Chapter 2

And that complete Arcadian pastoral, The piping boy who watched his feeding sheep; And, as a little bird o'erflows with joy, Piped on for hours my happy shepherd boy! While, coiled below, his faithful animal Basked in the sunshine, blinking, half asleep.

This silent night-wind bloweth heavenly pure; Like dimpled warmth of an infantine face. Lo, glimmering starlike in yon balmy vale The village lights; each tells a little tale Of humble comfort, where its inmates, sure In hope, feel grateful in their lowly place.

And here My Lady's lighted oriel shines A giant glowworm in the odorous gloom. Ah, stands she smiling there in loose white gown, Hearing the music of her future drown The stillness and hushed whispering of the vines, Whose lattice-clasping leaves o'ershade her room!

Or kneels she worshipful beside her bed In large-eyed hope and bended lowliness, To crave that He, the Giver, may impart Enough of strength to bind her trembling heart Steadfast and true; and that her will be led To own His chastening cares pain but to bless?

Or sits she at her mirror, face to face With her own loveliness? (O blessed land That owns such twin perfections both together; If guessed aright!) Ah, me; I wonder whether She now her braided opulent hair unlace And drop it billowing from her moonwhite hand!

Then what a fount of wealth to lover's sight! Her loosened hair, I heard her mother say, When she is seated, tumbles to the floor And trails the length of her own foot and more: And dare I, lapt in bliss, dream my delight Ere long shall watch its rippling softness play?

Dare I, O vanity! but do I dare Think she now looks upon the sorry rhyme I wrote long ere that well-loved setting sun, What time love conquering dread My Lady won, While I unblessed, adored in mute despair:-- Even now I gave it her at parting time.

"O let me, Dearest, fall and once impart My grieving love to ease this stricken heart; But once, O Love, to fall and rest This wearied head of mine, But once to weep in thine Unutterably tender breast; And on my drooping lids feel thy young breath; To feel it playing sweeter were than death.

"Than death were sweet to one bent down and old, And worn with persecutions manifold; Whose stoutness long endured alone The charge of bitter foes, Till, furious, he rose, When smitten, all were overthrown. Who then of those, his dearest, none could find, They having fled as leaves before the wind.

"As he would pass, when to his failing sight Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright; And piercing through his drowsed ears Enters their tuneful cry Of summons, audibly, Thither where flow no mourners' tears: So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed, Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest."

Her window now is darkness, save the sheen Glazed on it by the moon. Within she lies Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest, And folds contentment babelike to her breast, Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene, Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies.

V. WILD ROSE.

To call My Lady where she stood "A Wild-rose blossom of the wood," Makes but a poor similitude.

For who by such a sleight would reach An aim, consumes the worth in speech, And sets a crimson rose to bleach.

My Love, whose store of household sense Gives duty golden recompense, And arms her goodness with defence:

The sweet reliance of whose gaze Originates in gracious ways, And wins the trust that trust repays:

Whose stately figure's varying grace Is never seen unless her face Turn beaming toward another place;

For such a halo round it glows Surprised attention only knows A lively wonder in repose.

Can flowers that breathe one little day In odorous sweetness life away, And wavering to the earth decay,

Have any claim to rank with her, Warmed in whose soul impulses stir, Then bloom to goodness, and aver

Her worth through spheral joys shall move When suns and systems cease above, And nothing lives but perfect Love?

VI. MY LADY'S GLORY.

Strong in the regal strength of love, Enthroned by native worth Her sway is held on earth: Whose soul looks downward from above Exalted stars, whose power Brightens the brightest flower.

Her beauty walks in happier grace Than lightly moving fawns O'er old elm-shadowed lawns. A tenderness shows through her face, And like the morning's glow, Hints a full day below.

When site looks wide around the skies On the sun's dazzling track, And when shines softly back Its glory to her open eyes, She fills our hearts and sight With wonder and delight.

And when tired thought my sense benumbs, Or when past shadows roll Their memories on my soul, Oft breaking through the darkness comes A solace and surprise, Her wonder-lighted eyes.

How grand and beautiful the love She silently conceals, Nor save in act reveals! She broods o'er kindness; as a dove Sits musing in the nest Of the life beneath her breast.

The ready freshness that was known In man's authentic prime, The earliest breath of time, Throughout her household ways is shown; Mild greatness subtly wrought With quaint and childlike thought.

She sits to music: fingers fall, Air shakes; her lifted voice Makes flattered hope rejoice, And shivering through Time's phantom pall, Its wavering rents display Dim splendour, far away;

Where her perfection, glory-crowned, Shall rest in love for ever; When mortal systems sever, And the orbed universe is drowned, Leaving the empty skies The blank of death-closed eyes.

Deep in this truth I root my trust; And know the dear One's praise, Her mutely gracious ways, When all her loveliness is dust And mosses rase her name, Will bless our world the same.

As scent of flowers her worth was born Her joyous goodness spread Like music over head, Smiles now as smiles a plain of corn When in the winds of June, Lit by a shining noon.

A gap of sunlight in the storm; A blossom ere the spring; Immortal whispering; A spirit manifest through form Which we can touch and kiss,-- To life such beauty is.

Ah! who can doubt, though he may doubt Our solid earth will run A future round the sun, That gentle impulse given out Can never fail or die, But throbs eternally!

VII. HER SHADOW.

At matin time where creepers interlace We sauntered slowly, for we loved the place, And talked of passing things; I, pleased to trace Through leafy mimicry the true leaves made, The stateliness and beauty of her shade;

A wavering of strange purples dimly seen, It gloomed the daisy's light, the kingcup's sheen, And drank up sunshine from the vital green. That silent shadow moving on the grass Struck me with terror it should ever pass

And be blank nothing in the coming years Where, in the dreadful shadow of my fears, Her shrouded form I saw through blurring tears, My Darling's shrouded form in beauty's bloom Born with funereal sadness to her tomb.

"What idle dreaming," I abruptly cried: My Lady turned, half startled, at my side, And looked inquiry: I, through shame or pride, Bantered the words as mockery of sense, Mere aimless freak of fostered indolence.

She did not urge me; gentle, wise, and kind! But clasped my hand and talked: her beaming mind Arrayed in brightness all it touched. Behind, Her shadow fell forgot, as she and I Went homeward musing, smiling at the sky.

Thro' pastures and thro' fields where corn grew strong; By cottage nests that could not harbour wrong; Across the bridge where laughed the stream; along The road to where her gabled mansion stood, Old, tall, and spacious, in a massy wood.

We loitered toward the porch; but paused meanwhile Where Psyche holds a dial to beguile The hours of sunshine by her golden smile; And holds it like a goblet brimmed with wine, Nigh clad in trails of tangled eglantine.

In the deep peacefulness which shone around My soul was soothed: no darksome vision frowned Before my sight while cast upon the ground Where Psyche's and My Lady's shadows lay, Twin graces on the flower-edged gravel way.

I then but yearned for Titian's glorious power, That I by toiling one devoted hour, Might check the march of Time, and leave a dower Of rich delight that beauty I could see, For broadening generations yet to be.

VIII. HER GARDEN.

The wind that's good for neither man nor beast Weeks long incessant from the blighting East Drove gloom and havoc through the land and ceased. When swaying mildly over wide Atlantic seas, Bland and dewy soft streamed the Western breeze.

In walking forth, I felt with vague alarm, Closer than wont her pressure on my arm, As through morn's fragrant air we sought what harm That Eastern wind's despite had done the garden growth; Where much lay dead or languished low for drouth.

Her own parterre was bounded by a red Old buttressed wall of brick, moss-broidered; Where grew mid pink and azure plots a bed Of shining lilies intermixed in wondrous light; She called them "Radiant spirits robed in white."

Here the mad gale had rioted and thrown Far drifts of snowy petals, fiercely blown The stalks in twisted heaps: one flower alone Yet hung and lit the waste, the latest blossom born Among its fallen kinsmen left forlorn.

"Thy pallid droop," cried I, "but more than all, Thy lonely sweetness takes my soul in thrall, O Seraph Lily Blanch! so stately tall: By violets adored, regarded by the rose, Well loved by every gentle flower that blows!"

My Lady dovelike to the lily went, Took in curved palms a cup, and forward leant, Deep draining to the gold its dreamy scent. I see her now, pale beauty, as she bending stands, The wind-worn blossom resting in her hands!

Then slowly rising, she in gazing trance Affrayed, long pored on vacancy. A glance Of chilly splendour tinged her countenance And told the saddened truth, that stress of blighting weather, Had made her lilies and My Lady droop together.

IX. TOLLING BELL.

"Weak, but her spirits good," the letter said: A bell was tolling, while these words I read, A dull sepulchral summons for the dead. Fear grew in every pace I strode Hurrying on that endless road.

And when I reached the house a terror came That wrought in me a hidden sense of blame, And entering I scarce dared to speak her name, Who lay, sweet singer, warbling low Rhymes I made her long ago.

"The sun exhales the morning dew, The dew returns again At eve refreshing rain: The forest flowers bloom bravely new, They drooping fade and die, The seeds that in them lie Will blossom as the others blew."

"And ever rove among the flowers Bright children who ere long Are men and women strong: When on they pass through sun and showers, And glancing sideways watch Their children run to catch A rainbow with the laughing Hours."

I watched in awkward wonder for a time As there she listless lay and sang my rhyme, Wrapped up in fabrics of an Indian clime She seemed a Bird of Paradise Languid from the traversed skies.

A dawn-bright snowy peak her smile . . . Strange I Should dawdle near her grace admiringly, When love alarmed and challenged sympathy, Announced in chills of creeping fear Danger surely threatening near.

I shrank from searching the abyss I felt Yawned by; whose verge voluptuous blossoms belt With dazzling hues:--she speaks! I fall and melt, One sacred moment drawn to rest, Deeply weeping in her breast:

Within the throbbing treasure wept? But brief Those loosening tears of blessed deep relief, That won triumphant ransom from my grief, While loving words and comfort she Breathed in angel tones to me.

Our visions met, when pityingly she flung Her passionate arms about me, kissing clung, Close kisses, stifling kisses; till each wrung, With welded mouths, the other's bliss Out in one long sighing kiss.

Love-flower that burst in kisses and sweet tears, Scattering its roseate dreamflakes, disappears Into cold truth: for, loud with brazen jeers, That bell's toll, clanging in my brain, Beat me, loth, to earth again:

Where, looking on my Love's endangered state, Wrought by keen anguish mad, I struck at fate, Prostrating mockingly in sport or hate The aspirations, darkling, we Cherish and resolve to be.

She spoke, but sharply checked; then as her zone A lady's hands would clasp, My Lady's own Pressed at her yielding side; her solemn tone And forward eager face implored Me to kneel where she adored.

Despite her pain, with tender woman's phrase She solaced me, whose part it was to raise Anew the gladness to her weakened gaze, And wisely in man's firmness be To my drooping vine a tree.

But no; sunk, dwindled, dwarfed, and mean, beside Her couch I sitting saw her eyes grow wide With awe, and heard her voice move as the tide Of steady music rich and calm In some high cathedral psalm.

Then, as that high cathedral psalm o'erflows The dusky, vaulted aisles, and slowly grows A burst of harmony the hearer knows, Her voice assailed by rage, and I Took its purport wonderingly.

"Ah, pause for dread, before you charge in haste The ways of fate; for how can those be traced That in the life Omnipotent lie based? Or earth-grown atom's bounded soul Grasp the universal whole?

"The more he chafes, the worse his fetter galls The luckless captive closed in dungeon walls, And fighting chains and stones, he fighting falls. Nor will that wasteful immolation Touch his lofty victor's station.

"Woe be to him perverse, who, weak and blind, In pride refusing to behold, shall find The ponderous roll of circumstance will grind His steps; and if he turn not, must Bruise and crush him into dust.

"We are the Lord's, not ours, His angels sing; So you, mine own, bow meekly to your King, And striving hard and long His grace will bring: His voice shall through the battle cry, When the strife is raging high."

She fluttering paused: awhile her surging zeal All utterance overwhelmed to mute appeal: I felt as men who fallen in battle feel, When far their chief's sword, like a gem, Points to glory not for them.

"When naked heaven is azure to your eyes, And light shines everywhere, you can be wise; But, when its storms in common course arise, To you the wind but sobs and grieves Wailing with the streaming leaves.

"Rust eats the steel, and moths corrupt the cloth, And peevish doubts destroy the soul that's loth To strive for duty, merged in shameful sloth, And lolls a weary wretch forlorn, While men reap the mellow corn.

"It is not man's to dream in sweet repose; He toils and murmurs, as he wondering goes, Poor changeful glitter on the stream that flows In lapses huge and solemn roar, Ever on without a shore.

"The plantlet grown in darkness puts forth spray; Through loaded gloom yearns feebly toward some ray Of bounty golden from the outer day That shines eternally sublime On the dancing motes of time."

The music stopped, and passed into a smile Of tenderness, which she impressed to guile Her pain from me: I gazed as one awhile Escaped, who sees twin rainbows shine O'er his wrecked ship gulfed in brine.

My lost soul sank adown in soundless seas To ruined heaps besprent with ancient lees Of wealth: by soft stupendous ocean-trees; By anchors forged in early time, Changed to trails of rusted slime:

To where, what seemed a tomb, in this deep hell Of night, bore a dim name I dread to tell: And there I heard sound some gigantic bell, Whose thunder laughing through my brain Mocked me back to flesh again.

Here all was emptier than the empty shade Of mist before a midnight moon decayed: Here life was strange as death, and more dismayed My spirit, now scarce conscious she Urged entreaty yet to me.

"'Tis life in life to know the King is just, And will not animate his helpless dust With fire unquenchable whose ardour must Achieve majestic deeds that raise Universal shouts of praise:

"Shouts of acclaim that gather into story, Chanted by one on some high promontory Who glowing in the dawn's advancing glory, Far down upon the listening crowd Shines through swathes of lingering cloud:

"And fires, by what he sings, to noble feud With grosser instincts, the charged multitude, That grow in temper and similitude To those great souls whose victories Triumph still in melodies:

"This fire will not be granted to distress, To fail in cold dead ash and bitterness: He will not grant true love that yearns to bless The world, that it may only sigh Back into itself and die."

The words here faltering sank to undertone: Her soul was murmuring to itself alone On some wide desolation, dark, unknown; Whose limits, stretched from mortal sight Touch the happy hills of light.

"I, toiling at the task assigned to me, Am summoned from my labour suddenly: The King recalls his handmaiden; and she Submissively herself anoints, Going whither He appoints.

"The sheaves are garnered now, her work is done, The day is waning, and she must be gone, To bend herself before the Holy One, And strictly her appointed meed There accept in very deed."

Dead silence, more than if a thunder-stroke Had crashed the summer air, my sense awoke To sudden apprehension: hard the yoke Of misery was mine to bear; Wrath-befooled, in my despair

I went, and, leaning from the lattice, mused On my immeasurable woe; accused Heaven's King, that, like an earthly king, abused His power omnipotent, and hurled Curses broadcast on the world.

Then glancing toward her danger thought, "A cell Of noxious vapours this dull life; as well She should escape: so pure! she scarce could dwell With sinful creatures who alway Stumbling take the stain of clay

"But I unworthy! How in conscience I-- How could I hazard guidance in her high Cold path of duty leading to the sky! As well hold torch to light a star Shining, mystic, nebular.

"She yearns to bless the world: just love for all Best shows in love for one; love cannot fall Like sunshine over half this wondrous ball, But her impulses yearn to bless All the world. Strange tenderness!"

This shameful mockery of myself alone Was interrupted by a sobbing moan That brought me to her coach, where low mine own Sweet Love lay swooning ashy white, Eyelids closing from the light.

Ah, coarse, hard, bitter, brutal self! A beast In passion, nay far worse than such, to feast On baseless anger against her whose least Stray word was kind; her daily food Interest in another's good.

My passion then, like an unruly horse Checked by a master's hand, fell slack; its force Unnerved, and stifling me with hot remorse; Frightened, despairing, "Love," I cried, Wildly busy at her side;

And kissed and chafed her brow; I chafed her hand; Audacious grown with fear, released the band That clasped her tender waist, and keenly scanned Each feature, till her opening eyes Met my own in bright surprise

"Ah you! I had from you passed and the world Through endless nothing rudely was I hurled While you there hung above, your proud lip curled, Regarding me with piercing hate Crying I deserved my fate."

We met each other, as when waters meet In long continued shock, and muttering, sweet Confusion mixed in unity complete That changing time may not dissever; One in love and one for ever.

Purged by remorse, love knit my strength; and now Came gracious power to still upon her brow Those troubled waves of some dark underflow; Her soul victorious over pain Spoke in golden smiles again.

We sat and read how Prospero closed his strife With evil, wrought his charm, and crowned his life In making two fair beings man and wife: Of brave Count Gismond's happy lot; And the Lady of Shalott.

We ceased; for eve had come by dusky stealth. I saw, while lifting her, like crimson health Burn in her cheeks, holding the weighted wealth Of all the worlds in heaven to me; Held her long, long, lingeringly:

And laying down more than my life, her weight; Scarce kissed her pallid hands, then moved with great Reluctance, bodeful, from her placid state; But, ere my slow feet reached the door, Turned and caught one last look more,

And awe-struck stood to see portentous loom From her large eyes full gazing through the gloom Love darkly wedded to eternal doom, As she were gazing from the dead: Falling at her feet I said,

"Bless me, dear Love, bless me before I go; With love divine a beam of comfort throw, For guidance and support, that I through woe Be raised and purified in grace Worthy to behold your face."

She bowed her head in stately tenderness Low whispering as her hands my brow did press, "I pray that He will your lone spirit bless, And if to leave you be my fate, Pray you for me while I wait."

A useless pang in her no more to wake, I forced myself away, nor dared to take Another look for her beloved sake; My face had told of the distressed Swollen heart labouring in my breast.

When in the outer air, I felt as one Fresh startled from a dream, wherein the sun Had dying left the earth a dingy, dun Annihilation. The nightjar Only thrilled the air afar:

No other sound was there: a muffled breeze Crept in the shrubs, and shuddered up the trees, Then sought the ghost-white vapour of the leas, Where one long sheet of dismal cloud Swathed the distance in a shroud.

A solitary eye of cold stern light Stared threateningly beyond the Western height, Wrapped in the closing shadows of the night; And all the peaceful earth had slept But that eye stern vigil kept.

I wandered wearily I knew not where; Up windy downs far-stretching, bleak and bare; Through swamps that soddened under stagnant air; In blackest woods and brambled mesh, Thorny bushes tore my flesh:

Amid the ripening corn I heard it sigh, Hollow and sad, as night crawled sluggishly: Hollow and sadly sighed the corn while I Moved darkly in the midst, a blight Darkening more the hateful night.

My soul its hoarded secrets emptied on The vaulted gloom of night: old fancies shone, And consecrated ancient hopes long gone; Old hopes that long had ceased to burn, Gone, and never to return.

No starlight pierced the dense vault over head, And all I loved was passing or had fled: So on I wandered where the pathway led; And wandered till my own abode Spectral pale rose from the road.

What time I gained my home I saw the morn Made dimly on the sullen East. Wayworn I went into the echoing house forlorn, Heartsick and weary sought my room, Better had it been my tomb.

I lay, and ever as my lids would close In dull forgetfulness to slumberous doze, Lone sounds of phantom tolling scared repose; Till wearied nature, sore oppressed, Slowly sank and dropped to rest.

X. WILL-O'-THE-WISP.

"Gone the sickness, fled the pain, Health comes bounding back again, And all my pulses tingle for delight. Together what a pleasant thing To ramble while the blackbirds sing, And pasture lands are sparkling dewy bright!

"Soon will come the clear spring weather, Hand in hand we'll roam together, And hand in hand will talk of springs to come; As on the morning when you played The necromancer with my shade, In senseless shadow gazing darkly dumb.

"Cast away that cloudy care, Or, I vow, in my parterre You shall not enter when the lilies blow, And I go there to stand and sing Songs to the heaven-white wondrous ring; Sir Would-be-Wizard of the crumpled brow!"

XI. GIVEN OVER.

The men of learning say she must Soon pass and be as if she had not been. To gratify the barren lust Of Death, the roses in her cheeks are seen To blush so brightly, blooming deeper damascene.