You see them clear--the moon shines bright.
Slow, slow and softly, where she stood, She sinks upon the ground;--her hood Has fallen back; her arms outspread Still hold her lover"s hand; her head 105 Is bow"d, half-buried, on the bed.
O"er the blanch"d sheet her raven hair Lies in disorder"d streams; and there, Strung like white stars, the pearls still are, And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare, 110 Flash on her white arms still.
The very same which yesternight Flash"d in the silver sconces" light, 113 When the feast was gay and the laughter loud In Tyntagel"s palace proud. 115 But then they deck"d a restless ghost With hot-flush"d cheeks and brilliant eyes, And quivering lips on which the tide Of courtly speech abruptly died, And a glance which over the crowded floor, 120 The dancers, and the festive host, Flew ever to the door. 122 That the knights eyed her in surprise, And the dames whispered scoffingly: "Her moods, good lack, they pa.s.s like showers! 125 But yesternight and she would be As pale and still as wither"d flowers, And now to-night she laughs and speaks And has a colour in her cheeks; Christ keep us from such fantasy!"-- 130 Yes, now the longing is o"erpast, Which, dogg"d by fear and fought by shame, 132 Shook her weak bosom day and night, Consumed her beauty like a flame, And dimm"d it like the desert-blast. 135 And though the bed-clothes hide her face, Yet were it lifted to the light, The sweet expression of her brow Would charm the gazer, till his thought Erased the ravages of time, 140 Fill"d up the hollow cheek, and brought A freshness back as of her prime-- So healing is her quiet now.
So perfectly the lines express A tranquil, settled loveliness, 145 Her younger rival"s purest grace.
The air of the December-night Steals coldly around the chamber bright, Where those lifeless lovers be; Swinging with it, in the light 150 Flaps the ghostlike tapestry.
And on the arras wrought you see A stately Huntsman, clad in green, And round him a fresh forest-scene.
On that clear forest-knoll he stays, 155 With his pack round him, and delays.
He stares and stares, with troubled face, At this huge, gleam-lit fireplace, At that bright, iron-figured door, And those blown rushes on the floor. 160 He gazes down into the room With heated cheeks and flurried air, And to himself he seems to say: _"What place is this, and who are they?
Who is that kneeling Lady fair? 165 And on his pillows that pale Knight Who seems of marble on a tomb?
How comes it here, this chamber bright, Through whose mullion"d windows clear The castle-court all wet with rain, 170 The drawbridge and the moat appear, And then the beach, and, mark"d with spray, The sunken reefs, and far away The unquiet bright Atlantic plain?
--What, has some glamour made me sleep, 175 And sent me with my dogs to sweep, By night, with boisterous bugle-peal, Through some old, sea-side, knightly hall, Not in the free green wood at all?
That Knight"s asleep, and at her prayer 180 That Lady by the bed doth kneel-- Then hush, thou boisterous bugle-peal!"_ --The wild boar rustles in his lair; The fierce hounds snuff the tainted air; But lord and hounds keep rooted there. 185
Cheer, cheer thy dogs into the brake, O Hunter! and without a fear Thy golden-ta.s.sell"d bugle blow, And through the glades thy pastime take-- For thou wilt rouse no sleepers here! 190 For these thou seest are unmoved; Cold, cold as those who lived and loved A thousand years ago. 193
III
ISEULT OF BRITTANY
A year had flown, and o"er the sea away, In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay; In King Marc"s chapel, in Tyntagel old-- There in a ship they bore those lovers cold.
The young surviving Iseult, one bright day, 5 Had wander"d forth. Her children were at play In a green circular hollow in the heath Which borders the sea-sh.o.r.e--a country path Creeps over it from the till"d fields behind.
The hollow"s gra.s.sy banks are soft-inclined, 10 And to one standing on them, far and near The lone unbroken view spreads bright and clear Over the waste. This cirque of open ground 13 Is light and green; the heather, which all round Creeps thickly, grows not here; but the pale gra.s.s 15 Is strewn with rocks, and many a shiver"d ma.s.s Of vein"d white-gleaming quartz, and here and there Dotted with holly-trees and juniper. 18 In the smooth centre of the opening stood Three hollies side by side, and made a screen, 20 Warm with the winter-sun, of burnish"d green With scarlet berries gemm"d, the fell-fare"s food. 22 Under the glittering hollies Iseult stands, Watching her children play; their little hands Are busy gathering spars of quartz, and streams 25 Of stagshorn for their hats; anon, with screams 26 Of mad delight they drop their spoils, and bound Among the holly-clumps and broken ground, Racing full speed, and startling in their rush The fell-fares and the speckled missel-thrush 30 Out of their glossy coverts;--but when now Their cheeks were flush"d, and over each hot brow, Under the feather"d hats of the sweet pair, In blinding ma.s.ses shower"d the golden hair-- Then Iseult call"d them to her, and the three 35 Cl.u.s.ter"d under the holly-screen, and she Told them an old-world Breton history. 37
Warm in their mantles wrapt the three stood there, Under the hollies, in the clear still air-- Mantles with those rich furs deep glistering 40 Which Venice ships do from swart Egypt bring.
Long they stay"d still--then, pacing at their ease, Moved up and down under the glossy trees.
But still, as they pursued their warm dry road, From Iseult"s lips the unbroken story flow"d, 45 And still the children listen"d, their blue eyes Fix"d on their mother"s face in wide surprise; Nor did their looks stray once to the sea-side, Nor to the brown heaths round them, bright and wide, Nor to the snow, which, though "twas all away 50 From the open heath, still by the hedgerows lay, Nor to the shining sea-fowl, that with screams Bore up from where the bright Atlantic gleams, Swooping to landward; nor to where, quite clear, The fell-fares settled on the thickets near. 55 And they would still have listen"d, till dark night Came keen and chill down on the heather bright; But, when the red glow on the sea grew cold, And the grey turrets of the castle old Look"d sternly through the frosty evening-air, 60 Then Iseult took by the hand those children fair, And brought her tale to an end, and found the path, And led them home over the darkening heath.
And is she happy? Does she see unmoved The days in which she might have lived and loved 65 Slip without bringing bliss slowly away, One after one, to-morrow like to-day?
Joy has not found her yet, nor ever will-- Is it this thought which, makes her mien so still, Her features so fatigued, her eyes, though sweet, 70 So sunk, so rarely lifted save to meet Her children"s? She moves slow; her voice alone Hath yet an infantine and silver tone, But even that comes languidly; in truth, She seems one dying in a mask of youth. 75 And now she will go home, and softly lay Her laughing children in their beds, and play Awhile with them before they sleep; and then She"ll light her silver lamp, which fishermen Dragging their nets through the rough waves, afar, 80 Along this iron coast, know like a star, 81 And take her broidery-frame, and there she"ll sit Hour after hour, her gold curls sweeping it; Lifting her soft-bent head only to mind Her children, or to listen to the wind. 85 And when the clock peals midnight, she will move Her work away, and let her fingers rove Across the s.h.a.ggy brows of Tristram"s hound Who lies, guarding her feet, along the ground; Or else she will fall musing, her blue eyes 90 Fixt, her slight hands clasp"d on her lap; then rise, And at her prie-dieu kneel, until she have told 92 Her rosary-beads of ebony tipp"d with gold, Then to her soft sleep--and to-morrow"ll be To-day"s exact repeated effigy. 95
Yes, it is lonely for her in her hall.
The children, and the grey-hair"d seneschal, 97 Her women, and Sir Tristram"s aged hound, Are there the sole companions to be found.
But these she loves; and noiser life than this 100 She would find ill to bear, weak as she is.
She has her children, too, and night and day Is with them; and the wide heaths where they play, The hollies, and the cliff, and the sea-sh.o.r.e, The sand, the sea-birds, and the distant sails, 105 These are to her dear as to them; the tales With which this day the children she beguiled She gleaned from Breton grandames, when a child, In every hut along this sea-coast wild.
She herself loves them still, and, when they are told, 110 Can forget all to hear them, as of old.
Dear saints, it is not sorrow, as I hear, Not suffering, which shuts up eye and ear To all that has delighted them before, And lets us be what we were once no more. 115 No, we may suffer deeply, yet retain Power to be moved and soothed, for all our pain, By what of old pleased us, and will again.
No, "tis the gradual furnace of the world, In whose hot air our spirits are upcurl"d 120 Until they crumble, or else grow like steel-- Which kills in us the bloom, the youth, the spring-- Which leaves the fierce necessity to feel, But takes away the power--this can avail, By drying up our joy in everything, 125 To make our former pleasures all seem stale.
This, or some tyrannous single thought, some fit Of pa.s.sion, which subdues our souls to it, Till for its sake alone we live and move-- Call it ambition, or remorse, or love-- 130 This too can change us wholly, and make seem All which we did before, shadow and dream.
And yet, I swear, it angers me to see How this fool pa.s.sion gulls men potently; 134 Being, in truth, but a diseased unrest, 135 And an unnatural overheat at best.
How they are full of languor and distress Not having it; which when they do possess, They straightway are burnt up with fume and care, And spend their lives in posting here and there 140 Where this plague drives them; and have little ease, Are furious with themselves, and hard to please.
Like that bold Caesar, the famed Roman wight, 143 Who wept at reading of a Grecian knight Who made a name at younger years than he; 145 Or that renown"d mirror of chivalry, Prince Alexander, Philip"s peerless son, 147 Who carried the great war from Macedon Into the Soudan"s realm, and thundered on 149 To die at thirty-five in Babylon. 150
What tale did Iseult to the children say, Under the hollies, that bright-winter"s day?
She told them of the fairy-haunted land Away the other side of Brittany, Beyond the heaths, edged by the lonely sea; 155 Of the deep forest-glades of Broce-liande, 156 Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps.
For here he came with the fay Vivian, 158 One April, when the warm days first began.
He was on foot, and that false fay, his friend, 160 On her white palfrey; here he met his end, In these lone sylvan glades, that April-day.
This tale of Merlin and the lovely fay 163 Was the one Iseult chose, and she brought clear Before the children"s fancy him and her. 165
Blowing between the stems, the forest-air Had loosen"d the brown locks of Vivian"s hair, Which play"d on her flush"d cheek, and her blue eyes Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise.
Her palfrey"s flanks were mired and bathed in sweat, 170 For they had travell"d far and not stopp"d yet.
A brier in that tangled wilderness Had scored her white right hand, which she allows To rest ungloved on her green riding-dress; The other warded off the drooping boughs. 175 But still she chatted on, with her blue eyes Fix"d full on Merlin"s face, her stately prize.
Her "haviour had the morning"s fresh clear grace, The spirit of the woods was in her face.
She look"d so witching fair, that learned wight 180 Forgot his craft, and his best wits took flight; And he grew fond, and eager to obey His mistress, use her empire as she may. 184 They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day 185 Peer"d "twixt the stems; and the ground broke away, In a sloped sward down to a brawling brook; And up as high as where they stood to look On the brook"s farther side was clear, but then The underwood and trees began again. 190 This open glen was studded thick with thorns Then white with blossom; and you saw the horns, Through last year"s fern, of the shy fallow-deer Who come at noon down to the water here.
You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along 195 Under the thorns on the green sward; and strong The blackbird whistled from the dingles near, And the weird chipping of the woodp.e.c.k.e.r Rang lonelily and sharp; the sky was fair, And a fresh breath of spring stirr"d everywhere. 200 Merlin and Vivian stopp"d on the slope"s brow, To gaze on the light sea of leaf and bough Which glistering plays all round them, lone and mild.
As if to itself the quiet forest smiled.
Upon the brow-top grew a thorn, and here 205 The gra.s.s was dry and moss"d, and you saw clear Across the hollow; white anemones Starr"d the cool turf, and clumps of primroses Ran out from the dark underwood behind.
No fairer resting-place a man could find. 210 "Here let us halt," said Merlin then; and she Nodded, and tied her palfrey to a tree.
They sate them down together, and a sleep Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep.
Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose 215 And from her brown-lock"d head the wimple throws, And takes it in her hand, and waves it over The blossom"d thorn-tree and her sleeping lover.
Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round, 219 And made a little plot of magic ground. 220 And in that daised circle, as men say, Is Merlin prisoner till the judgment-day; 222 But she herself whither she will can rove-- For she was pa.s.sing weary of his love. 224
LYRICAL POEMS
THE CHURCH OF BROU
I
THE CASTLE
Down the Savoy valleys sounding, 1 Echoing round this castle old, "Mid the distant mountain-chalets 3 Hark! what bell for church is toll"d?
In the bright October morning 5 Savoy"s Duke had left his bride.
From the castle, past the drawbridge, Flow"d the hunters" merry tide.
Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering; Gay, her smiling lord to greet, 10 From her mullion"d chamber-cas.e.m.e.nt Smiles the d.u.c.h.ess Marguerite.
From Vienna, by the Danube, Here she came, a bride, in spring.
Now the autumn crisps the forest; 15 Hunters gather, bugles ring.
Hounds are pulling, p.r.i.c.kers swearing, 17 Horses fret, and boar-spears glance.