Chapter 10

Hearken yet:--for a long time no more I beheld her Till a month agone now at the ending of Maytide; And then in the first of the morning I found me Fulfilled of all joy at the edge of the yew-wood; Then lo, her gown's flutter in the fresh breeze of morning, And slower and statelier than her wont was aforetime And fairer of form toward the yew-wood she wended. But woe's me! as she came and at last was beside me With sobbing scarce ended her bosom was heaving, Stained with tears was her face, and her mouth was yet quivering With torment of weeping held back for a season. Then swiftly my spirit to the King's bed was wafted While still toward the sea were her weary feet wending. --Ah surely that day of all wrongs that I hearkened Mine own wrongs seemed heaviest and hardest to bear-- Mine own wrongs and hers--till that past year of ruling Seemed a crime and a folly. Night came, and I saw her Stealing barefoot, bareheaded amidst of the tulips Made grey by the moonlight: and a long time Love gave me To gaze on her weeping--morn came, and I wakened-- I wakened and said: Through the World will I wander, Till either I find her, or find the World empty.

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, son, wilt thou go? Ah thou knowest from of old time My words might not stay thee from aught thou wert willing; And e'en so it must be now. And yet hast thou asked me To go with thee, son, if aught I might help thee?-- Ah me, if thy face might gladden a little I should meet the world better and mock at its mocking: If thou goest to find her, why then hath there fallen This heaviness on thee? is thy heart waxen feeble?

KING PHARAMOND

O friend, I have seen her no more, and her mourning Is alone and unhelped--yet to-night or to-morrow Somewhat nigher will I be to her love and her longing. Lo, to thee, friend, alone of all folk on the earth These things have I told: for a true man I deem thee Beyond all men call true; yea, a wise man moreover And hardy and helpful; and I know thy heart surely That thou holdest the world nought without me thy fosterling. Come, leave all awhile! it may be as time weareth With new life in our hands we shall wend us back hither.

MASTER OLIVER

Yea; triumph turns trouble, and all the world changeth, Yet a good world it is since we twain are together.

KING PHARAMOND

Lo, have I not said it?--thou art kinder than all men. Cast about then, I pray thee, to find us a keel Sailing who recketh whither, since the world is so wide. Sure the northlands shall know of the blessings she bringeth, And the southlands be singing of the tales that foretold her.

MASTER OLIVER

Well I wot of all chapmen--and to-night weighs a dromond Sailing west away first, and then to the southlands. Since in such things I deal oft they know me, but know not King Pharamond the Freed, since now first they sail hither. So make me thy messenger in a fair-writ broad letter And thyself make my scrivener, and this very night sail we.-- O surely thy face now is brightening and blesseth me! Peer through these boughs toward the bay and the haven, And high masts thou shalt see, and white sails hanging ready.

[_Exit OLIVER._

KING PHARAMOND

Dost thou weep now, my darling, and are thy feet wandering On the ways ever empty of what thou desirest? Nay, nay, for thou know'st me, and many a night-tide Hath Love led thee forth to a city unknown: Thou hast paced through this palace from chamber to chamber Till in dawn and stars' paling I have passed forth before thee: Thou hast seen thine own dwelling nor known how to name it: Thine own dwelling that shall be when love is victorious. Thou hast seen my sword glimmer amidst of the moonlight, As we rode with hoofs muffled through waylaying murder. Through the field of the dead hast thou fared to behold me, Seen me waking and longing by the watch-fires' flicker; Thou hast followed my banner amidst of the battle And seen my face change to the man that they fear, Yet found me not fearful nor turned from beholding: Thou hast been at my triumphs, and heard the tale's ending Of my wars, and my winning through days evil and weary: For this eve hast thou waited, and wilt be peradventure By the sea-strand to-night, for thou wottest full surely That the word is gone forth, and the world is a-moving. --Abide me, beloved! to-day and to-morrow Shall be little words in the tale of our loving, When the last morn ariseth, and thou and I meeting From lips laid together tell tales of these marvels.

THE MUSIC

_Love is enough: draw near and behold me Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter, And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after; For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter. --Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!

Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken, And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying. Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying? Or is it your faces his brightness that darken? Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing? --Pass by me, and hearken, and pity me not!

Ye know not how void is your hope and your living: Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me! Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me, There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me. --Pass by me, and hearken, and waken me not!

Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me? Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter, And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after! Nay this I sell not,--though ye bought me and sold me,-- For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter. --Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not!_

_Enter before the curtain LOVE clad as a maker of Pictured Cloths_.

LOVE

That double life my faithful king has led My hand has untwined, and old days are dead As in the moon the sails run up the mast. Yea, let this present mingle with the past, And when ye see him next think a long tide Of days are gone by; for the world is wide, And if at last these hands, these lips shall meet, What matter thorny ways and weary feet?

A faithful king, and now grown wise in love: Yet from of old in many ways I move The hearts that shall be mine: him by the hand Have I led forth, and shown his eyes the land Where dwells his love, and shown him what she is: He has beheld the lips that he shall kiss, The eyes his eyes shall soften, and the cheek His voice shall change, the limbs he maketh weak: --All this he hath as in a picture wrought-- But lo you, 'tis the seeker and the sought: For her no marvels of the night I make, Nor keep my dream-smiths' drowsy heads awake; Only about her have I shed a glory Whereby she waiteth trembling for a story That she shall play in,--and 'tis not begun: Therefore from rising sun to setting sun There flit before her half-formed images Of what I am, and in all things she sees Something of mine: so single is her heart Filled with the worship of one set apart To be my priestess through all joy and sorrow; So sad and sweet she waits the certain morrow. --And yet sometimes, although her heart be strong, You may well think I tarry over-long: The lonely sweetness of desire grows pain, The reverent life of longing void and vain: Then are my dream-smiths mindful of my lore: They weave a web of sighs and weeping sore, Of languor, and of very helplessness, Of restless wandering, lonely dumb distress, Till like a live thing there she stands and goes, Gazing at Pharamond through all her woes. Then forth they fly, and spread the picture out Before his eyes, and how then may he doubt She knows his life, his deeds, and his desire? How shall he tremble lest her heart should tire? --It is not so; his danger and his war, His days of triumph, and his years of care, She knows them not--yet shall she know some day The love that in his lonely longing lay.

What, Faithful--do I lie, that overshot My dream-web is with that which happeneth not? Nay, nay, believe it not!--love lies alone In loving hearts like fire within the stone: Then strikes my hand, and lo, the flax ablaze! --Those tales of empty striving, and lost days Folk tell of sometimes--never lit my fire Such ruin as this; but Pride and Vain-desire, My counterfeits and foes, have done the deed. Beware, beloved! for they sow the weed Where I the wheat: they meddle where I leave, Take what I scorn, cast by what I receive, Sunder my yoke, yoke that I would dissever, Pull down the house my hands would build for ever.

_Scene: In a Forest among the Hills of a Foreign Land.

KING PHARAMOND, MASTER OLIVER_.

KING PHARAMOND

Stretch forth thine hand, foster-father, I know thee, And fain would be sure I am yet in the world: Where am I now, and what things have befallen? Why am I so weary, and yet have wrought nothing?

MASTER OLIVER

Thou hast been sick, lord, but thy sickness abateth.

KING PHARAMOND

Thou art sad unto weeping: sorry rags are thy raiment, For I see thee a little now: where am I lying?

MASTER OLIVER

On the sere leaves thou liest, lord, deep in the wild wood

KING PHARAMOND

What meaneth all this? was I not Pharamond, A worker of great deeds after my father, Freer of my land from murder and wrong, Fain of folks' love, and no blencher in battle?

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, thou wert king and the kindest under heaven.

KING PHARAMOND

Was there not coming a Queen long desired, From a land over sea, my life to fulfil?

MASTER OLIVER

Belike it was so--but thou leftst it untold of.

KING PHARAMOND

Why weepest thou more yet? O me, which are dreams, Which are deeds of my life mid the things I remember?

MASTER OLIVER

Dost thou remember the great council chamber, O my king, and the lords there gathered together With drawn anxious faces one fair morning of summer, And myself in their midst, who would move thee to speech?

KING PHARAMOND

A brawl I remember, some wordy debating, Whether my love should be brought to behold me. Sick was I at heart, little patience I had.

MASTER OLIVER

Hast thou memory yet left thee, how an hour thereafter We twain lay together in the midst of the pleasance 'Neath the lime-trees, nigh the pear-tree, beholding the conduit?

KING PHARAMOND

Fair things I remember of a long time thereafter-- Of thy love and thy faith and our gladness together

MASTER OLIVER

And the thing that we talked of, wilt thou tell me about it?

KING PHARAMOND

We twain were to wend through the wide world together Seeking my love--O my heart! is she living?

MASTER OLIVER

God wot that she liveth as she hath lived ever.

KING PHARAMOND

Then soon was it midnight, and moonset, as we wended Down to the ship, and the merchant-folks' babble. The oily green waves in the harbour mouth glistened, Windless midnight it was, but the great sweeps were run out, As the cable came rattling mid rich bales on the deck, And slow moved the black side that the ripple was lapping, And I looked and beheld a great city behind us By the last of the moon as the stars were a-brightening, And Pharamond the Freed grew a tale of a singer, With the land of his fathers and the fame he had toiled for. Yet sweet was the scent of the sea-breeze arising; And I felt a chain broken, a sickness put from me As the sails drew, and merchant-folk, gathered together On the poop or the prow, 'gan to move and begone, Till at last 'neath the far-gazing eyes of the steersman By the loitering watch thou and I were left lonely, And we saw by the moon the white horses arising Where beyond the last headland the ocean abode us, Then came the fresh breeze and the sweep of the spray, And the beating of ropes, and the empty sails' thunder, As we shifted our course toward the west in the dawning; Then I slept and I dreamed in the dark I was lying, And I heard her sweet breath and her feet falling near me, And the rustle of her raiment as she sought through the darkness, Sought, I knew not for what, till her arms clung about me With a cry that was hers, that was mine as I wakened.

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, a sweet dream it was, as thy dreams were aforetime.

KING PHARAMOND

Nay not so, my fosterer: thy hope yet shall fail thee If thou lookest to see me turned back from my folly, Lamenting and mocking the life of my longing. Many such have I had, dear dreams and deceitful, When the soul slept a little from all but its search, And lied to the body of bliss beyond telling; Yea, waking had lied still but for life and its torment. Not so were those dreams of the days of my kingship, Slept my body--or died--but my soul was not sleeping, It knew that she touched not this body that trembled At the thought of her body sore trembling to see me; It lied of no bliss as desire swept it onward, Who knows through what sundering space of its prison; It saw, and it heard, and it hoped, and was lonely, Had no doubt and no joy, but the hope that endureth. --Woe's me I am weary: wend we forward to-morrow?

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, well it may be if thou wilt but be patient, And rest thee a little, while time creepeth onward.

KING PHARAMOND

But tell me, has the fourth year gone far mid my sickness?

MASTER OLIVER

Nay, for seven days only didst thou lie here a-dying, As full often I deemed: God be thanked it is over! But rest thee a little, lord; gather strength for the striving.

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, for once again sleep meseems cometh to struggle With the memory of times past: come tell thou, my fosterer, Of the days we have fared through, that dimly before me Are floating, as I look on thy face and its trouble.

MASTER OLIVER

Rememberest thou aught of the lands where we wended?

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, many a thing--as the moonlit warm evening When we stayed by the trees in the Gold-bearing Land, Nigh the gate of the city, where a minstrel was singing That tale of the King and his fate, o'er the cradle Foretold by the wise of the world; that a woman Should win him to love and to woe, and despairing In the last of his youth, the first days of his manhood.

MASTER OLIVER

I remember the evening; but clean gone is the story: Amid deeds great and dreadful, should songs abide by me?

KING PHARAMOND

They shut the young king in a castle, the tale saith, Where never came woman, and never should come, And sadly he grew up and stored with all wisdom, Not wishing for aught in his heart that he had not, Till the time was come round to his twentieth birthday. Then many fair gifts brought his people unto him, Gold and gems, and rich cloths, and rare things and dear-bought, And a book fairly written brought a wise man among them, Called the Praising of Prudence; wherein there was painted The image of Prudence:--and that, what but a woman, E'en she forsooth that the painter found fairest;-- Now surely thou mindest what needs must come after?

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, somewhat indeed I remember the misery Told in that tale, but all mingled it is With the manifold trouble that met us full often, E'en we ourselves. Of nought else hast thou memory?

KING PHARAMOND

Of many such tales that the Southland folk told us, Of many a dream by the sunlight and moonlight; Of music that moved me, of hopes that my heart had; The high days when my love and I held feast together. --But what land is this, and how came we hither?

MASTER OLIVER

Nay, hast thou no memory of our troubles that were many? How thou criedst out for Death and how near Death came to thee? How thou needs must dread war, thou the dreadful in battle? Of the pest in the place where that tale was told to us; And how we fled thence o'er the desert of horror? How weary we wandered when we came to the mountains, All dead but one man of those who went with us? How we came to the sea of the west, and the city, Whose Queen would have kept thee her slave and her lover, And how we escaped by the fair woman's kindness, Who loved thee, and cast her life by for thy welfare? Of the waste of thy life when we sailed from the Southlands, And the sea-thieves fell on us and sold us for servants To that land of hard gems, where thy life's purchase seemed Little better than mine, and we found to our sorrow Whence came the crown's glitter, thy sign once of glory: Then naked a king toiled in sharp rocky crannies, And thy world's fear was grown but the task-master's whip, And thy world's hope the dream in the short dead of night? And hast thou forgotten how again we fled from it, And that fight of despair in the boat on the river, And the sea-strand again and white bellying sails; And the sore drought and famine that on ship-board fell on us, Ere the sea was o'erpast, and we came scarcely living To those keepers of sheep, the poor folk and the kind? Dost thou mind not the merchants who brought us thence northward, And this land that we made in the twilight of dawning? And the city herein where all kindness forsook us, And our bitter bread sought we from house-door to house-door.

KING PHARAMOND

As the shadow of clouds o'er the summer sea sailing Is the memory of all now, and whiles I remember And whiles I forget; and nought it availeth Remembering, forgetting; for a sleep is upon me That shall last a long while:--there thou liest, my fosterer, As thou lay'st a while since ere that twilight of dawning; And I woke and looked forth, and the dark sea, long changeless, Was now at last barred by a dim wall that swallowed The red shapeless moon, and the whole sea was rolling, Unresting, unvaried, as grey as the void is, Toward that wall 'gainst the heavens as though rest were behind it. Still onward we fared and the moon was forgotten, And colder the sea grew and colder the heavens, And blacker the wall grew, and grey, green-besprinkled, And the sky seemed to breach it; and lo at the last Many islands of mountains, and a city amongst them. White clouds of the dawn, not moving yet waning, Wreathed the high peaks about; and the sea beat for ever 'Gainst the green sloping hills and the black rocks and beachless. --Is this the same land that I saw in that dawning? For sure if it is thou at least shalt hear tidings, Though I die ere the dark: but for thee, O my fosterer, Lying there by my side, I had deemed the old vision Had drawn forth the soul from my body to see her. And with joy and fear blended leapt the heart in my bosom, And I cried, "The last land, love; O hast thou abided?" But since then hath been turmoil, and sickness, and slumber, And my soul hath been troubled with dreams that I knew not. And such tangle is round me life fails me to rend it, And the cold cloud of death rolleth onward to hide me.-- --O well am I hidden, who might not be happy! I see not, I hear not, my head groweth heavy. [_Falls back as if sleeping_.

MASTER OLIVER

--O Son, is it sleep that upon thee is fallen? Not death, O my dear one!--speak yet but a little!

KING PHARAMOND (_raising himself again_)

O be glad, foster-father! and those troubles past over,-- Be thou thereby when once more I remember And sit with my maiden and tell her the story, And we pity our past selves as a poet may pity The poor folk he tells of amid plentiful weeping. Hush now! as faint noise of bells over water A sweet sound floats towards me, and blesses my slumber: If I wake never more I shall dream and shall see her. [_Sleeps._

MASTER OLIVER

Is it swooning or sleeping? in what wise shall he waken? --Nay, no sound I hear save the forest wind wailing. Who shall help us to-day save our yoke-fellow Death? Yet fain would I die mid the sun and the flowers; For a tomb seems this yew-wood ere yet we are dead. And its wailing wind chilleth my yearning for time past, And my love groweth cold in this dusk of the daytime. What will be? is worse than death drawing anear us? Flit past, dreary day! come, night-tide and resting! Come, to-morrow's uprising with light and new tidings! --Lo, Lord, I have borne all with no bright love before me; Wilt thou break all I had and then give me no blessing?

THE MUSIC

_LOVE IS ENOUGH: through the trouble and tangle From yesterdays dawning to yesterday's night I sought through the vales where the prisoned winds wrangle, Till, wearied and bleeding, at end of the light I met him, and we wrestled, and great was my might.

O great was my joy, though no rest was around me, Though mid wastes of the world were we twain all alone, For methought that I conquered and he knelt and he crowned me, And the driving rain ceased, and the wind ceased to moan, And through clefts of the clouds her planet outshone.

O through clefts of the clouds 'gan the world to awaken, And the bitter wind piped, and down drifted the rain, And I was alone--and yet not forsaken, For the grass was untrodden except by my pain: With a Shadow of the Night had I wrestled in vain.

And the Shadow of the Night and not Love was departed; I was sore, I was weary, yet Love lived to seek; So I scaled the dark mountains, and wandered sad-hearted Over wearier wastes, where e'en sunlight was bleak, With no rest of the night for my soul waxen weak._

_With no rest of the night; for I waked mid a story Of a land wherein Love is the light and the lord, Where my tale shall be heard, and my wounds gain a glory, And my tears be a treasure to add to the hoard Of pleasure laid up for his people's reward.

Ah, pleasure laid up! haste thou onward and listen, For the wind of the waste has no music like this, And not thus do the rocks of the wilderness glisten: With the host of his faithful through sorrow and bliss My Lord goeth forth now, and knows me for his._

_Enter before the curtain LOVE, with a cup of bitter drink and his hands bloody_.

LOVE

O Pharamond, I knew thee brave and strong, And yet how might'st thou live to bear this wrong? --A wandering-tide of three long bitter years, Solaced at whiles by languor of soft tears, By dreams self-wrought of night and sleep and sorrow, Holpen by hope of tears to be to-morrow: Yet all, alas, but wavering memories; No vision of her hands, her lips, her eyes, Has blessed him since he seemed to see her weep, No wandering feet of hers beset his sleep.

Woe's me then! am I cruel, or am I grown The scourge of Fate, lest men forget to moan? What!--is there blood upon these hands of mine? Is venomed anguish mingled with my wine? --Blood there may be, and venom in the cup; But see, Beloved, how the tears well up From my grieved heart my blinded eyes to grieve, And in the kindness of old days believe! So after all then we must weep to-day-- --We, who behold at ending of the way, These lovers tread a bower they may not miss Whose door my servant keepeth, Earthly Bliss: There in a little while shall they abide, Nor each from each their wounds of wandering hide, But kiss them, each on each, and find it sweet, That wounded so the world they may not meet. --Ah, truly mine! since this your tears may move, The very sweetness of rewarded love! Ah, truly mine, that tremble as ye hear The speech of loving lips grown close and dear; --Lest other sounds from other doors ye hearken, Doors that the wings of Earthly Anguish darken.

_Scene: On a Highway in a Valley near the last, with a Mist over all things._

_KING PHARAMOND, MASTER OLIVER_.

KING PHARAMOND

Hold a while, Oliver! my limbs are grown weaker Than when in the wood I first rose to my feet. There was hope in my heart then, and now nought but sickness; There was sight in my eyes then, and now nought but blindness. Good art thou, hope, while the life yet tormenteth, But a better help now have I gained than thy goading. Farewell, O life, wherein once I was merry! O dream of the world, I depart now, and leave thee A little tale added to thy long-drawn-out story. Cruel wert thou, O Love, yet have thou and I conquered. --Come nearer, O fosterer, come nearer and kiss me, Bid farewell to thy fosterling while the life yet is in me, For this farewell to thee is my last word meseemeth. [_He lies down and sleeps_.

MASTER OLIVER