Chapter 12

Or else his name upon the same wind borne As smote the world with winding of his horn, His hood pulled back, his banner flung abroad, A gleam of sunshine on his half-drawn sword. --Well, he and you and I have little skill To know the secret of Fate's worldly will; Yet can I guess, and you belike may guess, Yea, and e'en he mid all his lordliness, That much may be forgot in three years' space Outside my kingdom.--Gone his godlike face, His calm voice, and his kindness, half akin Amid a blind folk to rebuke of sin, Men 'gin to think that he was great and good, But hindered them from doing as they would, And ere they have much time to think on it Between their teeth another has the bit, And forth they run with Force and Fate behind. --Indeed his sword might somewhat heal the blind, Were I not, and the softness I have given; With me for him have hope and glory striven In other days when my tale was beginning; But sweet life lay beyond then for the winning, And now what sweetness?--blood of men to spill Who once believed him God to heal their ill: To break the gate and storm adown the street Where once his coming flower-crowned girls did greet: To deem the cry come from amidst his folk When his own country tongue should curse his stroke-- Nay, he shall leave to better men or worse His people's conquered homage and their curse.

So forth they go, his Oliver and he, One thing at least to learn across the sea, That whatso needless shadows life may borrow Love is enough amidst of joy or sorrow.

Love is enough--My Faithful, in your eyes I see the thought, Our Lord is overwise Some minutes past in what concerns him not, And us no more: is all his tale forgot? --Ah, Well-beloved, I fell asleep e'en now, And in my sleep some enemy did show Sad ghosts of bitter things, and names unknown For things I know--a maze with shame bestrown And ruin and death; till e'en myself did seem A wandering curse amidst a hopeless dream. --Yet see! I live, no older than of old, What tales soe'er of changing Time has told. And ye who cling to all my hand shall give, Sorrow or joy, no less than I shall live.

_Scene: Before KING PHARAMOND'S Palace._

KING PHARAMOND

A long time it seems since this morn when I met them, The men of my household and the great man they honour: Better counsel in king-choosing might I have given Had ye bided my coming back hither, my people: And yet who shall say or foretell what Fate meaneth? For that man there, the stranger, Honorius men called him, I account him the soul to King Theobald's body, And the twain are one king; and a goodly king may be For this people, who grasping at peace and good days, Careth little who giveth them that which they long for. Yet what gifts have I given them; I who this even Turn away with grim face from the fight that should try me? It is just then, I have lost: lie down, thou supplanter, In thy tomb in the minster when thy life is well over, And the well-carven image of latten laid o'er thee Shall live on as thou livedst, and be worthy the praising Whereby folk shall remember the days of thy plenty. Praising Theobald the Good and the peace that he brought them, But I--I shall live too, though no graven image On the grass of the hillside shall brave the storms' beating; Though through days of thy plenty the people remember As a dim time of war the past days of King Pharamond; Yet belike as time weareth, and folk turn back a little To the darkness where dreams lie and live on for ever, Even there shall be Pharamond who failed not in battle, But feared to overcome his folk who forgot him, And turned back and left them a tale for the telling, A song for the singing, that yet in some battle May grow to remembrance and rend through the ruin As my sword rent it through in the days gone for ever. So, like Enoch of old, I was not, for God took me. --But lo, here is Oliver, all draws to an ending-- [_Enter OLIVER._ Well met, my Oliver! the clocks strike the due minute, What news hast thou got?--thou art moody of visage.

MASTER OLIVER

In one word, 'tis battle; the days we begun with Must begin once again with the world waxen baser.

KING PHARAMOND

Ah! battle it may be: but surely no river Runneth back to its springing: so the world has grown wiser And Theobald the Constable is king in our stead, And contenteth the folk who cried, "Save us, King Pharamond!"

MASTER OLIVER

Hast thou heard of his councillor men call Honorius? Folk hold him in fear, and in love the tale hath it.

KING PHARAMOND.

Much of him have I heard: nay, more, I have seen him With the men of my household, and the great man they honour. They were faring afield to some hunt or disporting, Few faces were missing, and many I saw there I was fain of in days past at fray or at feasting; My heart yearned towards them--but what--days have changed them, They must wend as they must down the way they are driven.

MASTER OLIVER

Yet e'en in these days there remaineth a remnant That is faithful and fears not the flap of thy banner.

KING PHARAMOND

And a fair crown is faith, as thou knowest, my father; Fails the world, yet that faileth not; love hath begot it, Sweet life and contentment at last springeth from it; No helping these need whose hearts still are with me, Nay, rather they handle the gold rod of my kingdom.

MASTER OLIVER

Yet if thou leadest forth once more as aforetime In faith of great deeds will I follow thee, Pharamond, And thy latter end yet shall be counted more glorious Than thy glorious beginning; and great shall my gain be If e'en I must die ere the day of thy triumph.

KING PHARAMOND

Dear is thy heart mid the best and the brightest, Yet not against these my famed blade will I bare.

MASTER OLIVER

Nay, what hast thou heard of their babble and baseness?

KING PHARAMOND

Full enough, friend--content thee, my lips shall not speak it, The same hour wherein they have said that I love thee. Suffice it, folk need me no more: the deliverance, Dear bought in the days past, their hearts have forgotten, But faintly their dim eyes a feared face remember, Their dull ears remember a stern voice they hated. What then, shall I waken their fear and their hatred, And then wait till fresh terror their memory awaketh, With the semblance of love that they have not to give me? Nay, nay, they are safe from my help and my justice, And I--I am freed, and fresh waxeth my manhood.

MASTER OLIVER

It may not be otherwise since thou wilt have it, Yet I say it again, if thou shake out thy banner, Some brave men will be borne unto earth peradventure, Many dastards go trembling to meet their due doom, And then shall come fair days and glory upon me And on all men on earth for thy fame, O King Pharamond.

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, I was king once; the songs sung o'er my cradle, Were ballads of battle and deeds of my fathers: Yea, I was King Pharamond; in no carpeted court-room Bore they the corpse of my father before me; But on grass trodden grey by the hoofs of the war-steeds Did I kneel to his white lips and sword-cloven bosom, As from clutch of dead fingers his notched sword I caught; For a furlong before us the spear-wood was glistening. I was king of this city when here where we stand now Amidst a grim silence I mustered all men folk Who might yet bear a weapon; and no brawl of kings was it That brought war on the city, and silenced the markets And cumbered the haven with crowd of masts sailless, But great countries arisen for our ruin and downfall. I was king of the land, when on all roads were riding The legates of proud princes to pray help and give service-- Yea, I was a great king at last as I sat there, Peace spread far about me, and the love of all people To my palace gates wafted by each wind of the heavens. --And where sought I all this? with what price did I buy it? Nay, for thou knowest that this fair fame and fortune Came stealing soft-footed to give their gifts to me: And shall I, who was king once, grow griping and weary In unclosing the clenched fists of niggards who hold them, These gifts that I had once, and, having, scarce heeded? Nay, one thing I have sought, I have sought and have found it, And thou, friend, hast helped me and seest me made happy.

MASTER OLIVER

Farewell then the last time, O land of my fathers! Farewell, feeble hopes that I once held so mighty. Yet no more have I need of but this word that thou sayest, And nought have I to do but to serve thee, my master. In what land of the world shall we dwell now henceforward?

KING PHARAMOND

In the land where my love our returning abideth, The poor land and kingless of the shepherding people, There is peace there, and all things this land are unlike to.

MASTER OLIVER

Before the light waneth will I seek for a passage, Since for thee and for me the land groweth perilous: Yea, o'er sweet smell the flowers, too familiar the folk seem, Fain I grow of the salt seas, since all things are over here.

KING PHARAMOND

I am fain of one hour's farewell in the twilight, To the times I lament not: times worser than these times, To the times that I blame not, that brought on times better-- Let us meet in our hostel--be brave mid thy kindness, Let thy heart say, as mine saith, that fair life awaits us.

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, no look in thy face is of ruin, O my master; Thou art king yet, unchanged yet, nor is my heart changing; The world hath no chances to conquer thy glory. [_Exit OLIVER_

KING PHARAMOND

Full fair were the world if such faith were remembered. If such love as thy love had its due, O my fosterer. Forgive me that giftless from me thou departest, With thy gifts in my hands left. I might not but take them; Thou wilt not begrudge me, I will not forget thee.-- --Long fall the shadows and night draws on apace now, Day sighs as she sinketh back on to her pillow, And her last waking breath is full sweet with the rose. --In such wise depart thou, O daylight of life, Loved once for the shadows that told of the dreamtide; Loved still for the longing whereby I remember That I was lone once in the world of thy making; Lone wandering about on thy blind way's confusion, The maze of thy paths that yet led me to love. All is passed now, and passionless, faint are ye waxen, Ye hours of blind seeking full of pain clean forgotten. If it were not that e'en now her eyes I behold not. That the way lieth long to her feet that would find me, That the green seas delay yet her fair arms enfolding, That the long leagues of air will not bear the cry hither Wherewith she is crying. Come, love, for I love thee. [_A trumpet sounds_. Hark! O days grown a dream of the dream ye have won me, Do ye draw forth the ghosts of old deeds that were nothing, That the sound of my trumpet floats down on the even? What shows will ye give me to grace my departure? Hark!--the beat of the horse-hoofs, the murmur of men folk! Am I riding from battle amidst of my faithful, Wild hopes in my heart of the days that are coming; Wild longing unsatisfied clinging about me; Full of faith that the summer sun elsewhere is ripening The fruit grown a pain for my parched lips to think of? --Come back, thou poor Pharamond! come back for my pity! Far afield must thou fare before the rest cometh; In far lands are they raising the walls of thy prison, Forging wiles for waylaying, and fair lies for lulling, The faith and the fire of the heart the world hateth. In thy way wax streams fordless, and choked passes pathless, Fever lurks in the valley, and plague passeth over The sand of the plain, and with venom and fury Fulfilled are the woods that thou needs must wend through: In the hollow of the mountains the wind is a-storing Till the keel that shall carry thee hoisteth her sail; War is crouching unseen round the lands thou shalt come to, With thy sword cast away and thy cunning forgotten. Yea, and e'en the great lord, the great Love of thy fealty, He who goadeth thee on, weaveth nets to cast o'er thee. --And thou knowest it all, as thou ridest there lonely, With the tangles and toils of to-morrow's uprising Making ready meanwhile for more days of thy kingship. Faithful heart hadst thou, Pharamond, to hold fast thy treasure! I am fain of thee: surely no shame hath destained thee; Come hither, for thy face all unkissed would I look on! --Stand we close, for here cometh King Theobald from the hunting.

_Enter KING THEOBALD, HONORIUS, and the people._

KING THEOBALD

A fair day, my folk, have I had in your fellowship, And as fair a day cometh to-morrow to greet us, When the lord of the Golden Land bringeth us tribute: Grace the gifts of my good-hap with your presence, I pray you.

THE PEOPLE

God save Theobald the Good, the king of his people!

HONORIUS (_aside_)

Yea, save him! and send the Gold lords away satisfied, That the old sword of Pharamond, lying asleep there In the new golden scabbard, will yet bite as aforetime! [_They pass away into the palace court._

KING PHARAMOND

Troop past in the twilight, O pageant that served me, Pour through the dark archway to the light that awaits you In the chamber of daïs where I once sat among you! Like the shadows ye are to the shadowless glory Of the banquet-hall blazing with gold and light go ye: There blink for a little at your king in his bravery, Then bear forth your faith to the blackness of night-tide, And fall asleep fearless of memories of Pharamond, And in dim dreams dream haply that ye too are kings --For your dull morrow cometh that is as to-day is.

Pass on in contentment, O king, I discerned not Through the cloak of your blindness that saw nought beside thee, That feared for no pain and craved for no pleasure! Pass on, dead-alive, to thy place! thou art worthy: Nor shalt thou grow wearier than well-worshipped idol That the incense winds round in the land of the heathen, While the early and latter rains fall as God listeth, And on earth that God loveth the sun riseth daily. --Well art thou: for wert thou the crown of all rulers, No field shouldst thou ripen, free no frost-bounden river, Loose no heart from its love, turn no soul to salvation, Thrust no tempest aside, stay no plague in mid ocean, Yet grow unto thinking that thou wert God's brother, Till loveless death gripped thee unloved, unlamented. --Pass forth, weary King, bear thy crown high to-night! Then fall asleep, fearing no cry from times bygone, But in dim dreams dream haply that thou art desired,-- --For thy dull morrow cometh, and is as to-day is.

Ah, hold! now there flashes a link in the archway, And its light falleth full on thy face, O Honorius, And I know thee the land's lord, and far away fadeth My old life of a king at the sight, O thou stranger! For I know thee full surely the foe the heart hateth For that barren fulfilment of all that it lacketh. I may turn away praising that those days long departed Departed without thee--how long had I piped then Or e'er thou hadst danced, how long were my weeping Ere thou hadst lamented!--What dear thing desired Would thy heart e'er have come to know why I craved for! To what crime I could think of couldst thou be consenting? Yet thou--well I know thee most meet for a ruler-- --Thou lovest not mercy, yet shalt thou be merciful; Thou joy'st not in justice, yet just shall thy dooms be; No deep hell thou dreadest, nor dream'st of high heaven; No gleam of love leads thee: no gift men may give thee; For no kiss, for no comfort the lone way thou wearest, A blind will without life, lest thou faint ere the end come. --Yea, folly it was when I called thee my foeman; From thee may I turn now with sword in the scabbard Without shame or misgiving, because God hath made thee A ruler for manfolk: pass on then unpitied! There is darkness between us till the measure's fulfilment. Amidst singing thou hear'st not, fair sights that thou seest not, Think this eve on the deeds thou shalt set in men's hands To bring fair days about for which thou hast no blessing. Then fall asleep fearless of dead days that return not; Yet dream if thou may'st that thou yet hast a hope! --For thy dull morrow cometh and is as to-day is.

O sweet wind of the night, wherewith now ariseth The red moon through the garden boughs frail, overladen, O faint murmuring tongue of the dream-tide triumphant, That wouldst tell me sad tales in the times long passed over, If somewhat I sicken and turn to your freshness, From no shame it is of earth's tangle and trouble, And deeds done for nought, and change that forgetteth; But for hope of the lips that I kissed on the sea-strand, But for hope of the hands that clung trembling about me,-- And the breast that was heaving with words driven backward, By longing I longed for, by pain of departing, By my eyes that knew her pain, my pain that might speak not-- Yea, for hope of the morn when the sea is passed over, And for hope of the next moon the elm-boughs shall tangle; And fresh dawn, and fresh noon, and fresh night of desire Still following and changing, with nothing forgotten; For hope of new wonder each morn, when I, waking Behold her awaking eyes turning to seek me; For hope of fresh marvels each time the world changing Shall show her feet moving in noontide to meet me; For hope of fresh bliss, past all words, half forgotten, When her voice shall break through the hushed blackness of night. --O sweet wind of the summer-tide, broad moon a-whitening, Bear me witness to Love, and the world he has fashioned! It shall change, we shall change, as through rain and through sunshine The green rod of the rose-bough to blossoming changeth: Still lieth in wait with his sweet tale untold of Each long year of Love, and the first scarce beginneth, Wherein I have hearkened to the word God hath whispered, Why the fair world was fashioned mid wonders uncounted. Breathe soft, O sweet wind, for surely she speaketh: _Weary I wax, and my life is a-waning; Life lapseth fast, and I faint for thee, Pharamond,_ _What are thou lacking if Love no more sufficeth?_ --Weary not, sweet, as I weary to meet thee; Look not on the long way but my eyes that were weeping Faint not in love as thy Pharamond fainteth!-- --Yea, Love were enough if thy lips were not lacking.

THE MUSIC

_LOVE IS ENOUGH: ho ye who seek saving, Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it, And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving; These know the Cup with the roses around it; _These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it: Cry out, the World heedeth not, "Love, lead us home!"

He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward; Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward: Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble! Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! Cry out, for he heedeth, "O Love, lead us home!"

O hearken the words of his voice of compassion: "Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion! As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken, But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken, As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home._

"Come--pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending! Come--fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting! Come--change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! Come--no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting, But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting! Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!"

Is he gone? was he with us?--ho ye who seek savings Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it? Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving; Here is the Cup with the roses around it; The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it: Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home._

_Enter before the curtain, LOVE, holding a crown and palm-branch._

LOVE

If love be real, if I whom ye behold Be aught but glittering wings and gown of gold, Be aught but singing of an ancient song Made sweet by record of dead stingless wrong, How shall we part at that sad garden's end Through which the ghosts of mighty lovers wend? How shall ye faint and fade with giftless hands Who once held fast the life of all the lands? --Beloved, if so much as this I say, I know full well ye need it not to-day, As with full hearts and glorious hope ablaze Through the thick veil of what shall be ye gaze, And lacking words to name the things ye see Turn back with yearning speechless mouths to me.-- --Ah, not to-day--and yet the time has been When by the bed my wings have waved unseen Wherein my servant lay who deemed me dead; My tears have dropped anigh the hapless head Deep buried in the grass and crying out For heaven to fall, and end despair or doubt: Lo, for such days I speak and say, believe That from these hands reward ye shall receive. --Reward of what?--Life springing fresh again.-- Life of delight?--I say it not--Of pain? It may be--Pain eternal?--Who may tell? Yet pain of Heaven, beloved, and not of Hell. --What sign, what sign, ye cry, that so it is? The sign of Earth, its sorrow and its bliss, Waxing and waning, steadfastness and change; Too full of life that I should think it strange Though death hang over it; too sure to die But I must deem its resurrection nigh. --In what wise, ah, in what wise shall it be? How shall the bark that girds the winter tree Babble about the sap that sleeps beneath, And tell the fashion of its life and death? How shall my tongue in speech man's longing wrought Tell of the things whereof he knoweth nought? Should I essay it might ye understand How those I love shall share my promised land! Then must I speak of little things as great, Then must I tell of love and call it hate, Then must I bid you seek what all men shun, Reward defeat, praise deeds that were not done.

Have faith, and crave and suffer, and all ye The many mansions of my house shall see In all content: cast shame and pride away, Let honour gild the world's eventless day, Shrink not from change, and shudder not at crime, Leave lies to rattle in the sieve of Time! Then, whatsoe'er your workday gear shall stain, Of me a wedding-garment shall ye gain No God shall dare cry out at, when at last Your time of ignorance is overpast; A wedding garment, and a glorious seat Within my household, e'en as yet be meet.

Fear not, I say again; believe it true That not as men mete shall I measure you: This calm strong soul, whose hidden tale found out Has grown a spell to conquer fear and doubt, Is he not mine? yea, surely--mine no less This well mocked clamourer out of bitterness: The strong one's strength, from me he had it not; Let the world keep it that his love forgot; The weak one's weakness was enough to save, Let the world hide it in his honour's grave! For whatso folly is, or wisdom was Across my threshold naked all must pass.

Fear not; no vessel to dishonour born Is in my house; there all shall well adorn The walls whose stones the lapse of Time has laid. Behold again; this life great stories made; All cast aside for love, and then and then Love filched away; the world an adder-den, And all folk foes: and one, the one desire-- --How shall we name it?--grown a poisoned fire, God once, God still, but God of wrong and shame A lying God, a curse without a name. So turneth love to hate, the wise world saith. --Folly--I say 'twixt love and hate lies death, They shall not mingle: neither died this love, But through a dreadful world all changed must move With earthly death and wrong, and earthly woe The only deeds its hand might find to do. Surely ye deem that this one shall abide Within the murmuring palace of my pride.