P A R T   IV.

'There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun,

If that hypothesis of theirs be sound'

Said Ida; 'let us down and rest;' and we

Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices,

By every coppice-feathered chasm and cleft,

Dropt through the ambrosial gloom to where below

No bigger than a glow-worm shone the tent

Lamp-lit from the inner. Once she leaned on me,

Descending; once or twice she lent her hand,

And blissful palpitations in the blood,

Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell.

     But when we planted level feet, and dipt

Beneath the satin dome and entered in,

There leaning deep in broidered down we sank

Our elbows: on a tripod in the midst

A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed

Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold.

     Then she, 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move

The minutes fledged with music:' and a maid,

Of those beside her, smote her harp, and sang.

     'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

     'Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

That brings our friends up from the underworld,

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

     'Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

     'Dear as remembered kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more.'

     She ended with such passion that the tear,

She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl

Lost in her bosom: but with some disdain

Answered the Princess, 'If indeed there haunt

About the mouldered lodges of the Past

So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men,

Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool

And so pace by: but thine are fancies hatched

In silken-folded idleness; nor is it

Wiser to weep a true occasion lost,

But trim our sails, and let old bygones be,

While down the streams that float us each and all

To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice,

Throne after throne, and molten on the waste

Becomes a cloud: for all things serve their time

Toward that great year of equal mights and rights,

Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end

Found golden: let the past be past; let be

Their cancelled Babels: though the rough kex break

The starred mosaic, and the beard-blown goat

Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split

Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear

A trumpet in the distance pealing news

Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns

Above the unrisen morrow:' then to me;

'Know you no song of your own land,' she said,

'Not such as moans about the retrospect,

But deals with the other distance and the hues

Of promise; not a death's-head at the wine.'

     Then I remembered one myself had made,

What time I watched the swallow winging south

From mine own land, part made long since, and part

Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far

As I could ape their treble, did I sing.

     'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,

Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,

And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.

     'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,

That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,

And dark and true and tender is the North.

     'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light

Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,

And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.

     'O were I thou that she might take me in,

And lay me on her bosom, and her heart

Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.

     'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,

Delaying as the tender ash delays

To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?

     'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:

Say to her, I do but wanton in the South,

But in the North long since my nest is made.

     'O tell her, brief is life but love is long,

And brief the sun of summer in the North,

And brief the moon of beauty in the South.

     'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,

Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,

And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.'

     I ceased, and all the ladies, each at each,

Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time,

Stared with great eyes, and laughed with alien lips,

And knew not what they meant; for still my voice

Rang false: but smiling 'Not for thee,' she said,

O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan

Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid,

Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake

Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this

A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend,

We hold them slight: they mind us of the time

When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men,

That lute and flute fantastic tenderness,

And dress the victim to the offering up,

And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise,

And play the slave to gain the tyranny.

Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once;

She wept her true eyes blind for such a one,

A rogue of canzonets and serenades.

I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead.

So they blaspheme the muse! But great is song

Used to great ends: ourself have often tried

Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dashed

The passion of the prophetess; for song

Is duer unto freedom, force and growth

Of spirit than to junketing and love.

Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this

Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats,

Till all men grew to rate us at our worth,

Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes

To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered

Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Enough!

But now to leaven play with profit, you,

Know you no song, the true growth of your soil,

That gives the manners of your country-women?'

     She spoke and turned her sumptuous head with eyes

Of shining expectation fixt on mine.

Then while I dragged my brains for such a song,

Cyril, with whom the bell-mouthed glass had wrought,

Or mastered by the sense of sport, began

To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch

Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences

Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him,

I frowning; Psyche flushed and wanned and shook;

The lilylike Melissa drooped her brows;

'Forbear,' the Princess cried; 'Forbear, Sir' I;

And heated through and through with wrath and love,

I smote him on the breast; he started up;

There rose a shriek as of a city sacked;

Melissa clamoured 'Flee the death;' 'To horse'

Said Ida; 'home! to horse!' and fled, as flies

A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk,

When some one batters at the dovecote-doors,

Disorderly the women. Alone I stood

With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart,

In the pavilion: there like parting hopes

I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof,

And every hoof a knell to my desires,

Clanged on the bridge; and then another shriek,

'The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!'

For blind with rage she missed the plank, and rolled

In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom:

There whirled her white robe like a blossomed branch

Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave,

No more; but woman-vested as I was

Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then

Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left

The weight of all the hopes of half the world,

Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree

Was half-disrooted from his place and stooped

To wrench his dark locks in the gurgling wave

Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught,

And grasping down the boughs I gained the shore.

     There stood her maidens glimmeringly grouped

In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew

My burthen from mine arms; they cried 'she lives:'

They bore her back into the tent: but I,

So much a kind of shame within me wrought,

Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes,

Nor found my friends; but pushed alone on foot

(For since her horse was lost I left her mine)

Across the woods, and less from Indian craft

Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length

The garden portals. Two great statues, Art

And Science, Caryatids, lifted up

A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves

Of open-work in which the hunter rued

His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows

Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon

Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates.

     A little space was left between the horns,

Through which I clambered o'er at top with pain,

Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks,

And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue,

Now poring on the glowworm, now the star,

I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheeled

Through a great arc his seven slow suns.

                                                                  A step

Of lightest echo, then a loftier form

Than female, moving through the uncertain gloom,

Disturbed me with the doubt 'if this were she,'

But it was Florian. 'Hist O Hist,' he said,

'They seek us: out so late is out of rules.

Moreover "seize the strangers" is the cry.

How came you here?' I told him: 'I' said he,

'Last of the train, a moral leper, I,

To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, returned.

Arriving all confused among the rest

With hooded brows I crept into the hall,

And, couched behind a Judith, underneath

The head of Holofernes peeped and saw.

Girl after girl was called to trial: each

Disclaimed all knowledge of us: last of all,

Melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitied her.

She, questioned if she knew us men, at first

Was silent; closer prest, denied it not:

And then, demanded if her mother knew,

Or Psyche, she affirmed not, or denied:

From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her,

Easily gathered either guilt. She sent

For Psyche, but she was not there; she called

For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors;

She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face;

And I slipt out: but whither will you now?

And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled:

What, if together? that were not so well.

Would rather we had never come! I dread

His wildness, and the chances of the dark.'

     'And yet,' I said, 'you wrong him more than I

That struck him: this is proper to the clown,

Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still the clown,

To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame

That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe'er

He deal in frolic, as tonight--the song

Might have been worse and sinned in grosser lips

Beyond all pardon--as it is, I hold

These flashes on the surface are not he.

He has a solid base of temperament:

But as the waterlily starts and slides

Upon the level in little puffs of wind,

Though anchored to the bottom, such is he.'

     Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near

Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, 'Names:'

He, standing still, was clutched; but I began

To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind

And double in and out the boles, and race

By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot:

Before me showered the rose in flakes; behind

I heard the puffed pursuer; at mine ear

Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not,

And secret laughter tickled all my soul.

At last I hooked my ankle in a vine,

That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne,

And falling on my face was caught and known.

     They haled us to the Princess where she sat

High in the hall: above her drooped a lamp,

And made the single jewel on her brow

Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head,

Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side

Bowed toward her, combing out her long black hair

Damp from the river; and close behind her stood

Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men,

Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain,

And labour. Each was like a Druid rock;

Or like a spire of land that stands apart

Cleft from the main, and wailed about with mews.

     Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove

An advent to the throne: and therebeside,

Half-naked as if caught at once from bed

And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay

The lily-shining child; and on the left,

Bowed on her palms and folded up from wrong,

Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs,

Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect

Stood up and spake, an affluent orator.

     'It was not thus, O Princess, in old days:

You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips:

I led you then to all the Castalies;

I fed you with the milk of every Muse;

I loved you like this kneeler, and you me

Your second mother: those were gracious times.

Then came your new friend: you began to change--

I saw it and grieved--to slacken and to cool;

Till taken with her seeming openness

You turned your warmer currents all to her,

To me you froze: this was my meed for all.

Yet I bore up in part from ancient love,

And partly that I hoped to win you back,

And partly conscious of my own deserts,

And partly that you were my civil head,

And chiefly you were born for something great,

In which I might your fellow-worker be,

When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme

Grew up from seed we two long since had sown;

In us true growth, in her a Jonah's gourd,

Up in one night and due to sudden sun:

We took this palace; but even from the first

You stood in your own light and darkened mine.

What student came but that you planed her path

To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise,

A foreigner, and I your countrywoman,

I your old friend and tried, she new in all?

But still her lists were swelled and mine were lean;

Yet I bore up in hope she would be known:

Then came these wolves: they knew her: they endured,

Long-closeted with her the yestermorn,

To tell her what they were, and she to hear:

And me none told: not less to an eye like mine

A lidless watcher of the public weal,

Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot

Was to you: but I thought again: I feared

To meet a cold "We thank you, we shall hear of it

From Lady Psyche:" you had gone to her,

She told, perforce; and winning easy grace

No doubt, for slight delay, remained among us

In our young nursery still unknown, the stem

Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat

Were all miscounted as malignant haste

To push my rival out of place and power.

But public use required she should be known;

And since my oath was ta'en for public use,

I broke the letter of it to keep the sense.

I spoke not then at first, but watched them well,

Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done;

And yet this day (though you should hate me for it)

I came to tell you; found that you had gone,

Ridden to the hills, she likewise: now, I thought,

That surely she will speak; if not, then I:

Did she? These monsters blazoned what they were,

According to the coarseness of their kind,

For thus I hear; and known at last (my work)

And full of cowardice and guilty shame,

I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies;

And I remain on whom to wreak your rage,

I, that have lent my life to build up yours,

I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time,

And talent, I--you know it--I will not boast:

Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan,

Divorced from my experience, will be chaff

For every gust of chance, and men will say

We did not know the real light, but chased

The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.'

     She ceased: the Princess answered coldly, 'Good:

Your oath is broken: we dismiss you: go.

For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child)

Our mind is changed: we take it to ourself.'

     Thereat the Lady stretched a vulture throat,

And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile.

'The plan was mine. I built the nest' she said

'To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!' and stooped to updrag

Melissa: she, half on her mother propt,

Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast

A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer,

Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung,

A Niobëan daughter, one arm out,

Appealing to the bolts of Heaven; and while

We gazed upon her came a little stir

About the doors, and on a sudden rushed

Among us, out of breath as one pursued,

A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear

Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face, and winged

Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell

Delivering sealed dispatches which the Head

Took half-amazed, and in her lion's mood

Tore open, silent we with blind surmise

Regarding, while she read, till over brow

And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom

As of some fire against a stormy cloud,

When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick

Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens;

For anger most it seemed, while now her breast,

Beaten with some great passion at her heart,

Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard

In the dead hush the papers that she held

Rustle: at once the lost lamb at her feet

Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam;

The plaintive cry jarred on her ire; she crushed

The scrolls together, made a sudden turn

As if to speak, but, utterance failing her,

She whirled them on to me, as who should say

'Read,' and I read--two letters--one her sire's.

     'Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way,

We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt,

We, conscious of what temper you are built,

Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell

Into his father's hands, who has this night,

You lying close upon his territory,

Slipt round and in the dark invested you,

And here he keeps me hostage for his son.'

     The second was my father's running thus:

'You have our son: touch not a hair of his head:

Render him up unscathed: give him your hand:

Cleave to your contract: though indeed we hear

You hold the woman is the better man;

A rampant heresy, such as if it spread

Would make all women kick against their Lords

Through all the world, and which might well deserve

That we this night should pluck your palace down;

And we will do it, unless you send us back

Our son, on the instant, whole.'

                                                   So far I read;

And then stood up and spoke impetuously.

     'O not to pry and peer on your reserve,

But led by golden wishes, and a hope

The child of regal compact, did I break

Your precinct; not a scorner of your sex

But venerator, zealous it should be

All that it might be: hear me, for I bear,

Though man, yet human, whatsoe'er your wrongs,

From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life

Less mine than yours: my nurse would tell me of you;

I babbled for you, as babies for the moon,

Vague brightness; when a boy, you stooped to me

From all high places, lived in all fair lights,

Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south

And blown to inmost north; at eve and dawn

With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods;

The leader wildswan in among the stars

Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm light

The mellow breaker murmured Ida. Now,

Because I would have reached you, had you been

Sphered up with Cassiopëia, or the enthroned

Persephonè in Hades, now at length,

Those winters of abeyance all worn out,

A man I came to see you: but indeed,

Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue,

O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait

On you, their centre: let me say but this,

That many a famous man and woman, town

And landskip, have I heard of, after seen

The dwarfs of presage: though when known, there grew

Another kind of beauty in detail

Made them worth knowing; but in your I found

My boyish dream involved and dazzled down

And mastered, while that after-beauty makes

Such head from act to act, from hour to hour,

Within me, that except you slay me here,

According to your bitter statute-book,

I cannot cease to follow you, as they say

The seal does music; who desire you more

Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips,

With many thousand matters left to do,

The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth,

Than sick men health--yours, yours, not mine--but half

Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves

You worthiest; and howe'er you block and bar

Your heart with system out from mine, I hold

That it becomes no man to nurse despair,

But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms

To follow up the worthiest till he die:

Yet that I came not all unauthorized

Behold your father's letter.'

                                              On one knee

Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dashed

Unopened at her feet: a tide of fierce

Invective seemed to wait behind her lips,

As waits a river level with the dam

Ready to burst and flood the world with foam:

And so she would have spoken, but there rose

A hubbub in the court of half the maids

Gathered together: from the illumined hall

Long lanes of splendour slanted o'er a press

Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes,

And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes,

And gold and golden heads; they to and fro

Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale,

All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light,

Some crying there was an army in the land,

And some that men were in the very walls,

And some they cared not; till a clamour grew

As of a new-world Babel, woman-built,

And worse-confounded: high above them stood

The placid marble Muses, looking peace.

     Not peace she looked, the Head: but rising up

Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so

To the open window moved, remaining there

Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves

Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye

Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light

Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and called

Across the tumult and the tumult fell.

     'What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head?

On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: I dare

All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear?

Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come:

If not,--myself were like enough, O girls,

To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights,

And clad in iron burst the ranks of war,

Or, falling, promartyr of our cause,

Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear:

Six thousand years of fear have made you that

From which I would redeem you: but for those

That stir this hubbub--you and you--I know

Your faces there in the crowd--tomorrow morn

We hold a great convention: then shall they

That love their voices more than duty, learn

With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live

No wiser than their mothers, household stuff,

Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame,

Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown,

The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time,

Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels

But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum,

To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour,

For ever slaves at home and fools abroad.'

     She, ending, waved her hands: thereat the crowd

Muttering, dissolved: then with a smile, that looked

A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff,

When all the glens are drowned in azure gloom

Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said:

     'You have done well and like a gentleman,

And like a prince: you have our thanks for all:

And you look well too in your woman's dress:

Well have you done and like a gentleman.

You saved our life: we owe you bitter thanks:

Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood--

Then men had said--but now--What hinders me

To take such bloody vengeance on you both?--

Yet since our father--Wasps in our good hive,

You would-be quenchers of the light to be,

Barbarians, grosser than your native bears--

O would I had his sceptre for one hour!

You that have dared to break our bound, and gulled

Our servants, wronged and lied and thwarted us--

I wed with thee! I bound by precontract

Your bride, our bondslave! not though all the gold

That veins the world were packed to make your crown,

And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir,

Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us:

I trample on your offers and on you:

Begone: we will not look upon you more.

Here, push them out at gates.'

                                                  In wrath she spake.

Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough

Bent their broad faces toward us and addressed

Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause,

But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands,

The weight of destiny: so from her face

They pushed us, down the steps, and through the court,

And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates.

     We crossed the street and gained a petty mound

Beyond it whence we saw the lights and heard

The voices murmuring. While I listened, came

On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt:

I seemed to move among a world of ghosts;

The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard,

The jest and earnest working side by side,

The cataract and the tumult and the kings

Were shadows; and the long fantastic night

With all its doings had and had not been,

And all things were and were not.

                                                       This went by

As strangely as it came, and on my spirits

Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy;

Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts

And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one

To whom the touch of all mischance but came

As night to him that sitting on a hill

Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun

Set into sunrise; then we moved away.

 

I N T E R L U D E.

     Thy voice is heard through rolling drums,

          That beat to battle where he stands;

     Thy face across his fancy comes,

          And gives the battle to his hands:

     A moment, while the trumpets blow,

          He sees his brood about thy knee;

     The next, like fire he meets the foe,

          And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

So Lilia sang: we thought her half-possessed,

She struck such warbling fury through the words;

And, after, feigning pique at what she called

The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime--

Like one that wishes at a dance to change

The music--clapt her hands and cried for war,

Or some grand fight to kill and make an end:

And he that next inherited the tale

Half turning to the broken statue, said,

'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove

Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?'

It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb

Lay by her like a model of her hand.

She took it and she flung it. 'Fight' she said,

'And make us all we would be, great and good.'

He knightlike in his cap instead of casque,

A cap of Tyrol borrowed from the hall,

Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince.

            On to Part V

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