Chapter 13

But lo another, how shall he have praise? Through flame and thorns I led him many days And nought he shrank, but smiled and followed close, Till in his path the shade of hate arose 'Twixt him and his desire: with heart that burned For very love back through the thorns he turned, His wounds, his tears, his prayers without avail Forgotten now, nor e'en for him a tale; Because for love's sake love he cast aside. --Lo, saith the World, a heart well satisfied With what I give, a barren love forgot-- --Draw near me, O my child, and heed them not! The world thou lovest, e'en my world it is, Thy faithful hands yet reach out for my bliss, Thou seest me in the night and in the day Thou canst not deem that I can go astray.

No further, saith the world 'twixt Heaven and Hell Than 'twixt these twain.--My faithful, heed it well! For on the great day when the hosts are met On Armageddon's plain by spears beset, This is my banner with my sign thereon, That is my sword wherewith my deeds are done. But how shall tongue of man tell all the tale Of faithful hearts who overcome or fail, But at the last fail nowise to be mine. In diverse ways they drink the fateful wine Those twain drank mid the lulling of the storm Upon the Irish Sea, when love grown warm Kindled and blazed, and lit the days to come, The hope and joy and death that led them home. --In diverse ways; yet having drunk, be sure The flame thus lighted ever shall endure, So my feet trod the grapes whereby it glowed.

Lo, Faithful, lo, the door of my abode Wide open now, and many pressing in That they the lordship of the World may win! Hark to the murmuring round my bannered car, And gird your weapons to you for the war! For who shall say how soon the day shall be Of that last fight that swalloweth up the sea? Fear not, be ready! forth the banners go, And will not turn again till every foe Is overcome as though they had not been. Then, with your memories ever fresh and green, Come back within the House of Love to dwell; For ye--the sorrow that no words might tell, Your tears unheeded, and your prayers made nought Thus and no otherwise through all have wrought, That if, the while ye toiled and sorrowed most The sound of your lamenting seemed all lost, And from my land no answer came again, It was because of that your care and pain A house was building, and your bitter sighs Came hither as toil-helping melodies, And in the mortar of our gem-built wall Your tears were mingled mid the rise and fall Of golden trowels tinkling in the hands Of builders gathered wide from all the lands.-- --Is the house finished? Nay, come help to build Walls that the sun of sorrow once did gild Through many a bitter morn and hopeless eve, That so at last in bliss ye may believe; Then rest with me, and turn no more to tears, For then no more by days and months and years, By hours of pain come back, and joy passed o'er We measure time that was--and is no more.

JOAN

The afternoon is waxen grey Now these fair shapes have passed away; And I, who should be merry now A-thinking of the glorious show, Feel somewhat sad, and wish it were To-morrow's mid-morn fresh and fair About the babble of our stead.

GILES

Content thee, sweet, for nowise dead Within our hearts the story is; It shall come back to better bliss On many an eve of happy spring, Or midst of summer's flourishing. Or think--some noon of autumn-tide Thou wandering on the turf beside The chestnut-wood may'st find thy song Fade out, as slow thou goest along, Until at last thy feet stay there As though thou bidedst something fair, And hearkenedst for a coming foot; While down the hole unto the root The long leaves flutter loud to thee The fall of spiky nuts shall be, And creeping wood-wale's noise above; For thou wouldst see the wings of Love.

JOAN

Or some November eve belike Thou wandering back with bow and tyke From wolf-chase on the wind-swept hill Shall find that narrow vale and still, And Pharamond and Azalais Amidmost of that grassy place Where we twain met last year, whereby Red-shafted pine-trunks rise on high, And changeless now from year to year, What change soever brought them there, Great rocks are scattered all around: --Wouldst thou be frightened at the sound Of their soft speech? So long ago It was since first their love did grow.

GILES

Maybe: for e'en now when he turned, His heart's scorn and his hate outburned, And love the more for that ablaze, I shuddered, e'en as in the place High up the mountains, where men say Gods dwelt in time long worn away.

JOAN

At Love's voice did I tremble too, And his bright wings, for all I knew He was a comely minstrel-lad, In dainty golden raiment clad.

GILES

Yea, yea; for though to-day he spake Words measured for our pleasure's sake, From well-taught mouth not overwise, Yet did that fount of speech arise In days that ancient folk called old. O long ago the tale was told To mighty men of thought and deed, Who kindled hearkening their own need, Set forth by long-forgotten men, E'en as we kindle: praise we then Tales of old time, whereby alone The fairness of the world is shown.

JOAN

A longing yet about me clings, As I had hearkened half-told things; And better than the words make plain I seem to know these lovers twain. Let us go hence, lest there should fall Something that yet should mar it all.

GILES

Hist--Master Mayor is drawn anigh; The Empress speaketh presently.

THE MAYOR

May it please you, your Graces, that I be forgiven, Over-bold, over-eager to bear forth my speech, In which yet there speaketh the Good Town, beseeching That ye tell us of your kindness if ye be contented With this breath of old tales, and shadowy seemings Of old times departed.--Overwise for our pleasure May the rhyme be perchance; but rightly we knew not How to change it and fashion it fresh into fairness. And once more, your Graces, we pray your forgiveness For the boldness Love gave us to set forth this story; And again, that I say, all that Pharamond sought for, Through sick dreams and weariness, now have ye found, Mid health and in wealth, and in might to uphold us; Midst our love who shall deem you our hope and our treasure. Well all is done now; so forget ye King Pharamond, And Azalais his love, if we set it forth foully, That fairly set forth were a sweet thing to think of In the season of summer betwixt labour and sleeping.

THE EMPEROR

Fair Master Mayor, and City well beloved, Think of us twain as folk no little moved By this your kindness; and believe it not That Pharamond the Freed shall be forgot, By us at least: yea, more than ye may think, This summer dream into our hearts shall sink. Lo, Pharamond longed and toiled, nor toiled in vain, But fame he won: he longed and toiled again, And Love he won: 'twas a long time ago, And men did swiftly what we now do slow, And he, a great man full of gifts and grace, Wrought out a twofold life in ten years' space. Ah, fair sir, if for me reward come first, Yet will I hope that ye have seen the worst Of that my kingcraft, that I yet shall earn Some part of that which is so long to learn. Now of your gentleness I pray you bring This knife and girdle, deemed a well-wrought thing; And a king's thanks, whatso they be of worth, To him who Pharamond this day set forth In worthiest wise, and made a great man live, Giving me greater gifts than I may give.

THE EMPRESS

And therewithal I pray you, Master Mayor, Unto the seeming Azalais to bear This chain, that she may wear it for my sake, The memory of my pleasure to awake. [_Exit MAYOR_.

THE EMPEROR

Gifts such as kings give, sweet! Fain had I been To see him face to face and his fair Queen, And thank him friendly; asking him maybe How the world looks to one with love left free: It may not be, for as thine eyes say, sweet, Few folk as friends shall unfreed Pharamond meet. So is it: we are lonelier than those twain, Though from their vale they ne'er depart again.

THE EMPRESS

Shall I lament it, love, since thou and I By all the seeming pride are drawn more nigh? Lo, love, our toil-girthed garden of desire, How of its changeless sweetness may we tire, While round about the storm is in the boughs And careless change amid the turmoil ploughs The rugged fields we needs must stumble o'er, Till the grain ripens that shall change no more.

THE EMPEROR

Yea, and an omen fair we well may deem This dreamy shadowing of ancient dream, Of what our own hearts long for on the day When the first furrow cleaves the fallow grey.

THE EMPRESS

O fair it is! let us go forth, my sweet, And be alone amid the babbling street; Yea, so alone that scarce the hush of night May add one joy unto our proved delight.

GILES

Fair lovers were they: I am fain To see them both ere long again; Yea, nigher too, if it might be.

JOAN

Too wide and dim, love, lies the sea, That we should look on face to face This Pharamond and Azalais. Those only from the dead come back Who left behind them what they lack.

GILES

Nay, I was asking nought so strange, Since long ago their life did change: The seeming King and Queen I meant. And e'en now 'twas my full intent To bid them home to us straightway, And crown the joyance of to-day. He may be glad to see my face, He first saw mid that waggon race When the last barley-sheaf came home.

JOAN

A great joy were it, should they come. They are dear lovers, sure enough. He deems the summer air too rough To touch her kissed cheek, howsoe'er Through winter mountains they must fare, He would bid spring new flowers to make Before her feet, that oft must ache With flinty driftings of the waste. And sure is she no more abased Before the face of king and lord, Than if the very Pharamond's sword Her love amid the hosts did wield Above the dinted lilied shield: O bid them home with us, and we Their scholars for a while will be In many a lesson of sweet lore To learn love's meaning more and more.

GILES

And yet this night of all the year Happier alone perchance they were, And better so belike would seem The glorious lovers of the dream: So let them dream on lip to lip: Yet will I gain his fellowship Ere many days be o'er my head, And they shall rest them in our stead; And there we four awhile shall dwell As though the world were nought but well, And that old time come back again When nought in all the earth had pain. The sun through lime-boughs where we dine Upon my father's cup shall shine; The vintage of the river-bank, That ten years since the sunbeams drank, Shall fill the mazer bowl carved o'er With naked shepherd-folk of yore. Dainty should seem worse fare than ours As o'er the close-thronged garden flowers The wind comes to us, and the bees Complain overhead mid honey-trees.

JOAN

Wherewith shall we be garlanded?

GILES

For thee the buds of roses red.

JOAN

For her white roses widest blown.

GILES

The jasmine boughs for Pharamond's crown.

JOAN

And sops-in-wine for thee, fair love.

GILES

Surely our feast shall deeper move The kind heart of the summer-tide Than many a day of pomp and pride; And as by moon and stars well lit Our kissing lips shall finish it, Full satisfied our hearts shall be With that well-won felicity.

JOAN

Ah, sweetheart, be not all so sure: Love, who beyond all worlds shall dure, Mid pleading sweetness still doth keep A goad to stay his own from sleep; And I shall long as thou shalt long For unknown cure of unnamed wrong As from our happy feast we pass Along the rose-strewn midnight grass-- --Praise Love who will not be forgot!

GILES

Yea, praise we Love who sleepeth not! --Come, o'er much gold mine eyes have seen, And long now for the pathway green, And rose-hung ancient walls of grey Yet warm with sunshine gone away.

JOAN

Yea, full fain would I rest thereby, And watch the flickering martins fly About the long eave-bottles red And the clouds lessening overhead: E'en now meseems the cows are come Unto the grey gates of our home, And low to hear the milking-pail: The peacock spreads abroad his tail Against the sun, as down the lane The milkmaids pass the moveless wain, And stable door, where the roan team An hour agone began to dream Over the dusty oats.-- Come, love, Noises of river and of grove And moving things in field and stall And night-birds' whistle shall be all Of the world's speech that we shall hear By then we come the garth anear: For then the moon that hangs aloft These thronged streets, lightless now and soft, Unnoted, yea, e'en like a shred Of yon wide white cloud overhead, Sharp in the dark star-sprinkled sky Low o'er the willow boughs shall lie; And when our chamber we shall gain Eastward our drowsy eyes shall strain If yet perchance the dawn may show. --O Love, go with us as we go, And from the might of thy fair hand Cast wide about the blooming land The seed of such-like tales as this! --O Day, change round about our bliss, Come, restful night, when day is done! Come, dawn, and bring a fairer one!

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