Part 12

The wind upon the forest and the rain Upon the turrets. Had he heard a sigh Or was it but the echo of his own, Born of great weariness, that broke his rest?-- A dream! a dream!--The autumn storm is on, And sows the wood with witchcraft, and the leaves Are chased by imps of darkness through the hail And hurling rain. The wind is wild with leaves. Again he slept.

The rain among the trees, The wind upon the turrets. Had he moaned, Now that he lay awake and heard the wind Hoot on the towers like a green-eyed owl? The rain and wind. The night is black with rain. Within the forest like a voice the wind; And on the turrets, like swift feet, the rain. Now was he sure 'twas weeping; and arose, And found her at his door; and took her hand, That like a soft persuasion lay in his. He felt long sobbings shake it. And he said, "Tell me, my sister, wherefore dost thou weep?" And Angharad, "Yea; I will tell it thee.-- My name is Angharad. My father held An Earldom under Arthur, yea, the first In all his Kingdom: and this Castle, too, Was his with cantrevs to the west and east. When I was but a girl Earl Addanc met And loved me. Once, when hunting, he came here And sought my father and demanded me. He said he loved me, and would have but me To grace his bed and board, this Earl! But I-- I did not love him, being but a child, My father's only child; I could not love. And so my father said this should not be. The Earl was wroth. I heard his furious stride Beneath my casement; double demons pinched His evil eyes and twenty gnarled his face. He cursed us ere he rode beyond our walls Then to Caerleon was I sent; and there Became a woman of young Gwenhwyvar, Until my father's death two years agone, When I returned, a Countess, to find war And Addanc here around beleaguered walls. So hath he stripped me of my appanage; Save this one keep, whose strength hath held out long, Manned by my foster brothers, brave and young, Strong to endure, but lacking still in arms; No match for knights like Addanc. Thou hast met The eighteen youths whose valor will not yield. But what avail their valor and their will Against hard hunger, now our larder lacks, And lacks the Convent, too, whereon we leaned? And Addanc comes to-morrow morn; the truce For our one day's deliberation done. If he prevail--the thought is like hot hands Here on my brain!--his oath is 'that the night Shall see me given over to his grooms.'" She wept with tremblings. Then said Peredur: "Go, dry thy tears, my sister. And this Earl-- If he be early, call me not too late. Fear not. I will not go until my sword Hath crossed the sword of so much wickedness, And proved this base ambition. Go and sleep."

* * * * *

A morning gray with mist that gathered drops Of drizzle on the ever dripping leaves. And then the mist divided: ghostly mail, Spears and limp pennons, and the shadowy steeds Of shadowy knights and chieftains. And it seemed A host of phantoms come to lay dim siege To phantom walls whose warriors were ghosts. Afar a bugle flourished in the fog, Disconsolate; no echo of the wood To bear its music burden. To the moat Advanced a herald. And within the wall The grate was opened; and the gaunt-eyed youth Held parley with him: "How the Earl would make End of the long dispute to-day, and leave, 'Twixt three a single combat to decide." So Peredur bade arm him, and prepare His horse for battle; and bade give the Earl His answer for the Castle: "That one knight Would try the hauberks of the banded three." And he rode forth: and one rode up and scoffed,-- A knight in russet armor with loud words,-- "Small means to large results, forsooth! Thou boast! A vicious palate hath thy appetite That feasted long with hunger and must now Conclude the banquet with three deaths!--Sir Death, Here is thy death!" and hacked at Peredur A heavy stroke that gashed his chain camail. But, rising in stiff stirrups, ere he passed, Two-handed swung the sword of Peredur, And helm and head of him who fell were twain, Halved like an apple. And the walls were glad.

Then came another, clad in silver mail, As he were Galahad; and in the mist Glimmered like moonlight. And with levelled spear Demanded: "Whence and what art thou? this stroke Was never fathered by long fasting."--Then Quoth Peredur, "I am of Arthur's Court."-- Then sneered the other with a mocking laugh, "A goodly service truly that of his, Since all his knights, whom I have met, have died!"-- Quoth Peredur: "Thy falsehood choke thee dead! Within thy throat thus do I nail thy lie!" And at his gorget hurled his ponderous spear, Ere that one met him, spurring at full speed, Disdainful. And the desperate stroke of him Who had wrought havoc with the Table Round, Glanced shattering from the sloping shield, while he, Bent backwards o'er his saddle, rolled--his tongue Cleft at the root. And all the walls were glad.

Now came a third: a black knight and a black Enormous steed. No words he wasted. But, The fierce spears splintered, from the baldrics burned Swift blades: and Battle held his breath a while To see the great shields rock beneath great blows, Oppose, deploy, as hilt to hilt they hewed At heaume and gorget. While the conflict dripped Between the splintered greaves from many wounds. Then Peredur, his whole strength wrenching at Unyielding shelter of his foeman's shield, Beat down his guard and smote.--And Addanc lay Beneath the son of Evrawc, whose swift hands Razed off his casque and laid a blind blade bare Across hot eyes, and set a heel of steel Upon his throat and said: "Thou coward curse! What woman wilt thou war with now?--'Tis well Thy features are thus evil and might breed Nightmares among the kestrels, kites, and crows, Else hadst thou been, ere this,--so says my sword,-- A head the shorter! and that head hung high Upon the highest battlement. What now! What wilt thou do for thy vile life? what now! Speak! or I smite! O thou base villainy, Out on thy ugly mouth!--Speak!" Cursing, he, A stricken bulk, growled, "Let me live! And I, Upon my knighthood, swear that I will make Unto this woman, Angharad, returns For all her losses. Let me live."--And so The sword slid from his eyes and from his neck The heel. And he arose--to make in full Due restitution of her lands to her He had so robbed and harassed. And in time This was fulfilled.

But Peredur remained,-- For, to be near her and to do for her Was all his happiness,--until the land Acknowledged her with all obedience. Her rights established, what more now remained To lend excuse unto his long delay?-- And so he went to her, and led her from Amid her maidens, and bespoke her how "He would ride hence and would but say farewell."

A while she gazed at him. And when she spoke The springs of tears seemed starting in her throat, Crystal and quivering. But with steady gaze, "Dost thou, my knight, desire then to go? Methought that thou wouldst tarry yet a while.-- A little while.--Well hast thou fought for me."

A moment was he silent; turning then, Ground iron strides along the lofty hall, And so returned with iron strides and said: "Ay, by my God! Who knows I have not fought _For_ thee but still _against_ thee. 'Tis my curse, To love thee, love thee, love thee all these years!-- I came not here to woo. Thou wouldst but laugh.-- Haply thou hast forgotten me--thou hast!-- Yea, hast forgotten, aye long, long ago, That son of Evrawc, Evrawc of the North, Who wooed thee once!... Hast memory of him yet?... Look in his eyes once more and say farewell."

"My soul, my soul!" she said; "O my true soul! This shall not be, my soul!"--He heard her low Voice pleading softly, and, deep in his heart, New life leapt up, and sang in every pulse, "She loves me! yea, she loves me!"--And it seemed He heard her as men hear the voice of hope Upon despair's black brink; and see one star Bloom, like a lily with a heart of fire Throbbing within it, slowly out of night. Each syllable the petal of a flower, A rose of music, welcome as the star, The first the eve gives silvery utterance to; Or as the firstling bud, the wildwood rose, Dropped from the rosy lips of laughing Spring:-- "I have remembered. Think'st thou I have not?-- O son of Evrawc, thou who couldst not see, 'Neath bells of folly and a merry mask, A girl's dear secret through her tinsel acts.-- Or was _thy_ love but fancy?--Ah, too soon, I heard the vapid ending of a tale Coquetry had begun for other end.-- But, if thou wilt, we can resume the tale; The beautiful story of true love.--Tell on! Tell on, my heart! Or have we reached the end? And is it wedlock?--Both were wrong. The one: Because his love was blind, impetuous, Nor saw the love that would have proved 'twas love, Not lust, before surrender. The other: that She sought for wisdom in the frivolous, And so made falsehood of her dearest truth, Deceived more than deceiving.--Wilt thou go?"

He had no rhetoric to make reply: Only his arms about her, and his eyes Upon her eyes, and kisses on her mouth. Long time they stood.--Outside, the sunset flung Barbaric glory on the autumn wood.-- And lifting up her face he said to her: "Hast thou thy lute still? Then come sing to me; That song again, that pleased me once so ill-- Two years ago at parting. If it please No better now, straightway I will depart, And--thou with me. Yea, on one steed, if needs, We will ride forth together to the Queen, To old Caerleon, and King Arthur's Court; And Gwenhwyvar shall kiss thee and confess Thou art her loveliest flower, my own wild rose, And give thee to me who will wear thee here."

ISOLT

"_But when the queen, La beale Isoude heard these tidings shee made such sorrow that shee was full nigh out of her minde, and so upon a day she thought to slay herselfe, and never for to live after Sir Tristram's death._"--Le Morte d'Arthure.

I

The wild dawn flares o'er wood and vale, O'er all the world she used to love: Low on her couch it finds her pale, The dawn that breaks with flame above. Her lute, that once was all her care, To which her love had often sung, Upon a damask-covered chair Now lies neglected and unstrung. Back from her face her hair she throws, Her heavy hair that falls and slips, Then, rising, to the casement goes With languid eyes and pallid lips.

II

With feverish face from morn till noon, And noon to middle-night she stoops From her high lattice; late and soon In search for him among the troops That come and go or loiter by. For there had come a dame, in garb Of pearls and samite, green of dye, A stately woman on a barb, From Camelot, who, looking round, Had sneered, "'Mid herdsmen and such craft This Tristram lives like any hound." Then as she shook her curls and laughed, And flashed on Isolt looks of scorn, Trailing her glimmering jewels past, "I met a madman yestermorn Within the forest. Wild, aghast He stood, all naked in the rain, 'Twas Tristram, he of Lyonesse, A good knight once, but now--" Again She laughed, then sneered.--And one might guess The thing she hinted in disdain.

III

So Isolt watched now: long she leant From her high tower that hapless dawn: Above her bloomed the firmament, Below, the world was dewy wan. She saw a long lake where the stags Came down to drink: and woods of pines Beyond which mountains loomed, whose crags,-- Gaunt guardians of Mark's boundary lines,-- Gray watch-towers, hawk-like, overhung; And 'mid the pines, wild, ivy-clung, She saw a castle lift its old Green walls of ruin, now a cave For bandits, and a robber-hold Of lust, beside a torrent's wave. Then o'er a bridge, whose granite arched The torrent's foam, she saw a knight,-- Behind whom spear-armed followers marched,-- Like Galahad, in glittering white, Ride from the forest-covered height.

IV

High on a barb whose trappings shone Inlaid with laton, gold of hue, Star-bright amid the dawn and dew; Proud on his lordly-stepping roan He rode, and seemed of chivalry The star, until he stood alone Before the Court and spoke his lie, And said,--(for him, too, heart and tongue, Mark's gold had bought)--"I saw him die. Alas! for one so brave and young! But better so than still to be A madman and a mockery!"-- Then smiled around the questioning Court As one who brought no ill report.... And she believed. And front to front With all her misery that eve,-- Which, sombre-visaged, o'er the mount, Above Day's burning bier did grieve And bow her melancholy star,-- With tearful eyes she watched the light Streak all the heaven with blood afar; And lingered far into the night, Lamenting at her casement-bar.

V

"Oh, I'm like one who o'er her light, Her lamp of love, bends down, when, lo! All on a sudden, out of night, Dashing it down, there comes a blow That leaves all darkness; and she hears A demon whispering in the gloom, That shuts her in with all her fears," So thought she, lonely in her room. Then took her lute and touched such airs As Tristram loved, sad songs of Breön, She once had heard, all unawares, Sir Launcelot sing in old Caerleön, To Guinevere upon the stairs, The terrace stairs, beside the Usk, Deep in the nightingale-haunted dusk. Then ceased, and wept until the stars, Seen through her tears, made heaven all tears, On fire with tears, that left their scars Upon its face; and all the years Of grief and love seemed in their spheres: And reaching out her arms she cried, "O God! O God! that I had died! O Tristram! Tristram! art thou near? O love, be near me in this hour! This hour of anguish and of fear! Which,--(like yon fountain's ceaseless foam, Unseen, beneath this starlit tower, Deep in the shadow of its dome),-- Throbs on and on within my life, The utter darkness of its woe.-- O hour of grief! O hour of strife! Why must my young heart suffer so? Why must my sick soul sigh and sigh, And God not hear nor let me die?"

VI

When rose the moon, and far away A nightingale beneath the tower, Heard through the fountain's falling spray, Made lonelier yet that lonely hour; And 'twixt the nodding grove and lake A glimmering fawn stalked through the night, And snuffed the wind, then bent to slake Its thirst; she veiled her face,--as white As death's,--and said: "The way is clear! There is no use in waiting here! Come! let me cure this heart that bursts! This pain is more than I can bear!-- Come! let me still this soul that thirsts!... Upon the lake, as thick as stars In heav'n, the lilies lie asleep.-- There lies a way beyond these bars, These walls of flesh that hold and keep! The nightingale shall find its mate, The fawn its fellow, and must I, The spouse of grief, the wife of hate, Live on alone until I die?-- How long, how long, O God, to wait!"... Far through the darkness went her cry.

THE DREAM OF SIR GALAHAD

_With the knights Peredur and Gawain he sits, in a chapel in Lyonesse, speaking while the dawn slowly reddens on the sea, gray-seen through the open door._

I

Cast on sleep there came to me Three great angels, o'er the sea Moaning near the priory: Cloudy clad in awful white, Each one's face, a lucid light, Rayed and blossomed out of night.

II

In my sleep I saw them rest, Each, a long hand on her breast, Like the new-moon in the west: And their hair like sunset rolled Down their shoulders, burning cold, An insufferable gold.

III

Flaming round each high brow bent Fourfold starry gold, that sent Light before them as they went: 'Neath their burning crowns their eyes Shone like awful stars the skies Rock in shattered storm that flies.

IV

Dark their eyes were, lurid dark; And within their eyes a spark Like the opal's burned: my sark Seemed to shrivel 'neath their gaze; As, with marvel and amaze, All my soul it seemed to raise.

V

And I saw their mouths were fire, Ruby-red as the desire Of the Sanc Graal: fair and dire Were their lips, whereon the kiss Of all Heaven lay; the bliss Of all happiness that is.

VI

Calm as Beauty lying dead, Tapers lit at feet and head, Were they, round whom prayers seemed said: Fragrant as that woman who, Born of blossoms and of dew And of magic, wedded Llew.

VII

And the first one said to me:-- "Thou hast slept thus holily While seven sands ran shadowy; Earth hath served thee like a slave, Serving us who found thee brave, Pure of life and great to save:

VIII

"Know!"--She touched my brow: a pain As of arrows pierced my brain: Ceased: and earth, both sea and plain, Vanished: and I stood where thought Stands, and worship, spirit-fraught, Watching how the heavens are wrought.

IX

Then the second said to me: "Thou hast come all sinlessly Thro' life's sin-enveloped sea: Know the things thou hast not seen: Filling all the soul with sheen; Meaning more than earth may mean:

X

"See!"--Her voice sang like a lyre, Comprehending all desire In its gamut's throbbing fire:-- And my inner eyelids,--which Dimmed clairvoyance,--raised: and rich, As one chord's vibrating pitch,

XI

Grew my soul with light: that saw The embodiment of awe, Love, divinity, and law, Orbed and eöned: and the power, Circumstance, like some vast flower; From which time fell, hour on hour.

XII

'Neath the third one's mighty will All my soul lay very still, Feeling all its being thrill As she, smiling, said to me: "Thou dost know, and thou canst see: What thou art arise and be!"

XIII

To my lips her lips she pressed; And my new-born soul, thrice-blessed, Clasped her radiance and caressed: Mounted and, in glory clad, Soared with them who chorused glad: "Christ awaits thee, Galahad!"

AFTER THE TOURNAMENT

_The good Knight_, SIR LIONELL DE GANIS, _wounded unto death, addresses his Lady_, EVALOTT, _in the Forest of Dean, whither he has been borne on his shield_.

I

And shall it be, when white thorns flake With blossoms all the Maytime brake, The rustle of a flower or leaf Will let thee know That I am near thee, as thy grief, As long ago?

II

Or shall it be, when blows and dies The wood-anemone, two eyes Will gaze in thine, as faint as frost? And thou, in dreams, Wilt hear the sigh of one long lost, Who near thee seems.

III

Or shall it be, where waters soothe The stillness, thou wilt hear the smooth Dim notes of a familiar lute, And in thine ears Old Provence melodies, long mute, Like falling tears?...

IV

Now doff my helm.--Loop thy white arm Beneath my hair. So. Let thy warm Blue eyes gaze in mine for a space, A little while... Love, it will rest me... And thy face-- Ah, let it smile.

V

Now art thou thou. Yet--let thy hair, A golden wonder, fall; thy fair Full throat bend low; thy kiss be hot With love, not dry With anguish.--Sweet, my Evalott! Now let me die.

THE DARK TOWER

"_Childe Rowland to the dark tower came._"

--King Lear.

The hills around were iron, The sky, a boundless black, Where wells of the lightning opened And boiled with blazing rack, When he came to the giant castle, The wild rain on his back.

Huge in the night and tempest, Over the cataract's bed, Its windows, ulcers of fire, Its gate, a hell-lit red, The Dark Tower loomed; and wildly A voice sang overhead.

Thrice, under its warlock turrets, Where the causeway of rock was laid; Thrice, there at its owlet portal, His scornful bugle brayed; And the drawbridge clanged at his summons, And he rode in unafraid.

The heavens were riven asunder, One glare of blinding storm; And the blackness, chasmed with thunder, Blazed form on demon form, As he rode in the court of the castle, The shield upon his arm.

His sword unsheathed and open The vizor of his casque, Childe Rowland entered the donjon His gauntlet should unmask: But naught, save night and silence, He found, and none to ask.

His heel on the stair crashed iron, His hand on the door clashed steel-- In the hall, the roar of the torrent, In the turret, the thunder's peal-- And there in the highest turret She sat at a spinning-wheel.

She spun the flax of a spindle, All in a magic space; She spun with her head bent downward, His Lady, fair of face; She spun, all wildly singing, All spellbound in that place.

Again, when he gazed on her beauty, The heart in his breast was wax; Again, when he heard her singing, The thews of his limbs grew lax-- She spun, nor saw him, spinning A spindle of blood-red flax.

And now the flax was fire, That wrapped her, skein on skein; And now a flaming serpent, And now a blazing chain; But he seized the enchanted spindle, And all its spells were vain.

She looked upon Childe Rowland, And never a word she said, But kissed his mouth and forehead, And leaned on his breast her head... She smiled upon Childe Rowland, And into the night they fled.

THE BLIND HARPER

And so it came that I was led To wizard walls that haggard hung Old as their rock, black-mossed and dead, Wild-swarmed with towers; and, flaming flung Around them,--far, a moat of red,-- A million poppies sprung.

And here I harped.--All seemed asleep; Till, hoarse beneath, harsh hinges gnarred And iron clanged within the Keep: And then from one gaunt casement, barred With night, a woman, dim and deep, Gazed at me long and hard.

To her I sang. And as she leaned In beauty to me, dark and tall, And loud I sang of Love, I gleaned An inkling of her Court withal: For, lo, above her, watched a Fiend, Wolf-eyeballed, on the wall.

Still, still I sang. And then she laughed, Laughed loud and long and evilly; And in her face I saw was craft And hate and all the sins that be: And overhead, with pointed shaft, The Fiend glared down on me.

Still, still I harped. Then up she leapt, When loud I sang of Ermengard, The Queen of Love, whose Court is kept At Anjou, I, who am her bard! And from her side a raven swept, While loud she laughed and hard.

Its iron beak had pierced my eyes Before my mind had half divined That those wild walls that touched the skies With Hell-built towers, terror-lined, Were Lilith's,--mother of lusts and lies,-- Love's foe, who left me blind.

CHILDE RONALD