; in chastity A second Britomart; in hardihood Like him who 'mid King Charles' chivalry A pillared sunbeam stood.

Or one in Avalon's deep-dingled bowers, On which old yellow stars and waneless moons Look softly, while white downy-lippèd flowers Lisp faint and fragrant tunes.

Where haze-like creatures with smooth houri forms Stoop thro' the curling clouds and float and smile, While calm as hope in all her dreamy charms Sleeps the enchanted isle.

And where cool, heavy bow'rs unstirred entwine, Upon a headland breasting purple seas, A crystal castle like a thought divine Rises in mysteries.

And there a sorceress full beautiful Looks down the surgeless reaches of the deep, And, bubbling from her lily throat, songs lull The languid air to sleep.

About her brow a diadem of spars, At her fair casement seated fleecy white Heark'ning wild sirens choiring to the stars Thro' all the raven night.

And when she bends above the glow-lit waves She sees the sea-king's templed city old Wrought from huge shells and labyrinthine caves Ribbed red with rusty gold.

But nor the sirens' nor the ocean king's Love will she heed, but still sits yearning there To have the secret bird that vaguely sings Her aching heart to share.

TREACHERY.

I.

Came a spicy smell of showers On the purple wings of night, And a pearl-encrusted crescent On the lake looked still and white, While a sound of distant singing From the vales rose sad and light.

II.

Dripped the musk of sodden roses From their million heavy sprays, And the nightingales were sobbing Of the roses amorous praise Where the raven down of even Caught the moonlight's bleaching rays.

III.

And the turrets of the palace, From its belt of ancient trees, On the mountain rose romantic White as foam from troubled seas; And the murmur of an ocean Smote the chords of ev'ry breeze.

IV.

Where the moon shone on the terrace And its fountain's lisping foam; Where the bronzen urns of flowers Breathed faint perfume thro' the gloam, By the alabaster Venus 'Neath the quiet stars we'd roam.

V.

And we stopped beside the statue Of the marble Venus there Deeply pedestaled 'mid roses, Who their crimson hearts laid bare, Breathing out their lives in fragrance At her naked feet and fair.

VI.

And we marked the purple dingles Where the lazy vapors lolled, Like thin, fleecy ribs of moonlight Touched with amethyst and gold; And we marked the wild deer glimmer Like dim specters where they strolled....

VII.

But from out those treach'rous roses Crept a serpent and it stung, Poisoned him who'd tuned my heart-strings Till for him alone they sung, Froze the nerves of hands that only From its chords a note had wrung.

VIII.

Now the nightingales in anguish To cold, ashen roses moan; Now a sound of desolate wailing In the darkened palace lone From a harp Æolian quavers Broken on an empty throne.

ORLANDO MAD.

I.

In mail of black my limbs I girt, Angelica! And when the bugles clanged the charge, The rolling battle's bristling marge Beheld me a black storm of war Dash on the foe; While Durindana glitt'ring far Made many a foeman mouth the dirt In bleeding woe:-- For thou didst fire me to the war 'Mid many a Paynim scimetar, Angelica!

II.

No more the battle fires my blood, Angelica! No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles, And chivalry's charge, and beauty's smiles! I wander lone the thistly wold When night-snows fall, And crispy frosts the wild grass hold. Great knights go glimmering thro' the wood, The clarion's call Wakes War upon his desert wold-- I see the dawning breaking cold, Angelica!

III.

When Southern winds sowed all the skies, Angelica! With bloom-storms of the flowering May; When all the battle-field was gay With scented garb of sainted flowers, I found a stream Cold as thy heart to paramours! Deep as the depth of thy blue eyes! And like a dream I found a grotto 'mid the flowers, Cool 'mid the sunlight-sprinkled bowers, Angelica!

IV.

My casque I dofft to scoop the fount, Angelica! With beaded pureness bubbling cool-- It clashed into the purling pool;-- Thy name lay chiseled in the rock, And underneath-- And then meseemed deep night did block My steel-chained heart in one huge mount Foreshadowing death!-- _Medoro_ deep in every rock! The Moorish name my soul did mock, Angelica!

V.

No more wild war my veins ensteeps, Angelica! No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles!-- White wastes before me miles on miles With one low, ruby sunset bound-- Thou fleest before, I follow on: a far off sound Of oceans gnawing at dark steeps Swells to a roar.-- 'Mid foam thou smil'st: I spurn the ground-- I sink, I swim, waves hiss around-- Oh, could I sink 'neath the profound, And think of thee no more!

THE HAUNTED ROOM.

Its casements' diamond disks of glass Stare myriad on a terrace old, Where urns, unkempt with ragged grass, Foam o'er with frothy cold. The snow rounds o'er each stair of stone; The frozen fount is hooped with pearl; Down desolate walks, like phantoms lone, Thin, powd'ry snow-wreaths whirl.

And to each rose-tree's stem that bends With silver snow-combs, glued with frost, It seems each summer rosebud sends Its airy, scentless ghost. The stiff Elizabethan pile Chatters with cold thro' all its panes, And rumbling down each chimney file The mad wind shakes his reins.

* * * * * * *

Lone in the Northern angle, dim With immemorial dust, it lay, Where each gaunt casement's stony rim Stared lidless to the day. Drear in the Northern angle, hung With olden arras dusky, where Tall, shadowy Tristrams fought and sung For shadowy Isolds fair.

Lies by a dingy cabinet A tarnished lute upon the floor; A talon-footed chair is set Grotesquely by the door. A carven, testered bedstead stands With rusty silks draped all about; And like a moon in murky lands A mirror glitters out.

Dark in the Northern angle, where In musty arras eats and clings The drowsy moth; and frightened there The wild wind sighs and sings Adown the roomy flue and takes And swings the ghostly mirror till It shrieks and creaks, then pulls and shakes The curtains with a will.

A starving mouse forever gnaws Behind a polished panel dark, And 'long the floor its shadow draws A poplar in the park. I have been there when blades of light Stabbed each dull, stained, and dusty pane; I have been there at dead of night, But never will again....

She grew upon my vision as Heat sucked from the dry summer sod; In taffetas as green as grass Silent and faint she trod; And angry jewels winked and frowned In serpent coils on neck and wrist, And 'round her dainty waist was wound A zone of silver mist.

And icy fair as some bleak land Her pale, still face stormed o'er with night Of raven tresses, and her hand Was beautiful and white. Before the ebon mirror old Full tearfully she made her moan, And then a cock crew far and cold; I looked and she was gone.

As if had come a sullying breath And from the limpid mirror passed, Her presence past, like some near death Leaving my blood aghast. Tho' I've been there when blades of light Stabbed each dull, stained, and dusty pane; Tho' I've been there at dead of night, I never will again.

SERENADE.

By the burnished laurel line Glimmering flows the singing stream; Oily eddies crease and shine O'er white pebbles, white as cream.

Richest roses bud or die All about the splendid park; Fountains glass a wily eye Where the fawns browse in the dark.

Amber-belted through the night Floats the alabaster moon, Stooping o'er th' acacia white Where my mandolin I tune.

By the twinkling mere I sing Where lake lilies stretch pale eyes, And a bulbul there doth fling Music at the moon who flies.

With a broken syrinx there, From enameled beds of buds, Rises Pan in hoof and hair-- Moonlight his dim sculpture floods.

The pale jessamines have felt The large passion of her gaze; See! they part--their glories melt Round her in a starry haze.

THE MIRROR.

An antique mirror this, I like it not at all, In this lonely room where the goblin gloom Scowls from the arrased wall.

A mystic mirror framed In ebon, wildly carved; And the prisoned air in the crevice there Moans like a man that's starved.

A truthful mirror where, In the broad, chaste light of day, From the window's arches, like fairy torches, Red roses swing and sway.

They blush and bow and gaze, Proud beauties desolate, In their tresses cold the sunlight's gold, In their hearts a jealous hate.

A small green worm that gnaws, For the nightingale that low Each eve doth rave, the passionate slave Of the wild white rose below.

The night-bird wails below; The stars creep out above; And the roses soon in the sultry moon Shall palpitate with love.

The night-bird sobs below; The roses blow and bloom; Thro' the diamond panes the moonlight rains In the dim unholy room.

Ancestors grim that stare Stiff, starched, and haughty down From the oaken wall of the noble hall Put on a sterner frown.

The old, bleak castle clock Booms midnight overhead, And the rose is wan and the bird is gone When walk the shrouded dead.

And grim ancestors gaunt In smiles and tears faint flit; By the mirror there they stand and stare, And weep and sigh to it.

In rare, rich ermine earls With rapiers jeweled rare, With a powdered throng of courtiers long Pass with stiff and stately air.

With diamonds and perfumes In ruff and golden lace, Tall ladies pass by the looking-glass, Each sighing at her face.

An awful mirror this, I like it not at all, In this lonely room where the goblin gloom Scowls from the arrased wall.

THE RIDE.

She rode o'er hill, she rode o'er plain, She rode by fields of barley, By morning-glories filled with rain, And beechen branches gnarly.

She rode o'er plain, she rode o'er hill, By orchard land and berry; Her face was buoyant as the rill, Her eyes and heart were merry,

A bird sang here, a bird sang there, Then blithely sang together, Sang sudden greetings every where, "Good-morrow!" and "good weather!"

The sunlight's laughing radiance Laughed in her radiant tresses; The bold breeze set her curls a-dance, Made red her lips with kisses.

"Why ride ye here, why ride ye there, Why ride ye here so merry? The sunlight living in your hair, And in your cheek the cherry?

"Why ride ye with your sea-green plumes, Your sea-green silken habit, By balmy bosks of faint perfumes Where squats the cunning rabbit?"

"The morning's feet are wrought of gold, The hunter's horn is jolly; Sir Richard bold was rich and old, Was old and melancholy.

"A wife they'd have me to his bed, And to the kirk they hurried; But now, gramercy! he is dead, Perdie! is dead and buried.

"I ride by tree, I ride by rill, I ride by rye and clover, For by the kirk beyond the hill Awaits a better lover."

THE SLEEPER.

She sleeps and dreams; one milk-white, lawny arm Pillowing her heavy hair, as might cold Night Meeting her sister Day, with glory warm, Subside in languor on her bosom's white.

The naked other on the damask cloth,-- White, smooth, and light as the light thistle-down, Or the pink, fairy, fluffy evening moth On June-drunk beds of roses red,--lies thrown.

And one sweet cheek, kissed with the enamored moon, Grown pale with anger at the liberty. While, dusk in darkness, at the favor shown The pouting other frowns still envity.

Hangs fall'n in folds the rich, dark covering, With fretfulness thrust partly from her breast; As through storm-broken clouds the moon might spring, From this the orb of one pure bosom prest.

She sleeps; and where the silent moonbeams sink Thro' diamond panes,--soft as a ghost of snow,-- In wide, white jets, the lion-fur seems to drink With tawny jaws its wasted, winey glow.

Light-lidded sleep and holy dreams to her, Unborn of feverish sorrow or of care, Soft as the gust that makes the arras stir, Tangling gold moonbeams in her fragrant hair.

A MELODY.

I.

There be Fairies bright of eye, Who the wild-flowers warders are; There be Fairies subtlely Nourished in a blossom's star; Fairies tripping merrily Singing in faint echoes far, Singing fairy melodies Murmured by the burly bees, By the wild brown bees.

II.

Well I wot that Fairies be there,-- Fairies, Fairies that at eve Lurking in a blossom-lair, In some rose-bud's scented hair From white beams of starlight weave Glinting gown and shining shoe. I have proven sure and true Fairies be there, fays of dew, Lying laughing in its spark Floating in a rose's sark; Singing fairy melodies, When asleep the dusty bees Can not steal their melodies, Fairy melodies.

THE ELF'S SONG.

I.

Where thronged poppies with globed shields Of fierce red Warrior all the harvest fields Is my bed. Here I tumble with the bee, Robber bee of low degree Gay with dust: Wit ye of a bracelet bold Broadly belting him with gold? It was I who bound it on When a-gambol on the lawn-- It can never rust.

II.

Where the glow-worm lights his lamp There am I; Where within the grasses damp Crickets cry. Cheer'ly, cheer'ly in the burne Where the lins the torrents churn Into foam, Leap I on a whisp of broom,-- Cheer'ly, cheer'ly through the gloom,-- All aneath a round-cheeked moon, Treading on her silver shoon Lightly o'er the gloam,

III.

Or the cowslip on the bent Lift her head, Or the glow-worm's lamp be spent, Whitely dead: 'Neath lank ferns I laughing lie, 'Neath the ferns full warily Hid away, Where the drowsy musk-rose blows And a fussy runnel flows, Sleeping with the Faëry Under leafy canopy All the holyday.

THE NIXES' SONG.

Vague, vague 'neath darkling waves, With emerald-curving caves For the arched skies, Red-walled with dark dull gold The Nixes' city old Deep-glimmering lies. And thro' the long green nights the spangling spars Twinkle like milky stars.

Where the wind-ripple plays On tufts of dipping sprays Sparkling we rock; With blooming fingers bare Comb down our golden hair In many a lock; While, poured o'er naked ease of cool, moist limbs, An amber glamour swims.

Or in the middle night When cold damp fire-flies light Pale flitting brands Down all the woodland aisles, With swift mysterious smiles Link we white hands, And where the moonlight haunts the drowsy lake Bask in its silver wake.

Come join, come join our dance While the warm starbeams glance, And the kind moon Spills all her flowers of light At the dark feet of Night, And soon, full soon, Thou'lt sleep in shadowy halls where dim and cold Our city's walled with gold.

"THE FAIRY RADE."

I.

Ai me! why stood I on the bent When Summer wept o'er dying June! I saw the Fairy Folk ride faint Aneath the moon.

II.

The haw-trees hedged the russet lea Where cuckoo-buds waxed rich with gold; The wealthy corn rose yellowly Endlong the wold.

III.

Betwixt the haw-trees and the mead "The Fairy Rade" came glimmering on; A creamy cavalcade did speed O'er the green lawn.

IV.

The night was ringing with their reins; Loud laughed they till the cricket hushed; The whistles on their coursers' manes Shrill music gushed.

V.

The whistles tagged their horses' manes All crystal clear; on these a wind Forever played, and waked the plains Before, behind.

VI.

These flute-notes and the Fairy song Took the dim holts with many a qualm, And eke their silver bridles rung A far-off psalm.

VII.

All rid upon pale ouphen steeds With flying tails, uncouthly seen; Each wore a scarf athwart his weeds Of freshest green.

VIII.

And aye a beam of silver light Fairer than moonshine danced aboon, And shook their locks--a glimmering white Not of the moon.

IX.

Small were they that the hare-bell's blue Had helmeted each tiny head; Save one damsel, who, tall as two, The Faeries led.

X.

Long tresses floated from a tire Of diamond sparks, which cast a light, And o'er her white sark shook, in fire Rippling the night.

XI.

I would have thrown me 'neath her feet, And told her all my dole and pain, There while her rein was jingling sweet O'er all the plain.

XII.

Alas! a black and thwarting cock Crew from the thatch with long-necked cry-- The Elfin queen and her wee flock In the night did die.

IN AN OLD GARDEN.

The Autumn pines and fades Upon the withered trees; And over there, a choked despair, You hear the moaning breeze.

The violets are dead; Dead the tall hollyhocks, That hang like rags on the wind-crushed flags, And the lilies' livid stocks.

The wild gourd clambers free Where the clematis was wont; Where nenuphars waxed thick as stars Rank weeds stagnate the font.

Yet in my dreams I hear A tinkling mandolin; In the dark blue light of a fragrant night Float in and out and in.

And the dewy vine that climbs To my lady's lattice sways, And behind the vine there come to shine Two pleasant eyes and gaze.

And now a perfume comes, A swift Favonian gust; And the shrinking grass where it doth pass Bows slave-like to the dust.

In dreams I see her drift A mist of drapery; In her jeweled shawl divinely tall, A Dian deity.

The moon broods high and full O'er the broken Psyche cold, And there she stands her dainty hands And thin wrists warm with gold.

But lovers now are dead, The air is stung with frosts; And naught may you find save the homeless wind, Dead violets' ghosts and ghosts.

End of Project Gutenberg's Blooms of the Berry, by Madison J. Cawein