Chapter 6

Up he went where the goat scarce clings, Up where the eagle folds her wings, 410 Past the green line of living things, Where the sun cannot warm the cold,-- Up he went as a flame enrings Where there seems no hold.

Up a fissure barren and black, Till the eagles tired upon his track, And the clouds were left behind his back, Up till the utmost peak was past, Then he gasped for breath and his strength fell slack; He paused at last. 420

Before his face a valley spread Where fatness laughed, wine, oil, and bread, Where all fruit-trees their sweetness shed, Where all birds made love to their kind, Where jewels twinkled, and gold lay red And not hard to find.

Midway down the mountain side (On its green slope the path was wide) Stood a house for a royal bride, Built all of changing opal stone, 430 The royal palace, till now descried In his dreams alone.

Less bold than in days of yore, Doubting now though never before, Doubting he goes and lags the more: Is the time late? does the day grow dim? Rose, will she open the crimson core Of her heart to him?

Take heart of grace! the potion of Life May go far to woo him a wife: 440 If she frown, yet a lover's strife Lightly raised can be laid again: A hasty word is never the knife To cut love in twain.

Far away stretched the royal land, Fed by dew, by a spice-wind fanned: Light labour more, and his foot would stand On the threshold, all labour done; Easy pleasure laid at his hand, And the dear Bride won. 450

His slackening steps pause at the gate-- Does she wake or sleep?--the time is late-- Does she sleep now, or watch and wait? She has watched, she has waited long, Watching athwart the golden grate With a patient song.

Fling the golden portals wide, The Bridegroom comes to his promised Bride; Draw the gold-stiff curtains aside, Let them look on each other's face, 460 She in her meekness, he in his pride-- Day wears apace.

Day is over, the day that wore. What is this that comes through the door, The face covered, the feet before? This that coming takes his breath; The Bride not seen, to be seen no more Save of Bridegroom Death?

Veiled figures carrying her Sweep by yet make no stir; 470 There is a smell of spice and myrrh, A bride-chant burdened with one name; The bride-song rises steadier Than the torches' flame:

'Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; 480 The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait.

'Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: 490 The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow.

'Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; 500 Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care?

'We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; 510 We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown.

'We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. 520 There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet.

'You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo, we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. 530 Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread.'

MAIDEN-SONG

Long ago and long ago, And long ago still, There dwelt three merry maidens Upon a distant hill. One was tall Meggan, And one was dainty May, But one was fair Margaret, More fair than I can say, Long ago and long ago.

When Meggan plucked the thorny rose, 10 And when May pulled the brier, Half the birds would swoop to see, Half the beasts draw nigher; Half the fishes of the streams Would dart up to admire: But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower, Or poppy hot aflame, All the beasts and all the birds And all the fishes came To her hand more soft than snow. 20

Strawberry leaves and May-dew In brisk morning air, Strawberry leaves and May-dew Make maidens fair. 'I go for strawberry leaves,' Meggan said one day: 'Fair Margaret can bide at home, But you come with me, May; Up the hill and down the hill, Along the winding way 30 You and I are used to go.'

So these two fair sisters Went with innocent will Up the hill and down again, And round the homestead hill: While the fairest sat at home, Margaret like a queen, Like a blush-rose, like the moon In her heavenly sheen, Fragrant-breathed as milky cow 40 Or field of blossoming bean, Graceful as an ivy bough Born to cling and lean; Thus she sat to sing and sew.

When she raised her lustrous eyes A beast peeped at the door; When she downward cast her eyes A fish gasped on the floor; When she turned away her eyes A bird perched on the sill, 50 Warbling out its heart of love, Warbling warbling still, With pathetic pleadings low.

Light-foot May with Meggan Sought the choicest spot, Clothed with thyme-alternate grass: Then, while day waxed hot, Sat at ease to play and rest, A gracious rest and play; The loveliest maidens near or far, 60 When Margaret was away, Who sat at home to sing and sew.

Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks, Wind-play tossed their hair, Creeping things among the grass Stroked them here and there; Meggan piped a merry note, A fitful wayward lay, While shrill as bird on topmost twig Piped merry May; 70 Honey-smooth the double flow.

Sped a herdsman from the vale, Mounting like a flame, All on fire to hear and see, With floating locks he came. Looked neither north nor south, Neither east nor west, But sat him down at Meggan's feet As love-bird on his nest, And wooed her with a silent awe, 80 With trouble not expressed; She sang the tears into his eyes, The heart out of his breast: So he loved her, listening so.

She sang the heart out of his breast, The words out of his tongue; Hand and foot and pulse he paused Till her song was sung. Then he spoke up from his place Simple words and true: 90 'Scanty goods have I to give, Scanty skill to woo; But I have a will to work, And a heart for you: Bid me stay or bid me go.'

Then Meggan mused within herself: 'Better be first with him, Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits, Who shines my brightness dim, For ever second where she sits, 100 However fair I be: I will be lady of his love, And he shall worship me; I will be lady of his herds And stoop to his degree, At home where kids and fatlings grow.'

Sped a shepherd from the height Headlong down to look, (White lambs followed, lured by love Of their shepherd's crook): 110 He turned neither east nor west, Neither north nor south, But knelt right down to May, for love Of her sweet-singing mouth; Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks In parching hill-side drouth; Forgot himself for weal or woe.

Trilled her song and swelled her song With maiden coy caprice In a labyrinth of throbs, 120 Pauses, cadences; Clear-noted as a dropping brook, Soft-noted like the bees, Wild-noted as the shivering wind Forlorn through forest trees: Love-noted like the wood-pigeon Who hides herself for love, Yet cannot keep her secret safe, But coos and coos thereof: Thus the notes rang loud or low. 130

He hung breathless on her breath; Speechless, who listened well; Could not speak or think or wish Till silence broke the spell. Then he spoke, and spread his hands, Pointing here and there: 'See my sheep and see the lambs, Twin lambs which they bare. All myself I offer you, All my flocks and care, 140 Your sweet song hath moved me so.'

In her fluttered heart young May Mused a dubious while: 'If he loves me as he says'-- Her lips curved with a smile: 'Where Margaret shines like the sun I shine but like a moon; If sister Meggan makes her choice I can make mine as soon; At cockcrow we were sister-maids, 150 We may be brides at noon.' Said Meggan, 'Yes;' May said not 'No.'

Fair Margaret stayed alone at home, Awhile she sang her song, Awhile sat silent, then she thought: 'My sisters loiter long.' That sultry noon had waned away, Shadows had waxen great: 'Surely,' she thought within herself, 'My sisters loiter late.' 160 She rose, and peered out at the door, With patient heart to wait, And heard a distant nightingale Complaining of its mate; Then down the garden slope she walked, Down to the garden gate, Leaned on the rail and waited so.

The slope was lightened by her eyes Like summer lightning fair, Like rising of the haloed moon 170 Lightened her glimmering hair, While her face lightened like the sun Whose dawn is rosy white. Thus crowned with maiden majesty She peered into the night, Looked up the hill and down the hill, To left hand and to right, Flashing like fire-flies to and fro.

Waiting thus in weariness She marked the nightingale 180 Telling, if any one would heed, Its old complaining tale. Then lifted she her voice and sang, Answering the bird: Then lifted she her voice and sang, Such notes were never heard From any bird when Spring's in blow.

The king of all that country Coursing far, coursing near, Curbed his amber-bitted steed, 190 Coursed amain to hear; All his princes in his train, Squire, and knight, and peer, With his crown upon his head, His sceptre in his hand, Down he fell at Margaret's knees Lord king of all that land, To her highness bending low.

Every beast and bird and fish Came mustering to the sound, 200 Every man and every maid From miles of country round: Meggan on her herdsman's arm, With her shepherd May, Flocks and herds trooped at their heels Along the hill-side way; No foot too feeble for the ascent, Not any head too grey; Some were swift and none were slow.

So Margaret sang her sisters home 210 In their marriage mirth; Sang free birds out of the sky, Beasts along the earth, Sang up fishes of the deep-- All breathing things that move Sang from far and sang from near To her lovely love; Sang together friend and foe;

Sang a golden-bearded king Straightway to her feet, 220 Sang him silent where he knelt In eager anguish sweet. But when the clear voice died away, When longest echoes died, He stood up like a royal man And claimed her for his bride. So three maids were wooed and won In a brief May-tide, Long ago and long ago.

JESSIE CAMERON

'Jessie, Jessie Cameron, Hear me but this once,' quoth he. 'Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, But I'm no mate for you,' quoth she. Day was verging toward the night There beside the moaning sea, Dimness overtook the light There where the breakers be. 'O Jessie, Jessie Cameron, I have loved you long and true.'-- 10 'Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, But I'm no mate for you.'

She was a careless, fearless girl, And made her answer plain, Outspoken she to earl or churl, Kindhearted in the main, But somewhat heedless with her tongue, And apt at causing pain; A mirthful maiden she and young, Most fair for bliss or bane. 20 'Oh, long ago I told you so, I tell you so to-day: Go you your way, and let me go Just my own free way.'

The sea swept in with moan and foam, Quickening the stretch of sand; They stood almost in sight of home; He strove to take her hand. 'Oh, can't you take your answer then, And won't you understand? 30 For me you're not the man of men, I've other plans are planned. You're good for Madge, or good for Cis, Or good for Kate, may be: But what's to me the good of this While you're not good for me?'

They stood together on the beach, They two alone, And louder waxed his urgent speech, His patience almost gone: 40 'Oh, say but one kind word to me, Jessie, Jessie Cameron.'-- 'I'd be too proud to beg,' quoth she, And pride was in her tone. And pride was in her lifted head, And in her angry eye And in her foot, which might have fled, But would not fly.

Some say that he had gipsy blood; That in his heart was guile: 50 Yet he had gone through fire and flood Only to win her smile. Some say his grandam was a witch, A black witch from beyond the Nile, Who kept an image in a niche And talked with it the while. And by her hut far down the lane Some say they would not pass at night, Lest they should hear an unked strain Or see an unked sight. 60

Alas, for Jessie Cameron!-- The sea crept moaning, moaning nigher: She should have hastened to begone,-- The sea swept higher, breaking by her: She should have hastened to her home While yet the west was flushed with fire, But now her feet are in the foam, The sea-foam, sweeping higher. O mother, linger at your door, And light your lamp to make it plain, 70 But Jessie she comes home no more, No more again.

They stood together on the strand, They only, each by each; Home, her home, was close at hand, Utterly out of reach. Her mother in the chimney nook Heard a startled sea-gull screech, But never turned her head to look Towards the darkening beach: 80 Neighbours here and neighbours there Heard one scream, as if a bird Shrilly screaming cleft the air:-- That was all they heard.

Jessie she comes home no more, Comes home never; Her lover's step sounds at his door No more forever. And boats may search upon the sea And search along the river, 90 But none know where the bodies be: Sea-winds that shiver, Sea-birds that breast the blast, Sea-waves swelling, Keep the secret first and last Of their dwelling.

Whether the tide so hemmed them round With its pitiless flow, That when they would have gone they found No way to go; 100 Whether she scorned him to the last With words flung to and fro, Or clung to him when hope was past, None will ever know: Whether he helped or hindered her, Threw up his life or lost it well, The troubled sea, for all its stir Finds no voice to tell.

Only watchers by the dying Have thought they heard one pray 110 Wordless, urgent; and replying One seem to say him nay: And watchers by the dead have heard A windy swell from miles away, With sobs and screams, but not a word Distinct for them to say: And watchers out at sea have caught Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there, Come and gone as quick as thought, Which might be hand or hair. 120

SPRING QUIET

Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing;

Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush.

Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs 10 Arching high over A cool green house:

Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: 'We spread no snare;

'Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. 20

'Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be.'

THE POOR GHOST

'Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me, With your golden hair all fallen below your knee, And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea, And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?'

'From the other world I come back to you, My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew. You know the old, whilst I know the new: But to-morrow you shall know this too.'

'Oh not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; Oh not to-morrow, too soon to go away: 10 Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: Give me another year, another day.'

'Am I so changed in a day and a night That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, Is fain to turn away to left or right And cover up his eyes from the sight?'

'Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, I loved you for life, but life has an end; Through sickness I was ready to tend: But death mars all, which we cannot mend. 20

'Indeed I loved you; I love you yet, If you will stay where your bed is set, Where I have planted a violet, Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet.'

'Life is gone, then love too is gone, It was a reed that I leant upon: Never doubt I will leave you alone And not wake you rattling bone with bone.

'I go home alone to my bed, Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head, 30 Roofed in with a load of lead, Warm enough for the forgotten dead.

'But why did your tears soak through the clay, And why did your sobs wake me where I lay? I was away, far enough away: Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day.'

A PORTRAIT

I

She gave up beauty in her tender youth, Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze On vanity, and chose the bitter truth. Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth, Servant of servants, little known to praise, Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days: She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth That with the poor and stricken she might make A home, until the least of all sufficed 10 Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake, Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss. So with calm will she chose and bore the cross And hated all for love of Jesus Christ.

II

They knelt in silent anguish by her bed, And could not weep; but calmly there she lay. All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray Shone through upon her, warming into red The shady curtains. In her heart she said: 'Heaven opens; I leave these and go away; 20 The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?' Then low upon her breast she bowed her head. O lily flower, O gem of priceless worth, O dove with patient voice and patient eyes, O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth, O maid replete with loving purities, Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth To raise it with the saints in Paradise.

DREAM-LOVE

Young Love lies sleeping In May-time of the year, Among the lilies, Lapped in the tender light: White lambs come grazing, White doves come building there: And round about him The May-bushes are white.

Soft moss the pillow For oh, a softer cheek; 10 Broad leaves cast shadow Upon the heavy eyes: There winds and waters Grow lulled and scarcely speak; There twilight lingers The longest in the skies.

Young Love lies dreaming; But who shall tell the dream? A perfect sunlight On rustling forest tips; 20 Or perfect moonlight Upon a rippling stream; Or perfect silence, Or song of cherished lips.

Burn odours round him To fill the drowsy air; Weave silent dances Around him to and fro; For oh, in waking The sights are not so fair, 30 And song and silence Are not like these below.

Young Love lies dreaming Till summer days are gone,-- Dreaming and drowsing Away to perfect sleep: He sees the beauty Sun hath not looked upon, And tastes the fountain Unutterably deep. 40

Him perfect music Doth hush unto his rest, And through the pauses The perfect silence calms: Oh, poor the voices Of earth from east to west, And poor earth's stillness Between her stately palms.

Young Love lies drowsing Away to poppied death; 50 Cool shadows deepen Across the sleeping face: So fails the summer With warm, delicious breath; And what hath autumn To give us in its place?

Draw close the curtains Of branched evergreen; Change cannot touch them With fading fingers sere: 60 Here the first violets Perhaps will bud unseen, And a dove, may be, Return to nestle here.

TWICE

I took my heart in my hand (O my love, O my love), I said: Let me fall or stand, Let me live or die, But this once hear me speak-- (O my love, O my love)-- Yet a woman's words are weak; You should speak, not I.

You took my heart in your hand With a friendly smile, 10 With a critical eye you scanned, Then set it down, And said: It is still unripe, Better wait awhile; Wait while the skylarks pipe, Till the corn grows brown.

As you set it down it broke-- Broke, but I did not wince; I smiled at the speech you spoke, At your judgement that I heard: 20 But I have not often smiled Since then, nor questioned since, Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, Nor sung with the singing bird.

I take my heart in my hand, O my God, O my God, My broken heart in my hand: Thou hast seen, judge Thou. My hope was written on sand, O my God, O my God: 30 Now let thy judgement stand-- Yea, judge me now.

This contemned of a man, This marred one heedless day, This heart take Thou to scan Both within and without: Refine with fire its gold, Purge thou its dross away-- Yea, hold it in Thy hold, Whence none can pluck it out. 40

I take my heart in my hand-- I shall not die, but live-- Before Thy face I stand; I, for Thou callest such: All that I have I bring, All that I am I give, Smile Thou and I shall sing, But shall not question much.

SONGS IN A CORNFIELD