But as she spoke, her honied voice Trembled, and midst of sobs she said, "O love, and art thou still afraid?
Return, then, to thine happiness, Nor will I love thee any less; But watch thee as a mother might Her child at play."
With strange delight He stammered out, "Nay, keep thy tears for me, and for my ruined years Weep love, that I may love thee more, My little hour will soon be o"er."
"Ah, love," she said, "and thou art wise As men are, with long miseries Buying these idle words and vain, My foolish love, with lasting pain; And yet, thou wouldst have died at last If in all wisdom thou hadst pa.s.sed Thy weary life: forgive me then, In pitying the sad life of men."
Then in such bliss his soul did swim, But tender music unto him Her words were; death and misery But empty names were grown to be, As from that place his steps she drew, And dark the hall behind them grew.
But end comes to all earthly bliss, And by his choice full short was his; And in the morning, grey and cold, Beside the das did she hold His trembling hand, and wistfully He, doubting what his fate should be, Gazed at her solemn eyes, that now, Beneath her calm, untroubled brow, Were fixed on his wild face and wan; At last she said, "Oh, hapless man, Depart! thy full wish hast thou had; A little time thou hast been glad, Thou shalt be sorry till thou die.
"And though, indeed, full fain am I This might not be; nathless, as day Night follows, colourless and grey, So this shall follow thy delight, Your joy hath ending with last night-- Nay, peace, and hearken to thy fate.
"Strife without peace, early and late, Lasting long after thou art dead, And laid with earth upon thine head; War without victory shalt thou have, Defeat, nor honour shalt thou save; Thy fair land shall be rent and torn, Thy people be of all forlorn, And all men curse thee for this thing."
She loosed his hand, but yet the King Said, "Yea, and I may go with thee?
Why should we part? then let things be E"en as they will!" "Poor man," she said, "Thou ravest; our hot love is dead, If ever it had any life: Go, make thee ready for the strife Wherein thy days shall soon be wrapped; And of the things that here have happed Make thou such joy as thou may"st do; But I from this place needs must go, Nor shalt thou ever see me more Until thy troubled life is o"er: Alas I to say "farewell" to thee Were nought but bitter mockery.
Fare as thou may"st, and with good heart Play to the end thy wretched part."
Therewith she turned and went from him, And with such pain his eyes did swim He scarce could see her leave the place; And then, with troubled and pale face, He gat him thence: and soon he found His good horse in the base-court bound; So, loosing him, forth did he ride, For the great gates were open wide, And flat the heavy drawbridge lay.
So by the middle of the day, That murky pa.s.s had he gone through, And come to country that he knew; And homeward turned his horse"s head.
And pa.s.sing village and homestead Nigh to his palace came at last; And still the further that he pa.s.sed From that strange castle of the fays, More dreamlike seemed those seven days, And dreamlike the delicious night; And like a dream the shoulders white, And clinging arms and yellow hair, And dreamlike the sad morning there.
Until at last he "gan to deem That all might well have been a dream-- Yet why was life a weariness?
What meant this sting of sharp distress?
This longing for a hopeless love, No sighing from his heart could move?
Or else, "She did not come and go As fays might do, but soft and slow Her lovely feet fell on the floor; She set her fair hand to the door As any dainty maid might do; And though, indeed, there are but few Beneath the sun as fair as she, She seemed a fleshly thing to be.
Perchance a merry mock this is, And I may some day have the bliss To see her lovely face again, As smiling she makes all things plain.
And then as I am still a king, With me may she make tarrying Full long, yea, till I come to die."
Therewith at last being come anigh Unto his very palace gate, He saw his knights and squires wait His coming, therefore on the ground He lighted, and they flocked around Till he should tell them of his fare.
Then mocking said he, "Ye may dare, The worst man of you all, to go And watch as I was bold to do; For nought I heard except the wind, And nought I saw to call to mind."
So said he, but they noted well That something more he had to tell If it had pleased him; one old man, Beholding his changed face and wan, Muttered, "Would G.o.d it might be so!
Alas! I fear what fate may do; Too much good fortune hast thou had By anything to be more glad Than thou hast been, I fear thee then Lest thou becom"st a curse to men."
But to his place the doomed King pa.s.sed, And all remembrance strove to cast From out his mind of that past day, And spent his life in sport and play.
Great among other kings, I said He was before he first was led Unto that castle of the fays, But soon he lost his happy days And all his goodly life was done.
And first indeed his best-loved son, The very apple of his eye, Waged war against him bitterly; And when this son was overcome And taken, and folk led him home, And him the King had gone to meet, Meaning with gentle words and sweet To win him to his love again, By his own hand he found him slain.
I know not if the doomed King yet Remembered the fay lady"s threat, But troubles upon troubles came: His daughter next was brought to shame, Who unto all eyes seemed to be The image of all purity, And fleeing from the royal place The King no more beheld her face.
Then next a folk that came from far Sent to the King great threats of war, But he, full-fed of victory, Deemed this a little thing to be, And thought the troubles of his home Thereby he well might overcome Amid the hurry of the fight.
His foemen seemed of little might, Although they thronged like summer bees About the outlying villages, And on the land great ruin brought.
Well, he this barbarous people sought With such an army as seemed meet To put the world beneath his feet; The day of battle came, and he, Flushed with the hope of victory, Grew happy, as he had not been Since he those glorious eyes had seen.
They met,--his solid ranks of steel There scarcely more the darts could feel Of those new foemen, than if they Had been a hundred miles away:-- They met,--a storied folk were his To whom sharp war had long been bliss, A thousand years of memories Were flashing in their shielded eyes; And grave philosophers they had To bid them ever to be glad To meet their death and get life done Midst glorious deeds from sire to son.
And those they met were beasts, or worse, To whom life seemed a jest, a curse; Of fame and name they had not heard; Honour to them was but a word, A word spoke in another tongue; No memories round their banners clung, No walls they knew, no art of war, By hunger were they driven afar Unto the place whereon they stood, Ravening for b.e.s.t.i.a.l joys and blood.
No wonder if these barbarous men Were slain by hundreds to each ten Of the King"s brave well-armoured folk, No wonder if their charges broke To nothing, on the walls of steel, And back the baffled hordes must reel.
So stood throughout a summer day Scarce touched the King"s most fair array, Yet as it drew to even-tide The foe still surged on every side, As hopeless hunger-bitten men, About his folk grown wearied then.
Therewith the King beheld that crowd Howling and dusk, and cried aloud, "What do ye, warriors? and how long Shall weak folk hold in check the strong?
Nay, forward banners! end the day And show these folk how brave men play."
The young knights shouted at his word, But the old folk in terror heard The shouting run adown the line, And saw men flush as if with wine-- "O Sire," they said, "the day is sure, Nor will these folk the night endure Beset with misery and fears."
Alas I they spoke to heedless ears; For scarce one look on them he cast But forward through the ranks he pa.s.sed, And cried out, "Who will follow me To win a fruitful victory?"
And toward the foe in haste he spurred, And at his back their shouts he heard, Such shouts as he ne"er heard again.
They met--ere moonrise all the plain Was filled by men in hurrying flight The relics of that shameful fight; The close array, the full-armed men, The ancient fame availed not then, The dark night only was a friend To bring that slaughter to an end; And surely there the King had died.
But driven by that back-rushing tide Against his will he needs must flee; And as he pondered bitterly On all that wreck that he had wrought, From time to time indeed he thought Of the fay woman"s dreadful threat.
"But everything was not lost yet; Next day he said, great was the rout And shameful beyond any doubt, But since indeed at eventide The flight began, not many died, And gathering all the stragglers now His troops still made a gallant show-- Alas! it was a show indeed; Himself desponding, did he lead His beaten men against the foe, Thinking at least to lie alow Before the final rout should be But scarce upon the enemy Could these, whose shaken banners shook The frightened world, now dare to look; Nor yet could the doomed King die there A death he once had held most fair; Amid unwounded men he came Back to his city, bent with shame, Unkingly, midst his great distress, Yea, weeping at the bitterness Of women"s curses that did greet His pa.s.sage down the troubled street But sight of all the things they loved, The memory of their manhood moved Within the folk, and aged men And boys must think of battle then.
And men that had not seen the foe Must clamour to the war to go.
So a great army poured once more From out the city, and before The very gates they fought again, But their late valour was in vain; They died indeed, and that was good, But nought they gained for all the blood Poured out like water; for the foe, Men might have stayed a while ago, A match for very G.o.ds were grown, So like the field in June-tide mown The King"s men fell, and but in vain The remnant strove the town to gain; Whose battlements were nought to stay An untaught foe upon that day, Though many a tale the annals told Of sieges in the days of old, When all the world then knew of war From that fair place was driven afar.
As for the King, a charmed life He seemed to bear; from out that strife He came unhurt, and he could see, As down the valley he did flee With his most wretched company, His palace flaming to the sky.
Then in the very midst of woe His yearning thoughts would backward go Unto the castle of the fay; He muttered, "Shall I curse that day, The last delight that I have had, For certainly I then was glad?
And who knows if what men call bliss Had been much better now than this When I am hastening to the end."
That fearful rest, that dreaded friend, That Death, he did not gain as yet; A band of men he soon did get, A ruined rout of bad and good, With whom within the tangled wood, The rugged mountain, he abode, And thenceforth oftentimes they rode Into the fair land once called his, And yet but little came of this, Except more woe for Heaven to see Some little added misery Unto that miserable realm: The barbarous foe did overwhelm The cities and the fertile plain, And many a peaceful man was slain, And many a maiden brought to shame.
And yielded towns were set aflame; For all the land was masterless.
Long dwelt the King in great distress, From wood to mountain ever tost, Mourning for all that he had lost, Until it chanced upon a day, Asleep in early morn he lay, And in a vision there did see Clad all in black, that fay lady Whereby all this had come to pa.s.s, But dim as in a misty gla.s.s: She said, "I come thy death to tell Yet now to thee may say "farewell,"
For in a short s.p.a.ce wilt thou be Within an endless dim country Where thou may"st well win woe or bliss,"
Therewith she stooped his lips to kiss And vanished straightway from his sight.
So waking there he sat upright And looked around, but nought could see And heard but song-birds" melody, For that was the first break of day.
Then with a sigh adown he lay And slept, nor ever woke again, For in that hour was he slain By stealthy traitors as he slept.
He of a few was much bewept, But of most men was well forgot While the town"s ashes still were hot The foeman on that day did burn.
As for the land, great Time did turn The b.l.o.o.d.y fields to deep green gra.s.s, And from the minds of men did pa.s.s The memory of that time of woe, And at this day all things are so As first I said; a land it is Where men may dwell in rest and bliss If so they will--Who yet will not, Because their hasty hearts are hot With foolish hate, and longing vain The sire and dam of grief and pain.
Neath the bright sky cool grew the weary earth, And many a bud in that fair hour had birth Upon the garden bushes; in the west The sky got ready for the great sun"s rest, And all was fresh and lovely; none the less Although those old men shared the happiness Of the bright eve, "twas mixed with memories Of how they might in old times have been wise, Not casting by for very wilfulness What wealth might come their changing life to bless; Lulling their hearts to sleep, amid the cold Of bitter times, that so they might behold Some joy at last, e"en if it lingered long.
That, wearing not their souls with grief and wrong, They still might watch the changing world go by, Content to live, content at last to die.
Alas! if they had reached content at last It was perforce when all their strength was past; And after loss of many days once bright, With foolish hopes of unattained delight.
AUGUST.
Across the gap made by our English hinds, Amidst the Roman"s handiwork, behold Far off the long-roofed church; the shepherd binds The withy round the hurdles of his fold; Down in the foss the river fed of old, That through long lapse of time has grown to be The little gra.s.sy valley that you see.
Rest here awhile, not yet the eve is still, The bees are wandering yet, and you may hear The barley mowers on the trenched hill, The sheep-bells, and the restless changing weir, All little sounds made musical and clear Beneath the sky that burning August gives.
While yet the thought of glorious Summer lives.
Ah, love! such happy days, such days as these, Must we still waste them, craving for the best, Like lovers o"er the painted images Of those who once their yearning hearts have blessed?
Have we been happy on our day of rest?
Thine eyes say "yes,"--but if it came again, Perchance its ending would not seem so vain.
Now came fulfilment of the year"s desire, The tall wheat, coloured by the August fire Grew heavy-headed, dreading its decay, And blacker grew the elm-trees day by day.
About the edges of the yellow corn, And o"er the gardens grown somewhat outworn The bees went hurrying to fill up their store; The apple-boughs bent over more and more; With peach and apricot the garden wall, Was odorous, and the pears began to fall From off the high tree with each freshening breeze.
So in a house bordered about with trees, A little raised above the waving gold The Wanderers heard this marvellous story told, While "twixt the gleaming flasks of ancient wine, They watched the reapers" slow advancing line.