Chapter 7

So sang the waters, if indeed 'twere they That sang unto the Prince's ears that day, Since in the ship was not a soul besides Could hear that burden of the voiceful tides; For when he told the sailors of this thing, And ev'n what words the waters seemed to sing, They stared astonishment, and some, that had More churlish souls than others, held him mad, And laughed before his face outright. But when The captain heard the gossip of his men Touching this marvel, the strange news begot No merry mood in him, who wist not what Should be the meaning of the miracle, Nor whether 'twere an omen good or ill. Wherefore the old seafarer--having heard The tale retold with many an afterword The mariners' own most fruitful wit supplied To grace the telling--took the Prince aside, And ask'd him sundry questions privily Concerning this same singing of the sea. So the Prince told him all there was to tell, And when that he had heard, the old man fell To meditating much, and shook his head As one exceeding ill at ease, and said, "I doubt the singing thou hast heard was no Voice of the waters billowing below, But rather of some evil spirit near, Who sought with singing to beguile thine ear, Spreading a snare to catch the soul of thee In meshes of entangling melody, Which taketh captive the weak minds of men. Therefore if thou should'st hear the sound again, Look thou content thee not with hearkening, But cast thine eyes around, and mark what thing Thou seëst, and let no man know but me."

So spake the white-haired wanderer of the sea. And on the morrow--when the sealine grew O'erhazed with visible heat, and no wind blew, And the half-stifled morning dropt aswoon Into the panting bosom of the noon-- There came into the Prince's ears anew The song that yestermorn had hearkened to. And lifting up his eyes in hope to see What lips they were that made such melody And filled him with the fulness of their sound, He saw the sun at highest of his round Show as a shield with one dark bloodstain blurred, By reason of the body of some great bird Like to an eagle, with wide wings outspread, Athwart the sunfire hovering duskly red. So to the master of the ship he told What he had witnessed, bidding him behold The marvel with his own eyes if he would; Who, though he strained his vision all he could, Yet might not once endure to look the sun I' the face; and calling to him one by one The whole ship's crew, he bade each mariner look Sunward who could, but no man's eyes might brook The glare upon them of the noontide rays And lidless fervour of that golden gaze: So none of them beheld the bodeful bird.

Then said the greybeard captain, hardly heard Amid the babble of voices great and small, "The bird thou seëst is no bird at all, But some unholy spirit in guise of one; And I do fear that we are all undone If any amongst us hearken to its voice;-- For of its mouth, I doubt not, was the noise Thou heardest as of dulcet carolling, When at thine ear the waters seemed to sing."

And truly, many a wiser man than he Herein had farther strayed from verity; For that great bird that seemed to fan the sun's Face with its wings was even the same as once Flew screaming westward o'er the Prince's head, Beguiling him to follow where it fled. And bird it was not, but a spirit of ill, Man-hating, and of mankind hated still, And slave to one yet mightier demon-sprite Whose dwelling is the shadow of the night.

So the days passed, and always on the next The bird-sprite like a baleful vision vexed The happy-hearted sunlight; and each time Its false sweet song was wedded to the rhyme And chime of wind and wave--although it dropped As honey changed to music--the Prince stopped His ears, and would not hear; and so the Sprite, Seeing his charmèd songcraft of no might Him to ensnare who hearkened not at all, On the tenth day with dreadful noise let fall A tempest shaken from the wings of him, Whereat the eyes of heaven wox thunderous-dim, Till the day-darkness blinded them, and fell Holding the world in night unseasonable. And from his beakèd mouth the demon blew A breath as of a hundred winds, and flew Downward aswoop upon the labouring bark, And, covered of the blear untimely Dark, Clutch'd with his gripple claws the Prince his prey, And backward through the tempest soared away, Bearing that royal burden; and his eyes Were wandering wells of lightning to the skies.

Long time the Prince was held in swound, and knew Nor outer world nor inner, as they flew From darkness unto darkness; till at last-- The fierce flight over, and his body cast Somewhere alone in a strange place--the life Stirred in him faintly, as at feeble strife With covetous Death for ownership of him. And 'fore his eyes the world began to swim All vague, and doubtful as a dream that lies Folded within another, petal-wise. And therewithal himself but half believed His own eyes' testimony, and perceived The things that were about him as who hears A distant music throbbing toward his ears At noontide, in a flowery hollow of June, And listens till he knows not if the tune And he be one or twain, or near or far, But only feels that sound and perfume are, And tremulous light and leafy umbrage: so The Prince beheld unknowing, nor fain to know.

About him was a ruinous fair place, Which Time, who still delighteth to abase The highest, and throw down what men do build, With splendid prideful barrenness had filled, And dust of immemorial dreams, and breath Of silence, which is next of kin to death. A weedy wilderness it seemed, that was In days forepast a garden, but the grass Grew now where once the flowers, and hard by A many-throated fountain had run dry Which erst all day a web of rainbows wove Out of the body of the sun its love. And but a furlong's space beyond, there towered In middest of that silent realm deflowered A palace builded of black marble, whence The shadow of a swart magnificence Falling, upon the outer space begot A dream of darkness when the night was not. Which while the Prince beheld, a wonderment Laid hold upon him, that he rose and went Toward the palace-portico apace, Thinking to read the riddle of the place. And entering in (for open was the door) From hall to hall he passed, from floor to floor, Through all the spacious house, and (saving where The subtile spider had his darksome lair) No living creature could he find in it. Howbeit, by certain writing that was writ Upon the wall of one dark room and bare, He guessed that some great sorcerer had there Inhabited, a slave to his own lust Of evil power and knowledge, till the dust Received his dust, and darkness had his soul; But ere death took him he had willed the whole Of his possessions to a Spirit of Ill, His sometime mate in commerce damnable, Making him lord of that high house, wherein The twain had sealed their covenant of sin.

With that a horror smote the Prince, and fain Would he have fled that evil spirit's domain And shook its dust from off his feet that hour. But from a window of the topmost tower Viewing the dim-leaved wilderness without, Full plainly he perceived it hemmed about With waves, an island of the middle sea, In watery barriers bound insuperably; And human habitation saw he none, Nor heard one bird a-singing in the sun To lighten the intolerable stress Of utter undisputed silentness.

So by these signs he knew himself the thrall Of that foul spirit unseen, and therewithal Wholly unfellowed in captivity, Bound round with fetters of the tyrannous sea. And sick for very loneliness, he passed Downward through galleries and chambers vast To one wide hall wherefrom a vestibule Opened into a dim green space and cool, Where great trees grew that various fruitage bore The like whereof he had not seen before, And hard by was a well of water sweet; And being anhungered he did pluck and eat The strange fair fruit, and being athirst did drink The water, and lay down beside the brink; Till sleep, as one that droppeth from the skies, Dropt down, and made a mist about his eyes.

PART THE SEVENTH

But Sleep, who makes a mist about the sense, Doth ope the eyelids of the soul, and thence Lifteth a heavier cloud than that whereby He veils the vision of the fleshly eye. And not alone by dreams doth Sleep make known The sealèd things and covert--not alone In _visions_ of the night do mortals hear The fatal feet and whispering wings draw near; But dimly and in darkness doth the soul Drink of the streams of slumber as they roll, And win fine secrets from their waters deep: Yea, of a truth, the spirit doth grow in sleep.

Howbeit I know not whether as he slept A voice from out the depth of dream upleapt And whispered in his ear; or whether he Grew to the knowledge blindly, as a tree Waxes from bloom to fruitage, knowing not The manner of its growth: but this I wot, That rising from that sleep beside the spring The Prince had knowledge of a certain thing Whereof he had not wist until that hour-- To wit, that two contending spirits had power Over _his_ spirit, ruling him with sway Altern; as 'twere dominion now of Day And now of Dark; for one was of the light, And one was of the blackness of the night.

Now there be certain evil spirits whom The mother of the darkness in her womb Conceived ere darkness' self; and one of these Did rule that island of the middle seas Hemmed round with silence and enchantment dim. Nothing in all the world so pleasured him As filling human hearts with dolorousness And banning where another sprite did bless; But chiefly did his malice take delight In thwarting lovers' hopes and breathing blight Into the blossoms newly-openèd Of sweet desire, till all of sweet were fled: And (for he knew what secret hopes did fill The minds of men) 'twas even now his will To step between the Prince and his desire, Nor suffer him to fare one furlong nigher Unto that distant-shining golden goal That beacon'd through the darkness to his soul.

And so the days, the sultry summer days, Went by, and wimpled over with fine haze The noiseless nights stole after them, as steals The moon-made shadow at some traveller's heels. And day by day and night by night the Prince Dwelt in that island of enchantment, since The hour when Evil Hap, in likeness of An eagle swooping from the clouds above, Did bind him body and soul unto that place. And in due time the summer waxed apace, And in due time the summer waned: and now The withered leaf had fallen from the bough, And now the winter came and now the spring; Yea, summer's self was toward on the wing From wandering overseas: and all this while The Prince abode in that enchanted isle, Marvelling much at Fortune and her ways.

And by degrees the slowly-sliding days Gathered themselves together into years, And oftentimes his spirit welled in tears From dawn to darkness and from dark to dawn, By reason of the light of life withdrawn. And if the night brought sleep, a fitful sleep, The phantoms of a buried time would creep Out of their hollow hiding-places vast, Peopling his Present from the wizard Past. Sometimes between the whirl of dream and dream, All in a doubtful middle-world, a gleam Went shivering past him through the chill grey space, And lo he knew it for his mother's face, And wept; and all the silence where he stood Wept with him. And at times the dreamer would Dream himself back beneath his father's roof At eventide, and there would hold aloof In silence, clothed upon with shadows dim, To hear if any spake concerning him; But the hours came and went and went and came, And no man's mouth did ever name his name. And year by year he saw the queen and king Wax older, and beheld a shadowy thing Lurking behind them, till it came between His dreamsight and the semblance of the queen, From which time forth he saw her not: and when Another year had been it came again, And after that he saw his sire the king No more, by reason of the shadowy thing Stepping between; and all the place became As darkness, and the echo of a name.

* * * * *

What need to loiter o'er the chronicle Of days that brought no change? What boots it tell The tale of hours whereof each moment was As like its fellow as one blade of grass Is to another, when the dew doth fall Without respect of any amongst them all? Enow that time in that enchanted air Nor slept nor tarried more than otherwhere, And so at last the captive lived to see The fiftieth year of his captivity. And on a day within that fiftieth year He wandered down unto the beach, to hear The breaking of the breakers on the shore, As he had heard them ofttimes heretofore In days when he would sit and watch the sea, If peradventure there some ship might be. But now his soul no longer yearned as then To win her way back to the world of men: For what could now his freedom profit him? The hope that filled youth's beaker to its brim The tremulous hand of age had long outspilled, And whence might now the vessel be refilled? Moreover, after length of days and years The soul had ceased to beat her barriers, And like a freeborn bird that cagèd sings Had grown at last forgetful of her wings.

And so he took his way toward the sea-- Not, as in former days, if haply he Might spy some ship upon the nether blue, And beckon with his hands unto the crew, But rather with an easeful heart to hear What things the waves might whisper to his ear Of counsel wise and comfortable speech. But while he walked about the yellow beach, There came upon his limbs an heaviness, For languor of the sultry time's excess; And so he lay him down under a tree Hard by a little cove, and there the sea Sang him to sleep. And sleeping thus, he dreamed A dream of very wonderment: himseemed, The spirit that half an hundred years before In likeness of an eagle came and bore His body to that island on a day, Came yet again and found him where he lay, And taking him betwixt his talons flew O'er seas and far-off countries, till they drew Nigh to a city that was built between Four mountains in a pleasant land and green; And there upon the highest mountain's top The bird that was no bird at all let drop Its burthen, and was seen of him no more.

Thereat he waked, and issuing from the door Of dream did marvel in his heart; because He found he had but dreamed the thing that was: For there, assuredly, was neither sea Nor Isle Enchanted; and assuredly He sat upon the peak of a great hill; And far below him, looking strangely still, Uptowered a city exceeding fair to ken, And murmurous with multitude of men.

PART THE EIGHTH

Now as it chanced, the day was almost spent When down the lonely mountain-side he went, The whitehaired man, the Prince that was; and ere He won the silence of the valley where The city's many towers uprose, the gate Was closed against him, for the hour was late. So even as they that have not wherewithal To roof them from the rain if it should fall, Upon the grassy ground this king's son lay, And slept till nigh the coming of the day.

But while as any vagabond he slept Or outcast from the homes of men, there crept Unto him lying in such sorry sort A something fairer than the kingliest court In all the peopled world had witness of-- Even the shadow of the throne of Love, That from a height beyond all height did creep Along the pavement of the halls of sleep. O fair and wonderful! that shadow was The golden dream of dreams that came across His youth, full half an hundred years before, And sent him wandering through the world. Once more In a lone boat that sails and oars had none, Midmost a land of summer and the sun Where nothing was that was not fair to see, Adown a gliding river glided he, And saw the city that was built thereby, And saw the chariot of the queen draw nigh, And gazed upon her in the goodly street; Whereat he waked and rose upon his feet, Remembering the Vision of the Seer, And what the spirit spake unto his ear: "When in thy wanderings thou shalt dream once more The fateful dream thou haddest heretofore, That filled thy veins with longing as with wine Till all thy being brimm'd over--by that sign Thou mayest know thyself at last to be Within the borders of his empery Who hath the mystic emerald stone, whose gleam Shall light thee to the country of thy dream."

Then rose the heart within his heart and said: "O bitter scornful Fate, in days long dead I asked and thou denied'st mine asking: now The boon can no-wise profit me, and thou Dost mock me with bestowal!" Thereupon He fell to thinking of his youthhood gone, And wept. For now the goal, the longtime-sought, Was even at hand, "but how shall I," he thought, "I that am old and sad and hoary-haired, Enter the place for youth and love prepared? For in my veins the wellspring of desire Hath failed, and in mine heart the golden fire Burneth no more for ever. I draw near The night that is about our day, and hear The sighing of the darkness as I go Whose ancient secret there is none doth know."

Ev'n so to his own heart he spake full sad, And many and bitter were the thoughts he had Of days that were and days that were to be. But now the East was big with dawn, and he Drew nigh the city-gates and entered in, Ere yet the place remurmured with the din Of voices and the tread of human feet; And going up the void and silent street, All in the chill gleam of the new-lit air, A Thought found way into his soul, and there Abode and grew, and in brief while became Desire, and quickened to a quenchless flame: And holding converse with himself, he said, "Though in my heart the heart's desire be dead, And can no more these time-stilled pulses move; Though Death were lovelier to these eyes than Love Yet would these eyes behold, or ere I pass, The land that mirror'd lay as in a glass In the deep wells of dream. And her that is The sunlight of that city of all bliss, Her would I fain see once with waking eyes Whom sleep hath rendered unto vision twice. And having seen her beauty I would go My way, even to the river which doth flow From daylight unto darkness and the place Of silence, where the ghosts are face to face."

So mused the man, and evermore his thought Gave him no peace. Wherefore next morn he sought The palace of the king, but on his way Tarried till nigh the middle of the day In talk with certain of the city-folk; Whereby he learned, if that were true they spoke, How that the king their lord was nigh distract With torture of a strange disease that racked Each day his anguished body more and more, Setting at naught the leeches and their lore. Which having heard he went before the king, Who sat upon his throne, delivering Judgment, his body pierced the while with pain. And taking from his neck the charmèd chain Which he had borne about him ever since That morn miraculous, the unknown Prince Upspake and said, "O king, I hold within My hand a wonder-working medicine Of power to make thee whole if thou wilt deign So to be healèd;" and he held the chain Aloft, and straightway told unto the king The passing worth and wonder of the thing.

Then he that heard stretched forth a hand that shook With sudden fever of half-hope, and took The chain, and turned it over in his hand Until his eyes had left no link unscanned. And on each separate link was character'd A language that no living ear had heard, Occult, of secret import, mystic, strange. Then said the king, "What would'st thou in exchange For this the magic metal thou dost bring?" And the Prince answered him and said, "O king, Even the emerald stone which some do call The Emerald of the Virtues Mystical." And they who thronged the hall of judgment were Astonished at the stranger who could dare Ask such a boon; and some base mouths did curl With sneers, churl whispering to his fellow churl, "Who could have deemed the man so covetous, So void of shame in his great greed?" For thus It shall be ever underneath the sun, Each man believing that high hearts are none Whose own is as the dust he treads on low.

But the king answered saying, "Be it so. To-night this chain of iron shall be worn About my neck, and on the morrow-morn, If all the pain have left these limbs of mine, The guerdon thou demandest shall be thine. But if this torment still tormenteth me, Thy head and shoulders shall part company, And both be cast uncoffin'd to the worms. Open thy mouth and answer if these terms Content thee." And aloud the Prince replied, "With these conditions I am satisfied:" Whereafter, rising from his knees, he went Out from before the king, and was content.

Next morning, when the king awoke, I wis No heart was lighter in the land than his; For all the grievous burden of his pains Had fall'n from off his limbs, and in his veins Upleapt the glad new life, and the sick soul Seemed like its body all at once made whole. But hardly was the king uprisen before There knock'd and entered at the chamber-door His chief physician (a right skilful leech, But given to hollow trickeries of speech, And artful ways and wiles) who said, "O king, Be not deceived, I pray thee. One good thing Comes of another, like from like. The weed Beareth not lilies, neither do apes breed Antelopes. Thou art healed of thy pain Not by the wearing of an iron chain-- An iron chain forsooth!"--(hereat he laughed As 'twere a huge rare jest) "but by the draught Which I prepared for thee with mine own hands From certain precious simples grown in lands It irks me tell how many leagues away: Which medicine thou tookest yesterday."

Then said the king, "O false and jealous man, Who lovest better thine own praises than Thy master's welfare! Little 'tis to such As thou, that I should be made whole; but much That men should go before thee, trumpeting "'Behold the man that cured our lord the king.'" And he was sore displeased and in no mood To hearken. But the chief physician stood Unmoved amid this hail of kingly scorn, With meek face martyr-like, as who hath borne Much in the name of Truth, and much can bear. And from the mouth of him false words and fair So cunningly flowed that in a little while The royal frown became a royal smile, And the king hearkened to the leech and was Persuaded. So that morn it came to pass That when the Prince appeared before the throne To claim his rightful meed, the emerald stone, The king denied his title to receive The jewel, saying, "Think'st thou I believe Yon jingling chain hath healed my body? Nay; For whatsoever such as thou may say I am not found so easy to beguile: As for the gem thou wouldest, this good while It hath adorned the crown I wear, nor shall The stone be parted from the coronal."

Scarce had the false king spoken when behold Through the high ceiling's goodly fretted gold A sudden shaft of lightning downward sped And smote the golden crown upon his head, Yea, melted ev'n as wax the golden crown. And from the molten metal there fell down A grassgreen Splendour, and the Emerald Stone Tumbled from step to step before the throne, And lay all moveless at the Prince's feet! And the king sat upon his royal seat A dead king, marble-mute: but no man stirred Or spake: and only silence might be heard.

Then he before whose feet the gem did lie Said not a word to any man thereby, But stooped and lifted it from off the floor, And passing outward from the open door Put the mysterious jewel in his breast And went his way, none daring to molest The stranger. For the whisper rose and ran, "Is not the lightning leaguèd with this man?"

PART THE NINTH