Part 2

“I am he that was ‘Thunderer’ called, And my fame is as wide as the world; At my anger the rocks were appalled, And the waves of the sea were up-curled, But now I am weak and enthralled.

“The battle is fierce on the earth, While I sit here idle and still; Unfulfilled are the hopes of my birth, For the strength of the mind is the will, And the will is more potent than girth.

“The foes of the gods wax bold, And they mock at the armies of heaven; At their banquets the story is told-- ‘A weak woman’s heart hath been given To Thor, the avenger of old.’

“And the wives as they sit by the cot, Sing, ‘Sleep, for the god cannot come; Sleep, the avenger is not; Hush, let his praises be dumb; Hush, let his name be forgot.’”

Then the god, smitten with pain, Shamèd and stung to the heart, Knowing a god’s voice again, Rending his fetters apart, Sprang from the moon-lady’s chain.

Instantly vanished in night Fountains and meadows and streams, Never a glimmer of light Lit up the palace of dreams, As the god made his way, without sight,

Back to the heavenly shore, Over mountain and wild ravine, Morasses, and seas that roar, Till the portals of heaven were seen And he stood in Valhalla once more.

_THE FEUD._

“I hear a cry from the Sansard cave, O mother, will no one hearken? A cry of the lost, will no one save? A cry of the dead, though the oceans rave, And the scream of a gull as he wheels o’er a grave, While the shadows darken and darken.”

“Oh, hush thee, child, for the night is wet, And the cloud-caves split asunder, With lightning in a jagged fret, Like the gleam of a salmon in the net, When the rocks are rich in the red sunset, And the stream rolls down in thunder.”

“Mother, O mother, a pain at my heart, A pang like the pang of dying.” “Oh, hush thee, child, for the wild birds dart Up and down, and close and part, Wheeling round where the black cliffs start, And the foam at their feet is flying.”

“O mother, a strife like the black clouds’ strife, And a peace that cometh after.” “Hush, child, for peace is the end of life, And the heart of a maiden finds peace as a wife, But the sky and the cliffs and the ocean are rife With the storm and thunder’s laughter.”

“Come in, my sons, come in and rest, For the shadows darken and darken, And your sister is pale as the white swan’s breast, And her eyes are fixed and her lips are pressed In the death of a name ye might have guessed, Had ye twain been here to hearken.”

“Hush, mother, a corpse lies on the sand, And the spray is round it driven, It lies on its face, and one white hand Points through the mist on the belt of strand To where the cliffs of Sansard stand, And the ocean’s strength is riven.”

“Was it God, my sons, who laid him there? Or the sea that left him sleeping?” “Nay, mother, our dirks where his heart was bare, As swift as the rain through the teeth of the air; And the foam-fingers play in the Saxon’s hair, While the tides are round him creeping.”

“Oh, curses on you hand and head, Like the rains in this wild weather, The guilt of blood is swift and dread, Your sister’s face is cold and dead, Ye may not part whom God would wed And love hath knit together.”

_THE FRENZY OF PROMETHEUS._

The ocean beats its noontide harmonies Upon the sunlit lines of cragged coast, And a wild rhythm pulses through my brain With pauses and responsive melodies; And sky and ocean, air and day and night Topple and reel upon my burning blood, Run to and fro, whirl round and round and round, Till, lo! the cosmic madness breathes a strain Of perfect music through the universe. I hear it with my ears, eyes, hands and feet, I drink it with my breath, my skin sucks in At every fevered pore fine threads of sound, Which plunge vibrations of the wind-swept harp Of earth and heaven deep into my soul, Till each sense kindles with a freshened life, And thoughts arise which bring me ease from pain.

O peace, sweet peace! I melt and ebb away, On softened rocks outstretch relaxèd limbs, With half-shut eyes deliciously enthralled. What passion, what delight, what ecstasies! Joy fills my veins with rivers of excess; I rave, I quiver, as with languid eyes I see the hot air dance upon the rocks, And sky, sea, headlands blend in murmurous haze.

Now grander, with the organ’s bass that rolls The under-world in darkness through despair Of any day-dawn on its inky skies, The music rolls around me, and above From shattered cliffs, from booming caverns’ mouths, Pierced by the arrow-screams of frightened gulls. Now strength, subdued, but waxing more and more, Reanimates my limbs; I feel my power Full as the flooding ocean, or the force Which grinds the glaciers on their boulder feet. My hands could pluck up mountains by the roots, My arm could hurl back ocean from the shore To wallow in his frothy bed. What hate! what scorn What limitless imaginations stretch And burst my mind immense; I stand apart, I am alone, all-glorious, supreme; My huge form like a shadow sits and broods Upon the globe, gigantic, like the shade Eclipsing moons. With bowed head on my hand In gloom excessive, now, behold, I see Beneath my feet the stream of human life, The sad procession of humanity.

They come, the sons of Hellas, beautiful, Swift-minded, lithe, with luscious, laughing lips, That suck delight from every tree of life; Born of the sunshine, winds and sounding sea. They pass, and, lo, a mightier nation moves In stern battalions trampling forests down, Cleaving the mountains, paving desert lands With bones that e’en when bleaching face the foe, Welding soft outskirt nations into iron, An iron hand to grasp and hold the world.

Now dust, like smoke, from Asia’s central steppes, Darkens the rigid white of mountain peaks, And the plains bristle with the Tartar hordes, Suckled of mares, flat-faced, implacable, Deadly in war, revengeful, treacherous, Brown as the craggy glens of Caucasus. They pass, and nations pass, and like a dream A throne emerges from the western sea, The latest empire of a dying world. E’en as I look its splendour melts away, And round me, gathering volume, music rolls, Till sinews crack and eyes are blind with power, Till struggles, battles mixed with smoke and blood, Men, nations, life and death, and desolate cries, Melt in the inner pulses in my ears And a wild tempest blows the daylight out.

And now I am alone beneath the stars, Alone, in infinite silence. Am I God, That I am so supreme? Whence is this power? Cannot my will repeople these waste lands? I cry aloud, the vault of space resounds, And hollow-sounding echoes, from the stars Rebounding, shake the earth and crinkle up The sea in million furrows. Lo, the stars Now fade, the sun arises, it is day, Half day, half night; the sun hath lost his strength, I am his equal, nay I am his king! I rise and move across the earth, the seas Have vanished, and I tread their empty beds, And crush down continents of powdered bones.

O great light, late supreme, what need of thee? For all are dead, men, nations, life and death, And God is dead and here alone am I-- I, with strong hands to pluck thee from thy course, Boundless in passions, will, omnipotent. The impulses concentre in my heart Which erstwhile shook the universe. O Sun, Acknowledge now thy king, put down thy head Beneath my feet, and lift me higher still To regions that out-top the adoring spheres, And bask in primal thought, too vast to shape Into similitude of earthly things.

I would have all, know all. I thirst and pant And hunger for the universe. Now from the earth, Beneath thy rays, O Sun, the steams arise, Sheeting the world’s dead face in film of cloud, The voices of the dead. Peace, let me be. Go on thy way, spent power, leave me here To reign in silence, rave and scorn and hate, To glory in my strength, tear down the skies, Trample the crumbling mountains under foot, Laugh at the tingling stars, burn with desire Unconquerable, till the universe Is shattered at the core, its splinters flung By force centrifugal beyond the light, Until the spent stars from their orbits reel, And, hissing down the flaming steeps of space, With voice of fire proclaim me God alone.

_NATURA VICTRIX._

On the crag I sat in wonder, Stars above me, forests under; Through the valleys came and went Tempest forces never spent, And the gorge sent up the thunder Of the stream within it pent.

Round me with majestic bearing Stood the giant mountains, wearing Helmets of eternal snows, Cleft by nature’s labour throes-- Monster faces mutely staring Upward into God’s repose.

At my feet in desolation Swayed the pines, a shadowy nation, Round the woodlake deep and dread, Round the river glacier-fed, Where a ghostly undulation Shakes its subterranean bed.

And I cried, “O wildernesses! Mountains! which the wind caresses, In a savage love sublime, Through the bounds of space and time, All your moods and deep distresses Roll around me like a chime.

“Lo, I hear the mighty chorus Of the elements that bore us Down the course of nature’s stream, Onward in a haunted dream Towards the darkness, where before us Time and death forgotten seem.

“Now behold the links of lightning Round the neck of storm-god tightening, Madden him with rage and shame Till he smites the earth with flame, In the darkening and the brightening Of the clouds on which he came.

“Nature! at whose will are driven Tides of ocean, winds of heaven, Thou who rulest near and far Forces grappling sun and star, Is to thee the knowledge given Whence these came and what they are?

“Is thy calm the calm of knowing Whence the force is, whither going? Is it but the blank despair Of the wrecked, who does not care Out at sea what wind is blowing To the death that waits him there?

“Mother Nature, stern aggressor, Of thy child the mind-possessor, Thou art in us like a flood, Welling through our thought and blood-- Force evolving great from lesser, As the blossom from the bud.

“Yea, I love thy fixed, enduring Times and seasons, life procuring From abysmal heart of thine; And my spirit would resign All its dreams and hopes alluring With thy spirit to combine.

“Would that I, amid the splendour Of the thunder-blasts, could render Back the dismal dole of birth, Fusing soul-clouds in the girth Of thy rock breasts, or the tender Green of everlasting earth.

“Haply, when the scud was flying And the lurid daylight dying Through the rain-smoke on the sea, Thoughtless, painless, one with thee, I, in perfect bondage lying, Should forever thus be free.

“Mighty spirits, who have striven Up life’s ladder-rounds to heaven, Or ye freighted ones who fell On the poppy slopes of hell, When the soul was led or driven, Knew ye not who wrought the spell?

“Understood not each his brother From the features of our mother Stamped on every human face? Did not earth, man’s dwelling place, Draw ye to her as no other, With a stronger bond than grace?

“Tempest hands the forests rending, Placid stars the night attending, Mountains, storm-clouds, land and sea, Nature!--make me one with thee; From my soul its pinions rending, Chain me to thy liberty.

“Hark! the foot of death is nearing, And my spirit aches with fearing, Hear me, mother, hear my cry, Merge me in the harmony Of thy voice which stars are hearing Wonder-stricken in the sky.

“Mother, will no sorrow move thee? Does the silence heartless prove thee? Thou who from the rocks and rain Mad’st this soul, take back again What thy fingers wrought to love thee Through the furnace of its pain.

“Giant boulders, roll beside me, Tangled ferns, bow down and hide me, Hide me from the face of death; Or, great Nature, on thy breath Send some mighty words to guide me, Till the demon vanisheth.”

Then as sweet as organ playing, Came a voice, my fears allaying, From the mountains and the sea, “Wouldst thou, soul, be one with me, In thy might the slayer slaying? Wrestle not with what must be.”

Heart and spirit in devotion, Vibrant with divine emotion, Bowed before that mighty sound, And amid the dark around Quaffed the strength of land and ocean In a sacrament profound.

Then I burst my bonds asunder, And my voice rose in the thunder With a full and powerful breath, Strong for what great nature saith, And I bade the stars in wonder See me slay the slayer--death.

_THE ABBOT._

A waning moon was in the sky And many a still cloud floated by, With outline dark the abbey stood Fronting a line of wood.

With bowed head on the chapel stone The Abbot knelt for hours alone, While round him coloured moonbeams threw Rose-work of richest hue.

A tiny altar-lamp burnt dim, And lit the sculptured seraphim Which fringed the choir with faces bent Before the Sacrament.

The place was still as in a dream, So very still, the ear did seem To catch the voice of years gone by, And long dead harmony.

The abbey clock above struck three, The Abbot rose from bended knee, His face was greyer than the stone, His eyes were woe-begone.

He passed into the cloister dim, The night-air brought no balm to him, What anguish made his senses reel, Christ could not heal?

He entered at an iron grate, The halls within were desolate; Like one who waketh from a spell, He halted at a cell.

Therein upon a pallet bed, With bars of moonlight on his head, While winds through ivied mullions creep, A fair-haired boy did sleep.

Outside an owl did hoot and call And drown the Abbot’s light foot-fall, But rustle of those garments cere In dreams the boy did hear.

“Hush, boy, ’tis I,” the Abbot said, “Thy pure soul to the rescued dead Shall bear my message; life is past, Hell’s meshes hold me fast.

“Was thy sleep sweet? my sleep is o’er, One speaks to thee who never more Shall look on man (God send us grace), Nor ever see God’s face.”

The boy through fear sat bolt upright In tongueless terror, for moonlight Smote slanting on the face and eye, Which worked convulsively.

“One burden, boy, a weight of years, Full to the brim of hopeless tears, Hath crushed me, bearing round my brain The double brand of Cain.

“Thy life and hopes are all before, And mine are passed for evermore; My secret in the years to come Remember, but be dumb.

“O God, my heart beats loud within, I slew my brother in mortal sin, I stabbed him twice, not knowing, to free A maiden’s chastity.”

The Abbot stood erect and tall, His shadow fell along the wall,-- God save him, as if seeking grace, He hid his cowlèd face.

“A black snake slipt across my feet, Above bare boughs did part and meet, There was a motion in the air And eyes watched everywhere.

“The deed was done in distant lands, But his blood dabbled these same hands, And under trees where pale stars shine His eyes looked into mine.

“One look from those dead eyes of his, And love rushed back to him; was this The climax of his life who seemed The king my boyhood dreamed?

“Shall sin and shall not love endure?-- Love grounded in the past and pure, Man’s love for man, for angels fit, Could one act shatter it?”

The boy sat upright, pale as death, A numbness stole away his breath, The fascination of the eye, Which moved convulsively.

“I fled at sunrise down the bay To where a mystic island lay, Dazed with the cloudless arch of sky And waves’ monotony.

“And here a convent open stood, Where monks sought peace in solitude; I entered with the rest to hide Within the Crucified.

“I told my woe to one; he said,-- ‘Under thy feet, and overhead, And all around is God. To-night, Keep vigil, pray for light.’

“That night in cave-shrine, visions three God and the Virgin sent to me; Four angels fenced the cavern’s mouth With locked wings, north and south.

“Thrice darkness fell, and thrice I lay Low-poised above a sea, no day Lit up its shoreless waves, no night Shut distance from the sight.

“No fish leaped up, no God looked down, No sound there was, I strove to drown,-- Ere waves were touched a wind did spring, And bore me on its wing.

“My blood stood still and thick as ice, And thought held thought, as in a vice, The ages died, no death did bless The death of nothingness.

“Each time the soul did undergo The torture of a separate woe, The demon fangs insatiate, Of doubt, despair and hate.

“I woke and told the monk my dreams; His voice was sad, he said, ‘Meseems No part one slain in his soul’s blood Shall have in Holy Rood.

“‘But brother,’ said the agèd man, ‘God works by many a diverse plan, And once vicarious agony Saved souls on Calvary.

“‘I know not but, with God in heaven, Some grace to lost souls may be given; By fasts and scourgings, prayers and pains, Loose thou thy brother’s chains.’

“Yea, boy, have I not prayed to Heaven? Has not life spoilt with bitter leaven And fasts and scourgings, night and day, The blood-guilt burnt away?

“But ever from the throat of hell There booms a fearful passing bell Of one, once slain in his soul’s blood, Cast out from Holy Rood.

“The passions of the full-grown man Concentre where his life began; The boy’s love is not manifold, It grips with single hold.

“The boyhood’s love is part of us, No power can wrench it out, and thus Love chained me to him in the gloom, And I had wrought his doom.

“The thing was with me day by day, And all my thinking underlay; And even through hours when I forgot, Ached as a canker spot.

“My food was ashes in my mouth, My very soul was seared with drouth, I banished thought, the struggle vain Brought back the thought again.

“The saints and angels held aloof, My prayers fell back from chapel roof, They had no lightness to ascend Where earth and heaven blend.

“The stars did mock me with their peace, The seasons brought me no release, Despair and anguish like a sea And pain were under me.

“And year by year more pains I gave, Till life became a living grave, Till, like the lost behind hell’s gate, My soul was desolate.”

Outside, an owl did hoot and call, But in the abbey silence all; The Abbot’s voice had hollow sound, As if from underground.

“Hush, boy, the fiend came yesternight.” The Abbot smiled--a gruesome sight, That smiling face in moonlight wan, With eyes so woe-begone--

“The fiend came yesternight to ask The utmost deed that life can task, A soul by self-death given to win Another’s soul from sin.”

So fearful was the story told, The boy’s teeth chattered as with cold, He saw no leaf-shapes on the floor, He heard no bell ring four.

“To-night with head on chapel stone, I prayed to Him who did atone, Till blood-sweat ran, as down His face It ran in garden-place.

“‘Tis done, the earthly fight is o’er, My soul is dark for evermore, I am the fiend’s, hark! hear him call-- He holds a soul in thrall.

“I know not if the spirit breath, Meets spirit on the road of death, Or falleth like a thin, white thread Among the under dead.

“I know not whether, passing by, One rapid moment, he and I, His face upturned to coming crown, Mine anguished, bending down, “Shall then know all; but boy, when near Thy feet approach where tier on tier, God’s minstrels face the Trinity, In that place made for me,

“But mine no longer, seek thou there One with thine eyes and golden hair, Gold as his broidered vesture is, And say whose soul won his.

“Perchance, though there no sorrow dims, The tears will mount to his eyes’ brims, And I shall live, his sweetest thought, For what my love hath wrought.

“Again the demon calls, I come. See, pure boy, let thy lips be dumb, One last atonement lifts to-night A lost soul into light.”

He kissed the boy upon the brow: “Yea, very like to him art thou, When we sat pure on mother’s knee, Farewell, eternally.”

The Abbot passed into the gloom, The moonlight flooded all the room, The boy sat stark from hour to hour, Chained by unearthly power.

But lo, when, in the matin time, The bells rang out the hour of prime, From cloistered aisle and chapel stair A wild cry rent the air.

Not yet quite cold, dead in his blood, With face averted from the Rood, The Abbot lay on chapel stone, His eyes still woe-begone.

No bell was rung, no mass was said, They buried the dishonoured dead Out in the road which crossed the wood, In dark and solitude.

They marked the spot with never a stone, Tree-shadows fell on it alone, And moss and vines and thin wood grass Grew where no feet would pass.

Nathless, it seemed to one fair boy, The birds did sing with fuller joy, And angels swung wood incense faint, As round the grave of saint.

The tiny altar-lamp burnt dim, And lit the sculptured seraphim, And tombs where monks in garments cere Were gathered year by year.

But when an old monk came to die, He spake thus to those standing by: “Out in that spot my grave be set, Marked by wood violet.

“No man can judge another’s sin, God only sees without and in, Wherefore, my brethren, be ye kind, That was our Master’s mind.

“For many are crowned as saints by God Whose graves unheeding feet have trod; Man judges by the outer life, God by the inner strife.

“Out there the forest tree-roots creep Round one sad heart’s forgotten sleep, A heart which broke in giving all To save a soul from thrall.”

_DION._

A POEM.

ARGUMENT.