PART II

THE ARRIVAL

With rosy finger-tips the Dawn Drew back the silver veils, Till lilac shimmered into lawn Above the satin sails; And o’er the waters, white and wan, In tiny patterned state, We saw the streets of Old Japan Shine, like a willow plate.

O, many a milk-white pigeon roams The purple cherry crops, The mottled miles of pearly domes, And blue pagoda tops, The river with its golden canes And dark piratic dhows, To where beyond the twisting vanes The burning mountain glows.

A snow-peak in the silver skies Beyond that magic world, We saw the great volcano rise With incense o’er it curled, Whose tiny thread of rose and blue Has risen since time began, Before the first enchanter knew The peak of Old Japan.

Nobody watched us quietly steer The pinnace to the painted pier, Except one pig-tailed mandarin, Who sat upon a chest of tea Pretending not to hear or see!... His hands were very long and thin, His face was very broad and white; And O, it was a fearful sight To see him sit alone and grin!

His grin was very sleek and sly: Timidly we passed him by! He did not seem at all to care: So, thinking we were safely past, We ventured to look back at last. O, dreadful blank!--_He was not there!_ He must have hid behind his chest: We did not stay to see the rest.

But, as in reckless haste we ran, We came upon the tall thin man, Who called to us and waved his fan, And offered us his palanquin: He said we must not go alone To seek the ruby wishing-stone, Because the white-faced mandarin Would dog our steps for many a mile, And sit upon each purple stile Before we came to it, and smile And smile; his name was Creeping Sin.

He played with children’s beating hearts, And stuck them full of poisoned darts And long green thorns that stabbed and stung: He’d watch until we tried to speak, Then thrust inside his pasty cheek His long, white, slimy tongue: And smile at everything we said; And sometimes pat us on the head, And say that we were very young: He was a cousin of the man Who said that there was no Japan.

And night and day this Creeping Sin Would follow the path of the palanquin; Yet if we still were fain to touch The ruby, we must have no fear, Whatever we might see or hear, And the tall thin man would take us there; He did not fear that Sly One much, Except perhaps on a moonless night, Nor even then if the stars were bright.

So, in the yellow palankeen We swung along in state between Twinkling domes of gold and green Through the rich bazaar, Where the cross-legged merchants sat, Old and almond-eyed and fat, Each upon a gorgeous mat, Each in a cymar; Each in crimson samite breeches, Watching his barbaric riches.

Cherry blossom breathing sweet Whispered o’er the dim blue street Where with fierce uncertain feet Tawny pirates walk: All in belts and baggy blouses, Out of dreadful opium houses, Out of dens where Death carouses, Horribly they stalk; Girt with ataghan and dagger, Right across the road they swagger.

And where the cherry orchards blow, We saw the maids of Miyako, Swaying softly to and fro Through the dimness of the dance: Like sweet thoughts that shine through dreams They glided, wreathing rosy gleams, With stately sounds of silken streams, And many a slim kohl-lidded glance; Then fluttered with tiny rose-bud feet To a soft _frou-frou_ and a rhythmic beat As the music shimmered, pursuit, retreat, “Hands across, retire, advance!” And again it changed and the glimmering throng Faded into a distant song.

SONG

_The maidens of Miyako_ _Dance in the sunset hours,_ _Deep in the sunset glow,_ _Under the cherry flowers._

_With dreamy hands of pearl_ _Floating like butterflies,_ _Dimly the dancers whirl_ _As the rose light dies;_

_And their floating gowns, their hair_ _Upbound with curious pins,_ _Fade thro’ the darkening air_ _With the dancing mandarins._

And then, as we went, the tall thin man Explained the manners of Old Japan; If you pitied a thing, you pretended to sneer; Yet if you were glad you ran to buy A captive pigeon and let it fly; And, if you were sad, you took a spear To wound yourself, for fear your pain Should quietly grow less again.

And, again he said, if we wished to find The mystic City that enshrined The stone so few on earth had found, We must be very brave; it lay A hundred haunted leagues away, Past many a griffon-guarded ground, In depths of dark and curious art, Where passion-flowers enfold apart The Temple of the Flaming Heart, The City of the Secret Wound.

About the fragrant fall of day We saw beside the twisted way A blue-domed tea-house, bossed with gold; Hungry and thirsty we entered in: How should we know what Creeping Sin Had breathed in that Emperor’s ear who sold His own dumb soul for an evil jewel To the earth-gods, blind and ugly and cruel?... We drank sweet tea as his tale was told, In a garden of blue chrysanthemums, While a drowsy swarming of gongs and drums Out of the sunset dreamily rolled.

But, as the murmur nearer drew, A fat black bonze, in a robe of blue, Suddenly at the gate appeared; And close behind, with that evil grin, _Was it Creeping Sin, was it Creeping Sin?_ The bonze looked quietly down and sneered. Our guide! Was he sleeping? We could not wake him, However we tried to pinch and shake him!

Nearer, nearer the tumult came, Till, as a glare of sound and flame, Blind from a terrible furnace door Blares, or the mouth of a dragon, blazed The seething gateway: deaf and dazed With the clanging and the wild uproar We stood; while a thousand oval eyes Gapped our fear with a sick surmise.

Then, as the dead sea parted asunder, The clamour clove with a sound of thunder In two great billows; and all was quiet. Gaunt and black was the palankeen That came in dreadful state between The frozen waves of the wild-eyed riot Curling back from the breathless track Of the Nameless One who is never seen: The close drawn curtains were thick and black; But wizen and white was the tall thin man As he rose in his sleep: His eyes were closed, his lips were wan, He crouched like a leopard that dares not leap.

The bearers halted: the tall thin man, Fearfully dreaming, waved his fan, With wizard fingers, to and fro; While, with a whimper of evil glee, The Nameless Emperor’s mad Moonshee Stepped in front of us: dark and slow Were the words of the doom that he dared not name; But, over the ground, as he spoke, there came Tiny circles of soft blue flame; Like ghosts of flowers they began to glow, And flow like a moonlit brook between Our feet and the terrible palankeen.

But the Moonshee wrinkled his long thin eyes, And sneered, “Have you stolen the strength of the skies? Then pour before us a stream of pearl! Give us the pearl and the gold we know, And our hearts will be softened and let you go; But these are toys for a foolish girl-- These vanishing blossoms--what are they worth? They are not so heavy as dust and earth: Pour before us a stream of pearl!”

Then, with a wild strange laugh, our guide Stretched his arms to the West and cried Once, and a song came over the sea; And all the blossoms of moon-soft fire Woke and breathed as a wind-swept lyre, And the garden surged into harmony; Till it seemed that the soul of the whole world sung, And every petal became a tongue To tell the thoughts of Eternity.

But the Moonshee lifted his painted brows And stared at the gold on the blue tea-house: “Can you clothe your body with dreams?” he sneered; “If you taught us the truths that we always know Our heart might be softened and let you go: Can you tell us the length of a monkey’s beard, Or the weight of the gems on the Emperor’s fan, Or the number of parrots in Old Japan?” And again, with a wild strange laugh, our guide Looked at him; and he shrunk aside, Shrivelling like a flame-touched leaf; For the red-cross blossoms of soft blue fire Were growing and fluttering higher and higher, Shaking their petals out, sheaf by sheaf, Till with disks like shields and stems like towers Burned the host of the passion-flowers ... Had the Moonshee flown like a midnight thief? ... Yet a thing like a monkey, shrivelled and black, Chattered and danced as they forced him back.

As the coward chatters for empty pride, In the face of a foe that he cannot but fear, It chattered and leapt from side to side, And its voice rang strangely upon the ear. As the cry of a wizard that dares not own Another’s brighter and mightier throne; As the wrath of a fool that rails aloud On the fire that burnt him; the brazen bray Clamoured and sang o’er the gaping crowd, And flapped like a gabbling goose away.

THE CRY OF THE MAD MOONSHEE

_If the blossoms were beans, I should know what it means-- This blaze, which I certainly cannot endure; It is evil, too, For its colour is blue, And the sense of the matter is quite obscure. Celestial truth Is the food of youth; But the music was dark as a moonless night._ _The facts in the song Were all of them wrong, And there was not a single sum done right; Tho’ a metaphysician amongst the crowd, In a voice that was notably deep and loud, Repeated, as fast as he was able, The whole of the multiplication table._

So the cry flapped off as a wild goose flies, And the stars came out in the trembling skies, And ever the mystic glory grew In the garden of blue chrysanthemums, Till there came a rumble of distant drums; And the multitude suddenly turned and flew. ... A dead ape lay where their feet had been ... And we called for the yellow palankeen, And the flowers divided and let us through. The black-barred moon was large and low When we came to the Forest of Ancient Woe; And over our heads the stars were bright. But through the forest the path we travelled Its phosphorescent aisle unravelled In one thin ribbon of dwindling light: And twice and thrice on the fainting track We paused to listen. The moon grew black, But the coolies’ faces glimmered white, As the wild woods echoed in dreadful chorus A laugh that came horribly hopping o’er us Like monstrous frogs thro’ the murky night.

Then the tall thin man as we swung along Sang us an old enchanted song That lightened our hearts of their fearful load. But, e’en as the moonlit air grew sweet, We heard the pad of stealthy feet Dogging us down the thin white road; And the song grew weary again and harsh, And the black trees dripped like the fringe of a marsh, And a laugh crept out like a shadowy toad; And we knew it was neither ghoul nor djinn: _It was Creeping Sin! It was Creeping Sin!_

But we came to a bend, and the white moon glowed Like a gate at the end of the narrowing road Far away; and on either hand, As guards of a path to the heart’s desire, The strange tall blossoms of soft blue fire Stretched away thro’ that unknown land, League on league with their dwindling lane Down to the large low moon; and again There shimmered around us that mystical strain, In a tongue that it seemed we could understand.

SONG

_Hold by right and rule by fear_ _Till the slowly broadening sphere_ _Melting through the skies above_ _Merge into the sphere of love._

_Hold by might until you find_ _Might is powerless o’er the mind:_ _Hold by Truth until you see,_ _Though they bow before the wind,_ _Its towers can mock at liberty._

_Time, the seneschal, is blind;_ _Time is blind: and what are we?_ _Captives of Infinity,_ _Claiming through Truth’s prison bars_ _Kinship with the wandering stars._ O, who could tell the wild weird sights We saw in all the days and nights We travelled through those forests old. We saw the griffons on white cliffs, Among fantastic hieroglyphs, Guarding enormous heaps of gold: We saw the Ghastroi--curious men Who dwell, like tigers, in a den, And howl whene’er the moon is cold; They stripe themselves with red and black And ride upon the yellow Yak.

Their dens are always ankle-deep With twisted knives, and in their sleep They often cut themselves; they say That if you wish to live in peace The surest way is not to cease Collecting knives; and never a day Can pass, unless they buy a few; And as their enemies buy them too They all avert the impending fray, And starve their children and their wives To buy the necessary knives.

* * * * *

The forest leapt with shadowy shapes As we came to the great black Tower of Apes: But we gave them purple figs and grapes In alabaster amphoras: We gave them curious kinds of fruit With betel nuts and orris-root, And then they let us pass: And when we reached the Tower of Snakes We gave them soft white honey-cakes, And warm sweet milk in bowls of brass: And on the hundredth eve we found The City of the Secret Wound.

We saw the mystic blossoms blow Round the City, far below; Faintly in the sunset glow We saw the soft blue glory flow O’er many a golden garden gate: And o’er the tiny dark green seas Of tamarisks and tulip-trees, Domes like golden oranges Dream aloft elate.

And clearer, clearer as we went, We heard from tower and battlement A whisper, like a warning, sent From watchers out of sight; And clearer, brighter, as we drew Close to the walls, we saw the blue Flashing of plumes where peacocks flew Thro’ zones of pearly light.

On either side, a fat black bonze Guarded the gates of red-wrought bronze, Blazoned with blue sea-dragons And mouths of yawning flame; Down the road of dusty red, Though their brown feet ached and bled, Our coolies went with joyful tread: Like living fans the gates outspread And opened as we came.