Chapter 8

Now at his side he heard it: thin As echoes of a thought that speaks To conscience. Listening with his chin Upon his palm, against his cheeks He felt the moon's white finger win.

And now the voice was still: and lo, With eyes that stared on naught but night, He saw?--what none on earth shall know!-- Was it the face that far from sight Had lain here, buried long ago?

But men who found him,--thither led By the wild fox,--within that place Read in his stony eyes, 'tis said, The thing he saw there, face to face, The thing that left him staring dead.

THE MAN HUNT

The woods stretch deep to the mountain side, And the brush is wild where a man may hide.

They have brought the bloodhounds up again To the roadside rock where they found the slain.

They have brought the bloodhounds up, and they Have taken the trail to the mountain way.

Three times they circled the trail and crossed; And thrice they found it and thrice they lost.

Now straight through the trees and the underbrush They follow the scent through the forest's hush.

And their deep-mouthed bay is a pulse of fear In the heart of the wood that the man must hear.

The man who crouches among the trees From the stern-faced men who follow these.

A huddle of rocks that the ooze has mossed, And the trail of the hunted again is lost.

An upturned pebble; a bit of ground A heel has trampled--the trail is found.

And the woods re-echo the bloodhounds' bay As again they take to the mountain way.

A rock; a ribbon of road; a ledge, With a pine tree clutching its crumbling edge.

A pine, that the lightning long since clave, Whose huge roots hollow a ragged cave.

A shout; a curse; and a face aghast; The human quarry is laired at last.

The human quarry with clay-clogged hair And eyes of terror who waits them there.

That glares and crouches and rising then Hurls clods and curses at dogs and men.

Until the blow of a gun-butt lays Him stunned and bleeding upon his face.

A rope; a prayer; and an oak-tree near, And a score of hands to swing him clear.

A grim, black thing for the setting sun And the moon and the stars to gaze upon.

MY ROMANCE

If it so befalls that the midnight hovers In mist no moonlight breaks, The leagues of the years my spirit covers, And my self myself forsakes.

And I live in a land of stars and flowers, White cliffs by a silvery sea; And the pearly points of her opal towers From the mountains beckon me.

And I think that I know that I hear her calling From a casement bathed with light-- Through music of waters in waters falling Mid palms from a mountain height.

And I feel that I think my love's awaited By the romance of her charms; That her feet are early and mine belated In a world that chains my arms.

But I break my chains and the rest is easy-- In the shadow of the rose, Snow-white, that blooms in her garden breezy, We meet and no one knows.

And we dream sweet dreams and kiss sweet kisses; The world--it may live or die! The world that forgets; that never misses The life that has long gone by.

We speak old vows that have long been spoken; And weep a long-gone woe: For you must know our hearts were broken Hundreds of years ago.

A MAID WHO DIED OLD

Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn, That life has carved with care and doubt! So weary waiting, night and morn, For that which never came about! Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn, In which God's light at last is out.

Gray hair, that lies so thin and prim On either side the sunken brows! And soldered eyes, so deep and dim, No word of man could now arouse! And hollow hands, so virgin slim, Forever clasped in silent vows!

Poor breasts! that God designed for love, For baby lips to kiss and press; That never felt, yet dreamed thereof, The human touch, the child caress-- That lie like shriveled blooms above The heart's long-perished happiness.

O withered body, Nature gave For purposes of death and birth, That never knew, and could but crave Those things perhaps that make life worth,-- Rest now, alas! within the grave, Sad shell that served no end of Earth.

BALLAD OF LOW-LIE-DOWN

John-A-Dreams and Harum-Scarum Came a-riding into town: At the Sign o' the Jug-and-Jorum There they met with Low-lie-down.

Brave in shoes of Romany leather, Bodice blue and gypsy gown, And a cap of fur and feather, In the inn sat Low-lie-down.

Harum-Scarum kissed her lightly; Smiled into her eyes of brown: Clasped her waist and held her tightly, Laughing, "Love me, Low-lie-down!"

Then with many an oath and swagger, As a man of great renown, On the board he clapped his dagger, Called for sack and sat him down.

So a while they laughed together; Then he rose and with a frown Sighed, "While still 'tis pleasant weather, I must leave thee, Low-lie-down."

So away rode Harum-Scarum; With a song rode out of town; At the Sign o' the Jug-and-Jorum Weeping tarried Low-lie-down.

Then this John-a-dreams, in tatters, In his pocket ne'er a crown, Touched her, saying, "Wench, what matters! Dry your eyes and, come, sit down.

"Here's my hand: we'll roam together, Far away from thorp and town. Here's my heart,--for any weather,-- And my dreams, too, Low-lie-down.

"Some men call me dreamer, poet: Some men call me fool and clown-- What I am but you shall know it, Only you, sweet Low-lie-down."

For a little while she pondered: Smiled: then said, "Let care go drown!" Up and kissed him.... Forth they wandered, John-a-dreams and Low-lie-down.

ROMANCE

Thus have I pictured her:--In Arden old A white-browed maiden with a falcon eye, Rose-flushed of face, with locks of wind-blown gold, Teaching her hawks to fly.

Or, 'mid her boar-hounds, panting with the heat, In huntsman green, sounding the hunt's wild prize, Plumed, dagger-belted, while beneath her feet The spear-pierced monster dies.

Or in Brécéliand, on some high tower, Clad white in samite, last of her lost race, My soul beholds her, lovelier than a flower, Gazing with pensive face.

Or, robed in raiment of romantic lore, Like Oriana, dark of eye and hair, Riding through realms of legend evermore, And ever young and fair.

Or now like Bradamant, as brave as just, In complete steel, her pure face lit with scorn, At giant castles, dens of demon lust, Winding her bugle-horn.

Another Una; and in chastity A second Britomart; in beauty far O'er her who led King Charles's chivalry And Paynim lands to war....

Now she, from Avalon's deep-dingled bowers,-- 'Mid which white stars and never-waning moons Make marriage; and dim lips of musk-mouthed flowers Sigh faint and fragrant tunes,--

Implores me follow; and, in shadowy shapes Of sunset, shows me,--mile on misty mile Of purple precipice,--all the haunted capes Of her enchanted isle.

Where, bowered in bosks and overgrown with vine, Upon a headland breasting violet seas, Her castle towers, like a dream divine, With stairs and galleries.

And at her casement, Circe-beautiful, Above the surgeless reaches of the deep, She sits, while, in her gardens, fountains lull The perfumed wind asleep.

Or, round her brow a diadem of spars, She leans and hearkens, from her raven height, The nightingales that, choiring to the stars, Take with wild song the night.

Or, where the moon is mirrored in the waves, To mark, deep down, the Sea King's city rolled, Wrought of huge shells and labyrinthine caves, Ribbed pale with pearl and gold.

There doth she wait forever; and the kings Of all the world have wooed her: but she cares For none but him, the Love, that dreams and sings, That sings and dreams and dares.

AMADIS AND ORIANA

From "Beltenebros at Miraflores"

O sunset, from the springs of stars Draw down thy cataracts of gold; And belt their streams with burning bars Of ruby on which flame is rolled: Drench dingles with laburnum light; Drown every vale in violet blaze: Rain rose-light down; and, poppy-bright, Die downward o'er the hills of haze, And bring at last the stars of night!

The stars and moon! that silver world, Which, like a spirit, faces west, Her foam-white feet with light empearled, Bearing white flame within her breast: Earth's sister sphere of fire and snow, Who shows to Earth her heart's pale heat, And bids her mark its pulses glow, And hear their crystal currents beat With beauty, lighting all below.

O cricket, with thy elfin pipe, That tinkles in the grass and grain; And dove-pale buds, that, dropping, stripe The glen's blue night, and smell of rain; O nightingale, that so dost wail On yonder blossoming branch of snow, Thrill, fill the wild deer-haunted dale, Where Oriana, walking slow, Comes, thro' the moonlight, dreamy pale.

She comes to meet me!--Earth and air Grow radiant with another light. In her dark eyes and her dark hair Are all the stars and all the night: She comes! I clasp her!--and it is As if no grief had ever been.-- In all the world for us who kiss There are no other women or men But Oriana and Amadis.

THE ROSICRUCIAN

I

The tripod flared with a purple spark, And the mist hung emerald in the dark: Now he stooped to the lilac flame Over the glare of the amber embers, Thrice to utter no earthly name; Thrice, like a mind that half remembers; Bathing his face in the magic mist Where the brilliance burned like an amethyst.

II

"Sylph, whose soul was born of mine, Born of the love that made me thine, Once more flash on my eyes! Again Be the loved caresses taken! Lip to lip let our forms remain!-- Here in the circle sense, awaken! Ere spirit meet spirit, the flesh laid by, Let me touch thee, and let me die."

III

Sunset heavens may burn, but never Know such splendor! There bloomed an ever Opaline orb, where the sylphid rose A shape of luminous white; diviner White than the essence of light that sows The moons and suns through space; and finer Than radiance born of a shooting-star, Or the wild Aurora that streams afar.

IV

"Look on the face of the soul to whom Thou givest thy soul like added perfume! Thou, who heard'st me, who long had prayed, Waiting alone at morning's portal!-- Thus on thy lips let my lips be laid, Love, who hast made me all immortal! Give me thine arms now! Come and rest Weariness out on my beaming breast!"

V

Was it her soul? or the sapphire fire That sang like the note of a seraph's lyre? Out of her mouth there fell no word-- She spake with her soul, as a flower speaketh.

Fragrant messages none hath heard, Which the sense divines when the spirit seeketh.... And he seemed alone in a place so dim That the spirit's face, who was gazing at him, For its burning eyes he could not see: Then he knew he had died; that she and he Were one; and he saw that this was she.

THE AGE OF GOLD

The clouds that tower in storm, that beat Arterial thunder in their veins; The wildflowers lifting, shyly sweet, Their perfect faces from the plains,-- All high, all lowly things of Earth For no vague end have had their birth.

Low strips of mist that mesh the moon Above the foaming waterfall; And mountains, that God's hand hath hewn, And forests, where the great winds call,-- Within the grasp of such as see Are parts of a conspiracy;

To seize the soul with beauty; hold The heart with love: and thus fulfill Within ourselves the Age of Gold, That never died, and never will,-- As long as one true nature feels The wonders that the world reveals.

BEAUTY AND ART

The gods are dead; but still for me Lives on in wildwood brook and tree Each myth, each old divinity.

For me still laughs among the rocks The Naiad; and the Dryad's locks Drop perfume on the wildflower flocks.

The Satyr's hoof still prints the loam; And, whiter than the wind-blown foam, The Oread haunts her mountain home.

To him, whose mind is fain to dwell With loveliness no time can quell, All things are real, imperishable.

To him--whatever facts may say-- Who sees the soul beneath the clay, Is proof of a diviner day.

The very stars and flowers preach A gospel old as God, and teach Philosophy a child may reach;

That cannot die; that shall not cease; That lives through idealities Of Beauty, ev'n as Rome and Greece.

That lifts the soul above the clod, And, working out some period Of art, is part and proof of God.

THE SEA SPIRIT

Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon To me.

Wild sea-spray driven of the storm Is not so wildly white as she, Who beckoned with a foam-white arm To me.

With eyes dark green, and golden-green Long locks that rippled drippingly, Out of the green wave she did lean To me.

And sang; till Earth and Heaven seemed A far, forgotten memory, And more than Heaven in her who gleamed On me.

Sleep, sweeter than love's face or home; And death's immutability; And music of the plangent foam, For me!

Sweep over her! with all thy ships, With all thy stormy tides, O sea!-- The memory of immortal lips For me!

GARGAPHIE

"_Succinctae sacra Dianae_".--OVID

There the ragged sunlight lay Tawny on thick ferns and gray On dark waters: dimmer, Lone and deep, the cypress grove Bowered mystery and wove Braided lights, like those that love On the pearl plumes of a dove Faint to gleam and glimmer.

II

There centennial pine and oak Into stormy cadence broke: Hollow rocks gloomed, slanting, Echoing in dim arcade, Looming with long moss, that made Twilight streaks in tatters laid: Where the wild hart, hunt-affrayed, Plunged the water, panting.

III

Poppies of a sleepy gold Mooned the gray-green darkness rolled Down its vistas, making Wisp-like blurs of flame. And pale Stole the dim deer down the vale: And the haunting nightingale Throbbed unseen--the olden tale All its wild heart breaking.

IV

There the hazy serpolet, Dewy cistus, blooming wet, Blushed on bank and bowlder; There the cyclamen, as wan As first footsteps of the dawn, Carpeted the spotted lawn: Where the nude nymph, dripping drawn, Basked a wildflower shoulder.

V

In the citrine shadows there What tall presences and fair, Godlike, stood!--or, gracious As the rock-rose there that grew, Delicate and dim as dew, Stepped from boles of oaks, and drew Faunlike forms to follow, who Filled the forest spacious!--

VI

Guarding that Boeotian Valley so no foot of man Soiled its silence holy With profaning tread--save one, The Hyantian: Actæon, Who beheld, and might not shun Pale Diana's wrath; undone By his own mad folly.

VII

Lost it lies--that valley: sleeps In serene enchantment; keeps Beautiful its banished Bowers that no man may see; Fountains that her deity Haunts, and every rock and tree Where her hunt goes swinging free As in ages vanished.

THE DEAD OREAD

Her heart is still and leaps no more With holy passion when the breeze, Her whilom playmate, as before, Comes with the language of the bees, Sad songs her mountain cedars sing, And water-music murmuring.

Her calm white feet,--erst fleet and fast As Daphne's when a god pursued,-- No more will dance like sunlight past The gold-green vistas of the wood, Where every quailing floweret Smiled into life where they were set.

Hers were the limbs of living light, And breasts of snow; as virginal As mountain drifts; and throat as white As foam of mountain waterfall; And hyacinthine curls, that streamed Like crag-born mists, and gloomed and gleamed.

Her presence breathed such scents as haunt Moist, mountain dells and solitudes; Aromas wild as some wild plant That fills with sweetness all the woods: And comradeships of stars and skies Shone in the azure of her eyes.

Her grave be by a mossy rock Upon the top of some wild hill, Removed, remote from men who mock The myths and dreams of life they kill: Where all of beauty, naught of lust May guard her solitary dust.

THE FAUN

The joys that touched thee once, be mine! The sympathies of sky and sea, The friendships of each rock and pine, That made thy lonely life, ah me! In Tempe or in Gargaphie.

Such joy as thou didst feel when first, On some wild crag, thou stood'st alone To watch the mountain tempest burst, With streaming thunder, lightning-sown, On Latmos or on Pelion.

Thy awe! when, crowned with vastness, Night And Silence ruled the deep's abyss; And through dark leaves thou saw'st the white Breasts of the starry maids who kiss Pale feet of moony Artemis.

Thy dreams! when, breasting matted weeds Of Arethusa, thou didst hear The music of the wind-swept reeds; And down dim forest-ways drew near Shy herds of slim Arcadian deer.

Thy wisdom! that knew naught but love And beauty, with which love is fraught; The wisdom of the heart--whereof All noblest passions spring--that thought As Nature thinks, "All else is naught."

Thy hope! wherein To-morrow set No shadow; hope, that, lacking care And retrospect, held no regret, But bloomed in rainbows everywhere, Filling with gladness all the air.

These were thine all: in all life's moods Embracing all of happiness: And when within thy long-loved woods Didst lay thee down to die--no less Thy happiness stood by to bless.

THE PAPHIAN VENUS

With anxious eyes and dry, expectant lips, Within the sculptured stoa by the sea, All day she waited while, like ghostly ships, Long clouds rolled over Paphos: the wild bee Hung in the sultry poppy, half asleep, Beside the shepherd and his drowsy sheep.

White-robed she waited day by day; alone With the white temple's shrined concupiscence, The Paphian goddess on her obscene throne, Binding all chastity to violence, All innocence to lust that feels no shame-- Venus Mylitta born of filth and flame.

So must they haunt her marble portico, The devotees of Paphos, passion-pale As moonlight streaming through the stormy snow; Dark eyes desirous of the stranger sail, The gods shall bring across the Cyprian Sea, With him elected to their mastery.

A priestess of the temple came, when eve Blazed, like a satrap's triumph, in the west;

And watched her listening to the ocean's heave, Dusk's golden glory on her face and breast, And in her hair the rosy wind's caress,-- Pitying her dedicated tenderness.

When out of darkness night persuades the stars, A dream shall bend above her saying, "Soon A barque shall come with purple sails and spars, Sailing from Tarsus 'neath a low white moon; And thou shalt see one in a robe of Tyre Facing toward thee like the god Desire.

"Rise then! as, clad in starlight, riseth Night-- Thy nakedness clad on with loveliness! So shalt thou see him, like the god Delight, Breast through the foam and climb the cliff to press Hot lips to thine and lead thee in before Love's awful presence where ye shall adore."

Thus at her heart the vision entered in, With lips of lust the lips of song had kissed, And eyes of passion laughing with sweet sin, A shimmering splendor robed in amethyst,-- Seen like that star set in the glittering gloam,-- Venus Mylitta born of fire and foam.

So shall she dream until, near middle night,-- When on the blackness of the ocean's rim The moon, like some war-galleon all alight With blazing battle, from the sea shall swim,-- A shadow, with inviolate lips and eyes, Shall rise before her speaking in this wise:

"So hast thou heard the promises of one,-- Of her, with whom the God of gods is wroth,-- For whom was prophesied at Babylon The second death--Chaldaean Mylidoth! Whose feet take hold on darkness and despair, Hissing destruction in her heart and hair.

"Wouldst thou behold the vessel she would bring?-- A wreck! ten hundred years have smeared with slime: A hulk! where all abominations cling, The spawn and vermin of the seas of time: Wild waves have rotted it; fierce suns have scorched; Mad winds have tossed and stormy stars have torched.

"Can lust give birth to love? The vile and foul Be mother to beauty? Lo! can this thing be?-- A monster like a man shall rise and howl Upon the wreck across the crawling sea, Then plunge; and swim unto thee; like an ape, A beast all belly.--Thou canst not escape!"

Gone was the shadow with the suffering brow; And in the temple's porch she lay and wept, Alone with night, the ocean, and her vow.-- Then up the east the moon's full splendor swept, And dark between it--wreck or argosy?-- A sudden vessel far away at sea.

ORIENTAL ROMANCE

I

Beyond lost seas of summer she Dwelt on an island of the sea, Last scion of that dynasty, Queen of a race forgotten long.-- With eyes of light and lips of song, From seaward groves of blowing lemon, She called me in her native tongue, Low-leaned on some rich robe of Yemen.

II

I was a king. Three moons we drove Across green gulfs, the crimson clove And cassia spiced, to claim her love. Packed was my barque with gums and gold; Rich fabrics; sandalwood, grown old With odor; gems; and pearls of Oman,-- Than her white breasts less white and cold;-- And myrrh, less fragrant than this woman.

III

From Bassora I came. We saw Her eagle castle on a claw Of soaring precipice, o'erawe The surge and thunder of the spray. Like some great opal, far away It shone, with battlement and spire, Wherefrom, with wild aroma, day Blew splintered lights of sapphirine fire.

IV

Lamenting caverns dark, that keep Sonorous echoes of the deep, Led upward to her castle steep.... Fair as the moon, whose light is shed In Ramadan, was she, who led My love unto her island bowers, To find her.... lying young and dead Among her maidens and her flowers.

THE MAMELUKE

I

She was a queen. 'Midst mutes and slaves, A mameluke, he loved her.----Waves Dashed not more hopelessly the paves Of her high marble palace-stair Than lashed his love his heart's despair.-- As souls in Hell dream Paradise, He suffered yet forgot it there Beneath Rommaneh's houri eyes.

II

With passion eating at his heart He served her beauty, but dared dart No amorous glance, nor word impart.-- Taïfi leather's perfumed tan Beneath her, on a low divan She lay 'mid cushions stuffed with down: A slave-girl with an ostrich fan Sat by her in a golden gown.

III

She bade him sing. Fair lutanist, She loved his voice. With one white wrist, Hooped with a blaze of amethyst, She raised her ruby-crusted lute: Gold-welted stuff, like some rich fruit, Her raiment, diamond-showered, rolled Folds pigeon-purple, whence one foot Drooped in an anklet-twist of gold.

IV

He stood and sang with all the fire That boiled within his blood's desire, That made him all her slave yet higher: And at the end his passion durst Quench with one burning kiss its thirst.-- O eunuchs, did her face show scorn When through his heart your daggers burst? And dare ye say he died forlorn?

THE SLAVE

He waited till within her tower Her taper signalled him the hour.

He was a prince both fair and brave.-- What hope that he would love _her_ slave!

He of the Persian dynasty; And she a Queen of Araby!--