Chapter 6
This life and her to know For Spirit: with awakenedness of glee To feel stern joy her origin: not he The child of woe.
XXXIV
But that the senses still Usurp the station of their issue mind, He would have burst the chrysalis of the blind: As yet he will;
XXXV
As yet he will, she prays, Yet will when his distempered devil of Self;— The glutton for her fruits, the wily elf In shifting rays;—
XXXVI
That captain of the scorned; The coveter of life in soul and shell, The fratricide, the thief, the infidel, The hoofed and horned;—
XXXVII
He singularly doomed To what he execrates and writhes to shun;— When fire has passed him vapour to the sun, And sun relumed,
XXXVIII
Then shall the horrid pall Be lifted, and a spirit nigh divine, ‘Live in thy offspring as I live in mine,’ Will hear her call.
XXXIX
Whence looks he on a land Whereon his labour is a carven page; And forth from heritage to heritage Nought writ on sand.
XL
His fables of the Above, And his gapped readings of the crown and sword, The hell detested and the heaven adored, The hate, the love,
XLI
The bright wing, the black hoof, He shall peruse, from Reason not disjoined, And never unfaith clamouring to be coined To faith by proof.
XLII
She her just Lord may view, Not he, her creature, till his soul has yearned With all her gifts to reach the light discerned Her spirit through.
XLIIII
Then in him time shall run As in the hour that to young sunlight crows; And—‘If thou hast good faith it can repose,’ She tells her son.
XLIV
Meanwhile on him, her chief Expression, her great word of life, looks she; Twi-minded of him, as the waxing tree, Or dated leaf.
A BALLAD OF FAIR LADIES IN REVOLT
I
SEE the sweet women, friend, that lean beneath The ever-falling fountain of green leaves Round the white bending stem, and like a wreath Of our most blushful flower shine trembling through, To teach philosophers the thirst of thieves: Is one for me? is one for you?
II
—Fair sirs, we give you welcome, yield you place, And you shall choose among us which you will, Without the idle pastime of the chase, If to this treaty you can well agree: To wed our cause, and its high task fulfil. He who’s for us, for him are we!
III
—Most gracious ladies, nigh when light has birth, A troop of maids, brown as burnt heather-bells, And rich with life as moss-roots breathe of earth In the first plucking of them, past us flew To labour, singing rustic ritornells: Had they a cause? are they of you?
IV
—Sirs, they are as unthinking armies are To thoughtful leaders, and our cause is theirs. When they know men they know the state of war: But now they dream like sunlight on a sea, And deem you hold the half of happy pairs. He who’s for us, for him are we!
V
—Ladies, I listened to a ring of dames; Judicial in the robe and wig; secure As venerated portraits in their frames; And they denounced some insurrection new Against sound laws which keep you good and pure. Are you of them? are they of you?
VI
—Sirs, they are of us, as their dress denotes, And by as much: let them together chime: It is an ancient bell within their throats, Pulled by an aged ringer; with what glee Befits the yellow yesterdays of time. He who’s for us, for him are we!
VII
—Sweet ladies, you with beauty, you with wit; Dowered of all favours and all blessed things Whereat the ruddy torch of Love is lit; Wherefore this vain and outworn strife renew, Which stays the tide no more than eddy-rings? Who is for love must be for you.
VIII
—The manners of the market, honest sirs, ’Tis hard to quit when you behold the wares. You flatter us, or perchance our milliners You flatter; so this vain and outworn She May still be the charmed snake to your soft airs! A higher lord than Love claim we.
IX
—One day, dear lady, missing the broad track, I came on a wood’s border, by a mead, Where golden May ran up to moted black: And there I saw Queen Beauty hold review, With Love before her throne in act to plead. Take him for me, take her for you.
X
—Ingenious gentleman, the tale is known. Love pleaded sweetly: Beauty would not melt: She would not melt: he turned in wrath: her throne The shadow of his back froze witheringly, And sobbing at his feet Queen Beauty knelt. O not such slaves of Love are we!
XI
—Love, lady, like the star above that lance Of radiance flung by sunset on ridged cloud, Sad as the last line of a brave romance!— Young Love hung dim, yet quivering round him threw Beams of fresh fire, while Beauty waned and bowed. Scorn Love, and dread the doom for you.
XII
—Called she not for her mirror, sir? Forth ran Her women: I am lost, she cried, when lo, Love in the form of an admiring man Once more in adoration bent the knee, And brought the faded Pagan to full blow: For which her throne she gave: not we!
XIII
—My version, madam, runs not to that end. A certain madness of an hour half past, Caught her like fever; her just lord no friend She fancied; aimed beyond beauty, and thence grew The prim acerbity, sweet Love’s outcast. Great heaven ward off that stroke from you!
XIV
—Your prayer to heaven, good sir, is generous: How generous likewise that you do not name Offended nature! She from all of us Couched idle underneath our showering tree, May quite withhold her most destructive flame; And then what woeful women we!
XV
—Quite, could not be, fair lady; yet your youth May run to drought in visionary schemes: And a late waking to perceive the truth, When day falls shrouding her supreme adieu, Shows darker wastes than unaccomplished dreams: And that may be in store for you.
XVI
—O sir, the truth, the truth! is’t in the skies, Or in the grass, or in this heart of ours? But O the truth, the truth! the many eyes That look on it! the diverse things they see, According to their thirst for fruit or flowers! Pass on: it is the truth seek we.
XVII
—Lady, there is a truth of settled laws That down the past burns like a great watch-fire. Let youth hail changeful mornings; but your cause, Whetting its edge to cut the race in two, Is felony: you forfeit the bright lyre, Much honour and much glory you!
XVIII
—Sir, was it glory, was it honour, pride, And not as cat and serpent and poor slave, Wherewith we walked in union by your side? Spare to false womanliness her delicacy, Or bid true manliness give ear, we crave: In our defence thus chained are we.
XIX
—Yours, madam, were the privileges of life Proper to man’s ideal; you were the mark Of action, and the banner in the strife: Yea, of your very weakness once you drew The strength that sounds the wells, outflies the lark: Wrapped in a robe of flame were you!
XX
—Your friend looks thoughtful. Sir, when we were chill, You clothed us warmly; all in honour! when We starved you fed us; all in honour still: Oh, all in honour, ultra-honourably! Deep is the gratitude we owe to men, For privileged indeed were we!
XXI
—You cite exceptions, madam, that are sad, But come in the red struggle of our growth. Alas, that I should have to say it! bad Is two-sexed upon earth: this which you do, Shows animal impatience, mental sloth: Man monstrous! pining seraphs you!
XXII
—I fain would ask your friend . . . but I will ask You, sir, how if in place of numbers vague, Your sad exceptions were to break that mask They wear for your cool mind historically, And blaze like black lists of a _present_ plague? But in that light behold them we.
XXIII
—Your spirit breathes a mist upon our world, Lady, and like a rain to pierce the roof And drench the bed where toil-tossed man lies curled In his hard-earned oblivion! You are few, Scattered, ill-counselled, blinded: for a proof, I have lived, and have known none like you.
XXIV
—We may be blind to men, sir: we embrace A future now beyond the fowler’s nets. Though few, we hold a promise for the race That was not at our rising: you are free To win brave mates; you lose but marionnettes. He who’s for us, for him are we.
XXV
—Ah! madam, were they puppets who withstood Youth’s cravings for adventure to preserve The dedicated ways of womanhood? The light which leads us from the paths of rue, That light above us, never seen to swerve, Should be the home-lamp trimmed by you.
XXVI
—Ah! sir, our worshipped posture we perchance Shall not abandon, though we see not how, Being to that lamp-post fixed, we may advance Beside our lords in any real degree, Unless we move: and to advance is now A sovereign need, think more than we.
XXVII
—So push you out of harbour in small craft, With little seamanship; and comes a gale, The world will laugh, the world has often laughed, Lady, to see how bold when skies are blue, When black winds churn the deeps how panic-pale, How swift to the old nest fly you!
XXVIII
—What thinks your friend, kind sir? We have escaped But partly that old half-tamed wild beast’s paw Whereunder woman, the weak thing, was shaped: Men, too, have known the cramping enemy In grim brute force, whom force of brain shall awe: Him our deliverer, await we!
XXIX
—Delusions are with eloquence endowed, And yours might pluck an angel from the spheres To play in this revolt whereto you are vowed, Deliverer, lady! but like summer dew O’er fields that crack for rain your friends drop tears, Who see the awakening for you.
XXX
—Is he our friend, there silent? he weeps not. O sir, delusion mounting like a sun On a mind blank as the white wife of Lot, Giving it warmth and movement! if this be Delusion, think of what thereby was won For men, and dream of what win we.
XXXI
—Lady, the destiny of minor powers, Who would recast us, is but to convulse: You enter on a strife that frets and sours; You can but win sick disappointment’s hue; And simply an accelerated pulse, Some tonic you have drunk moves you.
XXXII
—Thinks your friend so? Good sir, your wit is bright; But wit that strives to speak the popular voice, Puts on its nightcap and puts out its light. Curfew, would seem your conqueror’s decree To women likewise: and we have no choice Save darkness or rebellion, we!
XXXIII
—A plain safe intermediate way is cleft By reason foiling passion: you that rave Of mad alternatives to right and left Echo the tempter, madam: and ’tis due Unto your sex to shun it as the grave, This later apple offered you.
XXXIV
—This apple is not ripe, it is not sweet; Nor rosy, sir, nor golden: eye and mouth Are little wooed by it; yet we would eat. We are somewhat tired of Eden, is our plea. We have thirsted long; this apple suits our drouth: ’Tis good for men to halve, think we.
XXXV
—But say, what seek you, madam? ’Tis enough That you should have dominion o’er the springs Domestic and man’s heart: those ways, how rough, How vile, outside the stately avenue Where you walk sheltered by your angel’s wings, Are happily unknown to you.
XXXVI
—We hear women’s shrieks on them. We like your phrase, Dominion domestic! And that roar, ‘What seek you?’ is of tyrants in all days. Sir, get you something of our purity And we will of your strength: we ask no more. That is the sum of what seek we.
XXXVII
—O for an image, madam, in one word, To show you as the lightning night reveals, Your error and your perils: you have erred In mind only, and the perils that ensue Swift heels may soften; wherefore to swift heels Address your hopes of safety you!
XXXVIII
—To err in mind, sir . . . your friend smiles: he may! To err in mind, if err in mind we can, Is grievous error you do well to stay. But O how different from reality Men’s fiction is! how like you in the plan, Is woman, knew you her as we!
XXXIX
—Look, lady, where yon river winds its line Toward sunset, and receives on breast and face The splendour of fair life: to be divine, ’Tis nature bids you be to nature true, Flowing with beauty, lending earth your grace, Reflecting heaven in clearness you.
XL
—Sir, you speak well: your friend no word vouchsafes. To flow with beauty, breeding fools and worse, Cowards and worse: at such fair life she chafes, Who is not wholly of the nursery, Nor of your schools: we share the primal curse; Together shake it off, say we!
XLI
—Hear, then, my friend, madam! Tongue-restrained he stands Till words are thoughts, and thoughts, like swords enriched With traceries of the artificer’s hands, Are fire-proved steel to cut, fair flowers to view.— Do I hear him? Oh, he is bewitched, bewitched! Heed him not! Traitress beauties you!
XLII
—We have won a champion, sisters, and a sage! —Ladies, you win a guest to a good feast! —Sir spokesman, sneers are weakness veiling rage. —Of weakness, and wise men, you have the key. —Then are there fresher mornings mounting East Than ever yet have dawned, sing we!
XLIII
—False ends as false began, madam, be sure! —What lure there is the pure cause purifies! —Who purifies the victim of the lure? —That soul which bids us our high light pursue. —Some heights are measured down: the wary wise Shun Reason in the masque with you!
XLIV
—Sir, for the friend you bring us, take our thanks. Yes, Beauty was of old this barren goal; A thing with claws; and brute-like in her pranks! But could she give more loyal guarantee Than wooing Wisdom, that in her a soul Has risen? Adieu: content are we!
XLV
Those ladies led their captive to the flood’s Green edge. He floating with them seemed the most Fool-flushed old noddy ever crowned with buds. Happier than I! Then, why not wiser too? For he that lives with Beauty, he may boast His comrade over me and you.
XLVI
Have women nursed some dream since Helen sailed Over the sea of blood the blushing star, That beauty, whom frail man as Goddess hailed, When not possessing her (for such is he!), Might in a wondering season seen afar, Be tamed to say not ‘I,’ but ‘we’?
XLVII
And shall they make of Beauty their estate, The fortress and the weapon of their sex? Shall she in her frost-brilliancy dictate, More queenly than of old, how we must woo, Ere she will melt? The halter’s on our necks, Kick as it likes us, I and you.
XLVIII
Certain it is, if Beauty has disdained Her ancient conquests, with an aim thus high: If this, if that, if more, the fight is gained. But can she keep her followers without fee? Yet ah! to hear anew those ladies cry, He who’s for us, for him are we!
BALLADS AND POEMS OF TRAGIC LIFE
THE TWO MASKS
I
MELPOMENE among her livid people, Ere stroke of lyre, upon Thaleia looks, Warned by old contests that one museful ripple Along those lips of rose with tendril hooks Forebodes disturbance in the springs of pathos, Perchance may change of masks midway demand, Albeit the man rise mountainous as Athos, The woman wild as Cape Leucadia stand.
II
For this the Comic Muse exacts of creatures Appealing to the fount of tears: that they Strive never to outleap our human features, And do Right Reason’s ordinance obey, In peril of the hum to laughter nighest. But prove they under stress of action’s fire Nobleness, to that test of Reason highest, She bows: she waves them for the loftier lyre.
ARCHDUCHESS ANNE
I
I
IN middle age an evil thing Befell Archduchess Anne: She looked outside her wedding-ring Upon a princely man.
II
Count Louis was for horse and arms; And if its beacon waved, For love; but ladies had not charms To match a danger braved.
III
On battlefields he was the bow Bestrung to fly the shaft: In idle hours his heart would flow As winds on currents waft.
IV
His blood was of those warrior tribes That streamed from morning’s fire, Whom now with traps and now with bribes The wily Council wire.
V
Archduchess Anne the Council ruled, Count Louis his great dame; And woe to both when one had cooled! Little was she to blame.
VI
Among her chiefs who spun their plots, Old Kraken stood the sword: As sharp his wits for cutting knots Of babble he abhorred.
VII
He reverenced her name and line, Nor other merit had Save soldierwise to wait her sign, And do the deed she bade.
VIII
He saw her hand jump at her side Ere royally she smiled On Louis and his fair young bride Where courtly ranks defiled.
IX
That was a moment when a shock Through the procession ran, And thrilled the plumes, and stayed the clock, Yet smiled Archduchess Anne.
X
No touch gave she to hound in leash, No wink to sword in sheath: She seemed a woman scarce of flesh; Above it, or beneath.
XI
Old Kraken spied with kennelled snarl, His Lady deemed disgraced. He footed as on burning marl, When out of Hall he paced.
XII
’Twas seen he hammered striding legs, And stopped, and strode again. Now Vengeance has a brood of eggs, But Patience must be hen.
XIII
Too slow are they for wrath to hatch, Too hot for time to rear. Old Kraken kept unwinding watch; He marked his day appear.
XIV
He neighed a laugh, though moods were rough With standards in revolt: His nostrils took the news for snuff, His smacking lips for salt.
XV
Count Louis’ wavy cock’s plumes led His troops of black-haired manes, A rebel; and old Kraken sped To front him on the plains.
XVI
Then camp opposed to camp did they Fret earth with panther claws For signal of a bloody day, Each reading from the Laws.
XVII
‘Forefend it, heaven!’ Count Louis cried, ‘And let the righteous plead: My country is a willing bride, Was never slave decreed.
XVIII
‘Not we for thirst of blood appeal To sword and slaughter curst; We have God’s blessing on our steel, Do we our pleading first.’
XIX
Count Louis, soul of chivalry, Put trust in plighted word; By starlight on the broad brown lea, To bar the strife he spurred.
XX
Across his breast a crimson spot, That in a quiver glowed, The ruddy crested camp-fires shot, As he to darkness rode.
XXI
He rode while omens called, beware Old Kraken’s pledge of faith! A smile and waving hand in air, And outward flew the wraith.
XXII
Before pale morn had mixed with gold, His army roared, and chilled, As men who have a woe foretold, And see it red fulfilled.
XXIII
Away and to his young wife speed, And say that Honour’s dead! Another word she will not need To bow a widow’s head.
XXIV
Old Kraken roped his white moustache Right, left, for savage glee: —To swing him in his soldier’s sash Were kind for such as he!
XXV
Old Kraken’s look hard Winter wears When sweeps the wild snow-blast: He had the hug of Arctic bears For captives he held fast.
II
I
Archduchess Anne sat carved in frost, Shut off from priest and spouse. Her lips were locked, her arms were crossed, Her eyes were in her brows.
II
One hand enclosed a paper scroll, Held as a strangled asp. So may we see the woman’s soul In her dire tempter’s grasp.
III
Along that scroll Count Louis’ doom Throbbed till the letters flamed. She saw him in his scornful bloom, She saw him chained and shamed.
IV
Around that scroll Count Louis’ fate Was acted to her stare, And hate in love and love in hate Fought fell to smite or spare.
V
Between the day that struck her old, And this black star of days, Her heart swung like a storm-bell tolled Above a town ablaze.
VI
His beauty pressed to intercede, His beauty served him ill. —Not Vengeance, ’tis his rebel’s deed, ’Tis Justice, not our will!
VII
Yet who had sprung to life’s full force A breast that loveless dried? But who had sapped it at the source, With scarlet to her pride!
VIII
He brought her waning heart as ’twere New message from the skies. And he betrayed, and left on her The burden of their sighs.
IX
In floods her tender memories poured; They foamed with waves of spite: She crushed them, high her heart outsoared, To keep her mind alight.
X
—The crawling creature, called in scorn A woman!—with this pen We sign a paper that may warn His crowing fellowmen.
XI
—We read them lesson of a power They slight who do us wrong. That bitter hour this bitter hour Provokes; by turns the strong!
XII
—That we were woman once is known: That we are Justice now, Above our sex, above the throne, Men quaking shall avow.
XIII
Archduchess Anne ascending flew, Her heart outsoared, but felt The demon of her sex pursue, Incensing or to melt.
XIV
Those counterfloods below at leap Still in her breast blew storm, And farther up the heavenly steep Wrestled in angels’ form.
XV
To disentangle one clear wish Not of her sex, she sought; And womanish to womanish Discerned in lighted thought.
XVI
With Louis’ chance it went not well When at herself she raged; A woman, of whom men might tell She doted, crazed and aged.
XVII
Or else enamoured of a sweet Withdrawn, a vengeful crone! And say, what figure at her feet Is this that utters moan?
XVIII
The Countess Louis from her head Drew veil: ‘Great Lady, hear! My husband deems you Justice dread, I know you Mercy dear.
XIX
‘His error upon him may fall; He will not breathe a nay. I am his helpless mate in all, Except for grace to pray.
XX
‘Perchance on me his choice inclined, To give his House an heir: I had not marriage with his mind, His counsel could not share.
XXI
‘I brought no portion for his weal But this one instinct true, Which bids me in my weakness kneel, Archduchess Anne, to you.’
XXII
The frowning Lady uttered, ‘Forth!’ Her look forbade delay: ‘It is not mine to weigh your worth; Your husband’s others weigh.
XXIII
‘Hence with the woman in your speech,’ For nothing it avails In woman’s fashion to beseech Where Justice holds the scales.’
XXIV
Then bent and went the lady wan, Whose girlishness made grey The thoughts that through Archduchess Anne Shattered like stormy spray.
XXV
Long sat she there, as flame that strives To hold on beating wind: —His wife must be the fool of wives, Or cunningly designed!
XXVI
She sat until the tempest-pitch In her torn bosom fell; —His wife must be a subtle witch Or else God loves her well!
III
I
Old Kraken read a missive penned By his great Lady’s hand. Her condescension called him friend, To raise the crest she fanned.
II
Swiftly to where he lay encamped It flew, yet breathed aloof From woman’s feeling, and he stamped A heel more like a hoof.
III
She wrote of Mercy: ‘She was loth Too hard to goad a foe.’ He stamped, as when men drive an oath Devils transcribe below.
IV